wanderlust

I should spend my free time in writing, really writing. Perhaps tonight! For now, this shall suffice.

I prefer fiction and retrospect. I do not spontaneously react in the wrong way. Ay, girl, haven't you learned from the last time(s)? She's always sorry, even before she's opened her mouth.

I want to roam and run on other lands under this same sun. ((Well, the sun isn't actually out in Cortland at the moment, but one can imagine.)) I need to see another life and live it, for a time. That's what brought me here. That's what bears my mind elsewhere, as much as it frightens me.

Too much, never enough. I enjoy those moments where I feel I am right where I should be, and that neither my words nor dreams shall fly astray. Like with you.

My mind's filled with words right now. Images, interpretations, the significance of a line abruptly ended. Did I solve that riddle? Even if I did, more follow.

I step outside into the brightness, into a world that feels somewhat less satisfying, a little more shallow, before I reassimilate completely.

Words. Real, powerful, heavy, light, and all with meaning. This world makes me forget, sometimes. Silence is not the ending, not at all. This is a feeling.

I don't know if you'd entirely understand.

AAAAHHHHHHH

What the eff am I going to end up doing with my life?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

On the plus side, at least I can do a floor routine.

::would like to run outside and scream a little, into the night::

::at least I know I'm not alone in this sentiment::

Back in high school, I figured that whatever I picked, I could do. Now, I'm not so sure. Or maybe it remains true, this rare sense of self-belief. I just need to manifest it.

Up, up, and awayyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!!

color

I take notes diligently, read the assigned texts, and wonder all the while what the hell I'm going to make of myself.

Class participation: pretending to give a damn, but in fact talking for the sake of talking. While your hand is raised, the only thing you notice is that the person speaking hasn't yet made your point. Then, of course, your point is shot down from time to time. But you'll try again anyway. Gotta maximize that twenty percent of your grade, besides making it to class and looking alive. ("Looking," of course, is not synonymous with "being.")

Do I want to be the one to make superior analyses? Do I wish my mind had made that connection? Certainly. But arrogance irritates, even if it is not intended.

I'm sure that many years, in many classrooms, people have prepared for a cozy nap as I raised my hand.

But color makes the difference. Swirls and splashes. Use big words only if you don't fear to say, "Um, like..." when "me and her..." I may be a nerd indeed, but I want to shake you sometimes and bring warmth to your stoic gray, even if your new vigor breeds a mistake or two. You'd be far more bearable.

I wonder what you dream at night as you ritually lay down at the appointed hour (right to the minute, I'd guess). Do you even dream in color? When you point to life experiences, what have you to show? Was it something you read elsewhere?

I read and say, "Damn, I wish I wrote that."

I want to live. Those lines you pour over and analyze, I want those to someday be the ones I wrote.

Here's to the cone-stealers, the pecan-square-thiefs, the random drivers, the ones who pump up the music and sing out of tune, the ones who give a damn for each other but not for limits of time or space or possibility. Here's to the stories we weave each day, the laughs and commentary we find amidst the most mundane circumstances. The horizon tantalizes. No ending here.

double time

Or half time? I can't decide which. Double practices makes each day feel like two. Has it only been a week?

I do know that I have odd bread cravings. Rain (rain? Why rain?) pours. Just yesterday, the sun peered out and I squinted my eyes. Not today. Ice doesn't feel cold enough when the throb burns hotter than usual. Funny things have happened, pictures snapped, comments swapped. Everything is better than a year ago, that is for sure.

Gray seeps in some days. Sometimes I shift in my own skin, not sure if it's all right or what to do with myself. Orange juice and milk freeze by the morning. I'd like to be clever, but I'm not always inspired.

But color will return.

In the meantime, I close my eyes. In the darkness, I see you.

tracing

If I hear these chords, I can imagine your willing ears. If I sing these harmonies, perhaps your voice will ring with mine.

I'll learn who you are, the person behind the words and laughs and snips of song lyrics.

You will read, write, witness. Will you imagine my eyes running before you over these words? Will you know me?

I would like to follow the path of someone strong and skilled. Leave your traces and I'll learn the way.

Someday, hopefully, these will become a part of who I am. Who I will be.

I know.

I'll keep [your] dirty little secret.

Witness to the scene and listener of the confession, I have your half-truth and her half-truth and his crooked smile. I know the story you wonder about. It's all pieced together, all been carried out and convened in my mind.

"Really?" My eyes widen. Innocent smile for this innocent girl. No one else will ever know what I know.

And of me -- you know naught.

In the darkened corners no one peers into, let's make our own quiet chaos.

the lights coming up in her eyes

A FULL ON FLOOR!!!!!

Combined with Lifehouse last weekend, having "Mayahu" on CD, the awesomeness of The Big, participating in college fun this evening, a free Cortland hoodie for being a nerd, and heading home in TWO days to see some of my most excellently favored people....

God, it's good to be alive. :-)

deber

I should write more and stalk less, sleep more, daydream less, pretend to be interested in class, memorize more Spanish, worry less, get out more, save the world, make others happy, listen to more music, watch the movies I've been deprived of, read more good literature, call people back, find a career path, get masters degrees in random historical events and dramatic writing and obscure slavic languages, care more about politics and the world around me, share my love...and go to bed right now.

But I'm happy anyway.

chaos theory

I know this to be true:

Everything you have ever done or said has set something else into motion.

Everything. And here you are now, because of it all, even when you thought it was useless. Especially then.

Karma or cause-and-effect?

Maybe I need to know about probability to understand the blips, the silences and the explosions. And I don't always believe this. Did every repetition matter? Did every little word?

But if the smallest one has been proven to matter --

they all do.

back in severely humid New York

[I must say that there's something to be said for the dry heat of the southwest.]

random anecdotes and notes of Arizona/New Mexico:
-the Painted Desert is amazing
-so is sopaipilla
-and the Indian pueblos/dwellings
-Indian dancing = hardcore and not as easy as it may look
-I climbed up 140 feet, of ladders and stairs, to one of the dwellings. I can say now that heights make me nervous but I no longer fear them.
-weddings at the hotel...yes, I know I should have walked up to that cute solitary guy and offered myself as a date
-"You must always travel with a prom dress!" adds Jill
-Dairy Queen blizzards :-)
-random guy in the elevator referring to me as a "beautiful girl," even though I had just returned from working out. I'm pretty sure he was sober, too.
-driving a Trail Blazer...this is a big deal when only cars are driven at your house
-getting lost, always when in need of peeing and/or eating
-feeling weird from the elevation
-beautiful scenery everywhere
-"Safety is just mind over hazard" -- Los Alamos
-hearing something that sounds like thunder
Park Ranger: "That's probably not thunder. They're probably just exploding things in Los Alamos."
-Later, on the news, finding out that apparently Los Alamos disposes of the superfluous by blowing it up
-Staying in Albuquerque, then leaving and finding out about shootings, stabbings, and a kidnapping that had happened there
-Also on the news: "A boy is recovering from the Plague, the first outbreak in two..."
::thinks to self:: "...centuries."
The News: "...years."
!!!

Ahh...good times.

i'm alive

I had about three hours before I was supposed to leave. No matter. I wanted to see how this would look. Would I recognize myself? Would they even want me back?

Black and red. Tight against my skin. Hands on hips.

I look stronger already.

I walked back in and it was like I had never left. The same lovable crew. The same spasticity. I restrain myself from getting too ahead of myself, but whatever I do, I feel strong. It's been seven months and three days and I haven't felt so good in all of this time.

I don't ever want to feel
like I did that day
Take me to the place I love
Take me all the way

The part of me that was memory and imagination this whole time -- she is back.

My whole body is sore today, and I love it. I've already been coerced into covering people's classes.

I'm finally alive again.

bringing it home

Of course, since I'm on a roll, I step out of the action to write about said roll on my blog, which nobody will read except out of boredom.

That's okay.

Here's the task. I meander through, placing word after word and wondering where it will go. Sometimes, nowhere. I stare for minutes at a time. I change some, omit a few, add here and there. Is this working? I'm not sure, but I hope so. I leave it for another time, hopefully a more inspired time.

Then another angle comes to mind. I'll try this out. I move from the origin. This is working. You may not see this yet. But I feel it.

Faster and faster. Confidence. I know I can do this. This is right. This is exactly where it was meant to flow. I've got this now. I'm excited. You should be too. You will be, once you catch on.

I was never one to tremble under pressure. I'm bringing it home. Exactly as I know how.

and outside, it starts raining...

We've had snow (and snow, and snow...) and sun (finally).

I miss the rain.

Cool October breezes through the window as I rolled out of bed for school. The wind catches me with flecks of water hinting at the downpour as I walk quickly to the car. Anticipation. Running through the woods and the burst spills down, everywhere, sleeves and legs and sneakers and branches and leaves and dirt are drenched and we laugh and beat the wind. [Breathless.]

Summer night, the lights are down and water pounds the roof. Steady steady drum, and I don't feel alone...

Rain is not the same here. It doesn't echo as loudly. It chills as you bow your head and struggle up the hill to class. The cold wind and cloudy sky remind me of the day that changed everything.

Back home, in the past, it rained on days without ruining them.

I'm too wistful right now to sum up this feeling properly. I miss the rain, but even it may not be able to comfort the way it once did.

Mud Pie Mojo

Out of the monotony came the moment which made it all worth it.

My life had purpose. All fell into place. This...this made sense.

Thank you, Cold Stone Creamery.

--

On the way to the mall in Syracuse...

"I've never been done here before."

"Yes, you have, there's a very familiar landmark up ahead."

I look and see Cortland Memorial Hospital.

"Ahh...yes."

--

The support from home has been amazing. If there's anything I can do for any of you, please let me know.

And I sign off with the war cry of, "PENAL-PALOOOOZA!"

the sickness passes...

Kids, there is something I want to pass along. Be grateful for the fact that in the middle of the night you can roll out of bed, walk to the bathroom, do your thing, and go back without it being a massive production.

The other major thing that I've taken away from this experience is that no matter how hard you try, you will never be able to wrap the Ace bandage as well as the doctor.

Haha. But there is improvement, much improvement. The throbbing pain has passed, along with the heavy drain of fluids through my leg whenever I stand. I no longer lie with drugged exhaustion wanting to sleep through the rest of my life, as it was the only thing I was capable of doing somewhat well.

I am feeling more like myself again. I'm antsy to move, to advance, to escape the hermitude (is that a word?) I'd built. I need new thoughts inside this mind. Sparks to set blazes which will reveal previously darkened paths.

For now, this is a lull. I think. I write. When the time comes, I will be swept up again in living.

painkillers, friends, and poetry

I was so afraid of going under
but now, the weight of the world
feels like nothing, nothing

It's done.

I cannot lie that I grew more and more nervous as I read a scintillating article on Mary-Kate and Ashley Olson from an outdated Cosmogirl. Periodically, various doctors shook my hands. We'll see you soon.

"...We'll give you this breathing device that will be in your throat and breathe for you..."

Good God, what are they doing to me?!

Scoot down a bit more...a bit more...They call me something, I don't remember, something to do with my shortness.

Needles. I act brave. "We'll give you a sedative first."

The ceiling begins to swirl gently. "It's working already."

I wake up, slightly chilly, covered with white blankets. My leg is moving back and forth gently on a machine. Did I dream this? No, I'm moving, I must be done. I mutter something incoherent to my mother and fall back asleep.

--

Last night confused images came into my mind while I slept. I'm not sure if it was the drugs or the situation.

Why would I want to go through this? The pain and the blood. I awake slightly and alas, there it is. I wonder about you and how you might have changed the circumstances. I wonder if this would have happened. Maybe not, but there may have been other pain, slower and more chilling to the soul.

In one way, it's choice, and in the other, it's duty. Ethical duty.

--

After reviving myself from a groggy state, I miss my friends. Thanks for coming over, Priedes, you brightened my day! Buddy, I did follow your advice and it served me well. Mike, I hope you're not too devastated by "the news" - perhaps the photos will help.

Much love, much love. :-)

--

The night before, I decided to take a stab at poetry.

For me, poetry strikes in a moment. I put down the words of the now, of the urgent. I do not labor extensively, or else the effect is lost. Stream of consciousness.

It may be poor and the words never correct, but I like the narrative it creates. I speak to you, of you, while giving you a piece of me.

What will you do with it?

.12.7.2004.

LAST DAY OF CLASSES

So I looked through the poetry section of my notebook to see if I could find any useful notes. Useful? Ha. But I did find some pretty pictures and random song lyrics all running on the same theme. It's good to see that some things don't change.

I'm proud. I dimly recall the girl of months ago fearing she'd never make it this far. I've lasted and continue to go strong. Endurance became difficult. I don't know how many pages I've written. Certainly over fifty. I feared burning out and hating what I once loved. Nope, not yet. I feel I write better now (at least academically -- my rambles haven't shifted much). I have learned a few things. The passion remains.

How did it get so late so soon?

--

Can I be honest?
(No, no, of course not! Geesh, Di, what were you thinking?)

I'm scared of surgery. Going under. Pain. Being immobile again. The violent need to pee. (Only kididng about that last one, but Buddy very passionately urges that I do it beforehand.)

But I know that the moment I wake up marks the beginning of a full recovery.

I have a little secret. A goal I don't want to say too loudly. But I can see it. I really can.

untitled

You are an exceptionally fine writer. I expect to hear great things of you.

As I work on my final paper, this is a boost and a simultaneous warning: Don't write without passion.

some illuminesence

The glowing sign on Main Street said that it was 1 am and 35 degrees. But it does not feel so chill, nor so late.

Fog blurs the field, the moon, the streetlights, the swings. There is just enough to tint the scene into the surreal.

Why is it so much easier to speak at night? What makes this more effective than if the entire world was lit? Does the physical darkness allow for my words to spark some sort of clarity, some illuminesence, in your mind?

But no matter. We swing back and forth and my mind travels to happy times. I think of little girls scampering after the tire swing. I think of us, not so long ago, climbing these poles.

The silence settles my wild mind. Later, we walk into town, which, save a few bars, is devoid of motion or life. Gold lights twinkle. We peer through the windows of still stores. We will come back one day, but daylight will alter the effect.

Whoever thought I'd be here, now, doing this? But no matter. I want to come back here some night, with you, and show you these places. Show you a bit of my soul. And perhaps you will feel brave enough to illuminate some of yours to me.

Meet me in outerspace...