oh, the fumes!

i just finished helping people paint the set for tartuffe and im slightly high from the paint fumes...only slightly, mind you. whee! ok, yeah.

i'm 20!

well, i have finally finished with my teenage years. its really really strange to think about. now my parents no longer have a teenager...that is until nov. 10 when my little brother turns 13...hehe. so yeah, last night was my last night as a teenager and i spent it playing, running around the hall and trying to wrestle various types of projectiles from one of my guy friends. then we went down to mocha joes and went to see dave's new apartment. its really cool and has a ton of potential...i love places with potential. i really like the back porch thing where you go in. i would have liked it better if i didnt almost faint when i went in. the smell of smoke is overwhelming to the point of not being able to breathe. so yeah. that was my last night as a teenager. i think it was a pretty decent way to kick off a new decade.

these days

I've been out walking
I don't do too much talking
These days, these days.
These days I seem to think a lot
About the things that I forgot to do
And all the times I had the chance to.

I've stopped my rambling,
I don't do too much gambling
These days, these days.
These days I seem to think about
How all the changes came about my ways
And I wonder if I'll see another highway.

I had a lover,
I don't think I'll risk another
These days, these days.
And if I seem to be afraid
To live the life that I have made in song
It's just that I've been losing so long.
La la la la la, la la.

I've stopped my dreaming,
I won't do too much scheming
These days, these days.
These days I sit on corner stones
And count the time in quarter tones to ten.
Please don't confront me with my failures,
I had not forgotten them.

-nico

sometimes, when you ask if i'm okay, i have to say i'm fine. if i tell you the truth, i'll burst into tears...and not know why

waltz to the rhythm of memory

i'll give you the first waltz, my love, though i can't promise the last. the flavor of scotch on your lips dogears the pages of my memories. did i fool you into thinking i threw away the flower you gave me? that little red paper flower...a rose i think, do you remember? was it a rose? or my red imagination? all i remember was the dry smell of the paper. memories forget the details. memories settle as they will into rhythmic ridges and waves. it's not good to fall in love with memories, but the lock on the rotten wooden door is rusted open and the breeze is playing a song in between the cracks. the hinges groan in their sleep.

lonely fair

dont damn them...
they are broken too
thats why it hurts so bad
their broken edges are sharp
just like mine
just like yours
and when we bump into each other
we get hurt
its all the brokenness sticking out
love them
and hug the broken shards tighter to yourself
it hurts
but life hurts
its lonely and it hurts like hell
but its what we've got
and its beautiful if you can see through the tears
cuz life is just a lonely fair

the gentle, familiar sounds of iron and wine play as i sit drinking greyfriars coffee from my favorite mug. curled up on my bed, warm in my room as the mountain top is wrapped softly in cloud...two of my very best friends just as warm and comfortable on the other two beds next to me. red folds of my skirt fall softly over my legs and the bed. lazy sunday evening...studying when i dont really have to, with drowsiness settling slowly in...the last of the coffee fighting it off weakly. struggling more out of habit than out of actual resistance.
______________________________________

the contrast of tonight with last is startling. last night i had not the energy or passion to love anything. lost in the valleys of my mind, valleys of my pain, i cried stale tears of indifference, for the pain had finally eaten through the numbness like an acid, but had yet to breech the indifference that silently suffocated my heart. i could love nothing and no one last night. tonight, the gentle light of morning peeks through the leaf lattice of the forest i have lost myself in...the bruises on my arms once again resemble handprints, and i have found that i am no longer drowning in a sea of darkness. the sweetness of life has triumphed over the bitter...no matter how much the bitterness outweighs the sweet. i have a long way until the top of the mountain...a long way until the next valley...but i am content because i know they are coming, i am content because i know i am no longer stumbling deeper downward through the grasping trees. i am climbing, and no matter how steep or how slippery, i always prefer the upward slope.

searching in solitude

the night was blue. a deep cobalt blue. not black, night was never black in her eyes...always a shade of blue. the asphalt was still warm from the sun that had not been long set, but the rocks in the woods would be cold. they accustomed themselves to the nature of the night much quicker than the road. the road still seemed to hold out hope...clinging desperately to the last memory of the sun. but the rocks had been there longer. wrapped in the shade of the trees, they were always cold. always ready for the blue night to descend on them. she wandered to the end of the road, where the blue asphalt met bluer gravel. roads that dont go anywhere intrigued her. so she came here and sat. it is one of her many "spots." yet it is one of the only ones she goes to...for the others are dangerous at night. and a painful trip in bare feet. so she came here. the night was cold. it was still summer, though the night tried denying the fact whenever it held its hand over the mountain. the rocks forgot the sun quickly and the grasses bathed in the dew...shivering and waiting. why had she come here? she asked herself. why? how many times had she wandered away from people who would be more than willing to listen to her problems in favor of the cold, silent night? she always went where no one would find her...though it was usually when she most wanted someone to find her. wanted someone to care enough. she didnt want to have to ask people to care...thats not how its supposed to be. he was supposed to be walking by...looking for something or someone too. and they would find each other. and sit and talk. and it would be better. but he never found her. he never came. did he ever even leave? or think about her?

smooth walls enclosed the space. clean, cool, safe. i had just come upon this room with its golden wooden floor. it wasnt special. just a room. but it was safe and clean and good. i walked around, absently caressing the wall. the paint wasnt new, but the integrity of it was palpable. the soft dryness of the wall registered as good as well. i turned to look at the entire room again...so pleasing and calm it was to my eyes when i noticed something on the farthest wall. a spot. black, wet-looking, tar-like. i wondered at this that i hadnt seen seconds before, so i wandered over to the spot. it seemed to be growing. oozing out of the wall, spreading...like a drop of black blood on clean white cotton. tendrils laced out and away from it, infecting more and more of the clean walls. backing away in my horror at the spread of the disease, i heard a noise behind me. the clean plaster of the walls was crumbling. sliding down to reveal a wall of, not lathing, but more blackness. it was not the one spot that was infected. the whole room was oozing with the evil blackness. sick and rotting the stench suffocated me. the once golden wood floor beneath my bare feet became suddenly rotting and sharp with splinters. i wanted to run but i knew i couldnt. i smiled through the tears that were streaming down my face. smiled at my naivete. smiled at the earlier estimation of goodness and integrity. and the evil began to fill the room.

chapter 1

"Damn," she thought as she rolled over in the sheets, listening to the unearthly scream of the alarm clock. It was that point in sleep where you haven't quite opened your eyes but are still horribly aware of the vulgar screech of the alarm pulsing away, deriding all that is good and holy in the morning time. Not that there is anything particularly good or holy about morning, she thought to herself. Those last few moments of blissful unawareness passed painfully quickly and the cloud of responsibilities that the day would bring loomed inches over her bed, waiting to crash down on her shoulders the instant a semblance of consciousness was regained. Reveling in her last few moments of ignorance, she savored the softness and warmpth of her pillow and idly entertained the possiblility that she may be able to sleep in today.

The alarm clock made sure that this was impossible, however. She sat up, immediately coming into painful contact with the cloud of her mental "to-do list" for the day, and groggily batted at the biggest button on the alarm clock. She could feel the bed pulling her back down, but she resisted today, seeing as she had given in to the warm softness too often before. Besides, today she needed a shower, and the will to smell good outweighed the will to attempt another two minutes of sleep. She'd just end up having to wake up all over again, and it really wasn't worth it. She slid out of bed and headed towards her door. Staggering enough to have to grab the door frame to keep from falling face first into the wall.

The bathroom was the same dingy white it had always been. It would have been painted by now...except that she never found the time to decide on the color she wanted. She felt blindly for the faucet; her eyes had not regained the ability to focus yet...almost, but not quite. She looked down into the sink and froze. It was there again. The deep red smear, bigger this time. Redder this time. She heard the blood rushing in her ears and she felt the quickened throb in her neck.

"Not again." She whipered. "No, it can't have come back."

She wanted to run, to scream, to faint, to suddenly be jolted awake again by the deafening blare of her alarm. It had to be a dream. It didn't really happen. No...no.

She quickly began wiping with the first dry cloth that she could reach. An old blue shirt of James' that he had left at her house weeks ago. She tried not to notice how much blood was seeping into the fabric as she continued her panicked smearing.

Turning, she froze. This time she did scream, though it was not a full scream. More like the sound one would make when one first feels the strong hands close around the throat. A high pitched exclaimation, cut short by the sudden constriction of the hands. There on the windowsill, was a crimson smear of blood...a five fingered smear. She lunged at the sill with the blue shirt, rubbing the erie smear beyond her initial recognition. Shaking violently, and breathing irradically, she kept frantically cleaning the scarlet stains off the sink and sill.

She spent the rest of the morning fighting the image of the ominously shaped smear on the sill, as it seemed to be the image that persisted in her mind.

view from my window

growling, the deep grey clouds fade away in the distance as the soft, white fluff drifts in between the blue mountain tops. cold breeze chases away the heat fo the summer sun hidden behind layers of grey cotton batting. crisp and clean the divide of clear air between the grey ceiling and the white expanse of cotton tucked softly in the valleys with islands of trees sticking out of the fallen clouds.

random thoughts

i would rather misjudge a person as greater in character than less.


"self-contemplation is a curse, that makes an old confusion worse"
~ Roethke

too much caffiene

small child running away far away from the music playing and the softness of sunday church fading into the past. grey dusty planks wooden floor dirty feet and splinters. muddy tendrils wash the pebbles in the stream of ice. green moss moist and soft cushion. bed of moss. cannot sleep here with the trees and silver slips of moon shining on the grey grasses. curved blade of the moon shines quietly violent in the nothingness the stars struggle against the suffocating deepness of the black clouds. bending in the silver streams cast shadows hide the tears watering the grasses. blackness all my own wraps me warmly stealing breath from the dewy air. blood seeps into the brown trunk reclining its way across the path winding as a thread of earth through the grey coated leaves. curled away from the eyes of the lesser light whose blades of misty brightness lacerate the darkness cloth wrapping tighter around my chest. heaving struggling rasping breath gags on the cold wetness chill on back and neck. stillness settles, stifling the sounds of the struggle within. slowing the steady rhythm of warmpth streaming through the numbing body. drifting away from the grass, the stream, the moonlight...drifting home.

you said...

you said you beat up the other guy. you explained every blow. you gave us the play-by-play. you make jokes and we laugh, you tell stories and we listen. you tell us how strong you are. how unfair the fight was. how unfairly you have been used. you tell us how she hurt you, and how strong you are for taking it. you tell us how you give her your strength. you tell us how you give us your strength.

we say...

you dont need to be strong for us. we already love you. you are already our friend. you do not need to prove your strength, capability, deservingness. you dont have to carry our burdens. we dont ask you to be something more. you dont have to be our entertainment. you rush to tell us your story..."here is my story and all that i am..." "now that you know me, you cant leave me." youve had to be strong. youve had to be enough. know that you dont have to be anything for us to continue to love you. thats it, youre in, sorry hon, you cant get out of it now. weve got you.

all im saying is that you neednt worry. we will listen, we will talk, we will be here when you need us. because...we are friends.

valley...

i was headed down. through the trees, around the rocks, splashing through the cold mountain streams, and into the fading golden light. leaves crunched and sticks cracked loudly under my bare feet and the moss was soft and cool. i gently caressed the lichen spotted trunks as i balanced on their roots in the cooling evening. chill began to settle, and the air became wet with the dew that drifted in and out with each breath. the rocks grew sharper, and the darkness deeper. the cold stars shone on night-blackened leaves as i wandered, darkness settling, stifling hope that flared with the last of the sun's light. now i was lost...and the darkness whispered. speaking of the evils it held in its midst. threatening of the things unknown and nameless. slippery, the leaves underfoot threatened to pull me down onto the sharp rocks and tear the tender flesh of my knees. tears streamed down my face as the moon watched my stumbling deep in the trees. stabbing through the openings in the leaf latticed sky. i couldnt see. i fell. bruised and broken, i lay in the wet leaves in the ditch that cut deep into the valley, cradling my limp form. i couldnt rise for the weight of the the blackness, soft, smothering, suffocating.

i woke to the morning light streaming through the windows. the coolness of the room seemed to echo my memory of the nightdark. stretching, i turned over, waiting for the alarm to sound to signal the official arrival of my day. for that moment of inexistence, where there were no demands, no reasons, nothing but the covers and the crisp morning, i was new. yet i remembered the darkness wrapping me tighter like a cold, black sheet, slowly constricting my chest...and then i knew that somehow, during the night, i had left the ditch. i had left the damp, wet leaves, and i had begun to climb. upways again toward the rising lightness in the east. it was not my own strength that pulled me from the ditch...the handmarks bruising my arms serve to betray the help of another. during the nightdark, he had pulled me out, and placed me where i may be able to once again climb towards the greater light; saving me from the cold indifference of the lesser.

to him: thank you.

i am tired

i am tired and restless. so much is different yet so much the same. i hate this time, this time where i feel like im teetering on a precipice and my stomach drops at each waver of balace as i lean further out over the edge. everything has been so incredibly hectic. i cant believe im back. last semester was all i knew, and now its so different. im going to run away. i wandered around campus, looking for someone, hoping someone would find me at this hour. i wanted to go down by the pond, i wanted to go somewhere, with someone...though i dont know who. i cant ask. i cant ask what i want to ask. i cant ask that of them. its not my place. its not my right. and asking would just be wrong. wrong for me. where shall i go now? where shall i wander...im so tired, yet i cannot sleep. im so hungry, yet i cannot eat. im so...lost right now. i dont know how, but thats what i feel like. this is the strangest feeling right now. im just so...stressed, i guess. eh, maybe the toga party in catacombs will help. i cant wait til open dorms...and im not really sure why.

so i walked outside today....

...on my break and i sat down on this nice little bench on campus. i suddenly realized that, though i had the entire bench to myself, i was seated off to the right. i wondered about this...it was like i left a space for someone. then i realized that i sleep on the right side of the bed. and i sleep on my right side. i am right-winged, right-handed, and right-sided. i must have the aisle on my right-hand side, and when i get into the backseat, i must sit on the right. i drive with my right hand, even though i drive stick. i carry my purse on my right shoulder and when i cross my arms guess which is on top? yep.

hmm. i left a space. like i was saving someone a seat. maybe someday i'll find that person who goes on my left. the person i've always saved a spot for.

that four-letter word

is it a list? a long iteration of qualities and talents that is checked off at every meeting and opportunity? a "best fit deal?" a 'well, you fit 82% of the requirements, so i guess you win' thing?

or is it a set of scales? with one side labeled 'good' and the other 'not so good.' with qualities that fill up each dish and the final judgement witheld til the end. a good vs. bad thing?

or is it a hiding place? a sweet and quiet niche where you place your hopes and dreams. a secret room where you wait quietly for another to care enough to seek you out and find you, then you sit and talk forever. and there's no rush, and you have the rest of your lives. you slowly show them around the room, letting them see each hope, each fragile dream. and they do not laugh, or jeer, or roll their eyes. but merely smile and listen with honest interest as it comes softly shining in each other's eyes.

this is the newest addition to our family. her name is Isabella, but we call her Belle. she's about 3 months old and is about the size of my dog, a border collie named Sammie. sorry about the lack of wit in this post. i just didnt feel up to it.

The Parting Glass

All the money that e'er I had
I spent it in good company
And all the harm I've ever done
Alas,It was to none but me
And all I've done for want of wit
To memory now,I can't recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Goodnight and joy be to you all!

Fill to me the parting glass
And drink a health whate'er befalls
Then gently rise and softly call
Goodnight and joy be to you all!

Of all the comrades that e'er I had
They're sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that e'er I had
They'd wish me one more day to stay.
Since it fell into my lot
that I should rise,and you should not
I'll gently rise and softly call
Goodnight and joy be to you all!

But since it fell into my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I'll gently rise and softly call
Goodnight and joy be to you all!

So fill to me the parting glass
And drink a health whate'er befalls
Then gently rise and softly call
Goodnight and joy be to you all!

closing song to waking ned divine