Shhh. Poetry? What?

April 25, 2012 · 0 comments

So I was talking with someone earlier today and Spoken Word Poetry came up. I said I couldn’t take a Spoken Word class. Because I wouldn’t even know how to start. When I got home, I turned on the TV and tossed “Spoken Word Poetry” into google search. Sarah Kay’s Ted talk came up. I watched it. You should too. Her words vibrated through my nerves. I listened in awe. In jealousy of the way her words were making me feel. Then I looked up Andrea Gibson, again. And I got what everyone raves about. Not that I didn’t before. But I really don’t think I got it, got it. I get it. Before I even listened to “I Do,” I read it. And I heard it. Without hearing Andrea Gibson speak “I Do,” I heard it. I saw her perform it. In my mind. And then I started writing words. Words I’ve been too hesitant, too afraid of to write before. I wrote scary words and they became un-scary. I wrote words I’ve never spoken of. Feelings I’ve never expressed. And I spoke them. I felt them. Maybe I didn’t need to make that appointment with the therapist in May. Maybe I just needed poetry.

Part of my struggle with writing fiction as of late has been what to write, and what my responsibility is to my sexuality. That struggle has put me at somewhat of a standstill. Because as with everything that I haven’t done before, I always stumble around the how first. How to be a lesbian writer when most of my life I’ve pretended to be straight. Maybe this poetry business will get me there.

I’m going to try to blog more too, because I think blogging is cathartic. I’ve got a sinus infection, a little pneumonia, and it can’t get me down. I’m oddly happy. Writing does that for me. Some people box out their frustrations, I write them out.

I’m OK.

April 24, 2012 · 0 comments

PhotonQ-Beauty on the Horizon of Complexity
I’m not sure what I’m doing this next year. To stay, or to go. What I do know is that I have to commit to my writing. I haven’t been doing that. I keep waiting for that moment where I need to write. Where I can’t do or think about anything but writing. Except that moment has come and gone many times. I’m just always doing something else, and never feeling like writing enough. Writing has become somewhat of a stranger, and it’s as if I’m at that point where I don’t know how to go up to writing and introduce myself again. That sounds odd, right? I know. But writing has become that friend that I haven’t talked to in forever. The few times I’ve sat down lately to write, have been a bust. I’m used to writing when I have a story to tell. An idea of a story that I can’t quite explain and I have no idea where it’s going to end. But now I don’t even have an idea of a story when I sit down to write. And by writing, I mean fiction. But even when I try to write non-fiction, I’m holding back. I’m not being honest enough with myself. I have things to say. I do. But I’m struggling with how to translate what I have to say onto the page. Fiction was a coping mechanism. And I’m not sure that I need fiction writing in that way anymore. I don’t have the same pent up frustrations. And while those frustrations do remain, they don’t remain in the same way. Anyone who’s known me for awhile, known me for more than a few years, knows that I’m happier. Writing has always come from a place of discontent, for me. And I haven’t been writing for all that long.

I started writing about three years ago. It was after my sinus surgery, after Buddy died, and before I came out as a lesbian. I started writing when I had a lot of discontent in my life. After my sinus surgery, I lost my voice. Communicating became harder than usual. I shouldn’t have lost my voice. Nothing about my sinus surgery should have caused that. But I’d lost my voice. I wasn’t sure about anything at that time. Maybe I’d just stopped using it for so long that I forgot how to use it properly. Yet, when I did realize I’d lost my voice, I practiced, over and over, to regain it. Then there was Buddy. I still feel like I failed him, but three years ago—two years ago, one year—that feeling was much stronger. And then there’s my lesbianism, which I’m comfortable with now. But I wasn’t then. I’m just so OK with my life now. I wasn’t OK then. Now, I’m OK. I’m OK, and I’m not writing. Maybe writing was meant for then. Maybe writing was a transitional phase.

But maybe I’m just coming up with excuses NOT to write. I’m already reconsidering applying for MFA programs in fiction writing. Because is that something I really want to do? Do I really want to write for a living? And if I do, why is it so hard for me to do what I love. I suppose I’ve always thought of fiction writing as a transitional phase, a way to get to know myself better, to prepare myself for queer literary theory, so that when I get into a literature program, I’d get the most I could out of it. Because what I do want to do for the rest of my life is teach. I want to teach. But I’ve got to get there first. I’ve got to get a few more degrees.

At least there’s this: I ain’t as good as I’m gonna get. But I’m better than I used to be.

 

My Lovely Absence?

March 11, 2012 · 0 comments

The last blog post I published was about a month ago, and the one before that two months ago. I recently designed another blog, so you can expect a few new Thesis Theme tutorials soon. And I want to resume blogging more regularly here, but I’m struggling to find the time. If given the choice between blogging—at the moment—and designing a new website, I chose the latter. I need to do both. So I’m going to try. Maybe later today, or at least sometime this week, I’m going to post those tutorials. That’s a start.

The Way I See It:

February 13, 2012 · 0 comments

I don’t know what to title this?

January 18, 2012 · 0 comments

I’m already not sure this whole taking classes this semester was a good idea for my sleep. Maybe I’ll get a second wind, and going to class from 10-2p on top of working 3p-11p won’t leave me absolutely exhausted. But then, maybe I should have slept more than 5 1/2 hours last night. Oh Ambien.

Even though I was awake at 7:30a, I still won’t be able to fit watching New Girl into my schedule today. And I’m going to miss Modern Family tonight. And I need to stop watching so many shows. But I can’t help it. I’ve always loved anything to do with TV.

So I can’t even tell you how long I’ve been on this no Gluten, Egg or Dairy kick, but I’m not sure if it’s helping or not. I’ve lost 5 pounds in about a week, which is probably why I’ve been so damn tired. Getting this healthy at the same time as taking Adderall is sending my system into a state of something or another. Though, the doc did say I’d probably lose about 6 pounds in water weight. Did he mean this quick?

Anyways, waiting for my rice to be done so I can leave for work. And eat chicken, rice and onions, usually peppers too, for the 5th day in a row.

Are you Listening?

January 17, 2012 · 0 comments

Grow a Pair, Hailey

January 16, 2012 · 0 comments

I haven’t been blogging much lately. It seems I just don’t have the urge to blog as much as I do when I’m in school. Which probably correlates to my stress level. I’ve been applying to MFA programs. I’ve started eating Gluten/Dairy/Egg free, and I’ve been working. I’m trying to keep up on writing, but it’s almost as if routine drains the creativity out of me. Or maybe that’s just an excuse for why I haven’t been writing as much as I should be. I want to write a movie or TV script. I’m gonna, I’m gonna. But I actually have to start doing that. I’m gonna, I’m gonna. But probably not today.

I’ve realized that I really have no game whatsoever. And that just because I know how I feel that doesn’t mean other people do, as MUCH as I think they do. However, I’m becoming more open about my feelings or interests or whatever you want to call it. Which is good. It’s just that I feel like I’m surrounded by people in relationships, and I’m not going to lie, commitment scares me. I’ve had my heart demolished. I’ve had my trust violated. And so has everyone else. But they all seem to be able to recover. And then there’s me. Walls of steel. I’m afraid to even let someone know I might be interested in getting to know them. Because then I feel like they are going to have some sort of control over me. Like they are going to have the upper-hand. Like they are going to say, “Oh, that’s sweet. But, no.”

But on the other hand, I’m afraid to take an actual interest in someone because I’m afraid I won’t be able to commit, that I won’t be able to open up to someone. And I know where that comes from. It comes from dating guys while knowing I was gay. It comes from hurting other people. And I don’t want to hurt anyone. I want to meet someone who I can say, Hey, I think you’re interesting, but I’m damaged. I can’t do the attached-at-the-hip thing. But initially I will push my own boundaries because what we’re doing is interesting, and new, and exciting to me, but then I’ll get freaked out. And I’ll need some space to adjust. I might fall off the face of the earth. But that’s OK. I won’t know how to contact you after. And guilting me will only make me despise you. Or maybe none of this will happen. Maybe I’ve been going after the wrong people. Maybe I’ll meet someone as damaged as me, and we’ll both get to know each other incredibly slow. But that wouldn’t be good either. See, I have no idea what I want. I’m confused. I’m conflicted. But I don’t want that to paralyze me. And, yet, I think it is.

Every time someone contacts me, and makes the effort. I think: Is that what I’m supposed to be doing? If I’m “interested” in someone, should I be doing this? But I’m not that forward. That’s not me. I’m not going to ask someone on a date because I don’t want to go on a date. Unless it’s at Breadsticks. I don’t like getting to know someone in a 0ne-on-one setting. What am I supposed to say to someone who I hardly know? Awkward. I could probably do group dates, but even then, my chest is tightening up just thinking about the pressure of being on a date.

Maybe I’ll grow a little confidence. Just maybe. Because, in the end, I’m more afraid of acceptance than rejection. But I can’t help that it takes me some time to get confortable with people. It takes me awhile to come out of my shell. But once I’m out, I’m out.

Anyway, I’m going to Mexico in 9 days. So that’s exciting.

 

This Isn’t the Kind of Change I was Imagining

January 9, 2012 · 0 comments

Went to the ENT today. He said I’m the definition of Chronic Sinus Infection. And that I have a choice. A choice to live like this—in a constant state of infection—or get ahead of it, and get my immune system back on track. But the thing is, choosing to not live with a sinus infection means living gluten/dairy/egg free. It means getting allergy shots, and not seeing my cats, and shooting three different spays up my nose and taking one, maybe two, different oral antihistamines. It means no more vodka cranberries at the bar without paying for the special non-mainstream product. It means salads. It means reading labels. And stuffing my brain with all this oh-so-important information on what I can and cannot eat. It means I need to get to a city. Because Marquette, as far as you’ve come in the past two years on Gluten-free products, you still haven’t come all that far. Oh yes. I did this whole diet thing about two years ago. And it sucked. I’m lazy about cooking.

So, goodbye old diet. It was complicated knowing you.

Hello gluten/dairy/egg free diet. I’m sure it’ll be even more complicated knowing you.

 

Oh Hailey

January 6, 2012 · 1 comment

BEHIND WHICH DOOR,
Went to the Walk-In Clinic yesterday to get a TB test for work and it’s only occurring to me now that what the nurse meant by the third door was exactly that: the third door. But for some reason I began counting from the end of the hall—instead of the beginning of the hall. So when I attempted to turn into the second door from the start of the hall, and the nurse said to go into the next door, she wasn’t really a bad counter. Neither of us were. I was attempting to go into the third door from the end of the hall, or the second door from the start of the hallway. Oh Hailey.

What Happens on New Year’s Eve, Ends Up In My Blog. Kind of.

January 3, 2012 · 0 comments

New Year’s Eve was interesting. We rented the Sexiest Explorer room at the Landmark Inn, and set up a beer pong table. Well, I didn’t set up the beer pong table, but the other people I was staying with did. Before that we got Kim’s and then started drinking sometime after 6pm. Pre-gaming it in our room before the ball drop. It was a big room. With the largest bed I’ve ever seen in my life. There was a flight of stairs leading up to it. Large enough for four people to sleep in it. (More on that later.) The room also had a jacuzzi. And I can’t believe we fit that many people into one room.

We made it to the ball drop about 10 minutes to midnight. CeeCee couldn’t find his wallet so I stayed back with him and then after we hopped the elevator, we found a few of our friends trying to chug their drinks because they weren’t allowed to take them outside. Even though we had more alcohol than anyone needed upstairs in our room still. The chugging turned into a community event and when the cups got passed to me I put them down and helped to redirect everyone to the ball drop.

The ball drop was the ball drop. Marquette style. And I don’t actually remember seeing one cop. After the ball drop we went to the Vierling where I eventually saw my roommate and Mak’s. But Mak’s left and by the time she came back I’d left with CeeCee to take one of our friends who had had a little too much to drink back to the hotel. On the way back, she said, Everyone thinks we’re going to have a three some. I laughed, and then she said, Don’t you think? I’m not sure what I said next, but I do remember telling her that I agreed even though I thought that was probably the last thing people thought we were going to do. When we walked into the Landmark, the place was packed and suddenly I was rocketing through all these people at a stumbling speed–completely being directed by my drunk friend as I tried not to end up sprawled across the Landmark floor, and tried to look back for CeeCee to help steady us. Though I don’t know how he ended up behind us. As I rocketed though the lobby trying to keep my friend and I standing I just kept apologizing because there was no stopping. When we got upstairs, we stayed for a bit before we left again. Heading for the parking ramp. Instead of just going up the street we wrapped around downtown. Almost getting into a fight. Well, kind of getting into a fight. Did I mention my friend was wearing at least 3 inch heals? Oh my. Once we got to the parking ramp, our friend got her boots, and then we headed to the Rover where she seemed to get her second wind.

Outside of the Rover we found the other two/three people we rented the room with and then headed to the Upfront. After the Upfront, around 3:30a, I went back to the room while the others continued back downtown to frequent another bar. At some point they came back to the room and had a naked jacuzzi. Followed by some interesting conversation in bed. There was the sucking of toes and other body parts going on. For probably an hour, two of the four people in bed kept chanting “Cam’s toe!” to get B to suck Cam’s toe. He did not want to. They wanted him to. I’m told he ended up sucking Cam’s toe anywhere from 3-5 times. I still can’t get “Cam’s toe!” out of my head. It’s January 3rd! While all this went on, I was snuggled up on the couch. Safely away from Cam’s toe. Sometime around 6a they fell asleep and so did I. Yet, we were up around 10:35-10:40a to clean up the room. Never have I seen a room so trashed. We managed to clean the room up. And pack our stuff up. Though I’m pretty sure I packed all Cam’s stuff up for him. He was busy doing fansy moves and ending up flat on his ass.

I’m omitting a lot of details, but basically that was our New Year’s Eve.

Happy New Year!

 

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