Monthly Archives: September 2010

the woman pays

September 30, 2010

I feel gross and dizzy, and I think it might be due to the fact that I’ve lost 4lbs the past couple of days. I know a lot of people would rejoice to lose weight, but for me, dipping too low is always scary. I know what people are thinking, “Oh, Sara, people would do anything to lose weight like that!” The thing is that, I don’t want to lose weight like that. I know it’s strange, but some people understand what it’s like.

A few months ago, my weight dipped lower than it has been my entire adult life. I’m pretty sure I didn’t weigh that much since middle school. It’s a well known fact that I eat a ton of food, and there were times when we were in San Francisco that I told my mom we needed to order more food because I was still hungry. I think I might have to go out of my way to eat more or get more calories per meal. I wonder if my fainting spells correspond with weight loss or occur at times when my weight is lower than I would like it to be. I should be keeping better track of my weight. I didn’t buy a scale until a couple weeks ago. My weight was the same for a while, and it dropped quite a bit recently.

I might need to start drinking milk again and eating more. I did gain a pound after I ate dinner with Evan, and my second dinner was apple pie and a milkshake. Maybe I should bake more and force myself to eat the entire batch. That sounds really gross. I think I need to start eating more ice cream. Maybe half a pint of ice cream a day would help. I’m eating right now with the hopes that it’ll make me feel better.

Today, I got the lock for my backdoor fixed, and I bought some pillows and a throw for my couch. This isn’t as soft as the blanket I wanted, but that one left lint all over my shirt. Since I wear black all the time, it would show. This throw is equally snugglie, and it’ll be good for when people visit and I need to sleep on the couch.

I started writing in my journal again with the hopes of separating what I publish on my blog and the thoughts I should really just keep to myself. It’s a little frustrating because writing things by hand take so long, and I can’t easily pour out everything I want to get out of my system. I’ll just have to deal with it.

I was struck by the sudden realization that my life somewhat mirrors Tess from Tess of the D’urbervilles, which is my favorite book. I’m sure you can see similarities with anything if you look hard enough. Before I move on to what I actually want to say, (1) I’m struck by a feeling of déjà vu sitting here writing this with a mild offside interjection, and (2) Tess the 1979 movie was a huge disappointment.

There are several slight differences between my life and the life Hardy created for Tess. I will completely ruin the book for you if you ever have any intention of reading it. I didn’t accidentally get my family’s horse killed. I wasn’t shipped off to some wealthy relation. I wasn’t raped by my “cousin”, and I didn’t pop out a kid. I didn’t go to a dairy to milk cows, although the image in my mind seems really pleasing. I didn’t fall in love with nor get married to a man who wants to be a farmer. My husband didn’t go away to Brazil. I haven’t killed anyone, and I haven’t been executed. As far as I know, I’m still alive.

The order of my life is a little different from Tess’s, but is it strange that this book was my favorite before anything in my life happened the way it did? At least I won’t have to make any decisions based on my family. I have to remind myself that I can choose my life.

This is my favorite passage from the book:

Thus passed the leafy time when arborescence seems to be the one thing aimed at out of doors. Tess and Clare unconsciously studied each other, ever balanced on the edge of a passion, yet apparently keeping out of it. All the while they were converging, under an irresistible law, as surely as two streams in one vale.

Tess had never in her recent life been so happy as she was now, possibly never would be so happy again. She was, for one thing, physically and mentally suited among these new surroundings. The sapling which had rooted down to a poisonous stratum on the spot of its sowing had been transplanted to a deeper soil. Moreover she, and Clare also, stood as yet on the debatable land between predilection and love; where no profundities have been reached; no reflections have set in, awkwardly inquiring, “Whither does this new current tend to carry me? What does it mean to my future? How does it stand towards my past?”

I should have known I was a hopeless romantic the first time I read this and knew that it was the most beautiful thing I had read. I think Hardy perfectly captured that moment when you’re falling in love. Predilection is my favorite word. Ugh. How awful.

meet me on the star ferry

September 29, 2010

cooking, food, Maddy, poetry, things that make me happy

I painted my nails, which was incredibly pointless because I work tomorrow so I have to take it off before then. Today was a nice day, and I’m glad I didn’t have to go through figuring out the bus because that was a hassle. My butt and my thighs are hurting a little bit from riding my bike, but I’ll survive. I love my bike. When I walk up to the bike racks with all these different bikes in all these different colors, I’m really happy seeing my bike. Personally, I think it’s the best looking bike out there. Well maybe the cream Linus would be prettier, but my bike is pretty gorgeous.

We went over my poem in class, and I got a decent amount of positive feedback, which made me feel better about it. I do want to talk to my professor about it though because while the feedback was really helpful, I want his opinion, and I want to discuss it with someone one-on-one. I’m really excited to go back and revise it, but I should be starting a new poem that’s due on Saturday. I have no idea what to write. I don’t want to write what I really want to write about so I’ll just avoid it for now, but I have been thinking about it a lot.

Maddy has been exceptionally cute tonight. Her beard was all smushed when I came home, but her fluff is just the right fluffiness to make her look incredibly adorable. I love how she wags her tail when she’s playing. My dog is awesome. I can’t believe she’s going to be two in December. Maddymas!

I know December is quite a bit off, but I want to do so much for the holidays. I want to get a tree. I want to decorate. I want to bake a ton and maybe have a holiday party. I want to make cookies (chocolate chip and lemon glitter at least), cheesecake, tira misu, maybe a regular cake of some sort. Maybe a pie? Maybe a dessert pot luck? I was starting to look at recipes online, but I got really hungry.

I need to think of things I can pack for lunch on days I have class because I have no desire to buy food on campus, and there aren’t very many places around it with food I want to eat. I know sandwiches are an obvious answer, but two slabs of bread with something in between isn’t really appetizing unless it’s free. I know there are microwaves scattered around so I could eat warm food. I just have to think of stuff that’s easily packable. Soup would sound fantastic, but I just see it spilling all over my backpack. That would suck. Maybe I could get a thermos thing like when I was a wee Sara. I’m pretty sure we still have the yellow one back at home. It had a little bear on it and a red cap. My mom is probably as sentimental as I am and keeps that sort of stuff.

I know she has her chi pow and wedding dress still. I want to stay this skinny and can wear her chi pow for my wedding reception. After my wedding, I’ll just let myself go. I don’t know. It was a little tight in high school, and I don’t know if I can ballroom dance in it. I know, without a doubt, that for the first dance or whatever, I want to be able to ballroom dance to it. Maybe a foxtrot or a quickstep. Would that be ridiculous? Quickstep for your first dance?

There’s no substance to this entry, and I’m fine with it. I think I’ll do some reading tonight and think of a poem.

Thing that made me happy today: The gorgeous weather! I’m so excited for tomorrow too!

my heart, your skin, this love

September 29, 2010

blog, poetry

I’ve come to realize that I have lost focus on the point of my blog, which is to sort of keep a running happy things log for myself. I think I get too caught up on all the thinking stuff I do that I normally regulate to my notebooks, stuff I don’t bother to share with anyone, but I’m not going to take down the entries because well…they’re there although a little more personal exposure than I would like for throwing myself to the internet.

The mug I took from work with permission back when we had the old mugs has a crack where the top of the handle joins the mug. That’s why I was allowed to take it home. Every time I pick it up, it makes this creaking noise, and I’m sort of worried that it’ll just snap.

I went to the hardware today and stole paint chips. This is the third time I’m recounting this story in the past half an hour. I was flipping through one of those really silly writing books that try and help you be creative or get inspiration or something like that. Either way, I’m not collecting these paint chips because I’m planning on doing any painting. I would love to paint my walls probably a nice green or blue, but I’m not supposed to paint. The person suggested getting these paint colors for their names and using those words as a jumping point or just giving something to think about with words. I thought it was a brilliant idea, obviously because I was standing there looking at all these paint names. I took a few, more than I should, but I doubt I’m the first one to try and take a chunk of paint chips.

These are some of the favorites that I stole today: sugared violet, orchid lane, winter blackberry, pearl blush, rose shadow, flying dove, Grecian Urn (obviously I took this one for it’s reference to Keats), ounce of silver, wafted feather, dusty orchid, pressed petal, afterglow.

I worked today, more than I intended because I’m supposed to be writing a very short paper on The Canonization. There was a moment, while I was reading it through that I was quite overwhelmed by it and nearly vowed never to attempt a love poem. The beginning vaguely reminds me of Catullus 5 probably because I translated several times when taking Latin.

Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus

I shouldn’t be working as much as I have been lately. I should focus more on school, but I’m worried that of something in between working too much and not enough. I’m sure I could be constantly reading if I didn’t work, but there’s something about that idleness that hints at laziness to me. I like working. I don’t think I have time management issues, but I push myself too much. Next week, I’ll try to avoid picking up any more random shifts. I underestimated the workload because it was the first week of classes, but when I think back to when I was working for Ohio State, I was easily working 40 hour weeks without issue. Since it was super flexible in scheduling, I didn’t feel it as much.

I’m not overwhelmed, but I could potentially if I’m not more mindful of my work and my classes.

in the shadow of your heart

September 28, 2010

love, memories, poetry

I’m tired, but I don’t want to sleep. I’m slightly aware of how much homework I have to do: readings, poems, papers. I wanted to go over the readings I went over in class. I didn’t do that. I wanted to get a start on my very short 500-750 word essay for Wednesday. I did at least read over the poem and made some notes. I’ll probably do it after work tomorrow and print it Wednesday morning in the library. I wanted to start my poem due for Saturday.

I had a vague inkling of what I wanted to write about, and I sort of scribbled a couple of words, thought of it, and was overwhelmed by how impossible it would be. How is it possible for me, a person with all this love inside of me, to be completely unable to write a love poem. I’ve written several very angry poems. I’ve written a couple poems about nothing in particular, dryer lint traps and a long open road. I wrote one poem vaguely about regret, but it wasn’t really regret. That was a really bad one that I’ll just pretend never happened. There are two poems I want to write.

One is yet another very angry poem, but I don’t know how to go about it. I feel like if I were to take pen to paper it would resemble something a 13 year old would put on Myspace, but I don’t want to write something along the lines of sitting in a dark corner of my bedroom, crying all night, and then dying my hair black because no one can understand the pain. Ugh. My skin crawls just thinking about. This isn’t to say that my previous angry poems don’t have emo moments, but I feel like this one floating somewhere in my mind would be particularly awful. I should get a Myspace account in preparation.

The other is a love poem. I have all these details I want to put in it, but god knows that it would be worthless. I’m good at finding dumb details because that’s what I do all day, but I don’t know how to put them together and make a journey for myself. Where do I start? There are so many memories.

Standing in the lobby literally wringing my hands with nervousness. I probably did the thing I always do when I get very nervous or think too hard which is to just smush my hands on my face. That’s probably why I get pimples around my mouth. I rub my chin a lot. I would do well with a beard. When I saw you walking in fashionably late (fashionable but not good for my nerves) and you smiled, my heart caught in my throat like it always does, like it still does. I could smell the cigarette you smoked walking there when we danced.

I reached my hand through the crush of drunks. You gave me a surprised look but took it, and I pulled you through.

The heels of my boots sinking into the damp earth, and I was cold because it was like this one year ago, a crisp autumn night. You came up to me and asked how I was doing. You let me lean up against you. I fell asleep wrapped in your blazer sitting under the stars. When I woke, there was no music, but you were there ready to put your arms around me.

…But why stop there?
Each happy memory leads me to a sad one…

God, this is the worst time of the year for me. This is the time of the year when I wallow in misery, try to move on, try to become something more, but right now, I can’t let go of any of it. I want to shed this skin. Last year it took a little over a week. The year before that took half a month. Several years ago….I don’t know. My memory isn’t that good.

Maybe that’s why I’m writing this even though I didn’t want to write another entry today. I’m afraid that I’ll forget how I felt, forget all the stupid details that I always remember, just forget. How can I forget this when I remember how in high school he would run his hand through my hair as though he could love me. That’s my favorite thing when I see couples come into work. They’re standing there looking at the menu, and he absentmindedly runs his hand through her hair or plays with the end. It melts my heart. Worthless Romantic. Worthless.

None of this will change anything. I feel like if I could write some of this down in some sort of awful poem, it would help me a lot. God knows it helped me forget about a lot of other heartache. That’s not true at all. I didn’t forget it, but I deal with it a lot better now than I did, say, last year when the weight of all of it was still there in the back of my mind. Two months later, he was married. She would drunk dial me on your phone in the middle of the night and scream at my voicemail. Did she know? Did she know how you left me?

…waiting on the porch
lighting cigarette after cigarette after cigarette

I stood there looking at the jukebox with songs I didn’t want to listen to, and I looked at the girl sitting at the table. She didn’t know me, and I didn’t know her. She was the girl, and I was the other girl I didn’t know I was. I went home and cried knowing that I could hurt even people I didn’t know. I could hurt without knowing it.

I never thought you would leave me
the next day on the platform in Chamartín.

I want to write a poem but not about the dull hum of the AC flickering on and off throughout the night. I want to write a poem but not about how you leaned against my car and held me like you could find room in your heart for me again. I want to write a poem about how I would walk downstairs holding Maddy in my arms to unlock the back door, and you would be pacing around playing your guitar with frozen fingers.

I can’t. I don’t have the heart to do it. I wish I could so I can just let go of all of this. I need to stop these depressing entries. They’re really not helping me, but what else am I supposed to do? Write a poem I guess.

torture me

September 27, 2010

friendship, good things, poetry, routine, school

I’m incredibly tired for only having class all day. I think it might be the weather making me all dreary. I didn’t ride my bike to class today because I didn’t feel like having a wet butt all day, which was probably a good decision. Getting to campus is easy enough as long as I’m at the bus stop on time. Otherwise, I’ll probably have to hike up there or ride my bike.

Getting back is a little bit more difficult. I’m not entirely sure what the bus routes are still so I just use Google Maps to get directions, and I don’t always feel like it’s the best. Either way, there’s a 10 minute or 40 minute time frame to get from Denney to the Neil Ave and 11th bus stop to take either the 18 or 7 home. I would prefer the 7 because it stops right outside my building. I think I’ll figure out some sort of routine so I don’t have to run to the bus stop after class. Maybe I’ll stop by the library for a little bit.

I broke my headphones today when I dropped my cell phone at the bus stop so once again I’m without music on my commute to and from campus, which really isn’t a commute. Aside from waiting for the bus, it takes about 10 minutes, which is about the same amount of time from 1897.

Last night, I went to a housewarming potluck thing, which was a lot of fun. I made cookies. I ate delicious tacos. I drank wine. I had a poetry connection, which was sort of awkward for me. I don’t like sharing my work with strangers. That’s not true at all because I’m taking a poetry class with strangers, but outside of class, I don’t share my poems with people at all if I can help. I’ve shown a couple poems to a few close people. Either way, I felt it was only fair since he was sharing his poems.

There is a bit of a poem. I feel like it’s not complete, and I can build more on it. I’m just not really sure what to do or how to go about it. In the 8 lines that I have, there is so much in it for me at least. I haven’t been able to step away from it. I haven’t been able to take my pen to it and build more because I’m afraid of altering what I consider perfect right now, but I know it needs something else because it can’t stand on its own the way it is. I just don’t know what.

The rain wasn’t really that bad today. Either way, my pants were soaked and my feet were freezing. I’m sort of considering investing in rain boots. I should start carrying my bike up, but I need to get the back lock fixed first so it isn’t permanently locked.

My last two entries were rather depressing, which makes me a little disappointed with myself, but I’m realistic. I know I can’t be happy all the time, and there are going to be days when I get sucked into memories or dwell on things too much. Aside from my shoulder pain, I’ve been doing very well the past couple of days.

There wasn’t really a point to this entry aside from the fact that I wanted to break up the depressing nature of the past few entries with something indifferent.

so much more than…

September 26, 2010

beauty, books, cooking, food, life, love, memories

I don’t know how I feel about today. I was uncharacteristically optimistic and peppy all day at work. I don’t know where I had that energy hiding because I didn’t go to bed particularly early nor get to sleep in as long as I would have liked. Either way, I had a lot of fun at work today. I think when I work the floor, I have less investment in my individual position (ie working the beverage station) and a more overall focus, so I don’t get as stressed.

I’m making cookies right now for a party. I haven’t made this recipe in nearly a year. I used to make it every couple of weeks in the dorms, and for people’s birthdays, I would bake these cookies and whatever kind of cookie the person wanted. It’s been a long time since I’ve baked, and I miss it. I remember when Arie came to visit for New Year’s back at the Chateau, we randomly made Nigella Lawson’s Molten Chocolate Babycakes. I miss living with a lot of people and in the dorms because I could bake whatever I wanted and there were always a lot of people who wanted to eat it. It’s a lot easier to share.

It’s a really strange day to be honest. This day last year, I was just bubbling with excitement. It was the day of the Illinois game. I didn’t pick up my ticket in time, and it was for the better because it poured the entire game. Instead, I went to the Chateau and watched it on the gigantic TV that, in a few months, would be stolen. Afterward, I went to the RPAC to practice with Burke before United We Dance. I was so nervous the entire time. Would my cell phone have reception? Would it be boring?

It’s hard reading the entries in my notebook sometimes knowing how much I loved and was loved, and now, everything is different. I don’t know. Everything was new and exciting. The library. Kafe Kerouac. The Informant. The way I felt the next morning when I rounded the corner and felt my heart catch in my throat. I don’t think I’ll ever forget any of it. That’s really a lie because for all I know I might get Alzheimer’s, but until then, I don’t think I’ll forget it. Every entry in my notebook is filled with happiness.

Right now, everything is encapsulated in one perfect year. 365 exact days that would have been but will not be. My heart feels so heavy. I’m not sad, but I feel the weight of it.

I’ve been doing so well lately that it’s hard to imagine that I was so sad. It seems like everything that happened is far away, but that’s not really true at all. There are times, like earlier today while I was mixing the cookie batter, when I involuntarily think about it. I was thinking about how different and unique kisses are. Pending Alzheimer’s, I don’t think I’ll ever forget this one. I don’t know how to describe it. You always hear things like “Love is so beautiful, blah blah blah.” Whatever. Whatever love is. This one kiss, I can say with complete confidence, was the most beautiful kiss in my short life, and I can’t describe it. It made me believe in love even though I never stopped believing in it. I’m just a worthless romantic. Worthless. It doesn’t get me anywhere.

In complete contrast and for other complete reasons, I will never forget that kiss in April standing in the parking lot. I knew in that instant that there was no way there was any possibility. There was no way anything would become something, but it did. It became something that would define me.

I took pictures that day, hours before all of it happened. I think I’ve only told one person this, but now I’m telling the internet. Either way, in those pictures I looked so beautiful. I don’t really know why. It has nothing to do with my face because you can only see a portion of my face but rather the girl in the picture.

And in one moment, all of that was taken away. In one moment, with one kiss I felt beautiful and I felt this complete overwhelming love even though we weren’t in love anymore. I was in love. I don’t think he was. The next day, I cut my hair.

First kisses are strange. I would say fairly confidently that I remember every first kiss starting with my first first kiss when I was in 7th grade. It was a dare, but isn’t that what happens with all first kisses? We give them away to something silly and childish because we don’t know how valuable they can be, what they mean. I’m certain that there’s a law that says that if two mildly interested people are watching a movie, they will kiss.

1. Winter break, 7th grade somewhere in between the Caribbean and Panama. It was a dare. We were sitting together on the top bunk where we always sat together.

2. June the summer after 8th grade laying on the floor of his bedroom, which means nothing because at this point in your life holding hands is a big step.

3. May or June 2005 in my car after coming back from the Spy Museum. I remember the fireflies that summer, and how we would sit in my car for hours talking.

4. August 2005 my first time to Ohio after watching Fight Club and Conan was on in the background.

5. Bunratty, Ireland.

6. Amina’s kitchen. I let the screen door slam shut behind me and walked across the kitchen in about 3 steps.

7. Bristol.

8. The chair at Amina’s house.

9. Madrid.

10. Underneath the ceiling fan in my bedroom.

11. Your futon as we watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

12. In the living room by the built in shelving with the doors I could never open.

13. In the movie theater. I remember driving you home and hoping that I could live in that night forever.

14. In the living room with your cat sitting in the windows above us.

15. In the Surly Girl parking lot.

It almost breaks my heart that my last first kiss could be so awful. I should have known. I should have known.

Maybe now I can close the book on this past year and move on knowing that none of it is a part of my life anymore. This isn’t to say that when I wander the stacks of the library, I won’t be struck by the memories of aimlessly exploring each floor together in ten minutes before they closed. This isn’t to say that when I walk down the street, I won’t be struck by the memories of walking with you and you would lift your right arm to spin me. This isn’t to say that I won’t be expecting you when I round the corner standing the way you do with a pan in your hand looking exactly like you did that day when my heart caught in my throat. You lifted your eyes and smiled, and I fell in love the way I always fall in love.

I miss all of it but missing it won’t bring it back. Nothing will, and I should have learned long ago that just because you love someone doesn’t mean love will triumph and everyone will live happily ever after. I should have learned that a long time ago.

Maybe this time next year, I’ll forget about September 26th. Maybe it won’t be an indicator of what could have but just become an ordinary day, another square on the calendar. Maybe fifty years from now, I’ll think about it, sigh, and continue.

I’m always in this twilight

September 23, 2010

beauty

I changed the layout for my website because I didn’t particularly like the last one. I like this one because it has a wider format, there isn’t as much spacing between the lines, and the links are blue and not orange. I do wish the thing in the top right corner wasn’t in a silly speech bubble, but whatever, it’s pretty minor.

I had an okay day. I went and had coffee with Amina after we picked up our football tickets, which was nice. We talked about poetry and class and life. Afterward, I went to Barnes and Nobles. I stopped by home and had dinner before going to Cup O’ Joe to try and get some reading and writing done.

As I was riding my bike south on High Street, some man yelled out of a pick up truck window at me saying, “I want to eat you,” and when they passed me again later, they yelled at me again. I felt so disgusted and upset about the situation that I had difficulty locking my bike when I got to Cup O’ Joe, and I actually was crying in the bathroom. This is so embarrassing to post, and probably my most depressing entry to date.

I know that these were two jerks just being rude. I feel like ordinarily I could just ignore it and move on, but the manner in which they just harassed me when I was doing something so ordinary as riding my bike really made me uncomfortable and borderline scared. I don’t know. It feels like it’s possible for something like this to happen at a bar and other people would tell them to lay off or that it’s rude or I could leave. I mean stuff like this has happened at bars. I’ve felt immensely uncomfortable, but I wasn’t alone. I don’t know how to describe it.

I felt incredibly disgusted about myself, but the way I look isn’t something I can change. I thought I could. I thought I could cut my hair, and I would no longer be beautiful or look good. I thought I was giving up my beauty. I’m not sure what I can do. I don’t want people to look at me or notice what I look like, but I don’t want to have to wear a bonnet and an ankle length dress. Not only that, I shouldn’t have to change my life because other people are rude and disgusting.

Either way, I shouldn’t have to hate myself because other people choose to be rude. It’s just in moments like these when people make it incredibly apparent that they are only seeing my body, I feel horrible. I know, when I step away from the situation, that I am more than just what my body looks like, but it’s all so demeaning. I don’t know. I feel awful just writing this.

I particularly hate how people say that at least I’m good looking to draw this attention. I don’t feel like I look good, and I don’t want to look good. I don’t want to have the body that I have or the face that I have. I don’t want to be attractive to people. I was born looking like this. I don’t make my body be the shape that it is. it just ended up like this. I don’t want your attention. I just want to keep clean and look presentable for myself. I don’t want to be hot. I don’t want to be sexy. I don’t want to be attractive, fine, or any such adjective. I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it. I didn’t ask for this. Any of it.

I wish I could just scream right now.

I had dinner with Evan, which made me feel better. Actually, I just had a milkshake and apple pie while he had a real dinner. I don’t know. I was feeling better until I wrote this entry, but maybe I had to get it out of my system.

Heart Station of Sinners

September 23, 2010

books, English, poetry, Political Science, school, things that make me happy

School started yesterday, which was fantastic. I’m not a huge fan of how crowded campus is, but that’s what you get for going to such a large school. I just get claustrophobic even though I’m outside riding my bike on the street and the streams of people are passing by on the sidewalk. I know it’s not really claustrophobia, but I don’t know how else to say it. See how bad I am with words?

It took less time than I thought it would to bike to class, like 12 minutes? I parked my bike at the Journalism building, which is extremely convenient for all my classes. My first class, Political Science Security Policy During and After the Cold War, is in the Journalism building in a lecture hall just too small for the class. Actually, only one person would have had to stand if one guy didn’t think his backpack needed an entire seat to itself. Did your backpack pay tuition? I don’t think so. It was really interesting and fun, and my professor is hilarious. I’m probably just one of the super awkward people that laugh at any clever quip. I think I would like the subject matter a lot because it applies a lot of the theory I learned. I want to see Realism in action.

During the middle of class, the tip of my pen broke. I really like the Pilot G2 0.38mm pens, ultra ultra fine point, but for some reason, the tips break all the time before I get anywhere close to using up all the ink. It’s really frustrating, and I’ve misplaced or broken nearly all of my pens so it was the only pen I had with me at the time. The boy sitting next to me was nice and let me borrow a pen. After class, I ran to the Central Classroom building to buy some pens to use for the rest of the day, but I was starving so I bought some Raisinets and a granola bar to eat in addition to half a cranberry apple muffin I already had. I don’t know why I like Raisinets so much.

My next class was English 398, the writing class for majors. I was a little disappointed that it was like a school writing class. I was hoping we would be working on grammar and sentence structure and stuff like that, but I think we’re just going to be talking about theory (I love all theory in general so I’ll probably love that) and crafting essays for class. I like my professor so far, and I think I’ll take some scraps of sentences to him anyways to try and work on wording things more effectively. I realize that I always have a goal of maximum clarity when I’m writing things whether it’s a Yelp review or a poem, and I never feel like anything is ever clear so there must be a better way to write it.

I always think it’s really interesting when we go around the room and do class introductions. “What’s your name, your hometown, your major, your year, your pet’s name, your favorite hobby, blahblahblah.” This somewhat insightful for me. Since it was an English major class, everyone there was an English major except for me. I was the lone minor. A lot of people were English majors because they like to read and write, which is good because English requires a lot of that, or they really liked their English classes in high school.

I thought that was really strange because I never felt like my high school English classes really left an impression on me except to let me know that I was taking way too many AP classes and should just use Spark Notes. I don’t necessarily regret it because reading the books now, I have a little bit more insight and understanding that I just didn’t have when I was 16. I don’t know. I also didn’t read any books that particularly resonated with me. A lot of people love Catcher in the Rye, and while it is a good interesting coming of age first person stream of consciousness book, I personally like The Sound and the Fury much more. The Sound and the Fury was a book I read in high school that I particularly liked, and I want to read more Faulkner. I’m not saying that I don’t like Catcher in the Rye. I do like it, but it’s not my favorite book. I didn’t read my favorite books, Tess of the d’Urbervilles and Lolita, in class. I would say that Lolita is one of my favorite books right now because I love Nabokov’s writing style, but I think that I should read more of his books. So many books to read!

I’m currently reading Descartes’ Error, but it’s been a slow read. I’m not sure if it’s because the writing is a little dry compared to say Daniel Gilbert’s or if I just want something a little bit more lively. I wish I were reading some fiction too, but usually when I try to do that, I usually just get hung up on the fiction book. I’m reading Poetic Meter and Poetic Form for my poetry class, and it’s a tough read just because I think about it really hard. I don’t have much experience with meter, but I will soon. I’ll get back to this later because I’ve completely gotten off track.

Either way, I was sort of surprised that no one said they liked English for what it is, the language and words and everything that makes it English. I guess, I am really weird for liking English language. A lot of people like and study literature and want to teach, but I really thought that other people would be like “Yeah, English is pretty sweet.” I think that’s why I like Lolita so much. I like Nabokov’s word play and his word choice. Hell, the first lines of the book are probably one of my favorite opening lines ever. A lot of times, I’ll open a book, and the first lines are pretty blah. In Lolita, you are immediately hooked and drawn in, and you feel the passion, love, and delight. You want to read more.

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.

She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.

In my next class, we saw an awesome TED talk of Hans Rosling at the State Department last year. It is such an amazing video, and I think everyone should watch it. I particularly liked how he used the microphone as a pointer and the Sweden races towards the end. Hilarious. I actually dropped this class already because it isn’t really what I thought it would be.

My last class of the day was English 566, my poetry writing class with Andrew Hudgins. I was so nervous and uncomfortable. Everyone seems very friendly, and Professor Hudgins is a really awesome guy. It was nice that there’s a girl from my 266 class in my class too. I’m really excited but overwhelmed. I don’t feel like a poet or a writer, and there is so much more structure to this class than my 266 class that I feel sort of unprepared. I have to write a poem a week, which is good because I need to force myself to write. I was sort of lazy over the summer, and while I did write one 8 line poem and get a good start on a few, having a deadline will force me to get my act together.

I’m kind of worried because I tend to write short poems. After I get something down, I’m constantly crossing stuff out and getting rid of it to pare it down, but my first poem needs to be 25 lines. I’ve only written one poem more than 20 lines. Then, in a few weeks I need to write a 30 lines blank verse. THIRTY LINES! That’s nearly a million! Not to add, I have very little experience writing in meter. I’ve made some poor attempts but nothing worth anything. The Poetic Meter and Poetic Forms book has already helped immensely. I’ve gotten much better at feeling the rhythm, but I think I need to read much more of it to become comfortable with meter.

Either way, I’m incredibly excited for this year, and I’m really excited for my classes. I want to improve my writing so much and just improve overall. I feel like this quarter I will learn so much, and I’m so excited for it. I didn’t even get to what I titled this entry about, but maybe it’s for the better.

Were the radio waves of my heart able to reach you?
It’s broadcasting from the Heart Station of sinners
And only God knows
How much I miss you.

I can’t go on without forgetting you,
That’s how it seems at least, but why is it
That only all the good memories of us remain?

Without a doubt, even though we’re separated, you’re right here…
Right here at the center of my heart.

Thing that made me happy today: A grandma and grandpa off-roading with a stroller in the park.

words

September 21, 2010

exercise, food, friendship, poetry, school

The previous post on my trip to Chicago was my longest yet. Who knew I could produce so many words for such a short trip.

I spent quite a bit of time cleaning my apartment. I reorganized my router and desk, cleaned the bathroom floors, vacuumed, mopped, put together a bookshelf, and put all my books on the bookshelves. I’m listening to Radio Lab, which is incredibly awesome. I’m listening to the program on Words, which I love so much. It is so cool.

I’ve had a wonderful time since I came back from Chicago. I was incredibly tired at work all day on Saturday, but it was nice being back. On Sunday, I worked during the day, and I was pretty tired at the end of my shift. It was okay because I ran into Evan who was eating there. That evening, I went to Kelly’s house where we made cinnamon rolls and ate taco salad and cheese. I love taco salad with lime chips. Awesome!

I ate so many cinnamon rolls, and I’m eating some right now that Kelly gave me to take home. I think I feel the fat on my stomach. Maybe I should really start working out. Maybe I can put off working out for a while still. I wonder when my metabolism is going to disappear because that will suck. I went running today, which was very good of me because I haven’t been running since I went on vacation. I’m a slacker.

I’m surprised by how excited I am for school to start. I am incredibly nervous, and I already feel slightly overwhelmed. I have to write a 25 line poem by Saturday, but I have only written one poem more than 25 lines. All of my poems are so short. I think I have a good idea of what to write on, but I haven’t even figured out my thoughts on it. How am I supposed to put it into a coherent poem? I think I just need to breathe and not forget my notebook when I leave the house today. Either way, writing a poor poem will be less embarrassing than pooping my pants with nervousness and excitement during class tomorrow.

Running errands today and writing poems, that’s what I’m going to do.

no turning back

September 20, 2010

food, friendship, good things, life, memories, travel

I’m really quite unoriginal in naming my posts. Half of the time I don’t really care to title them because it’s a lot easier to assign a title after I’ve written it, but I really like “The Dog Days are Over” by Florence and the Machine. I’ve titled the last three posts with lyrics from that song. I don’t know why. It is a really great song to sing when you’re driving down the highway to some unknown place. I really like these lines:

Leave all your loving, your loving behind
You can’t carry it with you if you want to survive

Sometimes I alter song lyrics to suit myself when I think I hear something, and then when I read the lyrics, I find out they’re different from what I thought I heard. For a long time, I thought these lyrics were “Leave all your loving, your longing behind”, which I sort of like better. When I sing it in the car, that’s what I sing. “Kansas” by Vienna Teng is my most favorite Vienna Teng song and probably most favorite song ever.

Bury this hard
Down underneath your white canvas

I know when I listen to the song, it sounds like “Bury this heart”, and I like that much better. I don’t know. I know she intends it to be one word, but I think it resonates better with me when I alter it. Maybe she wants us to question it. Maybe she wants us to make that mistake.

I’m still really tired. I think driving back to Columbus in the morning really threw off my sleep schedule or my sanity or drained me of energy. I have no idea. I don’t regret anything, but I hope I can sleep in a little tomorrow morning. I have to do silly things with my day like organize my books, hang out with Maddy, clean my room, silly things like that.

Chicago was a lot of fun. I had decided to go on a whim when Jason offered to buy me dinner for my birthday. I was already planning to go to Cincinnati to visit Lee, and I took up on the offer. I wasn’t scheduled to work Monday, my birthday, to Friday, which left my plenty of time to travel. I had a really nice time in Chicago.

My first night there, I was starving when I finally got to Chicago. I had been driving all day subsisting on water and a couple handful of Raisinets. The AC in my car is broken, so I had to drive with my windows down the majority of the way. Raisinets were not the best decision because after an hour or so, they melted into giant clumps of chocolate with raisins. I reached my hand into the bag and pulled out a giant chocolate mess. I couldn’t eat anymore Raisinets for the rest of my trip. I also bought a Heath bar, but I forgot about it. It was all mushy when I remembered it once I got to Chicago, but I forgot it in Chicago.

We ate at a restaurant in Lincoln Park, which was pretty good. I had some sort of crab pasta. I don’t think I really did anything for the rest of the night. Jason showed me some of his vacation photos, and I remember curling up on the air mattress still dressed. I was really tired from all the driving.

The next morning, I spent a lot of time figuring out my day and getting around Chicago. Pluto sat in the bedroom doorway and meowed at me a lot before running away under the bed. I had breakfast at Sarks in the Park, which was pretty delicious. From there, I went to the Magnificent Mile and walked around. I didn’t buy anything. Then, I went to Navy Pier, but I was sort of disappointed. It offered neither a good place to take pictures of the skyline nor anything of real interest to me. There was a stained glass exhibit that I stumbled upon trying to get to the other side of the building. The other side was just the road to the parking garage, so that was sort of a disappointment too. From there, I went to The Loop in an attempt to find a nice cafe to get coffee and a pastry of some sort to hold me over until dinner. I went hell bent on this hunt, but apparently, the area is populated with numerous Dunkin’ Donuts and Starbucks. I resolutely told myself, I didn’t want a huge national chain, so I meandered aimlessly for quite some time until I finally found Argo Tea, which was pretty cool. I had a chai coffee. Lame, I know, but I really needed caffeine. I wanted to try the Hibiscus tea, maybe next time.

Afterward, I walked around the outside of the Art Institute. I was supposed to meet Jason to go look at the galleries, but I had some time to explore Millennium Park a little bit. I ended up at the Cloud Gate to take some pictures. I will preface this next part of my entry by stating that I might sound incredibly conceited and stupid, but I don’t care.

While I was taking pictures, a man approached me asking me how I was doing and if I were from the area. I said no, I was from out of town. At this point in the conversation, I felt very strange, and I wasn’t quite sure his intentions. He asked if I wanted to do an interview for a TV show on the History Channel. I had time before I was supposed to meet Jason and little to lose. I might look like an idiot, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world unless it ended up on Girl’s Gone Wild. I sat around half paying attention to the people being interviewed before me. By that point, a large gaggle of elementary school boys descended on The Bean so I had plenty of people watching to do. I heard a couple of questions about Oregon, and I was slightly concerned because I knew very little about Oregon.

When it came to me, Brian introduced himself and asked a couple of questions about where I lived. There were some questions that I had overheard from the previous interviews. I answered to the best of my abilities while trying very unsuccessfully not to sound like an idiot nor like a rude jerk. Maybe there is a tiny political streak it me, but I don’t think so. I just didn’t want whatever portions of my answers that were used to make me sound like anything but who I am, whatever person that is.

At one point, after my response to a question in reference the term “red necks”, Brian said I was very polite. I was sort of surprised with that at the moment, but now I am extremely proud to be called polite by someone. It’s not generally something I hear, but I was more surprised because I’m fairly certain he’s interviewed a decent number of people for the show (How the States Got Their Shape), and I must have been on my best behavior to be considered polite. My mother might be proud.

For the last question, I had a very minor Eureka moment and gave a fairly decent response to it. When I was finished, they said it was one of the most intelligent responses they heard for that question, and I was pretty proud of myself for it. Either way, maybe one day I’ll be watching the History Channel, when I get a TV, and I’ll see myself on a random segment. I hope I don’t look like an idiot.

Afterward, we walked around the Art Institute a bit. I got to see “Nighthawks” by Edward Hopper. I saw it at the National Gallery a few years ago when they had an Edward Hopper exhibit. I was really excited by that. I saw a lot of works that I liked a lot. Afterward, we had dinner and took a long bus ride home.

I like art galleries a lot or I guess large art museums. I like wandering aimlessly through the galleries. I like hunting for a specific painting. I like lingering. I had so much fun at the Art Institute, the Prado, the Reina Sofia. I want to go to more art museums. Maybe I should find a time to actually go to New York.

The next day, I took quite a bit of time meandering around to find The Little Branch Cafe. For some reason, I was determined to eat here even though I had just seen it on Google Maps when I was looking for a place to eat near Museum Campus. It’s at the bottom of an office tower or residential tower on a very side street. It was really good, although I can eat a lot. I contemplated getting a second entree, but I decided not to because I wanted to stop somewhere else for food later. I definitely need to go back for brunch.

I walked over to the Museum Campus to take some pictures of the skyline. I didn’t actually want to go to a museum, although if I had more time, I definitely would. I went to the Shedd Aquarium one time when I was like 13 or 14, by myself, and I walked back to McCormick Place because we were staying at the Hyatt there. It was a long time ago.

From there I took several buses to Wicker Park because I was supposed to meet Jason later for a thing for his work. I wanted to go to the Milk and Honey Cafe. By the time I got there, it was 3:50pm, and they close at 4pm. I think the hours are wrong on the website. Either way, I felt like a huge dick, so I just ordered a coffee and two Earl Grey cookies to go. The cookies were delicious! If I ever go back to Chicago, which I hope I do, I am going to go eat there because their brunch menu looked so good. I walked around the area for a little bit before meeting Jason and his coworkers at The Fifty/50. I had a beer and the pulled pork nachos, which were good but GIGANTIC, even for me! The wings were also pretty good, but I’m not really a wings person. I have no idea what their full menu looks like, but I heard that they have alcoholic milkshakes. I love milkshakes!

I went to bed super early, like 9pm to get up at 1am to start my drive back to Columbus. It was sort of a tough drive. I was kind of tired even though I had quite a bit of caffeine, and at night, I don’t generally sing and dance in my car. I don’t know. The heavy silence of night makes me think too much, and I don’t have the heart to sing. As stated in my previous entry, outside Lafayette, I saw the wind turbines at night with their red lights blinking in and out of existence. Sometimes, I could see a small part of the turbine moving in the dim glow of the light.

Nothing made me happier than crossing the Ohio border and watching the number of miles to Columbus go down bit by bit. The sunrise. The fields heavy with mist. The sun was kind of annoying because it was so bright, and I was driving east. Still, it was beautiful. I love the sunrise, and I’ve only really recall seeing it like that twice. Carbajales de Alba. Driving to Columbus. When the sky is a small smudge of grey on the horizon and then it changes to a gradient until you can see the orange, yellow, and green that fades to a dark midnight blue. It’s a strange sort of happiness seeing the sun rise giving the world light and shadow. I guess both times, I was desperately waiting for dawn. I’ll never forget how cold it was that night and how long it seemed. I don’t know, when I could see the sky growing brighter with more colors and then the sun, I felt relieved. I wanted to feel warm again. I wanted the train to come.

I don’t really know how all this traveling makes me feel. I didn’t find myself on a narrow piece of asphalt winding between two corn fields. I didn’t find myself flying somewhere between Oakland and Chicago and Columbus. I didn’t find myself in the battered green body of my car. I didn’t find myself on the shores of Lake Michigan or the San Francisco Bay. I wonder if I were simply running from everything I want or want to forget. I wonder if I were waiting for something to just jump out at me and say, “This, Sara, this is what you need to complete your life.” I don’t regret any of it. In fact, I loved it. I loved taking pictures in Chicago. I loved riding the bus and eating everywhere. I want to become more than I am now, and at the very least, I now know that I am polite and can give somewhat intelligent answers. I’ll probably never find myself anywhere in particular, but maybe, I can understand myself a little bit more. From there, I can become the person I want to be.

—to-happiness.net

take me to happiness

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