drive 'til morning comes

Tonight in my car I could drive anywhere. Upstate, that state, across states to sun rising on gold coast. What would you say if I came to your door? Tonight I believe I could do it, could go anywhere on $20 and half a tank.

i miss ya kido, im glad we got to see each other in the city when i was poor and on top of the world

But I shift so quickly. Give me an audience and I tumble faster and higher than I have since summer. The time gaps are never too wide. Gymnastics means more to me than most people. I will always burn to be upside down. To raise my face to the lights in time to the music. And so I will. Even in small gyms on Thursdays nights. There is no "until."

a smile...like a lighthouse on the tip of Long Island.

Tonight I dream about running and this one and that one and our friends coming together. All of these things matter.

bury your head

I move slowly on days when I only have one (well, two) jobs. I don't sleep well, keep waking to turn onto my side, my back, my side again. It all started post-surgery with my tremendous brace, when turning had to be conscious. I need new colors, new curves in the land, new thoughts.

But where projectors fail, Nutella takes its place. A spirited discussion. The nuclear wings. Strangely enough, I've got it together.

photos of snow

Nostalgia runs rampant lately.

11:11 a.m.

This morning as I fall back asleep, I see them in parachutes lifting up and away. Not me, though. Sometimes you're the soul, other times you're the body.

crack the sky

It's the day to run at 5:06 and finish at 5:46, but the music's so good that you keep moving. You walk a campus loop as Elton John sings "Tiny Dancer" in Australia and the sky burns orange, pink streaks puffing against soft blue. You remember what Dom wrote - the sky reflects the water - and you are alone, you are filled with light.

algunas cositas con respeto a las gimnastas hoy

-I'm definitely a fan of Lauren Mitchell; very cool beam set, and at least her floor choreography attempts to go with the music!
-Same to Ana Porgras.
-Beth Tweddle's "dance" was offensively bad. In fact, nonexistent. World champion how?
-Rebecca Bross and Bridget Sloan are good, but not anywhere near as captivating as the Shawn-Nastia rivalry. No spark from either of them.
-Sun Liu (sp?) may have indeed looked like "a little girl running around the playground with her friends," but her dance showed expression and creativity beyond two poses - jump - two poses - tumble - two poses - leap pass.
-And seeing Steve Legendre on TV = freakin' sweet!

Hey, Emeline

(Set to the tune of "Hey, Jude" --> check it!)

Dear Emeline (Body Mass, as Britt would have it),

Remember that time Beth convinced me it would be a good life decision to try out for cheerleading? And I made it? And you helped me get ready for my first game in secret, then texted your mom a picture? And then the next morning I slumped into the den and Tanya noticed that one of my pupils was dilated? So you made me hide my face in your pillow and then shone a light into my eye to see if it reacted? And then throughout the week you forwarded me information about strokes, most likely while you were working at the library desk and I was on the computers there?

:-)

12:12, for lack of better title

I walk up the sidewalk through softly rolling green hills, sun filtered through yellow and orange and feel here. Not elsewhere, not anyone else.

Lately I'm not really saying anything. But nothing's raced me to do so. No kicks, no slaps. Just murmurs. She asks how I am and I say solid and I realize that is the word. Four jobs make strange harmonious sense. I love teaching. Kaylee, Hannah, and Leah now have the potential to kick ass on bars. "I saw you jogging the other day," he says. Back to the highway, indeed.

But I wonder sometimes which of these things is fleeting.

on meteor night

Where do all the lost letters run? The ones that never appear in password boxes or love messages. The poems and song lyrics scribbled along class notes, those equations and quadrants soon forgotten. The ones that disappear after the screen turns black, face snapped shut. The ones we whispered each day, each night.

What songs do they sing now?

Pueblo

I am my father's daughter. I strike up conversations with the cleaning lady who talks of Mexico and I imagine planes descending on brown valley runway. I yell at the ones who think they can get away with anything. My voice rings from mat-padded wall. Oh, no, you can't, not anymore. I find joy in the repetition of step-step-step-step-step... on pavement and treadmill track in morning piercing light, in afternoon bluster, in dusk.

--

Every Friday feels nostalgic, or maybe I'm just too quick with copy/paste, or overtired enough to let the fall air rattle me. But this Saturday afternoon speeds by like the gusts against the clouds. I am here. I am happy.

Isn't it...

5.

jersey devils

At 4:45 am, I hear conversations in the hamster wheel, think about all the e's (and the hypen) in "re-elect," remember a handout on research that I can give to my students. Write this the next night at 3:13 am when my spelling and syntax's all right but my punctuation's just a little bit off and I'd best sleep before I say too much.

Yes, I crank that every day

I write you into corners where I'm the only one who sees you.

But today I prefer wide open spaces.

Today I miss typing a quick "experiment" for Monday morning. Miss wheat bagels with egg whites and Swiss cheese, and hot chocolate on the scandalous days. Blackboard stars and photo projects on the overhead, the pain for all to see. "Too many words." Quiet Adirondack waters. Emphatic nods. You and me laughing because we always felt the same. In a way, I miss the up-and-down every-day-an-adventure-in-joy-or-pain that moved the year. Miss the barely-unbroken girl with eyes to northern stars regardless.

Don't worry about the conclusion. Tell a story.

red and black

I walked into the bathroom of the Japanese restaurant and saw my hair in the mirror. Dark as it always was after a year of red. Black as clouds streaked over piercing moon. Don't you hurt my moon, you.

--

I took on too much but I've come to love it all, come to hold it close.

soul gusts

I feel like my freshmen: I want to sleep all day. Is it the orange juice that's giving me these strange dreams and no rest? Some night I'm cold as midwinter, but you know my season's always changing.

But I love this wind. Wild boisterous gusts sending leaves spinning and branches stumbling. The kind that blows straight into the soul.

sound of distant drumming

I need my mind to be thrown wide open.

these are the lives you'd love to lead

Throwing hands up for "We Built This City," talking about overseas, cramming onto trains, torn eardrums from MSG screaming, four hours of sleep from missed alarm, Caralyn's film debut, dance dance dance.

I needed this.

Notes next to pumpkin buckets

Today:

Woke up at 6:48 and never really returned to sleep. Purple eyeshadow (why not?). 111 -> LIE -> Nicolls = NEVER. AGAIN. But the red FAC/STAFF parking permit is probably the best thing that's happened to me. Ever. Learned of Ireland's debate over voting yes or no for the EU. Glad we could stimulate the economy (or, rather, buy cheap sandwiches and let Irish boys pay our admission to the discoteca -- oops!). Refrained from reading about heinous crimes. Learned that Chicago was out in round one. Learned that Rio won. Put together a newsletter. Brought my red hat just in case anyone was giving out free SBU stuff today. Did not score any such stuff. Ate pizza. Eavesdropped on enthusiastic Spanish conversation.

"You look so pretty with make-up on!" the girls said.

"Why'd you wear make-up today?" said Valentina, age 8.

"I wanted to look like an adult," I said.

"I think it makes you look younger," she said.

Nice.

Then Fame and my cousin on screen and in the credits! And now it's getting later and I'm getting more tired, but hell, it's Friday and I should be crying by now, especially since I have to get up the morning, no?

:-)

Consider You Stalked.

Oh, Google. You make this far too easy!

10.1.09

I love that it's October. Rolling thick gray-blue clouds. Wind swirling orange, red, yellow and rattling branches. But still sunlight, slanting shadows. Sweatshirts and smoke in air. Pumpkins, apple cider, giddy fear, spirit whispers.

Let this year be the one where I'm not sad.

closing tonight with a little MJ

I'd be in bed, but I like to end my days with a word.

Writeeditreadprintgo! --> to the post office as gray wind whips the canvas bag against me and an old man calls to me as he protests Obama's healthcare on the curb --> to the pen, to the sealed envelope, to Westhampton.

I've needed this momentum.

--

Tonight the clouds are glowing.