Contrast Me

poetry workshop

Tonight I will, apparently, workshop my poetry for the first time in a classroom setting, ever. I'm pretty nervous. I've never gotten critical feedback on my work from anyone else my age besides Josh.  For some reason, lately, I've gotten to a point of my poetry writing that I cannot judge whether my work is any good or not. I'm not sure why that is. It may have something to do with the fact that I've been reading more poetry than ever, and it's hard to look at, say, Leslie A. Miller's, and then look at mine...and not be completely confused.
I'm sure it's all part of the growth process.
Tonight in between my poetry class and watching Chopped with Richard I think I'm going to try to stretch. I'm making it a real point to do so, because right now my body feels tight and sore. Of course I'll feel sore after stretching, but it will be a different kind of sore--more of an elongated sore, which in my opinion, is always better than a scrunched up sore. 
Contrast Me


So much for writing a bunch on here. Oh, well. 
This semester has been going alright. I've been working most on my remaining grad school applications and my poetry for my senior thesis. I get easily frustrated because I don't have the capability to write five amazing poems every day. I expect too much of myself in that aspect, I suppose. However, last night I did have a burst of creativity and wrote a pretty good poem right before I went to bed, around 11. 
I already wrote my poem to workshop in my poetry class tomorrow, as well. We had to write about an object, and I chose some earrings my mother gave me a long time ago. I hope I didn't stray off the object too much...I tend to do that. I volunteered to workshop tomorrow, and I'm glad I did cause I have no patience when it comes to sharing my work. 
Right now I'm at the Irish Center, but I'm leaving in a few minutes. I'm having lunch with Josh and then I need to finish this waste-of-time short essay for's not even about Astronomy; we have to examine the 7 different categories of liberal arts and explain how it does or does not fit into our idea of what liberal arts are. I don't see how that applies to the class at all. 
  • Current Mood
    awake awake


Well, that was a waste of time. Yet again, I gave myself over to the seductive thought of my mom changing...only to end up with her psychotic bullshit voodoo-ridiculousness blown up in my face like a shotgun. Wooooo Nicole...when are you ever going to call it quits and just understand that any type of connection with her is fucking impossible?

Fucking optimism.

I probably should not have bitched back so much, since she has possible future control over my total savings account, since Wells Fargo are pussies with pacifiers in their mouths. But staying silent would have been as hard as watching witchhunters slap women's asses for making hot chocolate, and not doing anything.

I don't know what the heck I'm saying, but I wouldn't put it past my mom to print out my emails and wave them in front of some legal faces. I should have just shut up.
  • Current Mood
    angry angry
stars shine for you

fa lalalalaaaaaaaaa

Warm clothes? Done. Christmas shopping? Done.

Actually...I only need one other present, but that requires a special trip so it'll have to wait.

It snowed an entire the beginning of December. Insane. It really was beautiful--tear-offs from the tulle of ballet tutus. As long as I have warm clothes, I def. will not mind living somewhere it snows--if I get into those schools. I'm having doubts about my Massachusetts application...Lowery FINALLY read my personal statement (too late) and said it was too personal and they aren't going to want to take in a bag of crazy like me. Okay, so not those words--but it might as well have been. No sugarcoating.

I sent in the UTB transcript, and tomorrow I will find out if Krohn sent in the letter of rec. Hopefully he did, if not--hm. I don't know. I'll hang him by his toenails. jk

Last night was Bayou Monster's last concert for a while...who knows till when. I hate seeing things end...even things that I am not a part of. It's just a thing of mine--I get sad and lonely whenever I know that something is shutting down. It reminds me of when I left Ballerina School of Dance, or left my friends in Brownsville, or broke up with anyone, or let go of my mother--anything like that. It's hard for me to let things go. I'm happy where I am right now, obviously--but the transition period is always hard for me.

I need to finish that story I'm writing for workshop tomorrow--I'm feeling pretty good about it. I actually don't think I'm going to add any more to it, just refine it.

This week is going to be busy with errands. I need to look up when my finals are...I forgot. ha
  • Current Music
    Modest Mouse

Oh goodness,

I sure do feel sick. Nauseous, tired, weak...not good. I'm at the front desk now, and I have a doctors appointment after to get my last "I'm gonna be one less, one less!" shot. Then I'm on call--then staff meeting at 10. Ugh. I'm not sure if this is still lingering from being up all night Saturday, or if I'm coming down with something...but it does not feel pretty.

I actually got up from class and walked out this morning. It was a mixture of me feeling gross, and feeling passively manic (yes, trust's a feeling) about my short story for fiction. I'm not even sure. But I got to my room, wrote for about 20 minutes, and then passed out.

I'm gonna go try to work on my short story now...or maybe I'll just end up watching hulu and chilling.
  • Current Mood
    uncomfortable uncomfortable
Say What You Mean

guess who?

As You Make a Fool of Yourself

You smell like my grandmother’s
bed—dusty sea breeze potpourri and stagnant
air so foreign it’s familiar.

Your skinny ankles jerk, see-sawing
your laugh, a suspendered child I want
to kill. A waft of burgundy dahlia

wine I drown in. Your embarrassing
guffaws soften although I’ve had only tap water.
You, inside me once, tore at my body

with an eyebrow-furrowed pain
I committed to memory. Now, I don’t exist
as you crawl across the ground, through

clementine peels and loneliness. Your eyes so wide,
hair so pale. You are those threadbare sheets,
those Vick’s scented pillows.

What everyone wants to forget—
A reminder of what survives death.
  • Current Mood
    drained drained
I Want Pure

A day

This is an amazing song:

Satellite Skin - Modest Mouse

If you break these moth wing feelings
Powdering dust on your fingers
We know we're not praying we're kneeling
Hard enough just to say you believe them
Well how the heck did you think you could beat them
At the same time that you're trying to be them
Hard enough just to say you don't need it when they
Took it up while you were still eating
Well satellite, satellite skin

Just enough just to say you don't mean it
Well, when everybody's willing to listen
Oh satellite, satellite skin
You can say what you want you're forgiven
Well happy fucking congratulations
Well everyone, everyone wins
Just like being in my own solar system
Doing good things but then totally eclipse them
Oh what's the use, oh what the hell
(Lost before we had a cause, had a cause)

If you break these moth wing feelings
Butterfly knives in the ceiling
Well everyone, everyone's waiting
Detachments get praised and completed
You can say what you want and not mean it
When no one really seems to be waiting
If you sweep up this mess I've created
Nothing's left to show I existed
Except satellite, satellite skin

Asking for a question
Was it easier said than was actually done?
Do you even believe that
Do you even believe that there's a race to be won?

If you break these moth wing feelings
I have seen it all because satellite skin
Over innocent eyes
I'd like to know these morbid opinions
Get stacked in all those usual avoided spots
Just to tell you how I could not have seen
Through to the gist of those unhappy
Happy accidents


Oh, lord. Miscommunication. But, I had a really great talk last night with Josh about spirituality...I really do feel as if sometimes I can see almost a visual change in myself in terms of coming into myself. As if I was a red line drawn across a page, extending further and further as time goes by. It feels good to be aware of that.

My head is buzzing buzzing buzzing with ideas.
  • Current Mood
    calm calm
Sign of Intellegence

Spirituality tidbits...

Something has been whispering in the very back of my brain (ever since I gave up Wicca/Paganism) that I'm missing something. It's this little niggling in my mind that's whispering "Maybe you shouldn't have cut yourself off...maybe all of that did have some sort of realness to it...what's the harm of exploring it again...if it's not real, there's no harm done..."

I dunno, I just feel as if I'm turning my back on something really huge. Something real. Something that wants me to turn back around. Setting aside for a moment all logic, whether it's real or not, I feel as if I was able to find some sort of peace when I had my pagan spirituality. A very silly example is whenever I was on my period...through my paganism I would turn the experience into a spiritual one, and actually find the entire ordeal very cleansing and natural. I accepted the bloating and the pain and the awful draining, marking it as some sort of spiritual release---something that's harder to do when it's a Me as a human on this earth with nothing else to attach myself to in terms of spiritualness. I don't really know how to explain it.

Maybe this makes me weak, but I almost feel sometimes as if the world around me weeps when I don't turn to look at it. In terms of spirituality. Like, when I walk around as a non-pagan, it's a little sprite who kind of looks up at me from the grass and cries because I am ignoring it.

Now that I write it out, I don't know what to think even more. I don't know if this is some sort of manifestation of my psychological disorders...magical ideations, I'm just not sure. I wish I had some concrete answers, most of all...I wish I could just trust in whatever is brought to me. Just trust that THAT is real and that's that. But I guess that is what faith is. It's hard to have faith when I have such a broad knowledge of psychology, however. I don't want to simply be a slave to any psychological disorder I have. But at the same time, what if the whole psychology of it is just one group's viewpoint of it, and just as much of a imperfection as religion/spirituality itself?

In other words...currently, because I'm giving so much credit to psychology, I see religion/spirituality as an imperfection---something that may have falsities, ideations, etc. But what if it's actually the other way around? I don't know if I'm making sense, but it certainly makes sense inside my head. I'd like to sit down and ponder this further, but I've got stuff to do...I'm working on a spreadsheet for Lori. Maybe I'll have more time to think about it later. But of course, I always say that and then it always slips my mind....

  • Current Music
    Modest Mouse


 I'm serious. . .I've had it up to HERE with all the fucking health problems that keep coming my way! Now, because things weren't already UNHEALTHY enough, I've acquired a lovely UTI, and my period has randomly decided to show up AGAIN. WTF?! My stomach is hurting so bad from both the UTI and the random period that I can hardly stand up straight. I swear, I'm sick of health issue after health issue. WTF am I doing wrong? Oh, it probably has to do with all the random nutrition I've been getting.

Well, I was going to write more, but circumstances have led me to become busy and now it's late. . .so till tomorrow. . .