Assignment one for senior seminar: Write an annotated list of books that have influenced you.

I have over 30 on my list so far and I am still going. Oh geeze.

I've decided I like drawing I. I get to draw things and then get complimented on them and today I got a dying house plant. Wednesday is the day I accidentally sleep through things like the beginning of class and recruitment events. I want to go live outside. Remember when Julia did that?

Pizza rolls for breakfast!

This is one of those mornings when you say, "Why does my knee hurt? At what point last night did I hurt my knee?" Also, "How am I possibly going to stay awake today," and a third unrelated thing:

"Everyone in this apartment tries to shower at the same time on Wednesdays."

First job interview: Eyebrow ring removed, materials prepared, skirt, tights, button-up shirt, sweater, earrings removed down to one in each ear, black flats.

I'm terrified.

Oh geeze life is so good, but I am not going to post any of the multiple reasons why on here.

Interview tomorrow. 9AM. 2 and 1/2 hours away. I packed myself a bag lunch of a bagel, cream cheese, cheesits, and yogurt. It makes me think of elementary school when my dad packed my overly-healthy wheat bread with organic peanut butter and jelly, yogurt with sprinkles, and sparkling water while everyone else got white bread, normal peanut butter, chips, and a pile of cookies.

REALLY FUCKING NERVOUS.

Today in drawing we learned about negative shapes.

At my job at home I regularly teach eight year old's about negative shapes by taking a puzzle, removing the pieces around the center of interest and saying, "See, look how important these are" and by the end of the five minute lesson they are negative shape masters. In college however, they make us draw pictures with lots of shapes and "play around" with the notion of positive and negative shapes. The professor told me I was doing a really good job. I promise I won't be like this all term, you know, super skeptical about everything we do in this drawing class that's not my drawing class, assuming that we move past the negative shape lesson relatively quickly.

Also in my dream: We ate macaroni and cheese all the time, but had to go to the zombie infested store because we were running out of bananas to put in it.

Why don't we ever tell a zombie's story from the zombie's perspective? Maybe I could stop having nightmares.

I really hate reading introductions. I have never actually read an introduction I liked.

Does anyone remember the Magic School Bus book where they entered the human body through a wound? That changed my entire perception of skin.

I scraped my knee for the first time in several years. There was an old man walking his dog down the street. He stared at me as I got up. Then I got cat-called. It was a rather embarassing walk down the street.

Crab Crab Crab Crab. Meetings are long.

I miss Wales where I really like everyone and no one talked about True Blood or wore a bump-it.

Hmmm Hmmmmmmmmmm Hmmmm HMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.

I like to like people and dislike not liking people. Which is an obvious statement, but sounds better than saying, "There are people I dislike and I would rather not."

Sniffly sniffly sniffles.

It's so strange to wake up from a long nap on a Saturday. I don't know what to do now.

I finally met a person who really enjoys her bump-it.

"I'm going to be a more assertive person."

Instead of nothing I say, "I don't know," repeatedly, until I confuse myself.

Between 7 and 9 is my least favorite time on Friday. I am so excited about the day I had and I am excited for later, but I have nothing to do now. I called Dee and she didn't answer and so I am just sitting here contemplating how long it will take her to call? How long before I can reasonably trying calling her again? Meanwhile I think that maybe I should drink some caffiene because I am exhausted from jetlag, but then I think, no alcohol wakes me up, and then I consider drinking, but then I realize I should wait to drink with other people and then I start at the beginning of the thinking loop all over again.

My dad: I have scheduled a colonoscopy for Thursday. Its going to be a pain in the butt.

Life is so lovely right now. It's spring and everything is nice.

Look at how Deb Olin Unferth signed my book.

One day when I was young I pondered whether or not I might be a lesbian. I decided that I found the presence of men comforting and thus I was not. I'm not sure what that means.

One of the best parts of flash fiction is that the books are really tiny in the lovely adorable sort of way.

I lost three of the four pounds I gained in Wales in one day.

Now I am going to eat a big fucking sandwich and gain it all back. Imagine the concept of a three pound sandwich.

I forgot to mention the morning we climbed around a waterfall. It was so fantastic. I was tired and hungover and climbing around these slippery stone steps that had metal bars to catch us if we fell and I just felt wonderful. My boots got soaked and thus my tights and my socks were wet the rest of the day, but I didn't care.

How can I miss a place so much that I was only in for a week? I think I more miss the state of being, drunk and happy and meeting new people and writing.

Wales:

Day 1: We traveled for a long time. First a three hour bus ride, three hour airport wait, eight hour flight, and then a three hour drive from London to Swansea. I was very shy and somewhat worried. But for traveling for a long time it was a pleasant day.

Day 2: We concluded our traveling midday and I crashed for a couple hours. At night we ventured over to the Dylan Thomas Centre, ate pizza and drank beer and watched performances by Welsh artists. I was hungry and dehydrated so the beer went right to my head, which made me intensely more friendly and awake and thus I went out. We ventured around the Swansea bars, meeting many old people. Generally everyone was over thirty. At the karaoke bar we saw this little old woman who had to have been 70. I met an old man named Grizzly. He told me to always sample beers before I buy them.

Day 3: We went back to the Dylan Thomas Centre to see the exhibit and then went to the Dylan Thomas Theatre. We went to a lot of places where the r and e were switched. In the afternoon we went to a couple of museums and then in the early afternoon we started drinking and visited the beach. The night continued in many many drinks. We taught a lot of bartenders how to make Irish carbombs. I almost won at darts. A very large gay man bought a couple male members of our group a lot of drinks. Drunkeness was abound. We went back to the hotel and hungout in the bar there. After awhile we got hungry and went to Tesco at 3:30 in the morning searching for hashbrowns. They had no hashbrowns (unsurprisingly) and thus we got sandwiches. I collapsed into bed at 5:00AM.

Day 4: We went to the Dylan Thomas birth place. Boys made me tea. I was tired and hungover. Later we walked through a park and stopped by the pub for a morning drink. After that we went to Mumbles, which is named after the breast shaped hills that make the men mumble. Mumbles was lovely. I had fish and chips and mushy peas (I didn't eat the mushy peas) and then went and got ice cream and saw many cute children and animals. Many members of our group almost got swallowed by the incoming tide. At night we watched "The Edge of Love" a movie about a threesome (sort of) between Dylan Thomas, his wife, and another woman. It was awful. We took it easier that night, but at 5 in the morning the fire alarm went off and we were forced to stand outside for an hour while it was resolved.

Day 5: At this point we departed from Swansea. This morning was fantastic. We went to the commons which are owned by one person, but they let other people take car of the land and so animals mainly wander around on them. We went looking for the King Arthur rock and it was really foggy so we couldn't see where we were going. Suddenly out of the mist there appeared free range horses. It was so fucking amazing, I cannot even describe. Turns out we went down the wrong path for the stone, so we had to turn around and go back, but eventually we found in through the fog. After that we went to Worm's Head, which is a rock amongst a lot of cliffs by the sea and it was absolutely beautiful. That night we stayed in St. Clears, a small town by Camarthen, which was great! It was St. Patrick's Day and we went out to the one open bar in town and made friends with some Welsh people named Lettie, Tommy Guns, Muff, and Peanut. They were pretty crazy. We went back to Lettie's house and had some fun before crashing.

Day 6: We went to Laugharne which is where Dylan Thomas and his wife and children lived for a long time. We saw the Boat House and the writing shed where he did lot of his work and saw his grave where both him and Caitlyn were buried. Later we went to some castle ruins I think. That night we went out again and had more great fun at the bar. We walked home singing songs very loudly through the town and stayed up for awhile talking.

Day 7: We went to an Iron Age village this morning I think. Hmmm I don't remember what else. I know that we ended up in Aberystwth where we stayed in this great hotel. It was made up of what used to be houses and we had a huge room right next to the ocean. Aberystwth is a college town and there were a lot of young people at the bar. We got hungry and ate pizza. It was so tasty. Then the Welshmen offered us cocaine. We said no.

Day 8: Our last day in Wales. So sad. I don't remember anything we did. Maybe this was the day we went to the Iron Age Village? I think this is when our driver got us stuck in the mud. Oh! This is the day we went to the mine, which wasn't as cool as I wanted it to be, but was still interesting. We didn't have our normal driver, Vince, who was fantastic, and instead had a driver that used a GPS and took us down this tiny road and we got stuck and had to drive backwards in a coach bus for about a mile. We ate dinner in Cardiff where there was a rugby game between Italy and Wales so it was crazy. We left Wales (saddest day ever) and went to Glastonbury. This was probably the least fun night as we got approach by a couple of people who said the people were very anti-American which surfaced through some rude remarks. We did get to see some sheep up close though.

Day 9: Went and looked at church ruins in Glastonbury. More rude comments towards us about being American. I was glad to leave and I was really excited because we were going to a castle! Sounds really cool right? Well it seemed like it was at first. It was huge and on this gorgous stretch of coast in Tintagel with hidden caves and a beautiful green-blue sea. We arrived and walked about the rocks and then went to the bar and had dinner and it was all lovely. We kept seeing signs for this thing "The Light Box" everywhere. Everyone kept asking what it was, but no one could figure out what it was about. People kept whispering that they were going to try to go in later, but we got no answers. After dinner one of the crazy castle owners came and gave us a talk. I almost typed his named, but I was worried he would find it on the internet. He gave us this bullshit talk about art and being and communication. It was all very abstract and silly and a member of our group got really sassy with him. Later, our group was having a poetry reading and this guy kidnapped some of our members and brought them to the Light Box where he did a silly show for them and played a random song and told them to only talk about the weather to sassy people in our group. After a bit we figured out that this castle was mainly populated by scientologists and was a favorite of Tom Cruise. The place kept getting creepier and creepier until about 2 in the morning when we were being rather loud and hotel staff came and broke up our party (our bus driver had joined us in our drinking, he was a great guy) and we went back to our room and a bit later we heard someone just standing outside our door listening. We were all quite certain we were going to die. Sleeping in shifts was discussed.

Day 10: Somehow we survived Camelot Castle and made it to Stonehenge and London! Stonehenge was cool, except it was really touristy. London was a shock after being in quiet little Wales. There were people everywhere. I was scared of getting lost. We saw an amazing play "Jerusalem." I only had a few drinks and ate some Thai food and then we walked to the Thames and saw London sights at 1AM. We woke up the next morning and traveled back to Galesburg. How sad.

I'm amazed if you've read all this. I'll try and post pictures at a later point.

Being close to people always reminds me of how much I really fucking hate sleeping alone. That sounds negative, but I don't mean it to be that way. I mean it to be a statement of appreciation of people.

Wales was really good. It was the kind of good that makes normal really hard to come back to.

I will write more about it. Right now it's bedtime. Class in the morning.

I'm going to Wales. Don't forget about me while I am gone.

Everyone in St. Paul should drink a lot of beer and pretend they are in Wales for me.

Pretend to be Dylan Thomas: I am small with a bit of a beer belly, because I've had lots of beer. Would you like to go to bed with me? I might be impotent, but we can pretend that I'm really good. Will you loan me some money? And a shirt? And your wife?

Before I go to Wales, I am going to breakfast and the computer lab.

I am going to try and make as many statement as possible ending with "I am going to Wales." This will doubtlessly annoy the other thirty-something people also going to Wales, so I should probably refrain from doing so on the bus.

The morning of travel. Everything heavy with the sense of leaving. The prospect of forgetting things. I put my passport in my purse yesterday, that's the one thing I really can't forget.

Friends are home in St. Paul on springbreak. I am less homesick than I once would've been over this. I'm happier at school. I haven't been very anxious lately. It still makes me a little sad.

I have 14 pairs of underwear but only 4 shirts. I have my priorities.

Met with my poetry collaborator for the last time. Someone stole her house's cat. She was understandably very upset. Being around upset people rattles me a lot. I am now going to indulge in happiness.

Yesterday I was talking with Julia gaining weight and I said, "I mean when I weigh myself I weigh the same, I just feel fatter," and she said, "Usually when people say they've gained weight it means when they step on the scale the number is higher." I think there should be two ways of measuring yourself, the physical weight and the mental weight. Mentally I feel really heavy right now even though I weigh four pounds less than I did when I came to school (I had a stomach ache for about a week, lost seven pounds and gained three of them back and I've consistantly hovered around that weight since). It's an end of winter thing. I feel like all I did all winter was sit around and eat. Not that I'm really unhappy with myself or anything, just generally most people would like to be thinner. I realized that when I can see body parts easier I tend to like them more, except for my thighs, but I like my calves and my lower arms. I suppose it helps that I can see the thin parts of myself (again, except for my thighs, hence why I don't like them. Does anyone like their thighs? I don't think so).

Tomorrow I'm going to Wales. That is so strange. I always think about how I look more when I am about to go somewhere very different. The same people at Knox and in St. Paul see me over and over and over again, so it's not really novel. But in Wales, I am going to be a completely different human being. Even though atleast thirty-something Knox students will also be there with me.
Here's what I think when I think about Wales:
My body by the sea
My body in a bar
My body being bored at some castle because my professor talks too much
My body sleeping in the bus
My body being pulled out of sleep, too hungover, in a hotel and on a bus.

I miss reading books of the prose fictional variety. The last time I read one was in December and that was mostly purging on Roald Dahl books because Fantastic Mr. Fox was so good. I'll bring a couple of books to Wales. I tend to read a lot on vacation, which makes no sense, except for the fact that I don't have my computer to distract me. Computers are really awful. When I was younger I kept a diary on the computer, but didn't show anyone and locked it with a password. I'm sure it's terrible. I did a lot of things with fonts. I guess what I'm saying is that maybe it's the internet that's awful. Not that we can't do cool shit with it, because we can, just that I feel much more satisfied when I can't access it (because when I can access it, I will use it).

Lazy day.
Lunch
Nap
Kaldi's
Mcgillacuddy's (Jazz Night)
Julia's
My room.
Lady Gaga video.

I forgot to call my mom on her birthday. I'm the worst daughter ever. I'll call her tomorrow. Apologize profusely.

Wales on Saturday.

Most disorienting nap ever. Dreamt of making collaborative poems with entire poetry workshop. Got too warm. Slid down my bed until my feet hit the end of it. Got warm and sweaty. Shut the blinds. When I woke up I realize I could open the window. I did. It was really nice. Sitting here with smudged eyeliner, hair that's sticking up, and an open window.

Poetry recitations this morning were so nice.

Every morning I get absurdly worried that one of my roommates will start showering while I am getting ready. This fear started when I cut my hair short and now when I wake up, most of it is sticking straight up. I think I am absurdly worried I am going to have to go outside with my hair sticking straight up.

Today I learned that buffalos kill people. So do ants and hyenas and hippos and crocodiles.

I Shouldn't Be Alive is such a great show. It's the kind of show that makes me lift my feet off the ground because I'm scared of the crocodiles.

I really like people watching out my window, but I get really uncomfortable when people see me there.

Today was one of those days where it was so hard to wake up. Prematurely leaving a dream feels like brain ripping.

I am going to buy Wales things today. Litte shampoo. Little conditioner. Put money in the bank. Call my dad and beg for a little bit more money for food.

Reading day = get the shit I've ignored together day.

More people read my blog during finals I think.

When I am in the real world, people will read my blog because I will be leading an interesting real life.

Assuming I go to Austria that is.

Otherwise I will be sitting in a coffeeshop somewhere on Grand Avenue drinking cups of decaf and trying to read, but distracted by my restlessness.

I have nowhere to go and nothing to do tomorrow. Let's hang out.

I love the way that rain seems like something novel in the springtime.

I love poems and sun and pretty poets.

On Saturday I will be in Wales. I cannot image myself there. I think people say that going places changing you because they can't imagine their same person in a completely different place.

I love finishing classes and being excited for new ones.

I love being away from my computer for the whole day.

I just printed off my 38 page poetry portfolio (it was 39 pages, but I miscounted and accidentally had 26 poems in it and the limit is 25) and it feels wonderful. It's so much goddamn paper. I really like trees. I like trees more than I like paper, but I love paper also, especially when it has words on it.

Bitchy People, Finals, and Springtime

German was a complete disaster for me this term. I got a B. My lowest German grade ever. I was already to put it aside and forget about it, when my professor said it was our fault we did poorly on the passive section because we didn't listen. I did listen, I'm just dumb. Normally I like this professor a lot, I've had seven classes with her, but it upset me that she accused me of not listening.

Then at the end of class, this girl who has an interrupting problem, finished one of my sentences for me in a manner that implied I needed help finishing it, which I didn't. All of this made me very crabby even though it was my last German class ever.

But then I walked outside and it was so beautiful. It's sunny, the sky is blue. I turned in my medical form for Wales and my last Dylan Thomas paper. I ran into a lot of people I liked. It's all okay.

I really hate the poem I posted a little while ago.
Instead of taking it down I am going to post a different one I like slightly better.

To be Cold: an Inhabitance

In here
the sickness has swelled
down to me

like in junior high when I swallowed
all of my anti-depressants,
a method of perpetuating
the experience a person alone
in bed.

Sickness is when the body remembers
that you’re the only one
who fits inside the self.

Reading about Wales makes me feel like I am going to Narnia or wherever Lord of the Rings takes place.

Dylan Thomas was entirely destroyed/enlightened for me by the suggestion of someone in my class that he and the Dylan Thomas professor are wizards like in Harry Potter.

New goal: See the Knox Fox before I graduate.

Senior symposium for lit majors is making me really glad I'm not a lit major, largely because most of the papers were so impressive and used literary terms I don't understand as a lonely creative writing major. I especially liked Sarah's, because it was about eggs and I love eggs.

In honor of Sarah's paper about eggs and Hitchcock, I will post a poem.

The Constant Distancing of Bodies

The toast is burnt. The toast is only burnt
because I wasn’t using my nose, but instead my ears which heard nothing,
but the absence of a ring (a repeated absence, a message left by others before)
It could be that I am deaf, but I don’t think I am,
because for a short while there was noise (consistency, happiness as a hum),
it was not music, but it could be called music (definition was what we lacked).
What is more pleasing than the sound of someone
who wants to talk to you?
The toast is burnt and I eat it anyways. I think I might be angry
because I burnt my toast, even though I know this isn’t
true. (Think of the time wasted) I could’ve been making
eggs, but eggs are too loud. (To stay still and silent.
Perhaps we will drift closer again, if only I stay here and listen.)


The universe began with things
that were very close together. This was after
the bang. Since then, they have been moving
further apart. If this failed to happen,
the stars would continuously heat up
space until everything existed
at the same temperature and filled with light.
Human beings would not be able to live
under those conditions. It makes sense then, the constant distancing of bodies.
We tried to erase Pluto and he is still there, more so.

For some reason I always think when I wake up from naps, I only need twenty minutes. This is absolutely not true.

I wish my mood didn't change because of the book of poetry I happened to be reading.

My Dylan Thomas Professor keeps saying that when Thomas was writing happy poems it was because he was enlightened with spirituality and environmental awareness and he knew his soul was everywhere.

In the biographies, the biographers talk about how depressed Thomas was during that time and how much he drank. He was about to divorce his wife. Even his lover was about to leave him because he was so destructive.

I think the happy poetry was a cop-out.

But really, I'm having a hard time dealing with these heartbroken poets.

My heart isn't breaking. I don't even have a goddamn crush, yet every fucking poem I read my heart breaks all over again.

I think I would not like to love Rick Jackson. He loves people long after they are gone, which means desperately. He says it in Resonance, that love is desperate. That seems to be the word for love. Dee and I talked about it awhile ago and desperate was the word we used also.

I would rather date someone who loves my legs or my breasts. I can feel appreciated, yet desperately longing. Rarely are two people desperate. Then it is no longer desperation.

It's a lonely kind of night apparently. I haven't been very lonely lately because I've been so busy. But then I had to watch a movie for class and it made me distinctly panic. I keep getting hives. Yesterday I woke up with one on my cheek. During the movie I got one on my forehead. I don't think you are supposed to get one hive, but I'm pretty sure that's what they are. They go away within a couple of hours. I feel like I'm about 85 years old. I need to move my body.

So I'm reading this book, Resonance by Richard Jackson. As my professor said, "no one does the heart better than Rick Jackson," and I have to agree. Then I look at the back cover and he's a middle-aged balding man. Somehow this makes it better, that a middle aged balding man can write such poems about love.

"But for this moment, not like those other moments, it is
simply so surprising to be alive with you. Why is it enough
just to listen to the earth spin? Why is it that, at this moment,
despite the fact that our hearts beat at sixty fears a second
despite the fact that, at this moment the silence of our
dreams is immense, we can offer each other, and our world,
these unforgettable petals of frost unfolding on their stems."

I can't write about love. I mean, I write about love all the time, but it's always veiled. Maybe you have to be Rick Jackson to write about love. Or Pablo Neruda.

Reading poetry will always be like dating a boy who doesn't give enough.
That's why it's so good and so awful.

Finals countdown

1. Watch "Die Fetten Jahre Sind Vorbei." Think about how Daniel Bruehl would be a good boyfriend. He could teach me German.
2. Correct German paper. Meet with Anke and have her look at my corrections.
3. Write two pages about my expectations for Wales.
4. Memorize Sarah Manguso poem "Beautiful Things,"
Sometimes I think I understand the way things work
and then I find out that on Neptune it rains diamonds.
(that's what I know so far)

What a great poem.
5. Read Rick Jackson's book of poems "Resonance."

That's it that's it that's it. I wrote a five page paper in two hours today. I feel great. I feel caffeinated.

Plan for the afternoon:
Go to Innkeeps and eat this

Drink this

And do this

I am the sleepiest person in the entire world.

I can say now, in the morning with the sun coming into my window and making me really warm, and my body really tired because I was up too late last night, that if I don't get either of the things I applied for, I will be okay. Myself will remain intact. Do you ever feel like if certain things happen your entire body will just cease to exist? It's not really a conscious thing, but more like I can't imagine myself existing if something happens or doesn't happen. But I will.

Julia and I were talking on Wednesday and I mentionded that I no longer felt like an attrative human being, even though I look relatively the same as I used to when I was an attrative being. The difference is that I am not attracted to anyone. She said, "That's because we want to be objectified." I agree, sort of. I want some people to see me as a sexual being and not others. I want to be attractive only sometimes. And thus when I am attracted to very few people, I don't feel attractive at all, even though I look the same.

The people upstairs are playing incredibly loud music. They must have great speakers. But at some point soon I would like them to turn it down.

I can admit to myself now, in this moment of being alone, of waiting for other people, that I am scared I won't get either of the things that I applied for and that I will be ecstatic if I get either.

But what happens if I get nothing?

I miss wanting to be close to people. Like those lions, you know? Spooning. I miss wanting that. I have no notion of what is to even be near a person.

How is everyone doing?

Things to do for finals:
1. Write 5 page paper on "Under Milk Wood" See: Dylan Thomas went to Hogwarts.
2. Write 2 pages about expectations of Wales. See: Fish and chips. Beer. The sea.
3. Finish poetry portfolio and collaborative chapbook (almost done)
4. Revise German essay.
5. Do minor German assignment.
6. Watch "Die Fetten Jahre sind Vorbei" (Should be retitled: Daniel Bruehl is a cutie. He's less cute as a nazi in "Inglorious Basterds" and more cute as a radical communist activist, but he's pretty much always cute)

I said: "I will never not be a white girl from St. Paul, Minnesota," in an interview. What is wrong with me? But you know, otherwise I think it went well. I have no expectations whatsoever though. I can't tell what they are looking for.

I was worried my gloomy mood from yesterday would stick around, but I am feeling loads better today. Finished my poetry collaboration, some of the poems I actually like a lot, so I'm really happy with it. Next I have a telephone interview and then I am going to rush to the Cellar Door release party to eat cake. Later I am going out with some lovely friends. It promises to be a very nice evening.

(I had a dream last night that I went out on a Friday, drank too much, fell asleep, woke up in my dream, amazed I didn't have a hangover. It made going out tonight seem rather unappealing at the time)

The Wall Street Journal had an article about bomb sniffing dogs in Iraq that develop post-traumatic stress disorder or that refuse to work because they saw people shooting other people. It was one of the saddest things I've ever read. Sometimes I think dogs have more integrity than people.

This is my twenty-second spring and I'm still shocked my how long the snow is taking to melt. It has gotten above freezing for days in a row now and there is still a plethora of snow outside.

I don't think anyone can ever really adjust to winter.

Hurraaaayyyy no more Dylan Thomas class!

I started a new scarf to replace my old one. By the time it's done, it will be spring.

My poetry professor said I sound glum. I feel glum too. I lost my gray scarf I wear all the time somewhere.

Hippos always look really cute when people draw them, but they are always crabby in real life. Today I am crabby like a hippo.

I wish I didn't hate this German class. I really do. I miss liking German.

Two German class left. Two for the rest of my life. Why am I dreading this so much?

I started thinking about my parents tonight. My parents from when I was little. I don't remember having fun with my mother. I remember her putting on make-up. I started biting my nails because she did. I remember her reading to me. I remember her talking. But that's it. Mostly I remember my dad and going to the zoo and going hiking and doing things outside. Then I started thinking about my brother and how now my dad's whole life is devoted to him. I was never demanding. Even when I needed things I didn't ask. I get lectures now from my brother when I need financial support. This sounds so stupid. They aren't even here. I get upset about my mother a lot. It's hard having a parent who isn't functional. She was sick a lot when I little, then she was in law school, then my parents got divorced, and the one demand my father made was that he get exact joint custody. My mother kept the house, all the furniture. Then she got depressed, lost her job, the narcolepsy got bad.

When I was really little I always wished my mom had the mom haircut. The blonde/salt and pepper bob that everyone else's mother had. To me, her hair which was long and with bangs epitomitzed how she was different. But that was back when she was functional. It's just upsetting because I feel I could've been so much more successful. That sounds selfish. I'm sorry.

I really need a roommate so I can talk about these kinds of things when I think about them late at night.

Sometimes I worry about my mother dying. Sometimes when she can't afford her medication I don't see her for a couple weeks and I start to worry that she might never wake up. Or when she goes somewhere and is gone for hours when she shouldn't be I think ahe got into a car accident.

She wants to come visit me and I want to tell her no because even thinking about her makes me cry ridiculous amounts. I should not be upset about this.

How much is of is because of our parents? Does it bother me so much when people are unrealiable because my mother was and continues to be unrealiable? I am consistently drawn to people who like things that my dad likes like being outside, and running, and biking, and yoga, and math, and sports, even though I don't like all of those things (I like them all to some degree, but I only like math theoretically and I only run because I feel like I should).

My dad gets really uncomfortable when people cry. I cry a lot. My mother cries a lot too. I worry I am my mother. I look like her. I write. I can be loud. I can get depressed. I sleep a lot. Ugh. Fuck, I'm going to bed. This is so ridiculous.

Living with people is so strange.

Today I talked about a friend about her roommate for an hour and a half. Oh geeze. My roommates are generally always lovely, except I never see them. I am the messy loud one and I am not that messy or that loud. Tonight I came back to find a couple of notes, one above the sink telling us to rinse out the sponges and leave them on the edge of the sink so they don't get moldy (I always leave them on the edge of the sink, but I probably don't rinse them out properly) and one in the shower saying to leave the curtain closed so it doesn't grow things as well (I always leave it open) (I did not realize this was why it was growing things) I didn't mind the notes at all, because I rarely see my roommates and they were pointing out things I should actually do and they had little smilies on them. It's just so strange though, to combine multiple lives and living styles together.

I should just carry every book of poetry I love around with me.

My perception of life after college: that time in life where I will have nothing to do.

There are lots of people in here studying. I am jealous of all of their outfits.

Last time I met with the German TA we were using my computer to access a dictionary and one of my tabs said "dirty." I realized it looked like I was looking at porn, but it was actually the thesaurus. I was trying to find another way to say "crusty old man."

(On my poem my professor drew a stick figure with a loaf of bread for a head)

It is poetry time again. I would rather work on new poems, but revisions will have to suffice.

(Finals are calm, stable, it makes me think I do things, function as a human being.)

Coffee and a bagel at Kaldi's. Sometimes eating must be sacrificed.

I keep feeling homesick for somewhere I suspect doesn't exist any longer.

Katie Ford, in her book Colosseum has a poem called "Ark" that goes:

We love the stories of the flood and the few
told to prepare in advance by their god.
In that story, the saved are
always us, meaning:
whoever holds the book.

Katie Ford writes a goddamn good little poem. The book Colosseum was written after hurricane Katrina. Katie Ford is from New Orleans and she fled New Orleans before the worst of it hit. I feel like this is the predicament of Katrina: the saved were the people who are always saved, the white educated people, the ones holding the book. This poem breaks my heart. Think about all the people that didn't get away. I can hardly stand it. Goddamnit. Some times the world is just so sad.

On Saturday Dee, Julia, and Brandy and I watched a show called "Orca Killing School." In it, the orca whales kill baby sea lions. Julia argued that the wild is sad. Dee argued that the wild is necessary.

Another line from a Katie Ford poem, "What We Get":

I think this is
what we get when we asked to be saved:
a land where everything grows, and there are many killings.

This book breaks my heart. It makes me feel guilty. I do not know what it means to lose everything.

Ich habe einen neuen Hut gestrickt.

I went to the sexual assault forum. I was grinding my teeth the whole time. Now my jaw feels awful. I didn't talk. Other people said what I would've wanted to say.

When I was getting dressed this morning I realized I have forgotten what my body looks like. The winter makes everything distant, including ourselves. I know my clothes better than my skin. What the fuck is that shit?

A Note on Beautiful People:
There are so many goddamn beautiful people. Sometimes I'm in situations and I feel like the ugliest person in the room, not because I have low self-esteem, because I don't, but because everyone around me is so beautiful with their faces and their smiles and their bodies that I cannot possibly ever equal any of them. I just want to tell people that all the time too, but I don't. I should.