If you asked me to describe my heart, I would say a well worn book. Pages folded, passages highlighted, writing in the spare parchment, and the corners worn. These marks prove that others have left their fingerprints on the pages of my heart. They are trails that people before you have left.
Hey guys! Sorry, I know it has been awhile since I last posted. Life kinda caught up with me there! A weekend of zoo trips and visits from the parents,and THEN my little sister had a baby! Pretty exciting and has kept me pretty busy too. But I WILL post some original something soon! I need more poetry so I can apply to the University of Wisconsin Madison this year. We will see what happens with THAT! So, yeah, just lettin you know I am alive! Just bogged down by work. Will write in length soon. :-)
Sometimes, someone comes into your life that changes everything. They're able to make you smile, laugh, and allow you to be yourself. There's something about them that is unexplainable; and even though you're not even with them, you don't want to let that person go.
The breeze picked up, shaking the trees free of their fire and gold and covering my car in parchment leaves.
There was a bite to the wind; a remembrance that this was supposed to be Fall even though I spent the day in sandals and skirts. The air smelled like rain and I welcomed the sight of the hard steel line drawn across the sky muddying the blue above my home.
I stood in anticipation of a storm; searching the skies. The night worn on, but there never came the drumming fingers on the roof; the longed for relief of rain. Thunder teased, and once or twice my back door light up with lightening, insincere; but not a drop fell from the sky to quench my thirst.
I went to sleep rejected; my evening entertainment lost.
The next morning wet leaves were plastered to my windshield. The sun never rose, and I rushed from class to class hoping the rain holds off because I forgot an umbrella.
Last night a friend said, in the context of a conversation I do not want to share:
"Sometimes we don’t ask the most important questions of our lives because we are too afraid that we will not get the answers we are hoping for."
I find that to be unbearably true. Sometimes asking a question will change the status quo dramatically either way and if you don’t get the answer you hoped for then you’ve just destroyed something you didn’t want to lose.
There is a poem in this idea, I just need a little more time to unlock it.
“Anyway—because we are readers, we don’t have to wait for some communications executive to decide what we should think about next — and how we should think about it. We can fill our heads with anything from aardvarks to zucchinis—at any time of night or day.”—Kurt Vonnegut (via wordpainting)
So I just discovered this archive feature here on Tumblr. It opens up a page where it shows you your posts all lined up like boxes on a calendar, so you can get a visual of everything you did since you started. All organized by month, and all neatly stacked, all you have to do is scroll down.
I LOVE this feature because one, I was able to head towards the beginning of a few of my favorite blogs and see how they started. The second reason was because when I looked at my own archive it lined up my posts and quotes and pictures and suddenly looked like an old cork board I had in my room as a kid!
I LOVED having this board above my desk and I filled it with everything from written out literary quotes and fortune cookie innards to photos of my friends and favorite prints and paintings taken from my wandering of the internet.
In an odd way my Tumblr blog is very much a public forum for my old cork board, only now there are fewer quotes and more of my own writing. This is kind of the place where I collect little bits of the world that have caught my attention and I am very excited to be able to share it with all of you!
Maybe you have already discovered this feature, but for me, it made for an exciting morning! Now I am off to teach and be scholarly. :-)
I am wakened by the dulcet shouts of my roommate telling me to get my lazy ass out of bed or we’ll be late. With just two hours of sleep my body hunts for clothes in silent acquiescence. My left eye is cemented shut as something akin to an adult sippy cup is thrust into my hand. The dirty smell of coffee slaps my nose and I succumb to some semblance of life. I’m taken to a lawn in the middle of which is a roped off patch of glass pumpkins in groups of ten or twenty. We are an hour early and already a line has formed outside of the ropes. Old women, tense and lined up like race horses waiting for the little doors to open. Purses are gripped like billy clubs as the grannies grind their sharpened dentures and whisper about line cutters and place savers. As I stand in place, sipping from my sippy cup and staring at the multi-colored iridescent glass of the pumpkins I foggily wonder if I’m still in bed dreaming. The turn of the crowd is becoming a nightmare as the civilized procession slowly becomes a herd, old biddies snorting through their noses, glaring at one another. Each pumpkin is a snowflake and no one is willing to share the glory. If this breaks into a biddy throw-down I’m not sure I’m up to the fight. As the clock prepares to strike open time I envision this angry mob rushing forward. Old women, in greedy haste for the most beautiful pumpkin, surge forward, unable to stop, trampling the fragile gourds into rainbow dust. Shouting and yelling and gnashing of teeth, pandemonium in the streets, and if I had known the apocalypse was scheduled for today I would have slept in.
So, this last month or so has been almost indescribable.
So many things have gone wrong and yet several things have gone just right enough to balance. Not totally. Just a little. Just enough to keep me optimistic. Just enough to make sure that I wake up and function like a almost normal human being.
But it is rough sometimes.
Seeing someone you shared a life with for three years, after it has been declared that the shared experience has ended, is hard no matter how it happens.
I WANT to write about! I WANT to turn all of these thoughts and emotions into something beautiful that can encapsulate all of the unwanted necessary life experience onto the page and out of my chest because I need air and there is no room.