Rant and Ramble


alright. i'm getting weary of this site and the voice i seem to have gotten here. expect some changes.


"Operation Iraqi Freedom? I don't think so. It was more like Operation Let's Run a Race, but First Let Me Break Your Knees."



i went to yoga yesterday, for the first time in months and months and months. yoga was supposed to be one of the things i did regularly this summer (along with swimming, which i haven't kept up, and reading, which i have), but this is the first time i've been.

here's the thing about yoga - it's hard, and it's hard in a way that leaves you no mental room to do anything but concentrate on holding the pose and not falling over. that's why it works, and all the trite stuff about strengthening your mind and body together is really kinda true. it was exactly, exactly what i needed yesterday. i left the house feeling drab and sticky and slow, almost turned back halfway there because i've just been so lethargic and tired. as was, i arrived already sweaty from the nastiness outside, and the studio is heated.

i don't think i've ever sweated so much in my entire life. the class was all people who had practiced before, and the instructor was big on people finding (and pushing) their "edge," so it was intense. i was pleased with how well my body responded, considering how long i've been delinquent in my practice. this morning, however, i'm one big mass of aching shoulders and sore limbs. which is good. i need to be using my body or i forget to inhabit it, just let it get full of bad food and too much sleep. it isn't so much about being in shape to be any particular shape - i actually like my little round belly, it makes me feel soft, and sexy, the way a good flamenco dancer is sexy, not the way the magazines insist is sexy. but but but, i can remember when i was strong and knew my muscles, when i trusted them to serve me well, and i want to feel that way again.

also, there is nothing quite like two-dozen people chanting om, and that is my absolutely favorite part.


legs twitching from walking in the heat, sweat slicked across lips and hips and neck from same. haze outside the window, room dark with close air that swirls beneath the fan like a lazy finger trailing through soup. feet bare and all my limbs in need of stretching, of working, of cleansing. boxes on the floor waiting to be filled, books on the bed waiting to be read, everything preparing itself. but for what? a thunderstorm is coming; in philadelphia in august, a thunderstorm is always coming. but that may be enough.

we went to cornell. let's just say i'm intimidated - by the hills, by the snow, by the sheer intensity of the school, by the very idea of the application process. i'm full of uncertainty, angry at circumstance, and in need of a change.


when i was little, i used to put peanut butter on tortillas, grab a handful of pickles, and read about trixie belden or valedmar, depending on just how little i was.

the reading list has changed a bit, but peanut butter tortillas and pickles are still just about the best things ever.


i know it's always dirty, but
today the river ran red.

not bloodred,
not roses.

opaque and ugly,
like it had rusted

all through,
full of corruption.

i watched the sky
for some explanation

horsemen or

but it continued on
in its blueness,


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