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.

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.

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?

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.

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.