Poetry - Sans rêver

when i see you next,
one step nearer the contract-band
and three farther from your kin,
je chuchoterai dans l'oreille
what you already knew;
you'll stay because it's safe
and i'll smirk because behind i wish
what i had, could be
sans hijab, sans prières,
but with coffee-eyes like saucers
and ringlet-halos, dark chocolate
between ammi and baba, swinging

when i see you next,
three steps past the contract-band
and six in reverse of your roots,
je murmurerai dans l'oreille
what you know now;
you stayed because it was safe
and i'll smile because behind i fear
what you have, right here
sans Noël, sans catholicisme,
but with speckle-eyes like marble
and cream-freckled faces, dusty curls
between mom and dad, running...

Ce n'est pas un rêve.

Work on Believing

You know it's bad when you start believing online tarot card readings because they're so dismal they almost seem like they could be accurate. Like if you don't change something about how you see your life soon you aren't ever going to get better. Left to claw your way out of a well with no bucket.

The MU Counseling Center is apparently free up to 12 times a semester. 45-50 minute individual sessions. Since I can't talk to my parents or my friends or even myself about this, maybe I should give the center a call. But apparently dialing and then closing my phone doesn't count, which is exactly what I predict will happen at least 20 times before I actually stay on the line long enough to hear a human voice.

Thing is, I don't like not being able to solve my own problems. Because admitting that I need counseling means admitting I'm emotionally unstable. And, for the most part, I feel okay. I can handle school — hell, I did really well this semester —, I could probably handle a job, I can handle social situations. I'm not falling apart at the seams. It's just that deep inside my head — when I'm alone with no homework, no articles to write, no sources to interview, no one else's problems, no books, no TV and no other distractions to keep me preoccupied — I linger on the one thing that could potentially undo my outer projection of security, undo my existence.

I can't be alone. I don't know how to be alone. I don't want him to be happy if I can't, and I don't believe that I can be happy. And that's selfish.

I took this stupid survey the other day, and at the beginning it asks for 10 things you wish you could say to 10 different people. And No. 9 was this: "I'm afraid I'm going to crumble to pieces without you and you won't even look back." I'm saying this, and at the same time I can manage to give advice to other people like I know what the hell I'm doing in my life? "I think you can do better, but you're afraid to try because you feel safe where you are." Hypocritical. "Stop looking and maybe you'll find her." Seriously? And then at the end it asked for one confession. This was mine: "I'm afraid I've already found the one for me and that our situation is impossible, but most of all, that there will never be anyone else who even begins to compare."

And this is what I spend my time worrying about. If I were anorexic, thinking about the bleakness of my future without Sayeed would be like seeing images of myself 100 lbs heavier than I really am over and over and over in my head and convincing myself they were real. He would be like my preoccupation with food. Force yourself not to eat. Force yourself not to be okay without Sayeed. Because you can't allow yourself to be optimistic. Because you're too afraid and too weak to try.

This is what plays over and over in my head. As if it's on a constantly-looping reel. In four years or so, I see myself going to get the mail and pulling out an envelope addressed to myself in gold script. I see myself opening it and recognizing that it's a wedding invitation. From him. And then I see my eyes blur with tears and watch as I drop the note on the floor, crawl into bed, and lay there for weeks until someone from work or one of my friends comes to make sure I'm still alive.

I know how melodramatic that sounds, but it still puts a lump in my throat every time I imagine it. I don't know. Maybe they'll be able to get the scenes out of my head. Maybe I should call when I get back to school.

I'm sorry. I realize this is too depressing for a Christmas Eve post. During the holiday season people are supposed to be celebrating with family and feeling blessed for what they have. And I am. I'm thankful for a family that will always be there to support and love me, one full of people I'm actually friends with. I'm thankful for a best friend who lets me be myself no matter what, who is quirky and confident and amazingly talented at what she does. I'm thankful for how much I learned this semester and the hands-on experience I gained from working at a real paper.

And despite how much it makes me ache, I'm blessed to have met him. To have shared so many beautiful moments with him. Even though sometimes I think I'd jump at the chance to rewind time and prevent myself from falling in love in the first place, I don't think I would do it. It's not worth losing what we've had.

And maybe some day I'll learn to be okay with that. Just knowing we shared something other people would be lucky to find. But for now, it's one thing to say that. Another to believe it. And I've got to work on believing.

Mental catastrophe

It's staring me right in the face and I don't like the look in its eyes. I really hate me. Hate. I'm the weakest, filthiest, most dependent person I have ever met. My pride has been flattened and trampled into the mud, and I still don't want to take responsibility for it. I don't want to talk about it. When I open my mouth to describe it, I want to vomit. I start crying the minute I even think about uttering a syllable. I don't like losing my self-control, so I don't let myself. I can't talk about it to my parents, my best friends, my cat. Why would I ever be able to discuss it with a complete stranger? Ever? Why does the bile climb into my throat when I imagine him being happy without me? I hate the fact that he can be happy. I hate it. I'm selfish. I want him to be in as much agony as I feel even thinking about it. I don't want to be with anyone else. I don't want to. I won't. It's unhealthy, but I don't fucking care if it's unhealthy. It's not fair. IT'S NOT FAIR.

I don't want to get better because that means I have to forget him... and frankly, I'd rather be a mental catastrophe.

I want a little more than Home & Garden

I suck at blogging. I try to remind myself that part of the reason I got through high school was by keeping a journal, and for some reason the argument never sticks. And I have no idea why today is the day I suddenly chose to update. Prepare for some randomosity. I need to let it all out.

My brain has given up. Missourian, can I please just leave you by the roadside? Thanksgiving break is calling to me and I already feel doped up on triptafen. I don't want to write a story about public art at fire stations. I don't want to call people I don't know. Whine. Yes, I realize as a journalist this is a job requirement, and normally I don't have a problem with it, promise. I'm just full of complaints today.

Portfolio review on Monday consisted of my editor trying to convince me magazines only write about home decor. Do I want to write for Home & Garden? Don't think so. And why don't I want to write for a newspaper? Because I don't want to feel exhausted and strained every. single. day. of. my. life. And why don't I take criticism personally or cry every time Liz invites me to her office? Because for some reason I find it easy to put up a wall against her insanity. She knows nothing personal about me and I plan to keep it that way. If I want someone to write me a recommendation, I'll just kick ass in Jacqui's class and have her do it. She's a driven women with a steady head on her shoulders, and I won't ever have to hear about her cat or her want of a massage while she edits my work. Grace à dieu. Pulitzer vs. copy editor. I think the award might hold a little more weight. Could be wrong, though.

Roommates. Please ask me when you want to invite 25 people to our house for a pre-Thanksgiving dinner. It's just common fucking courtesy. Thank you.

My left headlight is out, my windshield wipers fail and my alignment is all off. I wish I was mature enough to know where to go to fix my car without daddy leaning over my shoulder. Then I wouldn't have to worry about a sore left arm after holding the steering wheel straight for four hours.

I know the election is over, but can I just mention that Sarah Palin scares me? Not only in her incredible ignorance of foreign and even domestic affairs, but also in her religious views. We're discussing her church affiliations in my Haunting & Healing religious studies class, and the Third Wave terrifies me. Think Jesus Camp. Think world domination. Think spiritual warfare. Think exorcism. Think bleeegh. I will not let them take over the government to hand the country over to Jesus upon his return. No thank you. The church that served as the foundation of their beliefs calls it heresy. Hello? (I know this sounds biased and ignorant, and that's because it is. I'm sure there are many nice, normal, only moderately-enthused Third Wavers. But according to stereotypes, this shit is scary.)

I just feel the whole accountability thing and improving your own life gets dismissed when we start talking about demonic forces controlling our actions. And that isn't simply a Third Wave belief. Depression demons. Alcoholism demons. Jealousy demons. Anger demons. Come on, people. We make awful decisions. Let's be responsible and acknowledge our failures. You can't exorcise my sarcastic personality away. It's not an infestation. You can't say a demon caused the end of my five-year relationship. That's just ridiculous. We did, Zach and I. People make choices to behave in certain ways, and for that they should be held accountable. I have no problem with God. No problem with looking to a higher power for guidance, believing that there is a plan, but don't let that be an excuse for treating other people or even yourself like crap.

New subject. An embarrassing admission: I really like to watch Jon and Kate Plus 8 on TLC. They showed their vow renewal event in Hawaii on Monday night, and their children are so adorable. They make me want a huge family (perhaps not eight, but more than I had originally planned). What's worse is they make me want to have a huge family with Sayeed. :sigh: I just keep digging my own grave, deeper and deeper. By the end of undergrad I'll be halfway to the Earth's core. At least that's what I'm shooting for.

Depressing. I think I'll leave it on that bittersweet note.

Poetry - Okay

when a character asks
'are you okay?'
shouldn't you look around
at the true friends you lack
and ask why,
and where,
and how

you lost them?

why you pushed
yourself
apart

took solace in a machine,
faceless but for pixels
heartless but for contrived,
scripted compassion;
an illusion,
a ruse,
a fake

you should recall:

real people do
have worth
enough

to ask 'are you okay?'
with genuine regard,
and to understand,
even when the answer is
'i can't be'
'i'm not'
'no'

Poetry - The Waiting Game

the waiting game slips
from one couple to the next
leering certainly

until they aren't couples;
they are one, singular couple

relationships melting into
a spectrum of color,
mingling blurry hot and cold

waiting, the game is not partial
to any one person, but all persons

divides created by
misunderstood calculations
of opposing gender

she waits, he doesn't notice
until me time becomes my time

replacing our time

the game never claimed
its rules' fairness, only that
it repeat the roll of the dice

each time, each couple
lucky snake eyes

Poetry - Away

needing time with you
without him
without them
makes me selfish

mirrorimage
and
transition

i don't know what to say
i'm across from him
wraught-iron interlocking, pole blocking
you fetching napkins

sex replaces friendship
i know.
i'm there.
lust in place of love
oedipus latches on

wrong drink
drunk from
white chocolate bonds
tethered to him and
skirting around catty, petty

but we've always been that way

maybe i was in love with
someone unexpectedly expected
stranger than you and not;
a work of fiction

he's gone
she's gone
i'm gone

away

Toss & Turn

"You were like Christmas morning," is probably one of the most cliché flatteries I've ever heard. Granted, it's from Mr. and Mrs. Smith, but last night I tossed and turned so much waiting to wake up in the morning just to see him, I almost agreed with it.

I went to bed too late, woke up too early, showered too soon. Still have five hours to sit around. It's torture, but at least Firefly reruns are on the Sci-Fi channel. And I have The Cider House Rules to read, though I seem to be easily distracted from it. I haven't read a real book in so long. It's refreshing but sort of hard to grasp. Not quite like riding a bike, more like roller blading. It takes longer to pick up again, but once you do, it's extremely gratifying.

Gabs and I watched almost eight straight hours of reruns of The Bachelor yesterday. The season with Bob. I think I've sunk to a new low, haha, but it was strangely enjoyable. We got dressed up and went out for Katherine Preston's 21st birthday around nine. Neither of us really knew her very well before last night, but I was glad I went (and glad I didn't drink, heh). She's so glamorous and fun - one of those people you see from afar and wish you were friends with. What's funny about that is she admitted to Gabs and I that she'd always wanted to talk to us because she thought we'd be "fuckin' awesome people" but never got around to it. She asked if we were friends with Sayeed and of course I said yes, but Gabs was a little bitchy about it. Not that I didn't expect it. I know she and Sayeed don't get along anymore, but can't she just get over the fact that we're better friends? I could be just as bitchy to her about Mary, but I'm not, because I don't feel the need to sink to her level. Do they bug me together? God, yes. But I'm not going to text Sayeed in front of her or use code words or act like a 13-year-old. Her comments are just a little unnecessarily full of malice sometimes. Regardless, Katherine's in town for another week and has promised to come over bearing Smirnoff Ice and B-List movies. Who can say no to that?

Why did they cancel this show?! Why?! It's so fun. What I don't get is why they didn't just air it on Sci-Fi to begin with. Stupid television companies. :shakes head:

I am going to go nuts until 5:30 when he gets here. The suspense is killing me. Aaah!

Kick-off

I was up until 3:45 copy editing the first summer issue of The Maneater last night, so hopefully I'll get paid enough for my efforts. I completely understand, though, because they're understaffed, and it was something to do. Considering I'm a bum without a job, I had no excuse to turn down an opportunity to earn money.

Hopefully this is the start of updating regularly every day. I'm getting excited again. I'd forgotten how much I love journaling. It's a nice release and makes the time pass.

Going to the Columbia Public Library to procure a library card and a lifetime's worth of books. My list just keeps growing, but I figure getting them all at once would 1) not be allowed and 2) be unwise. I'm thinking three or four at a time. I can't wait to lose myself in books again. Another welcome escape.

Sayeed comes on Friday, which isn't soon enough. I'm unhealthily addicted to his presence. He makes me feel at ease, and I love our dynamic. We say what we feel and we're okay with that, even if it hurts sometimes. I miss him.

I finished Eclipse this morning. Pretty bittersweet, though I still hold to my claim that those books are poorly written and slightly melodramatic. Well, at least Bella is. I can't stand Stephanie Meyers' girl characters - aside from Alice. And I find myself actually feeling terrible for Jacob. It isn't fair. With Edward around, he doesn't have a chance. Not that Edward is any less delicious. I wish Jude Law was young enough to play him in the movie. :sigh: Wow, I'm a loser. The movie looks even worse than the books, at least writing-wise. Well, and acting-wise. Oh, and production-wise. Okay, just everything-wise.

Must dash off to shower. Books, here I come!

Summer Sojourn

A little immaturity goes a long way, and I suppose I received some closure in a way I hadn't been expecting or hoping for, but that's the way life goes sometimes. All I can do is apologize and move on, hoping he moves on and comes around eventually. And if he doesn't, so be it. I'll remember the good parts of our relationship and shove out the bad. I'll be nicer than he deserves, because I refuse to drop to his level. Didn't call on purpose? Alright. It takes two to tango, and I already admitted I was wrong. I was infuriated, but that doesn't help things. There's nothing left to dwell on. This summer will be about me. I'm going to be selfish for once, dammit.

Plans. I've moved into an apartment with Gabs and we're being pseudo-adults, buying groceries and cookware, looking for jobs. I'm going home for Kellyburn's graduation, which will be joyous and full of congratulations and pride for my dearest, cousin-like friend. My brother will come back to Columbia with me for a short visit during which I will try to talk some sense into him about relationships (though god knows my advice, however drawn from experience, should be taken with a grain of salt in that department). Forrest will visit at the end of June during his birthday, and he and Gabs and I will frolic about. I'll complete History of American Journalism with flying colors, attempting not to procrastinate on the book review and failing anyway.

Sayeed will come home with me over the 4th of July to hang out with my family and friends, and we won't have to pretend we aren't madly in love with each other. We'll cook out and watch fireworks on a blanket and be goddamn American (which is ironic when you think about it). We'll start our religious studies class together and enjoy every minute of it. I'll keep working on geography - hey, I've got nine months (no, not of pregnancy), might as well take my time. We'll take a trip to the St. Louis Zoo, eat a picnic lunch, go out to dinner and go see My Fair Lady at The Muny. We'll hold hands the entire day with careless abandon.

I'll have a job or I won't. I'll read all the books on my list - or at least a lot of them. I'll finish knitting my scarf. I'll write poetry and fiction. I'll learn to cook - including Indian food.

Kellyburn will visit at the end of July and bring with her all her tales of summer flings, creative writing, downright silliness and sunshine. Everyone will pack up and move home for a temporary vacation before packing up and moving back. And it'll be a nice sojourn from school life and reality. Time for family and friends from home. Time for pets and time alone. Time for reflection on a summer well-spent. For memories and hammocks and daydreams.

Just enough time to sleep before sleep isn't an option. We all need that little lull once in a while. I'm pretty confident I can do some healing this summer if I let myself. If I figure out what really makes me happy. I'm ready.