I have been dealing with lots of negativity lately (ie no job, bad shit, bad karma, raining on sundays, etc.) so I started composing a list of things I like while I was in the car yesterday.
- driving at night on a newly paved road, smooth like satin
- watching stingrays swim, the way their flippers move like water
- fresh brewed coffee
- spider crabs
- chinese food at a tiny hot chinese restraunt, with everybody speaking fast chinese
- good phone calls
- hot days in the summer when you can see the heat on the pavement
- rainstorms
I haven't finished it, clearly. I will elaborate in the future.
I got a phone call inviting me to be an assistant for a really good friend of mine at a certain summer shakes. that means I guess I'm back at notre dame. but melissa is part of my unbeatable team, so I am not worried. I will be stitchin and bitchin and doing alterations and wardrobe crew for dummies and all sorts of good things, plus sewing a goddamn banner: the bane of my existance. but I get time to go to lovely ocracoke & all good things like that. & it's a small part time job with a little bit of money. I am pretty damn stoked about that.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
in which I get my muse back.
I have started writing again. I really like it.
whenever I don't write for months & months (I mean write consistantly, daily, for hours at a time) it is always hard to get back into it. it's like I have to remember how to form sentances & spell & be coherant all over again. but once I got it, then baby, I really got it.
someday I want to be a writer in a shiny white apartment with four cats and a new computer and a cup of coffee every few feet. that day is not today. I will let you know when it is.
whenever I don't write for months & months (I mean write consistantly, daily, for hours at a time) it is always hard to get back into it. it's like I have to remember how to form sentances & spell & be coherant all over again. but once I got it, then baby, I really got it.
someday I want to be a writer in a shiny white apartment with four cats and a new computer and a cup of coffee every few feet. that day is not today. I will let you know when it is.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
in which, life limps along at subsonic speeds.
I have been driving every day to the other high school across town to drop my sister off for summer school. it's about ten minutes away and it's really not a bad trip. city block, city block, city block, sketchy street corner; crumbling bridge, car lots, gas stations, shitty park; right turn, speed bumps, dangerous parking lot. stop the car & wave goodbye.
I took driver's ed at the other high school, something like six years ago. oh my god, when I said that to myself the first time I almost lost it. six years ago? really? I sat in the middle of the class next to autumn and doodled the whole time. made fun of the box in the road video. didn't listen. the roads around the other high school are where I learned to drive, little winding backstreets and sleepy neighborhood lanes. the twisting road into the town, following the river. past the police station, the park, the daily grind. a thousand things I used to look at almost every day.
it was raining this morning when I got in the car. I like to drive in the rain; I like finding the right mood music, watching the wipers scrambling across the windshield like little arms. and the way rain smells, the way that smell soaks into everything in the car. I had my coffee in one hand, the steering wheel in the other hand. sometimes when I had to execute a difficult turn, I'd clamp the coffee tight between my thighs and put both hands on the wheel. when I was ready to pick my coffee up again, my legs were weird and warm.
I turned down the twisting road to town. the sky was dark in front of me, gray on gray clouds swelling on the horizon. they were caught between the trees, like cotton swabs on spiny fingers. and there's the little waterfall on my right, where I used to go wading summer weekends. where I saw that crane in that weirdly poetic moment. I remember so much about this town it's ridiculous.
I hate Indiana. I hate this town with a passion. I can't stand living here. I love my house; it's like this little Indiana oasis. but every time I step out my door--I smell that weird Indiana smell. unwashed houses, processed corn, car exhaust. everything is gray & nothing matters. so it amazes me I can have so much attachment to a place I hate so much. I don't even really understand it. but there's this weird nostolgia every time I look at a shitty crumbling building, or watch the ugly brown water surge down the river. I know it's a nostolgia for something simpler, but it still weirds me out.
post-college, I still haven't found a job. I have gotten used to my cat, whose name is capone. he's got a gravally voice, growls like a dog, & miows like a raptor: mrrrrrrreeeooouw. but he loves to lay next to you on the couch & purr like crazy. & I have started writing again, which is good, I guess.
I took driver's ed at the other high school, something like six years ago. oh my god, when I said that to myself the first time I almost lost it. six years ago? really? I sat in the middle of the class next to autumn and doodled the whole time. made fun of the box in the road video. didn't listen. the roads around the other high school are where I learned to drive, little winding backstreets and sleepy neighborhood lanes. the twisting road into the town, following the river. past the police station, the park, the daily grind. a thousand things I used to look at almost every day.
it was raining this morning when I got in the car. I like to drive in the rain; I like finding the right mood music, watching the wipers scrambling across the windshield like little arms. and the way rain smells, the way that smell soaks into everything in the car. I had my coffee in one hand, the steering wheel in the other hand. sometimes when I had to execute a difficult turn, I'd clamp the coffee tight between my thighs and put both hands on the wheel. when I was ready to pick my coffee up again, my legs were weird and warm.
I turned down the twisting road to town. the sky was dark in front of me, gray on gray clouds swelling on the horizon. they were caught between the trees, like cotton swabs on spiny fingers. and there's the little waterfall on my right, where I used to go wading summer weekends. where I saw that crane in that weirdly poetic moment. I remember so much about this town it's ridiculous.
I hate Indiana. I hate this town with a passion. I can't stand living here. I love my house; it's like this little Indiana oasis. but every time I step out my door--I smell that weird Indiana smell. unwashed houses, processed corn, car exhaust. everything is gray & nothing matters. so it amazes me I can have so much attachment to a place I hate so much. I don't even really understand it. but there's this weird nostolgia every time I look at a shitty crumbling building, or watch the ugly brown water surge down the river. I know it's a nostolgia for something simpler, but it still weirds me out.
post-college, I still haven't found a job. I have gotten used to my cat, whose name is capone. he's got a gravally voice, growls like a dog, & miows like a raptor: mrrrrrrreeeooouw. but he loves to lay next to you on the couch & purr like crazy. & I have started writing again, which is good, I guess.
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