It rains when you're here and it rains when you're gone

I can't help but love this line on such days:

We need the rain to wash away our bad luck.

"You don't need horses to have an epiphany."

On early end-of-summer Baltimore morning, sun dazzles off the bay and people drive past farms. Planes lift and land, someone dies, someone falls in love, someone says yes and another says no. Someone is born. Others finish waking up and stretch and look on the wall and it's Sunday.

On Long Island afternoon, comet-white streaks trail ocean boats, a power plant watches without surge, people drive and text and call on grid-schemed roads, someone hears the worst news and others get the best, someone sleeps for the final time and someone comes to stay.

that which makes the climax inevitable

Dear Christina, your comments make me smile. I'm glad we continue to be friends after our 101 Hendrick days. :-)

Dear Lena, I would be neither writer nor gymnast were it not for you.

And now I have a screenplay!

Dear Octoberfest, you make me want to dance. To be like them. I will dance again.

Right now I wish to write something profound, but I shut the door instead.

you meant to me what no other could be

I miss you all. You, and you, and you, too. I pull on Albany purple and Edinburgh blue.

I go through dreams as you. I am your man-appears-from-the-shadows-and-slow-motion-breaks-you-down nightmare. I am your all-night job, the one where you're responsible for cleaning and saving lives, and I panic but this dream has only a staff meeting, and I leave without anyone knowing that I don't know what I am doing.

Maybe this is why I don't sleep well.

When do you have time for you?

Uh. Sundays?

But not really, of course.

..

Well, I'm excited for tonight before the dreams. :-)

I hope you always find a mystery in me.

I measured distance in lines

Fall nostalgia whispers in. This is the way I'm always missing. I've made leaps and bounds, but the path still winds.

So many fires burning.

station-like activities

I can't concentrate. This is the sign of too much. But it's okay. I always say it's okay. What else would I do, scream? Today one student said, "I don't usually like writing, but your class is interesting." I'll take "interesting."

I ought to know what's going on and I don't. I'm sorry. I'm always sorry, too. What else would I do? Scream.

Remember my name

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywGNmsGoMl0 --> my cousin says, "Jaaaazzzzzz." :-)

black heart inertia

Blogger has a happy piece of cake on the log-in page. Good signs?

Thunderclouds are the signs I like. Thick black streaks above the highway. It's still so hard to let go, isn't it? Count those headlights. Whisper your wants. We'll be something. Something.

tonight smells like incense

and I haven't burnt out.

I may, though, but so far one instrument joins the hum at a time. I explain "tone" with chalk and while everything doesn't quite make sense right now, it's beginning to. I will make it do so. I will!

(Too many metaphors:)
In afternoons, the peacock strutting; by night, soft shadow moving from shelter south; in mornings, as exhausted as the rest; but sometimes in mirror glances, the bun, the red jacket, the flip-flops and ready legs of a girl prepared to spring. The one I love best.

premise as personal conviction

I'll be impressed if I accomplish anything this semester (cough thesis) that's more than the late-night slap of fingers to keyboards and colors--but hey, isn't that pretty?

It's just like the ocean under the moon

Before she rises over the trees tonight, before my knee takes a sudden stop, the sun burns into cool upstate night and I think how nice it is to lead my life not by the thunderstorm now, but by the moon. My moon.

Nineteen-year-old brothers

I'm reading first-day writing samples and walking in Southampton in short shorts and sweatshirt (what else is new?), looking at neon-streaked portraits. The diagonal stroke (rush rush)--I see the lines of light blue, light blue, dark. Yet somehow the perfect shading to the suit to the man with the green drops hailing from his heaven.

And I think that some things, you just know.

It's like a real college or something.

What I like about these crazy days is shaking out the demons (and I don't mean the freshmen) -- too much going on for too much doubt. So they sift down into dreams as I squeeze my eyes shut before the alarm, and as Billy Collins says, hell is listening to other people's dreams, and this week the dreams are a breath, a whisp, a nada.

Shelter sounds

It's 1:01 am, the time I told myself I'd stop, and here I am, stopped for now. I kept going in the quiet corridor because I had to get those letters straight - a twist of calligraphy, a thicker ROCK for emphasis. Tomorrow I'll feel it but tonight I love the bright happy colors, the Rock Star Target dollar specials on the walls, the perfect twists of the w's in "We Will." We will, indeed.

I lift the chair I had to stand on up the stairs, stepping sideways, carrying myself to bed.

one suite down, seven to go

I miss writing. And running. Sleeping. Lauren and Deana because they should be here. (And in case you stalk me, Miss Sarah, I'm in need of some life updates! Your jewelry is lovely!) For every good piece of news comes five annoying pieces. But at least there's the good, you know? I should know better, but in any free moment, I just can't be made to move. Not that way.

I want to teach, want to be in the midst of all this already. I'm excited about this class and I think this is something I can do. Something I will enjoy while the rest of me does its usual five-six-seven dance.

Dom on marrying a woman who already has children: "But then if we had kids, I'd have to love her kids as much as mine, and I'm too lazy for that shit."

I'm really, really glad that your mom is okay right now. I thought about her all day yesterday. Still thinking now.

And for the one who has perfected the field of tweezer surgery: What would I do this crazy week without you?

Friends don't let friends bite strangers.

Before I left home for college, I left Riverside for Spins. I was thirteen. The only thing that could have kept me there were the girls I'd grown attached to in our two years as a team. I don't know how many push-ups, pull-ups, leg lifts, oversplits, press handstands, failed back handsprings, and missed kips we suffered through. Recital dances to Men in Black and sleepovers.

But I had to leave. Because I shouldn't have had to want to throw up from anxiety before and during every practice. There had to be a gym where the coaches pushed me to be the gymnast I could be instead of holding me down to the gymnast they thought I was. And maybe I'd make friends there.

Ten years later on a humid summer night, five of us sweat from hot wings instead of un-air-conditioned gym. We drink beer and Grey Goose instead of water (or with water), wear cute T-shirts instead of leotards, make sure to make fun of boys (maybe that never changed). Between us we've got two associates degrees, a masters in progress, three bachelors, another bachelors in the works and the fifth just begun. An age gap as wide as nine years and as close as four days. Roommates turned besties and roommates turned...lame. New gyms, old gym, and no gym at all.
Yet no matter what we speak of, one can easily say "roundoff" or "Tsuk"' or "spotting fat kids" or "I can't even..." and the rest pick up the rhythm immediately.

I think that's how it is at home. They speak your first language. And perhaps that doesn't happen until two or three or seven homes later when you realize who you are and what you want to say. And that's when the first people listen.

So to elbows bitten and needles used and unused and Meghan's shining start to college and, most certainly, to all of us.

The world we know

It's probably awkward for me to say, "Hey, I read about your dad in the paper, and I'm sorry," but...I read about your dad in the paper. And I'm sorry.

http://www.newsday.com/long-island/suffolk/suspected-drunken-driver-in-fatal-commack-crash-jailed-1.1381139

Seriously. Is it THAT HARD to resist ridiculous amounts of alcohol before you drive? Especially when you KNOW that you're going to drive later? And is it that hard to call a friend, a cab, is it so difficult to stay put for awhile?

How much more is it going to take?

"What are these 'standards' you speak of?"

I think what I've wanted these past few days is my old way -- running away to stop thinking, to maybe still think but laugh too hard to listen. Just for a few hours.

So I did.

And I could have exercised a bit longer, written a bit more, but the rest of me feels realigned.

oh, I remember, don't worry

How could I ever forget?

soft skin

The radio stations aren't coming in so well tonight, and that's quite all right with me.

:-)

I wanna take you for granted

I downloaded several Matchbox Twenty songs, which of course brought me back. A good back, a growing back. Maybe I'll dig more deeply or keep it safely, keep it present.

Either way, I'm reconciling the parts of me.

Apocalypse: Now.

Thesis: arranged, aligned.
Classes: registered.
Syllabus: review begun.
Newsletter: bright lights, bright fonts.
Gymnasts: happy (for now).
Debts: paid.
Novel: nearly 40 pages told.
Laundry put away: lol.

...

I promise:

One day, I will scream! I will scream in the most calm tone, in sweetly modulated syllables, no trace of tear or doubt,

and you will be brought to your knees.

In the words of Uncle Vanya: "You will remember me!"

"Let's play this as bowling AND golf."

In other letters,

You make it real for me.

:-)

drowning deep inside your sound

Two sorts of breaks:

I swim and float and twirl, waiting for thirty minutes to pass. Perhaps I shouldn't make swimming an exercise the way I have with running. Maybe I won't. Either way it feels good to move through chilly water. The right feeling. That this is one of the few activities that has nothing to do with anyone I once knew.

A wave bobs behind me - I dive down - the thought: They're breaking, but I'm not.

On Sunday night (Monday morning?), I drive Beth's car down the highway. Lightning sketches the sky but our music's too loud for thunder. I'm more alert than I am in my car; I see every approaching headlight. I've just picked up the Poppin' Pink Lemonade when brakelights go red ahead of me. I brake, too, and then the water: bullets of rain blinding windshield. Beth takes the cup from my hand. But I only need one hand on the wheel. I know it already: I've got this.

outsourcing harrassment

I'm home right now and things are good. They're well. They're well and good. Good and well? Why not?

I write, submit, laugh with the best. I like quiet time and loud time. Early mornings are not so impossible. August was always our month. But everything beyond August might become impossible, so I slide into blue-gray water under dark gray clouds and swim until the thunder warns me out. Not the ominous thunder. The groaning crack that makes me want to get drenched in rain like ocean.

Does this make sense? Sometimes I feel like two or three different people. Lately, an exterior shell that speaks professionally and offers answers with a bright smile. Next, the self who says all sorts of silly things, and finally, the one who feels quite distant from all of this.

But all fall away in the water. Treading, splashing. Feeling chilly depths on feet. I laugh and kick them away. Swimming. Looking. Being.

angels would fall

Standing in soft Sound in darkness. Hushed water on rocks. Light glowing as brightly as full moon. One star falls.

All is right.

..

Gianna, age 10: "My mom says I remind her of the girl from The Orphan. You know, the devil one?"

buzz words:

This is the sort of language you have to speak here.

-resonate
-connect
-actor muscle
-arc
-organic
-sensibility
-turn
-hinge
-set-up
-premise line
-line break
-act break
-pinch point
-four plots
-A, B, and C stories
-male orgasm play
-"I'm a little confused by..."/"I was a little unclear on..."
-"Maybe..."
-"Maybe..."
-Maybe...
-Why haven't the scholarships shown up on SOLAR?
-How does this late fee go away?
-When are we supposed to register?
-What are we supposed to register for?
-When are we supposed to graduate?
-What time are we going to the Tide?

come on, get higher

Today is the day for acceptance, for publishing. For delicious plays and obscure allergies. For pizza and thunderclouds. Mucus and middle school memories. The perfect shade of salmon-mango nail polish. For us.

1,111

Tonight many things happen when I walk outside. Train begins to clatter down track. A plane red as Mars moves quietly. Single car drives down Montauk Highway. I imagine the waves crashing. Cicadas hum in humidity. I watch the half moon, drinking Guinness and hearing "Indestructible" in my head.

The night is thick but the sky has yet to crack. I imagine the storm. That summer it was storm and storm and storm. This summer nothing is crashing, but some things are wanting to.

humid nights that never break.

I need to tear out the lost in me.

scaramouche and all kinds of weather

I remember far too much, and it doesn't help. Leaves me longing for a nostalgia that was never really mine. Desarreglado, uprooted, looking for where the next storm comes.

dusk

I'm sitting outside on the deck right now with my laptop, possibly ruining the "natural" feel of the sunset behind the trees. I'm still not used to this seat -- there should be a pool out here and a weeping willow back there, memory says. The breeze and incessant insect hum warn of storm. Can't you feel it in the air tonight?

On this Conference-free day, I spent a good amount of time submitting*. Or attempting to submit. In the past two weeks, I've submitted more than I normally do in a six-month period.

(*Sending out writing to literary magazines, all ye dirty minds!)

Conclusions:
1. Submitting takes a long time.
2. All magazines sound identical. My eyes began to glaze over at, among other terms "high quality," "off-beat," "expermental/blurs/defies genres," "eclectic, intellectual, and engaging," and "Midwest women's relationships to the prairie" (yes, I did find that).
3. Despair is inevitable.

But I shall forge ahead, following the repeated heeds of the good Dr. Boynton -- submit! Submit!

Additionally:
4. I'm considering creating a webpage.
5. As well as a "real blog," though I'm not sure what I'd be blogging about.
6. I'd still maintain this one, however.
7. I still dislike 7.
8. Facebook auf Deutsch is very frightening.
9. I'm on the hunt for good Spanish music.
10. This entry has been oddly straightforward.
11. Pink streaks in clouds. Perhaps no storm tonight (the lull for now).
12. I miss gymnastics.
13. And upstate.

monsoon (the writing writer)

I loved these ten days of chaos, though we didn't always know what to think of our fearless workshop leader. I loved this weekend, too. Who wouldn't love such a surprise? :-) Guinness, cookies, good friends and fog-shrouded ocean. Would you believe it if I said I could be a poet, am one? You already might have.

Back to early morning work and regular exercise for the next couple of days. And so it will be for August. So I'm enjoying this now, this "non-real life" yet very, very real writing life. I race my fingers to writing the words and race to share them all before the rains come -- I am running -- come with me --

the trouble with poetry

It's before midnight, and I am thinking of sleep. Monumental?

You need to know what I'm not saying. You need to know that with this need, I don't know what I will do next.

Her diamonds falling down

Seriously, dreams? There are certain histories I wish not to repeat.

A little night music

"Miniature" -- Yannis Ritsos

The woman stood up in front of the table. Her sad hands
begin to cut thin slices of lemon for tea
like yellow wheels for a very small carriage
made for a child's fairy tale. The young officer sitting
opposite
is buried in the old armchair. He doesn't look at her.
He lights up his cigarette. His hand holding the match
trembles,
throwing light on his tender chin and the teacup's
handle. The clock
holds its heartbeat for a moment. Something has been
postponed.
The moment has gone. It's too late now. Let's drink our
tea.
Is it possible, then, for death to come in that kind of
carriage?
To pass by and go away? And only this carriage to
remain,
with its little yellow wheels of lemon
parked for so many years on a side street with unlit
lamps,
and then a small song, a little mist, and then nothing?

From here

I'm sad about Frank McCourt. He would have been here if he were not there. Otherwise, today is a good day. A day to win softball under perfect summer blue skies, a day for back handsprings and aerials. Runs down rich roads, frisbees tossed as sun retreats. Two poems in one hour. Chicken and Irish nachos. 3-for-3.

Sleep.

..

Before the call/Electing out:

I look for a clean page because all the others are filled with notes I won't look back on and scribbled names of movies and books I will never see or read.

I want to tell you that despite my height, I can sit on the top step and see the ocean from here.

tell me about heaven

We look up at pink stroke brush white clouds on deepening blue sky and I wonder if she sees God in them, because I think I might.

K-O-A-L-A

I look on the board for where "love" will be worth the most.

Almanac

For no reason at all I suddenly want fall. Leaves golden in blowing sunshine, children in too-tight new shoes at school uncomfortable in season, but everything soon to settle in an inevitable way. I'm always sad in fall but at least I know it's coming, at least I know what to expect. I know how to lose things then. How to recover, or how to try to recover. Winter is struggling soul, spring is love and wide smiles and whispers, summer is laughter then silent slow time, and fall is always something I can't quite touch, something nothing else can touch in me.

"Hi, Karen."

Whoa. It's Friday already?

Which means that I wake up at 6:55 instead of 7:30, drive instead of run, coach for a hot second and then speed back for the next round of lecture and reading out loud and listening to people's questions about process and questions that are really ways to discuss their own writing and listening to lengthy stories that lead to non-answers. My head leans toward sleep and suddenly someone says something brilliant. Everyone laughs. I have ideas! And an impromptu scholarship! And a roundoff back handspring across the yard! You never know when you might need these things.

"You're so little! I never realized," says the girl I once did gymnastics with who was, at that time, up to my chest and now has a good inch or two or three on me. Well, I was taller than you once, you know!

Muggy afternoon closes in as I walk up mansion steps--no yoga today--thinking of poetry for the teacher who was the reason I applied to Southampton, thinking of Facebook stalking, feeling quite all right.

A tomato for all directions

I'm tired every day, just like the fall semester junior year. Then night falls and I come to life. I step around the room in time to one a.m., two a.m., child who won't be put to bed, trading morning groans for late-night trance.

..

I will admit it here: the Children's Literature conference was far more fun -- and chaotic -- than I'd thought it'd be.

Right now I feel unnecessarily brave. Like I'll submit anywhere and damn, we'll see what happens.

Hutzpa!

..

To dancing stars:

Something seems to always want to be said.

sugar pie with fruit

Today is long. "You can't LEAVE!" Alexa and Sydney protest when I go to leave the gym at 9am. Where does K.S. take her authority and nose-hole-thang next? How do I follow? I must follow. Can I? Who are we telling these stories to and is it all right if I want to believe that sometimes it does not matter, that no matter what we cannot lose sight of the story for ourselves, the story for just us written to the music of keys in quiet rooms? Or is this what I have to move beyond, what frightens me? I don't know, but I will sing in faux-theater musical notes as we walk down chilly July sidewalks. Four of us at our own Tidewater table as I write comments and this tall one smiles and two are in the middle of the story and the third one walks back with shots.

Then tonight I walk alone past the mansion. Lamplight shows the shadow of hooded head on sidewalk. Suddenly I am Dante in fire-charred night perpetually pointed toward hell, but walking, walking, never looking up or back but ahead.

"I don't think that's going to be an issue"

Large vans, copy copy copy rumbling road around the phragmites. Let's be each other's friends. Let's talk about writing and write in small corners in hurried scraps of time. Stalk down the hall and then a shot of Schnaps and we're all all right, we're beyond all right. We laugh and someone says sestina and these things make sense, you see, even when you're afraid of poetry and eyes water from late hours and early mornings but you do it again, again, again.

"She's going to be published soon."

Gem car with 200 point victory lap under serene blue afternoon beside bedside laughter and inmate dancing a glass of wine a shot, a shot dreams to words to dreams and back.

evening, thinking of fire

Against All Odds

but the odds are good.

..

Ah. Here I am with my life about to be taken over by conferring with writers between menial tasks, enjoying my sports bra sunburn (she makes me laugh) and dark Shoreham drives, Jillian's hula dancing and home, of all places. Home is all right now and I needed to make it so. Before I leave again.

..

Yesterday I walked out of the water, nearly losing my balance on the Sound's rounded stones, and remembered last year's metaphor: the child stumbling from the womb. This year I am still child but one who walks, one who learns the words.

And today I pull myself out and turn back to the water to see it glimmer gray-white under late-day sun. And I'm reminded of hope, something I haven't thought of in awhile. Well, what of hope? I hope my twin makes it back to Germany safely. I hope I don't step on glass when, for whatever reason, I take off my flip-flops on North Side Road and walk on fresh paved asphalt. I hope (you know what I hope)...the rest trails off like sun.

..

This does NOT apply to my life.

But it is funny:

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGAOpPTqjfqSDhFu1gk_aAC0p_Iis5k9rwlnzs0_sMLZ1ioleAu4gCGCDMS6VI3zSW6ESpUMAiqh6aG29AIFWI8coh4vAPV6JNVqK2UJWYcFUupUqLd4LN4sEug1FO_TN3KHE5Vw/s1600-h/fantasies.jpg

fireworks from the freeway

There's something to be said for 2am clarity at the stoplight just before the left turn:

This is my place.

I still get a little sad sometimes.

But Time will set this right.

And lest you think there's nothing to look forward to in life...

http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/06/30/donmar-warehouses-hamlet-coming-to-broadway-with-jude-law/

shaking hard enough to shut windows

but I feel so much better now.

Clouds break.

a simple lack of mirrors

No matter how many times everyone reassures me, I see my future as an uncomfortable haze. Right now I am underwhelmed, but the only thing keeping me calm with slow steps is knowing that the fall will be chaos: four jobs, class, thesis, possibly a life.

But to what end?

--

I'd be all right with being all right with forgetting.

--

I inspected recently under bright bathroom lights, sitting on the counter and leaning my face close to the glass. They are longer now, covering the barren patches, becoming lovely.

And I know you or you or you might see me again after I've stopped, if I ever really stop. And you'll congratulate yourself. Say it was you who had stopped me. Maybe tell others about your achievement if the story's not too weird to tell.

So I'll let you know here that it was none of you. It will never be any of you.

It was a simple lack of mirrors.

daydreams

Today clouds drift through blue skies. Advil calms my groans and I can stand again. The fire alarm chirps. I'm still recovering from the "third grade incident." Today nothing needs to be done besides dreaming with you.

If London's calling, don't you dare pick up the phone

The place where I've experienced the most sunshine this summer is not the fabled Hamptons, but...Dublin. And Kerry. And it was decently lovely, minus, you know, the pollen attacks. And the driving. And insects crawling in and out. Okay, maybe I'll take the clouds.

"This wrapper is the only thing standing between you and Jamocha bliss."

Emerald Ireland and emerald Binghamton, Vestal, Campville, Candor. Green-and-white Binghamton U., I was almost yours until ocean breezes bore me back. But you forgive me with green hills and gray skies and grand carousels. Drifting brown Susquehanna, red benches, Owego ice cream and sagging porches that sigh like Cortland. This is the part of me that I didn't know was me until I found it.

I know what happens

Sometimes I miss the old way. It had its troubles and it would all break down eventually. But I miss it anyway.

..

Tonight while walking by the water, by bricks, I thought I'd see you and me coming up the other way. Warmer night, ice cream in hand, thick into summer. And if I had, I would only be able to hold us and say, I know what happens. Keep going.

Salsa Taco Sour Cream

Tonight marks a monumental time in my life:

I have watched three movies in the past three days.

Thank you. Thank you.

..

I feel good. Healthy. In control. Steps in rhythm under cloud-chased blue sky. Code, paper, start. Code, paper, start. I like the company here. I like my body as a strong and supple unit. I'd like for it to be Saturday, but that will come.

What's next?

Falling Down

If you have any curiosity about the Twilight movie, this handy clip will break it down for you quite truthfully.

..

Is it odd that there's less than 20 people and even less to do, and I'm happy here?

..

My scar is especially pink tonight.

..

That could be taken in a deep way.

..

But 'tis merely a fact this eve!

..

I get disoriented every time. But then I hit clarity. Every time.

Chicago

Before I run over an unidentified object on 24 South tonight, the opening chords of some lite rock song begin. I would change the station, but then I realize this is "You're the Inspiration." And then I'm in my bedroom in Cuernavaca with Ashley, giggling as we realize that our host parents are blaring and singing this song (twice over, full full blast), certain that they have no idea we're home yet. "They're totally doing it on the kitchen table," Ashley says. "Oh, God!" I say. "What? He's hot. I'd do him. I'd do her, too." We laugh until Ashley goes to the bathroom and flushes the toilet. The music stops. Footsteps on the stairs. "Pretend to be asleep!" she hisses. A knock on the door. We lie still. "Think they saw the note yet?" she says. More footsteps on stairs. Now they see the note I wrote in Spanish, saying that we went to bed early and need to be at school at 7:45. Now their door closes. No more music tonight. Now we start laughing again.

hold 'em like they do in Texas

I begin to play my hand.

9.45 for the little one? We'll take it!

I feel a bit important at the moment por causa de esto!

..

Today at Level Four Team Cup, while waiting for the next girl to compete beam, I heard the coach behind me say to her team, "Girls, STOP WRESTLING!"

I no longer felt alone.

..

Truth to be told, life has been far too good to me lately. And I can't deny that I'm enjoying it. :-)

"better than all the other lumberjacks"

I know it *doesn't matter,* but yay for a 4.0 grad school GPA! :-)

Hey, Jude

I'm back!

four-letter words, five-letter names

I thought those days had gone to laughing pastures. I'd caught my breath.

Ahh, here you are, relentless momentum. There I go laughing running darting my eyes - oh, yes, but I'm here, too.

textsfrommylifedotblog

A few saved, appropriate-to-mass-share messages that I particularly enjoy:

-"Dustys sleepn scare his ass 4 reals!"

-"Dianaaa happy new yearr!" - Jeremy, January 20th

-"The cops have been cald."

-"I think we should have a capital one adventure sometime tomorrow or friday, with a possible excursion to a pharmacy type store. Love you, The End."

-"I'm eating cornish hen right now!"

-"Convince paul to shave his head!! I have him like almost there or like a mohawk ha ha." - I still have no idea who this is from.

-"Dear snugglebear i long to see your face and draw it near to mine. i hope the time we are apart for you is not as tedious as it is for me. soon dearheart soon."- The scariest text I ever received...until I realized it was Caralyn. :-p

-"I went out and bought animal print clothes bc I needed change."

-"Is stalking punk boys at work considered creepy and obsessive?!" - Never. ;-)

list excerpt, whilst digging around on the floor

So apparently I was angry one day at the wee ones:

"-get a job.
-go biking.
-watch the sunrise at Montauk.
-having cooking fiestas with the toaster.
-go to the marine center and go sailing, boating, kayaking.
-go home (please)."

"If I didn't have a skeleton, I wouldn't be able to do this." ::dance moves::

So many wire-bound journals. What did I have to say? Surely it mattered. Maybe not now. Not now, when I’m certain to dig holes with every keystroke. I throw a bit of dirt toward your eyes and wonder if you see patterns in falling grains. Dazzled? You blink. Dig deeper. Deeper now.

ennui

I think I understand you: this slow silence is enough for me to wish that today and all other days that feel this way had passed already.

metaphor in woods:

Last year, at best slightly unhinged--the ACL that passes the Lachman test, the leg with muscles too small that tries to tumble anyway. Walking releve down the line of breaking. At worst, the runner mid-kick--everything burning, tearing, you want to die you want to throw up you want to stop you cannot stop you rip yourself apart.

That was me.

May, 23.

The fan turns.

I want to run, drop to the ground for crunches, grip the bar in the doorway for pull-ups. For now, I have the time. Parts of the floor are (somewhat) visible. Soon there will be bulky air conditioner instead of fan and I'll lie on my floor at late hours with laptop instead of typing (somewhat) dignified at the desk. In late May, I think I can write the best stories. I had one last May (a good one) and the May before (not so good) and I have one now (this can work). This story will be in desert, and already I sweat while sitting, windows tight shut.

I dance in the kitchen. Meanwhile, the messages have started again. I knew it! they say. Maybe I did, too, or else I wouldn't have felt, keep feeling so antsy--any minute now, something will happen. This, like stories and closed windows and trail runs, is not new. I hope you're preparing, tree-streaked shadows on dirt path.

Summer, indeed.

You know you go to SBS when...

-You know everyone by his/her first name. If multiple people have the same name, an adjective quickly distinguishes the identity, i.e. "Crazy Nikki."
-You know all of the UPD officers by name.
-You know all of the guards and which ones will ID you (a.k.a. almost none of them).
-You have been Shabazz'ed.
-More than once.
-You have seen Sean's nipples.
-More than once.
-Sherrille has told you that something does not belong to you.
-You or someone you know has hooked up with the same person as half the school.
-You or someone you know has played beer pong on an armoir in a vacant room.
-" " has smoked weed in a room.
-Or rolled a blunt in Wainscott.
-You hear Ama's voice from across campus.
-And Deana's laugh.
-Pick-up basketball is the main campus sport.
-Off-campus life consists of the same parties, occasional sketchy club outings, and for those of age, adventures at Tidewater.
-You've Facebook-chatted suitemates, people in the same building, and people across "the quad."
-You participated in the snowball fight, closely monitored by Joe.
-You realize that despite how small the school is, nobody ever seems to know what's "officially" going on.
-However, when people hook up or get written up, you find out immediately.
-You recognize that deadlines don't matter.
-You've played Scattergories on a Friday night for sheer lack of other things to do.
-And somehow, you manage to stay up 'til sunrise on such nights.
-Gaming Night was the highlight of your night (and maybe semester).
-You attended a school dance that was an awkward mix of current students and prospective freshmen.
-You remember the sweaty guy who was the sole survivor of the dance floor.
-You or someone you know was serenaded by Sarah.
-You've participated in a Shelter dance party.
-Your eating habits depend on what FSA serves that day.
-You've eaten undercooked rice with various objects from previous meals tossed in.
-But it tastes better when Dusty serves you.
-7-11 becomes real food after midnight.
-You've been tagged in a photo by Kenny.
-You've become, to quote Sherrille, "emotionally invested" in the relationship between two RA's.
-Yet you wonder. If it's not on Facebook, is it happening???
-Your friends don't believe this is a real college.
-Neither do you.
-There's no such thing as an "upperclassmen," no matter what your credits say.
-You or someone you know has had a horrendous time in advising (cough Caralyn).
-You've crept into the windmill, manson, Wainscott, the Montauks.
-You wish you lived in the Montauks.
-The parking lot has eight cars on the weekend.
-You're pissed when you have to park behind the Peconics, especially at night.
-For a Shelter or Greenport resident, the lot by Amagansett is simply too far.
-You've tie-dyed in the laundry room of Shelter or Greenport.
-You've begun to confuse the dorm names with the town names. You say you're going to Greenport and someone asks, "Why so far?" Someone says, "I'm from Amagansett" and you ask, "The building or the town?"
-You never heard of these towns previously (cough Lauren).
-You've crawled in or out of a room via window.
-You've rented Marine Center boats without being boat certified.
-You've heard sketchy stories about the reservation.
-You've talked to Eric.
-A happy gathering has been unhappily interrupted by the entrance of Sam.
-You use the phrase "epic fail" daily, often in regards to your life.
-You hear the word "sustainable" daily.
-You don't really see "sustainability" daily.
-You or someone you know has hosted an illegal pet.
-Your room was overrun by crickets.
-And you know who the culprit is.
-You've colored in the Shelter basement, watched movies and eaten pancakes in Greenport, and/or played Magic in Mattituck.
-"This ain't yo home,"
-And yet...you secretly love it.

There's a million roads I had to take

Did I bother telling you this
with the words that cross teeth and jump lips?

Well, I made it. A year past Cortland (I do miss it but the pieces fit better here), a summer beyond where will I go...

If you're sleeping, are you dreaming
If you're dreaming, are you dreaming of me?

One hour of sleep that first night, and in nights after, I couldn't stay put. I was as uncomfortable as all of you, maybe more. You might not belong here, but I did not. I was sure of it.

So I ran:

Through Mozambique and those Memphis nights

You may not have wanted another pretty face, but you've got that invisible touch! What would I have done without quiet nights with soft serve and Sing Star, loud nights of drinks and dancing and hands held at Tidewater? What would Julio and Guillermo and Jose do without you? And Jack? Can't you feel it in the air tonight?

Just dance!

Then I started dancing here. Crying and running and dancing. Same with all of you (maybe not the running). Nights in the bathroom and common area and Caralyn's floor and each other's beds.

Baby's black balloon makes her fly.

We understood.

And we are the champions...of the [whole new] world.

One step at a time...

After eleven years of gymnastics, I didn't know what I was supposed to do around here. Who is this girl?

There's gotta be somebody for me like that and I searched in all sorts of places. But I never quite forgot.

Go ahead, tell me you'll leave again
You'll just come back running
Holding your scarred heart in hand

I went running more than once and came back crying. I suppose I thought something would change.

But you know what? I don't regret it.

This is the correlation of salvation and love.

I breathed.

The broken clock is a comfort
It helps me sleep tonight.

And then there was a train ride. And salsa on burgers, maps of the world, keeping ourselves warm. And meets, early mornings and cold dawns and falls, but growing fire. I grew into my role. Lost and insecure...you found me! Anberlin reminds me not of anyone, really, but anyone I ever thought of while driving down 24 in bright winter afternoons. I need a fix in those heroin eyes.

Oh, my ladies! Making me smile all winter. No, he can't read my poker face! All current pop music takes me to them, even though, as Gianna, age 10, believes, "'Smack That' was Akon's last good song." The scores sometimes agreed and sometimes didn't, but they got so much better. So many hours of Level 5 floor music and issuing push-ups and yelling at Gabby to stand up. So worth it.

You can have whatever you liiiike. So many late-night hours of my life story as we sat in the office or drove to Hampton Bays or back from Burger King. I don't know how you didn't laugh at me.

I have to believe that the past will make sense to me in time.

And then...

And you're just so cool,
run your hands through your hair

then...

absent-mindedly making me want you.

Do you catch your breath
when I look at you?

And the round that ended in Southold, but didn't quite end...

You can go your own way!

Now Montauk morning light, football in fog, mansion and windmill adventures, plays on train platforms with hookers. I'm wanted, dead or alive! So much writing, good writing (I think, in good moods). Good Mexican food. Seeking Amy. Singing Jason Mraz in the car after bagels. Cortland, too--all the single ladies!--and the friends who have been my friends all along--Lena, Nati, Miguel, Emeline and her broccoli, Rachel and our phone conversations as I drive, Beth and Hamlet and wine, Matt and our cyber (now real) friendship, so many others. Learning to teach. Still twisting and flipping, of course. Learning to finally, really, be comfortable with this girl, me.

I feared I'd lose the words this year, but there is so much to say.

Through the fire and the flames, we carry on!

to clear one's throat

[Beth]: guess what?!
[Diana]: what!
[Beth]: we got an A in English!
Yay, Ross! :-)

"I am confident you will be an excellent teacher!" -Stephanie. Watch out, Writing 101 students this fall...

"This is the best day ever!" - Valentina, age 8, as we take a team field trip to the sandpit across the parking lot. Best day ever, indeed -- I've got the ten of them on my own, and amazingly enough, they're all happy. And some are flipping above my heads.

P.S. 1: Lena's dad is awesome.

P.S. 2: So is Camus.

P.S. 3: So is Jessica: "If you ever need tragedy, I'm here to help."

And from Sean, who walked in during the writing of this: "This ain't yo coyote den!"

roundtrip multi-city horseshoe crab ABC's.

Pete walks down the stairs as I walk up to Shelter Island, sweating in red sweatshirt with iPod in hand. "I always see you running," he says. "What are you running from?"

"Life," I say with a grin.

Not this year.

I think I would be better off for spending more nights with golden moon over soft lapping waters as our feet touch rocks. I would be better off writing. And I am.

Oh, and we're going: Dublin, Kerry, London. ACLs and Mexico told me to take all risks. It'll be a whirlwind and I'll fear the plane until it starts racing.

And I feel the ecstasy I never thought I'd feel again. How about that?

a good day

I woke up with Creed in my head, of all bands. Later, I drove to work and heard an advertisement for Creed at Jones Beach this summer.

I remember:

My mom wrote me a note for "college visits" so I could get out of school early. I walk to the circle, to your vintage red car. We drive to your school and walk across leaf-strewn cracked pavement past brown buildings into the radio studio. I've never been in one before. Headphones and microphones, knobs to turn and slide and push on and off. You're making a commercial for class and you want my voice. You want to know which songs I think would work for the background. Today you want me. I suggest Creed. You open your CD case and put the second album in. I feel forces all around me...that works. Let's leave, oh, let's run away...that works.

You speak, I speak, you start and stop, rewind replay erase record. I ask lots of questions. Later we leave in fall sunlight, driving up and down Bald Hill and listening to a mix CD. I liked your music. It might have been the most we shared. Later we have pizza and you drop me off at the gym for work. Later you tell me your professor says I have good voice for radio. Later I am a senior in college signing off on my last radio show, and though I haven't seen you in years, I thank you for that.

Rock me on the water

What a treat it is, I think as we pass that bay curve, that someone else is driving and I do not have to watch lights on the road, watch lines. Instead I can watch gold-red moon drift behind black clouds, cast dim glow on black water. This is my Dover Beach, but my soul does not tumble; it splashes happily instead like deep blue bay under kayak. Take me, breakers, let us dance.

So many souls

It might be silly to say I've grown in those three city days, but I have. I walk the grid with confidence and wonder. I know the pattern now. More and more I take ownership of my self.

So many souls. Some of us lock eyes. Will you remember me?

..

I am not certain that I wish for summer.

elbow to car window

The beauty here has nothing to do with wealth. The curve of Montauk Highway that opens to wide blue bay, today Ponquogue Bridge in soft gray haze, and I want to watch even as I drive faster. I could almost cry.

..

"Just so you know, I'm crazy." She grins.

I've learned this year that some people are too crazy. That they'll never really listen. That they need to figure out their answers the way I did, though I never told any of you, "You're wrong!" I need to let them damn themselves until they turn around. If they turn around. And if they don't, so be it. I turned. I know.

harbor town

You had gone. One day, soon after they'd all left, I sat on the bench and watched. So much wind. So much winter sun on shivering white water.

I missed you, you know.

Vietnamese Broadway

I dream that we sit in front of my front door on a small but comfortable couch, backs to window, but eyes on the blue afternoon sky and the road. You make me laugh. The occasional car--my parents? No, no. They should be here soon. I miss them. You say something about losing weight and I read a black-and-white flyer about a play at the Overland Theater in the Vietnamese section of Broadway. I pretend I want to see it, but if I can be honest, I'd prefer something I've already seen. Is that so wrong, to want the familiar?

Lunch for Three

and everyone is laughing. The adults, the real people, the writers laughing! I pause at the right points. Then run again--builds builds bam! clap clap clap. Jules tells me it was wonderful and hugs me after I spent the semester feeling like an ass each time I brought in my response to his assignment. "They're still talking about it in there," she says. "That was fabulous," he says. I wish I could remember every kind thing anyone has ever told me and if I were in Roger's class right now I'd be writing it all down, but it would move so fast that my pen could hardly follow. You're far too good to me, but tonight I believe I deserve it.

for right now

Normally I can't stop running but today you can't get me to start. I don't want to. I don't want to! Today I just want to be. Be, not do. It's almost 1am and I'm done. Well, for now. I feel fine now but won't in five hours. I haven't really felt fine all night, but you take one of my hands in both of yours and look at me. I think about how I've been hurt before and how beautiful it is that for right now, I can believe that you never will.

friendly reminders

I love reading this morning's friendly e-mail reminder that "the class blog is still active, so post on it!" and then logging onto Blackboard to see that the majority of posts have appeared within the last twenty minutes. Oh, grad school and the habits we keep!

perhaps a fruit basket

(I am trying to write in this thing more often because eventually, something good will pop up.) (Just like the girls: front tucks on floor, back walkovers on high beam, spotted giants on low bar. They are getting better!) (Today is not anyone's finest day -- traffic stopped for hours by a highway collision near Exit 63, foiled for headlight by police on the bypass -- nor is it my finest day of athletic achievements, but I'm here accelerating back handsprings, swinging with almost exhiliaration on the single rail, hitting my ponytail to foot in switch ring leap like always.) (When will I see you again? Tomorrow my shoulders will sing but I'll be back, I always am.)

845, or Modern Mysteries:

1) Which Paul might be getting his head shaved completely or styled into a Mohawk?
Solution: The person from the 845 who texted me would know...except I don't know who he/she is and am now past the socially acceptable point of asking, since I followed up with "Lol what?" instead.

2) What exactly CAUSES the swine flu?
Solution: Just eat your daily falafel and nobody will get hurt.

3) What is Lauren doing at the end of this week?
Solution: Read Jason and Sean's Facebook walls to find out.

4) If it's not on Facebook, did it really happen?
Solution: SBS residents say NAY, but (some of) their RA's beg to differ.

5) Who took Tanya's clothes?
Solution: Get Ward Dukelow on the case.

6) Why am I about to jump in the shower at 1:10 am?
Solution: Why not?

Scenes from an Outdoor Volleyball Court

"Where's Florko?" Ama asks.

The ball comes whizzing over the net. I hold up my hand. The ball bounces off of my fingers and falls uselessly to the sand.

"We don't need Florko," Tony says. "We've got that."

and here it is--the dancing star

You could get this performed.

My writing makes me safe. How about that? My fictions flow and I run beside them, chasing water so it swirls and swirls and here it is--the dancing star. I love this spring. Love that you all believe in my words and walk up to me afterward to tell me so. Love this certain strangeness. Love my friends who played "man" and "woman" so convincingly. ;-) I find again and again that I have something to say, that they want to listen and question and make meaning. I am not treading, they suggest. I am real.

And as happy as this little boy:

city in sun

8:59 in Penn Station: I have not seen the city in morning light in a long time. Maybe never. I search my bag three times until my hand finds the pink sunglasses (thank you, Sarah!). Sun in my eyes, on long hair that swings behind me as we turn and squeeze through Indian festivals with voices calling and saris whispering. Sun settling as the sidewalks crack down East 28th and I think maybe I should turn now because I don't want my eyes to meet their eyes. They're settled against doors and sidewalks but I'm still walking, hair contained from the back handspring in class, little girl now at West 33rd and Broadway almost. there.

Dear Maya:

Unfortunately, nobody is saying "good morning" and everyone instead says "goodbye" or nothing at all. Abandon hope all ye who enter, Latinos from the border and anyone of Middle Eastern descent. They say the world's to be overtaken by Mandarin and the U.S. by Spanish but nobody is taking the time to say "buenos dias" or to stand by the river; they stand instead shoulder-to-shoulder but so very apart wih their digital devices to escape each other, to stand alone.

..

Place, five minutes:

Sometimes stragglers from the track team are finishing up their workouts, but the farther I go over the winding dirt that eventually opens into wide sandy fire breaks, the more I am alone. I smell pine. I smell wet dirt. I hear my footsteps and breathing and cars on William Floyd. Sometimes gunshots from the shooting range. There are always shadows here, and leaves, and roots that you leap over and the occasional fallen tree that must be scaled or sometimes the deer that looks at you and you look at it until it bolts away first.

!!!

Looks like the play is the thing and that the play is mine.

Certainly Avram has never experienced a production like this before!

I get the e-mail, I jump into a dance, I call my mom, and then I write again.

Is someone hammering downstairs?

No matter what they might say, I've picked the words that move me,
and I am glad.

rollin' in Wainscott

I am between the words that move me most and the ones that make me sweat, the ones that will bring you to your knees,

and so I'm writing here due to recent complaints. :-)

I feel centered. I hear thunder and no longer fear the end, no longer see chaos that breaks but beautiful danger, the kind that comes in the ghost stories we tell each other and my stories when it's very late and I'm very tired, an almost drunken tired that lets me whisper any truth and you listen, back to wall, face to me.

I am not as messy these days and neither are my girls; look at them, chins up, legs straight! They hug me when I walk in. You're all right, Coach, you're all right. They make me laugh. They want to know everything: Do you, like, shop at Abercrombie or do you only wear Cortland clothes? Do you have a boyfriend? What's a Masters? Does that mean you're NOT going back to Cortland? What level were you? Did you try out for the Olympics? You KNOW this song? Are you coming to lunch with us? Are you coming to IGC with us? You should!

And I like that you don't label me "Diana the nerd" or "Diana the gymnast" or "Diana + five or so descriptions" and decide that you know me entirely, seem shocked when I deviate and smug when I don't. I grin and say you weren't born yet but you know that I am not this this and that, I am everything. Right now I am not healed. But I am mending.

We're free before the thunderstorm

I feel disjointed when I wake up from dreams like that and remember that I have been removed from both syntax and context. It doesn't matter but it does. I remove too but I don't forget. There will be more to say, more that must be said.

But not today. Today is sunshine despite cool breezes, sunglasses and open windows this morning and (perhaps) dresses tonight. Last night was walking to soft ocean bay's foam and stars, climbing too-tall trees. That list of tasks? All of them complete. Nick and Pete look up as I sit down. There you are, they say. Today I miss Cortland and today I am imperfect, but I am here and I am happy.

renewed shall be blade that was broken

I relearn what it is to be desired in wholes, not in convenient parts. At dawn, in rain, under moon-stroked ocean, not in moods that sigh from one to the next. I try to remember what made me burn so brightly but can't.

So this is unlearning and I hope it lasts.

my turn to be moved

Dear teammate, thank you for holding my body ( and sometimes my life ) together, you so often found the words when there was none. For all of our joking about bad life decisions, I know if we could go back we would do virtually all of it the same. I hope you learn to put your happiness first, even if it means letting go of the only things you know.

--I think you've found the words for me.

catch the king

Spring Break, or How I Wrote Two One-Act Plays in Two Weeks (But Really One Week Because I Was Busy Going to Montauk and Getting Chai):

Play for Roger's class: up to page 12...13 if I count my notes-to-self.
Play for Jules's class: up to page 16 solidly!
Who will want to play the parts in these plays?: God knows.
Textbooks: ORDERED!
Unit plan: Underway! Makes me feel like a useful part of society
Lesson plan for Thursday: Uhh...
Entire body: very sore, but in a good way, much like life right now

..

A conversation with the Chalk Tamer, a 9-year-old after my own heart, when I noticed her red-and-black nail polish.
"That's some pretty crazy nail polish!" I say.
"I was feeling emo," she says with a perfectly straight face.

..

For a certain Seven,
You have turned out so wonderfully. And I'm so glad.
:-)

Hampton Bays pier on sunny afternoon

I want to walk out and fall into the bay. Arms stretched, chin up, eyes closed. Icarus without his melting wings. This is no death plunge. Not now. Just the simple fall into waves that whisper. So much water so close to home, you pull me in, you make me dance.

Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio

Among everything we did, you saw me in Hamlet. And you stayed awake the whole time, along with a "pitstop" during intermission.

Do you remember
all of us together
as we grew up under the sun?

I drive home tonight and realize that it's me. Just me. You walked away without a toast to friendship, without a straight path in front of you. I would ask how you are but what does it matter? Ten years, five years, you don't seem to mind so I don't speak. You walk out and so many others run in and I love them, I hold them close -- but it's not the same, it will never be.

quoth the raven

I look into the windmill window reflection under afternoon sun and see the normal spikes of hair darting from my bun. Do I look okay? I ask.

Little girl ghost nods. Of course you do.

Thank you, I say, turning away.

Dear Emeline,

It's Palm Sunday, and I am blogging.

Happy now?

;-)

..

I think about this too much. But I think that if I think about it enough, it will fade. The way I did. Apparently. I'm very all right with the shake down but not with the silence. Not a bang but a whisper.

..

Windmill, window, what about Wainscott? I climb down the ladder first. Would you believe me? She will. Walking next to the waves at night. Walking over rocks at 5:45 Montauk morning. I want to close my eyes but the child in me watches sun slip into pink-orange sky, watches wave after wave crash and rebuild, crash and rebuild.

small-town girl, city lights

And I'm sincerely glad I've chosen this life.