So if I decide
to waiver my chance
to be one of the hive
Will I choose water over wine and hold my own and drive?
It's driven me before and it seems to be the way
that everyone else gets around.
But lately I'm beginning to find
that when I drive myself,
my light is found.

-incubus.

el Pais Vasco

Leave your name here if you'd like to be an ETA terrorist for my Spanish presentation, or if you are one.

::Quietly hums a love song to herself, content.::

Ice blue but never chill.

Storm/Tides

How long have I been in this storm?
So overwhelmed by the
ocean’s shapeless form
Water's getting harder to tread
With these waves crashing over my head
If I could just see you,
Everything would be all right
IfI could see you
This darkness would turn to light
And I will walk on water
And you will catch me if I fall
And I will get lost into your eyes
And everything will be all right
And everything will be all right
I know you didn’t bring me out here to drown
So why am I
ten feet under and upside down?
Barely surviving has become my purpose
Because I’m so used to living underneath the surface
And I will walk on water
And you will catch me if I fall...


Thank you, Lifehouse.

I dreamt of a large wave quietly and quickly flowing in from the Sound. Water tumbled from the bluffs to meet it, and suddenly it jumped in height and breadth. The sky was a beautifully clear blue, and the foam turned all to whitewater. I'm barely standing on sand. I move to where the bluffs are blocked by a small wood frame, but the water moves me to an open space. A breaker arches over my head, encompassing the sky and my hope. Am I going to die? I am going to die. I close my eyes. I feel nothing.

My body shifts in bed. To the next dream. I live.

writing, even a paper,

is so much more diverting than copying words from the textbook about Mercury. I enjoy creating these blogs today; I could go silent for the next week. I do know that I won't be trying to not kill myself in Spanish 308 tomorrow. Rejoice and be glad, all of ye.

Cre.at.iv.i.ty. Irregular, to be sure, and a contrast to gra.vi.ty.

Hmm...I enjoy the idea of sleep.

"Haunted" houses are highly amusing. "Do you have facebook?" In regards to a hanging body: "He looks like a livejournal type." Very emo, you know.

Snow?

Another life's goal: see an Aurora bourealis in real-life.

Dry now, and fairly content.

::title::

If things must be status-quo, can't it be a positive standard?

The rain is so overwhelming, so thorough as it bounces off of the street, that I could laugh. Headlights spotlight the drilling dance.

It doesn't matter that I'll never memorize every feasible Spanish synonym. I'll never...oh, who knows what else awaits the "nevers."

I'm impressed.

Sipping tea makes me feel intellectual.

I enjoy sidewalk encounters, as well as a subdued feeling of ease. No doom threatens me tonight.

your story to remain untold

Gloomy mornings turn to reflective, slick nights.

My body seems to function more effectively without the mind's inhibitions. "Analysis breeds paralysis," if you will.

Trains pass through the rain.

...

Before gathering laundry from the basement, showering, and "editing a resume," as well as mulling over what to edit in my "creative nonfiction" piece, I'd like to celebrate.

A toast, if you will. To no 8am/8:30am/not even 9:10am classes next semester!

Move along, move along, like I know you do.

on writing classes

All I really want confirmed is that I'm not wasting my time.

something to be said for the sidewalk

I decided to "off-road" it, quite literally. Under surprising blue sky, I've passed twenty minutes and turned towards Waterworks. I leave the sidewalk and run along the cement barrier. Is that vegetation in there? I look up and see that up ahead, the water crosses my path. Revise plan. I start to step off. I then hit the ground, face to grass and knee to cement. Excellent!

No witnesses. I "walk it off" and finish the run. Hmm, I think. Perhaps there's something to be said for staying on the sidewalk.

Yet there's something to be said for the sudden falls as well. They remind you that you're moving. They remind you that you're alive.

...

"You're just a voice!"

I chuckle. Do you wonder what I'm doing? Writing? Or hearing?

Integrity

Feel the cool night air on your skin.

Not all is lost.

You deserve this.

fall insomnia

It's cold and dark. I have an essay exam on Sister Carrie at 8:30 AM. Otherwise I'd be all right with the casual passage of time that counts down the minutes I will sleep. Maybe I can get six hours in.

Children's literature works through the nightmare, according to Ross. I lie in bed and create the nightmare. I can do this because I can trust it will be dispelled. There is waking, as I tread over the creaking wood in a pink house of a tired town.

I trust. I trust. I trust.

...

Flipping Tsuks, blueberry pie, completing a story, conversing with those I love, sunlight, short shorts, rolling our eyes, laughing, living -- I love good days!

karma comes back around

Decisions, DECISIONS!

rhythm is a dancer

((Title has no correlation to post other than that those lyrics are running through her mind.))

Even in the classroom, it's difficult to fathom. Three thousand stars visible in this hemisphere to the naked eye. How many more? Placed by God, swore all the early astronomers. Yet that thought seems more manageable indoors.

"They're imaginary," he says of the constellations. "But aren't they beautiful?"
Like you, I think.

Stars overhead in the deep blue celestial sphere. I haven't a clue where Polaris is (though I get to search for it as homework -- Kelsey, next summer we can truly find constellations on your front step!). How can sense be made? They seem scattered so randomly, everywhere, everywhere. Harvest moon holds steady. So close tonight. Clear, austere grey and white. Amazing.

Placed by God, indeed.

I glance for cracks in the sidewalk, but my soul's on the stars.

spirit manifest as "she"

Short story. Short story. Stort shory.

You can see I'm quite inspired for that assignment.

We speak for hours each day, literally. The "speaking," perhaps, is more literary than literal. I can't handle the phone for too long. It won't allow me to multitask as easily as I wish.

I want to be creative. I watch a boy run around the corner of the house, across the small and tidy green yard. It was the same boy I'd seen another day, engaged in intense plastic gun stalking with another little boy. I'd admired the latter's boldness to seek out his vice.

The sun yet hints of summer as it eases down. Something long and blue is raised in the boy's hand. He turns to the side yard. A blond girl bounces up, red lightsaber in hand. Without shouts or words exchange, plastic hits plastic. They begin to duel.

I watch and, somehow, feel real.

My scientific conclusion for the evening is that getting drunk is likely a good thing for someone as prone to stressing herself out on a daily basis.

But no matter what, I find that I keep missing you.

I also, however, find that I miss cars coming towards me on the road. Not all missing, you see, is negative!

Blurred green hills above leaning, crowded roofs. Beautiful sunsets that I evidently keep missing due to class and meeting obligations. Screw obligations. Real people -- adults, children, grandparents who perhaps have nothing to do with this place besides their coincidental location. A weirdly comforting glow of streetlights on cracked sidewalks, chipped paint, and chattering drunks, perhaps because I have company. But I'd be all right solo.

Here.