prompt today, because I’ve been too lazy lately in free writing all the time. /:

prompt: Can it soothe a savage beast?  Listen to some music you haven’t listened to in a VERY long time.  Write about a memory associated with that music.

music: brat pack & never knew by [...]]]> { I finished this yesterday but neglected to post it. Oops. }

prompt today, because I’ve been too lazy lately in free writing all the time. /:

prompt: Can it soothe a savage beast?  Listen to some music you haven’t listened to in a VERY long time.  Write about a memory associated with that music.

music: brat pack & never knew by rocket summer, I’m ready by jack’s mannequin

>>><<<

I’d intentionally left late. Mostly because I didn’t want to show up too early, and I wasn’t sure what social etiquette dictated. Babbling some excuse about a family dinner gone long, I drove around for a little while in the general area, enjoying the solitude of driving and the familiarity of my favorite songs. When I finally decided I’d be sufficiently late, I attempted to find the house. Couldn’t find it. Of course. So I call for directions, which he washorrible at giving, and tried to find it again. Still no luck. So I called again, still pretending I hadn’t left.. that I’d forgotten the directions he’d given me. Twenty minutes later, after driving around it and past it and past it again, I found it. I pulled up and sat for a moment in the car. Not long enough for someone to notice me out there and think I was creeping around, but long enough to collect myself and try to pack down my frustration. Ring the front bell, and his best friend answers. A slightly awkward hello, and I’m in the door. We mill around for a bit, a little aimless, a little purposeless, and then someone decides to make cookies. The girls and my guy busy themselves in the kitchen, and I still don’t know why I didn’t go in to help. But I didn’t, and the next ten minutes found his best friend (the one whose house it was) and myself in the sitting room; he was perched on the piano bench and I on the sofa, and I was trying my best to make nice. We both didn’t care enough to fill the empty space with words though, so he turned toward the piano. And then he played.

He couldn’t have known I was (still am) a sucker for piano music. He played a few classics at first, and then moved into Never Knew by Rocket Summer, a band that my guy had just introduced me to a few days prior. I’d listened to the song before, but it’d never sounded that good. I didn’t think he was going to sing it at first; after all, how often are great piano players good singers? Yeah, not often enough. But he was. He played I’m ready next I was so distracted I kept trying to drink my empty can of Sprite. And then the cookies were done, and his playing stopped abruptly. It was jarring, the sound of silence where music had once been, and I felt almost betrayed. We moved down to the basement to play pool and watch Dane Cook and play Guitar Hero and I pretended that that was my favorite part of the evening. In truth, all I can think about when I hear those songs is that small moment of perfection in the middle of a dull and slightly uncomfortable relationship. erm, I mean, evening.

I chased down a comforting atmosphere this evening. I went to the gym right after class, and I did what I sometimes like doing when I wanna disengage from the world. I pretend that I’m back home. [...]]]>

{ the picture's not great, but if you squint, you can see all the little moving people. (: }

I chased down a comforting atmosphere this evening. I went to the gym right after class, and I did what I sometimes like doing when I wanna disengage from the world. I pretend that I’m back home. That no one knows me, no one can see me, no one’s paying attention to me at all. Sometimes it works.

I hammered out a rough, but satisfying, workout, and walked to the shoppette to grab my sick friend some saltines and peanut butter m&m’s and water. I noticed that the pt field was full of flag football players, complete with kids and wives and the loud squabbling of happy people playing sports. I went to the shoppette, got the goodies, delivered them, then headed back out to sit by my lonesome on the bleachers. I felt like a little bit of a creeper, seeing as I didn’t know a single soul that was playing, but the atmosphere comforted my bones. I read, goosebumps piling up on my arms till I was almost too cold to concentrate, and still I didn’t mind.

I realized that I miss seeing children. Seeing them run around; their childish abandon calling them to jump in puddles and splish splash in the mud. I miss seeing families, bound together by whatever sport’s being played, the wives giving their husbands that tolerant, “I love that this sport turns you into a child again” look.

So I sat there for a while, letting the ruckus of sports and the ensuing joy sink in. Then a good friend rolled in, and the night ended spectacularly well. Oh, and I’m watching The Closer. I feel a new connection with Kyra Sedgewick.. her being so good at interrogations and all that. (:

For whatever reason, I’m incredibly insecure. Not normally. Not often. But today. Today, yesterday, and [...]]]>

Only because it’s still so raw and real. Soon I’ll just be a series of images that sometimes flash through your mind, when you least expect it. And after that, only a few will stay. Then, one. A memory of a memory.

For whatever reason, I’m incredibly insecure. Not normally. Not often. But today. Today, yesterday, and the day before that. I don’t even know what to do about it anymore. I don’t know who to tell about it either, which is why my blog’s getting the brunt of it. I’ve also spent the last two days with a raging headache that only dims for twenty minute chunks of the day.

I’m sighing. Often. About what, I can’t say, but I am. I feel hands off and hopeless about changing the state of anything. Oh, bumbling. That’s the word. These past couple of days, all I’ve been doing is bumbling around like an idiot.

So I’m fully willing to sink into this ridiculousness because I’m too damn tired to fight it. I’m sitting here in bed watching episodes of The Closer, munching on a blueberry muffin, bralessly enjoying my favorite sweatshirt (TMI? Maybe. But I felt like the detail was needed in order for you to fully understand my needed level of comfort.), freshly showered with very minty body wash, a very soft blanket wrapped tightly around my midsection, and inches away from making myself a cup of tea. Nope, scratch that, I’m getting up right now to start the water.

I hope this week is better. I hope.

double (:

I want. go here to drool over them. oh wait, maybe that’s just me.

in other news, I’m going to the commissary tomorrow (I missed going last week cause I was in town all weekend and then had to move Sunday night) and I’m SO excited to get my fruit. I seriously missed having [...]]]>

(:

double (:

I want. go here to drool over them. oh wait, maybe that’s just me.

in other news, I’m going to the commissary tomorrow (I missed going last week cause I was in town all weekend and then had to move Sunday night) and I’m SO excited to get my fruit. I seriously missed having fruit with me during class breaks. but healthy eating can now begin again. yay!

have you seen any awesome iphone cases?

we had our first real experience in the booth today. the first face to face interaction with someone role playing as a detainee, and I discovered that this is something I might actually be good at. I’d been worried, over [...]]]> quick thoughts about today, because it’s midnight, I just stepped out of the shower, and I’m exhausted.

we had our first real experience in the booth today. the first face to face interaction with someone role playing as a detainee, and I discovered that this is something I might actually be good at. I’d been worried, over the past week, that I might be in the wrong job. after all, they kept saying that you need to be extroverted (which I’m not), enjoy walking up to random strangers and starting conversations (which I usually don’t. at all.), etc, etc. today, I realized that I need none of those things to be successful. I know my way around words, and I can sustain a conversation. that’s all I need, really.

so I’m excited. I’m excited to learn a craft, to become part of a trade, to study an art form (because that’s what interrogation is, at its root. art.), and to excel at it. though I’ve begun to realize that when your job is to argue and manipulate (what you get paid to do), and when you live around a bunch of other people who have that same job, all that happens is a bunch of manipulative arguing. we’re all stubborn. we’re all here to get better at finagling what we want out of every situation, and no one better to practice on than each other.

ha. the tangled web we weave.

goodnight.

>>><<<

She looked into the night sky and saw nothing but emptiness with pinpricks of hope. She felt the weight of the moonlight on her face and the [...]]]> I wrote this on the back of a tri-care envelope while standing in bed check formation waiting to get my name called. soo.. forgive its randomosity?

>>><<<

She looked into the night sky and saw nothing but emptiness with pinpricks of hope. She felt the weight of the moonlight on her face and the silky smoothness of the night air. The electricity of the dark crackled in between her fingertips and she rubbed her thumb and index finger together absentmindedly, sparks fleeing with the night. The concrete was damp beneath her feet, and with each footstep came a satisfying crunch. She wasn’t even sure where she was going anymore–she’d long since lost the desire to go where people told her, but she was too aimless to find her own destination. So she wandered here and there, resting her head wherever her feet grew too tired to take another step. The nighttime loved her, because her spirit was childish, and she sang made-up songs to its pitted beauty. Daytime was so much crueler. It wanted professionalism, it wanted maturity, it wanted five-year plans and initiative, and she didn’t have it. Didn’t want to have it, even. The dew on the grass at night caressed her toes,  and the dark blueness of the sky reached its clammy fingers down and took her hand.

and then my name got called. the end. (:

brain dust bunnies.

* I love finding a semi-famous person’s blog and realizing that they actually have substance. I enjoy finding successful writers’ and designers’ blogs even more because getting to read their creative ramblings gives me such a terrific opportunity to stalk their intense genius.

* sometimes I wish I could fly wherever I wanted [...]]]>

brain dust bunnies.

* I love finding a semi-famous person’s blog and realizing that they actually have substance. I enjoy finding successful writers’ and designers’ blogs even more because getting to read their creative ramblings gives me such a terrific opportunity to stalk their intense genius.

* sometimes I wish I could fly wherever I wanted whenever I wanted. I hate that the people I like most are so spread out over the world.

* I love dreaming, and wish I did it more often. I escape to dreams.

* sometimes coffee hits the spot like nothing else can.

* I’m mellow and low-key, most of the time. maybe that’s why I can’t stand drama.

* I wish I could mix and match people like they were bathing suits.

* in the past 3 days, I’ve seen more incredibly gorgeous eyes than I can count. they’re all males.

* I like the messy, lived-in look. I especially like the, I’m a writer intensely devoted to my craft look. the one with the rolled up sleeves on the button up, or the incredibly comfortable looking sweater/shirt/long-sleeve things. englishmen really pull it off. so do scots.

* I miss kisses.

* hugs sustain me, though only just.

* I wish more was at my own pace. I’d also like if I got better reception in my room.

—the end—