Welcome To My Bed

Ink-soaked brain.

I had a brutal day at work yesterday. On my feet for over nine hours straight bookended by the forty minutes it takes me to drive to and from my job. And all the other girls on shift were complaining the entire time instead of actually doing what they were supposed to be doing. They all claimed to have prior waitressing experience, but with some of them I have cause to be incredibly skeptical. A definite plus side to the debacle was being literally on the water - the only thing between the restaurant and the ocean is a skinny strip of rocks. Ocean mist and breezes in my face all day and a gorgeous view when its clear out is not a condition to complain about, but working outdoors leaves you at the mercy of the weather. Every scheduled shift hangs tenuously in the balance. I came home and seriously decompressed.

As a reward for my hard work, I went to the mall around lunch time today and tried to go shopping for summer clothes, but the retail gods were in a bad mood or something because everything was overpriced, heinous-looking, or a healthy combination of both. I bought a bunch of basic t-shirts (for some reason I had previously owned nothing of the sort) and left, disgruntled. The real reward of today has been consistently day-dreaming about the tattoos I have planning for myself over the course of the next few years. It has me all antsy for new ink. I have been dreaming of my squid with great anticipation, and I have a serious suspicion that when I commit to such a large addition, it will only end up bigger that I am currently expecting it to be. Sidebar: that anchor that I drew as a composite of several traditional anchors for my most recently accomplished tattoo is almost identical to the logo of the restaurant where I now work. It's a little ridiculous. Anyway, that anchor ended up larger than I had originally envisioned, and part of me now wishes I had gotten it even bigger. Maybe that's why I am so gung-ho about the squid, which will be tangled around and behind the anchor, large and purple and wrapping onto the space below my left shoulder blade. Insert preliminary sketch:


I have to tinker with it a bit, but I really like that style squid. Not too scary, but still a bit ominous. It can't happen until I get back to Amherst in the fall anyway.

During my long day of considering future ink, I dug the following drawing out of my file. I've been wanting this one for a long time, on the inside of my left arm. Momma Rabbit and her babies, Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, and Peter, or in my mind, my family.


Depending on how frequently I work and how much money said working makes me, I might just get that one in August before I leave Providence, a little memento of my time here with Kait. Not that I won't be back. More and more, I am falling hard for this place. I spend many of my days alone, but I don't feel lonely in the slightest.

Unexpected is the best brand of wonderful.


Please excuse the massive whites of my eyes...

This is the face of a person (well, me) both surprised and delighted by the city of Providence. Tonight's surprise and delight is brought to you by the Providence Poetry Slam, and really just AS 220 in general. Yes, I finally made it out there. And though parking was a nightmare (Wendeline and I finally found a spot about a block from the venue that was just barely not in front of a fire hydrant), the evening proved to be exactly what I needed to lift my spirits after getting knocked around by the ass-backwards geography of Boston on my way home from the Cantab last night.

Though I am not the most outgoing person in the world, I felt so welcomed by the community there and had a wonderful time watching the open mic of poets and acoustic music (this was a special open mic they do every month where poets and musician must peacefully coexist, and it was so beautiful to see communities meeting and supporting each other and blah blah blah warm fuzzy things in my heart right now). Okay. I'm going to try not to write so much in parentheticals. There is just so much to say, I feel like this entry should have footnotes or something. I am bursting with joy! You are rolling your eyes at this, but I can't see you! So I will continue to burst with joy! And use exclamation points! Frequently! And often without proper cause! Because - and brace yourselves for this one, cos it's a doozy - I am now in the running for the final slot on the Providence slam team. Say WHAT?! Yes, you read correctly!

The story goes something like this: upon arriving (after the long and serious parking debacle), I went inside to sign up for the open mic. I saw Megan, who I had met on Tuesday at Ryk's open mic, and we said hello. She said that there was only one slot left on the open, but that I should slam in spite of it being my first night. I figured I had nothing to lose, so I signed up for the slam. I then went outside to smoke and felt very awkward, called Sam, he talked me down a little bit, and then it was time for festivities. The various musical acts were delightful, and the poetry was funny and of a flavor I can't attribute to any other venue. Then Aaron (who I had seen at CUPSI as a member of the Wash U team I think) and Michelle, an amazing girl from their youth slam team, did a group piece about being of mixed race that pretty much kicked my ass. Break time, and I went out to smoke, milled around still feeling slightly out of place but not caring cos I was pretty much wanting to kill myself over the fact that I had drawn a 1 for the ensuing slam. I did "Phonecall to the North End", "Open Letter to Dov Charney", and "Crystal Methadone", all of which scored really well considering we were only doing a four person slam and I drew the 1, and I ended out the night with an 81.2 cumulatively, which wasn't too shabby. It put me in third place, which was alright, because I had a really awesome time and people were coming up to me telling me how great they thought I was and I got to tell everyone else how great I thought they were and really mean it, and then...Aaron and Richard (another CUPSI 09 vet), who had taken the one and the two in the slam which meant they went on to the Grand Slam in two weeks to decide the final team member both told me they were leaving town for the summer and had to drop out. WHICH MEANS that I get to compete for that final slot.

And in that euphoria, I went outside to smoke another cigarette and ponder my existence. Which turned into me talking to Mag, another of the youth slam kids who is also wonderful. We exchanged numbers and made tentative plans to hang out soon, and once the hubbub died down, I was left sitting at a sidewalk table with Daniel, one of the musicians from the earlier open mic. I'm pretty positive we talked for two hours about all manner of things, which felt amazing, because I don't feel like I've had any kind of serious conversation (barring car rides with Kait and the occasional in depth phone conversation every few days) with anyone since moving here. We also exchanged numbers, and I gave him my chapbook. He told me he would show me the city and I could read him more poems. There was also a drunk man who we talked about Henry Rollins with as I was getting ready to go to my car. A more complete night has not been had by me in who knows how long.

Driving home, Sophia and I talked on the phone about how life-changing Song of Solomon was for us and how good this city has been to my psyche thus far. And it really has. I don't know if it would have been possible anywhere else for me to have days like today. I think I want to live here after I graduate. No, I'm almost positive. The Cantab is so close, and everything is just the right scale and Kaitlin is here and wow I love it so so so much. I feel so inarticulate. All I want to do is hold down the exclamation key forever!!!!!!!!!!! But I'll spare you all. I promise to provide news of developments in the life and times of me as it becomes available.

With limbs akimbo.


There is a lot to talk about and I have been putting off doing any of it, but now that I have done four loads of laundry and read two chapters of a book (finally making a dent in the epic summer reading list, which will be discussed later), I feel it important to check in with the rest of the world. I have been living in relative isolation, and the solitude of it is doing wonderful (if sometime painful) things for my psyche. I get out of bed in the morning solely because I want to, which has to be both the most foreign and most fulfilling feeling I've had in a long time. I have been writing a lot as well, and taking care of the apartment as best I can without becoming overwhelmed by the small sink filled with many large dishes. So things are good, better than expected, and in spite of being somewhat lonely, I know already that it is going to be a good and productive summer.

Graduation was very strange, but mostly enjoyable. Maggie and I watched the whole thing with our mouths hanging half-open, and I would not have believed half of it if I hadn't been watching with a cup of coffee in hand, most definitely awake. Several people received diplomas with dog leashes in their free hands. And yes, there were dogs at the end of those leashes. All of the speeches were so casual, I was a little taken aback. No one was required to wear a cap or gown, but the people who did wear them looked like they were wearing said attire that was left over from when they left high school four (or however many) years ago. The ceremony opened with bagpipes and ended with live jazz, not a hint of Pomp and Circumstance to be heard of. And you can download the whole thing from the school website, at least eventually - right now it's only available for streaming. Bobcat Goldthwait and Ken Burns spoke, which is really all that you need to know about how unorthodox the whole thing was. It got me excited for next year, but it also made me nervous for how my family would respond. The only other college graduation I have attended was my sister's from Providence College (well actually I only went to the mass the day before, but that they had a mass really says something about how different our school are), and it was in the Dunkin Donuts center in Providence. Not exactly the outdoor, social change-oriented, barefoot hippie somewhat-lovefest I witnessed on Saturday. Next spring will be interesting for sure. Congratulations again to all my Div Free friends, may you experience the career-less life of following your passions wherever they take you. If that's what you're gunning for anyway.

In thinking of my own future, my ultimate goal lately has been to find a place to go to poetry readings around here. AS 220 is only a few blocks from my apartment, and on Thursday nights it is home to the Providence Poetry Slam, which is exciting, although I have yet to attend since things have been so strange and unsettled still. But there's another poetry venue in town (that I have yet to figure out the location of...silly me) run by one the regulars at the Cantab, Ryk McIntyre. Where rumor has it, I'm going to be featuring on June 23. I was told to expect a formal invitation when I drive out to Boston for the Cantab on Wednesday night. More news to follow as the date approaches.

For now, I shall return to my function as cat wrangler/kitchen lord/scholar of Virginia Woolf, a capacity that will continue virtually uninterrupted until Saturday, which is the next time I have work. I really don't know how I managed to finagle this sweet set-up. All that's missing are the Slam Collective regulars, but they'll all be within a safe distance by June 1st, and then everything will increase exponentially in awesome. Until then, I will continue to soldier on through this non-routine routine, eating mock krema and/or citrus fruits for most meals and shooing the cats off my futon.

I leave you with the recipe my uncle's girlfriend Sarah sent me in the mail this week with Julia Child's My Life in France for the aforementioned mock krema.

1 cup bulgar wheat (Goya sells it in 1 lb bags)
3 8 oz cans tomato sauce
1 green pepper, finely chopped
1 small onion, finely chopped
1/4 cup olive oil
1/4 cup lemon juice (about the amount you get from one lemon)

Combine all ingredients in a bowl and let stand for three hours. Then enjoy with pita, pita chips, in breakfast burritos, with scrambled eggs, etc. Or just eat it by itself, which I have been doing for many lunches and late night snacks.

On the futon, un-asleep.


I know that it's possible to die from insomnia, but somehow I am not afraid. Probably because this is my first night of it in a long tim. But I also know that once it starts, it tends to stick around for about a month, which could prove to be a problem of some seriousness, considering that my new job is about dealing with customers and I can't effectively do that while half-asleep. Thus is my dilemma.

But even sleepless, Providence is proving to be the best possible choice I could have made for the summer. Instead of hiding from everything that's bothering me, I'm hashing it all out for myself - writing a lot, talking with Kaitlin about it, and just generally feeling better about things. I guess that what I really needed was distance. And now, thankfully, I have it, both physically and mentally. I also made a friend at work, which is comforting, seeing as that was my one major concern. She is also an English major and I think I successfully convinced her to come to an open mic at AS 220 with me next week, which I am really excited about.

Living in an urban area is working wonders for me. Everything is so close, and I am already able to drive fairly confidently from place to place after just a few days. Wendeline (my 1990 Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera S) has served me well thus far, and this weekend we will make her first visit to Hampshire to claim the rest of the shit I left there and see a bunch of my guys graduate. Hopefully it will not thunderstorm. I bought a new tube tope for the occasion, and I will be damned if I don't get to wear it. I'm thinking of getting in touch with a friend who has an apartment in Northampton to see if I can stay there, and tehn I may go up tomorrow night, which would be better, because then I won't have to do so much driving in one day. Not that it's so far away, but I just don't want to run myself into the ground.

These are the things one must consider when running on limited amounts of jet fuel.

Ugh, why am I still awake?

Possible post-college job opportunity.

My sister works at one of these schools in Providence, and the more she tells me about it, the more interested I am. I never really wanted to be a teacher all that badly, but I'm realizing more and more that if people were given the kinds of learning opportunities that I get at Hampshire at a younger age, we wouldn't end up with generations upon generations of disillusioned, apathetic adults who can't properly take care of themselves. So yeah, even if it's not right away, I'm thinking that facilitating alternative learning might be the route I take, if I decide I want to be settled somewhere for a decent chunk of time.

The busiest of bees.


This is the face of someone overwhelmed by the sheer amount of work she has left to do, even with only two more papers left to write before the transition into her final phase of higher education begins. I woke up at ten this morning and plowed straight into my work. I was working on that same fiction workshop revision from yesterday and I realized something a little bit ridiculous. It was initially an eight page piece. It has since grown to be eighteen pages. Yes. I know. Eighteen. I wrote my professor a note at the top that apologizes. I hope that will be enough of an explanation. I just could not stop myself. Im afraid to reread it too many time for fear that I'll end up adding more. And that is really the last thing that I need.

At any rate, I'll be done with my workshop portfolio momentarily (all that's left to do is print!) and then I can focus on the big meaty papers. Oh joy. These are the reasons why I will never go to graduate school for literature. A consideration of the gendered journeys to adulthood undertaken by Milkman in Song of Solomon and Denver in Beloved. And then a serious consideration of Houellebecq's assertion that love cannot properly function in a capitalist individualistic society, made in The Elementary Particles, a concept that is still making me have panic attacks, not because I don't think I can write a serious paper about it, but because I am scared that he's right. I don't know when I became such a feminist. I don't know how it is that I decided it was time that I take on gender differences in literature. It was never really something that interested me before this semester. It's the academic community taking hold in my brain I suppose, in addition to that bell hooks that I've been reading. I am having serious issues putting down All About Love even though I know that I have so many other things I need to get done before I go home on Thursday. Like packing. And those papers. I have a copy of Diane Ackerman's A Natural History of Love sitting next to me right now, begging to be read. So much to do.



Today I am literally back in high school, sitting at Kaitlin's desk in her classroom trying to do work but getting hopelessly distracted by the internet and how seriously sleep-deprived I am. Yesterday I woke up at 7, went to work, came home to pack for the weekend, had two classes (one of which is a joke and has been all semester, the other where I was a group leader for a presentation on Beloved and had to pretend to be awake enough to function), and rushed to Amherst to catch the first bus of the day. That bus took me to Springfield. In Springfield, I had to wait for too long for my second bus (to Providence). During most of the traveling, I did homework. My eyes got incredibly tired of reading. When I got to Providence, I had to take a third bus to Cranston, where my sister's apartment (soon to be mine as well) is. And then I finally got to sit down on something that wasn't traversing large stretch of highway. After eating two helpings of chicken pot pie, I passed out on the love seat. The cats would not leave me a alone all night.

I had a strange dream about the summer - Carlos was competing in Florida, and I guess I didn't end up on the Hampshire team (highly likely as it stands now) because in the dream I was sitting on my futon reading something dense like Tolstoy when I got the phone call. Probably because I have War and Peace waiting on my shelf for me in Jersey. He called me to let me know how his bout went. It was completely unlike him to have a straightforward, fact-based conversation without being prompted. I woke up feeling like we had actually had the conversation, probably because I had been asleep in the place where I'd be in August anyway, maybe because I haven't actually spoken to him in a long time.

I need to get folding screens together to fully establish myself as a Broad Street resident. I am really only living in a living room, but I am going to pretend as vehemently as possible that it is a real bedroom that just doesn't have proper walls. In a few weeks, everything old will be new again. As for right now, I could really use a nap.

Spring Jam.


I spent the better part of yesterday lying in the sun and now my back is a pale shade of lobster. I jinxed myself the other day by saying that I never burned. Oh well. It was a beautiful afternoon anyway. Cass, Sophia and I lay on the library lawn all day reading and enjoying ourselves with a rotating cast of characters. I played a very half-assed game of chess. Cass and I wandered the length of the entire campus at least three times for various reasons and eventually found what we were looking for. And at the end of the day, I had eaten so much delicious junk food and also baked a pecan pie with Peter.

Today is Spring Jam. I think KRS-one is playing? School events at Hampshire baffle me slightly. We never have them, until we do, and when we do they are always bizarre and poorly planned. But Maggie will be here, and I ate yogurt with fresh strawberries for breakfast, so I will not complain for another excuse to put off all my work. Again. Well, that isn't entirely true. I totally woke up early and cleaned for at least an hour in attempt to pull together my preliminary Div 2 portfolio. But a couple hours of decompression never hurt anyone, least of all me.

P.S. Providence update - Kaitlin bought me a dresser, and I will be babysitting Grace Ann's futon for the summer. So now I have furniture. All I need to do is get all of my shit from here (point A) to the apartment (point B). I imagine the logistics will be fascinating. Having a car would be ideal, but I guess nothing ever goes exactly perfectly right.

Sometimes, I forget it's still possible to surprise myself.

Today was a day of wonderful surprises. I had a committee meeting to revise my Div 2 contract this morning before class, and while eating a bag of pretzels on the floor of a hallway with my committee member and talking shop, I got invited to read my poetry at a panel for accepted students, was informed that I can pass Div 2 in the fall (which means I'll be graduating a full year ahead of schedule instead of just one semester), and she also told me that the first piece I submitted to the workshop we have together was "amazing" - better than just plain old student work. It feels like everything is clicking. My feature is Thursday, and I have another with the team in April at Marlboro College in Vermont, and now this campus reading where I'll be representing the entire campus spoken word community (such an honor, considering how many truly amazing poets go to school here).

It seems that all the labor and love is paying off. Even with all of the endless distractions (another entry for another day), I have managed to go above and beyond the call of duty. And it feels fucking awesome to be validated in that.

On the horizon.

Things I am currently excited about:

+ being Boston roommates with Cassandra in very little time
+ going out for the NPS team
+ my feature this Thursday night at 12 Union Street in Noho
+ writing prose again (it's coming, slowly but surely)
+ cut-offs and bare feet on a Friday

Oh, and


the sheer size of this rabbit.

City sights and sounds.

As much as New York will always be like home to me, spending the weekend in Boston proved to me that it's possible to fall in love with another city as more than a vacation spot. In all seriousness, I will be living there this summer, I don't care what kind of craziness it takes. But anyway, I wanted to take you through all of the little details that dragged me in and converted me into more of a New Englander than I ever thought I could be.


I arrived at South Station on Friday afternoon. The weather was crisp but not too cold and I was ready for anything. When Carlos, a friend of mine from the Emerson slam team, picked me up, we decided to go for a walk on the waterfront, which ended up being a reoccurring activity for the weekend, one that I was more than down with. It reminded me of Hoboken, but cleaner and on a grander scale. But then, everything kind of reminds me of Jersey anyway, so who am I kidding.

We walked to the North End, where his apartment is. Right smack in the middle of Little Italy, amazing food at every turn. I ate so well this weekend, being back at Hampshire is depressing me even more. I want to be able to walk to so many delicious places. Friday we had Vietnamese sandwiches and went to an arts benefit night at Emerson that Carlos had to perform at.


For a night of good home fun time, we got a couple of forties of the Champagne of Beers and watched several episodes of King of the Hill, a show I have recently fallen in love with all over again. Many laughs were had, especially my own giggling at how easily the hall window re-closes itself while I am trying to have a cigarette.

Saturday we ate breakfast (bacon, eggs, and onion all fried in the same pan, then eaten over rice), and I went to a laundromat for the first time (exciting, I know). Later we went on a long walk around the city, ending up along the water again and making our way to Newbury Street for Japanese noodle soup that can only be eaten with chopsticks. I had seaweed salad for the first time. We told origin stories and talked a lot about family and what we want to do with our time this summer. A couple beers down by the water every now and again is definitely on my list of things to do. And picnics in the park with a bottle of wine, for sure.

We then wandered through Beacon Hill, where even the 7-11 sign looks posh, and picked up a bag of Haribu Coca-Cola candies, which I had never tried before. We ate and walked some more, watched the sunset light all the buildings of the financial district up. There were moments when it was absolutely breath-taking. Back in the North End, we had Scarlett O'Hara's (cranberry juice and SoCo) and watched more King of the Hill.

Yesterday, knowing I had to leave the afternoon, a lot was left to be accomplished. I had never had a cannoli before, so the first order of business was to find a bakery that wasn't swimming in people and rectify that situation. We ate pastry while waiting for the T to Alston so that I could have Thai food for the first time. Many first this weekend.


Lunch blew my mind, and in a food coma, we climbed the biggest city hill I've seen since San Francisco and chatted about the view at the top until we decided it was time to head back so I could pack and wait for my ride back to Amherst. I really thought my legs would be sore today from all the wandering and adventures of the weekend, but I feel great. In spite of a mysterious head cold, I am delighted in how I've been spending my time. If I didn't have so much homework on my plate for this week, in spite of reading two books over break and struggling to crack open a third. As I observed while home in Jersey, there is never enough time for anything I need to get done.

Not going home.

This city (Boston) has been good to me this weekend, and I am not looking forward to cows and other such staples of the boonies. Give me another week of spring break and I'll get back to you.

Rain delay.


It's not really the fault of the rain, but after planning on getting back to Amherst by this time today and still finding myself on the computer on my sister's bedroom floor, I need something to blame that I cannot physically grab and shake angrily. I guess what I'm saying is, nothing ever goes quite according to plan. And in following that bit wisdom (who knows who said it first), I have the first list in a very long time, entitled, "What I Learned From Spring Break in New Jersey".

1 - There is never enough time for anything.

I already learned this one a long time ago, in many different locations. I don't know why the universe keeps failing me and making me take the class again.

2 - Clothing shopping is unnecessary.

The only way I now acquire new clothes is rooting around in the bags of discarded things my sisters abandon in the basement. If things have gotten too small for them, they tend to fit me like a glove. And if they consider something too tacky, chances are I am the one who convinced them to buy it in the first place, so claiming it just seems right. I have an entire Rubbermaid container full of this week's basement shopping.

3 - The diners in Massachusetts really suck.

There is nothing like coming home for good disco fries. Very few people outside of the Tri-State area do these correctly. Even in Philly I was a little skeptical.

4 - Naps are underrated.

I haven't been napping nearly enough at school, probably because things had been so hectic before CUPSI. Since coming home, I have napped nearly every day, and man has it been wonderful. I really missed wasting away the afternoon after reading for several hours. There is nothing like finishing six chapters of a book and rewarding yourself with a warm and comfy bed for a few hours.

5 - There is no way I can keep this up.

As much as I love my house, it really isn't my house anymore. Yesterday the kitchen linoleum I have known for my entire life was torn up and right now the construction workers are sanding and replacing the floor with oak. This is only one in a long line of minor changes that have amassed over the past two years that have been making me more and more uncomfortable. First they got wall-to-wall carpet in the living room, replacing the moss green area rug that had been there for God knows how long. Couches have come and gone (currently one of them is an uncomfortable leather number that's too sticky to sit on in the summer, being that we still don't have A/C), walls have been repapered or repainted, and all these little cosmetic differences only serve to further divorce me from any feeling of home I've been holding onto.

In light of item number five, I've felt less and less compelled to come home for the summer. I'd really like to try out for the NPS team (especially after how amazing CUPSI was), and even if I don't make it, I'd love to live in Boston for the summer. To be among poets. To support myself. Cassandra and I talked about it tentatively on the phone yesterday while I was having a miniature nervous breakdown about the state of my Jersey life, and I feel so much better knowing that I will be able to escape. I love this state, but honestly, there are only so many changes I can endure before things end up all drastic and terrifying.

Speaking of Boston, I will be on a bus that's Beantown-bound first thing tomorrow (after cashing my elusive paycheck), and I plan to spend the weekend acclimating myself to the city, because we were never really properly introduced.

Diet alterations.


When I started college, I had been a vegetarian for the bulk of the summer. I gave up around November because I was cooking with James and didn't want to limit what he could and could not eat. But right now, having eaten so little meat over the past few weeks, it seems silly to continue buying something that's so much more expensive. I'm just going to live off of veggies again, and do it right this time. I'm not going all the way (fish stays, just because I cannot part with tuna), and I'm sure I will have bacon slip ups with a frequency that is alarming. But I feel good about this. The only meat I eat at this rate anyway is ground turkey meatballs. Chicken has come to gross me out, I don't like red meat. I want all the avocados I can get my hands on, immediately.

Best reunion ever.


I'm not sure if I remembered to mention this or not, but my very best friend in the whole world is coming to visit me in dismal snowy Western Mass next weekend, and I could not be more excited. She'll be here with a purpose, naturally. James cast her in his Div III and thus she must spend all of Saturday acting (10 AM- 7 PM, we get real serious about movies sometimes), but she is all mine on Friday and whatever time on Sunday she stays for. I envision breakfast at the diner. We will make fun of the food because, being from New Jersey, we have the best diners in the world. We will have quite a bit of fun at that hi-lighter party I mentioned the other day. And I will not have to be so homesick (a near-constant state for me) for a few days. The respite is more than just welcome. I am in dire need of some Jersey love. I don't care what anybody says, I love that place more than any other.

On Thursday night Maggie will be on her way from Brooklyn, and thank god.

Lazy Sunday, sort of.


That dress is barely cold (I haven't even attached the pockets yet), and already I'm knitting something new. I don't know where the space in the day comes from, but I'm making headway. It is in what I have lovingly referred to as a mac 'n cheese type yarn, and I'll post pictures when it's finished, or close to being finished, because we all know how impatient I am.

As CUPSI gets closer, I feel an eerie calm falling over me, and I'm not sure if I should be alarmed about it or not. Kat has lost her voice for the time being; we haven't finished working out our group piece yet; I need to get a new poem off page that Charlie is convinced will score well. Everything seems to be stacking up against us, but I am convinced we'll pull through and make a good showing when we end up in Philly in a few weeks time. And as an addendum to that note about future travels, I am very excited to be making my way back home for some serious basement cleaning, Spring break will most likely be me knitting, reading, sleeping, and purging my house of all the things I have pack-ratted away since middle school. Taking the train home from Philadelphia costs $12.50...something about that seems old-world romantic to me, and I don't know why. I have a feeling I'm going to do a lot of writing on the train, both to CUPSI from here in Amherst and from 30th Street home. I can't wait.

The Oscars are tonight. James and I are reprising our pool from last year, making it our first real annual tradition. I feel kind of old saying that, but I like it. I hope we do it again next year, even if we can't watch together. I am sure the night will precipitate a rant of some sort, so stay tuned for some movie talk (which I haven't had the time or energy to accomplish in too long). Until then, I am entrenched in literary theory.

In post-script, James has my copy of High Fidelity, but every time I suggest we watch it, he makes some disgusted comment about John Cusack. I just don't get it. That man is a god to me...

Getting restless.


I cannot stick with one haircut for very long. And while I am somewhat enjoying how my current hair can be manipulated into ponytail configurations (it's been years since such things were possible), I am also itching for something different. Yes, I know I got a haircut in January. It probably has been a little over a month, and I'm already bored. How I've been dating the same guy for over a year, writing the same book for more than two, studying the same thing for basically my entire life is completely beyond me. I guess when it comes to my appearance, I allow myself room to be fickle.

But anyway, this summer when I saw Wristcutters: A Love Story for the first time, I fell in love with Shannyn Sossamon's hair, which I typically do whenever she is anything. I think I just have a throbbing crush on her, but for our purposes, that is besides the point. I am thinking my next haircut will be something along the lines of hers in the movie. But who knows when that will be. I have no idea when we'll be be done shooting pick-ups for James' movie, as we have yet to finish principal shooting. But three weeks from now, when we've essentially wrapped, I'll return to the notion of going short again. Really I'm just pining for my former baldness. I am hopelessly lazy when it comes to styling and other such nuisances.

In other news, I finished my first major needlework project, a dress in in acid yellow. Incidentally, my housemates a throwing a hi-lighter party next weekend where everyone will be required to wear something neon. I feel very well-prepared.



Taking a breather.

At the Ref desk (my home away from home), halfway through a chunk of Faulkner that took me two sections to actually get into. I'm reading The Bear for class this week, a section of Go Down, Moses, and the only Faulkner I've read before this was a short story that turned up multiple times in high school: my freshman ear when my college freshman sister needed somebody to bounce ideas off of for a paper, my sophomore year when we read the story for class, and my junior year (?) after I had transfered. Which makes me an expert on that one particular story. But I forgot how epic his sentences were - I sometimes get the overwhelming sensation that I am drowning in words. But anyway, I kind of don't want to stop now that I've picked up momentum, which is bad, because I have mountains of other work to do. Hence the blogging - it helps to reset my brain, so bear with me.

Tonight marks the first truly productive meeting of the still-nameless Hampshire slam team, which isn't exactly saying much, because we still got very little done and I am nearing the point of intensive frustration. Last practice we timed poems. This practice we discussed possible names for far too long (getting inexplicably side-tracked by the wiki page for McCarthyism) and made photocopies of poems that need editing. Because I have sooo much free time to be editing. I'm going to give it my best shot though, in spite of the constant time crunch I have orchestrated for myself that has only been mushrooming since Jan Term. As of this practice, I have been informed that my entire Thursday post 5 pm has been sacrificed to the slam gods so that we can both practice and go to Kevin slam/dance party that night. I had propsed that we use the slam as an excuse to get our poems off page, but somehow that was translated into "I have nothing more pressing to do with my time than spend it getting sick of my own writing". I am endlessly amped for nationals, I can't wait to be in Philly bringing my A-game, but I can't help hearing the little voice in me that was much louder last year that keeps whispering that I am not a slam poet. And I know that it's right. I am decidedly page-y. Paper-dependent. And I'm okay with that; I never claimed to be a performer. I guess hearing everybody say that the poems that do well in national competition are typically more performance heavy than page-worthy made me slightly more nervous that I already was. And then there's the business of poems with names like "Titanium Pussy" (I kid you not) being honored with accolades. When I'm sure something like that sounds...as bad as it sounds.

But there are sunny sides. No pressure being one of the more tangible of those happy things. I don't expect to do fantastically, I expect to enjoy myself and hopefully learn. Probably get red wine drunk on the train with Charlie just like when we were neighbors. Other than that, there isn't too much happiness riding on such an experience. Maybe I'll sell a few chapbooks, which would be really cool. But mostly I'm trying to think small at this point, because baby steps eventually get you where you're going. Tonight after work, Georgie and I are going to write a group piece. Possible topics that I have brainstormed during breaks from William include a conversation between an alcoholic and his/her drink, or the ways we drunkenly talk ourselves into one-night stands. I am not loving either of those, but maybe they'd be fun free-writes.

As for right now, there is plenty more where that last bit of work came from. It's early yet and I already feel a headache of the over-tired variety coming on.