me
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Dear Romance
I woke up to find tons of snow everywhere this morning. It took the whole city by surprise and since I LOATHE the snow, this news only served to make me even grumpier than I already was.
I finally got out of my house and onto the very un-plowed road where I had the joy of following behind every car and or truck whose heart was melted by the snow and therefore decided that stopping for any pedestrian who wished to cross the street in the middle of the road (AND NOT THE CROSSWALK) was a way of appeasing the snow gods. Kindness to pedestrians is fine but then the rest of the vehicles behind you have to stop and slide and wait while you shamelessly wave on the walker. Here's something, you humans! If you are walking, and you choose to not go down the road to the crosswalk, I do not feel sorry for you having to wait to cross the street. That is part of the walking gig. I have to wait for lights to change and stop signs and NOW for truckers who mistakenly think that if they stop their cars for the sweet girl in the cute, knit cap she will spell out her phone number in the snow bank and they have a chance at love. You are wrong, trucker. And you are dumb, cute, knit-cap girl.
See? Grumpy.
In an effort to minimize the grump, I stopped by the Starbucks on the way to work. Well, it's not really on the way but I had feelings to eat and I was already 40 minutes late at this point. I figured I may as well be late with a yummy cappuccino.
On my way into the 'bucks, I saw a young couple, passionately kissing each other goodbye. White flakes around them, bundled up in sweaters and coats and each other. Stopping for a minute but then giving one more last kiss before parting. I thought to myself:
"I would never let anyone kiss me in this weather."
me
I finally got out of my house and onto the very un-plowed road where I had the joy of following behind every car and or truck whose heart was melted by the snow and therefore decided that stopping for any pedestrian who wished to cross the street in the middle of the road (AND NOT THE CROSSWALK) was a way of appeasing the snow gods. Kindness to pedestrians is fine but then the rest of the vehicles behind you have to stop and slide and wait while you shamelessly wave on the walker. Here's something, you humans! If you are walking, and you choose to not go down the road to the crosswalk, I do not feel sorry for you having to wait to cross the street. That is part of the walking gig. I have to wait for lights to change and stop signs and NOW for truckers who mistakenly think that if they stop their cars for the sweet girl in the cute, knit cap she will spell out her phone number in the snow bank and they have a chance at love. You are wrong, trucker. And you are dumb, cute, knit-cap girl.
See? Grumpy.
In an effort to minimize the grump, I stopped by the Starbucks on the way to work. Well, it's not really on the way but I had feelings to eat and I was already 40 minutes late at this point. I figured I may as well be late with a yummy cappuccino.
On my way into the 'bucks, I saw a young couple, passionately kissing each other goodbye. White flakes around them, bundled up in sweaters and coats and each other. Stopping for a minute but then giving one more last kiss before parting. I thought to myself:
"I would never let anyone kiss me in this weather."
me
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Dear Wisconsin
Well, things ‘round these parts sure have gotten intense, eh, you humans? What with the protesting and the budgets and the weather with multiple personality disorder, a human just doesn’t know which way is up, or who to choose for the winner in the Best Picture category at the Oscars. (My vote is The King’s Speech. Shake things up a bit and I also I love me some Colin Firth.)
Too bad there aren’t Oscars for college. Though, of course here they would be called Buckys and that would just be creepy. Who wants a golden badger on their desk or shelf for Best Response to an Email Wherein you Fein Concern for a Topic that you Actually Could Care Less About? Hmm. What do you know? I want that Bucky.
me
Too bad there aren’t Oscars for college. Though, of course here they would be called Buckys and that would just be creepy. Who wants a golden badger on their desk or shelf for Best Response to an Email Wherein you Fein Concern for a Topic that you Actually Could Care Less About? Hmm. What do you know? I want that Bucky.
me
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Dear Prison
You know how people are given prison sentences? And you know how sometimes those terms are like 12 life sentences and then you wonder how they could count that much time and what that time would feel like to live it? And how it would seem like every day would creep by? Well, it's not true, you humans.
Sometimes the hours fly by and you are still lifting weights and whittling shivs and intimidating the newbies. Then they throw you a bone, like meatloaf day or un-shackled Wednesdays and you start to think that prison isn't so bad. Then you see someone come in and you can relate to them and you start to mentor the inmates and be there for therapy times and are "functioning" "well". And so you would think this is what prison is for: rehabilitation times.
But I am getting scared.
Because I hate this place, but I am functioning right now. Like for reals, some would say I am downright chipper. It is scaring me, frankly. Is this really me or am I just one sassy-mouthed actress? And is the acting just what we are supposed to do or is that how I end up here forever, with whisps of hair that blow in the stagnant, windy hallways?
Oh, prison...
me
Sometimes the hours fly by and you are still lifting weights and whittling shivs and intimidating the newbies. Then they throw you a bone, like meatloaf day or un-shackled Wednesdays and you start to think that prison isn't so bad. Then you see someone come in and you can relate to them and you start to mentor the inmates and be there for therapy times and are "functioning" "well". And so you would think this is what prison is for: rehabilitation times.
But I am getting scared.
Because I hate this place, but I am functioning right now. Like for reals, some would say I am downright chipper. It is scaring me, frankly. Is this really me or am I just one sassy-mouthed actress? And is the acting just what we are supposed to do or is that how I end up here forever, with whisps of hair that blow in the stagnant, windy hallways?
Oh, prison...
me
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Dear Voice
I have physically lost my voice before. Not been able to talk at all, or have it go all raspy and wheezy. I actually enjoy when it is raspy. And the one time I wasn't able to speak at all was sort of refreshing. I am a listener anyway, but navigating the world as a complete observer was sort of peaceful. It was also isolating.
I have also lost my metaphorical voice. My ability to say out loud what I want or how I feel was for quite some time, totally lost. So much so that it made me question if I was ever in possession of it at all. Do you know something else, you humans? Losing your real voice and your metaphorical voice have in common the feelings of isolation but do not share the feeling of peacefulness.
A few weeks ago, though, something transformative occurred.
I spoke up. In a meeting. I expressed myself, without drama or hysterics. It was fabulous. I was hiding behind other people. I was pushing myself down and away.
I no longer wish to do this. I am tired of doormat times. I do not desire to tell off all the peoples. I do not long for screamings, rantings, or fits. I do want to be able to say how I feel or what I think and have it heard and respected. If by no no one else but me. I am done being treated like less. I don't mind being thought of as a bitch, as long as I have the facts and the wisdom to back it up. I believe it is a great communicator who can say how they feel in a tasteful way. You can be honest and gracious and that is my goal. The next key step is my really firming up what I believe in and determining, with as much certainty as is possible for any person, who I am, truly, inside.
I am on my way. I've got my voice back.
I have also lost my metaphorical voice. My ability to say out loud what I want or how I feel was for quite some time, totally lost. So much so that it made me question if I was ever in possession of it at all. Do you know something else, you humans? Losing your real voice and your metaphorical voice have in common the feelings of isolation but do not share the feeling of peacefulness.
A few weeks ago, though, something transformative occurred.
I spoke up. In a meeting. I expressed myself, without drama or hysterics. It was fabulous. I was hiding behind other people. I was pushing myself down and away.
I no longer wish to do this. I am tired of doormat times. I do not desire to tell off all the peoples. I do not long for screamings, rantings, or fits. I do want to be able to say how I feel or what I think and have it heard and respected. If by no no one else but me. I am done being treated like less. I don't mind being thought of as a bitch, as long as I have the facts and the wisdom to back it up. I believe it is a great communicator who can say how they feel in a tasteful way. You can be honest and gracious and that is my goal. The next key step is my really firming up what I believe in and determining, with as much certainty as is possible for any person, who I am, truly, inside.
I am on my way. I've got my voice back.
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