Oh.  Hey.  You.

Yeah.  I'm alive.  Summer... happened.  There is a great multitude of more poetic ways to describe it, I'm sure, and as a writer, I probably have some sort of an obligation to do so, but I'm leaving at the end of this week and packing is a distinctly unpoetic activity.  My soul is rebelling at the thought of suitcases and organization and finding easily disposable (and preferably cheep) cardboard boxes that I can use and then throw away upon arriving.

Packing is a process which by its very nature crushes creative processes.  It involves putting everything in categories and positions and not having to think about them until the lovely headache of unpacking and oops I forget X amount of necessary items and why did I pack Y amount of unnecessary ones?
It's practical.  And sensible.  And soul-crushing.

I resent packing.

It involves a whole lot of considering all of your possessions and debating which ones are actually intrinsic to your survival and glumly realizing that an ungodly amount of things are intrinsic to your day-to-day survival and that's sort of pathetic.

Whatever happened to setting off with one suitcase and the clothes you were wearing and the money in your pocket?

If Gandalf came knocking on my door informing me of my required attendance on an Adventure, just think of the resulting: "Um, okay yeah, just give me a second.  I'll just grab this backpack and put in a change of clothes and... let's see... my contact liquid and cases, and glasses just in case... um, chapstick - you never know when you need chapstick!  Some ponytail holders - can't have hair in my eyes.  Bobby pins!  SO.  MANY.  BOBBY PINS.  Sunglasses... nail clippers, toothpaste, washcloth... notebook and pencil and old notebooks in case I need to refer to them, a book in the event of down time... flipflops, because my feet might need an airing out... extra pairs of socks... deodorant - you'll be glad of it, I assure you.  Alarm clock (how else will I know when to wake up?).  What about some granola bars and water bottles?  Bandaids!  I knew I forgot something...  What about - um... Gandalf?  Gandalf, where did you...?  Hello?  Don't leave without me, I'm almost packed!  Just need to find that one tube of water-proof mascara..."

It's That Time of the Year

Finals.

One word.  So many implications.

Here's a quick snapshot of me (not a real one, thank the Lord, because that would be BEYOND UNPLEASANT as you're about to find out.... ..... ..... .... .... .... .... ....... .....  *DEATH BY OVERUSE OF ELLIPSES* Grammar Nazis attack!  Sirens blare!  I've been caught!  I've been caught!!!!!  ...  Okaynevermindlet'smoveon*):

Ahem.  Me.  Today.  This morning.  I am studying in the library.  I have not bothered with makeup since Saturday.  My hair is unwashed (not going to go into details there you'reverywelcome) and in a headband (have I mentioned that the last time I wore my hair in a headband was, oh let's see, sixth grade?).  I have been running on an average of six hours of sleep per night and four or five cups of coffee distributed unevenly throughout the day.  I am still wearing the clothing that I fell asleep in last night.  The mental filter that usually disappears around 11:30 p.m. resulting in random hilarity and uncensored comments and things being far funnier than they should be is already gone (and it's only 9:30 a.m.).

My mind is completely stuck in the fantasy world of my current project (which I'd far rather be writing right now) (no, that document has totally not been open on my laptop all day being added to discretely and gradually) and I decided to teach myself how to draw last week, so my notes are filled with cartoon faces of varying levels of amateur, unintended creepiness.  AND on the few occasions that I manage to rescue my mind from a world that doesn't exist and jam it into memorizing three chapters on media law for my COMPLETELY SHORT ANSWER NEWS WRITING FINAL TOMORROW (what the heck?  Seriously.  What the heck?) it wanders into a mix of the guilty pleasures that have been helping to steal maintain my sanity (*cough* Gilmore Girls *cough* Walking Dead *cough*).

So, yeah.  I think I'm managing pretty well.

It all begins tomorrow.

*Did I mention that my sanity is presently questionable at best?

My Kind of Logic

I had four hours of free time this afternoon.

Pop quiz:
The picture (below) is the result of:
A) Working ahead in homework so that I'll have free time this weekend.
B) Starting on that 4-6 page so that finals won't kill me.
C) Outlining the 3rd rewrite of a story I abandoned two years ago.

*Hint: Go for the least rational.

The world at one o'clock

The world at one o'clock is stars poking through wisps of cloud
             Knowing you'll regret this at your 10a.m. tomorrow (today?), but you're simply too alive to sleep now.
                                 A caffeine buzz from the latte you probably shouldn't have drunk.
                  Fingers tapping against the keys, as if your ideas will disappear without immediate attention.  Ideas are needy like that.

The world at one o'clock is a music that doesn't need speaking.
    Silent sweetness.
                                                    Climbing into a warm bed.
            Everyone is asleep.  And you really should be too.
                 If you're awake, you should be doing something productive at least.  Right?
                            Wrong.
        Midnight is not an hour to be productive.  Midnight is magic and velvet and glitter in the sky and the earth settling into place and all is well, all is well, and all will be well.

The world at o'clock is that times ten.

Walking to the Caf

Walking to the Caf
(not a poem)

The frozen snow crunches beneath our boots
And dusts the dorm roofs.
The wind nips at our noses
Like an over-eager puppy.
The sky is dark, but brilliant
Like there is a light shining behind its fabric.
Above us the moon gleams
(a silver smile).
Tree branches are dark and distinct on the sky
(spilled ink).
We laugh
And catch our breath
And smile so hard our teeth turn cold.
Shivers chase us into the warmth.
The night is a cloak
At our backs.