I Am Thinking Tender Thoughts

My bed is large and warm and it is 12:30 on Christmas morning and there are just two family gatherings left to survive and I think I've done a pretty damn good job so far. I'm getting better. I am spending more time with my little ones- they are beautiful and brilliant and they love me so much. But their arms are not long enough to wrap around me, they are too small to hold my curled-up self in the dark.

It's amazing to me that in six years of speaking French I have not yet learned the word for "lonely."

Yes, this is another one of those posts.

It is wintertime again and I am needing to be held. I am missing the warmth that comes from someone whose body is just a bit bigger than mine, I am wanting the irrational feeling of protection that my own arms cannot provide me. I have already worked out in my mind our exact arrangement, the perfect placement of two spoons in a drawer, I promise you that cuddling will be the only thing involved. I am simply tired of being by myself.

Somebody help me find a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or a very large pillow with arms. I couldn't care less so long as ze* can make me food and tell me I'm pretty and can tolerate being hugged constantly. I'm a simple girl. I don't need much- just food and blankets and snuggles.


*ze: I like to use gender-neutral pronouns for stuff like this.

I'm Getting Too Old For This

The world feels big today and I am afraid. We are spinning so fast. Soon there will be nine billion souls trying to glean meaning from their existence, nine billion people trying to build a life in a world where there is no more space to do so.

It is exhausting, trying to keep up with time.

You don't want to know the exact speed of the earth as it spins.

Trust me.

It is faster than you could ever imagine, and it is impossible to experience given that blessed force, gravity, that keeps our lives together. If you knew just how quickly we are turning in circles, your heart would hurt. If, one day, everything was silent, the groan of planetary revolution would be loud enough to hear in every tiny corner of the globe and your ears would be bleeding with the sound of days passing and Suns rising.

I read once that if you lie still on a quiet patch of dirt for long enough you can feel the planet breathing. Press your stomach to the grass and watch as the earth lifts you up with every inhalation, brings you gently back with every breath out.

I've never tried this. I'm too afraid to try it now- there were times when I was fearless enough to entertain the idea, but it never happened.

I'll be brave again someday soon, I promise.

It Has Been A Long Day

I want to take your gun away. You keep it on your wall. Maybe you've never entertained the idea of using it, but the gun is still on the wall and I want to take it away.

I want to eliminate the social stigma associated with men in therapy. It's time to put the focus on gluing the cracks in the cup before the glass shatters. We shouldn't have to sweep up the same shards over and over again.

You will spend this week shaking your head, trying to reverse the rotation of the earth with each turn of your neck, attempting to rewind time with each rotating demonstration of sadness.

Come dinnertime, you will make your five year-old's favorite meal. You won't mind when she spills her noodles on the floor- other people have cleaned up worse this week. Spilled milk and spaghetti aren't worth crying over, not today, these stains will wash out.

There are two funerals today for two boys who will never grow out of their Spiderman sneakers. This is only the beginning. The tears and burials and funeral lunches keep coming and all the roads are blocked with slow-moving black on black. At the wakes, everything is doll-sized. Lilliputian vases line the walls. The flowers can fit on the tip of your finger. You could cradle the caskets in your arms. The contents are so precious. These bodies, these babies, all you can say is "I'm sorry" and know that it will never be enough.

You will remember this day each night. You will sing your five year-old to sleep and climb in beside her. Time stops when you are sleeping. You like it that way.

Phew

I breathed a much-needed sigh of relief tonight.

Thanks to the grown ups who voted for my man.

Last Friday Night

I turned sixteen last Saturday. It was hands-down the best weekend of my life. And interestingly enough, I'd expected it to be the loneliest three days I would ever experience.

My dear best friend, Miss Tickled Pink, had told me a month before that she would be taking on a college visit in Chicago over my birthday weekend. I was a bit bummed, but not too badly. She was to leave Friday night, so when school got out I hugged her goodbye and prepared to spend the weekend alone. Later that evening, though, she kidnapped me for a pre-birthday dinner before she left. It was a lovely birthday surprise.

Except that wasn't the only surprise.

Tickled Pink threw me a legitimate surprise party, complete with the month-long pretense of a trip to Chicago. She worked with The Management and filled the house with my favorite people, and good lord it was perfect. I couldn't believe it. I still can't.

My best friend is the best best friend.

I Love Him

I'm a little late to the game in terms of blogging about the Democratic National Convention, but oh well.

I just finished watching my President commit to this country for four more years. I am so proud of that man. He is my President.

I am the daughter of two teachers, the oldest of five children. My President and his administration made it possible to bring three of my siblings home to America after Haiti's devastating 2010 earthquake.

In two years I will be going to college. And I know I am extremely blessed to be able to state that as a fact. There are people in this country who have had to sacrifice their education to make ends meet. I am not going to be one of them. But all the same, paying for my college education scares me. With tuition student loan rates at their highest levels ever, I am at risk of graduating college in 2018 buried in a mountain of debt. My President has promised to ensure that this does not happen, that everyone is able to afford an education. This means so much to me.

As I was watching his speech (and crying, might I add) I noticed his wedding ring. Its presence shocked me; normally you don't think of the President wearing a wedding band, even if he is married. But that gold circle around his finger made me remember- my President, our President, is still just a man. His name is Barack Obama. He is a husband to a smart, strong, fiercely loyal woman and a father to two wonderful girls. He eats. He reads books and plays basketball and sometimes he even sleeps. He is only a man.

But Barack Obama is a man whom I trust. I applaud the work he's done so far. I believe in his vision for America.

Our country must keep moving forward. This man is the one who will lead us there.

Oops: a Summer in Review

As you've noticed, I took a- ahem- brief hiatus from the blogosphere after my post about poetry camp. This was due to the fact that I am a lazypants and, despite spending obscene amounts of time on the Internet, didn't ever click the New Post button. I'm sorry, I really am. But anyway, here's a list of things that happened.

• French exchange! I hosted my French teacher's niece for two weeks. She's so lovely. It was a great experience, and I hope she'll come back soon.
• Pink hair, don't care: I dyed my hair pink. And then purple. And then (due to a silly school rule that requires me to have a normal-colored head) back to blonde. Currently I look like a Marilyn Monroe wannabe. But I like it, I think.
• Work: Yesterday was my last day of work. I spent nearly all of my summer doing maintenance-type stuff for Hogwarts. It was dusty. Glitter Unicorn and I actually spent all of my last day assembling new tables and chairs for the cafeteria. Seven hours of drilling drove us both a little stir crazy. If anybody complains about those tables, I'll probably cut them 

School starts tomorrow. I am less than thrilled. No part of me is ready. It'll be great to see my classmates, but I'm so worried about this year. It has to be better than last year. I need it to be.

Wish me luck.

And That's That Piece: my Week at Slam Camp

I've returned from what was possibly the best week of my life so far. I spent seven days at Gustavus Adolphus College's slam poetry camp, courtesy of the Fairy Godmother Council. It was brilliant.

This was the very first year of camp, and there were only seven campers total with the addition of four of the best poets and educators in the country. We bonded the very first evening and henceforth became known as the Slamily.

A typical day consisted of three gigantic meals, fourteen hours of poetry-related activities, writing time, and the occasional few minutes of sleep. By the third day of camp everyone was positively delirious. My caffeine intake increased significantly.

I feel that because of this camp I've grown leaps and bounds in my ability as a poet. I know now that it is perfectly okay to struggle with writing a poem because frustration means you care. This is something that I'll remember often, because I normally always have trouble when I sit down to write.

I met the most wonderful, talented, and kind people. Look out, world- I have no doubt you'll be hearing great things from them in the very near future. We are the Fourth Wave of slam- you'd best be ready for us.

My parting gift- five pieces of advice for the young poet from Adam "Henzbo" Henze.
1. It doesn't get better. You get better.
2. You can always pick up your pen again.
3. Your greatest legacy is your friends.
4. You are someone's favorite poet.
5. You don't owe anyone. You owe everyone.

Pockets of Pride

So I'm on the nineteenth floor of a fancy hotel in Minneapolis.

I spent this afternoon with Fairy Godmother and Big Funny Kid at my very first Pride festival.

Oh, and also Kait Rokowski and her friends. Yeah. Remember, my favorite slam poet and lady I the history of ever? Yeah. She showed me all around the giant rainbow love-fest that is Minneapolis Pride. It was wonderful.

I am proud. Proud of this wonderful, supportive city. Proud to know such genuinely lovely people. Proud of Pride.

Happy Pride, everybody. Share the love.

Woo! Pictures!

I've been back for a few days now, and I'm about to leave again. But that's a different post.

The beach was lovely! I had a very relaxing time, although I was definitely ready to come back to Homaha by the end of the week.

So anyway, here's what I wore!

Sheepish

So, um, remember that one time I said I was going to post every day?

Actually, never mind. Let's not remember that.

Anyway, this is just to say that some exciting things are going to happen on this blog very soon! I'll be spending all of next week with Hipster Sister and my aunt in Duck, North Carolina. I'm going to take so many pictures, people! It's gonna be nuts! There'll be a lot of faux-artsy scenery shots, I'm sure, so you'll have to bear with me. But there will be fun outfit pictures, too.

You see, I'm doing maintenance-y stuff at Hogwarts this summer, and in one of my cleaning escapades I came across a box of seriously vintage clothing. I think someone forgot to take it to Goodwill in, like, 1983 because everything was covered in at least one layer of dust. So I took it home, and now I'm taking it to the beach! And you get to see all this fancy stuff! Yay!!!

That's all for now. I'll update y'all a little more on my adventures later.

Anger, Then Joy

This was originally just going to be a post about North Carolina's really not-nice amendment. Last night they voted in favor of Amendment One, an addition to their state constitution which defines marriage as between "one man and one woman" and effectively bans both civil unions and domestic partnerships.

So basically it's an entire clump of suck. I can't believe there are people in this world who still think that there should be limits to love. There aren't. You love who you love, and if you decide that you want to spend the rest of your life being loyal to and having babies with them, then you should be able to get married! Is that too much for people to understand? Honestly, if they were so concerned about destroying the sanctity of marriage or whatever, they should have made it illegal to get a divorce or cheat on your spouse or marry your first cousin. Apparently all that is still allowed. Yuck.

After reading about the injustice and yelling and being sick over it, I made a decision. I'm not getting married until everyone can.

But not five minutes ago, I learned that there is hope. President Obama has just come out in support of same-sex marriage. I love, love, love this man. Go watch this video. It will make you fist pump for joy. Maybe things are changing faster than we thought.

Really, North Carolina?

Really?

I'll post something more eloquent later, but right now all I am feeling and thinking is disappointment, anger, and sadness.

The Poem In My Pocket

I missed Poem in Your Pocket day. I celebrated it by reading some poems, but I didn't blog about any.

So here is my favorite poem. I don't have the words, but I think it's better that you watch it, see it read how it was meant to be read.

This is "Northcountry" by Kait Rokowski.

Flailing for Finals

Friday, April 20

Finals day. The team checked into the Harper Auditorium waaaaay early so we could run a mic check. We allowed ourselves to get excited, even though winning wasn't really realistic. We were going to get second, and that was completely okay. All that mattered was sharing words with people who appreciate poetry just as much as we do.

It was one very exciting evening. Our team read very well. Actually, we kind of killed it. Our group piece was the best it's ever been. By the end of it, the winner of last year's National Poetry Slam was face down on the floor in front of his seat. I'm not sure why, but well-performed poetry tends to have that effect on people.

When the scores were announced, all the teams were mixed together. It was a beautiful thing, seeing students from four different schools supporting one another's words. Less than one point separated first place from third. Less than a tenth of a point separated second place from first.

That first place happened to be us.

Needless to say there was a lot of screaming and flailing involved.

I have no idea how it happened. Four days have passed and it still hasn't sunk in yet. But we just won the first-ever Louder Than A Bomb: Omaha. Slam communities across the nation know about this. I didn't know how big of a deal this whole event was until after, when I learned that Omaha might be considered to host the Women of the World poetry slam in a few years.

My life is so beautiful. There are so many people to thank, the team, our dear coach Katie, Andrew Ek and Matt Mason, Kevin Coval and Lemar Jordan,everyone who made this happen. I hope they know how many lives they've changed.

Curling Up

Today was the first day all week that I went straight home after school and did not leave. It was normal. I didn't go anywhere or see anyone. It was quite the startling change to go from spending evenings in the loudest place in town (the poetry slam) to wandering around in the quiet of my own home. There was so much silence.

It rained today. Not the feel-good, dance-around, summertime rain. It was the graveyard-cold, gray-skied, fog-in-buckets kind of rain. And it smelled nice, but it made me so sad. I wasn't feeling completely up to scratch anyway, but then the weather changed and it got worse. I went through the day trying very, very hard not to curl up in a ball and cry. I succeeded.

Finals are tomorrow. I don't know what to wear.

I am petrified for Friday.

Like wood. Petrified.

Oops, We Did It Again

We're headed to FINALS!!!!!!!!!!!

Tonight was a whirlwind. We rocked the living daylights out of our pieces, people were astounded at the words that came out of our Catholic-school mouths, a huge portion of our student population came to support us.

I have never felt so good about my piece as I did after the bout, when a poet from the other team came to me with tears in her eyes. She grabbed both of my arms and thanked me, over and over. Tonight, I made people cry. And I'm not apologizing for it in the slightest. I know the power of my words and the affect they have on others. It is beautiful.

I'm so proud of this team. We began preparing for this competition as a complete nonentity and now, every single LTAB Omaha school knows who we are and what we're capable of.

But "the point is not the points, the point is the poetry." And we put some quality stuff on that stage tonight.

See you at finals.

Überpumped

Tomorrow at 7:30 pm, the skies will open and poetry will rain down.

In other words, THE SLAM IS TOMORROW THE SLAM IS TOMORROW THE SLAM IS TOMORROW!!!!

I'm so excited, I might pee.

I love this team. I love our coach. I love our words.

We're going to rock.

What makes the grass grow?
BLOOD! BLOOD MAKES THE GRASS GROW!
KILL! KILL! KILL!

It This Real Life?

I can't quite wrap my head around the fact that this is real.

We won. We won. We actually won the slam.

Won, as in first place, five perfect tens on one piece, one step closer to finals, WON.

I am quaking in my boots.

This happened.

I Did Not Die. Instead I Made Merengues.

The majority of the public seemed to be under the impression that the world was going to end today. The weather reports all pointed to severe storms and possible tornadoes, and some big-shot weatherman flew all the way out her so he could "survey the devastation" tomorrow. My friends were freaking out. Fox News was reporting disasters of apocalyptic proportions...but that's pretty normal of them so I didn't pay much attention.

I don't generally buy into the mass hysteria that comes when expecting severe weather. I have never seen a tornado. And I know they happen, I know what this kind of weather is capable of- but since it's never happened to me I have a hard time envisioning it ever happening at all. So when storms come, I usually sit in silence and wave it off. Storms pass.i wish I could apply that kind of calm to my emotional life, but it seems that attitude is only present when it rains.

Anyway, I spent four hours at Madame's house shaving thin slices of zucchini and rolling them around a mixture of goat cheese and pesto. Unfortunately we didn't get to serve them to our guests because the dinner was cancelled. Oh well, I guess the plan is to host lunch for some nuns tomorrow afternoon instead. That should be fun. I do like these nuns. Some nuns are scary but these ones are cute and adorable.

Louder Than A Bomb is tomorrow, too! I am so excited. I'm not reading any individual pieces until the bout on Tuesday, but I am a part of tomorrow's group piece. Tickled Pink, Good Sport, and I wrote it together and we're performing it together as well. We're pretty connected to this piece. It's our baby, and it had an especially difficult delivery which very nearly ended in us punching one another in the ovaries. I'm glad it didn't. Wish us luck!

Bon Appetit!

I just got home from a four hour stint in my French teacher's kitchen. My class is serving a five-course meal in the traditional French style to some parents tomorrow night, and we've been working very hard on our dessert making skills.

I love my French class. We're a fantastic bunch. We work really well together, and to be honest we're all freaking hilarious. We also love to eat. I'm rather surprised that any of the food we made today actually made it into the oven. No doubt we'll be stuffing our faces with leftover macaroons tomorrow night.

Our teacher rocks. She's from France originally, and her family still lives there. But she's completely fluent in English, so upon first meeting her you'd have no idea she hasn't lived in the U.S. her whole life. She told me once that when she's trying to remember a book she's read or a movie she's seen, she sometimes can't remember if she read or saw it in English or in French. I can only dream of getting to that level in my language studies. Madame loves our class. She makes us all kinds of food and laughs at the silly things we say during class. I like to think she really appreciates us coming over to cook because we fill her usually silent house with laughter and all sorts of bavardage.

Let's hope there isn't a tornado tomorrow. We wouldn't want all those fancy foodstuffs to go to waste.

Gush

I saw Jumper again today. We are tired of missing each other and being sad, so I am taking every opportunity to meet up with him. I've been around him more in the past two weeks than I ever thought I would be after a show. It is wonderful.

I Love George and I went to his school to see their band, choir, and speech program. It was lovely. There are lots of talented people that go to his school. I felt like a proud parent, or at least a crazy great-aunt. Jumper gave his poetry speech piece about goodbyes. If he were going off to a far away college next year it would have made me very sad. But he'll be dorming it up just down the street so I have nothing to worry about.

Good gravy, do I love that boy. He wore a blue suit. Not navy- blue. Bright blue. It was splendid. He is splendid.

Sorry to gush about my pride...when I'm tired, I tend to repeat myself. Oops.

I took a mini blogging hiatus.

I am tired.

Let's leave it at that.

Hide Me Like An Egg

This is one of those nights when I don't remember anything at all of the last 24 hours.

So blogging is going to be a smidge difficult, I believe. Hm.

Well, Easter is here. I take no issue with the day itself, but I harbor the same small feelings of religious discomfort and dread of large family gatherings as I do for most holidays. Well, except for the first day of summer, but I'm pretty sure that's a pagan feast day or something sooooo...

However, the family gathering set for tomorrow looks to be decidedly small and entirely not awkward. That will be lovely. And it will be outside, so if I happen to fall into one of my recently developed antisocial attitudes I can either sneak inside or run off to the woods. There, that's a plan.

Wish me luck.

Hush

My willingness to interact with any human being is at an all-time low.

It's better in the mornings and early afternoons. From the time I wake up to about 2 p.m., I am fully functioning and amicable. But between the hours of three and eight in the afternoon and evening, I just fall apart. I start to panic and shiver and after only saying a few (very forced) words to someone I start to tear up. I sprint straight to my bed, curl up into as tight a ball as I possibly can under as many blankets as I can find, and rock myself back and forth.

I'm developing awful, awful antisocial tendencies. I've spent more time alone in the past year than I have at any other point in my life. And I do love people, I do like to spend time with friends. I still love hugs and holding people's hands and all of that. But during those five hours of the day I just don't want anything to do with humans or other things with a pulse.

I don't know why this is happening. But I do know that I feel lost, like I'm just bobbing up and down in the waves without anything to keep my tied to shore. I need someone to be my anchor. Right now I'm just kind of empty.

Waiting Game

I haven't been to a funeral since the sixth grade. I haven't cried at a funeral since the fourth grade. I have only ever been to wakes and funerals; I have never seen someone just inches from death. But my Gram is there now, and I went to see her today. We thought for awhile that today was it, that she was going to be done. She is ready to be done. But the hospice nurse says she has at least two more days in her.

I am angry at my grandfather. We could not get a hold of him at all today. I don't know where he was or if someone was finally able to contact him, but we tried and tried and he didn't pick up his phone. Gram is holding out for him. And I know it wasn't his fault, but I am new to this and confused and scared and people who feel these things always look for people to blame for their emotions.

Maybe I am scared and confused about the process that is dying, but I do know that grieving is a big part of it. And I will go through my own cycle of grief, but I don't believe that a huge part of it will be tears. I love Gram. I always will. But she is ready, and I want for her to be at peace.

Let The Break Begin!

It's break! Thank goodness. This three day long schoolweek seemed to last about eight.

Tonight was Movie Night with The Gang. There wasn't as much movie-watching as there was hysterical laughter and obnoxious comments. But it was still lovely. I've missed them all so much since this weekend.

But now I'm exhausted, so I am going to cease with my blogging and fall into bed. I have a poetry meeting tomorrow. We're getting closer and closer to Louder Than A Bomb and it worries me deeply because I know how far from ready we are at this point.

Off to dream-land.

Home Stretch- Countdown To Break

I am decidedly too tired to blog tonight.

The in-class essay went better than expected. I knew exactly what I was talking about. However, the question remains- did I convey my knowledge in an accessible (and also attractive/pretty) way? I sure hope so.

Break starts at 2:45 tomorrow. Let's hope I make it.

Holy Week or Hell Week: You Decide

And so begins the countdown to Easter Break. Only two more days. I have a feeling they'll drag on and on, though, and I'm not thrilled about it. For some reason the shortest weeks of the school year are always the most academically intense.

I've got an in-class essay tomorrow that I didn't know about until very late last night. Everyone in my class thought it was a cruel, sick April Fool's joke. Unfortunately it was legitimate, and we will be expected to write five paragraphs dealing with nationalism in thirty minutes. I probably won't be able to blog tomorrow due to extremely sore fingers.

It's weeks like these that make me want to be done with school forever. There are so many unpleasant things that I don't want to do! It would be so much easier to quit. But obviously I can't do that. I guess I'll just have to push through the frustration.

One final note: I've been missing people all day. That is truly the worst feeling in the world.

Goodnight, folks.

Goodnight, Not Goodbye

Yesterday I mentioned that I felt numb about the whole "show ending" thing, and I said that the finality of it all hadn't fully sunk in yet. Today it did, hard. So instead of wallowing in my sorrows, I am going to emphasize the happiness that Theater Magic makes me feel by writing cheesy paragraphs about my Sister Wives.

My lovely Rachael,
I am no longer petrified of you. As a matter of fact, I love you so dearly. I'm glad that we can relate to each other's grade school experiences and laugh about them, and I'm even more glad that we both wound up making Theater Magic in the same place. You are so talented and so kind, and I'm very thankful to know you. It makes me happy to know that our little cult means so very much to you. I promise to call you every opening night and to get you in on the Chi Chi-sharing action. I love you, Rae. Thanks for everything.

Dearest Catie,
I find it hilarious that neither of us really remembers when we first became friends. I think it just sort of happened- all of the sudden I started seeing you nearly every minute of the day. We're good for each other; I wouldn't want to be uncomfortable and creepy and occasionally hostile with anybody else in this world. Thank you for tolerating me when I really should not have been tolerated, for comforting me when things got rough, and for laughing at Lauren entirely too much with me. It's been an incredible year. I'll miss you next fall, but I know you'll always be back. I love you like Peeta loves bread.

John, honey,
It's positively excellent that you find me to be an acceptable human being. For awhile I was really concerned that you didn't, so it was really great to learn that I was wrong. My dear, you bring so much light to my world. Thank you for your wisdom during the days I felt blue, for waltzing backstage in the dark with me, for frolicking in the rain and dancing to Gaga. We are quite the pair. You are the Giles to my Buffy, the Cinna to my Katniss. I can't think of much else that you haven't already heard me say and maybe I'm repeating myself here, but I mean every word. You're such a gift. Remember that. I love you, baby. Like a little prayer.

You are all the best and loveliest people I know. Thank you for sharing this experience with me.
Blessed are those who make that magic.

Did That Just Happen?

It's over.

Everything was less of a cry fest than I had anticipated; we were all very emotional before the show and then our tears cleared up right away. I don't think I've actually come to terms with the fact that we're done, or even that we ever had a show in the first place. It was all sort of a blur for me. Any other day I would be gushing and praising and being completely overwhelmed with love for all of these people, but I'm just not in the right state of mind. I'm numb to it all right now. The reality of it all will probably hit me like a freight train in the next few days, but for now I'm living in blissful ignorance. As far as I'm concerned, it isn't my dearest people's last show on our stage, no one is going away, we're going to get up and do it all over again next week.

So that is where I am at the present. I'll probably be in an entirely different place tomorrow.

Oh wait, it's already tomorrow.

Act Two

It's the Friday show and sushi was eaten and the Old Market was frolicked in. I had forgotten that today was Tickled Pink's first Sushi Excursion with the gang. I was so proud to have brought her even closer into the cult family.

We were spectacular tonight. Everyone glowed. Tomorrow, we're going to blow everyone away because these shows are only getting better.

Squids, Tigginator, and The Stubby One came tonight! I love them all so much. They're the most loyal and splendid group of people- they never miss a production, and I am so thankful to them for it.

Tomorrow is the final day. There will be tears, but I'm not going to think about that just now.

First Curtain

One down, two to go.

We rocked it tonight, and since this is our first performance we have nowhere to go but up.

Currently I am completely overwhelmed with love for my people. We've been through so much together- three productions, a remodel, trips to the sushi bar, and a whole ton of uncertainty. But we are the greatest group of people I know. Seriously, you guys, my stomach is completely sick with emotion. It's one of those love-someone-so-much-it-hurts kind of feelings.

We're going on our annual Sushi Excursion tomorrow. I love these people.

Happy Opening Night-Eve

Well, that was our last dress rehearsal. Tomorrow's opening night. Oh my. Here we go again.

Help A Sister Out?

Tomorrow is dress rehearsal. I am still worried.

I'm putting together a presentation on formalism. Anybody know of any examples of formalism in literature or film? I'm drawing a blank.

Again, short posts this week. Sorry about that.

Brace Yourselves. Tech Week Is Coming.

This week's posts are going to be even shorter than usual. I've got a lot to do and I'll be exhausted, so please please please bear with me.

Tech Week has begun and everything is chaos. But as Jumper tries to tell me daily, at first it never seems like it's going to come together, but we're always pleasantly surprised with the results. I'm beyond excited to be seeing that boy every day this week. I don't see him enough. We spent so much time together onstage today that my scarf actually came home smelling like him. That scarf smells a little bit like everyone I love. Sometimes when I'm worried or stressed I put it over my head and breathe in. It's comforting, reminding me that the ones I love aren't so far away after all.

I should work on remembering that all the time.

The Bomb Is Ticking

I am really stressing.

We've got 20 days until Louder Than A Bomb. We have one group piece ready when we need three. Tickled Pink, Good Sport, and I spent three hours trying to get something, anything, competition ready. It was rough. We've taken the remnants home to work on for ourselves.

I am not creating anything of worth and it's making me sick. I literally have written nothing for myself. It's so frustrating and I can't figure out how to push through it. This is not okay.

Twenty days.

Things That Are Good

Today I slept. Sleeping is good. I also had a cup of coffee and some toast. That was good, too.

That is seriously all I did. And it was good.

I'm going to Tickled Pink's tomorrow to work on some more poetry pieces. That also shall be good.

Sorry, I'm too tired to think of any more riveting adjectives.

I Am A Fancy Intellectual Person, Watch Me Nonchalantly Sip My Fancy Espresso

It is 12:22 a.m. and I am back from an evening with FG's Other Sons:Quiet Guy, Musical Mastermind, and The Cat. We went to the nonprofit movie theater downtown to see a film called "We Need to Talk About Kevin."

I am never surprised at the movie theater. I haven't ever found myself taken aback at any plot twists or surprises. This movie was no different- I was pretty good about being a step or two ahead of the action, and just this once I was glad. Because this movie was deeply, deeply unsettling. It was very well done, but it left me stunned. I'm still sort of processing my thoughts about it.

I'm really enjoying getting to know these three boys. They're really lovely people. Unfortunately I think Quiet Guy might be scarred for life after this adventure. The poor kid probably had no clue what he was getting into.

If anything, this evening was a reminder that getting out and doing things is actually a good thing. People are nice. Going places with friends is fun and exciting.

Also, going to a fancy nonprofit indie theater made me feel super artsy and cool, especially because I was wearing a wrap skirt. I could practically feel myself drowning in the waves of culture.

Just to assure I'm not plagued with nightmares, I'm going to go watch some Buffy. Night, all.

P.S. an enormous congratulations to Big Funny Kid, new state speech champion. His OID placed fourth and his school won the meet for the sixth year in a row. Speak on, Yakking Raiders.

You Really Don't Want To Read This

It is late and I have read a lot of poetry and have sung a lot of songs and I am tired.

I am also reading this blog post in my best Slam Poetry voice.

I am turning into one of Them.

Sorry. Too tired for my own good, folks. PreCalc beckons.

This Day.

Mentally exhausted after sitting through a fairly uncomfortable but generally alright National Honors Society induction ceremony.

Also mentally exhausted from studying for a giant PreCalc test that I'm extreeeeemely worried about.

Also fangirling really hard because Kait Rokowski told me that I am one million shades of adorable. She's my favorite slam poet and I've gotten to see her perform multiple times and she recently took third place at the Women of the World Poetry Slam in Denver. Besides her poetic prowess, she's a super great human. AND SHE THINKS OF ME AS AN ACCEPTABLE HUMAN BEING. Will wonders never cease?

"Kait Rokowski is the kind of writer I completely trust, rooted in the kind of muddy honesty that makes her readers/listeners want to become better humans. Her poems are sly and full of blood, she is going to dismantle everything wrong with poetry. She is one of the women who will save the poetry slam scene from itself."
-Rachel McKibbens

It's the truth, y'all. Here's to PreCalc and Poetry.

Here Comes The Magic

Variety show rehearsals are starting to pick up this week. We've only got about ten days left until opening night, so it's about time we start to get serious about putting the show together. Part of me is very, very scared that nothing will come together. I think I've got a couple days before I'm allowed to worry about that, though.

My dear Jumper and I ran through our piece today. Father Steinbecker has all these grandiose plans for background whistling and dancing and ukuleles and so we took today to start constructing his "vision". This was our first rehearsal in the auditorium since Charlotte's Web ended, so singing together and hearing our voices echo off the walls and floor was very refreshing. I have so very many memories of that space. Jumper told me later that it gave him shivers.

At first I was very concerned that a variety show would not be Duchesne Theater. That there would be a different group of people involved and none of our traditions would mean anything. But standing on that stage with my Spirit Unicorn took all those doubts out of my mind.

We made real Theater Magic today. And that, my friends, is all I could ever ask for.

The paper is nearly done.

Goodbye for now, Blogosphere.

I just realized that I let my hundredth post go by relatively uncelebrated. Oops. That's a big milestone for me, too. And it only took eleven months to get here. Woooow.

I'll put up a video or something to celebrate it properly. But not right now. Right now I am laziness.

Today I heard Trish's lovely voice in her choir and got to see her for a little bit afterwards. I've missed her so. I am so proud of my sassy little ginger songbird.

Also I am writing a paper that has my eyes filling with tears of frustration every five to ten minutes. I'm writing about the witches in Macbeth. It's a little discouraging because I really want to enjoy and understand the material and writing this paper proves to me that I don't. I should probably read the handouts a little more thoroughly.

Back to the paper. Love you all.

Of Sushi and Sweet Potato Tots

It's a wonderful feeling, seeing people you miss. And I got to see two of them today! Lucky me.

MoDawg picked me up this afternoon. The last time I was with her we drove around west Omaha with a giant bag of fries strapped into an infant seat in the back of her car. There were no fries today. Instead, we drove around the city looking for a sushi joint with available parking. That, my friends, is quite a quest when St. Patrick's Day falls on a Saturday and you live in a town full of Irish people. Somehow we managed, though, and many raw fish rolls were consumed and the world was at peace.

We decided to go visit Jumper at work, partially because we miss him but also because we had a hankering for some sweet potato tots. Seriously-those exist! But Jumper dear works on what I believe to be the opposite corner of the globe from every other part of civilization. Mo and I got lost multiple times. We even entered No Man's Land, fifty feet of space between where one county ends and another begins. I could feel the supernatural forces at work. I cried tiny tears of relief when we finally reached our destination and received multiple Jumper hugs. And the tots were so worth it.

Today had its glitches, but doesn't every day? Besides, hopelessly circling around a parking lot is far more fun when there are two people cursing the cars that take up the good spots.

Boring Life Post

I've had a full day.

Father Steinbecker and I drove all the way to the DMV and were too intimidated by the length of the line to even go in. Again, one does not simply walk into Mordor. One must stumble in, uncaffeinated, in the very early morning if one wants to make it through with a permit. I guess we'll try again another time.

I spent two hours with some lovely poetry ladies arranging a piece for group performance. Two pots of coffee and multiple chocolate chip muffins were consumed. But we did what we set out to do-adapt one three minute poem for four voices. We're super psyched to show the rest of our team later this week.

Our dear friends are here all the way from St. Louis. There are now fourteen people in a house that isn't even really big enough for the seven it normally holds. But that's okay. I'm so, so glad to have them here, even if it means extra chaos. Especially if it means extra chaos.

This is my last weekday of Spring Break. No part of me wants to go back on Monday. Such is life, my friends.

A Medley Of Happenings

Today was one of those days that slid by quite fast, but the morning seems oh-so long ago. That could be because I was asleep for most of it...oh well.

The Management brought home what seemed to be an entire Chinese restaurant for dinner. I was very pleased. (Sidenote: I have found that the only correct method of eating Chinese food is to eat until full, wait thirty minutes, then eat the rest of the container.)

FG came by for hugs and chaos while she waited to pick Big Funny Kid, newly-medaled speech champion, up from district speech. His OID took first in the district and now they're headed to state! Baah. So proud.

I spent a lot of the night staring at the ceiling and/or the floor while listening to Ben Folds and other melancholy bachelor music. I need a life.

Tomorrow I'm going to walk into the Mordor that is the DMV and attempt to get my learner,s permit. But one does not simply walk into Mordor, so I expect this to be a lengthy trip. Wish me luck!

Sleepier Than A Honey Badger Post-Cobra

Hung out at Durmstrang today. Because when I don't have school, I go to schools that do have school.

I need a life. Or a hobby. Or both.

I saw Big Funny Kid for a total of three seconds this afternoon. I miss that boy. It's been too long.

Now that I'm at 96 posts, the pressure's on for me to blog something awesome in celebration of my centennial. Whatever shall I do? Leave ideas in the comments, I might need help to come up with something cool.

Dang I'm lame. Sorry about that.

FrolicFest 2012

Frolicking is good for the soul. It is my absolute favorite thing to do in the world. However, it is an activity that unfortunately cannot be performed in the wintertime. It is simply too frigid and snowy to skip around outside wearing a flowy skirt.

But for some strange reason, winter has decided to head for the hills a few weeks early. It was nearly eighty degrees today. There was a nice breeze and the sun shone for the whole afternoon. The lovely temperature combined with an abundance of sunlight made this day positively perfect for frolicking.

I hope there are more pretty days like this to come. The low light and the cold of winter were exactly the opposite of beneficial to me, and so I've been just ecstatic to finally feel some sunshine. Yesterday I heard birds singing for the first time since October. I nearly cried, it was so wonderful.

I may frolic more tomorrow.

Day One of Freedom

I slept until noon and had frozen yogurt for breakfast/lunch. The Management is completely obsessed with froyo. It's a little insane.

In exchange for the free food, I spray painted styrofoam shields for her. Fair trade, I think.

I also went on a lovely coffee run with Musical Mastermind. We were met by Gypsaur, and so the MegaFriend Trifecta was united at last. Seriously, we've been trying to get the three of us together for months now. I'm worried that our being all together has caused a black hole to open somewhere in the universe.

We're headed into a week of perfect frolicking weather here in Homaha. I am thrilled.

I did nothing today.

Nothing at all.

Daylight Savings Time has me all confused.

I don't like it.

Of Pizza and Poets

Saturday, March 10

Miss Tickled Pink and Good Sport picked me up today and whisked me away to a poetry workshop at the downtown library. We got the chance to work with last year's Individual World Poetry Slam champion, which was super cool. Plus also there was free pizza.

We learned a lot about writing for groups and slam strategy in the four hours we spent there. We've got a couple seeds scattered about in terms of ideas for our group piece, and that's nice, but I'm a little unnerved. More than anything, this workshop was a wake up call for me. There's only a month left before the Louder Than a Bomb competition and we don't have any group pieces ready. That's scary.

But we can handle it. If George Watsky can crowd surf through an auditorium of teenage poets like a majestic albatross, we can write a group piece in a month.

A Birthday Post

Spring Break has sprung and I may begin my ten days of not caring about anything at all. It's about time.

My first official act of fun was to surprise Suspicious Water Bottle for her birthday which was last week. De-Facto Mongolian Sweetheart, Russian Frisbee Player, myself, and others gathered with cake, balloons, and old movies ahead of time to assure that we wouldn't be caught off guard should our dear SWB decide to be early for once.

She wasn't early. Actually, she was half an hour late. That worked out just fine for us. Pizza was eaten and cake was devoured before I remembered that SWB has never had a birthday party.

We threw this girl the first birthday bash she has ever experienced in fifteen years of living on this earth.

Hopefully there will be more to come. Hopefully she won't judge our efforts when she finally realizes how lame we all are.

New Feeling

I went to bed angry last night. I had angry dreams. I woke up angry. I am angry at so many things and even angry at myself for being angry in the first place.

I don't recall ever being mad like this. That's not a feeling I normally experience; it's not in my emotional lexicon. I consider myself to be a very nice person. I guess I sort of forgot what "utterly pissed-off at everything" felt like.

If you were wondering, it feels like you're nervous and you ate something rotten and you want to drop kick a kitten. Or dragon kick a baby, whichever opportunity presents itself first. I probably need to scream a bit, but it is nighttime and I can't. Oh well.

There will be other days to destroy my esophagus.

A Brief Note

Sometimes, people suck. Sometimes, it's you.

Some Little Things And One Very Important Thing

I woke up this morning and felt as if I had gotten enough sleep.

I went through the day fully caffeinated.

I want you to watch this video. 30 minutes is all it takes. It is very, very important. It will change lives. Help these children. Help the world.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4MnpzG5Sqc

That'll be all.

Poetry In The Morning

I do a lot of writing. I know that's fairly obvious because you are currently reading my blog which I use to post some things I have written and have deemed acceptable for viewing. But it's true. I love to write.

I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions.

I don't know who said that, but it perfectly describes my feelings on the subject. Words have a graceful feel to them. Like a head of long and curly hair, they are a tangled, swinging mess of grown out hopes. (Side note: I would give anything for some nice curls.)

I filled one pretty little notebook with some poems my eighth grade year, and since then that notebook is nowhere to be found. I grieve a little for it- that was the year that I embraced my need to write, and some of what I wrote was good. The words came easier to me then. Freshman year I struggled with everything; even the simple act of putting pencil to paper was a battle.

This year is different. Poetry is becoming more than just a little nighttime free-writing deal. I am slamming. Well, I'm going to try it. A group of us at school have started meeting Monday and Thursday mornings to draft, prompt, perform, and discuss poetry that could be used for a citywide slam in April. We're coached by a cheery and lovely and oh-so-talented poet who is super excited about working with us and keeps bringing in more cheery and lovely and oh-so-talented poets. She's the best. I like her a lot.

These meetings color my entire day. Something about sharing my words with others and listening to theirs gets my adrenaline pumping, carrying me through to the final bell.

I'm going to a workshop on Saturday afternoon, and I might stop by open mic that night.

Poetry is magic and words are love.

Lonely Girl

I’ve always thought that I've been so fiercely independent my entire life. That I live in my own little world where no one has the right to tell me what to wear or how to live or what to say and how to say it. I take care of myself. I am the guardian of my emotions. I am my own keeper. I need no one else.

Maybe I deluded myself into thinking I was invincible. If that’s the case, then the illusion is up. I find myself clinging tighter to the relationships I have not yet ruined, holding with a vice grip to the ones I’ve come to love so deeply, so dearly that it hurts. I will not let them go. They’ve taught me how to love people in ways I never knew; from them I have gained friendships so deep and beautiful that it’s hard to imagine living without them.

With that learning to love comes an irrepressible desire to be loved. I want someone to dance with me, to trace my freckles. Yes, I want those things.

But I need to be held. Just rocked to sleep and kept away from the world. Despite all my attempts to convince myself of my strength, I crave feeling breakable. My greatest wish is for someone to recognize that no matter the front I put up, I am not always strong.

It disgusts me to feel this way, to have this overwhelming need to be taken care of. But we all need to feel fragile sometimes, I think.

No Lohan

Saturday, March 3

I am kind of disgusted with my lack of productivity today.

I didn't leave my house, I didn't do homework, I didn't do anything exercise-related, I pretty much sat and slept and let my three million dogs out and in.

FG came over, though, bringing along a sassy new haircut and one Big Funny Kid. It was nice. I haven't seen either of them in what feels like forever. BFK had just come from a speech tournament in some sort of Children of the Corn town about an hour and a half away. We talked, we laughed, we ate. Some of us made inappropriate jokes. Such is life when these two come to visit.

I was so prepared for Saturday Night Live last night. I made my little bowl of ice cream and my little bit of chocolate sauce and sat down only ten minutes before it started. You have no idea how excited I was to see what they'd do with Lindsay Lohan as host. I turned all the ideas around in my mind until there were only two minutes left to wait.

And then...the power went out.

It wasn't just a blown fuse. All of the power on the whole block and the block north of ours went as well. I was not thrilled. I went to bed.

Some Saturdays don't go according to plan.

What My Father Doesn't Say

Tonight I finally got to watch Father Steinbecker onstage and in his element. He was playing a blind and very drunk Irishman. I've seen this particular play four times now, the first three times being four years ago when he played the same role. This is a revival. And good lord, is it great. I'm going to gush about him now.

The stage is his tool, and he is an expert craftsman. Sorry, that last sentence sounds a bit stuffy and pompous, but it is the honest-to-goodness truth. He is the best. I am in awe every time I see him onstage. His acting actually makes me emotional. I don't cry or anything-I rarely cry in the theatre-but when I watch my father act I get an overwhelming feeling of "oh wow, that is beautiful." Yes, he's my dad and I love him, but I also respect him as an actor.

What I find the most interesting about going to the theatre to watch my father perform is his biography in the program. I have learned more about his educational and professional backgrounds by piecing together information from various playbills than I have from actually talking to him. This isn't because he is inclined to keep his past a secret, it's just because we never talk about that. Mostly we exchange cynical comments about the state of the nation. Honestly, I think we need to host our own talk show.

I'm going to have my father as a teacher next year. I will be in his American Literature Honors class. The curriculum is going to be tough, but that is not what I am concerned about at this point. I am worried as to what he will say (or refrain from saying) when I am in his classroom. The juniors taking his class right now tell me that he says the most profound things and gives the greatest life advice. They've provided examples that shake me.

"At one point or another in your life, you will fall in love with someone who cannot love you back."
"We continually return to the places, the people, that hurt us the most. I suppose you could say we haunt them."

I worry that I am not ready to hear these words come out of my father's mouth. They are words of pain that I am sure have a story to them. But whatever the story is, I will never know it.

After all, that is not the kind of thing you publish in a playbill.

My father is a good man. He is a talented, literary, educated, well-dressed man. He is a man who understands. He is a man who does not say everything, but he is a man who does not lie.

My father is an actor.

Friday Eve

This is another Thursday Hatred Post. I'm pretty sure I've got quite a few of them on this blog. Oh well. Bear with me.

Thursdays suck for a variety of reasons. I have eighty minutes each of my four most challenging and/or demanding classes. My morning consists of trying to stay afloat in Chemistry and attempting to wrap my head around Inverse Trig Functions in PreCalc. Interestingly enough, I completely adore everything about Trigonometry save for the inverse functions. Those are stupid, and unfortunately for me I've been stuck with them for two weeks.

Thursday drags. It is the slovenly twenty-something wearing a stained white T-shirt, playing Pokemon in his mother's wood-paneled basement that he keeps full of empty beer cans and napkins covered in pizza grease. I apologize for what could be seen as mildly disturbing imagery, but that's honestly what comes to mind. My head is funny.

Thursdays, however, are decidedly not funny.

Bonus Day

Despite the fact that I am rather hungry and am functioning on less than half a cup of coffee, I am well today. I am okay. It is Leap Day, my favorite day of every four years.

According to science, each year lasts exactly 365.25 days. If we simply ignored that extra quarter of a day, eventually our calendar would no longer be in sync with the seasons-we would literally have Christmas in July. So to make things easier and more convenient, scientists decided to just add an extra day to the calendar every four years. February was the obvious choice, as it's a dwarf of a month anyway.

In Ireland, women propose to their significant others on February 29th. Granted, I do think that everybody should be able to propose to whomever they please regardless of gender, but there's something about laying it all on the line this one day of the year that I find really special and meaningful.

To me, Leap Day takes on a more symbolic meaning than just being the scapegoat for our scientific errors. Leap Day is magic. It's a day for second chances; twenty-four hours you can spend doing all the things you wish you'd done in the past four years. The craziest things could happen today, the most magical, beautiful, wonderful things.

Take life by the horns today. I guess I'm not really the best person to be dishing out that kind of advice given my current emotional state, but seriously people. Do it. Live. Laugh. Love. Leap.

Let's Try This Again

Hi there.

I've got this terrible guilt because I keep looking at Blogger and telling myself to write something, anything, but I never do. There's a lot of me that thinks one must have something earth-shatteringly philosophical to write about every time one begins a new post. But obviously that isn't the case. I'm not going to be suddenly inspired to write the greatest piece of text ever every single day. But hopefully the act of sitting down to write will generate some inspiration. I'm creating creativity, if that makes sense.

Hold me to my promise, dear friends in the blogosphere. I'm going to try to post something new every day. It's going to be a bumpy ride.

Love you all. Let's go.

Crisis Mode

We have an issue on our hands. A major issue.

I can't find my overalls.

They are nowhere to be found.

I miss them.

Come back to me, denim jumpsuit of my soul!

So if anybody sees them, let me know.

"Best Boss I Ever Had"

You are all going to judge me intensely for this post. That's okay.

A few months ago, I started watching The Office on Netflix. I fell in love with Dunder Mifflin, its people, the dry sense of humor, and Michael Scott. Over Christmas break I stayed up terribly late so I could fit in as many episodes as possible. I ended up watching six and a half seasons in two weeks.

I've become so emotionally invested in every aspect of this show. The Dunder Mifflin family is my own family. I have laughed and cried with them through sick days, sensitivity training, breakups, weddings, babies, garage sales, and trips to the beet farm. They've taught me so much.

I started Season 7 with the knowledge that it would be Steve Carrell's last days on the show. To delay the inevitable, I watched as little as humanly possible. Slowly but surely I worked my way towards the dreaded Episode 22, knowing that one of these days I would have to watch it.

That day was today. With tears in my eyes I watched Michael take his last steps around the office. I promised myself that I wouldn't cry. And then Jim Halpert (played by John Krasinski, I swear that man can do no wrong) said goodbye. That was about 29 minutes into the whole thing. I bawled like a baby the remaining seven. My shoulders shook, my stomach heaved. My heart broke. Steve is gone. Michael is gone.

So I guess I'd just like to thank you, Michael Gary Scott, for everything. It's been an incredible journey.

"And then tomorrow, I can tell you what a great boss you turned out to be. Best boss I ever had." -Jim

...And It Was Good.

So I'm home with some sort of stomach flu thing right now. And that kind of sucks, but regardless...

Yesterday was a good day. I smiled and laughed and contributed to conversations and soaked in Life. It was the first Good Day in awhile, so it felt really weird to be that happy after feeling sad for so long. It's going to take a lot of getting used to.

This is not to say that I'm going to have nothing but Good Days from now on. That would be a silly assumption. Things don't get better that fast. It is to say that I am taking baby steps, climbing slowly out of this hole I've been in for lord knows how long. And I'm going to slip sometimes, but you know what? That's okay. There are so many wonderful people out there whome I love and who love me and will help me. I'm going to get better. And it's going to be great.

Thanks, my dears. I love you so much.

It's Back.

Everything is resurfacing. My problem is that I am writing about all of these issues instead of vocalizing them. I need to actually talk to someone. I think that would get all of these bad thoughts out of my head and I wouldn't feel like I need to throw up all the time. Right now my head feels like it's about to explode with everything that I am thinking.

I really want to cry about it. There's this weird little catch in my throat that feels like I'm in the middle of a sob, but I can't actually cry. Maybe it's because I'm not talking enough. I haven't had a legitimate, meaningful conversation with someone since who knows when and that makes me sad.

You know what I need? I need someone who would let me talk and cry and just say "Mhm?" and "Go on," and "And how do you feel about that?"

I don't even know what's going on right now. But I'm really angry at myself, and that's probably unwarranted. Maybe not, I don't know. I don't have a clue about anything anymore.

Sorry guys. I'm trying to get this all out in any way I can.

This Year Will Be Golden.

Saturday, December 31st

Big Funny Kid and FG threw a New Year's Eve party that put Dick Clark to shame.

I stayed up way too late. I made new friends (shoutout to Quiet Guy and I Like This Kid). I stomped down the stairs, Nerf gun in hand, in search of a two-headed demon baby.

There was music. It was beautiful.

I am so thankful for music and the people that make it. Yesterday I was thankful in excess, because my New Year's Eve was so amazingly musical and full of life. I spent the night in awe of my very talented friends, old and new, and I was so happy that they let me sing with them.

These musical friends inspired my New Year's resolution. I am going to make this year a musical one. I will play my ukelele, I will sing my heart out, I will bang on my piano. Music makes me happy, and I want to spend the next 365 days feeling infinitely better than I have been feeling recently. So why not make an effort to?

I can't think of any better way to greet 2012 than with Rock Band, a jam session, and a Nerf Gun war.