Wednesday, August 19, 2009

A Crazed Girl

A Crazed Girl

That crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,

Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.

No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, 'O sea-starved, hungry sea.'

William Butler Yeats

Kristi wrote me a letter ages ago, and she put this poem on the front of the envelope. I've loved it a lot since then, and stumbled upon it again today. I think I'll use it as the poem I have to memorize for my poetry class.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

I might disintegrate into thin air

Tomorrow morning bright and early, I leave off. Off to job training for Gap, which I imagine will be almost identical to that of Old Navy's. Afterwards, Asheville summer's end/autumn will begin. There are a few faces I've missed, and perhaps it will be what it should have been.
Cried quite a bit over The Time Traveler's Wife in the movie theater this afternoon. Sniffles were heard all around, and somehow that magic darkness allows those things without question. I haven't read the novel, I'm not sure I will, but by the end of the movie, I was thinking she (Audrey Niffenegger) must have sobbed quite a lot herself while writing that story, imagining such lives and heartaches for her own type-face characters. I hope she did, anyway.

Last night was a clash of so many thoughts and feelings. A funny little kitten (he named him Rice), morning smiles and kisses, and a Woody Allen film (Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex but were Afraid to Ask) came out of it all. We'll see about all those promises and I'll see what I can do about believing in things again. Anything. Everything.

Monday, August 10, 2009


How silly and young I am. Though I have at least stopped believing I have anything at all figured out. Someday I must apologize to my mother for my presumptuous nature all these years, perhaps when my daughter is telling me how exactly things are.
Heavy, heavy heat today, hottest recorded day this year here, which I myself spent inside organizing and packing for the move. An awful thing, packing and unpacking. Especially the latter.
I must pack clothes and whatnot to last me two weeks staying with friends before my apartment is ready. Sarah and Mark have both generously offered for me to stay a week at each of their homes. I feel strange about being rootless for that time, while going to school and beginning my new job (Gap called today and told me I was hired). Hopefully all goes well.
Tonight I wish to sleep well. The past couple weeks have been devastating sleep-wise. Tossing and turning well into the morning hours, waking to a tired mind and body.
But tonight I'll try again, goodnight & sweet dreams.

Sunday, August 9, 2009


I had the good fortune to spend today with a dear lady I've known for several years. We've both been mistaken for the other many times, and decided it was finally time for a twin meet up. I arrived at her beautiful & charming downtown Hickory home to pick her up, and she treated me to coffee to begin our date. Coffee was followed by an antique mall, where time stood still as we wandered through shop after shop of trinkets and jewelry and coveted trunks and chests. I left with two dainty handkerchiefs and she with a letter holder (awaiting a letter I've promised to send) and a wonderfully gaudy gold locket. Holding true to our initial plan, we then turned to picture taking. She showed me an amazing field of sunflowers - it seemed to go on for miles and miles, and the photos we took make me happy. The whole day was filled with the kind of girl conversation I haven't had for quite some time, and have missed. I am looking forward to a remarkable friendship.

Over a year ago, I told a boy about my white house, wrap around porch dreams, and how I would so love to look out my window each day and see sunflowers going on and on. There was a time when I thought he'd be the boy to be there for that house, plant me sunflower fields and hang a swing from a tree in the yard. The two of us have drifted from those visions, certainly. But he called today and I told him of my adventures, and he said, "Sunflowers, just like you want." I'm hopeless.

Saturday, August 8, 2009

kitchen floor dreams

Years of dreaming about worn, sunlit kitchen floors, dainty teacups, blueberry muffins. Cabinets with glass fronts, beautifully mismatched plates and bowls piled behind. Daisies on the table and coffee forgotten in its mug. I've wanted my perfect kitchen for so long as I've been waiting and waiting and waiting to be on my own.

Now in three weeks I move into an apartment with two other people. Separated from strangers by thin walls, and a mailbox to myself. 16G. (I do so love mail, by the by. I am looking for more pen-pals.) The kitchen is the itsy bitsiest thing, with ugly cabinets. But it's mine. I'm ridiculously overwhelmed by many things at the moment, but I will have my very own kitchen.

beginning anew

About to begin fall semester (directly in the center of summer, mind you), and perhaps a new blog will lend some focus. I've found myself enjoying several bloggers over the past few months, and have finally been compelled to start one away from the livejournal that has travelled with me through the past five years. No promises on exactly how compelling this blog itself will be.
I read & write & live & dream,  and that is what I intend to reflect upon.

Darling, don't mind the starlings.

when these days go

I've been thinking a lot about where we'll be and not so terribly much about where we are, and I've considered that perhaps this is the issue. All I want is listen to beautiful words, hear only truths, or at least honest fiction, is there a difference anymore? When I've fallen, it seems to have been those wonderfully wrought fictions that were to be clung to, to force my heart to heal. Through all things, I've looked for hands. Hands to hold, hands for their grasp, if nothing else. The hands we hold are made up of so many more things than bones and skin and fingernails. They're words, papers, sunrises, buildings. They're our hope, mine certainly, and it can't be said that I haven't held on.

By the by, I miss you all the time.