Friday, February 26, 2010
I called St. James Catholic Church and the answering machine message said, "If this is a life-threatening emergency and you are in need of a priest, please hang up and call (insert #) immediately." 911 vs. a priest? I don't know... if I was experiencing a life-threatening emergency I don't know if I would think to call a priest first.
It is very very cold outside and I am sort of sleepy, but in a content way 'cause I'm indoors with hot tea and the heater on.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
THIS IS MY BOYFWEND.
(and that is my amazing unicorn hat for cold/rainy days, obviously)
I'm slightly delirious from sleep deprivation, guys. I think I'm going to go eat some frozen yogurt and try to stay alive now.
I want a puppy and a week to retreat to the countryside. With some writer friends and a crate of wine. LE FIN.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Also, I have about 3 pounds of ash on my forehead. Thanks, crazy priest man with weird intonation problems.
I am giving up Facebook for Lent, in case you didn't know. I guess this whole season's about figuring out what you can control versus what you let control your life. So... obviously social media was the natural choice for me.
Also, today is Ash Wednesday! Hello, Lent. I almost forgot about the meat-eating ban. I just put out some pork chops to defrost too. Damn it! Oh well, maybe I'll do salmon. Pescetarianism counts for fasting days, right?
Also, this news story just made my morning:
Granny Gives Robber a Beatdown
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Anyway, been listening to this on repeat, and omg, I LOVE HIS HAIR. It's so flippy and shiny!
Monday, February 8, 2010
La la la, I need to write a new poem for class this week. Maybe I'll finally finish my bear-skinning one!
don't ask me what this is, scribbles and lost words
the fumbling wings of a gray cotton cardigan, my
pigeon feet and nervous affections.
i am scared, i am scared -- it is august, a grimy
sort of morning, the streets are cruel
to pedestrians today, i'm tripping and the
gusts from the grates and gutters smell
so sweet, in the worst way.
oh, but you are the most beautiful thing! -
i've seen in a hundred summer nights, and why?
i could chalk it up to a wry smile, nostalgic streetlamp,
tapered pantalons, the usual culprits, i suppose, though...
my attention is a ball of twine threaded through
wooden chair legs and twisted around bedroom doorknobs.
trip a line, anywhere, and i'm yours. no, i couldn't explain it either.
or let me try this -- there was an old tale about a girl
who loved a boy simply because he passed her window on
warm jasmine evenings, whistling a sorrowful tune.
through great lengths (and folkloric magic), she turned
into a sparrow, so that she could follow the boy with a
fluttering heart. but no, maybe i'm not that kind of lover.
and, anyway, tonight i'll spill coffee down my blouse, the
peculiar feeling of a hot liquid cooling against my breast.
this is not disappointment but misfortunate habit.
and that sad story -- i think it ended with the sparrow girl
dying, the boy unaware. if he never knew,
was it still a love story? is this a love poem?
UGH. I'm just going to finish this page of "perfect" prose and get to bed for a few hours. And then wake up in the morning and trek to the library. No more complaining -- I'm a college student; this is my LIFE.
Pretty sure this week is going to break my spirit.
Things I've achieved thus far tonight:
-Page of perfect prose (almost!)
-CFC grant application for Nameless
-1/2 critiques for 100F
-3 pages of Roxana or something really pathetic like that
I want to light illegal firecrackers. And then sleep. Forever. GOODNIGHT.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Feeling way better this time though. Also have more time to get through this massive pile of schoolwork (but only barely). Thank god!
Friday, February 5, 2010
It's strange to read all of the things that I freaked out/was anxious about because now I know the outcome. It makes me think that I should just stop worrying about narratives, about linearity. I'm very tired right now. I have SO much to get done this weekend, but I'm pretty resigned to it. Everything's going to be just fine, ya know? I'm convinced of this.
I am also homesick for the first time in a loooong time. I think it's about time, really. I've been feeling a little under the weather lately, and my mind keeps drifting to being at home with my parents, or playing video games with my cousins and brother. I've been thinking about New Year's at Grandma's for a couple weeks now -- the mere thought of it is often enough to get me through the day. I can't wait! I'M SO TIRED.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
He is wrong, though. You didn't read poetry at all. He had wanted you to read poetry, but you didn't. If pressed, he confesses to an imprecise recollection of what it was you read and, anyway, it wasn't your reading that started this. It was the laughter, the carefree laughter, the three-dimensional Coca-Cola advertisement that you were, the try-anything-once friends, the imperviousness to all that came before you, the chain telephone calls, the in-jokes, the instant music, the sunlight you carried with you, the way he felt when you spoke to his parents, the introductory undergraduate courses, theinevitability of your success, the beach houses, the white lace underwear, the private dancing, the good-graced acceptance of part-time shift work, the apparent absence of expectations, the ever-changing disposable cults of the rural, the family, the eastern, the classical, the modern, the postmodern, the impoverished, the sleekly deregulated, the orgasm, the feminine, the feminist, and then the way you canceled with the air of one making a salad.
You would love the way he sees you. He uses you as a weapon against himself and not merely because you did. He sits in his car at traffic lights on his way out sometimes and tries to estimate how many times he has sat here, waiting at these traffic lights on his way somewhere without you, hoping to meet someone with the capacity to consign you to an anecdote, to be eventually confused with others. He thinks of you when the woman lying next to him thinks he's asleep. It would not surprise you that there are many women. Do you remember you thought him beautiful? You never told him. He had to assume it. He was beautiful and is now, some nine years later, even more so. The years have refined him so that once-boyish good looks have evolved into a clean, smooth charm. Not always though. First thing in the morning or after he's been drinking the charm disappears. The drinking is not really the problem at the moment though, not right now. Of late it has been no more of a problem with him than it is with your husband, which is to say, of late the quantity itself is no cause for alarm. But there is a secret need in both men to have their inhibitors inhibited. In Simon's case this is merely the tip of an older and more fundamental iceberg."
The opening passage from Seven Types of Ambiguity, by Eliot Perlman. READ IT ALREADY, PEOPLE.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
IT'S SO FUCKING TERRIFYING. I feel lame -- I'm just sitting here in my living room on my computer and my heart is going berserk. It's all coming to an end. I don't think it really hit me until this moment.
I'm registered as an English major, btw. So we can all sit together :).
Whattabout job applications? God, at this point I'm ready to give in and tell my parents that I'm taking a year off to study for the LSAT. I'm sure they'd be thrilled. But I'll find something! I just checked out the careers tab on the Rockstar Games website. Heyyyy GTA. I'm going craaaazy.
Anyway, I better make some toast and change into athletic apparel. See you all later! Study dates, plz? Anyone?