Friday, November 12, 2010

Closing Time

I began this blog as a place to rant and chronicle personal happenings and grievances, and-- while those chronicles now stand as artifacts from those times-- I don't need this any more. It served its purpose, and if I ever care to I can look back on it. Beyond that, though, I can't continue in the same vein. It's a moot point. Therefore, I'm closing this blog-- keeping it, but keeping it closed.

No regrets. Especially not for that time that I won an awesome scarf. Dude, that rocked.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Sad Stories

It is the first of September today. It's not fall yet, not officially, but there is no doubt that summer is over and gone. It wasn't a bad season. It had some ups, and more downs than I personally knew what to do with. The nature of time, though-- good or bad-- is to pass, and so it has.

Fall is always bittersweet at best, but I think this year I am more sensitive to the implications of the changing year. My springtime, when I started writing here, was a time of thawing-out and of unexpected new growth. I melted away from the unhappy routine I had been stuck in for so long, and began to take risks with my life. Some of them were sloppy, of course; I got involved with people and projects I shouldn't have, and their ending were not pleasant. I hurt people who might have otherwise been my friend. I was selfish, and I did things I regret.

From March onward, though, I was in love. It was more tumultuous and bold and terrifying than it has ever been for me, but nonetheless its shaky and unsure wings caught air and I was borne aloft. I was alone, however. I was too quick with my attachment, too excited at the prospect of something that seemed so perfect, and I ignored all previous experience-- to say nothing of all my friends' warnings. Caution was unknown to me. I thought it was the beginning of something huge, and relevant: that this could be my life.

Summer came, and we slowed down. Suddenly, we weren't spending every moment together, reveling in each other's presence and person. We still saw each other every day, or talked, but he began to withdraw. It was almost imperceptible at first, but I can't help teetering on an edge of insecurity, and it didn't take long for me to notice it. By June, when we were working on an opera together-- myself as an actor, and him directing-- it became the worst. I came home from rehearsals just to cry, knowing in my heart that it was falling apart around me. We had countless heartfelt conversations wherein he assured me he cared about me, that I hadn't done anything wrong, that he loved the time we spent together. I am still not sure he meant it.

July came, and we had one last holiday together-- Independence Day! (Of course there is irony in that). By that point, we barely touched anymore. Advances I made, even small gestures, were largely ignored. I loved him as much as ever, but he was a stranger to me. A few days later, I finally got a chance to talk to him, and I told him that I needed to be at least acknowledged, and not treated as though I were purely incidental and not any meaningful part of his life. And then came the biggest blow of all: he said that he was sorry I felt that way, but that he thought we had already ended things by a mutual agreement some weeks before. I was devastated, needless to say.

That very same day, however, I had signed on as stage manager for a show he was acting in, and we would spend nearly every day of the next two months together. Not an easy thing for a hurt and heartbroken girl to do, let me tell you. At first we didn't talk at all; then, briefly, here and there. There were a few longer, private, tearful conversations, but he was not used. I began to accept the fact that I had meant nothing to him. Life went on. We made peace, eventually, though I am not proud to say I went through phases of anger and bitterness and very unfriendly comments. We finally resolved to be friends, as painful and difficult as it still is. We don't know how to act around each other, no matter how natural we try to be. Disaster, in other words. Or, awkward. No good, either way.

But, here we are. We've wrapped the show, though we're trying to remount it here in town. If we do, he'll be commuting to make it-- he moves on Monday, a solid five hours away. I don't know if it's really a good thing. I think I will probably take a few huge steps back in the process, but there's nothing to be done. We are moving forward all the time, whether we like it or not.

For my part, I am done with entanglements. I know I won't be over him for a good long while, and a nasty part of me says that it is only fair that I got my heart broken. Upon reflection, I have never had a clean break from a relationship (maybe such a thing doesn't even exist). I have hurt good people, changed them. I always called the shots. I knew from the start that if, anyone would break my heart, it would be him. In that sense I was at least prepared.

I am getting better, though; I am finding things that I love to take up my time. I am spending my time with friends, which is lovely, and sometimes just hanging out alone, which is just as nice. I have been writing-- a few poems, and recently a short one-act play for a friend's senior show. I have decided that I need theater, and I will be declaring a double major upon my return to school-- I decided to take another semester off, to work and to really build enthusiasm for the whole school experience. In the meantime, I have been getting my name out to the theater companies in town, so they know that I want to be involved when there is a place for me. I'll also be doing a show with the university drama club; the cast and crew will probably be comprised entirely of people that I know and love. Right now, that is the most exciting prospect I have. I think I will probably be okay. That seems to be the way of things.

"Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgiastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter-- tomorrow we will run faster, stretch our arms out further... And one fine morning-- So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Loose Ends

A few things I forgot to add...

It's been exactly three months since my last post. Ridiculous! Right?

It's been exactly four years to the day since my first boyfriend left for basic training. It's strange how far away that time and that experience seems, yet it still impacts my life and personality so much.

And lastly, I've done a little (leeeetle) bit of writing recently. It can be found at my FictionPress page.

Perpetuation

It's funny to me that I started writing here as a way to vent my frustrations and conflicting emotions in the wake of a terrible break-up, and then later as a way to confide the burgeoning of a reluctant romance. When I found myself in something that felt healthy and natural and good, however, I lost the impetus to post.

I suppose that is the way of art, at least for me; it's hard to create a spark in times of little friction.

But now, I'm much closer to where I started-- in abstract emotion, at least. I feel like I have grown leagues taller and broader in the past few months. What has actually been only a dozen or so weeks feels like the same amount of months; I don't know if any period in my life hitherto has stretched on so formless and plastic as this. I'm not complaining. It's been wonderful.

However, I think it's drawing to a close. The man whose head I was so ardently and earnestly throwing my affections has retreated almost completely, despite claims of wanting to make things work and being afraid of losing me. (My foot, I say. I'm learning to listen to actions over words).

It's unfortunate, truly, and I think this is as close as my heart has ever been to breaking. He's a wonderful person, and we're damn near perfect for each other, but he's held himself back so much that we never got a chance to truly be in love, and now I'm afraid the opportunity is lost forever. What hurts most is the neglected potential: that we could have been so much, and that that will never be realized.

But of course, my friends have heard this all a thousand times. I've been conscientious of my feelings and open about them-- to myself, to him, to the trusted few who will listen. It's complicated, and delicate, fragile and volatile... but that is the nature of relationships, and I suppose we just have to make of them what we are able.  I think-- especially with his upcoming move to Minneapolis-- that the happy age of bubbling, buoyant affection and intrigue is turning now into a quieter era of contemplation and solitude. I hope that regret will not be included in the litany, but only time will tell.

I have a few self-reliant dreams, though, so I can only imagine that everything is for the best. I have been working almost every day, and even though it sometimes exhausts me, I mostly enjoy it. I'm getting a promotion in September, and I hope that the accompanying raise will be enough to allow me to have my own apartment. I love the autonomy I have living here, where my roommate is neither related to me nor meddling in my business, but I don't really like anything about the arrangement itself. The apartment is small and dirty, everything's broken, I am not getting along with aforementioned roommate, the neighbors are disruptive and rude... the list goes on. So, hopefully, I will figure out a way to live on my own.

My next little dream is one that has been growing for awhile... It's in a delicate stage still, mostly just the amorphous stuff of thought and inspiration, but I think it has real potential. I want to start an autonomous theatre collective for young people here in Bemidji. I think there's a terrific market for it, plenty of talent and interest, and boundless potential. I'd like to incorporate social justice interests, too, and produce pieces that are thoughtful and provocative as well as entertaining and well put-together. I certainly think it's feasible. I'm going to be writing up a manifesto for it soon, and reaching out to contact relevant parties after that. My hope is that we can begin staging shows by next June.

The most significant foreseeable setback is, very simply, myself. By nature, I am a wonderful starter of things, but I am rarely able to sustain them and see them through to completion. I shall do my best, though, and perhaps motivate myself by tracking it here and in social circles. Wish me the best, if you please.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Honey

There's a poem, called "Honey," written by a Minnesota native named Connie Wanek. I've come across her work before, but I found this one through Garrison Keillor's Writer's Almanac. As it happens, it was the poem of the day for March 14th, which is a wonderful date for an array of reasons. Personally, it also marked a first-- and very important-- kiss. The poem, though! (Before I blush!)

Honey

Luxury itself, thick as a Persian carpet,
honey fills the jar
with the concentrated sweetness
of countless thefts,
the blossoms bereft, the hive destitute.

Though my debts are heavy
honey would pay them all.
Honey heals, honey mends.
A spoon takes more than it can hold
without reproach. A knife plunges deep,
but does no injury.

Honey moves with intense deliberation.
Between one drop and the next
forty lean years pass in a distant desert.
What one generation labored for
another receives,
and yet another gives thanks.

--Connie Wanek.

Now here's the strange part. Normally, a few reads into a poem, I Get It. You know? Things click into place, and every subsequent reading brings a little more to the meaning I have previously gleaned from it. This one, though, I am having trouble with. I have a few ideas-- I am probably wrong-- I am going to leave it up here so that I can check back on it often and see if I have any thinks.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Empty Houses

I wrote in my last post that my former Lit teacher, Director Dan, had introduced us to Stafford's "A Ritual to Read to Each Other," but I neglected to say that his exposing us to wonderful poetry never really ended. He slipped in poems when he thought students weren't looking, like a parent driving their child to the dentist without ever having revealed the destination; poetry was a territory that most students would never want to explorewillingly, however much good it might do them. This poem is one that he read at our high school commencement, and has stuck with me ever since. The refrain is the absolution and the saving grace.

The Stare's Nest By My Window

The bees build in the crevices
Of loosening masonry, and there
The mother birds bring grubs and flies.
My wall is loosening; honey-bees,
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

We are closed in, and the key is turned
On our uncertainty; somewhere
A man is killed, or a house burned.
Yet no clear fact to be discerned:
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

A barricade of stone or of wood;
Some fourteen days of civil war:
Last night they trundled down the road
That dead young soldier in his blood:
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

We had fed the heart on fantasies,
The heart's grown brutal from the fare,
More substance in our enmities
Than in our love; O honey-bees,
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

It's a bit of a grim poem, but grim is what the world is sometimes. I was going to add the other poems I have been digesting, but I think this will do for now. Contemplation.

Conduit

My friend Ramey referred to me as a conduit today; he meant "messenger," but I preferred his original diction. What a lovely thought, that things should pass through me and transfer to the consciousness of others! So here are a few things I encountered today, that brought me a little joy.

I worked a strange shift today-- we call it the "middle kid" shift. It overlaps the opening and closing shifts by two and a half hours each, so you do a little of everything. As it was happens, I was relegated to cooking sausage for our breakfast burritos (although I haven't eaten red meat in over five years, and in fact was totally vegetarian until last fall when I abandoned it for health reasons, there is still a fascinating sort of alchemy about cooking meat that I enjoy). Breaking up the pound of it in the skillet, I realized that one chunk looked remarkably like the continent of Africa.  Incredible! As I continued to poke around, I found too an America-- Central American countries attached! And then, South America! Australia! New Zealand, Greenland, Iceland... remarkable similarities, all of them. It certainly made me wish for a camera, but, alas, none were to be had. I dubbed it Geography Sausage and went about my kitcheny business.

It was, of course, a Continental Breakfast.

Har har.

After work (my days are indeed divided by that omnipresent factor), I was walking along the street towards home when I found an envelope full of cash. Lots of cash! For a minute, I wondered if I had wandered into a Philosophy 101 textbook (Section One: Moral Autonomy*. Due Thursday). Without a second thought, though, I identified the bank where it had come from, and raced to get there before it closed. I had to walk through the drive-through-- the lobby was closed-- but I'm so glad I got an opportunity to get the money back into its rightful hands. I felt pretty good about it, in some selfish way, but it's so rewarding to imagine the relief of the person who thought they had dropped it. Wonderful!

Still on the same walk-- I should add, it's really not a very long walk by any means; today's was simply rich-- I happened on an elderly dog limping like zig-zagged lightning through streets and into strangers' yards (and trash). We were working in the same general direction for a few blocks, and then I caught up to him; I called the owners, who happened to be only a few blocks from where I was, and walked him home. Probably a very small thing, maybe even meddling (I hope not) but I know that, if karma's kind, I'd like someone to do the same for me. Besides that, the house from which Shadow (the delinquent) had escaped is only two doors down from where I'll be living-- so, I sort of know someone in the neighborhood. That's a good thing!

(*-- Moral Autonomy was oft-repeated phrase in my senior year of high school; my Lit teacher, also the director of our small charter school, used it in everything from lessons to our many, many school trips.  I remember him giving a short informal lecture on it just before reading what is now one of my favorite poems, while on a ten-day "camping" trip in January... which, as it happens, changed my life. So much to say! That poem is this:

A Ritual to Read To Each Other

If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.


For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.


And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.


And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should consider—
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.


For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give—yes or no, or maybe—
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.


--William Stafford.

Incidentally, William Stafford also has a poem called Lit Instructor, which I always associated with Director Dan. The last lines of the poem are some of my favorites: "Well, Right has a long and intricate name/ And the saying of it is a lonely thing." Again: Moral Autonomy!)

Really, these are just a few little things, but I suppose everything's pretty little from the right perspective. Now, the evening is winding down; I'm going to clean to some sweet soundtracks for awhile, windows open, and then maybe spend some time with the man who has quickly become my favorite company. It's been a good day; I feel like the bridges I didn't realize I was burning between my friends are slowly being rebuilt, and I am entering a more placid territory with them. I guess that deserves an explanation unto itself. For now, though, I've got real, tangible messes to soothe; I will save the metaphysics for a metaphorical morning. Between then and now, I will surely post the set of poems that has been haunting me. Later tonight, perhaps.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Marvelous Things!

This is a compendium of some beautiful things I encountered today.

First-- and these can't be put fully here-- I saw the first dandelions of the spring. That alone makes today worth waking up for, but there was even more to it than that! Beautiful, I know. (I may be easily amused).

I've been spending some time perusing a blog-style compilation of "literary tattoos" at Contrariwise. There are some pretty beautiful stories in there, and pretty tattoos with that.

That lead me on some brief explorations, including one which turned up this little snippet from Ray Bradbury. It concerns magic, and immortality, and electricity. Perfect topics. So, In His Own Words.

(I wanted to share this with Andy, but he of course already knows it by heart. He directed my attention to this YouTube video, of Bradbury telling the story).


Another avenue of thought lead me to this Bukowski poem, called My Doom Smiles at Me. I've never read much Bukowski, but I am thinking I may have to change that; I love the final few lines:

"like the fox
I run with the hunted and
if I'm not the happiest
man on earth I'm surely the
luckiest man
alive."

I've a few more poems I'd like to post, but I don't want to impact the mood of this one-- so, I think, those will come later. Until then--

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Beautiful; Insatiable

On Friday, Andy and I went on a last-minute road-trip to see one of my favorite bands in concert. It was my third time seeing them, but it's a different experience all the time-- Cloud Cult (the band) is a wonderful group of performers. It blows me away every time. I've been listening to one of their older albums a lot lately; it's called The Meaning of 8, and I would definitely recommend it. This is one of my very favorite songs right now. It kind of describes some of my feelings of late.



I was sleeping in the lilies--
or was I up all night?
These days, it's hard to tell what's half-asleep
from fully alive.
And oh, God, it's beautiful--
insatiable--
the way our chemicals collide.
Oh, God, it's unforgettable--
unpredictable--
the way our chemicals collide.


I very well might be in love. I will admit that here, first.

Incidentally, Andy is my former penpal (for those keeping score at home) with whom I thought I had no chance. I have never been so happy to be proven wrong.

A Prayer

In other news-- and news there is aplenty, but we'll get the good stuff first-- I may have a new favorite poem. It feels like the distillation of every circular (or spherical) thought process that I have been going through recently.

A Prayer

Whatever happens. Whatever
What is is is what
I want. Only that. But that.

--Galway Kinnell.

Correspondences:

So I have been a terrible blog-mama of late. This poor critter is damn near abandoned, but the best explanation I could offer would take weeks at least.

Instead, I will offer this letter that I wrote tonight, as an explanation to one of my dear friends why I have not been around:

(Names and details included; you have been warned).

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Green leaves

Yesterday was an absolutely tremendous day-- singularly spectacular, I've been saying. Everything was beautiful (and nothing hurt). Work was enjoyable, and my co-workers were great; the seven hours passed faster than I could believe.

Our performance went far better than I had expected, too, and that was a wonderful feeling! Our producer, a well-known theater alum and accomplished actor & director, told me he was impressed at the performance, that he really enjoyed it. He went on to say, "You have a wonderful calm about you onstage. It's very comforting. Something that can't be taught." It meant so much to me to hear that, especially from him. I feel like a lot of this play has been me working on my own, because our director (bless her) is absolutely terrible at constructive criticism-- which is to say, she doesn't really believe in it. She would rather insult and mock and make you change your performance by shame than she would support and suggest... with me being who I am, that has really been weighing on me, and I have felt incompetent and untalented. Last night helped, though, and I think these other performances will be great.

I had the first of my mid-terms today, and although I was worried and resigned to failing, I think I actually did pretty well. I know I made up a couple things on the short-answer identifications (this is for Medieval Scandinavia-- The Viking Age, essentially) but I based them in historical fact. So! I also rocked the face right off both the short essays contextual identifications, and plan to do the same to the take-home essay. Raid and pillage, yo.

In other happy news, I discovered that Poets.org (my favorite poetry reference site, and incidentally the home of a wonderful poetry organization) has archives of their "poem-a-day" selections from past years. I found this one while browsing; I haven't read much Coleridge, but I got some joy from this:

Answer to a Child's Question

Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow, the Dove,
The Linnet and Thrush say, "I love and I love!"
In the winter they're silent—the wind is so strong;
What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,
And singing, and loving—all come back together.
But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he—
"I love my Love, and my Love loves me!"

Furthermore, the poem for today was one by Sara Teasdale, who I haven't read in years. She was my favorite through middle-school for her accessible verse style and reasonably simple-- though poetic-- subjects. This is one that I haven't read-- or, at least, don't remember.

Barter

Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And childrens's faces looking up
Holding wonder in a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstacy
Give all you have been, or could be.

I think that's all for now. I have been trying to recover my poetry-loving self, because for the first time in nearly a year, I have someone with whom I can speak intelligibly on the subject! It makes me so happy... even yesterday, I asked one of the English teachers (!) at my old high school (where I work now) if he'd ever read The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (one of my favorites). He said he hadn't, because he didn't like love poems. THE TRAVESTY!

In any case, I must run and catch a bus. Until later!

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Won over

I thought today was awesome before, but... For the first time in my life, I've won something! Today is not just great, it is a day that shall be remembered forever in the annals of giddy histrionics!

Really, though, I am so excited and so proud to be the recipient of Scotland for the Senses' tartan scarf giveaway! The day it arrives is officially designated for PHOTO OPPORTUNITIES. In the meantime, here is a wonderful poem by Sir Walter Scott, called MacGregor's Gathering. Needless to say, it occupies a special place in my heart, nestled down amongst the thistle.

MacGregor's Gathering

The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae,
And the clan has a name that is nameless by day;
Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalach!
Gather, gather, gather.

Our signal for fight, which from monarchs we drew,
Must be heard but by night in our vengeful halloo.
Then halloo, halloo, halloo, Gregalach!
Halloo, halloo, halloo.

Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Kilchurn and her towers,
Glen Strae and Glen Lyon no longer are ours,
We're landless, landless, landless, Gregalach!
Landless, landless, landless.

But doomed and deserted by vassal and lord,
MacGregor has still both his heart and his sword.
Then courage, courage, courage, Gregalach!
Courage, courage, courage.

If they rob us of name and pursue us with beagles,
Give their roofs to the flame and their flesh to the eagles!
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Gregalach!
Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance.

While there's leaves in the forest and foam on the river,
MacGregor despite them shall flourish forever.
Come then, Gregalach! Come then, Gregalach!
Come then, come then, come then.

Though the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall career,
O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall steer,
And the rocks of Craig Royston like icicles melt,
Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt.

Then halloo, halloo, halloo, Gregalach!
Halloo, halloo, halloo.

Here's more information about the MacGregor clan history. :] If you're reading this, I hope your day is as blessed as mine has been! Journals to come later.

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Theme

So, to break things up, I'd like to post some more poetry here; eventually, I'm going to run out, and then I'm not going to have any choice but to read more and more of it!

I've really been enjoying re-reading William Carlos Williams lately, because even his simplest poems are wrought with humor and humanity. My favorite:

This is Just To Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold.

This poem in particular, though, sparked a tongue-in-cheek movement, characterized by this response by Kenneth Koch:

Variations on a Theme by William Carlos Williams

1
I chopped down the house that you had been saving to live in next summer.
I am sorry, but it was morning, and I had nothing to do
and its wooden beams were so inviting.

2
We laughed at the hollyhocks together
and then I sprayed them with lye.
Forgive me. I simply do not know what I am doing.

3
I gave away the money that you had been saving to live on for the next ten years.
The man who asked for it was shabby
and the firm March wind on the porch was so juicy and cold.

4
Last evening we went dancing and I broke your leg.
Forgive me. I was clumsy and
I wanted you here in the wards, where I am the doctor!

Fulcrum

Well. There went the week.

I feel, right now, like I'm at something of a turning point. Things were really, really terrible for a few days, I won't lie. I feel, though, that I had to sink to the bottom to feel the grit and sand of desperation between my toes before I could swim all-out for shore.

Last weekend wasn't busy, though I did end up puppy-sitting a stray dog who we had rescued a few days' prior. My mom brought him over with the intent on him being adopted the next day; her friend, though, first postponed the pick-up and then changed his mind entirely. So I was saddled with a young, un-housebroken puppy for the week with nothing to do with him and nowhere to put him while I was in class. Fun.

I made the mistake, too, of agreeing to cut my ex-boyfriend's hair for him. This is more intensive than it may seem; his hair has been growing out for years, with only occasional trims, and he wanted it cut short before he left for a three-plus-month trip to the Amazon. Of course it was going to be emotional, but things had been better between us, so I thought it might be alright.

Needless to say, I was deeply, devastatingly wrong. First he was late in meeting me, which was a wasted hour and a half, and then he had forgotten his camera-- another hour round-trip for him to fetch it from home. The evening wore on, and we were getting away from the small talk and into more personal territory; I talked to him a bit about the new guy I have been dating, and my feelings on the matter. As you, reader, are undoubtedly more astute than I, you will surely and correctly assume that this is where things got Bad.

It started out with him making subtle comments about how futile it was to date someone with whom you weren't planning a concrete and long-term future. I tried explaining that we were young, and it didn't really matter, that it was more about enjoying each other's company and not having to plan too far ahead... that has always backfired on me, after all. Of course, none of this went over well, and he got more and more worked up over the subject. Eventually we were fighting, shouting, crying, and he was employing his favorite manipulative tactics by turns because he so badly wanted (rather, wants) to be with me. Charming, right? Why wouldn't I want that?

I still do care for him, though, and when things were ugly I couldn't turn him away. He revealed that he hadn't been eating, and so I couldn't not feed him; he revealed dark, destructive thoughts, and I couldn't let him go home on his own. That was a mistake, of course, because once he had arrived home he sent me e few emails saying he was fine. I don't know how broadly embroidered-upon his confidences were, but they were scary enough that I couldn't ignore them. I made him stay that night (Monday) because he seemed so unlike himself; I hoped that he would be alright after some sleep. He barely slept, though, and woke me up every few hours trying to rekindle a fight. Failure.

I did get him home, though, and spent an emotional morning researching suicide hotlines and counselors in town for him-- though I know he would never use either. It's a burden too heavy for me alone, and I have been his only outlet for it. I have tried enlisting help from his parents, but they do nothing. From my mom, but she sides with him. He's been emailing me several times a day, trying to see me again, and I have of course refused... I'm just not sure what to do anymore. Luckily my friends, especially my closest girl-friend, have been absolutely wonderful in supporting me and helping me make the right decisions.

So my Monday evening had been wasted, and most of my Tuesday as well. Thank God I don't have classes and don't work until 3:30 Tuesdays and Thursdays, or I don't think I would have survived past that night. I was still home alone and still taking care of the pup, though I had had one response to the CraigsList ad I'd posted in looking for a home. Beyond that, rehearsals for the Women's Studies Department annual play (in which I am a lead) were getting more intensive, and that evening we were running the play for the first time. We were also off-script for the first time and I wasn't memorized so, you know... a good day. I wasn't home until around 11, and completely drained.

Wednesday, though, was when things came to their breaking point. I had missed my first class for the second time that week, due to the fact that I was rushing to get my work done and printed before (and, subsequently, during) class-time, and was too embarrassed to show up half an hour late. I got an email from my professor after my other morning class, saying that he was unsure whether or not I would be able to pass the course at this point, and I broke down. With so much going on in my personal life, and with so much going on in trying to get registered and paid and on top of things in my classes, it was just too much.

Wednesday morning culminated in me crying in the bathroom during lunch time, a move I hadn't visited since Junior year in high school. Throwbacks, yo! After that, though-- my aforementioned wonderful friend had come and sat with me and counseled me, and then reapplied cosmetics to my bloated shipwreck face afterwards-- things seemed to pick up. I went to class. I found the puppy a home. I did better at rehearsal (by the way, Tuesday's run? Was TERRIBLE). I even tried to hang out with one of my friends afterward, but he decided to nap instead. While I was at his house. This happened last time I was over, too, so I repeated my established tactic-- grab a beer and sit online. I don't like beer, actually, but it works. Things were Getting Better.

The rest of the week crawled by slowly, a drunk snail with an eviction notice but with the promise of a Floridian shanty town accepting new tenants sliding him along the pavement of life. I got a job, which is great! I start Tuesday, and I couldn't be more excited; it's a great little cafe, awesome atmosphere, brilliant co-workers-- theatre people! Hooray!-- and flexible hours. PLUS job security, so I'll be able to pay rent next school year. Yayy. Friday was as good as Fridays are, and rehearsals slowly got better; yesterday we did a preview performance for a Women's Hall of Fame luncheon, and were very well received. Encouraging!

Two best parts of the week have been in socializing, and not even with the people I expected to. I have a new penpal, who is brilliant and a wonderful writer and a lover of poetry and theatre. He's Scottish, too, but I'm in enough of a romantic mess to be as in love with him as my brain thinks I should be... furthermore, we're only casual penpals, as we're acquainted in real life and (this all comes around, I swear) now we're co-workers, as well! Hoo boy. We've had a couple good, thoughtful exchanges of emails, though, and really I don't need any more than that.

The next lovely thing was actually, simply, last night. After rehearsal-- we were done an hour and a half early! Yay! ...But it was only because two of our actors were missing and we skipped their scenes! Boo!-- I went home with my director. Of course, she's also the oft-mentioned life-saving bathroom-counseling makeup-applying best fraann, so it was less weird than it sounds. My co-star (read: on-stage lesbian love interest) (hot damn!) was also there, and we had a WONDERFUL night of girl talk and secrets and emotional analyses of each other... and, of course, tequila. And Vodka. Neither of which I had had before, but hey! No hangover! It was a welcome reprieve from the sober responsibilities (pun fully intended) that I have been dealing with so much lately.

Tonight brings more rehearsals, and then homework; tomorrow's our last day before the first performance. I also start work on Tuesday, at 5:45 am... so, eight hours of work and then a performance. I got this, it's cool. Like I said, things are starting to turn around.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Differences

Saturday would have our anniversary, and I didn't realize that until I was hanging out with my ex-boyfriend. Yes, on Saturday. You see what a terrible person I am?

It's strange to think of where I was a year ago. I change so quickly and so often that memories sometimes seem more like cinematic vignettes, like they happened to a character who reminded me of myself but who is someone separate. Of course, that's not the case. Life moves on, and it moves on quickly.

After a weekend of trying to get my head around things, I realized that I really had to talk to my ... love interest. (I'm totally lost as to how I ought to title him within the context of our relationship). He's leagues beyond what I'm feeling in terms of commitment, both to me as a person as to us as a unit. The idea of being part of a couple again honestly just freaks me out, and the more I thought about it the more I felt I had to talk to him. After all, he's as much a part of the situation as I am, and-- like I said-- more invested in it than I am willing or able to be.

So of course I am feeling awful about myself after having sent him this email; not that I was cruel, of course, but just for the fact that I am essentially cutting him off and saying that we need to calm down, take a step back, and move more slowly. His response is, true to form, heart-rending in its earnest sweetness. He says he understands, though, so that's something... I just wish I could understand my own head better.

This got lengthy awful fast, but since the point is to make myself write and to untangle the things in my life, I guess I can't complain. Hopefully I can finagle a more light-hearted post next time, and of course I will be updating as things go down.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Beauty

I've enjoyed nearly the whole day from this chair, but at least I am trying to sort things out. In the process (okay, while I was checking my twitter) I found this wonderful link from Roger Ebert-- It's the translation of a Romanian poem, with a video of the original being read at the bottom. It's lovely sort of subject matter for a grey, contemplative day.

Weekending

My Friday nights are unquestionably cursed.

It’s been this way for quite awhile now. It seems the only way to escape misfortune, much less utter devastation, is to simply hole up and spend the day solitary. Really, though, I’m alright with this knowledge. I make an excellent hermit; I find myself entertaining. I like all the same things as I do. It’s a good time.

This weekend is the first in a long time where I have no plans—I don’t have to be any place in particular—I won’t be letting anyone down if I stay in my pajamas all day and brew coffee at ungodly hours and sing loudly along to whatever mediocre music I’ve got coming out of iTunes. I have the house to myself, and I love that; it’s a luxury I won’t be afforded much after these next few days. (That’s another post, though).

Weekends, when they’re busy, tend to bring with them plenty enough activity to incite gossip and drama in the days that follow. This has been especially true in the last month; my last three weekends were last-minute eddies of confusion and conflict and exhilaration and deliberation.

Let me explain. I have A Man in my life… but, it gets better. See, that one’s a classic story of a reluctant princess and a persistent hero, and it’s interposed inextricably with a post-modern art-film story of broken romance and ambiguous intentions. Potentially, these involvements could be the stuff of endless loathsome poetry, intricate and intimate, delighted and horrified by turns. Without knowing why or how (and continuously resisting the urge to ask both parties if they’re fighting over the right girl), I am stuck in the middle of it.

I’ll admit, there is a tiny, cruel, juvenile sliver of my stupid girl-brain that thrills at the attention. The rest of me, though, is mortified, and tired. I broke up with my long-term boyfriend in December… rather, the first attempt was in early November, but it dragged itself through muddy stalemate before finally ending, officially, in December. We’d been very, very close and had a network of plans together as vast and fragile as a spider’s web. In the end, though, we couldn’t be around each other without fighting, and there was one big lie that toppled us altogether once I had found out about it. It was ugly, and the break-up never seemed to end.

In the midst of this, enter the second fellow: a friend of a friend figure who I met more through happenstance than design. He left the university last spring, a full semester before I would transfer, but as we travel the same social circles I heard endless stories about him—and, furthermore, what great friends we would make should we ever be introduced. Of course, we did meet; he happened to be in attendance at a dinner theatre performance in which I was performing, and (although I was done up in a fake moustache and body glitter) he somehow concluded that I represented a worthwhile pursuit.

Since then, I have had innumerable hours of conversation with both of them, the flames of my frustration and confusion cauterizing the wounds of one while instantaneously igniting some new fuse in the other. I had consistent visions of myself as a tight-rope walker, though every day and every interaction raised the line a little higher above the crowd.

This is all a roundabout way of saying that things were painful and convoluted and uncertain for … well, for too long. I’d go into more detail—I seem to think it would do me some kind of good to get it out—but honestly, it’s exhausting. I’ve been living this for the past few months; dragging myself back through it for the sake of documented purgation is a few floggings short of torturous. Of course, it’s a rich mine of neuroses, so I may come back and drill the topic just to keep it from weighing me down.

In short, I’m in a strange place now. My ex has finally come around and cooled down, and for the first time in weeks we can see each other without breaking down. This is a good thing. We were wonderful friends, after all, and to simply walk away from what we had would be leaving a LOT behind. I’m not sure if I’m ready (or willing) to accept that we are completely over… unfortunately, I’m only just realizing this.

While things begin to clear with him, though, they have intensified with my … friend. I don’t know what to call him. He wants badly to be my boyfriend, despite my oft-repeated protest that I am neither ready nor looking for a committed relationship. I had thought that the mere fact of his living three hours away would be enough to deter us from getting serious. It’s worked for me, I guess, but I’m afraid my interest has somewhat waned as we breezed through the short epoch of flirtation and firsts. I want to be fair to him, and tried to make my intentions as clear as possible so he knew what sort of mess he was entangling himself in, but nonetheless he simply head over heels. He’s had me meet his family; he wants to meet mine. He wants to move up here; he asked if I would like to live together. I’m terrified! Suddenly, I’m wondering if it was really him I was interested in, or if I just so sorely needed what he offered in terms of attention and affection.

I should annotate: this guy is not a creep. He’s incredibly dynamic, talented, the life of the party; probably one of the most popular people I’ve ever come across. Friends across the spectrum. Crazy stories to tell, and they’re told well. Interesting, unconventional beliefs and opinions. We get along well; we have nearly identical senses of humor; we have a similar sense of fun and adventure and always manage to be doing something entertaining when we’re together. Our first date, we played D&D at a friend’s house with a host of other people, which turned inexplicably into a late-night game of Monopoly and then watching Firefly together. He kissed me the first time while watching Star Wars. The last time I visited him, we went to see a production of RENT in Minneapolis, and watched movies and made nachos and played Left 4 Dead together before I left. In short, we like all the same things. We’re perfectly nerdy.

He says all the right things. If they don’t come from the right person, though, what do the right things really mean at all?

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Outlet

I think one of the hardest parts about falling into regular blogification will be the lingering sense of shame, the nagging meta-contextual guilt over feeling stupid for what I’m doing as I’m doing it. I mean, I’m blogging.

Alright. Catharsis.

One of the reasons I decided to keep up a journal (of sorts), more than just a dumping-ground of the things and thinks I find interesting, is for a place to work out the situations and details of my life without bothering anyone. A sitting room of the soul, if you will, although in this case there’s no one on the sofa but me.

It’s not that I don’t have people to talk to; I have been blessed with a multitude of like-minded individuals who are warm and receptive to whatever I might have to say. I still feel the need, though, for a single person--an outlet--to whom I can pour out absolutely everything I might need to say, without fear of being judged or, worse, boring them. If the internet is good for anything, this is it.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Poetry:

Since blogging seems wired into my cultural identity, I feel I might as well do it properly. It's all about sharing, so I'm putting here one of my favorite poems (and the source of this little blog's title).

i thank You God-- e e cummings.

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

Primavera

The first vestigial fins of Spring are cresting across the frozen plains, and so it seems that this is as good a time as any for beginnings. I'm not sure how long this blog's existed, though I'm sure the desire to share my thinklings has predated it by far; I'm determined to keep it as genuine as possible, in an homage to the nebulous self I can never seem to successfully pursue.

To wit, this will rise from nothing into a compendium of poems (my own and others), stories, observations, updates, fantastical dilemmas and mundane conundrums. In any case, there ought to be a lot of words.