Compliments

Today I put my older sister's hair in a bun.
My little sister said, "Cute; it looks like a unicorn."

I think that is probably the best compliment a person could receive.

Runaway

Step, step, step, step,

Stumble, step, step.

Squelch, squelch, tumble, step,

Tumble, step, fall.

Rise, run, run, run,

Trumble, skinned knee;

Bandaged up, guard down

And I dash away from me.

Tell Me

How am I supposed to work on getting ready for finals if the light bulb dangling above my desk/leaf on the wall/cursive-abstract piece of art on the wall/doodles on index cards on the wall

          

are not above my desk/on the wall?

How am I supposed to work on getting ready for finals when my above-my-desk decor is packed away in a box/I am forced to stare at a white wall?

Is this even beneficial to my sanity?

Crabapple Jam

Over a year and a half ago, I compiled a list of things that I wanted to do before I left my little, three-mile radius of a town.

1. Make crabapple jam
2. Have a picnic located on the library’s elevator
3. Tour the catacombs
4. Sit out on campus and paint
5. Go onto the roof. Well, a roof, really.
6. Create a mural
7. Ride a tandem bicycle
8. Find someone to ride the alleged bicycle with me
9. Somehow manage to learn a new song on the piano
10. Take a photographic masterpiece
11. Find a trapdoor
12. Use it.
13. Set someone up on a date
14. Build a blanket fort
15. Build a snow fort
16. Stargaze in the football field
17. Make a documentary
18. Paint light bulbs
19. Find buried treasure
20. Get a black eye (Only so I can say it was caused by a skydiving accident when people asked about it.)
21. Climb a slanty tree
22. Slaughter the rules in my 2D Design class and make my own art
23. Continued from #5, blast music from atop the roof
24. Go fishing using leftover fishing wire (leftover from hanging light bulbs around, of course), ice cream, and
      no-bake cookies
25. Rappel down the Activities Center
26. Tie sheets together, climb out my apartment window
27. Staple pillows to the wall. Mosh pit.


My Success:
I somehow managed to accomplish #9
I took plenty of photographic pieces, (#10), but I am not sure any of them were the master kinds of pieces.
I participated in #14, but I don't think I was actually useful in the construction.

Three out of twenty-seven.
Does that count as successful?

I Always Wanted To Be A

Ballerina

Ballet teacher

Second grade teacher

Astronaut

Paleontologist

Artist

Photographer

Cosmetologist 

Fashion designer

Interior designer

High school photography teacher

Psychologist

Social worker

And off I go, to major in English.

I want to be an Author/Editor

When I grow up.

[Title of Your Choice]

So, I get this little guilt trip every time I blog or log onto facebook, lately. A guilt trip from the little guy inside my head named You Should Probably Be Studying Right Now. Yes, the little guy inside my head has five middle names. Keeps things interesting.

Well, since everyone's gotta sleep sometime, You Should Probably Be Studying Right Now is fast asleep. So I am taking advantage of the opportunity. 

If it is after one (even on a school night), I reserve the right to do whatever I want, as long as it isn't detrimental to society. Or to my family's name. Or to my health.

Scratch that last part. If staying up after one on a school night is hazardous to my health, then that's just me taking one for the team. 

The team consisting of the following: Sanity, You Should Probably Be Studying Right Now, Myself, and I Procrastinate Everything Including Sleep.

It's a good team. 

Anyway. I'll put some purpose with this post.

I like it when I realize that I have a stash of photographs lost for a duration of time, also known as "forever." I don't know where they are. They are certainly not on this computer. They are certainly not on the computer inside the house in which I was born and raised. Minus the "born" part. I was born in a hospital.

Anyway. Again.

I'll stop complaining. 

Here's a photograph for no reason at all.

Well, reason enough. 

Because I want a photograph in this post.

And because this photograph is still on my computer and not lost in cyberspace with its photographic brothers and sisters.

I should probably go and count some sheep, now.

Thank You, Photosynthesis

I think that blossoms may, quite easily, be my favorite flower. They are dainty, delicate, perfectly feminine. And not to mention, irresistibly picturesque.

High Stress?

I have some advice.

Look through your iPod. Or whatever compilation of music you possess. Find the album(s)/artist(s)/song(s) you used to listen to a lot. If you are like me at all, you will find the album(s)/artist(s)/song(s) that you used to put on repeat. Repeatedly.

I can't even tell you how bizarre it is right now; I am listening to The Fray. If you knew me two or three years ago, you would likely understand that I might as well have hired a wedding planner for The Fray+Bethany 4evr wedding.

That would have been the best wedding ever.

So, back to my previous statement, "I can't even tell you how bizarre it is right now." It basically takes me back  to the same emotions/feelings/et cetera that I had Once Upon A Time.

Not that any of those were significant at the time, or even now.

It's just a blob of memories and nostalgia all emanating from a thread of tunes and mesmerizing vocal amplifications. And I like it.

So, if you happen to be stressed with... like, finals, or something random and never-occurring like that, I recommend that you listen to Once Upon A Time-type music. You'll love it.

Effort

You'd think it would take a little effort on my part to keep a bedroom looking like this. Let me tell you; it takes no effort. I would show you a picture, but I am too lazy. And I don't want to offend anyone. It's pretty messy.

Let me also tell you that some things never change when you go to college.

Things like messy rooms.

Don't Know Why, But

Juice tastes better through a straw.

Water tastes better from a drinking fountain.

Math tastes better crammed.

Facebook tastes better during study time.

Cookie dough tastes better undeserved.

Flock

Because there is an abundance of thoughts floating around my brain,

And none of it wants to come out, at present,

Take a gander [again] at some simply folded papers.

Pause

Occasionally, opportunities arise in which poems written by insignificant, awkward, tall, blonde bloggers can be submitted to a college literary magazine.

Occasionally, a poem that was submitted to a college literary magazine

         Is selected. And, perhaps, receives a bronze metal, of sorts. 

         Enjoy.

Pause

Pause, momentarily,

While I fill the page with words.

(All nonsense, really)

Play the apathy-prose, please

And notice the chortling rays.

Stop, indefinitely, sighs of matter

But leave the cherished wind-blown aside.

Forward to the unabashed

While I pen uncertain notions

Re-wind the unwound, now

To record the unafraid,

Although in empathy,

They lie, trembling.

I Was Just Gonna Say

"I was just gonna say..."

Sorry, but I knew you were going to say that. Because you are now saying what you were going to say. So the phrase "I was just gonna say" before the statement you were going to say, but also what you are saying now, is unnecessary.

Thank you.

Accuracies

Some truths:

I like when I remember that I'm in college and I can leave the classroom early if I feel like it, no questions asked.

"Ricochet!" by Shiny Toy Guns is a song that I have enjoyed listening to recently. I am not sure why, considering the fact that I usually have zero tolerance for any music containing screamo qualities. I have been told that some of the music that I listen to is whiny (I really appreciate when this is pointed out), and this song also has some singing that could be considered as whiny. So I guess that end of why I like the song makes a little sense.

Paper swans are nice. Sometimes I doodle them dangling from string, like I sometimes doodle light bulbs. (And like I sometimes decorate with light bulbs.)

Sometimes I turn off my alarm without realizing it. Which results in me waking up an hour later than planned. And I'm fine with that. I slept for eight and a half hours.

Sometimes I sleep for eight and a half hours, and I'm still tired.

Sometimes it is hard to know where I stand, but all I know is that I am standing.

Today I started writing "above" with a 'u' instead of an 'a'. I think my illness called 'spring fever' has something to do with it.

I love when I find a song that I love immediately, rather than having it grow on me.

You know when people capitalize letters to draw emphasis to the word? The letter/word 'I' bothers me when capitalizing it doesn't draw emphasis, it only makes it grammatically correct. Not that I have a problem with grammar that happens to be correct.

Studying is not what you would call my 'forte'. 

Postponing studious behavior is what you would call my 'forte'.

3

Three tests compiled into two days.

This happens every time. The same three classes.

I'm going to take test two out of three right now.

I'm basically walking right into the arms of doom.

I'll miss you all.

Look Here, I Have a Masterpiece of a Photo

[insert image of newly budded branch/droplets/snow in background]

It is problematic when a person visits home, leaving her camera in her closet in her apartment. Two hours away. All because your mother's Nikon is waiting at home. So if this person needs a mechanical eye, she could just snatch her mom's camera and snap a photo.

Right?

No, not really. Because it is problematic when a person visits home, leaving her camera in her closet in her apartment, and her mother's Nikon is at her grandma's house. Left. Neglected.

Just like her own camera that was left all alone in her closet in her apartment. To fend for itself.

But it's okay. That person needed to use a lens only once over the course of the weekend. When she had a nice image in her brain for a photograph. And she can wait until next spring's indecisive weather to find and capture a similar moment. 

It's okay.

When I Must Write A Paper, I'll Write Something Else.

Once upon a time, I didn't really feel like writing a school paper. So I tangented in a rebellious manner. And I wrote this. I stuck it in my drafts (as per usual). Because I thought that one day I could post it. Today is 'one day'.


Men are odd creatures. Martians, if you will. That’s why I’ll be forever single. An old maid. With thirty-two dogs. Not cats. Cats are demons. And they scratch your eyeballs out when you walk into the room. Then, when it’s convenient for them, they walk up to you (with puppy dog eyes, ironically enough) expecting you to caress their pre-hairball states. Why do people like cats, anyway? They have attitude problems. They’re cute when they’re kittens, usually, and so people become attached to their precious little paws, etcetera. Then people think that they have to continue to believe that the feline is cute and precious and whatever else they talk themselves into believing. That’s why dogs are the way to go. They retrieve the newspaper for you. That way, they keep you in tune with what’s happening in the world around us. They want you to pet them. All the time. Because they genuinely care. They are loyal. We all need loyalty. Basically, dogs are just better than cats. So that’s why I would choose to be an old maid with thirty-two dogs.

A Shout Out

This is for all of you who fall under the category of 'human being'.

You're cool.

A Recommendation

Sometimes I eat lunch in my bedroom.

I also sometimes eat breakfast, brunch, afternoon snacks, dinner, desserts, evening snacks, midnight snacks, and otherwise in my bedroom.

This sometimes becomes problematic.

About 49 seconds ago, while I was distracted and looking at lovely blogs, I looked down and realized that a considerable amount of the slab of cookie dough I purchased yesterday had been consumed. Slightly disgusted and slightly satisfied, I put my fork down, covered the remains of cookie dough with its plastic wrap, and blinked at my lunch plate, lunch cup, and yesterday's cup that were all contently resting on my desk and windowsill.

Before I ate lunch, I washed the other pile of dishes that had been lounging on my desk. I guess I could have waited to wash them; who doesn't want dirty dishes to keep them company as they travel through blogs?

It is a great habit for a person to eat things in their bedrooms.
Dishes can make great decorations. Especially when they are ketchup-covered.
Cookie dough can help add some pounds so as to keep one warm during the dark, dreary, impending snowstorm.

I recommend it all.

Pure Elation

This would be my facial expression if the so-called 'blogosphere' decided to update their blogs again:

Can you resume your blogging endeavors, please? I miss you all.

Lifted

This here is what we call a 'Polaroid lift'.

Disclaimer

This my explanatory disclaimer.
I posted a poem yesterday.
It was sitting in my drafts for some time.

I was hesitant to post it.

Know why?

Because I knew that when people read it, they would interpret the deep, figurative perspective of it.
But, too bad for the people who read it. That was not my intent.

I wrote it in the most literal sense that I could.
It was a play on words. Being "used", and all.

So. I do not claim any interpretations that anybody makes regarding the poem. Unless their interpretation was, "Oh. She was referring to a pencil the whole time."

I probably just removed the fun from poetry. But, being a poet, I hold the right to do so.


Post script: Poor pencils.

One Time,

My parakeet decided that it would be socially acceptable to squawk like a macaw.
It was not socially acceptable.
So I told her to be quiet.
Like eleven times.

Then I felt bad.
Because that was like telling a frog to stop ribbitting.
Or telling a turkey to stop gobbling.
Or telling a donkey to stop hee-hawing.

You get the picture.

So I felt bad for telling the poor thing to quit squawking like nature wanted her to do.

But then I redeemed myself. Because later, I held her, and she was happy and content.

We're on good terms, now.

A Perhaps Penciled-In Perspective

I've been used.

Defiled with all those words

It all just gets smudged in
In the end.

But when you need me
I'm there

I'm basically always
There.

And I just end up forgotten

Set aside, rather

Lost in a drawer

With keys

With receipts 

With glue

Things of those sorts

Pencils

Don't normally get special treatment

Anyway

Relatively Speaking

So, there is this girl. You could probably get away with saying that we are related.

I may have mentioned a time or two that she happens to reflect a certain air of a hippie. Or just naturally aware/concerned/appreciative.

She's pretty cool.

Wouldn't you agree?