so I found this on my computer. I still feel it.

from Oct. 13 journal:

and better than wine
if love has a hangover, that’s ages away
I’ve been collecting perfect moments each day

make sure you know
no matter how this will grow

sober, in the sunlight

I fell
who can I tell?
tell the world
tell them all
yes, I did fall

and do I care?
and really
it’s not where
you’re from
that matters so much
as where you’re going

don’t give a fuck
how you grew up

something set this
it’s too perfect for chance
it’s a story to tell

I’m in love
I’m love
you’re love
my love
oh
love

new topic!

I fell in love.

This is how we met: the first night of frosh week, they had pizza (and beer) parties at frosh leaders’ houses, for mingling, a couple of groups to a house. Our groups were at the same party, and we both sort of noticed each other while we were mingling. Cut to a few nights later, it’s Retro Night at the Wardy (campus pub) and we danced together a bit. I would’ve danced with him more, but while walking my roomie back to our room, since she didn’t have her keys, we saw a girl being loaded into an ambulance, and that was pretty much a total buzzkill for me, so I went to bed soon after. Cut to the day before lectures and such begin, I think “maybe he’ll be in my tutorial… no, that never happens.” Cut to the next day, he is in my tutorial. That night it’s Maritime Night at the Wardy, there’s live music, I know a million folk songs and fit right in, I don’t know “Barrett’s Privateers” yet, but I pick that up fast. I’m there with my friend (this initial thing is a problem, so many people have the first initial E.), let’s call her Rosie since she had a bandanna that night and did many a Rosie the Riveter impression. And she gets me up to dance, but he offers his arm so off I go with him. And after the song Rosie asks me “what the fuck was that?” and I say something like “he’s in my tutorial, and oh my god he’s totally my type, and he’s wearing brown corduroy pants.” Let it be known that I have a deep love of corduroy pants. But that’s not really the point. Rosie, who by now has had plenty of beer plus a shot of tequila, decides that we must dance together again. She basically physically shoves us together. And we dance, and we go outside for some air, and we get to talking, and we go to his room, and neither of us gets much sleep that night. And the next day he asks me out for coffee after tutorial, and so far I’m getting my happy ending…

I can write more, if you want to know more.

(I do not like how that’s all one block of text. May edit later.)

revision dilemma

There is a boy.  Last year, when I started this blog, I was romantically interested in him.  The tag for him to a certain extent reflects this.  Now we are friends, only friends.  I know I decided to not to revise previous posts to reflect the current truth, but what about tags?  It seems odd to tag him in a way that implies (at least to me) romantic interest, but I don’t want to just make up a new tag without changing all the old ones. So do I change the old ones?  Complicating the issue slightly is the fact that he and K. have the same first initial.

Anyway, I originally got onto this topic because I liked something he’d said about Robin:
“Robin had the reputation akin to a Goddess. She is always there; watching, waiting.”
Which I loved, and wanted to quote here.

I do almost feel like she’s still watching me, asking me why I’ve read so little of the Darwin I’m supposed to be reading.

I’ve been drowning my sorrows in Monty Python, junk food, and tea, mainly, because I’m sure she’d worry if I drowned them in anything stronger. (I did have a slightly spiked hot chocolate last night.)

I’ve been wearing this silly little bracelet, too. Just brightly coloured plastic beads – she picked it up one day when we were organizing the costume shop and said something like “this looks like you.”
My friend E. wears a beautiful, simple silver metal bracelet in memory of her friend Haley, and as lovely as something like that would be, the bright plastic found in the theatre somehow seems so much more appropriate for Robin.

two fragments

to remember us like this, and this, and this, and this
our bodies like continents
peninsulas extending
bending
as our plate tectonics lead to continental collision
and our geography undergoes revision
after revision
after revision
converging, and what is emerging?

—–

he tells her stop feeling old
there are still things you haven’t yet done
you never walked barefoot in the cold rain
you never wove on a loom
you never ate quinoa
she tells him stop feeling young
there are so many things you have done

—-

Neither feels done.

conversation

truth/revision/decision

I’ve written things that were true at the time that are no longer true.
I won’t go back and change them, because when I wrote them they were true.
I’ve written things that I thought were true at the time, that turned out not to be true.
I’ve written to figure out the truth.
I’ve written to conceal the truth.
No revisions on the basis of truth. I can revise in a writer-ly craft way, and do – but if I changed things because they were no longer true, I wouldn’t have any time for new writing.
And some things just can’t be revised.
“Technicalities”? Rewriting it to reflect the present would likely mean scrapping it entirely. (Due to the fact that we’re dating and suchforth.) But the whole concept of revising to reflect the now is incredibly flawed, because that was somewhat of a… snapshot, I suppose… of my mental state at that point in time, and how I feel now doesn’t actually change how I felt then.

And this is all true.

should’ve

A kiss.

We both thought about it.

We both almost did.

And now we’re . . . 2,682 miles apart, I think. (Will be 882 in the fall.)

But we think we might try it.

Quelquefois

I want things to be different.
If I could make one wish
I’d return to that dream
fantasy of me and you.
The one reality bent around
until you bent it back.

I hate it when you’ve turned your back.
When it’s been so long, and it shouldn’t feel different
anymore. When it’s “see you around,”
and all I can do is wish.
When it’s so long since I’ve touched you.
I just get lost in a dream.

I wonder do you miss that dream?
Do you want to have it back?
And how are you,
anyway? You’re different.
I wonder do you wish
The way I do? Well, I’ve wished enough to go around.

What goes around comes around
and life is a crazy dream.
Blow out your birthday candles, make a wish.
Could all the pink yellow blue candles get us back
to where we were? It’s different now
maybe. Not sure about you.

When I see you
wherever, just around
you don’t seem that different.
Just less busy, which lets me dream
of your saying you want me back.
Not a guess, just a wish.

An eyelash has fallen, make a wish.
I’ve used so many on you
but I wouldn’t take any back.
Maybe they’ll come back around,
anyway. I can still dream
of things being different.

I only wish when you’re not around.
Like the other night, you were in my dream.
I’d take you back, even if it’s different.

. . . there are no words.

My life right now is indescribable.  Parts of it are wonderful, parts of it are falling apart.

I choreographed and danced a solo for the school dance concert.  I was really proud of how it turned out and so many people told me they loved it.

A friend asked me to be in a music video that she’ll be making for a class.

I’m going to Québec City on Friday, which I love.

I’ve heard from 5 out of the 12 schools I applied to, and got into all 5.

There were multiple pictures of me in the art show, which was kinda cool.

I did less than a wonderful job in all of my classes this past mod.

My room is still a mess, and my memory continues to be somewhat terrible.

And my romantic life is increasingly complicated and confusing.

. . .

I desperately want to go yarn-shopping.  I need to knit.

. . .

What would I do if I were told the world was going to end tomorrow?  I’m not sure.  What would anyone do?

“Technicalities” (written last year)

I shouldn’t have said what I said about horses
horses and riders
in castles of air
I shouldn’t’ve dropped hints all over the ground
where they could be found by
anyone who’d pick them up
I shouldn’t just wait
until it’s too late
it’s already happened
I already have
I shouldn’t have wished
so imprecisely
that’s how wishes go wrong
why haven’t we learned?
we’ll always be burned
by the gift of three wishes
it’s just like a fire and never a warning and
there’s no returning it
so you get what you wish for
but not what you want

—–

I wrote this poem last year, based in part off of a journal entry. Posting it here because I never put it anywhere public. (I did submit it to my school’s litmag, but that hasn’t come out yet this year.)

I’ll try to write something more later, but I have selection day for the school dance concert for a lot of the day. Much excitement! I choreographed a solo, let’s see if it gets in . . .