because the last 3 poems i've written are entitled:
-Cats are feminist, even the boy ones
--Vagina
---When I Smoke Crack (AKA: when I listen to Radioead, who probably wrote these songs while smoking crack)
I'm debating on whether or not I'll actually post the poems. You may judge me if I do. You may see a Jamie you didn't know...or one you didn't want to know. (Duh-duh-DUNNNNNNN)
peace out homies.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
my disgusting habit
I was playing with Ella, pretend-tackling her into my pillows on my bed when she said, "JJ ouchie? Ouch, JJ, ouch!" She put her teeny little slivers of fingers on my fingernail, pointing at a barely-scabbed-over "boo-boo" just below my nail.
I've bitten my fingernails for years...15, actually. It started because of those stupid Bernstein Bears books--"Sister Bear Breaks a Habit." I remember that book because Sister Bear had a terrible habit in which she chewed and chewed and chewed her nails.
For some ungodly reason, I decided to become the termite of philanges.
Yes, it's a nervous habit. It's also a bored habit, an "I'm preoccupied" habit, a reactional habit...one that calls for some action to be made in an awkward situation. Biting my fingers has become my crutch, and when all my fingernails were in peeled, layered nubs, I would pick and pick and pick at my skin and cuticles until little lines and drops of blood would bubble up on my skin. Then I sucked up the blood until it was gone.
Oh who am I kidding, I still do it. Maybe not as bad. Now I can actually stand to have a few centimeters of finernail, but they usually don't last long. I partially blame it on softball, because who can pitch or throw in nails? But still...it's still here. Even my 22-month old niece can spot a problem that I can't seem to just fix.
I've bitten my fingernails for years...15, actually. It started because of those stupid Bernstein Bears books--"Sister Bear Breaks a Habit." I remember that book because Sister Bear had a terrible habit in which she chewed and chewed and chewed her nails.
For some ungodly reason, I decided to become the termite of philanges.
Yes, it's a nervous habit. It's also a bored habit, an "I'm preoccupied" habit, a reactional habit...one that calls for some action to be made in an awkward situation. Biting my fingers has become my crutch, and when all my fingernails were in peeled, layered nubs, I would pick and pick and pick at my skin and cuticles until little lines and drops of blood would bubble up on my skin. Then I sucked up the blood until it was gone.
Oh who am I kidding, I still do it. Maybe not as bad. Now I can actually stand to have a few centimeters of finernail, but they usually don't last long. I partially blame it on softball, because who can pitch or throw in nails? But still...it's still here. Even my 22-month old niece can spot a problem that I can't seem to just fix.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Stuffing
In middle school, I remember when a boy--who I eventually dated and dumped-- told me that I talked too much. My opinions were a bit different from his...which is why I eventually dumped him. He was a bit of a chauvinistic (fill in the blank) and would comment on my "fatness" which, at that point, was ridiculous because I was very skinny.
Okay moving on.
So clearly this boy was a prick. Not very nice, very self-centered and very defensive when someone disagreed with him on the role of girls in society, in the sports world, etc. (What? Me getting fired up about athletic sexism? NOOOO way.)
I said, "Mouths are for eating and talking."
So in the spirit of Thanksgiving, my mouth has had a motor for food, I guess. Household conversation has been pretty funny and entertaining, especially since Ella has a motormouth and is quite funny when she sticks a thermometer up a baby doll's cloth butt.
But I feel like I'm eating to stuff myself--to keep words from getting out. I graze among the kitchen before and after lunch with the family. I graze on the ham, the before-cooked stuffing, the cooked stuffing, the strips of moist turkey, the finger swipes of mashed potatoes, the peeled skin of a roll. I graze on it all. The food stifles any mode of expression I accidentally leak out sometimes.
The problem is that it's Thanksgiving and I still feel sad. I love my family and I'm glad they're mine. They are wonderful and I'm fortunate. But I'm growing in different ways, and I can't talk much anymore. I can't talk about things I'm excited about or new theories I'm pondering. I can't talk about my newest essay piece with them because it deals with a very difficult part of my life that my parents know nothing about.
Right now, I feel very very alone. I want to be somewhere else, not to get away from problems here, but to feel free. I want to breathe new air. I don't want to feel the country particles anymore. I don't want to feel the density of disbelief, the weight of dusty confines of religion and the "right" way of things versus the "wrong" way of things.
I can't speak anymore, and the sad thing is... things have actually gotten better.
Okay moving on.
So clearly this boy was a prick. Not very nice, very self-centered and very defensive when someone disagreed with him on the role of girls in society, in the sports world, etc. (What? Me getting fired up about athletic sexism? NOOOO way.)
I said, "Mouths are for eating and talking."
So in the spirit of Thanksgiving, my mouth has had a motor for food, I guess. Household conversation has been pretty funny and entertaining, especially since Ella has a motormouth and is quite funny when she sticks a thermometer up a baby doll's cloth butt.
But I feel like I'm eating to stuff myself--to keep words from getting out. I graze among the kitchen before and after lunch with the family. I graze on the ham, the before-cooked stuffing, the cooked stuffing, the strips of moist turkey, the finger swipes of mashed potatoes, the peeled skin of a roll. I graze on it all. The food stifles any mode of expression I accidentally leak out sometimes.
The problem is that it's Thanksgiving and I still feel sad. I love my family and I'm glad they're mine. They are wonderful and I'm fortunate. But I'm growing in different ways, and I can't talk much anymore. I can't talk about things I'm excited about or new theories I'm pondering. I can't talk about my newest essay piece with them because it deals with a very difficult part of my life that my parents know nothing about.
Right now, I feel very very alone. I want to be somewhere else, not to get away from problems here, but to feel free. I want to breathe new air. I don't want to feel the country particles anymore. I don't want to feel the density of disbelief, the weight of dusty confines of religion and the "right" way of things versus the "wrong" way of things.
I can't speak anymore, and the sad thing is... things have actually gotten better.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Bible Belt
Miss Scarlett braces herself against
the bed post as Mammie tugs
the strings of the corset;
Scarlett inhales, holds, inhales,
holds her lifted ribcage in place
while the strings tighten,
inch—
Mammie pulls-
at—
“Woo, Miss Sca’lett!”
a—
“Won’ go no fu’tha!”
time.
Scarlett scoffs in frustration,
“18?! Mammie, I used to be 16, now fix it!”
“Won’ go no fu’tha, chile—yous done has
A baby, miss, you won’ see no 16 inches!”
Southern belles must’ve been disappointed
After their second, third, fourth child;
Another inch,
another hole in the belt
to loosen the strain,
to allow a little room for the belly,
to relax the ribs for deeper breaths;
and when little Georgia peaches emerged,
plump from the harvest,
Scarletts everywhere would scoff in disgrace,
Strap on the corsets,
Grab a Mammie
And demonstrate to their little peaches
The figure of a lady;
the corset seam stretches,
a thread—
“Won’ go no fu’tha, chile”
pops—
“You’s done has a baby”
loose
as Bonnie Blue runs to her pony,
straddling,
with one chubby leg on each side.
the bed post as Mammie tugs
the strings of the corset;
Scarlett inhales, holds, inhales,
holds her lifted ribcage in place
while the strings tighten,
inch—
Mammie pulls-
at—
“Woo, Miss Sca’lett!”
a—
“Won’ go no fu’tha!”
time.
Scarlett scoffs in frustration,
“18?! Mammie, I used to be 16, now fix it!”
“Won’ go no fu’tha, chile—yous done has
A baby, miss, you won’ see no 16 inches!”
Southern belles must’ve been disappointed
After their second, third, fourth child;
Another inch,
another hole in the belt
to loosen the strain,
to allow a little room for the belly,
to relax the ribs for deeper breaths;
and when little Georgia peaches emerged,
plump from the harvest,
Scarletts everywhere would scoff in disgrace,
Strap on the corsets,
Grab a Mammie
And demonstrate to their little peaches
The figure of a lady;
the corset seam stretches,
a thread—
“Won’ go no fu’tha, chile”
pops—
“You’s done has a baby”
loose
as Bonnie Blue runs to her pony,
straddling,
with one chubby leg on each side.
Monday, November 23, 2009
i don't have words, but i have lyrics
Top of the World
Patti Griffin
I wished I was smarter
Wished I was stronger
I wished I loved jesus
The way the my wife does
I wished it'd been easier
Instead of any longer
I wished I could've stood
Where you would've been proud
That won't happen now
That won't happen now
There's a whole lot of sinners
That ain't gonna be heard
Disppearing every day
Without so much as a word
Somehow
I'm afraid I broke the wings
Off that little songbird
And she's never gonna fly
To the top of the world How
To the top of the world
I don't have to answer
Any of these questions
Don't have no guide to
Teach me no lessons
I come home in the evening
Sit in my chair
One night they called me for supper
But I never got up
I stayed right there
In my chair
There's a whole lot of singing
That ain't gonna be heard
Disappearing every day
Without so much as a word
Somehow
I think I broke the wings
Off a little songbird
And she's never gonna fly
To the top of the world
How
To the top of the world
I wished I'd had known you
Wished I had shown you
All of the things I
Was all these are
But I'd pretend to be sleeping
When you'd come in in the morning
To whisper goodbye
Go work at the rain
I don't know why
Don't know why
Cause everyone's singing
We just wanna be heard
Disappearing every day
Without so much as a word
So how?
Gonna grab a hold
Of that little songbird
And take her for a ride
To the top of the world
Right now
To the top of the world
Patti Griffin
I wished I was smarter
Wished I was stronger
I wished I loved jesus
The way the my wife does
I wished it'd been easier
Instead of any longer
I wished I could've stood
Where you would've been proud
That won't happen now
That won't happen now
There's a whole lot of sinners
That ain't gonna be heard
Disppearing every day
Without so much as a word
Somehow
I'm afraid I broke the wings
Off that little songbird
And she's never gonna fly
To the top of the world How
To the top of the world
I don't have to answer
Any of these questions
Don't have no guide to
Teach me no lessons
I come home in the evening
Sit in my chair
One night they called me for supper
But I never got up
I stayed right there
In my chair
There's a whole lot of singing
That ain't gonna be heard
Disappearing every day
Without so much as a word
Somehow
I think I broke the wings
Off a little songbird
And she's never gonna fly
To the top of the world
How
To the top of the world
I wished I'd had known you
Wished I had shown you
All of the things I
Was all these are
But I'd pretend to be sleeping
When you'd come in in the morning
To whisper goodbye
Go work at the rain
I don't know why
Don't know why
Cause everyone's singing
We just wanna be heard
Disappearing every day
Without so much as a word
So how?
Gonna grab a hold
Of that little songbird
And take her for a ride
To the top of the world
Right now
To the top of the world
Thursday, November 19, 2009
i am alive!
usually when i have down time, i emerge myself into computer world...aka facebook world, youtube world, picture-stalking world, people-stalking world, poetry writing world...
not when i'm sick.
i had the flu this past weekend and it was disastrous. my chest felt soooo freakin weird--all tight and raspy. i felt like i'd run a marathon in freezing cold weather like the time i had to pitch when there was snow and ice on the ground, 27 degrees outside in the middle of the day. i couldn't feel my fingers or hands or even elbows or shoulders. but this time, the flu BURNED my lungs.
and then that stupid nasal swab test.
i tested my pinky finger, to see how far up it would go. not even close to that skinny Olive-Oil representation of a Q-tip, which I'm grateful for its skinniness, but still--I felt like I was being embalmed by Egyptians, you know how they stick a hook up the nose to slide out the brain.
in other words, the flu sucks. as if my head didn't hurt enough...
but the point is that i barely touched my computer. i allowed myself a bit of a break--from school, from the electronic communication world, and i let myself breathe. I watched Lost like a madwoman--in 3 days, I went through 2 and a half seasons--and I also did some more reflection time, and a little more God time.
not when i'm sick.
i had the flu this past weekend and it was disastrous. my chest felt soooo freakin weird--all tight and raspy. i felt like i'd run a marathon in freezing cold weather like the time i had to pitch when there was snow and ice on the ground, 27 degrees outside in the middle of the day. i couldn't feel my fingers or hands or even elbows or shoulders. but this time, the flu BURNED my lungs.
and then that stupid nasal swab test.
i tested my pinky finger, to see how far up it would go. not even close to that skinny Olive-Oil representation of a Q-tip, which I'm grateful for its skinniness, but still--I felt like I was being embalmed by Egyptians, you know how they stick a hook up the nose to slide out the brain.
in other words, the flu sucks. as if my head didn't hurt enough...
but the point is that i barely touched my computer. i allowed myself a bit of a break--from school, from the electronic communication world, and i let myself breathe. I watched Lost like a madwoman--in 3 days, I went through 2 and a half seasons--and I also did some more reflection time, and a little more God time.
Friday, November 13, 2009
big deal (ehh it's whatev)
maybe i'm one of those lucky people who is content with the speed of days and weeks and months. if days go faster, my brain would possibly explode. if days go slower, my brain would definitely implode.
so i can't complain about the pace of my life. it seems steady enough, and i don't feel that days go too fast or too slow...well, until i have umteen billion papers or poems or stories or narratives or blackboard posts due. i don't seem to be completely worked up about school--i mean it has to take up a lot of time, but i'm glad it does. i'm glad for my midnight munchies that often occur at 2am... not the regular munchies. i shall call them... inking. sometimes i can't go to sleep unless i've pulled an idea or even a word from the emergency flashbulb of my brain...the bright orange and blue and red one that goes "Hey!" (flash) "Write me!" (flash) "I'm important!" (flash) "I have a resolution for your story!" (flash)
it's probably boring that i write about writing a lot. but it's such a process... it's just a way of life for me at the moment. i have passed on hanging out with friends so i can get a story out of my head that, in stead of my projected short burst word-vomit", lasted hours.
i wish i could write the resolution to my own life sometimes. i wish that my own caricature would start alleviating her own stress, therefore causing the growing mountain range on her chin to simply disappear. this character would also become more vibraint-looking, getting rid of the purple smudgy swipes under her eyes, and would simply smash her phone into black plastic chips of oblivion and screw you!'s.
this character would allow her nails--and the skin around them--to grow past the quick. This character would stop writing notes on her hand, because she would actually check her calendar every day and write in the planner that sits in her backpack, stuck in mid-October.
this character would submit her work to publishers and contests out of self-confidence. she would throw her "what if's" and self-doubt into the speckled toilet and watch it swirl gracefully and dizzily through the hole, where all the other poo in her life had been disposed.
this character would be impatient for next year, anticipating the growing and changing and relief she will experience.
i AM under anticipation, but it's calm and overpowered by questions of who i am, where i've ACTUALLY come from verses where i used to think i come from. questions of friends, questions of why i'm satisfied with continuously rescheduling my dentist appointment, questions of why i feel much more comfortable in a messy room than a clean one, questions of why i'd rather type on a blog than complete my assignments, questions of why i don't seem to care about my jiggly cottage-cheese thighs or my funny spare tire i've seemed to inherited in the last couple of years.
big deal.
so i can't complain about the pace of my life. it seems steady enough, and i don't feel that days go too fast or too slow...well, until i have umteen billion papers or poems or stories or narratives or blackboard posts due. i don't seem to be completely worked up about school--i mean it has to take up a lot of time, but i'm glad it does. i'm glad for my midnight munchies that often occur at 2am... not the regular munchies. i shall call them... inking. sometimes i can't go to sleep unless i've pulled an idea or even a word from the emergency flashbulb of my brain...the bright orange and blue and red one that goes "Hey!" (flash) "Write me!" (flash) "I'm important!" (flash) "I have a resolution for your story!" (flash)
it's probably boring that i write about writing a lot. but it's such a process... it's just a way of life for me at the moment. i have passed on hanging out with friends so i can get a story out of my head that, in stead of my projected short burst word-vomit", lasted hours.
i wish i could write the resolution to my own life sometimes. i wish that my own caricature would start alleviating her own stress, therefore causing the growing mountain range on her chin to simply disappear. this character would also become more vibraint-looking, getting rid of the purple smudgy swipes under her eyes, and would simply smash her phone into black plastic chips of oblivion and screw you!'s.
this character would allow her nails--and the skin around them--to grow past the quick. This character would stop writing notes on her hand, because she would actually check her calendar every day and write in the planner that sits in her backpack, stuck in mid-October.
this character would submit her work to publishers and contests out of self-confidence. she would throw her "what if's" and self-doubt into the speckled toilet and watch it swirl gracefully and dizzily through the hole, where all the other poo in her life had been disposed.
this character would be impatient for next year, anticipating the growing and changing and relief she will experience.
i AM under anticipation, but it's calm and overpowered by questions of who i am, where i've ACTUALLY come from verses where i used to think i come from. questions of friends, questions of why i'm satisfied with continuously rescheduling my dentist appointment, questions of why i feel much more comfortable in a messy room than a clean one, questions of why i'd rather type on a blog than complete my assignments, questions of why i don't seem to care about my jiggly cottage-cheese thighs or my funny spare tire i've seemed to inherited in the last couple of years.
big deal.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
long-term relationships
so i haven't completely come clean. if you really know me, you know that boys are... an issue with me. well, i suppose they're an issue with every girl. but i'm just not good with boys. i can be loud, a bit obnoxious at times, a bit blunt at times, a bit funny at times...but as far as the "let's get together, yeah yeah yeah" (remember, from parent trap?), i'm a bit...i don't know, i guess you could fill in the blank. i honestly don't have the right adjective. usually i start off as "sweeeeet" or "he's nice" or "reor!" but then...i dunno, i get skiddish, skeptical, then i freak out and bail out.
bailing out's my favorite. :/ (sadly, yes...i'm that girl.)
and i'm sure i'm the maestra of all bad liners.
"....." ehhh no, i won't quote myself out of fear and embarrassment.
okay, friends: most of you know that my longest relationship has been under a year... i'm pretty sure it was about 9 months.
well, i had a longer one. and it lasted...sixteen years.
yup, ridiculous. sixteen years of love and hate and fights and screaming and laughing... wins and losses
okay duh, you're saying. duh, jamie. we all know about the softball thing.
yeah, i mean you do, but you don't.
right now, softball is definitely not my favorite part of life. i've completely detached myself from the scene, only i give pitching lessons to young girls who want to throw like cat osterman or monica abbot (oh dear, i hope not) or even me.
i feel like i'm falsely advertising, since i honestly see softball as a growing disappointment, but at the same time, i'm trying to be as honest with these girls as possible.
i started ball when i was 4, played slowpitch til i was like 10 or something. lalala, details are boring, i started pitching between ages 10 and 11, then fastpitch began.
for 8 years--EIGHT--my dad and i would drive (sometimes with people, sometimes without) an hour and a half for lessons and an hour and a half back. for years, i had no saturdays, i pitched generally 3-5 days a week, depending on what part of the year it was.
appointments...all the time. pitching appointments, hitting appointments, fielding appointments, chiropractic appointments, physical therapy appointments, orthopedic appointments, massage therapy appointments (which i won't complain TOO much about).
and it was worth it, i suppose. in high school and travel ball team, we were always successful. my parents forked up a lot of money, along with the support of our team sponsor, just so i could be good. so i could have a name for myself, be known by others, and have fun. now, don't think my parents were just nazi-harsh with my training and playing year round...literally. dad always told me to stop playing when it wasn't fun. well, it stopped being fun my freshman year of college. i stayed another year, endured an absolute ________ (fill in the blank) of a coach, and after tearing my rotator cuff and blowing out my ulnar nerve, i finally... after years of debate, years of strawberries and pulled muscles and jammed fingers and bleeding callouses and bruised shins, years of parent drama and player drama and team drama and coach drama, years of traveling more and more and more, years of fun times and sucky times, i finally broke up with softball.
it felt great, and i haven't regretted it since, much like all my other relationships. but it makes me question myself. my own feelings, my own attachments.
i literally spent years and years, innumerable hours working specifically for softball. sure, it got me a great job as an instructor. but as far as feeling a great reward for it? not so much. and i mean, i did well--i was successful. i have things and awards, but i was never that deeply rooted. it was like, "okay, i'll do it. i'm pretty good at it, why not?"
i'm sure it kept me out of trouble, giving me an outlet for my energy. and as of now, becoming more involved in mission work, softball is something i can teach others as a means of outreach. which is great.
but i'm just not emotionally invested. i never am, really.
bailing out's my favorite. :/ (sadly, yes...i'm that girl.)
and i'm sure i'm the maestra of all bad liners.
"....." ehhh no, i won't quote myself out of fear and embarrassment.
okay, friends: most of you know that my longest relationship has been under a year... i'm pretty sure it was about 9 months.
well, i had a longer one. and it lasted...sixteen years.
yup, ridiculous. sixteen years of love and hate and fights and screaming and laughing... wins and losses
okay duh, you're saying. duh, jamie. we all know about the softball thing.
yeah, i mean you do, but you don't.
right now, softball is definitely not my favorite part of life. i've completely detached myself from the scene, only i give pitching lessons to young girls who want to throw like cat osterman or monica abbot (oh dear, i hope not) or even me.
i feel like i'm falsely advertising, since i honestly see softball as a growing disappointment, but at the same time, i'm trying to be as honest with these girls as possible.
i started ball when i was 4, played slowpitch til i was like 10 or something. lalala, details are boring, i started pitching between ages 10 and 11, then fastpitch began.
for 8 years--EIGHT--my dad and i would drive (sometimes with people, sometimes without) an hour and a half for lessons and an hour and a half back. for years, i had no saturdays, i pitched generally 3-5 days a week, depending on what part of the year it was.
appointments...all the time. pitching appointments, hitting appointments, fielding appointments, chiropractic appointments, physical therapy appointments, orthopedic appointments, massage therapy appointments (which i won't complain TOO much about).
and it was worth it, i suppose. in high school and travel ball team, we were always successful. my parents forked up a lot of money, along with the support of our team sponsor, just so i could be good. so i could have a name for myself, be known by others, and have fun. now, don't think my parents were just nazi-harsh with my training and playing year round...literally. dad always told me to stop playing when it wasn't fun. well, it stopped being fun my freshman year of college. i stayed another year, endured an absolute ________ (fill in the blank) of a coach, and after tearing my rotator cuff and blowing out my ulnar nerve, i finally... after years of debate, years of strawberries and pulled muscles and jammed fingers and bleeding callouses and bruised shins, years of parent drama and player drama and team drama and coach drama, years of traveling more and more and more, years of fun times and sucky times, i finally broke up with softball.
it felt great, and i haven't regretted it since, much like all my other relationships. but it makes me question myself. my own feelings, my own attachments.
i literally spent years and years, innumerable hours working specifically for softball. sure, it got me a great job as an instructor. but as far as feeling a great reward for it? not so much. and i mean, i did well--i was successful. i have things and awards, but i was never that deeply rooted. it was like, "okay, i'll do it. i'm pretty good at it, why not?"
i'm sure it kept me out of trouble, giving me an outlet for my energy. and as of now, becoming more involved in mission work, softball is something i can teach others as a means of outreach. which is great.
but i'm just not emotionally invested. i never am, really.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
i don't know why she swatted that fly
Flies are hands-down the most annoying creatures on this planet. What possesses them to flit around a room, making the sound of a dentist's drill, sporadically landing on the window, the wall, the ceiling, the lamp, making an even MORE obnoxious sound--one that fools you into thinking that fly has been electrocuted, thus putting you out of your misery.
Wrong.
The fly is definitely not dead or electrocuted. It is just teasing. It will be silent for several minutes, feasting, I'm sure, on some tiny crumb left from a nibbled cookie. Or perhaps it found its way into the trashcan of leftovers and stink.
But most of all, I hate hate HATE the feeling of a fly--how it mounts the tiny hairs on your forearm, tickle tickle tickle. Then it skirts over to your leg--the sensitive spot on your calf, tickle tickle tickle.
I hate flies. And for some reason, my aim is terrible and I never kill them. I swat, bang bang bang! slap slap slap! thud thud thud!
and on the sucker goes, flitting and skirting and prancing around the room.
Wrong.
The fly is definitely not dead or electrocuted. It is just teasing. It will be silent for several minutes, feasting, I'm sure, on some tiny crumb left from a nibbled cookie. Or perhaps it found its way into the trashcan of leftovers and stink.
But most of all, I hate hate HATE the feeling of a fly--how it mounts the tiny hairs on your forearm, tickle tickle tickle. Then it skirts over to your leg--the sensitive spot on your calf, tickle tickle tickle.
I hate flies. And for some reason, my aim is terrible and I never kill them. I swat, bang bang bang! slap slap slap! thud thud thud!
and on the sucker goes, flitting and skirting and prancing around the room.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
ingrid continued...
Lady In Spain
I am a lady in Spain,
I'll sing a haunting refraind
I am a lady from Mars,
and I can unscrew the stars
I can be anything that I see,
I can be anything that I, anything that I see
I am in love with a boy
manufactured to destroy
So I shall unravel my love,
it's like an old red woolen glove
I can do anything I want to,
I can do anything I want, anything my heart tells me to do
I am a lady in Spain,
I'll sing a haunting refraind
I am a lady from Mars,
and I can unscrew the stars
I can be anything that I see,
I can be anything that I, anything that I see
I am in love with a boy
manufactured to destroy
So I shall unravel my love,
it's like an old red woolen glove
I can do anything I want to,
I can do anything I want, anything my heart tells me to do
Friday, November 6, 2009
frame of mind
one of my favorite lyrics is by ingrid michaelson in her song "keep breathing."
"the storm is calling but i don't mind.
people are dying, i close my blinds.
all that i know is i'm breathing.
i want to change the world, instead i sleep.
i want to believe in more than you and me."
i don't know, maybe these lyrics seem completely simple and not that great, but to me, they are so honest. 1.) first of all, i love storms. i love the energy and emotion behind storms...the elements are so layered and dramatic, and i think that's why we as humans identify so much with the weather. on a rainy day, maybe we're a little mellow or blue. stormy day, we're scared or something. sunny day is supposed to mean happiness. but it's because weather has layers--it's this atmospheric, choreographic dance...layers of dramatic effect and it's just moving and powerful.
2.)the second line is amazing to me...honestly, i won't even try to provide commentary.
3.)third line...sometimes, my brain becomes so mushy, so cluttered, so overwhelmed that all i feel like i ACTUALLY know is that i am alive and breathing.
4.) MY LINE/STORY OF MY LIFE. i want to be this amazing, change-the-world person, but half the time i feel like i'm so caught up in how to make things better that i don't actually do anything...it's like i'm sleeping through papers and even my own spirituality. then again, i feel that sometimes, change is such a gradual process that as we're changing, we don't realize it. i hope so anyway.
5.) i want to believe in more than you and me... you know, i see this as a love line. but i see this as a "let's look beyond our own self-awarness and do something" line. and it makes me think of God. of my struggling, stifled Christian spirituality. i want to believe in more than myself, more than you, more than anyone...because something is terribly lacking.
we all need work...not sleeping through our lives, not ignoring important issues, not dodging difficult things to which we can ACTUALLY contribute.
"the storm is calling but i don't mind.
people are dying, i close my blinds.
all that i know is i'm breathing.
i want to change the world, instead i sleep.
i want to believe in more than you and me."
i don't know, maybe these lyrics seem completely simple and not that great, but to me, they are so honest. 1.) first of all, i love storms. i love the energy and emotion behind storms...the elements are so layered and dramatic, and i think that's why we as humans identify so much with the weather. on a rainy day, maybe we're a little mellow or blue. stormy day, we're scared or something. sunny day is supposed to mean happiness. but it's because weather has layers--it's this atmospheric, choreographic dance...layers of dramatic effect and it's just moving and powerful.
2.)the second line is amazing to me...honestly, i won't even try to provide commentary.
3.)third line...sometimes, my brain becomes so mushy, so cluttered, so overwhelmed that all i feel like i ACTUALLY know is that i am alive and breathing.
4.) MY LINE/STORY OF MY LIFE. i want to be this amazing, change-the-world person, but half the time i feel like i'm so caught up in how to make things better that i don't actually do anything...it's like i'm sleeping through papers and even my own spirituality. then again, i feel that sometimes, change is such a gradual process that as we're changing, we don't realize it. i hope so anyway.
5.) i want to believe in more than you and me... you know, i see this as a love line. but i see this as a "let's look beyond our own self-awarness and do something" line. and it makes me think of God. of my struggling, stifled Christian spirituality. i want to believe in more than myself, more than you, more than anyone...because something is terribly lacking.
we all need work...not sleeping through our lives, not ignoring important issues, not dodging difficult things to which we can ACTUALLY contribute.
I HATE COLLEGE
...when the freaking homecoming parade is about 50 yards from your apartment and there are __ (fill in the blank) college students who are screaming and chanting and singing and it's freaking loud...it's up the street, below my apartment--everyone is yelling! all i want to do is watch White Christmas, snuggle up with a cup of tea, some awesome sugar cookies i got from wal mart, and watch a stinkin movie. screw college on days like this. and screw school traditions.
i'm not sure where that came from. i've never held any angst for such activities, but right now i'm very cynical. i just want to watch a nice movie and eat nice cookies and drink nice, warm tea and think nice things. they keep beating a drum-type thing and it's so loud! please just imagine me all snuggly on the couch, getting teary-eyed when bing and whats-his-face start singing to the general, and things are so sweet and emotional and then rosemary and ellen come out in the cutest outfits ever, then they break out in "white christmas" and i'm all excited and reflective, hoping for a white christmas, wishing i could remember a white christmas, and i'm interupted loudness! all loudness! arrrrrrrrrrggggggggggg.
i'm not sure where that came from. i've never held any angst for such activities, but right now i'm very cynical. i just want to watch a nice movie and eat nice cookies and drink nice, warm tea and think nice things. they keep beating a drum-type thing and it's so loud! please just imagine me all snuggly on the couch, getting teary-eyed when bing and whats-his-face start singing to the general, and things are so sweet and emotional and then rosemary and ellen come out in the cutest outfits ever, then they break out in "white christmas" and i'm all excited and reflective, hoping for a white christmas, wishing i could remember a white christmas, and i'm interupted loudness! all loudness! arrrrrrrrrrggggggggggg.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
the tv is trippin...
So I'm watching Sleepless in Seattle and after my dvd player stuttered for the 5th time, the color just completely emptied out of the movie. So I'm watching Sleepless in Seattle in black and white, and it makes me want to watch Casablanca, Sabrina, Roman Holiday... there's something soothing about black and white movies. And the music, the interaction between characters. It seems melodramatic sometimes, but I love black and white movies. On days like this, I would love to live in black and white. The colors would be soothing in a sense--there's something I love about the color gray. How it eases into vision with no attention. Some days, I don't want color. The sun and bright colors give me headaches, and gray would be excellent right now.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
big moment
so i am reading mark halliday's poetry, which is quite intriguing and interesting because i love how he discreetly sneaks in the conversational "like" in his poetry--it gives an awesome tone.
so i'm reading a poem about wine and cheese and cheating husbands and poetry readings, nibbling on my ham and cracker concoction because my bread is probably old and i need something salty to soothe my throat.
so i'm reading these poems, i finish chewing and swallowing my ham-and-cracker, and with my mouth closed, i feel a wave pushing up my sternum, where it usually stops right before the collar bone. but no, it keeps going. this wave thrusts up my sternum, passed my collar bone, through my scratchy, sore, red-streaked throat, and then....magic.
I BURPED.
i tasted the hammy vomit taste, actually felt the noise like when a dog stretches and yawns and you hear that rattly noise that almost sounds like it should end with a question mark.
i tasted the hammy vomit-burp and it was fantastic.
it may seem completely strange to you, but you don't understand. i don't Burp. ever. i can remember on maybe 3 or 4 occasions where a Burp has popped out mid-conversation, and in stead of apologizing to my fellow conversationalist, i smiled victoriously, saying, "did you hear that?! i Burped! i never Burp!"
so this is a big moment for me. i Burped while eating ham and crackers, reading funny poetry, sitting in my poet's chair by the window in my apartment. the chair looks like one you'd find in a professor's office, with the professor smoking a pipe, reading a book of poetry, eating cubes of cheese and drinking a glass of wine. but the chair is (until the lease is up) partly mine, and while reading poetry, eating ham and crackers, enjoying the sunlight creeping through the strips of opened blinds, i Burped. and it was marvelous.
so i'm reading a poem about wine and cheese and cheating husbands and poetry readings, nibbling on my ham and cracker concoction because my bread is probably old and i need something salty to soothe my throat.
so i'm reading these poems, i finish chewing and swallowing my ham-and-cracker, and with my mouth closed, i feel a wave pushing up my sternum, where it usually stops right before the collar bone. but no, it keeps going. this wave thrusts up my sternum, passed my collar bone, through my scratchy, sore, red-streaked throat, and then....magic.
I BURPED.
i tasted the hammy vomit taste, actually felt the noise like when a dog stretches and yawns and you hear that rattly noise that almost sounds like it should end with a question mark.
i tasted the hammy vomit-burp and it was fantastic.
it may seem completely strange to you, but you don't understand. i don't Burp. ever. i can remember on maybe 3 or 4 occasions where a Burp has popped out mid-conversation, and in stead of apologizing to my fellow conversationalist, i smiled victoriously, saying, "did you hear that?! i Burped! i never Burp!"
so this is a big moment for me. i Burped while eating ham and crackers, reading funny poetry, sitting in my poet's chair by the window in my apartment. the chair looks like one you'd find in a professor's office, with the professor smoking a pipe, reading a book of poetry, eating cubes of cheese and drinking a glass of wine. but the chair is (until the lease is up) partly mine, and while reading poetry, eating ham and crackers, enjoying the sunlight creeping through the strips of opened blinds, i Burped. and it was marvelous.
Monday, November 2, 2009
epiphany at a poetry reading
i heard a kentucky poet read some of his work today, and it was interesting, thought-provoking, visual, creative...
he is a devout buddhist and much of his work relates in some way to his faith. but what i loved most about his work was that he didn't ignore issues that maybe contradict buddhism. one poem was about heaven and what we could find there (of course it had a twist...there were exinct animals that we humans have plowed out of the earth,) but it talked about heaven. he even said, "i'm not a christian, so heaven isn't the main goal of religion in my faith, but writing about things that aren't in my beliefs is very liberating."
that really helped me clarify my own writing. i've been beating myself up a lot because much of my subject matter is dark, almost atheistic, but i cannot write these happy pieces of work. i feel that because of my faith, i have an obligation to write good, happy things.
but i can't do it. writing is liberating when i can write without obligation and without trying to provoke a certain feeling.
brett ralph, the poet, also said something else that really interested me. he said that his faith isn't based on how we were created or where we'll go after death, but how much we can help and love and influence others in the actual life.
with the exception of my ultimate confidence in heaven, i found myself agreeing with his mindset. although the creation is important to christianity, i'd rather not argue it. i don't think verbally quarreling with others will help them see a christian viewpoint. instead, i'd rather do someting else with my life. actions intrigue me much more than words.
confession is important in christianity--witnessing, explaining to others why we love Christ, what he has done for us. but actions--loving them, spreading christian ideals--set the example.
i want to set an example with my writing. i don't want to be stephanie meyer famous--only popular for mediocre writing and one powerfully strong character that provoked my interest enough to fill 4 books of fluff. i don't want that. (and don't get me wrong, i've been as obsessed with twilight as anyone.) but i want to write words--poems, stories, nonfiction--that identifies me with readers who need some sense of catharsis.
as a writer, i always need catharsis. i need it.
he is a devout buddhist and much of his work relates in some way to his faith. but what i loved most about his work was that he didn't ignore issues that maybe contradict buddhism. one poem was about heaven and what we could find there (of course it had a twist...there were exinct animals that we humans have plowed out of the earth,) but it talked about heaven. he even said, "i'm not a christian, so heaven isn't the main goal of religion in my faith, but writing about things that aren't in my beliefs is very liberating."
that really helped me clarify my own writing. i've been beating myself up a lot because much of my subject matter is dark, almost atheistic, but i cannot write these happy pieces of work. i feel that because of my faith, i have an obligation to write good, happy things.
but i can't do it. writing is liberating when i can write without obligation and without trying to provoke a certain feeling.
brett ralph, the poet, also said something else that really interested me. he said that his faith isn't based on how we were created or where we'll go after death, but how much we can help and love and influence others in the actual life.
with the exception of my ultimate confidence in heaven, i found myself agreeing with his mindset. although the creation is important to christianity, i'd rather not argue it. i don't think verbally quarreling with others will help them see a christian viewpoint. instead, i'd rather do someting else with my life. actions intrigue me much more than words.
confession is important in christianity--witnessing, explaining to others why we love Christ, what he has done for us. but actions--loving them, spreading christian ideals--set the example.
i want to set an example with my writing. i don't want to be stephanie meyer famous--only popular for mediocre writing and one powerfully strong character that provoked my interest enough to fill 4 books of fluff. i don't want that. (and don't get me wrong, i've been as obsessed with twilight as anyone.) but i want to write words--poems, stories, nonfiction--that identifies me with readers who need some sense of catharsis.
as a writer, i always need catharsis. i need it.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
when i eat m&ms
situation: i have 4 peanut m&m's (because i hate plain..they're gross) two are yellow, one is blue, one is green. i always eat two at a time. i pop in both yellow, chewing one on each back molar. then i pop the blue in one side, the green in the other. bada bing bada boom, my m&m's are gone.
situation: i can't let hard candy just dissolve. i'll bite it in half, one for each molar. (currently, my candy=cough drops. ick)
situation: my favorite sound is the static behind ear phones/head phones when they're plugged up to my computer with no music playing. it puts me in this zone where i pay attention to nothing else. it calms me and helps me write.
situation: i like grey weather. i love rain. i love clouds. i love wind. i love crispy bitterness of fall and winter. i like the way it bites at my cheeks...and i like how it gives me wind-burned cheeks. and i like being pale now. pale and cold. i think seattle or some snug town in maine would fit me perfectly.
situation: i love typing in all lower case. i thought about getting rid of punctuation, but people who try to be ee cummings get on my nerves, so punctuation will stay... for now.
situation: carbonated beverages make me gassy and bloated. (then again, what doesn't?)
situation: iiiiiiiiiiiii llllllllloooooooooooovvvvvvvvvvvveeeeeeeeeeee jamie time. i used to get really depressed and sad when i was alone, but now i kind of embrace it. when thoughts get confusing and things tend to go mushy and disappointing, jamie time is my way of survival. now i'm trying to incorporate more God time in with jamie time. (i had to break my no capitalization rule. i think if anyone deserves to be capitalized, it's God. i mean he's pretty amazing and worthy of capitalization.)
situation: i'm going to belgium in january. and i'm excited about it, too. :)
situation: i can't let hard candy just dissolve. i'll bite it in half, one for each molar. (currently, my candy=cough drops. ick)
situation: my favorite sound is the static behind ear phones/head phones when they're plugged up to my computer with no music playing. it puts me in this zone where i pay attention to nothing else. it calms me and helps me write.
situation: i like grey weather. i love rain. i love clouds. i love wind. i love crispy bitterness of fall and winter. i like the way it bites at my cheeks...and i like how it gives me wind-burned cheeks. and i like being pale now. pale and cold. i think seattle or some snug town in maine would fit me perfectly.
situation: i love typing in all lower case. i thought about getting rid of punctuation, but people who try to be ee cummings get on my nerves, so punctuation will stay... for now.
situation: carbonated beverages make me gassy and bloated. (then again, what doesn't?)
situation: iiiiiiiiiiiii llllllllloooooooooooovvvvvvvvvvvveeeeeeeeeeee jamie time. i used to get really depressed and sad when i was alone, but now i kind of embrace it. when thoughts get confusing and things tend to go mushy and disappointing, jamie time is my way of survival. now i'm trying to incorporate more God time in with jamie time. (i had to break my no capitalization rule. i think if anyone deserves to be capitalized, it's God. i mean he's pretty amazing and worthy of capitalization.)
situation: i'm going to belgium in january. and i'm excited about it, too. :)
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