Bullet Points

• The Glee season finale was good for the first thirty-five minutes. It was excellent, in fact, until that point. And while I appreciated the twist with Rachel, I was frustrated with what was left out of the episode before we saw Rachel through the end. It had to be a writing or editing issue. Meh. I might talk about this more in another post, but this is not the time and place for that. Soon, though. 
• As I write this post, I am alternating between typing and making pancakes. Pour, type, flip, type, move to plate, pour, eat newly made pancake, type, etc. 
• In the last four days, I have had two school nightmares and one pregnancy dream. The school nightmares have been pretty standard, though I don't know how much longer they're going to follow me around, since I've graduated...
• Life as a graduate is nice, but also really odd. More on this later. 
• I've been slowly going through my belongings, really trying to pare everything down and get rid of the clutter. I've sold back some movies and books, and have gone through my clothes at least twice to pull out some stuff to take over to the Salvation Army, but I still feel like I have so much stuff. It's insane. 
• I feel like I've been incredibly lazy in the last week and a half. I've already have had at least two silent freak-outs and have tried writing things down in a list or two, but the problem is that I have two separate lists when I really should have one. I really need to keep tabs on what needs to be done. 
• While I was waiting for my car in the shop, I spent the better part of yesterday reading*, something I hadn't done in a long time. I finished a book called Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader by Anne Fadiman and another called Someone Like You by Sarah Dessen. I hope to do a thoughtbox for both soon (as well as one for Mockingjay, which is long overdue). I like this part of the real world. I mean, realistically, I know that I won't always have a free day to do things like that, but it's nice to have even the smallest bit of time to read. Now, if only I can just get myself into a schedule...
• The more flexible schedule is going to take some getting used to. 

*I'm a slow reader, so any reading time is precious to me. 

Worse Poetry

I never remembered that there was a short-lived literary magazine* at my high school. But, low and behold, when I went upstairs to my room to head to bed late last night, I started poking around a little bit (one of my projects for the summer/fall is doing a massive cleaning up there and getting rid of everything I don't need). On top of a pile of boxes was a booklet stapled together with a blue cover, entitled "Paint Me As I Am." 

I didn't know what it was at first. I thought it was something left over from my sister's years at the jr./sr. high, but when I saw the worn post-it note on the cover with my name on it and my fourth and fifth hour classes from Spring 2003 listed, I became exceptionally curious. 

Some of the entries are anonymous, some chose to keep their names attached to their work. Two of my poems were chosen to be included in the journal. And they're awful. So deliciously awful, in fact, that I wanted to share. 

Ahem. 

A Garden 

A bench

Set in a grove 

Flowers blossoming all around

Lilies 

Roses

Daisies

Chrysanthemums

All under a willow tree 

With low flowing branches

That grab you with love and wonder

Beside the gently babbling brook

Water softly engulfing pebbles 

With every breath it takes

Around the pebbles swim

Tiny fish

Frolicking within the 

Great expanse of what they call home

Birds sing gaily in the trees

Singing the bird song

Telling of a Garden

Nature's Garden

And, of course, the quintessential angsty high school poem, complete with subtle title, no? 

Leave me be

anger 

rage

it's not all good

don't care what you say

so mad

life hates me

shut up and listen for once 

be happy

'cause 

you're one of the lucky ones 

you probably have a life

that's all milk and honey

well you know what

i have no happy life

cause I'm not like you

don't even go there

 nor start your

foolish hypocrisy

cause it's not all good

don't laugh

not funny

don't you see

it's not all good

leave me be

One thing to understand--something that I have to keep reminding myself of--is that these poems were written when I was freshman in high school. Other than that, I'll let them speak for themselves. Happy Wednesday. :)

*If I remember correctly. I don't remember it lasting much longer than one semester because it might have been a class that put it together--but it's been about 9 years and the details have since escaped me. 

Parallels

I like to believe that things tend to come full circle. Or, at least, most of the way around.

During my first week of college classes, I was trying to adjust to the work load. I spent my first day of my history class nodding and nodding and nodding at everything the teacher said when talking through the syllabus. I was devastated that by that Friday, I hadn't finished reading Pride and Prejudice for my first English class (entitled "The Novel"). I did eventually finish the book, about three weeks later, and loved it.* Everything was bright and strange and weird. I'd also fooled myself into thinking that riding my bike to class and getting up at 6:30 every morning was how I was going to spend my time every day of every semester.

This past week was my last official week of classes as an undergraduate. On Monday, I spent a good three hours working on my final illustration project (an illustration of Emma Watson that turned out a lot better than I thought it would), fighting exhaustion from only a few hours of sleep the night before. On Tuesday, I finished up the drawings for my final drawing series as well as the illustration project, and made it home early enough to watch the new Glee episode with Alisha. On Wednesday, I tried to focus my attention on the rough draft of my drawing thesis paper, and wrote late into the night, as has been my tendency with papers. Thursday was a blur of a critique in drawing, which promptly turned into a nightmare when I got frazzled trying to navigate Photoshop and InDesign while working on my portfolio in BFA studio. I called my dad to wish him a happy birthday, angry at myself for not being as talkative as I would have liked.

Friday was my last official day of class. Work was work. Someone brought up Scooter Girl before Advanced Fiction and a thousand memories of my first years in the dorms came rushing back to me. We ate cookies (beautiful, delicious, non-alcoholic confections called 'cookie shots') while singing loudly to the tune of the graduation march while my Creative Writing professor handed out congratulatory cards from the English department to those who were graduating. And then she said her goodbyes, we did TEVALS, and it was done.

As I was walking through the quad on my way back to my car, I witnessed, finally, a group of the tight-rope walkers. And I wanted to cry.

I went to Hunter's and Vicky's BFA reception. Their work in the gallery was INCREDIBLE. The English banquet later that night was beautiful and the finality of the semester really started to hit me. I was simultaneously lamenting the end of everything I'd grown to love over the last few years and eager to dive right into the next step: writing, reading, working, prep for grad school, the freedom from stress. Bittersweet, and understandably so. Being surrounded by friends and teachers and people who loved many of the same things I loved was the perfect way to end the semester. I'll miss it.

The more I think about everything I've experienced over the last six years, the more overwhelmed I become. I feel like I've been experiencing emotions I don't even have names for. But enough sentimentality.**

And then there was this afternoon, when I got a call from one of my oldest college friends, Jenna, as she was in town for the day and wanted to get together with Prairie and I. I met them at ColdStone, our favorite place to go together. We used to go there regularly the first few years of college before we got busy (nearly every Tuesday, when you could get a second Like It for $.25 with a student I.D.). Jenna gave me my graduation present, a gift card for ColdStone, and I ordered my usual, as was the tradition: Cookie Doughn't You Want Some, with extra napkins because it gets messy.


*I'm a slow reader. And that week I was really, really overwhelmed.

**I'm terribly sorry about the sap. I'm working on it.

Things

Life during the last month, some instances of which are in bullet points. 

• Our BFA reception was a few weeks ago, and it was lovely. I think I might have some kind of social anxiety, though, as there were a lot of people and I was very nervous and overwhelmed because it. We had a good turnout, and I was so happy that people were able to come see the show. 

• I'm very glad the show is over, but senioritis has hit me hard in the last week, and I still have a few things to finish up. I'm trying to stay motivated by not thinking about how in two and a half weeks, I will be graduating. 

• Today is one of those days in which music sounds really good. Which is nice, of course, because on Monday and Tuesday all I wanted to do was skip every song that came up on my shuffle. 

• As graduation approaches, I am feeling two different emotions: first, a sense of relief after what I've been able to accomplish and excitement at what is to come. I've never not been a student before in my life. This next year off (as I apply for graduate programs) should be interesting. Second, an oddly muted sense of sadness and nostalgia, because I fucking love this campus.  The people I've met and the faculty I've been able to learn from and the things that I've discovered about myself and my interests and life in general in addition to everything I've learned....That little part of me looks at things like how beautiful campus looks at this time of year and the experiences I've had in English and Art classes and Sigma Tau Delta and the place I've been to because of K-State and the sidewalk chalking and things like that, and suddenly all I want to do is curl into a little ball in the middle of the Quad and cry. Six years. I can't believe it. 

• I love thunderstorms, but not when the chance of tornadoes are involved. For about eight hours on the Saturday before last, I was convinced we were going to get hit, and hard. I went through my things, pulling things I wanted to ensure wouldn't get lost/damaged in the worst-case scenario and put them all into bags and toted them down to the basement. (My problem is that I over-worry. I tend to get carried away sometimes.) Luckily, we didn't have much worse than wind and other severe thunderstorm conditions. 

• I feel like I've experienced nearly every emotion known to man in the last four weeks. That's spring semester for you. 

• I had the urge to draw for kicks last night as I was looking for reference for my last illustration project, and it made me so incredibly happy, because that means I haven't learned to hate drawing. THE LAST TWO YEARS IN DRAWING HAVE NOT MADE ME HATE IT. I think this calls for a celebration!

• Last night's Glee was especially good, but it made my heart hurt, like, a lot. Before, of course, things got better in the end (I was really head-over-heels in love with the episode). So many feelings as of late....

• Two things I have been (somewhat) silently obsessing over: My So-Called Life and One Direction. MSCL is wonderful. Seriously: a teen drama that features realistic, subtle drama, lovable characters, and the main character of Angela, who is insightful and wonderfully imperfect. The only show that I feel justified in comparing it to is what I've seen of Degrassi, but even then the two seem different to me. It's completely unlike anything I've seen, and so, so much more interesting and wonderful than a lot of the stuff I've seen on TV lately. As for One Direction...I can't seem to quit them. 

• This is the grooviest song/video I've ever heard/seen. In fact, Gotye's "Making Mirrors" album is beautiful. 

• Last year around this time I wrote about the tight-rope walkers. I haven't seen many ropes this spring, but I have seen tons of hammocks strung between the trees. I imagine it's quite peaceful. 

• I am really, really going to miss my creative writing class. 

Another Quick Word...

Once again I am here, and have much I'd like to talk about. But I have much to do and not a lot of time to spare while trying to fight the urge to procrastinate (which I have already failed at doing at least three times this morning). One of these days I'll get around to talking about Spring Break* and Beatle cover bands and talks with my sister and how much I loved and want to gush about the Hunger Games film and, finally, Mockingjay (both of which I will address soon...)

But...my show hangs in two weeks and I am trying not to loose my head in trying to balance readings and artist statement drafts and ways to hang my work and InDesign things and maybe drawing if there's time to spare. I can't believe it's almost here...

In the meantime, though, I leave you with one of the grooviest, coolest songs the Beatles ever did. Happy Tuesday. 

*Edit: Also The Fault in Our Stars, which I finally had the chance to read last week during break, and ultimately loved and cried my eyes out over and really, really want/need to do a thoughtbox over. Did you know that Peter Van Houten is not a real person? I googled him, and he and his book, are not real. Mind = blown. 

The Dog In The Road

Yesterday, when my sister and I were coming back from a trip to Wal-Mart (something we do a lot when we're both home for breaks), we decided to take a back road to get home. It's a road we use a lot when we're heading to Wally World or Pizza Hut, both of which are located on the east side of town. It passes by a Berean church, a few residential areas, the Catholic cemetery, and a retirement home, and we often find ourselves cursing the frustrating but understandable 30 mph signs; it's so easy to cruise on the stretch at 45 without realizing. The stretch allows us to avoid turning onto the highway at a high traffic area. 

"So I have a song to play for you," Heidi said, scrolling through the lists of songs on her iPod. She tapped her finger on the screen and set the player on the dashboard, reaching to adjust the volume. "I don't know if you've heard this before or not."

"Oh really?" I asked, tilting my head. As soon as I heard the opening notes, I glanced over at her and back to the road in front of me. It was Gotye's "Somebody That I Used To Know", a song I'd played over and over since she had introduced it to me weeks ago. "I have heard this, actually. Remember? You posted it on my wall?" 

"Oh yeah," she said, and cracked a joke (at that point we were in a pretty silly mood). 

We passed the cemetery and turned onto the second leg of the route, a hilly stretch that passes by the church and the retirement facility. The closer we got to the church and North Street, though, we started to notice something in the roadway. 

"What is happening?" Heidi said, in her usual tone of a statement rather than a question. "What is that? Is that a dog? A person crouched over?" 

"I don't know," I said, slowing down and coming to a complete stop about ten feet away. It was a brown and white dog, and it was picking and pulling at a section of roadkill that had been sitting in our lane. "Ugh, that's so gross. What should I do?" I checked the mirrors to see if there was someone behind me, and then ahead to see if there was anyone coming from the opposite direction. There was no one. 

"Honk at it," Heidi said. 

I did. The first time, the dog didn't do anything. I waited a few seconds for it to move, and then hit the horn once more. The dog just looked up at us, a string reaching from its mouth to the half of roadkill it was picking at that was now hanging an inch from the ground.*

We yelled in disgust, shielding our eyes. Heidi laughed a little. "Oh my God! Is this really happening right now?!" she said. 

"Why did you do that?" I yelled at the windshield in direction of the dog, who had ducked his head and resumed its picking. I honked again, two sharp blasts, hoping that it would scare the dog into moving off the road. It didn't.

"Heather, you have to move around it," Heidi said. 

"No! The last time something like this happened, the raccoon got spooked at the last second and ran directly into the line of my tires. I don't want to risk hitting the dog if we try to move around it." 

"Seriously?" Heidi sounded more annoyed at the situation than at my story. She looked back at the dog. "MOVE!" she yelled. The dog looked up at us again, disinterested. 

"What do I do?!" I thought about the possibilities we had. I could reverse down the road a bit, turn into the church parking lot, and go back to the highway, turn right, and head back past Lakeview and Hardees to head home. That was a lot of work, but I did not want to hit the dog--I would never get over it. "Heidi, get out and see if you can shoo it off the road and I'll move the car and then you can get back in..."

"No. Heather, we have to move. You're going to have to move around it--"

"I don't want to!"

"It'll be fine. I don't think it's going anywhere. Just go slowly." 

I sighed and then crept forward keeping an eye on the dog and the road ahead. "Watch the dog," I said, turning the wheel to the left a little to change over into the other lane. "Keep an eye on it."

"I know. I'm watching. Just go slowly," she said. 

I watched the dog from the corner of my eye as we moved around him, scared that it would get spooked and run in front of my car. I remembered Dad telling me about the dog he'd had as a kid that got hit by a snowblower, and the kid who'd hit it coming to the door in tears to let him and my uncles know. 

But as we creeped along beside it, the dog picked up his meal in his mouth, and casually walked around the back of the car safely to the side of the road. 

"Really?" Heidi cried. "Did you seriously just do that, dog? Just walk away?" 

"Did that seriously just happen? Like, how does that even happen?" But I was relieved.

This morning when we were heading back on the same route coming back from Wal-Mart (Mom asked us to pick up some drinking water), Heidi looked over at me from the driver's seat. "Hey. Remember that one time?" 

"That we saw that dog? Yes. I do." I said. 

*I apologize for how graphic this is. It was disgusting. I felt like I was in a movie. 

A Brief Note about Wizard Rock

I have a lot of things I'd like to write about regarding my trip to the SigmaTD convention last week (New Orleans!! Amazing!!), but I have been trying to keep up with various BFA and classwork things since my return on Sunday. Plus, I have class in twenty minutes, so I need to be really, really quick about this.

Saturday is the fifth wizard rock concert here at K-State. It's this great evening full of book nerdiness and celebrating reading and Harry Potter and His Dark Materials and Hunger Games and other such awesomeness. It has become one of my favorite things about the spring semester, and there's just something really wonderful and special about being around people who love reading as much as you do and listening to really quality music celebrating the power of story and the books you love. 

For time's sake, I'll save more gushing about this until I have a moment or two. But for now, I leave you with Ministry of Magic's "Don't Leave". Happy Thursday! (And see you Saturday at the Alumni Center!)