I was an arrogant child

On Saturday mornings, when I was a little girl, my mother used to make me let her sleep in. In order to accomplish this, she a) had to leave the Cheerios on the counter where I could reach them and b) had to teach me to tell time. Consequently, I was probably the only five year old child in the whole of South Carolina that knew how to read a clock with hands (as opposed to the digital type).

I thought about this this morning when two nine year old boys kept asking me what time it was. I tried to teach them how to use the clock, but they were uninterested in acquiring such unnecessary information. Children are baffling to me. Initially, I was perterbed by their indifference, but then I realized that it was not, in fact, indifference that was the problem. Actually, there was no problem. Quite the opposite, there was something beautiful happening.

I work in a library. We serve the community with literature and knowledge. Sometimes that knowledge is of the smallest degree, a type of knowledge that I apparently forgot someone taught me seventeen years ago. Someone who cared about me gave me one of the most useful pieces of information for my life. Knowing how to tell time isn't the most useful piece of information for my life, but caring I care about my community and those nine year old patrons is. They reminded me of that again this morning by trusting me as a caring member of their community. Trusting me enough to rely on me, even though we've only just met.

that's the last ticket i'm ever gonna buy

Tonight, at my last sorority meeting after walking out of my last undergraduate psychology course this afternoon, I looked at my Bff and she looked at me and we immediately understood each other. Both dashing for the screened porch to smoke cigarettes in the presence of one another, we wanted nothing more than to cry, but we didn't.

The graduation wall is now more like a fence. I can see to the other side, but the grass is definitely not greener over there. I want it to be, but it's not. I went home last weekend, you know, to that place where I'll be living for the next six months of my life with no goals or clear destinations in sight other than wearing a Publix uniform. I have a new found understanding and appreciation for children. Children with whom I enjoy spending my time pondering J.K. Rowling's information processing with, not that they understand information processing (but at least I can blog after the general conversations are over). Listening to my mom talk about my childhood in the kitchen late Friday night, was sobering. I hope there's not more of that in a few weeks. I mean, I guess what I'm trying to say is that while the grass is indeed green at home (there's food to eat and a bed to sleep in and cool kids to chill with and a job that pays decent money); the grass in Sewanee is always green with things to learn and information and fresh experiences at my fingertips. I will miss that part of this side of the wall/fence situation.

Some thoughts...er perceptions...hell, I don't know?

In light of absolved recencies (and some really lovely sounding bullfrogs that live in the creek behind my house), I've been doing a lot of thinking. A lot of this thinking happened last night in conjunction with today and tonight. It has gone from fear to realization to comfort and back to fear in a matter of 30 hours, and (in my information processing oriented mind) that looks something like this:

a train -> a really long drive -> a warm hug from my mom -> my brother making me an ice cream float -> blocking grocery aisles -> watching Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix -> listening to bullfrogs alone in the middle of summerish fog in the backyard

Perception is the causal force behind every thought our minds conceive. At the same time, perceptions that occur prior to current perceptions also mold the conception of new thoughts. The mind is a vicious cycle of perception, conception, and thought (then back to more conception manipulated by perception). The rut of my rotten mind is baffling. The only outlet; poetry (none of which I seem to be able to create at this moment). Instead, I'll discuss Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

The part of the film that always gets me (and by gets me I mean, makes me sob like a baby regardless of who is around during these scenes) is the part where the film goes silent right after Sirius's death right on through until Fudge sees that Lord Voldemort is back.

My inner dialogue goes something like this *emotions will appear here* (with synopsis of the film here).

1. You mother-fucking whore, you killed the only ray of hope left in Harry's miserable life *gasping for air out of anxiety and fear accompanied by sobs and tears* (when Sirius dies and Harry is silently screaming in the arms of Lupin).
2. Fucking kill her Harry, she deserves it. *ANGER* (when Harry chases Bellatrix LeStrange through the Ministry).
3. Yes!!! *excitement* (when Harry attempts to use the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix).
4. It's ok to be tempted Harry, this is how we learn to grow. *intense identification with Harry accompanied by a LOT of fear* (when Voldemort is inside his head and then appears behind him).
5. Holy Cow! This man must be gay to be that good. *shock and awe* (at the impressive magical abilities of Albus Dumbledore).
6. The torture that Harry is experiencing saddens me. I know what that (information processing experience that is my life) is like which of course moves me to...*more sobbing and tears and my hands cover my mouth for fear that obcenities will fly from it in front of whomever I'm watching the movie with* (when Voldemort gets inside Harry's head and is torturing him in every way possible..physically, emotionally, psychologically).
7. I want to be just like you! *joyful tears, a mixture of sadness and happiness* (when Harry wins over Voldemort--more specifically when Hermione and Ron see Harry and Harry sees them and when Harry delivers the line "...and I feel sorry for you.").
8. I fucking hate you and he will win you manwhore! *RAGE* (when Voldemore stands over Harry and Fudge sees him right after he delivers the most fear driven puss line that indicates he's afraid as he's just been driven from Harry' mind).

This film brings me hope...I wish I knew how to use occlumency so well, or that I had visions of hope before my eyes everytime that I'm scared. Of course, they always show up in my dreams...I just don't always remember them due to Jungian anti-feminist influence.

sleepy

The drive was perfect through Tennessee tonight. So perfect, in fact, that as I approached Chattanooga, I got a poet's high and started writing poetry while driving. Exhileration is a pen, a cigarette, the moon, a passing train, my cerebral cortex and The Postal Service. I was so fucking happy that I couldn't think of anyone to phone or any other cd to play, I wasn't even hungry or thirsty. It was just me and my thoughts, and I was swooned by the wordage and imagery that danced in my head. I'm ready to cross the dream/reality boundary. Goodnight.

night train

passing through what used to be
my home
the scent reticent
capturing it is dangerous
the curves penitrate
a light blazes
filling my soul with wonder
that breaks down walls
the boundaries between dreams
and reality
earthen sultry scents
are where i live
they tend to my being
i just never knew how i longed for them

let's make peace tonight...er this morning....i don't know what time it is anymore

So, I'm gonna rant because I recently fired my therapist for a number of ethical and financial reasonings. In the last week, I have gone to bed at the earliest time ever (since I was in the eighth grade) on a Saturday night, and gotten up at the earliest time ever (since freshmen year when I thought rowing crew would be fun) on a Sunday morning.

Why? Because I'm slowly dying of academic abuse.

Can we just talk for a minute about how everyone around me is coughing with the plague that has resurfaced after being dormant for the last 500 years. Additionally, we're all overworked, underpaid and underappreciated. Being sick and busy is like the worst ever, and my lungs won't shut up. Mainly, because in order to avoid pneumonia I'm making them sing a lot while I write term papers (three of them by next week!). But also, because the pollen is SO bad. I know all of you are so concerned that you're going to run right out and send me flowers, but you see that would be the worst idea eaver since the last 48 hours of my life has been like this:

I love flowers...i hate flowers...i love flowers...i hate flowers...etc.

I'm actually considering making reservations at the hospital for the entire week after I graduate. Just for fluids and all that, but you know I'll probably be too busy working at Publix and using my degree that quite frankly is killing me to receive.

Remember kids, D is for Diploma.

Me and Music Hook up on a Regular Basis

Being a lesbian on a campus of 1,200 students, in which there are approximately ten lesbians, the hook up scene becomes quickly monotonous, and in the words of Flavor Flav, "dramatical." Lately, I've been sticking to latently arousing car hook ups with the infamous Music.

Why Music makes the best hook up:
1. It can't get you pregnant.
2. It can't infect you wtih Syphogonoherpes.
3. It can't dial you for a booty call.
4. It's Hott.

Top 5 Best Hook ups with Music:

1. Communication Breakdown, Led Zeppelin's debut album Led Zeppelin

For those that like it hot and heavy. This song was also distributed as a single on the flip side of Good Times Bad Times (another tantalizing song).


2. The Oxford Comma, by Vampire Weekend

Because punctuation and English references make some people hot.


3. Carols at Christmas, by Girlyman of ATL from Joyful Sign!

Harmonized voices are way sexy.


4. Run, by the Indigo Girls from Despite Our Differences

Girls with guitars in my car.


5. Stupid, by Sarah McLachlan from Afterglow.

Makes me want to beat on stuff while naked. (I'm tired of linking stuff...you can look up that last one yourselves.)

Love,
Bertha

books

she snores loudly
cheek smushed up against
the notes from the life
of a hopeful explorer

scholastically selfish
sing songing her way
as the drool of life
collects on library books

dreaming or making dreams
with pen and paper
or protractors
purchased at a great price

the expense of dreams
in exchange for the dreams
of others

my mom calls me weird

science is perfect alone
amid the dwellers
and the seekers
who try to frolic in its sandbox

it pushes and pulls
with pulleys and scalpels
prodding and weighing
the choices made centuries ago

hidden behind the text
of factual factoids
about Venus or neurotransmitters
is a sleepy sewagey soul

that desires warmth in the storm
created by itself
and by the due dates
of other hiders and seekers

like tupperware

cold abandonment
like she states
the snow never lasts longer
than the branches through which that frozen water billows

used and forgotten
the branches swell with the scent
and the taste
and the memory of water

it travels,
mocking me
and upsetting my stomach
with its stable fluidity

but this feels so unnatural, Peter Gabriel too

As I was walking in the middle of April to work this morning, some snow got in my ear.

Wait, what?!


Snow ? in April ! I know, I know....

Why I heart sorority formals...

Summary of my last ADT formal as a Sewanee student (in itemized numbered format):

The drinks have been drunk. The toasts delivered via microphone and amplifier, including insults. And in true Alpha Delta Theta fashion, the smoochers have smooched, greatly. Well, for me, two out of three ain't bad. Favorites of the evening/of what I can remember.

1. BFF Kate's boobs being toasted based on various interpretations of size. For more details, please consult Alex Murray.
2. Toasts to the choir, proctors, other dorm staff, engaged people, sketchy alumns, alcohol (all types...please see Blountay's song about gin, whiskey, PBR, beer in general, etc), pot, various members of ADT and Lambda Chi Alpha fraternity, school buses (and drunk people being on them), a lot of dates/counterparts, the band, the social chairs (members of the electoral college of the sorority not of the sitting type), the broom which was found in the broom closet, sex, and other items that I can't remember due to copious amounts of gin and wine (not together but still yielding gag reflex noises at this time).
3. My toast: therapy (giving and receiving), love, my date (who was in the bathroom at the time but still heard the toast due to previously mentioned amplifier) and homosexuals (which I referred to for the first time in my life as 'homos' because I love and feel close to those fitting that category who attended the party--of which there were many. Ok, maybe I was just drunk and it slipped out; I'm going straight to hell).
4. Crazy dancing
5. The band named T-Sex.
6. The really good food: salmon, asparagus, salad, rolls, fried chicken nuggets, various sweets.
7. The school bus ride there and back.
8. The advice I gave to people about whether or not they should snog other individuals there.
9. Being rejected, several times.
10. My tummy-sucker-inner.
11. The cute puppy dogs running around licking my legs.
12. Jokes about the weener kid(s).
13. Singing acapella on the gravel road and on the bus and on the rocks at the end of the gravel road while waiting for the bus with Joely. Bands covered: Vampire Weekend, Califone, Indigo Girls.
14. Witnessing intense snogging on the bus by my BFF.
15. Passing out due to public intoxication on a school bus.
16. Going to bed early due to all of the above.

I really enjoyed the formal, of what I can remember.

Love to my lovely sisters and YITS,
Broke "I drink like a fish according to the bartender and he knew my name by the end of the evening" Bertha

suspenseful ponderance

going places; a thought that sprung its ugly head out of a movie screen
this dawn of day

transportation of personal predicament
winding windy wishful whirls
nature's version of uncontrollable usurpance
costing me notions of nickels
and maximized miniscule minutes
of happily horded heartache

timeturning turmoil
of which I'll never reacquire

My face

Sneeze Count (SC): 1

My face hasn't seen the outside of a tissue in three days. Oy! The pressure. And I'm hot and then cold and then hot again. Someone stole my Zinc! All the OTC medicine makes me dizzy, and people continue to (SC: 2) need things from me.

Last night, par example, I went home to pass the hell out and was met in the hallway by a friend who asked how I was doing. I replied (SC: 3) that I was sick, thank you very much, would she please get out of my way b/c I was on my way to my bed, please. To which she responded that she was very sorry that I was sick and then launched into a freakin' fifteen minute long rant about her no-good-very-bad-day. (SC: 4) I don't remember much about the story because I had already taken my nightly anti-histamine.

I woke up this morning to find even more pressure behind my eyes. No matter, I thought. I'll call the doctor, wear a dress and go to work--surely everything will be fine by this evening. On the way to work I called my mom to ask her a question about a tax form. She could hear the pressure in my head by the way I was talking and like a good mother told me to get thyself to a doctor.

I walked into work, looking rather nice (b/c if you don't feel good you should look good), and was met by my boss who said I looked like hell why was I not going to the doctor? (SC: 5) I said I couldn't find a replacement and could he move away from me b/c I was about to sneeze green boogers on him. He moved, I sneezed and then I called the doc. While I was on the phone with the doctor my other boss came out of her office and started asking people why I wasn't at the doctor with the way I was sneezing all over the patrons (and the phone for that matter).

Here's what the doctor said: You're not sick enough to come see me.

WTF? Hello? Did she not hear my graphic descriptions of boogers and pressure and fever and how I have so much work (not to mention people) to tend to. (SC: 6)

Here are some stats for you, doctor:

Hours slept last night: 9 (since you were so concerned with that)
Tissues used in the last 2 days: 2 rolls of toilet paper and 1/2 a box of tissues
Drug intake: high (and scheduled--every four hours)
H2O intake: extremely high
(SC: 7)
Caffeine intake: none (I know, I'm shocked as well)
People in need of a well me (number of people I'm therapying): 5
BFF's opinion of a sick me: eww
# of times I've felt the urge to take a nap while writing this: 3

Whatever, she's not even a doctor. She's a nurse practitioner.

Daytime Television Sucks

Dear The Makers of my Emerson VHS/DVD Player Combo,

Thank you very much for nothing.

I purchased your product in hopes of being able to view either DVD's or VHS's without having to purchase separate DVD and VHS players. The DVD player component stopped working 6 months after I got the combo player and the VHS player has decided to eat all my video tapes as of late. Now, I am stuck in bed with the plague with no means of watching my favorite videos. No more Mean Girls (that one got eaten 6 months ago, and was the first to bite the dust), no more Miss Congeniality, no more L word, no more social justice documentaries. No more visual entertainment for me or my friends or ANYONE!

Additionally, you have forced a sick (probably dying) woman out of her bed and to a couch across campus in order for her to have access to film entertainment. That is so inconsiderate. You make me sick (literally).

Sincerely,
Broke Bertha

P.S. If you see my BFF hanging around will you ask her to bring me some soup, or some lunchables? Thanks.

I may die on the telephone with an IRS worker, pencil in hand and charts and workbook open covered in eraser marks

There is one thing in the world that I absolutely hate. I don't mean hate in a trivial sense like the kind of hate you feel from a particularly nasty yo' mama joke, or like when you have to write a really boring paper. Not even the kind of hatred I feel for ignorant patrons of the library to which I am employed. It's nothing like that. It's maybe more like the kind of hate I feel about the gangsters, la migra, and bandits in Enrique's Journey (which I was up until 4:30 last night devouring. It was so good but induced fits of rage and lots of tears). I mean, it induced hatred...yea...hatred. *scratches head and yawns* But still, not the same kind of hatred I'm attempting to describe. You see, I really hate taxes.

Taxes are the bane of my existence. Here is why:

1. Their due date coincide with the FAFSA entry due dates (which I don't have to do anymore b/c I'm graduating but has caused many a problem over the last three years).
2. They are elusive with their staunch, dry, mathematical wordage. Makes me want to vomit. As this talk of receivable this and adjusted that. I don't know what the hell any of that means?! And of course, I could hire someone to do them for me, but that costs money...money I don't have...because I can't get my taxes filed...so that I have a tax return!!!
3. When you receive moneys from the government or from a private institution to go on to acquire higher education, the government sends you a fucking confusing form that mocks you and causes you to stare at it from a corner in fear.
4. They induce a panicked state inhibiting me from functioning properly and causing me to constantly check the calendar for fear it is April *gulp* 15.
5. Invariably, I always lose at least one of my W-2 forms. That hasn't happened this year so far. *crosses fingers....arms, legs, ankles and eyes* (for good measure).

So there you have it. A little bit of what I hope is clear wordage about hate and mathematical frustration. Good luck with your taxes.

no more boxes

persisting plaid patterns
shaping the folds of my mind

a coalescence of quality
compassionate
characteristics
that i care not to embody

established over years.
surveyed by strangers
who know me
just as well
as i do not know them

life;
a fleeting commercialistic experiential experiment
coded and figured
mapped and colored in
by other people

when will i be passed the pen?

the blinding battle

drifting

apart
away
emotion
fear

into

a dream
pungent arousal of the tender tips of imagination
yearning for release
to paint the picture
molded in my mind

rather
joining the journey
wisps of wind winding woefully around my face
gleeful laughter
and picturesque pleasantries

realization instead of
bed sheets and dreams
digging holes that will never be discovered

and i'm left to pencil what i can't recall

punching people has never really been my style

Until I took karate to fulfill degree requirements for this 'spensive, cracked out liberal arts education that I'm earning (and for which I'll probably have to sell all my unborn children in order to pay for), I never ever thought I'd have the drive to punch anyone. But, if punching is equated to or if punching is some kind of symbolism for argue, petition or persuade, then the people I would punch include the following:

George W. Bush

Not that this bears further explanation, so I'll keep my argument to bullet points:
1. Expensive wars that take away from the education budget in the US
2. War in general
3. Homophobia
and many many more points, but I'm getting angry. I think I'll go punch a pillow.

Ilene Chaiken (sorry to steal this from a friend's list, but she warrants further abuse)

For creating characters that persist stereotypes and for creating a character for which I've actually developed feelings. My therapist will have to field the rest of this argument. For now, Chaiken, go find your fucking tool belt because you're going to need it handy if I ever get a hold of you. (Though she probably knows more karate than I do).

Jerry Falwell

*lots of gagging noises* Conservativism that superceeds actually ethics with the use of ethical arguments. I have few words for this man, because he doesn't deserve them. He only deserves my angry fist which will probably be dressed in brass knuckles, if I can find a place to purchase them.

Beauty Pageant Contestants

Which I guess means, I'd have to punch myself being a homecoming court representative which is just as bad. Some of them are in it for the right reasons; promoting strong woman goaliology and all that. But most of them just need to locate the user manual for their brains. But by then, I will have located it and read it to them before they realize I'm in the room and have punched them. I'm a strong advocat of self-awareness that doesn't involve 'how do I look?'

Any person who believes he/she to be open-minded to point that he/she is close-minded:

I know far too many people that fit this category. Let's just say, it makes the job of spreading the news about diversity and perspective to people who might actually listen if these people hadn't gotten a hold of them first. This entry is inducing rage and anger and other negative feelings. I'm going to go watch some youtube now to calm down.

the world gets a lot bigger and scarier as time goes on.

i've never been afraid to die
not even years ago
during a lonelier day
in moments i try not to remember
between bites of dinner
that i detested.

i really hated zucchini
all seedy and chewy
soggy and bitter

anxious spoon tapping
awaiting her
i cried

just me
and she
will outline the story of life

one about zucchini
and burnt cookies
reminding me of loneliness

my original fear
a resounding quake
rattling my cerebellum

now with parmesean
i crave that bitter seedy soggy stuff
and the fears of life wax
with each rising of the moon

closed windows, opened doors and other stuff

paying for directions about how to read
the topographical nothing inhabiting my neural membranes

nothing becomes something
or not
it's up to the wordsmiths in the world to decide

my fingers bleed from that old violin story
my eyes swim in the tears shed from pasts
pasts that are now presents
presents that were never really presents
like at Christmas
but rather bills
bills that will always be in my mailbox
bills that i hate
bills that i love
bills that i will pay for the rest of my life

The Psychological Wall that is Graduation

Alright people, listen up...basically, I've been drunk for the past 5 days and here's why: The Psychological Wall that is Graduation (see left).

Last week I tried abstinence, but all that got me was depressed and behind on my work. This week I've been going with the drink-whenever-you-want-and-get-your-shit-done approach (so forgive any typos because you aren't my professors and blogger doesn't seem to have spell check, I'm just sayin').

Accomplishments today:

1. Sleeping in (until 11:30).

Actually, let's back up. Accomplishments today actually began last night, so um...backing up would be at zero? (just go with it):

0. Wrote half a paper, drank half a bottle of wine, went to the sto' and bought chips and dip and passed out on bff Kit's bed while watching a bootleg movie (that sucked).

1. Slept in this morning until 11:30.

2. Went to class (and contributed nothing except a story about my mom).

3. Went to a meeting (in which we did not discuss the points of conversation for which the meeting was scheduled).

4. Thought about calling my mom to wish her a happy late birthday.

5. Text messaged a friend while cheering up a friend who got in a car wreck on Monday.

6. Drank a lot.

7. Created the picture above.

8. Ate dinner.

9. Asked a boy out to be my date for the formal next weekend.

10. Went to the sto' to buy a 40 oz Miller High Life The Champagne of Beers (don't judge me, it's cheap).

11. Wrote this blog post.

12. Discussed someone's mother's pussy...and then perfect world concepts, like if I weren't a lesbian (I'm so confused, and also slightly disturbed).

So, basically people I have accomplished 13 items of important business as well as drank a hell of a lot of alcohol. Pray for my soul if you're a Baptist; if you're not then have a cold one and cheers me at your leisure. Kisses!

We're lost today...

"I'm pretty sure we're lost, Abi stated emphatically. It was late and the sun had been in bed for many hours now. The trees swayed with the dancing wind. Abi swayed with them sleepily.


Bertha stopped the car and pulled out the map. "Get out the map," she sang quietly to herself. Abi smirked. "Well, I'm pretty sure we're here," Bertha pointed to the map, and then looked up to consult the street signage, "and we want to be here." She pointed west of where they were. Abi wasn't listening. She was thinking about the beautiful scenery from the mountain highway that they had passed through earlier in the day. She looked over at Bertha. The aged map was stained with coffee and mud and Bertha's face hid behind it completely. Abi smiled and then looked out the window, surveying the area around the intersection where the car was idling. Across the street were these glowing things. "What is that?" she asked Bertha.

"What?" Bertha replied, as she studied the map intently.

"Over there," Abi pointed, "What is that, glowing?"

"Hmm?" Bertha hummed, now she wasn't listening.

"Bertha, over there," Abi asked again, pulling the map down below Bertha's line of vision.


Bertha peered across the dark silent street into what seemed to be a graveyard. Her eyes darted from glowing thing to glowing thing. "I think they're crosses?" Bertha stated, with a furrowed brow. She returned to her map with the same furrow and sighed.


"Why?" Abi asked.


"I don't know," Bertha replied irritated, her voice muffled by the map, "but I didn't know God glowed in the dark."

Abi stared at Bertha with a whelmed expression on her face, taking note of Bertha's response. Abi took out a pen and paper and wrote down that apparently God glows in the dark. She tucked the note away in her pocket. "Alright, we're going to go left," Bertha interjected, throwing the map down into the floor of the car.


"Sounds good to me," Abi said, as she made a mental note to buy Bertha a new map and something with which to clip it to the car visor, "I trust you, and besides there are more crosses on the left anyway. I think we should take that as a sign."