10 Things

Ten Things I Can See Right Now:

1.) My unmade bed
2.) The light-up Big Bird lamp I got at Good Will
3.) The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath sitting atop Lemony Snicket's Series of Unfortunate Events "Book One"
4.) A small photo of Brad Pitt's oil-slicked&bare chest from Fight Club that Sara photoshopped Harry Potters (way too young) face on
5.) The blinds to my window
6.) The 4slats in my blinds that Scout destroyed in an attempt to see the birds outside
7.) My bedside clock which still hasn't been adjusted for the time change
8.) A bag of change. Lots and lots of change
9.) The dried bouquet I caught at Laura&Charlies wedding (expect my wedding invitation any day now...)
10.) A plastic crawdad floating in real water

I always

hate going to professors office hours.
Feels way too much like therapy. Sitting in a chair, facing an adult who asks personal details about you, and comments on them. It's even more uncomfortable when the teacher is reading your poetry out loud to you, vocalizing intimate lines about your nipples and orgasms..ehhh....
see you in class tomorrow prof!

Always feel like I should be handed a prescription slip or a bill for $200 by the end of the session.

Poem forthe Day

The Divorcee and Gin
By Kim Addonizio

I love the frosted pints you come in,
and the tall bottles with their uniformed men;
the bars where you're poured chilled
into the shallow glasses, the taste of drowned olives,
and the scrawled benches where I see you
passed impatiently from one mouth
to another, the bag twisted night around
your neck, the hand that holds you
shaking a little from its need
which is the true source of desire; God, I love
what you do to me at night when we're alone,
how you wait for me to take you into me
until I'm so confused with you I can't
stand up anymore. I know you want me
helpless, each cell whimpering, and I give
you that, letting you have me just the way
you like it. And when you're finished
you turn your face to the wall while I curl
around you again, and enter another morning
with aspirin and the useless ache
that comes from loving, too well,
those who, under the guise of pleasure,
destroy everything they touch.

I am

lonely.
horny.
nostalgic.
&
unfulfilled creatively.


Which I suppose describes 80% of the human population

Baloney

Been struggling through a book about Buddhism for my China class.
Getting mindfucked by sentences like this,

-- The power of organized religion to provide sovereign states with a bulwark of moral legitimacy while simultaneously assuaging the desperate piety of the disempowered swiftly reasserted itself - usually by subsuming the rebellious ideas into the canons of a revised orthodoxy.

How many of you out there honestly think I'll be finishing this book before writing the report? Anyone?
The writer is a whore for adjectives and flowery verbs. A stupid, sweaty, male escort to unnecessary literary add-ons.

I bought "Tension Tamer" tea today. I think it may be working? Placebo effect...hello?
I also got a caffeinated one called "Morning Thunder." Now I can't wait for monday morning!

Happy March by the way! Thank the lordy-lord that February is over huh..
Mental hugs to you all


Currently Listening to:
"My Name is Trouble"
by Nightmare of You

A Charade

Want a glimpse into a tiny window of my day?

At one point I was parked at the rear of a grocery store parking lot. Windows open, chair tilted, The Feast of Love by Charles Baxter propped on the steering wheel, and a large tree shading the car.
In the car with me are three, caged, unhappy cats.

A woman parked next to me and got out of her car, prompting the felines to begin their vocal orchestra once again. The woman looked. I smiled and said hello.

Our house was having its annual walk-through. We aren't supposed to have pets....let the charade begin..

Quote ofthe Day

Stories that seemed endless, the sun pressing against
The windows of the cafe & glinting off the stalled traffic

Just beyond them, this could take a while;
***
I pass the letter I wrote to you over the sleeping cat & beyond
the iron grillwork, into the irretrievable.

- Larry Levis