This is Too Honest and Humiliating but Right Now I Don’t Care

  1. I missed you when you were far away from me
  2. and I miss you now, with your back facing my front
  3. you don’t want me to touch you
  4. that is all I ever want to do
  5. I destroy everything that I love
  6. I wish someone would fight for my shitty self
  7. I don’t know how to care without caring too much
  8. I don’t know how to want someone and not need them
  9. I want to figure out these things
  10. I cry at times that never make sense
  11. I keep people around who don’t treat me very well
  12. I don’t act in a way that I should be treated very well
  13. When I’m sad, I drink too much, then feel worse
  14. I don’t know what I am doing
  15. I had two cats but now I don’t anymore
  16. I miss them and wish I could hang out with them still
  17. They would hold me when you refuse to
  18. I could fall asleep to the white noise of their purring
  19. It felt so nice to be needed
  20. I wish that you needed me like I want you

So, You Didn’t Get What You Wanted / Happy Birthday, Jack Kerouac

Since it’s Jackie K’s big ol’ b-day, here are a few of his tips from Belief and Technique for Modern Prose:

19. Accept loss forever

28. Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better

and

29. You’re a Genius all the time

I heard back about my play last night. I am not one of the four finalists that are invited to the Kennedy Center to have their plays read and participate in workshops, etc. I said I wouldn’t get my hopes up, but I kind of did… obviously, it was an exciting event to think about. It definitely stings.

I take rejections from online publications with names that I like (I tend to submit places that have funny names, so judge me) with a bit more grace than this, perhaps. The fact is: I really like that ten-minute play. It’s one of the few things I’ve written that I’m really proud of, and the subject material hits so close to home. Baby edit: I was one of sixteen in the country, so that still feels pretty good.

I have to go to work and answer telephones (hopefully randomly speak to a celebrity from my childhood like I did my last shift) and smile for four hours until my face hurts. Did you know that you can hear a smile over the phone? It’s true.

Now that going to the Kennedy Center isn’t in my plans, I have to figure out something new. I will probably submit my play to a theater and hope it gets performed. I’m still waiting to hear back on a few internship possibilities.

In happier news 3 more of my poems found a home somewhere. I’ll provide the link as soon  as they go up.

Here are some photos from frolicking around Baltimore:

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Sippin’ & bitin’ with my dude. Look, it’s my face on my blog for the first time!

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Spring is coming!

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Aaand I’ve been stealing my boyfriend’s t-shirts because I hate everything I own?

END OF MOPE-SESH.

Hope you all have a sunny day and talk to celebrities on the telephone. xx

The Fat City Review, How to Make Roses Give Up Their Thorns

The Fat City Review, How to Make Roses Give Up Their Thorns

Another poem on the Interwebs!

The training process at my new job has been intense, so far I have shadowed pastry chefs, expeditors, and servers. This morning I went to a coffee cupping! These are all things I will write about in excruciating detail, mostly for Courtney and Tyler whom reminded me to keep this thingie going.

Tonight I will be training on phones from 4:30-9:30pm.

I have to say things like, “fully committed” instead of “fully booked.”
This is the big time, guys.

(Im)patiently Waiting

To hear back about:

  • My play
  • Poems submitted to online/print publications
  • Two internships

Sometimes I wish the Internet didn’t exist. I have Gmail on my iPhone and yet… I still check for emails 30759283957832957295723 times a day!

Oh, how romantic the days of running outside to the mailbox/to greet the mailman must have been.

You knew if you had mail, you knew if you didn’t. I could get information about any of these things at any time of day! It’s exhausting.

This, aside from training at my new schmoozy restaurant gig, is what has been occupying my time as of late. Also, making mediocre dinners until I can drag myself to the grocery store. Also, also hearing my boyfriend and his brother holler at the TV while they play Super Smash Bros. on N64.

It’s a glamorous life I lead.

Fighting Against Writing Advice from Dead Old White Guys

Below you will find writing advice that I, as a lowly amateur, don’t exactly agree with.

If this advice has worked wonders on you, I am eyes/ears/heart open. Comment and prove me wrong, if you feel so inclined! I dare you.

First, Ernest Hemingway’s most heavily circulated quote on le Tumblr and Internet. I’m not going to say I don’t drink when I write sometimes, because that would be a complete lie, but always? The main thing that makes me hate this quote (and the people who get it tattooed on their bodies) is the implied lack of effort. Hemingway was great at what he did, obviously, BUT! he was educated before intoxication, something college freshman (and sophomores, juniors, seniors, and super seniors) do not seem to grasp.

Sup freshman year of college! This Creative Writing 100 class is so tight! We can talk about sex and drugs and say fuck!? Well, FUCK, here’s my Ode to Getting my Dick Sucked, workshop! Don’t mind all the typos and smeared Chinese food all over it. Oh, you wrote notes all over it? That’s so cute. I’m not going to take your advice, though, because it’s Thirsty Thursday woooooooo!

I can’t take you seriously as an artist if you get black-out and then want me to praise your intoxicated ramblings. Sorry. Also, stop staring at me and sending me weird emails because I told you happy birthday. Creep.

Moving on. In the same vein, Master of Misogyny Charles Bukowski:

Just like Hemingway, I enjoy and appreciate his writing but who would want to be such an asshole?

Don’t try. Do not try. I’m so angry I can not even expand upon this.

There is a reason that the Modest Mouse song about him exists.

As I said in my first post, I have been fighting fighting fighting about getting back in the groove of writing and am currently in-between jobs. I thought that being temporarily unemployed AKA at leisure would mean I would cook, feel/get inspired/motivated and write all day and into the night! This has been… partially true. I have been cooking, but I’ve also spent a large amount of time avoiding sitting down and staring at an empty page by cleaning up after my 9 roommates (yes, 9 roommates) and sleeping 10 hours a night. Beginning is the hardest part, for me.

In more optimistic less angsty news: I just researched Delusional disorder for a play I’m trying to draft, and am boiling water for more coffee. Stay tuned, my little chestnuts.

A poem I have been thinking about now more than ever in this transitional period of my life is Kenneth Koch’s “So You Want a Social Life, with Friends.” Despite the fact that I am a little lonely, despite the fact that at the moment I am car-less, and it’s cold outside in Maryland but not as cold as Michigan, I do want a social life with friends… and that was my down-fall, creatively, for most of my undergraduate career.

New chapter. More writing, more reading. Less debauchery. Still some debauchery, just less so.

social life

I’m trying to find a method that works.. a method that doesn’t include getting wasted and not giving a shit.

I’d rather do fantastic work that really hits home with someone and makes them think about their life/habits/relationships, THEN get wasted and cook a frozen pizza for my homies.

…Maybe I’m not cut out for this blogging thing.