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.-
Friday, February 26, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
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
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
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, February 1, 2010
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!
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!
Friday, January 29, 2010
Damage report
Looking back through my journals and blogs (reading nearly back to Jul'08) has been an eye-opener, for sure. The best of my cleaning intentions ended today with me sitting on the floor, surrounded by mountains of (thankfully) clean laundry and stacks of textbooks, tracing my life through the truest course I know.
I don't usually recommend myself to a full-on review of the pieces of life I have chosen to record. For me, at least, re-reading lines from years ago is bittersweet. Admittedly, some segments are mostly just bitter. For as long as as I can remember, when life comes at me the hardest, I've tried to catch the emotions on paper, hoping to trap them in an ink-lined cage where they can be relatively harmless. Perusing them again, however, gives the emotions leeway to touch my soul again, and I find myself hurting for that girl. Wish I could tell her somehow that it gets better. That 21 doesn't feel that much different from 20. That it IS possible to get that A, the long nights are worth it. That Dr. Haluska is not only human, but also a friend. That what she wanted wouldn't have been good for her anyway.
Meh, sometimes I think I put too much stock into the written word. Of what value is it if I can write the words, but not speak them?
All this aside, I finally laid my procrastination to rest and figured up the tithe that I owe on all the money I've made since I came to Southern. A daunting task, and I can't lie, my bank account is going to take quite a setback over this. But, as I just explained to my heart sib, tithing isn't just a waste of time supporting ministers we don't like and funding a dying church. What Abbi chooses to do with my money is not my concern--I just have to make sure he gets it.
Ah, Sabbath. I love Sabbath. Welcome.
I don't usually recommend myself to a full-on review of the pieces of life I have chosen to record. For me, at least, re-reading lines from years ago is bittersweet. Admittedly, some segments are mostly just bitter. For as long as as I can remember, when life comes at me the hardest, I've tried to catch the emotions on paper, hoping to trap them in an ink-lined cage where they can be relatively harmless. Perusing them again, however, gives the emotions leeway to touch my soul again, and I find myself hurting for that girl. Wish I could tell her somehow that it gets better. That 21 doesn't feel that much different from 20. That it IS possible to get that A, the long nights are worth it. That Dr. Haluska is not only human, but also a friend. That what she wanted wouldn't have been good for her anyway.
Meh, sometimes I think I put too much stock into the written word. Of what value is it if I can write the words, but not speak them?
All this aside, I finally laid my procrastination to rest and figured up the tithe that I owe on all the money I've made since I came to Southern. A daunting task, and I can't lie, my bank account is going to take quite a setback over this. But, as I just explained to my heart sib, tithing isn't just a waste of time supporting ministers we don't like and funding a dying church. What Abbi chooses to do with my money is not my concern--I just have to make sure he gets it.
Ah, Sabbath. I love Sabbath. Welcome.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
To do and die
When my hard drive crashed over Thanksgiving break and showed the ominous Blue Screen of Death, I lost lots of my personal documents...but not this one. I'm up to about 70, with only half a dozen crossed off...there's a long way to go. Sometimes I look at them and wonder if I'll ever get them done. After all, I've already botched several, and there are others, beyond my control, that I have no guarantee of. Some are wistful thinking. Some mean more to me than anything else. I figured it would be good to go through and remind myself of what's waiting beyond this next Issues paper...the one menacing me from the kitchen table.
100 things to do before I die...
38. Take ethnic cooking lessons from a master chef. 55. Skyboard. 3. Dive off of the coast of Australia. 43. Fund my mom's orphanage in Africa. 53. Own a motorcycle. Just like dad. 67. Spend a summer at Rosario. 61. Take an automechanics class. 6. Travel--New Zealand, Ireland, Greece. 20. Snowboard off some crazy big mountain. 64. Be more outgoing and stifle the reticence already/be unshy(that's a real word). 56. Do a photojournalism project in the slums of India. 18. Never again take a college class "just for fun." 19. Take a college class just for fun. 68. Publish some poetry. 30. Get my private pilot's license. 60. Take off for a few months in the mountains and "survive." Just because. 46. Blaze through my MCAT. 72. Learn to fly. 37. Learn ballroom dancing. 53. Become fluent in Spanish.
Of course, some are ridiculous. I will never be able to fly. But that doesn't mean I don't want to.
Speaking of want, I'm so exhausted that I'm really not sure if I'll be able to wake up and trudge to the pool when my alarm goes off at 5:50 in the morning. Luckily, Mr. Benge is a forgiving sort of taskmaster. Perhaps if I take a nap now...
100 things to do before I die...
38. Take ethnic cooking lessons from a master chef. 55. Skyboard. 3. Dive off of the coast of Australia. 43. Fund my mom's orphanage in Africa. 53. Own a motorcycle. Just like dad. 67. Spend a summer at Rosario. 61. Take an automechanics class. 6. Travel--New Zealand, Ireland, Greece. 20. Snowboard off some crazy big mountain. 64. Be more outgoing and stifle the reticence already/be unshy(that's a real word). 56. Do a photojournalism project in the slums of India. 18. Never again take a college class "just for fun." 19. Take a college class just for fun. 68. Publish some poetry. 30. Get my private pilot's license. 60. Take off for a few months in the mountains and "survive." Just because. 46. Blaze through my MCAT. 72. Learn to fly. 37. Learn ballroom dancing. 53. Become fluent in Spanish.
Of course, some are ridiculous. I will never be able to fly. But that doesn't mean I don't want to.
Speaking of want, I'm so exhausted that I'm really not sure if I'll be able to wake up and trudge to the pool when my alarm goes off at 5:50 in the morning. Luckily, Mr. Benge is a forgiving sort of taskmaster. Perhaps if I take a nap now...
Monday, January 25, 2010
The road makes all the difference
What a strange and twisting road
And where it leads, to what horizons
I cannot begin to guess
And yes, I have tried to arrange
The hills it passes by, the rivers
Fragments of an azure sky
But even I could not create this
Better than I would have wished
Each faint wild call, adventure’s kiss
Like echoes, all—-the journey waits
The winding curves
And another path set by the Fates
I know it’s just a dream
I know it’s just a dream—it can’t be you
But you’re standing there and oh, I swear
I wish that it were true!
I seem to have lost my breath
It’s futile now, and anyway
There’s truly nothing more to say
Just stay on this road another moment
While the moon calls to the stars
The night falls all around us
And steals away my sight
But that’s all right—I still see you
Silent shadow reminding me of what
Turns on this road were lost, and how the cost has been
More than I ever thought I’d pay
But say—this road could take me anywhere
So far, so near, but I don’t care
As long as I can hear
Your footsteps lightly by my side
My journey can begin—I feel
The ocean thrumming through my skin
Autumn wind—and isn’t it strange
Of all the ways my road could change
The call has always stayed the same?
And where it leads, to what horizons
I cannot begin to guess
And yes, I have tried to arrange
The hills it passes by, the rivers
Fragments of an azure sky
But even I could not create this
Better than I would have wished
Each faint wild call, adventure’s kiss
Like echoes, all—-the journey waits
The winding curves
And another path set by the Fates
I know it’s just a dream
I know it’s just a dream—it can’t be you
But you’re standing there and oh, I swear
I wish that it were true!
I seem to have lost my breath
It’s futile now, and anyway
There’s truly nothing more to say
Just stay on this road another moment
While the moon calls to the stars
The night falls all around us
And steals away my sight
But that’s all right—I still see you
Silent shadow reminding me of what
Turns on this road were lost, and how the cost has been
More than I ever thought I’d pay
But say—this road could take me anywhere
So far, so near, but I don’t care
As long as I can hear
Your footsteps lightly by my side
My journey can begin—I feel
The ocean thrumming through my skin
Autumn wind—and isn’t it strange
Of all the ways my road could change
The call has always stayed the same?
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Briers, meet legs.
My legs are scratched to pieces. I've been picking thorns out of them for the last fifteen minutes, and there are small burning places that let me know, in no uncertain terms, that my search for them is by no means complete. My shoes are muddy and my socks are wet. I'm a wreck, and I love it.
As a disclaimer, it's not totally my fault...and then again, I not only totally take credit for it but would do it again in a heartbeat. I started out with good intentions--grabbing lunch, before I delved into the fascinating world of physics--and things were progressing nicely until I stepped out of the car and into a small windstorm. There is no weather that I love more than what we have today--storm just ended, scattering of clouds and blue blue blue sky, sharp smell of rain still in the air. It tasted like spring. It looked like spring, spinning there, looking me in the eye, hair blowing in the wind, wild-eyed, with a slightly insane grin, madly beckoning. How can you stay inside with an invitation like that?
So I whirled inside, tried to collect my reluctant roommate, and then took a wild run through the woods out back. Hence the thorns, because although you may have this pretty little Disney picture of what a stroll through the woods is like, the books always fail to mention the damage that one strand of briers can do to a person--much less a whole fleet of them.
But it was gorgeous. Wind everywhere, trees going crazy, just perfect. A day for laughing. Like it was made just for me.
As a disclaimer, it's not totally my fault...and then again, I not only totally take credit for it but would do it again in a heartbeat. I started out with good intentions--grabbing lunch, before I delved into the fascinating world of physics--and things were progressing nicely until I stepped out of the car and into a small windstorm. There is no weather that I love more than what we have today--storm just ended, scattering of clouds and blue blue blue sky, sharp smell of rain still in the air. It tasted like spring. It looked like spring, spinning there, looking me in the eye, hair blowing in the wind, wild-eyed, with a slightly insane grin, madly beckoning. How can you stay inside with an invitation like that?
So I whirled inside, tried to collect my reluctant roommate, and then took a wild run through the woods out back. Hence the thorns, because although you may have this pretty little Disney picture of what a stroll through the woods is like, the books always fail to mention the damage that one strand of briers can do to a person--much less a whole fleet of them.
But it was gorgeous. Wind everywhere, trees going crazy, just perfect. A day for laughing. Like it was made just for me.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Thorns
I irritate myself when I have nothing useful, inspiring, enlightening, or intelligent to say.
I irritate myself even more profoundly when poetry evades me with the ease of long practice.
So, I'm wasting the space of a blog. Having deleted the last three on the basis of point one, see above.
I irritate myself even more profoundly when poetry evades me with the ease of long practice.
So, I'm wasting the space of a blog. Having deleted the last three on the basis of point one, see above.
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