Write down the interior monologue you experience when you sit down to write:

Writing, writing, writing. More coffee before I start writing. Black, strong in owl mug. Now be Ernest Hemmingway, No. Be witty yet profound. Look at that snow falling up. Daylight brewed with wind carrying that frozen water up up up. Snow just. Everywhere.

Wait, lukewarm coffee blank page. More coffee before I start writing. Brewed black, strong, so windy. Now think of something, anything: Dinosaur and Jesus coffee mugs. Okay. Something. Now be articulate and meaningful.

“But I guess the point is that cold coffee is rather foul yet it’s worth it when you know that if Jesus shaves the mistake is reversible. Kicking someone in the face is not reversible”

Well, that is something? That one word, no, all of the words need to be just. Better. Come on. Words stuck in my head. Mewling Mewling Mewling. Stuck. Stop it. There seem to be crumbs everywhere. Wait, cold coffee scanty words. Mewling. More coffee before I start writing.

642 Things To Write About

“The writer should seek his reward in the pleasure of his work and in release from the burden of his thoughts; and, indifferent to aught else, care nothing for praise or censure, failure or success”.

- W. Somerset Maughan

642 posts to come of amateur snippets of creative writing!
Or more like 6 posts... because let us be real I am a very non-disciplined individual and a [very skilled] procrastinator who rebels against all resolutions and to-do lists.

What happens when graduate school ends?

True, I thought my procrastination during grad school was particularly bad.
But I had not yet experienced procrastination from real life.

So begins my new life transition into adulthood. A transition, I expect, will be quite long.

Yesterday I spent my morning watching  Bette Midler: The Showgirl Must Go On while drinking coffee and exclaiming to Wes how I did not anticipate Bette to be so sassy and agile.

I spent the next hour having a somewhat of an emotional interaction with a wasp.
You see, this wasp, Mortimer, got into my room and the little man (although quite large in wasp size)  was just crawling calmly all over my window. So, I watched him for 30 minutes all the while urging him to crawl back outside. I did not want to upset him; but he was just so stubborn. He REFUSED to exit back out the window in which he entered despite my most proficient persuasion. I had to take action.

So, I placed a glass cup over him. Little Mortimer did not appreciate this and consequently I panicked.

I spent the next 30 minutes holding the glass cup over the glass window and watched Mortimer angrily buzz around. What was I to do. If I slipped a piece of paper over the cup surely he would sting me through the fine parchment. If I slid the cup down to the open window he would most definitely turn right back around and dive bomb my face. Finally, I managed to get a CD between the glass window and the opening of the glass cup.

The wasp was officially contained. As I took Mortimer outside to set him free, I realized that I could not do it. He had my scent. He would return for me. So now, Mortimer sits still in the glass on my porch; I imagine he is quite livid and bewildered.

After hanging out with Mortimer I was exhausted. So I made more coffee and researched wasps. Turns out although they have an expert memory when it comes to wasp faces, they do not recognize familiar human faces. Mortimer and I spent a lot of time together however, and he is quite intelligent. So for now I will leave him in the cup.

Saturday Brunch.

I'm no spring chicken. In the beginnings of my quarter of a centaur (century) I've learned a very important lesson: Saturday Brunch is divine even without a mimosa. In fact, Saturday Brunch is everything my imagination envisioned it to be.

You see, since living out here on this east coast I have had to work nearly every Saturday for the past three years. I would drive around at work with my brain injured clients and I would mutter,
"I bet they're laughing loudly right now. That's right. LAUGHING."
And my client would say, "Eff all these white trash people in this town."
And I would reply, "How DARE they sip mimosas. How DARE they laugh."
And he would yell, "No money, no honey. This is business."

Pretty much the same conversation. Every. Saturday.
Until this fall when I turned 25 and started working every other Saturday and began indulging in the luxury of brunch.
What I have learned about Saturday Brunch:
1. That's right. There is loud laughing.
2. The light is just more illuminating during Saturday Brunch.
3. It isn't Saturday Brunch without the fire alarm.
4. Mimosas are not necessary for the morning to feel luxurious.
5. Coffee tastes better during Saturday Brunch. Even stale coffee regains it's life.

So, I am thankful to sip lifefull cups of coffee while luxuriously laughing loudly under the illumination of Saturday light and the chimes of the fire alarm.

Thank you Saturday Brunch.

Graphing the Seasons

The changes of season can be marked by what I consume. In fact, you could draw a graph of the calendar year and it would look something like this:

Slurpees = summer.

Whiskey = winter

That doesn’t really look like a graph, but I assure you I have the original sketch right here on the back of a receipt for a cantaloupe. On my sketch I also included coffee as a line at the top of the receipt indicating all seasons. It is straight with only a few dotted-lined dips where I intended to cut back on consumption.

This graph is important because I can tell from it that summer is here. The city is sizzling and people are delirious on the east coast from the absence of avocados in their diet. The beach is nice. During one particular glorious day at the sea, I had a traumatic incident that gave me flashbacks to that summer in '98 when I was swarmed by bats.

No there were not bats at the beach. There were gulls. (Sea gulls they call them since they live at the sea.) These birds are scavengers. Vulture-gulls. Pre-historic pigs.
There I was, hot dog in hand. From behind swooped a rustle of wings. Then it was no longer a rustle. Feathers were flapping in my face. The slimy feet of those barbarians grazed my arm knocking that dog from my hand. The meat didn’t even touch the sand. They fought over the food mid-air, squawking at me “we’ve taken all you have”. I shrieked and stood paralyzed amongst the spectacle. I said to them “you jerks, you’ve taken all I have.” 

This is a picture I took of sea gulls eating fish carcass in Alaska.
Carnivores!
I changed their eyes to red laser eyes because I think they are actually robots controlled by vultures.

That's just the way it is.

So I'm into this whole grad school thing.
Mostly it is great. And mostly I pretend it is great.

Overall the word I will use to describe it is: SWELL. Because swell also means "to overflow" and that is what is happening.

I am just overflowing with knowledge.
And overflowing with knowledge leads to moments... nay days of being overwhelmed. There are a lot of "overs" happening here.

Overall.
Overflow.
Overwhelmed.
Overboard.
Overconfident.
Overdramatic.

And the point of all these "overs" is that grad school causes extremes.
Examples:

Extreme smartness: Once I had a casual conversation with a stranger about the medial lemniscus nerve tract and trigeminal nerve tract. And I knew what I was saying.

Extreme emotions: Once I cried because a song told me "don't let 'em jack you up, back you up, crack you up, and pimp smack you up". I'm doing my best sir!

Extreme procrastination: Dangling a string for Penny for an hour is often urgent.
And necessary.

Extreme addictions: Angry birds. I agree with Franny... I wanna wipe those smug smiles off those damn pigs faces.

Total Extreme Awesomeness

Extreme friendliness/abrasive eagerness: Just now I walked out of the coffee shop to shout across the street at a woman about what breed her dog was.
It was a chocolate lab.

Extreme walking: Often necessary.

Extreme awesomeness: This may just be another 'over"... the over being overconfident. But that's me in that picture up there. Roundhouse-kick to your face mr. shark. uhh... awesome.

News of the day: A man on a bus exclaims "I'm going to pop everyone on this bus... including the babies!"

Seriously dude.

This reminds me of all the absurd and riveting events I have seen or heard or been involved in while using the MBTA system. The following list (because lists are really neat and fun to make especially when procrastinating) includes a few notable instances:

- A man slowly plucking hairs off a woman's head. She had no clue it was happening.

- A woman slapping a man.

- A homeless man showing me magic card tricks on the bus. He thought it was a gift from God that he could perform real magic. He planned to use his gift to earn money for drugs. He held his finger to his lips and sneakily croaked "shhhhhhh don't tell".

- A man who was blind in his right eye and fancied whiskey.

- A girl puking everywhere.

- A man who I thought was about to puke everywhere but then I realized he was just exhibiting a gag reflex because the woman a few seats down from him was clipping her toe nails. Then I gagged.

- The same man who I thought was having a gag reflex exhibiting the same gag reflex with no reason to gag.

- A man falling asleep standing up. His body literally folded in half so that his head nearly bumped the floor.

- A monkey.

[Ok so I didn't see a monkey but wouldn't that be grand? Also this list wasn't as riveting as I thought it would be and I always figure adding a monkey to any list justifies the making of the list. Try it out sometime]