Thursday, February 26, 2009

I am so stressed. I have so much to do. I don't want to do anything. I want to lie facedown on the floor as I usually find that helpful, but the floor is too dirty. How unfortunate.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

He always thought he was a little bit strange, he always suspected he was a writer

Last time I made a list of books I was reading I found it highly enjoyable and as I have completely started a new of set books by now, I thought I would update.

Alice Munro "The Progress of Love" : Munro is one of my favorite short story authors ever and I really love short stories so that says something. She writes mostly about women and love. Usually the women are very conflicted about everything. Make sense why I love her, right?

Sandra Cisneros "Woman Hollering Creek" : Another book of short stories, it was fantastic. Especially if you speak Spanish, which I do not. Read it for Literature by Chicanas, going to attempt to write my final on it, even though so far my thoughts are, "Wow that was really great," which doesn't actually extend into a final paper.

Larry Levis "Wrecking Crew" and "Winter Stars" : Poetry recommended to me, I enjoyed both books throughly, especially "In the City of Light" in "Winter Stars" and "Magician Poems" in "Wrecking Crew."

Margaret Atwood "Bluebeard's Egg" : I am always reading Atwood. This is my third time reading this book. It has my favorite short story ever, which is the title story.

Approximately 3458958 books and articles on George Eliot's "Middlemarch." It's 785 pages long and I don't know what it means. I am writing my final paper on the topic of marriage in the book and how it sucks, yet at the end they all get married. Yes, I need a better thesis.

That's all.

Exciting news

I bought new deodorant. I think it's ironic that it says "Dry Action: Approved for Hot Encounters." I should hope my hot encounters aren't dry. I almost bought swagger so I could swagger, but that didn't smell as good.

Here is the plan

Tomorrow I will be happy. I will get out of bed and go to work and I will pretend that somethings don't exist.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

These kinds of things happen when you think you are happy

I was having a really good morning, one of my classes was canceled, my birthday package from my dad came and as I was walking home with my birthday package to eat my delicious lunch of chips and guacamole my mother calls to tell me that she's really broke and she wants me to call my dad and tell him that she's going to ask him for money and oh yeah, by the way, my Grandpa Ed died last week and she has failed to tell me because she didn't want to ruin my birthday.

Side story: My mother told me about how she wanted a seperation from my father on Martin Luther King Jr. day because it was conveniently between the holidays and my birthday.

She then informed me that her parents basically gave all of their money to my Uncle Dave. No wonder we haven't heard a word from him in a couple years. She asked me what to do. I can't even keep money in my bank account and she's asking me what to do.

I'm upset the way I feel I am supposed to be when someone dies, in the way that I outwardly wasn't when my other grandparents have died, but I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that my mother keeps telling me about how her power is going to be turned off if she doesn't get money soon. I emailed my professor and asked if I could miss class. That's valid right? I feel bad, I never miss class, but I am really upset. You can tell I feel guilty, because I need to ask for permission.

I don't have more to say right now. Why is no one here?

Sunday, February 22, 2009

A Boy, a Blizzard, and a Bicycle

It should’ve occurred to him before he left that going out in the blizzard was a bad idea, but the reality of the situation didn’t sink in until the chain fell off of his bicycle and he was left pulling it through the drifting snow. This was the second time he had gone out into the blizzard. The first time he had been drunk, drunk and sick, but the sickness did not hit him until he reached his car which twenty yards from the house. He threw up near the bumper, the snow covering the evidence and then trudged back inside only to throw up some more. That was distinctly better than his current situation.
He needed his cell phone because his mother might be worried about him, stranded in his house in the blizzard. Of course, as his pink fingers became layered in oil as he tried to put the chain back on, he realized that his mother would have preferred worrying over this. He didn’t even have the excuse of intoxication anymore.
The situation was not entirely bad though, the knowledge that there were people waiting with his cell phone on one end of the voyage and people waiting at his house at the other end. It was certainly preferable to many of the weekends he had that fall and winter of waiting alone in his room, listening to the same CDs on repeat.
His face hurt and his brain was starting to ache from the cold. His fingers felt worst of all; numb where they gripped the handles of the bicycle. He longed for a car to drive by and pick him up, but the roads were impossible to get through and he knew he had to keep going, even though he frequently had the illogical thought of stopping.
He liked someone or several someones, in the manner that anyone would be better than no one. No, anyone was too loose of a term. He wanted something abstract that manifested itself in several people, but yet was unobtainable. This wasn’t however, the reason for his unhappiness. He thought it might be his English class, something equally as baffling as his female wants. He liked to read, at least some books, but he was continually plagued by the feeling of apathy whenever he got assigned one and more specifically when he had to write about one. He hadn’t turned in his midterm. Finals were the following week and his midterm had been due a month ago. It was done, done late, but done. He couldn’t bring himself to turn it in or even go to class.
The snowdrifts were becoming almost impassible; he could hardly dredge his legs through them, never mind his bike. Again he considered stopping. He could make snow angels, a smile on his face until he slept, but no he had people waiting for him.
The people made him feel so conflicted and a small part of him almost craved the loneliness that had become intrinsic in his daily life.
The night before drunk, things had more clarity, happy clarity. There was someone, for awhile, while they slept. Because it seemed right, drinking cheap vodka, with everyone declaring their platonic or not-so-platonic love for one another (the kind of love that only happens when the lights go out).
He could see the building now, barely visible through the snow. Its approach seemed anticlimactic, as if he should’ve reached some resolution, but he hadn’t. Most of the windows were lit and he was glad to be going inside, at least he thought he was glad. He dropped his bicycle a few feet from the door, battling the wind for a few more steps before he went in. It seemed better when he was outside though; as a boy with a bicycle in a blizzard.

For Real

Homework makes me so emotional. I am about 130 pages away from being done with all of the reading for two of my classes and my insides are tying themselves in knots for no reason.

Also Sara and Erin just tried to get me to run for treasurer of ATP. This is interesting because I'm only about 80% (this is a random number, picked to be more on the positive side of things) sure I am going to join ATP next weekend and because I can no longer add or subtract. They have been talking about ATP for two hours.

I have the overwhelming feeling of wanting to be somewhere other than my room. Maybe I will write a poem later rather than a ranting post.

Saturday, February 21, 2009

As though seeing people were intrinsic to life which it just might be

Here is a link to wonderful John Ashbery poem which I was sent today:

I liked it before I was drunk and so it is for real good and not just drunk good where everything is good, even the snow and the cold. I want to write a poem, but I tend to think in cliches when I've been drinking and even the act of writing poems becomes cliches while drinking, but I might try any ways because I have things I need to say, even if they are yet to be articulated.

Sara is right, my head is somewhere else.

Friday, February 20, 2009

This is what happens after

I feel asleep at 2:30 meaning to get up at 3:30 and go see a poet and slept until 6:30 to find myself alone. I am assuming everyone is at dinner and come back. I am questioning whether or not I should eat dinner as mostly what I have done today is lie in bed, but I still have birthday metobolism ("It's my birthday, I can eat this" going) so I am quite hungry.

I get so crabby after naps they are not even worth it.

My only advice is not to go away

I had a really good birthday because of a lot of people. I'm not drunk and I know I should be as it's 1:41 AM on the day after my birthday, but I had a long day and was not up to drinking massive amounts. Because I'm not drunk it's hard to say this, but I really appreciate everyone who remembered my birthday. Next up: birthday weekend.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

It's still my birthday!

My birthday has been so good so far and it's only 9:11 AM. I think I am going to go to breakfast. Yeah!

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

It's almost my birthday!


Today in German class we were doing an Arbeitsblatt (a worksheet) about the book we are reading (Sonnenalle), which takes places before reunification. Anyways, the person I was working with asked what sehnsucht meant. I always forget the meaning to this word and so I said, "I don't know, it means like suffering or something," which is funny because sehnsucht means longing and I had attached suffering and longing in my head.

Oh also, I turn 21 in 22 hours and forty minutes! And I got a dinosaur muffin tin with dinosaur candles! But I'm not supposed to know that yet.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Minnesota Nice

I write
hey, your boat has been there awhile
along with your leftovers in the fridge
the dishes on the sink
and the dirty laundry in the washing machine
that you forgot to turn on.


I don't understand why the new version of word (by new I mean Vista word) tells you whenever you have a new paragraph as if you couldn't tell by just looking at it.


The skin used to be
a beehive that expanded
became cavernous rather than
porous and what scraped away at the start
of a season.

Now the skin expands.
I expect it will burst, I am

Here is my skin on this corner
(red and damp, thighs stuck together)
Here was your skin on this corner
shocked as with electrocution.

I am nothing past this.

Here is my skin with expansion.
I put things inside of it:
A rock, a giant red leaf, and a bottle cap.

It's this struggle

There is this arguement that arises betwen the mind and gut-instinct. My gut says that everything is good and fine and I shouldn't worry and then my mind questions that and then my mind questions whether or not it's worth thinking about to begin with, if it's relevant or valid. The main problem is that the gut feels things that occur outside the body and the mind doesn't trust anything, especially things that occur outside the body.

Ironically I'm thinking all of this with my mind or maybe my gut.

Monday, February 16, 2009

I have a not sleepy gut

I am so not tired right now. I went to go to bed and I was just not sleepy, but not in a bad way. Just in a not-tired way. I think my schedule is reversing. I think this is significant.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

I'm afraid you'll fracture hearts

It's Valentine's Day. As if you didn't already know.

Here's a nice article for you:

It's about kissing, usually an enjoyable activity.

Glo and I are going on a double date tonight. We are going to see a movie and drink wine. Not at the sametime thoughl, as Glo has to drive. Sadly as we both date males, there will be no kissing.

Thursday, February 12, 2009


We are taught the wrong things and this is why I am flailing.

Bizarre Apollo, half what Henry dreamed

I finished most of my homework for this week last week and now I just sitting around thinking about things I shouldn't be thinking about and then I pretend I'm not thinking about those things because I feel like they aren't valid, but validity is judged but what I assume other people would think, but I don't know what other people are thinking so I don't know what's valid, and then I dream about the things I am thinking about.

Eggs for dinner tonight. Real ones and chocolate ones.

I don't want to do any work, but I will hopefully. I have been slightly reclusive lately. I will work on that in the next couple of weeks.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

The Egyptians had it Right

My skin is lonely tonight.

It is tempting to fuck science
and say that the brain is spread out
across that vast porous surface,
for surely my skin is saying
"I miss"
and the fact that my skin is saying
anything at all is surely revolutionary.

My brain doesn't remember anything.
My knowledge of brains consists
of the one that sat in a jar
in my third grade classroom for a week.
It was grey and slightly resembled mold.

This is where we were
with dirt on our backs
and a scrape on my knee.

The mold in my head only thinks
about how afterwards you left me
at my house and didn't kiss me goodbye.
The mold in my head is resentful,
but my skin is lonely tonight
and resentfulness is not a sense.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

These nasty little habits

There are now many little old people that know all about me.

The funeral was much better than expected. Except for seeing my Grandma. That was horrible. I didn't realize she was there because last time I saw her she wasn't in a wheelchair, so I walked out from putting my coat away and went over to my dad and brother. Then I realized I was standing in front of a woman who bore a slight resemblance to my grandmother, only she was frozen with her mouth open and her eyes were too little and watery and her teeth too prominant and she had an aide standing by her. Her aide was so nice, which made me happy. Of course, the only thing she said was, "Look it's your grand-daughter and she's beautiful just like you," so I'm a little bit biased. My grandma recognized me atleast. She looked really happy to see me and I kind of understood the words, "It's been such a long time since I've seen her," come out of her mouth. It was really heartbreakingly sad.

The service was actually happy to some degree. My dad has his own issues with my grandpa, but I thought what people said was true. One of my grandpa's friends stood up and started his speech with, "Rex had many many friends and all of us thought we must be his best friend because when he talked to you he really listened." This was a theme that was reoccuring throughout the service. I was slightly (really) uncomfortable when they talked about god and Jesus and how he's up there with them now or as he put it; he was getting a promotion. Apparently my grandpa was very religious. I'm not sure when I started crying. I didn't cry enough. I felt bad. I felt like it would've been better if eyeliner had been smeared across my face like my cousin Julia. The service almost made me feel ashamed. Everyone kept saying how Rex never said a bad word about anyone and I thought about all the times that I have said something bad about someone and thought, "They aren't going to say that at my funeral..."

My brother and I have decided to be cremeated and have our ashes scattered in Lake Huron like we're doing for my grandpa.

Friday, February 6, 2009

Do you slooshy?

Sometimes I tell myself not to think about things and then I dream about them. It really makes no sense.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Since I am too tired to write anything

Colin wrote me a nice little poem. You should go read it.

I make my head, as I used to,/out of a paper bag

Generally I assume that I like people more than they like me. Sometimes I consider how much I put into a friendship and then question if it's worth it to continue. I always do and I only question these things from 11PM until whenever I go to sleep.

No time for the old in-out, love, I've just come to read the meter

Lately I've taken to sitting in the library for extended periods of time with several books in my lap and alternating between sleeping and reading. The first day I experienced the noises of a couple making out in the chairs behind me, despite the fact that we were in the quiet section. Nothing quite as exciting has happened since. Very few people go to the third floor. It's a pleasant place to be. I wish it were open later than one though.

Chris, tomorrow I will write on the URL you sent me.

I sign up for classes Monday. I hope to take two German classes, young adult literature, and advanced writing for 1/2 credit. I'm dying without a writing class.

I bought a shirt, shoes, and tights for the funeral on Saturday. I'm dying to try my outfit on, but it seems so morbid. Maybe I will any ways as there is not enough time to go to the library and I have to do something to keep myself entertained enough to do my German homework.

Watched "A Clockwork Orange" tonight as well.

There is nothing like being sleepy with contacts because they become blurry.

I am so broke.

That's all.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

The strongest slang of all is the slang of the poets

I just looked over most of the stuff I've written for the past year and don't feel good about it. I now have the overwhelming feeling that I am running out of time and need to do better.

Also, I don't like how the winter feels.

Monday, February 2, 2009

Hypothetical Avocado

This situation might be about guacamole
because I’m always more satisfied when I have it,
but that is too serious of an avocado
and I need more than that.

What if I had it every day
and it was more than just hypothetical dip?
I don’t like anything everyday,
especially not my lethargy which keeps me plastered.

It turns brown too fast, rots.
Almost as it moves toward my mouth.
The situation is probably not about guacamole.

I consider other things: pickles, snakes, that freckle above your eyebrow, the night, and lollipops.

You begin this way

I want to write something on here, but I have no new writing to post so I am going to pick a random topic and talk about it.

This is really hard to think of a random topic.

I searched "writing prompts." It told me to write about smiles, so I am going to.

I smile a lot, mostly when I talk. Even when I am talking about sad things. It just comes naturally. Sometimes when I am walking I think of something that makes me really happy and I just smile and can't help it and I'm sure it looks funny when I smile for no reason. People smile back at me sometimes. There is a girl at Knox who smiles all the time and I think it's strange even though I do it too. Except when I am thinking, when I am thinking hard, no matter what I am thinking about I apparently look depressed. People always ask me what's wrong and it surprises me, because despite what it may appear like, I am not normally thinking of sad things.

I am often self conscious of my smile because I have always had bad teeth. I think I would feel inclined to smile more often if I liked my teeth better. I also had braces from the time I was fourteen to the time I was seventeen, which did not help things.

I like to make other people smile, but then again, I imagine most people do.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

The sweet feeling of productivity

I finished Bleak House. Yes, I know, I thought it would never happen, but today, at 2:00PM I finished the book.

Now I have to start Middlemarch. Atleast that is only 800 pages instead of 900.