Welcome To My Bed

Life is too short to spend steam-rolled to the sidewalk.

I am overwhelmed.

I've been saying that every time I post here, but I really really mean it. Cass's constant refrain (or rather, her exclaimation for when life is going particularly against plan) is, "I hate everything/everyone" and I noticed (or maybe she did?) that I've adopted the same saying, and not just for the times when I stub my toe or realize the sink is full of dishes when I'm looking to make dinner. I don't want to be so down in the dumps, even if the whole sky is falling on my head at once.

Things have taken a turn recently, or are trying their hardest to, and it's been rough. I need to get back to my September mindset, the state of mind I had when I was sure I could tackle anything bigger than me and take it down, no problem. I've slid a little--I caught myself daydreaming about being rescued from this series of sticky situations by hands more capable than mine. I need to re-rig my support system, get outside of my lazy/hazy bubble, shave my head again, SOMETHING! The last thing I want to do is end up wallowing in a puddle of frustration tears. Time for some serious self-love. Gala has a few things to say about this, and I honestly cannot wait to turn the month of February into a giant parade float with streamers and confetti and banners with inspirational quotes. And a giant box of white chocolate truffles. And unlimited hugs for the next six lifetimes. Even if that only means cross my arms and squeezing the air in front of my chest. I think that kind of hug might be best right now, coupled with a shovel-full of yoga breaths and a good, hot soak.

The briefest of briefs, Monday morning edition.

Good morning world and welcome to the under-2-inches-of-slush edition of my life. Today will consist of Grössby desperately attempting to tear me away from deciphering my own scribblings (read: assembling a properly documented portfolio and reflexive essay--two years worth of scribbling, to be exact), and then there will be me attempting to resist. It will look something like this:

menaced by a non-descript shark appendage

Grössby would rather it go more along these lines:

Photobucketfully in love, bathed in angelic light

Meanwhile, I have long since realized I am not about to escape college completely unscathed. At last count, I have acquired three cigarette burns, a heaping helping of flannel, and somewhat acceptable writing skills in this bargain, among other ailments. In all honesty, none of these things are going to get me very far. But I am okay with that, beyond mentally prepared for what will come next. I spent the better part of a three hour drive yesterday thinking about all the ways in which I could backpack across America. Also, I thought a lot about screech owls.


I am still looking for the through-line. I'll call you when I find it.

I'm starting a church.

Made my dad listen to these poems at the breakfast table this morning while eating a grapefruit that was mailed to my house from Florida. He cried, several times. Soon my whole family will be converted. Also, incidentally, I met a friend for coffee this afternoon and apparently he lives on 13th and 3rd now, which means I am kidnapping him to Bar 13 some Monday in the near future so that he knows what I spend all of my time doing. He commented that it was funny that I'd finally picked a "thing" to focus my energies on. He was the first person I ever actively wrote poems for or about. I gave him my book; it felt like things came full circle.

Slam poetry is clearly insidious.

You will love it too one day, that much I can promise.

Nerding out, newly incognito.

1. I have work in five hours, so this will be brief. I finished my first final tonight, the one that is due last. I guess we'll call today working backwards? I'm very proud of the thing though--a big manila envelope full of poems from one of my workshops. I did revised drafts for almost all of them and turned in a few other extras. One item knocked off the to-do list.

2. The last meeting of Woman & Poet took place in the Smith rare book room this afternoon. I got to listen to recordings of both Virginia Woolf reading aloud from an essay of hers and Sylvia Plath being interviewed by Peter Or on the BBC about writing. A favorite quote from Ms. Plath, on her recently discovered affinity for the novel: "I can't put toothbrushes in a poem." I kept looking over at Cassandra giddily the entire session--if I am completely honest with you, I had to resist the urge to clap my hands in sheer delight, and I also found it difficult not to interject biographical knowledge into the lecture, even though it was being done by Karen Kukil, who just so happens to have been the editor of Plath's unabridged journals. Today was a day made in heaven, that is, if it weren't for the slush storm.

3. I was precluded from driving to the Cantab tonight by virtue of the fact that someone decided it would be a good idea to heft a large bucket of slush over the Northeast. Snow is pretty to look at, sure, but I was up to the tops of my Docs in it leaving the house this morning. The only reason I am forgiving the universe for this foregone road trip is because I already have one lined up to replace it--on Friday after class, I'm driving to Providence for my sister and her roommate's Christmas party. I foresee large amounts of wine and Christmas shopping this weekend.

4. Speaking of which, I am deadly behind on Christmas gifts. I can't go into specifics here because I'm sure I'll spoil someone's surprise, so let's just say that there's lots of leg work to be done and leave it at that.

5. You may or may not have watched the video blog, but if you have, you saw that I was in the process of dying my hair. I am proud to announce that is now fully dyed (duh) and is quite seriously RED. I feel a bit like an anime character. I'm not sure if that can be in a good way, but I still like it. On the other hand, I feel like I shouldn't wear pink for a little while. Next stop, platinum blonde cotton candy hair like GaGa at the end of the "Bad Romance" video. Maybe. If I keep feeling restless and aesthetically ambitious in the same breath, I'll keep exploiting that cross-section.

Drastic decision-time.

I am having a crisis of will when it comes to my hair lately. Every time it gets even the slightest length to it, I freak out and chop it all off again. Which works for me, to a certain extent. I never feel much like myself when I have any serious amount of hair. But then I get serious hairstyle jealousy whenever I see all the shiny baubles and wacky styles that people come up with, and I feel all down in the dumps about my inability to get to a point where I have long(ish) hair that I actually enjoy. I don't think I have ever actively enjoyed my hair when it was long. Besides being much more high maintenance, I just don't know if it looks right on me. When it gets past my ear lobes, I suddenly cannot stand it. I think this stems from the fact that I haven't brushed my hair in over five years, and once it gets to that point, the world dictates a need for hairbrushes. I cannot be bothered.

But today, I was standing in the hair dye aisle with my brother (kind of an odd thing to picture, being that he is twelve) and considering my options. I have only ever dyed my hair once, and only small bits at that, but for some reason I feel compelled to make a massive change to my outward appearance. Being that I am relatively broke, this change must be cheap to make. This rules out my usual methods of tattoos and piercings, wardrobe overhaul is simply out of the question (I like my current closet too much to oust it), and the options left behind are slim. Hair dye is the cheapest and easiest route for this massive change I've been craving. Besides simply shaving my head again, but honestly, who does that at this time of year? I would probably die of hypothermia during Jan Term if I were to be so bold. Anyway, I'm standing in the hair dye aisle and looking at the rainbow of available new lives: Do blondes really have more fun? Would an auburn that is really closer to a deep purple be too North Jersey mafia wife? Could I love myself as a redhead? Or do I just go all out and reach for a bottle of electric blue? All valid questions. My brother says that every time he tries to imagine me with long hair, he just sees me wearing a ridiculous wig.

So, the worry is this--do I wait for my hair to grow out before I make any drastic changes, or do I just go for it and see what happens? I am leaning more towards the first option, probably because I am scared of taking such a leap of faith without being able to test drive how I'd look before committing. But maybe this is a leap of faith that needs to be taken...

bleach blonde?

copper penny?

pale blue?


Good morning.


Let's sit in the sun and read aloud to one another today. It won't be this warm out for much longer.

Girl-crush of the week (double feature!).


I love these two so much I've been trolling the internet for roller skates and repeatedly telling Cassandra that I am going to run away to join a derby. We saw Whip It last night and now I'm a little obsessed. Perhaps because slam doesn't exactly satisfy my thick competitive streak.

I've been stomping around all day in my Docs wishing that my wardrobe was even close to being as cool as Bliss's in the movie. I pine for the day when Hollywood sweeps in to make my life into a movie and hands me a big pile of clothes that make me look like an even radder version of myself. (Not that I don't already think I'm pretty rad, but sometimes having more to play with means extra-fabulousness.) Speaking of which, I went to Plato's Closet today to sell a bunch of useless things that were just taking up prime closet real estate and ended up coming home with two new-to-me dresses. One of them is yellow, which seems to be the color of the moment for me, and the other is this amazing denim shirtdress with little gold nautical buttons.

Another thing I've been yelling at Cass about lately (besides my jonesing for the second installment of my rib tattoo, of which I may or may not post a sketch sooner rather than later) is that my closet is finally arriving at a place where I am excited to get dressed every morning. Now I just have to grow my hair to an acceptable length, organize my shoe closet (which is really just my suitcase shoved under the bed), and perhaps do my homework. Although, who really does their homework in the first place?

Outdated social commentary.


In my car stereo as we speak. I am a decade and a half too late, but I am still loving being in a time warp. I want to wear baby doll dresses and combat boots. I want to scream along to Courtney Love. (Unfortunately, or maybe thankfully?, I was too short to reach the shelf that they were keeping "Celebrity Skin" on. I plan to go back with taller shoes later this week.)

Also, Aly and I watching Queer as Folk. I love this day.

Also also, soon I'm going to buy a typewriter. The lady at the typewriter store and I had a lovely conversation this afternoon. In another two weeks, I'll pick up that blue Remington that I feel in absolute lust with. I need to go sell clothes at Plato's Closet. I feel like Marla Singer. I'm kind of terrified that soon I'll end up raiding laundromats to fund my currently non-existent pill habit. I don't want to be a book character, at least not one like that.

When I have no notebook.

It is the middle of October and the leaves are half-fallen and half not. Everyone keeps saying we'll be getting snow soon, but I'm not ready for that. This cold snap has all of me confused, and I haven't been sleeping well (or really at all) lately, so the disorientation is doubled. Maybe even tripled. I hallucinated that sparks were flying away from me like lightning bugs as I was walking down the stairs to my living room. I try to explain the way the world looks like shifting sand with sometimes hovering blobs and sometimes squiggles of light and no one quite knows how to respond. I am becoming increasingly more certain that my role in the Lady Poet House is as the "weird" roommate, just as my role in life (according to Sean anyway) is as the "crazy" girl. Everyone else seems much more unhinged than I am.

Sophia and I are writing a duet based on responses to the lyric "what kind of fuckery is this". I haven't written mine yet. I don't know if she's written hers. We decided to do this just a few hours ago, so she probably hasn't done it. The whole thing just makes me think of driving to the Cantab those first few months of life in New England, and Sean singing at the top of his lungs. I'm not sure how the poem will turn out. Hopefully we write about things that end up somewhat congruent.

I have to get my manuscript printed so that I can give it to my professor and stop obsessing. I brought a poem to workshop today that he was somewhat ecstatic about, and I nearly cried at the joy of that feeling of approval. Is that what I am doomed to be constantly waiting for? A room full of people to ooh and ahh at toiled-over word choices? Slam has changed so many things. I want to look better on page. That sentence could have multiple meanings. I mean it in all of them.

I haven't slept at Hampshire for a solid weekend since September. This bed doesn't belong to me. I hate the idea of sleeping on a mattress that has been fucked on by more people than I've slept with.

This weekend, there will be many parties. Maybe I will go out. Probably not.

I keep having off-color dreams that feel like falling down stairs when I wake up out of them. In them, there are always lots of hands, but I rarely remember anything else.

(de)Parting words.


semi-reliable proof that I am not dead

No, not dead, just having a love affair with super-socks. And spending the weekend giving Cass the Jersey tour of my teenage self. We're going to the Hoboken waterfront, we're going to visit cats, we're going to have to find ways to entertain ourselves without poetry for the weekend. This may or may not involve a visit to the second largest mall in America. I have this sinking feeling fairly frequently that the only times I leave the house are driven by a need for poetry. I've slammed twice this week, and it doesn't sound like a lot, but it feels like a pretty big thing. One win, once the runner up; not too shabby. This whole plan of making an NPS team that I've been kicking around quietly seems a little more tangible that I had originally expected.

Now, packing and middle school-esque antics. Also, Burger King.

Bookmaking, in the trenches.


I won't lie. I haven't been much for world commentary, frivolous or otherwise lately. But I can promise, it is for a very valid (and maybe even exciting) reason. In the background of my mad rush to figure out college requirements and defy logic by passing out of anything and everything as early as humanly possible, I have had a project brewing. This project has been gestating for nearly three hundred poems and will not be fully formed until it is close to four hundred. To give you some concrete point of reference, this is a somewhat simplified version of what my computer desktop has looked like for most of today:


The long and short of it is that, somewhat at the behest of one of my poetry professors, I am putting together a manuscript of the poems I've been writing, one per day, during 2009. It is a hefty piece of editing. I feel a bit overwhelmed, but I managed to plow through 100 of them this weekend. The whole thing has to be finished in the next week or so and given to the aforementioned professor. I'm probably going to get it printed and bound at the duplications department just so that he doesn't have to deal with how inadequate staples are going to be for this particular stack of pages. Already 86. We're not even halfway.

The first weekend of the year.


Myself, Danica and Georgie getting silly after large liquor doses and lots of story-telling.

Things are already flying off the handle bat shit insane here in terms of all the running around, getting forms signed, making appointments, figuring out schedules, having mini heart attacks, buying books, reading said books, seeing people I haven't seen in months, seeing people I didn't think went here anymore, remembering my post office box combination, settling into my room, finding a place in the world that feels right now that I am such a different kind of puzzle piece. But in spite of things being hectic, we've still managed to have some seriously good times in between all the flurries of semester-starting.

Tuesday night was the first meeting of the Hampshire Slam Collective, and even though it was technically unofficial, we were blown out of the water by the sheer size of the audience that night. Our NPS team did a feature that had everyone in the room roaring with applause and nearly jumping off the edges of their seats. I had a new friend visiting to see what slam was all about, and the show was so strong that she told me she's coming back every week before leaving for France because she was so epically blown away by what went on that night. And after the feature was our first slam of the season, something I've been jonesing for since the last time I slammed way back in June. Apparently this jonesing has made me a slam superhero, because I was one of the final two performers left, going up against my dear friend Sean and losing by a slim margin. This seems insignificant, and in most cases it would be, except that he is our venue's IWPS rep and I nearly beat him in a slam. He asked me when I was planning on touring, and even though I greeted that with a nervous laugh, I told him I had ben thinking about setting out on the open road a year from now when I'm done with school and attempting to find my bearings in the world. Stay tuned for further developments on this front. After all the poetry, we retired to the Lady Poet living room with a gaggle of near-and-dears and shot the shit into the wee morning hours.

Wednesday night we made our first pilgrimage to the Cantab of the semester, a journey that had fantastically funny car rides to and from the city, a whole pile of free sandwiches, and most importantly, it contained the realization that I am actually starting to have a real career as a poet. It's been happening over the past few months - people, usually writers and performers I really respect from afar and sometimes even the poet who's featuring at the venue that night, will come up to me and ask me for my book or for a copy of the piece I read that night in the midst of praising me with high compliments and asking about what I do and where I come from. It's gotten to the point where I now have a collection of email addresses spanning several countries and most of the United States, all from people wanting to remain updated on my movements as a poet. So I gave birth to a new blog dedicated solely to my work as a poet and performer; it's called Fiction Pays The Bills and it went live yesterday. It's still a 90 lb weakling right now, but soon (fingers crossed) there will be things to update you about. Maybe a new chapbook is in the works? I'm not sure yet what's in store, but I'll be sure to let you know when new things are happening.

And then there was last night. All I'm going to say is that my living room was full of bourbon and forties and lots of laughter, and I am so happy to feel at home. Cass is making coffee and bacon and I'm about to pour myself a big bowl of cereal and start getting it al together for the day. Cheers to all of you - I hope your days are as full and bright and shiny as mine have been this week!

Pause for ensuing shoe parade.


This is my there-are-five-days-left-to-move-out-of-this-apartment-panic face. Five days seems like a decent amount of time, but I have to work every single day Wednesday through Sunday and be out of here Sunday night. Where did the summer go? Was I not paying attention or something? This seems somehow unfair. There were so many things I wanted to do. I wasted so much time griping about the rain and now the excess of sun (that has given me the worst of work uniform tan lines); this must be punishment for that. Or something.

I've begun packing, and I have the attention span of a gnat soaked in Pop Rocks, so I decided to take a time out and admire all my fancy shoes, many of which were acquired this glorious summer.

brown leather Frye cowboy boots, Udelco, last summer; black suede ankle boots, Marshall's, last fall; blue suede cowboy boots, Beacon's Closet, summer '06; black stiletto Jessica Simpson ankle boots, TJ Maxx, today; black leather cowboy boots, Urban Renewals in Allston, July


Miss Me Mary Janes, Berk's on Thayer, July; brown suede Seychelles platforms, TJ Maxx, today; all-black spectator pumps, TJ Maxx, last summer; red patent peep toes, Nordstrom, spring '07; black patent Jessica Simpson stilettos, Cohoes, June; brown wedges, Old Navy, June

And now I have to cram all of them in a suitcase and get ready to make the drive back to Jersey where I will regroup and make moves for Amherst. I hate packing. It makes me panicky. It also makes me want to play dress up. This is going to be a long day.

Itchy feet.


Last week Kait and I went to a truly wonderful dinner party in Narragansett hosted by a few of her friends who are visiting for the summer from France. Karen and Patrick living in Paris for most of the year but take long holidays every summer, and I was so happy to meet them after hearing so many wonderful things from my sister. Kait is going to visit them next April (which I am insanely jealous of - silly senior year...), a trip I'm sure she's been longing for ever since she left Paris after her last visit way back in high school.

Several glasses of wine and lots of delicious little appetizers got me to a warm and fuzzy state that allowed for some serious considerations, some of which I'll share with you now. Patrick and I spoke a great deal about traveling, how important it is to travel while you're still young and excited about learning everything you can get your hands on. I've always been a huge proponent of travel, but talking about it with this level of seriousness really got me revved for some world traveling. I figure that I should start on the smaller side, and lately I've been leaning heavily towards a North American road trip next September. If I'm in Rhode Island and working all summer just like I was this year, I'll be able to save up enough money to make it happen, and I've always wanted the open road and all that it has to offer. And I have seen far too little of this country to be able to call it my own. So there's that plan. And then there's my maybe-reachable pipe dream of a European tour including Helsinki, Stockholm, Oslo, Copenhagen, Berlin and whatever I can get my hands on in between. As much as I'd love to go to London and Paris, I'm more interested in the more northern oddities to be found. And there's always my off-in-the-distance longing for Asia - backpacking through India, bar hopping in Japan. The world seems so big, and the only foreign things I have any grasp of at this point are foods from places I have never seen. I feel ashamed of that, but I know that I have more than enough gusto to get on a plane, even if it's alone, and undertake some adventures.

Come this May, I have no idea where my feet will take me, but I'm very excited to follow them.

Wade in the water.

There has not been time for anything other than work all week. I'm feeling rather burnt out, but the summer is nearly over and I guess this is my last-ditch effort to make as much money as possible before heading back up to Amherst for my last year at Hampshire. By the time I leave for New Jersey next Sunday for my final regroup before school starts up again, I hope to have a grand to deposit in the bank. I'm already more than halfway there. But aside from focusing almost completely on my financial status in the world, I've been brainstorming for the work I want done on my anchor tattoo. Meaning I've had squids on the brain. And sharks. I'm thinking a squid-shark combo.



Pretty sure I have a serious addiction to sea life. I have not spent nearly enough time in the ocean this summer. Speaking of which, that hurricane business everybody's been in a tizzy about over the past few days just seems like small potatoes at this point. Back in my day (I say this as I shake my cane), when someone told me there was going to be a hurricane, it wasn't just choppy water and intermittent overcast skies. Rhode Island, you may be my ocean rose, but you don't seem so sure of what that means...

Right to visitation.

It's next to impossible not to be bored with today after the events of yesterday.


This is how I've taken to entertaining myself instead of orchestrating a much-needed haircut or reading one of the many lonely novels I carted to Providence when I moved in or maybe even working on my novella. No, I would rather menace the cats. Perhaps because I am still recovering from the most full day I've had in awhile, or maybe I'm just losing track of how many spilling-over-the-brim-and-soaking-the-table days I've had in such a short span of time.


Recipe for a perfect Allston afternoon:

lychee juice boxes from the Asian grocery store down the block,
99 cent carton of strawberries, each dipped lovingly in Nutella,
Marty McConnell chapbook, Ramen noodles, lemon water
& warm sun finding its way onto a shady front porch.

This is how I spent my yesterday. It is a saga that started Tuesday afternoon. Cassandra and I were both in crisis and decided I would come to Boston on Wednesday so that we could be escape artists and pretend the rest of the world didn't exist for at least a few hours. The night before I was set to depart, I was at Got Poetry Live on Thayer where I got talking with the featured poet (Write Bloody's own Ryler Dustin - take a look at his amazing book Heavy Lead Birdsong here) and some other news friends and realized they needed a lift to Boston. So we all made a driving date for Wednesday morning and when the time came, we hopped on the highway with some Dylan and some James Tate to keep us company.

After letting off my passengers on a particularly leafy green street and saying all the see-you-laters that entailed (Ryler was featuring that night at the Cantab, where I would be headed at the end of the day), I meandered my way over to Allston and settled in for a wonderfully detoxifying lazy day. Catching up with the bulk of my Slam Collective buddies was very necessary - somehow, even with Boston only an hour away, I managed to put off any kind of visit until this point in the summer, and next week is the NPS send-off for everybody. This summer is flying out of my hands like sand in the wind.


The porch of the Allston poet house glowed brighter than I imagine the pearly gates would, and had I known work was going to be canceled today (rain, again) I would have just stayed for as long as possible. Cass and Sophia kept remarking that it felt so right for me to be there, as if I had been living with them all along. I was overwhelmed with happiness for the day, a condition only intensified by the trip to the Cantab (my first since May) followed by a trip to IHOP followed by more time on that now-beloved porch.

I got to catch up with so many people I've been missing sorely, and I hope not to be so scarce for the rest of the summer. April told me she was planning a book discussion for To The Lighthouse and would love for me to be around for it. Even having not read as much as I planned this summer, my heart literally skipped a beat at the prospect of getting to spend substantial time with Virginia again. If my work schedule allows, I'll be back in Boston again on Tuesday night for a poetry show, and maybe Wednesday again for the Cantab team send-off.

And I leave you with the following image, a completely heinous jumpsuit Cass found when we were browsing around Urban Renewals (where we both ended up finding perfect black cowboy boots).


Happy and not so happy places.

So tomorrow night is the night I have been waiting for since the week I arrived in this Noah's Ark of a city. Yes, ladies and gentleman, tomorrow night is my first real feature in the world beyond Hampshire. I am absolutely having a heart attack about it, but in a good way (if that's even possible). Being that work was canceled (again) because of the rain (it never stops), I spent a good portion of today memorizing and/or performing for Toby and Lucy (otherwise known as my sister's cats). Hopefully it shows. I want to do excessively well tomorrow night so that everyone under the sun buys product and puts lots of money in the hat so that I have at least some cash to tool around with when I'm home in the next few days. If you're in the area, come over to Blue State for organic, fair trade beverages and a decent-sized helping of poetry.

In further reference to the return to Jersey, this impending journey marks a turning point in the summer. Wendeline (my 1992 Cutlass Ciera S, who just recently reached the 60,000 mile mark) and I have to go our separate ways until the end of August, when we will triumphantly return to Hampshire together. Until then, she's got some work left to do for my family. I'm pretty bummed out about this, but in the process of dropping her off, I'll be stopping off at my little sister's high school graduation, possibly having a meal with my family (who knows how long it's been since that happened) and seeing SLZ. I'm trying to accentuate the positives of this visit, because going back to Jersey always destabilizes any kind of mental clarity I acquire, either at school or elsewhere, and based on how wonderful Providence has been for the restructuring of my world-view, I am worried that I'll get back to the apartment Thursday/Friday and be completely destroyed. Hopefully that's not the case, but I'm trying to be at least partially prepared for the worst. We'll see if it works out.

These are the two things I see when I close my eyes to go to my happy place currently:


As long as there are tapirs making funny faces and Kaki King in the world, I have reason to smile at least halfway.

The Narrows, the Ron, the universe crammed in between my ears.

Point B, which is our weekly artist shindig at AS 220, was fabulous. I am still inspired by the afterglow days later. It was like being in a multi-medium cipher, and we all had so much fun. Afterwards, Meg and Eric came over and we went for walk down by Roger Williams Park in the dark and told stories for what felt like hours. The friends I am making here are all because of the arts, and they re all exactly the kinds of people I need to be spending time with to keep the wheels in my head turning at the frenetic pace I want them moving at.

Yesterday work was canceled because of the rain, something I found out when I had already driven halfway down to Narragansett, but thankfully I had brought clothes with me this time, so I pulled over on the side of Route 4 near South Kingstown and changed, then hung a U-turn and drove to East Greenwich to chill with DC at work. We had many good talks and I wrote endlessly in the back room until we ventured next door to get delicious Mexican food. I am becoming convinced that a burrito is all I really need when I'm thinking complicated thoughts. After finishing our extended lunch, I said goodbye and headed back to the city for some quality time at Blue State Coffee with Meg and a bunch of her friends. We spent a few hours doodling and talking about old TV shows.

When the caffeine party adjourned, Meg and I headed to my apartment in Cranston to grab directions to Dan's feature at the Narrows in Fall River. I made her what she claims is the best grilled cheese she's ever had. We sang to the cats. And then we sang some classic Alanis Morissette on I-195 East.


Fall River is a very interesting place, as you can see by the graffiti. And I am pretty much in love with the Narrows. DC's feature was fabulous, and there were some really great acts on the open mic. Meg and I were melting into puddles over it for most of the night. At the end of the list, there was a block of four female performers, which was so exciting. I love seeing women perform. I got kind of upset earlier in the night that all the slots had been filled by men, but the quartet of women made it worth it, especially because the night was rounded out by my new friend Kayla, the only performer who played piano. She has the sweetest voice, and it was a pleasure to hear her a second night in a row after the intimate performance at Point B on Tuesday.

To finish off the evening, DC, Meg, and I stopped at Nice Slice on Thayer Street for final sustenance and talked with one of the staff there for awhile. He suggested this delicious creation he had concocted - margherita pizza with broccoli and chicken. We urged him to get it put on the menu and to name it after himself because we had been calling it "the Ron" all night anyway. After considerable ruthless people watching, poetry reading, and group hugs, we put a cap on everything and all headed home. I have been having some of the best nights of my life here, and I do not hesitate to say it.

Today has not been planned yet, but Saturday is the Providence Arts Festival and a whole bunch of the Point B kids are going to get together for a picnic and chill session. And then Saturday night, DC is playing a radio show, which will be destination number two. I could not have picked a better Neverland to steer my course towards. No matter what, I am sure that this is exactly where I am supposed to be.

Also, "Jolene" by Ray LaMontagne has been popping up everywhere, and I thought I should share it with you because it is one of my new favorite songs. Follow the link to see him performing it live at Abbey Road.

Job Hunter.

Maybe I'm just getting a little down on myself lately, but now that the slam is over with and I still feel out of sorts, I'm thinking it has to be something beyond competition nerves. The next circumstance in line to blame is my work situation. Don't get me wrong - I love my job. Being right on the water at the beach keeps me from letting myself feel downtrodden about anything while I'm there. But I also only get two shifts a week, if I'm lucky. They hired far too many people, and I am feeling the full force of that now, having been sent home from work as soon as I got there this morning because it was raining. I cannot afford to live here (even without paying rent) on two shifts a week. So I have made a plan. On Monday morning and/or Tuesday all day, I'm going to canvas for other waitressing jobs downtown. Or really any job at all. I'm tired of long days in the apartment by myself and only twenty odd dollars in my wallet at a time. I'm going to do something proactive about it.

Great Adventure, and other sorts of adventures too.


Tomorrow, I will embark on a two day trip with my sister and her school to Six Flags Great Adventure. The last time I was at Six Flags was when I visited northern California, and because of the circumstances it was one of the worst days of my life. I must replace those memories with good ones at the park in my home state. Hopefully I'll be able to work up the nerve to ride at least one roller coaster, but I am not holding my breath about it.

In Providence news, I hit up that reading at Blue State Coffee again last night with Daniel to try out a new piece I'm hoping to compete with next Thursday in the Grand Slam. It went over really well, so I'm trying to let that make me confident. We then went to McCormick and Schmick's for some amazing (and amazingly cheap) burgers, and to watch the Cavs vs. Magic game that was on. I have never followed basketball, but I was biting my nails for the whole of overtime.

I'm waiting for someone to give me something to hate about this place. It really seems too good to be true right now. I haven't been so content since...well, I really can't remember the last time.