Friday, December 10, 2010

Things for Sharing

Yesterday, I had a blog posted for TWLOHA.
Here the link:
It's also posted on the TWLOHA fan page if you want to share it with other people.

And here's a quote that I'm really loving right now:

"Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could."
— Louise Erdrich

I hope, wherever you are, you know of a love that stirs your soul.

Sending joy to you through the computer screen,


Tuesday, November 30, 2010

An Understatement and a Special Piece

Dear, dear Readers, how I have rejected you over these last few months.
Know that I haven't forgotten you (yes, even you, Kirby:D ).
I could give you a dozen excuses, but those wouldn't really make it better, huh?
I guess the main reason I haven't posted is not because I didn't have things to say, but more that I didn't know that what I had to say was relevant or what you all would want to read or powerful enough to be posted.
That's pretty silly, right?
I mean, I think you have to be at least a little narcissistic to keep a regular blog--you know, believing that other people, potential strangers, give a shit about what you have to say.
So this, my friends, is an effort.
I don't have some great, profound words to share for the evening.
But I will share something I've worked on in the months I've been absent.
It's a fiction piece, and it's very special to me.
I hope you'll tell me what you think.
And I hope that wherever you are, you know that you are beautiful and loved and deserve to laugh and smile every single fucking day.
I'll post again very soon.
Keep a look out. :)


I notice his hands.
The long, slender fingers with their trimmed nails.
Smooth hands that were made to be gentle.
Hands that haven’t known hard work but could be marvels if they met my body.
His eyes hold me like arms should.
Deep set and gray like London.
Long lashes the color of onyx.
When he holds me through them, I’m utterly and completely his though he doesn’t know it.
He’s never sure if he should touch me.
I make the decision for him, touch him first, let him know that it’s okay, that I don’t mind taking the lead.
I slip one finger under each sleeve and trace half moons on his biceps.
He closes his eyes, letting me.
This tiny moment, it says everything we’ve been wanting to say.
It says that I am bold.
It says that he is longing.
It says that we will let this current take us out.

His hands come to rest lightly on my shoulder blades.
And that gesture, my shoulder blades instead of my hips or my breasts or my ass, it is so far from anything that may be a violation.
He nudges me, not enough to move me but enough for me to know he’s ready for me to be closer.
I trail my fingertips up and down his back now as I step closer.
His lips rest on my forehead, just below my hairline.
They are soft and full, and for a moment my fingers stop at the wonder I feel in those lips.

I pull back enough to stare into his gray depths.
Tonight has been so tender, and he is such a broken boy.
And I want to hold him to my chest, one arm around his back, my other hand in his hair.
I settle for my arms resting on his shoulders, my left hand playing lightly with the hair at the nape of his neck.
I smile, just happy to share this moment, this now, this possibility with him.
Something in him releases, and his lips come down to meet mine.
His wraps my bottom lip between his lips, and I move closer, closing the space between our bodies, his hipbones pressing just above my own.
I part my lips.
I can feel him holding back.
This is the tale of us together, letting him know that he can be free with me.
I slide my tongue through to meet his, and he grips me moving one hand to the small of my back, more than nudging now.
We lose ourselves in the magic of meeting this way.
My hands explore the folds of muscle rippling in his skin.
His hands are more respectful.

My lips move to his jaw, square and dusted with shadow.
I kiss a trail to his ear and move down his throat.
I get to the hollow, and his head is rolling back.

“Jade,” he whispers, and I don’t know if it means stop.
I decide it doesn’t and continue the attention of my lips to his collarbone, opening the collar of his button down that I may serve him better.
Those long, slender fingers slid my hair out of its pins and find a home in the curls.
Just as my hands come around to get the next button, he tilts my chin toward his face with his thumb and forefinger.
Once he’s holding my gaze, his hand returns to my curls.
I’m lost in the smolder of his eyes for what seems like an age.

Then he says, “we shouldn’t get carried away,” and I think I hear a tingle of regret in his tone.
“What does carried away even mean?” I challenge.
“Well, for one, it means me stopping before I get to the point where I can’t,” he says.
“And would that be so bad?” I say with a smirk.
“Probably not during,” he says, looking away from me.
I know that he has given so much tonight.
I reply, “that’s okay, lover. I am quite a patient woman.”
His hands leave my hair, their pins lost forever in the grass beneath our feet.
I grab one hand and lace my fingers through it, and we walk to the train.

Friday, June 25, 2010

A Certain Kind of Magic in Nashville

I grew up throwing dirt clods for sport and listening to Garth Brooks and Vince Gill on cassette tapes. Bare feet and dirt roads. When I was older, four-wheelers and trails through the woods. In high school, I was a part of the self-proclaimed redneck crowd donned in Carhart coats socializing around their oversized trucks with lift-kits. I still remember when my dad moved out when I was in second grade into another trailer across town. He had cable, and I was introduced to CMT and music videos. All that is to say, I was raised in the country on country music.

Though my musical tastes are broad, country music emanates this feeling of home. There is this unparalleled community that happens in the country music world. There is a shared history and love of the South and its culture, a fondness for simple pleasures in life, and the sweet twang—all of these things bringing musicians and fans together.

Jess and I share an office, so when she looked up the information about CMA Fest, I was the first to hear about it. My job is mostly administrative and doesn’t require me to go on the road very much, but I knew that if TWLOHA was going to be at CMA Fest I wanted to be there. Of the fourteen people on staff, Jess, Chris, and I are the only country fans. Chris is from Georgia, so it’s a part of his soul. Jess is a diehard fan and has adopted a bit of a twang. But we were sure it wouldn’t work. Summer is our busiest season, and TWLOHA has never been involved with the country music world at all.

Jamie and Rich said yes. Surprised but incredibly excited, Jess submitted our application. The CMA Fest only has three or four nonprofits, a much smaller number than we’re used to so we were unsure whether or not we would get picked. Next thing I know, Chris is packing the back of the Jeep like a jigsaw puzzle while Jess, Emily, and I organize pillows, snacks, and music for the long drive to Nashville. Although Emily wasn’t a big country fan before the festival, she left singing along to Lady Antebellum and Carrie Underwood and still laughing about Blake Shelton’s jokes.

I’ve been back for ten days and I’m still smiling and singing Zac Brown Band’s “Free” with a majestic hope in my heart. I said the words, “we’re a nonprofit raising awareness about depression, addiction, self-injury, and suicide” with an info card in my hand and sweat trickling down my back 847 times, and I didn’t get tired of it. Some people politely listened feigning interest and others really heard me and tied a string from themselves to us because somehow our story was their story, too.

Peggy didn’t expect to be so drawn in. She stopped at the McDonald’s tent to get a snack for her granddaughter waiting at the picnic table when our funny name caught her eye. For the 321st time, I told a stranger who we are. Holding back tears, she told us about her niece Jeanie and how much Jeanie needed to know about us. “This is so Jeanie, all Jeanie,” she kept saying and shared how Jeanie has dealt with great loss and pain in the last year. Peggy walked away and wasn’t a stranger anymore.

The next day, Chris was helping a petite soft-spoken woman with her blonde hair cropped just above her shoulders who was learning about us for the first time. I came up when she was paying for her Love is the Movement shirt. Holding back tears and digging in her wallet, her gaze not meeting our eyes, she said she lost her brother to suicide. I said I was so sorry to hear that and Chris asked her name. Asking someone their name gives them this unspoken validation that they matter even though they may be a stranger. Through her smile, she said her name was Lisa, and I knew I would never forget her. She looked at me and said, “Mom and Dad are never the same,” and I said, “Yeah, it changes everything—nothing and no one is ever the same.” She nodded, and I asked when her brother passed sure that it was within the past few months. Her voice cracked as she said, “1986.” I tried to contain my surprise. I haven’t lost someone to suicide, so I haven’t dealt with that kind of pain personally. Her brother has been gone longer than I have been alive, and her pain at losing him is still so fresh and real. She held up her shirt, bowed her head, and said thank you as she walked away, and I wonder who is more grateful that she stopped at our tent—her or us?

At CMA Fest during the day different zones are open and most of them free to the public, but at five booths start closing up for the night for everyone to get dinner and make the trek to LP Field across the bridge for the evening concerts. Passes to the concerts were included with our booth package, so each night we joined more than 40,000 people to sing and dance to our favorite country songs. Anyone who enjoys seeing live music knows the magic of being in a crowd of people, singing the same song at the top of your lungs and getting goose bumps. It doesn’t always happen that way in the nosebleeds, but during Keith Urban’s set it was inevitable.

In case you’ve been under a rock and don’t know this, Nashville had an awful flood the first weekend in May. Most of downtown Nashville (where CMA Fest is held) was under water. In the beginning, the media didn’t give it much coverage and the city wasn’t getting help from the outside. But Nashville banded together, pulled themselves up and did what they had to do to get their city on its feet again. Restaurants spent their days making bag lunches and giving them away throughout the city, while other people worked to repair the damage. A little more than a month later, they were ready to host the first ever sold out CMA Fest.

Keith played his whole set, then he talked about Nashville and the flood. He talked about how proud he was to be a part of a city with such a strong community, how people joined together without thinking twice, and how important it was for all of us to be there at CMA Fest, how much Nashville needed us to come. He dedicated his next song to the city and the people and launched into a cover of “With a Little Help from my Friends” with Little Big Town. The performers at Heavy and Light this year also covered this song, but this performance had a different force, a different power, a different magic with images from the flood flashing on the screen behind the band. We stood and we sang and we rocked (yes, we still rock out in country music). In The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Charlie talks about this moment where he and his friends are singing together in the truck and he says he felt infinite (page 39), and this night, this song, this moment is infinite for all 40,000 of us.

Depression doesn’t care if you wear a cowboy hat with Wranglers or skinny jeans with Converses. I hope that through this small window into what may be a different world you see that this story may be your story, too. It may look different and sound different, but pain is universal. Hope is, too. That’s why we went because everyone is a part of this ongoing conversation. May your life look like this—where strangers become friends in an instant, where 40,000 people can feel like family, where a song and a few pictures become an infinite moment you want to tuck away so you can take it out again and again.

So much love to all of you strangers reading this.
Know that there is someone down in Florida who believes in you.
Thank you for letting me be a part of your story.


Monday, June 21, 2010

My Hope for You

A few minutes ago, I loaded more than 900 pictures onto my computer.
Here is one I want to share with you:

Those robes are buried in closets.
That grass watched me take a piece of paper, a piece of paper that ended a chapter for me.
These hands belong to some of the women I love most in the world.
This ring connects me to a long history of women, a history of fighters, free thinkers built with a certain quickness and spirit.

I am proud of where I come from.
I am thankful for Meredith College.
Whoever you are, may you be given the opportunity to know the kind of joy and challenge I know in that place.

Cheers to you.


Tuesday, June 15, 2010

A Recommendation

I know I have been quite absent this past week.
Sorry about that.
However, this post is not about catching up and offering my thoughts and words today.
It is more about letting you know about words from other people.

I read A LOT.
Like, my New Year's Resolution this year is to read 75 books.
And I am on track.
I love reading and writing with my whole self.
That is why I'm pointing you, dear readers, in the direction of Tessa Gratton.
She is a writer friend of Maggie Stiefvater, the author of Shiver.
Tessa writes books and keeps a regular blog, and she pretty much rocks.
Just to show you how much she rocks, I am going to share a drawing she made.

I hope you will head on over to and spend some time checking her out.

Hope you all are enjoying the sweaty month of June.


Saturday, June 5, 2010

An Attempt at Consistency

My eyes are burning in that way that only happens when you have been awake too long.
They just want to close for long and beautiful hours of rest, dreams, and inactivity.
Bags and suitcases full of all the items that make up the home I manage to build away from home line the wall behind me.
I have a perfect new window seat that is momentarily occupied by boxes in The Yellow House (that's the name of my new home, as of last night).
The Temper Trap's "Sweet Disposition" is streaming through my headphones while I sit on my frameless bed.
I'm awaiting the sunrise.
I moved to Florida 9 months ago, and I've wanted to see a sunrise here since I arrived.
Today will be my first.
Sunrises are special to me because I never rise with the sun, since I've normally set not long before the sun rises.
Just after the sun rises today, though, I shall set.
The sleep will be thick and deep, necessary adjectives after this week.

Twelve hours ago, two of my friends got married.
Despite the teasing rain and soaked backyard, we celebrated.
In sweat and love and joy and hope, we most definitely celebrated.
They belong together.
It feels good to have witnessed, and I wish you knew them.
I'm still trying to figure out if that kind of love will be a part of my life one day.
Regardless, it is beautiful to see in the lives of people around me. :)

Now it is 5:32 am, and I am still awake.
My mind is crowded with jumbled thoughts of honesty and vulnerability.
I believe both are better than their alternatives, but I'm finding that I do neither of them as well as I would like.
Is that the tale of being human?
Always reaching for a goal we may never attain on this side of heaven?
I wish my brain had enough room to process and contemplate for a while.
But it doesn't, and after the closest star rises in the sky, I will recharge.

Perhaps this post is slightly splotchy and quite short.
But, hey, this is my effort to post more.
I hope that wherever you are, your Saturday morning finds you with a smile on your face and hope in your heart.
Know that you are loved in more ways than you know.

Let me know how you're doing in comments, and always if you have any questions post them there.
I am glad you're here.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

A Welcome of Sorts

Last night into the early hours of the morning, I posted "So I Remember Later."
I shared it with the people who made yesterday meaningful for me.
Little did I know, one of them would go on to share it where we work and it would be posted on To Write Love's blog.
I am honored and thankful and appreciative and smiley. :)
I have worked for To Write Love since last September, and the blog is still one of the most powerful things for me.
Being able to have my own words posted there is a victory and a blessing and an answer.

I say all this to welcome any new readers.
If you look at the archives, you see I'm not the most frequent blogger.
While I hope to change that, it is always my first goal to string together words that move me and other people, words that are true and feel so real you think you might be able to touch them.
I'm glad you're reading, that you are letting your story intersect with mine.
I hope you feel the freedom to email or comment with questions, thoughts, or even your own writing.
Know that what you're thinking matters, that your story is worth telling.
I hope you'll stick with me through this season, that maybe at our intersection we will stop awhile and plant a garden.

For now, may your Tuesday night be warm and bright.
May you read good books with a cup of tea and rest in the knowledge that joy comes in the morning.
Whoever you are, wherever you are, remember you are loved.


So I Remember Later

Dear Today (or Yesterday as the case may be), I am thankful you happened.
I believe I can confidently say that today was the best Memorial Day I’ve ever had.
The others were fine, but they were just days, the possibility of a break from school or work, and (if I remembered) for remembering people who have served in my place to protect a freedom I take for granted.
(And perhaps I am a horrible person for not remembering, but that is a different blog.)
But today, I remember.

Today, I remember we are broken creatures.
I remember our brokenness is not the end, that we can let the light in through the cracks.
I remember intersections mean that we are coming from different angles.
I remember to be thankful for the crossing.
I remember we must work to sew ourselves to each other.
I remember pulling the threads takes steady fingers and commitment.
I remember that roots are worth it, no matter how temporary.
And these are pretentious and varying metaphors, yet they completely capture my Memorial Day.

Today was made of a few good conversations leading me to all those conclusions.
Tonight, I sat at a picnic table with a woman I should, by all potential intersections, already know but didn’t until two weeks ago.
As the water steadily slapped the rocks and the clouds moved like a slideshow above us, we talked about Ms. Britt and Meredith College, our love for the most beautiful of the Carolinas, the strings that attach us to where we come from and where we’ve been, and the women we believe we’ve always been and are becoming more of everyday.
When I talked about feeling like my strings are tight and the strain hurts, she tilted my perspective.
She reminded me that tight strings make for beautiful melodies and maybe my melody of this time will serve a purpose for someone else.
And maybe that doesn’t sound profound to you, reading this on a screen.
Maybe you need the darkness and streetlights and rock-slapping water to get the full effect, but for me, for tonight, she gave the metaphor a weight I needed to see.

And I remember why I wanted to come here.
It was for conversations like today, for the intentional and genuine curiosity of a stranger that plants the seeds of beautiful friendships.
It was for nights like tonight, where, despite the bugs and the heat and the humidity and the creepers, we were not leaving that fucking bench.
Days like today make me feel more alive and more myself.
And I remember my story is mine, and I choose how to tell it.
Dear Today, I needed you very much.

Monday, March 1, 2010

nostalgia and real life

Some boys and girl build forts when they're little.
They play tag, hide and seek.
They dig up worms.
They ride bikes.
But me and Tiffany?
We imagined entire communities together with plastic, creepily smiling dolls as our characters.
Barbies brought us together.
They were the common ground we built our friendship on.
She could be tomboy with the best of 'em, but we always ended up in my bedroom with the pink RV and the living room made of socks and small boxes.
I believe somewhere in these imaginings Tiffany and I were bonded for life through the love a good story.
Maybe I sound crazy.
Do you feel like that about anything from your childhood?

I hope in your reading lives that you'll consider picking up The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins.
It is the first in a trilogy (the third is due out this August), and I promise you will not regret reading it.
The pacing is well done and quick--before you realize it, you've read 80 pages.
The story is dystopian, set in a futuristic world that is mostly awful and unpleasant.
However, the main character Katniss is so strong and fierce that you are compelled to keep going into this fragmented society.
Take a chance on it, and let me know how it goes. :)

I wish there was more to report on my life as of late.
Real life, it turns out, is actually quite uneventful on a daily basis when one works and doesn't have many obligations outside of that.
Perhaps my next post will be more creative.

I hope wherever you are, you enjoy your life.
I hope you are reading good stories and are in the company of great friends.

take care of you.

Sunday, February 21, 2010


I don't have anything much to say.
The week has been taxing for me, and stringing words together in sentences to capture how I'm feeling or where I am right now will demand more of me than I can presently give.
Since I said I wanted to write every two weeks at least, I'm going to give you something.
Even if the words are not my own.
Wherever you are, thank you for being a part of my life.
I hope your day is lovely.
I promise another post soon.

Now, for a poem from Anis Mojgani, a spoken word poet (who came to Heavy and Light).
I respect this man very much.

take care of you.
and remember hope.

love to you from miles away.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

This Beautiful Day

Today has blended into the early parts of tomorrow, but this day is too good to end yet.
Sometimes, good days begin with the night before.
This is one such case.
I shall recount my simple pleasures here.

Yesterday afternoon, I left work and ventured to the library.
Brevard County is thick with wonderful public libraries.
I am slowly but completely falling in love with them.
Since there are several branches (the towns in Brevard are spread out), the times vary with some staying open later on particular days.
I had to drive to Cocoa Beach since it was open after work.*
Despite the sudden downpour, I was smiling and excited.
It was Friday, and I had good books to read, and I was going to dinner with Chloe.**
While I waited for Chloe to finish with work, I read Scarlett Fever by Maureen Johnson.
It's a sequel, and I just ate it up.
Her writing is witty and layered and incredibly funny.
After going to TGI Friday's and enjoying some wine with dinner and long conversation, I headed home full and feeling renewed.
There is a new depth you reach when you fill the air with conversation because you enjoy another's company for hours after the food is gone and drinks are finished.
I went to sleep feeling the most content I have in the last few weeks.

Due mostly to my wine indulgences and partially to my being tired from the work week, I slept in until noon.
My sleep was deep and thick with dreams, but not the kind that drain you of rest.
I began my day by finishing Maureen's book.
Although it ended on a crazy teetering cliffhanger, I loved all of it.
Then, I got ready to go out for the day.
I put on make-up because I wanted to.
I don't like wearing it when I feel like I have to.
I wasn't doing anything specific today to merit make-up wearing, but I wanted to fix myself up for a date with myself.
To some, a date with yourself can seem weird, but they are part of my mental health.

I ended up talking to my sister on the phone while sitting in the Chick-fil-a parking lot for over an hour.
Talking to my mom and my sister regularly make me feel more connected to home and North Carolina.***
Then, I just went to Target.
Most of you know I don't just go into places like Target to wander.
I go to the mall to wander sometimes, but not Target.
When I make a trip to Target, I know exactly what I'm getting, and I get it and get out.
Tonight, however, was a different occasion.
It is a result of a very happy and unexpected discovery--the Target I went to has copies of Bright Star.
If you don't know what I'm talking about, just google the movie and then rent it.
It's amazing.

Last semester, it kinda changed my life.
I was, yet again, on a date with myself when I went to watch it in the theater.
I was mesmerized by Ben Whishaw's portrayal of John Keats and intrigued by the letters and the poetry.
I've never been very good with poetry, reading and understanding it, especially the old stuff.
Mr. Keats and the story of his life in this movie made me want to change that.
This fascination and desire to know more and study eventually (combined with several other things, of course) led to me deciding that I definitely want to go to graduate school for English.
As I'm sure you can gather, I've wanted this movie in my collection since I first saw it.
I hadn't been able to find it in stores until tonight.

So cheerful I was about finding the film on DVD that I went on a wander through the rest of the store.
I thought there may be more treasures just waiting in the other nooks.
I left with another movie, a three dollar pair of shoes, lotion, and a bottle of wine.
But my head was in the clouds.
I mean, don't you know that feeling when you were a kid of seeing the most awesome toy in the toy aisle, the one that you saw advertise on TV in commercials?
It's like the toy wants to come home with you, and to your surprise, your mom says sure.
The giddy grin stays on your face long after you leave the store.
That's what my simple purchases at Target were like tonight.

In the excitement of getting to watch Bright Star whenever I wanted, I read a short biography of John Keats in the bookstore after Target.
I checked the book out of the library yesterday.
Keats's biographies are difficult to find.
They're never in bookstores, and I haven't found many in libraries.
I want to read Andrew Motion's bio of Keats****, but it hasn't arrived for pick-up at the library yet.
Upon finishing the biography, I returned home for a late but quite enjoyable dinner of salad, pasta, and fish.

Today has been serene and beautiful.
I'm glad I got to share it with you. :)
I guess I'm so thankful for this day because of the majority of crappy ones I've had lately.
Having a day as good as this one hasn't happened for a while.
It teaches us to be appreciative.
Good days wouldn't be near as good if we didn't have the bad days to compare them to.
Have you had this experience recently?

I hope your soul is warm and your heart is light.
Breathe deep and have a lazy Sunday.
Let me know what you're reading and what you think about it in the comments.
Remember that you are loved.
Know that you are important to me.
Thank you for reading.

take care of you.


*contrary to popular belief, Cocoa and Cocoa Beach are completely separate towns. And when you live on the mainland, driving beachside feels so far away.

**Chloe is a friend from work. She's in charge of the street team and benefits, but she does a whole lot of other shit that doesn't even get a title.

***Obviously, not rocket science, but its importance for my sanity and well being should not be understated.

****His book inspired Jane Campion to write and direct the film.

Friday, January 29, 2010

It didn't take long

for me to be late about posting.
Oh, well.

First things first, my membership to the B and N expires at the end of the month.
And I think, maybe, just maybe, I will sign up for a Book-A-Million (BAM) membership instead of renewing my B and N.
Now, y'all know how faithful I am to the B and N.
But down here, the BAMs are just better.
Their hours are longer, they seem to have a bigger selection of my preferred YA.
I mean, the decision has not been made yet (mostly because I'm poor this month), but.
Just thought I'd fill you in.
Because really, if I get a BAM membership, that's a big deal.

I find myself not writing as much as I'd like.
I've been wondering why this is, and I have some semblance of an answer.
Sometimes, I feel like my whole self is being ripped different directions.
I have to focus on work, my dreams, my new living situation, what I'm consuming, what I'm reading, staying connected to home, being present where I am, etc.
The pressure of being focused on all of these things is I feel like there's nothing left at the end of the day to give, no lingering creativity, no beautiful arrangement of words from my own hand.
I felt this during my internship, too.
I think part of it is transition and part of it is lack of discipline.
Like, of course it's hard to say something meaningful when sometimes it feels like a small victory just making it through the day in one piece.
Anyway, this is rambley--just what's on my mind.

This week has been a hard one.
It is winding down to a hopeful close.
I am thankful for you today.
I am glad that you are reading my words, even though I'm not always fully committed to them.
I hope wherever you are, you allow yourself to see beauty happening.
Be kind to yourself.
I'm learning this, too.
Drink hot chocolate from oversized mugs,
and build fires for marshmallows.
Enjoy the company of laughter and hope.
Peace to you.


Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Ramblings of Wednesday

The day did not start off on a great note.
My espresso drink from Starbucks tasted silky.
I like my coffee (and mochas, specifically) bitter and smooth.
Silky is not something I want to happen inside my mouth.
Just before that, I bit into an apple I was hoping would be a nice, quick breakfast.
Instead, it was gritty and gag-inducing.

Settling into this environment that isn't so new but has a new context is hard.
Crappy mornings do not help this matter.
But the day didn't stay so for long.
I read Libba's blog and laughed.
Laughter is a wonderful antidote to crappy mornings.

I started Emily Dickinson's biography during lunch.
Thick book.
I only made it through the chronology and preface.
I also checked out four more books from the library.
Now, I have nine books checked out.
I know it sounds like a lot, and I probably won't read them in the three week time allotment.
But the thing is, it makes my spirits brighter just finding and holding onto the promise of a good story.
It may sound a little crazy, especially for you I'm-not-really-the-reading-type people.
It actually helps my mental health though. :)

Something I realized today:
Between the Trees is to emo-ish punk music as Kenny Chesney is to country music.
Since BTT is one of my favorite bands, this is a sad realization.
I think Kenny can put on a good show, and I enjoy his vibe.
He hasn't written a new song in years.
He just keeps writing the same one and singing it over and over.

It seems to me that BTT is much like this.
Ryan (the lead singer) writes the same song again and again and again and again.
They are all about him loving a girl and a) missing her, b) wanting to hold her, or c) telling her how much he loves her.
And that's awesome.
But I need a little thought, some vocabulary, and a little fucking thought.
I mean, I'm really glad that you miss your girlfriend, but can you please figure out a different way to express yourself?
Because quite frankly, sir, you sound like a broken record.
You can say "I miss you" in one song, but there are other creative and thoughtful ways to express your misery at her absence.
See what I just did there?
"Misery at her absence" = missing her = not hard = actually thinking before speaking/writing.
It is really dumb because I think the guys are really talented, and I love Ryan's voice.
I just can't really take him seriously anymore.
Also upsetting: it took them three years to come out with a sophomore album!
Three years.
And all you have to sing about is how much you <3>

In other music updates of my life, I was introduced to Bon Iver in the fall.
The lyrics and Justin's voice mesmerize me.
I hope you will take a minute and listen, especially "Skinny Love."
Justin wrote the whole first album out in a cabin in the woods by himself.

I can't believe this is my second post in a week.
I guess it's good to start strong.
Hope your Wednesday night is cozy and warm.


Monday, January 11, 2010

New Beginning

So as it turns out, I wasn't so good about carving out writing time in my schedule in the fall.
This winter is an attempt to be better.

Some of you may know this already, but for those who don't:
I've left the land of the pines for the land of the palms.
At the end of my term, TWLOHA offered me a full time job that I accepted.
If you don't know this already, I'm sorry it is happening through an Internet post.
I only had three weeks at home, and I did as much visiting and hanging out as I could.
Forgive me.

And since my mind is scattered today, I leave you with my thoughts in a list:

1. Heavy and Light was amazing. It is crazy to be on the team instead of in the crowd. I got to meet Anis Mojgani. He is one of the kindest souls I've ever met--gentle, sweet, raw, and honest.

2. I am incredibly grateful for the constant company of books. They meet me in ways that keep me grounded.

3. Cocoa has a quiet library with great nooks. I believe I enjoy frequenting it.

4. In the past week, I have drank coffee almost every day. I realize many college students do this for survival, but I didn't. It has always been a symbol of transitioning into being a grown-up, which I guess is what I am now. haha.

5. At Heavy and Light, Aaron Gillespie compared Zach Williams to a male version of Aretha Franklin. I agree with him. Do you?

6. Today, I will check out Whitman's Leaves of Grass and some of Emily Dickinson's poetry. I have been very curious about poetry since my newfound love on John Keats this past fall.

7. It's actually cold in Florida!! When we were driving home from Heavy and Light, it was 29 degrees--29 DEGREES!! That is legit cold. I was ecstatic. Earlier that day, it was sleeting (only for a few minutes and melting upon meeting the ground, but still--sleet. In Florida).

Wherever you are, I hope you're reading good books.
If you are, tell me their titles. :)