Lyrics of Tuesday evening

Or the lyrics I hope will one day apply to my life:

Nothing comes from nothing,
Nothing ever could
But somewhere in my youth and childhood
I must have done something good

The rain means something these days,

All these blank and tranquil years,
Seems they've dried up all my tears.
And while she runs free and fast
Seems my wild days are past

It rains a lot in Houghton, but it doesn't rain enough. It doesn't rain nearly as much as the place the rain makes me think of. It makes me think of the first time Joel leaned back on the rear legs of the chair in my pink bedroom and watched the unexpected rain drops fall down the glass. It was our first afternoon there, and the sun had been shining just a minute before.

"Well," he said, "that's London."

An Ode to Whatever

I think about days in funny ways
Like being alone, and not,
And reading books to fill the nooks
Too easily forgot.

To: He Who Does Not Know this is About Him

This will probably never change.

An Autumnal Poem,

When the leaves begin to fall,
sunlight tinkles into the room
and the shadows on the wall confuse me.

I can't help asking myself
if finally I will be able to capture
Peter Pan's shadow
and it isn't too late for me,
after all.

There is nothing for me like summertime.

I don't know what the reasons are in that equation. I wish I could be the kind of person who likes all the seasons the same. Or even that my preference was so minuscule that it didn't really matter. But I have never been that kind of person, I have not been raised around those kinds of people, and I feel like my experiences are only going to get more extreme.

Autumn has come to Houghton and I'm trying my best to make it a good one. I wear scarves and sweaters and I drink spiced apple cider like its going off the market. But Autumn to be has a subtext that I cannot ignore or deny.

Autumn comes before winter. Winter is on its way.

And Autumn is so short in western New York. The chilled days we've been having lately remind me of late November on the Island. The leaves do not make a slow decent toward the ground. One day they are a cacophony of color, and the next they are on the ground and my flip flops are irrelevant.

Meanwhile, I'm growing out the damage done to my hair with chlorine and salt. My skin looks stretched and pale. I dream of sand and air that always smells like the ocean. I don't want to think about the sunflowers which are not now lying crumbled on the cement. Sunflowers I waited months for.

Whatever homies.
I'ma just go to Hogwarts.

She's very eloquent

Bluetigers83111 (3:31:34 PM): seriously

Bluetigers83111 (3:31:35 PM): like

Bluetigers83111 (3:31:36 PM): ugh

Blargh,

Its so funny because I hate it. I hate this. I hate school in so many ways. Its not that I hate classes its that I don't like classes all the time. But when I'm honest I don't like people all the time either. I just hate that I rush here, and then I rush there, and then I have to SIT STILL for hours at a time either reading or writing or thinking.

And then later when I want to stop thinking I can't because my brain has been trained to think ALL THE TIME instead of just when I tell it to.

Then I reach a point where I decide I want to watch TV instead. Even though I know that the thinking is better for me then the TV watching. And I just want to sit there but the book in the next room that I'm supposed to read keeps yelling my name. Like, who cares.

That point? Was yesterday.
Long year.

Touche,

"Patty Keene was stupid on purpose... the women all had big minds because they were big animals, but they did not use them for this reason: unusual ideas could make enemies, and the women, if they were going to achieve any sense of comfort and safety needed all the friends they could get."
-Kurt Vonnegut