I'm Outta Here

I had an opportunity to go camping in the U.P. this weekend. I've never been to the U.P, and I was looking forward to beautiful scenery and no technology. The friends I am going with are going to treat it as a sort of writers retreat. I am aware that I need something like that, but responsibility kicked in. I turned them down, because I have a huge paper due Monday, two exams next week, an appointment Friday morning, and a meeting for work Friday afternoon.

That being said, my friend who invited me said I could change my mind if I wanted, and that I wouldn't have to cancel my appointment tomorrow morning, because they are not leaving until 11. I decided to get the guts to ask my boss if I could miss the meeting. I don't know why I was so nervous. She's incredibly nice. She didn't directly answer my question, but was asking me about all the fun things we would do up there. Then I asked, "Is it okay, then?" She said no. Then she explained that she can't tell me that it's okay to miss these meetings, because I'm new, and it's not. She said it was forgivable, though, and that it sounded like a lot of fun, so I should go.

I can't believe how excited I got. I think I realized that I couldn't need to get away more than I do now, and that I'd probably benefit more from going away one weekend, then working my ass off next week to recover. I don't even know how much I would get done if I stayed and moped around up here about how much I had to do. I would just be feeling guilty about my lack of ability to get anything done.

Therefore, I'm going camping, and I can't wait! :)

Dreaming Big

I just heard a Feminist Islam scholar speak. I am really tired, so I don't know that I got as much out of it as I should have, but I really enjoyed it. It gave me a burst of creative energy that will motivate me to work more on my poems that I'm submitting to a local lit. journal tomorrow. I don't think they will be done in time, but I have nothing to lose. I feel obliged to submit something, because you just never know when someone will like a poem. 

My poetry is really evolving in the past week or two. I'm trying new styles (I can't wait to post one or two when I get around to fixing them more). The latest poem I did when my class took a field trip to the art museum. We had to write a poem about a painting of our choice. The one I chose featured distorted bodies dancing in a city street to the drum beats played by a poetic/jazzy looking drummer. I used a lot of onomatopoeia to mimic drum sounds, which made the rest of the poem so much more rhythmic and fun to read aloud. The idea of performing one of my poems terrifies me, but with something like this I wouldn't want people to read it on paper. I would almost consider performing this one. Right now my favorite couple of lines is something along the lines of, "Ba da ba tic tic ta./ My heart skips a beat. I'm dancing bare feet in the street./" I don't know what else I'm going to do, or if that will even stay in the poem, but I like the rhythm.

I am sad that I have not worked on my project in three or four weeks. It makes me feel like it won't happen. I got an e-mail from a friend I lost contact with two days ago. He asked how the project was going. It's really nice of people to ask about it, because it makes me feel motivated to work on it, and like it's a worthwhile project.

Scheduling is also coming up. I always go most insane during scheduling time. It's so demanding, important, and it doesn't even have anything to do with my current classes. I have my first audit in a week or two. Hopefully, I'm on the right track to be done in four years. I'm already trying to think about my masters. My poetry prof. seems to think it would be good for me to stay here just for my MA so that I'm ready to jump right into an MFA or a PhD, and don't have to waste my time with "life experience" (he made fun of the fact that he was a gym teacher) when I already know I want to learn how to teach college courses and study writing. If I could teach classes here and have my education paid for, he said that would be a good way to kill/grow for two years before entering such an intense degree program.

I need to go start scheduling, e-mail strangers about my project, finish some poems I want to submit tomorrow, and start a 10 page Jesus paper that is due next week. I won't due all of that tonight, though. Dream big, right?

Little Glass Bluebird (The Final)

I believe this is the final.

Little Glass Blue Bird

I run my thumb
over scars from a crooked
price tag and fingerprint bruises
across your breast,
remembering when I burnt
my feet on the pavement,
dropped the newspaper,
and ripped open
your yellow envelope.

Sliding into my hand,
riding a cardboard tag
stamped with “The Bluebird:
A Gift for Happiness,”
wrapped in a letter from a friend
scribbled with smiling
stick figures, trees,
and the sun in black
pen at the bottom.
It read, “I bought this
seven years ago.
Crazy how time flies,”
and “Remember that first night
we talked until breakfast,
laughing when the birds sang?”
Didn’t mention
how she was doing or explain
why she sent you.

I called, rambled a two-minute
thank you message.
Didn’t mention
how I was doing or explain
what you meant— -
because I know
she knows we’re too fragile to carry
happiness alone,
yet you’d make me believe
I could support its weight,
knowing in the end
happiness might break us.

Memoir

This is a poem I have chosen as one that inspires me to look up a book from the poet. The next step for my class will be to look up the poet. I wanted to post this, and soak in the poem before I get to know the poet.

Memoir: by Vijay Seshadri

Orwell says somewhere that no one ever writes the real story of their life.

The real story of a life is the story of its humiliations.

If I wrote that story now--

radioactive to the end of time--

people, I swear, your eyes would fall out, you couldn't peel

the gloves fast enough

from your hands scorched by the firestorms of that shame.

Your poor hands. Your poor eyes

to see me weeping in my room

or boring the tall blonde to death.

Once I accused the innocent.

Once I bowed and prayed to the guilty.

I still wince at what I once said to the devastated widow.

And one October afternoon, under a locust tree

whose blackened pods were falling and making

illuminating patterns on the pathway,

I was seized by joy,

and someone saw me there,

and that was the worst of all,

lacerating and unforgettable.

* From the New Yorker

Salman Rushdie

I just had the privilege of hearing Salman Rushdie, controversial writer of "The Satanic Verses," speak. I never felt so excited to be a writer. He was what I needed to get the energy to start writing again. Too bad I have to spend tonight writing a 4 page paper that's due tomorrow morning... If only creative energy was something you could save and ration.

Surviving

Looking at my schedule for the next two weeks terrifies me. However, once I survive those two weeks, the rest of the semester should be doable.

I have something to look forward to for every weekend until the second week in November. That should help me get through the craziness of these next few weeks. Christmas break never sounded so appealing.

I Wrote this Last Night

I just took two Nyquil. So I’ll sit with all of this pressure in my head until peace rescues me for the evening. My body has gotten the best of my mind and spirit the past week. I’m never very tough about getting sick. I don’t see the point. Why use energy I don’t have to pretend that I feel okay and trick everyone into believing they shouldn’t worry about getting sick? I’d rather sulk and stay in bed all day. Unfortunately, my schedule does not allow that. I skipped two classes this week, staggering them so that I would gain the most from resting during that time, but not missing anything substantial. I was really tempted to call into work sick and skip my Spanish quiz. Luckily, some cold medicine was able to give me the pick-me-up I needed.

I’m determined to dig deeper with this entry. I’ve been so busy that I crank out shallow, meaningless blogs that aren’t even worth reading. I want truth. List format might be all I can handle right now.

1) Being sick messed with my mental health. I was trying to keep close tabs on how I was doing, but now I have no clue.

2) I’m frustrated with how my poetry is turning out for class. I know I’m a better poet than I’m showing in these poems. I have a final midterm portfolio due soon. I’d like to spend this weekend attacking and tearing apart these poems.

3) I am still unsure of myself at work. It seems to be getting better. I do like my job; I just don’t feel the best about myself when I’m doing it. I think I’m too self-critical, because the people I work with regularly seem to like me.

4) I need more time to write. I’m burnt out from school already, which is taking away any creative energy I have left. It’s also having a negative effect on my mental health. I need to find a muse.

I guess that’s all the truth I can spill out. I need to pass out in bed. I am in pain. Being sick sucks. Having a blog to complain about it on: Priceless.