flash

"Asshole." Brittany glares at the white car who dared budged into her path. We successfully complete the lefthand turn onto Groton. "What is he doing? I had the turning signal! Right?"

"No," I admit.

"Oh. Oops. Sorry about that."

"It's cool."

And it was.

..

Angela's tiny townie, stuck in a backward roll: "A little help, please?"

(Ahh, another one of those classes where Kelly and I just wanted to pull the fire alarm.)

And from the fabulous Angela herself, as the wee children stretched and we did not help them: "So what's this about grad school? Are you going?"

"Well, I got in one place so far --"

"Ah, yes, I heard about that. And by 'heard,' I mean 'read.'"

..

"Rachel said, 'Tell Diana that I love her,'" Chris recalls as I test my balance on the "Vew-Do" board. "And Chase said, 'Well, I don't think I'll say that...but tell her I say hi.'"

Chuck Norris has counted to infinity -- twice.

..

I saw what she wrote.

"Wanted: someone willing to be used."

A clean break

I broke down today.
There were no witnesses. No music. No gasps for air.
A clean break.
Everything concentrated into rigid white
and I
swallowed it
down.

And what does all of that mean?
Well,

Dear Emeline,

I know you predicted that you’d find my painkillers unused five years from now. But since I have been disobeying your orders to rest and have instead raced on the stationary bike for one hour and ten minute-long intervals, and then waken up in pain each morning, I have decided that it is time to take one for the team.

Sincerely,
Your impatient patient

P.S. Brittany would like to share, “I can’t believe you broke something. Again.”

..

I look at my pictures and realize that I have every reason in the world to be happy.

an old song/ a bright night

I like it; I find it fitting.

Hope dangles on a string
Like slow spinning redemption
Winding in and winding out
The shine of it has caught my eye
And roped me in
So mesmerizing, so hypnotizing
I am captivated
I am vindicated
I am selfish
I am wrong
I am right
I swear I'm right
I swear I knew it all along
And I am flawed
But I am cleaning up so well
I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself
So clear...

So turn
Up the corners of your lips
Part them and feel my fingertips
Trace the moment, fall forever
Defense is paper thin
Just one touch and I'd be in
Too deep now to ever swim against the current
So let me slip away...

...

The night glowed deep purple Tuesday night. A snow fell that silenced wind. White trees, white land, white curves held steady under the gaze of a blurry moon.

Quiet.

The creek rushed against wooden barriers -- Beaver Creek, perhaps, or some nameless waterway that was dry dirt in summer and rejoicing runoff in winter when all other life moved reluctantly.

Then there was another noise: brush against glass, systematically swiping the glow from the windshield. An unnatural noise.

I smiled then.

Who was I to disturb this night?

bigger than my body.

Many people celebrate the anniversaries of blissful or tragic events.

I celebrate each injury's anniversary with a new one.

Wouldn't want to be stuck in the past, now, would we? Who wants to reminisce about last year's two hour-plus hospital visit when Cortland Memorial is a mere two blocks away?

Two years in a row, Fat Tuesday was the day. First, my knee cracked and then swelled up to the size of the early post-surgery days. Back came the ice, training room stim, Ace bandage. Even the limp returned as a touch of nostalgia. A month or so later, I made myself fine by tumbling on the Spins floor (death-defying, to be sure).

If Tanya hadn't been in the training room with me last year when they'd poked at the crepitus in my foot, I most certainly would not have gone to the hospital. Why such a hassle when clearly all I needed was ice and a day or two of taking it easy? Okay, how about four months? How about the fact that, for all I know, that damn fifth metatarsal could still be broken?

Oh, and I thought I was being clever this year. Tuesday passed. Then Ash Wednesday. No practice for me until Saturday's competition; I'd avoided giving up gymnastics for Lent this year.

Nearly a week from last Thursday, I was in a similar position to the year before: waiting waiting waiting at the Cortland Hospital, listening to American Idol, and wondering, What'd you do this time?

But this year, I knew that prayers on x-ray tables do not work. I knew that despite how much milk I drank or the "careful" activities I participated in, the bone would still heal at whatever pace it chose, and most likely not one that I agreed with.

But I'd competed on it -- and pretty decently, too. As voices approached and then roamed away from my little room, I began to almost hope that I'd done something that would show up on an x-ray. It would justify Emeline's patience in the waiting room, the tug I felt whenever I breathed (or laughed...walked...jumped...flipped...), the moments of my life that I'd spent making noise in hopes that someone would hear me and just lead me to the x-ray table already.

Just as Tanya had been correct last year, Emeline knew what was up this time. We scampered into her room and loaded the x-ray CD onto the computer. We found the magnifying glass tool. And then we searched high and low until we found the intruder: a fairly straightfoward crack of the tenth rib. Nothing like last year's lengthy and perplexing sine wave.

I'll believe "four to six weeks" when I see it. And you'll see me compete. Experience and adrenaline: stronger than any dosage of ibuprofen.

....

Lest I feared building up too much bad karma, I discovered that I have been accepted into El Paso's MFA in Creative Writing program. The one I've been talking about for several weeks now and finally applied to at the last minute. I wouldn't actually get in, of course.

I still can't believe it.

Now May is not so terrifying - I may actually do somehing that I enjoy with my life. Imagine??

the fiction, the romance

I just want to write something fictitious and potent. Apparently I can't do either right now. So:

"Chelsea? Chelsea?"
I turned around. "No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, sorry."
As I walk away, one of the guys observes, "That's not Chelsea."

"My mile time is faster than my GPA."
"Dude, a 2-minute mile is impossible."

"How can a girl show a guy that she loves him without intercourse?"
"Send him a card."

"A kidney is 10G. That's all I'm going to say."

And yes, it was said to me:

"You don't even know the shit I've gone through because of you."

"You really like this club thing, huh?"

In the 11th hour (and 11th year) of my gymnastics career, Doug Gallagher FINALLY witnessed that I do not, in fact, compete on "the chains."

As we look for a parking spot at Cornell, the CD Caroline made for me turns to a familiar pop beat. "Piece of Fucking Me," Caroline declares.

"Can you write a story about me?" she asks the next day. "Put me in the circus. Or as a prostitute in France...I'm speaking at your wedding."

"TAKE IT TO THE STREETS!" Mindy yells as I'm about to vault.

Emeline glides forward for a switch kip- begins to turn -and tumbles to the floor.

"Emeline!" I exclaim. "What would Amy Himes say?"

And then I burst out laughing.


The Pinger + the Heap: FINALLY competing together since 2008. :-) (And yes. We are jacked.)

Just to set this down

because in the past twenty-four hours, everything went right:

-at 1 a.m., it hit me. It. Whatever it is. But it hit me and I wrote straight towards 2 a.m., rearranging words, finding connections, honing in, cutting down, seeing directions in what had been vague outlines.

-The Publishing Industry, 10:05 a.m.
Phil: Did you hear about the College Writing Contest yet?
Me: No, why?
Phil: You won something.
!!!
(Of course, I checked my e-mail and found nothing. But apparently it's true. :-))

-2:29 p.m. "The examencitos weren't too bad," Prof says, handing back the papers. I see a red mess on top of mine and arrows all over - pointing to a 97. (Which, of course, really helps in figuring out a life direction!)

-8:30 p.m. "That was that day. This is today!" Emeline declares after I express my fear of crashing on the second pass of my floor routine. I listen to her and make the entire routine -- with energy left over.

-The energy kept me after practice to nearly 10:00, creating Beth's floor routine to wonderfully dramatic music (and holding her head still when she got a bit too rambunctious). "This is what happens when I start editing," I tell Emeline. "I can't stop."

-and by 12:45 a.m., I have a 32-page fiction portfolio (I'd thought I'd only be able to eke out three pages), a "personal statement," a "critical writing sample," and last but not least, the application payment form for Friday's deadline.

For once, I can say it sincerely: Good work, Gallagher!

Wie geht's?

Wie heisen Sie, bitte? There's just too many words we're never meant to learn, I heard as I drove into the whiteout, thinking of raising the volume as I struggled to see brakelights traffic lights anything besides white. "This is the best song ever" - Damn right it is - I am glad to be here, glad I found all of you, and glad I know this before I leave. Wie sagt man (algo, algo) auf Deutsch? Do I have any idea what I am doing? If you call my name out loud, do you suppose I'd come running? You're a natural. I don't know what that means. I had thought perhaps I was meant for one thing, but now it seems to be everything - words written and spoken, movement that rips lungs ever so gracefully. "Trust me, I understand," she laughs when I tell her how I feel off-pace, how I wish to wake up and find myself back there. I am off-centered but if I keep spinning, the gyrations will keep me from collapsing. I rush too much for commas these days. Do you suppose I'd come at all? I suppose I would.

I'll keep [all our] dirty little secrets

(start from the bottom and read up)

If you had been here, you would have laughed.
(But you weren't. And it doesn't make a difference.)





And by the time Emeline reads this:
the "secret potion" will be on the kitchen table.





After Diana participates in and survives her first "power hour":
"I'll keep all our dirty little secrets..."
"Left or right?"
"I just threw a shovel and it hit a car..."





As we stroll past the Magic "City Championships" at the Carousel Mall, Rachel muses:
"You know, we're really close to being that."
"Oh, I know," I agree. "Only a few degrees off. There's a fine line, and we're on one side."
"Or a shelf. If you will."





Waking up to the text message:
"I hate Dr. Boynton." (You can do it, Rachel!)





Many hours later:
Gas: $20 (that Emeline threw onto the counter)
Admission: $5
After-dancing Twix: $1.07
Water: $.50
Direction off of 81: Left (this time)
Making poor life decisions, doing handstands in apartment hallways in Syracuse, learning the Rubiks cube, watching Annia Hatch on YouTube, being "wingmen," learning that we (apparently) have tight butts (all of this courtesy of our random amigos cubanos), reminiscing about our past innocence on the drive home ("Do you drink?"), and eating a 5 am breakfast before going to bed: Priceless.





After a solid practice and before salsa:
I alone love you
I alone tempt you
I alone love you
Fear is not the end of this!

After moving from (nearly) nothing to (almost) something:

I feel cranky and disjointed without exercise, I know, and so it should go with writing.

This is why (2.3.08)

Why do I still do this sport?

I cross my arms and stare straight ahead. 7.8. On a front handspring. I shouldn’t be receiving anything lower than an 8.0 on a vault I’d been competing since I was 13. Ridiculous.

Maybe there's a conspiracy. The judges know I'm 22. Or they think I'm a freshman who needs to be broken in with inexplicable start values and lower scores. Either way, I shouldn’t have bothered to compete. Sure, sure. Scores don’t matter. I open my grip bag and yank on the rubber blue wrist bands. Put it behind you, as always. I buckle the chalky straps. You know, you don't have to do this anymore.

Shut up. I know that. I know I'll keep doing it anyway. But right now, I have no idea why.

We stride over to bars. I am not nervous; I am pissed and feel a vague sense of dread. I should not be doing this. I should not be attempting a free hip and only able to eke out a cast back hip circle.

I rub chalk onto my hands as the touch warm-up comes to a conclusion and wish I didn’t have to compete. I wouldn’t even touch bars if we had someone else, if I didn’t have a cleaner routine (or a routine, if only three elements long) than others, if I did not remember how badly I had burned for so long to be able to compete, to be able to flip, to be able to walk.

Jess lands her flyaway and salutes the judges. I walk between the bars and wait for the judge to acknowledge me. Leave out the uprise and instead kip-cast-flyaway-hopefully not land on my face as I did in the warm-up? Missing B, I’m already missing two other B’s, but this will be one less…

I am never this unprepared.

She raises her hand. And the moment I hit the bar, I know exactly what I am doing.

Here I do not have words. I feel myself hitting angles and reacting with the precise balance of aggression and calm. I feel myself leap to the next bar, I am swinging, I am spinning, I am on the floor saluting.

This is why.

--

For the first time in my life, I’m excited to compete a beam routine. Beam was my first love, long before I danced in imitation of Riverdance, dramatically struck the floor in time to Speed, tumbled up the “Stairway to Heaven,” and engaged in imaginary sword-fighting pirate duels.

I used to feel invincible on beam, at least in practice. They groaned. I stepped lightly, always lifting my chin and flicking my wrists. They wobbled. I recovered and moved on quickly. They fell. So did I, but when I stayed on, I was on.

Then I changed levels, my hands missed the beam one too many times, and love turned to exasperation turned to separation. When I made myself step across the beam, it was almost a mockery. Remember when you loved beam? When you were good at it? When you weren’t afraid to do things?

Yes.

But this past week, I forced myself to do something new – no, not something that would shock a crowd, but something I had never made myself do before. And I’d landed solidly. Not accidentally. I did it again. Every time, two feet striking the beam and staying put.

My hands begin to sweat a bit as I wait for the judge. No adrenaline, I advise my body nervously. I don’t need the extra energy now.

My hands hover over the surface as if I am about to play the piano. This is between you and the beam.

“Yeah, Diana! SHOW IT OFF!” Mindy shouts and I have to smile as I land on the beam after the press handstand mount.

I land my roundoff and burst into another grin, then recall that I am in fact on beam and not floor. Who would dare show joy on beam?

With every move hit I surprise myself. Switch leap tuck full. Straddle jump tuck three-quarter. Yes. I become a bit more nervous. Stay on – yes! Okay – yes!

And of course by the time it’s necessary to dismount, I pray that nothing goes wrong, swing my leg, flip backwards, hit the floor, take a small step, and salute.

Remember when you loved beam? When you were good at it? When you weren’t afraid to do things?

Yes.

This is why.

learning to fly

What have you done for yourself?

I have fallen. But this time, intentionally.

My feet strike the beam as my hands push off. I raise my head, flick the fingers, move to the next skill as my heart gasps in relief.

5, 6, 7, 8. Wait, lift, twist. Okay. I stand above them, look at the wall and imagine it’s a crowd, know that I am as strong as the hands that clasp my ankles, know that although I do not know them well, I do not want to let them down.

“Ready?”

I reach my hands to the sky. I look up. And I let myself fall.

I feel air, I twist, I land on my back. The way I was never supposed to when I walked into this room for another sport.

“YOU DID IT!”

I'd begun thinking this year that just once, I'd like to know how it would feel to twist twice in the air. But I didn't know how that would happen, how the knee and limbs would be protected.

Nearly three years to learn a full from a full run, and now, ten minutes to twist a double from their hands.

I left last night and thought that I no longer need you to push me. I don’t know why I have allowed you to have that power: One hand in my hand and the other around my neck.

This is not your time.

I am busy battling someone else; I choose when to confront gravity and when to accept it. But always with a twist. I know you live, Gravity. But so do I.

Teotihuacan, January, 2008 A.D.

The smile's real, even with the sun in your eyes

and your breath lost after so many stairs climbed by so many before you -

who knew so much that you will never understand.

[More for me than for you]

Enternecida me tienes...

But not really.

I don't feel touched by anything right now. Cold, yes. Not hunger, tap water, jealousy, pain, intrigue, English (pues, maybe a bit), pressure, alcohol, fear, even gymnastics, even paper (my hand feels so slow, but I've written all along -- why are you heavy, hand, when my heart is not?).

I am touched by Mexico, every quote (every laugh-sobering sobremesa-error-talk of finding ourselves or finding our way through talking) those wonderful girls that I quickly became so close to, these pictures, laughing with Emeline across the table because she knows it's true and because I know she actually cares, Mike and Kelsey and Rachel and the real love of friends, ice in water, Jane Eyre, this calm and pervading peace as I look around and wonder, Where next?

I know I can at least offer the who and how (myself, my skill) and be patient - yet tenacious - in finding the where and when.

Because you see, I honestly don't know what to say about all of this. It was wonderful, incredible, inspiring, bewildering, frustrating, enlightening, encouraging -- and -- rarely frightening. I felt little fear. How about that? I was not so vulernable after all, little white girl wearing shorts in Tepoztlan. Of course the accent gave me away. Of course some spoke so quickly that all I could muster up from ten years of Spanish education was the polite request, "Repita, por favor?"

But as I finally felt validated with writing last spring, so I finally felt the same with Spanish. All of you forced it to be me: the interpretator, the listener and the speaker, the dictonary, the conjugator. Thank you for making me speak, make those requests, reply even in mentiras (there's another tale).

Maybe you were all correct all along -- that this Spanish thing, it will serve me well, that maybe that 4.18 within the major meant that I could apply -- and get by -- with the real speakers, even throw in a touch of Sor Juana or Marquez to show that I paid a bit of attention.

Well, two languages later and I still don't know what to say or think -- just know that these three weeks have changed my life and I must re-form myself around them, hoping all the while that I will never be the same again.

"Don't forget your hanger."

At the end of the night it's the four of us capering out of 7-11 and climbing into the vehicle, laughing. The permutation's slightly different from other winters, other summers, but oddly enough the one I'd always wanted.

Years later and it's still us.

She giggles and I laugh. Because really, you never know.

...

-"Can you take two inches off?" I ask.

"Can you show me that?" Lauren, the business major, looks at my hair with concern. "I was never very good at science."

-"They have peanut butter hot chocolate at that 7-11," Kelsey says.

"SHUT THE F*&K UP!" Mike shouts.

-"We could just hang out and drink cheap wine," Kels suggests. "And then buzz at his apartment..." (O, Chekhov!)

Oh, friends. You have no idea how much I've needed you. Or how well you've loved - and love - me.

...

I feel so much calmer.

"Don’t write too much this break—I’m serious. Just a little tiny bit each day. Writers need down time too."

Well-said.

And I know that soon enough, I'll have plenty to say.

On to the next adventure I go.

"Remember when we used to race people to school?"

...while listening to "Stacy's Mom" and static, and waiting for the windows to defrost.

That senior year was an eventful one, though it took longer for the spinning to ensue. Pick a word to describe yourself. One word. Disciplined.

I passed the first of many tests just before. I tell myself that Disciplined leads to calmness, less anxiety, less pain. I slap myself and stay in line.

The glance would not be worth it.

I am still not sure how I will alter the time I'd adjusted to, even now in this disjointed state. I am still not sure that I won't compromise.

Live and apply. Live and apply.

-
-

I think about that road, think about why I think about that road still.

I know I surprised you then or at least made you blink. And if you were ever to bring this up again, I'd respond to your fears with, Accept it and Break it.

Some day somebody's gonna ask you
a question that you should say yes to
once in your life...

"Make it just between you and the Tsuk."

There are numerous, numerous errors in this vault, besides the obvious overrotation on the landing. (The brave man spotting is Matt -- hi, Matt!) As usual on my early attempts, I rush the half-on and bend my knees before my hands even leave the table. Then, of course, I flip with my eyes closed. Each time I watch, I want to go again -- right now -- and do it properly.

I hadn't flipped this vault since August, when I'd land in the safety of the foam pit. And I hadn't even seriously considered Tsuking onto an actual landing area since landing the vault so...successfully on Feb. 20 -- the infamous splice of The Fifth Metatarsal That Never Wanted to Heal.

So for all of that, you have no idea how much this video pleases me. :-)

"We refuse to satiate the Peruvian gods."

I am certain that the story hasn't ended, but I do need a break from it for awhile.

I'm not sure what I'll find when I return. Scrap it, take another angle, revise, maybe one day reread and say, Hey, that really was all right or Hey, I knew what I was doing.

I'm still not comfortable in being as bold as I wish. But I think I've grown more graceful. Graceful in crafting my tales. Graceful in setting characters, actions, motions in place. And most of all, graceful in stepping away to let them resolve themselves.

night tonic

I become intoxicated from reading too much too quickly. I swallow words like liquor and suddenly pages are emptied, my focus scattered, my thoughts strange and uneven against some other beat. I try to stand, try to talk about the mundane, and I feel the tension between this high twisting refracting perspective and what it is that everyone else wants to talk about...

I blink and walk slowly and try to find someone who will speak to me in this way, just tonight. Perhaps that is why you find me when you're in such a state, you know I will break away from idle how are you what's going on to try to meet you there, you know I will always be here and thinking of there, I want someone to be that for me.

Yet I always fear that inevitably, someone will say,
(tonight it's me): Shut the book, Di. Let it rest for tonight.
Come to bed. This will all fade in the morning.

Quick bits

"I'm kicking ass, taking names..."

"You're not small -- you're fun-sized."

Why didn't Gascon (language, wine, dog) take Jessica to the formal?

At 12:30 a.m., when my paper on Hispanic immigrants suddenly seems hilarious, it's an especially good idea to try to learn the dances to "Dancing" and "Sexy Back" with Brittany.

For the Ange: I went under the knife three years ago today. P4L: destroying the right sides of our bodies since 2004 or so. :-)

Enternecida me tienes.

Snow Day Part 2 (Em and Britt are still playing Uno)

"Oh, you mean 'Uno' is having the whole deck?"

An hour later, we've all beaten Andy. Looks like he'll be rubbing his own feet tonight. Much like Mario Kart and Cranium, we've all come to hate each other a bit during the game.

And no matter how many times I brush off my car and turn up the heat, I will always need Emeline for that literal extra boost. :-)

I'm really excited to be in a play again. I'm not so excited about turning twenty-two, but I can handle it. It all evens out, my friend!

Reason #281 why you know you're a gymnast

How to utilize a snow day:

"I know what I'll do! I'll go to the hospital!" Tanya bounds out of the den with renewed vigor and a potentially fractured back.

"Yeah, I should probably get my ribs x-rayed..." Brittany muses.

"Ooh! Anyone want to come?" Tanya calls. "I can study! This is great!"

Well, why not?

I find ice

One by one they drop off to sleep and the frigid hour freezes pathways, makes them smooth for gliding.

I stream my thoughts. I slip through.

September becomes December and green leaves freeze white. Choked. The season shifts rapidly like a bell curve of dramatic deviations, amazing and disheartening. White softens more starkly than gray.

When it becomes this cold, can you still feel the pulse?

I can.

I should still be falling with them but I'm falling on my own. Flakes fly like peaceful bullets and I can't look away. I am mesmerized. Penetrate me, shock me.

I sink into snow, I move, I find ice, I move.

This is how it should be.

It is cold outside and I said no.

I am starting to know what I want, or at least starting to see what I can do.

A kiss to send us off

You'll never take me alive.

Nothing will be the same, really.

"You look healthier." I do? "Yeah, you looked tired before."

Perhaps. And perhaps it's all right to show the strain sometimes.

But I prefer to be happy. I find signs in black and starless nights.

alone but alive

I feel calm this time. The stars are kind. The night is warm and I feel all right.

I believe that I can walk without falling down.

conversations before 4:11

It's 3:45 a.m. and I know that this is more important than stumbling home wasted, than sleeping, than having an extra hour to work on a paper.

There may not be a point in this, but what's the point in that?

For no reason at all, we begin to laugh. I used to be hyperaware of my location at all times but I finally feel comfortable enough to lay my head down and listen think wonder be still.

These questions taunted me when I was twelve and they are no easier at twenty-one. I still feel like a girl instead of a woman I'm still little when I stand in the crowd but at least the person next to me asks these questions too.

Humans need to make make meaning and this is how we can: by connecting with someone else for a moment - an hour - a century - without money resentment anger excuses . . .

You told me once to write something meaningful and maybe now I have an idea, maybe know why you kept telling me -- maybe meaning is something that glows in a dark place.

..

I woke up happy this morning because I'd dreamt that you were finally ready to be vulnerable with me.

September at the lake

The rain falls quietly here.

Cell phones are silent.

I wonder if you will miss me today.

anticipated ambivalence

It comes to the point where -
I don't know how to say anything that hasn't already
circled in and through and back again and tightened me
within my own words
until I start to think that choking is just
another way to be numb.

I rub water and mineral onto my hands
and wonder if I have unlearned, know how to
unlearn, know only that
whatever I imagine will not
come to pass - perhaps the sword instead,
or the wound, or
nothing at all.

I do not think that you have unlearned.

my life as a collage

My goal this year, it seems, is to change my life as much as possible -- to dart in every other direction and loop back another way -- to collect words and stories where I am the character and not just the observer -- to know, not just believe -- to be there instead of willing it to be so.

And then I will slow my run to a walk, take these still-simmering pieces
put them together -- and I will be me still, this one,
just with more color and something else, yes, something more.

Oh, Spanish!

This is horrendous, but we've all got to start somewhere, right? :-p

Cuando me voy en el día,
escucho la voz del viento;
dice, “Sigo lo que siento.”
Sí, es lo que yo querría…

Cuando por la noche vuelvo,
sigo la senda del cielo
tan clara; ni nieve ni hielo
el sentimiento disuelve.

..
Durante la clase:

La pregunta: "I have a really strange question about Cuernavaca. Would you feel safe going for a run around the neighborhood? I'm sort of exercise-psychotic."
La repuesta: "Are you fast? Then yes."

I stood at the desk later this cold afternoon and thought, Tengo que seguir mi propio destino.

not much of anything, but a

collage of the songs pulsing through my head these past days weeks months (as compiled during a discussion of th(o)roughlines):


doesn't come down when she calls it's time for breakfast will you or won't you be the one i'll always know i hope you always forgive and you never regret i'm following myself just this once and at all once the crowd begins to sing like falling in love feels for the first time and you see that i can't stop shaking collapse into me tired with joy what you feel is what you are and i've rocked them all she's bad and she knows you will consume me but i can't walk away i like you just the way you are more than you know if your body matches what your eyes can do fitting you with weapons in the form of words this feels stranger than truth i cannot forget the way i feel right now we'll all float on shine on you were meant to crank that kept in the dark but you were there in front of me vivo en una casa roja she asks when will i be free.

View from the kitchen

I see:

Napoleon Dynamite. Kitchen:

Central City Bar & Grill.

Save 50 cents. Price Chopper.

(on a paper towel)
Mama!
We were
here! We
fuckin love you!
My concussion is good! I
was happy 2 see you 2day! Jess
says hi. She is gay!
See you soon!
Love your
babies!
Hi Am
Tan & Di!!


(magnetic poetry)
you only have tequila and food

drink more & inhale easy drunk boy

To consider:

"The flame on your back."

Well, how can I be out of character if this is the only character I've got?

Mere notes

I wrote it down - "catalyst - not crutch."

To do: Watch more movies. Improve at video games. Read more books. Know more about just about everything, especially randomness. Be smarter, more creative, stronger.

The perks of being on club: premiere parking at 7:30 p.m. (Or later, knowing me.)

"Tenemos que hacer algo." (Bailar, por supuesto.)

It would be cool if I could eat full meals and had interest in food besides chocolate.

"Thank you for being exactly like me."

I have so many questions that, even if I knew that I would like your answers, I wouldn’t know where to begin.

I've got a lot to say today

First, quotes from others:

You need not leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. You need not even listen, simply wait, just learn to become quiet, and still, and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked. It has no choice; it will roll in ecstasy at your feet. - Franz Kafka


...que tomo, en el peligro de verte,
la vida, cuando te oigo.

I take my life in my hands when, on the dangerous occasion of seeing you, I listen to you.
-Frondoso, Lope de Vega's Fuenteovejuna

A real wind blows

A real wind blows tonight as I make that now-habitual brisk walk over the sidewalk.

Through laughs and long hours. Apathy and intensity. Cookie dough ice cream for dinner, "She's, like, old," conversations that feel right and others that just are. There is something I should be doing and it's not being done or said, and I feel all right with that until the morning.

But there is something I want to tell you, and I haven't.

The wind knows.

The world I am living in right now is not real.

passing time

"Seriously, if I don't have a crush on you, you're doing something wrong." - Rachel's outlook on males


A non-haiku of my least favorite expressions:
Fine. That's what she said.
Whatever. You don't even know.
Heh. You would.


"You'll have a black belt in writing. Don't mess with me; I'll write about you."

How would you define "craft"?

..

She touches the lightning.
Her face is serene.

..

All I know is

that I do not want this relentless momentum to stop.

Capitán

He approaches the burning bridge. The soldiers turn from tossing branches onto the sizzling entrance. A post crumbles.

"We've got it under control, Capitán," one man says.

He watches another post fall -- the last tall structure. Then he nods and walks away, slowly, off stage.

Someone raises champagne to him later and he smiles slightly when someone else cracks open a beer instead. He sleeps with someone else and burns a bit. Not as much as he'd thought. It doesn't really matter.

He drives to work the next day and a small, staticky song plays. He'd made her shake and crumble to this song. Once and many times. He had burned. Once and many times.

He switches stations for a song with clear and cold anger.

"We've got it under control, Capitán," one man says.

He nods, slowly, and walks off stage.

Decisive

I know what I need to do.

October 19

Today started well. I backed out of the driveway with one sideview mirror, around cars and past chain-link fences, as if I knew what I was doing.

Today ended well. I don't care if I give too much of myself away right now. I want to be fascinated. I want to really laugh. And to do so, something has to be placed outside of me.

But the night is warm.

I feel all right.

I had hoped for a better sort of morning

I looked at the gray sky over the houses and realize that the only thing that can be done is to create something beautiful.

At some point, I started to relax. I bounced a bit to the music as we chatted.

I can do this, I think.

It's not the place, she said.

It's not about where you are. It's about the person. It's who you are.

encuentro o conquista?

And you give yourself away.

smooth.

It's nice to know after that after these years of relearning what you were never taught, someone notices that you're doing something correctly.

I feel good about that. I feel good about this choice.

Not about the walking, though. I feel the pull of my shins as my legs move briskly. The shadows touch me uncomfortably. I want to get home.

I still think about walking around the corner.

The jig is up

First off, this video = amazing.

Maybe in one week or six I'll be in for a rude jolt. But I'm ready to reveal myself at the time they shout, "Retreat!"

I make my own choices. I choose not to hide.

Thoughts on looking up Dali paintings at the library:

I'll likely make changes, but I like this ending:
He awakens in water, in soft rivers running over his body that whisper in a language he can almost understand.

I want to be considered "incomparable."

A wonderful way to begin the day:

"I like A."
"A is not a number."

After some awful line about dogs shitting razors (thank you, Liz!):
"Holy God, can you imagine that pain?"
"Embrace it."

"I'll never forget hearing this song live."

I wanted you to be uneased
I wanted you to linger
I want you to agree with me
I want you on my side

C'mon and lay it down
I've always been with you here and now
Give all that's within you
Be my savior,
and I will be your downfall.

and later...

Now I'm back on my own
Hear my feet, they're made of stone
Man, I make you go where I go
Well, hell, you, can I take you home?

[Mike will cheer at this song, I know.]

schemes

And that's what I want to do: try them. Not out of desperation, but curiosity.

told to.

"You are an extraordinary woman."

pensamientos espanoles

[De un texto sobre Sor Juana]:
"Su pluma fue su arma mas poderosa."

[De la obra de teatro El muerto disimulado]:
Clarindo: "Viene a ser que de una ausencia
quien mas siente el golpe fiero,
quien se queda or quien se va?"

Clarindo: "Pues ausente no vivo con quien quiero,
y dejo de asistir donde queria,
con que es de quien se va el mal mas fiero."

Lisarda: "Te burlas y me das chasco?
No me hables en hermosuras,
sino en coriscos, en rayos,
en fierezas, en rencores,
en pasiones, en enfados,
en pesadumbres, en iras,
en furores, en estragos,
que la colera mi pecho
hizo un incendio en que ardo."

Clarindo: "Si amor tiene de ensenarme,
vamos a estudiar, ingenio,
para dar en la salida
de mi amante desempeno."

overheard

[potty humor]
While walking past Amber's room:
"I just farted. Don't stand up."

While conditioning:
"Kelly, your foot is in my face."
"Oh. I almost just peed on you."

[existential humor]
While on Tumble Track:
Angela: "The thing is, I may go invisible or sign off --"
Alyssa, the team philosopher: "You can go invisible?"
Angela: "I'm talking about AIM, sweetie, not in real life."

September

This month has gone on for too long.

the juncture

Here I am. Between joy and distress. Between experiments and essays. Between the fantastic and the ordinary. Between reckless and harbor.

In that ages-old battle against the patriarchy, the woman takes up the pen.

the makings of an experiment

This could be your “experiment”:
You ever have that problem where you start writing a poem but by the time you get to line 3 you ask yourself what the fuck are you doing, and why are you writing poetry?

[Is he going to be a nomad?]
[If you don’t want to shack up with him]
[I knew that’s what you were gonna say]

I mean that is a truly profound idea.

[Am I following?]
[Not quite]

You don’t even know what a sordid sad tale that is

[Maybe four glasses of wine
on a Tuesday night
wasn’t a good isea.
Idea. Wednesday.
Whatever.]


Well, I actually have to know them.
Well, take that idiotic shit out and I still would have known what you meant.

"You know what I'm going to do tomorrow? I'm going to look at my notes about these poems. 'Rhyme.' Great." My book's open on the counter and so's my foot.

"Mmm." Emeline looks for something to eat.

I begin talking about the Dirty War in Argentina. She nods.

"OOOH!" I point to the text. "Here we go. The role of nature. I got it. Ready? The wind blows this paper to her feet, and it changes her life. That's what I'm going to use!"

Emeline nods, looking very nervous.

"I know, Em," I answer. "You're jealous that you can't be a Spanish major. Follow your calling!"

She backs away.

Oh, Em, I'm glad that you love me unconditionally. :-D

Lazarillo de Tormes...

It occurs to me that you and I might be doing the exact same things right now.

I could find out, but not yet. Not tonight.

more college living

You become indifferent to the lack of food. You'll figure something out. Bread's acceptable for breakfast and lunch, and pasta provides a luxurious dinner.

And after days of paper towels, you are really, really excited to see a roll of toilet paper in the bathroom.

"on all fours"

After all of the events of the past several weeks/weekends,
I've concluded that I have no idea what's going to happen.
And I find that I just might be all right with the wait and see.

What I Read At Raquette

For anyone who cares!

I call this creative nonfiction. Because, well, it's true.

5.8/9.9.07 – Still.

My eyes burn. I step outside into cool night air. There is no breeze. The smoke from downstairs is subdued and the laughter calming from drunkenness to tiredness.

I want to smudge my eyes with dark eyeliner and look at you behind masked and falsely thick lashes. It might feel right.

But nothing will happen tonight.

It is a May night and the sun will burn this summer. I will write every day. I will laugh and you won’t laugh with me. People will die. I will dance.

Right now I am doing none of those things.

Right now the wooden seat creaks and I'm too tired to wonder how many people have sat in it before. Probably laughing. Probably drunk. At 11:30 there’s not much to view. Scattered students stumble over sidewalks. A car comes to the corner, slows, passes, silence.

For once in my life I am at the perfect height. Up here on the balcony, I can witness it all without needing to stand on my toes.

Otherwise I type in small windows so I can see what is going on.

There is a light on in your window, I know.

I would not usually be so vague, but there is nothing specific to say. I would like someone to come around the corner and up this shadowy road. I would like them to wave to me. Call my name. Sit up here with me for awhile, in silence.

Because I've done enough work. I would like to be amazed right now. I would like to be engaged, fascinated. To one day do the kind of work that makes me eager to be where I am with who is there. And perhaps we’ll have a conversation worth remembering. Worth thinking about. Worth continuing.

It won’t be right now.

The traffic light flashes red and yellow.

I type in small windows to remind myself of perspective.

It is time to sleep, I tell myself, and go into bed, but not to bed.

I want to walk down the road and around the corner.

I'm probably going to regret not doing ANY work for the past two hours

For a certain young lady with whom I just conversed with about love and life:

In some way -- most likely a haphazard, unexpected, and wonderful one -- you will get precisely what you deserve, which is the best. :-)

Stranger than fiction

Gary: "Carmen, are you a citizen yet?"

Carmen: "No. I've applied, though."

Gary: "Well, if you need to marry me to become a citizen, let me know."

Angela: "BWAHAHAHA!!!!!!!"

An update due to popular demand :-)

What I learned while watching The Mission:
Deaf people can't get handcuffed.

..

Raquette Lake was amazing. Precisely what I needed. I shall post photos soon, although they are not nearly as deep and terrific as what Rachel has posted on Facebook.

Some favorite quotes/moments:
After crashing the international bonfire
Steve: "So where are YOU from?"
Guy: "Rochester, New York."

Steve: "So are you miserable?"
Me: "Depends."
Steve: "Like diapers?"

Andy: "I fuckin' love my mom!"

What Rachel and I heard...that should not be typed.

Pat: "Can you do back flips?"

The tarot card reading. Whoa.

I read a piece that I posted on May 8, for anyone who wishes to delve into the archives. I changed it a bit. Contemporized it, if you will. The feelings hold true. It's not something I'd normally read out loud, and for a larger audience, I'd choose humor instead. But it was right for the time.

"You two are spectacular," Dr. Boynton told me as we kayaked on Raquette Lake at 7 a.m.

Thank goodness the radio worked on the way home!

And that we got voicemails from Dr. Reid.

..

And that some things will not change.

(Today is a multi-entry sort of day)

Dear Angie Baby,

Thank you for faithfully reading this blog.

For all SUNY Cortland athletes:

Please refrain from making out with your beloved, whether they are your gender or not, at team functions. Otherwise, you may be subjected to "constant observation."

And to the one and only Denise Wiesner,

Thank you for the spectacular CD you sent to Brittany that includes "Can't Touch This."

Love,
DiGal

La verdad:

"...Aun cuando ama la poesia, el cielo no le dio la gracia de ser poeta."

Awesome word:

cybersquatting.

All I really wanted to do tonight was write.

I find it a bit awkward to do so. It's a bit too much wear my heart on your sleeve with far less answers. At least the bands who sing such lyrics receive cheers.

Even in a house like this, the night ended quickly tonight. I might be the only one left awake, and I'll turn in soon enough.

But I can be here -- myself, my work-in-progress room, my work-in-progress life -- and not be ashamed of the company.

tense change

She noticed later that red stained the gray sweatshirt. The tribulations of hair dye.

The advice came across the cheap Formica table. "You do too much work." Perhaps. "Drink while doing laundry. It's a great time." Hmm. Especially if you don't need to go to college to be a writer.

"Did you dye your hair?" Dunkin Donuts lighting is most certainly unforgiving.

She plays with the still-damp bangs and wonders what else she can begin to get away with.

"Your earrings are like...sorcery."

Well, perhaps not, but she'll work on making her writing such.

The Nasty Life

Gary: "...So I reacted as I usually do."
Angela and I in unison: "Very calmly and rationally?"

Me: "I'm going to the bathroom. Let me know if he says anything about Mayans."
Moments later:
Amber: "He just said that the plot is thickening. You'd better get out, Diana."

After reading out loud my away message:
Amber: "I am nervous! Estoy nerviosa! ... I think something's wrong with me."



And the people we become, well,
they're never really the people who we are.

I think it may be time to realize that this is not going to be the way I want it to be.

I like this:

"In my opinion, karma will be a bigger bitch than I'd ever be."

Hey, baby, is that you? Wow, your hair got so long...

Between last year and now, the clash has become more evident: that I feel like a different person in both places.

The energy remains the same. But not always the outlook and attitude. What changes most is the reality. I don't know which one will last, or which one I want to.

--

But I do know that 1) Christina is fantastic for sending me multitudes of songs, and that despite trees being chopped at 7 a.m., 74 Lincoln = Can't touch this!

Well, it's the last day of August

and I've only changed my schedule once.

And written an "experimental piece" in about an hour (muchas gracias, Pablo Murray).

And felt that life was full, and constantly moving, not passive.

And named our wireless network, "Can't touch this."

And twisted on my own as if it were nothing.

And been happy. Am happy. Still so, in fact.

And known that I need to keep moving, living, writing, learning, before I can plant myself down in one place.

A little:

sick, nervous, stressed, sad, excited, confident, and yet a good part satisfied.

It's that time, of course, to write a letter.

It is cold.

It is cold.

The rain strikes closed eyes, pricks the skin, but captures the trees in green.

It is time, the tired wind says. Time to see flurries on light gray days. Time to miss you like end-of-day sunshine, so simple and beautiful.

Phoenix

I like to check off the skills I've done and the body parts I've hurt.

Then I do those skills again. And again.

By choice.

He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
--W.B. Yeats--

The feeling's mutual.

Isn't it lovely to realize that the people you stalk on occasion stalk you back?

We're just too damn curious, all of us.

The next pool party

Of course I think I ate too many s'mores, but it was just a right kind of night -- friends around the fire pit, laughing as the night dries us after a failed game of "Marco Polo," together without pressure or pause, a Long Island night.

Hair

I measured my loose ponytail on Saturday and found that it reached the requisite ten inches.

"Should I donate my hair now?" I asked my parents.

My mom looked at me. "...It's up to you."

"It'll grow back," my dad reasoned.

Confidence.

556

"You cannot love God but hate your neighbor."

If today you hear God's voice, /
harden not your heart.

Confession/Want/Dreams

I really enjoy Timbaland's "The Way I Are."

..

I want to:
-travel
-write creatively
-write professionally
-learn
-teach
-work with children
-stay free
-stay healthy
-stay involved with gymnastics
-be qualified to do anything I fancy
-get married. stay married. and love.
-afford to live wherever I find myself
-raise children that don't frustrate me.
-change the world, somebody's world, in a good way
-be remembered
-finally, maybe, be satisfied with this life

..

Forget dreams, something said. You're too scared to leave.

I don't think so, I answered.

..
Which I'd almost forgotten...

Lift my days,
light up my nights

"You know what makes me happy?

You'll think it's really random and dorky."

"What?"

"The fact that you're doing fulls again."

Aww, Meghan! :-)

Sound Road

Sometimes I raise my hand outside of the rolled-down window. I do not signal. I do not wave.

I feel the air, let my fingers run through it,

then take the wheel again.

I will sit and earn the ransom from up here

The day: long grass, hot sun, port-a-potties that don't flush (which should be outlawed), Sudoku, the Hobbit, sleeping, parks near the Interstate, old friends, riding deer, fired up and letting up.

I know it will all turn for the best eventually, but I am wistful right now.

Then again, it hasn't ended. And as I watch, I am convinced, I tell myself, I make myself believe, that now there is no pain.

The other

As I sat on a rock after my swim, I considered telling the little girl and her grandfather to not be afraid of the water. I’ve lived here most of my mortal life, I’d say.

They would reply, And what about the other one?

Steady.

I feel good. I feel strong.

I land on floor without a twinge or shock of a stressed ligament. I raise my arms above my head, as I should. And I walk away, lightly, ready for the next turn.

Even the storms were not much of anything the other night. Flashes out the window. Pouring rain outside of open windows. But after some Wii golf, the rain slackened, losing interest, leaving us alone with steam rising off of the streets.

An innovative use for a Spanish degree:

Translating Carissa's text messages from her boyfriend.

Of the best ones

I watch her spin around
in her highest heels
You are the best one
of the best ones

-Dashboard Confessional

Reflections on 7-11

Even though I feel the urge to work my abs, the past two nights have been highly enjoyable -- plotted yet spontaneous enough to keep me moving.

I love my friends. I love to dance. Let's think about that one.

Ah! Let's raise to not thinking.

It was supposed to be one of the hottest days yet.

I stepped outside of the air-conditioned office. My car is not unbearably stuffy and the wind carries the sun. The cheetah sunglasses keep me from squinting and I realize that commercials, not music, are playing.

But I am happy. I am good at what I do.

I feel like it is the beginning of June, that things are just starting to happen, or should be doing so.

I watch her spin around in her highest heels

There's a bit of a disjoint as we sit and chat about those things that some of us went to and others weren't invited to, hint around at the things that some of us know and others pretend not to, try to joke and prevent anything from being too obviously wrong.

I find myself bored in those times that are supposed to be "fun" and especially entertained when "fun" just happens. Sure, I'd like to rock out as much as the next person. But "the next person" isn't who I'd want to be with.

But tonight I raised my water and knew that if it were liquor, this would be just right.

But I did dream

that Lena, Natalie, and I were all attending grad school at MIT. Oh, my.

I don't know;

it's just
a weird sort of disjointed day where you know it's bad news on the phone but that you need to have your Cheerio's or you'll regret it later. You've woken up from a night of roaming the beach with a flashlight as a fourteen-year-old boy sings that you're a pirate. You have greasy pizza for lunch and find out that you've got a four-day weekend. It's raining on the Fourth of July and you think that it's fitting because you don't want to celebrate. Little boys whistle as you run down the block. You run down to the beach, but there are too many cars disturbing your peace. Silly people so overly-enthused. You dance in the kitchen because you cannot wait to do gymnastics. "I'm all right," you answer. Your skills in Mario Tennis have improved. "Goodnight, I love you!" the boy says from his sheet cocoon, already falling asleep in his pillow.

You know that it will not be a good two, or many, days.

Meditations.

Driving fast, all right. But I'm impressed by people who can get in their cars quickly. "See ya later!" they say as they find their keys. Then bam, they're out of the parking lot.

How do they do it?

Afterparty

As we walk down the stairs, Kelsey turns to me and whispers, "The balloon is musical."