Yup.

I’ve had several passing ideas for what to update this blog with recently but most of them either get forgotten or by the time I get around to updating, I feel so drained from whatever else I’ve done in the day, that I don’t have any desire to write anything.

The latter is currently in effect, although I’m forcing myself to get through it as I’m typing this.

Work has been very time consuming and relatively boring. Same shit, different day, basically. I’ve managed to read large chunks of young adult novels while there. And by that I mean I’ve read all of the currently published books by Rainbow Rowell and am hungrily awaiting Landline to come out. Someone should get Rainbow Rowell an award for “excellence in building sexual tension that is quickly resolved in a few short pages at the end of the book”. She’s a pro at this.

I started reading Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy (leather-bound physical) as well as The Beginning of Everything by Robyn Schneider (Kindle). So far I’ve indulged more in the latter than the former, but that’s partly to do with the ease of lugging my tablet as opposed to a 5 pound hardback, but largely in part to do with it’s so much easier to read a fast-paced, modern vernacular young adult novel instead of a classic.

BUT ANYWAY.

Today was one of my rare days off and I spent the majority of it doing things that needed to be done, although all of them were spontaneous. I washed and changed my bed linens and drapes, dropped by about 20 large, overflowing bags of stuff at Salvation Army (mostly old fat clothes), picked up bread, and even stopped by the annual Glass Show which was actually a big disappointing. Apparently antique glassware is expensive. Personally I’d rather pay $55 for a set of crystal classes as opposed to one antique champagne glass, but that’s just me.

And now I gotta get my butt to bed so I can take as many hours and minutes of sleep as I can before I have to be rudely awaken at the ungodly hour of 4:45 am so I can be at job 2 at 6 AM tomorrow morning. I’m really not sure what I hate more: waking up before dawn or working until midnight. The upside of working the morning is I then have the rest of the day to myself to nap and exercise and do whatever and not feel anticipation for having to go to work later, which is largely the downside of working until midnight instead. Ya feel me?

I’m already looking forward to TOMORROW’S nightly bedtime when I won’t have to get up for anything except my body telling me I gotta pee.

Additionally, I had planned on participating in National Poetry Month (April) by writing a poem a day like I have for the past 2 years, but I definitely not written one single poem and I’m kinda sad about it. But I don’t feel any prevalent emotional baggage or recurring emotions that require the sweet release of poetry to do them justice. It makes me a bit sad actually.

Henna, Poems, and God is Gay.

I just redisovered Carrie Underwood music on Spotify and I’m not even sorry. Totally playing Last Name on repeat right now and singing along. YOLO.

Also, I can’t remember if I mentioned this already or not, but I did drunk henna on my knees a few days ago and it turned out rather well. Here’s a picture:

Also, I’ve been watching slam poetry videos on Youtube because I discovered CUPSI (college slam poetry) and a bunch of other slam poetry organizations and have been on a carousel of discovering new poets and poems and omg. Drinking it all in. I actually sat down and wrote 2 spoken word poems, the first in a long time, and the first poems I’ve written since July. It feels good to be thinking in poetry and expressing my feelings through it again.

That said, here is one of my current favorites that I’ve discovered and have watched a few times over since yesterday:

Poetic Life Lessons

In preparation for pre-NaNoWriMo-blogging-month aka October, I’ve decided tonight I want to share a few of my favorite poems. The first comes from Langston Hughes, whose entire poetic works I own (and have not yet read, shamefully) in a book I bought off Amazon a few years ago. I “accidentally” flipped to this poem the night that I was backing out of my driveway and hit my passenger side mirror against the side of our house, knocking it clean off my car, after which ensued my dad’s fiery wrath of anger and Romanian profanities. And when I say “accidentally” I mean I really don’t believe it was an accident that of all poems, this was the one that I opened the book up to.

Acceptance
Langston Hughes
God in his infinite wisdom
Did not make me very wise –
So when my actions are stupid
They hardly take God by surprise.

The second poem, I’m not sure how I ran across, but it’s among my favorites because it’s touching and I find that it rings true with my spiritual beliefs and how I envision “life after death.” Rather unfortunately, I was able to use this poem in remembrance of a friend of mine who I wrote about last year, named Missy. She tragically died of a heart condition soon after New Years 2012. I was her Secret Santa just a month earlier. And so, in memoriam once again, here is Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep by Mary Elizabeth Frye.

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

Lastly, I’d like to share a poem I discovered in 10th grade English class while reading a short story in our English books. If I’m not mistaken, I believe the poem was included in Ray Bradbury’s short story by the same name, but the poem, There Will Come Soft Rains, is by Sara Teasdale. I really enjoy this one because like the last, it touches on my spiritual beliefs, especially about life and nature and importance, or lack-there-of of the human existence in the grand scheme of things.

There Will Come Soft Rains
Sara Teasdale
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools, singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white,
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

I Fall Asleep Writing Poems at 10:38 PM

Has anyone else been doing National Poetry Month┬áthis year? I keep skipping days and then falling asleep trying to come up with lines to rhyme lmao. I’m pretty sure I fell asleep at like 10:38 last night. I still need to fill in AT LEAST 5 days of poems. Sigh. Duties.

I’m debating what to do with my day off tomorrow. I kind of just want to be a couch potato and stay at home, not really do much. I should probably hit up the gym though. I went today and it was a good decision. Although this one really beefy guy who I’ve seen before and always stares at me intensely was lifting next to me and it was kind of hilariously awkward because I felt like he was showing off.

But I’m not sure if he was showing off in like HEY BABAY way or a LOOK AT MY FUCKING GUNS BITCH YEAH I KNOW I DON’T NEED TO LIFT ANYMORE BUT LOOK AT MY BICEPS, THEY’RE THE SIZE OF YOUR THIGHS way. He kept making eye contact with me and then lifting 100s. I was like….okay…I’m just gonna continue tricep dipping here…

The best part was when he flexed his biceps in the mirror and I really had to restrain myself from laughing out loud. Seriously, sometimes people do shit that makes me have to bite my tongue and I look insane smiling in the mirror.

Savoring the Rain

I once wrote a poem whose closing stanza went

I would tell you to stop flirting
But I enjoy the pain,
Cause this is better than not knowing
It’s like savoring the rain.

I think I’ve fallen back on the idea that I’m just gonna be single for the rest of my life because clearly I’m not good enough for anyone.