Today’s world offers SO MANY WAYS to communicate. When it comes to receiving absolutely shitty crappy news, none of those ways is better than the others.

I missed a phone call this morning. Then I listened to the voicemail message. Then I returned the call as I was walking across campus to work. Then I was staring at the ground, walking, climbing stairs, crossing the street, sitting down at my workspace, wishing I was invisible.

Then I grabbed  some tissues, walked to the bathroom, and composed myself.

Then went the rest of my day.

But there were good moments, and I’m definitely grateful for them.

I’m grateful for you.


Bubbles float to the surface
Eyelids drag when I blink
The crowd holds its breath?

It’s a common trick
If that
The clock ticks
Diaphragm flat

I want to breathe
But I choke
And the chains
I am a bubble, too

The clock is on my side
The clock is the key
The clock is steady
And I wait

I rise, I buoy slowly
My hair, tentacles
Like a Man o’ War’s
Inadvertently stings me

My heart fights
My pulse races
My lungs burn
The clock, steady

I surge past
Where the water
Meets the sky
And I gasp for August.

A few pictures from the Hudson River Cruise

I like the little pop of color to the right of the house. If I were 75 feet tall, or maybe standing on a bridge, the shot would have been a lot better.

The colors aren’t quite at peak, but they’re still very pretty.

This tree is in Ossining, New York, near Yorktown, and it is clearly showing off.

Once upon a time, a lady stood behind a swing. The swing hung from a basketball hoop. The basketball hoop was part of a full-size basketball court. The basketball court was in an LDS church building. On the swing were two kind of freakish dolls. The dolls looked a bit menacing, like they didn’t really want to be on the swing. And maybe angry enough to wreak undue vengeance on the nearest person they saw. Some friends of this lady made her stand behind the swing. Look how tentatively she holds onto the ropes. This is why she’s not dating right now. But, she loves her purple pashmina scarf and how her sunglasses are nearly as big as a sombrero. The end.


I know Sunday is my favorite day of the week, but I am really tired. And a bit cranky. I don’t really feel like writing. Blah, people. If you want to see more pictures of the Hudson River Cruise, go to flickr. Only 11 pictures are there right now. I have to do some editing, because one of my friends decided to commandeer my camera for most of the cruise. So, I’ll add more photos later.

Good night, folks.

The Politics of Dancing, er, Dating

We were discussing an article from The Slate; it was around the time speculation about Hillary Clinton’s VP appointment had reached its peak, just after her concession. Mrs. Clinton was/is actively pursuing this position, and the article treated the situation similarly to that of a woman who wants a man’s attention and seeks it way too aggressively. Somewhere in our conversation, the guy I’m with states if a man wants a woman, he’ll go after her. He said something like nothing scares a guy away more than a super-assertive woman. I’ve heard this on several occasions, and it seems in my case, it’s true. I’ve been hyper-interested and hyper-expressed my feelings, and whatever interest a guy might have had in me immediately evaporated. Hyperly. It’s weird. The evening progressed, and we were really enjoying each other’s company. We talked about quite a few things; we shared personal stories, and while I didn’t want the night to end, I knew it had to. And I let it, because I’ve learned to be a slow-mover in my old age, and I’ve learned to hold back, because I’ve been burned a few times in the course of my life, but I’ve also learned it’s okay to be vulnerable, because how else are people supposed to get to know me? My learnings over the past 20 or so years conflicted and clashed, but now they get along and have interwoven quite nicely, and now I’m starting to get the hang of this dating thing. Now I’m this present and sweet and fun personality who happens to be a pretty tough cookie. Anyway, a couple of days later, I sent a thank-you email. Then about 10 days later, he called to invite me out to do something. Then he was out of town for a while, but I sent him another email just to check in. Nothing too long or involved, and he replied to my email. Then I left him alone, because I knew he was busy, and I got the impression he’s just as slow a mover as I am. Then three weeks later, he called to catch up. And then we caught up. Then the next day I sent him an email to invite him over for brownies. His response came via text message and past my bedtime and too late for him to drop by. I didn’t reply; I thought it would be pointless. Then he emailed to make sure I got his text and to ask about my week. Then I replied to his email. Then I don’t know what. Then I don’t know what. If this is pursuit, I’ll take it; I haven’t experienced anything remotely like it in a long time. I want him to like me. I want him to want me. I need him to need me. I’d love for him to love me. I’d beg him to beg me. You know. Thank you, Slate. Thank you, Mrs. Clinton and Mr. Obama. You’ve made my personal life a whole lot easier to handle.