It's 151 am, CST, and I am awake.
Fancy adjectives and colorful prepositional phrases have become an addiction, but the buck stops here.
The buck stops here? What does that even mean?
While I'm avoiding this journal because I feel some neurotic need to impress you with my verbage, the days are flying by and my life is going going going.
So. How's about I just give you a run down of some fun times that have been had in the very recent past? I will promsie you, as I have so many times before, Dear Readers-- most especially you, Future Self-- that I will elaborate more at a later date.
~Special Session: one of the best years ever
~Funtimes with S.S. group in Birmingham
~Luau to celebrate one Miss Chelsea's birthday
~Possible new job opportunity
~Bachelorette party
~Tuscaloosa!
~Atlanta: Willie Nelson, John Cougar Mellencamp, Bob Dylan
After many hours and many miles, I am now in Birmingham for Britni and Mark's wedding. Oh happy day! Jessica and I got in to town late late, slept late late, and went to the mall to meet Jennifer and Lance. Afterward we went to get my shoes and then enjoy a very relaxing manicure and pedicure. Jessica and I took one wrong turn ended up spending an hour in rush hour traffic, leading to a hasty change of plans and an even hastier change of clothes in the parking lot of a Dairy Queen.
Have I mentioned how much I love curly hair? It makes for an easy fix.
We did a little practicing at the wedding location then skidaddled over to the rehearsal dinner, where we toasted our dear dear friends and shared a glass or three of wine.
We ended up at the Quest for dancing and drag. Now you tell me that is not a fun group of people!
Everyone is good and asleep, and I am headed that direction myself.
Tomorrow is probably going to involve a lot of tears. Good tears. WOW.
Please, remember me, happily, by the rosebush laughing.
- Grace
- Florence, Alabama, United States
- Dancing in both directions at once so everyone won't notice that she's never heard this song before.
Saturday, August 01, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Hello, lamppost, whatcha knowin'?
Got no deeds to do,
No promises to keep.
I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep.
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me.
Life, I love you,
All is groovy.
No promises to keep.
I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep.
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me.
Life, I love you,
All is groovy.
Monday, July 13, 2009
And when you write a poem, I know the words, I know the sounds, before you write it down...
The other day I had a conversation with Henry, who is from El Salvador and speaks very very little English. We stumbled through an exchange of information, swapping between broken Spanish and even more broken English. He told me about his wife and kids who are still in Central America, and I told him that I would miss my family too much that far away.
"Miss?"
"Miss... ermm... uhhhmm... miss..."
"Girl?"
"No, miss... to... hm... to miss... to.... hmm."
So I looked up "miss" in a Spanish/English dictionary, but it only had definitions for "miss = missus" and "miss," like you miss a train and "miss," like you miss a target.
Among its nine entries, Webster offers these two definitions:
1.) to notice the absence or loss of
2.) to regret the absence or loss of
What a strange and terrible feeling! What a difficult concept to explain! What a sad sad word!
Ultimately, I looked up "to long for" for in the dictionary, and a light went off in Henry's eyes, and even though it wasn't quite the same, he knew what I was talking about.
"To notice the absence or loss of." "To regret the absence or loss of." Well stated, Webster.
How odd it is to feel happy, to be content, to know that the world is right, while still this feeling lies buried in the pit of my stomach, not a pain or a bother, but a presence, a slow creeping pressure that nudges my organs from time to time. Even as I celebrate my life as it is with my friends who are here, there is absence and there is loss, and I both notice and regret these things.
I began to wonder why there wasn't a more suitable title for this important emotional state, but I suppose it would be a redundant adjective when it came to describing the people we love. We would be better served with a word that describes that change of life, that point at which we begin to permanently miss someone or something.
There is no burning pain, no searing hotness that calls out at your absence, friends. Not usually, anyway. Instead, it is the gentle pulling that I feel on my heart strings, the permanent knowledge that you are there, and I am here. I notice this. I regret this. I cherish this, too.
These daily tugs, these subtle reminders, they are evidence of your presence in my life. However transient our actual time together has been, you have made a indelible mark on me, and I thank you for that.
"Miss?"
"Miss... ermm... uhhhmm... miss..."
"Girl?"
"No, miss... to... hm... to miss... to.... hmm."
So I looked up "miss" in a Spanish/English dictionary, but it only had definitions for "miss = missus" and "miss," like you miss a train and "miss," like you miss a target.
Among its nine entries, Webster offers these two definitions:
1.) to notice the absence or loss of
2.) to regret the absence or loss of
What a strange and terrible feeling! What a difficult concept to explain! What a sad sad word!
Ultimately, I looked up "to long for" for in the dictionary, and a light went off in Henry's eyes, and even though it wasn't quite the same, he knew what I was talking about.
"To notice the absence or loss of." "To regret the absence or loss of." Well stated, Webster.
How odd it is to feel happy, to be content, to know that the world is right, while still this feeling lies buried in the pit of my stomach, not a pain or a bother, but a presence, a slow creeping pressure that nudges my organs from time to time. Even as I celebrate my life as it is with my friends who are here, there is absence and there is loss, and I both notice and regret these things.
I began to wonder why there wasn't a more suitable title for this important emotional state, but I suppose it would be a redundant adjective when it came to describing the people we love. We would be better served with a word that describes that change of life, that point at which we begin to permanently miss someone or something.
There is no burning pain, no searing hotness that calls out at your absence, friends. Not usually, anyway. Instead, it is the gentle pulling that I feel on my heart strings, the permanent knowledge that you are there, and I am here. I notice this. I regret this. I cherish this, too.
These daily tugs, these subtle reminders, they are evidence of your presence in my life. However transient our actual time together has been, you have made a indelible mark on me, and I thank you for that.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
This is where I forget to breathe, and all the things I scripted, they sound unfounded...
Today someone missed the toilet at work, and, as the discoverer of said accident, I decided to clean up. I'm snapping on my rubber gloves and taking a few deep breaths outside the bathroom door, steeling myself for the ugly odors and the messy chore before me, and in my head thoughts about Special Session are chasing each other like Wile E. Coyote after the Road Runner, buzzing and frantic and mad with power. It was an absolute take-over, sparked by something mundane and unpleasant, a welcome and forced escape from the reality of 40-hours-a-week and bedtime without milk and cookies.
These moments will come less frequently as the year passes, but still they will come, unexpectedly, caused by other mundane tasks on other mundane days.
It's amazing for me to look back on my years there, to observe the evolution of my role at camp and of camp's role on my life. This summer, like last summer (like next summer like next summer like next summer), I spent a week with God's chosen people, a race of misfits and lost gigglers, working and playing and love love loving.
For an all too brief moment, I was thrown back into cabin life on the first night, in the very cabin that started my Special Sessions, with a camper from my very first year. Sockets were shot and tantrums were thrown and pajamas were missing and holy hell, what a nightmare! It's beautiful, though, don't you see?
Do me a favor. Go grab a couple iron rods. I'd check local junkyards first, maybe a neighbor's backyard. I'll wait here until you return, or you're welcome to take the metaphor by the horns and play along with pencils and paperclips. Make them stick together. Go ahead.
If you've really embraced this exercise, you may have spent a good minute and a half clanking those rods together, making loud noises but failing rather miserably at adhesion. Those of you who are more persistent (or at least more inclined toward following directions) may stack your bars and apply pressure, or you may even attempt to bring outside forces to bare: tape, glue, string, an unused tie or perhaps a hair clip. Alas, the effort is in vain, but you knew that from the beginning, stubborn though you are. Even if you have managed a temporary union of the two cold rods, you aren't so cocky as to think it will last.
You see, to make metal stick to metal-- to make iron stick to iron- you must heat those heavy rods to a crispy 2750°F. Now, quickly, while you're wearing those bulky gloves and you've got that space age mask on, you can jam those red hot balls of melted metal together, however crudely or poetically you desire. Give it some time, let the metal cool. Then try to pull them apart. Go ahead. Task number two. Try your damndest.
I wash my hands of this metaphor. You get the picture. You were ten steps ahead of me the whole time, weren't you? You knew all along, but you humored me, and I appreciate it.
Those chaotic first nights have left me with a few scars and a lot of stories and some bonds that won't be breaking. Unmade beds and late showers and impatient blind women have upped my temperature, and I'm smack dab in the middle of an iron web. Thank you and thank you and thank you, goodnight.
These moments will come less frequently as the year passes, but still they will come, unexpectedly, caused by other mundane tasks on other mundane days.
It's amazing for me to look back on my years there, to observe the evolution of my role at camp and of camp's role on my life. This summer, like last summer (like next summer like next summer like next summer), I spent a week with God's chosen people, a race of misfits and lost gigglers, working and playing and love love loving.
For an all too brief moment, I was thrown back into cabin life on the first night, in the very cabin that started my Special Sessions, with a camper from my very first year. Sockets were shot and tantrums were thrown and pajamas were missing and holy hell, what a nightmare! It's beautiful, though, don't you see?
Do me a favor. Go grab a couple iron rods. I'd check local junkyards first, maybe a neighbor's backyard. I'll wait here until you return, or you're welcome to take the metaphor by the horns and play along with pencils and paperclips. Make them stick together. Go ahead.
If you've really embraced this exercise, you may have spent a good minute and a half clanking those rods together, making loud noises but failing rather miserably at adhesion. Those of you who are more persistent (or at least more inclined toward following directions) may stack your bars and apply pressure, or you may even attempt to bring outside forces to bare: tape, glue, string, an unused tie or perhaps a hair clip. Alas, the effort is in vain, but you knew that from the beginning, stubborn though you are. Even if you have managed a temporary union of the two cold rods, you aren't so cocky as to think it will last.
You see, to make metal stick to metal-- to make iron stick to iron- you must heat those heavy rods to a crispy 2750°F. Now, quickly, while you're wearing those bulky gloves and you've got that space age mask on, you can jam those red hot balls of melted metal together, however crudely or poetically you desire. Give it some time, let the metal cool. Then try to pull them apart. Go ahead. Task number two. Try your damndest.
I wash my hands of this metaphor. You get the picture. You were ten steps ahead of me the whole time, weren't you? You knew all along, but you humored me, and I appreciate it.
Those chaotic first nights have left me with a few scars and a lot of stories and some bonds that won't be breaking. Unmade beds and late showers and impatient blind women have upped my temperature, and I'm smack dab in the middle of an iron web. Thank you and thank you and thank you, goodnight.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Smile when you feel the sunlight...
While you are upstairs sharpening your number two pencils and
doodling in your notebook about how you
hate
this small town
I
am listening to a song that follows the beat of my gum
pops and flip
flops and I'm
sharing it with the dandelions on the roadside
While you plot a secret escape to India
I
am constructing a tiny Taj Mahal out of
rotten pecan shells and I've got
plans to
expand
While you stare bleary eyed at your window trying to figure out what is wrong with the world
I
feel what's right falling like
moth tears
and my skin undulates with every ramshackle
dance move that finds my feet and
I
wear a honeysuckle perfume that drives the bees
wild and
I
rummage through the leaves
like a child in grandma's attic so
happy
to re-awaken her old treasures and
you
might
find me
on your doorstep one day wiping the gravel from my
knees
because while
you
were comparing
flight prices
I
(chased a lion)
(wrote a novel)
(planted a tree)
(planted a forest)
(kissed a whale)
traveled.
doodling in your notebook about how you
hate
this small town
I
am listening to a song that follows the beat of my gum
pops and flip
flops and I'm
sharing it with the dandelions on the roadside
While you plot a secret escape to India
I
am constructing a tiny Taj Mahal out of
rotten pecan shells and I've got
plans to
expand
While you stare bleary eyed at your window trying to figure out what is wrong with the world
I
feel what's right falling like
moth tears
and my skin undulates with every ramshackle
dance move that finds my feet and
I
wear a honeysuckle perfume that drives the bees
wild and
I
rummage through the leaves
like a child in grandma's attic so
happy
to re-awaken her old treasures and
you
might
find me
on your doorstep one day wiping the gravel from my
knees
because while
you
were comparing
flight prices
I
(chased a lion)
(wrote a novel)
(planted a tree)
(planted a forest)
(kissed a whale)
traveled.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Why don't I read more Jack?
Here's to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes... the ones who see things differently -- they're not fond of rules... You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can't do is ignore them because they change things... they push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Something good this way comes...
So, since I started working at the Goodwill, I've been flirting mightily with this guy named Daniel. Daniel is from El Salvador, as are several of my co-workers. He knows a handful of English words, mostly work related-- "sweep," "lunch," "time to clock out and go home"-- although this has not stopped us from flirting on and off as he pieces together bits of broken furniture and I price my tattered books. My Spanish is a combination of over-cheer and misplaced accents, so this has mostly been an adventure in body language.
He bought me lunch last week. Chinese food. How very cultural.
So we stumble through our conversations, and I realize how very many Spanish words I am able to slaughter, and how useless my limited vocabulary is. I point to things, to the shoes on the shelves or the covers of my books, and I struggle with the foreign syllables-- "libros!" "caballo!" "zapatos!"
I made it my goal to touch him this week. I didn't realize how few times we make physical contact with co-workers until I made a conscious effort to nudge his shoulder or brush his hand. There aren't near enough excuses to touch one another these days.
This afternoon, my hands were so cold, all day, despite high temperatures outside. Fantastic, cold hands, what a perfect avenue to engage in some casual contact. The thought crosses my mind and I start to smile and heat washes over me and my fingers are no longer cold. Damn! Now what?
The freezer! Aha!
And unguarded moment in the staff kitchen...
"Daniel! My hands! Muy frío!..."
Mission accomplished.
He bought me lunch last week. Chinese food. How very cultural.
So we stumble through our conversations, and I realize how very many Spanish words I am able to slaughter, and how useless my limited vocabulary is. I point to things, to the shoes on the shelves or the covers of my books, and I struggle with the foreign syllables-- "libros!" "caballo!" "zapatos!"
I made it my goal to touch him this week. I didn't realize how few times we make physical contact with co-workers until I made a conscious effort to nudge his shoulder or brush his hand. There aren't near enough excuses to touch one another these days.
This afternoon, my hands were so cold, all day, despite high temperatures outside. Fantastic, cold hands, what a perfect avenue to engage in some casual contact. The thought crosses my mind and I start to smile and heat washes over me and my fingers are no longer cold. Damn! Now what?
The freezer! Aha!
And unguarded moment in the staff kitchen...
"Daniel! My hands! Muy frío!..."
Mission accomplished.
Monday, June 01, 2009
I just want your kiss, boy...
She sat alone, watching the fireworks, giant blue and green orgasms that left spiderweb stains on the black velvet sky. Happiness puddled in her stomach, leaked from beneath her fingertips, oozed out of her pores. A tangy breeze tiptoed off the water to ruffle her hair and send tiny goosebumps racing down her spine. Her eardrums reverberated as the rockets shot up and out, and she couldn't stop smiling, and she couldn't stop crying, and she couldn't remember a better night.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
And we can pop bottles all night...
Oh my dear sweet baby James! It's been a while... I still love this song!
I still love YOU!
You know, sometimes I don't know what the hello is going on. Other times, I'm sitting at a bar with Amanda and Jessica, drinking margaritas, and I'm thinking, hey, this is right where I need to be right now.
I still love YOU!
You know, sometimes I don't know what the hello is going on. Other times, I'm sitting at a bar with Amanda and Jessica, drinking margaritas, and I'm thinking, hey, this is right where I need to be right now.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Ya need never ever gotta go in your wallet, long as I got rubberband banks in my pocket...
So, I'm still not writing every day, although I'm getting better. I hope that it is at least somewhat apparent that I am using this journal as a means to hone my writing skills, in addition to its uses as a memory keeper and friend link. Granted, I rarely re-read the entries nowadays-- not before posting, that is-- so I'm sure there are misspelled words and grammatical faux pas terrorizing my fragile sentences, but that aside, I hope that you find some enjoyment in the reading aside from merely satisfying that aching hunger for news of my life.
Jessica and I went home late late Tuesday night, sneaking up to the old bedroom a bit before five Wednesday morning and sleeping a few hours before she went to her house. The absence of Meagan (and Abby) did not go unnoticed; they left for California Tuesday morning. (She is there safely now, in case you were curious, and she already has a part time job and a cute little apartment!) I got to spend some really good time with Gramma, and later Jessica came back over and we (along with Lindsey) headed out on some Africa errands. Jessica and I grabbed some cute skirts at the Salvation Army and I picked up a little set of flower speakers for my iPod at T.J. Max, then home again home again to visit with the parents and siblings. Thursday afternoon we said goodbye to Graham, who was off to Tuscaloosa, then Lindsey, Gramma, and I met Mom for a pedicure (which was oh-so-relaxing). Mom and I went to a doctor's appointment for moi, then I ran by the farmer's market to pick up a few veggies and some blackberry jalapeño jelly (delicious!). I met Jessica at Jonathan's apartment, where we got to see his loveliness and a few of his friends. We ducked in at Jeff's to say hello, then I headed to Outback to meet the fam for Dad's birthday celebration (with the parents, the grandmothers, the sibling, and the uncle).
We finished dinner, then had some cake at the house, then I packed up, Jessica arrived, and away we went!
The ride home was rather uneventful, aside from the considerable number of animals we saw on the way home. Mostly these animals were red splatters on the highway, although we did get to see a few deer and even a fox in the wee hours of the morning!
Here I spent the first paragraph babbling about my writing, practically begging for compliments, and what did I do? I spent the whole post listing, sentence after sentence summing up the day to day goings on of a very brief time in my recent life. Alas, it is necessary, for my memory already experiences daily failures, and I imagine the condition will only worsen as I age. So what's going on in your life? I'm dying to know, you know...
Jessica and I went home late late Tuesday night, sneaking up to the old bedroom a bit before five Wednesday morning and sleeping a few hours before she went to her house. The absence of Meagan (and Abby) did not go unnoticed; they left for California Tuesday morning. (She is there safely now, in case you were curious, and she already has a part time job and a cute little apartment!) I got to spend some really good time with Gramma, and later Jessica came back over and we (along with Lindsey) headed out on some Africa errands. Jessica and I grabbed some cute skirts at the Salvation Army and I picked up a little set of flower speakers for my iPod at T.J. Max, then home again home again to visit with the parents and siblings. Thursday afternoon we said goodbye to Graham, who was off to Tuscaloosa, then Lindsey, Gramma, and I met Mom for a pedicure (which was oh-so-relaxing). Mom and I went to a doctor's appointment for moi, then I ran by the farmer's market to pick up a few veggies and some blackberry jalapeño jelly (delicious!). I met Jessica at Jonathan's apartment, where we got to see his loveliness and a few of his friends. We ducked in at Jeff's to say hello, then I headed to Outback to meet the fam for Dad's birthday celebration (with the parents, the grandmothers, the sibling, and the uncle).
We finished dinner, then had some cake at the house, then I packed up, Jessica arrived, and away we went!
The ride home was rather uneventful, aside from the considerable number of animals we saw on the way home. Mostly these animals were red splatters on the highway, although we did get to see a few deer and even a fox in the wee hours of the morning!
Here I spent the first paragraph babbling about my writing, practically begging for compliments, and what did I do? I spent the whole post listing, sentence after sentence summing up the day to day goings on of a very brief time in my recent life. Alas, it is necessary, for my memory already experiences daily failures, and I imagine the condition will only worsen as I age. So what's going on in your life? I'm dying to know, you know...
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