Crisp Night Breezes

I think I'm sick. Exams seem to do that to me. I get to sleep in tomorrow, though. I'm looking forward to it a great deal. It's weird for me to think that I will be sleeping in as much as I want in a week. I can't believe summer is already here. Today I thought back to a summer memory of making breakfast with my writer's group early one Saturday morning and walking to the farmer's market. I thought, "wow, I am looking forward to doing that again this summer." Then I realized, my summer begins this weekend, and it will not be long before the farmer's market opens. This memory seems so recent, but it was almost a year ago. Time is so strange.

I've been reflecting on the process of getting to know someone lately.  I don't like putting effort into being social and getting to know people, which is a shame, because I love when I do get to know people.  It never fails to amaze me all of the baggage people have. I've reflected on this a lot in the past year or two, because as I mature, people reveal more with me. For example, older friends, parents, or former teachers are more honest with me. I'm most amazed to learn about people's lives who I have seen every day for a while and, sort of, taken for granted--because I am wrapped up in my own life--so I don't think much about theirs. A huge example of this is teachers or professors. They put up this professional front and it's easy for me to forget that they have histories, which involve tragedies I can't even imagine. It's so cool to be reminded of everyone's humanity. It reminds me why life is beautiful. It's easy to forget and get caught up in the struggles, but really, we are all connected. We have unique experiences, but feel the same human emotions. Why are we not more compassionate toward one another?

I say "so" a lot. I don't realize it until it shows up in my writing. I begin writing conversationally and one time lisa noticed that I used the words "so" and "beautiful" like ten times throughout one essay (it was a first draft, of course). She likes to make fun of me, and describe everything as being "so beautiful."  I had the thought to go back, and delete some of them above, but the whole purpose of a blog is to be conversational, right? I guess, Adam does more academic and topic specific posts, and Jordan does songs, but mine is just rambling. I always thought rambling was bad, but my writing professor recently told me I need to ramble a little more in my essays. That's what non-fiction is about--connecting ideas that aren't necessarily blatantly connected in real life, finding deeper meaning in everyday situations. 

I went to coffee with a friend from my writing class, and we ended up hanging out for four hours. How does that happen? He's into sci-fi, so I usually can't connect with sci-fi writers, but he is just as passionate about writing as I am, and he isn't socially awkward like the stereotypical sci-fi writer--so it's cool to have someone to talk about writing with. For example, only with a writer can I look up at the dark sky and say, "I like crisp night breezes," and not be laughed at for randomness.

I feel like I had something insightful to blog about. I was inspired after my four hour conversation, but I'm so tired (there's "so" again) that I can't follow my train of thought. At least, I'm blogging again. It's nice. I feel like it helps center me a bit, because it forces me to do free-writes. I just sit down and type what comes to mind. I'm supposed to do this kind of thing everyday as a warm-up for writing, but I don't have the time. This summer, I will both blog and write more regularly. I'm not just saying that either. Last summer I wrote a ton...enough to keep me ahead in my writing class all semester. I will do that again... This got long for a ramble. Oh-and I intend to post more cool quotes as the summer gets here. I need to go back over a lot of my favorite books and underline my favorite things for writing models. I'm sure I'll find good quotes in the process--those writers are insightful folk.

Isolation?

"Life is like a recycling center, where all the concerns and dramas of humankind get recycled back and forth across the universe."

-Anne Lamott (from Bird by Bird)

So Close...

Less than one week until I am DONE. I can't wait. I can't even fully comprehend this. Life just blurs together, and eventually the stress is over. There's always a new stress, though. It forces me to really appreciate the brief seconds in between stresses. I'm looking forward to having time to sleep, run, and write every day. That's what I love about the beginning of summer--everything seems so free. It isn't long before I get used to it, though, and the days slip away just as fast and I am not even doing half of what I used to. I guess, it's important to have a little time to not be too hard on myself. It's not really the kind of thing that turns on and off at my command.

I stayed up all night for the first time in a long time. I lost track of time talking to a friend. I am exhausted, but I don't really mind. I was just talking with my roommate about how after I recover from the stress and sleeplessness of exams, I realize that I did have some fun in between the chaos, and I forget the emotional exhaustion. My retrospective view is like, "oh wow, that was so fun when I stayed up all night talking to a friend, or when I worked an event for WPI until 2am." Even though, directly afterward, I only notice how tired I am. In the long run, I'm always glad I do stuff like that.

I left my phone at my friend's house. It's strange, because at times I think about wanting to call people, but others it is nice to be out of reach from the world. I think I might go to bed early, because I have not done half of the studying that I should have thus far. Tomorrow will be an intense study day. I have a picnic for the former WPI president to attend. I hope the weather holds out. It says it's supposed to rain.

I found out today that my essay about confessional memoirs is going to be published in the literary journal run by grad students here at school. I looked through the last issue, and there was only one undergrad student in there, and there were writers from all over the country. I'm really honored and excited that mine was selected. It's my first official publication that I will be able to list when I try to get other things published. It's so exciting.

I don't know what my point of this entry was. I meant to be contemplative, but I'm so tired that I'm having trouble. I thought it would be good to update, because Adam was just saying how he doesn't like when people don't update their blog, and my friend and I were talking about blogging last night/ this morning. I know I will do better in the summer. One more week and I'll be there!

I'm Alive

Well, I didn't fall off the face of the Earth, but I might as well have been on another planet with as disconnected as I became from everyone. I was overloaded with school--more than normal, possibly more than ever. I'm so worn out, burnt out, and drained. I've cranked out so many term papers, short essays, portfolios, presentations, and speeches in the past three weeks that I feel like I earned my summer in that short time. However, when summer gets here, I always feel a sense of guilt for not doing anything. Probably because people who are working get jealous and make snotty comments about me trying to relax and center a bit before I have to start work. I love that I have a month off before work starts.

I feel like I should think out these entries more. They don't showcase my much improved creative writing skills at all. I just put creative energy into other things, and treat this as a debriefing type of thing.

I was feeling really good about my writing lately. I had a good conference with my writing professor; I successfully applied some of her ideas for techniques and was really pleased with the results. I started thinking about her memoir coming out and all of her cool connections (her old advisor was former poet Laureate, Ted Kooser.) I was certain that with her help, I could definitely get into grad school, and develop all of these cool connections. Today, she told me she is leaving. There will be no non-fiction specialist here at school next year. I was devastated. She gave me some great connections for next year, though, and gave me her e-mail address to stay in touch. I had the same thing happen with my English professor last year. I still keep in contact with her, too.

I'm sure everything will work itself out. For some reason, I felt both a lot of empathy and empowerment when she told me she was leaving to be able to write more, and be in an environment more creatively inspiring for an essayist; and she doesn't know where she is going yet. Leaving like that is such a bold decision. It's empowering to think one can do that, but it has to be scary as hell. It sucks, because I felt like she really understood my writing style and the direction I wanted to go. Now, I worry about how other professors will respond to my writing. I've had very good English professors here, though, so I'm sure it will be fine. It just made me think, "Oh my god, this is the lifestyle I'm choosing." It's so risky and unconventional. Most people don't get it or support it. I think that's why I felt empathy about her decision, not because I can relate to making such a bold decision, but because I can understood being misunderstood, and creatively stunted by that. To make matters worse, it's not just the isolation that comes along with being a writer that essayists deal with, but it's isolation from inside the writing community. Everyone is into poetry or fiction. Writers don't really get creative non-fiction. There's a big demand for it in the bookstores, though. People like reality wrapped up and served pretty. That's what I love about non-fiction, even if it's about something really depressing, there is always something beautiful in it. People need someone to help them see beauty in real life situations. Writers are great at that.

I got a job at our writing center on campus. I wanted to get a job there since I realized it was even a possibility. I was going to say since the first time i went there, but the first time I went there, I didn't know I could excel at English on a collegiate level, so I didn't even dream about it. I don't know when I actually thought, "hey, maybe I could do that," but I know it's something I've really wanted for a while. It's exciting to achieve goals. I should establish some good writing connections there.

I'm exhausted, and even though I don't technically have class in the morning, there is a review session for my Shakespeare class. It's at the same time as class would be, so I, basically, have class at 9:30 in the morning. It's not mandatory, but that class never was. Just another day of getting up to listen about Shakespeare.

Spring Break Wisdom (Or Lack There Of)

I am back from a week of traveling 1700 miles all over the South West. I saw so many things in one week that it was almost too much to take in. I'm far too exhausted to be too contemplative in my reflections on the week, but it had been far too long since I blogged. I am including a few pictures.

It was an interesting week, in the sense that I didn't have any friends on the trip, know any of the professors, or know anything about Geology. It turned out surprisingly well. I signed up for the trip to be inspired creatively by beautiful scenery, and I was. I haven't had time to actually attempt writing anything worthwhile, but I jotted ideas down in a notebook all week and have generated some good ideas. Hopefully between that and the three hundred pictures I will be able to recreate specific moods and mild epiphanies. I think the biggest epiphany was that I didn't have a dramatic sense of enlightenment. I guess, that's what growing up does--complicates things. There's no right or wrong answer that illuminates itself nicely. I think the fact that I felt okay with that all trip is a type of acquired wisdom.

Being surrounded by these mountains that are hundreds of millions of years old blows my mind. I can't even comprehend that much time. It makes me feel so trivial and in awe of the Earth's beauty and power. I feel like it could eat me up in a second. I saw volcanos, mountain peaks that were a couple miles tall and covered in snow and pine trees, Arizona red desert rocks, all sorts of crevices and cracks in the Earth, and was able to be humbled by its beauty all week. I needed something like that. Then there was the contrast to all of this with our time spent in Las Vegas. Las Vegas is the craziest experience. All of the flashing lights and crazies roaming creates a type of unnatural high. I feel like it reflects our culture too honestly--Nothing is in moderation, sex is everywhere, then there's the wasting countless amounts of light and energy without hesitation, and yet still some form of beauty emerges. The beauty doesn't make it right, but it reminds me that no matter how severely we are messing up that we can and need to find beauty somehow.

I made a few new friends, which I certainly can use up here. I'm so busy that I don't feel lonely, but after I go home and have too many friends to try to see and fit in, and then have nights like my birthday here, which consisted of celebrating with a very small group, the contrast makes me miss having a lot of friends available at all times. I have a lot of acquaintances here and I love my classes and clubs so it keeps me going without much thought about in depth friendships or a lack there of. I usually have a party or some type of way to be social, so it's okay. I am thankful to have a few more people I can have decent conversation with after this trip, though.

Overall, I learned some interesting things, got to know some fun people, went to a bunch of new places, and was able to experience some warm weather and creative inspiration. If only I didn't have so much homework tomorrow, then I would be ready for the week on Monday. Unfortunately, I think that I won't be. It will be an exhausting week, but I am really looking forward to going home Thursday night and seeing the family and a few friends.

I just woke up from a 2.5 hour nap. I can't believe I slept that long, but I was so worn out. I feel groggy, but still good from resting up. I had another crazy week that flew by before I could blog about it. My Wednesday and Thursday were the most challenging, but it was such a relief when they were over. Wednesday I had to give the second out of my three big speeches for my speech class. It is comforting to know I only have to give one more. Unfortunately, I thought I would feel so much relief when it was over, but as soon as I sat back down in my chair when I finished, I felt anxious again, only, about the Shakespeare exam, Geology quiz, and essay I had the next day. It was like I didn't have time to stress about them until I got my speech out of the way. I returned from speech class at quarter to five where I had to eat a fast dinner and take off for my World Peace Initiative meeting at 515. I still had not received my Nikki Giovanni poetry book in the mail, and I was going straight to the auditorium to see her after WPI, because it is located near where WPI meets and I wanted to get there an hour early to get a good seat. I checked the mail at 5:15 and it was not in yet, so I disappointedly went to the meeting.

When I was in line to get a seat, I called my roommate, Gabby, who informed me I had a package in the mail. I was so disappointed, but I figured, "She's so big that she probably won't even sign books anyway." Before she came out they announced that she would sign books afterward. My heart dropped. Her speech was amazing. She is this tiny 64-year-old woman who is incredibly sassy. My professor referred to her as a little fire ball. Hearing her read her poetry was incredible."It's always ten times better to hear the poet read their poems in person that to read them yourself," that was my quote in the NewsPaper about the last poet who came to Central. It is true though. Nikkie Giovanni's poetry flows so smoothly and the way she uses sounds is wonderful. It is so smooth, it is almost like she is rapping. During question and answer time I left my backpack with Beth and sprinted back to my dorm. I made it to my dorm, where I signed for my package, and back to the auditorium in less than twenty minutes...and it's normally a 15 minute walk one way. I didn't even open the package. I came sprinting into the auditorium with the package in hand. She was just finishing answering questions so I slowly opened the package trying not to be noisy, but I was able to get in line by my writing professor and I got the book signed. It's exciting to have such a well-known poet sign my book and put my name in it. She has won countless awards and known so many incredible people. She was friends with Rosa Parks for 20 years and wrote a book about her/with her. She talked about Gwendelyn Brooks, and all of these other literary or civil rights people. I had to stay up that night studying for Shakespeare. My lungs still burned from running in the cold, and my ankles and back are still sore today. I was wearing these huge Sketcher shoes and khakis when I made the long dramatic run, because I had not had time to change out of my nice clothes from speech. It makes for a funny story--sprinting across campus on a cold night with a package in my hand all to get a book signed. It was totally worth it though. It was such an honor to meet her. She is probably one of the most influential living poets.

Thursday my Shakespeare exam went better than I expected, which is good, because I have been doing poorly on the quizzes in there. The quizzes are all multiple choice, and the exam was a lot of short answer and it had a 45 pt. essay question. I hope I did decent to help bring my grade up a bit. I was able to get my essay done in time for my 12:30 class, but I did fail my Geology quiz so that was disappointing. From there I had to go get my speech and hearing tested at the Health professions building for my speech class. The line to get in took forever. I then had my meeting for the Geology club, dinner, and a study session for speech. It made for a long day that was such a relief to be done with. I was worn out from the week, but I stayed up until three talking to my friend Dashon on the phone. He is such a great guy, but is having a tough time again, which breaks my heart because he doesn't deserve it. I then woke up early to get my writing around for my one on one conference I had this morning with my writing professor. It went so well. It was exactly what I needed to pick my spirits up and give me energy to write more. She was pretty tough on my last essay I turned in. She said she didn't want me to be upset, but that she did it because she thought I could handle it and that it's a good essay so she wants to push me. I'm glad she thinks I can handle it, because that takes practice and is a skill I attribute to writers group. I hadn't been upset about it at all. There is always that initial reaction when I get a lot of feedback where I feel crappy, and think, "man, there's so much work to do. Is it even worth fixing up?" but then I reflect and realize the reader is right. She saw so many things in the essay I hadn't even noticed and gave me some great ideas for expansion and implying metaphorical meaning. It is so nice that she requires us all to have this one personal conference with her, because that takes up a lot of her time. I was there for forty minutes and the whole time it was just talking about MY writing. How cool is that? I got to have a professional writer sit down for forty minutes with me and just go over a bunch of my writing. I feel pretty lucky to have such successful, yet accessible professors. I showed her this poem I had written playing around with these tetrameters we learned about in class, which is when each line is four syllables. I had thought about scrapping it, but she was really supportive and gave me some great ideas to save it. I also showed her this poem I found from last year that is a concrete one. I asked her if it was something I could save for my portfolio, and she looked at it and liked it. She said she has only liked one concrete poem ever, so that it was a huge compliment that she liked mine.

The sun was shining brightly when I left the conference so I felt like I could write anything. It is so rare that I get those bursts of confidence about writing, so I really appreciated feeling so good about my writing. Anne Lamott writes about how writing makes us all jealous and I go as far to say as it makes me regress to middle school where all of the self-consciousness and jealousy that I have grown better at dealing with as I age, returns. It is nice to have moments where I feel like all of the hard work and time I feel I "waste" on writing is worth it. Self-confidence is good.

Tomorrow I am going to lunch with my soccer coach from high school and family friends who will be in town for a coaches conference. I have an intense weekend of studying and homework in front of me, so I am looking forward to having some time to relax with some people from my past. Sometimes it feels like I have two different lives so when people from my home-life visit here it is always a nice blend of the two. Tonight I am going to a improv comedy musical with Beth and possibly my roommate Gabby. I hope to wake up early to work out tomorrow and do some homework. Next week is going to be another intense one, but next Saturday I leave for out West! I am looking forward to a week of hiking and beautiful scenery. A birthday will be nice too :)

The Morning After St. Patrick's Day

in bed
head
spinnin'
stomach
turnin'

grab phone
dial dad
gotta pay 

for drugs 

again

Nikki Giovanni

I was incredibly excited to learn that Nikki Giovanni, the poet, will be here on Wednesday. We just read a poem of hers in class, and my professor said, "She's really good. I've heard her read several times." She also explained that she was the writing professor of the boy who did the shootings at Virginia Tech. I guess, she was on TV a lot for that. She was a big Civil Rights poet and has tremendous respect in the writing community. I couldn't figure out where I had heard of her, and today I figured out it was in a Kanye West song. I'm listening to it right now. It's the song about his Mom called, "Hey Mama." He says, "You're like a book of poetry/ Mya Angelou/Nikki Giovanni/turn the one page and there's my Mommy." I hadn't listened to the song in a long time, and out of nowhere it hit me that was the reason I knew her name. I just ordered a small book of her recent poems on-line. I heard her old poems from the 60's are pretty racy. I thought about getting those, but just in case she is willing to sign books I wanted to have the latest one. Not to mention, there is a lot more references that I know. I hope it comes before Wednesday. I would have got the two-day shipping, but it cost twice as much as the actual book, so I just got the regular and decided to cross my fingers. It's going to be a big crowd, because she appeals to so many different people. I don't even know if she will sign books, but I want to have one just in case. I am copying a few of her poems to give you an idea of her style. The first one is the one we looked at in class:

Legacies

her grandmother called her from the playground
"yes, ma'am"
"i want chu to learn how to make rolls" said the old
woman proudly
but the little girl didn't want
to learn how because she knew
even if she couldn't say it that
that would mean when the old one died she would be less
dependent on her spirit so
she said
"i don't want to know how to make no rolls"
with her lips poked out
and the old woman wiped her hands on
her apron saying "lord
these children"
and neither of them ever
said what they meant
and i guess nobody ever does

************************************

I Wrote A Good Omelet



I wrote a good omelet...and ate a hot poem...
after loving you

Buttoned my car...and drove my coat home...in the
rain...
after loving you

I goed on red...and stopped on green....floating
somewhere in between...
being here and being there...
after loving you

I rolled my bed...turned down my hair...slightly
confused but...I don't care...
Laid out my teeth...and gargled my gown...then I stood
...and laid me down...
to sleep...
after loving you
*****************************************

Alone


i can be
alone by myself
i was
lonely alone
now i'm lonely
with you
something is wrong
there are flies
everywhere
i go
*********************************
For Saundra


i wanted to write
a poem
that rhymes
but revolution doesn't lend
itself to be-bopping

then my neighbor
who thinks i hate
asked – do you ever write
tree poems – i like trees
so i thought
i'll write a beautiful green tree poem
peeked from my window
to check the image
noticed that the school yard was covered
with asphalt
no green – no trees grow
in manhattan

then, well, i thought the sky
i'll do a big blue sky poem
but all the clouds have winged
low since no-Dick was elected

so i thought again
and it occurred to me
maybe i shouldn't write
at all
but clean my gun
and check my kerosene supply

perhaps these are not poetic
times
at all

The Bathroom Sink

The bathroom sink
reawakens
tired blood shot eyes
and
drinks spat toothpaste.
It burns hands that
act for absent
minds.

The white porcelain’s
tinged with filth from
the past; it shines
when
toxins wash the
scum down the drain,
but by morning
the
goodness is gone
and all that’s left
is the struggle

to shine again

Smart About Ignorance

The last two nights I have gone to informational discussions. Last night was a panel discussion about the Michigan economy. I knew two of the panelist. One was my former Sociology professor and the other one was an undergrad. who served in Iraq and is now a Political Science major. He went to Boston in the group I went with. He was socially crazy, but is very smart and a good person. Tonight I went to hear a Political Science professor speak about the post-election violence/genocide going on in Kenya. Another one of the guys from the Boston trip is actually from Kenya and he was in charge of getting this set up. I had heard good things about the professor, so I went even though I knew nothing about it except that people were dying in Kenya.

The Kenya one did not have a good turnout, because they did not advertise in time. Out of the few people there, I was one of two white people and the other one had lived in Africa. I think all of the others were from Africa, because all of the ones I heard talk had accents. I was clearly the most ignorant one in the room, but I think they were glad that I took an interest. A guy held the door for me, and then we realized we were going to the same place so after he introduced himself he asked me why I was there. I said, "I'm a friend of Daniel's, and I wanted to learn about this." He was like, "Oh so you just came to support Daniel?" When I answered "No, actually I came mostly to learn about this because I know NOTHING about it." He seemed surprise. He was like, "REALLY, Aimee?" He smiled when I said that I felt entirely ignorant about it and thought it was important to learn about. It made me realize how no one seems to take much notice of Africa. He seemed so surprised that I even cared. We look at it as one hopeless continent, when there are respectable places. The worst about Kenya's recent troubles is that they were supposed to "have their act together," but the professors said that was what the West wanted us to think, but if you looked closely corruption has been going on and we are just as involved.

I enjoy these type of things on campus. We have them pretty regularly. People complain, because we don't have big celebrities here often, but we have very smart and successful people speak here pretty regularly. Some of them teach here. I can't say that I walk away from some of them feeling like I could even participate in an argument about the issues, because often the things are over my head, but someone once told me how great it is to surround yourself with things over your head, because you pick it up quickly. I can at least say that I am not clueless about the issues and would get more out of such a discussion next time. I feel like there's all of these "free classes" that are these cool seminars and speakers. I don't know why more people don't go.

I love college, because as exhausting as it is I feel like I learn more and more by the week. I am learning so much about myself through my death and dying class. It is incredibly fascinating what a big part of life that death is and how we try to repress it all. My writing class is still so wonderful. We wrote three poems in class the other day. I don't know if you have tried to write three poems using difference techniques in a short time, but it's intense. I love it though. As dorky as it is, the class feels like a party. We are all so weird and nerdy and love to play with language and articulate things in weird unique ways. I was feeling inferior and bogged down, but I went to talk to my professor about my project. I had some things highlighted on a REALLY rough draft to ask her about. She offered to look over the whole thing. She was really supportive. She even seemed impressed/surprised at a few places. That made me feel better about everything, but I still feel inferior when we do all of these in-class/on the spot writing assignments and have to share stuff. Mine is always so bad, and I feel like everyone else is better. I guess, I'm used to that, though. I've never been a naturally gifted writer. In Independent study with two other girls, I would say I was the least naturally gifted. I had more passion though. Last I knew one stopped writing, and the other one was taking a break. I think I may have gotten better than them now. I suppose my writing class will require me to put more effort into it than other people, but when I do, I think I could stand out.

On a negative note, I think I failed my Shakespeare quiz this morning. That class is driving me mad. The professor is nice, but I just can't stand the reading and the specific questions on the quizzes. It makes me feel like I catch on so slow. I often feel like I catch on slow, but when I do catch on I'm golden. I remember in the past (especially Elementary and Middle school) people called me smart. I actually do not think I am that smart. I had a professor tell me I was intelligent last semester and I was surprised to hear it. He said I shouldn't believe him that I should prove it to myself with all of my work. I really am trying to do that. My Death and Dying teacher is incredibly smart. She does not give any exams or quizzes, yet her class is challenging me the most with reflections and discussion, because we really have to grasp the concepts. She checks our notes from reading as a part of our homework. She has us do the method of reading where you underline the subject in EVERY paragraph and then write a summary in the margin. It takes twice as long to read, but she said that it will make you seem so much smarter than everyone else. She told us we can learn to be smart. Some people think it's some natural gift, but it doesn't have to be. I catch on slow, but I'm determined. That is giving me more confidence to in my intelligence, and that is what college is about--finding confidence in our own intelligence. I still have a long way to go. I don't know where I got such an, "Inferiority Complex" as ms. eddy used to call it, but I am learning a lot and I can feel it. I hope that my confidence will continue to grow.

Tomorrow night is one of my friends 21st birthday. I haven't had an actual party to go to in a long time. I am looking forward to going out. Then it will be homework the rest of the weekend. Yay.

I am not my writing. My writing is not me.

I have become terrible at blogging. I think it's because I write all of the time now. Almost any free time is spent writing, but it's all brainstorming and writing practice...none of which makes good blog entries. I'm reading all kind of instructional writing books and it's driving me mad. It seems impossible to be unique, because it's all been done. There's so many writers in the world it's hard to feel like I have anything important to say, but I'm still finding my voice like many beginning to intermediate writers. I would say I'm now an intermediate level writer, but it depends who is judging. I am in an intro writing class, so I guess I could be a beginner still. I like to think the whole intro writing class is intermediate, because to be in the class requires experience. It makes me paranoid, because I want to stand out, but I don't know how. I guess, I should mind my own and just write what I want. It will be my first time having critics who are not emotionally involved with me. Everyone in my writers group cares about each other as people, so even though they are tough on my work I never feel offended. I worry since these people don't know me, that their criticism will be harder to take. Lisa kept reminding me, "I am not my writing. My writing is not me." I told her that should be my mantra and I should hang it up on my ceiling so I have to see it everyday, because I get emotionally involved in it all and forget that.

I saw Kerri and Grant from Mythbusters speak here last night. They were very funny to listen to and they have such interesting jobs. They just travel the country doing crazy science experiments and they aren't even scientists. I love that show, and a lot of people must, because it was sold out.

I feel so emotionally uninvolved in these blog entries. I will continue to write them, because I think it is good for me to get out of the creative mindset to write and reflect a moment without worrying about technique or word choice so much. That kind of thing is enough to drive a person mad--all the counting syllables, transitions, and attention to word choice.

I am going on Spring Break with the Geology club. We will fly into Las Vegas and take a tour of the Southwest including Southern California and the Grand Canyon. I will get to really make good use of my new hiking boots, meet new people, see beautiful scenery--the kind that is so beautiful it makes life seem perfect for a moment. I am also hoping to do a lot of writing: mostly journaling and field notes that I will be able to use in material later.

The snow has been really pretty here. I didn't have morning classes Tuesday due to a snow storm. It's powdery snow that looks like glitter when it falls, and the ground sparkles in the light. It does get old though. It leaves me extra excited for Spring Break. I am off to write. I will try to do better at blogging. I'm so busy during the week, and then burnt out by the time Thursday night comes around. My weekends are refreshing though. I could get used to these three day ones.

Confessional Memoirs

I came home for the weekend to attend a Pistons game with the family. The game was amazing. It was so exciting to see some of the phenomenal athletes I knew from TV. I knew a lot more players than I thought I would, because a lot of the same players are around from when I used to watch them a few years ago.

I did not tell many people I am home, which is hard to do, because I want to see everyone that I love, but it has been nice to experience peace at home. Thursday night I watched movies by myself and Friday I was able to rollerblade for nearly an hour. I have been reading David Sedaris and Anne Lamott all day to look for excerpts to analyze for my writing class. I have to give a ten minute presentation in a couple of weeks on "Confessional memoirs," which is right up my alley. Half of my books are all confessional memoirs. It has been fun going through and selecting some of the funniest or most striking quotes. I need to be sure to write in a little bit. I like having it be a part of my homework to write, but as exciting as it is, it is still tough. It is hard to feel creative all of the time. I am thoroughly enjoying Lamott's "Bird by Bird." She captures the life of a writer so well. I love that she has managed to provide a real image of the writing process. There's so many stereotypes about writers, some of them are true, but it's probably one of the most overrated and underrated processes there are. I feel like beginning writers, like myself fantasize about the life of a writer. I think great writers are great people, which is not always the case. At the same time, people who do not know anything about writing do not think enough about what is involved in the writing process. In class we learned the hardest battle as a writer is balancing the art of inspiration with the technical aspect. Anne Lamott says, "Being a writer guarantees you will spend too much time alone-" I love when professional, talented writers talk about being writers. That is why I have enjoyed hearing my professor talk about all of the published authors she knows when we talk about individual skills or techniques. She always seems to have a story about what we are talking about. She's always like, "For example, I have one friend who has published several works of fiction, yet she still does this or that..." It's really fascinating.

Tomorrow I am going to be able to meet up with the S. Dakota people. It just worked out perfectly that they are getting together for pizza tomorrow, and I happen to be in town. I'm looking forward to being together with everyone again. I am so busy these days that I feel like I have nothing to blog about, except school and being busy. It's kind of boring, so I think I will try to do some real writing.

The F Word

Feminist is one of the F words that causes disgusted reactions. Feminism has always seemed like common sense to me, but I am learning that is only because of the role-models I had who explained it to me. I first learned about feminism from the star of Ally McBeal, because someone was asking her about how she was reacting to the "controversy" of her being a feminist. She explained that feminism is simply the struggle for equality between the sexes. Feminists can't even all agree on what's okay and what's not, but that happens with any movement. A movement consists of many people uniting for one cause, despite having many other differences.

I had a professor last year say that she was frustrated with the way "our" (not her) generation cowers away from the word feminist and that us women don't fight for our rights. I was upset, because I disagreed with her. I am a feminist and I think it's empowering. I was then shocked when the subject came up with my friends from high school. No one liked the word feminist. Most of them either didn't care, or had some crazy idea of what it means to be a feminist. One of my friends from an elite University said, "Well, I believe in equal rights for women, but I don't flaunt it around all of the time." I understand why people are afraid to claim feminism, because society will label you as, "bitter," "prudish," or "butch." The only feminist people seem to think about are the bra-burners from back in the day. Feminism has evolved along with society. There is feminist theology, literary criticism, and magazines. My literature instructor last semester was a young to middle-aged guy from England. He had to introduce us to Feminist Criticism in literature for a play we were reading. Some of the guys said they had a hard time analyzing the text from a feminist perspective, and he lectured on the importance of feminism. He said, "People are so turned off to the words feminism, because they have some crazy image in their head, but if you replace feminism with equal rights, then a lot more people will join you...even though feminism is about equal rights."

People tell me that feminism is a bunch of radicals, because things aren't that bad. Women still make seventy cents to every dollar a man makes and there are social norms burned in all of our brains that keep the vicious cycle going. Women keep the cycle going. We enforce the unrealistic social rules. I can think of plenty of things my friends have said that are so degrading to women. I try to understand that it's burned in their brains. It's in mine too. It's a struggle to overcome it but we must. This article about Hillary Clinton really struck me:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/erica-jong/tears-fears_b_80679.html

Hillary Clinton has her problems. Im not saying she needs to be president, but I do think that the hate she is receiving would not be nearly as severe if she was a man. I think this article raises some good points.

Baby, When the Lights Go Out

I did not have classes today, because the whole campus was still out of power from the storm we had last night. I was surprised that the storm caused a tornado warning in the middle of January. Toward the end of the storm lightning hit somewhere and put the whole campus out. It was such a strange day today, because it was hard to enjoy the day off of classes. It was raining outside. There was no computer, TV, or lights. It was so gray out that it was hard to read comfortably. I had to sit on the floor right by the window to see the words. Our cafeteria was closed. It did open for a simple lunch in the dark. It was frustrating to not be able to read or write, but the time went pretty fast and it was nice to have an excuse to lie in bed all day. I have major sinus problems going on, and I think some sleep was helpful. I did do a little reading for some classes. It will be strange to attend classes for a second time tomorrow, which involves homework, when I haven't even attended my Tuesday/Thursday classes once to receive a syllabus--WEIRD.

I wanted to blog last night before the storm, but I can't remember why. Classes went really well. My yoga class seems like it could really help me feel healthier all-around. Just from one class, I realized how tense I am all of the time. I don't seem to know the meaning of relax. My instructor is great. He is such a stereotypical yoga instructor--the kind that would be in a Will Ferrell movie. He has a gentle voice and is very flexible. His hair is long and he has a beard. In his peaceful voice he said, "You guys should do the reading for this class, but if you're not going to do the reading, will you please, look at the pictures?" I will receive my own yoga mat and blanket on Monday. I'm kind of excited.

I am most excited about my writing class. It makes me nervous how excited I am, because I don't want to be let down. My professor seems great. She is my advisor for my major so she knew who I was coming in to class, which was nice. It's a small class. Not more than thirty. I hope that means I get a lot of help and can excel. When she walked in the room, before she introduced herself she wrote a quick assignment on the board. We had to write a half page about ourselves and our goals for writing in a short time. I of course, over-thought everything. I kept thinking, "Natalie Goldberg says never let the pen stop in free writes," so I would try to write continuously even if it was crap. Then I also was thinking, "What if this is much simpler than I am making it, and she reads this and is like, 'she can't even stay on topic'." There is just so much freedom with creative writing. I'm sure the half page introductions are nothing. They will just show her our personalities a bit. I almost wrote in there that I was over thinking the exercise and that is a part of my personality to over think things. I didn't have time, though. I am nervous in that class, because I want her to like me and my writing so desperately. I used to feel the same way around ms. eddy. I think I get nervous, because I see how much these people can teach me if I play my cards right. I worry that I won't take advantage of their knowledge. I would say I did okay with ms. eddy, since she still likes my writing and my company. That helps give me confidence to show my work to my new professor. I have a huge advantage over anyone in the class between my Ind. Study course with ms. eddy, work shopping in there with Dallas, and then writers group this past summer. My instructor has some rules for writing from Natalie Goldberg on our syllabus. I love Natalie Goldberg and was excited to hear her referenced. When we did verbal introductions to the class, we had to say what we read over break. I said, "I read some of Anne Lamott's fiction, and I just started her book 'Bird by Bird;, about writing." My professor knew right what I was talking about, and said that book is great for our class. She then said that she is going to have a lot of office hours this semester, because the University is giving her time to finish her memoir. I think that is so exciting. I would love to ask her all about it. I'm excited that she is my advisor. If this class goes well and I decide I do want to pursue creative non-fiction, then I will get to take independent studies with her. I want so badly to get an A in the class that it makes me nervous to turn writing in, and makes the critical voice that writers deal with ten times worse. In "Bird by Bird" Anne Lamott talks about how critical voice and perfectionism try to keep people from writing. Here is an excerpt from the chapter "Perfectionism" in the book:

"Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft [the prior chapter talks about the importance of shitty first drafts]. I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won't have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren't even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they're doing it."

I have noticed I have trouble finishing writing projects. I am great at fixing up second and third drafts, but once people want me to keep changing stuff I usually forget about it. I guess, I go back to it sometimes. This class is going to have to teach me much more discipline. I have been having trouble writing today, but that is why I'm blogging now and why I didn't blog over break.

When my writing is going well I don't blog, because it takes too much energy away from my actual writing. One of Natalie Goldberg's rules on my syllabus is that we should write ten minutes before we begin a real writing project, like a warm up. If that is true I might start blogging more regularly, because I like to use my blog to journal and ramble, and it isn't until the end that I see what issue was most important to me. I always spend more time talking about one thing than the rest, and I don't plan it. That makes for a good writing warm-up, although I don't know that it makes for a good read.

Happy New Year!

I have not blogged much, because I have been doing a lot of creative writing. I find it is hard to do both blogging and creative writing at the same time. This break has been one of growth, but it has not been nearly as restful as I would have liked. I actually find myself feeling anxious quite often. It has been nice being home with family and friends though. I am looking forward to my creative writing class next semester. It will be a big change to go back. I am sad to have to leave, but looking forward to some quiet time and being back in a regular schedule.

Christmas was great this year. I love all of the family time the Holidays brings, even though it is stressful for everyone. There is just something special about everyone stressing to just relax and spend time together.

I am off to celebrate New years. Hope everyone has a good and safe one!

As Requested

Here are more pictures of Marlee, and if she were a boy Rufus would be cute. Tonight I went to see a friend enter the novice level of being a nun. It was the most interesting experience and fun. I want to write more about it another time. I also got to meet Bill Murray's sister, which was exciting. She is a sweet Dominican sister at Adrian. My writing has been going terrible. My brain is so fried from exams. I am just burnt out still, even though I have been off for a week. I have been enjoying some much needed refreshing conversation with Adam D. lately. I went hiking with him all day yesterday in the snow. It was a nice break from the monotony of everyday life.

The Latest Family Member

Well, after Tinkerbell's death, the house was a bit lonely. We don't know how to handle the silence so we got a puppy. She is very cute, but requires a lot of attention. Today she kept crying at her reflection in the mirror thinking it was another dog. She even started digging under the mirror like she was trying to get to the other dog. It's so sad when she cries, and she cries a lot. She's only 8 weeks old. I couldn't get her to sit still for a picture, but here's a few. She's biting on my shoelaces and untying them as I type this.

This is my religion professor from my favorite class. I'm excited for his next book to come out.

http://www.webster.edu/religion-violence/Todd_Biography.html

You should check out the abstract also.

Selfish Volunteers

I have been reflecting on something Adam has said several times. Every time he says it, I feel like he and I are on completely different pages. He always likes to bring up the fact that volunteers are selfish and use people who are suffering to feel good about themselves. I am not going to deny that volunteering involves selfishness and the desire to feel good about oneself. We learned in my religion and psychology class that people are always selfish, because it’s a part of evolution. We are designed to take care of ourselves and watch out for ourselves. My professor said, “but, don’t be fooled-humans can be the most benevolent creatures in the world, even if it is for some selfish reasons too.” I guess, I have trouble seeing how this makes it acceptable to judge volunteers. Adam made the point that some people feel like charity cases. That is a valid point, but I believe volunteering has to involve love for a person to keep doing it, especially if it’s the same activity with the same people or same group of people. Love is based on honesty and if it is a proper relationship and the volunteer is open to criticism the person should be able to express his or her concerns or feeling of being inferior. I was sad when he mentioned the women I visited in the nursing home and how they had to feel like charity cases. That might have been the case at first. I know the one especially kept telling me not to buy her flowers because it made her feel bad that she couldn’t do anything for me. As our relationship developed I told her about people who have given time selflessly to me, and how I think it’s important to pass that on. She agreed and talked about people she had helped in the past. That’s what volunteering is about giving back for all of the times we receive. This woman later gave me one of her handheld video games. It meant a lot to me even though I never played it, because all she could really do was play video games. The arthritis in her hands hurt her too much to do anything. The other woman I visited was 96. I don’t know if she ever felt like a charity case, but I do know that she had no family or friends left to visit her, and she was in need of company. I can remember this time when she had been sick. It was not long before she died. She had fallen asleep while I was there, but she looked distraught and her breathing was really irregular. I was afraid she might be dying. I held her hand and she was mumbling things that didn’t make sense. I knew she wasn’t holding my hand in her dream, but I think it was important for her to have a hand to hold. It was important for me too. I can’t deny that I started volunteering there when I was 16. It wasn’t long after my first trip to South Dakota. My first trip to Pine Ridge opened my eyes to a kind of wholeness that I had never experienced. After that there was a giant hole that had been created. The only way life felt meaningful was when I helped others feel happy or find meaning. That’s not very selfless. I gained so much wisdom from my experience there that I am the one who got more out of the experience. I eventually felt real love for those women. They helped me appreciate my own grandparents more, which I am incredibly thankful for, because I obviously had no idea how soon Mimi would die. I still have a quilt square that the 96-year-old woman gave to me on my bulletin board. I think of both women at random times. I will never forget them. I am not claiming to be a saint for this, like I said I had my own reasons for doing this, but to say that I was using these women is unacceptable. I loved these women and they loved me too. The one even told me she loved me one day. She would always offer me candy. This woman had family but they rarely visited and when they did they weren’t very nice to her. They loved her, but family is always tough to deal with because there are all of these wounds from the past out in the open. I think her family didn’t like me. They probably thought I was trying to take their place or judge them. That is unfortunate and does make me feel bad, but they weren’t the ones alone in a nursing home all of the time. I think this woman was depressed too. She was so lonely, sad, and she cried several times when I was there. Thinking about all of this makes me angry that anyone would feel they can say anything about these relationships, because they were so complex. I don’t even think anyone can comment on whether these relationships were good or bad, because no one was there to experience them except for me and two women who are now deceased.

He made another point that bothered me about how people go to New Orleans or Pine Ridge for a week and then go about their lives and forget about it. There was an article in our school paper today from a Central alumnus who is attending law school in New Orleans. The whole thing was about how the media has forgotten New Orleans and they are depending on volunteers. He was saying, “keep sending alternative breaks here. You want to be a police officer when you graduate? We need them here.” It was begging for us to continue helping. Here is the thing about New Orleans-it is such a god-awful city now. The remains of the hurricane are everywhere. It can make anyone depressed. It is totally unreal though. I knew it would be bad, but I don’t think pictures or the news can prepare people for what it is like. Even if kids only go for one week, they will be more apt to give money or feel the need to go back and help after seeing it in real life--people can't fully imagine the water marks above their heads on houses or sideways trees. There are so many stories of people living down there that went down for a week and decided to move down there to find jobs working for organizations like Habitat for Humanity to be able to survive and make a living, but still help the economy and build homes. Trust me, you don’t forget the one week spent there--ever. As for Pine Ridge, there are people who go there for a week, put up a roof and call it good. There are people who try to convert the kids there and the kids resent that. They are not stupid and they know when people feel superior. They are bitter and have every right to be. It is so rewarding to win the trust of some of these kids. I have developed real friendships out there. I love these kids and that probably sounds cheesy to people who can’t understand, but just because you don’t understand doesn’t mean you can discredit my love. I might only be able to go to the reservation once a year, but I think about those kids EVERY day. The group of us in Michigan keep in touch to share what little news we hear about the kids and talk about how we can help them and go back to the reservation. We all write letters, try to make calls (its difficult to do), or keep the connection going in any way possible. Is it selfish? I benefit just as much as they do, because it’s true altruistic love. Isn’t that what love is about? Real love is when both people benefit from the relationship and don’t expect anything more in return. It happens naturally and is not forced. It’s not like, “oh I feel like I should try to go back to the reservation and help these kids,” but instead it’s like, “I can’t wait to go see them, because I miss them." It’s about satisfying my need of missing them. I just feel sorry for people who do not get to experience the happiness these experiences give me. If that makes me selfish so be it. What selfish things do you do that make you happy? I bet we all could make never-ending lists, because we are all selfish. Accepting that is a big step towards happiness and liberation. Doing volunteer work makes me happy. I’m not going to give it up no matter what people think about it. I have seen a lot of genuine appreciative smiles in my volunteer work. That makes me smile a genuine appreciative smile. It is one of the few things that make me really love life. Why would I give that up?

Trying to Stay Sane

I have two large papers do this week and I am procrastinating. I keep staring at the screen. I wrote a paragraph of one. I did spend a couple hours doing research for the one, because I changed the piece I was analyzing. I am now taking a closer look at the 1988 play M. Butterfly, which is a piece created from the Opera Madama Butterfly as well as a New York Times article from 1986 where a man had been sleeping with a Chinese spy for twenty years and thought he was a woman the whole time. The play is interesting and should not be as hard to get seven pages from. My first choice was to compare Anton Checkov's "Lady and Pet Dog" with Joyce Carol Oates' "The lady and the pet dog." It was getting too hard to find enough research.

I am looking forward to Thanksgiving mostly, but even this weekend will be a huge relief. I need some time for myself. I probably won't get much of that at Thanksgiving and with all of this work lately I haven't had much. It is making me feel crazy. My thoughts are racing a bit because I have so much to do. It's rather overwhelming.

I felt like I wanted to blog, but I changed my mind. I think I'm getting burnt out on everything. I need a vacation, but who doesn't?

Fall

I love the campus here in the fall. Here are some pictures I took while wandering around aimlessly today in order to enjoy the beautiful weather.

Lost Keys + Lost Notebook = SADNESS

I am back from Boston and overwhelmed with trying to recover from such an exhausting weekend and homework. I like the city of Boston a lot. It is beautiful. The Amnesty International conference was not as big or impressive as I had expected compared to the other two conferences I had been too, but it was still interesting. The author of the recent book about Child Soldiers was there. His name was Israel something, but he has been on late night television quite a bit recently. There were also some professors from Harvard, one of which that had just been released from prison in China thanks to Amnesty International. His speech was very moving and both he and his wife started crying when he was up there. It was beautiful. I also went to a breakout session on Indigenous Women and the severe problem of domestic violence. I also went to one on how terrible it is that the US is the only developed nation that hasn’t signed CEDAW declaring women’s equal rights. I learned about the Umbrella campaign they are working on at Amnesty, which is a picture petition. I was taught how to start the petition at my own school, but we had an unfortunate event happen. It was pouring rain after our last session of the conference so the president of our group offered to put our folders in his backpack. I put my folder with all of my materials from the conference in there as well as my notebook. When he was at one of the several bars he went to the last night, he claims the bag was stolen. I want to be angry about it, but he lost more than anyone else. His i-pod was in there and a new book he had bought. I am thankful I didn’t lose anything of materialistic value since I spent a lot of money in Boston and I have to pay $40 for my lost keys. I am going to spend one more day looking for them tomorrow, but things are not looking good. I am most upset about losing my notebook though. I had a year’s worth of writing. It was going to be the first notebook I filled up. I was so close to having it finished. I lost my journals from falling into depression as well as climbing out of it. I lost all of my first drafts and brainstorming of things in the past years. I am most upset about losing my journals from New Orleans and when the kids from Pine Ridge were here. I will never be able to look back on those times again. It feels like I lost something valuable even though it was a notebook that was so crappy it had duct tape on it to keep it together.

I am almost finished reading Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar.” She is crazy as hell, but it is very well written. I have been enjoying it a great deal.

I am feeling stressed about working on my schedule for next semester. I just don’t know which classes I should take in addition to the three I am certain about. I just don’t want to be stuck here for more than four years, because I can’t afford to be. I worry I will if I am not efficient enough with scheduling. I am off to study for an exam I have tomorrow. I am killing time at the library like I do so well.

I Think I'll Go to Boston

I leave for Boston at 2am tomorrow night. I have a lot to get done before then, and here I am at the library wasting time. I wanted to blog about the beautiful sky I saw on my way here. It was like day North of me with the bright blue sky with white clouds that almost looked like a bunch of lines in a painting. South of me there was a gray and bluish type sky that was rather gloomy. To the West there was a beautiful sunset with orange, blue, pink, and purple. Then to the East there was just a solid salmon color. I felt like I was in a cartoon. I had never seen anything quite like it. It was beautiful and put me in a good mood despite the fact that I spent most of today alone and lost my keys yesterday.

I noticed my keys were missing when I noticed my bag was unzipped yesterday after my religion class. I retraced all of my steps then cleaned my room to look for them. After no sign of them I e-mailed my religion professor to ask if he had seen them as he left. He did not, but told me to check in the Dean's office in that building because they had a lost and found. I did, but they did not have them. I was able to leave my information in case they do find them. I also checked both desks in my dorm and the cafeteria. I have no idea where they could be. I hope that it was just me being dumb and that they are hiding somehwere I have yet to look, but I think I remember putting them in my bag...so who knows where they could have fallen out at.

We had a great discussion in my religion class about religious experiences and if we think these epiletic seizures that make people think they are experiencing God are real. It was interesting to hear everyone's personal opinions. I finished my book about the nun with that type of epilepsy and it was beautifully written. I am now half way through Sylvia Plath's. "The Bell Jar," James picked it up for me at a used book store because he knew I had been looking for it. It is brilliantly written. It is an autobiographical novel and with her being so weirdly brilliant it is easy to see how she was so depressed and crazy.

Today a friend of a friend that sits by us in class told me, "I was so glad I saw you yesterday. You looked so cheerful and happy. You are just one of those happy people that makes it contagious." I couldn't believe it, because all I did was smile and wave at this girl on her bike. Not to mention I felt like a Debbie Downer for so long, it was amazing to hear that I seem so joyful. It made my day. I have been feeling pretty good, which is exciting. I just agreed to go back to New Orleans over Christmas break. I am looking forward to going back and being mentally and physically healthy. It should be great. Well, I am stressed. I have a ton to do, but I am going to go listen to an author read some fiction with James instead of work. I am sure it will all gone...anyway, "I think I'll go to Boston where noone knows my name."

Impossible

I have four papers due next week, three of them due Monday. I am feeling so overwhelmed, which is frustrating because I actually have been feeling creative and I can't allow myself to write much unless I stay up late. I am reading this novel for my religion class about nuns and it is wonderful. It is about a nun with epilepsy that is trying to deal with the fact that all of these "unique moments she had with God" were seizures. There is actually a kind of epilepsy that is located in the temporal lobe and a kind of schizophrenia that increases "relgious experiences." They also can open up your head and mess with these parts of your brain to make you see and believe things. This nun then has to struggle with her faith. I have to write a paper on how I feel about this kind of thing. I find it hard to believe--when the mind controls everything and if someone messes with that it can distort your personality, beliefs, and senses. I am interested to see how this book ends, because I don't think that the amazing ability we have in our minds is any sort of let down. I think it's just as amazing and divine as anything else. There was one part in the book where a nun sprays a bird that is bullying another one in the fountain with a hose and another nun gets pissed. It is very amusing and reminds me of some stories my friend, Ashley, who is in the convent, has told me. Nuns are interesting characters.

Tonight we had a tornado warning that caused me to miss half of Grey's Anatomy. I also had my window open and several books got wet, luckily I caught it quickly and could dry them off before the watter seeped in.

Today I had lunch with my friend, Heather. I think I am going to go tracking with her in January. She has motion-activated cameras now, and while she has not gotten pictures of wolves like she is hoping for, she has gotten some cool pictures of bears and coyotes. I like that she is always very down-to-earth. She talked about feeling lonely lately because she is never in one place and is constantly bouncing around from place to place, so it's hard to have a group of people to be with. I love hearing stories about lonliness. I think everyone does, because how many books and movies are out there that address the issue from centuries ago until today? People like to hear about other people feeling lonely to ease their own feelings of isolation. I would like to write a piece that addresses loneliness in addition to other issues.

I talked to my religion professor yesterday about signing a religion minor. He has published a book called "Minds and Gods," (you should check it out--It's interesting). I asked him about being published and what that involves. He said he studied creative writing and considers himself a writer before a religion professor. He said he is interested in teh fact that I am a writing major and a religion minor. I like him a lot, but I am kind of intimidated by him. He said something about how teaching is not what he does, and without thinking I said something like, "well it doesn't show." Then I realized what a suck-up that made me sound like, and I was like, "that wasn't meant to suck-up. I swear." There was an awkward, but funny moment after that. It was kind of discouraging when we talked about how tough it is to get into publishing fiction. I told him I wanted to get into creative non-fiction, and when I named some of my favorite authors he said something about how to become a writer like that people have to trust you and the way you think, which takes people knowing who you are. The way to do that is usually to start with fiction or be a journalist for a well-known magazine, which involves living the "American Dream." It is so frustrating, because it seems impossible to do what I want. He did say that once you have a phD that people come to you to ask what you are writing. He referred to academic non-fiction as, "a little boys club" where everyone knows eachother and they all make sure the others gets published. It's all about who you know no matter what profession you want to go in to.

Tomorrow Drew, Elise, and Ryan are coming up from my South Dakota experiences. It was Drew's birthday yesterday so it will be nice to go to dinner with everyone for that. It always lifts up my spirits to see people from the Omega project. I wrote Enoch (from the Rez) a letter last week, because I remembered that he loved T-Pain and he did a concert at Central last week. I miss everyone from the reservation and from our group here. I just miss all of us together more than anything.

I need to go write. I have those four papers hanging over my head so I need to take advantage of what little time I have left to be creative.

Trying to Light a Fire

I am listening to my rainy day mix and feeling tired. The bottom of my pants are wet and I just got done straightening my bangs, because the rain made them stick up, untamed. I am looking at what classes I want to take next semester, because registration for sophomores begins in a week or two. I have selected which intro to creative writing class I want to take, which will be the one class I work everything else around. I always have once class I am certain about that sets the rules for the other classes. I selected this one, because I recognized the professor’s name as the woman who is in charge of the “Creative Non-Fiction” Majors in the writing department. I read a lot of creative non-fiction. I like writing all types of genres (I often feel like I wish I could write every form of genre, plays/movies, songs, poems, fiction, non-fiction, and anything else really). Natalie Godlberg, one of my favorite authors is a professional writing instructor who works with celebrities and already published authors, says that you need to read what you want to write, because you write what you read. I thought I should therefore focus on creative non-fiction. I am not certain, so I am hoping to get to know this professor well enough to share my interest in it and have an educated decision on if it is worth pursuing or the same type of style I am going for.

Yesterday I stopped in my Literary Analysis professor’s office to discuss reconstructing my paper on Anne Sexton’s poem about Sylvia Plath’s suicide. I also asked him about signing a major, and if there was any internships or work I could do in the English department. He is a very straightforward kind of guy. He told me that he was disappointed in my paper, because I was so taken by this poem, but the paper didn’t show that. He said it was too short for a “woman of [my] intelligence.” What I like about him is that he went on to elaborate and said, “I think you are very intelligent, but I can tell you that all day. You will just be like, ‘oh that old flatterer’, and you won’t believe me. I want you to write a paper that shows yourself you are intelligent so that I don’t have to tell you and neither does anyone else.” That made me feel good, because it was a real compliment without being so flattering that I shake it off. It was not cheesy or surface level, because he was telling me that my paper was crap. It has been said that he grades really tough, but he does let us resubmit our papers, but it must show almost a total makeover with many changes and insightful thoughts. He warned me that I needed to start gathering a portfolio of my creative writing work now, because he said that so many upperclassmen are naïve to the competition out there. He was like, “You don’t have time to [mess] around. You need to start TODAY, because if you want to be a writer and get a PhD in creative writing then you are going to be applying to universities that will get 300 applications for that same position-throw out half of them without hardly glancing at them, select 30 to really look at, and then pick 15. I think students from Central are more than ready to compete against the top competitors in the nation provided they are driven and know what they are facing. Ignorance will get you nowhere.” I then discovered that he had to hound my former lit professor that was accepted at University of Miami to teach and work on his PhD in literature. He made me laugh when he told me how much he had to light a fire underneath him. “We all need that, and other professors will tell you that there is plenty of time, but there’s not if you want to excel.” I felt really motivated after speaking with him. It is incredibly intimidating to think about, but it’s better to think about it now when I can do something, rather than think I am okay and later find out I am just another mediocre writer in the world.

I have a lot of work to do as I prepare to leave for Boston next weekend. I will spend a good chunk of this weekend working on multiple things that are due while I am gone, because I wil have to turn them in early. I feel like I am doing a decent job at taking charge of my life this year. I hope it continues to stay that way.

Content

I have been feeling really good this weekend. I took a weekend to myself. I didn’t go to any parties or hang out until late. I hung out with people a bit, but spent my nights watching movies, reading, and writing for fun. It really helped relax me. I woke up at a decent time yesterday and today and I went to the library for three hours today and really made a dent in my load of homework for midterms week. I also worked out. It feels good to have some free time without homework loitering over my head. I have been feeling creative again lately, but having a hard time finding ways to release it, because I am frustrated with both poetry and prose. A cute Venezuelan guy from the band that played at Peace Song told me I should think about script writing because, “that’s where the money’s at.” I don’t think I could pull of script writing, but it might be nice to try a new genre out and release some of this rare creativity. I am writing more though, which is always nice. I don’t blog as much, because when I have time to write I feel like I waste my writing time by focusing on reality and my opinions instead of trying to weave all of it subtly and creatively into a piece of writing. I am trying to keep up with pieces, because we are now doing on-line submissions for writers group at the beginning of the month for those who can’t meet. I am the only one that has sent stuff out and only the three regulars sent back feedback. We have like twenty people in our on-line group, but very few participate. I like the core people though. I always love writers. It was the same main three who I received feedback from in person, so it feels familiar. I like working with people whose style I am familiar with. It makes it easier to take and listen to criticism. It’s like you develop a sense of trust in their suggestions and learn what to ignore and how to use their strengths.

I enjoyed going home during the middle of the week to see Adam off and observe a peace concert for World Peace Initiative. I was able to take one of my treasured walks with Adam D. while we walked the nature trail by the labyrinth, meet up and chat with Jenn on a bench at Siena in perfect weather. I also enjoyed dinner with the family Tuesday night, was able to see many fun people at a Peace Makers meeting, go to Big Boy late at night with lisa, Adam D., and Ashley (the nun), go to Big Boy early in the morning with Leslie and Beth, and ride the bike a bit. Not to mention I got to hang out with the cute band members with accents. The one from Jordan is like a pop star in his country and I saw his fan club on facebook. It has such a cute picture of him. He was a very sweet guy. I can see why everyone loves him.

I thought I was done with my weird mood courtesy of my Sylvia Plath/Anne Sexton paper being done, but my professor handed back my paper and I got a B-. I have been told he grades really tough, but he does let you resubmit it for a higher grade. It’s not even an average. I could still get an A, but he grades just as tough and said there will have to be tremendous changes that show a lot of insightful thoughts for him to make a grade higher. I am enjoying the challenge, but it is just that… a challenge. I found this Ryan Adams’ song called “Sylvia Plath” that I have enjoyed listening too because it contributes to my weird mood when I read and write about her. The paper is actually about a poem by Anne Sexton, but the poem is focused on Plath so I feel like I am studying her more than Sexton.

This Friday Elise, Drew, and Ryan from my South Dakota group are coming up to visit. The following weekend I go to Boston for an Amnesty International conference. The weekend after that Leslie and Alicia are coming up. That gives me a lot to look forward to. When that is all over the next weekend will be the second one in November! Who knows what I will have planned then, but that will have me close to Thanksgiving break. It’s amazing how the time is flying. I am off to do some “real writing” haha.

Meaningless

It is so unbelievably hot in the dorms. I can't believe it's October. It's hard for me to blog and write on my computer because it gets hot. I am surviving and staying unfortnately busy, and I am really looking forward to getting away for a few days and going home. I am procrastinating finishing my paper I entitled, "Climbing the Pyramid," about Abraham Maslow's theories of religion. I am enjoying it, because I like him so much, but I worry I am getting off topic with too much personal stuff, so i should probably look up some more facts.

Today lisa stopped by on her way to a workshop up north. It was a lovely surprise. We went to coffee, had cookies, and I showed her some writing. I miss writers group a lot. I will also get to see Chris from writers group this week at Peace Song, so it will be nice to reunite with some of them.

Today I remembered this quote while talking to lisa. It's from the movie I watched about the Beat poets with Adam. It is something along the line of, "If we love to protect us from hate, then maybe we hate to protect us from love." I really like that quote. This is a meaningless entry, but I needed to post something new.

The Pre-Drag Show

My friend, James and his roommates are in a drag show for the Gay Straight Alliance hosting "coming out week." Beth and I will be out of town for World Peace Initiative so we went to watch them practice tonight. They are dancing seductively with chairs to the song, "Cell Block Tango (He had it Coming)" from the musical Chicago. Watching four stereotypical gay guys along with two straight guys and a girl learn a dance together proved to be very entertaining.

I got a kick out of many things. One of them is the way the entire gay-straight alliance (regardless of gender or orientation) is so touchy-feely with one another. They are always all over eachother and it makes me smile. Secondly I enjoyed when my friend, Kent, was telling James that "women walk with their hips and men walk with their shoulders. So forget about your shoulders," while he tried to show James how to shake it. Another guy in a pink shirt asked if they could "gyrate on a pole" for a part of the dance. My friend, Steven pranced around gracefully and with an atitude while breaking down the dance moves slowly for others and counting loudly. He also was signing "bitch" to anyone that was talking crap. It is funny because he talks in sign language often, and is not deaf.

James is straight, but a theater major so he blends well. The other straight guy was complaining about missing the Red Wings game. I couldn't help but laugh at all of the stereotypes taking place in the room. Beth got scolded by our friend Christine for laughing while they were dancing, which made me laugh. Christine gets to play the role of all of the trashy men in the song. It will be quite a show when they are all in heels and full costumes. I am sad I will not be able to see it.

Peak Moments

I have been reflecting a lot on “peak moments.” Peak moments are what psychologist, Abraham Maslow, defined as “mystical moments of insight and feelings that include joy, peace, wonder, and a sense of wholeness, selflessness, spontaneity, and relatedness to the world.” This is the type of thing I was recently trying to articulate with Jenn, the one who is involved in the Omega project with me. She and I were talking about those rare moments in life where you have a moment that is almost out-of-body, in the sense that it is when you take a step back and think, “This moment is life at its finest. Everything is so perfect that all I can do is breathe it in and try to remember everything.” She and I both experienced three of those moments together, although we did not realize this until reflecting on them later. I said that I felt it was those perfect split seconds in life that give us the energy and drive to keep going. I loved when she said that she felt those moments were the only times we are completely our entire authentic selves. I like that idea, because we talked about this in my religion and psychology class, how no one knows entirely who is their authentic self, because we are forced to wear so many masks and different personas for different situations. If my authentic self is me in those rare moments, then I like who I am, because I am a free spirit and happy.

The most recent peak moment I had was at Wheatland music festival dancing to African drums at night carelessly and child-like along with others from my writers group underneath the beautiful starry night sky. I felt child-like and carefree just jumping around giggling underneath the stars in a crowd of free-spirits while feeling the African rhythms send adrenaline through my body. I had several peak moments while the kids from Pine Ridge were here. The ones that stick out are a moment I shared with Drew, Jenn, and Chris Iron Hawk on the sand dune looking over lake Michigan, the car ride home from Grand Rapids with Enoch, Xylena, and Jenn while we danced to “Maneater” four times in addition to other silly pop songs, like “fergalicious,” and some Beyonce number. We taped Enoch up and had a good laugh. The most perfect of them all was when we decided to take a detour in Jackson to Cascade falls. The sun was setting and were supposed to be going straight back to Jon’s house so we didn’t have much time at all. We pulled into the park and Jenn put the car in park. She said, “You guys ready? One-two-three-GO!” We all unbuckled our seatbelts, opened the car doors, slammed them shut, and sprinted to the top of the hill where Cascade Falls is located. It is quite a large hill so we were out of breath very quickly and giggling the whole way up. When we reached the fence I could hear the water from the falls and it was just dark enough to see the lights changing color. It was beautiful and the four of us sat silently listening to the water and the sound of us all trying to catch our breath. I kept thinking how I didn’t want this moment to end. It was life at its finest, but all I could do was breathe and smile.

I don’t remember having any of those last year that wasn’t tainted by the pessimistic voice in my head. I feel very fortunate to have had several recently. In my class Maslow said how rare these moments, are but how one percent of the people (such as Mother Theresa, the saints, Einstein, and other great people) have these moments often and/or huge ones that change their lives and motivate them to greatness. He claims it is when a person has become self-actualized by fulfilling all of their needs he includes on his famous pyramid of needs. These moments are the same thing as religious experiences, but he claims they are purely natural phenomenons that are independent of religion. This gave me hope, because Maslow was not against religious experiences but he didn’t think they were necessary to be great, happy, and feel a sense of oneness. I feel like I am becoming much more self-actualized and spiritually comfortable. I have bad days like everyone else and forget any progress I’ve made, but I am doing really well spiritually. I am looking forward to a workshop I am going to this Thursday evening called “Centering and Positive Energies.” I am really into that kind of thing and it is hard to stay on track alone so I am hoping to find some positive encouragement. I get that a lot at home, but it is much harder to find here at school.

I e-mailed Jenn after this class where I learned about peak moments, and she thought this was exactly what we both had been trying to articulate and that is why she doesn’t like using lablels for them, and she said she didn’t think they have to be all that rare. She said, "With open eyes, there is so much to see and feel." It amazes me how she loves life. I think Jenn is pretty self-actualized herself. She is a great person to remind me that life isn’t a fairytale, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy and love life. I want to acquire wisdom and love life. I am learning…slowly, but learning.

Surprise

I got my lip pierced on Monday. This might surprise some, but it's something I always secretly wanted to do. The bright side is I can take it out whenever I decide I don't want it, and I have something fun and spontaneous to tell my kids. It didn't hurt much at all, which was a surprise. My roommate and her friend that went with me said I "took it like a champ." It happened so fast that I didn't even know what hit me to flinch or anything like that. It's a little sore today, but it's been relatively pain free except for when I wash it the soap burns it a little.

Sylvia's Death

By Anne Sexton

for Sylvia Plath


O Sylvia, Sylvia
with a dead box of stones and spoons,

with two children, two meteors
wandering loose in a tiny playroom,

with your mouth into the sheet,
into the roofbeam, into the dumb prayer,

(Sylvia, Sylvia
where did you go
after you wrote me
from Devonshire
about raising potatoes
and keeping bees?)

what did you stand by,
just how did you lie down into?

Thief--
how did you crawl into,

crawl down alone
into the death I wanted so badly and for so long,

the death we said we both outgrew,
the one we wore on our skinny breasts,

the one we talked of so often each time
we downed three extra dry martinis in Boston,

the death that talked of analysts and cures,
the death that talked like brides with plots,

the death we drank to,
the motives and the quiet deed?

(In Boston
the dying
ride in cabs,
yes death again,
that ride home
with OUR boy.)

O Sylvia, I remember the sleepy drummer
who beat on our eyes with an old story,

how we wanted to let him come
like a sadist or a New York fairy

to do his job,
a necessity, a window in a wall of a crib,

and since that time he waited
under our hear, our cupboard,

and I see now that we store him up
year after year, old suicides

and I know at the news of your death
a terrible taste for it, like salt,

(And me,
me too.
And now, Sylvia,
you again
with death again,
that ride home
with OUR boy.)

And I say only
with my arms stretched out into that stone place,

what is your death
but an old belonging,

a mole that fell out
of one of your poems?

(O friend,
while the moon's bad,
and the king's gone,
and the queen's at her wits end
the bar fly ought to sing!)

O tiny mother,
you too!
O funny duchess!
O blonde thing!

Febraury 17, 1963