Sunday, November 14, 2010
So, after much introspection I've kind of decided that I might like to date people again. Hopefully I won't end up going out with guys who are boring or kill seagulls, but I suppose I've got to start somewhere? I don't know. I'm a sucker. You sweet talk me and I'll just melt, it's one of the things I hate about myself. I wish I wasn't such a romantic. I was raised on sad British pop music and Hollywood golden day romance films. I suppose it was inevitable. But I am also a perfectionist. So that complicates things. If things don't work exactly as they should according to my head, I don't really feel compelled to continue. Maybe that's stupid. It's almost definitely stupid. Real life isn't a movie, I have acknowledged that, I acknowledged that when I was 16 and crying after being dumped after prom.
Things should happen in a way that you're at least proud of talking about. They don't have to be picturesque or interesting, they just ought to be something other than "I was super drunk and I made out with this person, so yeah, I didn't hate them when I wasn't drunk so we went out." That doesn't really roll of the tongue very nicely. So, maybe college isn't the best environment to try to date in. Maybe Olympia isn't the best environment to try to date in. But I'm only 19, I've got time. I'm using that time to figure out what the hell I'm actually looking for. Will this result in some very overt flirtation? Yes. Will this result in me getting out of my comfort zone? Yes, yes it will. If that means stealing a few hats, I suppose that there will be some cold heads this winter.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
I'm starting to decipher what I want to do with my life. There are a few things that I consistently get excited about, and the more I learn about them, the more excited I am. Audio is one of those things. Physics isn't really, though it interests me, it's just not a priority. I think I'm going to start volunteering at The Northern running sound, it would be good experience and I think it would be a lot of fun. The other thing is bikes. Bikes bikes bikes. All day everyday. I'm excited for my contract winter quarter, it'll be grand. Mechanical drawings are so beautifully simple. Cooking and food does come in, but I don't think I could make a living of that, I might start to hate it. At least if I would if I had to dishes at a constant rate, which seems likely.
Anyway, I'm doing well. I'm figuring things out. I'm making new friends. It's good.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
I don't know how to be sometimes. People start to care and I am terrified by it. I don't know how to tell them that I don't know how to be what they want anymore. All of the things that they think I am are a crumbling facade.
Everything is so good though, or it should be. I've got a great job, I get to go to college, I live in a wonderful and safe place, I'm not hungry. I'm surrounded by great people. But sometimes I feel like I'm just spinning. I get so confused I don't know where I am. I forget things. I don't know how to interact with people. I'm being sincere but the words roll off of my tongue and sound so wrong. So robotic. It's not always, but sometimes is enough to scare me.
Sometimes I feel decidedly useless. I feel like I'm drifting further into my mind again. I don't want to go back to that. I don't want it to be that way anymore. I need good people around me, I can't push them away. Or, I shouldn't. I certainly can, and have, but have never wanted to. I just get scared.
I'm building myself back up after a hectic year, the first and sudden plunge into adulthood. In the process I lost who I was. Now I'm finding that self again, and some of the pieces are missing or warped. So I've become my own reconstruction process. I want things to be different. I don't want to feel insecure. I don't want to feel like an ugly duckling. I don't want to feel like I am constantly spinning. Not even sometimes.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
- Night time bike rides
- Wind on my face
- Rushing water
- Shooting stars
Things I didn't need tonight:
- Feeling disconnected
- Feeling as though my efforts to cheer someone up are unappreciated
- Being snapped at where an explanation will do
- Weird drivers
- Distraught woman yelling downtown
- Feeling inadequate
Sunday, August 15, 2010
- Looked at bike porn (thanks Velogogo, totally read EVERY post).
- Adjusted my derailleur
- Look at more bike porn
- Played bike polo
- Cleaned my front fork
- Tried to buy new brake pads (kool stop continentals), but the bike shop was hecka closed due to Sunday
- Helped housemate pick out a new bike (1967 Schwinn Varsity, built like a tank, still had original components all in working order, and good price considering the condition it is in-- very little wear and tear, just some paint scuffs).
- Played more bike polo.
Good weekend at home. Just what I needed.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
I remember where it was and when it happened. A bit of ball point pen ink from a bic pen, in just the right shape. It was perfectly centered around the freckle below my knuckle. Our palms sweat and we didn't seem to care. I couldn't stop smiling. Even our feet fit perfectly together, standing at attention for a farewell. How it all went wrong is obvious to me now, but that doesn't mean I don't regret that it did. It was what always happens: life. It was fleeting, passionate, and lacking the dedication to persist. We were both too flighty, both too unsure, both too scared. Too lost. It wasn't meant to last, though it was meant to be, if only for a little while.
I know why it didn't work. I still think about him, and I wish things were different. I wish we just talked, because he pulled me up, he knew me from cover to cover, and I didn't mind. When blue eyes met brown, I knew he knew me. He didn't always know what was on my mind, but he cared. Even when he was so caught up in his own messes, he'd try. Or I would relent. It wasn't really enough, when he wasn't all the way there, when he was too distracted. I still wish we'd talk, just about things, things that actually matter. He made sense to me in a funny way, a way that nobody else has really made sense to me. I really do love him, and I know he feels the same, but not in the way that either of us can parlay into a committed relationship. It was too unstable. We understand eachother, but not in the right way. There was too much judgement. It wasn't quite unconditional. It was forgiving, but not unconditional.
Sitting on the bus on your way to work in the morning is not the best time to lose yourself in thoughts that are bound to make you look lonesome. As I walked to work, turning up the music, and forcing a smile to my lips, I worried that my eyes would give it away. That some passerby would catch my eye, and notice it. They're the one place I can't always make smile, and I'm not sure I want the world to know I'm not smiling. Eyes are the windows to the soul, and it seems to me that it's safer to keep the shutters drawn. Someday I'll open the windows and let the wind blow through again.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
(Clearly I need more excitement in my life).
Sunday, July 11, 2010
I'm excited for the bike trip next weekend. Until then, I'll swoon over Gregory Peck and draw silly pictures.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
stranger: pretty pics hun
me: thank you.
stranger: thank you
stranger:what ya up to hun?
me: listening to Jazz and enjoying my day off, and why do you keep calling me hun?
stranger:cuz you cute
me: I am aware of that, but pet names are odd
stranger: you like a different pet name?
stranger: like hot lips or something?
me: no, none would be preferable, haha
stranger: sitting around in anything cute?
me: ummm... I think you've got the wrong girl mister.
Seriously? I mean, a little effort, really, at least read my profile. I don't even begin to understand dating sites. (Yes, I admit it, geocaching has turned into actually meeting new people, of the male variety).
Monday, July 5, 2010
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Really you're awkward, and didn't have half a notion what to say. You tactfully hide the fact that you are shaking out of nervousness. Somehow your brain spit out combinations of words that seemed to fit together. You analyze the day from afar, sitting in your front yard with an amplifier, listening to music in the sun. You get excited over pranks that aim to convince your housemates that robots are taking over the world. You feel strange, somewhat alien, and often very alone. You amuse yourself drawing strange pictures of strange events happening to strange creatures. Somehow you have cobbled this strange mixture of social awkwardness and dreaming into a personality. This is who you are, and you are fine with it-- though you wouldn't mind a bit more people skills. You feel cool, sometimes.
Then there's that moment, as you prepare for a morning shower, when you are wearing only Halloween socks, and you feel so ineffably cool. But only because the door is locked.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
- I hate money. I hate thinking about money, I hate talking about money, I hate dealing with money, I hate that I have to have money.
- I constantly dream of running away somewhere nobody can find me.
- I am not the person I used to, and don't necessarily like everything I have done in the past.
- I have stared into the abyss and considered it logically; in other words, I have stood at the railing of a bridge, peered into the cold rushing depths below, and considered, if fleetingly, the notion of inducing nothingness.
- I'm afraid of falling in love again, and in some ways feel it would be a betrayal to the emotions I once held.
- I really really like cats.
- I love to see the double features at Capitol Theater alone. It's how I escape.
- There's nothing wrong with being strong.
Now, I've not been big on opening up lately, so baby steps. Also, it seems I have developed a following in China, so, hello Chinese fluent followers! I've managed to translate some of your comments, and they have been very kind. Thank you for reading! Not sure how on earth you found me, but nonetheless. Anyway, I've got geek matters to attend to, time to read books.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
It's summer! I am doing very little and it is awesome. Today I:
- Woke up
- Layed in bed
- Played sudoku
- Pet the new cat
- Moved to the couch
- Played sudoku
- Pet the new cat
Now I am at Vic's, drinking coffee and internetting with my housemate. I successfully read all the new comics put out by Hark, a vagrant, A Softer World, and Happle Tea, as well as new Dallas Clayton poems. Now, I am just going to sit here and try to think of interesting things to google. Yeaaaaah, living the dream.
(Maybe I should do something productive, but whatever, it's summer and it's the weekend.)
Attached is picture of new cat. :D
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Trepidation, full boxes, empty room,
empty bed, full mind.
The room is small and smells of dust,
but everything seems to fit.
Wandering amongst the trees,
unearthing treasures untold, ensuing lateness
for the date I didn't really care about.
Complication of library love long since faded,
bodies tangled in the sheets.
Crying there on the edge of a borrowed bed
to a boy who knew nothing about me.
Nighttime bike rides in the fall heat,
flying down Harrison, faster than my worries.
Rearranging furniture in a temporary home,
listening, learning, collaboratively drawing.
Blue typewriter stolen shopping cart,
Complete honesty, and the rebuttal.
Coffee is still tops.
Staying out all night
Drinking cheap coffee with friends
Wandering the dew soaked morning
Watching the sunrise from a statue
Shivering. Cold and afraid
to let someone get too close.
A house, never quite a home,
Passive aggressive tendencies
Frustration, tears, a shove.
A nudge toward chaos.
I walked 6 miles in the dark.
Bedrest, new home, new life?
Wanderlust, backpacks, bicycles,
new friends in old places.
Life on the road with a full heart.
Fear of flying, foreign country.
Could this be it?
Explorations of the mind,
and a stone city. Hoist up the sails.
I want to go home.
Wandering the woods in the rain
With a new friend.
Breaking and entering
Staring into the abyss, unafraid.
Reassess the map.
A home. Anticipation.
Numbers crossed out on a chalkboard.
Counting down the days until summer
Morning bike rides, books,
Thursday, June 3, 2010
- Soil remediation
- Lucid dreaming
- Culinary school
- Summertime and all that it entails (Jazz, morning bike rides, good books, cooking, walking everywhere barefoot, flying kites)
- The Flaming Eggplant
- Three-dimensional geometric shapes
- My motivations
- The motivations of the people I surround myself with (regularly or fleetingly)
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Well fine. I'll finish you. I suppose I must. But after this afternoon we will say our goodbyes, and you will be handed off to another, more critical party. I can't stand to look at you anymore, you make me want to run laps around the stacks in the library, just to avoid you. I've been cheating on you with William Carlos Williams, Jean Sartre, my bicycle, and anything that does not relate to the things that interest you. Been there done that. I understand you, but I simply do not care to finish you. The whole coitus seems pointless when I see no gain upon completion anymore. So, you, me, in the library, next to the periodicals, lets do this, once and for all.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
- The ducks sound like robots
- People drive frighteningly fast
- You can't watch videos on hulu
- Garbage manifests rapidly in garbage cans next to bus stops
- There is a greater selection of plants at home depot
- There are so many ethnic restaurants
- Brilliant inventions-- campfire buttwarmer (diagram to come)
- Tim Horton's is not very good actually, the mocha seemingly contained no coffee whatsoever
- Grocery stores are hard to come by in Richmond
- There are whole stores devoted to globes and maps
Friday, May 28, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
A detailed list of my previous and current procrastination efforts may shed some light on my writing process. First and foremost, solitaire. You may or may not be familiar with this game, as it comes standard with most time-wasting-game-suites on popular computer operating systems. Whenever I feel the urge to start writing, I will open a word document, stare at the whiteness of the page, read an abstract from one of my research articles, and then open an obligatory game of solitaire. If I fail at the first game, resulting in an impassable stall in the game, I will direct my cursor to the 'Deal' button, and restart. Generally the second game is a success, but only if the king of hearts is the last to be placed before the win-signalling cacophony of pixelated playing cards is displayed. If I fail to follow this course of action, I will play another game. Should I fail three consecutive deals, I will exit the game and continue writing.
A related procrastination effort is sudoku, with a similar three failure termination limit. Though these techniques are effective in avoiding the writing task, sometimes it is necessary to leave any environment where work might be possible to achieve ideal procrastination. The best means of doing so that I have found is to either ride my bike somewhere extraneously distant from my work, or to purchase-- or brew-- and consume copious amounts of ginger ale. When possessing the adequate willpower to remain in an environment ideal for working, I have had to devise a myriad of more creative ways to procrastinate.
Environments such as my apartment are ideal for cooking, music playing, comic drawing, napping, massage giving, throwing objects with little to no warning, finding creative ways to use a sleeping bag as a fort, the reading of unrelated materials, and conversation. In contrast, the library lends a whole new array of distractions, including book spine brushing, poetry book reading with the employment of olfactory senses, arranging my body in amusing ways in the chair, people watching, gaining a complete understanding of the avian flyaway system installed on the window through extensive research and observation, and sparking conversations with people who I either know or who seem particularly engrossed in their studies.
Important time must also be expended toward internal rambling. Topics vary in this activity, and possess essentially no limitations in regards to subject matter. Some recurring topics include birds, the ability to absorb the information of entire books simply by looking at the spine, other people's shoes and their implications, new recipes, interesting ways of re-lacing my tennis shoes, staring at my hands and wondering about what it would be like to live without thumbs, devising interesting questions for the library info-desk employees, and the meaning of life.
Another important element in my writing process is music selection. I have painstakingly organized my iTunes library for ideal visual appearance, making absolutely sure to provide the appropriate album cover for each album, and the appropriate images to miscellaneous compositions. I find it best to choose music on a whim, however, once a preferential whim has been acted upon, the musical selections that follow tend to stay within the same genre or sentimental association. Sometimes my musical needs will change mid-album. In cases like this, I am forced to stop working and choose another album or artist. This process of musical selection becomes infinitely more complicated when I feel the urge to listen to something that is not in my iTunes library.
Once all of the vital elements of distraction and preparation have been completed, the writing process can really begin. The perfect environment is achieved, I am focused, and all of the necessary materials are within close reach. Then begins the self-editing process, during which I sit, staring perplexed at the screen or paper, shuffling my internal thesaurus to find the perfect words. Upon sentence completion, a read-through review is carried out, during which I decide whether or not my word selection is suited to my intent. Often it is not, and further backspacing and revision occurs.
When the piece reaches its initial completion, it is proofread, further revised, and then submitted to a trusted party for review. These parties include my mum (who will tell me that it is great, provide a few spelling and grammatical corrections, and then, if the piece is more than 5 pages, claim that she has to cook dinner), my dad (who will read the piece thoroughly, interject with his own notions, and suggest editing the entire piece to suit aforementioned notions-- this request is denied without fail), or a friend (who will just tell me it is great and say nothing more, though this is not always true, often times their commentary is very insightful and much appreciated). I will then determine that the only way to get something done is to do it myself, and revise the piece. If a more viable option is available in the way of a reader, such as one of the aforementioned friends who are willing to risk hurting my feelings, I will turn to them for another revision. Upon completion of this, I will once again read the piece, consider their commentary and complete the writing process.
- The English language is really ineffective.
- Disciplines steeped in the English language are somewhat ineffective, psychology in particular, as it tries to make a science of words describing things that cannot really be defined with accuracy.
- There is beauty in the natural order of the world.
- I intend to take a vow of silence for an extended period of time, but I foresee complications as my job involves answering phones, perhaps I could make an exception only at work?
- My intent in taking a vow of silence would be to test other means of communication and sense.
- There is an emerging pattern of behavior that I am noticing I tend toward. This particular pattern of behavior involves connecting with people, and then promptly pushing them away. I need to change this, it is self destructive, however, I feel I need to find the root of it to do so.
- I have abandoned deep introspection for too long.
- I have had thoughts that should scare me, but no longer do.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
So, what is intelligence? Is it intuition? Is it knowledge? Is it awareness? Is it common sense? Is it logic? What the hell is it and why does it have such value as a human or animal trait? According to the Random House Unabridged Dictionary, intelligence has 9 particular definitions that are applicable in different situations, many with sub-definitions that apply in particular circumstances within more general situations; it is also defined as a noun (person, place, thing):
Here's the whole gang, maybe I can make sense of it all?
1.capacity for learning, reasoning, understanding, and similar forms of mental activity; aptitude in grasping truths, relationships, facts, meanings, et cetera.
Alright, so, the ability to obtain and comprehend knowledge? Maybe a quick detour to look at how knowledge is defined is in order, or, perhaps I should wait?
2.manifestation of a high mental capacity: He writes with intelligence and wit.
Intellect is not intellect if it can be interpreted as such by an outside source?
3.the faculty of understanding.
See definition 1? This all seems a bit redundant to me.
4.knowledge of an event, circumstance, et cetera, received or imparted; news; information.
So, the ability to obtain and comprehend knowledge, and to impart that knowledge to an outside source.
5.the gathering or distribution of information, especially secret information.
See definition 4? Is this intentionally muddled?
a.information about an enemy or a potential enemy.
b.the evaluated conclusions drawn from such information.
c.an organization or agency engaged in gathering such information: military intelligence; naval intelligence.
Is intelligence an evolutionary invention? A survival mechanism?
7.interchange of information: They have been maintaining intelligence with foreign agents for years.
See defintion 4.
8.Christian Science. a fundamental attribute of god, or infinite Mind.
Not really relevant to this argument in my opinion.
9.(often initial capital letter) an intelligent being or spirit, esp. an incorporeal one, as an angel.
See definition 8.
By the looks of the definition(s) of "knowledge", the two are strikingly similar. Though knowledge puts more importance on the ability to comprehend and communicate experiences and information, while intelligence is the capacity to gain knowledge, or at least the raw materials-- experiences, information-- necessary to form a base of knowledge.
Why is the English language seemingly intentionally vague? It's really very irritating, language is supposed to help us communicate, not created a variety of miscommunication hurdles that we must clear before we can make our point. I've got more mulling away to do on this matter...
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Yesterday was nice as well. I strung a hammock between two trees out near the field and lounged for awhile. I had intended to read, but instead ended up staring at the trees and trying to decipher wind patterns. This seemed a more valuable use of my time. This activity lasted until I was invited to play basketball-- or in this case, some form of wheelchair-less murderball. There are bruises all over.
I have begun to consider the possibility of exploring other scholarly paths. Though pyschology is very interesting to me, the prospect of separating my professional life so strictly from my personal life strikes me as nearly impossible. I really don't know if I am capable of doing so, considering the amount of empathy I possess, and my general lean toward altruistic behaviour. I would be entering the discipline to help people, but what of my own life? My intent is to lead a happy life; one in which I touch many people and many people touch me (get your mind out of the metaphorical gutter, you know what I mean). I am considering taking the 'Food, Health, and Sustainability' course in the Fall. It intrigues me, and I would get to draw copious amounts of flowcharts, which I am very excited about. If I did take this direction rather than taking Student Originated Studies, I would feel justified. It is still early in my college career, I have time for this now. I can imagine myself cooking more than I can imagine myself psychoanalysing people, maybe that will change, maybe it won't, but I have to go with my intuition on this and see what happens.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Milo and Otis was and is a fantastic film. Mrs. Robinson is sort of a creepy song when you think about it. I wonder if I would think about different things if I didn't have music on? I like that bass pattern. That guitar intro makes me think of summertime. Boom boom bass drum kicking. I'd like to take a train across the country. It would be neat to have a song written about me someday. Celicia was a bit loose from what I gather. What is that instrument? I am glad there are leaves on the trees again, the sun looks so pretty on them in the morning, and they bustle about so perfectly in the wind. Did I eat dinner? Nope. Shoot. Oh well, I think I'll be fine, I feel fine. I wish I was better at punching. Should I ride my bike to work tomorrow? That would be nice. My shoulders are tense. Maybe if I wiggle them like that... No, not really. I wonder what everyone at Evergreen was like before college?
That's enough. I feel like Faulkner now. Not sure if I'm pleased about that?
Monday, May 3, 2010
Vertically soaring, earth below, I crane my neck to look out the window, marveling at the cloud kingdom. Old woman in the seat across the aisle coughs gingerly, the recirculated air swirling her lungs. I try to hold my breath for awhile, hoping my ear drums will pop. Courtesy beverages are distributed, and a complimentary breakfast of cornflakes and a muffin that is sweeter than ought be legal. Everything goes according to plan, we land safely in Texas, I've never been to Texas before, it's hot and everything has doubled in size.
Understanding that the real point of editing is not actually to edit, to change, or to transform, but to inspire and contribute in a non-intrusive manner is vital. It's a delicate matter, achieving the balance between bias and cultivation. The beautiful thing about it is, it's a lot like cultivating vegetables, you merely water and provide nutrients. Though, in the case of cultivating a creative process, the water and nutrients are replaced by ideas, suggestions, new insights, different perspectives.
Letting things grow organically in a creative process is difficult sometimes. Like when you were young, and you planted a seed in a small terra cotta pot, your efforts at willing it to germinate on the sunny windowsill with only your eyes and encouraging words were futile, it would happen in due time, and hopefully you would become distracted at some point along the way, lest you wished to stare at potting soil for days on end. You have to remove yourself from the process as much as humanly possible. This can be achieved by listening, rather than waiting to speak, hearing the concerns and intentions of the author, acknowledging them, connecting with them, understanding them.
This is not an easy assignment, to detach your opinions and wants from the process. The author often knows the solutions they are looking for when they sit down, they just need to consciously recognize them. But sometimes something novel can be contributed, something unexpected yet strangely destined. This novel idea should not betray the intent of the writer, but compliment it. Relate to the writer, get to know them a little, understand their perspective, if only from the narrow area that makes up the soles of your shoes. Don't miser-ate watching the ideas sprout, enjoy the fleeting period of mindful growth.
If you like, think of the work as a living thing, a plant? The water, sunlight, and nutrients in the soil are ideas and experiences, little pieces of knowledge that fit the form of the work perfectly. The seed is planted; the assignment is given, the notion to create is pursued. The soil consists of the author's perspective. Water and sunlight serve to nourish the seed; ideas feed into the work. Watch it grow in passing, it will happen naturally, just water, and expose to light, as the seed will not grow in darkness, the work will not grow alone and isolated from outside perspectives, it will remain static. Words are like all growing things, they need to see the light, they need to be fed a healthy diet of ideas and experiences, or they will wilt into insignificance, if only in the mind of the writer.
How can the reader avoid being the dark gray cloud that keeps the sun from the work? How can the writer bring the work into the light of day without fear of judgment? That is our struggle. We must read mindfully, in the moment, nonjudgmentally. We must be conscious of our bias, in order to keep it from overshadowing the intentions of the work. We must remember to become distracted enough to allow the work to grow. We must work to cultivate consciousness.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
In the moment
Venturing the gap
Attaining the goal.
The captain yells,
Nothing left behind
Gratuitous movement of mind.
Voices sing out
Injustices of the soul
Entropy is matter diverging back into mind.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Some Asian tourists stopped to gawk at a large gray squirrel and take its picture, and their little girl lingered behind to make faces at it. Two tan bleached blonde girls sat on the bench, smoking cigarettes, looking aloof. I wondered momentarily what they were talking about, but dismissed it as nonsense. I should stop being so judgemental from afar. It's only a way for me to remain disconnected from my environment. My thoughts are all tangled up right now. I'm still trying to make sense of all of the information I've taken in over the past few weeks. Maybe I'll meditate. That would probably help. I need to clear my head. My class is starting on Monday and I hope to at least be articulate enough to engage in seminar.
I'm excited to hide easter eggs in the park, it will make for a lovely Sunday. I'm not sure what I'll put in them yet, but I want it to be something that will garner some sort of reaction, preferably a happy one. We shall see. Overall though, I'm calling this Saturday a good day.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
It started normally enough, met in the park by the lake, had my roommate and a friend accompany me to meet him, just to be safe, as I hardly knew this person. They promptly left after we stood around awkwardly, making small talk. I gave him two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, because we were supposed to have a picnic or something of that ilk, though I had already eaten. So he ate the aforementioned sandwiches, spilling jam all over himself. Lovely, right? I shouldn't complain, I am terrible at eating, I spill things on myself clumsily all the time. But I digress, consumed sandwiches. Then began complaining about belt, claiming it was too loose, which it was clearly not.
So we walked to the Olympia Supply Company, where he decided against buying the leather punch he had insisted on going there for. Thus, we meandered around the hardware store. If I had had any attraction to this man, this activity would have amused me, but we wandered around in the damned place for a good 45 minutes. I tried to make jokes about buckets-- come on, humor is hard to come by in a hardware store.
After this leisurely jaunt, we walked toward the lake, intending to go tour the capitol building. On our way, I spotted a dying seagull. Now, this is where it gets really interesting. I was upset about the seagull, and was going to go and lay it in the grass so that it could fade peacefully, but he insisted that would be cruel, that the cold water would kill it faster. I pouted. So he declared he would put it out of its misery, and grabbed a large stick. I cringed, protesting. Elderly onlookers scowled. He walked over to the ailing bird, took aim, and... SMACK! Hit the bird. It was a bit like playing baseball when I was a kid. One could never be sure exactly the result of the collison of ball and bat, or in this case, bird and bat, but one knew it would not be pleasant. The bird screeched, strike one, or was it a 'fowl'? He took aim again, concentrating, and... WHACK! I turned back toward the scene, shocked, the grey and white bird twitched, and moved no more, aside from swaying with the waves.
The stick was discarded, and we continued walking, my mouth still slightly agape. Had he really just ended a seagull on a date? Yes, yes he had. A combination of shock and intrigue compelled me to stick with it, thus we continued. I mean really, if I had bailed, I would have missed out on further comedy. So, we continued, toured the capitol building. I took a coloring book, he frowned at me, rolling his eyes, clearly he was too old for me. The date continued, we walked around, all my old haunts, joking awkwardly, ending up on the other side of town in a used furniture store. I found a delightful old electric keyboard with a bevy of colorful buttons with musical tastings ranging from foxtrot to, my favorite, teen beat. I amused myself with this device for a little while, while he continued toward the back of the store. Chairs were sampled, I climbed into a wardrobe, to which he shut the door with a sharp slam, and I protested from therein that it was not Narnia.
The furniture store was abandoned, after I had awkwardly called my voicemail in an attempt to fill conversational gaps. It began hailing, so we sat in the downtown transit center. He then informed me that he needed to move his car, as the meter had run out, so we walked back across town in the hail.
Car successfully moved, I sought refuge in my apartment, where my roommate and a friend were studying. He accompanied me, and we sat around thumbing through a 1960's Whole Earth catalogue. This went on far longer than I anticipated, and I began to get uncomfortable. He tried to tickle me at one point, my response being hitting him, as well as biting him (not a friendly bite, a 'mad dog' sort of chomp for freedom). He also attempted to kiss me. Seeing as he had killed a seagull in front of me, and the date had been a major flop, I don't see how he saw this working out for him. I turned my head, covered my lips with my hands, said no, and unintentionally laughed. I felt a twinge of guilt, but not enough to repent for the act. I then informed him that I had plans for the evening, which was a complete fabrication, but at least it got him out of my apartment.
So, the lesson learned from this? I hate dating, and cannot possibly take it seriously ever again.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Corners of the lips
too often curled down.
Taken for the straw man,
Optimism in the face of hopelessness,
friend to all foes.
The lion lacks courage, not hope.
Sometimes it hurts to have a heart
when you're afraid to use it,
but you haven't forgotten how.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Yet you are easily bullied to speak lies
Then, it's not the first time,
a breach of trust, respect to rust and ruin.
So many white lies you've become colorblind.
It's not about honor or reputation anymore,
You've no more dignity than a dog,
Teeth gnashing as you cower in the corner.
Another fatality of circumstance.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Why are you like this Monday? Couldn't you be more like Friday? We get into these arguments Monday, about time management and my mental state. It's you, not me. I know, that might hurt, but you really are an awful day of the week. I spend all of you just running around trying to survive. It's like the zombie apocalypse, in the sense that everyone is tired, there is not enough coffee in the world to make them alright, and we all might eat eachother if properly provoked. No, I am not condoning cannibalism. It's just you have this effect on people, Monday. You should definitely seek help. It's over.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Caused the development:
a strange love of acapella songs.
They remind me of that day
laying in the sun, in the grass
that didn't matter.
Now I lay here alone,
seed packets paperclipped
on a string across the room
and I smile.
I am glad you are smiling again,
those dimples have been
too long on hiatus.
We don't need instruments.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Live in a world of my own imagination?
Acknowledge the possibilities of new sparks, but do not fuel them?
It's not apathy, it's just survival.
I'm happier a square peg. I enjoy free flight.
I love to ride my bike into the rushing wind.
Pedal as fast as I can until the muscles of my legs burn,
and then just fly.
I love to feel the sun on my face.
Freckles forming, damage done, but not without reward.
I love to put a smile on a face.
Give a compliment, crack a joke, lend a hand.
Be a friend.
But my heart is mine now,
and it is blanketed by my imagination.
My love is distributed in innumerable directions,
so that it remains unbiased.
Friday, February 5, 2010
That's creepy Rob Brezsny, creepily accurate. Thanks, and I sure as hell hope so.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
This letter comes to you at a time of great importance and growth in my life. Today, I am in college. Today, a whole world of opportunities is at my command, and I am doing whatever must be done to continue into a future that promises to be even brighter. The Evergreen State College was and remains to be my first choice. My unwavering affection for the institution has only grown in my attendance, as I have grown as an artist, as a writer, and as an individual. I have made many changes in my first year at Evergreen in the interest of my continuing attendance and success. I threw myself whole hearted at the task of affording the privilege of attending this past fall, through much trepidation and a solemn declaration written on a white board:
“Thou Shalt go to Evergreen.”
Attending The Evergreen State College is a truly empowering experience; most simply put, for the first time in my education and in my life I feel as though I have control, focus, and direction. The passion that I possessed in my prior education so often went untapped, so many times the subjects that truly interested me were thrown to the wayside and replaced by curriculums made to suit standardised tests. So many days I would walk the halls of my High School with a feeling of emptiness, being pushed through educational chutes and into narrow possibilities.
One career pathway test after another all pointed in the same vaguely defined direction: Arts and Communications. This path looked like precisely where I wanted to tread, the road less taken, yet it was continually barred and shrouded in a sea of fog.
“Writing isn't a lucrative career option, your chances are slim to none, and slim just left town.” For some time I was prodded away, toward other paths-- more “practical” paths, that would prevent me from potentially living in my car. But I wasn't happy going in these “practical” directions, they promised a life of expressionless and meaningless comfort and security. In my first Program at Evergreen, titled 'Madness and Creativity: the Psychological Link', I have explored the ways in which abnormal psychology relates to both creative expression and popular culture. I have found this study to be incredibly inspiring, and have delved extensively of my own accord into the research of modern psychology, art, and writing, as it relates to various cultures, as well as exploring the concepts of my program through research, analytical writing, creative writing, the viewing of art exhibitions and performances, and the production of visual works.
This research has been the most rewarding and enlightening experience I have yet to encounter. The aforementioned program consists of two quarters, and I intend to register for 'So You Want to be a Psychologist', a program taught by one of my current professors, Carrie Margolin, in the Spring. My passion for writing and my various creative endeavours will of course continue to serve as a method of expression and world exploration, and the study of psychology and the humanities will serve to inform my imagination, inspiring creative pieces of writing and art that will explore the concepts of psychology as they relate to society. I am in the process of writing an individual study contract to be carried out in within the next year that will explore the ways in which modern psychological study and clinical psychology have been coloured by dualism, the theories of pioneers such as Freud, the DSM-IV-TR, and social and religious views, and how it might be benefited by new, more varied, and less biased approaches. This study would greatly benefit and inform me in my continuing study as I seek to enter the field of psychological study, psychiatry, and writing. I intend to work professionally in the field of psychology, and to continue to write fiction that seeks to inform my audience of the challenges and magnificence of the human spirit.
In my first quarter at Evergreen, I made the decision to move off campus in order to save money so that I can ensure my continuing attendance. I have no outside financial support aside from my own efforts of working part time, sacrificing, and saving as much as possible to fund my continuing education. My family is unable to help me in funding my education, and are hardly able to help my older brother attend community college. Attending The Evergreen State College provides me with opportunities and resources unrivalled by any other institution, and is an investment in my future. Though I am doing everything in my power to ensure my financial ability to continue attending Evergreen, the demand is beyond my monetary resources. I cannot imagine that attending any other institution would afford me the ability to explore the concepts of human psychology in a way which I hope will promote innovation and open dialogue between a variety of professional disciplines, and thus serve to benefit society and individuals both treating and treated for psychological abnormalities and disturbances in profoundly powerful way. Thank you for your time in reviewing my application; I hope that it has provided you with an understanding of my educational goals and motivations, and that I would benefit greatly from your support.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Falls over bike, awkwardly, clumsily, shyly?? He gives me a ten for the dismount. Yell about Pootie Tang. Are you watching a movie tonight? Talk about school awkwardly. Strange business plans. She looks down shyly. He gets off the bus, hoping to see her around. Too awkward to offer phone number, he doesn't know how to ask?? Kicks herself.
I suppose it doesn't matter all that much. Maybe next time.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
1. Get Organised.
2. Thing a Day-- February 2010.
3. NaNoWriMo-- November 2010.
4. Train for and run a marathon.
5. Word a day-- word with corresponding picture. Fun way to learn new words and draw interesting doodles.
6. Worry less, live more.