and death i think is no parenthesis

I just opened Word to work on my paper. The little paperclip popped up, and promptly let me know that,

"Plaid shirts and stripped pants rarely make a positive fashion statement."

As my paper is about the Republic of Plato, I just don't understand how this is relevant.

have been going a little bit crazy lately. If you've been on the recieving end of this insanity (coughcoughalex), I'm sorry. Really.

Hmm. Had an eventful few days. Have been really tired and achey, not sure why. Work went well...the kids are adorable and heartbreaking. I'm going to learn a lot of sign language! heh.
Went to see Eternal Sunshine with everyone (pretty literally!), which was fun. Hung out with Anna on Saturday. In the evening, watched Crouching Tiger with not!boy and Coy (hehhehe, rhyming) and then hit the sorta chase party. wasn't really in the mood, so didn't stay. Went home and had fun with the not!boy.

Today, did homework. Am coming along with the paper, which is good.

am now going to take a walk with anna. *rock*

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LAURA!!!
I love you, even though you're old and 19 now. *laughs*

I am so tired. And all of a sudden, I feel so overwhelmed. Not only do I have this paper to do, all my regular work, and financial aid packets to fill out, but then I have to add this job thing. I spent an hour today over at the school, with my supervisor from st john's.
So this is the deal. I'll be working from 8-12 in the morning every Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. Starting tomorrow. That means that I won't be able to sleep later than 8 all week, even after seminar nights. And most of the time, I'll be waking up at 7. Goddamn. Plus, it's a 15 minute walk to the school from campus, although at least I can include travel time in my paycheck. I'll be working with the special need 3-4 year olds too...headache central. Most of them won't even be potty-trained. What have I gotten myself into?
Oh, and by tomorrow, I have to find time to go watch this awful 30 minute video about working with children. Mer.

*falls over*

Just so you all know, I am safely back at St John's. And I have just popped a tylonal pm, so maybe I'll fall asleep soon. That would be good. As I have a 9 o-clock tomorrow. Sometimes I hate my life.

But I got to see the not!boy today! *dances*

*drops dead*

I wrote this. And then I got stuck. You'll see. I need help. So I've turned to you, my loyal blog readers. How should this end? Should I keep working on it, or is it crap? I'm counting on you...

The Wolf

Once upon a time, the forest was all there was.
There was no meadow, no village, no city.
There was no cottage, no path.
There was no little girl with yellow hair.
All that could be seen was forest, but there was no one to see it. All was forest.

And then there was the wolf. If first was forest, second was wolf. He was beautiful. He was strong. He was big. He was fast. He was alone. That was the way it was, and that was the way he liked it. The forest was his home and his life. He needed nothing else, and there was nothing else to need. Wolf and forest were happy; there was nothing to make them sad.

And then there were people. There was noise and color and passion. There were paths and roads and highways. There were cottages and villages and cities. There was less forest.

But the wolf could still be happy. He moved farther away into the forest, and ignored the people. He was still wolf and the forest was still forest. The people were unimportant, and did not affect his beauty, his strength, his solitude. His happiness. He needed nothing.

And then there was her.

She skipped lightly into his forest, as if he was not there. She had golden hair, long legs, and plump cheeks. He could not stop looking at the red of her cloak that stood out in contrast to the forest. He wanted her.

For the first time, the wolf needed something that was not forest. He was scared. The wolf turned his back on the girl and went further away.

But he could not stop thinking of her. The forest could not distract him, could not satisfy him. And for the first time, the wolf knew sadness.

He went back to where he could see the girl. He watched her from behind trees, and wanted her. He had to have her.


And that's where it ends. I'm sure you all figured out that it is a retelling of Little Red Riding Hood, but what should happen next? How should they meet? Should he go to grandmother's house? Should he kill granny? This is sort of a wolf-sympathetic piece...so keep that in mind. Should he kill Red? I'm kinda leaning towards sticking to the original and getting the wolf to die.

So, help? Beta, anyone? Bueller?

I think I must be tired...
I was watching some terrible tv show, and there was a "touching father-son moment", that I definitely should have been laughing at, and instead, I burst into tears at the sight of their awkward hug.
And then, I finished the book I was reading, and there was some awful wrap up line about how the main character, just like a fledgling bird, may not have the most graceful flight yet, but is growing up well and in safety. And again, tears.

Weird. Maybe I need to take a nap.

Well. I haven't posted or written any poems in a long time, so I figured, why not? These are a tad old, but I haven't written anything good recently. And sorry for spamming blogger. You don't have to read these, don't be silly.


She has been dropped
(not unexpected)
straight into her old life.
The changes she made
are still waiting for her -
but for now
she is swallowed
by the way things were.
She begins to realize that
she never really left.

The books are piled on the floor
(same as they always were)
She is embraced by friends
who have cut their hair, but
otherwise feel the same under
her hands.
At night, she sinks into bed
(her old blankets and sheets)
and dreams of things she
thought were forgotten.

She dreams about boys
who left her long ago.
She dreams about teachers
who no longer remember her name.
She dreams about children.

She is not a child,
not anymore.
But for now, she still
slides easily into a
life that a child made.
All her old clothes still fit.

And she thinks sleepily back
to her new life.
It drifts away from her,
as if it were never real
in the first place.
She studies her face in the mirror,
hoping for some clue,
some proof that she's
grown up.
But she doesn't find any.


I'm a little unsure of this one. Is it really bleech? Somehow the third person, while not my favorite, seems to work for it.

All of a sudden,
I feel separated
from my name.
It no longer means
me -
instead it is (just) a
random collection of syllables.
It could belong to anyone.

Indeed, more than having
no meaning at all,
(what is in a name, anyway?)
it seems to conjure images
of someone not me -
plump and contented,
comfortable -
but prim, secretly
straight-laced.
I can hear you address
me, in that way of yours,
but at the same time,
you are talking to someone else...
I am nameless,
hovering above you, unnoticed.

But then the moment passes -
my name is my own again.
I rest securely in
self-knowledge,
and close my eyes,
dreaming of the touch
of your fingers

as you trace the
letters of my name
in the hollow of my back.

sorry for the poetry spammage. ;) as always, your comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated...

also, the horrible horrible headache has almost gone. i need a heating pad of my own...

It has occurred to me that perhaps Britney Spears is more intelligent than we give her credit for being. Also, a better human being.

I was just reading a Savage Love column, and he was defending gay marriage. Dan pulled out the now-classic line, "One day I would like to live in a country where my decade-long relationship is treated with the same respect--and afforded the same rights, protections, and responsibilities--as Britney Spears' 55-hour marriage."

This reference to Britney Spears made me think. What if Britney was secretly pro-gay rights? What if she sat down and thought about how she could help the cause, being such a high-profile celebrity? What if the answer she came up with was making a mockery of marriage? (heh. alliteration.) Is it just coincidence that she gave all gay activists the perfect argument, right when the controversy over gay marriage was building?

I don't think so. So, Thank you, Britney Spears. I apologize for calling you nasty names, and for underestimating you.

My mother has disapproved of The Pants. She says that the patches (particularly the one on my ass) look like my underwear showing through.

I kind of like that look though.

Hmm.

I PATCHED MY PANTS!!!!

My FAVORITE PANTS!!!!

THE BEST PANTS EVER! AND NOW I'm WEARING THEM!!!!! AND THEY're NOT IMMODEST! FUNNY LOOKING, YES. IMMODEST? NO.

sorry.

*Happiness*

I've decided who I'm going to marry.
His name is Greg and he's a Wiggle.

He's got a nice voice, and he's good with children. He's adorable, and he's got a hot australian accent. Plus, he's a Wiggle, which probably means that he's rich as hell. (this is good)


Greg is the one in yellow.

We're going to meet when I take my class of preschoolers on a field trip to a Wiggle concert. He'll go into the audience, and there's going to be an adorable little girl sitting on my lap. He'll come up to sing to her, and in the process fall in love with me. Then we're going to get married.

I'm glad I've figured out what to do with my life. It's important to have goals.

ETA: Another Picture of Greg Page!

is it strange that I still use a paper journal? and not only any old paper journal, but the same one i've had for the last 3 years...the dave journal? I think I'm over him now...I miss him as a friend...but otherwise? I dunno. I know I miss the way I felt about him. It was all-consumming, and a constant in my life, how i felt about him. I won't say I didn't doubt, because I did. And I won't say I was always happy, because I definitely wasn't. Not by a long shot. I always wanted more than he wanted to give, I guess. But when something went right? It was a high that was unbelievable. I miss how shaky I got when I thought about him. But looking back on it all in light of who I am now, I was repressing whole chunks of ME in an effort to be something he could like. (No wonder I was shaky) And I really never felt good about myself. I never felt pretty or smart or talented at anything. None of this was his fault really...just a side effect of the overwhelmingness of my crush on him.

'what brought all this dave crap on?' you may ask. 'i thought we were DONE with him finally'
It's just that I wrote a silly little poem in the dave-notebook tonight. a silly little boy-poem. And of course, I couldn't resist looking back at the old entries (i never can resist) and I realized that half of it is pre-dating angst (going back to when I was turning 15!) and a quarter of it is dating-dave joy. Which I think says something, that the angst was twice the joy. and then 1/8th of it (these are exact numbers!) is college boy angst (yay!)...which leaves me only 1 more eighth to fill, and then it's over. OVER! And I guess I'll have to get a new paper journal. And I think that by the time I have filled the last pages with new boy angst/joy, I will be completely and utterly OVER dave. Not that I'm not mostly and practically and wonderfully over him now. But I think I need to finish the journal...just to prove to myself that I can. And then I can put it away, on the shelf, and grow up? Nah.

Just to clarify this post:

This is not not!boy angst. The not!boy is possibly the best boy ever, in terms of communication anyway. And certainly, at the moment things are good. (not as good as they could be...certain people have been very angsty lately, which rubs off on me and makes me angsty, which is never good...but that's not a big deal. *grin*) I would prove this goodness to all and sundry (who's sundry?!) by posting the bad not!boy poems, but that would be silly, as it's BAD.

So anyway.
This was a real blog wasn't it? not just a "here's what I did with my day" but a "this is how I feel today" post. Haven't you missed them? Come on, you know you have. ; )

Am in one of those weird moods you get in when you stay in your room all day pretending to write a good paper. Why do I write papers so much better when I'm outside? And if I have to write a paper, why must I be in New England in March? Grr.

Also, I have discovered a new hatred for kissy-face movies in which they take the Ugly Girl, who of course, has curly hair and glasses and doesn't wear make-up, and make her Beautiful. Which, of course, involves getting her contacts, new lipstick, and STRAIGHTENING HER HAIR. Why is curly hair automatically ugly? I mean, mine is certainly not that great...especially since I never do anything exciting with it, but I happen to think that it can be very nice indeed. Lisa's is a good example.

Why was I watching that movie again? Oh yeah, I'm bored. IM me if you're bored too.

If you call me ekpinc, you must not know me.
If you call me Ms. [insert my last name here], you must know me from college. You could be a slight acquaintance, tut0r, or close friend. Doesn't really matter at St. John's.
If you call me Emma, you are completely and utterly normal. Sorry.
If you call me Em, you are either my mother, or one of my close friends from home.
If you call me M, then you're probably Dave, except you don't anymore. So you're dave from a few years ago. Go figure.
If you call me EP, then you're either K-Lo (what the HELL are you doing reading my blog?) or possibly Janet when she's being mean.
If you call me Emily, then I hate you, go away and never come back.
If you call me [Insert last name here], then you're either Jones, or Brent Peters. Whatever happened to him anyway?
If you call me Em-dahling, there's no mistaking you...you must be Scott.
If you call me Ems, then congratulations, you must be the not!boy. *misses*

What? You got a problem with me?

am home. if that wasn't obvious from the title.

took anna and the not!boy home with me. which was a blast. they met the folks, i met their folks, all was well. they also met, and were probably annoyed by, my friends (just kidding carly! and scott!). they are gone now, and the world is all sad and gray colored. EXCEPT FOR CARLY! *loves*

am scared about essay. want to be back at st johns. (to write essay).
I just don't think I can write a good essay inside, and massachusetts is so cold. I would go to the library, except they all know me there. grr.

okay. am looking for suggestions. where could i go to write an essay that is 1) not my house, 2) not the town library, and 3) not freezing, oh, and 4) that I could walk to?

impossible. I guess I just won't write it. yes, that sounds like a good idea.

now, am off to finish reading DV while I hope the not!boy comes online. why, i don't know. It's not like I have anything to say to him.

heyhey.

Just to let you all know, vacation starts tomorrow. I have seminar tonight, and after that, I'm leaving for the not!boy's house. Then we drive to anna's house in PA, then to Alyssa's in Long Island. We spend a few days there, hitting the city, and then up to Massachusetts! HOT! Just so you know, I'll be in town probably monday night, through the 21st. If you're also in town, let me know!

lallalalalalalalala