Summeritis

Come tomorrow, I will have had this here blog for one month. This is my 49th post. That is definitely more than one per day, so going two days without one seems uncommonly bare. Isn't that funny? TWO DAYS, what am I gonna do?

If it weren't for my extreme lack of ideas, I'd be handling it a bit better. My brain has become a giant black hole due to the allure of summer vacation. My days are uninteresting save high school social drama, but you don't want to hear about that. Neither do I.

I kept thinking an epiphany would come -- a wise, worldly idea worth discussing. Nope. I hoped I would come up with an original, thoughtful short story plot. I'm still sitting on that one.


Three more weeks. This includes End of Course Tests, half-days, and finals week. I need to get the heck out of there. I need to get my creative juices flowing; they've either come to a standstill or been sucked out completely.

A Love Rock for Grandma Jo

Shortly before she passed away eight years ago, we took Grandma Jo to the park. Jack and I took turns wheeling her around; Skye was too small. I suppose I was eye-level with her sitting figure at the age of seven and remember discussing rocks. I would pick one up, and she would tell me what the shape reminded her of. There was a boat, a leaf, and a heart. This last one we argued about for a bit. She would turn it clockwise and tell me it was an "L"; a Lucy rock. No, Grandma, it's a heart...for love!


I found our heart rock yesterday evening and began to cry. My last memory of her is withdrawn; she began wearing wigs to hide the chemotherapy's effects. Her battle was with ovarian cancer. She would remove the wig when home, as it was itchy and uncomfortable. I hated seeing her bald. She's my grandma, she should have white, fluffy hair. 'Imagine her like a baby - babies are bald,' my dad would tell me. I couldn't bring myself to do so. I felt the baldness embarrassed her and was embarrassed for her. I was watching television in her home when she, wigless, brought me a blanket to wrap up in. I didn't even look her way -- I was too afraid! I know I was little...I tell myself she understood. It's hard, you know, when my memories of my mother's mother include rudeness and a rock. The rock, I will treasure forever. Lucy's rock. Grandma Jo's love rock. I miss her every day and wish emptily that I had more than a heart-shaped rock.

Trying Fiction On for Size

After learning about the Iowa Young Writers' Workshop yesterday afternoon, I have begun writing in preparation for the application. Along with a 1-2 page explanation of why I want to go and a teacher recommendation, I must turn in ten pages of completed work. Those ten pages would be easier to fill if a well-developed story was included, no? But that whole well-developed thing...

I'll be eligible to participate in this junior version of the prestigious Writers' Workshop next summer. For two weeks in June, "120 young writers from across the country come together to share their work, practice craft, and improve their writing in Iowa City, Iowa". Sounds like a blast to me. Plus, it doesn't interrupt band camp.

"If writers were musicians, the Iowa Writers’ Workshop would be like one long jam session." - Sara Langenberg

Understanding

slowly i set myself apart
my lack of social competence
spurring walled introspection
i search within
to brace myself from without

my mother says she doesn't get people
their children would be no different
agreeably, she says this will never change
a specified crowd
provides momentary comfort

this is unsettling, but i understand
who could get me
other than who made me
is every interaction blissfully satisfying
ignorance is bliss



there is nothing more complex
than the pairing of people
or a friendship's niche
love is a recipe
for lack of a better metaphor

perhaps in the end
where my understanding stops
another's will begin
and comfort will be found
in their neverending questions


for another's doubt
invites the integration of mine
i tear down the walls
attempting answers
in hopes of finding my own

Window to Babyhood

So, finally, I converted this picture to the right file. I'm sure it wasn't difficult to do, but my technological skills stop at "Create Post". Without further ado:



Well look at that. I was a rather happy baby. Here, I believe, I am learning to walk at a parent's friend's house. So smiley.

Yes, There Is a Poetry Club

Fliers posted with that headline summoned me to B-223 this afternoon. Three juniors, three sophomores, and me. All girls. It was fun, nonetheless...I'd had a hankering for people watching. It's refreshing, being thrown into a room full of strangers. No pretenses, no reputation.

Some read original pieces, and another read "A Boy Named Sue" written by Shel Silverstein. This was surprising to me; I only ever knew it as Johnny Cash's hit. Turns out Silverstein was a songwriter...and a good one at that. Poetry and songwriting go hand in hand, I suppose.

A literary magazine is published at the end of every year. I can contribute anything but can't be on staff for another two years. Considering I'm the only member my age, I could soon be the club's president. Sweet.

Come and Pass

No, yesterday wasn't my best. That's a pretty good summary. I got through it though, as you said I would.

I find only posting the Good dishonest. Good and Bad are very close friends, I've found. I experience both, and readers should know of both.

So it goes.

Yesterday I went to the library and introduced myself to Vonnegut. Slaughterhouse Five is the victim of my choice book report. The weather was perfect. I could feel the rain in the air, but the sun broke through. It was cool and quiet. I felt a sense of calm that should only be accompanied by...rows and rows and rows of my next favorite book. That's an exaggeration -- some I would never read. I wonder, though, how many life-changing books I walked right past. Plenty, I just know it. I'm not too disappointed. All I've got is time.

I gotta get ready for school...and that I don't have time to vent about.

I'm okay. Are you okay?

Happy Friday, everyone. This should be a good day.