- I am in love.
- Today is my last day of 2009 in the Bay Area. This morning was my last morning in Oakland for 2009. Praise all that is good in this world.
- Tonight I drive home to Santa Clarita to see family. My sisters and I are all going to be under the same roof. This is very, very, very Good.
- Christmas is Thursday. The Nativity fast will be over. I'm eager for the birth of Christ.
- Michigan next week, then Chicago for a wedding, then Michigan. I get snow around Christmastime!! Be very jealous, please. Thank you.
- My mouse is cooped up in my car today while I work.
- So are the flowers Zak bought me this week. I hope my mouse doesn't die of Lily poisoning. It would be ironic because her name is Lil which is short for Lily.
- I'm in love. This is first and last on my daily report. I am very much in love.
Dec 11, 2009
Done with Semester One
- A 1/4 of the way done with graduate school.
- The floor is covered in cookie crumbs. My dorm room windows are foggy.
- The Bay Area is cold and understands an inkling of winter: forty-two degrees this morning and I shivered in my blankets before remembering I had a thermostat. Temperature regulator.
- Jesus is on my bookshelf. He watches me sleep and sometimes it is comforting and sometimes I am afraid because he Knows. Whatever it is that I am always hiding. And I never know what I am hiding, for.
- It is easier to write when I am thinking. Today I am not because my fingers are cold.
- I want to live in the city. I want to live in the sometimes sun. I like our friends in the city. They are warm and memory and feel bless-ed ages even though it's only been since August. September. January. My life will be young when I am old.
- I said our because you are my home.
- The floor is covered in cookie crumbs. My dorm room windows are foggy.
- The Bay Area is cold and understands an inkling of winter: forty-two degrees this morning and I shivered in my blankets before remembering I had a thermostat. Temperature regulator.
- Jesus is on my bookshelf. He watches me sleep and sometimes it is comforting and sometimes I am afraid because he Knows. Whatever it is that I am always hiding. And I never know what I am hiding, for.
- It is easier to write when I am thinking. Today I am not because my fingers are cold.
- I want to live in the city. I want to live in the sometimes sun. I like our friends in the city. They are warm and memory and feel bless-ed ages even though it's only been since August. September. January. My life will be young when I am old.
- I said our because you are my home.
Dec 10, 2009
Things are very far between point A and point B and it is two (twenty-two) a.m. and I have yet to fall asleep.
I've been stuck in another world these past few days and have surfaced for air (once, twice) only briefly. Tomorrow I refuse to descend again. Tomorrow I'll write about tutors and teachers and students and make it a pretty triangle with something remarkable (?) at its core.
That is, if I can still think in the morning. Supposing I still have a mind for anything but small towns in Sicily and Biblical legends. I need some sleep.
Where are we? The dust has only just begun to fall.
Crop circles in the carpet.
I've been stuck in another world these past few days and have surfaced for air (once, twice) only briefly. Tomorrow I refuse to descend again. Tomorrow I'll write about tutors and teachers and students and make it a pretty triangle with something remarkable (?) at its core.
That is, if I can still think in the morning. Supposing I still have a mind for anything but small towns in Sicily and Biblical legends. I need some sleep.
Where are we? The dust has only just begun to fall.
Crop circles in the carpet.
Dec 9, 2009
Dec 8, 2009
I am at school for writing. Can you really get a masters in Creativity?
This tonight is the end of a long day of story telling. I am used to tipping my nose in my tea. There is honey caked on my chin. A story has been written.
Maybe this time next year she'll be sitting on a shelf in a bookstore wanting somebody to love her and I will say, Ebony, my child, my prodigal. To be loved is not to be.
Today is a day I worry about me because I've been stuck in her world for nearly 24 joined hours. Zak called me today and I think he was worried because I was forgetting how to answer a phone. I had three missed texts before noon. There are no cell phones at sea.
And I said to my roommate, I have been writing all day. She said, that is why you are here.
30thousand to sit and write all day long. I just wish the money was going into my pocket, instead of out.
Someday.
Maybe next year when she's sitting on the shelf and I am telling her You are Loved, and she is smiling and saying, You too.
My tea is cold. Time to heat it up again.
Maybe this time next year she'll be sitting on a shelf in a bookstore wanting somebody to love her and I will say, Ebony, my child, my prodigal. To be loved is not to be.
Today is a day I worry about me because I've been stuck in her world for nearly 24 joined hours. Zak called me today and I think he was worried because I was forgetting how to answer a phone. I had three missed texts before noon. There are no cell phones at sea.
And I said to my roommate, I have been writing all day. She said, that is why you are here.
30thousand to sit and write all day long. I just wish the money was going into my pocket, instead of out.
Someday.
Maybe next year when she's sitting on the shelf and I am telling her You are Loved, and she is smiling and saying, You too.
My tea is cold. Time to heat it up again.
Nov 30, 2009
Welcome back
Hm. Poetry sits thick in fingertips that refuse to surrender what they're thinking. It's because I'm thinking that I cannot write. My fingers don't think and when I actually let them write they make up nice stuff. When I am doing the writing I make up garbage and sometimes I get confused--where did that come from? Where did the deep poems go?
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Thanksgiving: is over :(. Zak and I returned north with heavy hearts, leaving family behind in a house in a valley with streets I have known my entire life but it took moving away for me to realize I'd never grow tired of them. Of it. Of the places I know and walking/driving/go-going and running into everyone--into the constant Familiar (face, person, circumstance, location) that triggers memories--which are neither good nor bad are just memory--and are Home.
I miss. Home. And I just left yesterday morning.
---
There's a new poem here for your perusal: Poem | Blog
Christmas is coming. The turkeys can relax. The goose begins to sweat.
---
Thanksgiving: is over :(. Zak and I returned north with heavy hearts, leaving family behind in a house in a valley with streets I have known my entire life but it took moving away for me to realize I'd never grow tired of them. Of it. Of the places I know and walking/driving/go-going and running into everyone--into the constant Familiar (face, person, circumstance, location) that triggers memories--which are neither good nor bad are just memory--and are Home.
I miss. Home. And I just left yesterday morning.
---
There's a new poem here for your perusal: Poem | Blog
Christmas is coming. The turkeys can relax. The goose begins to sweat.
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