Yeahyeahyeahyeahyeah

Imogen Heap is working on her third album.

Read all about it on her iBlog.

Anticipation

Christmas at the Brown house always includes this family of "dudes" (from top, Julia Reichert, Steve Bognar, and Lela Klein). Here's to new looks all around.

This year, Colin joins the mix. A few decorations have been pulled from the attic and needless to say, I'm excited.

Keep It In The Family

Just as I felt familial pressure to buy a Skagen watch in order to stay on top of Brown family trends, I committed today to my first car, a 1998 Subaru Forester. It's not my dream car, but I love it for so many reasons, not least of all its trunk space (think of all the stuff we might have a whim to schlep around, Colin) and its completely rebuilt engine (it essentially has ZERO miles on it).

The European license plates are just a dream.

Papa's Breakfast

This morning I caught Papa quartering and buttering his muffin! I took a picture on my phone, but sadly any means of connecting it to my computer are packed in boxes in Chicago. Wait for it.

(Anyway, everyone knows we all want to date our fathers.)

Mood Music

Though I often sneer at people who can only seem to express themselves through song lyrics, I sympathize with finding a song that so perfectly expresses my mood that any explanation I can give myself seems merely a paraphrase.

At the moment, it's Citizen Cope's "Sideways."


you know it ain't easy
for these thoughts here to leave me
there's no words to describe it
in French or in English
well, diamonds they fade
and flowers they bloom
and I'm telling you
these feelings won't go away
they've been knockin' me sideways
they've been knockin' me out lately
whenever you come around me
these feelings won't go away
they've been knockin' me sideways
I keep thinking in a moment that
time will take them away
but these feelings won't go away

"Spleen" Was The Emo Of 18th Century French Literature

Le mot « spleen » s’agit d'un mal métaphysique très complexe qui s'exprime chez Baudelaire dans nombres de ses poèmes. Les principaux thèmes qui s'y rapportent sont: la fuite du temps, la tentation du Mal, la notion d'enfermement, la hantise de la mort et le regret de ses souvenirs. Ce mal profond l'éloigne des autres, du monde qui le comprend de moins en moins.

Three Entries In 16 Days

From my journal:

Monday, October 15 3:15 p.m.

The lack of correspondence I have had with this little book, my loyal and always attentive companion, of late should serve as some signal to the enthralling and constant demands on my attention. My inability to spare empty moments for the necessary release of tension and extraneous thoughts that I collect signals the amount of anxiety that plagues me. Now I am faced by the sorry statistic of these three entries over the past sixteen days (one of which was interrupted and thus ends midway through the fifth sentence), and the thought of making up for lost time is almost as stressful as chucking this book into Lake Michigan and never writing again.

What is my life coming to?

FAFSA

In filling out the FAFSA for Kent, my mama sent me her employment information, etc.:

Elizabeth,

I’m guessing what you need:

The Antioch Company

888 Dayton Street

Yellow Springs, Ohio 45387

(937) 767-7379

Position: Executive Assistant to CEO

Dates of employment: 5/01 through present

Base pay: $50,190

Current weight: 134

Diet: Low carb

Hair color: Macaroon Chocolate

Eyes: Clear blue

Attitude: Generally optimistic

Spirituality: Catholic with hints of pagan

Party status: Life of

Does this help?

Love,

Mama

Leaving Early

I recently made the decision to transfer from DePaul University in Chicago to Kent State in Ohio. The reasons are many - a better journalism program, lower tuition and living costs, proximity to family, the opportunity to study abroad for an entire academic year, and Colin's decision to transfer there last year.

It's nothing personal, Chicago people. I've watched Colin go through the challenge of detachment from this city we call home, and it hasn't been easy.

Thanks For The Memories

I've spent the past week in my hometown of Yellow Springs, Ohio. It's suffocatingly small and full of the characters of past, renounced life.

Refreshingly, this week I spontaneously saw some of the former "A" gang. I visited my high school. I cuddled with my family and napped on the screened-in porch. I squeezed in an extra weekend with Colin, and I watched my little brother win his soccer game.

And so, for not resurfacing pain, remorse, gossip, nor negativity, I thank you, Yellow Springs. I remember now that I love to be here.

But Really...

I didn't have to be such a jerk about it.

Sometimes my inability to express anger coherently and calmly really works against me.

Tarnished

This weekend I was so utterly betrayed by my greatest confidant. I was too quick to dismiss the wrong that was done and as a result I feel unjustified in being angry and disappointed.

But fuck that. I am disappointed and hurt, and afraid.

I've never felt so unclean in my whole life.

Smell

Today, as I left my apartment, I smelled after-school-in-October. I smelled crisp leaves and hot apple cider at soccer games. I smelled crunch-under-my-feet walks, holding hands, and jackets. Scarves and socks and sitting-on-cold-cement invaded my nostrils.

Could it be that fall is here at last?

So I Haven't Updated In A Really Long Time

So what?

They're Serious

This New Zealand couple wants to name their 2-month baby "4Real". They decided on the name after first seeing an ultrasound of their son, when they realized that their baby was "for real." The government has refused the registry, claiming that names cannot include numericals. The Wheatons plan to name the boy "Superman" instead, but call him "4Real" as a nickname.

Long Live Childhood Dreams

This one, on the other hand, I am willing to let die. Hard.

But It Never Happens

I keep thinking that one of these days I'll have life all figured out.

Ma Réalité

The people who currently understand me best are three and three quarters and five years old. We are scary monsters. A "belly massage" is code for a tickle attack. We make funny faces to cheer each other up. We dance wildly to Raffi and fall asleep on pillows on the floor. This is our reality. Would I trade it? Only for my own children.

What Happened To The Potter's Cat?

Is it Crookshanks or what? And WHY haven't we found out yet?

I Can't Stand Only Children

I'm thoroughly convinced that you can't raise a perfect child. Two or three maybe, but not just one.

The Thirteen Highlights Of My Thirteen Hour Workday

1. The best buckwheat pancakes I've ever eaten, with homemade blueberry syrup. "That's yucky. I won't eat it," says Amélie.
2. "Elizabif! I have to pee!" Amélie scurried across the kitchen, then stopped abruptly in front of the table. "Oh, no. I'm peeing." A sizeable puddle was visible around her feet.
3. Impromptu bath time for Amélie.
4. The location is the Yellow Springs Public Library. Amélie is playing computer, her tiny ears hidden by panda bear-shaped headphones. These invariably cause her to speak in a voice that is inappropriately loud for daily life, let alone a freaking library. "ELIZABIF. I PEED ON THE CHAIR."
5. Bath time (from the belly down) #2 for Amélie.
6. Noon: "Ravioli is poopy poopy pee-on-you," says Kai. None of us finished our lunch.
7. "I hate ice cream. Just kidding, I love it. Did I trick you, Elizabeth?"
8. Amélie, speaking to her wallet, which she is having trouble zipping: "Do I always have to be SO difficult with you?"
9. "Elizabif, remember this morning when I peed my pants? Ah haha ha!" How could I forget.
10. "Elizabeth, you're asleep." "Mnnn nm nmnm, nma." "What?" "I said, 'No, I'm not, Kai.'" "What?" "No, I'm NOT, Kai." "Haha, I made you say it THREE times!"
11. "Elizabeth, am I giving you a headache?"
12. "Elizabeth, that was only THREE seconds of crazy time. You said we get TEN." Kai counts on his fingers. "That means we get TWELVE more. Because TWO plus TWELVE equals TEN."
13. "Um... Elizabif?" "Yes, Amélie?" "Um.... uh..." "Yes, Amélie?" "I love you."

Tuesday Morning

I am sickeningly bad at keeping a normal blog.

Breastfeeding Baby Sophie

This morning, three-and-a-half year old (pronounced, invariably, "free - and a HAFF") Amélie pushed the wide-eyed baby doll across the floor of our playroom fort. "She's crying for you," she said matter-of-factly.

"Oh." I picked up the doll and began to cradle her in my arms, cooing gently to stop her from "crying."

"Not like THAT," Amélie inserted, exasperated. She snatched the baby from my hands, took it to her own chest, where she yanked her shirt up and pressed its plastic mouth to her nipple, or "noobie," as she calls it. "You have to NURSE her. Otherwise she'll just keep crying until you do." She passed the doll back to me and demanded that I try. When I pressed the doll against my shirt, Amélie sighed and gave an apparent eye roll.

"How can she get milk if you keep your shirt on?"

"Oh, Amiyama, I can't nurse her like that. I'm sorry." I wasn't uncomfortable lifting my shirt for this free-and-a-haff year old, but couldn't help thinking that it skirted the line of indecency on the job.

"Um.... Uh. Why?" She crunched her face up, as is her habit, as though the mental strain of this mystery was physically painful.

"Ma puce, I can't. Remember the other day, when we talked about why you have to wear underpants if you're going to pull your dress up around your shoulders?"

She pensively pressed her forefinger to her chin. "Yes." She nodded.

"Well, this is the same thing. Those parts of us are private, and it's just not appropriate to show them to people who aren't part of our family. That's why I nurse Baby Sophie over my shirt."

We sat in silence a few seconds. Amélie's face was still scrunched perplexedly, but not because she didn't understand my refusal.

"Okay, Elizabif, but... " (At this point she lowered to voice to a whisper, cupping her mouth with one hand.) "Baby Sophie is hungry."

"I guess you'll just have to nurse her yourself, Miss Amiyama."

Suddenly, Amélie snatched Baby Sophie from me in an almost violent manner. She slammed the dolls face against her naked chest and looked me dead in the eye, shaking her head. Finally, she spoke, resignedly: "I have to do EVERYTHING around here."

The Reason I'm Partial To Mapquest

This must be prefaced by a recognition of a false statement on my part. "Oh, about... 2 hours? No more than 2 and a half hours." I know. I was being casual. I placed false trust in my memory.
Estimated driving time from 45387 to 44321:
Mapquest 2 hours 53 minutes
Google Maps 2 hours 54 minutes

See?

Piano Prodigy

Kids like this undermined all my painful practice hours. That's right, I mean YOU, Olivia Chen. And Tina Chen. And Andy Chen as well. And you're all Asian, too. And have the same last name. Weird.

Remplie

Oh, the confine of youth.
How it cages my instinct,
Which every sinew in my body
urges me to obey.

As the opening of her blooming buds,
or the unfurling of her new leaves.
Arrest this undoing -
I am no slave to the coming of Spring.

A "Good" Thing For America, Dommage Pour La France

In France's recent presidential elections, conservative Nicolas Sarkozy was chosen as le nouveau president of France.

Read about it here.

Everyone's Doing It

On April 25th, the barely 17-year-old Whale Rider star Keisha Castle-Hughes gave birth to a daughter, Felicity-Amore, with her boyfriend of three years, 19-year-old carpenter Bradley Hull. Life imitating art? Keisha had just finished filming in the role of the Virgin Mary (who was also married to a carpenter) when she became pregnant.

I Thought It Was A Camera Effect

L'union libre

Today I fell in love with a poem by Andre Breton. The English translation does it no justice, so I won't post it, but suffice it to say that if this poem were a person, I'd do it. And that's worth sharing.

Forgive me seeming silly for posting it in French. I can't help it.

<< L'union libre >>

Ma femme à la chevelure de feu de bois
Aux pensées d'éclairs de chaleur
A la taille de sablier
Ma femme à la taille de loutre entre les dents du tigre
Ma femme à la bouche de cocarde et de bouquet d'étoiles de
dernière grandeur
Aux dents d'empreintes de souris blanche sur la terre blanche
A la langue d'ambre et de verre frottés
Ma femme à la langue d'hostie poignardée
A la langue de poupée qui ouvre et ferme les yeux
A la langue de pierre incroyable
Ma femme aux cils de bâtons d'écriture d'enfant
Aux sourcils de bord de nid d'hirondelle
Ma femme aux tempes d'ardoise de toit de serre
Et de buée aux vitres
Ma femme aux épaules de champagne
Et de fontaine à têtes de dauphins sous la glace
Ma femme aux poignets d'allumettes
Ma femme aux doigts de hasard et d'as de coeur
Aux doigts de foin coupé
Ma femme aux aisselles de martre et de fênes
De nuit de la Saint-Jean
De troène et de nid de scalares
Aux bras d'écume de mer et d'écluse
Et de mélange du blé et du moulin
Ma femme aux jambes de fusée
Aux mouvements d'horlogerie et de désespoir
Ma femme aux mollets de moelle de sureau
Ma femme aux pieds d'initiales
Aux pieds de trousseaux de clés aux pieds de calfats qui boivent
Ma femme au cou d'orge imperlé
Ma femme à la gorge de Val d'or
De rendez-vous dans le lit même du torrent
Aux seins de nuit
Ma femme aux seins de taupinière marine
Ma femme aux seins de creuset du rubis
Aux seins de spectre de la rose sous la rosée
Ma femme au ventre de dépliement d'éventail des jours
Au ventre de griffe géante
Ma femme au dos d'oiseau qui fuit vertical
Au dos de vif-argent
Au dos de lumière
A la nuque de pierre roulée et de craie mouillée
Et de chute d'un verre dans lequel on vient de boire
Ma femme aux hanches de nacelle
Aux hanches de lustre et de pennes de flèche
Et de tiges de plumes de paon blanc
De balance insensible
Ma femme aux fesses de grès et d'amiante
Ma femme aux fesses de dos de cygne
Ma femme aux fesses de printemps
Au sexe de glaïeul
Ma femme au sexe de placer et d'ornithorynque
Ma femme au sexe d'algue et de bonbons anciens
Ma femme au sexe de miroir
Ma femme aux yeux pleins de larmes
Aux yeux de panoplie violette et d'aiguille aimantée
Ma femme aux yeux de savane
Ma femme aux yeux d'eau pour boire en prison
Ma femme aux yeux de bois toujours sous la hache
Aux yeux de niveau d'eau de niveau d'air de terre et de feu

The Sticker Says It All

( the end )

words on a page
just loose spirals of thought
nothing much, really
just my heart, college-ruled
nothing much, really

you urge me to read these words i've put down
as you lay in my lap
i spoon-feed you my fears
i spill all my doubts
nothing much, really
nothing much, really

you tell me they are beautiful
and kiss me on the neck
but you’re missing the point
you never listen to me anymore

i want to hear the truth
and i’ve ripped myself open
to show you what’s inside
i know you love me
okay
just lie to me tonight

if you listened for the meaning
of what i’ve written down
you’d know that it’s just you
that causes my unrest
that makes my hand shake
you make me unhappy
and i’ve written these sad words
to make clear what i can't seem to say
nothing much, really

but you tell me they are beautiful
and try to hold my hand
you never listen anymore

you’re dancing around the subject
you don’t want to make me cry
i appreciate your effort
but i want to hear the truth
i’ve ripped myself open
because i know we’re through
yes, i know you love me
okay
i love you, too

let me show you to the light
this could be so much easier
just lie to me tonight

Shift Happens

Take it for what it is.

Chicago Beat L.A.

We've been waiting for weeks to hear the result of the 2016 Olympic bid.

http://www.chicagotribune.com/sports/olympics/cs-070415oly,1,3445788.story?coll=chi-sportstop-hed&ctrack=1&cset=true

Turns out we have to wait until OCTOBER 2009 to actually find out if Chicago can stick it up against all the OTHER nations of the world. Can Chicago beat the likes of, say, Barcelona? I just don't know.

What a tease.

He Might Have Wanted It For The Afterlife

In a 2005 article for my Egyptology class:

The team may have also located Tut's lost penis, which was catalogued during the 1920s but absent during the 1968 x-ray examination.

Though researchers could not be certain, they said the penis is likely loose in the sand next to the body, surrounded by skeletal fragments such as vertebrae, thumbs, and other missing digits.

Phew. And we thought it was gone forever.

Undeserved Understanding

"There is no rational time frame for human emotion. Words will come clearly when they are meant to."

Sometimes I really don't feel like I deserve patience.

Advice

Simone takes a long drag from her cigarette and carefully readjusts herself on the bed, rolling over to lie on her side. She gingerly rests her head on her free right hand, the smoke from her cigarette stub unfurling about her head.
"You can't write that," she says.
"Why not?"
"Well, first of all, it's true. Don't be one of those sappy writers who always tells the truth."

What's Today? Wensday?

A chalkboard hanging at The Bean in the SAC today read "White Mocha Wensday". No joke. I wanted to take a picture but felt a bit creepy.

Sometimes I wonder if education is all it's cracked up to be.

There's No Place Like Home (When You're Sick)

c> c> c> ... c> c> ... c> c> c> c> ... c> c>

Those look more like ice cream cones but are actually my tears falling, puntuated by sniffles.

Karma?

I opted for crappy coffee in order to make it to class on time, only to discover that Italian was cancelled. On top of it all, I returned to Munroe to find out that I didn't have my keys.

I practiced piano for an hour, and watched the better part of West Bank Story on my iPod in the common room (sans furniture, thanks to my alcoholic neighbors) before Andrea rescued me.

Apparently this is what I get for looking forward to this evening.

Breakthrough

This morning, Heloïse told me that she wanted me to take her to school everyday, until she is a
grand-mère. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I would be a grand-mère long before her, or that school doesn't last forever. Neither would be well received., but I was flattered nonetheless.

Happy Friday!

I'm so happy I could ... do something really wild. This weekend was already going to be incredible, but now I have peace of mind in addition (and I'm off work again this afternoon, amazingly, and all day Monday, too). This is more than I could have asked for, and the unexpectedness of it all makes it even more sweet.

I must be dreaming, or we're onto something. I must be dreaming for I don't fall in love lawlessly.

Just Can't Help That I Love Her

Imogen Heap's "Headlock"

"What's today, Tuesday?"

This profound bit of sixth grade genius, which I (and others, too) still quote de temps en temps, is a vague inside joke which I will refrain from explaining. Tuesdays are unpredictable, that's all. Also, I apologize in advance: I generally eschew posting anything so emo and self-exposing as what follows, but I feel the need to put it down and my hand and my journal had a falling out about fourteen pages ago. Forgive me.

I am blessed with the ability to absorb each moment fully, passionately, and likewise cursed with a certain naïvety that leaves me unprepared not to partake entirely in the moments against which most people learn to armor themselves.

These are things that I cannot bend to fit into sentences or paragraphs, or anything so logical: fear, uncertainty, the absurd truth of Alanis Morissette and Ani Difranco (at Jocelyn's insistance, of course) that keeps me laughing, the tugging on my stomach, leftover happiness that I dare not suppress, an attempt at detachment, a reminder to myself that I love spontaneity, the smell of beeswax on my pillow, my refusal to let days like today define me, the mounting excitement over Thomas's impending visit, and a smile that teases my lips: hope.

It's a good thing I'm optimistic by nature.

Good News... On The FAFSA?!

2007-2008 SAR PRINT SUMMARYDO NOT MAIL THIS DOCUMENT OR A COPY OF THIS DOCUMENT TO THE U.S. DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION.THIS IS YOUR COPY OF YOUR APPLICATION INFORMATION.

Student ID
008724399 BR 01
EFC
22735
DRN
8841

Oh, what?! Is my Expected Family Contribution lower than the cost of tuition plus room and board? Quelle miracle. I may actually not be completely destitute someday. Maybe. If I marry well.

Serious Study Time, Abbey, SERIOUS!

"Where it burst the earth was torn in such a manner that two or three butts might easily have gone into the hole it made."

"While I was in this situation I observed at a little distance a French horse, belonging to some islanders, which I thought I would now mount, for the greater expedition of getting off. Accordingly I took some cord which I had about me, and making a kind of bridle of it, I put it round the horse's head, and the tame beast very quietly suffered me to tie him thus and mount him."

-Excerpts from The Life Of Olaudah Equiano

What I'm Missing About Home Today

1. Sweet Mama kisses, and the way she smells like warm milk, and Johnson's baby powder; familiar physical contact and cuddling in general.
2. The way Ethan and Archie spoon on the living room carpet and, when Ethan scratches his belly, Archie's leg twitches rhythmically.
3. Walking in the Glen with Thomas and talking and not noticing how far we've walked but only the starkness of the tree branches against the sky and the ice in the river and the brightness of the orange rock of the Yellow Spring against the white snow.
4. Coming home from the Glen and tossing my clothes into the dryer while I sit on top in my underwear and write in my journal, then putting them back on and climbing under my covers and writing some more.
5. Mexican hot chocolate: Milk, cocoa, sugar, cinnamon, almond extract, and chili powder.

A Long-Expected Visit

Thomas is coming.
Oh my God.

Ash Wednesday

Hunger puts everything in perspective.

The Downside Of Taking A Personality Test On The Verge Of A Nervous Breakdown

Evidently I am emotionally unstable.

Check out my
personality profile!

Never take a personality test
(a) on Mardi Gras, when preparing to give up chocolate for Lent. All of that cocoa has a very strong effect on your hormones.
(b) when you are P.M.S.-ing and feel like crying for no particular reason.
(c) at nearly midnight under the above conditions, when you have not started your homework yet and also have to wake up in approximately six and a half hours for work.

Impressions

I'm spending more time worrying about how what I'm doing is being interpreted than I am spending just... being.

Finally, A Bit Of Recognition

I've been mildly obsessed with Amadou et Mariam over the past year. The blind duo from Mali performed at Bonnaroo in 2006 and their 2005 album Dimanche A Bamako was just selected as the BBC's World Music Award for Best Album of 2006 and Best African Album of 2006. And, in case their names mean nothing to you, world music legend Manu Chao produced Dimanche and appears as a guest performer. Download it here.



Review by Chris Nickson
Amadou & Mariam, the blind couple from Mali, have certainly paid their dues over the last 30 years, and it's about time they received their big break. Certainly given the excellent reviews in Europe, Dimanche a Bamako could be it, thanks to the production and participation by the elf prince of world music, Manu Chao. He brings a playful lightness to their soulful, bluesy Malian sound, letting in plenty of sunshine, and drawing in a sense of place through the ambience of traffic sounds and snippets of conversation. Chao is also obviously present on several tracks, such as "Senegal Fast Food," which offers a bouncy, reggae-styled rhythm so typical of Chao's own records. But even when not so obviously asserting himself, his presence is felt in the space he creates, and the use he makes of Mariam's admittedly limited voice (she's good, but no one will ever mistake her for one of the word's greatest singers), as on "Beau Dimanche," for example. Lyrically, this is very much an album of love songs, postcards between the couple, but it never veers into maudlin sentiment. Yet there's also a political edge to it, such as with "La Realite." Even if you don't understand the words, however, the entire disc is an absolute aural joy, poppy enough to be exquisitely memorable, yet with layers of resonance underneath. Likely to be one of the world music albums of 2005, it can hopefully find the kind of wide audience it surely deserves.

O.D. On Activism?

Tina suggested I visit this website that ticks off the dollars the American taxpayers put out for the war in Iraq. When I stopped feeling frustrated about that, I watched An Inconvenient Truth. When I calmed down from the outrage THAT caused me, I went to the DePaul Campaign to End The Death Penalty Meeting. I was about to go to sleep when Becca sent me this irreverent video about nuclear weapons.

Things are looking pretty dismal.

Almost

"And if I am a sailor,
then you are the warm gulf wind,
and you've blown into this little port
and roused my dreams again."

Too Much To Say

I want a new journal right this very second.

M.

Her picture fell down today. She is framed on my dresser, and also above my desk. Four years ago we thought the black and white prints were artistic - now the grayscale fittingly adds age, makes the past seem even more distant.

I can't bring myself to replace the picture. It fell so purposely from the pegboard above my desk and landed on the rack that holds my jewelry. The picture is askew in the cheap plastic frame, and tilted just-so, her expression loses some of its skepticism. I like that.

I'm still not sure why I've built a shrine to her photos, both those of her and those she took of me. She got me right on film; she made the camera know me like she did. I thought I had captured her as well, but out of her half of the roll of film, I chose to frame two unlikely pictures: her facial expression critical at best in one, and her lying on the grass, eyes shut, in the other. Maybe I captured her as well as I thought, and at the time I let myself believe that blind and sassy were just the faces she put on for the camera.

I'm still bitter, but I think the little swell I get in my chest, the way my throat still catches a little when I look at these pictures, is love.

Gargh...

I just spent two hours fixing my printer (which has been broken since before winter break) ... And actually got it to work! Wow! I was so proud of myself that I immediately printed everything that I would forseeably need for my classes.

And then my printer broke.

... At least I know how to fix it now?

Less Than 48 Hours Until...

La lune

La lune se lève
elle se lance dans mes rêves
où, toute la nuit
elle me suit

Accrochée au ciel
blanche comme du lait
dorée comme miel

De son perchoir au-dessus
elle me tourmente
Je m’en fou !

La lune se lève
elle se lance dans mes rêves
où, toute la nuit
elle me suit

Papa Qui?

Papa, qui m’appelle Citrouille et Liezel,
qui est grandes chaussures brunes et une cuiller en bois,
qui est la farine sur mon nez, une chemise de tissu écossai,
de qui les cheveux sont tous blancs,
est trop occupé de jouer aujourd’hui,
qui me dit qu’il m’aime,
qui me dit que je suis sa chèrie,
peut pas jouer aujourd’hui
travaille au bureau toute la journée, toute la nuit,
est malade, elle chuchote,
a trop de faire, il crie,
ne le dérange pas,
qui habite dans une seule salle, son bureau,
qui se couche après nous, qui se lève très tôt,
qui travaille, qui travaille, qui me réprimande, qui travaille,
qui me dit qu’il m’aime
qui me dit que je suis sa chèrie
Papa qui ?

On top of that...

Oh, wait, I am not just incredibly overwhelmed AND crampy, I am actually physically ill. Brilliant.

Tuesday sucks. (Tomorrow will be better?)

#%&@$*!

It can't be done. I can't make it. I have so much homework left to do that it makes me laugh, which sounds like crying, which makes Andrea laugh, which makes us both cry because we are so overwhelmed. The word "homework" has sent us into hysterics six times so far tonight. Each time Jocelyn laughs so hard watching us that she lies down on the floor. Tears stream down my face and Andrea doubles over and I am eating popcorn like my life depends on it because I am crampy and miserable. Twice I made witty, sarcastic remarks, which was very unlike me but impressed Jocelyn nonetheless. The only conclusions we can reach is that (a) we simply must live through tomorrow on as much caffeine as possible, and (b) the only reason boys are so macho and chill is because they don't have one week each month where all they want to do is shoot themselves in the face. The latter sent us all into fits which lasted long enough that I probably could have accomplished something decent in the time I spent falling out of my desk chair, doubled over in laughter/tears and wincing in abdominal pain.

I am having a nervous breakdown. And the saddest part is that I find time to blog about it.

Wrong Keyboard

I'm itching to write something. My fingers are tapping on the keys as I stare at this empty box but when I listen that they are not twitching in the anticipation of words, but that they are in fact playing the second movement of the Shostakovich Concerto No. 2.

Boy, it sure sounds better on the piano.

But Before I Go To Sleep...

The cutest thing I have ever seen. Well, one of them, anyway.

Lazy Day

At ten-thirty I said I was going to bed. And then facebook found me. And now Andrea and I are watching a movie together. I also napped twice today. Today is lazy.

It's sad, because it had the potential to be an amazing day, but my four hours of sleep would NOT let me enjoy it. But TOMORROW, tomorrow is perfect. I can already tell.

It's eleven o'clock, and it's bedtime.

Procrastinating

I love the snow.
"Well, maybe this life is like your bed. This life is like your bed."
Today is good. Tomorrow will be better.

The Answer To My Prayers

Someone of importance obviously reads my blog. Thank God for snow.

I'm watching the snow out my window and my room is clean and the heat is blasting and I'm listening to The Postal Service and life is good.

Sleet, Rain, A Shrug Of My Shoulders Because It Doesn't Matter If It's Not Snow

Melissa just walked into my room to announce that it was snowing outside. In her skirt and suede moccasins, was in need of a change of clothes after being outside in the cold, she said. I excitedly opened my blinds (with Heloise's wishes in mind, of course) to find some bizarre mix of rain and sleet. Contrary to popular belief, sleet is not snow, and it does not make children happy. Have a little mercy, hein?

Morning

Something really good is happening to me.
And I like it.
A lot.

Heloïse

For the past week, Thomas and Heloïse have been watching a puddle at the corner of Belden and Geneva. Monday and Tuesday it was liquid, murky and brown, bits of leaves and mud sticking to Heloïse's pink sneakers as she trudged through it. By Wednesday, a thin layer of ice deceived us until the stroller wheels easily broke through what looked, to us, like the possibility of a snowy day. "Pas de neige, pas aujourd-hui," Heloïse exclaimed with a sigh fitting for a barely four-year-old.

Today, however, the puddle was completely frozen. Heloïse's micheivous smile and the dimples on her cheeks said unmistakably that she understood the significance of the puddle's état gelé. This afternoon, holding tight to the poussette as we walked home, talk didn't stray from the hope of a white morning tomorrow.

So, for Heloïse, and for the sake of my my sanity tomorrow, please let it snow!

Life Is Like A Box Of Chocolates

I skipped the gym today and ate a really amazing piece of mint chocolate instead. But what's life if you can't enjoy it, anyway?

The Kind Of Person I Am

I suck at blogging.

I said it from the start - I don't know how I feel about this whole thing. After all, I'm a pen-on-paper kind of girl, and the persistent tapping of my keyboard is far less romantic than the giant, dead-give-away of a callus I've formed on my right ring finger. And please - I have already been told that such a callus should be found on my MIDDLE finger. I hold my pen incorrectly, so what? That's just the kind of person I am.

All of that being said, I'm not giving up. Because that is also the kind of person I am.

So, I'm just sitting at my (currently messy and therefore driving me insane) desk and listening to Elliott Smith, an old obsession I never could kick. And as I slip further and further into depression (thanks to Elliott, of course), I'm imagining that I could put off doing my Italian homework until tomorrow. Suddenly, my dream becomes reality. I CAN put it off, of course. I do whatever I want! Of course, whatever I want (like the concept of a meal, of late) is quite relative, and I may forever be known as a bit of a rule embracer (hard to break those elementary school stereotypes when one lives in a place like Yellow Springs). So, I've decided to do a bit tonight and save the rest for tomorrow, when I will surely want nothing more than to listen to more Elliott Smith and overdose on cough syrup or birth control (the only real medicines in my bathroom cabinet) in an attempt to reach a world where verb conjugations and obscure grammatical exceptions don't exist.

But actually I'll just smile through it all, anxiously and contentedly awaiting the weekend, when I will find a way to reward myself, because that's just the kind of person I am.

Regina Spektor On Life

This is how it works
You're young until you're not
You love until you don't
You try until you can't
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath
No this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
Then try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some-
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don't get harmed
But even if it does
You'll just do it all again.

Lyrics for M.

I whispered "hello" as you passed me
But recognition never passed your face
You cocked your head to one side
Readjusted your dress
And decided to dismiss me, again.
I've replayed this scene so many times in my mind
But each time it goes the same way
You walk away
Please prove me wrong for once
Please stay.

We all have moments
That we'd like to replay
I want to rewind
I'm sorry.

We once sat for an hour
At your kitchen table
And picked out the songs
That said just what we felt
We sorted with purpose but ended up feeling shallow
We should have just said the words
Ourselves.

But these words are the ball and I'm passing it back
Please do not toss it aside.
Even though we always fought
I loved you an awful lot
An awful lot.
I'm sorry.