I don't think I've ever been so excited or so terrified at the same time. Of possibility.

I mean, yeah, it's too soon to even think about that.

Good things that happened today

Despite the crappy weather, I had the best day I've had in a loooong time.

1. I received the journal in which I was published...it's pretty legit, all the writing is good, it's in color, and I feel like a writer.

Bad news: there's a typo! My last sentence doesn't end in a period.

2. I got an 86 on my business law test...and apparently that was the highest grade in the class? haha, I'm not trying to brag or anything...but I guess I am. Sorry.

3. I was expecting to have my sixth training day at Bronte, but I got to wait tables! I made actual money! I didn't screw up! I had a few internal panic attacks, and was generally stressin, but I got through it, and it can only get easier from here.

Life is still...you know. Weird. But spring always seems to come after winter.

"Young" by Anne Sexton

A thousand doors ago
when I was a lonely kid
in a big house with four
garages and it was summer
as long as I could remember,
I lay on the lawn at night,
clover wrinkling over me,
the wise stars bedding over me,
my mother's window a funnel
of yellow heat running out,
my father's window, half shut,
an eye where sleepers pass,
and the boards of the house
were smooth and white as wax
and probably a million leaves
sailed on their strange stalks
as the crickets ticked together
and I, in my brand new body,
which was not a woman's yet,
told the stars my questions
and thought God could really see
the heat and the painted light,
elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight.

It's not quite finished

We built a civilization. We first found this plot of land that needed some tending. There was a murky dust that almost choked us, and I guess that drove us to put a roof above our heads and a floor beneath our feet. There was a lot of structure that way, a certain hardness, and it gave us walls to lean on; the dust outside didn’t seem quite so real. Our faces were pale and weather-beaten, we were shaking with scratches on our hands from holding on too hard. It was dark outside when we went, when we stumbled, in. The stars were out, but they were far away, you couldn’t quite reach them. So it seemed as though they didn’t really exist, they were glinting and impersonal, to tell the truth. They watched, they listened to the dark, but they didn’t tell us what to do, or change anything at all really. No, you go ahead, work this out for yourself, they seemed to say. You got this. But we didn’t.

We built this thing, it wasn’t all that sturdy, but it suited our needs, for the most part. It was the kind of place you could crawl into, take shelter from the biting wind that seemed to gnaw at your skin, left you bleeding all over the place, half dead and bruised. In here, there weren’t wounds or scars. We repaired each other, touching and saying, oh, it isn’t so bad, you are beautiful, we kissed and made it better. Let me push the hair out of your face, let me into the spaces that might be painful. Somehow, a hand running down the length of my side healed, mended the bones glowing beneath the skin like magic. You built this saying, “the bruises from the outside aren’t so bad, but wouldn’t it be nice to have a home?” but when you look out the windows at where you used to live, you just want to cry for the past.

From there, rooms, houses, trees, rivers spread out across the flat wasteland, with the stars silently looking down, with shut eyes and mouths. It helped, this world within a world, it was warm, full of sheets and blankets and pillows. We furnished the rooms with words, those words that you don’t repeat, only hold as close to yourself as you can, because of that throb of unmistakable sincerity in your voice. In the corners, there were songs. We spent days and nights drinking and dreaming of you, you, you, you are, are, are, are. There was also the music of laughter, the kind that wasn’t going to be muffled. And whispers, secrets, as though secrets even needed to be told, were words needed? Ears still waited for whispers and whatever else they needed, straining because of a desperate need to understand and know each other within this room.

You thought, today, it’s like I’m more of a child and more of an adult than I’ve ever been in my life. You felt yourself growing, forming roots in this place, deep and snug in the ground, covered in dirt, laughing all the way through, coming up through the ground of this civilization new and pure.

I have a lot to say, okay?

"Over the years, they both reached the same conclusion by different paths: it was not possible to live together in this world any other way, or love in any other way, and nothing in this world was more difficult than love."

When it comes down to it...

People will say that they want a partner who has opinions. I think that people like the IDEA of that more than they actually want someone who actually gives a shit and has enough guts to say something about it. It sounds great, and it sounds ridiculous that anyone would want to be with somebody who doesn't have an opinion on anything...but there you are, I see this shit.

The "coolest" girlfriends are the ones who will let people walk all over them. The "nicest" people get walked on all the time and never assert themselves, or have an opinion that might differ from what everyone else believes. They don't have opinions that might be inconvenient. If you have an opinion and you're a woman, you're probably going to be called a bitch at some point in your life.

Having an opinion isn't marketable in the dating world.

The title of this article is kind of funny. I think the guy speaks a lot of truth.

Fucking a Feminist While (Sort of ) a Feminist: A Dude's Perspective

When a man says he's a feminist, some assume he's just trying to get laid. I call myself egalitarian rather than feminist — because then people ask what it means.

Egalitarianism, for me, means treating people as individuals as much possible, regardless of their group identities. That doesn't necessarily mean treating everyone exactly the same, but it means that I try to consider things like the Golden Rule (pick your version) and John Rawls' 'veil of ignorance.' More importantly, it's about relating to individuals as individuals, rather than as stand-ins for whatever class to which they might belong. Anything else is just collective punishment (or, in some cases, collective reward, which is just as unwarranted).

But when it comes to relationships, intimacy isn't about civics. I suppose if I was truly egalitarian I'd be bisexual, but I'm not... I guess we can't all live up to the utmost application of our principles. But principles still apply. I have one I won't waver from: "enthusiastic consent." If she doesn't really want to be there, I don't want to be there at all. Maybe at base that's vanity; but if the other person isn't really, really into it, I'm not really into it. On the same note, I expect reciprocity; if I don't want to be there, I expect that she doesn't want to be there, either.

Sex is supposed to be a mutual experience, not just one person taking from the other. What I value is mutual return of affection, and I value the other person, and expect that the other person values me.

That's why I'm not really a one-night stand kind of guy, because it makes the whole relationship seem too disposable. I feel like they devalue the connection between the people involved, and I don't want to feel that way nor make someone else feel that way.

In terms of being in a relationship with a feminist is like (besides the fact that she doesn't like that I call myself an egalitarian instead), I'll relate the following story: We were out at a busy restaurant the other night, and an obviously inebriated woman came to sit down and chat at our table. (This is not as unusual in New York as it sounds.) We were talking about her boyfriend, for whom she was throwing a party in the cellar, and our check came, which we split. This did not please our dinner guest. We tried to explain that we wanted to split the check, that it was our anniversary and that's how we wanted to celebrate. The woman insisted, "...but don't you see, he wants to buy you things! He likes the pleasure of your company!" And I sort of got lost in wondering whether or not she was calling me a whoremonger, and whether she saw relationships as transactions, so I didn't say what I should have said, which was, "it's our anniversary gift to each other." Good thing Megan said it instead.

Read more: http://jezebel.com/5665734/fcking-a-feminist-while-sort-of-a-feminist-a-dudes-perspective#ixzz12exS7JRC

"...for a moment he forgot the danger he was in, grateful for the world which purposefully puts divisions in place so that we can overcome them, feeling the joy of getting closer, even if deep down we can never forget the sadness of our insurmountable differences."

You know...

Yoga is nice.

Coming home and eating a bowl of Life is nice.

Writing my many angsty feelings down in the form of terrible poetry is nice.

(Actually, I think it could be good if I could just focus.)

Running in the morning is nice.

People are nice.

Hugs are nice.

There's a lot of niceness out there.

And more of that...

Let go. Let go.
Oh special person,
Possible leaves,
this typewriter likes you on the way to them,
but wants you to break crystal glasses,
in celebration,
for you,
when the dark crust is thrown off,
and you float all around,
like a happened balloon.

About give

Watch out for love

(Unless it is true,

and every part of you says yes including the toes),

and it will wrap you up like a mummy,

and your scream won't be heard

and none of your running will run.

Love? Be it man. Be it woman.

It must be a wave you want to glide in on,

give your body to it, give your laugh to it,

give, when the gravelly sand takes you,

your tears to the land. To love another is something

like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall

into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.

from "Admonitions to a Special Person" by Anne Sexton

I swear I'm not as angsty as I sound.

"He was another person, despite his firm decision and anguished efforts to continue to be the same man he had been before his mortal encounter with love.

The truth is that he was never the same again"

-Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Guys...I'm scrugglin'

I've been having to encounter this whole situation in a place that has always been my escape: my Detective Fiction class. We're talking a lot about the hard-boiled detective's need to avoid vulnerability of any sort...especially in the realm of love-related adventure.

"So Hammett seems to be suggesting that in Sam Spade's fear of vulnerability, he also pushes away any real relationship he might have had with Effie."

Fuck. Really?

"All of the characters who do let themselves be vulnerable--whose motives to kill are for love--end up dying. They take their chance at the roulette wheel, and it doesn't work out too well for them. And yet Chandler suggests that they have something that Marlowe is missing."

Can we please keep this an environment in which I don't have to think about these things? What happened to detective fiction as an escape from life's problems?

"Kiss and ride on the CTA"

200th post! What a day.

There are times when I just do not like school. I'm stressing about this week.

I feel the need to go to Mass tonight. Is that weird? I feel like I need community right now, I need some structure, some familiarity, some time to think, some nostalgia. Mass will give me all of those things.

I guess it's my feeling that if I returned to freshman/sophomore year, then everything would be different and better. I know I was happy then, but I was also different. My life was entirely different. It's insane how much changes throughout these years.

As of late...

I have had almost no control over when I'm asleep and when I'm awake. My bedtime has been fairly consistent over the past 3 or so years...go to bed at like midnight and wake up at 8ish on school nights, and go to bed at like 2 on weekends and wake up at noon. Recently, my body has taken precedence over anything else...I got so sleepy, i went to bed at 9:30 last night. I'm actually home in Little Rock right now, so I would have gone to bed early anyway. But I don't think I've gone to bed at 9:30 since I was in 3rd grade. Of course, since I go to bed so early, I wake up at like 8 in the morning. This early-to-bed, early-to-rise thing is okay on weekdays, but I would really like to still have a social life on the weekends. I don't know why I'm getting so tired so early...I guess the current directionlessness of my life is taking its toll.

We will see. I guess I have to take sleep where I can get it. Anyway, I'm sure there is nothing that interests you more than my sleep schedule.

Something I've found myself doing lately...actually, for my entire life, is looking back on "the good old days."

Right now, I keep thinking back to my sophomore year, and all the antics that happened way back then. Of course, sophomore year was also awful and painful in some ways, but I don't remember that. That was when going out was still so exciting...Friday was something I looked forward to all throughout the week. Nowadays, I could take or leave Friday night. I'm glad when I'm actually out and having fun, but there isn't the buildup of waiting throughout the week for the many different wonderful things that could happen Friday night.

At any rate, things were less complicated back then. This year is turning out to be a whole lot more different than I thought it would be. It's knocking me down a little bit, to be honest. I'm hoping things will start looking up. I mean I hit the bottom and I've been going back up to someplace recognizable for the past week, but I want things to get GOOD. I want to be really happy. You don't recognize when things are good when they actually are. I mean I'd quote Kurt Vonnegut when he says to notice when you are really happy and say "If this isn't nice, I don't know what is." I did recognize it, sort of.

Anyway, I don't really know what to do with myself.

Maybe different

But remember,

Winters warm where you and I,

Kissing whiskey by the fire,

With the snow outside.

And when the summer comes,

The river swims at midnight,

shiver cold,

Touch the bottom you and I,

With muddy toes.

That's right. I'm quoting Dave Matthews Band. What of it?

It's important,

I think, to acknowledge what you WISH would happen. Even if it's unhealthy, even if it doesn't make any sense in the greater scheme of things.

Even if it doesn't make sense, it is still no good to repress it. It's also no good to dwell on it, but I will admit I'll still listen to music that is kind of a form of wish fulfillment.

While I'm bearing my soul on this blog, I might as well tell you that. I feel rearranged. Like I switched myself and my life around and I don't quite know how to get my soul back in order.

"I swear that I will, do my best to be here just the way you like it. Even though it's hard to hide, push my feelings all aside, I will rearrange my plans and change for you.
If it's the beaches, if it's the beaches sands you want, then you will have them. If it's the mountains bending rivers, then you will have them. If it's the wish to run away, then I will grant it. Take whatever you think of, while I go gas up the truck, pack the old love letters up, we will read them when we forget why we left here." -The Avett Brothers

And if there's on thing I can believe in,

it would have to be kissing.

"Cherish your solitude. Take trains by yourself to places you have never been. Sleep alone under the stars. Learn how to drive a stick shift. Go so far away that you stop being afraid of not coming back. Say no whenever you don't want to do something. Say yes if your instincts are strong, even if everyone else disagrees. Decide whether you want to be liked or admired. Decide if fitting in is more important than finding out what you're doing here. Believe in kissing."

-Eve Ensler

A step forward

As I type this, I'm eating a small bowl of cereal. It tastes pretty good.

Writing and writing and writing. It's helping. I also took a vitamin. But then I smoked two cigarettes, so I guess that cancels it out. No alcohol yet today, though. I washed my sheets. I played guitar, something I just realized I haven't done for about 9 months.

I showered. I read about 40 pages for detective fiction, because I love that class.

I also love fall. Remind me of all the other things and people I love. There are small gaps where I feel a-ok. Normal. Routine is saving me. I remember that I can still have the routine that i love, brushing my teeth and drinking coffee in the morning.

I'm remembering who I am.

"Don't wish me happiness.

I don't expect to be happy. It's gotten beyond that, somehow. Wish me courage and strength and a sense of humor--I will need them all."

It bears repeating.

"Now, too, the time is coming when we shall leave school and wear long skirts. I shall wear necklaces and a white dress without sleeves at night. There will be parties in brilliant rooms; and one man will single me out and will tell me what he has told no other person. He will like me better than Susan or Rhoda. He will find in me some quality, some peculiar thing. But I shall not let myself be attached to one person only. I do not want to be fixed, to be pinioned. I tremble, I quiver, like the leaf in the hedge, as I sit dangling my feet, on the edge of the bed, with a new day to break open. I have fifty years, I have sixty years to spend. I have not yet broken into my hoard. This is the beginning."

-The Waves, Virginia Woolf