I'm learning to hunt for you

For the first time in never, I think I am ready to be in a relationship.  I think that I have moved on enough from my ex-beloved and out of the middle of that something I was in with him/without him.  I am no longer “in the middle of something.”  And I feel ready.  Almost anxiously so.  But I feel this danger in being so ready.  It makes me feel like I might settle for something/someone just to have it whereas all my life I’ve settled for nothing in hopes of waiting for something more meaningful, something more real, something more like love.  I don’t know what opportunity looks like, or feels like.  For now, I find myself waiting.  I fear that I wait in fear.  First, I need to learn what love looks like, how to recognize it, how to feel it.  

Into My Own/Into the Wild

Today I was elected as the President of the Class of 2009 (I'll be embarking on totally familiar territory, but I am the chosen one, and I will rise to the occasion).  I have the admiration and  the respect of my colleagues and I do not take that for granted.  My family loves me.  My best friend wants to travel to Ireland with me next fall after graduation.  Life is good.  This weekend I take a 60 Mile walk for a cure.  So many adventures.  So much time. 

Into My Own--Robert Frost 

One of my wishes is that those dark trees, 

So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze, 

Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom, 

But stretched away unto the edge of doom.  

I should not be withheld but that some day 

into their vastness I should steal away, 

Fearless of ever finding open land, 

or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.  

I do not see why I should e'er turn back, 

Or those should not set forth upon my track 

To overtake me, who should miss me here 

And long to know if still I held them dear.  

They would not find me changed from him the knew-- 

Only more sure of all I though was true. 

shirking for sebago

I tend to wander around my apartment naked.  Today I shirked off all my clothes as soon as I got in from class and started a batch of chocolate chip cookies (I wanted to have a treat for my sister and also to treat my peers in the event that I am elected tomorrow).  Afterwards, I bleached my entire bathroom and did some reading.  I talked on the phone for the first time to this mystery blind date Jewish vegan guy for almost 2 hours (he talks a lot, too much, but the best part was reminiscing about hiking and camping and dark bodies of cold water).  All while in my underclothes.   Now I’m scratching my head, drinking French press coffee left over from the morning, listening to Kate Nash, studying Confucianism, and preparing for a quiz that I must take online in less than an hour.  From my window on my perch in the city, I can see the lights of the Bridge and the Casino tonight.  Tonight my heart aches for the shores of Sebago—all her dark mystery and the baring of soul and body she inspired.  If I look straight down I see a swimming pool all lit up, sanitary, and cold.  

I remember my first autumn of college.  My world was fresh and new and I saw it full of possibility.  I spent a lot of time crafting my ideas and writing.  I bought a lot of CDs and took a lot of photos.  I remember updating my myspace page like it was my job.  I was developing a digital image.  Perhaps that’s why I fell so in love with The Postal Service, Give Up.  With its sort of alien blips and arcade beeps—it had this technologic edge.  It’s young, it’s hip, it’s pop.  It has this image like it doesn’t care—it doesn’t care that we are all going to die.  The music hops and bops along, fancy and free—the listener is starting to feel much the same way, smiling and dancing, and the fact that the lyrics are a haunting reminder of his/her own mortality flies entirely under radar.  

advice

One of my best friends is going on the first date with a guy she's known and loved for 3 years, this is the advice I offered her:

1. Wear royal blue.

2. And remember, nothing has changed, only the future is uncertain. everything else you know by heart.

<3

gone in a flash

Last night I dreamt of index cards and my desire to turn them into flash card study aids.

Shoebox

We made out on a trampoline in high school, now I'm sitting on your brown couch from IKEA in downtown (mid) Detroit watching some sitcom about a band from New Zealand.  You drive me home because it's the right thing to do and there have been stories about random muggings, etc.  In the car, we smoked camels and listened to a band that sounded like Interpol but darker, like a Bright Eyes twist.  We're the only friend each other has here in the city.  So far so good.  

nel inizio

One night, more than a few weeks ago after wine with my ex-beloved, I sent a drunken text to a poet/professor/muse of mine.  Knowing he was also in the process of moving on from the middle of some matters of the heart,

I asked:  “How in the world do you ever fall out of love?!”

He replied: “I think you can’t really.  I think you somehow have to honor your feelings (not resent or deny them) and simultaneously look for a time when you want to move on.”

I know that he is exactly right.  And now is the time that I want to move on.  But I need another worthy distraction.