Drive-Home Text to D from 11.12.12

TEXT: Some days I wonder what would happen if I just powered down. Off. Good grief. I have so much to do. So much at stake. It scares the shit out of me. And every day I wake up feeling 900 lbs. and I'm just skating by. Like jussst making it. God, one misstep and this tightrope walker is going down. Everyone marvels at my accomplishments. But. With a price. Trust me. I have dreams. Big dreams. And I think it'll be the death of me.

Maybe that's what a quasar is. Maybe that's how they wake up in the morning too. Trying to live up to their own brightness. But I'm not a quasar, miss. I'm just a girl with too many things and not enough time. Just want to sleep for like 10 years. That's a lot of logs!

LIGHTS OUT ON GBG | "weirdo, FTW"

It's not every day, or any day actually, that this girl goes to the bar. Um... The "Errybody-Let's-Get-Fucked-Up" gene must've skipped this pool. Trust me. I've got enough bad habits. I enjoy being social and gabbing and laughing and getting rowdy; it's just... I prefer it over a latte. Besides a drunk chicken gets herself into a lot of unsavory situations: reckless flirting, a false sense of invincibility, vomiting and [often by the end of the night] end-of-the-world weeping. And for the love of Titan, keep me away from my phone.

All this said, I decided it was time to shelf my need for productivity and join some friends at a bar downtown. My new pad allows me the ability to walk and so I thought I'd stroll down. A lot farther than I figured, but I'm happy for that little feature on my iPhone's map app that allows one to route by foot.

So as I'm making the turn off of Main Street and toward Harry's, an ambulance whizzes by and I make my decent into... complete and utter darkness? No street lamps. No neon bar signs. Even the stoplight is blacked out, hanging from its rope like three dark eyes glaring an omen. I stopped in the sidewalk and waited. Listened. From the unlit guts of another local bar came an outpouring of stumbling 30- somethings.

I hesitated in midst of all this, of course, but ambled down the hill towards Harry's anyway. What the hell. It was definitely more exciting than what I'd been doing previously. When I got there, a few loud drunkards were rolling out the door, beer-in-hand, apparently just as excited. But guess what?! There was light inside the joint!

It was my first time at Harry's and I must say, probably one of the most memorable bar experiences. Maybe it was because I decided NOT to drink after all [sooooo lame, I know.] But I really believe it was the setting: the bar lined with tiny candles, the shadows of people laughing an harassing one another, the group of new and old friends that I hadn't seen for quite a while, and even my own thing I had going on—doodling by a wee flame, taking it all in.

The owner, in his attempt to razz just about every warm body at the bar, came over a few times to shine his flashlight on my doodle, snatch it from me and then proceed to show it off to everyone at the bar. But, at some point, this sweet, somewhat gruff gesture was followed by a "Damn, weirdo drawing pictures at the bar," at which I cringed and got a little blue for a moment. But then smiled because I knew he was just being a jackass, but also because I was having fun and I didn't give a shit, you know?

I'll be the first to admit that I'm strange, and sometimes it makes me feel 900x more alone. But most times it's ok. And I realize the best strange is being strange with strangers. Ha. Make sense? Maybe it doesn't. But I had a good night, even if the power never came back on. Probably because of it.

mt

To the moon. One shot.

The poem-a-day gig is leaving its indent on my days. In fact, I spend much of my time determining a suitable time slot for versing it up. Sunday: between grabbing dinner and visiting with a friend [Walking Dead time]—I pulled into a Baptist church lot to pull a poem from me. Felt odd. Sadly it didn't end there. I spent another hour later trying to hone it in, just touching noses with the midnight "deadline."

Alas, a poem is born. I'll share one soon. The prompts have been pretty accessible. I'm sure something, at least, will come of it. (:

I thought, in spirit of my doodle madness, I'd share some squiggles with you all. And namely, there is this master toy-maker (aka A-Fred) to whom I've been promising a post!

Not much on this gadget, but...

<3
mt

A little melodramatic of a muse...

So I guess the bottom line is this. Being single has it's perks, right? Freedoms and sense of individuality, which honestly I kept through most of my relationships. [Best of both worlds, I guess.]

But I've tired very quickly of the generalizations/imposed beliefs of others on the matter:

1. "Yay! No, this is awesome. You're free to explore and be free and meet people and you need to look at this as a great thing! Go have fun and party it up!"

2. "So... you are the type of girl who constantly needs to be in a relationship?"

Neither of these are very true for me. It is complex, but simple. And maybe it's because the cold is closing in on us, the holidays and all... but it's on nights like this that I'm driving home from a long day—both working at the office and teaching—to absolutely nothing and no one, that I think: "Why?" What am I necessarily doing all of it for? I mean, I was never the type to buy the notion that we "exist because we exist": a means as well as an end.

I struggle, both with the logistics of life (as we all do, at times) and my own brain (which is a much more personal kind of conflict) on a daily basis. And at times, it's exhausting and I almost need a reason to push.

Now don't get your panties in a bunch. I realize this seems a little melodramatic, and maybe for some, it is; however, this is very real to me, as this was an issue long before now (family and such.) I guess it's just that at 27, while young, I still feel as if I should have found my reason by now.

And this was quite the spillage of guts, but the point? For you people. Please don't ever feel unnecessary. And also, do not take for granted all the things that you have and that hold you up. Maybe you don't think you "need it"—maybe you don't. Either way, I know that alone can be exhilarating for many reasons, but someday you might need a person, maybe even one you never thought you would. So appreciate now.

It's so easy to realize that we all occupy our own sort of hell, at times. But it's just as easy to skip over, too. Human compassion, empathy, even opening oneself to embrace that type of vulnerability—this is living, man. And there is no simple lesson in this. But a complex one: Love. Love hard. Love with all of your guts.

I'm not trying to be pessimistic here, but unconditional love isn't something you find often. Trust me on this one. Some peeps may be hard to love, give you more problems than might seem worth it—but don't just give up.

Don't give up on people, I guess. Bottom line. There. (:

Night musings. Don't mind me.
Feeling a bit bummed. Damn season!
A snap may help it...

mt

Poem-A-Day Contest and Sandy

Thanks to The Washington Post [online 10.25.12]

 Well, if you haven't been touched by Miss Hurricane Sandy, a.k.a "Frankenstorm," perhaps you have already begun a deep hibernation. That or you're not an easterner. Either way, you've heard of it, right? Right. Because the news made it out to be apocalyptic, fetching a few items from the grocery store became its own sort of apocalypse. I'm still pouting because they were out of both my milk and creamer. And god forbid if we needed toilet paper at the time.

While I understand the cause for concern near the Atlantic, the rest of us, in-landers, experienced what was another not-so-uncommon rainy windy cold front. I suppose it could've been worse; however, the need for over-the-top adjectives seemed to insight more panic than necessary. OMGSANDYYY GO BUY ALL THE THINGS!!!11

At least we're survivors. Yes. So. My heart goes out to those coastal folk, because those are the peeps who need the worry and toilet paper and water. If you have extra, send something or donate! Better yet, hit up your local Blood Bank. They could use the pints!

So, beginning tomorrow, I'm taking on a poem-a-day challenge for the whole month of November. Interested? Check out the deets!

If nothing else, I hope to get something from the experience. Chapbook irrelevant. I've always wanted to do the whole novel in a month thing, but this seems more my style!

Happy haunting boogers!!!
mt

Saving the bright.

Overwhelmed with school (grading, lessons, research), I feel like fall is slipping through my fingers so quickly. October is soon pushing into November and before you know it—winter and then... (dun, dun, dun) 2013. This is, of course, if the world doesn't end. Funny, I heard more about that at the beginning of the year than now; though, I'm sure December will bring a new wave of media induced fright. In recognition of this supposed apocalypse, I have a long document o poems titled, "End of the World Poem." To a poet, I think, it's always te end of the world, some world, anyhow.

Already I've been reflecting on the year and mapping out some 2013 goals no don't feel I accomplished as much as last year, 2011. I mean, maybe I have. It just doesn't feel as positive. I'm in a whole different place, and upon an unfortunate stumble with my previous journal, I realize there is a girl I don't remember.

Maybe it's too early to begin reflecting, but do you ever feel that way? That you've changed so much that it is almost scary? Bad? Good?

See, if you haven't noticed, I tend to let things overtake me. Fixate on projects or people or places or, hell, sometimes even cereal. I just keep doin' it until I overdo it. I can't be the only one. But somehow I get to a place where it's too much, and maybe I'm slow, but I get it. Then, I have to figure out how to move on. Maybe today, I'll buy Cheerios instead, you know?

And on that note, I think it's time to share a poem, since it's been a while. Something fall-worthy. This guy got published, so I'll link him:

http://arseniclobster.magere.com/archive/issuetwentysix/260401.html

Be well, all. Share with me.
mt

Falling, fire trees & the Stank Bug Wars

Thanks to groweat.blogspot.com for the laugh.

So. It's here. Fall. And finally we're getting a taste of this glorious season—and I'm not just talking pumpkin lattes and pastries; though, I think I've hit up just about pumpkin-flavored treat this side of the Mississippi. The hillsides are lit up with every fiery shade imaginable, and for once, I'm glad to be a Pennsylvanian suburbanite. There aren't many times you'll hear me say that... Let's face it: unless you're glued to your careers or your families, most of us are forever planning our escape routes. It's like one of those emergency exit maps on the wall, you know? I'm sure we all have them taped up in our heads.

We bitch about the cold. We bitch about the heat. And if there is any middle ground, it's probably raining. So when fall rolls around and the colors pop, I think—just maybe—it's not so bad.

But then again, the Stank Bug Wars of 2012 make this cooler weather a plight all its own: a battle of wits, perhaps, to keep these resilient, alien-faced troops out of our homes, our cars and, as of the other day (for this girl), our beds. Listen, folks, it's no joke. These nasty warriors sport camouflage and a visible armor reminiscent of Zelda's shield. It's not bad enough they can fly, but these nasty bastards are running amok on stick legs with some ungodly self-adhesive properties, making them more than a bitch to remove from your clothes or your hair.


And if you think I'm being dramatic, I probably am. Bugs are an irrational fear of mine. Besides, according to Stink Bug Smackdown, they don't DIE. Stinkbugs just HIBERNATE. In your house, people! If you don't think this is a problem, then why don't you come take mine with you, huh?!

Oh, and something delicious to remind you about, as my friend just so sweetly reminded me (you know who you are!), there is a recipe for a stink-bug-seasoned bean dip. Yeah, apparently these lemon-headed creeps taste like cilantro! In Bruce Leshan's article on 9News Now, "If You Can't Beat 'Em, Eat 'Em," you can find a recipe for Stink Bug Tacos even.

Shit, people... get on this train. You eat the bugs. They leave me alone. Simple.

I drew a little cartoon here. Can I tell you? I actually gagged whilst drawing the "unders." Gross.

And I think that is about all for today. Up all night grading papers last night, spending my day working...still thinking about all the things I want to do. Such is life.

Hopefully you're enjoying what is left of the season... sans the stink bugs.