two a.m. litanies

As the clock winds down I start to dream again; dreams that never seem to flourish in daylight. Memories of the girl I once was, and wonderings about the girl I seem to be destined to become.

There is glamour in the offing: I watch myself type, neatly manicured fingernails betraying my fixation with outward appearances. Soft melodies play through my speakers, and brief flashes of inspiration flare, and die down as quickly.
My physical journal lies abandoned on the sill: after writing for four to six hours a day I am disinclined to write more, preferring to type here, which I can do quickly and without cramping.
Perhaps this spring break I can slowly ease back into the habit of writing daily.

Looking at my desk, I notice how the girlish and the masculine blend together seamlessly: a Vera Bradley calendar stands next to a black desk lamp festooned with strings and strings of Marti Gras beads; to my left wristbands from multiple shows as well as ticket stubs from all the Gator football home games and the Capital One Bowl are pinned to the corkboard, my Nikon on its stand nearby, and a small pink standing mirror is positioned so that I can see my hands as I type.

I look to my right and stop at my easel. The painting I worked on all yesterday has dried, but I haven't continued working on it yet: the urge to paint died last night and it hasn't yet returned.

It grows late and there is a freeze warning from midnight (two hours ago) til nine in the morning, so I will betake myself to bed and get some sleep. I cannot wait for summer and feeling warm at night once more.
Au revoir, mes amis.

Just a flash in the night

I can't figure out why I've had so much trouble sleeping at night recently. The naps in the afternoon might not help my cause much, but I wouldn't be able to survive without them!

Today is nominally my easy day, just two early classes then free time, but after coming home and washing all my dishes then cooking immediately afterward I was so tired that I simply passed out.
Woke up around three, wrote for a little, but Rebecca was obdurate today, and I couldn't coax much out of her. I found it amusing once, how writers talk of their characters as real people, but now that I've grown up and begun to write my own characters down, I'm amused no longer, especially when the characters have sulky fits and attitudes.

Went out to dinner around six with Ryan and Jessica - Bistro again. I'm starting to miss Moe's now that we haven't gone for three weeks. And there's only one week before spring break so if we're not careful it'll be a whole month and a half before we get back to Moe's nights again...

Once my studying was out of the way I spent the evening painting with the tv on. Worked on three or four different canvasses, and I'm almost done with Femme. I am really starting to loathe Microscope and am seriously considering painting over it. Maybe mother would like it for her classroom...use it to scare naughty children into obedience.

And once again 1 am rolls around and my dishes are unwashed and I am not asleep. Oh well. Nothing glamorous happens before midnight anyway, right? Bonne nuit...

I can feel it in the air

"The more things seem to change the more they stay the same." - Corinne Bailey Rae


Walking outside tonight the chill in the air was weakening; there is a fragrance lingering on the faint puffs of wind that grows stronger rather than dissipating. Memories start awakening from their winter sleeps, glimpses of friends and boys and shows and moonlight nights glistening with tears flash before my eyes once again.
My fingers are once again inspired to type, my soul stretches and grows.

Change is in the air, and my love of all loves - Summer - approaches me, elusive and ethereal.
Summer! I am not worthy of singing her praises. What are my lips to speak of her brilliant sunny days, the perfumed breezes she wraps around herself, the greenness she bestows on the trees and brush, and the feelings she awakens in man and beast?

Spring may be a lovely azure, filled with zest and renovation after the flinging down of the gauntlet of Winter, but she pales in comparison to the luxury and exuberance of her sister. Who but Summer populates the world in brightly colored flowers and fills the nights with warm moons and glitteringly starry skies?
What other season lays claim to lovers' hearts and that wild fragrant fancy we so aptly name "summer love"?
What other season breathes life into us like champagne bubbles overflowing a bottle with newly cut wires?
What other season do children long for, and all the inner children of the staid and sober adults secretly exult in?

O' pity that I cannot sing her praises truly, but blessed mercy that I may sing them at all, for I, a child of Summer, have some right to love her dearly.

She may not have Winter's sleek austerity, nor Autumn's decided advance and harvested treasures, nor Spring's joyous arrival but she has her own jubilation, a season of true munificence and glory.

'Tis true, 'tis pity, and pity 'tis, 'tis true - and yet I long for Summer.

blinded by moonlight

Went out with Scott Mattimore, amateur photographer and cinematographer, last night. We hit up The Side Bar, and saw Artemis Freezing, The Pendletons, and Velveteen Pink.

I loved Artemis Freezing, and the Pendletons were good, and so was Velveteen Pink, but AF totally stole the show. The bassist's string broke during the first song so they played Beatles til he got another bass. It was awesome and Scott loved it because he's a huge Beatles fan.

Scott thinks I should start modeling again. Who knows, maybe if I lose those last ten pounds (five I gained after the breakup and five I wanted to get rid of anyway), maybe I will.

I'm watching The Replacements. I heart this movie. It is ridiculously cute, and I wish more people liked it.

I have nothing to say and have said it, but I never like to remain silent too long, for fear that I will forget all that I've done.