amazing twenty-four hours.

These last two weeks haven’t exactly gone according to plan.

I went into this term expecting the best. I’m only really taking three classes, which is the lightest coarse load I’ve taken in my entire college career. With an easy term ahead of me and New Zealand not too off down the road, I started this term with the highest of hopes. Spring terms, in the past, have tended to be quite sucky for me, so I was hoping I could break that streak on my fifth and final time.

Then, two days into this spring term, I started feeling bad. Shortness of breath, tingling, pangs of pain, chest pain, feeling lightheaded, etc. When I realized one night my left arm was completely numb I broke down crying because I thought I was having a stroke. Three days later I was in the hospital, prepared for the worst, and the doctor diagnosed me with anxiety. While there are far worse things I could’ve been diagnosed with, I was pretty bummed. So much for my easy term.

The last week and a half has been a trial, though I like to think I’m winning thus far. I realize I haven’t addressed most of these issues with friends as of late, except for the vague Facebook status on occasion (“Feeling great today!” or “I hate this”), but rest assured, things have slowly been getting better. I was, for a while, feeling kind of depressed over the whole thing, but that time has seemed to pass. Right now I feel, for the most part, back to my old self. I’m still having trouble sleeping at night, but even that’s gotten better. I’ve also gone and seen a counselor, and we talked about how my body might’ve had a lot of misplaced stress since I’m not taking as heavy of a coarse load as it’s used to (or, as Nick so graciously put it, I’m anxious about not being anxious (isn’t that just plain dumb?)). There’s also the chance that I might’ve had a pinched nerve that coincided with all of this, and I went to get a massage last week and, man, that has done wonders for me already.

But enough about why this term’s been crummy so far. Let me tell you about the last twenty-four hours.

Last night I went and competed in my second ever poetry slam. The first one I competed in was last month, and I walked away with second place, $30, and a gift certificate to Northwest Pizza. After round one last night I was sure I wasn’t going to place in the top three. I flubbed my first poem a bit and, if I had gotten any lower, wouldn’t have made it into round two. However, my next two poems were really well receive and, by the end of the night, I placed first. I was floored. I waked away with $105 in my pocket, a $25 gift certificate for pizza, and a $20 to Bloomsbury Books. I wanted to cry. I’m not used to winning anything really, so the fact that my poetry was so well received… gah, it’s just astounding to me. It’s amazing to know that people like my words.

Skip to this morning. I got to sleep in, then laze about watching TV for a while. After that, I took off downtown, and was thrilled to find out my financial aid had, indeed, gone through. Looks like someone can afford rent at the end of this month after all!

Not to mention that the weather today is so nice. Today’s one of the first where I’ve actually been able to don a dress. It’s been a good long while since I’ve felt good about myself appearance-wise, but today was one of those days. Plus, as I was walking through downtown, I realized that I wasn’t having to focus on my breathing like I have been all these last two weeks. I guess I really am getting better, and that’s wonderful beyond words.

Next, I hit up the Graduation Fair at my college. As I was making my way to the Fair, my New Zealand playlist (yes, I made a New Zealand playlist, shut up) shuffled to the song “I’m Waiting For My Real Life to Begin”, which was just utterly perfect and summed up how I’ve been feeling about graduating. I got my graduation announcements, my two tassels, and my stole. Then I headed off to the art building, and I was ecstatic to find that the art lab was open and I wrapped up this week’s photography project in under twenty minutes.

Finally, I headed to go meet with my Capstone adviser for Creative Writing (ie. Craig). I was really hesitant about going, and to bribe myself I bought the most delicious panini that I’ve ever tasted (because there is no greater incentive than food). I was hesitant because I hadn’t talked to Craig all of last term about my short story, so I had no idea how he felt about it. It’s a story I’ve been working on for over three years now, and it’s been so long that I’ve sort of lost perspective on it. I went into the meeting telling myself that he was probably going to have a lot of harsh critique, and if I ever wanted to be a professional writer I’d have to suck it up and take whatever he gave me. But the first thing he said to me when I took a seat in his office? “I love this story. I always have.” I was astounded. I wrote the story back in his Advanced Fiction Writing class when I was a sophomore, which was so long ago that I assumed he had forgotten all about it. He went on to give me some notes, mainly that I should cut down on some of my longer sections (since the shorter ones, he noted, pack a much greater punch) and then he had some nit picky things about grammar/spelling/word choice, which is fantastic. But he told me that my story is good overall, and that I’m great at opening sentences and transitioning between sections. It was just really nice to hear, especially when I hadn’t been expecting it.

Then I got home and found the clothes I had ordered came in the mail today. I’ve been pretty good about not throwing money around since I started saving for New Zealand (after this next paycheck I’ll officially be half way to my goal amount), but I figured I could spend a little on myself. I’ve been noticing I’ve been wearing a lot of dark colors recently, which there’s nothing wrong with, but I’ve been nostalgic for some brighter clothes. So I bought a couple of bright tops to liven up my wardrobe.

So, yeah, basically today has been the bee’s knees. I realize this quickly divulged into a diary-ish entry about “I did this” and “I did that”, but I don’t care. It was a damn good day. The best day I’ve had in a long time. I couldn’t ask for anything better.

A Confession.

Do you know what it is that you do to me? Do
you know what it feels like to observe you?
Do you know how hard it is to be in the same
room as you? Do you understand what it’s
like for me to want you? To want you to see
me? To want you to want me? To want you
to want me just like you want her?
Jesus.
Even in a room filled with a hundred other people –
at the least
– I can find you.
In the blink of an eye and a snap at the wrist
my eyes enshrine you.
My thoughts are drawn to you
like a smoker to cigarettes.
I am addicted,
and I can never get enough
and I will never get enough
and I won’t ever get enough
because I cannot bring myself
to stop this rush I
get when you’re around.
I do not dare.
It was only several years ago
you entered my world, only to ensnare
me with a simple “hello.”

You who found your way into
my life in a time when
I was so alone,
miles away from the only
place I had ever called
my home.
A green girl lost in summer.
I had no one.
I was completely on my own…
until there was you.
You.
So nice, so funny, so wonderful, so you.
And while you are not
beautiful, or overtly handsome in the
common known way,
and though you do not stand out in a crowd,
I would pick you out
every time,
every day.

Which has come to make me realize that
I do not want a college boy.
Some dumb teen turned adult, looking
for any whatsoever chance
where I will show some sign of weakness
so he can get into my pants.
No. With them I’m through. I no
longer want those insubordinate, intolerable, over indulgent  boys,
only you.
A goddamn man.
We barely know each other,
but I have been in love with you for years.
And you will never know,
and not because of age and not because of her,
but because this is one thing words and explanation
will always fail and falter.
So I stay respectively silent, I remain painfully quiet,
I lose my voice, my tongue, my peace of mind,
and do not speak…
this time.

————–*/*————–

I wrote this slam poem a year ago and then promptly tucked it away, figuring it was just that fleeting feeling of nostalgia we all suffer from on rare occasion. It took me a year to realize that, for me, this will always be a little more than just a passing phase, which I fear is more tragic than I can ever possibly say out loud. I’ll forever hide this poem in the pocket of my heart, knowing it will never be said to the one who needs to hear it most.

setting myself up.

Here’s a list of things I’m writing that I’d like to accomplish this summer:

• Obsessed || screenplay
• Untitled Beach/Mute Writer/Toussaint Charbonneau piece || screenplay
• Max Factor || screenplay
• Questions || screenplay
• Twins || play
• Doodles on a Nihilist’s Arm || short story
• The Girl With the Owl Necklace || short story
• Twinship || novel
• Eleven Inches || novel
• This Year || slam poem
• Shy || slam poem
• The Ferris Bueller Method || slam poem

Quite.

Sorry for all these lists as of late. I know they don’t constitute as interesting blog entries. My goal for the summer is to write in this blog once a day and, well, okay, it’s not technically my summer just yet (eight more days!), but I’m kind of trying to get into the swing of things now. The problem is that if I wrote about what’s going on in my life right now it’d be a constant blather about stress of school/finances/moving/finals/etc. I guess writing about moving could be interesting, but I haven’t even begun the moving process just yet, and I seriously doubt people would like recounts of me shoving mugs and scarves into random boxes.

So. Yeah. Here’s a vague list about stuff I’m gonna (hopefully) work on this summer.

Should I share my writing on here throughout the summer? Maybe tidbits of each of them.

The V Word

[[Warning: this entry does contain a fair amount of profanity and discussion on sex. If you are not a fan of either of those things, I suggest you exit out of this entry now.]]

At the start of the school year I had the great opportunity of directing The Vagina Monologues. It was a life changing experience for me as a Theatre major, but also when coming to terms with my sexuality. Growing up, my family never discussed sex. Maybe because my mother died when I was only thirteen and my father felt awkward discussing the topic with me, or maybe he assumed I had already had the chat with my mother. Fact of the matter is: I was never given the dreaded “talk”. Now, as a twenty-one year old, I think I grew up with a pretty healthy view point on sex. The subject certainly scared me all throughout high school and, okay, maybe at the beginning of my college career as well. But I feel like now my view point is much more rounded, which is a good thing.

But this year has helped round it even more so. Not only did I direct The Vagina Monologues a couple of months ago, I am also currently taking a Human Sexuality course. I really do believe the class, in and of itself, has been eye-opening on many levels.

For Vagina Monologues my co-director and I both wrote our own monologues, which we performed at the open mic night promoting the Monologues a week before our show opened. It was the first time I ever got to stand up in front of an audience and talk about my experience with sex. It was nerve wracking. I was terrified. But by the end I was met with cheers and loud applause, and hugs from friends and people I didn’t even know. It was a truly rewarding experience that I cherish fondly.

That being said, I have since reverted back to my awkward sex wherein I haven’t shared my monologue with anyone. It’s nothing to be ashamed up, but there’s a part of me that feels like I may be met with judgment from people if I were to share. I know this is not true. So that’s why I’m sharing it today.

It is under the “Read More” link below this, so if you are interested feel free to read. I have also attached a link to a video of me performing it. The video is semi-private, so only those who have the link are able to view it.

Please keep in mind that sharing it with you, WordPress, makes me feel quite vulnerable. But I want to. I need to. So I’m going to.

Enjoy.

Fried

I’ll go.
I’ll go.
I’ll go.
I’ll go.
I’ll go.
I’ll go.
I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go,
I will go.
I have to go.
If I don’t then he’s gonna show
up here, at my door, whether I tell him yes or no.
He does not listen, no
matter how much I beg and crow.
He’ll just keep calling me until I come over. There’s no
winning against this schmoe.
He’ll make me feel guilty for trying to forgo
the inevitable. This is ridiculous, so
I will go…

…No.
You know
something? I don’t want to go.
I want to go
back to my sick tableau
of sleeping all day, eating soup, trying not to throw
up. That’s all I want, this one plateau,
but he does not care. He always has to be numero
uno,
even though
I know
he knows that I am sick. He does not care so
long as he gets what he wants. That’s all that matters to Mr. Apropos.

Him with the parents who treat him like he’s a prince for show.
Him who is adored and praised by every Mary Jane and John Doe
imaginable. Him who can lasso
and outsmart every teacher that we know.
Him with so
many grand ideas that constantly flow
from his mind. Him with a girl so
perfect she could set a stone cold heart aglow.
That clever little bastard who has it all in tow
when I have nothing to live for. I’m no
one’s beau.
I’m no
one’s hero.
I’m no
comparison in my father’s eyes when it comes between me and his dough.
Just me, alone, with my own sad story of woe
that no
one wants to know.
An invisible boy just trying to graduate before summer starts to show.
An invisible boy, invisible to all… Although,

there is one exception to this endearing low.
One clever little bastard, who’s been the only real friend I’ve ever come to know
and no
matter what I undergo
he has yet to outgrow
me. Says this is no
quid pro
quo.
Claims he’ll always know
me. Claims I’m his best friend on this entire planet, even though
he could have any best friend that he wants because he is so
loved by all. Instead, he chose me. Why, I’ll never know,
but he did. He who made me not invisible, he who helped me grow,
And for that I owe
him more than he will ever know.
He is my friend. He is my hero.

So…

I will go.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

The second slam poem in my set of Fictional Perspective pieces.

Need a hint whose POV this is from? Well, the first Perspective poem I wrote was from the POV of Kate Austen from LOST, and the poem is entitled “Ostentatious”. This poem is called “Fried”. So. Glean what you’d like.

Start of a new poem

This is what I have for a new slam poem I’m writing. It will, eventually, be the end of the poem (no clue what the beginning of it will entail just yet) and it does need to be revamped a bit. Anyway, enjoy what I have thus far!

——-

When it comes to the choice between living and staying still,
Always choose the prior.
Skip classes on occasion.
Stay up late laughing with the ones you love.
Dazzle the sky.
Enchant the night.
Get lost in a sea of possibility.
Beshrew the Heaven’s with your omnipresent will.
Your ever growing lust for life that cannot stay you still,
Because
You are young,
And you are free,
But this will not last,
So let me impress on you to take each opportunity.
Run before the creaks and groans of aging claim your mortal body
And dance while you still remember how to dance to just the simplest tune,
And hug
And joke
And thought provoke
And fall in love in June.
Kiss who you want for.
Befriend who you need for.
Do what makes your wild heart swoon,
And do not let them break you
Because they will try to shake you
And make you play their trepidatious game.
Just say “no”
And fly through fields of fancy where they will never find you.
Forever flying
Forever highing,
Forever trying to define this life that we will never understand.
We are the generation that will change the world,
So fuck their reprimand.

Sometimes I Forget the Power of Words.

Last night I performed the vagina monologue I wrote for the first time in front of someone. Not just someone; my co-director of Vagina Monologues. I’m glad that I got the chance to do it for her before performing it this Friday, since we’ve been going through this experience together and I felt most secure delivering it in front of her.

Anyway, when I had completed reciting it she instantly embraced me, and it wasn’t until she let go that I realized she was crying.

This is why I love slam poetry and spoken word. You get this chance to express yourself in this beautiful, poignant way. I know that I am terrible when put on the spot when it comes to specific, personal events in my life. But give me a chance to write a poem about it? No problem. Words are just so powerful. They have this ability to move others emotionally, to touch at that place inside of you that only certain things can. When I deliver a poem to a receptive audience, man, there is no greater feeling in the world.

I guess that’s really all I have to say for today. Normally I’ve got some commentary on something that happens in my day but, meh, today’s been a rather slow/dull day. I will be performing my vagina monologue this Friday and it will be recorded, so I figured this weekend I would upload both the text of my piece and the video to go along with it.

That’s all for now! Ciao!