Through the Back Door
Molestation
from
Jonathan Carroll's blog:
"Describe your perfect cup of coffee," she said. I thought she was kidding but she wasn't. I thought about it a while and then the writer in me, Mr. Word Expert, tried to verbalize it. When I was finished and had failed miserably she said, "It only gets worse when you go into it further. Try to describe what you think is the perfect cup of coffee, or the perfect girlfriend, meal, dog, car... whatever. You can only recognize perfection when you see it but you can't describe it even if it's sitting right in front of you. Trying to find the right vocabulary to describe the qualities of something perfect is like trying to hold water between your fingers."
while contemplating isolation
A vast difference exists between criticism and judgment. Criticism can be
used, judgment cannot. Criticism can be compassionate while judgment can only point a finger to where you fell down.
I want to be a
skinny bitch.
the beginning
Even at 12, I knew Ken Thorp was a smart man. Equally being called crazy and genius, Ken was the man I babysat for, he was the person whose study was littered with books on shelves and piled on the floor, his yellow legal pads stacked just as high, with notes and ideas. He often scared me, I was intimidated by his intensity and his sharpness, but for the same reason I was drawn to him. I learned, however, that not everyone saw Ken the same way I did. Not everyone saw a man of passionate intellectualism. Many of his colleagues did not take him seriously blowing him off and often alienating him. Yet instead of becoming embittered by his reception, Ken embraced and used his alienation to fuel his passion.
I am at this moment sitting in my best friend's borrowed pajama pants brushing my teeth. And I am very thankful I will be allowed to sleep-in in the morning.
So here is my thanks to the gods of sleep. Thank you.
massage and mocha
I got a massage and then went to see an old professor today, driving all the way to Kalamazoo to have a cup o'mocha in a little ceramic mug while she drank tea. I basically blubbered at her all my worries and ideas for grad school, the application and the research I want to do next semester. It was relieving to get it out to someone who actually could give me good, sound advice. So I am encouraged and less overwhelmed then I was just yesterday, but still the GRE looms close.
And the gold sticker goes to me
Tonight I cleaned the cat litter box and the bathroom floor.
a horrible stick in the worry
I am starting to feel the gathering clouds of doom gathering over my head. Quickly my time ticks by in huge chunks of life, my life. . . I don't know what to do. Why is it in these situations I can never help but feel all of my lackings, wantings, and horrible faults seep from the very bowels of my psyche to poke me with a long knobby stick. The stick has not dulled with age. You'd seriously think that with time one would learn to not take the horrid jabs quite as seriously, but I do, I always do.
The only thing I've learned over the years is that horrid faults and all I have to keep going, one boot in front of the other, one worry at a time, they all come in their good time, they all come, tackle them one at a time, not a life times worth at once! That would just be stupid!
Enough said. Done, and goodnight.
Rocket my Dogs
I am a proud new owner of a pair of black Dogs. They are black and the same Dogs I have in brown. I have gotten to the point where my feet can no longer take high heeled torture devices on the ends of my legs. Who decided that heels look good?
Vocabulary is killing me and I am finding out my boyfriend has a better capacity for words than I, myself, and my degree in Sociology posses. What a bummer. I have a plan of action however. I bought the snazzy book,
Word Power, the other night at B & N and I'm now perusing its corse little pages, GRE BE WARNED! You stand no chance against me!!!