Later on, we'll conspire

The backbreaking grind of my fall semester is over, my most pressing college application is sent - although some paperwork needs to be mailed off, stupid confusing websites - and I needn't work on any more for a few days, although I'll probably start working on some tomorrow.
Last night was my parents' Christmas party and that passed off successfully, I got to see several friends and eat a lot of very unhealthy food and life was generally good. Got to bed at 3 am, woke up at 1 pm, and am now cuddled up in bed, bemoaning the freezing cold 55F Florida weather.

Hooray for holidays!

hollow

Work is breaking my back; I work 7 pm - 1 am Monday through Wednesday and 8 pm - 1 am Thursday, then a break til Tuesday when I once again work 7 - 1. A test this Monday, a paper today, a typology tomorrow and another paper due Thursday; another test next Monday and a lab due that Friday, and goodness knows what else. I MUST register for the GRE and take it again asap, I must contact all my possible mentors and see if they're accepting students and would like for me to apply to their programs. I must work on my applications, my end of term papers and term assignments, I must prepare for the field school interview and balance my checkbook to see if I can afford the fees.

Last weekend was the Florida-Georgia game, also known as the World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party, and I was so exhausted come Saturday night I was too tired to drink, and sat there, in my Hallowe'en costume, staring and my lovely screwdriver made with real orange juice, and had to will myself to sip it and shuddered each time I felt the alcohol hit my lips.

In all my three years at college I have not known two weeks like these, they generally last one, and are entirely tests, but this, with the endless round of papers, tests, applications and no time to do it in is completely foreign. The worst part is that they won't end til the end of the semester and I'm free to go home for Christmas.

Why couldn't someone have warned me not to finish up my required coursework til my last semester? Although, if I hadn't, I wouldn't even be able to try for the Ethiopia field school. They should have warned us about needing to find mentors rather than programs when applying to graduate school. If only I had known last semester, and could have done some in-depth research over the summer!

I have work soon and I dread it. I dread the power struggles between the managers, the disgusting students who leave my dining room in a shambles, and get upset when I've been handling a rush for two hours straight and inconvenienced them by letting the sauce packets run out.
I dread the people who stare at me with horrible looks when I tell them we've run out of something, stare at me in a way that makes me want to howl and hide under the nearest rock - it's not my fault the cooks are unprepared!
I dread the people who don't think I understand was "vegetarian" means, and repeat, "No meat!" over and over again.
I dread the people who ask me for water cups while I'm in the middle of something else, and get angry when I don't immediately satisfy their wants.
I hate the people who expect me to hand their credit cards to them immediately, and click the 'amount tendered' button on my screen without waiting to see if their card is declined or accepted.
I loathe being in the middle of trying to stock my station, or cleaning and prepping the dining room, or taking out the trash, and then have five students line up and I have to stop what I'm doing, run and wash my hands and then take their orders, all while being met with an offended air that I wasn't standing at my register, breathlessly waiting for their merest whim.
I hate the customers treat me like I'm second class, even though I'm a student here just the same as they are, only I work to pay for part of my way, instead of relying on Daddy's wallet for everything.
I dread work tonight.

I just need to live until Veterans Day...then I will get some sleep...then till Thanksgiving...then til Christmas, when I may breathe deeply once more.

Grad School

Is taking over my life. But tonight I'm studying for an undergraduate test, and I'm mad that I can't be working on grad school.

Anyone surprised at the lack of updates now?

First Day of Autumn

Summer has officially ended, and the round of school, work, and grad school applications grows ever larger and more threatening, a dark cloud on the horizon of my daily life.

I have very little time to write anymore, and must cram in what I can in odd minutes and snatched seconds, sometimes early in the morning like now, sometimes late at night when the clock is counting down to dawn.

I must admit that I am excited for this Autumn, and even more for her sister Winter. The sooner I get through this season and the next the sooner I will have the business of applying and being accepted to graduate school over with, and can move on to the actual work. Is it strange that I'm more interested in getting my last year of undergrad over with than holding on and enjoying the last months of relative freedom?

The clock ticks on and I have class to get to, more later. Au revoir!

what a concept!

We could all use a little change.

I stepped outside early last Tuesday morning and felt the distinct timbre of Autumn lingering in the chilly air. I did not expect her here so early, but I don't regret her advent as I used to. I love Summer the best, but I begin to see the positive qualities of her sisters, and enjoy each in their turn.

The first football game is over, and a second cupcake approaches. The smell of grilling and spilt beer seems to linger over campus for the weekend, and on Monday all traces erase themselves neatly as harassed students once more rush to and from class.

I look forward to a semester of friends, football, and a great deal of hard work, and look forward more eagerly to spring semester when the applications will be turned in, and all I need to do is tie myself into knots worrying about where I got in and if I got any funding.

weather report

Today I laid aside my books for a ten minute respite in the form of venturing down to the mailboxes. I stepped outside and took a minute to breathe in the fresh, soft air, and notice with pleasure the gentle warmth even with the sun almost set, and the kind breeze dancing with scents of summer.

The tennis courts sound with the lazy thuds, and laughter and splashing emanates from the pool area; a wood fire is burning, so someone must be grilling their dinner tonight.

There is no mail, but I don't regret the reprieve. Grocery shopping earlier was fun, but the blazing midday bore no resemblance to this soft pre-dusk. The Florida sky, pale, blue and hung with a ghostly halfmoon is dotted with soft clouds on the horizon. The trees and neatly kept grass wave slowly in the breeze as small birds and squirrels hop to and fro gathering their evening repast.

I wish that I too could sport in the pool as the sun sinks to his daily death, but piles of work remain, and pleasure is but a secondary concern in the autumn of the year.

obsessed

Late nights in the smoky bars, rollicking crowds and skinny boy bands; I lean against the wall with my beer and see him across the room. The smile lights his face as he sees me and we meet in the middle. He remembers my name; I ask about his album that dropped the day before. He has a new one coming out soon, the man never sleeps.

Our conversation is a mere ripple in the room between the riffs and bass heavy beats. My peacocking goes unnoticed as the singer falls to his knees for the refrain, music is the lifebeat of the night.
Friends come and go flittering through the crowd, hugs and kisses, xoxo, numbers exchanged and promises of parties and movies and nights out by all and sundry. I long for my camera, but it's at home and unreachable.

Show to bar, abandoned with a psychology major, make good my escape, my lover in the inner room, his posse at his side, I settle for a snuck kiss and a whispered promise, although with him I've learnt to accept the kiss and ignore the promise.

Driving home, windows down, music blaring I turn off the radio and put his EP on. Sing to me boy, you'll never hold me in your arms but I'll have you sing me to sleep whether you will or no.

Sweet dreams baby...

Drop everything

Worked 6 to close today, then closed as quickly as possible, took me 25 minutes. I'm exhausted.

I don't mind working fast food - now that there is no drive through to make my life hell - but the smell is by far the worst part. I don't mind when I'm there, but after driving home and smelling myself all the way, I rush into my room, throw my clothes on the floor and get in the shower and scrub away the grease.

I like most of the people who come in; some are annoying and act like I'm a servant, or mumble and act offended when I don't hear them, but the rest are very nice, and one or two are absolute angels. It's nice coming by my filthy lucre honestly.

Wine Cellar?

Watching DIY Network, just saw a special on this couple who dropped $6,400 to build a personal 90 case wine cellar in their home. I quickly did some math and realized that if they were to fill that cellar with only $15 bottles of wine, the cost of filling it would be $16,200 BEFORE tax, which comes to $17,334 after tax!

I would love a wine cellar, but I don't know that I'll ever make enough to require one. Maybe I can have a wine wall? Or a row of those little wine chilling refrigerators...ah the booze possibilities are endless!

I wandered around

Last night, among the rollicking crowd I was conscious of a deeper feeling that I pushed away all night until I was alone in my bed and the emotion broke over me. Despite my many friends, and loving, supportive family that I try so hard to consciously appreciate, I am lonely.

When I awake at the everlasting three of the clock, I stretch out an arm to the right side of my bed, but although a pillow lies waiting, no head rests upon it and no hand sleepily clasps mine.

I resent the loneliness: I know that being happy now will do much for my future, friends, family, lovers all. Unfortunately hearts only feel, they do not think, and although I prepare for my future with the organ that does, my heart's feelings makes some difference in the goodwill and enthusiasm of my actions.

It's also difficult to discuss this with anyone - my friends merely encourage me to fight the feelings and to dwell on the positive, and my family becomes exasperated with me, feeling that after 21 years of being 'difficult' I should just get over the loneliness - as if a feeling is something you can root out of your soul the same way you can dig a weed out of a garden.

So I come to this blog, so full of rambling and feelings and the odds and ends of emotion and inspiration, to purge myself of these words and hope that once they are written down, that I can settle to my work and life once more with a clean slate and renewed enthusiasm for the day.

'allo?

Some of my favorite childhood memories involve sitting in front of the television with my parents watching britcoms. I rarely got to watch them when I started college, but now they show 'Allo 'Allo every weeknight at 11 pm, and several others show on Saturday nights.

One of my earliest favorites was Are You Being Served? - about a group of salespeople at a rather cheap department store in London always getting into scrapes over the cheapness of the administration and their personal agendas. I've grown out of it, but the slapstick still amuses me.

'Allo 'Allo is also very slapstick, but being that it's about incompetent Nazis in occupied France clashing with both the Communist and the regular French Resistance, with the Gestapo thrown in for good measure, I find it very entertaining. All these are tied together by Rene Artois, local cafe owner and philanderer, whose sole desire is to get out of the war alive, with plenty of money wheedled out of his customers' pockets and a chance to feel up the waitresses without his wife interrupting.
I understand it a great deal better at 21 than I did at 12, but any age can appreciate the glory of failed "silencing" attempts involving German officers dressing up as nurses and planting exploding bedpans in the hospital bed of patients who could get them in trouble with the Gestapo.

The last time I was in London with my family, some four or five years back, we spent a night in a comfortable hotel and found a new britcom to love: New Tricks.
New Tricks is the kind of television show that you will never find in America: it revolves around a new cold-case police unit comprised of 'retired' detectives who were crack minds in their day, an attractive lady detective boss in her forties who is constantly stressed between her detectives' rule-bending tendencies and an overbearing boss who expects miracles, and a young black sergeant who is in charge of all things technical.

It's brilliant, involves pathos and drama in solving all the cold cases, digging up past hurts and trying desperately to end the wrongs and set disrupted lives right. The detectives all have vastly amusing personal lives, one is a thrice-divorced womanizer, one has problems with his health and his wife is at the end of her tether dealing with his quirks, the lady detective is determined to break the proverbial glass ceiling, etc, etc.
And the characters involved with crimes provide all the other emotions and plotlines one could wish for: philandering mothers, double-crossing business partners, liars, opportunists, hopeless romantics, eternal optimists, soft-hearted family members, bullied friends and the easily swayed lovers.
New Tricks has actually started broadcasting in Orlando on Monday nights (Tuesday nights?) but it hasn't come to Gainesville yet.

I just wish America would look at the supreme mastery of mixing slapstick with true drama, pathos of lovers with the shrewd brashness of greed, inspirational desire to do right with base motives for personal gain. How can "reality" tv possibly compare?

My perceptions of good tv have changed a great deal since my childhood, watching PBS and sports and VHS tapes with my family around our sole television set. It's just lovely to escape into a world that I understand better than this Puritan one, with gentle reminders of the cultures I love and comedies that tickle my sense of humor.

I will follow

The weather has been capricious lately; soft sunrises drizzle into early morning gloom. The sun peeks through the clouds around noon, but she covers herself with thick and angry thunderclouds till evening descends on weak afternoon sunlight. Then the rain softly patters on windows shuttered against the night and the cycle begins again.

I watch the changing moods and respond by rumpling the covers on my bed as I scribble away in my notebook and ripping out pages and crushing them and throwing them at the wall. The outbursts of temper never help and I am slowly beginning to accept that I have to be in the mood to write, no matter how much I hate the writers' block.

A person walks by under my window, I crane to see, but it is a stranger, uninspiring and irrelevant to the quiet room in which I sit and dream. The world is shut out; none can come in and molest me, and I enjoy my happy solitude, knowing I can let the world in whenever I please.

and she is leveled

A gust of wind may disarray hair, topple a tree, or whistle through reeds on a riverbank. What is it that topples people? Our conservative consciousness does battle with our flexible subconscious: humanity has a saving grace of flexibility and the tenacity to persevere despite our conscious apathy.

Profligate humanity, I am a daughter of Summer and I lie restlessly in her arms as she soothes me to sleep, and nightmares of the changing of the seasons flicker as her notes fade away.

My work is all done but one piece: I have reading to do, but my books lie untouched and my bedcovers are rumpled by my various attitudes.

I watch those around me, on buses, on campus, in shops. And my curiosity is piqued, wondering who, but for the saving vice of sloth, would have been the next Mozart, the next Casanova, the next Elizabeth Bathory. And my contacts with people knock me down, I lay gasping on the floor, groping for my sanity.
Then, slowly but surely my courage builds up and I find myself on my feet, not ready to face the day, but determined to do it anyway; I am the only obstacle of any note in my path to success and I will not impede myself on the way to glory.

Indie Hip-hop Fusion

When: Last night
Where: The Atlantic
Who: D.P.
What: Played a show
Why:

Why? Yes, that is the crux of the matter: why do musicians play? Why do painters paint and actresses stamp and scream around stages world over? I write, not because I think I should, but because I know I must. Without writing out these words and feelings, inane and self-indulgent as they may be, I would go insane with the pressure of the mass on my mind.

I'm not sure why D.P.'s brand of hip-hop (he calls it indie-hip-hop fusion) appeals to me so much more than the typical Detroit street forms, but it does. Maybe it's the 90's beats and songs he fuses his lyrics with, maybe it's his personality, or maybe it's that his lyrics deal with more than just sex and drugs.

It was a good show, I enjoyed it, the beer, and the company and contrived to have a good time despite the traffic and all its evil machinations.

real time with bill maher

I do love this show: he has real Republicans and real Democrats and he mixes it up and makes sure there are real arguments with honest beliefs on each side. If only real news shows could do the same.

I love his opinion on Obama - every time he tries to tackle a huge social reform there is a huge party standing in his way: the Democrats. "Democrats have moved to the right, and the right has moved into a mental hospital."

These are things my parents have been saying for years, and I, fairly untutored in politics, regarded their comments with faint skepticism until I began to see patterns in the newspaper articles.

I have an odd collection of beliefs:
I support abortion, but mostly because I fear what would happen to women, young and old, across the country if we lost the right to control our own bodies. There are babies out there - lots of them - who are better off not being born, especially those with physical conditions that would lead to miserable lives.

I do not support the death penalty, because a) people make mistakes, especially the police, b) I think people suffer much more in prison than they do in death and c)it wastes so much court time taking someone to death row. Lawyers should be focusing on things other than appeal after appeal, there are plenty of criminals to go around.

I don't think socialism is so bad in a diluted form, but I also don't think anything is good a purist form. What's so bad about a capitalist economy with a revised Social Security and universal healthcare? Make stuff like breast implants be entirely private, there'll be plenty of money for the HMOs and the hospitals that way.

I don't see what's wrong with drugs being legalized as long as incredibly stringent regulations are in place against driving or operating any sort of dangerous machinery while under the influence. Let people kill themselves, there are too many on the planet anyway.

I also don't believe that the government should hand out ANY marriage licenses at all - marriage is a RELIGIOUS contract, not a legal one. Let's let all citizens get full-rights civil unions from the government to protect inheritance, health-care decisions, etc etc. And then get separate marriage licenses from their respective religious institutions, who have every right to be as nasty and selective as they please. Orthodox Jews have been doing this since America was founded, I don't see why everyone else can't.

Oh, and I don't see that cutting down on pollution is so bad either. Suck it, GM, nobody likes your gas-guzzlers anyway.

Enough political ranting, I am finally finished with my awful PR class and I get to spend a week in Orlando relaxing!

Cheers!

little flickers of feeling

As I was driving today I was listening to the radio and as I passed a motorcycle with a helmetless and sexy brunette I had a sudden flashback to that hopeful enthusiasm that characterized my approach to men in high school; the idea that someday even someone as overweight and acne-ridden as myself could find happiness with a curly-haired daredevil in board shorts.

I don't know quite what I feel anymore about men and my idea of a (perfect?) future with them, despite weight loss and clearer skin, but I'm sure I'll figure it out one day.

There is a tall, dark, handsome man in my life already, but he has chosen his career over love, and I will be the last person on earth to blame him for that. It's still nice to sit with him, watching tv and movies, talking about our favorite football teams and our dreams for the future.

Even if we end up as nothing more than friends or a sweet memory, every relationship - formal or otherwise - gives you a little bit more to draw on the next time a cutie smiles at you from across the room.

a pale gray

Even though it is Florida and all our license plates read "The Sunshine State" there has been excessive amount of gray and wind this summer. As I look outside the sky is covered with pale, unenthusiastic clouds. No rain yet, but I hear that the campus was drenched earlier this afternoon.

My interpersonal relationships are interestingly varied stages; beginning, increasing intensity, decreasing intensity, foundering, degeneration into complete and utter entropy. I compare and contrast them with amusement, but everything fades as the sun sets and the beers pop and fizz.

I hear the thunder rumbling, and wish life had such warning signs to tell us when Death comes riding in on his pale horse; when Chaos slinks up and prepares to knock on our doors; when Disaster eyes the sturdy pillars that support us with a gleaming and covetous eye.

My chores are calling, I'll end here.

it was hot

Test tomorrow; two questions on the review left undone. I check the board periodically to see if any of my classmates could answer them, but none have.

I was laying out again after class today, and my face is now bright red on one side and faintly pink on the other. I really have to remember to put sunblock on, even when it's cloudy.

Lazing around in the pool is lovely, but knowing I have a test the next day completely kills the mood.

a worthwhile summer

What makes a season worthwhile? What constitutes a good summer's work?

One friend is off in Europe, touring Paris, Amsterdam, Brussels, taking classes and wining and dining beautiful women.
One friend is busy with an internship, getting career experience and money in one fell swoop.
One friend is home in Miami, enjoying her childhood friends and prepping for her last year of undergrad.
Two friends are in South Florida, partying it up every day and every night.
Two friends are on a cross-country road trips with their guitars.

And I? I am taking two classes, desperately clinging to the unraveling threads of my social life, and failing miserably at finding a job.
I sit at home, when class is done and my books are closed, with the television on and my unfinished manuscripts open, begging for completion. But I cannot write the way I want to, each word is forced from my fingertips and my prose becomes ever more stilted and untrue.

What can I do to make my summer feel alive? When my friends return from the ends of the earth, what will I have to say to them? Their stories of the grandeur of Europe and the brash freedom of the American road...and mine of studies and Saturday night mojitos?

the trees are full of starlight

Once upon a time, there was a night full of starlight and the wind whistled through the trees in a lonely song about the beginning of time, a time before the first hearts were joined together. I walked along the water, tempted to dabble my hand in the reflected stars, to see if I could pick up a star for just one second.

I stood there, wind ruffling my hair, and felt that strange essence of nature that makes you realize that all is connected, from the breezes that caress you to the earth that holds you up and the sky that offers you a place to climb. I looked around me and saw only trees and stars and water and felt the connectedness and still felt immeasurably alone. I could reach into tomorrow and still not find my amaranth, so reticent is she.

I walked home and took down some books I haven't opened in over a year, fingers tracing staffs and clefs and hundreds, millions of notes. My apartment was dark and empty but as I sang my troubles away it opened up and warmed to me. Long-forgotten memories and words wove themselves into glittering patterns in the air, and for an hour I felt the connectedness and the notes pressed around me so that I was no longer alone.

When I grew weary and put the books away, I lay still with the window open so I could hear the winds singing to me. The notes I had made stole away and I was alone again, but their memory comforted me even as the wind died and I was left to myself and the silence of the stars.

I fell asleep with tears staining my pillow, window shuttered against the world. I woke when the sky was on fire, and pushed myself forward into a new day.

it's amazing

Ever tried to shoot the 3-ball into the corner pocket when the cue ball is skulking five feet away near the side of the table? I did last night and smashed my right thumb in the process. This morning I woke up and it was so stiff and red I was convinced it was broken, but rolled over and went to sleep again...woke up five hours later and amazingly it's now flexible and less painful!
The moral: sleep away the day and the doctor stays away!

Severe thunder storms are predicted for the area so I've been wandering around listlessly all day inside the apartment. It isn't a prosy day, but rather a one of restless pagan whispers that catch you and drop you, leaving you staring at a blank screen and the blinking cursor.

Who knows what tonight holds. Hopefully, less pain and humiliation than last night.

Summer Daze

Days pass and I fail to write in the dizzying round of class, homework and sunshine. In the infrequent half-hours I permit myself to lie by the pool I feel guilty, but the relaxation it affords me is well worth it.

My new roommates are fun and keep the apartment alive with music and laughter, but they leave in August, and I'm starting to look forward to the fall with trepidation. I really hope that my last year of undergrad sees me with fun - or at least decent - roommates.

My one class is tiring me out. The constant reading makes me unwilling to read for pleasure, and less inspired to write here or anywhere else. I can't wait for this half of summer to end, and the second half to begin. Egyptology should be so much more fun than public relations. Less theory can only be a good thing!

Studying for the GRE has completely petered out after I took it the first time, but my score of 1220 isn't half good enough and I need to start studying again, retake it, and get a good enough score to get me into a good grad school.

Test tomorrow, studying calls.

bubbles

Bathing in my pool tonight I admired the green light of the water and the pale shadows cast by the almost-full moon across the garden.

Swimming laps I watched the bubbling foam flip away from my outstretched fingers during the sweep of each stroke. I wondered if the pool is something I should accept in my life as my goal, something I should strive toward achieving, or reject it as unseemly affluence.
I'm leaning towards enjoying what my parents have achieved and if I should achieve a pool, enjoy that too.

Spent hours today driving, unpacking, sorting and arranging. I'll be glad when Monday rolls around and I'll be all moved up to Gainesville and my room here will be empty of the excess it is crammed with during holidays. Moving is very tiresome.

Dreamland calls, and I finally get to sleep in tomorrow. Thank goodness for that!

lovegame

I dream constantly, asleep or awake my eyelids flicker as I fantasize about love and games. As a former model I habitually examine my clothes to make sure I'm setting myself off to advantage...and I have a bit of a taste for the exotic and crazy, particularly in the makeup department.
I'm obsessed with beauty and art, I love to combine the two and brush the combination over my rose-tinted ideals of love and sex.

Where is the glamour in the sex you ask? I know how to toss my head and pout and I can lure most men close to me. But I let them see my aggressiveness and vanity and they back away. Where did all the good artists go?

Sex is dirty - sweat and love and dirt commingle - sex is hot - sex is glamorous in the glittering candlelight - sex is love - sex is sex. Choose a box, any box. Are you a lover?

I'm going to be okay. I look in the mirror and tilt my head and let my hair tumble down. I must make the most of my beauty whilst I still have it, no guarantee of aging gracefully.

It's dark outside and light within, I twist and turn on 300 thread count cotton sheets. I grope for my phone to check the time and it's hours yet before I can tackle the day. No missed calls, but there never are.
I turn over, seeking a cool spot in bed, and smile as I recall the last party, the last show, the last bar and I smile again as I look forward to the next one. I'd love to meet you there.

Shall we play a lovegame?

holding back

In the darkness the aquamarine glimmer of the pool light reflects against the surrounding trees. I wander the garden, not afraid of the darkness, but trying to ignore it as I reflect on the past. Darkness and ignorance are what I strive against daily, on a personal level as I have little or no means to fight them on a larger scale.

I can't focus. Will write more later.

thanks be

Finished! For a whole week and a half...

never be afraid to just be

The work is slowly dwindling, the books read pile up and the books to be read slowly grow thinner.
As I enter the final days of the semester the dragging hours of studying pall powerfully; I long for freedom especially when I look forward to a summer of work, class, volunteering and the GRE intermingling.
Constantly reminding myself that working with the notable scholars that I volunteer for will only bring positives sometimes helps, but then I dream about white Floridian beaches and glowing blue Floridian skies dotted with seagulls and palm trees and the little devil on my shoulder mentions that a great tan is also a good asset.

I long to explore the chilly twilight, forgoing the books and the work and the stress of even my beloved novels, half-written and coyly calling for attention.
There is mending and packing to do as the end of my lease draws near and still I resist pulling my room to pieces. Why, I'm not sure, as this year will be remembered as "The Year of the Roommates from Hell."

Jazz is my savior, for as I finish my last paper of the night and my printer sighs with relief, I curl up with a cocktail and listen to Harry Connick Jr smooth my blues away even as he underscores my loneliness in his loving satisfaction.

Some others I've seen might never be mean, but I'd rather be myself with all my trials and tribulations, victories and satisfactions.

Gute Nacht!

exquisite

Loneliness sharpens the senses; your heightened awareness and pricking ears become so finely tuned they pick up signals that were never even sent. As the night revolves to day and the stars grow pale and weak you sit staring at the screen, working, always working, anything to avoid thinking.
There is brief respite in sleep, but upon awaking the restless shadows of dreams make you uneasy and as the morning routine commences the strange sensation keeps you looking over your shoulder.

Untoward? Perhaps, but there is a distinct satisfaction in completing tasks through the haze of insomnia and fear; the ability to function under duress is highly valuable. Even as your soft bed woos you, the final click of the keyboard sounds smugly even as you rise and stretch.

Let the day rush forth, bring what it will, for humans are built to adapt to change, however much we may dislike it.

Bonne nuit, mes amies.

just the way you look tonight

Tonight I played tennis for the first time in three years, and it felt wonderful.

I wish I had more time to write in this blog; rereading my daily triumphs and fancies is inspiring and a greater volume presupposes greater opportunity for inspiration.

Wrote this awhile ago, comments/criticism appreciated.

- Mnemosyne

and I sit among the raspy fumes
and hear a mockingbird sing
and a wave of perfume flows over me
and the sun climbs above the clouds
one last raindrop falls upon the stone
I look up and she hides her face
with clouds newly gray
and I realize her reassurance will not stay
there is no haunting fear today;
just telegraphed emotions, winking to and fro
I sit silent and watchful
muse in her frozen bone
my artist will come home
his love will warm my marble immortality
and until Time takes him away
life will pour through my cold veins
and my glazed eyes will sparkle like diamonds
yes, my artist will rise to glory
my outstretched hand on his heart
and when Time takes his love from me
I will die once more
and hope the Great Father will be so kind
as to one day assign me another great mind

creamy sunsets and dreamy daylights

Driving into the sunset today I reveled in the glory of the winding road, lovingly surrounded by walls of pine and citrus grove. The sky was dappled like a great American flag; red light stretching over the hills, fading to cream cloud as the pulsing orange sun dipped down, and crowned with a beautiful pale blue heaven over all.

The sun finally set, and the whole sky was no longer flushed with rose petals, but was as ethereal and blue as summer dreams. Every time I drove past an orange grove the heavenly perfume scented the air and I could smell it for miles.

Amid all the loveliness the space shuttle took off, tracing a bright spark in the sky as it plunged spaceward, and I wished them luck in reaching their destination as I raced towards my own.

It's over

his heart is locked up and he won't give anyone the key.


...calling all heart surgeons...

he said, she said

he said: I'm sorry for not getting back to you earlier yesterday, I hope you had fun at your party though. Can I ask you another favor? We need to move our date today to after my test Monday. I need to study...

i said: Yeah whatever.

he said: Okay, I know I'm being really flakey. I know I would be annoyed if it was happening to me. I'll try to be better about it in the future.

i said: I'd really appreciate that. Never seeing you sucks, and all my friends are telling me that I look unhappy. I really want to see/talk to you more.

he said: Alright. Well this is my first test and I majorly need to study. To give you an idea I'm not going to the gym or watching my fave show tonight, lol.

i said: I know school is more important than me - trust me I get that bit. But seeing you once a week or less is seriously lame.

he said: Well let me just knock out this test and then we can talk about it.

i said: Good luck with this test then.


last night two ex-boyfriends asked me to see them; one wanted sex, one wanted a kiss. my best friend told me that he's always there for me. my high school sweetheart was my valentine, and a sweet young chef I just met a few weeks ago spent his breaks in a long day at a valentines' hotspot txting me and making me laugh.
he only txtd me once, replying to a message in which i'd asked if he was coming to my friends' party with me.

he was the only one that i thought about all night.

The domino effect

One little movement knocks over one little block and suddenly the ripples spread outward, setting off a chain reaction that completely changes your surroundings.

People get hurt; lives change, and the flow eddies on, but the deeps have been stirred and the rocky river track will never be the same, even as the surface babbles on unchanging.

Do people truly change? Some days I have changed, the others I remain the same, studying harder, then unable to concentrate, cooking healthily and then buying fast food.

Change, both a beautiful and a terrible word, for as humans we cling to the familiar and what we know and love. And yet, there is this strange saving flexibility within our hearts that causes us to follow Change and the lures he leaves behind him as he creeps and stalks and clashes with Life.

Dominos knock over their mates, one by one in a swift, smooth motion, change after change unfolding in a beautiful, terrible pattern - the future.

I went outside tonight,

newspaper in hand, on my way to the recycling bin, and paused for a second to look at the night sky, deepened beyond blue into the dusky azure that heralds the advent of warmer weather. In the dead of winter the sky is brilliantly black and dotted with sparkling diamonds; but as the summer slowly approaches there is a cobalt stain applied to the heavens and promises lovelier things to come.

I haven't much time for anything anymore, but I've missed this blog and crept back here tonight to remind myself why I began writing at all.

Hopefully this warm season will revive what was lost as the last one approached; that I will be able to write freely and haply once more.

Duty calls, there is homework yet to do. Bon soir, mes amies.

It was a very good year

Today I am twenty-one years old. My main objection to this milestone is that all my relatives and friends have been calling me and saying, "Do you feel any different yet?"

Aside from that it today was fairly lovely, as I have been lavished with presents and money, and fed royally. My birthday dinner was veal, with a nice Leidersburg red, and pavlova for dessert, with a rather fabulous bottle of Chateau Ychem.

Tomorrow I go back to UF, laden with new clothes, orange and blue nail polish, and the beginnings of a decent wine cellar. I hope I'll have more time/inspiration to write come this new semester, both fiction and this rambling blog.

Happy New Year everyone!