Wednesday, December 30, 2009


Maybe if I just keep repeating it, I will believe what I am saying.

Nothing Sticks

These keys submit under the gentle pressure of my padded fingers.
I need time to think and react.


Today's song is "Stay" by Katie Thompson.

I could give you my heart, I could hand you my soul
and you could do what you want with my dreams.
And I'll take you so far,
just as long as you know it's only change for what I need.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009


As long as I'm engaged with others and living outside of myself, I'm absolutely fine. It's only when I am left alone that I crawl back inside and let every little thing wear away at my exterior.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Child of the Universe

And with invisible fingers he reached toward me and lifted my face. Buried truths swarmed his invisible body, uprooting themselves, cracking the pavement which moved underneath us but upon which we stood, static. I watched as he dodged the torment of his own realities. My own hands furled into concrete fists of anger, and every atom in this space, each tiny unjust particle, I felt. They pricked my skin, startled my eyelids to shutter open and remain, transfixed, on the horrors I could not affect.

And somewhere, a few feet away, I caught in the sere shadows a glimpse of his pride. It lay in his footprint, crushed.

Sunday, December 20, 2009


A line popped into my head today as I was clacking away on these plasticky keys, typing up a critique that I lost all inspiration for long before I even started. A line popped into my head and then another...and for once, they rhymed, and being a free-verse nut, this both scares me and excites me. They're still flitting around in my head, these two lines, except I think they've undergone cell division because now I'm up to four. I'm itching to write but I think I'm going to let this one develop on its own. My heart hasn't pumped quite so energetically in a very long time.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Ten Prints

Hands are the most beautiful extensions of our inner selves that I have ever known or seen.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Four Hours Ago

The stars faded.
At least--
they did
for me.


I am at home today, taking a mental break from the feverish intensity of school. I don't like to admit when stress, versus me, has won the battle. Does anyone like to admit their weaknesses? Surely we do, but do we want to? Sometimes I feel like we all experience the tiniest twinge of hesitation before we plummet to our own personal depths in very public ways.

We are only people and this world around us did not evolve to be a burden on our shoulders.

Even Atlas had to shift positions now and then to bring his aching back relief.
Today I shift.
Tomorrow I'll resume position.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009


How can I ask for
help when I push my problems
behind closed gray doors?

10:15 AM -- 12/15/09

Monday, December 14, 2009

365 Days

It's strange to think back to where I was exactly one year ago. The fourteenth of December: my parents had already sent out the moving vans (which, unfortunately, arrived in Holden the evening of the ice storm) and now, it being 6:00PM on a Sunday evening with the apparent possibility of school the following day (in retrospect.....yah no), I was scooped up from my best friend's house and unwillingly shuttled two hours north to my new "home." Luckily school was cancelled until the new year, and so I passed the vacation time exploring these new, foreign mazes of streets and the labyrinth that was a new highway system, a new town center, a new city. Everything was new, different, unfamiliar.

It's a funny thing about "new"--materialistically we crave untouched, unspoiled perfection. With change, though, we cower in fear. I don't excuse myself from this generalization; I'd be lying if I did. My first day of school at Wachusett was absolutely dreadful. Nothing at all horrible happened. But what made it so incredibly painful was that nothing happened. I came to school, I walked, lost, down the hallways, I entered classrooms, took my seat--once or twice realizing that the cryptic writing on the board was not, indeed, math but was instead (for some inexplicable and cruel reason) Spanish--and come lunchtime I would have completely dissolved into the tiled lineoleum floors had it not been for the wonderfully-cheerful junior in my pre-calc class who let me sit with her and thus performed one of the greatest acts of kindness ever known to man or, at the very least, to me.

My very first friend here is now my best friend. I am lucky in that fact, extraordinarily so. She is clever, beautiful, talented, funny, charming, and sweet beyond words. The few friends I made in the following weeks were all so different, so unbelievably singular in everything they did and said and conveyed, and every day I would marvel at the variety of people I met. I would sit at lunch, in classrooms, at drama rehearsal--I would sit and watch these humans, these beautiful humans who were kind enough to invite me in. They carved a little place for me in their lives. One day I will thank them formally.

I don't think we thank people enough, myself included.

Thank you to my first friend, and my second one as well.
Thank you to the boy who needed me to run lines with him and shyly asked me to help and actually remembered my name so that he could talk to me at lunch, and thank you to him for becoming my best boy friend.
Thanks to Mr. McTigue for pairing me up with one of the most intelligent, gorgeous, and spirited girls I have ever met. He probably has no idea, but he introduced me to my other best friend that day.
Thank you to the oboe player that willingly corresponded with me before I even moved here.
Thank you to the girl with two first names, for giggling with me and always checking in.
Thank you to the boy, the boy who is so completely comfortable with who he is, for accompanying me to prahm, and for forgetting the past and sharing an enlightening present.

There will never be enough thank yous, and surely I've missed people.
One day I'll fill in all the blanks.
I promise.

Sunday, December 13, 2009


"It's called The American Dream because you have to be asleep to believe it."

--George Carlin

I Cannot Break This Habit

It's that word followed by the smile that gets me every time.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

Mr. Erban

Today I had my interview with Brown. It went well, just like everyone (except for me) believed it would. Our conversation was pleasant, and, even better, it was real. Strange, then, that all I can remember now is the magazine he was reading when I walked in the door, and the sweet tingle of Sweets 'N Java white hot chocolate on my tongue.

I'm hoping this is a good sign.
Mostly, I suppose, because I don't know what else it would be.


"...No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence--that which makes its truth, its meaning--its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream--alone."

-Heart of Darkness

Wednesday, December 9, 2009


I’m used to rich brown eyes,
for their sparkle had the ability to make me melt,
and I willingly gave myself up
and drowned into those chocolate pools
of sweet sin.
But blue eyes have engulfed me,
lakes of crystal-clear water
               that capture me as the tide
               comes in
and strand me on the sand
      when the shoreline retreats.
And I am treading water,
unsure whether to hold on until
      brown eyes rescue me,
or give in and become
      one with the sea.

10:55 PM -- 4/15/08 (feelings transcend time)

Tuesday, December 8, 2009


This is not how it was supposed to turn out.

I can't sleep.

My cheeks hurt from smiling.

P.S. Happy 18th celebration of the day you came out of your mum, Bryan! <3

Monday, December 7, 2009

Two Months

I feel like many adults are more scared of living than I am. They hesitate at taking chances, cringe at risks, deny any thoughts of rebellion or betrayal or, most simply, change. Are they so content in their little boxy cages that the tiny iron bars have melded and forged together to fuse into solid, opaque walls that reject light and keep everything in the dark? This level of comfort has created pseudo-security. They are safe within their own dull confines merely because no one prods at them any longer. There are no threats. Danger has tip-toed onward, irritated with the amount of time it has expended and the meager results that follow in its wake. Haggard in its appearance, it stumbles around, scavenging for scraps of courage. It does not devour out of pleasure; it consumes to heighten. When Risk and Courage meet and combine, beautiful, beautiful things happen. When Risk and Courage combine, Growth bursts everywhere.

I hope we don't all lose our sense of adventure as we age.
Risk and Courage, on their own, reap nothing more than stale footprints.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Saturday, December 5, 2009


Powerschool has officially ruined my day.
I'm so glad inanimate objects that don't even exist as something tangible that I can touch have the ability to cause me so much stress.
I think I'm growing gray hairs.
On a side note, I wish they were white.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

The Kid With the Hat Six Tables Away

I was sitting on one of the plastic seats at the lunch table today, its surface smooth but irritating at the same time (contradictions seem to rule my life lately), and I was picking at my sandwich, because for some reason sandwiches only taste good when I'm at home on the weekends eating one alongside the rest of my family, and I let my eyes wander around the cafeteria. Here were all of these people, hundreds of them, close in age and location but truthfully little else (intelligence, maturity or frank lack thereof, compassion...but who's paying attention anymore anyway).  And here I am, one among them, and we're just sitting in these seats, planted down in this mammoth space like cultures of bacteria in a petri dish, just sitting here, sitting sitting talking and it comes so naturally, it comes without thought or question. Every day when the bell rings, our legs kick into action and simultaneously throughout the school thousands of feet lift and start a mindless walk toward the cafeteria. Because a bell rang. Because somehow, during our years in educational institutions, we have been taught to respond to cattle calls. What if, when that shrill note that always seems longer than it did last block/this morning/yesterday afternoon, what if when that wavelength reached our ears we absorbed it and that was all? No gut physical reaction. We would just stay, remaining as we were. In the distance, teachers would cry foul. "Rebellion."

We come to school to learn to think for ourselves, but every day we are our own paradoxes.
In this I am equally guilty.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Thinking Again

01. Frosted Flakes are good. Just plain good.
02. Yesterday on the radio I heard a Christmas song about a child's immense longing to receive a hippopotamus from Santa Claus. Suddenly my day seemed forty-thousand times brighter.
03. "We don't judge the bull, we only celebrate our good fortune."
04. Stores no longer carry old-fashioned bottle openers. This makes me sad.
05. I got a letter in the mail today. A real letter.
06. The 1-10 smiley-face pain chart at the hospital needs to be reexamined. If a 6 is severe pain, why is the smiley face merely making an "eh" face?
07. I wish more people hung mistletoe.
08. Sweaters and plaid and v-necks make me happy.
09. Currently my head feels like an anvil came and crushed my skeleton.
10. I think I killed ten trees writing the Thanksgiving-break syntax paper for Tarmey.
11. Spray paint + plastic frisbee = unpleasant smell.
12. Good morning? Good night.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009


Today I woke up with body intact, lying on this mattress, all of me here but all of me missing. I got up. My head swooned somewhere far away, maybe it rolled off into the back of my closet(I wouldn't know)or maybe it slipped behind the headboard. Either way its screeches, while far away, were clear so clear clear clear. The clock read 6:11 but all I saw was goback:tobed and so not wanting to argue with time(time always wins)I scooped myself up(my head could wait)and fell back into bed.

My head joined up with me just in time to process the words "sinus infection" before once again sliding away.
At least my fingers still work(they're tired).

Sunday, November 29, 2009

1.5 mm

What lies beneath our skin is far more important than what appears above it.
Skin itself holds untold secrets.
Everybody looks above or below, and so these unknowns remain hidden.
Search within, pierce the cell foundations.
This casing which we live inside is beautiful.


It's nice to all be home right now.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009


Tonight at roughly 7:45 PM I discovered how it feels to know that there are people watching out for you, every second of every minute, for no other reason than that they care about you and you are important to them. Tonight at roughly 7:45 PM, my friends told the waitstaff at the Texas Roadhouse it was my birthday (it wasn't) and asked them to sing Happy Birthday to an extremely grumpy me. Tonight at roughly 7:55 PM, the waitstaff at the Texas Roadhouse came up to our table, forced me to sit on a riding saddle (I sat side-saddle, as all English ladies should) and wave a napkin in the air. Tonight at roughly 7:57 PM, I retreated from my temporary brushed-leather prison and scooted back into the booth, face red from both humiliation and amusement. I was embarrassed, so completely embarrassed.

"Sam are you crying?!"

I was. Not because I was mortified, not because I had laughed myself to tears. Because two girls hold me close enough in their hearts to do anything for me.

I love you both.

Strawberry Blonde

I love my sister.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Can Anybody Hear Me?

Today my teacher remarked on the self-plight of blogs. They are, he claimed, nothing more than dim cries for attention, for someone, anyone, to know that we exist. ("I'm here! I'm here!") There was a fair share of les bloggers in the room at the time, and a part of me is curious to know what they were thinking, listening to these words.

Certainly some blogs are nothing more than doldrum expirations of time. Clicking the "next" button on the toolbar at the top of my page is a fairly strong reassurance of this fact because usually I see five consecutive pages of Spanish

Yet I feel like the ones I read are not meant as evidence, as proofs of existence. I am aware of the writers, keenly alert to them when I see them in school or on the street or here or there or both. Sometimes--and I'm sure this sounds, in some degree, lame--sometimes the best part of my day is sitting down and placing myself beside these people, reading what they have to say, absorbing their thoughts, thoughts which are pure and raw and beautiful. Their words have meaning, if not to everyone then at the very least to me.

Sometimes I secretly hope that there is a person who sits down at night ready to catch a glimpse of my mind.

Sunday, November 22, 2009


I'm trying to write a script for my drama class.
I keep thinking to myself, This should be easy.
I write poetry all the time. It pours over my school work, leaks onto my hands, even sticks to the rubber soles of my shoes.
The theatre is my second home. I've read dozens and dozens of scripts this past summer alone.
I keep staring at the notebook in front of me, thinking to myself, Why isn't this easier?
I want to write about something real, something in my life.
I understand it best.
Why is it that everything true seems incomprehensible on paper?
No one believes the truth anymore.

Humble Pie

I wonder what it would be like to put my shoes on both at the same time.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

MC 18

I've been moving up and down today, not really in my mood so much as my level of intensity, which consistently fluctuates between this enormous passion for living and then this quiet reserve where all I want to do is people-watch. At the moment I'm at a standstill between the two, anticipating the switch perhaps not eagerly but certainly with an almost shy level of expectancy.

I feel everything right now. I feel everything on this elevated plane, at an altitude where I no longer see people and instead I see walking frames of distinct emotions. Yesterday I was frustrated and I looked at my friends and all I could picture through my narrowed eyes was heat, this red energy that they had no control over because I was creating it, because I was so embittered that their smiles seemed like jeering pokes, because I felt pricked by their ability to laugh and joke and jest while simultaneously I stood trapped in my inability.

Yesterday I watched a girl and a boy walk down the hallway together. Their fingers tapped, flirting with the idea of partnership, and yet these appendages seemed more to me like incongruous cogwheels. The pegs fit mostly due to pressure, to force so heavy that manipulation sets in and everything is faked, like when you tell yourself that the two puzzle pieces you just joined actually do fit together and that the minuscule slivered crescent moon of blank space lying in between is intentional. Their fingers were incongruous, not with each other but with the standards set for them by the bodies they inhabited. Yesterday I watched this girl and this boy, this immaculate pair, travel down the hallway, their backs to me, faces toward things they don't know or don't understand or can't possibly anticipate merely because a combination of youthful naïveté and inherent uncertainty blocked the window ahead. Yesterday I watched them and I felt love in the purest form, in a way that is unlike any love that has consumed me before. I looked at them and I felt their need to be near another person, their desire to have something, someone to walk alongside toward an unsettled future. I felt the comfort and security of an extra set of eyes and of an extra body and of an extra voice. The French have one-hundred and fourteen variations of the word "love." Yesterday I felt all of them.

Everyone is absolutely beautiful lately.

Monday, November 16, 2009

8:58 PM

One thousand times may not be enough.

Shrugged Off

Why is it that sometimes we feel so incredibly lonely but to reach out to people seems like the last thing we should do? Maybe it's because every now and then, when we extend our frail, thinning hands, hoping desperately that stronger, warmer fingertips return the gesture, all we feel, all we perceive, all we get is a sharp, obvious push away.

Why is it that some of the people we need most are the very same people who make our lives miserable?
In this, we are all hypocrites.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Close Encounters

Today at the EcoTarium I was almost attacked by a screech owl. Kathy, the trainer, was putting her back in her cage and she latched onto the door and went flying across the room, straight toward my unprotected head. Meanwhile I freaked out and ducked my head, shielding Carrot Top, the Eastern Box Turtle I was working with, from this flying fluffball. Luckily she skimmed over my head and landed her notched talons on the glass snake case a few feet in front of me.

In other news, I think the turtles have become a bit too comfortable around me. Dr. Evil peed on me 8 times, and his mum, Notch, peed on me once. Like mother, like son?

Furthermore, I miss you.

Every Morning

I want to tell you today that I love you.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Paper Clip Beauty

Every morning, my hands slip into their accouterments. Five bands of silver, one of gold: six rings that circle, surround, enclose my thin fingers. Each has immeasurable significance, possessing a story as beautiful and individual as the printed fingertips they slide past each morning. Around my left hand slide five bracelets, settling in a congregation just below the base of the palm, at the nape of my wrist. These, too, carry histories all their own. The Livestrong on my right hand, its bright yellow rubber a stark contrast to my pale skin, first attached itself in eighth grade and has remained a constant presence ever since.

To others, the jewelry I wear is simply that: pieces of metal hardware, rings and bracelets meant purely for decoration. Yet these ornaments are appendages, extensions of my fingers. They have intertwined with the hands of another, felt the warmth and silent love emanating between a gentle squeeze. They have experienced the rough and tumble of Willson Osborne's "Rhapsody," jerked up and down allowing notes to pass through hollowed wood and burst into the colored tones of a contemporary masterpiece. They have gripped thousands of pencils, hundreds of pens, contributed to the words that align and realign themselves into stanzas, into poetic expansions of myself. My bracelets have hugged and have danced. My rings have tickled and wiped away tears. Every night, these pieces part ways with my hands, temporarily separating their existence from my body, until the next day, when I lengthen and extend myself through their metal forms once more.

As I Step to the Edge and I Sign With a Kiss

Today in homeroom we all had to fill out Senior Superlatives. EW. They're fun, just because they're fun. (If that makes any sense at makes sense to me at least.) But superlatives are contrived, so artificial. Catie Kollins put it the best. She said, "It's the equivalent of saying, 'Well, you, you, and you all have pretty eyes, but YOUR eyes are the prettiest.'" Can you even gauge the prettiness of eyes? Tyler Groll and Alex Nowak both have beautiful blue eyes. As I see it, I could vote either way: either way, my vote would go to someone with blue eyes. (No, that sentence was not redundant, I swear.) And anyway, I think part of what makes eyes so alluring is the connection we feel when we look into them. If I was voting based on that, based on the eyes that I really, really love, the person I'd pick has brown eyes. Which are beautiful, in a deep-chocolate sort of way, but not in the stereotypical, "ohmigawd yo' eyes ah soooo bluuuuuu" way.

Maybe my rambling makes no sense. I really have nothing against superlatives, nor am I bitter about them at all. I just...think they're funny. Years from now, all one will be is an extra picture in the yearbook.

Today's song of the day is "Man On the Moon" by Mario Spinetti, although anything by him is worth listening to. He's a graduate of NYU and he has the most amazing voice, it's so pure and very ethereal and his lyrics are ingenuous and I just love him. 

"It said 'Let our nation rise'
I'm a victim to prose in that…
Send my love to the spoon and cat
It said 'Let our nation rise'
Here's to you, here's to solitaire
Here's to star-fishing in the air."

Wednesday, November 11, 2009


Some truths become
more apparent
with time.

This one has
but I've managed
to push it
time after time
and time

Ignoring it
will no longer

I stumble over its desire
to be noticed,
twist my ankle
from its gnarled
that claws its way
through the soil
and up
underneath my feet.

Perhaps if I accept
this weed
its presence
cannot harm me:

I don't know how
to get out of
my own

11/11/09 -- 12:50 AM

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

In the Air

It smells like Fall. I can't even describe the smell, but everyone knows it and it's here and I love it I love it I love it. Right now the trees are dropping their leaves in preparation for winter. Right now the trees are burning, flaming bright red and orange and yellow, screaming out to us, Hello, we're dying once again. Life's ironies never cease to amaze me. In their final hours each year, when fire emanates from every branch and whisks at our feet as we make our way down the leafy streets, at this point right before temporary death, trees are more beautiful than any green vibrancy could ever hope to be.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Spin Again

I wish life was as easy as its boardgame counterpart.

Sunday, November 8, 2009


"Had the price of looking been blindness, I would have looked."

-Battle Royal

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Glow Worm

Last night was the official first White Hot Party. Alex and I spent months getting ready for it and it finally came and it was amazing! I am so incredibly proud of everything. The music was great, the lights worked perfectly, everyone glowed and danced and just had incredible fun.

Last night was the happiest I've been since school started.
Maybe I should rave more often.

Thursday, November 5, 2009


"There ain’t no sin and there ain’t no virtue. There’s just stuff people do. It’s all part of the same thing.”

-The Grapes of Wrath

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Drift Thoughts

Today I really tried to begin "inviting" people into my life. It's a tough surface to break and a deep distance to penetrate, but I'm determined to get through it. There is no reason why my life, my love, needs any sort of cap or limit.

Currently I am supposed to be writing a research essay on pinhole cameras, which I actually happen to find fascinating since I was first introduced to one in August. The first pinhole camera was actually invented by the same Scottish chap who invented the kaleidoscope, which I think is the coolest conincidence ever. In any case, I'm itching to build a pinhole camera of my own. (Cue me looking for an oatmeal can to tear apart, then allowing Doubt to scream into my ear, "You're not smart enough!" and back away snickering as I sigh and place the container back on the cabinet shelf.) I'm not sure why I always place these roadblocks in front of myself, because I know if I thought about it I probably definitely could make a pinhole camera, and how truly wonderful would that be? But... I don't know. Physics is a tough concept for me to grasp. I just cannot seem to wrap my mind around it. It's too.....huge.

Anyway, I'm supposed to be writing an essay on the structure and functions of pinhole cameras. I'd much rather sift through the pages upon virtual pages of pinhole photographs that keep occurring on my Google results page. The things people have captured without even using a lens astound me. Science is brilliant, which maybe sounds redundant but truly, positively, I feel like these theories and concepts aren't theories and concepts but just these fantastic results, these fantastic THINGS sitting in front of me, surrounding me, 190,000,000 miles away from me on the other side of the planet. Taking them apart so we understand them is an honorable mission, and one I don't challenge. But for me, personally, I appreciate science as this abstract marvel of a thing.

Needless to say I haven't written my essay yet. I did go to the library to check out some books on pinhole cameras (mostly for my own personal interest when--IF--I find a spare moment to actually read something of my own volition), but the Gale Free had none. Maybe I'm one of the few people who frequent the non-fiction section, but the basement is my favorite part of the library and sadly it lacks books on so many amazing topics. If I had money I would throw it at them (figuratively-speaking, though literally throwing it at them could be entertaining) and encourage them to buys books on composting and books about pinhole cameras and all of the Rod McKuen volumes they can get their hands on.

I am seriously considering closing the Microsoft document I've had open for the last two hours, which has barely any writing save a few abstract phrases and snippets of information. The depth of field is infinite, but optical blurring can occur: it just doesn't depend on object distance. Out of context, essay aside, forgetting physics altogether... that is absolutely beautiful.

I wish I could write about science in exactly the manner I feel. Unfortunately there seems to be little room in physics for flowery ponderings on concrete knowledge.

On another note... I accidentally stumbled upon this blog today. I can't read it (despite years of Spanish it never stuck), but I don't think words are needed. The image alone made me laugh so hard. Obscurity is the most humorous thing to me.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

If You Never Say Your Name Out Loud to Anyone, They Can Never, Ever Call You by It

There are certain people I see every day in school that I never, ever talk to. Or, if I do, our conversations are brief, fleeting--moreso a passing word or answers to questions than anything else. Every day I see them, every day in the hall in the cafeteria in the parking lot in the gym. You'd think with so much regularity there might be an actual connection.

Sometimes I want so badly for there to be one. Even if we have nothing "in common," we have in common those quick, passing moments, and surely isn't that enough?

Why is it so much harder to get to know someone once you've known them for a while? That doesn't make sense, but I guess what I mean is why, once you've been acquainted with someone just by coincidentally sitting diagonally across from them in class or meeting once because she's the friend of your friend, is it so infinitely harder to become friends? Maybe we think the reason we're not friends with these people is because they don't want to be friends with us. I feel this all the time, like some unexplainable insecurity on my own part inhibits me from even testing the waters.

I think, sometimes, we feel limited by our friends, maybe not directly by them but certainly by the little bubble or aura or orb or sphere or whatever shape I mean, certainly by this casing that surrounds our comfortable group. When we have friends with us, it seems an infinitesimal issue that we extend our branches. Yet when we know no one in a class, we reach out to that maybe-someone sitting next to us and remember how easy it is to invite people into our lives.

I want to invite these people into my life. No reservations, no R.S.V.P.s, no prerequisites.
Just....come on in. My door is OPEN.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Money Money Money

College confuses me.
I hope I'm not the only one.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

On Having Finally Completed the College Application Process

A human brain can only stretch to hold so much knowledge at once, though one may well argue that not all brains are created equal, and I would like to believe that my own brain is flexible. I recognize, too, the distinct difference between what I truly do not know and what I simply don't understand. I don't understand Snell's Law, despite the fact that its formula (n1sinθ1 = n2sinθ2!) has embedded itself into memory. I don't understand why the letter "E" was overlooked in the development of the modern grading system, but I know for a fact that letter grades move directly from a D to an F.

I am not scared of what I don't understand. Some of it I question and seek to reinforce, some of it I allow to rest unobtrusively in some lower layer of my mind.

What I don't know, however, intimidates me.
I don't even know everything I don't know.

I do not know why I instinctively dislike being alone. I do not know why I am afraid of clowns, or why, when surrounded by 50 bandmates dressed up as my fear personified, I begin to shake and have to close my eyes to prevent tears from betraying my façade of calm. I do not know why burnt Cheez-its taste infinitely better than regular ones, or why I have always put my socks on before my pants, or why, for some reason, I am far more talented at parking a vehicle to my left than to my right. I do know, from trial and error, that this is truly unarguable, but I truly do not know why.

I don't know why my current performance in Topics Calculus stems mostly from my teacher's skill, despite the fact that I know I am intelligent and I have always displayed a certain aptitude with numbers, but I recognize that the concepts thrown at me on any given day would fly right past my head were it not for the man standing at the front board.

I do not know the Muffin Man.

I do not know why poetry flows within me, through me, from me as easily as does the alphabet from a proud kindergartner. I do not know why I love so freely and unconditionally. I do not know why this choice to live with an open heart has led to as much hurt as it has. I do not know why I trust everyone without precedent.

I don't know what my future holds, and I doubt that the fortune teller situated off the highway ten minutes from my house knows, either. I don't know when I will die, and I honestly don't know whether I would want to know if I could know. I don't know if everyone has a soul mate, and, supposing everyone does, I don't know if I will ever find mine. Maybe he was that boy from that passing car on July 4th. Maybe he was. I don't know.

I do not know if someone found the message in a bottle that I so dutifully set afloat seven years ago. I do not know if someone will ever find the time capsule my sister and I buried eight years ago before we moved from Pembroke to Duxbury.

I do not know how to read minds, and so I promise not to attempt to read yours.

I don't know if a package of essay questions is truly an adequate representation of me as a person, but I also don't know any other way of expressing myself to a college through the U.S. Postal Service.

I don't know where I will get into college, and I don't know what colleges will reply to my obese manila folder with an anorexic envelope whose contents reject my diversity.

I do not know any of these things, but I do know that I feel forever more passionate, spontaneous, and alive among these unknowns.

I do not know how to explain myself.
But I do know I am a certainty among uncertainties.

He's back.

I've never been more relieved than in that first moment.


We always said that you weren't fat,
just that there was more of you to love.
My own love knew no bounds.
I refuse to believe you are gone for good.
Please surprise me.
Come home.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Here Lies the Rant I Promised Not to Give

Right now I am itching to post an evil spiel about how frustrating it is to spend over 4 hours constructing an argument on a topic I find completely absorbing, and then share this fascination with my peers in a debate where I almost effortlessly present my side, only to find that, for some inexplicable reason or another, my standard of excellence is apparently comparable to my teacher's idea of a D.

What? I want to scream right now. I could just let 'er rip. Honestly, truly, sincerely, I DON'T GET IT.

I am sick of spending the majority of my life slaving over school work. I am sick of being compared with other people when the fact that I am not the same as them, the fact that I am different, is the very reason why such comparisons should not happen. I am sick of people telling me that grades don't matter because they think that I live and breathe for As. Do they realize that the very reason I feel such pressure to succeed is because they toss around their own grades as if earning that perfect score comes as easily as a blinking eyelid? I am sick of it.

A person is not measurable with any form of scale or number or letter or quantitative value.
A person is not measurable by how well they stack up against the paradigm of excellence.

There is no paradigm of excellence. Stop beating me to pieces about it, because it does not exist.
I've reached my breaking point.

Monday, October 26, 2009


Today I found the Little Dipper freckled onto my arm.
The stars are closer than we think.

Sunday, October 25, 2009


I don't want to go to work tomorrow.
I don't want to go to work.
I don't want to go.
I don't want to.
I don't want.
I don't.

11:55 PM -- 10/24/09

Thursday, October 22, 2009


As long as I keep my eyes closed, I stay happy.

This Will Only Hurt A Little

Soooooooo I am working off of 2.5 hours of sleep, which should technically be this huge outrageous hardship. How can I possibly be awake right now with such little sleep?! I've found that it's really not that hard. Slowly, steadily, school has robbed me of more and more of my time. I shouldn't say robbed, because I really do love school. At the same time, though, I feel completely and irrevocably possessed by this place. All I do is wake up, eat, go to school, pass in homework, take tests, receive more homework, eat lunch, endure more pointless busy work, and eventually get in my car and drive home at some point in the afternoon. I do find satisfaction with reliable constants, but this 30-hour-a-week monotony I simply cannot stand anymore. Part of me wants to scream--to my teachers, to my classmates, to no one in particular in a mostly-empty hallway--There is so much more to me than this.

I am a writer. I am an actress. I am a musician. I love nature. I feel compassion and live life with an open heart. I enjoy grocery shopping and burnt Cheez-its, and while maybe these last two are slightly more irrelevant, they're still true, and I still can't get past how frustrated I am with this beautifully-refurbished prison I'm forced to operate within.

Sometimes I wish school was all talk, all learning, all sponge-absorbing knowledge. Instead we have essays, critiques, term papers, debates, projects, presentations, tests, quizzes, quests, tizzles, midyears. Grades. What are grades even, really, when you think about them? Who came UP with these standards? Why can't an F be fantastic and an A be abysmal? Why is 100 the preferred number for everything? Screw nice, neat "percentages," why can't grades be based out of 174? I don't even know what the unit would be there but in any case why not? Why why why why WHY?

Generally I see no dangers in thinking, but this has gotten ridiculous. I am on brain OVERLOAD and relatively soon I'm just going to combust. I'll be sitting in AP Lit, or doodling in Physics, or doing I-don't-even-care-what in Topics, and my head will just explode. From knowledge, from unnecessary facts that contribute nothing to who I am as a person now and who I will be in the future, from constant fear of examinations and time limits and due dates and the dreaded red pen with x's and cross-outs.

Here's the worst part: last weekend I was at a drama rehearsal, and, as the female understudy, was juggling three different scripts and attempting to write down every single stage blocking direction for all 7 female roles. Halfway through the second act, I turned to Dan Gentile and I said, completely unaffected, completely seriously,

"Sometimes I just wish I could go into a coma, a temporary coma, and pass through these horrible weeks and when I wake up, everyone will have been so concerned about my having been in a coma that they will tell me, 'Oh Sam, don't worry about that huge critique you missed! You dont have to make up that test either,' and I will evade all of these exhausting responsibilities and just be in general much happier."

Reading that I'm sure you're probably commenting to yourself about what a horrible thing that is to say, and how insensitive of a person I am for saying it. But sometimes I really do think that having an ON/OFF switch under my control would be the most amazing thing in the world.

I know we come to school to expand our knowledge. But these are the most unbearable growing pains I've ever had to endure.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

The Lost Boy

Your Peter Pan suit
stole the remaining fragments
of your innocence.


I wrote this haiku almost two years ago. The occupant of that magic outfit has left my life interminably, and for the longest time, without his knowledge, I suffered under his clenched grip. I struggled for almost two years, ever since his initial departure. Thinking about that stuns me. I would laugh and point fun at my own childish refusal to let go but for the fact that I had no idea at the time what I was even holding on to. TWO YEARS. This summer I finally pulled free of his burning grasp, and left the world of adolescent daydreams behind, promising myself that from now on, I'd approach love with a level head. I promised to keep my wrists far out of the reach of any hands attached to mendacious bodies. This summer I celebrated the end of two years of intermittent misery. This summer I embraced once more the truth that I choose to live with an open heart. I have never been happier, with arms wide open, than I was less than two months ago.

Somehow he too seized my arm.
I do not want to be back in Neverland, but I cannot escape.
Pixie dust, too, is hard to come by.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Framingham Station

The minute things come into focus, they retract and blur and indistinguish themselves once more. We find ourselves in constant battles to analyze everything. We feel this incessant need to understand each moment of our lives, to pinpoint all parts of ourselves, and even that which does not belong to us, even this void, falls victim to constant scrutiny.

Why are we unable to let things go, allow whatever forces that be to govern our futures and trust that each day fell upon us because it was meant to?

Whether cherished or repudiated when we turn our lights out at night, this day existed.

Monday, October 19, 2009

--- ------

Every time I see those three syllables (five, when expanded fully), my stomach falls out my butt.

I realize that is the exact opposite of eloquence, but there's nothing eloquent about how I feel. Unrequited love sucks. Sucks sucks sucks. Like a vacuum cleaner.

Tonight I embrace all of literature's cliché metaphors for love.
I'm starting to think I've turned into a cliché myself.
Please, somebody save me from banality.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Picture My Face On a Milk Carton

I'm worried I've gotten lost.
I know I need time to find myself.
But minutes pass, I stand idle, and outside of myself I slip farther away.


"The point of their intersection, together with his soul, glided upwards along an endless path."

The Defense

Saturday, October 17, 2009

10:12 PM

Life right now is good.

#2 Lead

I spent the entirety of lunch yesterday editing a college essay for a friend. With pencil in hand, I devoured the words much more steadily than I did my lunch, and what became most enthralling was how immersed I was. All the noise of the mammoth cafeteria shrank to this minuscule decibel until finally the laughter, screaming, voices didn't register any longer: cacophony entered one ear, and there it stayed, unable to pass out the other. When this thought occured to me once the bell rang, and all of the volume rushed back to torment my eardrums, I realized how few are the things that absorb me, entirely and without my immediate knowledge. Theatre, poetry...editing. Editing?

Sometimes I wonder if my love for editing, if my obsession with reading other people's writing and offering my opinions, seems strange and rude. For sure, some probably think so. But what if, just imagine, what if with each little tick mark, every crossed out word and suggestion for revision and circled phrase followed with-- I love this! [smiley face] --I did not detract or destruct, but inserted a part of myself into it?

I believe all writing blends together. The most beautiful collections of words owe themselves to unnumbered minds.

I'll Eat You Up, I Love You So

Last night I saw "Where The Wild Things Are." I've been wanting to see it for months, mostly because of the soundtrack (which reminds me so very much of Sigur Ros!). I'll admit I was hesitant, slightly afraid that the silver screen could not do this book justice. But it was absolutely beautiful, because for me it was like a family portrait. Life in my house is turbulent, moreso than the average family. Carol reminded me of my younger sister, with frequent mood swings and random burstings into fits. At one point, K.W. says of Carol, "He doesn't mean to do it. He just loves everyone so much." It could have been my mum speaking about my sister. I burst into tears.

A ten-sentence children's book has morphed into a sincerely profound metaphor for the one thing we all have in common: love, and its ability to at once hurt and inspire.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

It's October 15th.

And it's snowing.

Mother Nature has way too much fun with her job.

I Wish I Were A Pinball Wizard

Yes. I am having "one of those days," one of those days. The problem here is that I really cannot articulate why or how today sucked, nor can I justify it. I love school. I need the social environment, and I find all of my classes engrossing, and (knock on wood--my one superstitious vice) I seem to be doing generally well. I have no idea what's wrong here. Maybe nothing is.

But then I come home from school and all of these worries, all of these fears arise, these tiny little stressballs that spiral through my veins--up my arms, down my legs, round and round the pit of my stomach--like cold metal pieces in a pinball game. I've lost control of my own internal arcade. I'm no longer the high scorer. I don't know whether to be embarrassed or to be accepting or to resolve to try my thumbs at it once more.

I can feel the ball ricochet up, down, and sideways: physics is incomprehensible to me regardless of how much I read the textbook and study the messy, unclear diagrams; I finished everything "college"--except for my supplemental essays--this summer and yet even with all of that preparation (which was mostly to avoid AP work, go figure) I now find myself behind? [I'm more afraid I've lost the motivation]; my impending English critique makes me want to resume my preteen habit of nail-biting, and the only thing currently keeping me from doing so is a combination of hair-pulling and fear of the Swine flu; and my sleeping habits, so meticulously sculpted and perfected to a regimen during the summer months, have finally caved in to the grueling demands of school, and as a result my body seems to be consistently heavy from exhaustion.

I have so much love pulsing within me and I'm completely incapable of sharing it with the people I truly want to.

Just for once I'd like to win a round of my own inner contest.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009


SETTING: The family room. It's the time of day where the natural light streaming through the windowpanes provides sufficient brightness, and as a result all the light switches, which when upturned trigger blinding explosions of harsh artificial shine, remain "OFF." GIRL sits on the couch, the one by the windows, her body sharing equally both sofa cushions, her back slumped deep into the pillows. She cradles a laptop upon her thighs, her feet turned inward as if ready to join forces and catch in their embedding anything that may potentially fall downhill. No sound, save the gentle murmur of the gas fireplace as it emits welcomed heat. She is alone but for her sole feline companion, though one may successfully argue that cats, in all their self-absorption, provide little in the way of camaraderie.

Currently GIRL, still seated, stares fixated at a spot on the opposite wall, in the middle of the large portrait where the light from outside casts a reflective glare on the glass casing. Only the window blinds are visible in this expedient mirror, and their monotonous, stacked lines attract her absentminded gaze. It becomes clear she is thinking, mulling rather tremendously over some idea, some situation, some encounter that has caught her in a grip, emphatically inescapable until thought has made its full course.

She shifts her feet, drawing them up from the floor and settling them, crossed, on top of the wooden table. Her back sinks lower into the cushions.

GIRL's lips part ever so slightly and begin to silently articulate one word, two words, three, four, ten, fifteen. Her mouth repeats this exercise once more. Then again. There passes another bout of tranquil reflection. Suddenly, her lips resume form and make one last effort to express this phrase, this wonderful, strange phrase implanted in her memory courtesy of a new, old friend; and here she finds her voice, slight and delicate.

GIRL: Time and geography are just obstacles. If it's meant to be, you'll get over them.

Silence. Her eyes resume their watch of the mimicked blinds. She blinks. Belief flashes in, belief flashes out.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009


Bridges go both ways.


01.  I'm working off of three hours of sleep.
02.  No homework. Weird how I feel like I've got so much to do.
03.  My clarinet is broken...? Problem.
04.  Driving home today I saw a mother and her toddler-aged son race each other to the front door. This made me insanely happy and I smiled the rest of the way home.
05.  Swedish Fish. Sveedish Fish. Da.
06.  I have a 4.5 weighted GPA. How did this happen? Okay.
07.  My mind should be cleared by Thursday night. This is good.
08.  I love my guidance counselor.
09.  I love my friends. "Squeeshed, like a booog on a weeendshield."
10.  I dropped from AP Calc to Topics the first week of school in part to escape my math teacher. He still teaches my Topics class and thank God, because I love him.
11.  Fobby O. Stallyun.
12.  My headband with the flower on it is quickly becoming a distinct part of how people recognize me. I am okay with this.
13.  White Hot Party rave, 11/6/09. Psych!
14.  Today's song is "Secret Heart" by Feist.

"Secret heart, come out and share it. This loneliness, few can bear it. Could it have something to do with admitting that you just can't go through it alone?"

Down the road, everything will come up roses.

Monday, October 12, 2009


"And to hold her on his lap was nothing compared to the certainty that she would follow him and not disappear, like certain dreams that suddenly burst and disperse because the gleaming dome of the alarm clock has floated up through them."

The Defense

It Didn't Say Anything, It Just Said Nothing

It feels like a wire hanger latched onto my navel, twisted its metal hook deep into my abdomen and with one fell swoop ripped the entirety of my insides through a cavity in my skin, flinging them 70 miles per hour across the room to land on top of a pile of burning charcoals. As I sit, clinging onto my sagging frame, holding what little is left of me together, I watch as everything that kept me operative writhes in the heat, diminishing into foul curls of smoke.

You tore yourself from me.
Hollow, I will only last so long.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

El Maíz

Everything about this makes me smile.

Criss Cross Applesauce

I have been surrounded by people I love this weekend. Friends from my past met friends from my current reality. The blending was seamless, something I didn't expect but happily acknowledge. At this very moment I am impatiently awaiting the beginning of a dinner (my mum cooked--like really cooked--tonight!) I will share with 10 others-- family, grandparents, and decades-long family friends. It's like Thanksgiving, but a month premature.

I feel immense pressure right now. I have about three days' worth of homework and perhaps 36 hours with which to complete it. The blame lies solely with me; I put this stress upon myself...but I'm choosing to (or at the very least, trying to) stay calm.

My friend drove up 2 hours to visit me yesterday. I got lost in a corn maze with an unexpected companion this afternoon. And at this very moment, I have a pot roast, potatoes, pumpkin bread, and apple pie waiting for me in the next room over.

My latest truth: sometimes it's worth throwing yourself into turmoil if you can enjoy a few seconds of peace along the way.

Friday, October 9, 2009

Let It Fly In the Breeze and Get Caught In the Trees

Today I chopped off three inches of my hair. Now my head feels lighter, and my brain feels clearer, and I feel liberated. So many girls are attached to their hair. Sometimes I am as guilty of this weird obsession as everyone else. But right now, I've shed three inches--three inches that have started at the root, have had time to grow and extend through several months of my life until they skimmed past my shoulders and found themselves stuck, dangling at their own ends. When I hopped out of the salon chair, a pile of hair lay clumped on the floor, individual three-inch pieces of my past forever disconnected from my physical being.

It was time for them to go.
New memories emerge every day, and every day recent months drop lower and lower down memory's strands.
My next haircut waits for me, far ahead.
For now, I am content with what I have lost, gained, and kept.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

I Am Hungry

Currently I am perched upon one of the media center chairs and, having finished the homework I promised myself I'd complete during long block, am indulging in a bit of midday writing. Sitting next to me are two girls--friends, I assume--who clearly don't understand (or merely choose to overlook) the concept that "libraries are quiet."

From my seat, I have been unintentionally informed that Girl A's chest is not sitting in its carrier as it should be.

How privileged I am.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Motionless Occupant of a Naked Room

I am out of body.
I am out of mind.

Life continues.
I have no choice but to do the same.

My creative outlet stayed behind.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Obviously Perhaps

Cold sheet, cold hand, groan, roll out pad across, down stair stair stair thump dog cat cold, growl hello stomach, homework? Homework yes. Do no. Times? Times I thought they were different, I'm sorry I'm sorry thank you, won't make this mistake again. Drop drop drop dad--this rain is sucky--drop drop drop drop drop traffic, why? traffic drop drop drop kiss goodbye, climb the steps, backward/forward? Backward. $6.25 please--Don't hate me but I only have a twenty, thank you sir. Bolt jerk jerk chug screech hiss stop? No next. Stop, in, where are you, you said you'd be here, whoops well no worries, out, in, out, in in in in in MFA out walk walk walk. Where's the door? Circle once, there, oh hey!, hug, kiss, shift- un/comfortable? suck it up suck it up you knew this would happen, bite lip, suck it up, smells like a hamster cage in here, this is my room, oh cool why is she in it, suck it up, Aquarium? yes! just us please, suck it up, just us just us just just just us us us, u+s, clod walk clog clunk clunk heel toe heel toe breathe talk intelligent what's new? nothing, scrounge for something, city bus: stay balanced, look LOOK yes you can, off, forward, wrong way, backtrack, seaport district, there, line long line                                   punch me, watch my self defense! NO! why are you getting closer no don't no no yes line line "you looked cute" thanks, stop thinking too much, line, I'm a member--okay, free--in, picture, why? Penguins, penguins, I love this, fish fish go fishing for fish fish fish fish shark turtle I would live here Why is his hand on my back why stop thinking--think--no, okay, why? How has the day been--not too shabby(but really I could kiss you)I won't but I will but won't. Where? eat? sure, bus--balance people crowd, get close is this meaningful where's my ticket search tear apart search it's in my pocket embarrassing, train where-- E? B. E? B. E? D. Bummer. Hit me again, watch, yes I'd be great at fighting off predators close close what are you doing closer lips brush? no but lips lips separation what just happened "you could totally hold off a rapist"--I did not know that was a test, what? stop stop stop eat? nap? can we nap yes okay music music, covers you me space space heavy lids lights dim dim out-- cold, roll, cold, ignore it, "How did you spell her name right?"--what?, sorry, dreaming. Leave return cold me too covers yes, they hold us in us us no NO close eyes close, slight curves feet mine yours let this moment linger linger on and on strange I'm not hungry--linger 7:30 ends can't wake up stay? stay? only if you want to I do I do do you I can tell you do say it--"maybe you'd better not"-- something nothing would happen, something, get up, socks, wellies, WAKE UP, down, still smells like hamster shavings, doors open, cross street, sit sit oooboolachoogoo what? STAY AWAKE "I had fun" nod "I'm glad you came" nod "it's weird not seeing you all the time" if only you knew yes I'll come again nothing would have happened, nothing? except in our minds yes yes STOP. bus, time to go--will you be okay?-nod-are you sure? kiss kiss-now I'm not so sure but nod--kiss hug

break apart
can't tell if this is easier than last time
don't look back
on on on
8:35 time to go home phone dead no way to say: today was perfect, if you don't mind I'd like to come back tomorrow and every tomorrow after tomorrow and tomorrow's tomorrow. "Can you stay?" I can, I can't, I want to, I shouldn't, I miss you now now now still now now now now I miss--chug chug jerk jerk LAST STOP exit train crunch splash close door--back to life. Can you stay did I have to leave did I have to? at least this time I left you, "can you stay" can I can I can I can I, I want to I do I do I do I should have said yes, no, I should have. Thank you I had fun thank you I'm tired I'm tired I love you.

9:26 PM -- 10/3/09

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Out of My Skin

"I go to seek a great perhaps."

--François Rabelais

Friday, October 2, 2009

Mellow Yellow

I had a heart-to-heart tonight with one of my favorite people.
Then I had a heart-to-heart with my parents.

I am now sitting on my couch,
eating lemon cake with homemade lemon frosting
and watching "The Nanny" on Nick@Nite.

I am apprehensive about tomorrow. I am unsure. I am nervous.
But life, at this exact moment in time, is good.

Wednesday, September 30, 2009


I have run the consequences over and over in my head.

There are two:

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Smallest Living Unit

This past week was nonsensical in the very best of ways. It was Homecoming week, so of course the atmosphere at school was casual anyway, but how strange to see teenagers--some already adults, some right on maturity's heels--dressed up in mullets and capes and shapeless whirlwind frocks and bathrobes and facepaint and rainbow colors. Dressed up in the silly, the deranged, the foolish, goofy, quixotic--and yet hard at work, disciplined studious idealities. It's a paradox, and a beautiful one. We linger on the edge of an entirely foreign life, and for most of us, we are ready for its arrival. We linger, but we grasp onto our imaginations and the very visions of our childhoods as if throwing ourselves into these outlandish caricatures is the best preservation of the past that we have.

I also came face to face with one of my largest fears on Saturday. For the Homecoming game, the Wind Ensemble traditionally dresses up as clowns. I hate clowns. Hate them. It all stems from the movie "Air Bud," with that horribly frightening red-haired clown man who tries to steal Buddy from the little boy. That movie ruined my chances of ever enjoying a circus. So I show up on Saturday and walk into the bandroom and some sixty-odd faces turn to look at me and I nearly freeze in place. Honestly, I wanted to bolt. The feeling inside me at that exact moment is akin, perhaps, to how you feel when you're five years old and you are grocery shopping with your mother and you look down for half a second and suddenly, upon glancing upward, your precious Mother is nowhere to be found. It's that feeling where your heart does not merely drop into the ravenous pits of your chest, but completely implodes; where your throat tightens in that way that makes you acutely aware you are one tiny tick away from completely bursting into tears; where you stop breathing because you forget to. That's how it felt. The face paint, the bright colors that didn't match, the large shoes and goony pants. At one point I started crying. Ultimately I toughed it out though. I would never want to do it again, but I am proud of myself for getting through it.

Last week I realized a wonderful truth. I know I mention "truths" all the time, but they are something I am deeply attuned to, and with each new discovery I add a tiny cell onto a larger picture of a more complete me that I am building all the time. Last week I realized a wonderful truth, and I hope my openness is acceptable:

Bryan, I have never felt more comfortable or happy around you than I do now, as friends and companions.

Just so you know. I hope that's okay.

On Having Decided I'm Not Afraid

"It is a risk to love.
What if it doesn't work out?
Ah, but what if it does."

--Peter McWilliams

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Three-Hour Nap

My life seems better in my dreams lately.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Lots of Bones Here

Because I'm working at the EcoTarium now, my employee pass gets me into most of the museums in Massachusetts for free. A lot of them will let me take a guest too! I never expected for fortune to throw such an incredible gift at me. Culture.

In a lot of ways, I am in a wonderful place. School has me constantly working but at the moment I feel no stress. My entire family is getting along and there is currently peace and harmony (a rare but welcomed occurence!). I truly believe I have met the most sincere, genuine and loving people since I moved here. Better than that, I can call them friends.

In other ways, I am still confused. There are two people I need to talk to. One I physically can't, and every fiber in my being has me clawing to find some way to reach him. I've asked him to come visit in my dreams. I have faith in his eventual arrival.

The other, I struggle thinking about. It is this inability that inhibits me from picking up a phone and sharing my voice between us once more.


My old neighbors introduced me to Seth Glier two years ago. He is not very well known, but I loved his music then and I decided yesterday to return once more to it. It's been playing non-stop since, both out loud and in my head, in particular "Someone Else to Crown."

"Well I can’t cry or just let go when everybody tells me so
that you don’t smile like before, you won’t hum or even soar
...You were not one for divide."

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Internal Battery

Today I accept an ugly truth.
I will never be content with the amount of Time I am given.
Stacking clocks one on top of the other will not alleviate its fleeting consistency.

Time is fickle,
perhaps not in uniformity
but in relation to me.

If I did commit some ruthless, unforgivable act in the past
that moved Time to spin its Hands
challenging me to a race I wish no part of,
forgive unto me, Time,
what precious minutes, seconds, ticks
You might spare,
for precious indeed they are.

If repentance be what You seek, Time,
allow me one spin
to uncover my transgression.
Permit me one spin more
that I may make amends.

When You are up,
deliver Judgement without affectation.
I will catch up.

If my penance
fails to earn back lost windings,
rotate once more

Soon Your springs will snap
and Hands will teeter perilously
above twelve, three, five, seven.
No number,
any number.

You will not Exist
once my belief stops propelling You.

9/22/09 -- 10:25 PM

Fields of Wonder

"...Love I wear
as open as a wound,
a mad mistake I know
but love, like Lent,
only comes to those of us
who still believe.

In loving
the only banner we can hoist
is love itself.

I take this hill –
but with a white flag only.

You may tear my life
but not my flag."

--Rod McKuen

Monday, September 21, 2009

Out My Window, All I See Is Rain

It has been unbelievably gorgeous the past few days. Mother Nature is finally repenting for the irritable temper-tantrums that defined her this summer. How easily we forgive her oscillating disposition! It is a wonder and a question worth posing why we exonerate her past transgressions, so often severe, and at the same time refuse to forgive others for the pettiest of slights as if it is a human necessity that we bear such grudges.

We could stand to learn a few lessons from our more sensible selves.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

You Run and You Run to Catch Up With the Sun

I finished the supplemental essay to my Amherst application today. To be honest, I dreaded writing it. College is the strongest love-hate relationship I have ever known.

I am happy with the outcome, though, in particular the latter-half of it.


"...For my thirteenth birthday, my friend gave me a small orange notebook, undoubtedly intended as a diary. A month later, it resembled more of a shrine to my inner-most middle-school thoughts than a daily account of preteen activity. I carried it with me wherever I went: to parties, on vacations, even to school itself. Anything and everything that inspired me or resonated with me went into that book. By the time I filled its last pages, the binding had cracked and its sheets were held in place with the help of a rubber band.

I have gone through five “orange notebooks” since then. Over time, my own work has become the predominant element among these pages. Somewhere along the line, poetry completely eradicated what remnants of short prose I had left in me. Every indescribable emotion that flickered inside of me, every phrase that rang in my ears long after its first utterance, every beautiful, beautiful word that made the corners of my mouth curl into a smile went into these books. Poetry is multidimensional. On the surface lay the denotations, the rough abstracts, perhaps even generalizations. But inside each poem lingers a meaning, a feeling far more significant than any summary could convey. Inside each poem hides a story, an exploration of human emotion and thought. Poetry has allowed me to express everything that I cannot, or do not wish to, communicate externally.

Two weeks ago, while cleaning out my room, I stumbled across the original orange notebook. For reasons I can’t explain, my heart beat faster than usual as I turned the pages and relived my early teenage years. Apparently, I had nine crushes alone in eighth grade, and knew a startling number of corny band jokes. Yet I also found poetry about my parents, and how afraid I was of divorce; about my body, and how truly uncomfortable middle school made me feel; about my future, and how uncertain it seemed at the time. How beautiful to know that, in those words, I had unknowingly preserved my own past.

What I write today will be my past preserved tomorrow.

This I know is the only weapon against time."

Is it wrong...

...for me to be wishing that a particular person drops dead from swine flu?

Because I do.

Driving Lessons

Last night I spent some time with someone I hadn't seen or talked to in months. It felt totally normal, but also really, really artificial. There we both were, at an equilibrium (point zero, refreshed, try again). I was comfortable. He was comfortable. Yet the energy seemed nervous and I left feeling as if, somehow, inexplicably, the night had felt stilted.

Perhaps the problem is that I can't decipher what he's feeling.

Our history is brief, but rough. Neither of us had any adequate grasp on what we were doing or whether we even wanted what we were heading toward. We came in sight of our destination, but hit a roadblock.

I know now it was for the best.

I am content with the way we stand in relation to each other at this moment. We are friends, but not close friends, and I am unsure if this is the way I want it to stay. Maybe, in the end, I feel so strange about last night because I'm afraid he wants to crawl over the roadblock and keep heading forward.

What's funny is that months ago, there was nothing I'd have wanted more.
Now, though, I don't.

I travelled onto a new road this summer.
I've pulled over into the shoulder of the road. Traffic passes by, and I watch others come and go. Their movement does not bother me, for I know eventually I'll resume my journey forward.

I'm just waiting for a voyager who is heading where I am.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Friday Musings

My younger sister had her best day of school ever today. As someone who, for some inexplicable reason, has had trouble making friends for most of her life, I could not be happier or prouder. Of all people, she truly deserves to be cut a break. I keep my fingers crossed that today is only the first of many wonderful days.

I wore a new pair of wide-leg trousers today. They are now the most comfortable pants in my wardrobe and I am in love with them.

The Ecotarium called me back. They've officially hired me as a Birthday Host (!), which means I'll learn how to handle turtles, chinchillas, starfish,

After school Leanne and I went shopping for Spirit Week.
I spent $4.50 on a package of boys' tightie-whities.
Tuesday is Superhero/Villian Day.
And I'm going as Quailman.

Last, and yet most important. Paul, it's been exactly one year today. It's hollowing to think that I've gone without you for three-hundred and sixty-five days. I promise to come visit soon. I miss you, and my love for you only grows stronger with every beat my heart makes.

Thursday, September 17, 2009


Right now I'm a little frazzled.
It would be nice to clear my mind.
At the same time, I like getting lost in the fog.


"Let your freckles be periods and my scars the alphabet.
Our skin together is the most beautiful thing I have ever read."

I have freckles. You had scars.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

You Go Your Way, And I'll Go Mine

When I woke up this morning my eyes were swollen shut.
That was cool.

I fumbled around for a good ten minutes before I could really open them up all the way, and even then my eyelids felt unbelievably heavy. It wasn't until around lunchtime that they finally simmah'ed down. Weird.

I'm having trouble understanding how I feel at this very moment. I should be exceedingly happy right now, and I am, I think. Yet at the same time I feel....odd. The majority of me is "with it," but there is this tiny part of me that feels detached, stretched, dragged, elongated past its limit. It wants to follow in directions completely opposite of the one toward which I'm heading. I tell myself to snatch it back, reel it in, because of course I can't scatter myself in more than one place.
I'm not omnipotent. (Bummer.)
But then I ask myself: why can't I allow that miniscule fraction of me to wander? What is the harm in spreading all of me about, in being a little flighty? Surely there can't be anything wrong with that, especially since the attraction and allure of this opposite path stems from an unspoken invitation.
Something beckons that sliver of me toward it, knowing full well that with its minute size, resistance would be futile.
I think for now I'll let it fall captive.
I guess we'll see.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

It's 10:57.

Why am I still waiting up?

Way Back When

Last night I went to my very first Sterling Fair.
It was ridiculously fun. I haven't been to a carnival in years and years. All of it brought back so many memories. Not specific ones, but just reminders of the way it feels to be a kid. When your stomach drops because the ride you're on comes swooshing toward the ground at 80 miles per hour; when you're thrown into the air and your bum lifts off your seat and you start screaming because even though you're completely safe, that illogical, irrational part of your brain still thinks you're going to die; when you pay $4.00 for a glob of fried dough and smother it in cinnamon and powdered sugar, simply because when else do you ever eat fried dough?; when you reach the top of the ferris wheel and can see for what seems like miles; all of it.
I'd forgotten what it felt like, that incredible, unadulterated joy.
It was nice to rediscover it.

Saturday, September 12, 2009


Mind led body
to the edge of the precipice.
They stared in desire
at the naked abyss.
If you love me, said mind,
take that step into silence.
If you love me, said body,
turn and exist.

-Anne Stevenson

Friday, September 11, 2009

I miss you.

I do.


Certain persons
grace our lives
often unexpectedly
but never
a reason.

Their tenure
is sizeable
or less so
or fleeting.

They always leave too soon.

Surely they would find
in knowing the profound impact
they leave behind
before they
sneak away.

Such assuagement
is not available
on a
two-way street.

I walk down mine,
my hand
fingers elongated
amd prepared to curl
between yours
at a moment's notice.

The streetlights here flicker.

If I stand
under this post
and wait
will familiar skin
brush the grooves
of my hand?

I do not think
you would take much comfort
in knowing
the sacrifces I have made
to keep this

9/9/09 -- 11:32 PM

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Yellow Cardigan

Today reminded me how much I truly love my life.

Nothing especially fantastic happened. I actually had a test long-block that made me a little ball of nerves for the entire morning. I worry too much. I've also felt bogged down lately. School has me stressed already, and at times tensions in my family run high.

I am missing certain people immensely.

But there was something about today that just made me happy. Katie and I were talking yesterday, and I told her how moving to Holden, in retrospect, is one of the best things to ever have happened to me. I've met people here who I feel, in the deepest and most real of ways, are genuine friends. I can't even explain it--I just feel very safe here. Very content.

Yesterday my physics teacher said, "Just remember, half of life is being there."

Today was a celebration of that truth. Being around people felt wonderful. I laughed. I smiled in that rare way, where you can almost feel the creases of your lips reach up and touch your eyelashes. I could feel my eyes sparkle. There was an energy running through me, surrounding me that made me happy to be alive.

And nothing amazing happened.
That's the amazing thing about it.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009


In gym class yesterday, Coach Jackson mentioned that removing jewelry prior to Self-Defense class might protect us from unwanted bodily harm.
I'm pretty sure he was talking to me.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009


I am glad today is over.

I'm not particularly sure why I'm so relieved. Nothing terrible happened. I actually had a relatively nice day of school. After school let out we had a brief meeting for the Drama officers, which culminated in an hour-long quest to find the floor of the Theater Tech Room. I sat in the loft sorting through dusty suitcases and crates, making an inventory list of all the random props we never knew we had.

Weirdest finds: pig nose mask, 13 pairs of suspenders, bag of used make-up pads (ew), half-eaten Reese's cup (disgusting).

It wasn't until I had begun my journey into the abyss of theater crap that I started to feel weird. I can't really explain it, but suddenly I was tired. I felt physically exhausted, but emotionally, too. Sitting in the loft--I was alone up there--left me with ample time to let my mind wander. I thought about a lot of things, often without truly realizing what I was thinking about. Sometimes mindless thought processes are the most draining. You don't feel their toll until they've long deserted your brain, and all you're left with is a muddled consciousness.

I've been victim to a lot of absent thinking lately.
Each time, I'm left feeling emptied.

Sleep can't alleviate the fatigue I suffer from.
I'm not sure what will.

Monday, September 7, 2009


I finally got around to seeing "Up" today. I cried. It occurred to me while I was sitting in my seat, shoes on the floor, feet tucked up under my legs, that I feel no shame crying while surrounded by strangers. Dark though the theater was, I was flanked by unfamiliars on both sides. Yet the gates opened and out flowed each radiant, pure tear. Maybe it's the thought that this moment is merely an encounter, brief and fleeting, that comforts me and allows me to let go. Maybe, instead, there is a peculiar trust that forms. We all have this second of time in common. "Up" was stunning--beautifully done and a poignant reminder of life's uncertainties--but the two hours I spent inside that theater were incredibly cleansing.

Later in the film, Russell says, "Sometimes, it's the boring stuff I remember most."

He's right.
As time goes on, I find myself drawing equal, if not more, pleasure from the little, everyday memories. The seemingly unimportant things build up. Sitting in a peaceful silence in the company of a friend has become as meaningful to me as any party.

Maybe I'm just growing older.


I watch presently
as all
my hopes
and wishes
of past days
manifest themselves
in front of me.

I am less surprised
than I ought to be
to discover
their fruition
brings little satisfaction
to my weary face.

Do we hit a certain point
where dreams
stop collecting dust
and instead
join it?

Do wishes carry
expiration dates,
stealthy in
their impermanence,
quick to dissolve
of juvenile yearning?

I scold myself
for my lack of emotion--
You should be happier.

I ask
how long I have
my dream of you
dusty him.

9/7/09 -- 12:22 AM

Sunday, September 6, 2009


Yesterday my physics teacher gave a speech about the beauty of science. The beautiful thing, to me, was how his eyes lit up and his lips curled into a genuine side-smile as soon as he mentioned his wife.

It's nice to know, sometimes, that love in its most simple form still exists.


We meet each heartache
always swearing
to ourselves
to never again
a lovely tragedy.

Why is it, then, that we
still give away our hearts,
or whatever remnants of whole
we have left?

Do we love sooner
because we have
loved before?
Or do we recognize love
as every thing
the past was not?

Love is a constant feeling
within us
but its external appearance
is constant in its

Is it possible to love
the same way

Already I tell my reflection
that tomorrow we
begin anew.

Already I will love again, but
I am keeping
my love with you
if ever you choose
to come back.

9/5/09 -- 11:38 PM

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Pass Start

I'm no longer afraid to share.

But today, someone else wins---

July 5
Once I wrote a song
Sixteen lines that walked
up from my belly to my head.

As I stood waiting for the light to change
and making up a melody,
a yellow bus passed by - slowly.
Looking up I lost the lines I thought I’d learned
and several more that never came
all because a bus passed by
and someone smiled from out a yellow window.

Buses pass by seldom
and horsemen not at all
I could not crib or fake your shoulders
if I once forgot the feel of them
and so each time I hold you
I test myself again.

-Rod McKuen