A Common Household Scene

(It is a Tuesday afternoon, and BRIANNA returns home after spending time at the local library (not the one she planned on visiting), applying for a job.  Note, "a job" because the application for that one stinking job took an eternity to fill out.  When we find BRIANNA, she is laying on her back on the hardwood floor of her family's kitchen while her father passes by to get to the family's computer room.  DAD is not paying attention, but doesn't step on her because that would absolutely awful.  MOM is chopping onions on the counter nearby.)

BRIANNA:  (undisguisedly pleased with herself) I applied for a job today!

DAD:  And?

BRIANNA:  And...I applied for a job today!

DAD:  And?

BRIANNA:  ...um.  It's not--

DAD:  Did you get it?

BRIANNA:  It's not an instantaneous thing...

MOM:  Now's the waiting game, dear.

DAD:  Oh.

MOM:  You're starting to sound like a Millennial.

BRIANNA:  Ouch.  On behalf of my generation, I am injured that you would call him one...

MOM:  Isn't it the Millennials that want everything to happen right away?

BRIANNA:  Maybe?  Did you also know that the older generations think we're shitty?  Thanks...thanks a lot.

(BRIANNA lays back on the cool floor as DAD heads over to play on the computer and watch drum solos of Katy Perry songs.  MOM continues chopping onions.

Scene.)

If I told you that this is a common conversation in my house, you probably wouldn't be surprised.  Well, if you know myself and my parents at all.  Okay, maybe the Millennial comment is unusual, but the rest of it is right on.  I just thought it was important to include everything in the conversation if only to get a decent length for this post.  Yup.

I really wish that this wasn't a common conversation.  What can I say, I'd like to be lauded for my single job application because it was for Walgreens, and it took me two hours to do.

So...what am I really supposed to say to that single word question: "And?"  I guess I can think of a couple things:
-  "And I heard that the Blackhawks lost, that's a serious bummer, right?"
-  "And the weather's pretty nice, did you need me to pick up sticks in the backyard?  I'm just going to go do that..."
-  "And I actually heard back from them at the exact moment that I pressed the submit button, and good news, I'm moving out and I'll have a pay check that's six figures!"

Really?  This is going to be a recurring rant until about the time when I get a job, and by then, it's going to be a rant about how my parents hate my job because it makes me poor, or how I hate my job because it eats my soul.  So anyway, I understand that my father wants me to have a job.  At least, that's the only assumption that I can make from this single word question, because it doesn't really sound like he's saying, "Rah, rah, good job, Brianna!  Go you for applying for a job!"  I mean, I would know how to respond to that, I would just beam happily and preen.  Why yes, I did apply for a job, thanks for noticing, would you like my autograph too?  So...why exactly is my father demonstrating more impatience with my situation than I am?  Is he really that eager to get me out of his house?  Just curious.

On another note, I had a really awful dream about our house burning down, and my thought in my dream was "Shit, I only have one copy of every poem I've ever written for the Poem-A-Day Project."  Because part of me fears this is my seer potential tapping into prophecy that something terrible's going to happen to my hard copies, I'm typing up every single poem I've written and uploading them to Google Drive!  Who's excited to read all of these poems again and get them into some cohesive order?  THIS POET!  Yup.  That's the plan.

"What good has impatience ever brought?  It has only served as the mother of mistakes and the father of irritation."

- Steve Maraboli

Stars and Fishing

I remember a time when I wrote all my poems on time.  That was a good time.  When did I become such a slacker?

Yesterday I went to a poetry slam put on by my friend's library.  I say it's her library because she works there, not because it's her local library.  Just to be clear.  I read a couple poems that I had planned on reading, and then all of a sudden no one wanted to read after me.  I felt bad, but at the same time, I also felt kinda awesome because I killed my performance on those two poems.  Luckily, my friend whipped out her memorized Shakespearean sonnet.  And then I ended up reading again because PEER PRESSURE!  But I had a ton of fun!  It helped that there were a handful of people who complimented my poems and my reading of them, so that just made me feel all around awesome.  [this is when Brianna realizes she should purchase a thesaurus]

The poem snippets for yesterday that I wrote today came from a quote which turned up in a conversation with a friend last night (I'll bet you can figure out what was said...).  He might punch me for stealing it...but you know what...too bad.  And then the poem for today was because there were so many fish poems at the slam yesterday and I realized that I haven't written a fish poem.  And this poem also led me to learn that when I start stories about my childhood, I may start talking about "me" or "I," but then I eventually shift into "we" and "us" because I did just about everything with my little brother.  Interesting...

April 28, 2013

You said that
if all the stars aligned
and circumstances changed,
we could talk about it.
But you're forcing the stars
into this position
and pulling celestial legs
overhead
when all you need to say is:
"I want to."


You're forcing the stars
into this position
on your pantry shelf
because you already
hung the moon
on your doorknob.
I'm not saying
you can't tack the sun
to your corkboard,
but leave some warmth
for the rest of us.


You're forcing the stars
into this position
and Tom Cruise
is not a fan.


April 29, 2013

When I was little,
my grandpa took me fishing.
We stood on the pier,
and Grandpa held out
a styrofoam container
full of grubs.
I cringed
when the little white things
squirmed in the sawdust.
Grandpa speared the grub
and curled it around my hook.
I closed my eyes.
My favorite part was casting,
flicking the hook
out into the water
and listening for the plop.
Then reel it back in
before the bite.
Cast and reel.

"Writers fish for the right words like fisherman fish for, um, whatever those aquatic creatures with fins and gills are called."

- Jarod Kintz

Catchin' Up!

Remember that time when I was on time with all my poems and I didn't have to write multiple poems in a single day?  I remember that time, that was a good time...ah, memories.  April 19th isn't getting posted here because no one needs to read that.

April 20, 2013

I remember when you
were this big,
a football held
in my brother's arms
because he always liked kids
more than me.
By the time you were old,
you floated in the lake
buoyed up by a life jacket
while I jumped off the pier.

It astounds me
that I can remember
pushing your stroller
at Lincoln Park Zoo
because today you have a girlfriend
and tell stories about track.


April 21, 2013
(stolen from 101 Things to Do with Ramen Noodles because I mistakenly thought that living with my parents meant that I wouldn't have to eat Ramen anymore)

"Cook noodles in water according to package directions."

Whether or not
your water is
salt or fresh
doesn't ultimately matter.
Drain noodles.
Add sodium packet
for instant death
or immediate increase
in blood pressure
like your father's
when you wake him
from his nap.
If sodium is not
to your taste,
mix in peanut butter.
That works too.
Find the largest bowl
in the house or
eat straight from the pot.

Enjoy.

Biblical Proportions

This morning, I awoke to the sound of water moving around, and my father swearing.  I thought to myself, "Hm, why is Dad in my bathroom?" and rolled over.  Well, until Dad came into my room and turned the light on.  Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I plunged my ankles into 3-4 inches of ice cold water.  Good morning to me.

April 18, 2013

When Noah reached the bottom
of his basement stairs,
and his foot felt water,
his slipper drank a gulp
and he said,
"Shit goddamn."
Then the phone rang.

Yo, Noah,

get your family out of there,

I'm flooding this place.

"You couldn't have sent

some warning?"

It was kinda

a last minute decision.

"So you took out

my basement?

My pool table's ruined,

man."

More pool than table,

am-I-right?

...

So Noah hung up

on the heavenly Father

and yelled for the kids

to pick up their things.

The phone rang again:

Oh, and can you round up

two of every animal?

Don't forget the unicorns.

Noah hung up again.

He had other problems.

"The only thing that stops God from sending another flood is that the first one was useless."

- Nicolas Chamfort

Like Riding a Bike

Do you ever wonder where weird phrases come from?  Like, "It's just like riding a bike."  For real, where did that come from?  [cue Google search]  Nope, no luck.  Or I just didn't look hard enough, which is a distinct possibility.

Anyway, I went to Girl Scout camp this weekend.  I go every six months to take care of the tents over there.  And when I say "take care of," I don't mean I take them out back and embed lead into their skulls.  I mean that we either set up or take down these big smelly canvas four person tents.  (I suddenly feel like I've written about this before, but I'm going to repeat myself anyway.)  Spring we set them up, fall we take them down.  Simple as that.

They're platform tents, so once everything's spread out and you've got two people working on hoisting the upright poles and you've also got four people on the corners, once the thing is up, you have to tie the ropes to the platform.  Now there's a specific knot I was taught to tie so that come fall, all you have to do is pull the tail end and Voila!  The rope is loosed.  I call this the "tent knot."  I learned this weekend that it's a slipknot.  Who knew?  Anyway, I tried practicing this knot at home to refresh my memory and no luck.  I just couldn't tie a knot that reminded me of the knot I tie on the tents.  Then once I got to camp, I tied the knot like it was no big deal.

Apparently it's just like riding a bike.

April 13, 2013

It's just like
riding a bike.
But you wouldn't know
what that's like
because you never
rolled your bike out
of the garage
after months of cold and school,
dusted off the seat
and took off down the sidewalk.

My brother and I rode
up and down the alleys
of our neighborhood,
our boundaries being
the busy streets
that tied us to one little triangle
where we could visit
one grandma
but not the other.
When we were old enough,
we rode around the circle,
pretending to be horse jockeys
because they used to race there.

And we always stuck
together.
It was easy.

"My two favorite things in life are libraries and bicycles.  They both move people forward without wasting anything.  The perfect day: riding a bike to the library."

- Peter Golkin

I'm on Fire!

My very first poetry professor said that if you're ever stuck and you can't think of something to write, consult your "materials."  Typically, this is your childhood.  I was thinking about that earlier today because on my way home from a spectacular amateur comedy show, I was talking to my friend about how I used to hang out in a fire house when I was little.  My grandpa was a fireman, and my dad used to take me and my brother over there to visit with him while he was on duty.  It was pretty neat, and weird because I hadn't remembered that that was a thing until last night when I said, "Oh right, I did that..."  It's strange to me that you can forget that you remember things and then you re-remember them.  Anyway, so that's where today's poem came from.  It's more of a collection of some of the memories that I was thinking of, but it could be refined and used.

And I didn't even talk about Barney or Striker, the dogs in the fire house!  I don't think I knew Barney, but I swear Striker was pretty old when I met him.  Or maybe he was just a really laid back dog.  He was not, however, a Dalmatian.  Fun fact.

Also random note, I woke up and have random lyrics stuck in my head.  Not a whole song, just the same lines over and over: "There'll be times you might leap before you look, there'll be times you like the cover and that's precisely why you'll love the book."  Thank you, Ben Folds Five, for "Do It Anyway."

April 6, 2013

I sat on the lap
of a firefighter I didn't know
in the front seat
of Engine 124,
my 8-year old hand curled
around the cord
for the air horn.
Once tugged, the red monster
released a mighty bellow.

I remember eating popsicles
while I learned to play Solitaire
on the only computer
in the fire house.
Sometimes the popsicles were good,
other times the dye
tasted like chemicals
but I ate it anyway.

Dad never let us slide
down the fire pole
from the hole in the ceiling,
instead, he lifted us
over his head
and let us drop from his height.
So he could catch us
if we lost our grip.

"The funny thing about firemen is, night and day, they are always firemen."

- Gregory Widen, "Backdraft"

"She's like...twelve!"

Whenever I'm talking about someone who's much younger than me, or someone who seems much younger than me, I typically make the observation that "[NAME] can't do that, he's like 12!"  This is a tendency I picked up from a friend of mine because I thought it was hilarious, and it's been stuck in my brain's lexicon ever since then.  I think I was 15 or 16 when I picked this up.  Maybe.

So now that one of my younger cousins (who am I kidding, I only have three) is turning 12 for real, I'm realizing that I really can say what the older old people say when young people walk into the room: "I remember you when you were this big..." and suddenly I feel decades older than I really am.  And I can't even say she's "like 12," because she will actually be that age.  So this weirds out my speaking patterns.

My mom and I were out shopping for birthday presents for this cousin, because that's what you do when you're family members and you're invited to a birthday party, typically you bring presents, and I was thinking.

What did I do for fun when I was 12?

And I realized that I have no idea.

I was in middle school at the time, leaving a handful of my friends behind at the local elementary school so I could go forth with my best friend to this special program through the local high school that would involve white collared shirts, and dark pants/skirts as a dress code and French class.  I was particularly excited about learning French, let me tell you that.  So presumably, I did a lot of homework.

I don't remember hanging out at friends houses very often, and I don't particularly remember what books I was reading at the time, only that I'm sure I was reading things.

And I have no idea if I was writing at that time.  Because I'm fairly certain that there was a time in my life when I took a break from writing.  I just didn't do it.  Like ever.  I don't know if it's because I didn't have the time or the ideas or the inclination to write short stories or what, but I'm pretty sure I hadn't figured out that I could scribble down ideas or whatever randomness I wanted in a notebook and call that "writing."  Yeah, pretty sure I wasn't doing that.

I think I was doing Girl Scouts, because I had joined the local troop when I was 11, and continued on.  And I don't think that this was the time when I called my Girl Scout leader every week to ask if there was a meeting, I think that was in high school.  So 12, I probably remembered when the meetings were, and went to them as well as the camping trips and other fun things.

If I remember correctly, I did the drama club at middle school, but we didn't really do much that year.  When I was 12, we did a lot of improv.  And I wasn't very good at it.  At least, I didn't think I was particularly good at it, but I had fun, so that's all that really mattered anyway, right?

I must have hung out with friends, but considering we were 12, I have no idea what we did.  Pretty sure that would mean I went to their house and we hung out or had a slumber party.  I must have painted my nails a lot.

I seem to remember a long black skirt that I really loved to wear with brightly colored argyle knee socks under it, because this was a way I could wear bright colors and still be in dress code, because no one was looking at anyone's socks.  This is also when I started liking colored/patterned socks, because dress codes suppress pretty colors otherwise.  Though I'm not sure how this paragraph is relevant to what I did as a 12-year old.

I'm going to guess that I spent a lot of time at home reading or watching movies with my family.  I really love movies, and my grandpa has this really great collection that he lets us borrow from, as long as we swear on our lives that we'll bring them back.  They used to be all VHS, but he's since upgraded to DVD.  I wonder if he'll go as far as blu-ray, but I highly doubt it.  This was also an age when Blockbuster was thriving, so I could have gone there as well.

Not really sure, but I've got a couple ideas, I suppose.

"The great thing about getting older is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been."

- Madeleine L'Engle

Poetry Friday: More Lies

Today I read Karin Gottshall's "More Lies," which is a really beautiful poem, and I enjoyed reading it.

This is where I have every intention of writing about this poem.

PROMPTS:
1.  Write about people talking about "small things."
2.  Do you ever lie when someone asks "where you're headed"?
3.  Ever wished you had a sister or a brother?  Write about what it would be like to have grown up with a brother or sister that you don't have right now.
4.  What kind of relationship would two people have if they only ever met in cafes?
5.  Write a poem about meeting someone in a cafe.  Do it!

"Sometimes I say I'm going to meet my sister at the cafe--

even though I have no sister--just because it's such 

a beautiful thing to say."

- Karin Gottshall, "More Lies"

2 Truths...and...Just Kidding

One of my friends, Elizabeth, is an English teacher.  As part of her teaching magic, she has her students write blog posts.  So, she shared these prompts with me, and I am very excited to be stealing one of them for today's post.  It's based on the game 2 Truths and a Lie, but I've decided to dispense with the lie (for now) and tell you three truths about me.

And note to self, write something fictional soon.  Preferably good and fictional, but I know how you can get...

1.  I can juggle.

I'm not saying I can juggle well, but I can, indeed, juggle.  My first May Term through my university, I went to a juggling workshop.  I believe that was my first May Term, at least.  I spent the majority of the workshop tossing two balls into the air until the person running the thing had me pick up the third.  At that point, I spent a long time tossing two balls and holding the third because I was terrified of tossing it.  Until I just did.  So I can do the very basic juggling pattern of three balls.  That's about it.  My brother taught himself how to juggle by using YouTube, that magical place, and he can do a number of tricks, and in my attempt to be more like my brother, I'm planning on learning how to do some myself.

2.  My favorite game is Bananagrams.  Though I'm not particularly good at it.

I was only introduced to Banagrams a couple years ago and played it in Steak 'n Shake and/or the lounge of my residence hall.  And it was awesome.  But the reason I'm not particularly good is because I'm not usually very quick about putting together my words.  I have a bad habit of seeing a word I really want to use and then rearranging my entire collection of letters so I can use it.  I did this for "quixotic," and "wizard," and those are the two I can remember.  To be fair, "quixotic" uses two really annoying letters, so strategically it was a good move.  Point being, I usually sacrifice speed for interesting words.

3.  I collect fortune cookie fortunes.

Not on purpose.  Though I'm not really sure how you can accidentally collect something.  It's more that every time I eat a fortune cookie, I pin the fortune to my bulletin board in my room.  Last summer I actually took all my fortunes, compiled them into a Word document, and tossed out the little slips of paper.  So now I'm starting from scratch.  I think I like being able to look back at the fortunes and see if any of them still apply later in my life?  Or maybe I think that I can use them for a writing prompt of some sort.  My friend, Katie, actually talked about writing something based on fortune cookie fortunes, and I think that that's a brilliant idea.  And using fortunes that have already been written would eliminate the headache of having to write your own fortunes.  Hm.

"Men occasionally stumble over the truth, but most of them pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing ever happened."

- Winston Churchill 

Something to Blog About

Please someone give me something to blog about.

I realized fairly recently that the majority of my posts about my personal life are whiney and boring.  Well, maybe they're boring, I'm entertained by the way that I ramble, but maybe I'm the only one who's entertained.  My life is fairly mundane.  My friend, Claire, asked me what I do in the morning around nine, and I couldn't even really tell her that I have a routine because...I don't.  Which is a little depressing, but it's okay because maybe one of these days I'll be just waking up at nine and getting ready to prepare my famous French toast.  I can look forward to this hypothetical possibility.

Poem-A-Day March's challenge is "drunken poetry" given to me by my mother, which was surprising.  Especially since the first thing you think of when you think "drunken poetry" is "get drunk and then write a bunch of poetry."  I did this on a team with two of my friends once, and some really weird stuff came out of it (we passed around a piece of paper and each wrote a line).  But I've chosen to interpret this challenge a bit more liberally than that first narrow assumption.  I've written about a poet being too hungover to write poetry at all, and about a drunk poem.  Get it?  Because it's drunken poetry.  Sometimes I'm clever.  I'm not sure what else I'm going to write about it quite yet, but I may revisit my favorite Charles Baudelaire poem, "Enivrez-vous."  Because it's lovely.

I'm also working on things for Here's the Story, which is basically a dream come true, but I've heard word that there may be more interns to work with.  This tentative announcement makes me feel like an only child waiting for the inevitable arrival of a new sibling.  I already feel jealous of these new children and apprehensive that I will no longer be "the favorite."  Then again I also feel like I can easily make friends with these potential new folks because having friends is nice.  So I'm torn.  As usual.

My horoscope told me this morning that I would be making a big time decision about my life soon.  I can't even begin to imagine what kind of decision that would be because I don't really have any decisions to be making that are more dramatic than what I want to eat for breakfast in the morning or where I want to curl up to read my book in the evening.  But said horoscope also informed me that important people in my life would tell me that I was making the wrong decision, but that I should follow my intuition.  This doesn't surprise me in the least because typically the people in my life tend to be know-it-alls.  Just a little bit.  Well meaning lovely know-it-alls who I love.  They're endearing, and I hope they don't mind if I ignore them.

I had two phone interviews at the end of last week, and I'm really excited about the one that I had on Friday because I think I did fairly well.  Plus it's for a place that I would definitely enjoy working at.  They even told me to have a good weekend and laughed when I apologized for being incoherent.  I really hope they were laughing with me and not at me...but they were so nice I couldn't imagine them jeering at me.

And my brother's coming home for spring break on Friday.  This is particularly exciting because it means that for a week, I won't be an only child.  I've missed him.  And even though we're not really going to hang out, per say, it'll be good to see him.  I only hope he doesn't hate me for evicting him from his room.  We're crossing our fingers that he doesn't hate me too much.  Yeah...

I tried baking Irish soda bread last night.  I sliced part of it today, and I suspect that I worked the dough too much because it's kinda lumpy and weird looking, but you know, I'm sure it tastes fine.  I'm beginning to strongly suspect that I can't cook or bake anything delicious on purpose because of the muffins I made last month and the soda bread this month...both seem pretty bland and boring.  But maybe a little jelly will make the bread better.  This is one of my first forays into the domestic, and I really don't want my mother to think that she failed me somehow and that I'll starve if I ever move out.

And then there's the whole thing that I said I would start working out at some point.  Maybe I should have made that my Lenten promise instead of blogging everyday.  If only I had thought of that!  I keep saying that I'll go to the library and pick up a yoga DVD or something, but I keep forgetting.  Or getting distracted by other things like the stack of grant writing books that I'm cradling in my arms (because I figure if I can learn how to write grants, I'll be more marketable as a writer).

I'm reading a book that my grandpa lent me, which was really sweet, but I feel bad because I definitely fell asleep when I was reading it the other day.  Oops.  It's going to be a murder mystery, I believe.  It's called V Is for Vengeance.  And I do like the Kinsey character, but I'm thinking I need to get to know her a bit more before I get into the book.  I'm just reading a lot of books, actually.  I have a bad habit of sticking bookmarks into half a dozen books and then reading them in a circle of sorts.  So there's that one, Red Seas under Red Skies, and a couple grant writing books.  Then there are the ones that I started before the Disney College Program...and I'm not even sure where those are because they got put away somewhere.  Maybe in the dresser that's holding more books than clothes...hm...

So yeah, can someone just give me something to blog about?  Thanks.

"I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge.  That myth is more potent than history.  That dreams are more powerful than facts.  That hope always triumphs over experience.  That laughter is the only cure for grief.  And I believe that love is stronger than death."

- Robert Fulghum

Theatrical and Writing Concerns

So I started this post during my last semester of college and left it as a draft.  It kinda feels like I should finish it.

...

This morning I awoke at my usual 7 AM (today to the sounds of the Tangled soundtrack) because I'm participating in the 24 hour theatre fest.  It's exactly what it sounds like.  In 24 hours, a bunch of people write, direct and act in a series of short plays.  The most intense part (I think) is that the writers stayed up for quite a long time last night writing our plays.  Today is the first day that I'm thankful I'm not a writer.  Today I'm just an actor, so I can take directions and do what I'm told and get feedback, no worries about people misinterpreting what I write or butchering my lines.

It's a glorious feeling.  I feel free.

But the real fact of the matter is that I am a writer.  Maybe not for this show, but for the show of life, I'm writing the script, and half of the lines need to be cut.  They're not that good.  I've been writing a lot.  As my loyal readers know, I've been writing a poem a day since the beginning of September, and there's no end it sight quite yet.  I've noticed that a lot of my poems are influenced by what's going on in my life at the time of writing.  I had a whole series of zombie related poems when my university was playing a game called Humans versus Zombies, and I have a short bunch of poems that feature or are indirectly related to the boy I started seeing about two days after I started the Poem-a-Day project.

A good many of my poems are products of my distress.  I frequently get flustered or stressed out, and instead of buckling down and committing to doing my homework, I write poetry.  If you're friends with me, chances are you've shown up in my writing in some capacity, though I try my best not to consciously do that.  But a lot of times I'm worried/concerned/hurt/stressed/distressed, so I have to get the words down on paper.  And I can't help but wonder if there will ever be a time when it would be appropriate to show the objects of these poems the poetry that was written about them.  Mostly because I'm at this stage in my writing where I want to show everyone everything, dance around and sing, "Aren't I brilliant?"  Even though I would never admit to it if they told me I was.  The answer I've come to is "probably not, Brianna" because I can't for certain determine what the objects of poetry might read in the piece, and I don't want to create awkward situations.

...

Now that I've gotten to a point where there have been distinctive shifts in my life and situation, I've been writing a lot about my daily life which isn't too thrilling.  And I've learned that a break up can be really great fodder for ideas, even though you have to jump over the cliche hurdles to get to anything good.  So I find myself thinking...would I want to show anyone those poems much less the person they're about?  Yeah, I think it would be safe to say that that would be awkward.  Even if I wasn't purposely writing about a person, if I wrote something that they could interpret as about them...emotional distress.  I know this partially from experience and partially because I'm self-centered.

So it all boils down to even though I can crow, "Oh the cleverness of me!" I can't show the subjects of my poetry those poems.  I just can't.  So if I'm looking for feedback...I better pray that those feedback givers don't show up in my poetry because I don't want to make them feel uncomfortable unnecessarily   All uncomfortability must come from necessity, naturally!  Gosh!  When it's all over, when I'm done being broken up about a break up or done feeling betrayed or abandoned by close friends or done being over the moon excited about an unpaid internship, even when the feelings are gone, they're still going to be stuck to the page of the poem, so even if I say, "Hey, I don't feel this miserable/happy/whateveremotionapplies anymore," the reader could still read into it.  And then misunderstanding.  Or worse, understanding.  Understanding that maybe they made me feel that way, and then guilt.  And no one wants that.  Well, at least I don't want people to feel guilty.

Decision: Choose your audience wisely, Brianna.  The end.

"Poetry is an act of peace.  Peace goes into the making of a poet as flour goes into the making of bread."

- Pablo Neruda

Bored? Never!

This morning the radio told me, "If you're bored then you're boring."  And because being boring has got to be the worst and most terrible insult that I could ever receive...and it would probably make me cry if someone called me boring...I remembered that I'm doing lots of things, and therefore not bored!  Step one!  When I say that I'm doing a lot of things, I mean that I'm working on revising poetry, I'm reading a lot of novels, I'm watching a lot of movies, and I'm knitting.  A lot.  Part of me suspects this is in preparation of my becoming a grandmother one day.  I need to learn how to knit sweaters...

It also astounds me that anyone could ever be bored.  There are about a million and one things that you can do whether you stay at home or go out and have adventures.  I know this because I've found and done the majority of these things with my new found free time.  And I have plans to add more things.  But right now I'm just compiling a list of things I can/would like to do solo so the next time I get into my "I have no friends" funk, I'll do something exciting and make friends through telling people about it!  Ready?  GO!

Things I Want To Do While At Home:

-  make 5 Pinterest crafts, otherwise I'm just talk
-  learn how to make 5 Pinterest dishes, so I don't starve)
-  learn how to do a card trick (or multiple card tricks...)
-  learn new juggling techniques and/or tricks
-  finish moving pictures from the old computer onto CDs for my father
-  read a wider variety of books (genres I need to try: biography, horror, and possibly western)
-  experiment with make-up and see if I can learn how to do fancy things, just for fun
-  see a movie on my own because I hear it's a totally different experience
-  Random Acts of Kindness
-  go to a public place and people watch shamelessly
-  learn how to knit something that's not flat and square
-  memorize Hamlet's "To be or not to be" speech because I've got the first five lines and I might as well
-  memorize my nerd poem because that's going to be useful one of these days
-  revise poetry!  Lots of poetry revisions!
-  send snail mail
-  go forth and do tourist-y things because I can
-  write something that's fiction and prose, preferably a short story!
-  use the "bored?  don't be!" deck of cards
-  clean the entire house
-  organize my personal library
-  play dress up

"She refused to be bored chiefly because she wasn't boring."

- Zelda Fitzgerald

Bring in the Evidence

This morning I found an evidence bag in the refrigerator (I'm not even kidding, the first shelf in front of my face: evidence bag).  It had come from a cold case, and considering I had never interacted with an evidence bag before in my life, I had some difficultly getting it open.  It was sealed, and not with tape, but with some complicated sealing process.  So I ended up taking a knife to it.  The odors from the contents of the bag wafted out of the plastic, filling up the house with the smell.  My mom would probably kill me and put me in a body bag for doing this, but I didn't care.  I was seized by a hunger I only ever felt in the mornings, a savage hunger to break my fast from over eight hours of sleeping.  So I slapped the evidence on a plate and shoved it into the microwave, listening to the pop and bubble as the microwave warmed it from the inside out.  Steam lifted from the surface when I pulled it out of the microwave as I cut into it.  Juices ran down my chin, and I stuck out my tongue to lick the juices off my face.  So delicious as I savored the cornucopia of flavors bursting on my taste buds, I realized that I would never be able to eat anything else ever again.

Mmm...pizza.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, I was going to talk about how I can't possibly talk about the Academy Awards because I haven't seen the majority of the movies that have been nominated, but when I opened the fridge and saw that evidence bag, it was obvious that I needed to write about that.  I mean, which would you rather hear?

"This morning I found an evidence bag in the refrigerator"

OR

"So I've only seen maybe three movies that have been nominated for Oscars.  I mean, that's counting animated film and screenplay and all that...I've only seen one Best Picture nominee."

Exactly what I thought.  Glad I could oblige.

"There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact."

- Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Things I've Learned at Home

As a recent college graduate, I figured that my learning would end once I left the beautiful campus of the place I'd called home for the past four years.  How very, very wrong I was.

1. The day you really want to go to the library, it'll be closed for a library institute day.  You'll try going at 9 the next day, only to realize it doesn't open until noon.
2. Old people will glare at you if you drive across parking spaces in the parking lot.  They will also glare at you when you start driving across the intersection when they're crossing the street NOT at the corner!
3. Small children will attack when you're innocently trying to recycle paper.
4. Your 5 books are only worth $2.  All together.
5. The local Barnes and Noble doesn't have a poetry section, though it does have an entire set of shelves devoted to "teen paranormal romance."
6. It has to get worse before it'll start looking better.
7. No, I don't need a copy of the script from a show I wasn't actually in, I just stage managed...because I'm never going to need to call those light cues again.
8. Don't worry if it looks like you've made zero progress with cleaning your room...that's just a sign that you have a lot of stuff to sift through.
9. If you ask your dad really nicely, he'll fill up the bike's tires with air before you even get home.
10. The alternative music radio station will resurrect itself just in time for you to listen to it on a bike ride.
11. The radio in your car will never work again.  Ever.  Because you're home and you want to listen to it.
12. That car sitting next to the school bus that almost hit you?  She wasn't watching the school bus.  She will also almost hit you.
13. If you're helping your dad with the balcony, make sure those unsecure boards you sit on are out of his reach, or he'll try messing with you.
14. Spiders can drown in the washer.
15. Cookie sheets can burn you.
16. You might be judged based on the titles of the books you take out from the library.
17. If you start one romance novel in a series, you will have to read the rest of the series just to find out what happens to the rest of the characters.
18. Most Parisians are kind and helpful and genuinely don't want to see you wandering around sad and lost in their city.
19. Your boyfriend will remember this:  http://xkcd.com/201/ and it'll be awesome.
20. If you're standing next to someone nice in the line for the Amtrak, they'll give you the window seat because you talked about it.  On your return trip, you will meet Ben, and he will be awkward.
21. People are stupid.  Sometimes they're related to you.
22. You will see Fifty Shades of Gray everywhere.  Yes.  Even Kroger.  Though not at Menard's.
23. You will get a "nod" at Menard's.  Possibly because you're wearing a zombie bandana.
24. Time moves really oddly over the summer.
25. You will be in every picture/video of the front row at a concert for a band you only know 3 songs for (though you will be surrounded by people who have attended (collectively) over 200 of their concerts).
26. Ekphrasis is haaaaard....  And you will be thankful when the Pinterest poems are over.
27. You are a reading machine.
28. It doesn't matter when you go to the library, even if you vary the days and time of day, you will never bump into the librarian you want to bump into.
29. "That's a lot of watermelons."
30. The dog you're sitting doesn't know how to play fetch, but he's exceptionally good at playing "keep away."
31. Everyone will have a job, or something to do during the summer.  Everyone but you.  So pick up a book.  Or three.
32. "Where do you wait for the buses?"  "Over where it's labelled 'buses.'"  Thanks, I can read, I was testing you under these unusual circumstances.
33. Coffee Hound espresso is infinitely better than any other espresso and you will be reminded every time you buy a coffee drink from anywhere else.
34. After a couple ciders, always be careful when you choose to turn your head to kiss your boyfriend.  That head in the way does not belong to him.
35. Yes, you can quote "The Doctor's Wife," but that doesn't mean you should.
36. Be careful how enthusiastically you twist your neck.
37. Never make promises you don't intend to keep.
38. New things come out on Tuesdays.
39. You will visit Barnes and Noble WAY too many times during the summer, but you will buy too few books (a.k.a. none).
40. A complete stranger will hear your conversation and assure you and your friends that he "can do the tongue thing."

Goodbyes

Any time you leave home, you're reminded: Goodbyes were always difficult.  It came with the territory, all wrapped up in the "seeing off" presents, but hidden in a corner away from the Hallmark cards with the checks from family members who couldn't remember what they needed when they first moved elsewhere or who had never been to college.  And it was a big box that was actually more of a glorified "nesting doll" with box within box within box, each holding a different category of farewell.

There were the family goodbyes which were the lowest difficulty.  Relatively easy when compared with others because your plans were always the talk of family dinners and gatherings, even if you weren't actually present to confirm facts or quash rumors.  Yes, you would be moving into an apartment and yes, you would have to feed yourself.  No, the pets would have to stay home, and no, you wouldn't be home for the holidays.  The "missing" of family members was a given.  They sent you with cookbooks that they probably didn't have in their own cabinets because they were thinking about your budget (or lack thereof) and how you would in reality live off of Ramen despite the fancy recipes in the cookbook.  At least one family member will send you with salt and pepper.
Your immediate family will drive you to the airport, probably even make sure that you remember to tip the skycap for taking care of your magenta rolly bag.  They'll follow you as far as they can, and hopefully you'll remember to hug them all before you put your shoes on the conveyor belt to be scanned because ballet flats are dangerous shoes.  Especially when they have cut out stars.

There were the general goodbyes, to familiar places and the librarians you probably won't miss anyway.  You'll have to bid farewell to the Walgreens within walking distance, various libraries in town, the train station, the bank where you don't have much money anyway, all the streets you're familiar with because you've lived there all your life...

Less general but still impersonal-ish goodbyes went to things like your house.  Your bedroom.  Your car which wasn't really "your" car anyway because you shared it with your brother.  The backyard.  The dog.

There are various specifications of friend goodbyes, but the most common are the last minute goodbyes that actually happen via text or Facebook post because everyone forgot that life happens.  One of you has a job and the other one of you has a plane to catch.  Some of these goodbyes could be frustrating, and that's okay.  It's one of those things that you shouldn't let fester.  Let it go.  It's really not the end of the world if you don't see every single one of your friends exactly a week before you take off.  Really.  It's okay.

And then there are the goodbyes to that special someone.  That one person who tolerates all of your cliches and all of your cheesiness and loves you anyway.  And I'm not talking about your mom.  I'm talking about your special lady friend or your gentleman...friend?  Yeah, that person.  You'll spend just about every waking moment cuddling and doing everything you can to stay as close as humanly possible and socially acceptable. You'll do all the cute little couple things and pretend that it's just another weekend, that one of you isn't leaving the state for five months.  You'll pretend that you live together and eat off the same plate because you don't want to do the dishes...some chores are just always intolerable, it doesn't matter who you're doing them with.  One of you will tell the other not to cry when they leave and the other one will promise, but they'll cry anyway when the other has their back turned.

You'll miss everyone and everything, partially because of your change of locale, the increased distance between people, and the unfamiliarity of where you'll be.  And you'll probably feel homesick.  And that's okay.  It's really just a temporary goodbye anyway.

"Why does it take a minute to say hello and forever to say goodbye?" - Unknown

Golden

So today's my birthday.  My golden birthday.  What does that mean exactly?  Well, it's a thing that little kids like to figure out based on your birthday.  It's really not an in-depth sort of analysis of personalities and dates or anything, it's merely based on the day of the month upon which you were born.  So.  For all of you who were paying attention or just extrapolating while I rambled, I'm turning 22 today.

After spending the majority of my childhood lamenting my golden birthday's distance from whatever present year I was at, it's finally here.  I'm finally turning 22.  I'm finally experiencing my golden birthday while my other friends celebrated their's earlier.  Figures, considering how close to the end of the month my birthday is.

Born on the 22nd as I am, I'm actually on the cusp of two zodiac signs.  Gemini and Cancer.  Although I identify myself as a Cancer (don't get me started on that whole "there's an extra zodiac sign" thing because if I have to call myself a Gemini, I may just expire from exhaustion).  As the beginning of this paragraph illustrates, I'm obviously extremely serious about the zodiac...only not.  I'm just a little superstitious.  Sometimes.  So far my horoscope hasn't predicted anything traumatic, so I'm okay with that.

My mom did send me this yesterday: http://www.netplaces.com/birthday-personology/june/june-22.htm.  So I read it, because these things interest me.  It's fascinating to look at things that explain your personality based on your birthday or your zodiac sign or the number of letters in your name, or whatever it is.  I find this intriguing.  Plus it's perfect fodder for coming up with characters.  Haven't done it yet, but it will happen!  It must happen!

I would definitely agree with this little linky that my humor may be a defense mechanism.  It goes along with the idea that I'm an introvert and every time I explain that to someone they laugh.  Because I look and act like an extrovert most of the time.  I'm really quite shy.  Promise.  Also, I am an idea person, so I like getting things started.  But with my writing endeavors, I sometimes leave projects unfinished.  Yeah...  The mention of money made me laugh out loud when I first read it because I'm so cheap.  It's kinda ridiculous how cheap I am.  But I'm not even as cheap as some of my family members.  Trust.  Yeah.  I don't know what's up with that, but I don't trust myself.  And it takes me a really long time to open up to someone and come out of my shell.  Half the time I don't even realize that my shell's there being all imposing and stuff.

Oh!  AND I have also resolved to look at the world from hereon out for exciting things.  I want to resolve that I will look at the world in wonder and be filled with interest for the things around me.  Because lately I've just been hanging out at home jaded and disillusioned, believing only somewhat jokingly that I have no friends.  That ends today!  I will find joy and wonder in the everyday!

Happy Birthday to me...happy birthday to me...

A Reflection (from HS Senior Brianna)

Guess what, I'm still cleaning my room.  It's becoming increasingly clearer that it's going to be a summer project that's going to take approximately forever.  Well, hopefully just the summer, but forever is an option, I suppose.

Senior year of high school, I took a class called Justice Seminar.  It was one of the choices for a religion class senior year, and it was the only time we got to choose something different in the religion department.  It was either Justice Seminar or Theology Quest (in which everyone was placed by default if they didn't "get into" Justice).  Though Theology Quest sounds like it would be a really cool video game that has you searching for Jesus and gaining lives by collecting the host or Catholic artifacts...I thought that Justice would be more fun.  It was really heavy on reflection and discussion, and there was also a service aspect.  Today I found my "reader" with all the articles we read, and I'm finally coming to grips with the fact that I should probably recycle it because all it's doing is gathering dust.  Inside this reader I discovered that I had bookmarked my reflections on some of the articles.  So I'm going to share one of those here.

This is a reflection based on a chapter from Henri Nouwen's Out of Solitude called "Care" and also Henri Nouwen's "Report on the Possibility and Desirability of Love."

As Mr. Nouwen said, it seems as if our expression of indifference has been the only time we use the word "care," and even then, we are using it incorrectly.  A person who cares is a person who "instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand."  Maybe it's arrogant to say that this statement along with the remainder of the paragraph convinced me that I am a caring person, but it did.  Either that, or extremely inarticulate.  Whenever my closest friends are having trouble, or just having a really bad day, I'm the friend that they go to who will listen to them, and just be there.  Maybe it's because I can never think of what to say at those moments, but sitting there feeling helpless along with the best of my friends is one of the main ways that I can express my love for them, and how much I care.  By offering to split an entire container of ice cream between the two or three of us, I feel like I'm doing something, even if I'm not offering the sage advice that I sometimes get.  It's the friends who are willing to just sit on the phone and listen to me rant that I really appreciate because I can tell they care about me, even if they don't know what to tell me to "make me feel better."  It's not really something I can explain, because I have a feeling if I did, it wouldn't have nearly the same impact upon me as it does right now.  A friend allows you to be yourself.


The quote, "...that it was better to suffer than to lose self-respect by accepting a gift out of a non-caring hand," confuses me.  It sounds a heck of a lot like charity, but I'm not completely certain.  It sounds like the explanation of the poor refusing help because they're "too proud," and I never really understood that.  Seems I still don't.


I agree that our society is preoccupied with "taking" and "power," because we are afraid of each other.  We're nervous about someone stabbing us in the back because if they figure out our deep dark secret, they'll use it against us.  And that makes sense.  Every man for himself, right?  But it isolates us.  It distances us from each other.  We have to constantly look over our shoulder to make sure that we're not being followed, and we never feel safe.

"When a man cries, when the walls of his self composure break down and he is able to express his deepest despair, weakness, hate and jealousy, his meanness and inner division, he somewhere believes that we will not take and destroy him as if a voice told him, 'Don't be afraid to tell.'"

This quote really stuck out to me because it's kind of like revealing your complete self and just announcing, "Here I am, take me or leave me."  Nouwen seems to be saying that we have to let ourselves be vulnerable before we can love and be loved.  I mean, the most repeated advice you get before, after, and during Kairos is "don't be afraid to open up."  And I wrote a reflection about the importance of opening up before.  Really, opening yourself up to feeling other people's hurt, and allowing for the possibility of yourself getting hurt, that's what love is.  We have to open up that oyster shell of our's, as Nouwen puts it, and let our loved ones see the pearl within.  But we are afraid of what others will say about our pearl.  We are afraid that we'll intimidate people by our willingness to share, or the gleam of our pearl in comparison to someone else's.  But just as Marianne Williamson said:

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.' We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

We really have to learn to love ourselves, and open up in order to allow the people around us to do the same.  If one person turns on their light, then the others can't help but follow, because how can you be afraid of the dark if all the lights are on?  If one person opens up, and loves, then the people around them will learn to love by example.  Maybe that's idealistic, or completely off the point, but it would be such a valuable change from taking love to giving love or sharing love.


So it seems that senior year of high school Brianna was pretty profound.  Interesting.

"Somehow we know that strength is often hidden in weakness and it is exactly there, where love becomes visible."

- Henri Nouwen, "Report on the Possibility and Desirability of Love"

St. Patrick's Day

Today is the day when everyone would like to pretend that they're Irish.  And if they're not pretending, chances are that they're probably Irish.  And when it comes to living in Chicago, there's an even greater chance that the people you're talking to are Irish.  Mostly because Chicago is notoriously Irish.  I say "notoriously" because of our former mayor, both of the Daleys, but I have to be able to acknowledge that we have a large Polish and Mexican population as well.  I'm not going to swear on that mostly because I can't promise that I know what I'm talking about.

In Chicago, there's a tradition of dying the river green.  The Chicago River.  Because yes, there's a river through Chicago (I have a friend who didn't know that there was a river in Chicago and got confused when I told her not to cross the river or she'd get lost).

I take no credit for this photo, I found it on Google.

According to the Story Behind Dyeing the River, other cities have attempted to dye their rivers...with no success.  Clearly there's something special (or sinister) about the Chicago River that allows the dye to take hold and refuse to let go for a couple days after the St. Patrick's Day parade.  I've never seen the river get dyed this special shade of emerald, but apparently the powder they use is orange...and it turns the river green.  It makes so much sense now.

Thank you again, Google!

I have had Green River.  It's a lime pop drink that's all bubbly and delicious.  According to Wikipedia where I get all the best information, Green River was created as a non-alcoholic alternative in Chicago during the Prohibition Era.  Although after Prohibition ended, the brewery that created it made Green River a second priority to making alcohol, which would make sense considering it's a brewery.  I remember that I had Green River for the first time at my uncle's house, and I loved it.  I was probably around eight when I first had it, and my brother and I loved it so much that I'm pretty sure my dad brought home some cans of the stuff from his brother's house.  And then there was a period of time where I had no Green River.  I suspect that's because my uncle stopped buying it, but since then it's come back into my life and it's pretty much glorious.

"There are only two kinds of people in the world, The Irish and those who wish they were."

- Unknown

Cutting Hairs

Today...I got my hair cut.  This was kind of a big deal for me if only because I hadn't gotten it cut since late June, early July, and at that time, it was a pixie cut.  Super short.  Like really a lot short.

Kinda exactly like that.  This was a new and daring thing for me to do because I figured it was my last chance to experiment before I got out into the big bad real world.  Fair assumption.  I spent all of last summer making sure that I wore mascara or bows or something distinctly girly because as I said at the time, "I don't want to look like a boy."  I still find this amusing, and realize that it plays into gender stereotyping, but we're not going to go there because I was really just having fun at the time.

So.  Brianna hair got all shaggy (I know anyone who reads this is going to be EXTRA thrilled to know the history of my hair, but hey, it's a daily blog, and I'm writing, so...deal) and I wasn't too pleased with it.  My friends said it looked fine, but I maintain that the bottom most layer decided that it wanted to be straight while the rest of my hair decided it wanted to be wavy/curly.  So craziness ensued on my head.  It was good times. I was just musing about different ways I could wear my shaggy hair when I got it cut today.

So now it looks like this.  And it also looks like I'm strangling myself, but whatever.  I'm a little nervous about the bangs which my mother insists aren't "bangs bangs," a term which I'm not sure I fully understand, but the point being is that I'm mildly interested to see what my bedhead looks like tomorrow morning.  Oh the thrilling life I lead.

"The American character looks always as if it had just had a rather bad haircut, which gives it, in our eyes at any rate, a greater humanity than the European, which even among its beggars has an all too professional air."

- Mary McCarthy

Tourism

Yesterday, David and I played tourist in my hometown, Chicago.  And when I say "we," I really mean me, I was a tourist, because I walked around the streets taking pictures of everything.  First, because I now have a camera that's pretty and not ancient and second, because I don't go downtown very often and third, because there were things that we saw that normal tourists probably don't think to go see.  Though we were right by the Art Institute, we avoided going there because admission prices are outrageous and we're poor students.

We did get to see the Chicago Model City.

Picture provided by me!  This is a view from the North Side of the city.

I didn't know that this or that the Chicago Architecture Foundation existed, but they had a really cool gift shop deal where they had really neat toys and books and bags and interesting things--but the model.  I tried to find where my house is, but they didn't go that far north or west.  Because apparently Chicago's too big for that.  Silly.  Anyway, I did find the Kennedy expressway which is what I would take to get to downtown while driving, and so I ended up taking a picture as if I was coming off the highway.  There was also information about how the lighting changes every so often to simulate the path of the sun on June 21st, the longest day of the year.  I'm a little unclear as to why they chose that particular day, but I suppose it might have something to do with the amount of sunlight...and that the sun's out for the longest on that day?  I guess that makes sense.

We also saw the Chicago Cultural Center which had mosaics EVERYWHERE.

This is the ceiling at the Chicago Cultural Center.  Just look at that zodiac!

It was really beautiful in there.  There were quotes on the walls in the mosaics and the names of authors and scientists, and then there were writings in different languages like Arabic and ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics and Chinese, it was really pretty.  There were other sections of the Chicago Cultural Center, one which had an exhibit called "Morbid Curiosity" which I regret going to because it was super creepy.  Like really creepy.  The "Write Now" exhibit was a lot more of my taste because it was all word-based art.  Really cool.  (How many times have I used "really" in this paragraph?  Who's counting?)  But I liked just wandering around!

Throughout our wanderings I kept thinking that it was really cool that we were just wandering.  We didn't have anywhere in particular to go because all we had to do was kill time in between events.  I like the idea of just wandering around the city because I feel like that's how the hole-in-the-wall places get found.  That's how you can find little historic places and never even realize it until you're standing right in them.  Chicago's got a lot going for it, and I never really thought about it because I just grew up here.  I always think about other cities as having more history than Chicago, but this city has a lot more history than I ever would have thought.

"Eventually, I think Chicago will be the most beautiful great city left in the world."

- Frank Lloyd Wright