oil

Sleepiness may coax my eyelids to collapse but only untames the mind. Tiredness uninhibits and releases all other restraints grasped throughout the proceeding day: logic, structure, sense. With those opponents dissolved, raw wanderings are released.

[Voices grapple at me, tug at my ears and towards my heart. "Interest" is redefined and morphed into others' excretions whether they match formality or not. For the first time in my life I am encased in oil which necessarily prevents the absorbtion of, "an effect." Indifference has befriended me for once, accompanied by distraction and business. These, after all, are the desirable crowd in the chaos of socializing. All want love and belongingness, but only on selected terms. After all, unfiltered love isn't love (redefined accordingly) at all, and when poured out without discretion, loses its charm. Essentially, the encasement is protection, except for when unexpectedly yet welcomely puntured. I errect a wall but have the nerve to hope someone will burrow through it? That's unfair. That's vain. So I won't. Instead, I'll errect a wall for the sake of a wall and not to function as the final hurdle one must jump.]


Mrs. Louden was my fourth grade teacher. She lived on my street and I ventured into the interior of her abode only to find out that teachers are real people too, and most certainly use the restroom. Astonished already, I was further wide-eyed at her presentation of a home-cooked meal. Foreign, but tasteful, and apparently memorable.

Karly was a girl that grew up on my street. She was Cinderella to me, in all ways that applied. Wonder where she is now. (Thanks to facebook, I could find out but am too tired to click towards her, and too afraid of my own self-judgment if I did.)

The bamboo forest populated the Maydale Nature Center in my backyard. Crawfish swarmed the creeks, and I remember being a worried, jogging, little, calorie conscious 12-year-old. Gabby and Hershey were my faithul labradors while my shitzu dissappeared beneath the suface of deep snows. It was a winter wonderland back there. Back where the high school students hid, to do drugs or perform secretive activities which preduced strangely shaped, popped balloons that mom scorned and warned me never to touch.

Beavers gnawed on the trunks of mal-placed trees. 'Damn' was a giggle-able curse word, and the labs clumsily leapt into the pond. But humans did not, as they were adamently warned by the government-posted sign.

How did fish get there? How did the eggs hatch? There were so many frogs. What was the difference between frogs and toads?

Frogs always got caught under the automatic pool cover in our backyard. My dad joked that they'd taken their last jaccuzi that day, and I winced at their boiled, bodily scent. I learned to swim in that pool, wait no I didn't. I did learn, though, how to hold my breath for an awfully long time. I also learned how to dive shallowly to avoid a scraped up nose or banged forehead. Though, I've always been a person to have to make the mistake before actually learning from it. Simple explanation from a higher, informed source never did suffice.

And there was the tire swing. I could pump moderately high on my own, but there was no better engine than dad's arms, "Duh-kunder! Duh-kunder!" After it would rain, a deep puddle would form in the base of the tire. I'd shake it, with outstretched arms, to empty the ride while preserving my dryness, though both tasks usually weren't attained simulataneously. Dad carved a hole in the tire's bottom with a tool from his box in order for it to drain, but it always got clogged with leaves and gook. Leaves were present primarily in the golden fall, Though they foiled our draining system, they provided an excellent landing pad after illustrious leaps. The dogs were fun with their playful waggings and eager licks. They tried to swing me too, though their help couldn't compare to my daddy's arms.

Forgettin'

I wish I could bury myself behind the books of Swirbul and forget the world for a while. Just read and read until I've gained enough wisdom to eradicate the source of immature mistakes. But, wisdom can't be gained from behind the binding of weathered pages. I remember that I need to eat and exercise, and cry because all I really want is to somehow be by myself (but not alone).

goodnight world and all your fancies

goodnight world and all your fancies.

i received your happiest gesture.

you made glimmering boasts and clanking toasts

to things you couldn't offer.



swept me away to a midnight ball.

sung an illustrious promise.

stuffed me full of cheery bull.

and now i long for solace.



sleep quiets your festivities

and breathing becomes less becoming

there's triumph in (forgetting me and) inepting you,

and its dreams will be realer than you ever did seem.

our lives might intersect

our lives might intersect
or twirl around
each other's for a while,
and you might kiss my face
as I genuinely smile.
and we'll hold hands and
gallivant through
buildings, streets, and people, meet,
as sunlight fades to black.
but when time comes to part our ways,
I may dwell in slight dismay,
though only just a bit.
Because I know that for some shortispan,
we learned and lived and gaily banned
solidarity.
If new angles were all I got,
on which to spread my piled thoughts,
then i thank you, for
we combatted solitude,
and chased dreams that shaped reality.
If our paths will once more entertwine,
I'll nod with firm maturity,
and salute that brief, chance meet.

green.

my youthfulness is inescapable. as much as I'd like to be the unabashed vixen, I'm the contrary. I bumble, I stutter, and I'm still figuring out the difference between "want" and "need."

hm.

Could it be?

***

In the Game of Communication

If I could write the richest phrase,
full of depth and textured layer,
laid so the reader understands its maze
I'd be a satisfied player.

White noise

I need to shower but I'm too tired to budge. Fourth of July weekend was filled with more work hours than normal, and my being busy was amplified by everyone else's inclination for vacation. Oh well. I'm making 'dat monay' and can't complain.

My brother's now working at my restaurant. I'm glad. It's pretty fun finding ways to be a big sister. One action at a time, I'm discovering my role.

I can't wait to decorate my dorm. Swear, everytime I drive back to Adelphi, I get excited all over again about college. I don't want this superficial bubble of a life to end. I've got two years, thank you very much, and I plan to love every second of them.

I'm too lathargic to be angry. whatever.

At that point, I knew I'd turn out ok.

What could I do? If paying tuition comes down as a responsibility on my own back, then so be it. Didn't really matter that I thought he'd spread himself too thin, and can't follow through on all his promises. Oh well. Moving on.

Prioritize. Consolidate. Breathe. Despite not being thrust ahead by provisions that I thought should've been made, I'll get by. Why do other students seem to have it so easy? They can slide on through with no financial worries. But in the end, as long as it gets paid then I'm satisfied. I'll shrug it off only to realize this is an opportunity to demand my own respect.

One of the most admirable characteristics someone could have, in my eyes, is simply to have their shit TOGETHER. Here's my chance.

You know? I'm glad. I'm glad I don't happen to be a spoiled little brat, who refuses to move out and demands my parents to pay rent and drops out of school. If I have to forgo the money I've saved to combat becoming anything resembling that person, then GOOD. Not a problem.

Freshly woven web of footsteps

I sort of had a wonderful day today. It was nice, being in a good mood for no direct reason. Sure there were triggers, such as coincidentally seeing a friend at work, feeling more settled in the restaurant, NOT being on the "who's most likely to be fired when the new manager comes," list, being complimented by fellow servers on my attitude, and making good tips.

But really, I noticed I was happy when I had a song stuck in my head with no idea how it had gotten there. I hadn't heard it or thought about the lyrics in years, yet there it was, humming its way through my vocal chords beneath the white noise of the restaurant. It's a funny situation being a server. You are completely and irrefutably surrounded by people at all times. Loud, demanding, hungry, thirsty, very specific people. Yet and still, you can be completely alone in your thoughts. Despite the prevailing "teamwork policy," YOU are really the only person that knows everything that goes on with your tables. If you don't get the lemon slices, they (most likely) will not get gotten. I realize I like settling into this strange version of solitude. It forces you to depend on none other but yourself. Just like how in golf (so I hear {I am not responsible for any misuse of a simile involving sports, and should be given ample credit for even attempting to make one}), you have to keep track of your own amount of strokes or else your score will be fudged. Keeping track of the points in the game is up to YOU.

Anyhow, now I can't even remember which song it was. All I know is the theme made me smile. Not a 20% tip. Not a compliment. Not a full, quickly turning section. I was happy because here I was, alone in my own little track in the maze of the restaurant, smiling for an internal reason indescribable to anyone.

Oy vey

I fear that I'm a terrifically boring person.

When did mediocrity become acceptable?

Just because you laugh it off, or sulk, or retaliate, lackadaisicality isn't excused. I'm sick of it; in them, in me, in everyone.

I'm just ready to wear my heart on my sleeve. Even if I'm a fool for it. I ought to be an open book. My embarrassments aren't only for me to learn from. Sure, I'll be slightly red-faced while sharing, but I'll get over it. I'm just ready to relinquish the eternal task of keeping responsibility at bay, and distracting myself from its constant knocking. I want to be real- straight up with no ice and no chaser. A shot of honesty is what I, and everyone else, truly need.

Today, someone said I inspired them. Granted, it was my mom, but still... it meant a lot. Little does she know (I hope she does) she inspires me too. She recently moved out of a basement room into a small apartment. But the thing is she's so frugal with her money, so responsible with it, she deserves whatever purchase she makes. I can learn from that; I can learn from her.

If you see something, say something. Simple as that.

Stream of Consciousness

I know I'm tired, but I have absolutely no desire to sleep. Doing so would end the day, and wedge me farther into the unmapped future. So instead, I rebel against time and peel back my eyelids.

I read over my journal from when I was 13 until 16. After I recovered from my convulsing laughter, I got a tad bit frustrated with myself. I have the same problems now as I did when I was 16. The problem was me. But now, I'll never look back.

My Ukranian step cousin is in town. Sweet little thing she is. Reminds me a LOT of Amelie- the French girl in the movie with the gnomes? She's sporting the same haircut and she's foreign. We all visited The Baltimore Inner Harbor today. She and Inna insisted on starting a conversation with 5 thuggush strangers. Damn their adorable, trusting nature. Olya actually offered a lick of her ice cream, in a completely non-sexual manner of course. Though nothing happened other than really awkward, forced conversation, I did in fact, momentarily fear for our lives.

Dad's iphone flew off the top of our car and was run over by several automobiles. I laughed. He did not. We are both, currently Iphoneless. Oh well.

I was approached by some sort of non-denominational evangelist today in Barnes and Noble. We talked for a while, but I didn't feel the urge to argue unitl midnight. He pleaded that "it was a matter of eternal life." I know sir. Believe me, above all, THIS I know.

Strangely, I dreamt a similar situation only two nights ago.

I conducted an experiment today and found that thoughts really do control bodily reactions. Your temperature can truly reflect your mood.

This Ukrainian cat has somehow crawled her way into my lap and into a perfectly shaped sphere. She finally relinquished her battle for my laptop's keyboard as her nest, and settled for my thighs. She looks like she's always wearing heels, the way her legs are shaped. Always presentable, always poised. In fact, she'd be an expert video-chatter.

Rain, summer rain. Thunder, sing me to sleep. I'll concede to you.

Nothing's guarunteed, even if it's promised.

Went with my dad today to his appointment and meeting. He's switched careers recently, from a master carpenter to a life insurance salesman. My skepticism prevailed, even up to half way through the appointment with Takeela (yep, real name). I'd hoped this was not another quick fix, miracle solution my dad had "discovered." But then he started talking, and the insurance info oozed. Then surmising training session after the house call further impressed me. Here was a group of people thoroughly invested in a plausible opportunity to make money. Enthusiastic, supportive, and obviously benefitted (several people won cruises), this group congratulated my dad on his abundant success. A woman gushed that he was "so sweet" and "one of those people you can't help but like." Aw... dats my dad.

So, I am inspired in my own job quest, commencing tomorrow. I've got everything googe-mapped, several resumes printed, reference numbers recorded, and craiglist exploited.

Maybe I'll make a pit stop at Maryland's quaintest consignment shop- Mustard Seed! It's been a chunk of time since I've bought any clothes.

I can NOT believe I have three months off! What the hell am I going to DO?! Ok I've got vague plans that include working, reading the 'classics,' eating healthy, finding new recipes and COOKING them, traveling, and working out. OH! Plus I'm going to reteach myself the entire Spanish language in order to test out of it for the Honors College. But, between all this, how am I going to live without my dancers, suities, honors nerds, and tour guides?!

Three months is a long time. Enough for a lot of things to change. I hope one stays relatively stable; even if it has to lie dormant. But that's how it's been for the last two months, with a pleasantly surprising erruption. Mmm hmmm.

Nothing's guarunteed, even if it's promised. So why even say anything at all? What is, IS. What will be, will BE. All I can attest for is the present and the slightly furturistic present. Today, tomorrow, perhaps next week. Forget the rest. Forget the past. It's all a blur of foiled intentions.

That's why I can only be happy as a result of one source.

here we are again I suppose. another venture; another possibility. the climb begins. minute questions trickle from my mouth, as does the routine speech. love the dealbreakers. welcome to my world. nice to meet you.

*************************************************************************************
All Night.

Our relationship hasn't lasted long,
but it's intense enough to inspire song.
Spent the night in wild shame,
gave me wings of impassioned flame.
Those lustful hours you stole attention,
demanded focus, relieved all tension.
Gave me life amidst wearied woe,
the task ahead went much less slow.
And as the sun rose above my head,
I realized I had not yet said:
"You, indeed, excite my soul,
you, my dearest, reddest bull."

let all the damn details go

Oh yuck. I don't need this. I refuse REFUSE to act as if a minute explanation could affect me more than marginally. Am I happy? Yes. Would I change my current situation? ABSOLUTELY not. I need to accept the reality that there are things I will NEVER know, and not knowing them doesn't mean what I DO know has any less meaning.

I guess it's not so much a desire to know, as it is a feeling of entitlement, or a notion that I deserve satisfaction. Or even, quite possibly, an offensive tactic: an effort to teach (or scorn) YOU based on MY disagreement with your action. Perhaps even to announce, that YOU are subpar, and I am enduring YOUR stupidity.

But the problem then becomes this: all of that raises me above you. And that, is simply untrue, because frankly? I'm not.

*Sigh.* And there goes another erruption of emotion, that further demonstrates the need to LET IT GO. Let all of the damn details go.

In THIS action, there is relief. Accepting the 'unknown,' and its eternal presence in the world.

Let Her Cry

I sit here listening to the Counting Crows sing lyrics of a daddy's girl past. I remember my unwavering assurance in the man I called my father. His jokes were funniest, his ideas were the epitome of influencial, and his approval essential. Since then, reality's desicrated his reputation. I love him though, unconditional of his setbacks and our through rifts. Even if the biggest obstacles are derived from his own choices. Now I know if there's any hope to love, and to be loved, this earnesty is required. Humility doesn't hurt either.
Who's to say the very next second doesn't bring my last breath? Who the hell am I to declare what I do 'right' and the next person 'wrong'? Too often it's emphasized that we should "live each moment like it's our last," meaning we should experience all that we can and not hold back. I don't want to leave it there. I want to live each moment the best, most qualitatively, that I can.
So many people I know, including my dad (including me) are living with a gushing heart just barely beneath their surface. We rhythmically glide through days asking, "how are you?" and replying "good thanks!" as our eyes wander the room and thoughts shift independantly of our words. We don't eat; we chew and swallow. We don't learn; we memorize. We don't think; we manuever. We don't walk; we rush. But sometimes, something pangs our weakness, and the exposure of the thing we fought so hard to hide, reveals us.
Sky diving turns into bungie-jumping, and the rebound of the cord is all the more jarring; guts dropping at the bounce.

My biggest aspiration is to encourage someone else the way I've been inspired. To say, "I see you," and mean it. To delve into the depths of myself, and as a result challenge someone else to do the same. To smile for a genuine reason. To be complimented and deserve it. To shine brighter than gold. To be alright with never receiving recognition by mankind. To deserve my own respect.

Lately I've felt content and glad I am where I am. Specifically, Adelphi University. Suite 2B. IDMR, Queens, NY. The Honors college. A business major. 135 lbs. With friends, but not too many. Involved a smidge in Dance Adelphi. Single. I refuse the notion that any of these situations are happenstance.

I'm determined to live both hungry and full. Both to want and to be thankful. Really, this is the only way I can be happy. I know this.

Ew

I'm incredibly sick of dating. I've said this before but now, I really do feel it. I need a break. To take things slow. To relax and breathe. And to appreciate being young.

shrug

"I had to go and fall in love again." -- She & Him.

Good news? I bitch-slapped that Western Civ final and now Spring Break can justly commence.

Alternate news? Singlehood. Eh. The only thing worse than that would be quasi, unofficial singlehood. At least I'm not in that situation. Oh wait.

Best news? North Carolina beach in T minus several hours. I don't actually know what that term means, but I'll be there... soon.

If life were a swimming pool, I wouldn't dare dip my toe.

Dancing on the surface,
but never diving in,
teaches graceful movement,
but never how to swim.

Funny how obscenely correct intuition is and can be. Malcolm Gladwell had his head on straight when he wrote "Blink." It's chalked full of experiments strongly suggesting that first impressions are valuable. I wrote that blurb when we very first started dating. I think I could tell way back then, I'd be the droopy eyed puppy in this sorry situation. I throw myself in head first, and he's much too refined. I'm a hopeless Romantic and he's Enlightened. (Excuse the Western Civ reference, but I've not gotten too much time away from that textbook in the last two days.) But it's ridiculously true. I'd much rather, anytime, anywhere, choose to further a personal relationship than do something "constructive" or "responsible." Don't get me wrong, I get shit done, but much later at night than most of my other roommates. I thrive on emotion, passion, enthusiasm and mostly, conveying it all. He's logical, consistent, and dignified; traits I admire but involuntarily clash with.

sigh.

Alone time? Yes please. And thank you.

Content, giggly, excited, invigorated, thankful, happy, and ravenous for more.

I stare up at the ceiling fan. It swirls the air around me, while noisily clinking away. Two of four lights are broken and the hanging chains cannot be silenced.

I softly settle into the quasi-dimness and marvel at the enormity of it all. My tiny moment, envelpoed in the fabric of all heres and nows presently occurring. And I? I'm privileged to witness this one. To thrive in this heightened awareness. I've accepted loose ends, and instead of fusing each together in an artificial knot, I've let them hang as naturally as they've occurred. I realized they needed no fixing (none that I could offer at least). Sure enough, success has threaded its way through the dangling strands as it was destined to. I marvel at the comfort I revel in, knowing I had to rush nothing. Circumstance introduced me, experience taught me, and reflection? It exposes my minuteness. All has invigorated me, though strangely, I've hardly influenced any of all.

But to an extent, I have. And this flicker of light makes me smile.

I want to be like a tiny bug, with huge, round eyes.