A self-deprecating sonnet I wrote

House of Mirrors

A bare bulb flickers, swinging overhead

Outside its light the deep'ning darkness lurks

The floorboards creak and whisper words unsaid

And everywhere distorted mirrors smirk.

At every turn confronted with myself

I'm ugly, twisted, broken in these mirrors

I'm disassembled, lying on a shelf

I only hope I'm not as I appear.

I've built this house of mirrors to divine

My fatal flaws that must be overcome.

But there is no escape from such a shrine

Imprisoned in reflection, I succumb.

My eyes are always inward, self-obsessed

So selfish, it's no wonder I'm a mess.

Once again, the ability to fluidly rhyme eludes me and I devolve into browbeating pseudo-emo loserpants poetry. To summarize: I just get so frustrated by the way I am constantly thinking about myself. Every action I take is filtered through a lens of "will this make me look less like the loser I am?", and as a result, my interpersonal interactions are bogged down in this self-obsession. Ironically, on a meta- sort of level, getting so hung up about my gross self-absorption as to spend all morning writing a self-indulgent sonnet is one of the more self-absorbed things I end up doing over the course of a day. I just can't win. My ego will most likely implode and form a black hole at the center of my being any day now. (I offer this metaphor with apologies to any cosmologists among my readership who actually know how black holes are formed, unlike me.)

Basically I just need to get over myself, but you, dear readers, were probably already of that opinion.

Winter

There is beauty in impermanence. The flower is all the more beautiful because it will not last. The emergence of the first bud and the falling of the last withered petal are just as worthy of contemplation and artistic attentions as the sweet-smelling bloom at its peak. Winter, likewise, has a limited lifespan allotted to her, from a brisk breeze heralding her approach in mid-October, through the frosty days of November, and on into the snowfalls and even blizzards of her prime. But she begins to fade as spring is born. She ends, gracefully melting, softening, and yielding her reign unto her sister.

The power of the witch was in this lie: you can continue. You can prolong your youth indefinitely. No more long slow decline. You can live forever. Winter forgot that she was reborn each year and began to covet first April, then August. In arrogance and fear, she refused to relinquish her hold, but she hadn't the strength to cheat death for long. And so it came to pass that Winter and the Witch struck a deal.

Aslan, upon his return, found Winter, little more than an icy shell who knew nothing but the fear of death, utterly beholden to the witch. In his warm breath she felt herself soften and found a small stirring of peace in her crystalline heart. Liquid water carved rivulets of tears down her face. After all, she would be raised again. What was there to fear? And so Winter surrendered blissfully to the ever-imminent arrival of Spring.

Further adventures on quadrille rule

a fish, more lonely than hungry

Now I'm not sure just how close you lovely people can zoom in on this thing, but it has some words in it if you look closely.

Lonely Squid

Coming Soon

So I have not written anything here for ages and ages. Lest you think I have been sitting in idleness, or, worse still, actually cracking down and getting some learnin' done, I will be putting up some of my latest odd creations for all y'alls to ogle. I like to make things, whether it be with yarn or pen or tip-typing. On occasion I'll even attempt to bust out a song, but I don't know if I'll put that up here since recording it is more work than I'm probably willing to put into it. The big project that you won't see up here anytime soon is a piece of choreography on which I'm collaborating for a friend's senior solo. Come to think of it, there are three other dances I'll be making for my students that'll be performed in May as well. Meanwhile there are hats and boots, pictures of fish and crocheted octopi to be shown and bragged on modestly. I just need to scan and photograph and post stuff.

In this flurry of creative productivity, one thing I have not accomplished; shaved my legs.

Stalkers!

It has come to my attention that, celebrities aside, I am pretty much the most easily stalked person on the interweb. So to any stalkers or secret admirers or whatever you crazy kids are calling yourselves these days, I say; you don't have to be so shy. Come over to my house (you know where it is, I'm sure) and let's play parcheesi make some waffles or something some time. Stop skulking around my internet and be my friend. I'm just a little lonely is all.

If you're really a creeper, though, I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop going through my trash looking for hair from my hairbrushes for your weird voodoo potions. Thanks!

I'm not sure if I'll be more dissatisfied with this post's results if someone turns up with my door with a parcheesi board, a wide smile, and a bloody butcher knife... or if no one turns up at all.

Rebound

Imaginary Boyfriend Jim and I are back together.

That frigging quiz

All you stalkers out there probably remember that ridiculous facebook quiz I made a while back. I've had some complaints, and probably need to revise it, but I thought I might take the opportunity to talk about myself at length here. 'Cause, you know, I don't do that enough. So I present to you the director's cut of my quiz with commentary and three times the gratuitous CG dinosaur action! (technically true, as 3x0=0).


1) .....Eyes?

a) Green
b) Yes
c) Blue
d) Gray
e) Two

Okay, off to a bad start. While I marked only c) blue as a correct answer, b and e are obviously accurate as well. In addition, in some lights or when I wear certain colors, my eyes are basically gray. So I guess a) green is the only one that one couldn't justify as correct. Boo for a poorly constructed multiple-choice question.

2) .....Worst flaw? (my opinion, not yours)

a) Horrific sense of direction
b) Left eye slightly more round than right
c) Weird dancer feet
d) Social ineptitude
e) Stubby little fingers

Well, once again, these are all true statements about myself, though, as dancer feet go, mine are actually fairly pretty. Only a and d really bother me, though, unless I'm putting on mascara. Then my left eye always turns out better.

3) .....Least favorite item of clothing to wear?

a) Sweatshirts
b) Socks
c) Pants
d) Cheap flip-flops that hurt between my toes
e) Silly hats

Okay, upon further reflection, d really causes a lot more discomfort than the "correct" answer, b, but wearing socks without shoes is zero amount of fun when you're not intentionally sliding across a highly-polished floor, and I don't really wear flip-flops often enough to realize how uncomfortable they are. I'm always shocked whenever I slip into a pair to mince out to the mailbox or something.

4) .....If I were to get a tattoo, where would I put it?

a) Foot
b) Shoulder
c) Ankle
d) Neck
e) Tramp stamp!

Lots of people thought I'd put it on my ankle for some reason, but given the unlikely premise of tattoo-getting, I'd put it on the sole of my foot, right on my heel. I don't know what I'd get, though.

5) How long have I been dancing?

a) Nine years
b) Five years
c) Eleven years
d) Seven years
e) Thirteen years

For some reason pretty much everyone assumed I'd been dancing longer than seven years. Come on, guys, just because it subsequently completely took over my life doesn't mean I started when I was six.

6) .....Favorite author (of the moment)?

a) Jane Austin
b) CS Lewis
c) Robert Lewis Stevenson
d) Douglas Adams
e) Charles Dickens

I honestly don't remember which of these I picked for the correct answer. Either CS Lewis or Douglas Adams. I never actually got that into Austen for some reason, which is tantamount to treason for a 19-year-old girl to admit.

7) How hard did I try to make this quiz?

a) Pretty easy.
b) Middlin' easy.
c) Not really easy at all.
d) Kind of ridiculous.

Ah, the meta-quiz question. Self-referentialism at, if not its best, at least its... medium. Of course, if, like my mother, you breezed through all the preceding questions, then you would get this one wrong.

8) .....Favorite food?

a) Steak
b) Chocolate
c) Ginger
d) Oregano
e) Black licorice

Ginger is good! Candied, especially. Mmmm...

9) What is my second favorite author from that other question earlier?

a) Jane Austin
b) CS Lewis
c) Robert Lewis Stevenson
d) Douglas Adams
e) Charles Dickens

Again, Lewis or Adams. Not sure which. Oh, Mark Twain! I forgot about him. He definitely is one of my favorites. Naturally, any list of such favorites I compile varies widely by what I've been reading lately.

10) What is my second favorite color?

a) Dark Gray
b) Aquamarine
c) Teal
d) Orange
e) Cream

Green is my favorite, followed by dark gray, then orange, then purple. Although teal might have snuck in above orange since last I considered making such a list.


Well there you have it. All the mysteries revealed. The veil has lifted and you have seen all the cogs and machinery behind that ridiculous quiz. You whiners who got most of it wrong made me ruin the magic for the rest of everyone. I hope you're happy.

Perspective

Every week when I clean out his bowl, my fish, Sashimi, thinks he's been abducted by aliens.

This is me not being productive during dead week

So. I have a big old time-wasting challenge for you, dear readers. Get from here to here by clicking on ten links. Hint: zombies.

I will post more hints if you guys seem to give a crap about my challenge. Maybe there'll be a prize for the first one to come up with the answer or something. I don't know.

See, that's the trouble with wikipedia. I started out trying to actually do some research on gesture and next thing you know I'm reading up on the Vulcan death grip. That may not seem so strange, as this is a pretty obvious connecting link, but I took a more meandering route via the nazi salute. Go figure.

Anyway, that's a couple hours of my life I'll never get back. All I can do from the bottom of this pit of time-suckery is drag you down with me.

I post this hesitantly...

I once ranted against love and ridiculed what fools it made of girls. I saw only the irrational pursuit of approval from the opposite sex and considered myself above such nonsense. I alone possessed impartiality, I alone saw through the games, I alone would be content alone forever. So I thought, and so I said to all who would listen, but those who listened were few. So I lived without loving, and told myself I was content, denying that I even had a heart, crushing it under the weight of the loneliness to which I had proudly condemned myself. I lay in the dark and watched the silent drama of shadows cast through the windowpane accompanied by the ticking of the clock. In the silence shining between each tick, my heart began to make itself known, growing heavy, wearied by its burden. A single selfish tear escaped under cover of darkness. And so I slept for years, suffocated by this exile I chose. Small wonder I felt unloved-I had made myself so unlovely that it took 18 years for an intrepid soul with a great living beast of a heart to catch a slight, living glimmer beneath the ice, made thin by the summer sun after a long winter alone. Slowly, he ventured close enough to melt the ice and set me free of myself. I love him. I am so deep in love that's all I can think. I wake up and I love him, climb out of bed and I love him, get dressed and I love him, eat breakfast, walk to class, sit down and I love him. My notebook is peppered with it- "Today is the ninth of February and I am in love", "Today is the tenth of February and I am in love". I even looked down and blushed to find that I had scrawled an unfamiliar signature in the margin- not my name, but his. Love has made such a beautiful fool of me, and I would have it no other way.

A Mundane, Newsy Post

Recital week is always crazy. Don't ask why I chose now, of all times, to update this beknighted blog. Dodging work, that's what it is. I have 13 pdfs that need reading opened in other tabs, but, at this rate, opening them is likely as far as I'll get with them before I have to run off to class. I have decided that I'll be living at home again next year. Much as I like the girls here at Trinity, practically, I am only actually here a very very small percentage of my time; in fact, Wednesdays are the only day I don't have to drive over to the studio for a couple hours. Since I am planning on making myself available for Narnia in the fall, (no, I haven't been offered a role yet), it most likely won't be much different next year. Plus, the parentals have said that the cash will make an epic family Europe trip a definite possibility next summer. It'll be sweet. This summer promises to be pretty sweet, too, what with boyfriendery and associated friends with whom to drive around and do fun stuff, when I'm not working and getting cash money. I don't know when I'll be able to fit work in next year. At the mo, I'm working Saturdays, but with Narnia on the weekends, it's a worry. Plenty of time to work that out, though.

Now I'm going to go get me some toasted bagel and maybe start in on that first reading. Yay for productivity.

Flesh

Does anyone else find it odd, living inside a beautifully functional bag of meat and bones and nerves and skin? Hands, fingernails, nostrils, molded by the hand of God. Long bones draped artfully with muscle and tendon, wrapped up tight under skin. This machine through which we experience these four dimensions is a wonderous contraption, whatever you may think of its outward form. For example, my body told me that it was dehydrated the other day by manipulating nerve endings, sending a message which manifested itself as a headache. I drank a couple bottles of water and hey, presto, the alarms stopped jangling and I felt fine. Yesterday I pushed it beyond what was safe, so today all sorts of alarm bells are blaring, discouraging me from taking any more risks while it repairs and reinforces the damaged areas. Working my way from the top down, we have four-inch diameter bruises (from improv) on both shoulders, sore glutes and quads (possibly from fencing), with an extra painful strand of muscle in my right-hand thigh. Sore calves, of course, plus a twisted (or sprained or tweaked or something) left ankle (from pirouettes in ballet). Nothing life-threatening, but not pleasant. On the other hand, the sophistication of this flesh boggles the mind, as I stretch it and tear it and bruise it and mistreat it and fill it with ice cream, train it and dress it, bathe it and ultimately, through all this, I take as my goal to use this wonderous gift for its Maker's glory.

Analyzing the Text

For some reason, I find texting to be the ideal form of communication for my particular brand of social ineptitude roughly 90 percent of the time. It carries the immediacy of a phone call, a gentle prodding ring instantly in the recipient's pocket, and yet it is less demanding, allowing the aforementioned recipient to reply at their leisure. Plus, one can communicate effectively without the whole "conversation" nonsense that you have to go through before you can get to the meat of why you are bothering them in the first place.

A few notes on style: under no circumstances should a word be replaced with a number or intentionally misspelled. 160 characters is more than enough to communicate most ideas, though some creative editing may be necessary at times. The omission of some punctuation may be acceptable if the meaning can still be clearly ascertained. At times, shorter synonyms may have to be substituted and intensifiers dropped altogether, but all but the most complex ideas can easily be communicated in plain English (or whatever language you may be texting in) within the space limitations without stooping to the level of asinine acronyms and numeral abuse. These limitations demand that the author be concise, reducing their message to a haiku-like level of simplicity.

As always, when lacking tonal and gestural cues, great care must be taken when interpreting the intended emotion. Far better to grant a potentially sarcastic comment the benefit of the doubt and assume that its author bears you no ill will than to read too much into a statement and end up feeling insulted. Composing a text that is intended to be read as sarcastic is virtually the only time that the emoticon is an acceptable tool for communication, and even then, a simple :) will suffice, none of this other garglemesh you see around the less sophisticated corners of the internet.

Of course, there are occasions when a text message simply will not do. Things that require an immediate response, more complex cues as to the speaker's tone, and the rare occasions when communication becomes a desirable end in and of itself... these are better dealt with via a phone call.

Tantrum- an Exercise in Personification.

The rain began to slow, the downpour becoming a mere trickle in the corner of the heavens' eye. The sky drew a breath, deep but jagged, as through a throat still constricted with the nearness of tears, and began to feel better. The trees shook in the resulting wind, dripping in imitation of the clouds above which had previously hung so heavy, the clouds whose aloof indifference to gravity's hunger had snapped in a torrential tantrum, beating the earth with soggy fists until the grass began to lose its tight grip on its beloved soil and the streets grew slick with mud. Bitter tears lay cooling, collecting in hollow places, filling uneven sidewalks until they were perfectly level. The more ambitious among them streaked along the pavement together, unmindful of traffic laws, producing rivulets with their own short-lived dreams of riverhood. The clouds were exhausted, with no more tears to sacrifice to the greedy earth, and the sky sulked like a child, having done as it was told, yet unwilling to concede defeat. Another gust of sobbing breath, carrying the threat of more tears, but this February tantrum had run its course. The sky began to collect its solemn gray dignity, breathing deeply, still obstinately unwilling to allow the sun to begin the work of drying up the mess. Frankly, the whole affair was a little embarrassing.

A Valentine's Post of a Different Stripe.

I have not posted much of late. Yes, I am aware. The reason? My literary efforts have lately been directed very specifically toward one particular area of my life, and, pages and pages later, I have concluded that language is insufficient, regardless of any skill I may usually have at wielding even unwieldy words. Even given the lexicon of three languages, no word that I can find carries the appropriate connotations. "Love", perhaps, was once created to describe this...whatever it is, but that word is used up, ground down and worn smooth from the trampling of many feet. Whatever you may call it, I am in it, drowning in it in fact. It is every bit as absurd, irrational, mysterious, and strange as it appears from the outside, but what you don't see is that is uncontrollable, beautiful, selfless, vital and alive. Oh, but how quickly this post falls into platitudes, as I refrain from saying that I feel incomplete without him, missing him as an amputee might miss a limb. Truly was Eve taken from Adam's rib, as I have found my home in his arms and at his side.

The veil is lifted and I see the world anew, the faded attempts of poets more skilled than I painted fresh and bright. Among these, I see the tattered words, "God is love". God loves me? All I've heard before takes on new meaning-God wants me at his side, to join his Church and be his Bride, to love me, not counting my faults, to know me and hear my voice? My God. I am so unworthy.

Beauty Tip

Never look at yourself in the mirror from less than two feet away. Anyone who wants to get closer than that probably already thinks you're beautiful.

Another pretentiously phrased post.

Behind the counter stood a girl not entirely present. Chewing on the blunt stub of her thumbnail, she stole a sentence at a time from the book discretely tucked between the registers. A lone sojourner emerged from the aisles laden with the spoils of their journeys amongst the florescent-lit jungles where trees hang low, branches bowed with the weight of pencils, sheet protectors, post its. The sudden movement caught the eye of the girl, who snapped back into the present, where she hurriedly tucked the book still further into the shadows and engaged an easy smile she kept near at hand for the benefit of those who came from the depths, bearing bar codes by the armload for her to liberate, transforming them from mere merchandise to items to use and own and eventually settle in to their places on a desk, shedding their soft glow of newness and becoming what they were along-a stapler, a printer, a paper clip. Grasping the laser gun, finger on the trigger, she smiled graciously as she stepped aside and let the robot, programmed through repetition, take charge of her hands and words, with strict instructions to wake her should she be needed. With that she retreated back into the fantastic realms of daydreams, and an instant later, the store faded into the background as new images rose out of the haze of reality to take its place.

Imagination of a Watermelon

1. Put your music on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.

1) IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OKAY" YOU SAY?
I Won't Stay Long

2) WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
I Crush Everything

3) WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Sure Shot

4) HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Ertöt' Uns Durch Dein' Güte, BWV 22

5) WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE??
I Write Sins, Not Tragedies

6) WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Holy Is The Lord

7) WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Shuffle Your Feet

8) WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Track 8

9) WHAT IS 2+2?
Breakdown

10) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Man Of Constant Sorrow (Instrumental)

11) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Tom Cruise Crazy

12) WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Health and Wealth

13) WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Devastation and Reform

14) WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Hallelujah

15) WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
When the World Ends

16) WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
I Belong to Ya (Midnight Mix)

17) WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Everybody Wants To Go To Heaven

18) WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Jury Duty

19) WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Nightingale

20) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Boomin'/Opera Trip

21) WHAT'S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
Always Look On the Bright Side Of Life

22) HOW WILL YOU DIE?
Adagio (off of my ballet barre music. That's a true one)

23) WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
Track 5

24) WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
Gibberish

25) WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
Louder Than the Mob

26) WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
Perseverance of the Saints

27) WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
Horrible Theme

28) DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
Sadie Hawkins Dance

29) IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
A Conversation

30) WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
Na Na

31) WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
Imagination of a Watermelon

Yeah, Kerry tagged me with this thing, but I did it because it sounded fun, not because I'm a conformist who does whatever the internet tells me. And to prove it, I'm not going to tag anyone else. So there, internet. Take that.