"I Can Finally Breathe..."

I really want a caesar salad. Nothing else will satisfy me. I had a pretty carbtastic breakfast and couldn't wait to get some vegetables at a later meal, but it was a Tuesday, so there weren't really any later meals - just snacks. Lots of cheese and yogurt that aren't going to solve my sinus problems. Aaaand some really fab blueberry pie. Anyway, no one really cares what I ate all day. Let it suffice to say that I would do anything for a caesar salad right now. ANYTHING.

After my nine hours of classes, I practically skipped to my car. I simply couldn't contain the excitement any longer. It started building in July when I went to the Warped Tour (for the first time... hehe) and found out Anberlin had an album, New Surrender, coming out in September. It's been mounting since I got back to school and told my editor that I had exclusive rights to review it. Exclusive, you hear. Nobody else touches that article. Nobody else even touches the idea of writing that article. It's MINE. When the clock struck midnight last night, I was sooo tempted to just download the CD and play it on loop all day long today. But I didn't. I held out through nine torturous hours of class and booked it to Newbury Comics the second I was free. I got the LAST COPY. And it is a beautiful, beautiful thing, especially at high volumes while you're speeding down the highway. Trust me, I know.


Amandasaurus's new favorite thing: Hot chai with apple juice. It's sweet and warm and tastes, as Roomie says, like a liquedated apple pie.

It's no fun on the sidelines.

I'm feeling loads better tonight. My face just hurt so bad before. There was no way it wasn't a sinus infection. But I caught it so early and got the drugs quick enough that they're already working. I can breathe, I can think, I can make a dent in the homework I once again left until the last minute....

The light in this room flickers really badly. It’s sort of like a strobe light but more of a nuisance and less conducive to dance parties. Maybe I’d feel differently if I were listening to Cobra Starship instead of House of Heroes. Either way I’m still trying to write this thing for this class that I don't want to write a thing for.

But let’s think about the bright side of things for a minute. Tonight I said to Schneckleface, “I want you to come to Cobra Starship with me so badly that Ima buy you a ticket. Okay?” So we’re going, and I AM PUMPED. I just wanna get down on the floor... come on, bring it!

Brian Pittman for President

I watched the presidential debate last night. I have to say that I could have thought of at least two dozen better ways to spend a Friday night off the top of my head, such as distributing little plastic green army men or eating broken glass, but alas, I have decided to try to care about this year's election - or at least look like I care, and know what people are talking about when it comes up in conversation. Not to mention I was too sick to do anything worth doing. Hacks made dinner for last year's posse, and both the food and the company were delicious. Not that I tasted the company or anything; I mean "delicious" in the Guy Ripley sense, i.e., "wonderful."

I've leaned toward Obama for the past like half a year, mostly because Brace Face presented a really convincing argument for him last spring and nobody ever said much to refute him. Bad reason for bias, I know, but that's how it was. Now that I'm getting more informed, I'm starting to feel like either one would be capable, but both would also do things that I object to. Everyone says you should care and vote because every vote counts, but I'm starting to feel like it would be better for me to refrain from voting rather than making an arbitrary choice. Because if every vote counts, I don't want mine to be the wrong one.

I'm uber sick and my mommy's here to take me home and make me all bettery. Go-Co's effing health center is closed on weekends - as if no one will ever need a doctor on a Saturday. Dumb dumb dumb. TTFN.

Pocketful of Stars

I have discovered the beauty of chai tea. I dislike most teas. I think it's because I'm accustomed to drinking really sweet things, like juice, and for hot drinks, really rich things like cocoa. Anyway, I've now had chai tea twice in the past week and found it to be delicious both times. This is a good thing, since I'll have to drink a lot more of it if I catch a cold. Which I think I am.

I made like a hundred paper stars during class today and handed them out to people at dinner. I love the thought of a little origami star brightening someone's day. I also like the idea of manufacturing my own wishing stars. There are a lot of things I need to wish for (or just a few things that I need to wish for a lot of times).

My pajamas still smell amazing. Kate has determined that I am an oyster and that I change sexes while I sleep. Bear vehemently refutes this claim. Meanwhile, I just wish that whatever boy smelled this good would come schneckle with me again, and that I would have some recollection of it this time.

Good thing I have all these wishing stars. ^_~

....the flip....?


Roomie and I are taking turns smelling my PJ shirt because for some reason, it smells OVERWHELMINGLY of boy. And I am baffled and confused for several reasons. One, I don't think I've even spoken to a boy in person in like two or three days, let alone hugged one or schneckled with one. Two, this is the shirt I SLEEP in. And three, it's not like this thing came straight out of the wash or anything. I've already worn it one or two nights, and this is the first time it's smelled this good. o_o

Conjectures and theories are welcome.....


Gasp! It's been nearly three days since my last post? How can that be?! I mean, aside from the obvious answer that I spent the entirety of yesterday doing all the homework I had to pass in for my nine hours worth of classes today.

Found this in Barrington today; I was sad at first because I didn't see it where we left it, but this is SO much better.

Poetry assignment of the week: Choose a 16th, 17th or 18th century poem and respond or create its negative image using the same stylistic techniques (rhyme scheme, meter). (As an added challenge, I decided to also use a similar voice with a similar vocabulary. Actually, it just felt like the poem couldn't be written any other way. It was a little less of a challenge and a little more of a compulsion. =P)

To The Nightingale
by John Milton

O Nightingale! that on yon bloomy spray
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still,
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill,
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Portend success in love; O, if Jove's will
Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate
Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh;
As thou from year to year hast sung too late
For my relief, yet hadst no reason why:
Whether the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

To the Wingless Sloth
(the lover and poet, Milton)

O poet! seeking meaning in the fray
of counterclockwise seasons void of thrill,
thou wielder of the mighty, sharpened quill,
thou seekest me when lacking words of prey?
O lover! cause thy hand, bereft, to stay
on my account? Thou hearest not the trills
of the songstress of the night, and wait until
renewed crescendo swells the faded day?
O squanderer of time, create thy fate!
Dost wish to write? Then take thy pen and try.
Dost wish to love? Then turn thy heart from hate
and fault me not (thou wingless sloth!) who flies;
I nest closer to the earth than thee in wait.
Thy “Muse” and “Love” are smothered by my sky.

On a side note, the new House of Heroes album is flipping AWESOME. Go download it RIGHT NOW. You get a sweet deal off iTunes - 16 songs for ten bucks.

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday, Someday

Whoever told Autumn he was allowed to take over already should be fired. I slept terribly last night - and in my OWN bed, which is really sad. You see, my bed is right under a huge skylight, so the cold just sort of seeps in. And I actually drank tea this morning to warm up (both my body and my vocal cords). I don't drink tea, generally. Or coffee, which I had after falling asleep for THREE HOURS this evening, completely by accident. And now I'm still going. Fudge. At least I don't have to get up for class tomorrow.

The special music went really well this morning, especially considering neither my sister nor I had ever seen the song before 9:00 today. It was a typical Rich song (Rich being the pastor/my old youth pastor): 3 chords, with the tune of the chorus repeated in the verses. So I forced myself to figure out and learn to hold the harmony notes, just to mix things up a little.

I tried to style my hair so the turquoise was unnoticeable, since I figured if my mom has such a problem with it, the older, traditionalist crowd at my church would have a much bigger problem with it. But after the service, an older lady said to me, "Is that green in your hair?" I said, "Yeah, it used to be turquoise but it faded...." And she goes "Oh! Turquoise sounds like a lovely color to put in your hair."

Could you tell my mom that? Please? Kthxbye.

Quote of the day:
Bear: I am fucking loopier than fruit loops incarnate

You didn't really think I'd make it through the weekend without posting, now, did you?

I am home.

It was the farthest I've ever driven by myself. Traffic was light when I hit exit 37A to 1-93, which was really a blessing because that exit scares the crap out of me. Five exits beforehand my heart started pounding just at the thought of it. It's positioned right after an on-ramp, so you have to merge with all the cars that are trying to get onto the highway and out of the lane that will take them right back off the exit. And it's the same way on the other end of the exit: if you don't merge left pretty quick, you're back on I-95/128.

But I hit bad traffic once I got to the tunnel that goes under Boston.

Then I picked Wanda up at the T station, and she had bubble tea for me - yay! My favorite kind is green tea with mango flavor. No milk. Take note. After that we went to the mall, where I bought purple hair dye at Hot Topic. Later my dad said, "Can't you dye your hair a color that doesn't turn green?" And I said, "Well, I just bought purple today," and my mom just groaned. She hates it when I color my hair. She used to love it when I highlighted it blonde. It's just fun colors that she opposes.

We went out to dinner AND dessert as a family. I told my mom about the Somewhere Over the Rainbow synaesthesia incident and she was like, "You are so weird!" Gee, thanks mom. Way to be supportive of my unique condition. I don't even have it bad. Although as a child, it used to keep me awake at night, wondering how they got the shapes inside the cassettes....

Anyway, I ate so much food that my stomach couldn't handle it, and now I have a tummyache. The heating pad is my friend. It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to wake up early and go learn a new song on guitar to play for special worship tomorrow. Talk about leaving things til the last minute.

I'm just pleased as punch to say that my sister and I are getting along really great! We even talked about - gasp! - sharing clothing! I've always wanted to be close enough to someone to do that, but everyone I'm that close to wears a completely different size, shape, and style of clothing, so fail. But Jay May is tall and skinny like me, so we can totally mooch off each other. I love that we can have fun conversations and laugh together now. We never used to. She's finally getting out of the annoying pre-teen phase she started at about age nine. Or two.

Last night, I went spooning with the Bathrobe Guy. It was epic and fabulous. We went all over campus, putting little green army men in random places. I think I like them better than the spoons we normally use because they can't be mistaken for trash. We scaled the windowpanes in the chapel, stacked chairs in the dining hall to put one atop the clock, and climbed up each other to stick them on ledges and windowsills. We're both tall, which definitely helped. We found a huge, blank white board in a classroom in Ken Olsen (the new science building) and wrote in huge letters on it, "Her body will lie in the chamber forever. Love and kisses, Tom Marvolo Riddle." Bahahaha.

I'm having a pretty good day. =)

This morning, Roomie and I went out for brunch at Denny's. Twas delightfully not-Lane-ish. My 1:15 class got cancelled, and the prof couldn't make it to my 3:00 so we got out at 4:20 instead of 5. Then we all smoked weed.


Kate: I really love the - FRICKMUFFINS!

Kate: Whatcha doin
Me: Writing down the bread groups leaders' names so I can contact them for the Tartan.
Kate: Oh. I'd better step away before I look too interested.

Me: It can be your "Where's Taz?" shirt. Wheres Waldo?! I mean... Taz.

Taz: I thought you said, "My teeth are sweating," and I was like, "...isn't that just spit?"

Ravin: I had a dream in which i wielded your quadruple lightsaber to save the Pantsless One's ass. for in dreams the logic of how much one wouldn't work at all didn't apply. I was kickin bum and takin names

Martha: I love your shirt.
Me: Thanks! Do you know Cobra Starship?
Martha: Umm... I've heard of them...
Me: They're really dancey.
Martha: Then I would probably like them. I like to dance, even though I'm bad at it.
Me: Yeah, I can't dance either. I think it's cause my moves are white.... white hot, that is.

True Confessions

One of those things where you write 20 things about 20 people you know... and all the things you could never say to them, yada yada yada. Don't ask questions.

1. You are the coolest person ever. Seriously. You don’t think you are. But you are. I want to do the stuff you do, know the people you know, go the places you go; your life is like one big (sometimes overly dramatic) adventure, and I love it. I wish you’d open up to me about stuff, tell me what’s going on in your life. I won’t tell your secrets. I won’t judge you. I know that you sometimes do things that I myself would not do, but that shouldn’t change our friendship. I just want us to be honest with each other and build our trust.

2. I am so grateful for our friendship. You probably don’t think about this as much as I do, but I think we gained a lot from everything we went through. We learned so much about each other and about ourselves, and that’s why we’re so close now. I love that we can do nothing, say nothing, and just enjoy each other’s company. I don’t have a lot of relationships like that.

3. You’re like my sister, my lover, my friend and my role model all rolled into one. I enjoy every minute we spend together. You can always make me smile. I can talk to you about pretty much anything. We have so many memories left to make together, and I can hardly wait!

4. I really enjoy your company and love when we get to spend time together, even though we’re both really busy. I can’t wait to see how our friendship will grow!

5. You’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met. But I’m glad to have found closure with you.

6. You have really strong, close friendships with people, but I don’t feel like I’m one of them, and that makes me sad. I wish we did more together and talked more.

7. You have NO idea how much I flippin MISS YOU or how happy you make me when we’re together, no matter what we’re doing. You’re so strong, always willing to try anything once. You care so much about everyone you know, no matter how close to you they actually are. You work your tail off, and it pays. Your faith is amazing. You have seen and done so much, been so many places, met so many people, and it has made you a really grounded person. Sometimes I feel like I’m not good enough to be your friend because I don’t have those experiences, but I want to have them, and I want to share them with YOU.

8. I don’t have as many memories with you as I’d like, but the ones I have are all amazing. You have a lot of wisdom and insight into people and relationships. At the same time, you’re so much fun to be with! I admire how balanced you are. You can be crazy and silly when the time is right, but you work hard and take your friendships seriously.

9. Was there something there? For a minute I thought so, but then you proved me wrong. We have a lot in common; we should hang out again. There doesn't have to be something if you don't want.

10. You’re so good. You love God and I know that in everything you’re trying to do what he wants. Sometimes it makes me feel like I’m a bad person (even though everyone else thinks I’m so “good.”) You try to convince me and yourself that you don’t care, but it’s normal, good, and healthy to care. Don’t give up so easily! You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. ^_^

11. You don’t care about me, though you were really good at making it look like you did for a while there. You’re shallow and a liar. Eff you.

12. You are so awesome! I totally have a girl crush on you. It’s like, I try so hard to think outside the box, and you just… don't even HAVE a box. You’re brilliant.

13. It sort of feels like you’ve completely disappeared from my life. That’s what you get for moving so far away this year. We should be less lazy and do stuff together, because I miss you and your ridiculous sense of humor.

14. I love having awkward conversations with you. It’s so funny. We both love to laugh, but I know that if I ever need you to be there for me, you will.

15. We don’t hang out at all now. It’s probably both of our faults. Your positive attitude and cheerful demeanor make the people around you happy, too.

16. I don’t want to need you, but I do. (And I’ll never tell you straight up.)

17. I admire your quirks. You’re okay with being different. You don’t even have to try to be cool; you just are.

18. You’re so awkward, and I love that about you. You just say whatever comes to mind without worrying about it. Nothing embarrasses you.

19. I miss being best friends with you. We were such a big part of each other’s lives for so long, and then it all just went away. Where did it go? What’s stopping us from being that close now? You’re so willing to talk about everything in your life with the person closest to me, yet you never tell me anything. That hurts. Why don’t you trust me?

20. We’re going to be friends for a long, long time. There is simply no way around it. We have a ton of differences, and we definitely butt heads, but I’m really excited that we’ve been able to go places and talk about things more lately than we ever used to. That’s how I always wanted us to be, and I always got so jealous of my other friends who had that sort of relationship in their lives. I think you get down on yourself too much. Don’t take life so hard. Keep a positive attitude: even the things that you don’t really want to do can become an adventure, a learning experience, or just plain fun if you let them! I hope you know that you can always tell me anything. I won’t tattle on you. Pinky swear.

Sixth Grade Poetry Assignment

While babysitting tonight, it fell to me to help a sixth grader write a poem. I was excited until I saw the outline he was supposed to use. Good grief! Who can be expected to write even halfway decent poetry under such restrictions? Every line said, "I (verb) _fill in the blank_." And the fill-in-the-blank instructions were really, really specific. After I yelled at the assignment, I realized I had probably encouraged the kid not to take it seriously, so I offered to write one of my own. I was amazed: it didn't completely suck. So here it is.

I Am Bored.

I am bored and thinking inside the box right now.
I wonder what’s for dessert….
I hear Cobra Starship playing inside my head and
I want to have a dance party.
I am bored and thinking inside the box right now.

I pretend that I can fly. Sometimes,
I feel the clouds between my toes and
I touch the moon with my face.
I worry that I won’t be able to come back down, and then
I cry for all the people I left behind down there; but
I am bored and thinking inside the box right now.

I understand the parameters. I just don’t like them.
I say a poet should be free to touch the moon with her face!
I dream of creation beyond the walls of this box.
I try to break free, try to put an end to this over-end-stopping.
I hope the frozen yogurt is vanilla tonight.
I am bored and thinking inside the box right now.


I'm seriously debating whether I should change my novel from first to third person. A lot depends on the main character's emotions, but a good writer should be able to communicate those emotions from either perspective, right? I just don't know. I always imagined it in first person, but maybe that's because I perceived the dreams that inspired it from the point of view of the dreamer, which can't be helped. I guess it comes down to, how much will I lose by putting it in third person? And, do I want to give up the uniqueness of writing a fantasy story in first person? I'm at a loss! D=

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Today in chapel, the speaker used the song "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" to illustrate a point he was making. Entirely aside from the fact that his point was about sex, thus ruining the song that defined my childhood, let me tell you about the other reason I couldn't stand his use of the song.

I do this thing when I listen to music. I did it more when I was little. When I hear a song, or especially an album, it has a shape to it. Like, as the music progresses, it's going different directions spatially. These days it often takes on the direction of the lyrics printed in the CD insert, but I remember a couple of cassettes I used to listen to as a kid, and I can still name most of the songs on them based on where they fall on the shape of the cassette as a whole. Because The Wizard of Oz and "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" were such a big part of my childhood, the song has a really, really distinct shape, sort of like this:

So when the speaker played someone's cover of the song, and it didn't follow the original one EXACTLY, I started getting really pissed off that the shape was wrong. I don't even really remember how the song related to the point he ended up making. Which is probably for the best, because I really don't want to think about sex the next time I watch my all-time favorite movie.

Manic Tuesday

Today was my busy day.

Breakfast: went to the mailroom to see if the CD I requested from Philmont two weeks ago had come yet. No dice, so I texted Scott, who said he'd sent it a week and a half ago. GO-CO MAILROOM FAILS.

Principles of Design (9:45-12:45): fire alarm went off, was glad I didn't have my computer in case I would've accidentally broken it again. Contemplated possible blood relation of my classmate to Adam T. Siska. Somehow transformed "random" geometric shapes into a significant expression of my present emotions.

Lunch: half an hour, which was enough to drop off my art supplies in Ferrin, buy a sandwich to go, and check my mail AGAIN. MY CD FINALLY GOT HERE.

Writing for the Media (1:15-2:50): Jo remembered that my name isn't Suzanne (probably because I interviewed her last week.... it would just be plain embarrassing for her to confuse me with someone else after that.)

Poetry (3:00-5:00):


Hello. I am here
to let you know that someone is thinking of you.
He hopes you’re well.
Phase one of boot camp has been hell
but he says he’ll make it through.
Hello. I am here
Because someone carved out time to write just a few
words on a page
in the midst of a loaded day
because he’s thinking of you.

Thank God you got here.
I’ve been waiting all summer long to read his scrawl,
this month the third
Since I last heard from him. His words
I draw about me, a shawl.
Last time he was here,
we sprinted on the sky. When we got tired, we sprawled
in the tall grass.
Unstop my pen. I can’t write past,
“Wish you were here. Yours always.”

Dinner: 45 minutes, enough to sit down while I eat dinner AND dessert. Listened to the new Philmont EP on my way to...

Applied Communication (6:45-7:45): discussed our short film, which is probably going to be on synaesthesia. Some of the others talked about using the idea of synaesthesia to generate a narrative. This is fine by me. I'm a story lover. But their idea was about a guy who uses his synaesthesia to rob a bank, which isn't really up my alley. I guess you give and take, but I want to enjoy working on this project and have a product that I like. I guess that's a little idealistic for the real world. Better get used to it.

Trash Club just came by. I missed them. That trek out to the dumpster is so taxing. Not really, but it IS outside this year, which is a bummer.

¡Viva la Cobra!

I just had lunch with a girl on my floor, and we talked a lot about writing. The Tartan came up, and we complained about how there's not much going on around campus, so material is limited, etc, etc. Then we talked about how they'll reimburse you for movie tickets, CDs, concerts, and meals if you review them, and she said she wondered if they would cover Coldplay tickets for her. They're $90. I said they might cover part of it, but probably not all. On the other hand, I said, if you go to see nobody bands like Cobra Starship, whose show next month only costs $15, they'd probably cover the whole thing. I REALLY want to go to this show. It's close by and cheap and Cobra plays SUCH a fun set, as I discovered at the Warped Tour, not once, but twice this summer. But all my friends who like them can't make it, and I said so. Riel decided it sounded like lots of fun, and so it looks like we'll be going! Yeeeeessss!!!! And shut up, Bear, I really DO listen to other bands besides Cobra. XD



I’ve been jumping off bridges without you,
and it’s just not the same.
I had a dream that you weren’t there. I went
out to find you in the rain.

The trail you left wound up, up and
nowhere. There I saw you, framed
like the pixels and particles you
arrange so lovingly; framed
in the lilies and the leaves and the toadstools,

in a pool of water deep as the sky
and green with tree trunks mid-cartwheel.
There is something better on the underbelly of this
reflection, and I am going to find it.

Raindrops leave their perfectcircle deathnotes,
scars spinning across the perfectmirrorpool.
It can’t be summer all year round.
Soft, sunshine, don’t you make a sound.
I put my face to the dappled mirror, wanting
to see the inverted city’s wooden skyline
But I drown trying to get there.


New poem, free verse. It came out way more depressing than I really intended, but as I wrote it I realized that it embodies my feelings on the issue pretty well. Yep, depression. Suckfest.

The first stanza I've had all summer, with no idea how to complete the thought until I was out walking in the rain today (and after I walked to Nebraska by mistake earlier this week).

I don't think I should talk so much about the process because it probably makes the poem less enjoyable, so I'll shut up now. ^_^


Good grief. I had an awful night last night. First I couldn't fall asleep for anything, even though I was exhausted. Then Jamus wouldn't leave me alone. [In my new book, Jamus is the character responsible for nightmares.] I ended up dozing in fitful spurts riddled with really scary dreams. I can't even remember the dreams anymore, just that I was terrified in them. At one point I woke up, tried to read the clock on the other side of the room and failed because my vision is horrible, and noticed a shadow in the corner of my room where the wardrobe is. I must have fallen asleep again really, really fast, without moving, and without closing my eyes, because all of a sudden the shadow took on the shape of Luigi and jumped out at me. It scared the living shit out of me because I thought I was still awake. But I woke up, and I was sweating buckets. Finally I got a drink of water, ditched the comforter, and flipped my pillow over, which always seems to help for some reason. And it did. I finally got a little rest, but not until after four. Needless to say, it was Bedside Baptist for me this morning. Blaaaa.

Now I have to go find a way to shower and wash my hair without washing the turquoise part of it. This shall be interesting.


Gakk!! I just got my latest article back from the news editor, and she broke it up into these baby-bite grafs that are only a sentence long! God-awful. I can't even read it when it looks like this.

1:43 AM

I woke up from a dream about you last night. I could feel a smile on the lips where you had just been, and was dismayed to realize that it hadn’t been you at all, and merely my imagination – taking advantage of my gullible mind, once again. Everything was as it would have been in life (except that the couch we were sitting on was located in the middle of a frozen pond…). Is it sad that I know you so well that even my dreams of you seem true to life?

It was just… your hand felt so solid, so concrete, so existent in mine. Your breath was gentle and warm on my cheek. Our conversation mirrored exchanges we’ve shared before. You know the kind. When I say, “Isn’t this fun?” and you shrug and say, “I miss video games,” but I can tell you’re really enjoying yourself in spite of whatever you say.

I was saddened, and really rather offended, that you chose to dissolve at precisely the moment I trusted you most. You would never do such a thing in life, now, would you? But I suppose you couldn’t help it, being a figment of my imagination and all. I suppose I couldn’t blame you, having created you in my mind, right?

I was awake for a long time after that.

I got a drink of water. Then I ate something that tasted surprisingly good for 1:43 in the morning. I checked on the cats. Even they slumbered on, mindless of my restless state. It was as though the earth, and time, and everything within had come to a halt beneath the isolating, muffling, time-stopping blanket of snow I could feel weighing on the skylight. The only evidence otherwise was the engines purring inside the cats.

It was like being the only one alive in all the world. Eerie. Lonesome. I wanted to fall back asleep, to come find you again, but toss and turn as I might, 1:43 AM did not take pity on me.

I wondered, would it be so catastrophic if I told you everything? Would that destroy the friendship I already cherish? Would I have to be content with this mirage of you… indefinitely?


Dreams don’t really come true.

“There you are! I was waiting for you.”

“Waiting? For me? I’m flattered. Sorry for holding you up.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“All right.” Pause. “Hey, let’s go adventuring! Look, we can cross the tundra! Let’s pretend we’re pirates, and global warming reversed, so the whole world froze over, and we have to fix it!”

You’re looking at me like I’m crazy. You have no idea. “Sure, okay.”

Commence trekking. You’re not saying much. That’s all right. My ears might be too cold to hear, anyway. Those icy gusts slice right through my snow gear more effectively than our plastic swords ever could.

“Hey. Is that a sofa?” I guess I can still hear all right. Good to know.

“What? In the middle of the tundra?”

“Looks like it.”

“In the middle of the tundra?”

“Let’s go see.”

“Looks like it belongs at the dump.” Obviously that doesn’t bother me much since I sink into it anyway. “Being a pirate is tiring. Let’s take a break.”

You collapse beside me. “Okay.”

“Isn’t this fun?”

You shrug. “I could be playing video games.”


You laugh and admit to it. Your smile, your eyes reassure me that you aren’t just telling me what I want to hear.

We’ve lost our mittens. Suddenly our hands find each other. The warmth of your fingers enveloping mine sends chills up my spine. You’re looking at me, truly seeing me, and I realize: this is it. You’re going to kiss me. It took you long enough.

I feel a spark on my lip (and to think we haven’t actually kissed yet). My heart skips a beat or several.

All at once I realize I’m clutching your hand at all, but rather that hideous plushie you won me at the fair last summer. I taste blood: I’ve just split my lip smiling.

I sigh and stumble out of bed. I’m sure you don’t think of me this often. I check the little clock in the corner of my laptop screen. It’s 1:43 AM. Something about that seems eerie to me, but I can’t put my finger on it.

Instant Messenger. Yes. A brilliant invention. Conversation is the best form of distraction.

You’re the only one online.

“Trouble sleeping?” you ask.

“You could say that.”

“Weird dreams?” you ask.

“You could say that.”

“I mean, really – pirates?”

I stare at the blinking cursor, wondering if I’ve lost it. The snow drifts press in on the little bubble of the house, insulating my little corner of heaven on earth. It’s 1:44 AM.


This is another one I drafted a couple years ago. To think it's already been that long! I don't have much to say about it, really. I'm almost positive it was inspired by a real dream about a sofa in the middle of a frozen lake, almost kissing the person I liked at the time, and then waking up because I split my lip smiling. I am the biggest dork. I suppose it keeps things interesting. ^_^

Hello, My Name is Nobody

For anyone who hasn't seen the post in my former blog, this is a story I started in junior or senior year of high school. It was inspired by someone I actually knew, who actually did some of the things that Seth does in the story. Hint: choose the most awkward scene. That's the one that happened.

Anyway, I hadn't touched the story in a couple years. Then one night, all of a sudden I realized why I had to write it, where it was going, and that it was way more important than preparing for my Media Writing class the next day by reading the elusive Zinsser text, which had finally came in at the book store that afternoon.

On a side note, I totally stole the name "Brown Car" from Allison.

Without further ado, please enjoy "Hello, My Name is Nobody."

At first we were amused by Seth’s total goofball attitude, his lack of social graces, and his few inhibitions regarding classroom conduct. At first, his lack of direction and motivation in life seemed normal attitudes for a teenage boy. At first we laughingly blamed his alternating hyperactivity and exhaustion on obsessive video gaming habits and a fictional addiction to Mountain Dew. At first, we poked fun at him for the way his shoulder blades stuck out like little wings that never got the chance to grow.

All that changed when I “adopted” Seth.

Seth was in my journalism independent study first semester of senior year. He was, in fact, the only other person in my journalism independent study. Consequently, I learned a lot about Seth just from working overtime on layout. I couldn’t believe how little I actually knew about him. We ate lunch together with a few other guys and girls, drove around town listening to ska and reggae music with that same small crowd, played some video games in our spare time – but what did I know about his life? Nothing.

In Journalism, I learned that Seth’s parents were separated. He lived in town with his mother, while his father lived upstate – far enough to be forgotten for the most part, but close enough to stop by and stir things up whenever Seth and his mother least expected it.

I had never met either of Seth’s parents, but from what I could tell, well, let’s just say that the irresponsibility and quirkiness we all knew and loved in Seth were not unprecedented by any stretch of the imagination. More like “inevitable.”

His father spent his free time (which he had in abundance, as he was unemployed) on eclectic projects. He was big on “routine” home maintenance – that is, hollowing out the walls so he would have somewhere to hide his valuables, which consisted mostly of comic books but may have included several thousands of dollars in cash. He was also fond of elaborate culinary endeavors whose products he rarely consumed, but rather concocted in bulk as though for a huge, imaginary crowd. In Seth’s own words, “the man is definitely not all there. Christ, he gave me a power drill for my fifth Christmas.”

Meanwhile, his mother scraped up enough money working at a nearby factory and performing various odd jobs in the community to pay rent on a townhouse each month. Because of her erratic and time-consuming schedule, she was rarely home.

Second semester rolled around. Once again, Seth and I were the only students in fifth block Journalism independent study. The more time I spent with him, the more I tasted the off-color, bitter, lonely flavor of his life. He didn’t let on much – I mean, when he told me about his family, he stated things as cold facts with a practiced indifference and discussed their abnormalities as though they were some kind of joke to be laughed at.

And I played along. I laughed. I didn’t know what else to do. He seemed okay with the way things were. I got the feeling he didn’t know any other way of life existed. The best thing I could do for him was to continue being his friend in a school that, with the exception of the five others who ate lunch with us, left him to fend for himself on the outskirts of high school society. The most I could give him was a companion when he was comfortable being the odd one out because no one ever let him in.

And that was all.




“Could you… uh….” He tapped the keyboard lightly, uncomfortably. “Could you come to my house and help me do my laundry?”

I had to laugh. “Do your laundry? Where’s your mother?”

I regretted that comment the moment it passed my lips. I kept forgetting that things didn’t work that way in Seth’s home.

Seth shrugged. “She went away. On business, I guess.”

On business? What business? Factory workers don’t go on business trips. There was still so much about Seth’s family that I didn’t know. Like why his mother would leave a kid like Seth to look after himself over an extended period of time. But it sounded like Seth knew no more than what he’d told me, and I couldn’t hold that against him.

“When will she be back?”

Seth shrugged again. “Dunno. But my laundry and dishes are piling up, and I’m hungry.”

I’d developed a soft spot for Seth, and he didn’t need to add “I ran out of ramen” for me to agree to go help him out.


I waited in the parking lot after school. Seth didn’t drive. It wasn’t that he couldn’t if he wanted – he just hadn’t gotten around to getting his license.

Seth would be nineteen that summer. I figured it was about time he started taking care of himself, especially if his mother made a habit of up-and-leaving for indeterminate amounts of time. Call it maternal instinct, but I was ready to take on the challenge of preparing this kid to face college in less than a year.

“Your car smells like a box of crayons,” Seth commented as he ducked into my 2003 Volkswagen Golf.

“Just what I needed to hear.” I checked the rearview and backed out of my parking space. “Look, I got it used from this eccentric little old lady. And the air freshener is pine.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

“All right.”

Seth played with the knobs on the radio while I dreaded the state of his house. I’d never been inside before, though I’d seen the place when our friends dropped him off after long drives and Denny’s runs. Parking on the grass (the driveway was full), I couldn’t help noticing that the townhouse seemed a lot bigger from the perspective of a housemaid.

“Come on,” Seth said, popping out of the car like a Jack-in-the-box. “We can just go in through the garage.” I followed him tentatively. The garage didn’t look too bad. But that didn’t necessarily indicate anything. Maybe Seth never made it out to the garage with his trash.

Seth crashed through the door without holding it open for me, and I tripped along behind him. Yes, the garage had been a poor litmus test for what lay inside. I tried to pretend it didn’t smell too bad and waded to the kitchen through clothes, soda cans, junk food wrappers and other debris. I had to ask: “How do you live like this?”

Seth shrugged and laughed. “It’s easy. Too easy.”

I sighed. “All right. Let’s start with laundry. Do you have a basket?”


I looked around and found a basket on top of the washer machine. “Put your dirty clothes in here,” I said, passing Seth the basket. He looked sheepish. I sighed in exasperation. “Okay, I’ll come.”

Like scavengers, we rooted through the carpet of crud. I wasn’t too picky and let him judge what needed to be washed without commenting on what was left behind. He must have owned as many pairs of jeans as I did. And as many shirts, and as many pairs of underwear – which is especially scary because I have this weird compulsion that my panties and bra must match the rest of my outfit, so I have a lot of underwear.

“Umm… I think I need to wash these pants,” Seth said apologetically, indicating the pair he had on. Without further warning, he pulled them off and threw them in the basket.

“Oh my God, Seth!” I shielded my eyes in horror.

“It’s okay. I’ve got boxers on.”

“I don’t care. Put something else on. You must own something that isn’t currently carpeting your floor.”

I toted the overflowing basket downstairs and ran the load of laundry, showing Seth which buttons to push. “How do you know that?” he asked in awe. “This isn’t even your washer!”

I stared at him in disbelief. “Uhh…. They’re all pretty much the same. How about some food?”

That piqued his interest. I dug through the fridge, trashing several leftovers that had seen better days. Seth watched in amazement as I scrambled four eggs that seemed fresh enough to eat. He remained oblivious to my requests that he hand me a spatula or a plate, so it was dinner-and-a-treasure-hunt for me. I threw some bacon on the side and toasted a few slices of bread. Seth wolfed it all down while I loaded the dishwasher.

“You’ve got to rinse them before you put them in the machine,” I explained.

“Mmhmm,” Seth said around the largest bite of eggs and toast I’d ever seen anyone take.

“Wanna help me get some of this trash out of here?” I asked when he was done.

He looked at the wrappers, cans and pizza boxes on the floor. “Looks all right to me,” he said calmly. I noticed he still wasn’t wearing pants.

I snapped. “Seth, I’m not your mother! I don’t mind helping you out, but God, you’re going to have to get it together! People won’t just do this stuff for you your whole life. What are you going to do when you go to college next year?”

“I guess I’ll figure it out when I get to college next year,” he said, pairing the statement with his classic reply, the shrug.


Going to Seth’s house after school became routine. I got the house looking habitable again within a couple of days. But the routine stuck even after his mother returned from whatever “business” trip she’d been on.

I look back fondly on those afternoons of studying for my AP Literature test while he destroyed boss after boss on his Xbox. Most days we had dinner together, even if it was just something dumb like peanut butter and jelly. Our friends liked to tease us, saying that I might as well just move in because we were more or less married anyway.

“You should,” Seth told me sometimes. And sometimes I wanted to. I felt like he needed me there while his mother was working, and the more time I spent at his house, the more I realized that she was always working.

Springtime flowered all around us. Unfortunately, that meant exams. I’d never had such a stressful birthday as that May morning when I took the AP Literature exam. When I stumbled out of the testing room, bubbles swimming in front of my eyes, Seth was waiting for me.

“Happy birthday,” he told me. I was flattered that he’d even remembered. “Can I take you to lunch?”

“Seth, we always go to lunch together,” I mumbled.

“I mean, can I take you out to lunch?” he corrected.

Out to lunch? That definitely was not allowed, and I said so. In twelve years of school, I had never cut a class, never left school grounds without permission, never taken any chances with the administration. Why should I start now?

“We have Journalism after lunch hour. Let’s go then.”

He was so persistent about it that I agreed.

Lunch break, although it had never provided enough time for me to eat, stretched out like Laffy Taffy that day. I was famished after my exam. I couldn't help thinking, Seth had better have something really good in mind.

As soon as the bell rang for fifth block, we signed out on newspaper business and headed for the parking lot.

“This way,” Seth directed.

“My car’s over there. Where it always is,” I said.

“But we’re not taking your car,” he said with a grin. He reached into his pocket and dangled a set of keys in my face. “We’re taking mine.”

My jaw dropped. “You got your license?” I squealed. I hated the sound of my voice just then. It sounded like it belonged to a silly fangirl, not an almost-high-school-graduate. I blushed.

“It took me like, three tries…” he confessed. “But I got it in time for your birthday!”

“This is so exciting, Seth! Where are we going to go?”

“Well, since I emptied my life’s savings account to buy this car and have about ten dollars left to my name…. In ‘n’ Out?”
I laughed. That was so typically Seth. He drove us there in this clanking garbage can he appropriately called “Brown Car,” which was covered with more dents than paint and was missing the left mirror. He bought my burger and fries. It was delicious.


My phone rang early in the morning the day of graduation. I knew something had to be wrong the moment Seth’s name appeared on the caller ID. Seth did not make phone calls, not even to me.



“You’re not going to like this,” he said. The static was heavy: It sounded like he was somewhere really noisy.

“Where are you? I can barely hear you.”

“I’m in the back seat of my dad’ car. He’s got the radio up really loud. I don't want him to hear me talking to you, else I’d turn it down.”

I swore. “What the hell are you doing in your dad’s car? We’re graduating today!”

“I’m not,” he said despondently. “My dad wants me to move in with him.”

I was enraged. “And he won’t let you get your diploma first? What kind of father does that?”

I could almost hear him shrug in the silence at the other end. But his answer surprised me. “I don’t know. I want to be there. I was always the Nobody people didn’t expect to graduate. I wanted to prove them wrong.”

I couldn’t speak. Seth cared? Who would have guessed?


“Yeah –yeah, I’m here. What do I do?”

“Do?” he asked, bewildered. “Why would you have to do anything? I was just calling to tell you I wouldn't be there. And congratulations, since I won’t see you later.”

“When will you see me?” Suddenly that question seemed more important than Seth graduating or me being at the ceremony. It’s strange the way habit works on our minds. After seeing him almost every day for the past six months, just the thought of life without him left me feeling aimless and hollow.

“Hopefully soon,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll dig some of Dad’s cash out of the walls and buy a train ticket home.”


“I’ll do my best.”


“Why is it so important that I promise?”

“Because,” I said. “I need you here.”


Today I got utterly, hopelessly lost following a bike trail in the woods. Based on the mental map I had of the area, I can't imagine how I wound up where I did. I followed this trail for like 45 minutes. The map in my head said I had to come out at my campus, the road my campus is on, or the road on the opposite side of the woods, which we fondly refer to as Chewbacca/Chew Tobacco Road. Either that or hit the waterfront - inevitably. None of these things had happened yet and I started to worry.

I spied a little street down a hill to my right. The hill was steep, and there wasn't a trail going down to the street, so I stayed on the path. Then I came to a car. Right in the middle of the woods. There was no road leading to it; it must have driven on the footpath, and it must have been a long, long time ago, because this retro car lay open to the world, doors busted off and half-buried in the dead leaves.

Finally getting a little sketched out, I called up Wanda, just to hear a human voice speak reason in my ear. I was glad I still had a cell phone. I was glad reception still existed. I'd gotten the impression I'd walked into some sort of time warp or something and technology was long dead, or not even invented yet. I thought I would end up like one of Isaac Marion's characters, wandering the unfamiliar woods as centuries fly by without my knowledge until suddenly I come across this TV in the middle of nowhere and find a mile-long power cord to plug it in so I can watch the silver static flicker on the screen.

Wanda and I decided I should turn around and follow the bike trail the way I'd come. I should find my way back before either dusk or rain decided to fall. I have a very good sense of relative direction - that is, I can find my way back through a maze the way I've just come. This comes in handy since I often miss signs while driving until I've passed the turn I wanted. But this maze was beyond my comprehension. There were so many little turn offs that I couldn't recognize the one I'd come from. I wished I could've thought like Hansel and Gretel and left myself some sort of clue. Instead I doubled back again and found the road. At least that HAD to lead to civilization (if civilization still existed).

I promptly stumbled upon a cornfield and thought, "Crap. I'm in the middle of frickin Nebraska now. How do these things happen to me?"

But then I found an intersection with a road I knew (it had a yellow line down the middle - I knew I was safe then) and followed that road to a little farm stand. Walking in to ask for directions, all I could think about was how much I wanted food. You'd think I'd been wandering the woods for days the way I drooled over the fresh fruit and the tantalizing prospect of guacamole. But of course, I didn't have money with me. I don't generally bring cash into the woods with me. What am I going to buy? Mushrooms?

So instead of food, I got directions to my school. I cannot imagine how I was where I was. I followed the road back to the intersection where Aaron and I scared that driver that one time we hid in the bushes. It was still a half hour walk back to my dorm from there. By the time I got to Woodland, the student overflow parking lot, my legs hurt so bad that I was going probably 1/4 mile per hour. But someone was looking out for me when I left campus with, of all random things, CAR KEYS in my pocket! I gave up on walking and drove the last 100 yards home. The end.

Stolen Word Poem

The Assignment:
Choose a poem. Take the last word of each line and use those words at the ends of the lines in an original poem.

Where the Sidewalk Ends
Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

“Home is Where the Freeway Ends.”

There is a place where the freeway ends
and the Pacific ocean begins,
where the waves are capped with white,
the sand sparkles bright
with gold, and burdens take flight,
borne away by the wind.

There is a place where the ocean ends and the black
pavement begins. The road once had its bends
through the places where palms and pine trees grow,
and we drove slow.
One place remains for us to go.
We drive east to where the freeway ends.

The road once had its bends and we drove slow.
One place remains for us to go.
Although it’s no adventure, well we know
that home is where the freeway ends.

Draft #2
“To Peaceward”

There is a place where the freeway ends
and the Pacific ocean begins,
where the surf froths and crashes white,
the sand sparkles bright
with gold, and anchored earthworms take flight,
origami birds borne away by the wind.

There is a place where the ocean ends and the black
pavement begins. The road once had its bends
through the places where palms and pine trees grow,
and we drove slow.
But now, with one place still to go,
we speed east to where the freeway ends.

The road once had its bends and we drove slow,
the world setting at our backs. Peaceward we go.
We are carved in the sandstone hearts of those we know.
Home is where the freeway ends.

The rewrite is due tomorrow night. Any opinions? What are the strengths and weaknesses of each draft? What should I work on? My prof said to be "more ambitious" after he saw the first draft. Did I do it?

News, News, News

My news article on the lounges in Ferrin (my residence hall) being turned into rooms made the front page of the student paper! Woot. I also have a review of Tropic Thunder in this issue.

For next week's issue of The Tartan, I had a phone interview with Jo, a communication professor who is now working with the college communication office. She teaches my media writing class, so I was a little stressed before making the call. She's always seemed very approachable and warm, but I just worried that I would mess up and she'd think I was stupid. Of course, she didn't. She spoke slowly enough for me to get things down and even pointed out which of my questions were particularly good. I should've known she would understand, since she's usually on my side of the conversation (that is, the interviewer side).

That lasted until 10:25, which is when chapel starts. This year I've been getting there late, even when I give myself seven or eight minutes (by my clock, which is fast) to make the three minute walk. I guess they just start ridiculously early. Anyway, I knew they'd never let me in. Nobody wants to sit through convocation - usually a panel discussion, i.e., lots of talking and no music - without at least getting chapel credit. So instead I stayed in Ferrin and dyed my hair turquoise again.

*New profile pic*

Vans Warped Tour 2008 in Carson, CA
I was going to take one of my newly dyed hair, but my photo booth isn't working. I think the Apple store might have messed up my camera when they replaced my screen, which I busted last weekend by shutting the plug inside of it when a fire alarm went off. It cost me $700 to fix. Or more accurately, it cost my Dad that much. Good old Dad. It's good to know someone always has your back. It just drives me crazy that if I had set the alarm off myself and the fire department had had to come check things out, the fine, $650, would've cost less than the repairs.

Epic Failure turned inside out (I hope)

Nice to meet you, Mr. Right.

These relationships are so fleeting! First MySpace blogs, then LiveJournal.....

It's just that, I want to open my blog up to a wider readership and, especially, allow comments from my readers who don't use LJ. Looks like I can do that now.

I'm thinking this is the start of a beautiful friendship. Older posts can be viewed at: http://callipsemaniac.livejournal.com.


A wise man once said beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I used my .mac email address to sign up for this account, and then I couldn't receive the confirmation email because apparently I don't have the password for that mail account anymore, and..... it was a mess. I had a big, big mess on my hands tonight.

Then I tried to make a new blogger account and delete the old one so I could use the same domain name. Apparently this is not possible. But the short story is, I finally stopped being so stubborn and just made up a new domain name, and I'm registered with an email address I can ACCESS, and all is well. All relationships have problems. Don't worry, we can work this out.

Stuff that got erased because of my EF (Epic Fail):

Blogger Katie said...

Yes! I can totally comment here. I LOVE IT! So now I will make a new bookmark. :)

September 11, 2008 10:48 PM

OpenID saraphimiscool said...

i love how you equate your blogs to boyfriend relationships. makes me giggle. C:

September 11, 2008 6:48 PM
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