Disheveled.

Lately: I have been feeling helpless. I went to read Madame Bovary for a class. I found I was yelling at the protagonist--a wife and mother cheating on her husband with two separate lovers--for being so weak, stupid, needy...

...and after a time I began to feel like I was yelling at myself. She and I need people. Need men. Need to feel cared about, need excitement in life. This book, scarily, hit home. I wish it didn't.

Will be there when I need it...or the next...or the next? Does this mean that I've let other people down as well? Statistics would say yes. Definitely. Oh. no.

Powerment.

I am a fighter
daughter
destroyer
and friend.
I grow.
What I don't know won't kill me
but it won't help me.

Spears and feathers
of the modern stone age
we fight the nemesis
in the closets
under the rugs
and behind the shower curtains.
Our hidden enemies.

Place a crown on my head
dub me a knight of your court
or a court jester.
But I still don't know how to juggle.

Sea Soup.

Mist and murk flows
through the air.
Smell it
keeping the unshaven
from coming into harbor.

The captain gripes and lights his pipe:
Curse the pirates and the fog
keeping me from sea.
I'm bound for Egypt
and South Africa
but Somalians are after me.

Captain John has been long gone
For weeks at a time
His ship's been on
the salty brine
near the cape of hope.

Sing a tune for luck
Sing a tune for me
I've got a plan to sail away
and fly free.

Generation Apathy.

There is but one thing that I know be true

Right for me may not be right for you

That does not mean I’m all for apathy

But please don’t be a lemming just for me.

Freshosity.

Seeing as it's a new year, I am going to write out what everyone seems to do these days...get out a piece of paper and make a list.

But rather than New Year's RESolutions, I've decided to call mine New Year's REVolutions. Nice ring to it, eh? Yet I'm not attempting to do all of this in one year, mind you. It's more of a benchmark for the rest of life. I'm not that much of an overachiever.

-See a meteor shower (another one)
-Jump off a bridge or cliff(and live)
-Be in a band
-Wait tables
-Watch a sunrise and sunset in one sitting
-Own a cat
-See a volcano
-Take a train that's crowded and smelly
-Sail a sailboat
-Go to Africa
-Live on a sailboat
-Backpack for two weeks straight
-Learn mandolin or fiddle
-Be a bartender
-Go to a Japanese tea ceremony
-Own a record player
-Go to a protest
-Shoot a gun
-Hitchhike somewheres
-Crash a party
-Rope swing into freezing water
-Be a writer
-Read a bunch
-Build a treehouse
-Plant a vegetable garden
-Do an eskimo roll
-Climb a legit mountain

This list will be revised in the future, I'm sure. Posterity, this is for you.

I have so much anticipation for life, and college can be really frustrating because in a way, it's a frozen state of being. As my eloquent roommate puts it, we're living in a glorified day camp where people make meals for us, we live in bunk beds, and we "play" with our friends at night.

Eventually we're thrown up into the real world, our eventual reality. Fresh and clean. But there's nothing I can do about it now, making the future even more anticipatory and alluring. So I'm sitting here on my hands, trying with everything I have to make the most of this final sheltered period of life.

And drinking me some rooibos tea.

Peace.

The Wire.

This week: Intense. Summarized...


Piece together words.
Necklaces of sounds and lines
so why is this hard?


...you get the idea.

Blue.

I wish I had something more profound to say.

This entry is called blue not because I'm blue but because I'm sitting in an incredibly blue cafe looking at an incredibly blue sky. Listen to Pink Floyd's "Goodbye Blue Sky" and take a walk or something. It's a walk-through-the-park kind of day.

Today is also excellent because I got a package in the mail.

I think everything should be sent in the mail. It's so much better knowing that someone sent you something. Wouldn't it be amazing if you sent in your school papers by mail and received them in a really cryptic-looking manila envelope? While sending in taxes aren't so great, isn't it great getting money in the mail? And National Geographics with all the adventure/nature/tribal/nudist pictures and the fresh ink smell? And wouldn't you rather open Christmas presents in brown boxes that had addresses with people's handwriting all over it? Perhaps they would even write "Fragile"...I don't even know who sent me my package and I still love it. Someone probably named Erma or Hank. Both of them probably have saggy tits.

At any rate, I received my long-awaited fisher pants, which I highly recommend.

This week will be hell, but a sadistically welcome one, I've decided. The stress of paper-writing and tying up loose ends means that this is the home stretch. Rest and relaxation lurks around all our corners.

P.S. I've decided my favorite string of swear words is fuckdamnshitbitch. As if it were one word. Try it. Or don't :)