(no subject)
i'm such a nervous nellie sometimes.
last night after updating my journal and curling up in bed next to my boy, i had an anxiety attack. i really have no idea why. there's nothing in particular bothering me lately. in fact, the semester is coming to a close and other than the typical money troubles, things couldn't be better. but for some reason last night i just couldn't let myself get to sleep. i was absolutely pooped out, but every time i started to drift off i'd twitch or gasp deeply or feel the complicit need to roll over. i kept thinking i should get up and call my grandparents for some reason. even though it was four in the morning and it would've been nothing but troublesome. i kept thinking my breath felt short and that i could hear some menacing stranger walking around in the hallway.
phew. i hate it when the crazy creeps up on me.
i finally got up and ate two tylenol pm. wayne petted my hair and i drifted off against his chest around six a.m.
the alarm went off at eight.
mom and i had a big church yardsale to go to this morning. and the early bird gets the bargain! i got us a VCR for five bucks. and i got ericawfule a vintage electric razor. and i got wayne a Gettysburg computer game that he's engrossed in at the moment. the yard sale was a bit of a disappointment, to be honest. i came home with an ugly homemade afghan, two t-shirts and two pairs of earrings. they had this orange naugahide couch i reeeeallyyyy wanted, but money and space to haul loot just didn't permit.
i had a double scoop of rocky road for breakfast. and i sprang for sugar cones.
and even though i'd like to be asleep right now, i'm still feeling a little twitchy. so i've been looking at a few pieces of writing that were stuck in my paper journal.
"Rook"
Old folks leave out the little bird
Turn him towards a cracked screen door
And out into the Kentucky cold
No squawking complaint tolerated
From the deuce or the dealer
One hundred and eighty…
As far as you can aim
When shooting the moon
In a traditional manner.
Some folks play it cool, conservative.
If Mamaw takes the kitty
Your luck’s flown the coop
Her work worn fingers
Attached to wrists adorned
In Bible bumps
Reach out to rake them in
Arthritic, triumphant talon
Catching every catch to be had.
Four down
One up
The big black Rook lands
On his nest
Perched to swoop for the play
Sharp eyes around the table
Bids soaring on shiny
Obsidian
Wing.
i've been calling this "Flora Floats" so far...
Flora couldn’t swim, but she imagined floating. She flooded the sleepy church house around her with briny imagination. Anxious prayers on the Kentucky breeze were overwhelmed by the strange sea of her mind. She imagined her bulky, awkward frame suddenly made buoyant by warm, salty water. She imagined being cradled by a careful, foamy tide. The respectable ladies in their respectably floppy hats two pews up were transformed into meandering sting rays. The little old men near the back door with their overalls flopping loose evolved into octopi. Their tentacle arms extended upwards; reaching for the sparkling sunlight they called God. Ocean sounds sprang up from some forgotten pocket of Flora’s memory to replace the Baptist background noise. Sloshing, soothing. The preacher’s voice was a watery whisper like the song of a whale.
Flora had never actually seen the ocean. Her experience with vast bodies of water was limited to a vivid imagination and National Geographic specials about aquatic life on KET.
When I was young
The world was white
A blue marble
Washed with a pale glow
A pearly halo
Reflected
From the alabaster texture
Of those around me
Less of a texture,
More of a sheen
The kind that blinds you
Iridescent glare
Laced with glimpses of color
Teasing
Without satisfaction
Nowhere for my hungry, blue eyes
To feast
No shades
No hues
Only blank
Stark
Harsh
White
Like a bare bulb
Beating down
last night after updating my journal and curling up in bed next to my boy, i had an anxiety attack. i really have no idea why. there's nothing in particular bothering me lately. in fact, the semester is coming to a close and other than the typical money troubles, things couldn't be better. but for some reason last night i just couldn't let myself get to sleep. i was absolutely pooped out, but every time i started to drift off i'd twitch or gasp deeply or feel the complicit need to roll over. i kept thinking i should get up and call my grandparents for some reason. even though it was four in the morning and it would've been nothing but troublesome. i kept thinking my breath felt short and that i could hear some menacing stranger walking around in the hallway.
phew. i hate it when the crazy creeps up on me.
i finally got up and ate two tylenol pm. wayne petted my hair and i drifted off against his chest around six a.m.
the alarm went off at eight.
mom and i had a big church yardsale to go to this morning. and the early bird gets the bargain! i got us a VCR for five bucks. and i got ericawfule a vintage electric razor. and i got wayne a Gettysburg computer game that he's engrossed in at the moment. the yard sale was a bit of a disappointment, to be honest. i came home with an ugly homemade afghan, two t-shirts and two pairs of earrings. they had this orange naugahide couch i reeeeallyyyy wanted, but money and space to haul loot just didn't permit.
i had a double scoop of rocky road for breakfast. and i sprang for sugar cones.
and even though i'd like to be asleep right now, i'm still feeling a little twitchy. so i've been looking at a few pieces of writing that were stuck in my paper journal.
"Rook"
Old folks leave out the little bird
Turn him towards a cracked screen door
And out into the Kentucky cold
No squawking complaint tolerated
From the deuce or the dealer
One hundred and eighty…
As far as you can aim
When shooting the moon
In a traditional manner.
Some folks play it cool, conservative.
If Mamaw takes the kitty
Your luck’s flown the coop
Her work worn fingers
Attached to wrists adorned
In Bible bumps
Reach out to rake them in
Arthritic, triumphant talon
Catching every catch to be had.
Four down
One up
The big black Rook lands
On his nest
Perched to swoop for the play
Sharp eyes around the table
Bids soaring on shiny
Obsidian
Wing.
i've been calling this "Flora Floats" so far...
Flora couldn’t swim, but she imagined floating. She flooded the sleepy church house around her with briny imagination. Anxious prayers on the Kentucky breeze were overwhelmed by the strange sea of her mind. She imagined her bulky, awkward frame suddenly made buoyant by warm, salty water. She imagined being cradled by a careful, foamy tide. The respectable ladies in their respectably floppy hats two pews up were transformed into meandering sting rays. The little old men near the back door with their overalls flopping loose evolved into octopi. Their tentacle arms extended upwards; reaching for the sparkling sunlight they called God. Ocean sounds sprang up from some forgotten pocket of Flora’s memory to replace the Baptist background noise. Sloshing, soothing. The preacher’s voice was a watery whisper like the song of a whale.
Flora had never actually seen the ocean. Her experience with vast bodies of water was limited to a vivid imagination and National Geographic specials about aquatic life on KET.
When I was young
The world was white
A blue marble
Washed with a pale glow
A pearly halo
Reflected
From the alabaster texture
Of those around me
Less of a texture,
More of a sheen
The kind that blinds you
Iridescent glare
Laced with glimpses of color
Teasing
Without satisfaction
Nowhere for my hungry, blue eyes
To feast
No shades
No hues
Only blank
Stark
Harsh
White
Like a bare bulb
Beating down