I think I am going to let this one stand alone. No explanation, no nothing. But it is in lieu of something I totally saw coming...
The Odometer Reads Sideways Infinity
800 miles.
That is what I traveled.
Through stone and snow and pine, I drove my heart,
an angry fire screaming down the path of quiet sorrow
inflamed in desire for your secluded love.
A red-hot core burning through my bone and brine moaned
and creaked for you, like a house yet filled, swelling and shrinking
in the winter's chill, a hope enshrouded in graveyards and fences.
800 miles.
A drink, a whisper, a secret smile, and your hand is on
the small of my back - that sweet dip that beckons imagination,
that slopes into dark dreams and beautiful answers to anxious questions.
I lead you away from roaring crushes and milling crowds,
from the prying eyes of your friends who dare to flirt,
who could not know how deep this curiosity goes.
Your urgency follows me into the night as
you lead me off to a place of lonely music and warmth.
800 miles.
A cup of tea is a cup of trust -
you know I would not lead you here if I did not want more.
You kissed me, a happy rule broken into a promise made.
My head lies in the soft cloud of pillows and sighs as
your hands span my body, lovely cartographers,
and your strong body eclipses the fervent shudders of mine.
You pull at my hair, a briar patch in which you lose your mind.
I claw, scream into sheets in which you will undoubtedly smell my musk
weeks after I depart your embrace, hoping
that our dream will not die.
Morning comes, a somber reminder of the real world, and
I slip away, not knowing where you stand.
I do not say good-bye, but touch your shoulder,
silent, reverent farewell.
After a night of travel and one more of your love, I,
bleary-eyed, look at my odometer. 800 miles.
This is how far I went to find you and make you mine.
800 miles is how much further, if not more, I would go to keep you.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Doubt Only Makes Us Stronger
A friend of mine, one I am fairly certain would like it more if we were more...intimate, has told me that holding onto a love that I've had for a while, one greatly unreciprocated for the most part, is folly. I am foolish to hold onto this feeling that I have, that I should give up. Stubborn thing that I am, I refuse.
Unbeknownst to him, my doubts are always present. I have ran through every scenario in my head on how this plays out, and I understand the risks. Yet, doubt lingers. I was sitting in class today, and for the first time in a long time, I wrote a poem that I can actually call good. I'd like to share it with you now.
Leaving Something to be Desired
Summer gave a bounty of fruit
- apples and raspberry kisses and wine and
new cheese at the corner of your mouth, creamy and soft -
and nights spilled forth with moonshine and starlight,
dancing in your muddled irises like fairies exchanging wings for fins.
Skin and teeth and tongue and dark folds in the
sheets that conceal darker deeds with angelic exploits.
Autumn - a depression left when good-byes take our love
and stretches it over mountains and rivers and borders -
is reaching, reaching for a hand still reaching for you,
and while fingers graze each other, desire's razor,
there is not skin enough to take hold, to keep strong,
and thus we break.
We turn.
We fall. We sleep in the hibernating misery as we learn to cope
with the searing light and the snatching winds that once
you and I guarded the other against.
Winter brushes my skin, and I stand alone, once a half, now a shadow.
I ache for you like a mare whickering at a fence, which she heeds as a barrier
between her and some virile stallion, all hot blood and swollen flesh and
my heart panics, my eyes dull in the late wanting, and while
all wishes and songs yearn to tempt your ears to me, I am too far,
I run. I bolt. I dream of days and nights of walking back,
of your arms around me.
And I do return to a charred house at last, where love's mark is burned with despair.
Spring calls, and we kiss the earth where once we lay laughing
- prayers for a new dawn, like a child's hope.
Your perfect eyes bore a shiver into mine, and a flame,
somewhere, bursts into new truth, in an ether no man has touched.
Your rough, callused, gentle hand takes mine - my fence, my fury, is sated,
soothed as I remember, as sweet tasting memory returns.
The bridge is rebuilt, and our love is reborn into something bright.
The light no longer stings my eyes.
Unbeknownst to him, my doubts are always present. I have ran through every scenario in my head on how this plays out, and I understand the risks. Yet, doubt lingers. I was sitting in class today, and for the first time in a long time, I wrote a poem that I can actually call good. I'd like to share it with you now.
Leaving Something to be Desired
Summer gave a bounty of fruit
- apples and raspberry kisses and wine and
new cheese at the corner of your mouth, creamy and soft -
and nights spilled forth with moonshine and starlight,
dancing in your muddled irises like fairies exchanging wings for fins.
Skin and teeth and tongue and dark folds in the
sheets that conceal darker deeds with angelic exploits.
Autumn - a depression left when good-byes take our love
and stretches it over mountains and rivers and borders -
is reaching, reaching for a hand still reaching for you,
and while fingers graze each other, desire's razor,
there is not skin enough to take hold, to keep strong,
and thus we break.
We turn.
We fall. We sleep in the hibernating misery as we learn to cope
with the searing light and the snatching winds that once
you and I guarded the other against.
Winter brushes my skin, and I stand alone, once a half, now a shadow.
I ache for you like a mare whickering at a fence, which she heeds as a barrier
between her and some virile stallion, all hot blood and swollen flesh and
my heart panics, my eyes dull in the late wanting, and while
all wishes and songs yearn to tempt your ears to me, I am too far,
I run. I bolt. I dream of days and nights of walking back,
of your arms around me.
And I do return to a charred house at last, where love's mark is burned with despair.
Spring calls, and we kiss the earth where once we lay laughing
- prayers for a new dawn, like a child's hope.
Your perfect eyes bore a shiver into mine, and a flame,
somewhere, bursts into new truth, in an ether no man has touched.
Your rough, callused, gentle hand takes mine - my fence, my fury, is sated,
soothed as I remember, as sweet tasting memory returns.
The bridge is rebuilt, and our love is reborn into something bright.
The light no longer stings my eyes.
Friday, October 18, 2013
You Know Who You Are...
Oh, my psychoanalyst friend is really trying to get me in trouble...I don't know how to say the words I need to. I wish I could be brave, let you see my vulnerable side, and tell you...everything. God knows I am a coward when it comes to you. God knows you scare me shitless. I want to be so perfect for you, so wonderful that you can't possibly ever say no to me. Here it goes, and I hope, like I think you do, that you read this, because I am too afraid to text you or email you. I don't have Erik this time to pep talk me into sending you another email, who is so sure that you want me too. Good kid, he is. I am too afraid to say it to your face, and I am sorry for that. You deserve better, a brazen beauty that I have only ever written about. Please forgive me if this isn't what you want to hear. I only think you should know...
A quarter after one in the morning, like the song, and I toss in my bed,
pacing from my covers to my computer, to write about love that other people have,
thinking about the one I want to have.
It hurts, being so far from you.
My mornings starts with thoughts of you.
My slumber starts with your face teasing me,
but it is never a perfect likeness, though I know the face I see
is meant to be yours.
I strain to remember how you inflect the words you say,
elusive syllables that I once mocked mercilessly.
I miss your smell, clean and male and subtle enough to draw me in.
I miss your voice, mellow and strong.
I miss your eyes, two storms on the edge of the sea.
I miss hearing your singular footsteps behind me, the knowing of precisely who approaches.
I miss your laugh, my reward, my cookie, for being witty.
Most of all, I miss the way you look at me,
as if I was the only woman you'd ever seen before.
Maybe it was a lie, a figment of my imagination, but others saw it too.
They saw the light in your heart for me
and sang your praises to me, furthering my admiration.
I tried, I promise. I tried so hard not to love you.
From the beginning, it was a losing war I fought desperately.
I cried endlessly, for fear that I was walking into a trap,
and I would have to forsake my heart again in order to walk away.
But, for every doubt, you countered me,
setting my weary, restless mind at ease.
You saw through me, like a glass rose ready to shatter, and you saw that too.
So you withheld from me, fearing just as much as I.
No words can express my gratitude
for how well you have guarded my heart from yourself.
I ask, no more. Let me say the words I need to tell you.
Let me, please, tell you how I miss you,
and how much I need to see your face again
Please, please, let me tell you that I need you,
that every day away from you is a sin and a mistake.
Every day is a countdown to the joy of return.
I miss you, son of the earth.
Let me come back to you.
Let me find a love in you.
A quarter after one in the morning, like the song, and I toss in my bed,
pacing from my covers to my computer, to write about love that other people have,
thinking about the one I want to have.
It hurts, being so far from you.
My mornings starts with thoughts of you.
My slumber starts with your face teasing me,
but it is never a perfect likeness, though I know the face I see
is meant to be yours.
I strain to remember how you inflect the words you say,
elusive syllables that I once mocked mercilessly.
I miss your smell, clean and male and subtle enough to draw me in.
I miss your voice, mellow and strong.
I miss your eyes, two storms on the edge of the sea.
I miss hearing your singular footsteps behind me, the knowing of precisely who approaches.
I miss your laugh, my reward, my cookie, for being witty.
Most of all, I miss the way you look at me,
as if I was the only woman you'd ever seen before.
Maybe it was a lie, a figment of my imagination, but others saw it too.
They saw the light in your heart for me
and sang your praises to me, furthering my admiration.
I tried, I promise. I tried so hard not to love you.
From the beginning, it was a losing war I fought desperately.
I cried endlessly, for fear that I was walking into a trap,
and I would have to forsake my heart again in order to walk away.
But, for every doubt, you countered me,
setting my weary, restless mind at ease.
You saw through me, like a glass rose ready to shatter, and you saw that too.
So you withheld from me, fearing just as much as I.
No words can express my gratitude
for how well you have guarded my heart from yourself.
I ask, no more. Let me say the words I need to tell you.
Let me, please, tell you how I miss you,
and how much I need to see your face again
Please, please, let me tell you that I need you,
that every day away from you is a sin and a mistake.
Every day is a countdown to the joy of return.
I miss you, son of the earth.
Let me come back to you.
Let me find a love in you.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Advocacy: Stop Trying to be Who You Aren't
Life is hard. When we are young and naive, we don't need to put up walls. Our only defenses are our parents and our teachers who look after our own well-being. We are immune to the effects of tragedy far away, and we are too young to understand tragedy close to home. then we grow up, and we begin to comprehend the world around us.
That is when we start building our fortresses.
A friend of mine thought it prudent to psychoanalyze me one night. I wonder if it was just because he saw my pain and wanted me to know it is okay. I haven't felt pain in a while - just numbness and refusal to register the lack of emotion I feel for most anyone at this point in time. I will be the first to admit that I read like an open book. I am not hard to figure out. I am, for the most part, as transparent as anyone can get. For this reason, I make a very terrible liar.
I stood at the counter of the desk that he works, downstairs in our residence hall, and he sat at the desk, watching me as he listed off so many things I didn't believe were obvious. It scared the shit out of me. For all my armor against the world, it does me no good when people can see me for what I truly am: a romantic, a girl who desires love and who desires to give love tantamount to that which she receives, a girl who is afraid of making connections, but doesn't want to be...how did he know all this?
I kept my brave face on as he continued, but I knew in my heart that once I was alone, I would break down. So I did. All that effort, all those prickly barbs I had grown to shield myself, they were all for nothing. They were nothing more than a waste of time. I still am the naive little girl with rose-tinted glasses, praying for someday to meet someone to share a life with, and despite trying to groom myself to be otherwise, it has all been in vain.
The point in all this? You can't change who you are. However, you can learn to do with that person what is best for you. God knows how I am going to make this work for me, but I will try...
That is when we start building our fortresses.
A friend of mine thought it prudent to psychoanalyze me one night. I wonder if it was just because he saw my pain and wanted me to know it is okay. I haven't felt pain in a while - just numbness and refusal to register the lack of emotion I feel for most anyone at this point in time. I will be the first to admit that I read like an open book. I am not hard to figure out. I am, for the most part, as transparent as anyone can get. For this reason, I make a very terrible liar.
I stood at the counter of the desk that he works, downstairs in our residence hall, and he sat at the desk, watching me as he listed off so many things I didn't believe were obvious. It scared the shit out of me. For all my armor against the world, it does me no good when people can see me for what I truly am: a romantic, a girl who desires love and who desires to give love tantamount to that which she receives, a girl who is afraid of making connections, but doesn't want to be...how did he know all this?
I kept my brave face on as he continued, but I knew in my heart that once I was alone, I would break down. So I did. All that effort, all those prickly barbs I had grown to shield myself, they were all for nothing. They were nothing more than a waste of time. I still am the naive little girl with rose-tinted glasses, praying for someday to meet someone to share a life with, and despite trying to groom myself to be otherwise, it has all been in vain.
The point in all this? You can't change who you are. However, you can learn to do with that person what is best for you. God knows how I am going to make this work for me, but I will try...
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
At Least Derek Kilmer Has Vowed to Refuse His Pay
To the crackpots in Congress: thanks, guys. Now I can't do my Earth System Science lab because you couldn't get it together. Now the NOAA, NASA, USGS, and all those other websites we use for our work book are down. Don't worry. My teacher is scrambling to figure something out for us. And, hey, once you get your rears in gear, you can send my dad a big bonus for being cool about you cutting his employment. Oh, and I didn't need that government money for school anyways, so its cool if you lay off all those people who would be taking care of my application. You guys are stellar.
WTF?!?!?!?
Come on, guys! How hard is it to be real human beings for once? How hard is it to look for a good compromise? Stop sticking to your party lines, stop worrying about getting re-elected next year, because at this rate, I don't think it will happen anyways. People cannot live off of their savings for long. People cannot just stop using money. For one thing, we just got out of the Great Recession. We don't need a new one. For another thing, it will come, one way or another, to bite you in the ass.
Good luck getting re-elected. The only one of you who will is Derek Kilmer, and that is because he is giving up his pay until Congress gets back on track. Meanwhile, I am going to continue fuming and wait for everything to cool off while I look for a new job...something that has absolutely nothing to do with the government shutdown.
WTF?!?!?!?
Come on, guys! How hard is it to be real human beings for once? How hard is it to look for a good compromise? Stop sticking to your party lines, stop worrying about getting re-elected next year, because at this rate, I don't think it will happen anyways. People cannot live off of their savings for long. People cannot just stop using money. For one thing, we just got out of the Great Recession. We don't need a new one. For another thing, it will come, one way or another, to bite you in the ass.
Good luck getting re-elected. The only one of you who will is Derek Kilmer, and that is because he is giving up his pay until Congress gets back on track. Meanwhile, I am going to continue fuming and wait for everything to cool off while I look for a new job...something that has absolutely nothing to do with the government shutdown.
Opposites Attract...And Then the Relationship Commits Seppuku
As I gradually make more friends here in Bozeman, and my view of the people here goes from rose-tinted to dark and angry, and gradually lightens again, my world rocks once more with drama. DRAMA, DRAMA, DRAMA.
I will be the first to admit that I am not very emotionally available. There is one person of non-blood relation to me who has ever gotten past my walls, and he is two states away and doing his best to forget me, which is fine...because I need less people to count on, I guess. This leads to a very flighty, flaky individual who gets nervous when the progression of a relationship takes off at speeds that move too fast for her to examine the person she is interacting with appropriately. My latest realization: not only does my new friend attract drama, but she creates it as well, and it is annoying as shit. The best part: the more she makes, the more inclined I am to retreat into myself.
As much as I appreciate how welcome she made me feel, I do not need a rerun of my last "great" friendship - a big cluster of "I love you"s and a whole vat of passive aggressive remarks from one party to the other (me) to result in me feeling like I am insignificant, like my feelings are insignificant, and like the whole world of details that I forwent in the process of going with the flow are greater than the sum of the whole. Does that logic seem a little unsound to you too? It does to me. And I am female, last I checked, so, despite crazy coming with the territory, I am left feeling like the calmer, less unsettled party.
Sometimes, Letting Go is Best
Rush of water - you get caught up.
You get caught up in flows and flux that you don't know the end to.
You think it is fun. You think that it's a game to play.
But when we hit the wall, and the water falls from beneath us,
you will cry for help.
How can I help you
when I'm drowning just the same as you.?
Why do you shout at me, looking for attention,
when I am swept up in currents too strong
to swim against, to catch you and save you from yourself?
You wanted this - you yearned for the thrill of new faces,
new experiences, someone to give you vent.
Now we're headed to the cannery,
and you claim I held the gun, safety off, trigger loose.
Did you look at the fingerprints? They look like yours,
but they could be mine.
Still, I wasn't drunk enough to forget.
I wasn't the one who wanted to chase white rabbits down black holes.
I wasn't the one who pushed the boat into white waters.
I will be the first to admit that I am not very emotionally available. There is one person of non-blood relation to me who has ever gotten past my walls, and he is two states away and doing his best to forget me, which is fine...because I need less people to count on, I guess. This leads to a very flighty, flaky individual who gets nervous when the progression of a relationship takes off at speeds that move too fast for her to examine the person she is interacting with appropriately. My latest realization: not only does my new friend attract drama, but she creates it as well, and it is annoying as shit. The best part: the more she makes, the more inclined I am to retreat into myself.
As much as I appreciate how welcome she made me feel, I do not need a rerun of my last "great" friendship - a big cluster of "I love you"s and a whole vat of passive aggressive remarks from one party to the other (me) to result in me feeling like I am insignificant, like my feelings are insignificant, and like the whole world of details that I forwent in the process of going with the flow are greater than the sum of the whole. Does that logic seem a little unsound to you too? It does to me. And I am female, last I checked, so, despite crazy coming with the territory, I am left feeling like the calmer, less unsettled party.
Sometimes, Letting Go is Best
Rush of water - you get caught up.
You get caught up in flows and flux that you don't know the end to.
You think it is fun. You think that it's a game to play.
But when we hit the wall, and the water falls from beneath us,
you will cry for help.
How can I help you
when I'm drowning just the same as you.?
Why do you shout at me, looking for attention,
when I am swept up in currents too strong
to swim against, to catch you and save you from yourself?
You wanted this - you yearned for the thrill of new faces,
new experiences, someone to give you vent.
Now we're headed to the cannery,
and you claim I held the gun, safety off, trigger loose.
Did you look at the fingerprints? They look like yours,
but they could be mine.
Still, I wasn't drunk enough to forget.
I wasn't the one who wanted to chase white rabbits down black holes.
I wasn't the one who pushed the boat into white waters.
Monday, September 23, 2013
So That's Why I Don't Like You
So now that I have the whole "I hate stupid people" rant out of the way, I will say this.
God loves people who laugh at themselves.
Okay, maybe I'm making God in my own image. That being said, I'm pretty sure he does anyways. For all those times I've been shunned or spurned or cast an evil glare, behind it is someone who doesn't know how to live life to the fullest. They can't learn to just let it go.
Life is spreading sunshine to each other. Life is like love. It dies if you don't give it away. It shrivels up inside you, and it makes you gross and mean and hateful. You then pass that on, and people around you start looking at life through gray-tinted shades. You really do reap what you sow.
I may be a little shy. I am the new girl, after all. I am not exactly comfortable going into a new environment and proclaiming to the world, "Hey, look at me! I'm new!" But isn't that even better of a reason to reach out and say, "Hey, I'm Mary! Let's talk about you!"? (FYI, that really happened, and I adore this lady now.) I am not demanding a maid of honor for that wedding that I may or may not have someday, nor am I looking for some handsome stranger to make babies with. I just want to be able to go to work and not feel like an outcast.
Which leads me to my main point: I have an old coworker back home who I adore. She is like my second mother. I made a great game out of scaring the bajeezus out of her constantly. I would sass and prank and snark with all my buddies back home. I can't do that here. I am fairly certain I would get stabbed if I made so much as a move to make someone look like a fool. They take themselves way, way too damn seriously. Even the girl who best resembles a best friend here takes herself way too seriously, and I cannot, for the life of me, find it in my heart to so much as put her foolishness on display, because I know she'd be offended. Back home, this simply would not be true.
I try to set a good example. I am hoping to make it so that my charming, devil-may-care ways rub off on them. My ways might not be so devil-may-care back home, granted, but here, I am finding myself in dire need of someone to play with, and really play with in a comforting and free manner in which I don't have to worry about what is about to come out of my mouth. I don't have anyone here like that. I hope for someday, but for now...I guess I will have to do for now.
God loves people who laugh at themselves.
Okay, maybe I'm making God in my own image. That being said, I'm pretty sure he does anyways. For all those times I've been shunned or spurned or cast an evil glare, behind it is someone who doesn't know how to live life to the fullest. They can't learn to just let it go.
Life is spreading sunshine to each other. Life is like love. It dies if you don't give it away. It shrivels up inside you, and it makes you gross and mean and hateful. You then pass that on, and people around you start looking at life through gray-tinted shades. You really do reap what you sow.
I may be a little shy. I am the new girl, after all. I am not exactly comfortable going into a new environment and proclaiming to the world, "Hey, look at me! I'm new!" But isn't that even better of a reason to reach out and say, "Hey, I'm Mary! Let's talk about you!"? (FYI, that really happened, and I adore this lady now.) I am not demanding a maid of honor for that wedding that I may or may not have someday, nor am I looking for some handsome stranger to make babies with. I just want to be able to go to work and not feel like an outcast.
Which leads me to my main point: I have an old coworker back home who I adore. She is like my second mother. I made a great game out of scaring the bajeezus out of her constantly. I would sass and prank and snark with all my buddies back home. I can't do that here. I am fairly certain I would get stabbed if I made so much as a move to make someone look like a fool. They take themselves way, way too damn seriously. Even the girl who best resembles a best friend here takes herself way too seriously, and I cannot, for the life of me, find it in my heart to so much as put her foolishness on display, because I know she'd be offended. Back home, this simply would not be true.
I try to set a good example. I am hoping to make it so that my charming, devil-may-care ways rub off on them. My ways might not be so devil-may-care back home, granted, but here, I am finding myself in dire need of someone to play with, and really play with in a comforting and free manner in which I don't have to worry about what is about to come out of my mouth. I don't have anyone here like that. I hope for someday, but for now...I guess I will have to do for now.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
For The People at Home, and the People Who Won't let Me Feel at Home
It is always great being the one inside looking out, mocking all the people who wish they were you, who wish they could be friends with you, or who think they are as good as you.
Bullshit. Whoever you are, if you have that attitude, you are a jerk and a half, and I loathe everything you stand for.
I am in the process of getting a huge, HUGE reality check. All that stuff about Montana being God's country? I feared I would take it too far, but here it is: totally romanticized bullshit.
It is, to a degree, God's country, for the people who refer to themselves as "natives". It is a wonderful place where you can go have conversations with random people in bars and spend the night with them (I did this once with an interior designer named Lori, and we went bar hopping after talking for an hour) or going out with your buddies and getting drunk off your you-know-whats, or even going to the football game and cozying up with strangers as you all cheer on the home team.
I was born in Great Falls. I hoped that this fact would lend itself to my admittance into the "in" crowd. The very plain and simple (and very painful) truth of it is that being a native is knowing the right people, knowing the culture, knowing the ins and outs of the place you are from. If you are an outsider, no one likes you, you are instantly judged, and people start a crap load of gossip about you, even though they haven't bothered to ask you what or who you are. Apparently I am a lesbian, sleeping with the girl who was brave enough and kind enough to be my friend. No one has asked me if this is true or not. In fact, the most I get out of ninety percent of my coworkers on a regular basis is silence and a turned-up nose. If I say hello, fifty percent say hello back and casually ask me how I am doing, the other fifty are broken into a ten percent of "hey, I want to know more about you: let's talk!" and forty percent, "oh my God, it's talking to me."
And I though Gig Harbor was snotty.
While the money and uptight air that presented itself to me back home was stifling and made me feel constantly judged, I feel like an exile here. I have done NOTHING to make you people think that I am a bad person. I have done NOTHING to give you the idea that I want to take all your secrets and sell them to the government to spy on you. I have done ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to allow you the right to look down on me like a second-class citizen. I am not here because I am trying to steal your land or your guns. I am not here to bastardize your culture by playing Hollywood's version of cowgirl. I am here to get back to my roots, to learn, to broaden my horizons. And all you can do is snub me? You all are some pieces of work.
You are not better than me. You are not more cultured than me. You are not tougher or smarter or kinder than me. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW ME. So what the hell gives you the right to walk on past me without so much as a kind smile and a hello to make me feel human? How would you like it? How would you like to be thrown in a strange place and treated like a bug on the floor? I am working my ass off to make this world a better place by exhibiting some compassion, and all you can do is ignore me when I greet you?! And here I thought the Seattle Freeze was bad! Jesus, people, are you so uncaring that you can't take in a young woman, miles away from home, with no family or friends nearby to speak of, under your wing? I'm not asking for dinner and a movie or anything! I just want a human connection so I don't feel so damn alienated! Is that too much to ask?!?!?!?!
Obviously, I feel a little passionate about this. Obviously, I am feeling a little crazed. But why shouldn't I? I spend most of my day crammed in my dorm room, hiding from the leering eyes that condemn my every move as "outsider". I spend nights awake, crying, wishing I could go home because everyone here is too stubborn and pig-headed to let me in. I haven't done anything wrong! I will not let you punish me for simply living! Get over your self-obsessive ideals that outsiders are not welcome. If that were true, you would have a serious issue with inbreeding, and I don't mean your cats. Stop acting like the rest of the world thinks you are : a bunch of crazy hicks. I know you aren't. I know that you are becoming engineers, or that you've been sign-makers, or that you love the Body Exhibit, or that you secretly want to marry Audrey Tautou. I listen. I hear you. I understand. If I am willing to look beyond your stereotype and appreciate you for the human you are, I don't think it would be that much trouble to take a moment and ask me, "So, what brings you to Bozeman?" You will probably make my day, especially if you really listen. Stop treating me like a leper. Start treating me like a peer. Don't be the haters that you are making yourselves out to be.
Bullshit. Whoever you are, if you have that attitude, you are a jerk and a half, and I loathe everything you stand for.
I am in the process of getting a huge, HUGE reality check. All that stuff about Montana being God's country? I feared I would take it too far, but here it is: totally romanticized bullshit.
It is, to a degree, God's country, for the people who refer to themselves as "natives". It is a wonderful place where you can go have conversations with random people in bars and spend the night with them (I did this once with an interior designer named Lori, and we went bar hopping after talking for an hour) or going out with your buddies and getting drunk off your you-know-whats, or even going to the football game and cozying up with strangers as you all cheer on the home team.
I was born in Great Falls. I hoped that this fact would lend itself to my admittance into the "in" crowd. The very plain and simple (and very painful) truth of it is that being a native is knowing the right people, knowing the culture, knowing the ins and outs of the place you are from. If you are an outsider, no one likes you, you are instantly judged, and people start a crap load of gossip about you, even though they haven't bothered to ask you what or who you are. Apparently I am a lesbian, sleeping with the girl who was brave enough and kind enough to be my friend. No one has asked me if this is true or not. In fact, the most I get out of ninety percent of my coworkers on a regular basis is silence and a turned-up nose. If I say hello, fifty percent say hello back and casually ask me how I am doing, the other fifty are broken into a ten percent of "hey, I want to know more about you: let's talk!" and forty percent, "oh my God, it's talking to me."
And I though Gig Harbor was snotty.
While the money and uptight air that presented itself to me back home was stifling and made me feel constantly judged, I feel like an exile here. I have done NOTHING to make you people think that I am a bad person. I have done NOTHING to give you the idea that I want to take all your secrets and sell them to the government to spy on you. I have done ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to allow you the right to look down on me like a second-class citizen. I am not here because I am trying to steal your land or your guns. I am not here to bastardize your culture by playing Hollywood's version of cowgirl. I am here to get back to my roots, to learn, to broaden my horizons. And all you can do is snub me? You all are some pieces of work.
You are not better than me. You are not more cultured than me. You are not tougher or smarter or kinder than me. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW ME. So what the hell gives you the right to walk on past me without so much as a kind smile and a hello to make me feel human? How would you like it? How would you like to be thrown in a strange place and treated like a bug on the floor? I am working my ass off to make this world a better place by exhibiting some compassion, and all you can do is ignore me when I greet you?! And here I thought the Seattle Freeze was bad! Jesus, people, are you so uncaring that you can't take in a young woman, miles away from home, with no family or friends nearby to speak of, under your wing? I'm not asking for dinner and a movie or anything! I just want a human connection so I don't feel so damn alienated! Is that too much to ask?!?!?!?!
Obviously, I feel a little passionate about this. Obviously, I am feeling a little crazed. But why shouldn't I? I spend most of my day crammed in my dorm room, hiding from the leering eyes that condemn my every move as "outsider". I spend nights awake, crying, wishing I could go home because everyone here is too stubborn and pig-headed to let me in. I haven't done anything wrong! I will not let you punish me for simply living! Get over your self-obsessive ideals that outsiders are not welcome. If that were true, you would have a serious issue with inbreeding, and I don't mean your cats. Stop acting like the rest of the world thinks you are : a bunch of crazy hicks. I know you aren't. I know that you are becoming engineers, or that you've been sign-makers, or that you love the Body Exhibit, or that you secretly want to marry Audrey Tautou. I listen. I hear you. I understand. If I am willing to look beyond your stereotype and appreciate you for the human you are, I don't think it would be that much trouble to take a moment and ask me, "So, what brings you to Bozeman?" You will probably make my day, especially if you really listen. Stop treating me like a leper. Start treating me like a peer. Don't be the haters that you are making yourselves out to be.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
For My Parents
The two people in the world who are not allowed to read this are getting a page devoted to them. My mom and my dad are two eccentric, smart-ass, perfectly devious people who have taken the last twenty-two years to make me the person I am today. Through everything I have been through, everything I'm about to go through, they have pushed and pulled my stubborn little ass through hell and back to make me stronger. I am who I am because they loved me.
I went home tonight, sat down on the kitchen floor, and started crying. It's something I do a lot now, because of what's about to happen in the next few weeks. I'm leaving home. I'm doing what none of my sisters or cousins have done. I'm flying the nest. And despite my mother's laughing pleas to make me stay forever, they have gone above and beyond to make this next step in my life possible. I won't forget that. And neither will I forget the fact that, despite the fact that fifty percent of their peers have gone through divorce (one set of my godparents included), they have stayed together. They stayed a team through my terrible twos, my dorky pubescence, my raging adolescence, and even now as I set sail to my independence.
Anyways, so as I'm sitting in the middle of the floor, my mother comes up to me, and instead of any other mother who would ask if I was okay and rub me on the back, she laughed at me and likened my appearance to that of Piglet for how pathetic I looked. Then she sat down next to me and asked me "Can I get you anything? We've got plenty of beverage..." Beverage meaning alcohol of the distilled variety. I, of course, laughed ruefully. Alcohol isn't going to solve my problems. But then my dad joined in, and all of a sudden, I wasn't crying anymore. Granted, I was definitely whining for my dad to stop teasing me, but that is usually a given. The point is that I don't know what I would do without them. I really just don't know where I'd be if they weren't the people they are.
Momma, Da, if you ever read this blog (I'm praying for my dignity's sake that you won't) I love you. Thank you for everything you've taught me and everything that you have been to me.
I went home tonight, sat down on the kitchen floor, and started crying. It's something I do a lot now, because of what's about to happen in the next few weeks. I'm leaving home. I'm doing what none of my sisters or cousins have done. I'm flying the nest. And despite my mother's laughing pleas to make me stay forever, they have gone above and beyond to make this next step in my life possible. I won't forget that. And neither will I forget the fact that, despite the fact that fifty percent of their peers have gone through divorce (one set of my godparents included), they have stayed together. They stayed a team through my terrible twos, my dorky pubescence, my raging adolescence, and even now as I set sail to my independence.
Anyways, so as I'm sitting in the middle of the floor, my mother comes up to me, and instead of any other mother who would ask if I was okay and rub me on the back, she laughed at me and likened my appearance to that of Piglet for how pathetic I looked. Then she sat down next to me and asked me "Can I get you anything? We've got plenty of beverage..." Beverage meaning alcohol of the distilled variety. I, of course, laughed ruefully. Alcohol isn't going to solve my problems. But then my dad joined in, and all of a sudden, I wasn't crying anymore. Granted, I was definitely whining for my dad to stop teasing me, but that is usually a given. The point is that I don't know what I would do without them. I really just don't know where I'd be if they weren't the people they are.
Momma, Da, if you ever read this blog (I'm praying for my dignity's sake that you won't) I love you. Thank you for everything you've taught me and everything that you have been to me.
Monday, August 5, 2013
The Fallacies of Being a Human in Love
It is incredible how much effort a human being can put into something when the chances of success are so slim. Are we gamblers by nature, or is it the pressure of a society that thrives on rooting for the underdog? the reason I ask is because right now, there are a lot of relationships around me going sour. There has been talk of separation, divorce, abuse, anger...and all out of people wanting to be loved. Where does it go wrong? And why, when we finally get the chance to be happy, does it have to get so complicated? Where is it that human error gains its foothold? And how is it that we let it take control? Where's the line?
I have never doubted that there is someone out there who is almost perfect for me. Honestly, no one is ever one hundred percent, but it has always been a given that I would find someone who makes me feel safe and warm and loved. But all this sadness...it gets to you. It brings you down. And it makes you wonder if it is all really worth the struggle.
I get that people have baggage. I have baggage. I have my issues, my insecurities, but I deal. I've learned to never project if I can help it. My problems are for me to resolve. Am I the only one who sees that our baggage is our own and no one else's? It is one thing to find some comfort that someone else is going through what we are, but to make it someone else's problem when it wasn't there to begin with...it causes an awful lot of unnecessary drama.
I wish, for all my friends out there who are going through this, that they can find some resolve, some peace, and maybe even some strength in themselves and in the people who love them. I can't imagine what it is like to love someone and have that love hurt them more than it it saves them. For that, I have nothing to write. No poem for my friends, but a song that, today, inspired me to be stronger. I've always prided myself on being that strong, impenetrable fortress. This song is about finding the strength to rise above the hurt that we deal each other.
I have never doubted that there is someone out there who is almost perfect for me. Honestly, no one is ever one hundred percent, but it has always been a given that I would find someone who makes me feel safe and warm and loved. But all this sadness...it gets to you. It brings you down. And it makes you wonder if it is all really worth the struggle.
I get that people have baggage. I have baggage. I have my issues, my insecurities, but I deal. I've learned to never project if I can help it. My problems are for me to resolve. Am I the only one who sees that our baggage is our own and no one else's? It is one thing to find some comfort that someone else is going through what we are, but to make it someone else's problem when it wasn't there to begin with...it causes an awful lot of unnecessary drama.
I wish, for all my friends out there who are going through this, that they can find some resolve, some peace, and maybe even some strength in themselves and in the people who love them. I can't imagine what it is like to love someone and have that love hurt them more than it it saves them. For that, I have nothing to write. No poem for my friends, but a song that, today, inspired me to be stronger. I've always prided myself on being that strong, impenetrable fortress. This song is about finding the strength to rise above the hurt that we deal each other.
Friday, July 26, 2013
My Life in Retail in a Nut Shell
It is astounding how negativity can spread like a virus. What is more astounding is how the small things can make or break a good day. So when I was ringing up a woman at work today, I really wasn't expecting my day to go sour when I asked for a photo ID to verify her signature. When she showed me her Costco card (that has a photo but no signature), I asked again for something with a signature. For some reason, other than the fact that her hands were full of Tiki torches (by the way, I offered to take those from her so she could root through her wallet for the ID), she flew up in a rage. She demanded her receipt, looked at my name tag for my identity, and told me with all a manner of vitriol and spite what "fabulous customer service" I had provided. On a side note, this was all in front of her seemingly eleven-year-old daughter. After hearing a profuse apology from the woman behind her, my co-worker rushed to my register, asking if I was okay. Apparently, the harpy had gone to returns to vent to my cohorts, saying "Just so you know, the cashier, Ellie, is a bitch." Obviously, being the big weenie that I am, I started crying and banished myself to the bathroom for ten minutes. The big question is: what kind of person take their anger out on someone they don't even know?
First World, First Pain
A song in my head, bluebells and twittering sparrows, and
my day is, so assuredly, sunshine, golden and warm.
Free from the nettles and spew of bitter times is my feather-heart.
But you seek to usurp my pedestal.
Acetone and tar, you blacken and corrode.
All this for your petty first-world needs.
I had done nothing to you; your words, sharp as obsidian arrows,
they spear me with confusion.
There are children in the world starving, killing for one sip of water.
There are men slaughtering their brothers
all for the chance to be someone to another who will
only seek to grant them the same oblivion.
And you think your problems are so significant.
Your minor inconvenience has done you no permanent harm,
while others are left orphaned and widowed and malnourished.
Yet you seek to darken my sky with clouds.
I have not earned the right to look into the sun because your world is
imperfect, marred, tainted with inconsequential nothings.
My fault, my punishment.
The bluebells are gone.
All that was gold is now steel and rain.
Job well done:
You've pushed my last button.
Does that make you better than me?
Or is all that spittle and venom wasted on a good day?
First World, First Pain
A song in my head, bluebells and twittering sparrows, and
my day is, so assuredly, sunshine, golden and warm.
Free from the nettles and spew of bitter times is my feather-heart.
But you seek to usurp my pedestal.
Acetone and tar, you blacken and corrode.
All this for your petty first-world needs.
I had done nothing to you; your words, sharp as obsidian arrows,
they spear me with confusion.
There are children in the world starving, killing for one sip of water.
There are men slaughtering their brothers
all for the chance to be someone to another who will
only seek to grant them the same oblivion.
And you think your problems are so significant.
Your minor inconvenience has done you no permanent harm,
while others are left orphaned and widowed and malnourished.
Yet you seek to darken my sky with clouds.
I have not earned the right to look into the sun because your world is
imperfect, marred, tainted with inconsequential nothings.
My fault, my punishment.
The bluebells are gone.
All that was gold is now steel and rain.
Job well done:
You've pushed my last button.
Does that make you better than me?
Or is all that spittle and venom wasted on a good day?
Monday, July 15, 2013
Oh God. It is Actually About to Happen.
My mom has a best friend who is very spiritual. She has all sorts of enlightening little phrases posted around her house, crosses and pentagrams, pictures of the Virgin Mother and Jesus and other related paraphernalia. In her guest bathroom, there's one that, in a few words, says that we do not fear failure. Instead we fear success. It really has never occurred to me how true that is. Until now. I believe the word I'd use for myself right now is "chicken". At least, that is the first half of the word...
I am leaving in a little more than a month, and I was excited. Seriously, I was so stoked about going and pursuing my dreams, to leave nothing behind but the dust I kick up. Now...I am panicking. It is actually happening. I am leaving. And there aren't any present issues that I can't handle; I know what I'm doing. But the thought of leaving some of the people I've bonded with in the last year and a half...it is killing me. And I don't want to lose them. I don't want to miss out on my little sister's seventh birthday. I don't want to leave my new kitten to bond with someone else. And I sure as hell as not crazy about the idea of becoming a memory to my friends.
It strikes me, though, that success always must come with personal sacrifice. Is moving forward worth all that I am losing? I have moved before, several times, in fact, and I have healed. I am a relatively normal human being despite all the good-byes I've said. Will a few more be that terrible?
I've reassured them all that I will return, for birthdays, for Christmas, for summer, for what have you. I'm coming back. Everyone is excited for me, though many have begged my parents to make me stay. They all want me to do well and be happy, and this is what I've been aiming for forever. I'm doing what I always said I would. So why does it feel so bittersweet?
I will be frank: I may or may not have also developed a very singular attachment to someone, someone who has brought out a very singular woman in me. I've never felt like this with anyone before, never felt this kind of safety with someone, and we're finally starting to progress in our relationship...only to have him watch me leave. I have never, ever, hated myself so much in my entire life. The one time I feel like someone could handle the job of keeping me happy, and I am caught between my career and my love life. Do I really want to give up what I have here, with him, to further my life along? I mean, I'm really fond of the guy, almost to the point of...well...
The obvious but painful answer is, yes, I do. It hurts like a shot through the heart, but I do. I have to. Because I want to make a difference. And who knows? Maybe I will come back, to stay and rekindle old friendships, even old flames. I can't count on it, as awful as it is, but I have to make the choice with the least amount of regret behind it. And I know I will forever regret staying behind and not pursuing my dreams. Time heals, does it not? And my broken heart...it's going to need a lot of time.
Anyways. Being that I most likely will not be continuing my cooperation with the blog I have been working with for so long, due to my relocation, it looks like I'll be back on my old schedule, as best as I can manage. I will be writing poetry, along with my novel (I'm on page 71, guys!), and working towards my bachelor's. I just have to do what feels right...my only wish is that it was more black and white than this. But beggars can't be choosers, and I have to deal with what I have. God save me, I hope this is the right thing to do.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Hey, Guys!
I am on a break from my other blog right now. I am having a bad case writer's block; there's just nothing nerdy to write about right now that really catches my attention. However, I do have something I need to get off my chest, and I'm sure it has occurred to several of you what the phenomenon I'm speaking on is.
I am working on a very big transition in my life. I am moving in the fall, to (guess where) Montana. Bozeman. You guys totally saw that coming. I get it. But I'm currently working on my housing application, and it is possibly the most frustrating part out of it. It largely had to do with the tech, and they were slow to send me my password, but I finally got it all done, and that is when they asked me for $200. I am a starving college student, and they are asking for two hundred dollars. Are you crazy? I paid my application fee, I will be paying thousands of dollars in tuition, room, board, books, and other add-ons, and you want to bleed me of even more of my money?
Of course, it isn't the university's fault. No, really. I am serious. We live in a society that goes beyond encouraging our youth to pursue higher education. We demand it. And in an ideal world, we would all have degrees. But that is like saying in an ideal world, everyone has blue eyes, everyone has a high IQ, everyone are dog people. There needs to be large diversity in order for our world to function. Parents, however, don't see that. They see the failings of their lives or the lives of others, and a lot of times, the biggest theme of those failures is a lack of education. College, of course, is the obvious course of action. However, I would argue that it is not always the right one. Not everyone has the software for processing a college-style education. Not everyone can sit in a classroom and handle a full load of homework. Not everyone can take in the new lifestyle of being alone and independent, and put the expectations of three to four teachers on top of it. Are they failures because of this? Hell no! But when they flunk out or drop out, or whatever they do to escape their torment, not only have they wasted their own money (or their parents money, for that matter), they've wasted the resources of the facilities and faculties of the university. This brings me to my main frustration.
Due to this short-sighted demand that ALL high school graduates participate in collegiate activity, we see an increase in drop-outs and, with it, the increase in tuition cost, room and board, and class fees, to keep the list brief. I am paying for the mistakes of Johnny Smith's parents who couldn't be bothered to ask him what he really wanted to do with his life. I am paying for his mistake of not sticking up for himself and letting himself be prodded into an education he didn't want. Remember that kid who sat in the back of class when you were studying high school algebra? The one who carved poems about darkness and bloody faces into the desk while the teacher lectured about Napoleon and the Russian Winter? Yeah, that's the kid who was being told he had to go to college, whether he wanted to or not. And because he and millions like him were too busy moping and not figuring out an alternative to this plight, I am stuck paying way more than I'm worth to become only slightly more applicable to modern day employers and their needs.
This is my plea to society, and parents in specific: ask your children what they want to do with their life. If they don't know, get them involved in their community. Get them motivated - get them employed, get them into volunteering, get them working toward a goal to integrate themselves into polite society. There is no one-size-fits-all solution, not in any situation. And for God's sake, will someone please find a way to lower tuition rates?!
I am working on a very big transition in my life. I am moving in the fall, to (guess where) Montana. Bozeman. You guys totally saw that coming. I get it. But I'm currently working on my housing application, and it is possibly the most frustrating part out of it. It largely had to do with the tech, and they were slow to send me my password, but I finally got it all done, and that is when they asked me for $200. I am a starving college student, and they are asking for two hundred dollars. Are you crazy? I paid my application fee, I will be paying thousands of dollars in tuition, room, board, books, and other add-ons, and you want to bleed me of even more of my money?
Of course, it isn't the university's fault. No, really. I am serious. We live in a society that goes beyond encouraging our youth to pursue higher education. We demand it. And in an ideal world, we would all have degrees. But that is like saying in an ideal world, everyone has blue eyes, everyone has a high IQ, everyone are dog people. There needs to be large diversity in order for our world to function. Parents, however, don't see that. They see the failings of their lives or the lives of others, and a lot of times, the biggest theme of those failures is a lack of education. College, of course, is the obvious course of action. However, I would argue that it is not always the right one. Not everyone has the software for processing a college-style education. Not everyone can sit in a classroom and handle a full load of homework. Not everyone can take in the new lifestyle of being alone and independent, and put the expectations of three to four teachers on top of it. Are they failures because of this? Hell no! But when they flunk out or drop out, or whatever they do to escape their torment, not only have they wasted their own money (or their parents money, for that matter), they've wasted the resources of the facilities and faculties of the university. This brings me to my main frustration.
Due to this short-sighted demand that ALL high school graduates participate in collegiate activity, we see an increase in drop-outs and, with it, the increase in tuition cost, room and board, and class fees, to keep the list brief. I am paying for the mistakes of Johnny Smith's parents who couldn't be bothered to ask him what he really wanted to do with his life. I am paying for his mistake of not sticking up for himself and letting himself be prodded into an education he didn't want. Remember that kid who sat in the back of class when you were studying high school algebra? The one who carved poems about darkness and bloody faces into the desk while the teacher lectured about Napoleon and the Russian Winter? Yeah, that's the kid who was being told he had to go to college, whether he wanted to or not. And because he and millions like him were too busy moping and not figuring out an alternative to this plight, I am stuck paying way more than I'm worth to become only slightly more applicable to modern day employers and their needs.
This is my plea to society, and parents in specific: ask your children what they want to do with their life. If they don't know, get them involved in their community. Get them motivated - get them employed, get them into volunteering, get them working toward a goal to integrate themselves into polite society. There is no one-size-fits-all solution, not in any situation. And for God's sake, will someone please find a way to lower tuition rates?!
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
"So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish!"
Well, I thought I could juggle two blogs at once, but it seems writing for someone else takes a little more precedence over writing for myself. I am going to stop writing on this blog for a time indefinitely...maybe for good. But it this has helped me a lot, exploring myself through my writings. And I hope maybe, in the time I've done this, I've also helped someone else out there. Nothing is as important to the human experience as emotion and feeling. Emotional intellect is what makes our species so unique, for ours is the most emotionally complex.
I'd like to thank anyone out there who did take the time to read this, and I do appreciate anything you've taken away from it. For now, I will leave you with my most recent piece, one that I am very certain is one of my better poems. Please enjoy it for what it is. I hope I will return to this soon, but if not, it's been fun!
Darkness Fades
There is a life in these bones, these hollowed tubers, that sings,
And where sorrow followed me like a black nightmare, I feel the stretching, reeling presence of a smile again.
This has been your gift to me.
My few years in bitter knowing, burnt gardens, and twisted promises, made most of what they could of my fawning heart,
And while I cannot claim to be less of an aging cynic, I know from the glint in your sky streaked eyes that perhaps there is a way -
To live and let live -
Without all these shadows and deep, marring trenches formed in good company.
The irony is that you have seen more of life than I,
I, the sweet Daphne that covets the veil of mystery and prudence,
And you, the child within the warrior, the laugher with his sword held high. It seems life has not brought down a heavy hand on you as it did my soul, or perhaps
You have learned to rise above the devouring seas that have drowned weaker men, waters that leave me stranded with my echoing ideals.
O errant knight, I am sure you would not falter, if the day comes when I need saving, though arrogant and impatient you are in your brazen manner.
Of course, I ever seek to safeguard your boyish expressions and imp-like intentions; the world is cruel and never stops searching for pure hearts to blacken and taint.
Mine is close to irreparable, but you,
You are strong.
You are my calm harbor, my sanctuary.
You hold me tight in nights uncertain through the ether of misty reveries.
How can I do anything but bind my heart to your name?
How can I be expected to walk away from this?
I'd like to thank anyone out there who did take the time to read this, and I do appreciate anything you've taken away from it. For now, I will leave you with my most recent piece, one that I am very certain is one of my better poems. Please enjoy it for what it is. I hope I will return to this soon, but if not, it's been fun!
Darkness Fades
There is a life in these bones, these hollowed tubers, that sings,
And where sorrow followed me like a black nightmare, I feel the stretching, reeling presence of a smile again.
This has been your gift to me.
My few years in bitter knowing, burnt gardens, and twisted promises, made most of what they could of my fawning heart,
And while I cannot claim to be less of an aging cynic, I know from the glint in your sky streaked eyes that perhaps there is a way -
To live and let live -
Without all these shadows and deep, marring trenches formed in good company.
The irony is that you have seen more of life than I,
I, the sweet Daphne that covets the veil of mystery and prudence,
And you, the child within the warrior, the laugher with his sword held high. It seems life has not brought down a heavy hand on you as it did my soul, or perhaps
You have learned to rise above the devouring seas that have drowned weaker men, waters that leave me stranded with my echoing ideals.
O errant knight, I am sure you would not falter, if the day comes when I need saving, though arrogant and impatient you are in your brazen manner.
Of course, I ever seek to safeguard your boyish expressions and imp-like intentions; the world is cruel and never stops searching for pure hearts to blacken and taint.
Mine is close to irreparable, but you,
You are strong.
You are my calm harbor, my sanctuary.
You hold me tight in nights uncertain through the ether of misty reveries.
How can I do anything but bind my heart to your name?
How can I be expected to walk away from this?
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Dickinson Again...with a Little Monroe
If I haven't already made this clear, it is becoming more and more apparent to me that I have no skill at putting myself out there. I am completely and utterly socially inept for this reason. On paper, I am a strong, confident, beautiful young woman. In practice, I'm meek and timid and very, very unsure of myself. I am in my early twenties, trying to carve an image for myself, and I can't even pluck up the courage to ask out a guy that I like, who I am almost certain likes me back. I am so afraid that I'm going to screw up. It's killing me.
And it isn't as if I have a reason to believe I won't do well. True, most of my high school infatuations were completely and totally unrequited, and it is also true that the only two boys who I ever was intimate with emotionally shredded my heart to bits, but that was their mistake, not mine, and I recovered well, for what it's worth. What is also true is that, since I've turned twenty, I've also been turning heads. I blossomed when I turned twenty. I grew out of my awkward clothes, my glasses, my nerdy hobbies (D&D should definitely be left to pubescent adolescents), and my inability to talk to people. For God's sake, I work retail. I practically had to force myself to put on a huge smile and be obscenely outgoing to connect with my customers. I used to be such a shut-in tomboy, until I got my pixie cut, and then I couldn't pull off looking like a boy anymore. Let's just face it, if I hadn't started trying to look nice, I'd have looked like I was batting for the other team, and while it works for some people, it's not exactly a look I'd like to have. So I started wearing dresses and skirts and mascara, and all of a sudden, people started noticing me. I was beautiful. I was darling. This period in time is what I silently refer to as my coming out: coming out of my small girlish shell and becoming a full-fledged woman.
But full-fledged women, in my opinion, should not let themselves be limited like I limit myself. I preach courage, faith in one's self, but I am so doubtful on how to make my way boldly. It's times like these when I feel I should be able to channel Marilyn Monroe. All of you might think, nah, not that dumb floozy from the fifties. But actually, the lady was fairly bright and despite the fact that she was always cast as the dumb blonde, she was smart enough to catch playwright Arthur Miller, who wrote plays like Death of a Traveling Salesman. Needless to say, she was a tad unstable, but she was sharp as a tack. One of her most memorable quotes is "A wise girl knows her limits. A smart girl knows that she has none." I'm not sure where I saw this quote, but it is a source of inspiration for me, daring me to be more.
Yet there's always this stigma that women have to let the men lead the chase, that people have to be pushy in order to get what they want, blah blah blah - for some reason, there has to be a set way of doing everything, and if you fall out of line, there's always someone there telling you you are doing things wrong. Emily Dickinson was an asocial shut-in, never wandered out of her house past the age of twenty, but now she's hailed as a genius, both in literature and philosophy.
But, as it stands, I have not tried the normal ways of doing things, thinking I am better, believing myself to be above these mentalities and expectations. Who knows? Maybe it's time I walked the more usual path...and that's where the scientist in me starts kicking in. Oh dear. Let's hope I figure this out sooner than later...
In all seriousness, I am who I am. I cannot be the girl who is manipulative and passive aggressive. My tolerance for immaturity is appallingly low. And I find no desire ever to lie to the people in my life. I could possibly pretend I am not this person, and turn things around, but then I am no longer Ellie. I am some chick who looks like her who is just like everyone else. Perhaps there is doubt there for a reason. Perhaps it is my instinct. But I would just like to say that I don't want to change for the benefit of someone else. So why let the status quo and the social politesse rule me? Someday, I will find the courage to let myself go, to let my hair down and free my inhibitions. For now, it is only a matter of being who I am and accepting that not everyone is going to accept me. For the people who do, they will be cherished in my life for a long time to come. For those who don't, well, they were never really worth my time anyways. And as for myself...well, I'm just going to enjoy the coming spring sunshine...and maybe channel some Norma Jean while I'm at it.
And it isn't as if I have a reason to believe I won't do well. True, most of my high school infatuations were completely and totally unrequited, and it is also true that the only two boys who I ever was intimate with emotionally shredded my heart to bits, but that was their mistake, not mine, and I recovered well, for what it's worth. What is also true is that, since I've turned twenty, I've also been turning heads. I blossomed when I turned twenty. I grew out of my awkward clothes, my glasses, my nerdy hobbies (D&D should definitely be left to pubescent adolescents), and my inability to talk to people. For God's sake, I work retail. I practically had to force myself to put on a huge smile and be obscenely outgoing to connect with my customers. I used to be such a shut-in tomboy, until I got my pixie cut, and then I couldn't pull off looking like a boy anymore. Let's just face it, if I hadn't started trying to look nice, I'd have looked like I was batting for the other team, and while it works for some people, it's not exactly a look I'd like to have. So I started wearing dresses and skirts and mascara, and all of a sudden, people started noticing me. I was beautiful. I was darling. This period in time is what I silently refer to as my coming out: coming out of my small girlish shell and becoming a full-fledged woman.
But full-fledged women, in my opinion, should not let themselves be limited like I limit myself. I preach courage, faith in one's self, but I am so doubtful on how to make my way boldly. It's times like these when I feel I should be able to channel Marilyn Monroe. All of you might think, nah, not that dumb floozy from the fifties. But actually, the lady was fairly bright and despite the fact that she was always cast as the dumb blonde, she was smart enough to catch playwright Arthur Miller, who wrote plays like Death of a Traveling Salesman. Needless to say, she was a tad unstable, but she was sharp as a tack. One of her most memorable quotes is "A wise girl knows her limits. A smart girl knows that she has none." I'm not sure where I saw this quote, but it is a source of inspiration for me, daring me to be more.
Yet there's always this stigma that women have to let the men lead the chase, that people have to be pushy in order to get what they want, blah blah blah - for some reason, there has to be a set way of doing everything, and if you fall out of line, there's always someone there telling you you are doing things wrong. Emily Dickinson was an asocial shut-in, never wandered out of her house past the age of twenty, but now she's hailed as a genius, both in literature and philosophy.
But, as it stands, I have not tried the normal ways of doing things, thinking I am better, believing myself to be above these mentalities and expectations. Who knows? Maybe it's time I walked the more usual path...and that's where the scientist in me starts kicking in. Oh dear. Let's hope I figure this out sooner than later...
In all seriousness, I am who I am. I cannot be the girl who is manipulative and passive aggressive. My tolerance for immaturity is appallingly low. And I find no desire ever to lie to the people in my life. I could possibly pretend I am not this person, and turn things around, but then I am no longer Ellie. I am some chick who looks like her who is just like everyone else. Perhaps there is doubt there for a reason. Perhaps it is my instinct. But I would just like to say that I don't want to change for the benefit of someone else. So why let the status quo and the social politesse rule me? Someday, I will find the courage to let myself go, to let my hair down and free my inhibitions. For now, it is only a matter of being who I am and accepting that not everyone is going to accept me. For the people who do, they will be cherished in my life for a long time to come. For those who don't, well, they were never really worth my time anyways. And as for myself...well, I'm just going to enjoy the coming spring sunshine...and maybe channel some Norma Jean while I'm at it.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
The Jiminy Cricket Effect (More to the Point, How Robert Frost Became My Conscience)
I do truly believe that Robert Frost was a genius, especially when he wrote such deep and defining poems, such as "Fire and Ice", "My November Guest", and "Design": poems that speak on the nature of us and of the world around us. Yet, and though it is very cliche, I do believe that his best work to define the human experience is "The Road Not Taken". We go through life by making choices - at every turn, we are making choices. Should I go out tonight, or stay in? If I stay in, do I eat something and go to bed, or do I stay up and watch TV, or perhaps do I open that bottle of chardonnay and mourn not going out? Do I text the man I've been thinking about and ask him to dinner, or do I watch my phone in hopes that maybe he texts me? And what about that time he drove me home, and I didn't kiss him before leaving, even though I wanted to?Do I sleep in this morning (the answer is often yes), or do I rise early and make the most out of my day? We take certain turns in our paths in life, and that is what "The Road Not Taken" discusses.
Robert Frost not only ponders the concept that we live by our decisions and that perhaps taking the less obvious choice or the less popular choice is fairer, but he also, in an almost despairing tone, remarks on the phenomenon that once a choice is made, it cannot be undone and cannot be returned to. There are few things in my life that make more sense to me than this. One does have to live with the consequences of one's actions, thus dictating how one is obligated to live: reaping what one wishes to sow. It is almost the Golden Rule. Not quite, though - there are times when we must be cruel in order to be kind, even though no one really likes being the reciprocate of that treatment, for better or for worse.
At any rate, after having read this poem, it has become quite clear to me: when I come to a fork in the road, choose the road I will not regret having taken, the one that suits me best, the one that will benefit my world more. In doing so, I do believe I will become a happier person for it.
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads onto way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence;
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost not only ponders the concept that we live by our decisions and that perhaps taking the less obvious choice or the less popular choice is fairer, but he also, in an almost despairing tone, remarks on the phenomenon that once a choice is made, it cannot be undone and cannot be returned to. There are few things in my life that make more sense to me than this. One does have to live with the consequences of one's actions, thus dictating how one is obligated to live: reaping what one wishes to sow. It is almost the Golden Rule. Not quite, though - there are times when we must be cruel in order to be kind, even though no one really likes being the reciprocate of that treatment, for better or for worse.
At any rate, after having read this poem, it has become quite clear to me: when I come to a fork in the road, choose the road I will not regret having taken, the one that suits me best, the one that will benefit my world more. In doing so, I do believe I will become a happier person for it.
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads onto way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence;
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
I Say I Don't Like Cowards, But...
I really, really cannot stress enough how important it is to be up front about your feelings. That being said, I am the biggest offender when it comes to shoving my feelings in the back of the closet. No joke. If I like a guy, and instead of finding ways of slipping my hand in his or something romantic like that, I instead try to take the long way around and try every single way of beating around the bush possible. I make a point of caring and being there for him, but as soon as we get down to raw emotion, I bolt. If I'm angry at someone, I don't let them see how hurt I am, and I never yell, unless I'm pushed into it. I just cool off, and then if it's still vexing me, whatever, it is that irritated me in the first place, I sit down and I talk it out. I'm afraid of letting people see that I am as sensitive and as fragile as the rest of the human race.
It has come to the point in my life where I need to turn around and evaluate why this is and how can I make a change for the better. Why am I so afraid of letting someone see my vulnerabilities? I never had issues with trust, though I've had my share of disappointments. I have never been abandoned. I've never had to deal with any major hardships. I've been strangely fortunate in my life as far as my interactions with people have gone. Yet, still, I'm so gun-shy, so leery of what might happen if I open up. Is it instinct? Is it fear? Why have I built these walls, keeping people out? Why am I such a shut-in?
I am well practiced at giving my opinion and letting people know what I like and what I don't like. And I've grown confident enough that no one is allowed to truly dictate to me what I should or should not do. But I still can't find the strength to be the person to take charge, to truly be a leader, an example. I never step up, afraid to make mistakes. So maybe it is fear. So then perhaps I need to remember how to be brave.
Beta
Slinking through the night, dark fur harvests the moonlight,
taking in, never giving back.
Shining eyes watch her leader, then watch as her and her alpha's followers
fall in line. The hunt has begun.
I watch them through the grasses as they traipse out of thick groves,
and I know she has caught my scent. Her ears prick in my direction,
attentive, but silent.
She will not risk rebellion if she does not need to,
and it seems my musk is not one of nefarious overtones.
Prey lingers near, smell of food and adrenaline, and she forgets me
for a brief, pulsating moment. Instinct kicks like a hoof to the rear,
and she takes off, a whip snapping on the open plain.
Her questioning is seldom, her knowledge vast.
I wonder how something so exacting could be so submitting,
and my question cuts quicker when she receives a blow to the jaw from a silvered female -
the alpha as well as her mate - and instead of fighting for herself,
instead of biting back, for her teeth look deathly pearlescent,
she shrinks back, tongue held and bitter knowing rescinded.
She remembers her place.
She will not fight for higher goals, for the pack is a teetering boat not to be rocked.
Suddenly, the big male spies me lurking near.
A quick bark to the others, and suddenly, like shadows, they drag away
a few small carcasses, fit for a baron's feast.
She looks at me, my little beta female,
and I cannot help but shed a tear.
One tear for the little wolf
with the world on her shoulders,
without complaint.
It has come to the point in my life where I need to turn around and evaluate why this is and how can I make a change for the better. Why am I so afraid of letting someone see my vulnerabilities? I never had issues with trust, though I've had my share of disappointments. I have never been abandoned. I've never had to deal with any major hardships. I've been strangely fortunate in my life as far as my interactions with people have gone. Yet, still, I'm so gun-shy, so leery of what might happen if I open up. Is it instinct? Is it fear? Why have I built these walls, keeping people out? Why am I such a shut-in?
I am well practiced at giving my opinion and letting people know what I like and what I don't like. And I've grown confident enough that no one is allowed to truly dictate to me what I should or should not do. But I still can't find the strength to be the person to take charge, to truly be a leader, an example. I never step up, afraid to make mistakes. So maybe it is fear. So then perhaps I need to remember how to be brave.
Beta
Slinking through the night, dark fur harvests the moonlight,
taking in, never giving back.
Shining eyes watch her leader, then watch as her and her alpha's followers
fall in line. The hunt has begun.
I watch them through the grasses as they traipse out of thick groves,
and I know she has caught my scent. Her ears prick in my direction,
attentive, but silent.
She will not risk rebellion if she does not need to,
and it seems my musk is not one of nefarious overtones.
Prey lingers near, smell of food and adrenaline, and she forgets me
for a brief, pulsating moment. Instinct kicks like a hoof to the rear,
and she takes off, a whip snapping on the open plain.
Her questioning is seldom, her knowledge vast.
I wonder how something so exacting could be so submitting,
and my question cuts quicker when she receives a blow to the jaw from a silvered female -
the alpha as well as her mate - and instead of fighting for herself,
instead of biting back, for her teeth look deathly pearlescent,
she shrinks back, tongue held and bitter knowing rescinded.
She remembers her place.
She will not fight for higher goals, for the pack is a teetering boat not to be rocked.
Suddenly, the big male spies me lurking near.
A quick bark to the others, and suddenly, like shadows, they drag away
a few small carcasses, fit for a baron's feast.
She looks at me, my little beta female,
and I cannot help but shed a tear.
One tear for the little wolf
with the world on her shoulders,
without complaint.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Yes, I Am, In Fact, a Closet Wino
It is hard to believe that, once, I had considered myself to be an ice queen. Perhaps I was young and melodramatic, and endeavored to be something more than just myself. Perhaps. However, I have always been extremely self aware, and the likelihood of that is small. I think it was because, not long ago, I had shut the world out, in order to purge my world of the people and things that no longer seemed to benefit my life. I think I found that in order to do so, I had to be cold to the pleas of others who wished to remain friends. It has been a long time since I had a functioning social circle.
Now, it seems I am replenishing that number. The crown of snow I once wore has now diminished, and I feel freer to let people in. Why that is, I'm not sure. But I have been very lonely for a long time, and as a human, loneliness is something that can only be tolerated for so long. I have finished dwelling in the dark. (Side note: did you know that there are only three words in the dictionary that start with the letters, "dw"? I have named one; can you name the other two?)
I spent an evening with a woman a few years my senior, and already I can feel the cords of friendship binding us together. I had not realized what I'd been missing until we sat down on her couch and talked for what must have been three hours at least. We laughed hysterically. We sat there, somberly recounting our misgivings and mistakes. We even ranted a bit, about the travesties of the world around us, and how such a poor state of affairs could befall it. Most of all, we bonded, strongly and surely, with no secrets, no judgments, and no fear of each other. I have missed that feeling: I cannot name the amount of time that has passed since I knew such compassion.
In time, I hope that this friendship grows strong and bountiful, and I will do my best to uphold any kind of loyalties I can to her. In the meanwhile, this is for my new friend.
Vino's Delight
A large cellar, I once catered to, full of port and merlot and cabernet,
and all of them I believed would serve me well, when supper rang for me.
Yet, the chardonnay and the pinot were both done for,
no bouquet to speak of, and hardly any nose save for a terrible odor
that would not suit even the most abominable repast.
After all that gathering and waiting for good fortune and happy result,
I was bidden to cast them out, to pour the vinegars,
to wash them away with soap and salt
and once it was done, I wept, for no great gifts such as these should ever be wasted.
Yet, as I drudged my way back down to dump the rest, a gleaming glass bottle
caught my eye as only the brightest of jewels will do.
Muscato was its name, sweet and shining, tart and twinkling,
and with one sip, I was honor-bound to savor it.
You, my dear friend, such a meager donation you were in my dark hour.
And now you are the candle of hope in my window.
I may yet have opportunity, with you in hand,
to finally savor the feast.
Now, it seems I am replenishing that number. The crown of snow I once wore has now diminished, and I feel freer to let people in. Why that is, I'm not sure. But I have been very lonely for a long time, and as a human, loneliness is something that can only be tolerated for so long. I have finished dwelling in the dark. (Side note: did you know that there are only three words in the dictionary that start with the letters, "dw"? I have named one; can you name the other two?)
I spent an evening with a woman a few years my senior, and already I can feel the cords of friendship binding us together. I had not realized what I'd been missing until we sat down on her couch and talked for what must have been three hours at least. We laughed hysterically. We sat there, somberly recounting our misgivings and mistakes. We even ranted a bit, about the travesties of the world around us, and how such a poor state of affairs could befall it. Most of all, we bonded, strongly and surely, with no secrets, no judgments, and no fear of each other. I have missed that feeling: I cannot name the amount of time that has passed since I knew such compassion.
In time, I hope that this friendship grows strong and bountiful, and I will do my best to uphold any kind of loyalties I can to her. In the meanwhile, this is for my new friend.
Vino's Delight
A large cellar, I once catered to, full of port and merlot and cabernet,
and all of them I believed would serve me well, when supper rang for me.
Yet, the chardonnay and the pinot were both done for,
no bouquet to speak of, and hardly any nose save for a terrible odor
that would not suit even the most abominable repast.
After all that gathering and waiting for good fortune and happy result,
I was bidden to cast them out, to pour the vinegars,
to wash them away with soap and salt
and once it was done, I wept, for no great gifts such as these should ever be wasted.
Yet, as I drudged my way back down to dump the rest, a gleaming glass bottle
caught my eye as only the brightest of jewels will do.
Muscato was its name, sweet and shining, tart and twinkling,
and with one sip, I was honor-bound to savor it.
You, my dear friend, such a meager donation you were in my dark hour.
And now you are the candle of hope in my window.
I may yet have opportunity, with you in hand,
to finally savor the feast.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
I Wish I Had Julianne Hough's Dancing Skills
I most certainly adore the new version of the movie, Footloose. It is incredibly sappy of me, and I normally can't stand chick flicks. Come on. We're following the story lines of one guy and one girl, who happen to either hate each other, who adore each other but can't get over some obstacle (whether physical or emotional), or they think they love someone else, despite some freakish magnetism to each other. We get it. It's well played and extremely cliche. Let's find some Whedon work and move on.
But, for some reason, Footloose hits me as something better than just a boy-meets-girl scenario. Every time I watch it, I get this insatiable urge to dance my toes off. (It didn't help that one of my friends went line dancing the day I watched this movie.) The scene where they go to the city and go line dancing drives me crazy. I want to be there moving and twisting with the characters, letting loose. Being the type of person I am, I almost never seem to let loose, and I am well aware that I am holding myself back.
The movie is about celebrating the gift of life. It is about grasping the moment and living large while we still can, while we're still kicking and screaming. And I think it calls to me because I was always the one who had to be the responsible one. I always had to stay within the lines of propriety. That has shaped me for as long as I can remember, and, until lately, I had no idea how much it was killing me. I'm the first to volunteer for designated driving. I'm the person people ask to take shifts for them so they can go out and have fun. And I do it gladly. I'm the eldest of four. Someone has to take the brunt of life.
I'm not at all saying I sympathize with the stuffy, rigid adults who can't be bothered to use their ears for more than head ornaments. But I find myself asking why I, young and full of ambition, have stuck to being the prudent mother figure of her friends.
If I were to ask my best friend, a free soul living with her goofball of a husband in the tropical paradise of Hawai'i, she'd take me back to one of my first posts on this blog: I am a Virgo and relish my delicious rank as the organizer, the diligent know-it-all, and the school marm. Of course, she's the one who believes that Cancers are perfect mates for me, when the Aries moon in me cannot tolerate the sappy, sensitive softies that come with being Cancerian (it would explain my penchant for Aries men, who are as hardheaded as all get-out). So then I come full circle, back to square one and wondering why I can't be more free-spirited and brash.
Suffice it to say, it's been a crazy few weeks. So I'll leave you with one of the madder of my beloved poets, Emily Dickinson. She should sum up how I'm feeling.
Much Madness is divinest Sense -
Much Madness is divinest sense -
To a discerning Eye -
Much Sense - the starkest Madness-
'Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail -
Assent - and you are sane -
Demur - you're straightaway dangerous -
And handled with a Chain -
P.S. I definitely credit my love of this poem to one of my two favorite English teachers ever, Dr. Richard Wakefield, poet extraordinaire and lover of good prose.
But, for some reason, Footloose hits me as something better than just a boy-meets-girl scenario. Every time I watch it, I get this insatiable urge to dance my toes off. (It didn't help that one of my friends went line dancing the day I watched this movie.) The scene where they go to the city and go line dancing drives me crazy. I want to be there moving and twisting with the characters, letting loose. Being the type of person I am, I almost never seem to let loose, and I am well aware that I am holding myself back.
The movie is about celebrating the gift of life. It is about grasping the moment and living large while we still can, while we're still kicking and screaming. And I think it calls to me because I was always the one who had to be the responsible one. I always had to stay within the lines of propriety. That has shaped me for as long as I can remember, and, until lately, I had no idea how much it was killing me. I'm the first to volunteer for designated driving. I'm the person people ask to take shifts for them so they can go out and have fun. And I do it gladly. I'm the eldest of four. Someone has to take the brunt of life.
I'm not at all saying I sympathize with the stuffy, rigid adults who can't be bothered to use their ears for more than head ornaments. But I find myself asking why I, young and full of ambition, have stuck to being the prudent mother figure of her friends.
If I were to ask my best friend, a free soul living with her goofball of a husband in the tropical paradise of Hawai'i, she'd take me back to one of my first posts on this blog: I am a Virgo and relish my delicious rank as the organizer, the diligent know-it-all, and the school marm. Of course, she's the one who believes that Cancers are perfect mates for me, when the Aries moon in me cannot tolerate the sappy, sensitive softies that come with being Cancerian (it would explain my penchant for Aries men, who are as hardheaded as all get-out). So then I come full circle, back to square one and wondering why I can't be more free-spirited and brash.
Suffice it to say, it's been a crazy few weeks. So I'll leave you with one of the madder of my beloved poets, Emily Dickinson. She should sum up how I'm feeling.
Much Madness is divinest Sense -
Much Madness is divinest sense -
To a discerning Eye -
Much Sense - the starkest Madness-
'Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail -
Assent - and you are sane -
Demur - you're straightaway dangerous -
And handled with a Chain -
P.S. I definitely credit my love of this poem to one of my two favorite English teachers ever, Dr. Richard Wakefield, poet extraordinaire and lover of good prose.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
For the Damned Times I Have to be Self-Righteous
It strikes me that, though I often take the moral high ground when it comes to my interactions with other people, sometimes it is not within my rights to do so. In fact, it struck me harder than I had expected it would. So when my temper flared up, and my baser female need to smear a name in mud took over, I forgot that there was more involved than just me and an adversary. Fortunately, I never truly ever seek to ruin anyone, and I always rescind my flare-ups at some point - I am not quick to form grudges. But it's nice to have someone there to tell me off before I do any real damage, and there really has never been anyone that brave.
Yet I woke up this morning, blissfully unaware of what damage I might be causing, and that was when I received a reality check. My first response, of course, was indignation. How could it possibly be that I was in the wrong? It was all just so plainly black and white: I felt the impulse to stamp my foot and demand that I am always right. For me, however, rationale never takes long to follow, and within moments, I wretchedly had realized the error of my ways, and not without some fussing over. There is no doubt that I tearfully wracked my brain over how I had let myself get that far. I stuck my nose in someone else's business, and despite having been insulted myself, I needed to be the bigger person and let it go.
Patience has never been my strong suit, and I yearn to do justice on the world when those I love are wronged. Yet, some battles are not for me to fight, and I have a hard time accepting that because of my lacking patience and desire for results. I claim to believe in karma and that time will deliver the final judgement, but it's so hard for me to wait for it to happen. And as I act out of my impatience, I risk damaging not only myself but those I care for. And pride would demand that I not make reparations for my injuries, only allow for time to make up for what damage I'd done, the same time that I would have inflict penances on those who've wronged me and mine. I will admit, I am an extremely proud creature - I am Scottish by blood, for what that's worth. The concept of letting time heal is alluring, if only for the sake of keeping my vulnerable side safe from prying eyes.
Know this: no one ever hurt anyone by being humble. And that is my intent, to scrape away years of walls and fortitude to allow myself to be better, to be more deserving of the gifts I'm given, for there are so many. Time may allow me to see over these walls keeping me from being a normal human being. Be that as it may, time could probably use a little push.
Yet I woke up this morning, blissfully unaware of what damage I might be causing, and that was when I received a reality check. My first response, of course, was indignation. How could it possibly be that I was in the wrong? It was all just so plainly black and white: I felt the impulse to stamp my foot and demand that I am always right. For me, however, rationale never takes long to follow, and within moments, I wretchedly had realized the error of my ways, and not without some fussing over. There is no doubt that I tearfully wracked my brain over how I had let myself get that far. I stuck my nose in someone else's business, and despite having been insulted myself, I needed to be the bigger person and let it go.
Patience has never been my strong suit, and I yearn to do justice on the world when those I love are wronged. Yet, some battles are not for me to fight, and I have a hard time accepting that because of my lacking patience and desire for results. I claim to believe in karma and that time will deliver the final judgement, but it's so hard for me to wait for it to happen. And as I act out of my impatience, I risk damaging not only myself but those I care for. And pride would demand that I not make reparations for my injuries, only allow for time to make up for what damage I'd done, the same time that I would have inflict penances on those who've wronged me and mine. I will admit, I am an extremely proud creature - I am Scottish by blood, for what that's worth. The concept of letting time heal is alluring, if only for the sake of keeping my vulnerable side safe from prying eyes.
Know this: no one ever hurt anyone by being humble. And that is my intent, to scrape away years of walls and fortitude to allow myself to be better, to be more deserving of the gifts I'm given, for there are so many. Time may allow me to see over these walls keeping me from being a normal human being. Be that as it may, time could probably use a little push.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Sandra Bullock: My Continuing Inspiration
On a radical whim that only hits me about every six months, give or take, I cleaned my room. I went absolutely crazy. You see, I've never been the type to take on a project and let it lie for the next day. I have to keep going, I have to get as much of it done as humanly possible. In the space of three hours, I filled two thirty-five gallon garbage cans. I filled half of the recycling can. I filled a whole black garbage bag full of Goodwill donations, and then some. I even used the Eiffel Tower bookends my aunt gave me years ago. All I have to do now is file my geology and biology notes in my roller desk (my pride and joy - thanks for that one, Da!) and I shall be done.
While I was rummaging around my desk, I came across a poem I wrote after a bad break-up. If you've ever seen the movie, Practical Magic, you know that when Sally watches her aunts cast a spell for a lovelorn woman, she despairs over the raw power lust can have over the human soul. So, to protect herself from such destruction, she casts a spell so that only one man can ever truly grant her true love: one who has one blue eye and one green eye, who can ride a horse backwards, and other attributes she finds to be totally impossible to find in men. That way, since the man is so impossible, he can never come to be real, and thus she will never have to know the pain of love. Of course, if you've seen this movie, you know how well that works.
However, I was in despair as well. And I had begun to dabble in Wicca myself, without any hope of ever being able to truly perform magic. So, last June, I arranged a few items of magick outside on a blanket, under the summer solstice sun, and I did what I do best. I wrote.
My Practical Magic
I wake up every morning, and there's a space where my eyes light.
Where I sleep on my bed, he leaves one half empty.
That's where he used to lie, and my arms were full.
Once, I used to sleep in the center, warm and guarded,
with distance between me and the edge - I had no fear of falling.
He changed me, and now I cannot see anything but the cliff: nowhere safe.
Though I dare much, and though my heart aches from the solitary weight of ice,
I fear love - I fear the void that left me broken.
An Owens girl once made a pledge, wove a spell, and so do I,
daunted as I am, weave a wish, with rose petals and strands of lavender,
plaited in golden straw for luck, and strewn amongst the rocks for the sparrows
to spread like seeds of wisdom in the wind.
My true love is this:
he will be remarkably compassionate - caring for God's creatures
(St. Francis's envy if ever there was one)
full of steady patience, let him wait in the long grass for my timid heart to come to him.
his eyes will glitter with vibrant life: sunlight against the brilliant Big Sky,
and he will know my heart's desire, though I shall never utter a word of it.
He will carry a lark's tune in his whistle
as I more quietly carry love in my heart.
More than anything, he will have an unbridled affection and doubtless respect
for all things free - including me.
Until such a man should show himself, I wish never to fall in love.
Because, if I do, I am destined for heartbreak.
And so I shall be waiting, my love, for thee, always for thee.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
I Wish I Was More of a Genius
When I watch shows like Sherlock or Numb3rs, I'm constantly sitting there asking myself: why can't I be smarter? Not to say that I'm not already smart - I have an IQ at around 140 points (the only reason I know this is because of my tendency to take IQ tests when I'm drunk, so it may not be a completely credible statement). But I yearn to be more intelligent, to understand more, to be able to look at something, to glance at a problem and have the answer ready. I love a good challenge.
I've been told that, due to my love of a challenge, that I have a very combative personality. I love a good argument, some intelligent banter, and, above all, verbal sparring. It isn't precisely an adrenaline rush when I can stump someone with a witty remark, but it comes pretty damn close. Maybe there's something wrong with me; maybe I'm poorly socialized. I prefer to look at it as pushing my limits. I am constantly seeking to prove myself, constantly trying to better my life.
And, like all people who strive to be more intelligent, I neglect my social niceties. I'm awkward and, in my pursuit to exchange knowledge, I forgo finesse for facts. For those who know me, if ever I have offended, please understand that I am not a malicious person. I'm not a snob. I'm simply just too caught up in how the world works to understand how to apply grace to the workings of the world.
That's really all I have today. I just want to make it known that I really love being smart, and I hope that I will somehow, someday, figure out how to be a more tactful person. In the interim, I will sit here and write about how I'd rather talk about the evolution of aquatic mammals than the latest trend of TV shows. You can revel in the invincibility of a Tyrannosaurus rex with grabber sticks.
I've been told that, due to my love of a challenge, that I have a very combative personality. I love a good argument, some intelligent banter, and, above all, verbal sparring. It isn't precisely an adrenaline rush when I can stump someone with a witty remark, but it comes pretty damn close. Maybe there's something wrong with me; maybe I'm poorly socialized. I prefer to look at it as pushing my limits. I am constantly seeking to prove myself, constantly trying to better my life.
And, like all people who strive to be more intelligent, I neglect my social niceties. I'm awkward and, in my pursuit to exchange knowledge, I forgo finesse for facts. For those who know me, if ever I have offended, please understand that I am not a malicious person. I'm not a snob. I'm simply just too caught up in how the world works to understand how to apply grace to the workings of the world.
That's really all I have today. I just want to make it known that I really love being smart, and I hope that I will somehow, someday, figure out how to be a more tactful person. In the interim, I will sit here and write about how I'd rather talk about the evolution of aquatic mammals than the latest trend of TV shows. You can revel in the invincibility of a Tyrannosaurus rex with grabber sticks.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
It's Raining Again...
As of late, I've been doing a lot of self psychoanalysis. It's not that I've ever taken any psychology courses - God knows I would become the world's biggest pain in the ass as I attempted to diagnose everyone's behavior. I've simply just been asking myself why I do the things that I do.
There are a lot of things in my life that have become unnecessary. Certain places that I used to love to go to, certain habits that I've had, and certain friends are all getting axed, simply because they are no longer relevant. It isn't because I don't cherish the time I have had in those places, doing those things with those people. It is simply that I've gotten to a point in my life where they no longer have a role in shaping my person. They've served their purpose, and it is time to move on. And as I come to that realization that they are no longer relevant, I catch myself wondering: why do I even bother with them anymore?
It is a part of growing up. I have accepted that. But what I cannot accept is that is has to happen so suddenly, and yet so painstakingly slow. Why must it be this way? I suppose it is a part of being human. We must feel pain in order to understand the weight of our decisions.
The Merits of an Adhesive Bandage
Blood red like crimson poppies, the tear in my flesh
drips fresh and warm, passion's ink marks my skin.
A fresh wound in my heart, life's black clouds lingering,
smoking out the fire in my eyes.
Then there you came, and you stuck to me, staunched the flow.
A finger for the crack in the dyke, you slipped in and made a vow to stay
until the flood had been dammed.
Years and years pass on, the stone turns to moss and rubble, and skin
turns anew, pale and nubile, and the world is becoming around me.
The small meek child is transformed, and head held high, I find
I can walk on my own two feet. My confidence is restored.
It is time to pull the bandage off, but it's been a lifetime for me.
The colors have blended, and it has merged into unison,
yet the crust of two differing substances has emerged, sickly and green.
It is time to release, time to pull away the aching finger. Time
to put the bedtime story back in the cupboard, for childhood
has vanished.
I pull on the edge of the strip, knowing its uses,
knowing that it has done so much, knowing that in that time,
it would come to find an end.
The glue bonds to the hairs on my skin, and so stinging is the pain
that erupts from pulling away.
It is slow at first. Slowly comes the first millimeter, and then the next.
Then it picks up speed. All of a sudden, there's a rip - a cursing rush,
why, why did ever I attach you there?
In what world did you ever serve me any purpose?
It is done now. The dam is blocked. The door is closed.
And the scab has fallen away, healed and intact.
All there is left now is a red mark and a few bits of adhesive
that soon shall fade.
There are a lot of things in my life that have become unnecessary. Certain places that I used to love to go to, certain habits that I've had, and certain friends are all getting axed, simply because they are no longer relevant. It isn't because I don't cherish the time I have had in those places, doing those things with those people. It is simply that I've gotten to a point in my life where they no longer have a role in shaping my person. They've served their purpose, and it is time to move on. And as I come to that realization that they are no longer relevant, I catch myself wondering: why do I even bother with them anymore?
It is a part of growing up. I have accepted that. But what I cannot accept is that is has to happen so suddenly, and yet so painstakingly slow. Why must it be this way? I suppose it is a part of being human. We must feel pain in order to understand the weight of our decisions.
The Merits of an Adhesive Bandage
Blood red like crimson poppies, the tear in my flesh
drips fresh and warm, passion's ink marks my skin.
A fresh wound in my heart, life's black clouds lingering,
smoking out the fire in my eyes.
Then there you came, and you stuck to me, staunched the flow.
A finger for the crack in the dyke, you slipped in and made a vow to stay
until the flood had been dammed.
Years and years pass on, the stone turns to moss and rubble, and skin
turns anew, pale and nubile, and the world is becoming around me.
The small meek child is transformed, and head held high, I find
I can walk on my own two feet. My confidence is restored.
It is time to pull the bandage off, but it's been a lifetime for me.
The colors have blended, and it has merged into unison,
yet the crust of two differing substances has emerged, sickly and green.
It is time to release, time to pull away the aching finger. Time
to put the bedtime story back in the cupboard, for childhood
has vanished.
I pull on the edge of the strip, knowing its uses,
knowing that it has done so much, knowing that in that time,
it would come to find an end.
The glue bonds to the hairs on my skin, and so stinging is the pain
that erupts from pulling away.
It is slow at first. Slowly comes the first millimeter, and then the next.
Then it picks up speed. All of a sudden, there's a rip - a cursing rush,
why, why did ever I attach you there?
In what world did you ever serve me any purpose?
It is done now. The dam is blocked. The door is closed.
And the scab has fallen away, healed and intact.
All there is left now is a red mark and a few bits of adhesive
that soon shall fade.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
My New Year: Putting Things into Perspective
It always amazes me how much we can learn from nature. I've mentioned Rudyard Kipling before when I talked about Bagheera from The Jungle Book, and I truly am quite a fan of the book. It involves so many stories of animals in the wild, to include Mowgli and his friends, but also Rikki-Tikki-Tavi and other famous animals. These stories teach us of bravery, of wisdom, and of kindness, virtues we as humans should not neglect to attend to.
Among the stories in The Jungle Book is The White Seal, a story about a Northern fur seal looking for a new home for his family, a place where they will be safe from hunters. In the beginning of his tale, Kipling starts off with a lullaby, one from a mother seal to her baby.
The Seal Lullaby
by Rudyard Kipling
Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us
And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
The moon, O'er the combers, looks downward to find us
At rest in the hollows that rustle between.
Where billow meets billow, there soft by the pillow.
Oh, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!
The storm shall not wake thee, no shark shall overtake thee
Asleep in the storm of slow-swinging seas.
This poem in itself is very endearing, and one can imagine how beautiful such a lullaby could be. In fact, one of my favorite composers, Eric Whitacre, did just that. In the year of 2007, Whitacre composed a choral piece with his wife, titled "The Seal Lullaby", and when I heard it for the first time, I felt my heart break. I will admit: I was a big ball of mushy, sappy goo, all teary eyed and simpering for how much the song touched my heart. It was the poem, but so much more. No longer was it simple endearment. It was a mother's desperate love for her child, a calling and a hushing. It was pure and unadulterated devotion. If ever I had doubted the existence of altruism, all doubt was gone with the song.
I have explained my love for music - well enough anyways, I hope. And listening to any of Whitacre's pieces will make me think. But the existence of something as fundamental and untainted as a mother's love even in something as simple as a fur seal - it catches you by surprise. It makes you wonder. It gives you hope.
I would give you one of my own pieces, but this lullaby is what is in my heart as of now. It is what I hope to bear throughout the rest of the year, this feeling of reassurance. There is so much wrong with the world, but there is still so much good to be had, and to let ourselves forget that is to forget ourselves. There is so little now that is appreciated.
Among the stories in The Jungle Book is The White Seal, a story about a Northern fur seal looking for a new home for his family, a place where they will be safe from hunters. In the beginning of his tale, Kipling starts off with a lullaby, one from a mother seal to her baby.
The Seal Lullaby
by Rudyard Kipling
Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us
And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
The moon, O'er the combers, looks downward to find us
At rest in the hollows that rustle between.
Where billow meets billow, there soft by the pillow.
Oh, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!
The storm shall not wake thee, no shark shall overtake thee
Asleep in the storm of slow-swinging seas.
This poem in itself is very endearing, and one can imagine how beautiful such a lullaby could be. In fact, one of my favorite composers, Eric Whitacre, did just that. In the year of 2007, Whitacre composed a choral piece with his wife, titled "The Seal Lullaby", and when I heard it for the first time, I felt my heart break. I will admit: I was a big ball of mushy, sappy goo, all teary eyed and simpering for how much the song touched my heart. It was the poem, but so much more. No longer was it simple endearment. It was a mother's desperate love for her child, a calling and a hushing. It was pure and unadulterated devotion. If ever I had doubted the existence of altruism, all doubt was gone with the song.
I have explained my love for music - well enough anyways, I hope. And listening to any of Whitacre's pieces will make me think. But the existence of something as fundamental and untainted as a mother's love even in something as simple as a fur seal - it catches you by surprise. It makes you wonder. It gives you hope.
I would give you one of my own pieces, but this lullaby is what is in my heart as of now. It is what I hope to bear throughout the rest of the year, this feeling of reassurance. There is so much wrong with the world, but there is still so much good to be had, and to let ourselves forget that is to forget ourselves. There is so little now that is appreciated.
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