14 September, 2011

In the dead, dark hours after midnight, when the world seems to stop in it's place...

I sit here, in the center of a funnel.
Does the ripping wind foretell a hurricane,
Thrashing, tearing, leaving destruction in its wake?

The last storm's progeny still creep
About me, surprising in their strength.

Might one of them be that which might lift skyward,
Dropping me into lands of danger and hope.
Thrashing, scanning, soaring, I survey the storm.

03 July, 2011

Welcome to Katniss!

I was feeling a little alone here in Purgatory and bemoaning not knowing where I'd be next year (the excuse that I've used to forgo pet ownership for the last few years), when I realized that I could commit to finding a domicile which accepts cats. So, less than 20 hours later, I was bringing home Katniss from a local shelter. 48 hours later, I have ZERO regrets!

09 May, 2011

First Draft Done!

I happily emailed the first draft of my thesis to my advisor today. I don't know what to do with myself!

...but, I did treat myself by going to see "Thor," so were I to meet Chris Helmsworth, I'd know what to do with him!!

15 January, 2011

A Peppy Little Sonnet About the Snow

A day full of promise, hope, and new-fallen snow
I snap into my bindings, and downhill I go
Cruising down the mountain, music in my ears
Right there in my element, outrunning my fears
From a path out of site, comes a skier behind
Think I'll ride down beside him. Don't think he will mind
For a day or forever, our paths curved as one
Cutting, each complimenting as the other one spun
But the skier, his interest, it dwindled a bit
From his inattention -a crash, and from it my board split
So I sit in the snow on this beautiful day
But my riding partner is skiing away
My source of locomotion is gone now, kaput
And which pain is the greater, my heart or my foot?

Paging Sparky

If you're out there, and you read this. Please email: phoenixlove137@gmail.com

11 January, 2011

"Writing Again" From Seanan McGuire's Cover of We're About 9

I just wanted to leave you this
One last note in your window
Before you disappear
I wanted to concatenate
The paper with the pen
With the hand that you left here
I wanted to show you
That I'm still breathing
I wanted to show you
My fingers still bend
I wanted to thank you for giving me something
To be all bitter about
It's good to be writing again

And I didn't want to wallow
So I'm writing a peppy
Little sonnet about the snow
And I think you would like it
And I guess that's what I really miss

And there's something bothering me
What I wanted to say is

Oops, I didn't mean to get all heavy
I mean, really, I am doing just fine
When I look at your picture
You are foreign to me
You are practically out of my mind
And this is the season, I thought, for all summer
And this is the reason I emptied my mind
On to pieces of paper that don't hold the answers
Just clear-headed questions
And the memories
Of warmer times

And I've sworn off of lovers
But I've adopted a cat
With paws the color of snow
And I think you would like her
And I guess that's what I really miss

And there's something bothering me
What I wanted to say is

So, here it goes this is my letter
To tell you the truth, I can't tell if I'm better
I've been thinking about the way most
Things are difficult to open and easier to close

But closure isn't something hat you get with a person
It's a plan interrupted by snow
Or a division of property
I gain that. You gain this.

And there's something bothering me
What I wanted to say is

I wanted to tell you
That I'm still
I wanted to show you
My fingers
Still bend
I wanted to thank you
For giving me something
To be all bitter about
It's good to be writing again
It's good to be writing again

01 January, 2011

A New Decade

I find myself comtemplating what works for me, and what doesn't. I seem to view my life through the lens of Romantic Comedies...the good ones, anyway. I'm in some version of "Sweet Home Alabama," where I've left my roots and Southern friends, and now, I've come back to the South, only to be bitchy and disrespectful to the folks here. Of course, that ignores the fact that, here, I'm surrounded by bigots and selfish voters who care more for their own pocket change than for the lives of their fellows.
The future that I long for is direct from "The Family Stone," a holiday surrounded by children and grandchildren, with all that entails. That dream ignores the expense of Massachusetts living and the greater expense of having children.
The middle of the story is missing, but one thing is certain to me. It's not here. I'll be leaving South Carolina this summer. The path is set. Time to get ready for it!