I have been technically up since 4am this morning. I awoke that early intentionally, to register for classes, but more specifically to ensure that I was able to be placed in the class with only fifteen seats that I need to complete in order to graduate this June.
I am happy to announce that the registration process went off without a hitch. I am even happier to announce that I have thus finished the registration process for my final quarter as an undergraduate. Ever. Yes, EVER!
What I am not happy to announce is the fact that I could not return to my euphoric nyquil induced sleep state after rising at 4am, but instead had to drag my not asleep self out of bed at 6am, and drive home (I had to use the ‘rent’s computer to register, as mine was less than functional this morning), whereupon during my last block of driving some very nice person had set a dark green beer bottle in the middle of the street, where people driving in the dark could very easily NOT SEE IT, until of course they were directly upon it and crushing it with their left front tire. Yeah, awesome.
But the fact that I still have a cold, and I didn’t get enough sleep last night, and my nose is so red and raw from blowing it every eight seconds that I am consistently aware of it painfully screaming at me “No more tissues, lady!,” and the fact that I still have a very long day ahead of me — none of this seems so miserable combined with the glorious fact that this morning I also found my long lost Journey, Greatest Hits cd, abandoned and left for dead in my glove-box. Finding that cd and promptly restoring it to the cd player, where it rightfully belongs, and where it will stay for some considerable time, has been my favorite part about this day.
Sing it with me now: Don’t Stop. Believing. Hold on to that fee-ee-ee-ling.
Stories I said I had. Tangential stories and life-changing ones.
Until today I haven’t known where, exactly, to begin. And so quiet this space has mostly been because some beginnings are tricky. Sometimes it’s quite impossible to denote where something ended and something else entirely began.
I’m not going to be able to tell you everything, but then the best stories never really do, do they?
(That’s not a trick question. I promise they don’t.)
(Unless the story was penned by Henry James, in → Read more...
This week I’ve been finding pieces of writing long lost and forgotten. Unearthing words belonging to me, and words penned by some of my favorite of all literary voices, collected and saved and scrawled excitedly on pages littered with foggy memories of past lives, obscured now in light of all that was and is and is to come.
Of the words not belonging to me, Lucille Clifton’s were the ones I found most often, recounted in notebook after notebook, or inked → Read more...
They say water changes stone, carving it over time to angles and dimensions in harmony with water’s need to reach the sea; but sometimes, stones change the watercourse instead.
-The lovely and eclectic Shari
I’m collecting my favorite corners, like the one with the stunning oak tree on display for an entire neighborhood to see, its limbs shading a bustling crosswalk shooting confidence into pedestrians like electric currents of white light, fresh graffiti on a nearby curb: an infinity symbol, black and simple.
I’m collecting stories about the apartment window filled with small elephant figurines along one of my favorite walking routes. So many trunks standing side-by-side and none of them alive.
I’m collecting the surprisingly → Read more...