It feels good to be back

I haven’t allowed myself to freewrite on here in so long. I didn’t even now how to start, so I thought I would acknowledge my uncertainty. I wanted to take a break from poetry to write prose. It used to feel so natural, but I’ve gotten used to carefully analyzing every word. My job also affects my writing. I’ve spent so much time with academic writing, rewording, and precision. It’s good for my writing overall, but it’s forcing me to change and grow so much that it just doesn’t feel natural to me.

My poetry professor said that I’m improving rapidly. I felt like I was getting worse. He said that’s normal, because improving is like working up hill. It requires getting used to new techniques, and you might wake up sore from your effort the next day. He talked about improving up hill, having intervals of plateaus where you rest and feel comfortable until someone forces you to dig deeper and start climbing toward the next. I’m climbing pretty aggressively, and I like it overall. I’m still not very confident about it all, though. It doesn’t help my poems were rejected by this lit. journal on campus again. It happens—a lot for writers—it still is annoying, though. I’m glad my professor is so encouraging, because now I don’t necessarily think that my poems are rejected because they aren’t good enough. I think my style is unique and doesn’t mesh well with a lot of the poetry scene folks up here.

I dressed up like Cleopatra last night. I spray dyed my hair black for the evening. Two showers later: I’m mostly free of black dye, but our shower is stained, and there is black all over the sink and walls. Black even came out when I blew my nose this morning.

I’m at a coffee shop with intentions of writing. I guess this is a prewriting warm-up. I’m going to have to dig a lot deeper than this to get some real writing. I don’t even know where to start. I had a crazy busy week. It ran me to the ground. I handled it better than I expected, but I don’t want to write about that. I’m sick of letting business define my life. I had a literature professor comment on a profound story. He said something along the lines of, “We are busy are whole lives, and doing what? Nothing when you think about it.”

Last weekend I felt happy on the camping trip. I’m trying to be more observant of my feelings, especially happy ones. I felt happy watching my friend, Nik, hike with a walking stick while wearing mismatched clothes and a circular piece of birch tree bark on her head as a hat. Nik is one of those rare individuals who is just so full of life. My friend Adam is like that. I have similar feelings of happiness when people I love are full of joy. I’m reminded of how happy I feel on the day where we take the kids to the water park at work in the summer, or how happy I felt when I saw my dad child-like excited when we walked into the Piston’s game last winter. I guess, maybe I feel most alive when in the presence of joy. Adam and Nik are joyful people. It seems like the rare individuals I know who possess so much life, have all experienced some sort of emotional death at some point. It leads me to believe that one has to truly know the depths of despair to feel the greatest level of pure joy.

I don’t know what else I want to reflect on, but I think I’m ready to post this as a blog, then really start writing.

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.

Abuse

*These are all words from a writing handbook on punctuation .


Commas help communicate,
internal,
revisions,
it’s acceptable to omit
there’s no possibility of misreading,

do not set off a restrictive element,
although,
it’s not wrong to omit the comma
before the final conjunction in a series,
mild interjections,
between parts of a compound predicate.

Commas help communicate.

TGIF

I'm run down and burnt out. I just had my first session with my new counselor. He seems pretty qualified, and I am much more articulate than I used to be, so I think I make things easy. We seemed to jump right in and talk about realistic goals for the future. I told him about my project and he was really impressed and excited.

From what I understood, he seemed to think I was doing a good job at taking care of my mental health. He emphasized the fact that there is a lot of family history with mental health problems. He pointed out how it seems like I am constantly pounding into my friends head the fact that they can have biological depression, but I don't really believe that I have a Biological problem, and I just blame myself and feel like I am making myself depressed. I am doing that in some sick way, though. However, I'm still I'm open to the Biological theory. I'm a lot more accepting of my friends' shortcomings than my own.

I lost my five subject notebook with all of my class notes and information in it. These things happen when I am stressed and a little bit crazy; I lose things...A LOT. I have a lot of homework this weekend, and I need to catch up on sleep. Work is going well, but it's exhausting. I've started drinking a lot more caffeine, because I have to be alert to sit and listen to other people's papers, which is difficult when I haven't slept much.

I'm getting bad at blogging. There are so many more things I should blog about, but I'm tired and I just feel a little bit apathetic about expressing myself this morning.

Fall

Fall is my favorite season. It is also the season when I feel the worst. I get horrible headaches with all of the change in weather, my mood takes a nose dive due to lack of sunshine, and I get cold and lonely a lot. So why do I love it? I love the colors and smells, I love feeling like I have a purpose and being back in classes. However, the stress from being back in classes is usually what sends my mood spiraling a bit. I honestly feel like I can't win sometimes. 

I'm at the library right now, and gave up on a practice exam, which makes me feel guilty. It's not worth any points it's just for us to see how he grades. I feel like I should take advantage of this, since he didn't like my first paper (he really liked the second one, though). However, the essay question has made my head spin and I find myself giving up, tempted to go home and type out the two versions of the parable I picked to do my paper on for my Jesus class. That class is soooo interesting. There's so much about the Bible they never taught me in Catechism.

Today we learned that Luke left out things from Mark (that's not all that scandalous), but one of the passages he chose not to include was one where Jesus made some type of "racial slur" to a Psyro-Phoenician woman. It is speculated this was included in Mark, because Mark was writing for a Jewish audience, but it was left out of Luke, because he was writing for Gentiles, and this might have offended them. Crazy, isn't it?

My poetry class is getting harder. We are starting to work on all of this technical stuff that is frustrating. I think it is really good for me, but who knew there were all different types of rhyme and alliteration, and that I'd have to try to use them? I think out next assignment is to write a sonnet. I'm terrible at formal poetry. I don't even know where to begin. I'm disappointed with my last poem too. That one was lame, so I don't think I will post that on here anytime soon--unless it has some miracle turn-around soon.

Little Glass Bluebird

This is a work in progress

Draft #2

Little Glass Bluebird

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.

You slid into my hand
with a mix CD
and 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,” and “crazy
how time flies.”
Didn’t mention
how she was doing or explain
why she wanted you to be mine.

I rambled a two-minute
thank you on her voicemail.
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.

I'm supposed to be studying for my Spanish exam. To ease the guilt this has to be fast. I just haven't been able to blog, and it makes me feel like life is slipping away. I've been writing one poem a week lately for my poetry class. It's draining, and usually results in me hating the poem, but loving it again when it's a complete draft. I have one due tomorrow that I'm still hating.

Today my first publication came out in print. It was so exciting to see my name and writing in fancy print. They really do a nice job at making this look legit. 

I feel behind and like a slacker in all of my classes right now, but I think I'm doing okay. It's always so hard to tell this early on. It will be nice to have a weekend up here to relax and catch up on homework. 

I will be on campus all day tomorrow because of work. I should start conferencing with students tomorrow. I think I will have to pack a lunch and possibly a dinner? It's not sounding exciting.

Wheatland was a blast, as always. It was a weekend of good people, good weather, good yoga classes every morning, and good music. It really doesn't get much better, although, more sleep would have been nice.

I feel like I have so much more to write about. I should dig deeper into my feelings, but there is just not time.

Falling off the balance beam

I blog a lot about balance. I talk a lot about balance. I believe a lot in balance. Why can't I practice it? I'm not trying to pass off responsibility for my inability to maintain a balanced lifestyle, but I'm beginning to believe that our culture doesn't encourage it. I made my friend Kristin a bracelet before she left for Spain. It's a nice hippie-like bracelet with light colored, tie-dyed beads with a charm that says, "Balance," with some sort of symbol on it. I made myself one too, because 1) I love bracelets 2) I thought it would help me feel closer to Kristin when she is so far away, and 3) I thought it would serve as a nice daily reminder to maintain balance. After surviving my first week of classes and work and making it through welcome week, I realized no matter how hard I struggle for balance, I'm always  a little off. 

I've stopped running. I went to three parties during welcome week. I am not yet on a normal sleeping or eating schedule. I haven't had a lot of time to write.

Now, those are all reasons I believe I am failing, but after talking with my dad on the way to pick up Adam, he reminded me that I'm doing pretty good when it comes to things like partying. I drink a lot of water when I party, I walk a lot at school, I eat okay. I think the college years are probably the most unbalanced ones ever. People pull all-nighters, binge drink, binge eat, and work themselves too hard. For example, I get teased if I want to go to bed early or stop drinking early (or not drink at all), but then I'm sure I reciprocate it to others, too. It's just a very "intense" (for lack of a better word) time period in our lives. No one knows where they'll be in five years or who they'll be with. It's a great time to appreciate and live in the moment, but horrible for any sense of security or balance. It's worth struggling for. I think I'll keep wearing my bracelet, and risk sounding like a hypocrite by talking about the importance of balance. I know it's important. I just can't always live it. 

Silence

The most basic and powerful way to connect to another person is to listen. Just listen. Perhaps the most important thing we ever give each other is our attention…. A loving silence often has far more power to heal and to connect than the most well-intentioned words.

RACHEL NAOMI REMEN

I talked about silence with Laura last night. She doesn't like silence. I understand why, because I know the discomfort silence can create in my entire body. Silence often makes me tense up. However, I sit in silence with my friend, Adam, a lot. Sometimes we hike without speaking, ride in the car and just listen to music, or even just sit in silence. When he and I are silent for too long, I start to get tense. I want to say something to break that silence, but I feel I can only break the silence if I have something important to say, which forces me to think about why I'm saying something. I think it is really good for me. I also find that I enjoy silence with the people I am closest to, and I think it is because it requires being comfortable with them.  I was reflecting on this earlier this morning and I thought about how it must be some evolutionary thing. Maybe we feel the urge to keep talking with people we don't entirely trust--so we can scope out their ideas in that moment. In the past if someone was communicating, the people they were with could make sure they were not angry and going to attack them. They could prepare how to handle that person, if they started communicating they were angry. That's not necessary anymore. We live in a civilized society, and most people will not randomly attack you, even if they are not trustworthy. I think it is natural due to our past nature to feel that discomfort in our entire bodies when we sit with people in silence. Sitting in silence with someone is so beautiful, because it's allowing them to be lost in their mind and in no way connected to you, yet you are connected by space. Last night I laid on the floor in silence with Beth and James in the dark for a few moments. It was funny, because Leslie came in, and was like, "What are you guys doing?" James answered, "Lying here." 

Kristin once referred to that comfortable silence with others as "pure" silence. I like that. I think there is pure silence, which can only be shared with people we love, but I am working on being mindful of silence with other people, too. I can think of this boy who used to call me in High School. I used to never want to talk to him, because he was so "awkward" on the phone. There were all of these silences where he would just wait for me to say something. I would feel so uncomfortable, but it was because I was not comfortable with myself. Silence is giving me a new opportunity to evaluate myself and appreciate the progress I have made over the past few years.

I talk a lot. I think that's okay sometimes, because I listen a lot too. Most of my friends, also, talk a lot and I like that. It keeps things flowing easily and helps us to get to know each other better. I should probably work to be less giddy and talkative, but I really don't care to at this point in my life. I think being less giddy comes with maturity, and I'm still only 20. I also think maturity is accepting where I am at, and not feeling the urge to act older than I am. There are a few rare people in my life who are older than me, yet I never feel the urge to act older than I am around them. I find that I act most immature when I am trying to be mature, anyway, but I am thankful for those few people who have accepted and loved me where I am and allowed me to mature on my own time.

Slow Internet Makes Blogging Difficult

I'm moved into my new apartment. I really like it. I should take pictures and post them at some point. It has high ceilings, which makes everything feel more spacious than it really is. I've even had room to play hackie sac in the living room when no one is around. Leslie brought one of those things I can plug my ipod into and listen to it like a stereo for our kitchen. It's a blast listening to my music while I practice hackie sac. It feels good to be up here. This is the smoothest transition yet, although, I'm aware classes haven't actually started. I haven't felt lonely or down yet. It's nice to have Leslie and Beth up here too. We all played board games and went to ice cream tonight with my friend, Laura, and her roommate, Elizabeth. We are all pretty competitive so we get into some intense games that usually involve a lot of inappropriate language and sore winning and losing.

I haven't had much time to be insightful and really write or reflect on things. I expected I would do that when I had those few days alone. Instead I hung out with friends and unpacked a lot.

I'm actually looking forward to classes starting, but not so much that I'm not enjoying my time up here with no homework. Tomorrow night we are talking about tubing down the river. I'm looking forward to that a great deal. It feels great to be content with where I am at right now and settled in.

And I Don't Want to Sleep

I'm not as anxious about moving as I've been in the past, but it's still incredibly stressful. It's still to the point where I stay up late and don't want to go to bed, because I can't handle even the few minutes of lying awake in bed with racing thoughts. I'm doing much better at slowing them down, but it takes me a while of staying up to do it. Today my friend, Adam, listened to one of my latest philosophies for life. He told me it made his "heart smile," because I've grown so much since the nights when he stayed up with me in New Orleans (back when I had lost my mind and couldn't ever sleep). Hearing that gave me a lot of positive energy to keep going. Sometimes I fall backward, and can't see the progress I've made. I forget that I'm stronger than I give myself credit for. I'm not the same person I was two years ago. I'm not going to passively let myself spiral down into Hell again.

My latest philosophy of life came to me while working on my fictional story. I wrote this as the Dad character when someone in my writing group said, "That's really insightful. Can I use that for my character?" Then I thought, "Why am I not applying this thought to my life?" I guess, it really is easier to preach ten sermons than to live one.

This character's outlook on life is that it is a relationship. Sometimes you forget why you are with the person, and think of any way possible to leave them, then there are those rare moments where you remember why you are head over heels, and you can't imagine ever leaving their side. Then...there's mostly those in between moments where you're just coasting with give and take going on. Life is real love. I think I can learn to love life and still have days where I hate it and want to leave. I just have to remember that loving relationships aren't all rainbows and unicorns. They take effort. I need to put more effort into different aspects of life. Sometimes it takes a heartbreak to realize that. It helps me find balance. All in all, at the end of the day, I find that balance seems to be the key to all happiness. Balance isn't my strength, but it's worth working on.

Young and Restless

I find myself restless while trying to be present in the moment, which is next to impossible. I feel like I’m stuck between two places. The week I move is always like that. I’m fitting in goodbyes to people I haven’t seen much all summer, feeling anxious about forgetting something or someone--fearing I might no longer belonging at school. I will be much happier when I get into my routine up there; I'm looking forward to seeing friends that I haven't seen since school, too.

I recently find myself questioning myself mercilessly, looking for answers I'm unable see. I’m no longer taking my medication. I’m okay with that thus far, but the idea of falling back into depression terrifies me, so I will try to monitor my symptoms closely. I cannot risk being that sick again. I have too many depressed people in my life who look to me for support. I have to stay in control of my situation. It will be hard when school starts, but I think it will result in more self-confidence, which I need. I think I've known what I need all along, but I've been afraid of being without this feeling I've known so long--afraid of losing my identity. This feeling is comfortable for me, because I know it so well. To conquer it is to step out of the comfort zone. I think I'm finally strong enough, though.

I’m doing better spiritually than I have been in years. I can’t put my experiences in boxes, but I’m finally content with my views on life, and I don’t feel angry or that uncomfortable being surrounded by religious people who sometimes try to force their views on me. I’m beginning to feel compassion for them instead of jealousy or resentment; I’m working on loving them where they are at. I don’t mean that in a fake saintly way, because I will benefit from practicing love for these people, and I hope that they will love and accept me where I am at too. That’s what is so great about love-- real altruistic love--everyone wins. It doesn't always work that way, but I am thankful when it does, and it helps reveal who my real friends are.

Loneliness

“Loneliness adds beauty to life. It puts a special burn on sunsets and makes night air smell better.”

-Henry Rollins

The Sisterhood

I went to see "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2" last night with Alicia, Leslie, and Kristin. It was fun going in a group of close friends that I rarely get to see all at the same time. We kept teasing each other about which character we were. That may sound incredibly immature, and yes, we were in the theater with a lot of young girls. In fact, there was one moment where a bunch of the young girls were giggling and Alicia said, "Why did we have to see this on the first night it came out? We should have come the last day." We fit in there, though--with our giddy laughs at inappropriate moments, like one serious moment when the emotionally detached character (they claim is like me) was having a breakdown about her problems with relationships, and Leslie whispered, "Oh my gosh, Aimee, that is SOOO you." It's funny, because there are parts in all of the characters I relate to, I think that's why people love these movies--the characters-- but I found myself cheering especially for the emotionally challenged character who was supposed to me. It's a cheesy, happy, movie, but we all loved it. We kept joking that we were going to all go to Greece last night like they do in the movie, to have "The Pants" bring us all together again; because like the girls in the movie, we of course, have drifted apart. Although, I still feel a very strong connection with them at times--like last night. Other days, it can't be more clear to me that we have nothing in common sometimes. It makes me feel completely alone, but I love that we have drifted so far, yet can still have an intense friendship when the wind happens to carry us back toward each other. 

We ended our evening by calling each other the characters' names and planning our trip to Greece :) Saying goodbye to Leslie went something like, "Oh Bee, have fun with your new Grandma (The character's name is Bridgette, but they all call her B--which is funny because in middle school I called Leslie "My Bumble Bee"--but she finds her grandma in the movie). Leslie was like, "Tibby, I'm glad you fixed things with your video game playing boyfriend." That's right we are not 13--just pretty good at acting like it sometimes.

Free Time

Your true traveller finds boredom rather agreeable than painful. It is the symbol of his liberty - his excessive freedom. He accepts his boredom, when it comes, not merely philosophically, but almost with pleasure.

-Aldous Huxley

Update

Life is good. This is my last week of work, and it has been fabulous. I really love these kids. I'm looking forward to being done with work, but I will miss these kids. They all have such unique personalities that I have grown to love. Today one boy, who dances a lot anyway, was dancing out-of-control. It was hilarious. Everywhere we went, he danced. The best part about his dancing, is that it is so free-spirited. He is not self-conscious yet, which is funny, because I think it must be around the age of 5-7 where self-consciousness is slowly making its way into the picture. For example, one of my favorite boys today would not participate in this silly song/dance we do together. He stood there like he was too cool the whole time. However, "Dancing Boy", of course, got into it with his entire body. I told him that I like that he dances so much; it makes me happy. He does the "rock on" symbol with his hands and even plays air-guitar. I had to scold him for being too loud in line. He kept playing air-guitar, and making loud noises of "Bah Bah Bah Maaaahhhhh!" That was his guitar attempt. 

I had a nice time hanging out with Leslie and Alicia last night. I hadn't seen them in weeks, which is rare for us. I'm getting excited to move back to school, and I am feeling better about living with Leslie the more we talk about it. She's nervous and excited about transferring, and I'm looking forward to being able to show her around and help her out. Two people I work with will be freshman there this year, and I am looking forward to being able to make their transition easier. Especially the one, because she seems hesitant about it, like I was. I forget how awful Freshman year was until I start looking at people going into it, and then I feel pity for them. It makes me want to reach out to them in such a difficult transition. Although, I'm aware that many people will not have nearly as difficult of a transition as I did,  it is hard for everyone.

Things are going well with my project. I've received a few submissions, more positive feedback, and am getting some great research done from different anthologies on mental health. I'm reading Poets on Prozac right now, and I love it. There are so many unique and articulate ideas about creativity and mental health problems.

I'm tired. I need to answer some questions about my project for people, so I need to go. I needed to blog, though. When I wait to blog, I don't have time to get to insightful ideas, because I am trying to scratch the surface of my thoughts. I've actually had a few insightful/creative ones lately, but I haven't been writing or blogging enough to really grasp them. I'm working on it. Maybe tomorrow.

It's a Beautiful Day, Isn't It?

I had a wonderful weekend. Saturday I went to the art fair with Kristin's family to meet up with her. The weather was horrible, but I had a great time. Kristin and I ran into a girl we used to carpool with when we played soccer on a club team about an hour away. The funny thing is, we always saw this girl when we were together. Her parents drove us at the time and we saw them at the art fair too. What are the odds? It's not like I hang out with Kristin every day like I used to. I'm sure she doesn't travel with her parents as often as she used to. It was such a pleasant surprise to run into each other like old times. We didn't have much to say, but just the coincidence of it was great.

From there I went to my friend, Drew's to carpool to Jenn's wedding. We missed the wedding, because we were given the wrong outdoor location. It was incredibly depressing, but the beautiful reception made up for it. I wish I would have seen the wedding because John married them.  I hadn't seen her since Thanksgiving, and she looked absolutely beautiful--just glowing with happiness. At one point she said to us, "I'm so happy," and our table smiled, speechless. She responded, "It's sick, isn't it?"

I met with with a nun from Siena who has already published one anthology and is currently working on another. She helped me get my letter ready to send out to professors and advised me on the best way to go about sending it out. I have since sent out e-mails to over 30 Chairs of English departments all over the country, asking them to forward it to their English department. I have received several supportive responses, which is very exciting! A guy from NY said that he thinks it is  "ambitious and worthwhile," a woman from Alaska said she thought it was an "interesting" project, and a woman from Boston called it "vital." They all wished me luck. It has helped motivate me to continue working hard to look up addresses every day. It's a little monotonous, but it's cool to think of what may come of it. It makes me feel less guilty about not doing my own writing.

Last night I went to see a documentary at a Peace meeting. It was about nuns who go to prison for civil disobedience. It was well done, and there was a fantastic discussion that followed, which helped me to feel spiritually awake...even if only for the rest of the evening.

Speaking of awake, my job is incredibly draining. It's not physically draining. In fact, most people would think I have an easy job, because I work good hours and do not do manual labor. However, it is creatively, emotionally, and spiritually draining. I figure that is why I haven't been writing. I love the energy my job requires. I wish I had more energy to give, because I love the kids. I feel tired a lot, but every now and then they say something that wakes me up for a second to remember how lucky I am to be able to love and be loved by these kids. For example, yesterday this new boy, who is incredibly articulate, but very behind in school, was standing next to me with his hands in his jean pockets. He had on a plaid shirt and cowboy boots. It was recess; the other kids were playing. He looked around, then looked at me, and said, "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" I stifled a laugh, but failed to control my huge smile and said,  "It sure is." This kid uses his brilliant language skills to try to get out of working to learn anything else. For instance, I was asking him to do a task that would require him to practice shape names. He said, "How about I play with the dinosaurs instead?" like he is providing me with the options.  I have to test the kids on their first day to see how much they know at the start of school. I was quizzing him on the colors. As I held up the flash card with the black crayon on it, he said, "I said this over and over for like 20 years, but I can't remember." This kid is only five! I cracked up. It's hard to appreciate work when I'm so tired all of the time, but I really do love my job.

Natalie Goldberg

This is another one of my favorite authors. I haven't read this book yet, but I like that they made a "book video." It's like a music video would promote an album. Apparently, you tube is making books cool again :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e17SIiSRIwY

Culture

I finished a book where the Jewish author reflected on a traditional Jewish funeral. It reminded me that I wished I was Jewish when I was younger. Many of my favorite actresses, comedians, musicians, and even writers were Jewish. Plus, I was always abnormally interested in reading about the Holocaust. I read The Diary of Anne Frank on my own when I was going into fourth grade. My friend's older brother was teasing me about being a nerd, because he was four years older and was expected to read it for his class. Now, I understand that I wasn't supposed to be Jewish (like I thought), I was just a sensitive, compassionate kid. It's the same reason I started listening and being impacted by hip-hop in sixth grade. I could feel the anger and pain in their words and I loved the way they rhymed. I still do. I used to get made fun of for listening to hip-hop. I will admit, I've listened to my fair-share of crap rap, but I have tremendous respect for real hip-hop artists who write with feeling. Now that I can articulate the fact that I appreciate the way they play with language, because I'm an English major and a writer, people lay off when they harass me about loving hip-hop.  

What does this have to do with anything? Well, I was talking with lisa last week about how I was surprised a couple years ago when I learned two of my close friends from growing up who are Mexican, used to wish they were white when we were younger. They said they'd stay out of the sun to avoid getting darker, and try to deny their heritage. This blew me away, because I was always jealous that they had culture to connect with. I wished I was Mexican for a while too, because their parents spoke Spanish and they knew where they came from. The one friend's parents always made me Mexican food, practiced my Spanish with me, helped me with soccer, and had beautiful accents. I loved them. I then complained to lisa that I don't know anything about my heritage (for a long time I joked that I was a little bit of everything and part red-neck), and I wish I had some explanation for why I'm the way I am. She said, "Your parents and family make your culture. You have culture, it's just the dominant culture so it doesn't feel rebellious." I'm not looking for anything rebellious. I just wanted something that could ground me to my roots. The more I talked to her, I realized I do fit in with Catholic culture (the belief portion excluded), but I speak the lingo, know the hand motions, know the struggles and joys. Even though I have many things I'm angry at Catholicism for, I'm thankful to have a culture where I have fit in. It's funny, because the people I have the best discussions about faith with are either currently Catholic or ex-Catholics. I will have a great discussion with someone, and it is not until later they will admit to being raised Catholic or being currently Catholic. It doesn't even surprise me much anymore. Being a part of a certain culture is that strong of a connection.

I no longer wish to be something I'm not, but when I hear about things like racism and anti-semitism, they blow my mind. Have other people ever felt jealous that people have different cultures that exclude them? I wonder if that is what creates racist thoughts, if people feel excluded and fearful so they hate to protect themselves. There was this great quote in the movie about the Beat Poets. It was something along the line of, "If we love to protect ourselves from hate, maybe we hate to protect ourselves from love." 

 

A Cherry-Pit-Dumping Enlightenment (Sort-Of)

I was dumping cherry pits into the trash when it hit me. It was not a new thought, but a connection of several old ones. "I need to blog, but I have nothing to say," was the trigger thought that occurred when I made the short walk to the kitchen. It spiraled downward into self-loathing as I thought about the several pieces of writing that are all at dead ends, the fifty-million half-finished books I'm reading, the fact that I bought 4 books online today (2 I've already read). I am trying to carry on with my writing goals, despite the fact I'm not writing much. For example, I'm rereading a book I feel I can learn from and appreciate more a second read-through. Plus, I'm supposed to meet with a nun who just published an anthology to discuss my idea for an anthology on Monday. I have all these big goals and good intentions, and they are frozen right now. I've been feeling creatively frustrated the past month or so, then I thought about how I also have felt stunted spiritually. I once told Adam that my spirituality is like a car that won't start. I get little sparks here and there, but nothing to keep it running. Is it it a coincidence that I'm creatively and spiritually stuck? Then I realized, for me, they are connected. When I lost all sense of spirituality and had nothing left in me to even attend class, go out with friends, sleep, or pray, what did I do? I got my ass out of bed and went to the library to write. My creativity helped keep a little bit of some spirituality alive, which was enough to keep the me running, even if I still stalled out pretty regularly.

I don't know how to refill myself up spiritually and creatively, so I've been reading a lot. They say a big portion of a writer's job is reading. I'm revisiting books I read years ago. They are impacting me in new ways; I am seeing things I missed before. I've taken to underlining meaningful or well-written passages to reflect on--research for my own writing (that's how I rationalized buying 4 books today. They are well-written books I can use as models for my writing). 

I lost the energy from my cherry-pit-dumping enlightenment. I hate when I can't capture creative flashes like that one. I just couldn't slow my thoughts down enough. That's so frustrating. I'm going to keep pushing them, though. Keep forcing some writing, even if it's shit.  I wouldn't be so creatively drained if I wasn't stuck on an essay to the point of giving up (honestly, I worked the entire spring semester on this essay, and it's still not okay), unable to crank out any poems, and hadn't ran myself into a wall with my fiction. What's left? I really need to learn to play guitar so I can write songs. Three genres is just not enough for me. 

Keepin' the Faith

Tonight I spent the evening with Kristin, her mom, Dawn, Dashon, and a woman who worked as a teacher with inner city kids. I didn't talk much, because I had little to contribute to our heavy conversations. They all have faced so much adversity, and then the story of this woman's students made all of our lives look like heaven. Dashon talked about his exhaustion from depression, and how he wants to "take a semester off" of school. Kristin's mom told him he is half way there and how much we all believe in him. They then proceeded to tell stories of faith, answered prayers, and sparks of hope in dark moments. Kristin's mom recalled a few stories through tears where she felt her prayers were answered. One of them involved a man who was doing a repair on their furnace hearing them pray. John was crying because they didn't have enough money to fix it and they couldn't go to their Uncle's for Thanksgiving because the pipes would freeze. Kristin's mom told them that it was Thanksgiving so they needed to be thankful that they had each other. The repair man left, but returned and said, "God told me to come back with this part for the furnace. I'm going to fix it, and you don't have to pay me a penny." The tears of joy she cried while telling me about this were amazing. That idea of prayer connecting people and prayers being answered by people holds true for this. I'm thankful I have that to believe in, because I don't want to deny such a powerful connection. So what if a man in the sky didn't tell this guy to go back and fix their furnace for free so they could enjoy thanksgiving? The idea that belief can connect people like that and spark such miraculous,  counterintuitive, benevolence is awe-inspiring, which is the same thing as God for some. 

I had such a wonderful night and made sure to tell Dashon that I loved him (and all of them). It breaks my heart to see Dashon struggling with mental-health issues after so many years, but I see a light in him. I have faith that he will not only pull through, but do something huge to change the lives of many suffering.  Tonight he was talking about how there are not enough role-models for young Black men. The seed has been planted. I'm confident he will be one. He's got such a good heart and a drive to help others and seek truth. I'm just as confident and proud about Kristin and Dawn, but I feel the need to tell Dashon about it the most, since he feels so hopeless sometimes. Then, don't get me started on Kristin's mom. She has such a big heart and an admirable mindset. I am thankful to have friends I love and am so proud of in my life. I don't get to see or talk to them nearly as much as I would like. I realized I missed them more than usual the whole night I was with them. I kept feeling happy to be with them, but sad for all of the lost time and the knowledge I will not see them for a while again. It's not a bad sadness; it's that beautiful kind that causes me to treasure those moments more than anything else in the world.

Thunder and Lightning

The storms here have been outrageous. I've been talking with my friends, Laura and Tom, about mental health a lot lately. It's strange, because when I was severely depressed I had no problem blogging about seeing a therapist, symptoms I was experiencing, or being on medication. Now that I have my act together enough to appear sane, I've stopped talking about, or admitting any problems with my mental health. It's so much easier not to talk about it now that it doesn't plague me every day, but not talking about it is what makes it harder for people who are isolated by mental health problems. It's unfair for me to pretend it's not something I struggle with. I've been reading a lot about depression for my anthology idea. It was upsetting to read essay after essay of people who have lived 30+ years with depression, saying that it never goes away entirely. The good news is, it is something one can manage. Most days I'm pretty proactive about my mental health, although there are times when I give up and let myself slip until I can barely function. It's like I just desire a reminder that I'm still me. Darkness was a part of my identity for so long that it feels comfortable. When I'm away from it too long I get anxious. That must sound sick to anyone who hasn't experienced something similar. 

I didn't realize I ran out of my prescription for Wellbutrin. Therefore I am off my medicine until I get time to go to the pharmacy. I'm not sure when that will be. It's hard with work. Adam talked about how he used to stop taking it in the summer. I stopped taking it earlier this summer for a week or so, but I felt lousy, so I started taking it again. It's weird, because it is really all in my head. I think I can go without it for a while; I couldn't earlier in the summer, because I hadn't had time to be alone with my thoughts since before exams. Plus, moving is always a big transition, especially moving home, because I think I know what to expect, but it's never the same. Things are a little more stable now.

Today one of my little kids grabbed my hand when we were walking down to snack at the end of the day. The storm was really loud. She said, "I'm scared." I assured her she would be safe in the school and on the bus. Then she said, "I don't like storms, but sometimes they're really pretty." It made me smile so big. I said, "I think they can be pretty, too!" Storms are dark and depressing, but the flashes of destructive light help me pause and appreciate life for a moment. I just try to breathe and appreciate the fact that I'm alive and okay, despite being surrounded by chaos. It's funny how thunder and lightning can make me feel the most intense flashes of peace sometimes. Lightning bolts of peace. I should put that in a poem sometime.

Blue Skies

Life is good. This weekend was wonderful. I'm always surprised at how much the weather influences my mood. For example, I was feeling down Wednesday night and even some of Thursday, but the combination of having perfect weather all weekend plus spending time with my entire family, including Adam, was great.

I am working more on my fictional short story, and it is getting better. I'm really surprised and pleased, because I haven't finished a fictional short story since last summer. CRAZY.

On the fourth, a close friend had a breakdown and we were both car-less, so we met up to walk at midnight. We walked (and sat by a statue at a local college) until after 2AM. It was a beautiful night. The weather was perfect, the stars were out, and I could feel the love. It's funny, because friendships are so powerful, yet they are so normal and unappreciated until moments where we realize how much we need them. My friend had an awful night; I was worried about her, but it felt really good to just be with her and acknowledge her suffering. I want to write about it sometime, because it was a really moving evening. I'm not articulating it very well here, but I'm not motivated enough to play around with words and describe it better. I'm not much of a writer this evening, I guess.

I have tomorrow off. I plan to run, do laundry, and catch up on errands. It won't be the most fun day off, but it's still a day off. I'm feeling anxious lately. I think I just want to get moved in and back to school. It's not that I'm unhappy here, it's just that it's getting harder to live this double life. I established more of a life at school this year, and to be away from that, and try to fit into my old life--when all of my old friends are either not here, busy, different, have boyfriends, etc... I'm not upset about any of those, because that's natural, but it just makes me feel like I fit in better up at school in my new life rather than my old one. It's hard going back and forth, but I do enjoy coming home to escape everything during the year.

This entry is rather bland. I felt the need to update, because the longer I wait, the harder it gets to write anything. It's all about the writing practice and discipline. Here's my half-assed attempt at discipline.

I'm Worried About This

http://www.writersweekly.com/the_latest_from_angelahoycom/004597_03272008.html

What Would (Your Venerable Teacher's Name Here) Do?

Lisa wrote this poem for me. It includes all of our favorite spiritual teachers with things they preach, and the last three names are her, and then two mutual friends. Chris is a great guy from my writer's group; Adam is one of my craziest, but closest friends.

What Would (Your Venerable Teacher's Name Here) Do?

The greatest minds on earth

have planted

the seeds of wisdom in your heart.

When trouble comes,

ask yourself,

"What would Annie Dilliard do?"

Look. See.

"What would Buddha do?"

Be present in the moment.

"What would Rumi do?"

Dance the Universal Love.

"What would Thich Nhat Hahn do?"

breathe in, calm

breathe out, smile

"What would Natalie Goldberg do?"

Keep the hand moving.

"What would Anne Lamott do?"

Find beauty, pain, lessons and questions in the struggle.

"What would Julia Sweeney do?"

Let God go.

"What would Karen Armstrong do?"

Be nourished by good teachings from many traditions.

"What would Elizabeth Gilbert do?"

Eat.

Pray.

Love.

"What would Jesus do?"

Feed the poor.

"What would Chris Matthias do?"

Gather with friends. Play. 

Go on a vision quest. Sweat.

"What would Adam Deline do?

Sing and dance. Barefoot.

"What would lisa eddy do?"

Transform through ceremony.

The seeds of wisdom are in your heart.

When trouble comes, ask,

What would my venerable teachers do?

Then do it.

Signs

I had the best experience with my writing workshop the past five days. I learned a lot and made some amazing connections. It was fantastic, because it was such a variety of people ranging from 20-72. There were fifteen-year-old boys and a 92-yr-old man in the memoir class, but the 20-72 range is referring to my class and the people who hung out after class. I went out for "drinks" with them, but had to admit I was not 21. I had rice and beans instead. Last night we went to a nice restaurant; a 72-yr-old nun (who was in charge of the workshop) payed for all of our dinner. It was incredibly generous of her. I learned at dinner that she just published an anthology of Catholic short stories. I asked her if I could meet with her to talk about my anthology idea and she was very supportive of it. My teacher is a very well-established author http://philipfdeaver.com (if you want to check him out yourself). He won the Flannery O'Connor award for short fiction. He was very supportive of my work and gave me a free signed copy of his book. It made me feel so good. Everyone gave me a surplus of compliments, because I was the youngest one there. I needed something like that. Confidence is a good thing.

One of the women was a Social Worker on the South side of Chicago and I really admired her free-spirit. She talked about all of these trips she has taken alone, sort of spiritual pilgrimages. I told her that I am an anxious person and should try something like that to overcome it. She said, "The most important thing I've learned is to pay attention to signs." I laughed because we were driving and had almost taken a wrong turn. I also laughed at how I fail to notice signs. She said, "I mean literal signs, but metaphorical ones too. I would have missed so much if I would've missed some signs." I reflected on this. I am oblivious to all signs. I think her saying that was a sign that I should pay attention to. To add to this sign, my teacher told me today, "I wouldn't say this to most people, but because you are so young don't feel like you're not a writer if you stop writing for a couple months or even a couple years. The most important thing is to stay up on reading and live. Do something crazy like go to Turkey." The nun interrupted and said, "And while you're there take a Turkish bath." I thought more about this, and I do need to do some spontaneous traveling alone. I can't live in a bubble my whole life. I'd like to slowly progress into it, though. I figure there is no need to throw myself into situations where I have panic attacks.

I meant to do so much more reading and writing tonight. I didn't read at all, but I did write four pages of a journal entry. I guess, that's acceptable. I need to go to bed. I have to wake up early. I took a long nap today, though, so I probably won' fall right asleep. Oh well, what can ya do?

I'll Write a Novel, Run a Marathon, and Save the World

I shouldn't be blogging. I am in a five day writing workshop. It started last night and ends Sunday morning. I was assigned an 8-page fictional story to start and finish before then. I am terrible at fiction, but I love writing challenges. I'm excited to see where it takes me. I should be investing any free time into the story, but I just got back from a run, and am taking a few moments to debrief. In class I felt so jittery and excited. I think it's from working all day and then sitting in a classroom for two hours. I enjoyed the lecture and writing exercises a great deal. After class I was so jittery that I was excited to get home and run. When I made it home, I started my run much too fast, but I was just full of energy. It died, though. My run was good, but not any better or worse than normal. My energy to write a novel in one night is gone, which is good, because my instructor reminded us of all of the excuses and traps we can fall into in order to avoid finishing a story. He said 8 pages. No more. No less. I'm curious to see where I will go with this project.

Work is going well. I love the kids, but we don't have very many yet, which makes me sad. It makes for a slow day, and the kids don't have as many others to play with. Today we took them swimming. That's one of my favorite parts of my job--when we take them to the pool. Their reactions are just priceless. I should blog about so much more, and put more thought into this, but I'm tired. I need a shower. Plus, I really need to get going on that story!

Tragedy

I received this mass message from a friend who is in Palestine. It broke my heart.

Hi Folks,

A semi-quick message--I really need some support and a little time from all of you right now. This morning, we received notice that two university students had been shot and killed last night during an Israeli raid into Nablus, the city in the West Bank that we are staying in right now. We toured the flat less than 12 hours after their deaths. The Israeli army had used small explosives to enter the room and shot and killed one confirmed member of Islamic Jihad and a suspected affiliate of Hamas (the locals and university students I am working with all claim that the 2nd student was not an activist and as apolitical as a student under military occupation can be). Both men were unarmed when Israeli forces entered their apartment. One was shot 16 times while he was still in bed, naked, while the other was shot in the chest several times. The explosives used to enter the apartment had already torn through both of his legs and his arms. The first witnesses to the scene told us they believe he was executed after he was wounded.

I saw the flat. I saw the blood next to the shattered pieces of furniture, appliances, and debris. There were no explosives, no weapons, nothing. Just your ordinary student flat.

They could easily have been arrested. Another one of the students in the apartment building, the one who answered the 1st floor door, was arrested without a struggle. Instead, the Israeli forces deprived the Palestinians, themselves, and the world of justice by executing suspected militants without a trial or conviction. This is not unusual.

For a sense of how twisted the reporting on this situation can be, please check out these links:

http://www.nytimes.com/reuters/world/international-palestinians-israel-violence.html?_r=1&ref=world&oref=slogin
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/7470530.stm
http://english.aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2008/06/20086246582657247.html

Again, I witnessed this scene less than 12 hours after the students were killed, saw videos and pictures taken directly after the raid, and heard the eye-witness accounts of those who lived, worked, and went to school with these students.

Needless to say, I'm a little shaken, but I care more that you are able to benefit from what I saw today. A quick little note from you, though, would make a big difference for me...as well as your time checking out those stories.

I love you all..

Anne Lamott

This is what truth sounds like to me. It's a long interview, but worth it--even if you only can watch a couple minutes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PhP5GmybvPM

All My Life's a Circle

Tonight I gathered in a circle with a few people from the South Dakota trips to reminisce and reflect on our intense experiences. A group usually goes to the reservation every summer, but this summer the trip fell through. It's heartbreaking for so many people. It's crazy how many lives are affected by these trips. Tonight I was reminded how intense the energy and connection is between all of us. We are still very much connected to the people on the reservation. Many of them are just as sad as we are that we cannot make it out. The energy fades when I don't see the group for extended periods of times, my life challenges me, or I feel down. I discovered that this is a defense mechanism, because the spiritual energy from my experience last summer with the kids is too much to carry around alone. Other people don't want to hear about it 24/7, and it's an experience that words will never do justice; that gets frustrating. The energy fades, and I think it was some fluke that I will never understand. Then I get back together with the group, and we feed off of what little energy is left in each other, and when I leave I'm high off of the experience again--unable to sleep and experiencing life with a new, temporary lens.

We agreed that there has to be a reason this energy is so slow to die. We have seen real, positive change in lives here and on the reservation. It's hard to keep going, because we are all so wrapped up in our own lives, but it's even harder to just let it die.

Last year, after our life-changing week with the kids from the reservation here in Michigan, "Let it Be" was one of our mantras and a song we associate with the week. I was moved when the song came on the radio as I drove away from Jon's house tonight. I sang loudly and let the music take me away, because when the kids were here, there were many night drives from Jon's to my house alone. It's not a very long drive, but long enough to process the amazing experiences before going home to bed. It was a wonderful flashback to be able to have a few moments alone with just me and the radio after a spiritual experience.

We talked about how our lives have changed over the year, and what is the same, because we view life as a circle. We have always sung Harry Chapin's "All My Life's a Circle" when we are together. We even have silly dance moves, that freaked me out and made me want to run away when I was 16 (dancing during prayer times is so NOT cool). Now, I have grown to love the silliness we feel while enjoying the connection and wisdom the song sparks.

I start work bright and early tomorrow. I guess, that means I have to start functioning on a normal schedule. I took a two-hour nap today. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't find any reason to make myself wake up. I'll feel the sudden change of sleep schedule hard tomorrow. Until then, I will try to relax and be okay with my inability to fall asleep. Maybe I will read or write a bit.

Goodbyes

I said goodbye to April and Evan today. It was unreal, because it's hard to imagine them being on the other side of the country. I was telling April that, even though I'll still see them at holidays, the fact that they are three time zones away is the worst part. Time zones separate people emotionally-- in addition to the physical separation created from distance. I reflected on this same idea when I was at the O'Hare airport in Chicago on the way to Las Vegas for Spring Break. We landed on a Saturday evening, and I thought about how I was in the same city as Adam (the atheist--not the priest). It's funny, because Chicago is not that far away. If he lived in Traverse City, I wouldn't think much of the distance, but all I could think about was how it was nice to be in the same time zone as my brother. I just take for granted the idea that I am in the same time zone and connected by similar everyday events to the people I love. Most of us all eat lunch or dinner within a few hours of each other. We usually have several hours of sleep at night that overlap. One hour is not that big of a difference, but I still notice it when it comes to chatting to Adam online or calling. We're certainly on different schedules. It will be really tough having April and Evan three time zones away. It will make calling a pain in the ass, but we've always e-mailed pretty regularly. 

It's funny, because saying goodbye to them forced me think about how our relationship has evolved since I first met April on my way to South Dakota when I was 16.  I went to breakfast with Jon recently; I mentioned that I was still close with April and Evan. He said it brought a tear to his eye, which is funny, because it's a classic Jon moment, but it was nice that he recognized the sacredness in the growth I've experienced in the past few years.

I can't stop thinking about how many people I've had dramatic goodbyes with in the past year or two. It seems like I say a lot more goodbyes; it's the long ones that kill. I hate when I don't know if or when I will see the person. Saying goodbye to my writing professor was hard for that reason, because I knew I could learn so much more from her, but I might not see her again. It made me think of saying goodbye to my favorite English professor from the year before. I still e-mail her from time to time, but I didn't expect to see her again when I said goodbye. I wonder if I ever will. Kristin is going to Spain for the ENTIRE year next year. Saying goodbye to her will be heartbreaking, I'm sure. April's sister, Val, is also moving out-of-state, so I am preparing to go to coffee with her in the next couple weeks to say a final goodbye. Even saying goodbye to Adam before he goes back to Chicago,  saying goodbye to my family before I go back to school, or saying goodbye to my friends at school before I come home for the summer is emotionally draining. I am fortunate, because I keep meeting wonderful people, but the more people I meet, the more goodbyes that brings. 

I'm always especially awkward when I say long goodbyes. I ruin the moment by being silly or stupid, because it keeps me from being sad until the person actually leaves and allows me to laugh a little longer with them. I should work on my goodbye behavior. How does one practice that? I seem to do it a lot these days, so I should get smoother at it, but sometimes I feel like my inappropriate and awkward behavior in sad situations helps ease the intensity of the sadness. It does for me, at least.

We Stand Alone

**This is a work in progress

Indie music plays
like colorful dots
dancing on a white wall.
We turn it up
until the bass
owns our hearts.
We sit silent,
surrounded by noise,
driving across our dark dead town
like we did
years ago,
before we stood alone.

Car doors slam.
Stiff hugs and stiff drinks
reunite forgotten friends,
summing up years
in short sentences.
Silences tainted by time
tear freshly formed masks.
I giggle glue
we’re no longer
patient enough to let dry
like we did
years ago,
before we stood alone.

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cReAtiVitY

I'm creatively frustrated. I've had bursts of creative energy throughout the past couple days; I've even jotted stuff down on a notepad with the "Lady of Guadalupe" on it. I look at the notes. They inspire me to write, but when I actually start typing it feels meaningless. The Lady of Guadalupe notebook is really cool, so that in itself motivated me to write. Also, I finished the book about the woman with Bi-polar disorder. It was the same woman who wrote, "Wasted," the book on living with an eating disorder when she was 23. It was good to see how frustrated she gets with writing. She goes weeks without writing when she gets depressed. It's been a couple weeks, and all I've written is a few journal entries and a poem. My writer's group is meeting for the first time on Sunday morning (at my house). I hope to talk about goals with them and work on fixing up my two poems.

I waste a lot of creative energy on making playlists. When I'm inspired to write, I have to have the perfect playlist first (excluding my disciplined writing time). This is only for my spontaneous attempts to write. In my writing class, my professor always said being a writer means combining creative, spontaneous inspiration with discipline and technicalities. They don't blend together very nicely most days. 

I've spent a lot of time the past couple days at the hospital with my grandma, who had her kidney removed. She is recovering nicely. I'm going back tomorrow morning. The hospital certainly evokes creative feelings. There are so many unhealthy, unhappy people, yet so much love. It's nice to witness how people bond together so selflessly in times of struggle. It made me think about human beings' benevolence as an evolutionary benefit. We touched on that a bit in my "Religion and Psych" class. I was also reflecting on how amazing it is that the doctors can cut a person open, remove an organ, and the person's body heals at tremendous speeds. The human body is amazing, along with the human mind; I'm especially grateful that we have the ability to connect and help each other because of our advanced minds. I was thinking about how miraculous it is that we can read words--just black and white symbols--and feel a specific emotion that the writer intends. We can control each other's emotions with black and white symbols. I can make people laugh, cry, or angry. I can recreate any emotion and make a reader feel actual EMPATHY, because I can describe the feeling with the countless words available as tools to me. I I love the power writing has. I'm not being proud; anyone can write (how well is another story). The pen is mightier than the sword. Write on.

Change and Growth

I spent last evening with Kristin and her brother, John. We dropped in to see some friends from high school. Several of them dropped out of college and are working decent, but repetitive and depressing jobs. We conversed uncomfortably about all of the people from our class with kids. One of the boys seemed so down and apathetic. Kristin and I talked all afternoon today. We couldn't help but admit to feeling sad after leaving the boys last night. I'm used to things changing, and I don't keep in touch with many people from my class. It's easy to forget about their struggles until I see them again. I think I feel the most sadness for the people who haven't changed--or the ones stuck at jobs where they will be the rest of their lives. The monotonous jobs where happiness is drinking a six pack on the weekend. I guess, some people are content with a simple life, but that seems so depressing to me. It seems like they are just numbing themselves with mind-altering substances and trying to "survive" instead of live. I shouldn't assume they aren't legitimately happy. It could be that I know too many unhappy people, and that taints my view of happiness in humanity.

Kristin is living in Spain all of next year, so she is trying to come home to see her mom a lot. It's been nice. I think I've seen her more in the past month than I have in the last two years combined. It is amazing how much we both have changed since high school. I considered her one of my best friends then (I still do), but we were in all of the same classes, soccer captains together, same clubs...we were constantly competing, and that made it difficult to fully trust one another. We both have grown so much. We have totally different interests and lifestyles; I barely see her, but I realized today that she is one of the rare people I think I will be friends with for life. Even if that means, only talking on the phone once a year. I don't think she will ever completely fade out of my life. At least, I hope not. There's very few friends I feel that confident about. I love all of my friends, but I'm not so naive to think that we will be friends forever. Life tears people apart. I am terrible at goodbyes and letting people go, but I'm learning. Jenn (from the South Dakota group) said "we are never as far away from someone as our thoughts." I like that idea, because I think about all of the people I care about often. I think of the most random people sometimes. Last night, I thought about a good friend of mine from fourth grade who moved away. I wonder what happened to him.

Things change. It's sad, but beautiful to be able to reflect on life as a circle. John's band is signed now. They still have a long ways to go, but they're playing pretty big shows and opening for killer bands. I can remember when he was pestering his mom to let him buy a guitar when we were in middle school. People, things, and places change. Friendships do too, but there's just something really powerful about keeping friends throughout life and changing together. My friend, Adam, and I were recently talking about how he and I have both changed so much since we became friends a year and a half ago. We both have evolved and grown closer to the center of our beliefs. While we used to be on nearly opposite sides, we are both pretty laid  back and moderate--either that, or we're both just crazy together.

I've had trouble writing for the last couple weeks. It's been enough to drive me mad. I have a first draft of a poem, though. I'm unbelievably happy about it. I will post it if I ever finish it (or get a solid enough of a draft to post).

Identity & Maybies

I’ve been reflecting on life. I feel like I’m always waiting for it to get better instead of enjoying the moment. It's like when I have my ipod on shuffle. I keep skipping tracks to get to a "better" song, only to realize I passed far too many good songs along the way to get to a mediocre one.

I just watched “Leaving Las Vegas” and then “The Last Kiss,” both incredibly depressing movies. It made me think about how everyone talks about college being the best time in life, because there is so much possibility. I don’t think that’s it. I think they look back at college, because it’s a time where people are adult enough to live in reality but inexperienced enough to dream unrealistically. I think I will always dream big.

People have mid-life crises because they realize, “Wow, I’ve been waiting for something spectacular that’s never going to come.” “The Last Kiss” talked about how people are having their crises much earlier, which probably is just an identity crises. The character was saying that we are moving at such a faster pace that we have these panic-stricken realizations earlier in our lives. It reminded me how I jokingly left my friend a voicemail in the fall telling her I needed her help, because I was having a “quarter-life crisis.” I laughed about it, at the time, but it was just an identity crisis. I think I will have flashes of identity crises all throughout my schooling. My friend (the one I left the voicemail to) is several years older and she said she thinks that we are supposed to have them forever.

INDENTITY…

What does it even mean? We all have so many different slivers of ourselves that we expose. It doesn’t mean we are fake--because the slivers are all from the same board. We can’t fake the quality of the board. I’m thinking about that quote “Character is who you are when no one is watching.” I suppose, that’s true, but it makes it sound so easy. I don't even know who all of me is. I can think of a few rare individuals in my life who make me feel like they see all of me. That usually scares me. Sometimes I push them away, because I don’t like seeing myself reflected off of someone else. For example, I wrote an essay about my friend, Adam. He is comfortable enough with himself and outrageous enough to be able to inspire an honest essay. I didn’t have to make him look like a saint. He was flattered and didn’t mind seeing his flaws included with his attributes. He recently told me he wants to start writing again (he hasn’t written since high school). He said he wants to write an essay about me, because I’m so neurotic (in the lovable way—or so he says). I confessed that I don’t think I can handle seeing someone’s honest reflection of me. It scares me. 

Most of my thoughts are consumed by trying to find truth--especially truth in myself. It feels hopeless some days. Everyone says how I over-think things. It’s true. It’s a vicious downward spiral—I think about how awful it is that I over-think things, then I think about how I need to stop, but then I get frustrated when I can’t stop thinking, and I get mad that I’m over-thinking it all. Everyone says, “Try meditation.” I do. It helps, but I’m beginning to think I will always be a little crazier than the rest of the world. While that is bad on many different levels (poor health, anxiety, etc…), I think that’s why I connect with people easily. I am a compassionate person, because I’m always thinking about what different situations would feel like. I couldn't write if I wasn't compassionate, and writing is such a huge part of my identity. I wouldn't give up my wild mind if it meant giving up writing.

Maybe I should just stop feeling bad about the fact that I over-think things until I feel bad. 

Maybe I should just breathe the sanskrit mantra “ham-sa" or “I am that.” 

Maybe I should just let it be. 

Maybe I should just let me be. 

Maybe I’m working on it, and that's all I should demand of myself for now.

God Says Yes to Me

We read this in my writing class and I fell in love with it. 

God Says Yes To Me

By Kaylin Haught

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes