Category Archives: 2012

Things Said By My Kind

-You’ve been on that daily jaw grind.
(And it hurts. So badly. *whimper*)

-He wants to know how long I’ll be gone.
-Long enough for him to forget all about you.

-I only like burps when I’ve had Chipotle. It’s like having it a second time.

Sometimes when I’m not motivated, I turn the shower from really warm and comfortable to ice, ice cold and remind myself that is what my life will be like all the time if I keep being a lazy fuck.

You see, this is why I come to the rec to pick up girls, then you already know if they look hot covered in sweat.

-I don’t want to be “that guy,” but I definitely think you should rock a lip ring.

-If I could make it rain anything, I’d make it rain Chipotle burritos.

-There are few things in this world that make me happier than Ellie Goulding, a bottle of wine, my guitar, and cough drops. They fix everything.
-What about me?
-You’re like a third tier necessity. Right below food and shelter, and kind of next to my glasses and underwear.

-It smells like stress in here.

Okay folks. I am 24 hours and 2 minutes away from the exam that will determine who pays for the rest of my college career (or at least next semester). I only need to get a raw score of 66 on the exam (which is a B+. How dumb is that?), so I would typically not be so worried, however I got a 65 on the last exam, so my confidence isn’t exactly sparkling right now.

I hate this shit. I hate this shit. I hate this shit.

Ahhhhh stressssssssssss.

I have been grinding my teeth SO HARD. AND IT’S LOUD. AND IT HURTS SO BADLY RIGHT NOW.    :(

I hate anthropology. I hate monkeys. They scare me. I don’t like bones. I don’t like dead things. I don’t like history. I don’t like learning about them. And I absolutely despise being tested on them.

I am an aspiring psycholinguist. I have no interest in your dumb anthropology stuff (although it is kind of necessary but WHATEVER).

I am so scared.

This is not going to be pretty.

It’s not like I’m unprepared. It’s just that there’s a lot riding on this exam.



Oh my God.








A Servant to Servants – Robert Frost.

I DIDN’T make you know how glad I was
To have you come and camp here on our land.
I promised myself to get down some day
And see the way you lived, but I don’t know!
With a houseful of hungry men to feed         5
I guess you’d find…. It seems to me
I can’t express my feelings any more
Than I can raise my voice or want to lift
My hand (oh, I can lift it when I have to).
Did ever you feel so? I hope you never.         10
It’s got so I don’t even know for sure
Whether I am glad, sorry, or anything.
There’s nothing but a voice-like left inside
That seems to tell me how I ought to feel,
And would feel if I wasn’t all gone wrong.         15
You take the lake. I look and look at it.
I see it’s a fair, pretty sheet of water.
I stand and make myself repeat out loud
The advantages it has, so long and narrow,
Like a deep piece of some old running river         20
Cut short off at both ends. It lies five miles
Straight away through the mountain notch
From the sink window where I wash the plates,
And all our storms come up toward the house,
Drawing the slow waves whiter and whiter and whiter.         25
It took my mind off doughnuts and soda biscuit
To step outdoors and take the water dazzle
A sunny morning, or take the rising wind
About my face and body and through my wrapper,
When a storm threatened from the Dragon’s Den,         30
And a cold chill shivered across the lake.
I see it’s a fair, pretty sheet of water,
Our Willoughby! How did you hear of it?
I expect, though, everyone’s heard of it.
In a book about ferns? Listen to that!         35
You let things more like feathers regulate
Your going and coming. And you like it here?
I can see how you might. But I don’t know!
It would be different if more people came,
For then there would be business. As it is,         40
The cottages Len built, sometimes we rent them,
Sometimes we don’t. We’ve a good piece of shore
That ought to be worth something, and may yet.
But I don’t count on it as much as Len.
He looks on the bright side of everything,         45
Including me. He thinks I’ll be all right
With doctoring. But it’s not medicine—
Lowe is the only doctor’s dared to say so—
It’s rest I want—there, I have said it out—
From cooking meals for hungry hired men         50
And washing dishes after them—from doing
Things over and over that just won’t stay done.
By good rights I ought not to have so much
Put on me, but there seems no other way.
Len says one steady pull more ought to do it.         55
He says the best way out is always through.
And I agree to that, or in so far
As that I can see no way out but through—
Leastways for me—and then they’ll be convinced.
It’s not that Len don’t want the best for me.         60
It was his plan our moving over in
Beside the lake from where that day I showed you
We used to live—ten miles from anywhere.
We didn’t change without some sacrifice,
But Len went at it to make up the loss.         65
His work’s a man’s, of course, from sun to sun,
But he works when he works as hard as I do—
Though there’s small profit in comparisons.
(Women and men will make them all the same.)
But work ain’t all. Len undertakes too much.         70
He’s into everything in town. This year
It’s highways, and he’s got too many men
Around him to look after that make waste.
They take advantage of him shamefully,
And proud, too, of themselves for doing so.         75
We have four here to board, great good-for-nothings,
Sprawling about the kitchen with their talk
While I fry their bacon. Much they care!
No more put out in what they do or say
Than if I wasn’t in the room at all.         80
Coming and going all the time, they are:
I don’t learn what their names are, let alone
Their characters, or whether they are safe
To have inside the house with doors unlocked.
I’m not afraid of them, though, if they’re not         85
Afraid of me. There’s two can play at that.
I have my fancies: it runs in the family.
My father’s brother wasn’t right. They kept him
Locked up for years back there at the old farm.
I’ve been away once—yes, I’ve been away.         90
The State Asylum. I was prejudiced;
I wouldn’t have sent anyone of mine there;
You know the old idea—the only asylum
Was the poorhouse, and those who could afford,
Rather than send their folks to such a place,         95
Kept them at home; and it does seem more human.
But it’s not so: the place is the asylum.
There they have every means proper to do with,
And you aren’t darkening other people’s lives—
Worse than no good to them, and they no good         100
To you in your condition; you can’t know
Affection or the want of it in that state.
I’ve heard too much of the old-fashioned way.
My father’s brother, he went mad quite young.
Some thought he had been bitten by a dog,         105
Because his violence took on the form
Of carrying his pillow in his teeth;
But it’s more likely he was crossed in love,
Or so the story goes. It was some girl.
Anyway all he talked about was love.         110
They soon saw he would do someone a mischief
If he wa’n’t kept strict watch of, and it ended
In father’s building him a sort of cage,
Or room within a room, of hickory poles,
Like stanchions in the barn, from floor to ceiling,—         115
A narrow passage all the way around.
Anything they put in for furniture
He’d tear to pieces, even a bed to lie on.
So they made the place comfortable with straw,
Like a beast’s stall, to ease their consciences.         120
Of course they had to feed him without dishes.
They tried to keep him clothed, but he paraded
With his clothes on his arm—all of his clothes.
Cruel—it sounds. I ’spose they did the best
They knew. And just when he was at the height,         125
Father and mother married, and mother came,
A bride, to help take care of such a creature,
And accommodate her young life to his.
That was what marrying father meant to her.
She had to lie and hear love things made dreadful         130
By his shouts in the night. He’d shout and shout
Until the strength was shouted out of him,
And his voice died down slowly from exhaustion.
He’d pull his bars apart like bow and bow-string,
And let them go and make them twang until         135
His hands had worn them smooth as any ox-bow.
And then he’d crow as if he thought that child’s play—
The only fun he had. I’ve heard them say, though,
They found a way to put a stop to it.
He was before my time—I never saw him;         140
But the pen stayed exactly as it was
There in the upper chamber in the ell,
A sort of catch-all full of attic clutter.
I often think of the smooth hickory bars.
It got so I would say—you know, half fooling—         145
“It’s time I took my turn upstairs in jail”—
Just as you will till it becomes a habit.
No wonder I was glad to get away.
Mind you, I waited till Len said the word.
I didn’t want the blame if things went wrong.         150
I was glad though, no end, when we moved out,
And I looked to be happy, and I was,
As I said, for a while—but I don’t know!
Somehow the change wore out like a prescription.
And there’s more to it than just window-views         155
And living by a lake. I’m past such help—
Unless Len took the notion, which he won’t,
And I won’t ask him—it’s not sure enough.
I ’spose I’ve got to go the road I’m going:
Other folks have to, and why shouldn’t I?         160
I almost think if I could do like you,
Drop everything and live out on the ground—
But it might be, come night, I shouldn’t like it,
Or a long rain. I should soon get enough,
And be glad of a good roof overhead.         165
I’ve lain awake thinking of you, I’ll warrant,
More than you have yourself, some of these nights.
The wonder was the tents weren’t snatched away
From over you as you lay in your beds.
I haven’t courage for a risk like that.         170
Bless you, of course, you’re keeping me from work,
But the thing of it is, I need to be kept.
There’s work enough to do—there’s always that;
But behind’s behind. The worst that you can do
Is set me back a little more behind.         175
I sha’n’t catch up in this world, anyway.
I’d rather you’d not go unless you must.

And then I ripped his head off.

I used to have a private blog of my dreams. I had a couple hundred different dreams on there, but then I realized that if anyone ever saw that, they would basically have a perfect view into my subconscious, and I am not so sure I would like that. So I deleted the blog and its contents. It was a little sad because there were some great ones on there, but sometimes I just let go of things because the pain of losing them is sweet. It’s like the pain that we feel when we have a bruise and we just keep poking it.
Anyway, I have put some of my dreams on here, and I am going to put part of last night’s dream on here today. It was a really really weird dream, but I can’t stop thinking about it. It probably isn’t the best idea to put this on here because it may or may not have quite a lot to do with what is going on in my conscious and subconscious thoughts, but whatever. It’s going up anyway.
I had quadruplets. I didn’t know I was pregnant, then bam…four babies just popped out of me. I was like, “Awesome. I always wanted kids. Cool.” I had three girls and one boy, and one of the girls was born without an arm. I thought it was my fault that she didn’t have an arm…and I felt so, so, so bad about it. I mean I didn’t think I directly caused it, but I felt like it was somehow a result of something I did. Then I had to name them. I spend A LOT of time thinking about names. Not just names of my future children, but names in general. I think of why people pick certain names, what different names mean, what names mean to me, and how different names sound together. So I already knew of quite a few names that I love, but I needed to give my daughter who was born without an arm a perfect name. I couldn’t think of one, because I always find something wrong with every name, but I named her Ilana. I then realised that I don’t even like that name very much, and it just didn’t sound strong enough, so I started freaking out because I couldn’t think of a good name.
I eventually named her Emiliana. I do like that name. Five syllables is a little long, so it would definitely require a nickname, and I don’t like most of the nicknames that would likely come from it (Emili, Emi, Ana). The only ones I kind of like are Lia or Liana. Anyway, I named her Emiliana Ryan. Last names didn’t exist in my dream apparently. The other ones were Leila Pax, Noelle Hudson, and Samuel Alexander. I quite like those ones. I apparently have a thing for liquid consonants. They’re kind of my defaults. Because every 18 year old should have default names for their nonexistent children incase they have kids in a dream.
When I was younger, there were three kinds of dreams that I would have quite often. In the first, I was somewhere without my shoes. I would just forget them or I would have lost them, and somehow I was somewhere important without shoes. In the second I would be in a car and unable to drive. I would have to get out of some place, but I would be at the wheel with no idea of how to drive a car. In the third, I would have a child and have no idea what to name it. All of these dreams are really stressful for me and I usually grind my teeth when I have them (I am aware of this because my jaw is sore as fuck the next morning). All of these come from lacking a certain preparedness, and even though I will probably not forget my shoes and I do now know how to drive, I still have those dreams sometimes. It’s odd.
Anyway, that’s why I got super into names this summer. I had so many dreams about not knowing what to name my child and stressing about it and trying to research names and figure out the perfect name, so in reality I decided I should probably just look into names a bit more so I could feel less stressed and more prepared in my dreams. I am so, so, so weird. Not that “unique, special, interesting” kind of weird. I am just dumb. But it’s ok. It’s fine.
So in the dream I finally named my children, and I went to my house in NY. Then my mom started taking them from me and I was like, “No, chill. I got this.” And I had it. In my dream I was actually really confused because I was aware of the fact that you can’t really be pregnant with quadruplets and not know it, but I ignored that fact. Then my family was setting up for Christmas Eve, and my dad’s friend came over for brunch and he brought his dog (he doesn’t actually have a dog). The dog went up to the quadruplets and started barking at them, and so I literally ripped his head off and threw his dismembered body out the front door and into the snow, and all the snow turned red. Then my dad’s friend started yelling at me and hitting me for killing his dog, then my dad killed him. Everything was then weirdly normal (as normal as me having quadruplets can be) and I was just sitting there with my parents and my children in our living room with the Christmas tree and music and everything was fine.
I realize that this post is a disorganized mess of things that you probably shouldn’t know, but it’s finals week and this dream would not leave my head until I got it out. It’s out.