?monologue/dialogue?

Confession:
My engrained example of a 'loving' relationship is that of my mother and father. A tumultous union that should have ended long before now. This is why I can never be satisfied in a relationship unless there is conflict. If everything is grand, my subconcious figures out a way to create conflict where there was none before.

Emily:
Try talking to me for a change. Tell me something you haven't wanted to say before now.

Confession:
I used to say to this boy I thought I loved, "I know I'm not supposed to, but I need you." That's the trap.

Emily:
So what does that have to do with what we're talking about?

Confession:
Sometimes I'm so afraid to be alone, I will talk to anybody just to feel safe. Even my mother (but only in extreme cases). I just sometimes can't handle my thoughts, I can't be alone with them.

Emily:
That's understandable, I guess...

Confession:
I look for you everywhere I go.

Emily:
Now we're getting down to it... don't be ashamed to tell me this.

Confession:
I am confused by your nonchalance.

Emily:
Me too.

Corwin, when you live here, are you going to make those videos in our basement?
Because that would be rad.

First meeting of the gin drinking society: Success.
Much amusement, sexy photography, madness, and of course gin.
...so many bottles of gin.

letters unsent

Dear town of Waterloo,

I know it's the first real snow of the season, but that doesn't mean you don't have to plow the sidewalks. Perhaps nobody has informed you of the snowfall yet, in which case I would like to say that the real joy of snow may be in snowball fights and fort-building, but in all practicality I would like to be able to walk rather than wade to school.

Sincerely,

Emily Anson

***

Dear kitten sitting on my printer,

I get the feeling that you don't want me to write my essay. The reason I think this is the calculated way you are staring at me with those grey-green eyes, and also the fact that when I tried to remove you from your perch, you put a paw on my face and began to groom my nose.
While such attentions would usually be welcomed, I simply must finish this paper before 5:30, and your adorable orangeness is just too distracting.

With respect,

Emily Anson

***

Dear overheard MSN conversation,

I have decided not to be offended by the 'fancy boots are not the boots of justice' comment. I am comfortable with the fanciness of my boots, and although some kimmies may find them fashionable, I still feel that overall they serve the purpose of keeping me warm from toe to mid-calf. I also must add that if I wished, I could stomp up some riotous hell.

With love,

Emily Anson

memories

If you are reading this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, please post a comment with a memory of me, or us - even if we don't speak very often. It can be anything you want, good or bad.
When you're finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people remember about you.

(stolen from Nicole's blog)

Allegretto, Symphony 7

Dread and anticipation
Are settling in my stomach
Like swallowed stones.
But I am no Cronus
And this is not the Greek Isles
And there will be
No mythical purging.
Instead, I feed these stones
On milk and honey
With Amaltheic stoicism
Hoping one day, one might
Become a god.

rather than doing actual schoolwork... a list of my top 20 simple pleasures (in no particular order)

1. Tea

2. Waking up after a good night's sleep

3. Singing while doing the dishes

4. Wearing fuzzy slippers

5. Curling up next to somebody

6. A good book

7. Hugs

8. Coconut body butter

9. Black turtlenecks

10. The feeling of walking in moccasins on pine needles

11. Brown paper packages tied up with strings (I'm not shitting you, seriously)

12. Fine cotton sheets

13. A good conversation

14. Swimming in a lake

15. Kisses

16. Bare feet on smooth rocks

17. Noodle soup

18. Sketching

19. Sunny winter days

20. The way it smells in spring when the snow is melting

putting my foot in it for posterity

Last night I went out for coffee with Dave, Sherry and Amy, and the topic of conversation returned again and again to WLUSU. Dave, a little bit drunk, insisted on defending his 5-year plan to get the PIRG referendum passed, inlcuding the bit about getting a large number of progressive candidates to run in february for Board of Directors.
Sherry and Amy were not so hopeful. Sherry herself ran one year, and lost. Dave insists it's easy to get elected, but I'm not so sure. And Dave's example of a WLUSU success (the bus pass) was met by scepticism in the group- even I agree, though I was glad it passed, I've heard nothing but bitching about it this year. So naturally, I have some misgivings about the success of the PIRG referendum.
I was told not to run. That it would make me bitter because I would have every progressive motion shot down, and that I would end up "resigning rather than sitting back and watching it happen." That it would eat up my time and commitment.
I appreciate what they were trying to tell me, and I know that everything they said to me (in all likelihood) will eventually come to fruition.
But last night I made the decision, and I'm going to run.
Maybe I'm just being stubborn. To risk sounding like a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed idealist... even if I fail spectacularly at making some positive difference at this school, at least I fucking tried.

why is a raven...

Today I realized how much I want a writing desk.
I mean an ancient, dark-stained wooden antique. Maybe roll-top, with a hundred little drawers each requiring a little silver key. A tall behemoth of a desk, with a high-backed chair, in which I could perch myself regally, pen gracefully clasped.
No computer, either. Just crisp paper... perhaps a variety of stationary, and a smooth-writing pen. Black ink. A drawer for envelopes, stamps, a drawer for sealing wax, staples, filing folders.
Oh the dreams of this romantic obsessive-compulsive. Will they ever come to fruition?

I just want a writing desk. And a dark house to put it in, cloaked with mildew and insence, heavy draperies, echoing softly the footfalls of a cat.

Make Poverty History... finally

So my pictures from MPH day are finally scanned and uploaded... for those who saw them here yesterday, don't fear... they're here at flickr now. Clicky clicky!

nothing to kick off a new blog like some drunken sentimentality

I'm here in Kristy and Nicole's apartment, slightly drunk, and I'm thinking about how lucky I am.
Lucky that I have so many wonderful people surrounding me, who I love, and who love me back.
This morning I was constricted by loneliness. But I should never feel alone, because it would be a false conviction.

...The party at Nicole Barker's was a success in so many ways. Last night, despite my ridiculous drunkenness, was gorgeous. Maybe I give my love too easily, but I spoke with so many people I know I could love... I am confident they knew how much I appreciated their company. All of them.
It was not what I'd expected. It was so much better. Looking back, it wouldn't have been right any other way.
Forgive my drunken ambiguity. I mean what I say, I say what I mean.

And tonight, we made an impromptu trip to the Renaissance. Again, I am left speechless.
I love my friends. That's all I can really say... and I love the possibility of new ones.

Step 2: Tweaking the template.
I'm liking the blog format better than livejournal, though.
Time to go to work... after that I can tweak to my heart's content.

...did that sound a little bit wrong?

hello

testing, testing...
i've joined the blog train.