Why I need a time machine

Yesterday's word was nemesis. "What did I just do? I said what if I lose this power. Oh no. I had the power, then I lost it. Had it then I lost it."

So what supercalifragilisticexpialidocious things did you do as a three year old?

When I was three I'm pretty sure I was using my mom's necklaces to pretend I was the Childlike Empress (from the Neverending Story) in the mirror.... meanwhile this kid is memorizing and reciting poetry better than most adults I know.

Litany
By Billy Collins 

You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine…
—Jacques Crickillon 

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight. 

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air. 

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general’s head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk. 

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse. 

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof. 

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table. 

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman’s tea cup.
But don’t worry, I’m not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and—somehow—the wine.

Yeah...

I need a time machine to tell my 3-year old self to take that trumped-up amulet off my head and start reading some poetry.

And, "Don't give me that look, kid! I don't care if you can't read yet! Start learning your letters!!"

"The Birth of the Bard" *

Yesterday's word was: mentee- So close, Rhonda! (As a side note, you are most likely to choose the word that I purposely throw in as a red herring, which probably says something about the way we think...) Also Paula, your comment from yesterday disappeared..  And that was a great verse. :)  Michael's comment also ran away... Hopefully you guys removed them and I don't have some random comment eating gremlin on my blog.

A phantasmagoric quote from class tonight.

It was the last thing that was said, and I think something that is going to stick with me for quite some time, though I may have already forgotten most of the rest of those three hours.

"The poet is born at the death of Adonis. Venus becomes no longer a goddess but a human because she can understand what human love is. Indeed she decrees that henceforth love goes along with pain and disappointment to mirror her own experience with Adonis. And the flower that comes from Adonis's blood spilled on the ground is Shakespeare, because he, too is being born as a poet, as a bard, in love and pain. Because a poet is someone who understands life and love and pain more deeply than most people bother to look."  -James Baumlin lecturing on the theory of his wife, Tita Baumlin.

I'm not sure that this quote translates to how *deeply* I felt it, when Dr. Mr. Baumlin said it.

But as he was speaking it was almost as if he was striking a tuning fork inside my mind with his words... the resonance was that pronounced and that strong.

It sounds/feels so much like my own story. The writer in me was really only born in the death of Nathan. When I finally felt that I understood something more intrinsically than many people do. When I finally felt like I had something of merit to say.

*The title of this blog post is the title of the paper that my Shakespeare professor, Dr. Tita Baumlin, wrote on Venus and Adonis, which her husband told us this evening is the "seminal work" on that particular poem... and I believe him.

Walking in Beauty

Yesterday's word was destitute...  Here's the problem with that. Someone guessed it... well, maybe 2 someones... but the first guesser came up as anonymous.... so, I have no clue and no means of verifying who you are. So if you want to remain anonymous I think you should e-mail me and let me know who you are... if not-- comment and tell me! This is especially confusing because the people who most often guess did guess- under their own names.... *confused*

Also I'm pondering a retro-active rule change... in that if someone guesses they get 1 point... and if they get it right they get 2 points and if they are the first to get it right they get 3... what do you guys think? I'll be blown out of the point-water pretty fast with this method, but it will be less discouraging for those who guess and guess and keep getting it wrong. *coughRhondacough*

Anyway, moving on.

I took a nap this evening, and I dreamt of several things... One of them strangely enough was my favorite poem. Then I searched my blog and realized I've blogged about a lot of poems, but never my favorite one.

My favorite poem is She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron.

It has been since my senior year in high school, when we had to memorize and recite a poem for College Prep English. I choose this one, because I read it once and immediately fell in love with it. I still know it by heart.

She Walks in Beauty

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

 
Like all of my favorite things, I want this poem to be about me... I may live my life so as to try and be as much like this poem as I possibly can. One interesting aspect, which might not be true but makes me like the poem all the more, is that it's said Byron wrote it about a cousin who was in mourning.

I've been in mourning before! See, this poem is totally about me. *nods decisively*

I can't decide if it's nature or nuture that makes girls/women want to be thought beautiful, but it seems to come from somewhere deep deep inside. And I think it's rather interesting that yes, I want to *be* beautiful, but the thing that is more important to me is that I'm *thought to be* beautiful. I've mentioned several times that Nathan telling me I'm beautiful is one of the things I miss the most... and it's also one of the things that has most strongly affected my life/self-esteem.

Men/ boys don't seem to have this same desire/need/longing. Yes, they want to be thought attractive... but they also seem to be a lot more confident that they just are attractive... or that it doesn't matter. Or am I wrong? Do men want to be handsome just as much as women?

See, even writing that, the thought seems ridiculous.

How silly is it that I want to be thought highly of in a context that I have so little control over? I mean I can control how much makeup I wear, but studies show that men actually normally prefer women with less makeup/makeup that looks natural. I can control the color and style of my hair (and boy, howdy, do I!) I can control what I wear and choose the best styles for my body type, and I can control my weight, to some extent. But I've been thinking lately that people don't normally look at your body that closely I mean, I think of all the people I see in a day and I look at their faces and generally have an idea of their body, but I don't pay that much attention.... though that might just be because I'm a girl? Not sure on that one.

Anyway, (barring expensive and painful surgery) I can't control the shape of my face, or it's symmetry, or the color of my eyes, or the height of my cheekbones. I can't control the upturn of my nose or the size of my lips or any of their placement.

And yet it matters to me that other people find them pleasing.  But then I wonder... is it just that? Is that really all I want? To be thought physically attractive?

And it's not... not really. It's *part* of it, but what I want is so hard to pin down and so hard to find/ know. Because what I want is what Lord Byron is saying in that poem. I want a beauty that is internal but somehow expresses itself in my face and body. I want to be such a beautiful person that somehow people can see that just by looking at me.

I want to be so beautiful that men are driven to write poetry about me. I want to be so beautiful that people like me without quite understanding why. I want to be so beautiful that people still like me after they get to know me. I want to be so beautiful that the more a person gets to know me the more they like me and the more beautiful they find me and on and on until the people who know me the best are also the ones who totally adore me and think I am the most beautiful creature to grace the Earth.

Why is it that I'd only ever want to be called a creature when beautiful is before it? I think it's because when you are called a creature it sounds as though you are less than human, but when you are called a beautiful creature it's as though you are transcending humanity. Your beauty takes you to a level higher than human.

Yes, it's all a very attainable and easy goal.

How does one become a mentee of both Audry Hepburn and Mother Theresa?

Mentee? That's a weird word. But it is a word- I just looked it up, to be sure. Apparently we just pulled that word from mentor... but that suggests all sorts of weird words using that same rule. Like the audience is really of bunch of actees... and if you ever hire a contractor you will be a contractee. Melissa sees not patients, but counselees, and people who are fooled by charlatans are impostees.

It's prediculous!

Plus, it looks like manatee... I don't wanna be no stinking manatee!

I'd like to rephrase my previous sentence:

How does one become a mentee protege of both Audry Hepburn and Mother Theresa?

Yeah, I could have just gone back and edited the original sentence, but then you would have missed my little rant and I found it kinda funny, so I thought you might enjoy it.

Great Limerick, Part 2

You may have noticed that Kara's limerick didn't make the cut two days ago. This is because she drug a frowned upon inside joke into it-- one that I don't really want burned into the internet for all time.

But this morning she woke me up to say goodbye and had three limericks for me, bringing her limerick total up to four (She does so hate to be out-done.) ;)

So here are Kara's *real* limericks:

You change every person you meet
by being yourself- oh so sweet.
I was a real bitch,
now my life is so rich.
The gospel is spread by your feet!

You challenge me to be ... "nice"
for my sin, you oft' pay the price.
You share all you own,
righteous seeds you have sown, ((and great costumes!))
of loving you, moms don't think twice.

I am who I am, 'cause you are who you are.
In every relationship you raise the bar.
I win when you win.
We're closer than kin.
We'll be bff's always- no distance too far.

Great Limerick!

I like to think that "Great Limerick!" is something that we will now say when shocked- like how Dr. Brown says "Great Scott!" in Back to the Future.


So today I was woken up by a phone call from Kara... yes.... it was noon. A girl can sleep as late as she wants on her birthday! I actually missed the first call, but then I called her right back and I'm glad I did, because she told me that she had good and bad news...

The good news is she got a job in Philly. The bad news is she has training that starts August 14th and so can't come back for the friend-a-versary like we planned... but the other good news was... *KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!* And there she was! It was really exciting. I ran downstairs like it was Christmas.

So last Friday, Kara actually came up with the idea that I should have people write me limericks for my birthday...

Best. Idea. Ever.

And now I will share with you some of the greats from today:

A birthday rhyme for my friend Renée
Of her beauty I can't fully convey
She has nails with a map
and bakes desserts in a snap
We will buy her bestsellers someday.
-Natalie

Our friend Renée always bakes
Lots of pies, lots of cookies and cakes
Cause we just can't say no
to her treats made from dough
we're all getting fat, goodness sakes!
- Bill

There's this girl that I know named Renée
She has to have Starbucks each day
White Peppermint Mocha
To start up her mot'a
Now up way too late she will stay
-Lissa

This one has a bit of meter issues, but it's too great not to share:

Surfing facebook on my cellular phone
while sitting here on my porcelain throne.
DING-A-LING-A-LING! Tagged in a post.
Jessie has summoned a limerick for Renée, the host!
WOW! What's that smell? Was it my own?

Anyways, back to the topic of the day.
Renée, sit back, relax and enjoy what I have to say.
No funny business, stinky socks, or rotten fish.
Just a heartfelt, warm birthday wish!
For all those you hold dear to send love your way!

Glancing through posts both new and old,
I wanted to see what all you had been told.
What I realized was almost everyone's downfall!
Hardly anyone can follow directions at all!
Most gave a quick reply, but a few broke the mold!

So on your special day, and a limerick you request,
I issue you this, but a simple test:
Who is lovely and caring and sweeter than sweet?
Who can bake amazing cookies that'll never be beat?
If you guessed Renée, you're correct! She's one of the best!

-Mike

My birthday wishes are lame
Just a simple "Happy Birthday!"--all the same
But I figured "Why not?"
"I'll give this a shot"
"and pen a birthday limerick for Renée"

In no time the first line was written
The standard "Once was a girl..."--I was smitten
Then came line two
And quickly I was through
Limericks are difficult.
Happy Birthday!

-Joe

There once was a girl named, Renée

Who's name happened to rhyme with "bidet"

She so hated the term

That she threatened to burn

Any who uttered it on her birthday

*pause* *deep breath*

So.. there was a fellow, name of Ryan

In imminent danger of fryin'

So to save his skin

He pleaded this then:

(deadpan voice)

"Happy birthday Renée... please don't kill me"

-Burrell (whose name is also Ryan but that's confusing, so I call him Burrell)

Helpful and personable, she will plan an event

Bring people together, not one she resents

but the é in her name is a fake

so you'll think she is French by mistake

(in a crazy French accent)

'cause it gives her excuses to speak in accents.

-Ryan

And then I think the piece dé resistance* (also penned by Ryan)

Renée, Renée, fabulous she

witty and charming, open-handed and free

Her only downfall

-if she has one at all

Is trying to make me watch that stupid show, Glee

I so enjoyed this birthday limerick extravaganza. I love my friends and I love laughing and I love all the wonderful compliments being written down so I can refer to them over and over. 

Kara says next year is sonnets... but she does have a tendency to take things a bit over the top.

*the piece dé resistance says "stupid" for parental controls.... (like literally for the parentals who read this.... Ryan has strong feelings towards against Glee. -- so much that he just made me change it when I said "towards" because (direct quote) "I'm not 'toward' Glee in any way.") 

Kit-Kats and Tattoos

All of the blogs that I read had pretty serious updates yesterday about the state of their lives. (The people's lives, not the blogs' lives. Blogs don't write themselves.)

I had a poem about a Kit-Kat.

I started this blog a few years ago without any sort of dedication and I wrote about songs and lemon bars and gummi bears. Oh and my ginormous head.

I've just realized that I *should* have been writing songs about lemon bars, gummi bears, and my ginormous head. That's a country music classic in the making... or maybe a dance club mix.

Then Nathan died and every post was so hard and heavy but super meaningful and important.

And now I'm trending more towards what it was when I began, and sometimes I feel like I should really talk about things that are more important, but it's really hard to write brilliant posts every day. Sometimes you have a day where nothing brilliant happens, and you just don't feel clever enough to make something up.

We are in the last 12 hours of me being tattoo free. It's happening Friday at 1. And then the era of mothers loving me inexplicably will end. Cause the reason why moms love me is my tattoo-free countenance, not my sweet personality and general similarity to themselves. One cannot be wholesome if they have a tattoo. It's a proven fact.

I jest. I'm hoping that moms still love me post-tattoo. (Especially my own.) It's not like I'm doing it on a lark or anything. I've thought and thought and thought about it. I've probably thought about it so much that I've over-thought about it and have made it all the way around to just thinking about it, again. And it's really meaningful to me... and it always will be.

And yes I realize this is like the third post I've made... or possibly the thirtieth post I've made, justifying it. But remember how I even want the Taliban to like me? Still true.

Crap. There is probably something in the Koran or the Taliban code that is against tattoos or women with tattoos, isn't there? You like how I just made up a rulebook for the Taliban?

 It suddenly occurred to me that it's possible that I'm being super racist right now, and I don't even know it. I'm going to stop talking about this now.

I guess the thing is some people, when they know that someone isn't going to agree with them, get super defensive and belligerent. Suddenly if you disagree with their opinion then you are *wrong* and you suck and they are gonna LET YOU KNOW!

I go the other way. If I make a decision and I know that you aren't going to agree with me I bring my own judgement into question. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I should rethink this thing... maybe I suck! (ok honestly, I have enough self-worth to not think I suck. But it's more likely that than that you suck. That's not true at all.)

And I guess, to bring this blog back around full circle, that's why I thought that I should write something personal and deep about my life... because everyone else did, so that must be what I should do.

Or maybe I'll keep writing poems about Kit-Kats. (God bless William Carlos Williams and his easily manipulated poetry!)

The Red Kit-Kat Bar

so much depends
upon

a red Kit-Kat
bar

coated in a glossy
wrapper

beside the white
toaster.

In the spirit of William Carlos Williams

This Is Just To Say To Kara

I have eaten
the Kit-Kat
that you left in
the basket

and which
you were probably
saving
for another visit

Forgive me
it was delicious
so sweet
and so crunchy

Renée Dunn- Prospective Candidate for a MA in Writing at Missouri State University, and blatant poem ripper-offer.

Frank O'Hara and Horatio

Watched a movie tonight: Beastly. It's the Beauty and the Beast story hit with a modern re-telling. I say "hit" meaning hit over the head with a blunt object- Professor Plum in the Study with the Lead Pipe, possibly- but I still liked it. In no small part due to the poem which I'd never heard of, because I somehow missed the poet in my poetry classes, or was never taught of him. Frank O’Hara.

Having a Coke with You

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles 

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them 

I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse 

it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it

And here is another:

My Heart 

I'm not going to cry all the time
nor shall I laugh all the time,
I don't prefer one "strain" to another.
I'd have the immediacy of a bad movie,
not just a sleeper, but also the big,
overproduced first-run kind. I want to be
at least as alive as the vulgar. And if
some aficionado of my mess says "That's
not like Frank!", all to the good! I
don't wear brown and grey suits all the time,
do I? No. I wear workshirts to the opera,
often. I want my feet to be bare,
I want my face to be shaven, and my heart--
you can't plan on the heart, but
the better part of it, my poetry, is open. 

Another one that I like is Morning, but it's long enough that I'm not going to paste it here... but here is a link to read it yourself.

Oh poetry, I still love you, despite your general inaccessibility and tendency towards the obtuse.

There is such a strange and difficult dichotomy between expecting God to intervene and at the same time laying what you want down at His feet and letting Him choose what to do with it.

to quote another poet... Horatio Spafford,

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul. 

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul! 

It is well ... with my soul!
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Now that one I get.

Fragile

Be gentle with me today, world... I'm fragile.

A wedding anniversary isn't really about the date... It's about the symbol... it's about what you *do* on that date... it's the date that's set aside to remember the relationship. It's the date that's set aside to celebrate happiness. It's the date that's set aside to reflect on one person and your love for each other.... that makes it a hard day to deal with. I had such high hopes for this year...and what it would bring... and now we are so close to 6 months without him. I teased Nathan (and other guys grumbled) about how high he'd set the bar for all other anniversaries...and now I just wish he were here to happily sail *way* under the bar.

I married a really good man... whom I miss so very much. So I'm going to leave you with the posts that Nathan made for each hour all day last year... Many of you have already read them, but they make me feel a little bit better, and maybe some of you didn't. I post cause even if you don't think I'm as fabulous as he did, it gives you a picture of the wonderful man he was.

Three Amazing Years

July 21, 2010

On July 21st, 2007, I married an incredible woman.  She dazzles me, and I’m madly in love with her.  The last three years have been better — and harder, and more wonderful — than I could have ever dreamed.  For the next 24 hours, I want to share with all of you a part of our celebration.
Beginning at midnight, each hour on the hour I have scheduled a new entry to be published.  Each entry is a haiku (American style, simply three lines in a five-seven-five syllable format) that expresses one of the many reasons I love my wife. :)     Some of them are romantic, some are goofy, some are shared memories, some of them you may not even understand.  But all of them say something about why Renee is beautiful — and if days had more hours, there would be more poems still! :D
Feel free to leave any comments or thoughts, if you’d like.  Thank you for sharing in this part of our anniversary!

Anniversary Haiku 1

A spark of mischief
On a sea of compassion –
Enrapturing eyes

Anniversary Haiku 2

To witness her smile
Is to see a miracle
Of beauty and joy

Anniversary Haiku 3

In both speech and song
Her voice rings with confidence –
Melodious sound

Anniversary Haiku 4

I am embarrassed
When my accent surfaces
She finds it charming

Anniversary Haiku 5

Treasured memory –
Watching the wind in silence
We were connected

Anniversary Haiku 6

Kivs in the chivvy
To the squishy mini square –
Silliness and fun

Anniversary Haiku 7

So perfectly matched
We share the same handicap
To park or play golf

Anniversary Haiku 8

The first kiss we shared
Held both passion and surprise
We were more than friends

Anniversary Haiku 9

She sits on the floor
Whenever I am hurting
Just to hold my hand

Anniversary Haiku 10

With a strange sixth sense
She chooses better movies
I trust her instincts

Anniversary Haiku 11

Her love for people
Is the center of her soul
She cares so deeply

Anniversary Haiku 12

I think I’m funny
Because she is kind enough
To laugh at my jokes

Anniversary Haiku 13

Whatever is Right
She will do without reserve
And without complaint

Anniversary Haiku 14

Spontaneous fun –
Plans are not necessary
She needs only friends

Anniversary Haiku 15

Her calm is steadfast
When others are wild
Unreasonable, upset

Anniversary Haiku 16

Paint, pencil, and clay –
She brings her visions to life
With amazing skill

Anniversary Haiku 17

There is no question
Of her strengths or character
She knows who she is

Anniversary Haiku 18

On the cliffs at dawn
The most beautiful of words
Could only be “yes”

Anniversary Haiku 19

Music did not play
So she waited at the door
Stunning in her dress

Anniversary Haiku 20

Heavenly vision –
My bride, splendidly arrayed
Walking down the aisle

Anniversary Haiku 21

Vows and rings exchanged
Together on the altar
As husband and wife

Anniversary Haiku 22

The feel of her dress
Warm beneath my shaking hands
Dancing to our song

Anniversary Haiku 23

Loved ones line our path
Showering us with bubbles –
We make our escape

Anniversary Haiku 24

Asleep on a train
Her head against my shoulder
This is all I need

Non-Anniversary Haiku (25)

July 22, 2010

Now and forever
I will love my wife –
Beautiful Renee.

Rain makes applesauce.

Today is my Aunt Dawn's birthday. I shall not give away what age she is, but let's just say that she was 12 when I was born and I'm turning 28 in a few months. Happy Birthday, Da! I love you, more!

Paula had foot surgery today to resolve her "foot issues." Pray for her to heal fast and for Bill as he lends her a hand through her convalescence.

Sometimes I just want to use the word convalescence.

Today I finally replaced the light bulbs in my kitchen which have been burnt out for probably a month now... maybe a month and a half.

I also had a first dinner that consisted only of carrots... and then a second dinner at midnight. It consisted of mac and cheese and pork chops.

I've started playing a video game. I'm hopelessly addicted, already. It's exactly what I've been wanting/craving lately.

But just so it's clear, I did things other than play a video game today. I also worked, altered a dress for Kara, and took out my trash. That last one was quite an accomplishment!

There is this children's book that I've never actually seen called, "Rain Makes Applesauce." I only actually know the words, though apparently it's very well illustrated. Anyway, I like it basically because of the refrain,
"and rain makes applesauce. (Oh, you're just talking silly talk)" and because of one line. "The wind blows backwards all night long." I don't know why I love that line so much, but ach. Indeed I do.

Plus I like talking silly talk

...cause rain makes applesauce.

In which the spirit of rhyme decends upon me

Tonight, I worked on the game and got things done in half the time it was previously taking me. I apparently hit my stride! It feels good to be so productive.

It may sound strange to you, but I really like having deadlines. I like to have a reason to get things done. I like getting things done before the deadline and the sense of pride and relief. I even like the last minute scramble if I procrastinated too long. I think it's one of the reasons I did so well in school. School is like a real life deadline-centric Diner Dash game. It's fun and challenging and slightly manic.

Wanna hear something kinda funny? I didn't update my Netflix queue before they received my last movie... so instead of the second disc of Drop Dead Diva (Yeah, I know that's it's own kettle of fish.) I will be receiving "My Little Pony: Season 1, Disc 1" I crack myself up sometimes with the things I find enjoyable to watch. Of course My Little Pony is entirely for nostalgia sake... and for my future children... and my current niece who borrowed one of the My Little Pony DVDs that I own when she visited. 

I gotta stop taking naps on weekends... see the thing is, I just go lay down whenever I am tired... which is nice in that I have the freedom to do that... but is bad in that it's 2:30 and I'm still going strong. Why you ask? Cause I take 2 hour long naps in the early evening. This is why being married was good for me... I had someone to be a regulator... aka a babysitter of my sleep schedule.

The unfortunate thing about 2:30 in the morning and not being in college is that when you get a hankering for Steak and Shake or IHop there is no one to go with you. Pancakes currently sound like the most delicious creation ever to grace this fine world, but there is no way I'm going to IHop at 2:45AM by myself. and don't give me any who-ha about being able to make my own pancakes. You know as well as I that the only acceptable 2:45AM pancakes are the ones you have to go on a quest for... to a land that smells vaguely of old people and waitress' smoke breaks.

Tonight I discovered why cable/satellite tv was invented. It's called Saturday evening network television. 'nuf said.

Ok, the birds that like to mock me at 3 AM by letting me know we've crossed the line when more of the dark of night has passed than there is to come have begun to chirp outside the window. (Did you have to read that sentence more than once to understand it? I had to read it more than once to type it, and I'm not completely convinced it makes any sense, yet.)

Anyway the long sentence was to say
that I need to call it a day,
and go away,
Love you all, -Renée

PS I swear I don't know how stuff like that happens, man. I just let my brain go and out these things flow.

PPS I really didn't mean to rhyme in my previous post script, but after I wrote it, I just couldn't take it back.. It's was just too perfect. To quote Kara, "goon" on me!

You've got the cutest little... potato face.

I'm not sure I should put up poetry... even poetry that is old... I don't know that I have discerning poetic tastes and so even though I think that the poems are decent after I post something, I think all the next day... "Why did I put that up!?!  People are going to think I'm so corny... Deeper than depths? Come on!... No more posting poetry when you are tired, Renée!  Why did you put that up!?!" I seriously don't know how lyricists and published poets do it. Poems just seem so much more personal... it's you- only focused and condensed. So if you read a poem of mine you know something of me that it might normally take you pages and pages of prose to learn. Eyes and poetry are the windows to the soul. Cause seriously what kinda house doesn't have at least 2 windows... If it's only got one window it's a shack or a shed and I don't want my soul to be a shed.... or a shack.

Tangent, party of one.

Interestingly enough the way that I usually judge if someone cares about me is if they can tell me/point out things/facts about myself... cause it means they've been paying attention to me/ who I am/what I'm like... That's gotta be a love language, right?

Today I found out that the National Take Back Initiative is April 30th. I'm pleased as punch about this, because it is a way to get rid of all the old prescriptions I have... and I have sooo sooo soooooooo many. And since I don't want to sell them on the black market, or support someone's illegal drug habit, I didn't know what to do with them... And besides most of them are things like immuno-suppressants.. and trust me, no one wants those. (*Disclaimer* No, crazy drug addict, none of the old prescriptions are actually in my house, so it will do you and your high no good to bother breaking in) However if you would like a shower seat, toilet seat riser, walker, sponge toothbrush, or diabetic testing supplies, I will be happy to give them to you for free. oh or cloth tape... I have plenty of that.


My gaming storage ottoman came today... and it is huge... awesome... and huge...  Like, I have to rearrange my living room now, huge... You think I'm joking, but I'm not. I'm serious... I'm as serious as a ... potato... What!?! You never see a potato crack a smile. Them's serious vegetable-starches.



















See?

oh gosh... when you start googling potato faces you know it's time you should be going to bed.

I love you a bushel and a peck.

Renée

Reflections on Kyle XY and Poetry

So sometimes when I'm hanging out by myself I watch Netflix... Ok, fine, a lot of times. Tonight I watched a TV show called Kyle XY... I know. It's ok... judge me. I watch ABC family shows for fun... It's a shame that I just have to bear. This particular Kyle XY was... weird. 1) a girl had been attacked in a back alley (black eye and scratches on her neck) and everyone was watching her... waiting for her to freak out... and she was shaken, but being pretty strong. Yeah, I didn't identify with that one at allllll. :) And 2) the father of the father figure of the show was in the hospital... He'd had a stroke and was on life support. Or should I say "life support." It was of course all wrong.. they were monitoring his brain waves and didn't even have any nodules on his head... and they tried to make it look like he was intubated, but really he just had one small tube in his mouth (like an NG tube, but in his mouth rather than his nose) and a pulse ox monitor taped to his nose... And gosh darn it if I don't wish I didn't know about this stuff.... I'm not a nurse. I'm not in the medical field at all. I never wanted to know this stuff. I wish I didn't. I couldn't even watch whenever the "grandfather" was in the shot... I had to hold up my hand to block my view of him. I wrote a poem once, called, "What I Wish I Didn't Know." I was young and emo and it was about a guy whom I had had a crush on, and it listed off all sorts of things about him that I felt like I'd wasted my brain space remembering- his likes and dislikes, hopes and dreams, ect. I have so much more to put into a poem now... So much more I wish I didn't know, but am not sure I'll ever forget.  And it's way way heavier than the name of some guy's car. I don't want to list the things though... because I don't want to make you cry... I don't want to force that burden on someone who can't handle it. Gosh, ABC Family shows are just landmines. My memories are landmines. I just never know when something will trigger an explosion.

Talking about poetry has made me go look through some old stuff that I wrote when I was in High school and college... and two poems seemed especially apt tonight so I'll transcribe them for you... Though I admit I'm going to edit/ add a final line to the first one:

The Cry

The cry from my heart
can't be matched
by a fleshly wound
or an audible wail

I've hurt
I still hurt
I will hurt

And the nothingness never comes
I can't make myself go numb
not on the inside
I already tried

I've hurt
I still hurt
I will hurt

But that doesn't mean I should give up.



The Love of My Life

Deeper than the depths can fathom
Longer than eternity's distance
Greater than all this world can know
is the love I hold for you

Nothing will ever end it
You need never doubt it
For even before you knew life
I knew and loved you

I will carry you in sadness
and with your joy shall be mine
there is nothing that I need from you
But if you choose, to love me too

You don't have to be weak
Because I'll be here for strength
Draw what you need from me
You are the Love of my life