driving to just one off-campus class and
leaving early to make it back for
rehearsing bangko where I am
jumping from bench to bench
soaring and sore for much longer than I anticipated. then
boarding from practice to a
meeting for study abroad then
rushing to DeBart 210 and
watching the last thirty minutes of Mark Twain’s America before
driving again to return a car and
walking back to the greater part of campus but just
wasting my time on tumblr because
procrastinating is all I feel like
eating 2 week old salad and
pouring myself a cup of soda
at 10:30 pm
I don’t know why you are the only one I’ve thought about all day. I was doing so well these past two semesters, doing so well with
But now I am excited for French because of you (although the excitement existed before you, in a perfect state, like Adam and Eve before the fall) and I can only think how my
you are such a baby to me now!
now, be my babe.
natural - infinite -
sitting on my ottoman, reading things on my phone, and suddenly I notice the stack of books at my feet, soggy because my thermos spilled in my backpack and then
the scene was picturesque, me with beat-up textbooks and worn out work- and review sheets at my feet, away from my family, alone, for the most part, and all I could think in that small moment was:
I am at college. I am a real college student. I am some place, studying something, and someday I will be somewhere else and maybe I will be someone else but in the meantime
there is a stack of textbooks at my feet, next to my damp backpack that I had used a towel to pat all the water out of, and everything is adding up to a sum greater than its parts.
It’s a bit like coming out of the water.
You break through the surface with a gasp, and maybe you cough because of how long you’ve been holding your breath. You’re happy to breathe again, happy to feel the air in your lungs.
You bob in the water, grinning like an idiot, relieved you are not drowning.
But then you look around and you can’t find the docks.
I wish I could turn it off. The jumble of fears that rile up my anxiety and make me hesitate in everything.
I wish I could remember that this too shall pass and I too shall rise again.
Half of the time it’s not even what I expect. But I dig these holes of self-doubt and bury myself in them, thinking I will wilt and die soon, thinking there is no other option, thinking the earth can only swallow me because the sky cannot embrace me.
I believe in crippling hope and the infinity of it. But maybe that is my downfall.
there aren’t actually 20 notes on this post; tumblr just did something weird about it, but—hmm, this.
I can see the lines now. I trace them with my eyes.
I can see the angles and the shadows and the sharp relief. I can see the curves and the grace and the folds.
The problem is the translation.
bulldozer pt. 4
first | previous
I gave a heavy sigh, glowered at the permacloud. “Well,” I said, lifting his arm off my body and replacing it on his, “I know … what I want to do. I have a plan. And, admittedly, a large chunk of that plan depends on my grades because whether I get into certain programs depends on my grades. You follow so far?”
“I am an English major,” he said. “I am always following.”
Mass opens with a line about forgiveness, but the homily doesn’t follow up.
all that glitters.
I am shuffling through the snow to get back to my dorm when I see them:
drabble days #30: future.
Misha kicks the bag at his feet, frowning. Lennon turns his nose toward the sky.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“If I had known you would be this miserable about it, I would have reconsidered.”
“Your sarcasm is not appreciated.”
Lennon sighs, shoulders sagging. “Misha,” he says, then reconsiders. He purses his lips, turning his collar against the wind.
“Ash wanted to come instead, didn’t she?” Misha grumbles, wrapping himself tightly in his coat.
The sharp lines of Lennon’s face become more pronounced as he tilts his head toward the light. He sighs. “Come on, Mish. Our future is out there.”