Snow Dance

We drive so slowly. Rhythms of sleet and snow whirl past the windows, created by passing semis to the thud of windshield wipers. Adrenaline constantly leaks into our systems and provides an intense clarity we need. I'm the AI, reponsible for keeping Bec focused as she slowly changes our position in relation to home; Amanda watches movies in the backseat

-I really, really hate night driving in snow-

not paying attention until there's a tap of the brakes, and the momentum changes. It's a macabre dance rhythm for a car, this sudden fishtailing motion, and it instantly triples our adrenaline. There's only so much you can do and suddenly the car catches and begins to spin, white darkness flying past

-it's a lot smoother than I thought it would be-

and we're unexpectedly calm--thank God, I cannot abide screaming, it makes everything worse. A bitten-off exclaimation from the backseat; I think Becca may say "oh no" as she grips the wheel and I watch the guardrail pass me on the wrong side going the wrong way

-Oh God if we go off she's the first to hit-

so I turn my head to the back and quietly snap, "Amanda, hold on." For a moment the swirls of snow appear stationary as our rotation matches their velocity, and then we stop crossways, not quite back where we started

-stopped but not safe yet what next-

and we're all in motion. I twist to look up at the semi lights flying down the hill towards us

-what are these idiots thinking, going so fast?-

and Mandy says, "They're not going to stop, they can't stop." Bec snaps "I know" and throws the car in reverse, then forward and all I can do is pretend for her that we have all the time in the world, and quietly tell her to take her time and not spin out

-c'mon Bec, gently now, good girl just like that-

and my eyes are still on the semi and he's on us, his shift into the other lane completed just as he thunders past in a spray of snow. And we're moving again into the blizzard, shaking out the adrenaline

-dang, wish I had something to do with all of this-

and off again...going home.

-thanks, Abbi, you kept them safe. I owe you my life--guess nothing's changed. I'm ok with that. Love you.-

Teach me...

I have never wanted to teach, and now I know why.

Today I rolled up to my Issues class just in time to get an exam handed back. In this class, exams consist of a paper every few weeks. First paper wasn't too good--85%, well below what I'm used to for a paper, any paper. So i had high hopes for the second exam.

57%.

Fifty-seven percent. In 15 years of schooling, I have never. Ever. Done anywhere near this badly on a paper.

I used to pass well as an even-tempered person. Not anymore.

So, as soon as this class is out, I'm back to hash this out with the good professor and try and rescue my GPA from this nasty C I now have.

I am tired of fighting teachers. I am tired of trying to explain why I was right, and I am tired of being told, "Go ahead, try to convince me. Be creative and I might give you back your points." And they sit back and cross their arms, so confident in their control over the tenous grasp I have on my future, blithely asserting that "It's just one grade; in the long term it won't matter." They assert their right to take off 20% of a grade if you forget to sign your name, even though they're supposed to be intelligent and realize that sometimes life just happens. Instead of setting up obstacles, they should be knocking them down.

If this is what teachers are, I have no interest.

Freedom

Firefight

On my list for the day of Things To Do That Don't Involve OChem Or Physics, hiding between the "searching for bird nests" and "swimming laps", I came across this entry. "Write an epic poem." Epic, I thought, epic. Exaggerated metaphors, limited rhyming, heroes, impossible tasks, ending with both death and victory. Sure, why not? I could use some heroism right about now.

Roaring scream of a thousand banshees
Blind rage and death, valkyrie-swift and hot
Hell-bent on its destructive blast
Streaking down the mountain towards the line
And the nine stood fast.
Frail bulwark against a seething fury
Dried blood and sweat, burns and the reek of fear
Voices raised in ragged shouts
Who could have run yet chose to stay
Gave up their only way out.
Cool valley below waits in dread
Blocked off roads, smoke-choked trees
Holding off until they receive aid
For the telltale drone of an airplane's engine
And the people in the valley prayed.
The brilliant wall drew nearer to the nine
The few brave souls, laboring in its path
The monster seemed to span the very sky
And still no help arrived to rescue
The nine prepared to do and die.
And back they beat the raging flow
Foot by foot, they stopped it in its tracks
It snarled beyond their fragile break
Wind-whipped inferno swirled higher yet
And gave the nine all the fight they could take.
They labored for the lives of those below
But yard by yard, they lost the fight
Gave up precious ground at enormous cost
Muscles strained for the valley's fate
And pushed harder as their hope was lost.
One last ridge to have and hold
To keep the valley free of the demon's touch
The nine fell back and there arrayed
A brief respite only before the wind rushed in
As the people in the valley prayed.
Faster and faster up the mountain poured
The living wall, fury and vindictive might
Out of time and short of breath
Wild yells as the nine finally faced
The witch-light of approaching death.
Hard-pressed they fell before the coming glare
One by one, the nine became less
To a man selling their lives dear
In triumph the brilliant monster roared on
Topped the ridge above the valley near.
But the nine had held the line to the last
And bought the time for the call to go
Airplane engines split the sky
As their liquid load fell like rain on the ridge
And the valley watched the wildfire die.
So remember and recall the nine
Who stood their ground and held their line.

Quiet

Too tired of running to remember my name
But your presence leaves me breathless
Rubbing off the charcoal and burnt edges
It’s been so long since I could just rest
Head buried in my arms on your shoulder
Softly healing the burning, scars that still ache
The only thing in my existence that makes no demands
Past the limits of what my endurance takes
Content to stay here forever
Such a gift that you bring, that you are
A hope and a reason to wake up tomorrow
Someday I’ll be able to see that far

Exclusivity

I hate this. I'm angry, and sick, and it burns.

This time, containing it doesn't help. Doesn't help when I'm sitting across somebody's table and unfortunately overhearing (how could I not?) several variations of fun plans for "another community dinner...but without the 'community', you know, more exclusive, so we can eat more food", and the knowing sideways glances that go with it. Honestly, I couldn't believe it at first, and the anger was the only bulwark I had to check the words fighting to spill out. Way to remind that me and mine are only extra bodies in this communal gathering, making food that people aren't even showing up for. I know very well who the "community" is. I don't expect to be treated like a long-lost twin. I never worked at Wawona and I didn't grow up with them and I'm not attractively charismatic. I'm also aware that Ben broke the rules by trying his best to include us in the circle of people he loves, and by Sheol I'm tired of hearing about his "affair." I also wish my hearing wasn't quite as sharp as it is.

I'm not cut out to make friends easily, but I wish to God I was. And I ask myself, why in the world do I care so much?. It's because I look at some of these people and think, in another life, we would have been good friends. Why can't we be? Because I only have this life, and it's short. But no, everybody already has their friends, has no desire to leave their small, comfortable niche. Can nobody see that the world is bigger than this? I don't pretend to be the world. But I want mine to resonate with all types of music. Whomever lies at the core, it should never stop growing. Unless you're dead, and I have no interest in dying. Not yet. My heart-sis says I'm trying too hard. Perhaps. But it's important to me.

God help me, I hope that nobody, and but nobody, after being around my people for half this long, feels this alienated. Was any of it malicious? Perhaps not. I think they just don't care, which is worse. And now, I'm done.

Downward Spinal Twist

I will never again make fun of people who do Yoga.

Having surveyed myself and been found wanting, I've decided that working out is going to become a daily activity from now on--putting in my time in the pool, those (insert insulting comment) exercise machines, the Hulsey abs class, and the self-defense "class" that meets in my apt every few days.

In this week's quest to not die an early death, I started working out again and was abruptly reminded that, yes, my foot is still broken. I needed something gentle to do that wouldn't re-rebreak that darn foot and yet would get me moving. So, I youtub.commed some Yoga workout videos, waited until nobody else was around, and then set up in the living room. Yeah, I'll breeze through this sucker in no time, I smugly thought. It's stretching on a mat. How hard could it possibly be?

Ohhh. Yeah. I hurt.

But, it's good for me. M'gonna keep it up because I want that level of control. By the time I can climb again, it's going to come in handy. Hurrah!