Primary school teaches children to write bad poetry.

Sick

It's kind of weird being sick, as it's my inclination to always want to go and do things, but when I am sick my body is telling me to lie down and rest. I couldn't even finish a single drink this evening. I did draw a lot of animals on the board on the wall of Julia and Simon's apartment. I drew a two heterosexual lions cuddling, two lesbian lions cuddling, a giraffe, a squirrel, and a hippo. It was very satisfying.

I'm kind of nervous about going to Wales, because I don't really know anyone who is going that well, which could be a good or bad thing. I had an out, because my mom didn't pay the bill and I really considered not going, but to cop-out because I'm scared and homesick is stupid. How am I going to live in Austria for ten months without knowing anyone if I can't survive in Wales for ten days with people I only kind of know?

Worst comes to worst I end up rooming with people I am less than fond of and don't go out at night as much. Whatever, I have an affinity for the sea and beer, so I'm sure I will be fine.

But seriously, if you're going to Wales, let's be friends.

I feel better about poetry.

I want to write pretty things. Sometimes I do. It's nice and surprising, but doesn't feel like part of myself. It's like "oh look what I did over there." Similar to when I paint things and I still don't recognize myself as someone who makes art.

It's really hard to be graceful with a hacking cough.

Do you ever wonder how you move? Some people move so nicely. Do they know how they move? Their movement indicative of something. In third grade I started hating the way my hands were attached to my wrists. It seems too bendable, too loose.

Someday I'll post a lot of poetry and then no one will read this anymore, because not many people actually like to read poetry.

I woke up today feeling awful and so I dragged myself to the health clinic only to be told I have a virus, but left with a note saying I was excuse from class for the next two days, if only for the look of misery on my face. He said, "Your symptoms are very virusy" and later "You have that 'I'm miserable' look on your face." I got cough syrup and decongestant and one of them makes me feel terribly woozy and slightly nauseous and I stare off into space like I'm high. I spent the afternoon in bed with knitting and television, but got antsy at night and wandered over to Julia's where I spent the evening talking with her and Dee about all sorts of things, but mostly definitions. As a person who likes words, I like to diffrentiate one thing from the other, because after all, that's why words are necessary. Some people do not do this, some people like everything to be everything. I like variety. There are many people I do not like. There are many people I love. A lot of these people are the same, but some of them are not and that's okay. I feel like I am talking to third graders "It's okay that things are different," but at college age, people regress and start to feel uncomfortable again, but they see it in a floaty surreal sort of enlightened way. Somedays I am sick, otherdays I am not, there is a difference.

When I was in the waiting room of the health center I read an article about how orchids seduce us.

I wonder how many germs on are those magazines.

I read Michael Dickman's (Matthew Dickman's brother) book of poetry, The End of the West and I really liked this one as well. Ultimately Michael is more my type than Matthew. His poems are really brutal. I saw a quote from an interview with his brother and Matthew said the way to tell them apart is that "Michael has a girlfriend and he has glasses." Of course that momentarily broke my heart, but as I don't actually know Michael, it was only momentarily. I started thinking about what it would be like to date someone who writes poems with lines like:

Make a list
of everything that's
ever been

on fire-

Abandoned cars
Trees
The sea

Your mother burned down to the skeleton

so she could come back, born back from her bed, and walk around the
house again, exhausted
in slippers

What else?

Your brain
Your eyes
Your lungs

That is the first fucking page of the book. Seriously? Dating him would be a lovely nightmare. He is 34 now, but I can't imagine he's changed much from the younger self he's written about.

It made me think about myself. I will never not be the way I am, even if I am with someone. I will always be overemotional and anxious and I will always cry when I write poetry even if I'm sitting in the fucking sunshine. How do you tell people that? I try. I think this is why people don't like me.

Female poets don't have the same allure male poets do. Matthew and Michael started writing to get girls to kiss them and it worked. The female poet is always placed next to Sylvia Plath. I am not depressed or suicidal though. I just like everything too much. Look at how defensive I am getting in dialogue with myself.

According to Frank Warren, people who say they have no secrets have the best secrets. This isn't true for me. I like to say things. I sat for most of his talk, like I did for most of the last one I saw and tried to think of my secrets and the things I came up with were cheesy and lackluster, but here they are anyway:
1. I still get nervous when I see you, but that will pass as it has passed with everyone else.
2. I still get nervous when I see you, but I think eventually things will be better again and I won't feel uncomfortable around you or you around me, which I think we both still do to a slight degree, or atleast I do. It's not because of hard feelings or anything.
3. There are some people I care a lot about and I don't feel like I can tell them how much I care. I know some of them read this too, but I like that.
See, nothing tangible, nothing I can't say.

I ate too much baclava at lunch. I want to turn baclava into a verb. I baclavad.

Postsecret is at Knox tonight. They are making it Knox-students only, which is dumb, also interesting. How does someone get up and share a secret in front of their peers? I will not be sharing a secret. I would if I had something to say, but I don't. I leave everything I think all over the place. It's a mess.

My poems were workshopped last night and narcissism came up as a topic.

People say things to me and I put them in poems and I always want to tell them, but it feels so intimate. It's like telling people I have dreams about them, but I have dreams about people all the time.

I'm fairly certain I'm ill. I'm fairly certain I'm being overdramatic about my illness, but to be realistic, I'm basically dying. No no, in all seriousness I have a sore throat, a cough, I'm whoozy, and fatigued. Dying dying dying.

I feel like someone skinned by throat. I'm not really sure if I can talk yet. This is gross.

I like it when people like their bodies. Like the fat men in Italy in their tiny little swimsuits. I wish I could appreciate stretchmarks.

I meant to study for German all day and all night long, but a nap took predominance and then I went over to Julia's and hung out with Julia and Dee and we roasted onions and tomatoes together, with a side of roasted potatoes (it was a night of roasted 'atoes) with bread and dill harvarti. So delicious. Hoffentlich meine deutsche Prüfung wird gut machen. Ich weiß alle die Wortschatz, aber die Grammatik ein bisschen schwerig ist.

Everything I know about making a sandwich:

Making sandwiches is really hard. It doesn't sound hard, it is merely an accumulation of fairly simply prepared ingredients between two slices of bread, but it is much more complicated than that. Sandwiches prepared by restaurants are often far better than sandwiches made by the common folk and this perturbed me. Why is it when I make a sandwich it isn't as good? So I set out on a mission to make my sandwiches great.

1. The bread: Good bread is necessary. Preferably fresh whole wheat bread that's really big. Little, soft, bread just doesn't hold sandwiches together.

2. The meat: Veggie sandwiches are good, but as I don't eat very much protein I try to put a little meat in every sandwich. The goal is to not overload the sandwich with it because sliced meat doesn't have as much flavor as vegetables. Bacon is really delicious on almost every sandwich.

3. The cheese: Do not use American Cheese whatever you do. Mozzarella is my favorite, but I'm not opposed to a good cheddar or provolone.

4. The vegetables: The bigger the variety, the best. The more flavors a sandwich has, the tastier it is. I like tomatoes, onions, lettuce, cucumbers, and sprouts. This gives the sandwich height and substance and it's like eating a salad between two slices of bread.

5. The sauce: The final key to a good sandwich is the spread component. This is absolutely necessary otherwise the sandwich is bland or dry. I am a big mayonnaise fan, but pesto or an avocado spread is also delicious. All three work together really.

Eating a sandwich is often my favorite part of a day.

I am dying to tell someone "You and me could write a bad romance." I'm excited to have a crush in the future simply so I can use this line.