Rant and Ramble

"men have been telling each other since time
started: if you're going to say happy or unhappy
about a human life, wait for it to be over."

sophocles is so much cooler than ovid.

i didn't get the job. does that mean i'm stuck here for the summer?

what's funny is, when i realized at the end of senior year that i would be soon living on my own, my first thought was:
i will be able to eat all the pickles i want.
what's sad? the fact that this may still be the single most enjoyable aspect of independence i can think of.

i broke his heart in the rain
he said, you're the best i've ever known
i said, i don't want to see you again
i broke his heart in the rain

do you know me?
i'm an angel
the perfect woman
(or at least that's what he said)
and i held his hand
as we both went numb
oh, but it
wasn't fast enough

i said, this is not the way i planned
he said, you've been runing through my brain
i said, i'm not who you think i am
i broke his heart in the rain

i dreamt that night the world had died
and i stood staring at the flames
the sky itself broke down and cried
i broke his heart in the rain

can you see me?
i'm an angel
the perfect woman
(or i think that's what he said)
and i held his hand
as we both went numb
oh, but it
wasn't fast enough

i broke his heart in the rain
he said, you're the only one i'll ever love
i said, i'll never see you again
i broke his heart in the rain

in women and literature we discuss gender roles and the institution of motherhood; in sacred traditions of the east we discuss hierarchical inequalities and the power of shakti; in science and religion we discuss feminine vs. masculine creation stories, and the subjugation of the earth as metaphor for the subjugation of women; i look for a new bra; i read; i gaze at myself in the mirror before getting into the shower, and i don't know what i see anymore.

cadbury eggs for breakfast. yay jesus.

i like to sleep with the window open, because the breath of wind in the night makes me feel alive. i like the rustle of curtain, the scent of the tree blossoming in its dark alley, the contrast of warm sheets and cool breeze.
i like to wake up next to you, feel your skin smooth and soft against mine, feel your hair rustling against my neck. i like the way you look when you sleep, the curve of your closed eyelids, the warmth of your body in all its beauty.
i said i thought, sometimes, that i love you too much. it lets you hurt me when you don't mean to, when i don't mean you to, with something so simple as falling asleep or closing the door. i don't want to love you less, but i don't want to be hurt so much, especially when i know i shouldn't be, or needn't be. i don't want to love you less, because love is the one thing that deserves to be given fully, without regard, without regret, absolutely.

absolutely.

i like to sleep with you to keep me warm and a breeze to keep me cool. i like to feel your hands on my hip or your legs twined with my own, i like to wake up next to you, i want always to be waking up next to you, and i never want to want to love you less.

things i would already know if it wasn't for the women's movement:
dust before you sweep.

otherwise, you have to sweep again. and that sucks.

and then there's this:
the primrose on my windowsill did not weather my absence well, and i have ignored it frightfully since my return. today, i took pity and gave it a good deep watering before returning to ovid and his metamorphoses. when i chanced to glance out the window betwixt chapters, i could watch the leaves drink back their life, visibly lifting and greening like timelapse but real. a bird sat on the tree outside and chittered at me, the sky shone a blue that felt like scarlet, and the warm breeze called to something deep in my blood. these days, i can only seem to write about my few, cherished snatches of the life i want, those so few moments that feel like truth.

yay! happy birthday to my most favoritist roommate!

i've calmed a little, these past few days, but the sudden snow this morning unsettled me, fat flakes against sweet pink cherry blossoms ringed round the fountain, a strange schitzophrenic sunlight and i know just how it feels. my reality's not what it used to be; sometimes i forget to wake up and spend all day in a loud, frenetic dream. i've been misplacing letters, whole words, little bits of identity that i'm not sure how to part with. i am sick with the motion of the world, i want solitude, i want shade.

the ducklings are hatching, and i held one in my hand, just big enough to cover my palm with the scraggly floppy head resting on my thumb, too new to hold its own weight. it will be fed to a hawk or perhaps a lion within the week, was lucky to have hatched in the first place, might be trampled tonight by its own brothers and sisters, and i just sat there holding it, holding, holding, wanting to empart some small comfort while i could.

sudden shift, from the rhythm of sunrise and hammer and hoe, to the creak of wooden seats and the sharp click of the timeclock. my body forgot so quickly that i am not used to manual labor; i carried the tamping bar across my shoulders like jesus, dragged the shovel back and forth over long trails, drilled holes, dug ditches, woke my flesh to the varigated pleasures of strength and bruise and stretch. i planted peas, strange squarish green seeds that bend just so under pressure, that fit so snugly beneath the soil.

i'm applying for the summer internship at the hostel where we stayed, i'll be hearing back from swat in about a month, i'm taking six classes and i know every inch of the bookstore by heart. but what i notice most is the newlybudded trees, the sticky city fog, and the slow beating of my own heart.