It's Christmas Eve eve and my Grandma is visiting but wrapping gifts so I can't come down, so I might as well write on here a bit. I've been looking through my old notebooks (a habit I enjoy immensely) and I've decided to post a bunch of crap. Enjoy...
I Heard That... (May 14, 2008):
Some things last longer than others
In conclusion, always remember..
An eclectic mix of documentaries
no one fit the description
engages in matters
walk out the door with government property
I could work on math, but...
saying your name over and over
Is this your water?
I don't always either
they're working on setting it up
fall schedule cuts back
This is just an incredible honour for someone like me
I smell vomit
it's not even a good story
fail this class
this year and
he opened the glass door
the pile is growing
**This poem or song was based on random phrases I overheard during the course of a day. So technically I didn't write it.
Candy (May 14, 2008):
Now we're talking. I craved candy. A nice, classy dainty neat treat. Every day after school at Hillcrest I would go to the convenience store at the plaza nearby (right next to the dentist's office) and buy a paper bag full of candy. Other than the amount you could get for just 75 cents what I liked most of all was the variety. Swedish berries, Big feet, cinnamon lips, licorice fizzlers, candy cigars, Swedish fish, Popeye sticks, Double mints, fuzzy peaches, sour cherries, and Tootsie Rolls. Every day I would try something new. It was like an unhealthy food fair. But my favourite and unfortunately the most expensive was Candied Cigarettes. Chicago, New York, London, Paris. I loved the role-playing. Right down to the price tag, it was cigarettes without the nicotine. I remembered the disapproving looks as I was driven home pretending to smoke the lovely Popeye sticks and chocolate rolled in paper. I snickered every time.
Catharsis (May 24-25, 2008):
Catharsis: The audience's reaction after a tragedy (a play that has a sad ending). The audience learn what they should not do and generally feel better about themselves (at least it didn't happen to me...)
Reaction after a happy, fun romantic comedy?
You remember the funny parts, re-sing the catchiest songs, congratulate the actors on a job well done (if you know them), go home, sleep tight.
Don't let the bed bugs bite.
I always have the same reaction.
But it's nothing like bliss or catharsis.
Those are my alibies. I pretend.
It's always just been... inadequacy.
I definitely hate it, but what I wouldn't give to be up there with them, star of the show...
I'd make it real, fun, intelligent, even historically accurate.
Because who really likes "the way of the broads?"
They push their voices until they're as nasal as anteaters.
It's always been more about the acting for them, anyway.
But I could act!
I'd probably even have fun!
They make it seem so easy, like they live in a perfect world.
Anyone of their mistakes, I spot and then I cash in.
I could do SO much better!
I know I could do so much better...
I tried so hard, but it's no fun
acting when you know everyone
wants, wants, wants
what you don't:
"That's not how you do it! A doctor has to know exactly what to do!"
"Scream! People have to hear you!"
"That's a dumb idea!"
"Come up with something!"
I give up. A play is a play is a musical is a musical.
A play is a musical, not a concert.
And when I stand there on the stage, I either don't know who I am or I am afraid to show who I am.
The one in the shadows.
They all know me.
But it's not me they're looking at.
I'm not the one putting on a show.
I just want to be rescued.
I want to be loved, even noticed, for being the calm, cool, collected fan that deserves a chance.
After the play, I just realize.
Wait a minute, I'm just me...
Just a girl.
Never a girlfriend.
Never a diva.
Never a star.
Never a temptress.
Never loved by the crowd.
I don't have a public. I have a family. That's it!
But maybe that's how it should be.
Spain: A Rhyming Excercise (May 2008):
Who wears the pants?
Who wears the pants?
** One of my sillier pieces. It could be a song, I guess.
The Green and White Snake (July 8, 2008):
Words were never spoken or exchanged.
"The GO Train is here."
The only five words anyone there ever thought they needed to hear
they weren't words
they were mentality
click-a-clacks of heels
rustling of zippers and keys
scrapings of sandals
rollings of bags
all pointed at their exact target
a steady stream
of everyone and anyone
men with full black business suits
girls in Gouci and jeans
ladies in Reitmans
men in checkered shirts and khaki shorts
like ants they piled into the
green and white
dreading the fatal announcement
"last call! Last call!"
full grown men and women
whipping and thudding and click-a-clacking
the wind pushed them back to their cars
the ground screamed "Stop!"
but they didn't listen
all in blue
who could raise the dead
with her clacking
daintily ran as fast as she could
"DOORS SHUT!" the conductor's voice was muffled
and he followed through
in a spurt of perseverance
the doors closed
At least the adults knew one thing
no amount of noise could open them
so they didn't try
the blue-clad woman slowed to a stop
the GO train had gone
she slumped in the middle of the station
the wind urged her
the train came again
the heels revived
You're not a friend (July 2008):
You're not a friend
who was certain I'd never be there
I didn't have a friend
to cry on my shoulder
I had a monotone, crackling wall for company
I was plastered to the wall
I believed it as eternity
I planned my escape:
How can I pull away?
but you, the wall, stood fast
You rejected my blood and tears
as I tried to saw my hand off to escape
You hated me
And as I shook your plaster off,
pulling away from you,
I found a tar fence
You hated me
How I knew a few things that you didn't
But how you clung to me!
So tight that it became your revenge
You froze and became a block of ice
You hated me so much that you would release me
with a quick slide and slip I was free
but it was the most cold, painful freedom I had ever felt
I couldn't even return your rope
without slipping and falling
Now I can see through you
I can see the other rooms
I can see the people, the places, the world
With you I was bound and blind
But tonight I'll pass you by
And maybe, if I'm dreadfully unlucky, I will taste that frozen tar
Each gesture was an insult
Okay, that's enough for today. I'll probably feed the reindeers again tomorrow if I get the time. Lots of material to use. I'm thinking I might change the layout. At this point I think the current layout makes my writing kind of hard to read. And I want something a little more interesting. I'm pretty excited for Christmas!
But it will be pretty different without mom. It already is though. It's a seasonal pain, not a pain that only happens on Christmas day.
Another thing that is bothering me is that my grandparents on my dad's side of the family have bought an obscene amount of presents for us. They do have a lot of money, but it makes me feel guilty and bad for them. I wish they didn't feel like they have to splurge on us every Christmas. But it's always the same every Christmas. They buy us a bunch of things that we don't even need most of the time, just to demonstrate how much they care. But that's not how you show that you care. Rich motherfuckers do the same thing when they beat or rape their wives to try to minimize their guilt, only they buy them expensive jewelry, clothes, cars even year-round. Meanwhile, grandma constantly criticizes us because our house isn't completely spotless, because my brothers have hair that is longer than average ("they look like bums off the street!"), because we've stopped going to church due to atheist/agnosticism/buddhism (mom is dead so she can no longer force us to go every sunday), because we have left-wing views, because we don't throw away enough of our stuff, because I'm too introverted, because my brother does pot, because my brothers' grades aren't very good. She focuses on the negatives. She's even insulted our now-dead mother on several occasions, saying she didn't know how to discipline us properly and other unpleasant things. Often, when she's over, she insists on cleaning most of the house because we aren't doing it right. I actually prefer my mom's side of the family. Grandma and grandpa on that side were poor and still are pretty poor, so grandma would give us bargain books or books from her formidable stash in the house that we could take a turn reading. Grandma loved reading and shared her love of books with everyone. Every Christmas I knew I'd get books from her, but I loved her presents. They were thoughtful and small. Grandma died around the same time as mom, and I will miss her so much. She was an intelligent, chatty, open-minded woman. A notorious pack rat, bookworm and feminist. Probably one of my favourite people over 60. These days my mom's side of the family doesn't even exchange gifts. How do we fill that oh-so-noticeable void? It doesn't even need to be filled. Just gives us more time to chat with in-laws, listen to and play music and eat scrumptious food. As soon as it's over I can't wait for the one next year. Christmas with dad's side of the family is also nice. I love to see my uncles and aunts and cousins and grandparents on that side, especially in a situation where they have to be nice and behave, but they really don't need to give us that many gifts. I'd be ecstatic with only one gift from them. Anyway, I should go to bed now.
Stay tuned for two interesting make-believe professor encounters...