seven and eighteen

So, I crashed into a wall at about an hour ago.  Not literally; don't fret.  Just one of those walls that jump out at you while you're shuffling along at half-a-jog, keeping up the energy, keeping up the positives, keeping up the motivation.  That wall says, "Maybe not," and all of a sudden you're sitting in mud at the base, with brick-burn on your face, looking up.

Maybe that metaphor was too extended.

My brain has reached capacity.  I can't find the right music.  Countdowns.  Words (listen to how the keys click).  A general state of shaking, deep breaths, long blinks.

Joel said today, "You're certainly not alone in your uncertainty."  There is a hopefulness in that, a solidarity, an essence of community.  My brain is muddled with abstractions, with trying to speak what I feel and trying to feel what's right.

Just sit for a minute, resting your head against the wall, humming to yourself, gathering the nerve (strength?  determination? sheer will power?) to stand up and clamber over to the other side.

shut the front door

I think I've experienced nearly every emotion I have at some point today.  An adventure.

Jill's going to bed, but we just shared this lovely little conversation:

Me: Is it eighth week?  Is it ninth week?
Jill: It's ninth week.
Me: Shut the front door!

Got my second wind, fueled by laughing at everything and anything.  I've been in this state a lot this quarter.  It's not bad, but it does make people question my sanity.  Le shrug; what else is new?

Tomorrow's going to be good.  We're going to make it good.

Happy ninth week, lovelies.  How's it treating you?

good things

1:23 AM.  Sitting on the little couch in my living room, surrounded by textbooks and anthologies and manuscripts and novels and an empty mug.  I've gotten to know the hours past midnight extremely well this quarter.  There's much to be said for familiarity - I'm actually quite fond of these late nights as I sit here, tip-tap-typing away.

This quarter has been new, and fresh, and filled to the brink with so many things.  There are moments when it overflows, when sleep and class and assignments don't happen on time because it turns out that there's not enough of that.  Time, that is.  I've run into quite the kerfuffle when everything I want to do in a day does not fit onto that clock face.

These are my good things: morning pages, drinking tea, walking in the springtime rain, Jill, reading, baking banana bread and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and snicker doodles, dreams, deep breaths, lyrics that say, "you know, you're not the only one who has ever felt this way," uncertainty, honest and open conversation, distractions, eye contact, hugs, still being able to laugh at myself every day, Joel.

What's good in your life right now?

burnt

I just burnt my hand, a real burning where you jerk your whole arm back and suck in your breath through your teeth in what’s almost a hiss, on steam from the electric kettle that was boiling in an effort to brew a cup of tea, to have something warm and sweet to hold on to because maybe that will stop my heart from pounding like it’s trying to break its way out of these ragtag bones, hammering like fingers shooting across keys, sharp clicks of words fired across the page like bullets, like heels clack-clicking across the library lobby floor, it’s my heart, it can’t be healthy, won’t it please



stop


My hands have been abused this quarter, this year. I can’t remember how many times I’ve burnt them, patches of skin turning red and shiny and raw, not prepared for movement or usage or touch. Maybe it’s a forgetfulness, a clumsiness, an immaturity. Maybe it’s something I’ll grow out of (yes, please! my fingers beg and plead). Maybe it’s a developing of scars, calluses, skin impervious to burns in the future. But that’s not how skin works. That’s not how life works.

Because, you see, we heal. We have this tendency, after years and journals filled and conversations had and tears and screaming so loudly you’re pretty sure you ripped your vocal chords and anger and revenge-seeking and prayer or deep thoughts or whatever you want to call it, after all of these things, we heal. Not the same person, not back to the way you were before, changed and transformed and wiser and (maybe) a bit more cautious, we are whole. And we reach out again to see if the water is ready.

Be careful? Please.

summer reading

Yes, I'm planning that far ahead.  Here's my list:

• White Oleander
• The Book Thief
• A Tale of Two Cities
• To the Lighthouse
• Everything is Illuminated
• Harry Potter (because the last movie is coming out and it feels like my childhood is ending)
• everything by John Green

I will probably actually end up reading eighteen random books and none of these.  I'm also open to any and all suggestions.

Rivers and Roads

Vicarious living is generally underrated.  Let's change this - it's not so bad.

Funny how an event like this will spur immediate reactions, concerns, discussions, and arguments, mainly through the thread of facebook status updates and tumblr quotes.  Funny how we all have an opinion so quickly when we were just huddled around a laptop as though it were a radio fifty years ago, watching the live stream of our president.  I may or may not have my own concerns, but I'm not adding my voice to the mix just yet.  However, this moment of Obama's speech tonight left me infinitely grateful:

As we do, we must also reaffirm that the United States is not – and never will be – at war with Islam.

All our voices, clanging against one another, screaming to be heard.

a list within a list

First, I really need to remember that when I'm absolutely flipping out for some reason the thing that tends to calm me down more than anything else is making a playlist personifying either how I'm feeling or how I want to be feeling right there in the moment.  Maybe its the methodical action of scrolling through artists or the unexplainable power of music.  Make a cup of tea, make a playlist, keep breathing.  Ok, we're hanging in there.

Second, I really miss Matt.  Seriously, where has he been?

Third, I really like making lists.  Previously, I was writing two in my journal, one about reasons why I probably believe in God, the other about the least convincing arguments for God that happen in my life.  There's something soothing about the structure and clarity of lists.  Probably why I'm using one right now.

Fourth, I really need to be productive.  There are eleven homework type things in my planner and I've only crossed one of them out.  Um, oh hey eighteen credits.

Fifth, I really like cats.  Sometimes I forget how much I like them until I'm around one (or around another cat person who gets really excited about his or her cats and shows me pictures of said cats when we stay up too late talking).  I find myself surrounded by cat-haters/dog-lovers too often in my life, so here I come in defense of cats.  They really are awesome.

1. Cats are cuddly.  They are soft and furry and they smell good (well, they smell like cats, which I think is great).  One of my aunt's cats was brushing up against my legs all throughout dinner tonight.  He just wanted to say, "Hi!  I'm here! In case you wanted to give me something to eat, I would probably not say no!"  Cats are also pretty great at being both hand-warmers or pillows, depending on your need.
2. Cats care about your health.  I can't tell you the number of times Chip has come up and sat on the book I was trying to read, or jumped up on the desk downstairs and sat directly in front of the computer screen.  In these instances, he is clearly telling me, "You've been focusing for too long and you're over-working your mind.  You need to take a break.  Perhaps this break includes petting me."  I would probably be suffering from eye-strain-induced-blindness right now if not for my cat.
3. Cats are funny.  My mom plays this game when Chip is walking past; she'll move her foot just slightly to see if she can scare him.  Nine times out of ten, he'll ignore her because he has his ninja-foot-sensing-senses tuned to high.  But that tenth time, he'll hop about a foot in the air.  This is generally amusing to us.  Other times, he sprints around the house, attacking the carpet for no apparent reason.  He obviously knows that we need something to laugh at, and therefore takes it upon himself to be as entertaining as possible.
4. Cats are protective.  I am certain beyond a doubt that, were my life ever threatened by a bird, a fat squirrel, a small child, or a friendly neighborhood cat, Chip would defend me to the death.  We've yet to test whether or not this bravado stands up without a sheet of glass separating him from his adversary, but I have full confidence in him.
5. Cats are basically small, furry people who have tails and just happen to walk on four legs.  Cats have moods: one second they want to be petted, the next second they don't want anything to do with you.  I appreciate this about cats because I am like this.  You should be thankful that I don't have claws.  Cats are super independent.  Going on vacation for a week?  No worries, just leave out some food. No need for expensive kennels or paying people to come and house-sit.  Your cat has got it under control.  Basically, I like cats because cats are a lot like me.
6. Cats are psychic.  Chip always starts sleeping on my bed a few days before I come home for a weekend or a break.  He knows.  My nana today said that it's probably because my parents say my name more in those days and he hears and understands.  Um, no.  He's a cat: the only words he understands are treat and I'm going to go change my sheets.  He's psychic.  Show me a dog who can predict the future.

Sixth, I really feel a lot better right now.  Had a moment of forgetting how to laugh at myself, but it's back.  Music, tea, lists, cats, trying to make you laugh - good for my soul.