Busted Give a Damn and Moment of Compassion

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

5:55pm

Sitting alone in the dark, just asked John for a few minutes of silence. Sometimes all the noise and chaos of everyday life just gets to be too much, and I need space, dark, and silence to bring it all back around. Had planned on writing later on tonight, but I need the quiet now.

Today was my last session of 101. This semester really has been... like I've said again and again... just a lot. I'm surprised it's almost over, because while I have done what I need to do for school, like superficially, I've been so caught up in so much else, that I've barely noticed the time passing. Oddly, I actually sort of look forward to writing these papers and finishing out the semester.

We just had a TV delivered; John ordered one for us over Thanksgiving break, and it arrived today. I feel a little bad not helping him with it, but it's just been so much stimuli today, that I must sit here and not be bothered. Just ate some leftover pizza and am getting ready to go to the Rec. I'm hoping that's going to bring my energy back around so I can do some reading/research/grading tonight. Whatever productive thing I do, it would be good to put in a couple of hours. I'm trying to pace myself these last two weeks, yes, but still keep going.

I had a rare moment of mercy today. A student walked into class twenty minutes late, after everyone had already finished the quiz and we were on to the semester review. I held him after class to see what was up, and there's this grown man speaking in a whimpering voice about PRT troubles. I'd let out five minutes early anyway, so I asked him why he didn't tell me what had happened. He said, looking sadly at the floor and faltering for words, that he figured I wouldn't care. :( Um, hello? I always make that optional study guide, give that optional review... I don't care? Ooofff... I know I probably shouldn't have, but I asked him if he wanted to take the quiz and waited while he finished it. I remember always feeling nearly ready to blow my head off between Thanksgiving and Christmas break as an undergraduate. Every little frustration was inflated, but so, too, was any small act of kindness. So, I was unreasonably and illogically nice. Oh well.

(WHY DID JOHN JUST COME BUSTING THROUGH HERE TURNING THE LIGHTS ON AND DIGGING THROUGH THE CLOSET?!?!?! SILEENNNNNNNCCCCEEE!!!)

Oy, John and I are very different on this detail. He wakes up full of zest and perk. I wake up full of anxiety and exhaustion. Perky comments about the day and tickling me makes me feel like I'm just going to take a massive dump in the middle of the floor. >:( When I get off from school/work, I want quiet, I want a void. No more sensory input!!!

Although, I have to say, I am getting a little better about my noise intolerance. Two kids across from me at the library today were having an all out conversation about something totally irrelevant to their school work (which is the only way I'm ever able to mentally excuse chitchat in a library), and I was able to complete my own task without having to say something about it. Well, I really don't usually say something about it, but I sit there and think so hard about saying something that I can't concentrate on my work. But today I did my work! Yay me! OK, so I know how ridiculous that sounds, but we all have our little hang ups.

So, on lots of things recently, I'm finding my give-a-damn to be busted, as the song goes. Usually, always really, I am so exceptionally compassionate and caring that... no matter my own situation, I will find one more little piece of myself to dig up for you. I think I've dug all I can dig lately, sourced myself out to various areas where there's been an affinity, and now... I'm just irritated. I have my own shit to deal with, and for once, that is going to be my priority. I have academic and personal things I'm trying to take care of, and when various situations and people just keep bringing me the same shit on different days and are still unable to acknowledge where I'm at... I'm just saying... my give a damn's busted.

OK, I better go to the Rec now before I really can't get up. I'm soooooo tired!!!

E(mb)ra(c)e me, (re)place me.

See, you can embrace me
or you can erase me
but you can't place me
on the shelf
in the cool recesses
of your mind.
I won't stay, I won't wait.
It's about a quarter 'til
"it's too late."
You can't walk away
come back any day
expect me to be the same
it don't work that way.
I gave what I had,
if it wasn't enough, too bad.
'Cause you can embrace me
or you can erase me
but you can't replace me.

Getting Ready for a Swim

Monday, November 29, 2010

8:26am

Well, first things first, Carly turns 21 today! Happy birthday, little sister! I hope to have the time after my research and writing day to take her out for a celebratory drink.

Despite all the reading and writing I need to do today, I am first going to the Rec Center to swim some laps. I find it's even more important, in times of heightened stress and busyness to be sure to take that kind of time for the self. And there really is something connecting about the water, that calms me and puts me in touch with myself. After all, 70% of my body is made of water. I believe the body has its own intelligence, and when it can interact with things that make sense to it, it behaves better for you.

Nothing exciting has happened since I last posted; just figured I might try to get into a morning and evening groove with this to allot some quiet time. Today's going to be a marathon, as well as these next couple weeks, but I'm strong and calm. *Flexes* Lol

Our own prisons?

Sunday, November 28, 2010
11:34pm

I've spent my day, intermittently, reading Foucault, articles about Gone with the Wind and The Awakening and about feminism in general. The last article I read has left my mind busy, so I will relieve it some here.

It talked about the woman-angel and the woman-monster. The woman-monster was a monster because she was free, creative, and assumed agency in her own life. The woman-angel was an angel because she fulfilled the male-created notions of feminity. But not only did the woman-angel fulfill these notions, she internalized them so hard that she came to think she'd created and chosen them for herself. Thus, she became her own prison.

That disturbs me a little bit. I've always been as much of a free thinker as possible. My mind's always been my most prized possession, because that's what I can think and understand with, and I want no changes or alterations made to it without my consent. For example, when I had my wisdom teeth removed in high school, I was upset to tears about being forced into medically-induced unconsciousness. I cared very little, however, about having someone cut into my jaw. So anyway... I like to be the boss of my mind. This article makes me wonder how much that is possible. How much have I become that which was external, perhaps even rejectable, to me at one point?

I'm from a very conservative, old-fashioned little town. Of all my relatives, none are divorced. None are queer. None cross any non-normative lines of any sort, unless I fail to remember something glaring. (This is not, by the way a criticism, only a pondering.) The men have all worked labor jobs involving something mechanical. The women have all worked desk jobs. Yard work has been the responsibility of the men, save for one aunt when her husband lost his sight, and the housework has always been the responsibility of the women.

I frankly cannot imagine another way of being in my family. I cannot imagine doing something even remotely radical, like having a classically "masculine" job or just living singly and still being part of the group. It hasn't really dawned on me until very recently, but come to think of it... it's rather bizarre.

At Thanksgiving, my cousin, wanting to gain her mother's permission for a facial piercing, appealed to me. "Casie, you're the rebel, what do you think?" Seriously? I'm the family rebel? Perhaps a little, but it's not as if I'm over here cross dressing or... maybe it's the affront to religiosity? I don't think I've affronted anything, taken a turn, maybe. It's just interesting to me, how little we really do deviate from the paths laid in front of us. We can't think beyond certain known options, and so by selecting among the knowns, we think we've "chosen." But how free are we really? I could go into the whole freewill argument right now, but I'm mostly interested in how external rule systems become internalized, how we can become our own prisons and how best to avoid that. Of all the things I hope I never do, it's to put bars around myself, because I would be that crazy bird that beats herself to death off the cage in an attempt to fly away.

First Sunday of Advent

Sunday, November 28, 2010

11:14am

Slept in late, had a cup of coffee, now writing this and waiting 'til I'm allowed to drink water again (Zicam) before heading to the Rec. I've got a long, busy day planned. It's almost all research and writing, and I am beyond overwhelmed. I figured this could help. I've got soft music going, lights turned off, and I'm alone with my thoughts in a relatively quiet moment before starting.

Today marks the beginning of Advent. I didn't realize this until I was on facebook this morning and noticed Sister Judy's post about it. Advent has always been one of my favorite parts of the liturgical year, and even now that I'm not practicing, I feel so drawn to reflection at this time of year. It's always a hurried time of year. Every year exactly what's happening now happens in my life. I go home for Thanksgiving with all these good intentions of doing school work, and mostly due to familial obligations, I get next to nothing accomplished. I am stressed the entire time I'm home, because I know what's weighing on me. Then I come back here, and I'm in a mess. So of course I long for these moments of suspension.

I miss Advent. There's no way I can tolerate sitting through Mass. The Bible is rough for me to accept as more important than any other text, so it's hard to imagine myself reading that. I thought I'd try one of those online Advent devotions, but that was even worse. They insist that you believe so much that maybe you don't. Still, I connect with this time of year.

I connect with the quiet. The space. The darkness, waiting, and longing. I don't wait for a Messiah to deliver me to Heaven. I don't wait for vindication, or even a feeling of security in the cosmic. As has always been the case with me, I think of the children, and we're all children so that term is broad. I think of them, us, all waiting to be held. The Nativity speaks to me on the levels of metaphor and image. To me, it represents the birth of light and love. It happens in the dark and quiet. It descends gently.

That's what I think about. That's what I wait for. Some things will never make sense again, and in certain ways I'm glad of that for being more open to the greater mystery. But still other things, love and light, dark, quiet longing... those still make sense.

I hope that you all have a blessed Advent, no matter your style of celebration.

Peace and Light.

Busted ass tired.

Friday, November 26, 2010
10:24pm

In my bedroom at home now, sitting in this very old rocking chair that was Little Mam-maw's great grandma's. That's eight generations, including me. Sometimes I think I can feel the spirits of the women who sat in this chair before me, and when I rock, it's as if they all rush to embrace me. Maybe I'm making it up, but it's a nice delusion to have.

I sat with Mam-maw for three hours tonight. Apparently Pap-paw didn't tell her he'd asked me to sit with her. Damnit, Pap-paw! So when she asked, I didn't know what to say besides "yes." I assured I wanted to be there, and if I hadn't been down there at that moment I would have been down earlier in the day. She kept insisting I could leave. And honestly, the overwhelming weight of these papers I have to write was bearing down on me pretty hard. But I had agreed when asked, and I wasn't going to let her think I didn't want to be with her.

I am packing up to leave right now. I'm going to head over in the morning, as early as possible, because it is evident that I'm just not going to be able to accomplish much here.

I did read a good bit at Baristas this afternoon. I ran into Bill Flewelling... he was one of the guys I met through the poetry circle up there. I've known him I guess since I was fifteen. He wrote two poems about me in the course of the time I spent listening to classical music reading about Foucauldian philosophy. (I feel like this stuff is really personally important to me right now, so I don't mind reading it.) When I went to get another latte, I spoke to him, and he handed me the poems to read. I couldn't make out his handwriting, so he read it to me. They were both really nice. He does that for about every woman that walks through the doors of Baristas. I have one or two taped to my attic door here in this bedroom actually, that he wrote for me when I was still in high school. I think it's so sweet that he can take a non-momentous little smile in passing and let people know these things are noticed. It's not pertinent just to the subject of the poem, obviously, but all people. How many times have you felt like a wave or a smile went wasted? It was interesting, because as I smiled at him today, I thought, well, he doesn't recognize me anymore, what was the point of that?

And I needed it today. As most people who are quite close to me already know, I haven't been in a great place this semester. It's been one personal drama after the other. I really don't know how I'm still swimming. Illnesses, near deaths, trying to be there for friends, constantly being in a state of adjustment, starting grad school and my position as a TA, pretty much forsaking my 7-year stint in fitness minus one Zumba class per week... it's been, really rough. And I can always deal with busyness and stress, but when you throw all this personal bullshit on top of it, well... I'm seeing a counselor right now. And I don't mind for people to know that. My brain is incredibly tangled up with everything that's happened, and I just need a little help even knowing what I'm thinking about because... I don't know sometimes. I'm losing things constantly. I cry more days than I don't. I'm always on the verge on an anxiety attack, and really, this semester is the first time I've had a true anxiety attack since high school. While I generally do experience a lot of anxiety daily, I can usually talk myself down from high states of panic, but that's just where I've been this semester. And I'm not too freaked out, just trying to get through these last two weeks in one piece.

I've been debating back and forth whether or not I should go ahead and work at Barnes and Noble over the holiday or not. Some of my old journal and blog entries I've read... yeah, I do that sometimes when I have really lost touch with myself... reveal to me just how overextended I permit myself to sometimes be. I read one where I think I was at three different jobs in a single day... I taught fitness, worked at one of the coffee shops, and went to conduct an interview for the paper. I'm inherently a million things at once, but I don't think I need to always be acting on them all at one time, and I'm wondering if I'm going to actually be able to say "enough" at the end of this semester and not put another iron in the fire. The thing is... what else will I do? I get a little nervous about depression when I'm not doing something, or ten things, and that will be a month without any real appointment to do anything. But I just feel like, maybe just this once... I need to let the motion stop. Frequently people ask why I always wanted to do so much at once, and well... there are lots of reasons for it, but one of the big ones is a centrifugal force idea, that if I just keep it all up and spinning real, real fast, it won't fall down and crash on top of me. But I think a month should be sufficient time to recover from any crashes. And I can do my reading and stuff. Play piano. Relax... see how I'm listing what I can do in my free time? Free time really makes me nervous. I'm hoping that I just say 'enough' though. I don't think... since the summer of my junior year of high school, that I've ever had a month to catch up with myself. I think, perhaps, that it's vital.

I have a friend on my mind right now, too. And this friend and I have always been incredibly close, but it's also always been rather flammable. I don't know what to make of that, as when I think of "friendship," I generally think of people rolling along amicably with no real huge glitches. And I don't know why I continue? I suppose it's because once when I was drunk she shared her poems with me, or because she needed me and let me be there, or any number of things that have been unlike other friendships. But at some point, you have to ask yourself, is this healthy? No other friendship has made me more miserable more frequently. Also, no other friendship has made me feel as good as this one does when it's going well. I feel, sometimes, like it's just totally psychotic. Idk, I just don't know what to do about it. Perhaps there's nothing I can do. But maybe I need to assign it less importance in my life. Because I have a lot going on right now, too, and I need to hear something other than how I'm not strong enough, how I'm awkward, how I'm confused. Let me say this loud and clear: I know who and what I am. All I need from you is love and support, not persuasion, not doubt, not randomly peacing out of my life with no clarification or closure. There's been no friend in my life I've gone out on the line for more, and while I did it for you and don't expect a lot in return, just a little more than "whatever" would be helpful.

Friendship has been a shaky subject for me really, all my life. Always I've been more at home with people 15-20 years older than I am. And while that's fine in some ways, in other ways it's awful. I straight up don't understand why my peers think certain things are important, why they are interested in certain things, how they have the energy or enthusiasm to be out until two in the morning. And that's bad, because it means rarely do I have a meaningful friendship with someone I'm around on a regular basis. I clique easily with people who are my seniors. I understand what the hell they are talking about. They aren't so frantic, their spirits don't overwhelm me. But they don't usually ask me to come do much with them, because, you know... that's awkward. Idk, I generally feel lonely anymore minus John. I don't open up to many, and there are various reasons for that. Reactions people have shown me in the past to things I've tried to say, people coming and going so rapidly, people having a general discomfort with opening up or being opened up to. It wears me out. I feel like the whole reason I care to study literature and a foreign language is my love for people, and I was honest during orientation when we had to share in small groups what our biggest challenge is for school. Everyone essentially answered time management, but I've got that down. I've been juggling a thousand things since before I could drive. What's hard for me is getting depressed like that, not seeing any purpose, and pushing through those months of feeling like this. I'm studying because I want to get at, just a little tiny bit closer, what's essentially human. And when humans are this separate and isolating, cold... I don't really care to learn anymore. I just want to lie down and let the grass grow up around me. Fuck it, don't care... But I know I cycle through like this, and probably in a couple months I won't feel quite this way and I don't want to sabotage that day two months from now where I may be sitting wondering, Casie, why didn't you just pull it out of the damn ditch? Really... just an ounce more effort and you wouldn't be kicking yourself in the ass right now. So I'm gonna get behind this train and shove it up the hill. I'm not in a good place to do it, but there's not another alternative. And sometimes loneliness can push me through school work, because I get so sad that I find comfort and comradeship in the voices of the authors I'm reading. It's like, oh yes, that makes sense. I wish you were here instead of just the hand behind the pen, and we could sit and talk. So anyway, I'll make it, but I'm not gonna lie. I'm busted ass tired.

Philosophy and the Maternal Body

Friday, November 26, 2010
1:17PM

Sitting at Baristas, Irish Creme latte, extra shot at my right side. I've been reading from Philosophy and the Maternal Body: Speaking the Silence. This quote jumped out at me, and I felt like posting.

"Woman's desire dissolves before this image of the productive mother. Her sexuality is repressed, along with her voice and breath. Her pleasure becomes tied to a virile productivity."

I think I like this because of the tying of sexuality to voice and breath. It's true. And I know we're in the 21st century, but there is still that expectation to reproduce. Personally, I think it's moronic. We are over-populated. We cannot sustain the population already created, so why create more? We are wrecking the balance.

I remember one night among friends imbibing of perhaps a bit too much wine, and starting to rant. I thought the world would be better if everyone would just turn gay and adopt the babies we already have around. Why not? If you're gay, you aren't reproducing, and if you happen to want children anyway, well fantastic! There are kids who would love to have parents. Three needs could be fulfilled in one fell swoop: 1. The parents' desire for children, 2. The children's desire for parents, 3. The world's need for its children to be supported. It seems fairly flawless to me. I want to smash my head off a wall, but I suppose I ought to finish this latte before it gets cold and read some more for this paper.

I suppose it's nice.

Thursday, November 25, 2010
THANKSGIVING DAY
8:12pm

Sitting in the family room with Mom, Lori, Archie, Dad, Pap-paw, Bryan, Mam-maw, and Aunt Natalie. John, Megan, Carly, and Emily are in the dining room playing a game. John was here for awhile, but he's gone home.

I was surprised to find myself sleeping in until 1pm today. I have not done that since high school. We had the usual turkey dinner today, minus the noodles because Mam-maw isn't well. She's freezing, so the furnace is up and the rest of us are roasting. Meanwhile, she's wearing a coat and covered in two blankets eating a piece of pumpkin roll. I've never grown out of cuddling up to her, even as I've shied away from that with others. She's just one of those people who you can feel the love coming off them, and it's hard to stay away from that. I listened to her heart beating, and it was sort of sad, sort of precious. We both nearly fell asleep.

Nothing much is really happening. We are all just here. I suppose it's nice.

>:(

Grow up or give up.

Housewifery

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

8:12 PM

I have two pumpkin pies in the oven., a load of towels in the wash, and a dishwasher about ready to start. Mom is sick on the couch. Ack... I actually love taking care of people, but I think from now on, I'm just going to expect the roof to cave in. I've done zero homework today. John and I went to Baristas this afternoon with the intention of doing that, but then we had things to talk about, sandwiches to eat, and the cat was there being cute. We went to Wal-Mart... he wanted to buy his sister some mace due to the recent robberies around town. They didn't have any. Then there were various issues to be discussed. Ack. Sometimes I get so tired of the same situations presenting themselves time and again. At some point, you need to grow up. If you're the parent, be the parent. Children shouldn't be raising their parents. That's all.

Sometimes being who you are and being loved for that can be exceptionally healing. I'm thinking of something a friend said recently, that love is never wrong, even when temporary or fleeting. This friend and I are frequently on separate wavelengths, though often the same. But I would agree with her on this point. And today I have been surrounded by love, and I'm just trying to absorb and re-emanate it.

OK, wish these pies would get done already so I could get the strawberry rhubarb started and wind down for bed. Trying not to think about not exercising today. Yes, it's driving me a little nuts. Tweak, tweak, tweak. Honestly, part of the thing is this ankle. I told myself I wouldn't do anything bouncy like running or Zumba over this break when I didn't have to to let it heal up, so that doesn't leave a lot of cardio options. And really... I lifted yesterday, so I don't know what else to do anyway. Breathe... it'll be fine. What did I just say about moderation? It just... irritates me. I'm too energetic and need to go get it out of my body. >:(

Can of Whoop Ass

Wednesday, November 24, 2010
11:25AM

I told a friend this morning to open up a can of whoop ass. I was encouraged last night to keep kicking "its" ass. And, as most people who know me intimately can tell you, that is pretty much my approach to life-- an attempt to kick ass. There is no calm or natural flow to my life. I perceive this to be because I am too many things at once and therefore pulled in multiple directions. Some would call that confusion, being lost, but I know who I am... and it's just too many things. Well, I like that person, crazy and mixed up though she is. She's hard to deal with, even for me, but in those moments I feel detached from myself, I know "she" is trying. And that's about all we can do. And I don't expect life to ever feel easy or flowing for any of us. I will never stay miserable for too long. If it's gets to be too much, I will just stop being miserable. But I think that just because you feel miserable is no reason that you can't get up, slap yourself a few times across the puffy tired face, put a little coffee in your belly, and get on with it for the sake of someone else. I'm here to love. I don't know why else I'm here. Everything I've ever done has been so scattered, and I don't mind. My path isn't linear or even curving. It's multidimensional, and I'm not going to try too hard to iron it out, because I know it won't be ironed. All I can do is accept my own existence, not worry about that personal existence too much, and open up a can of whoop ass, or at least a can of Folgers in the morning. Too much love for too many to do anything but.

Got up early today, felt quite rough. Rough night last night which left my eyes swollen and by body dehydrated and sore this morning. I wanted to go back to bed. But I'd made a promise. I'll be there by 9:30. I woke Carly up, demanded just a little forcefully that she get with it with me, and we went to Convenient. I bought bacon, eggs, chocolate donuts, and orange juice. We went to our grandparents', and I proceeded to make breakfast. Carly set the table for four. I knew Mam-maw might as well not have a place, but it's too soon to acknowledge that visibly. While Pap-paw, Carly, and I ate, I could see Mam-maw in the other room, on the brink of meltdown, with the home-visit nurse. She's lost weight, and she now wears a call button necklace in case she falls while she's alone or something like that. The nurse insisted that Mam-maw eat something. She had about an eighth of a slice of bacon and half a slice of toast, maybe two sips of her orange juice. She dipped the toast in the egg yolk, which at least to me was encouraging as it suggested some preference, some desire at least for something to taste a certain way. Then she asked me what happened to the yellow part, and that wore me out. I'm not the best at eggs over easy, and I gave her what was perceivably the best egg. I tried. :( Then she started talking about something with the doctors and what not, Pap-paw didn't know what she was talking about so she started bawling and saying how he didn't believe her and thought she was crazy. She's lost her hearing aid. More cause for panic, tearing the trailer apart, and feeling crazy. It was not a good morning. It was not a perfect morning, but I did what I could with it. WE did what WE could with it.

Anyway, I ought to go get some work done. These papers are seriously stressing me out. The thing is... I'm ambivalent as fuck about even getting them done, about even being school. For the grades I've made throughout, no one would guess I felt that way all through undergraduate. I didn't necessarily want to do well. I didn't have a motivation for success. I just didn't want to suck. I didn't want to turn in what I thought was garbage. Self-degradation can be a really strong motivator when applied appropriately.

So Far Gone

So Far Gone

I remember when

my words were magic

lighting up your eyes with wonder.

But now I pull the blankets up, say,

let’s talk, and you say,

we already talked about that.

I’m peeling back the blinds

never moving from my pillow

trying to glimpse the moon.

You want me here

inside this bed, but, baby,

I’m so far gone.

The Hand Behind the Moon

The Hand Behind the Moon

The moon hid behind bare trees, summoning.

You played like a child somewhere in my periphery,

and I tried to fling myself into that purple-blue.

I was swinging hard- angry, thrilled, desperate,

remembering her, thinking of you.

And it's as you say, I can't change it all.

But I can, I can

swing my heart up to the sky,

attempt to bridge the gap between

their tiny fingers and the hand behind the moon.

More from The Awakening

"... She won't go to the marriage. She says a wedding is one of the most lamentable spectacles on earth. Nice thing for a woman to say to her husband!"

"Most women are moody and whimsical. This is some passing whim of your wife, due to some cause or causes which you and I needn't try to fathom. But it will pass happily over, especially if you let her alone." -idiots

"....When the weather was dark and cloudy Edna could not work. She needed the sun to mellow and temper her mood to the sticking point. She had reached a stage when she seemed to be no longer feeling her way, working, when in the humor, with sureness and ease. And being devoid of ambition, and not striving toward accomplishment, she drew satisfaction from the work itself.
On rainy or melancholy days Edna went out and sought the society of the friends she had made at Grand Isle. Or else she stayed indoors and nursed a mood with which she was becoming too familiar for her own comfort and peace of mind. It was not despair; but it seemed to her as if life were passing by, leaving its promise broken and unfulfilled. Yet there were other days when she listened, was led on and deceived by fresh promises which her youth held out to her."

As I Read

I read this book at the beginning of my college career and fell in love with it. I'm rereading it now getting ready to do a comparison between Scarlett O'Hara in GWTW and Edna Pontellier in the book I'm reading, The Awakening, to talk about the ways in which each one fails and succeeds as a feminist character. I have yet to do the reading to help me create a definition of an ideal feminist character, but in my head... it's impossible to be such a character. The feminist character must not only attempt autonomy, she must achieve and maintain it. This does not involve flinging yourself at a man by the novel's end, when really the one in the mist was yourself. It does not involve swimming out to sea and drowning yourself because you cannot maintain your new identity in the society you just had to beat away. Of course, I know these are high expectations, and if I were to meet a real life Scarlett o'Hara or Edna Pontellier, I'd have nothing to criticize. Still, I can't help but wish that they had some super-human qualities to make them strong and self-sustaining. Anyway, it's a nice day out and I've been sitting in the backyard on a blanket reading. Here are some quotes that have stuck with me:

"The conditions of her life were in no way changed, but her whole existence was dulled, like a faded garment which seems to be no longer worth wearing."

"She had all her life been accustomed to harbor thoughts and emotions which never voiced themselves. They had never taken the form of struggles. They belonged to her and were her own, and she entertained the conviction that she had a right to them and that they concerned no one but herself."

"Edna had once told Madame Ratignolle that she would never sacrifice herself for her children, or for anyone."

"In a sweeping passion she seized a glass vase from the table and flung it upon the tiles of the hearth. She wanted to destroy something. The crash and clatter were what she wanted to hear."

"It was not that she dwelt upon details of their acquaintance, or recalled in any special or peculiar way his personality; it was his being, his existence, which dominated her thought, fading sometimes as if it would melt into the mist of the forgotten, reviving again with an intensity which filled her with an incomprehensible longing."

"...a pity for that colorless existence which never uplifted its possessor beyond the region of blind contentment, in which no moment of anguish ever visited her soul, in which she would never have the taste of life's delirium."

"It sometimes entered Mr. Pontellier's mind to wonder if his wife were not growing a little unbalanced mentally. He could see plainly that she was not herself. that is, he could not see that she was becoming herself and daily casting aside that fictitious self which we assume like a garment with which to appear before the world."

This last one, I believe is my favorite, though I can relate to the one about wanting to throw and break things, as well. Some might say I inherited that particular trait.

Impossibility of Staying in Skin

I sort of hate using this blog again. I really liked doing them on MySpace, where I could limit who could see what. And I know, it's like... why don't you just journal, then? All I can say is I do, it's different, and I prefer this sometimes. I'll try not to be too offensive knowing that this is visible to others, but if I do say something upsetting, please just know that I write first and foremost for myself. Expressions of anger and other negative emotions will sometimes be inflated by virtue of what I'm doing.

Anyway, that said, I'm getting ready to go back to Paden City tomorrow, though I'd kind of like to go today. I'm not doing anything here really anyway, and I'm bored and lonely. John's off on a research trip, and Jesse isn't feeling well. I ought to get started on my research papers, but everyone knows what a procrastinator I am.

I'm going to meet Maureen down at Zenclay at noon for coffee, and as she put it, "so I'm not just sitting alone with my computer all day." Seriously... what about these computers? I feel like there's been a real shift in these social networking sites. What started off as ''awesome" is now irritating to most. I tend to be a shy but outgoing person, and I like talking to people online. But that peeves people sometimes.

I don't know what all I really feel like I can share on here. The thing is, I'd throw my whole soul out into cyberspace and let you all pick it apart if you cared to do so, but I know there are people in my life who don't want their shit out there. So, maybe I'll share some poems. Maybe this won't last long. Who knows? I just felt like doing it this morning.

Here's a poem I wrote in the car in the Rec parking lot yesterday.

Seduction

You seduced me
under a watercolor sky, said--
come to me.
And we were together
there by the river,
and my knees hit asphalt, hard.
You were so much more
than my sense could handle,
and I stopped
to take all of You in.
You drew me out,
and I've been chasing you
ever since.
Trying to hold You is like...
the impossibility of staying in skin.