one rainbow flag
cat
three hundred fifteen books
and
dozens and dozens of playbills
a heart for every book a friend has loved
some lists
two cork boards now half empty
stack of cds foot high
favorite alarm clock
piles and piles of clothes
electric guitar mirror trash can nail polish stickers
a heater and too many worn out converse shoes
small things with my name on them
laptop ipod printer old television amp lamp air conditioner
me at four
music box
a smiling flower
two whole drawers for unused but loved notebooks
a bed and me
1.
they tell me there’s no
hope in waiting for someone
else’s response no hope in
waiting for the phone to
ring no hope in communication
i tell them that they’re
liars that they don’t understand
my desires are not unreasonable
don’t understand three weeks of
history don’t understand or value
honesty open and flowing the
truth up front and assertive
or maybe i don’t understand
or they hope too much
and we all are liars
2.
tell me what you’re thinking
i want to know it
all every backstory every reference
to another thought and i
will collect them all write
them down in an old
notebook and slowly assemble your
life and if i told
you what i was thinking
maybe you could assemble mine
together we’d know a little
bit more like a window
into the rest of humanity
maybe i think too big
but maybe i can learn
3.
drive me in a spaceship
and take me to the
end of the milky way
and back and park outside
my bedroom so i can
remember our adventure before i
go to sleep and dream
about your submarine a deep
blue and all the fish
in the atlantic watching you
tuck me into bed and
tell me a story but
don’t make it too ridiculous
because i’ve had enough adventure
for one ridiculous imagined day
It’s great to be back. I miss school people but it’s all good—I figure, at the very least, they could use a break from me.
Wisdom teeth came out today. Hurt like a bitch. Still bleeding.
I still haven’t seen any class of 2010 high school friends, to the exclusion of one. This does make me sad. And I won’t get to see them probably for a long time.
My head aches and I am tired. I should have gone to bed a while ago.
Want to go to the HatP concert tomorrow night; probably won’t be able to.
He tells me that if I skip a day, write twice as much as usual the next and I won’t be a failure. But alas, I had no goals for how much to write originally (though I did decide I wanted to write every day of break) and so twice as much doesn’t really mean anything.
I need to try harder to be less attached. I think this is my goal for break. It must happen.
I’m in a skinny jeans and eyeliner sort of mood.
Hair back, no strands loose
Glasses maybe, for once, staying straight
Pushed all the way back on my nose.
Little bit skinnier, little bit healthier
Put on a smile, maybe a little bit happier.
Too tired to do this for real,
But want to put on some music and
Just dance.
Yeah, I said it.
No emails, no Facebook notifications, and I’m done with work
And but so of course the compulsion to write something
Almost kind of sort of resembling a spoken word poem
But so totally not
Strikes me right on time.
And it isn’t even midnight.
Sixteen more days and I’m home. I can’t believe it. I miss it so bad, New York, right at this moment. I’m tired but I don’t want to sleep. I feel like there are better things I could be doing. As soon as I’m home I’ll be losing all the things that made me fall in love with college—namely, the midnight adventures and the quirky, cute intellectual boys and the social life that feels like it’s actually under my control as opposed to, well, everyone else’s whimsy. Of course, staying here, I miss all the things I loved about home: the consistency, pwning school, worrying about other people’s drama instead of mine. I’m happier here, for sure, and while I’m less stressed here I can’t help but know that New York is so much more my sort of city. I wish I could split my time half-and-half. Or … quarter and three-quarters. I don’t like being stressed /that/ much.
Alas, what do you know, 12:05. My roommate tosses and turns as she tries to sleep; I don’t think I’m keeping her up with my typing. But it is far past my bedtime. I’m hoping I won’t be awake in five hours as I was last night … but the only way to find out is to go to sleep.
For the record, this blog is so self-indulgent it scares me sometimes. And it hasn’t even existed for that long.
Since my journal is kind of out-of-order at the moment, I think I might try this. I don’t know why. I have no one to blog to, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want many people finding this; at the very least, I am not about to broadcast it all over my Facebook page. I am merely curious.
I don’t have much to say at the moment. It is Thanksgiving break … I am excited to see what the rest of the weekend has in store for me. I miss home, both a bit more and a bit less since my family stayed and left. It’s the 27th, so 18 more days until I’m home? I can’t believe it, at all. This semester has been going faster than I ever would have thought it capable, at the beginning of the year. I wonder, sometimes, if I could do a day-to-day recap as I imagine I could in my head. Sometimes I want to challenge myself to write it all down … but I’m afraid of what I would and would not remember. The lines still surprise me, and I can’t help but see things in eras, in terms of what certain individuals meant to certain other individuals, and what all of it meant for me. It all feels so messy. And I’m pretty glad it’s over. There are so many people I am starting to hang out with now, and I can’t wait to see where my friendships with them will go
It is 1am. Now 1:01. My roommate is away for the night, and I am alone. The room is nearly clean; it took less time than I thought. I have had two fairly meaningful conversations tonight, half watched a movie, watched three or so episodes of Big Bang Theory. I feel today has been, at the very least, productive.
Tomorrow, I hope I can continue the streak. There is much to be done around the room. I listened to one of the New Yorker: Fiction podcasts and was reminded of how much I love them; I think I would listen to them more if I knew I could put my whole attention into them-they are hard to listen to when zoning in and out, for obvious reasons; it’s like a worse version of skimming a book. I figure I’m a visual learner: it makes sense that I would pick up more when I’m skimming than when I’m half-listening.
