Green Notepad - 07.19.2009

Grey sheets
like grey sheets of rain in the flatlands of Montana,
like the grey folds of my first tanktop, age 8,
how lovely it was, complemented my dark brown skin
that turned pale grey
in the winters of my darkest years;
grey tears.
Grey fog in my mind while i chased the sting,
filled an emptiness, exacerbated a latent calling,
to a grey demon--
the one whoe swallowed my pride for me
while I sacrificed myself to you on grey keyboards
and in grey rooms with grey drinks--
thanks to those things I lost the grey hotel room-key.
Grey skies the next morning reminded me of me
chasing after some piece of me that you had
stolen throuhg greyed trust. Jaded grey trust.
And even now the grey bonds still hold us
together, at least on grey carpet seats,
next to the grey cupholder holding the grey milkshake,
and I, smelling of red lusty nights
try to remember who chose the color scheme.

Book of Pisces: 6-12-2009

"The Lord gives
And the Lord takes away."

When looking into the past, I see the facts, or I see the opinions, or I see a dream. I wish it could be clearer; I wish it were somewhere on paper, in which case I would just peruse the pages of my history instead of playing a guessing game, very likely losing at it.

And it is very likely that all I am writing is a recollection of a failure to master the ability of living in the moment, despite writing as a present creature.

I am multidimensional. So often I separate myself entirely from reality, entirely from the status quo of my person, and I don't know what it means by doing that. Suppose for yourself that it is a defense mechanism, and feel psychiatric about it. Pretend that separation is your weapon, your gun in the war against your archenemy, abandonment, and recall all the times you've used it. After all, how can you be abandoned by solitude itself? You've killed and shot your company, reality, and every soul with every potential to change your heart and mind.

Document your burden of war.

scrubbing is fun.

I really enjoy scrubbing things. I'm not sure if it's the suds, or the little scratchy vibration that it produces, but it makes me feel good. Energized in some way, like I'm making some sort of difference, even if it's only for my own sake (i.e. clean bathtub/toilet/sink/dishes/etc.). God, I'm such a woman.

BUT THEN AGAIN, I can't really manage to keep any clean clothes folded and put away, much less IRONED...

But anyway, I'm getting a little tired of this SPAN 203 nonsense of having no textbooks. I can't tell you how much gas I have wasted going to and fro, roundabout freaking Chapel Hill trying to find these godforsaken texts. And even better, today I was told that the publisher is out of stock...HEY PUBLISHER, PUBLISH MOAR BOOKS.

You'd think it'd be that simple? No! Apparently nothing is simple here at UNC. -__-

BY THE WAY, IT'S A CAPS LOCK DAY.

In other news, I'm having another day, much like the one I had last week (that I'm fairly certain I didn't blog about, but...) in which I am all tired and derp even though I had plenty of sleep the last night. I'm getting nothing done. Thoughts have manifested themselves in food and just as quickly as I have eaten them, disappeared. Meh. Class tomorrow. I should go to bed earlier tonight.

Gonna make some soba now.