It's not my life I'm talking about. It's someone else's. But really. It just isn't right.
So yes. I have been absent a long time. I want to be better about posting once a week, at least. Even if it's just a little snippet of something interesting.
I have no concerted brain function tonight. So here is my random:
Right now I'm listening to John Mayer. One of my suitemates loves his music. I've never really listened. It's pretty mellow acoustic stuff. I like it, but Five Times August is better. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7RL-MYJatk . Let me know what you think of that. (The funny thing is, I know the red-head kid who plays the bully in this video. It's kind of funny. Because in real life, he is a cross-country kid who weighs about 130 pounds, and is so not a bully. He does a good enough job at being obnoxious though... :P)
Boys can be so stupid.
So, so stupid.
Like, I want to slap the whole lot of them multiple times stupid.
I am going to try to graduate a semester early. Yay! Not that I don't like college, I do. But it's a small school, and it's such a big world, and I am ready to not be in school, or at least, doing a more self-guided master's program. Possibly creative writing master's at Seattle Pacific University. :)
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
It's not my life I'm talking about. It's someone else's. But really. It just isn't right.
Friday, December 4, 2009
(I am at a friend's apartment with five other girls. I am forced to watch While You Were Sleeping. Total chick flick. Have I expressed my opinions on chick flicks? 98% of them should be burned. Banned. At the very least, not elaborated upon in my presence. Don't ask me why I think most chick flicks are unrealistic, yet I will happily watch LOTR or Star Trek. It's that LOTR and Star Trek never pretend to be realistic or in this world. They are admittedly IN different worlds. Maybe chick flicks are too, but arghughblah).
Friend 1: we should watch another movie.
Friends 2-5 + me: Sure! (Me: *recalling friend 1 talking about watching Eagle Eye after WYWS, and thinking 'thank you, Jesus, an action movie to purge my system of the unrealism!*)
(about an hour later)
Friend 2: we should watch another movie!
Friends 1-5 + me: Awesome! Put one in! (We are all brain-dead, haven't you guessed? It's finals week.)
Friend 1: *starts digging through massive collection of movies* Let me get out The Holiday.
Me: *swears under breath*
*okay, not literally*
Friend 1: *still digging* "Aw, rats, did I take that home?"
Me: *looking studiously at facebook and praying she took it home*
Friend 1: "Well, I guess I"ll put in Eagle Eye."
Me: *cheers!cheers!cheers!* *all silently*
Friend 1: "Oh, look! Here The Holiday is! I don't know how I missed it!"
*again, not really*
*searches in Google*
*loads Underworld in second window of Firefox*
*thanks the Lord for movies with guns, action, and unrealism that knows it is unrealism and does not masquerade as realism*
*types blog post ranting against chick flicks while Underworld loads*
Thursday, November 19, 2009
I think it's hysterical. For instance, my short(ish) story came up in my creative writing class today. I read the whole thing out loud (thirteen cursed pages), and then had to sit in silence while the class and teacher critiqued it. Some of my thoughts:
The corset as symbolism of that society I wrote about being rigid and restricting? I mean, it sounds gloriously deep and thoughtful. I'm glad people think I'm that deep, because I totally didn't mean that as symbolism.
Red as the color of passion and fire...um, no, actually, I just made the paint in the story red because I really like red.
There's a lot of romantic heat between David and Aphrodite...um, okay? If you say so? Totally not how I intended it, but whatever...
No, I didn't think about 'David' being a highly appropriate name for an artist. At least, not consciously.
The conclusion I have come to: my subconscious is brilliant.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
i need to do something b4 my brain splodes
so basically i need to go call walter and peter and see what happened [reference to the J.J. Abrams show, Fringe]
ha ha ha ha ha ah ah ah
so...since you're at a computer i'm guessing it was the freaky video which melted your brain
or excess radiation in your blood...ew.
rachel is not gonna be happy
omg you're not responding
it's true then
then...your consciousness...give me as ec here
it has somehow entered your computer
oh my gosh
...*tries to decode*
I think I have it
"It was the tomato sauce"
I KNEW IT
the redness of the sauce
it was really...unicorn blood
so on the plus side, unicorns then exist
but...on the minus side, you're kind of dead
'kind of' being defined as your consciousness being trapped in your computer
dude, it's probably a vista operating system too
sucks to be you
oh my gosh, i just re-read what i typed...i didn't realize how many issues i had until just how
but wait. unicorn blood is silver.
we's gonna get pizza
...you follow that brilliant unraveling of your death with 'we's gonna get pizza'?!?!
hahahaha jk jkj jk
Sunday, November 8, 2009
has a color
from springtime past
shimmering Aztec gold
burnished in the sun
the other appeared
shade of a dying leaf
cut off from life
color of a bleeding heart
(it's a little better this time. i'll be okay. i don't know when.)
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
is hanging out with three friends who help me sarcastically tear apart obnoxious RAs, and all of us being on computers and facebook and less than three feet apart, and trying to figure out who is saying what to one another. They are awesome. :D
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
My fail of the day:
I was in the little common room of my suite. One of my suitemates was happily doing dishes in our little kitchen. It was a blissful domestic scene, quiet and only broken by the occasional sounds of my coughing (darn allergies), and Sarah Michelle Gellar stabbing a demon from my computer. This beautiful tranquility was broken by the sound of the world's most obnoxious RA rambling through the door (open due to some oven fumes). I was told I was a fail at answering my phone.
So as this RA casually strolled into another suitemate's room to get her computer charger (Mac snobs...well, she's not a Mac snob. He is.), I put down my computer and went to grab my phone. Because it's not necessarily that I didn't believe he'd called, but he is one of those people who would mess with me like that. So I walked into the kitchen area, which is floored with some kind of linoleum stuff.
Four steps later, I found out up-close and personal that the floor had been mopped.
My suitemate gasped and asked if I was okay. From a beautiful hands-and-knees position on the floor, I started laughing hysterically. The highly obnoxious RA also started laughing from the other suitemate's bedroom and said, "Fail!" I fell back on my natural response to obnoxious guys: "Shut up, Griffin!" (Oh, look, did I mention a name? Drat.)
I don't think this particularly obnoxious RA has been in the suite this semester. Ever. And I don't recall anyone mopping this semester either. What are the odds........
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
lol cool. If you're up here on a Tuesday or Thursday night, let me know, you might drop by one of the Ultimate frisbee games on campus those nights. It's pretty much my primary sport after running, lol
wow, you run and play ultimate frisbee? i love both those things. ultimate would be hella fun, but i wouldnt mind just going running with you.
well there's a game tomorrow night at 9:30 at the soccer fields here, same for thursday, every week if you wanna come.
the soccer field, huh? i think i can make it, could i get your number so i can text or call you tomorrow?
yah . It'll really start around 9:45...frisbee players are classically dilatory. Haven't figured out why yet lol
dilatory! lol i can tell youre home schooled. but yeah it sounds like fun, i'll see ya there! :)
haha well, I'm also a writing major, and my mom was an English teacher...I didn't have a chance lol
wow, what do you like to write? im taking creative writing this semester, and i really like it, its like my favorite class haha
So. 9:30 came. 9:45 came. The entire game (which was an AWESOME game) passed. No text, no call, no show.
Strike 1: He never showed, texted, or called. Major no-nos.
Strike 2: He never showed at Ultimate Frisbee. That is a SIN.
Strike 3: He and his bff are cussing each other out on Facebook.
So I am totally single again. And lovin' it. Easy decisions rock!!!!! =)
Monday, October 5, 2009
Guy: lol not at all. you dont like compliments? or people?
..............I haven't answered yet.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
I smiled as the flickering strobe lights touched Dante’s head, for an instant, igniting it a weird shade of atomic red. He was never hard to find. I leaned forward in the booth as he and his cluster of friends worked their way through the throng. There was Irina, hair twisted up in a stylish Gordian knot, single pearl strand wrapped around her neck. She had interesting stories, and I liked hearing her talk just for her faint accent.
Matthew ambled behind Dante, twisting sideways to pass a group of girls, most of which twisted to look him over. I rolled my eyes. The guy couldn’t help having an aristoi father and a model mother, but the least he could do was take advantage of it. He turned into a Michelangelo statue when cute girls talked to him. Reportedly good to look at, but a conversational dead end.
Dante glanced up at me, waved, got his feet tangled and vanished into a thick clump of dancers. Matt glanced at Irina, laughed, and reached down, fishing Dante out by his collar. Dante reappeared, swatting Matt off. They vanished into the shadows of the stairs and reappeared a moment later at my booth.
I smirked at Dante. “Nice move, twinkletoes.”
He slid into the other side of the curved booth and shot me a death look. “Shut up, Chance.” He held up one hand and let flames dance on his fingertips. The smoke curled to the ceiling, melding with cigarette fumes already inhabiting the space.
Irina glided in next to Dante, setting her purse on the table. “Now boys, play nice.”
Dante extended the flame on his pointer finger. “I will, in a minute.”
She merely smiled, an enigmatic curve of her lips. Dangling her hand above his, she let water emerge from her skin and roll down her fingertips. The drops hit the flames and sizzled.
Dante slanted a glance at her and nixed the flames. “Killjoy.”
I whistled. “Wow, what did Joy ever do to you?”
Dante slugged my shoulder. “Shut up and be a gentleman.”
“Ouch.” I rubbed my arm. For being not more than a living skeleton, Dante packed a punch. “I am one.”
Another female joined the conversation. “Really? I’ve yet to see that side of you.”
Dante usually tried not to grin, because his incisors gave him the look of an emerging vampire, but I don’t think he could help himself this time. “Hey, Vani.”
Jovani Cortez, the current bane of my existence, strode into sight. She was porcelain beauty. Black curls streaming down her back, perfect figure, pale skin. I could only figure somewhere in her making, God slipped up, because she had the personality of a bulldog. She smiled back at Dante. “Sorry I’m late.”
Dante kept smiling. Smirking, really. “No worries, the rest of us just got here, except Chance, since the lazy bum has nothing better to do but wait around for us.”
I let that one pass. Half the afternoon I spent forging a passport for myself. Due to exploits like that, I tried to tell Dante as little as possible about what I did. He was legit, much unlike me, and I didn’t want to drag him down to my level. As it was, my time in this town was an hourglass running low.
Vani cocked an eyebrow as she pulled a slim cigarette from her purse. “That does not surprise me.” She sat next to Irina and extended the cigarette to Dante, widening her eyes like an expectant schoolgirl.
“What am I, the human lighter?” Dante sighed and ignited a flame on his thumb, touching it to the end of the cigarette.
Vani smiled prettily and took a drag. “This is the clean version of friends with benefits.”
“Cigarettes are terrible for your health,” I said.
She looked me over with an air of boredom, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Except for you, because snark does not count as a gift.”
I shrugged. “Third children are always sketchy. Some are lucky, some aren’t.”
She smiled. “Hence your appropriate name, Chance.”
I gave a skeleton grin in return, all teeth, no humor. “Cute. I’ve never heard that one before.” It was her favorite joke.
Vani waved her hand at me. “I know, I am adorable.”
Dante took the moment to snort. “You two are pathetic.” He glanced at Irina. “Dance?”
She tilted her head, running a finger along her strand of pearls. “Maybe.”
He adopted his best little-boy face. “Pretty please?”
She smiled, the dim lights shading her cheekbones. “Convince me.”
I grimaced and looked away as Dante laughed, threaded his fingers into her hair, and kissed her solidly. “Oh, for the love, Vani, let them out before I hurl.”
She practically tumbled from the booth as Irina and Dante slid out, bodies indistinguishable as they melted into the shadows.
Matthew, who’d been sitting silently, trailed out behind them. “Since Dante’s distracted, I’m gonna slip out of here.” He nodded me. “Night, Chance. Vani. Have fun with the lovebirds.”
Vani shuddered. “Sweet Jesu, save us.”
I studied her as she slid back into the booth. “That creeps you out?”
Her lips puckered as if she’d bitten into an unsugared lemon. “Of course it does. They’re gifted aristoi, sickeningly in love, and will go on to have gorgeous, gifted children. If we’re lucky, we’ll get married, maybe, and go on living mundane lives.”
Her bleak version of the future was what I hoped for. Actually, I’d be pretty happy with living through the age of thirty.
Vani looked sharply at me. “What, no snarky comment?”
I shrugged. “Look at that, we agree on something.”
She eyed me with suspicion. “The world just stood still.”
“Maybe.” We sat in silence for a few minutes. I started to relax, letting the beat in the music pound in my mind, drowning out my worries.
“Well, I am going to go dance.” Vani set her purse on the table and looked at me. “Don’t go snooping.”
I kept my eyes half-closed. “Don’t worry, princess, if I need lipstick I’ll go get it off someone else.”
She huffed and turned, scarlet dress swirling around her knees. She really was a beautiful girl, but prickly as a cactus. I slouched further and lapsed into a half-doze, musing on how odd it was that a dead quiet room scared me too much to sleep, yet I could fall asleep to four-on-the-floor music pulsing loud enough to blow my eardrums. The blame probably fell on my erratic upbringing.
Someone stopped by the booth. “Evening, Chance.”
I jolted straight up and got pinned to the booth with a flash of blue electricity. By the time I got enough breath to swear, Luke Jenkins was staring me down, mouth creased in a half-smile. “You knew I’d catch up with you.”
The only words screaming through my mind were censor-worthy. I lifted my right hand a couple inches out of pure reflex, just to see another flicker of electricity leave Luke’s fingers and slam into my shoulder. The bolt shot down my arm, leaving it tingling and paralyzed. I clutched the edge of the booth with my left hand, gritting my teeth as my stomach threatened to eject my dinner.
Luke shook his head. “Come on, kid, you know better than that. You start getting fancy with your mind tricks, and I go crazy and kill some people.” He shrugged, as if genuinely sorry. “I can’t help it, it’s reflex.”
I conquered my nausea for the moment. “Not mind tricks.” The first time we met, he was hunting me. I was a cocky brat and used my gift on him. His electrical system went nuts, and I woke up with a splitting headache and most of the hair burned off my body.
“Mind tricks, puppet tricks, same difference.” He jerked his head toward the stairs. “Come on.”
I paused for a moment, scanning the table for available weapons. My choices came down to a glass of water, or Vani’s doll-sized purse. Crap. I took my time standing. The trick with these situations was to stretch the enemy’s patience to the edge of the cliff, and no further. If I moved too slowly, Luke would move me along with his cattle-prod fingers.
“Good,” said Luke. He clamped one hand on my shoulder. “Keep moving. You know the drill. Back door.”
Devoid of options, I started down the stairs. A girl in a short pink dress giggled as I walked by, careening sideways into me. I placed my hands on her shoulders and carefully edged her away. If the idea I was trying to trick him even dallied at the edge of Luke’s mind, I would wake up in a lot of pain and probably the responsibility for some citizen deaths.
We reached the floor, packed with a mass of bodies. Sweat, cigarette smoke and perfume mingled in the warm air as I pushed through the crowd. I could feel my pulse throbbing in my wrists. I’d escaped Luke twice before, but I had a feeling he wasn’t operating solo this time. As much as it hurt his pride to have partners, letting me slip through his fingers again might be deadly. Some of the less charitably inclined aristoi paying him to bring me in had a three-strikes-you’re-out policy, and out meant six feet under.
Crimson silk flashed on the dance floor. Vani twirled a few yards away, eyes closed in rapture. I stopped and absorbed the sight of her for a moment. “Let me say good bye to her.”
Luke laughed. “You think I care whether your girlfriend ever sees you again?”
I turned to look at him. “I know you know all the aristoi in the area, so you know she isn’t one, and doesn’t pose a threat. I’m screwed, I know it, and I’m trying to make my way toward accepting it, so for God’s sake-”
He released my shoulder. “Hurry up.”
I didn’t let my surprise stall me. Three steps later I touched Vani’s elbow, pouring regret into
my voice. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry, I have to leave early. My sister just went into labor and it’s a month too soon, I need to be at the hospital.”
She stared at me, eyes blank. “What?”
I nodded and kept rambling before she could say something pithy. “I know, I wasn’t expecting it either.” When she opened her mouth, I pulled her into my arms, certain she could feel my heart about to split through my chest. Her hair was soft on my chin. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When she pulled back a moment later, I saw the comprehension in her eyes. “I’ll let Dante know,” she murmured.
I winced. “Don’t worry about it, no need to bother him.”
She frowned. “Alright then, see you soon.”
“G’night.” I looked at her for a moment, as if memorizing her before turning back to Luke. I
realized how out of place he looked in blue jeans and a plaid shirt.
An amused smile creased his face. “Touching.”
“That’s funny coming from you, considering the Grinch’s heart rivals yours in size.”
“Cute, kid, I thought you’d outgrown Dr. Seuss by now.” He kept one hand on my back, steering me toward the dark corner exit.
I honestly couldn’t think of anything to say as I pushed into the crash bar and stepped outside. It wasn’t right to be marching towards interrogation and death on a night with a velvet sky and silk breeze. I never knew how I felt about God until these crucial moments, and now I hoped with all my might he would step in.
A black suburban idled in the middle of the parking lot. From the engine note, I’d say Luke had retrofitted it with a killer engine. He liked his vehicles to haul. I estimated I had sixty seconds left before I was in my effective hearse. Come on, Vani. I didn’t know why I was pinning my hopes on a girl who hated my guts. She was my last chance. Forty-five seconds. I felt my shirt trapping beads of sweat and sticking to my back.
As we threaded between a Lexus and Mercedes SUV, I heard a crunch behind me. Luke stumbled and swore, shoving me to the ground. Glass shattered, clear shards scattering across the cement. I rolled out from between the vehicles and pushed to my feet, facing the club.
Vani stood in the doorway, shadow streaming in front of her. She flicked her hand to the right, and the door of the Mercedes swung into Luke’s chest. He fell backwards, head connecting with the ground. That’s when people started shouting, and a bullet punched into the Lexus’ bumper. I swore and dropped, spinning to face the suburban.
A man with a handgun leapt from the driver’s side, aiming at me. “Put your hands on your head!”
I stood, slowly, as he ran toward me. With Luke unconscious, the world was mine.
He stopped a few feet away, both hands on the gun. “I said put your hands on your head!”
I smiled. “And I say drop the gun.” Pain seared my arm as he fired once. I bit back a curse and contained my grimace the best I could. Wasn’t expecting a warning shot.
He jerked his head at me. “Next one goes in your skull.”
I kept my eyes on his and kept smiling.
His gaze flickered to both sides of my head. His hands trembled once. “Fine, I warned you-”
I let my smile turn feral. “So did I.”
Something whizzed by my left ear and nailed him in the forehead. Eyes blanking, he sank to the
ground. Two other armed men spilled from the car, neither making it more than five feet before keeling over backwards. Bottle caps fell to the ground with them. I heard heels clicking behind me, and turned.
Vani was actually running, eyes huge. “Oh my God, Chance.” She stopped, stared at my arm. “You’re bleeding.” She took a deep breath. “Oh you’re bleeding-”
“It’s shallow,” I said. “Warning shot. I’m alright.”
Unhearing, she touched my bloody sleeve, fingers coming away crimson. Her voice shook. “Oh, God.”
“Vani,” I said, more sharply than I meant to. “I’m fine. It’s a scratch.”
She looked at me for a long moment before throwing her arms around me, effectively shocking
me more than one of Luke’s bolts. One of the last firing synapses in my brain told me to put my arms around her. I did, and held her there. “You really must be in shock.”
She stepped back, faint tears glimmering on her skin. “Don’t you get it, you idiot? I liked you basically from the first argument, but I couldn’t do anything about it since-” She stopped herself, eyes hardening. “Well, you know now.”
“Metal bender,” I said. “Not an uncommon gift.”
She shook her head. “Yeah, for aristoi.” She scrubbed a tear hard enough to take a layer of skin from her face. “Sorry.”
“I wouldn’t be sorry. Heck, you just saved my butt by knocking out three thugs with bottle caps.”
“How wonderful for me. It doesn’t change the fact we have no future, because I’m illegit.” She glanced to the left and stiffened. “Chance-”
I spun and pointed two fingers at one of the gunmen, who aimed at me. I smiled, and he twitched, frozen in place. “See, Vani, there’d be a problem if you were trying to match up with an aristoi.” I flicked my fingers, and the gunman swung the butt of the revolver into his own skull.
“The thing is, I’m not an untalented third son. I’m just as illegit as you.”
She took a half-step back, voice rising. “You’re a puppetmaster?”
“Well, give the lady a gold star. The secret’s out. Now you know why electric boy here was after me.”
Vani tilted her chin up. “Your gratitude is overwhelming.”
“Well, maybe it’s never occurred to you that being a metal bender doesn’t inspire the same terror being a puppetmaster does. It’s not my fault some of the worst villains in history were sadistic freaks who took advantage of people with their gifts.”
She opened her mouth, blinked, and closed it for a moment. “Look, I’m not trying to fight.”
A long pause ensued as I choked back my ego. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I overreacted.”
“Well, look at this, the lion and the…well, the other lion are agreeing for once.” Dante sauntered out the back door. “The apocalypse is upon us.” He stopped short, gaze flashing across Luke, the henchmen, and the bottlecaps. “What did I just miss?”
“I’ve got to skip town,” I said. “Luke caught up with me.”
Dante nodded slowly. “And how did Vani get mixed up in this?”
I started to speak, but Vani cut me off. “Someone had to save his sorry behind.”
“Still confused,” said Dante.
Vani held her hand toward him, and coins started drifting out of his pocket, glinting in the
Dante mouthed a few words as the coins hovered mid-air. “Holy crap. Two of you? You do attract trouble, Chance.”
I shrugged. “I know. Believe me. I’ve got to peel out of here before these thugs wake up. I’d like to be in the next state before morning.”
Dante fished a set of keys from his pocket and walked over. “Dang it, you just stole my car.” He slapped them into my palm. “You’re bleeding.”
“So I’ve heard.” I looked him square in the eye. “I don’t know when I can be in touch again.”
Dante shrugged. “You’re Chance. You’ll find a way. I will miss spreading hell through the
neighborhood with you, though.”
“Same here.” I turned to Vani. “You’re still safe here. There’s no way anyone got a good look at
you. If you lay low for a couple of days, you should be out of danger.”
She delicately chewed at her bottom lip. I could see her internal war.
“Vani,” I said. “It’s okay. It makes no sense for you to leave here.”
She nodded and blinked a few times. I almost wanted to laugh. Tough-it-out Jovani Diaz was about to start crying.
Dante coughed and shot me another death look, jerking his head at Vani. I rolled my eyes at him before embracing her. “I’ll get back in touch.”
“Okay,” she said into my shirt. “Do that.”
I said my goodbyes and strode off toward Dante’s Corvette. And thus my life continued, a series of strange gifts and unfulfilled possibilities.
Monday, September 21, 2009
I like my current layout. But not enough. I've done Converse and cars (twice)...and now I'm not sure what I want to do. And there are so many possibilities! All suggestions are welcome. I wish I were experienced enough with HTML to build my own, but alas, I am not.
I'm in a creative writing class, and had to write a short story (well, 'short' being ten pages. It was supposed to be five! I promise! It just needed more time to develop!). That said, should I post it? I'm still harboring an intense fear it's sloppy and rambling, since I'm accustomed to writing much longer fiction (i.e. novel length).
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
I'm realizing it right now. The gulf between safe and protected. They sound kinda the same. Unable to be harmed. I feel the difference now. Don't get me wrong. I feel 'safe' here in my dorm. I don't worry about creepy people getting in or the thing burning down. Safe is such a physical term.
After the last two days, though, I do not feel protected. Over the last two days, I've had two nightmares. Bad ones. Not general bogey-man monsters with snakes crawling from their mouths. Specific dreams that make me panic. It takes a lot to make me panic. The first night, I dreamed there was poison gas in the dorm, and I was having a major asthma attack like one I've never actually had. It felt so real. My chest refusing to lift more than an inch. I stumbled down five flights of stairs, trying to make it around the lake to the school apartments. I almost made it, but I collapsed in the parking lot. Black asphalt. Cue end.
Dream two: a close family member was dying of some disease. Leukemia, maybe. Three weeks to live. I recounted every stupid thing I'd said and reiterated how much I loved her. That dream I try not to think about. The asthma one is just creepy to think about. If I think of the second one for more than thirty seconds, I feel my pulse beat faster and tears forming in my eyes.
Tonight, a girl did something to her knee. Pretty sure she didn't tear the ACL, because she'd be in more pain, but I ended up driving to the hospital with a couple others to make sure her mom was there. It was a continuation of the last two days. It feels dark. I 'know' life is a battle. I feel it now. I will keep fighting. I just need a moment for the tears to coalesce and fall.
This is when I crave protection. I wonder if it's how some crave alcohol. It's almost like I need it. I know I don't. I've gotten through nights like this before. But I want it so much. It's a physical ache. What I want sounds silly, perhaps. Simple, but so complex. I want someone to talk to me on the phone til I fall asleep. To just...hold me. Doesn't even have to speak. Just understands. Just doesn't let go. Just is there.
That is protection.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Homework. Is. Evil. I want to shoot it all. With an AK-47. And then I want to burn the shreds. And then I want to take the ashes, seal them in a lockbox, and drop them in the middle of the Atlantic.
Love is weird. I'm really not sure what to do with some of it. For the rest, I'm just enjoying the ride.
Ultimate Frisbee is the most amazing sport on earth. Now, playing it for three hours after racing earlier in the morning may not have been the smartest idea, but dang was it fun.
And now...I will be in bed at 9:30. 5:30 wake up for practice. Woooooot. Hear the enthusiasm in my voice. The only good thing about practice being that early is it's really dark. Makes the time go by faster.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
It's pretty late. Nearing midnight. Today started at 5:30. I've taken a couple short naps, and am now on benadryl and close to crashing. I just have too many thoughts brewing in my head, and I'm too tired to do a poem about them. Perhaps tomorrow?
Love. Curious beast. I've learned a lot in that area over the last year. Most of it was painful. Now that I'm farther along, I can see it was necessary. Kind of sucks, but it was. Now, second time around (well, vaguely second-time around) I'm doing things a lot differently. As a very wise friend of mine put it, guys fall into trouble cause they are extremely visual. Girls aren't so much different - we just get in trouble with our imaginations and get emotionally wrapped up to an unhealthy level in possibilities and dreams.
I used to think vaguely, at some point, love was something that just kind of happened. I mean, I thought you could vary degrees of love of your own choice, but 'falling in love' was a happening you had little control over. Now, I see it differently. I believe it's much, much more of a conscious choice. And - I don't even know if it's this way for everyone, so this is sort of not really a generalization - I think love, romantic love, really should work like this: boy meets girl. They're friends for a time. Just regular, good friends. No romantic thoughts even involved. And eventually, they just love each other. It may grow into romantic love, but even if it doesn't, it's a good friendship based on love.
Did that make any sense? I hope so. It's late, as I've said, and the rambling is ceasing...now. G'night!
Monday, September 7, 2009
So I just logged into blogger, and it was in a foreign language. Not even something I could read, like Spanish or Italian. Heck, I could probably even read enough French to figure out how to change it back to English. So after messing around, I found out my settings were for the Netherlands. How in the world did that one happen?
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
A very, very busy month. I'm not sure if blogging is a good idea for me right now as I've started up sophomore year. Aka, I'm not sure if I'll be posting more than a couple times a month, which somewhat defeats the purpose to me. I don't know. Thoughts?
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
He laughs at that. “Come here.”
Feet propped up on the coffee table, I fold my arms and tilt my head back saucily, staring him down. “Doubtful.”
He narrows his eyes. “Amy.”
I glare back at him, loving the way he turns my name into two threateningly low syllables. “I’m terrified.”
“You should be.”
My muscles almost eject me from the chair at that. So. Weak. “Careful, I might die of fright here.”
He pushes off his stool at the counter with one smooth movement, eyes dancing with mischief. “Amy. Come here.”
The thing I hate about this is he knows I’ll eventually cave. I can say ‘no’ to anyone. I’ve said no to students, children, parents, and the leader of a sorority, which took more guts than I'd need to turn down President Obama.
I think I’ve said no to the guy over there grinning at me. Twice. Ever. And the thing is, half the time I start out with the intention of saying no, but somehow I end up saying yes, knowing I’m choosing to say yes, and wishing I could do otherwise. It’s like mind control or something, and I totally don’t have the same effect on him. Not fair, anyone?
I lean my head until it rests on the back of the chair. “I hate you.”
He laughs again. “No you don’t.”
He knows that all too well, and he makes sure I know he knows. I sigh and get up, watching that irritating little grin on his face grow with each step I take. “You suck.”
He pulls me in and tips my chin up with one hand. “But you love me anyway.”
And then for a few minutes I'm not even thinking anymore. When we surface for air, my head spins like a psychotic merry-go-round as I wrap my arms around his waist. Wowzaaaaa. “You are so bossy,” I mutter, head against his chest.
His breath is warm on the side of my face, and I can hear the grin in his voice. “Face it, you love it when I boss you around.”
Painfully so, and I will never admit it.
“True,” I say.
He laughs. “Told ya.”
So yeah, I suck at updating. Sorry about that. Hope this made up for it :-)
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
You and I
shall first be friends
talking of cinema and sports
over lattes in coffee-scented air,
dining with other friends
anywhere and everywhere
crunching dry leaves underfoot
sharing secrets only
you and I
and the fall trees shall know.
you and I
will drive north-side of the state
and after sun has set
drive far from town light
and through the gate
into the fields of just-cut grain
park my car
and spread the old goosedown comforter
on the packed dirt.
And as the stars rise
and we lay under the endless dome of black sky
heads propped on balled blankets
we shall talk of anything
of Vulcan and Venus
of Hera and Zeus
and I shall try to remember if Saturn is Kronos
and Neptune is Poseidon
and you shall say yes, and query
Athena’s Roman name.
And as the soft crickets sing
and thumbnail of white moon shines
I shall reminisce of my grandmother
calling satellites ‘he’
and Andromeda ‘she’
and you shall smile and point out
Orion and his belt.
And as the velvet breeze brushes our faces
soothing and dry
and the Big Dipper shines
we shall speak of dreams
I of publishing
you of something
I know not yet
but someday will.
And as faint clouds of the Milky Way
texture the sky
and satellites flit across the black
and as the night grows cooler,
you shall smile and hand me your jacket
and I will smell the spice of your cologne on my shirt.
And as meteors shine for an instant and vanish
planes dart across the sky
constellations wheel round
shooting stars flash
I dare a wish already true
you and I
Monday, June 29, 2009
The elf scampered across the vast expanse of concrete, dodging a two-person glider before shimmying up against the wall of the house. He removed his pointed hat (the one without the bell at the end) and, withdrawing a handkerchief from the pocket of his knit trousers, carefully wiped his forehead. Usually, he was closer to four feet tall, but when he shrunk himself to twelve inches, his magic could concentrate over that smaller surface area, and enable him to outrun many things. Such as the oversized Lab puppy the next yard over.
“Stupid reindeer,” he muttered, probing the back door and pushing through a plastic flap. This was the other advantage of shrinking. He fit through small spaces, such as cat doors. Squeezing through, he landed on the floor. No alarms sounded, and no lights flashed on. He snapped his fingers five times, and green lights shone softly from his fingertips, faint reflections glowing on the tile. Night burglary was his specialty before he got nailed trying to lift a prototype computer from Santa’s workshop. The head elf chewed him out, and then sent him to the main factory, on a path of honest labor.
Mrs. Claus, however, knew his criminal past. She also ran Force 7, the undercover group of elves who routinely left the North Pole and traveled the world, doing good. In this case, stealing socks. The reindeer, on the whole, were well-behaved animals. They just had a natural weakness for flowers and shrubs. Humans’ flowers and shrubs. A full fourth of Force 7 was dedicated to the task of preventing reindeer damage to shrubs. After all, the creatures were invisible to the human eye, and, as they weren’t busy most of the year, they tended to gravitate to gardens for snacks.
The elf padded through the living room, breaths slowing. It appeared the humans were asleep. He followed a humming sound toward the side of the house until he reached the utility room. Smirking, the elf closed his eyes, and wobbled as he adjusted his height to three feet. Popping the dryer open, he waited for the clothes to stop tumbling. Reindeer, over the ages, had developed a repulsion to a common item of clothing – socks. The exact cause of this repulsion was lost in history. No one was sure whether it was because they were forced to deliver so many during the Christmas season, or whether they delivered so many because Mrs. Claus and the elves pilfered loads of them every year. It was a chicken-and-egg debate.
He plunged one hand into the dryer and came out with a fistful of socks. One was white, with pale blue snowflakes dancing around the ankles. Another probably was white in a past life, until some negligent sorter dropped it into a load of reds and pinks. A yellow one with purple stars and a green knee-high joined his stash. Once he got these beauties back to the Pole, his fellow workers would unravel them and bury tiny bits of the thread in gardens around the world. The reindeer would then reject the gardens, and spare the shrubs. Just a couple more –
He gasped as he unfolded the last sock. A tiny white one with no ankle, meant to be worn with Converse and Vans. He stared at it, eyes widening. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. Perhaps it was his brief experimentation with black market varieties of hallucinogenic candy canes, but he had an affinity for this kind of sock. The other ones didn’t taste right, but these…these were the crème de la crème of socks. It was why he tried to raid houses with teenagers, who were prone to wearing Vans, and therefore, these socks.
A light flicked on in the kitchen, and he froze, one hand clasping his sock collection, the other clenching around the tiny white sock. Caught? No! A shadow appeared in the doorway, and he crammed the sock into his mouth, chewing several times before swallowing. An actual person materialized, and he gulped.
The little girl stared at him, head cocked to the left. “Did you just eat my sock?”
He didn’t move, only twitching his gaze left and right. A plan of action formed in his mind. Nodding guiltily, he darted forward and touched her hand. Her eyes glazed over, and she shuffled backwards out of the utility room. He watched her move backwards up the stairs, zombie-like, and resolved to work on his spellcasting over the spring season. For now, he shrank himself to twelve inches gain, darted through the cat door, and slipped into the night, the remnants of the tiny white sock sweet on his tongue.