Today was a Walt Whitman day.
I leaned and loafed
and smiled
and ate and
tried to forget about the semester that refuses to remove its claws.
I checked to see if grades were online about a thousand times.
When I imagined peacing out to this semester, I thought the break would be a lot cleaner.
But I'm still tense
and furrowed.
Tomorrow will be an Emily Dickinson day.
Meticulously, I will read books.
Wrestle with rhetoric.
(It's epistemic, have you heard?)
I'm still waiting for the fog to clear
and when it does--
I will read books
and smile at strangers
and bake cookies
and finally clean my room
and drink mojitos on the beach
and probably miss you terribly.
"I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loaf and invite my soul,
I lean and loaf at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, formed from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same."
It's late. I'm sick.
(The expression sicker than a dog makes no sense to me. My dog has never been very sick.)
Anyway, there are exactly 11 factors that work in conjunction with each other to create this sad state I'm in.
My sickness: coughy, sneezy, sleepy, achey kind.
The syfy marathon I watched because I couldn't find the remote. (Leprachans, something about vampires, Wrong Turn 2, Joy Ride 2, The Grudge 3)
I've never seen the first ones of any of those movie, but no worries, I had no trouble understanding these B-listers.
This girl specifically is freaking me out.
5. Yep, TOTALLY FREAKIN OUT.
6. SLEEPY SLEEPY SLEEPY.
7. I realize this isn't cohesive.
8. But I'm probably going to be murdered by a fictional character.
that moment when I'm washing my face before bed and there's soap and water on my eyelids so I can't quite open them; but I tilt my head up to face the mirror, reach for my towel, and dry off my face. For that instant before I open my eyes, anything can happen. There could be an axe murderer right behind me that I won't notice until I see him in our reflection. The electricity could have gone off and I could open my eyes to complete darkness. Or I might just see a clean but drippy hair-shoved-back version of my face.
Either way, I love that I open my eyes not knowing.
Thailand or elsewhere? Internship or no internship? Making money or going broke? Last week I “Lost money, chose life” (RE: skipped class) But now I’m wondering where else the phrase is applicable. Do I spend all the money I have and go to Thailand. Or do I save those monies for the rent I’ll soon be paying? Why does it feel so selfish to want to go volunteer for a few months? Why is it so expensive to do said volunteering?
Over the last week or so, these four ribbons have found their way into my possession.
One was handed to me as I walked in to see Angels in America.
The second was given to me at a vigil for the students we’ve lost to drugs and alcohol.
The third came to me by way of a lonely stranger.
I found the fourth one tucked into one of my text books.
Angels in America reacquainted me with the terror and tragedy of AIDS. In high school I was passionate and informed and then it was like I just…forgot. Like everyone forgot.
How cruel is that? Now I’m terrified, I’m furious, I’m sick to my stomach and I’m wondering what I can do. What we can do.
…
Today while working the desk some guys started shouting across the lobby.
“I got blackout drunk last night and apparently banged some chick I met a Ty’s house.”
“Dude, it’s always awesome when your friends have to tell you what you were doing last night.”
…
A friend of mine from freshman year dated her boyfriend for two years. Then she found out she had HPV. Now she regularly has to go to the OBGYN to get cancerous cells scraped off her uterus.
…
It’s estimated that one in 4 people have an STD. Does this mean that you refuse to have a relationship with someone who’s had multiple partners in the past?
Is the only safety celibacy?
What about the people who don’t have a choice?
I don't know what to do. Tell me and I'll do it. Give me a way to help. Give me solutions, advice, answers, reasons, justifications, consolations and I'll give my time, my dedication, my heart, and my hand to hold.
AIDS shakes the planet like it’s a snow globe. You’re either infected or affected.
I changed my major? I dropped out of school? I brought my dog to live in my room? I just decided to spend the next few days at home? I lived in a tent for the whole summer? I never wore pants again? I decided NOT to be a teacher? I taught kids? I was never seen or heard from again? I hugged a polar bear? I stopped thinking about I? I told you I loved you?
Dilemma: I have to read all three of these by Tuesday.
Problem 1: I have the reading comprehension of a math major.
Problem 2: My ability to stay awake is like that of a toddler on a 2 hour car ride.
Weapon of Choice: Bent, scratched up, reading glasses and caffeine.
Plan: Read one book until I start zoning out or my eyes get gloopy and then BAM!! I switch! And like magic, I'm refreshed and able to read for hours more and before I know it, these books will just be faded notches in my bedpost.
(Something a good friend taught me last year: there is no such thing as a bad day, only a challenging one.)
And when my life is challenging, I turn into a huge complainer and adopt this terrible dementor attitude. I suck the happiness out of the atmosphere. I’m anti-sunshine. Ranting and raving and complaining. It’s how I cope.
However, my current challenges are sensitive. Meaning ranting, raving, and complaining are not allowed to be processes externally.
So I’m going to emphasize positives:
My three-hour desk shift today was awesome. I got to really thouroughly read about the teaching strategies I’ll be implementing with the kindergarteners Friday.
My mom is nice.
I got an 8 minute nap!
I’m surrounded by the most brilliant, supportive, accommodating, beautiful people on the planet.
At the end of every day, no matter how difficult it is to get through, I always get to go to bed.
I needed that textbook YESTERDAY. So here I am, textbookless, about to fail a pop quiz all because you couldn't do one teeny tiny thing for me. You're just hoarding all this priceless knowledge so you can watch me be a failure and laugh in your little white van . Well Guess what FedEx, I am not going to take it anymore! No I'm finished with you and this emotional abuse. When you do finally bring me my textbook, which will have been rendered useless and outdated because I'll be a THOUSAND YEARS OLD BY THEN, I'm just going to chuck it back in your face.
Once, when we were about 5, my cousin and I tricked Violet, our Jamaican nanny, into thinking we got kidnapped. We covered the bedroom in muddy footprints and climbed out the window. It turned into a big snafu and was just a generally unpleasant experience. Especially for Violet. She was a wreck and I was the one responsible for wreaking havoc on her undeserving nerves. Thinking of this makes me feel the kind of guilty that sticks to my bones and makes my stomach feel like a volcano. I still think of her and what I would say to her if I ever see her again. I think I would start with I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for being a terror who considered no ones feelings but her own.
The train to Edinburgh was smooth. We sailed through Scotland’s rolling hills and grazing sheep effortlessly with the graying sky as our backdrop. Night one, we decided (Dennis, Lindsey, and me), was either for pub hopping or ghost hunting. We decided to compromise and go for both.
Edinburgh is known as one of the most haunted places on the planet. Its history is rich with centuries of death, torture and suffering. We decided to join a terror tour. Not one of the ones peppered with corny tour-guide jokes with cheap scares and silly stories. We decided to go on the tour that started long after the nighttime fog had settled around the gothic castle towering over the city and the pubs were starting to close.
I downed my gin like I’d been doing it for years and set off, certain that the terror the tour promised would be lost on this horror movie enthusiast.
We walked the streets, shuffled through the red light district and stopped on a staircase while we learned about some of the more gruesome history of Edinburgh’s past. The witch burnings.
Our guide asked me to stand up on the steps above the crowd. I took Lindsey with me. Said she wanted to use me as an example.
There were three things they looked for in a woman they wanted to see burn.
The first being red hair. (Really, red hair always gets me in trouble)
The second was a birthmark, where satan marked her in the womb. (I tugged my sleeve over my birthmarked forearm)
The third was that she didn’t bleed. (I thought of getting my nose pierced and finger pricked at blood donation stations and how my blood hesitates to flow)
It’s intriguing that such a far away fragment of Scotland’s vast history is so present in its citizen’s minds today. I had dozens of witch comments while I was there.
One of the last stops on our tour was the underground vaults. These are the rooms that are supposed to be the most haunted in the world. Knowing the power of suggestion, our tourguide lead us through the vaults, letting us experience each one before asking how we felt in them and explaining what happened there.
I thought most of it was rubbish. Except the last room. Women weren’t supposed to go in this room because of all the negative things that happened in it, but they just say that stuff to scare you, right?
When I walked in, I had the overwhelming urge to cry. As I stood there, I started to feel tugs on my shirt and brushes on my hands. A few minutes later, as I was about to leave my knees buckled and I fell to the ground. When I went to stand up, my shoulders were forced down. It was terrifying.
In the hallway, Lindsey pointed out the scratches on my neck.
Dozens of people have died in that room. The first was a group of families who were cooked alive after being locked in the vault during a fire. The men, instead of watching their wives and children burn to death, slit their throats. The tugs visitors feel are apparently the children looking for their moms, and the urge to cry is the sadness they felt.
The second string of deaths in that room occurred when a merchant rented it out. The vault served as his clandestine location for raping and murdering red headed women. (lame)
I love Ghostbusters and I love scary movies, but I’ve never put a lot of stock into the supernatural. But I know that there is energy inside of us. Electricity in our neural synapses. And Mr. Cassity taught me in physics that energy cannot be created or destroyed, only changed. So what happens to that energy when we die? Wouldn’t it make sense that in areas with high concentrations of deaths in a small amount of time, that lingering energy would pool together?
It sounds logical. I like logical. I don’t know what happened in those underground vaults, but I know that regardless of whether the ghosts were in my head or real, I was afraid. Did I really need to be? Probably not. But fearing the unknown is quite the human reaction to unexplainable occurrences.
I spent last Thursday in Stratford-Upon-Avon, the famed birthplace of Shakespeare. I wasn’t crazy about this place, and I think it shows in the photos. I got to see the house Will Shake was born in and his grave, but the whole time there was a “So what?” floating around my head. I did wonder around a pretty awesome cemetery and my vegie burger at the Dirty Duck was top notch.
We saw the Royal Shakespeare Company’s Romeo and Juliet. If you know me, then you know that I strongly dislike this particular play. The theater was really interesting and I snapped a few contraband photos. Our seats were raised off the ground so far that the only place for our feet was the bar in front of us and we had to lean forward to see the play. This got quite uncomfortable by the time the three hour play wrapped up. I was a little confused as to why Romeo and Juliet were dressed like modern day punks while the rest of the cast was dressed in traditional Elizabethan garb until the end when it was switched. I’m sure there’s some sort of symbolism involved but it was distracting and they never quite gave the audience enough to fully convey the message they were going for. All that being said, this was the first time I actually enjoyed Romeo and Juliet.
So in the end, Stratford was full of tourists and lackluster souvenir shops. It’s not likely I’ll ever make a return trip, but I did have a delightful mint chocolate chip ice cream cone.
When I was in London as the daylight was waning and my energy was quickly retreating, one of the last spots we wanted to hit was the London Bridge, if only just to sing that song on it. . .
So after venturing out of the underground tube station we started searching for the bridge. We didn’t want to ask locals because we were tired and we’d spent all day asking locals questions. Plus, all the surrounding buildings clued us in on its close proximity (London Bridge Hospital, London Bridge Ice Cream…) .
Eventually our brains registered that we’d been on the bridge since exiting the tube. While the other sites we saw that day were rushed and packed with tourists, the bridge was serene. I didn’t hear the traffic or the chatter. I felt the air coming off the Thames; I felt the sunlight sneaking under the horizon behind me, and the wind blowing my hair into my face. . .
Lindsey, Laura, and I stood on that bridge until it was empty and we started to shiver. We’d only been in Europe for four days and we’d decided to take on one of its biggest cities with little planning or safety nets cushion our experience. At that point, we weren’t even sure how we were going to make it back to our Worcester home three hours away. . .
Until that moment, in that breeze on the bridge, it hadn’t felt like I’d gone anywhere despite all the hours I’d spent on buses, trains, planes and coaches. We’d been so wrapped up in following our maps, reading street signs, and looking for the things we’d only seen on postcards that we’d forgotten to look up and realize where we were.
That is, until Lindsey turns to us, smiles and proclaims, “We’re Here! We. Are. Here.” Following this she launches into one of her famous rambling diatribes about tutor history and what not… . .
It was then that despite my lingering jet lag, my tired feet and growling stomach, I knew that this trip wasn’t about seeing all the famous places I could or buying I-heart- London t-shirts, it was about collecting experiences in places I don’t know with people I’ve just met.
. .
My reaction was delayed, but I didn’t react eventually.
I am comfy, tucked in my bed, bundled up, and ready to not move any more for a long time. I’m fighting sleep after a long day, so just ignore my inevitable grammar mistakes. J
Thursday I spent the day exploring the city of Worcester and I have to say, I couldn’t be happier that it’s my hub while I’m spending my time here. It’s got such a rich history. The British civil war was fought here. In fact, some of the buildings on campus were hospitals during the war. (I hope they’re haunted, I’ll investigate later and report back)
We started the day with the cathedral. I wasn’t too hyped up about it, but once I got there, the vaulted ceilings, stained glass and raunchy tour guide really struck a cord. I loved it. The cathedral is over a thousand years old and it’s the same one King Charles camped out in during the civil war. We went to the library where a jittery librarian in white gloves showed us some literary masterpieces including a hymnal written by the monks at the cathedral over 500 years ago. It’s the only copy that survived the book burnings. We weren’t allowed to touch. I poked.
Also in the library were books with century old doodles in the margins, illustrations made from crushed rubies, King John’s thumb bone and some skin (still confused).
We got the opportunity to climb to the tower and see an amazing view of the city of Worcester. It was an arduous climb with the suffocating, narrow space and vertical staircase (I’m pretty sure the lit professor behind me could see up my skirt the whole time.)
But the time we reached the top, I realized that my camera was dead. (Grrr!) but I was kind of glad. So much of traveling is spent trying to take the perfect photo and capture every moment. Not enough time is spent really experiencing the places you go. So I just got to focus my day on everything I was seeing and learning instead of lugging out my camera every time I saw something cool.
After that we headed for tea with the mayor at the Guild Hall. He was funny and reminded me of my Grandpa Pridemore, but he had a sword. He said he’d actually heard of Arcanum, Ohio, but I’m skeptical.
I ate pork chops at a fancy fancy restaurant where King Charles II hung out. I have no idea why I ate pork chops because that is not something I’d normally go for…but it was awesome.
I had no idea that this town I’m staying in was so instrumental in English history, but it’s also got the bustle of being a modern city and I love that it’s not overrun by tourists. I can just go through a stroll in the city center and be surrounded by locals, history, and good tea.
Photos soon.
On another note, the weather here is finally becoming the English weather I’d been expecting. Howling winds, cooler temps, overcast…I love it.
We departed for the train station at 7:30 in the morning where we took a train to oxford then a bus, and then another train (where we were sneaky and sat in First Class) before we stepped foot in London. Our first stop was Hyde Park (which is amazing) where we dropped Lauren off for her Paul McCartney concert.
Then it was just me, Lindsey, Laura, and all of London. We took in some sights (Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, London Bridge, Big Ben) and ate lunch at a nearly deserted underground pub as we could hear the cheers and cries of fans as England lost the football game.
The tube was our friend in the vast city and navigating was fun/frustrating.
Standing on London Bridge looking out at the Thames and the Tower of London was a surreal moment. The water, the wind, the wonderful people. The history of the area. It was breathtaking.
We walked through the kind of parks that have peppered with people lounging in the shade surrounded by masses of green loveliness. I would live in Green Park if it were legal.
We made it back to Hyde Park around 9 to hear some of Paul’s set and I’ve got to say, there is nothing in the world like standing with your friends listening to an original Beetle sing Let it Be as the sun sets on London.
It wasn’t long after a trillion encores and fireworks that it was dark and there were people literally lurking in the shadows. As the nighttime chill set in and my surrounding started to sink into obscurity, I realized just how unfamiliar I was with the area and it was a tad disconcerting.
By the time Lauren met back up with us throngs of concert goers were pouring out of the gates and we realized we had mere minutes to get halfway across town to catch the last train home.
We had to clutch hands so we wouldn’t loose track of each other in the crowd as we sprinted to the tube. Despite our exhaustion, we ran faster and longer than we ever thought we could.
My watch said 11 and my adrenal glad said panic. What if we didn’t make it back? Would we find a hostel? Sleep in the police station? Get kidnapped by human traffickers?
After a tube ride with one transfer, we finally made it to the train station where British Mr. Rogers giggled and told us our open return tickets were no longer valid. So we had to fork over an obscene number of pounds to get on a train we had previously been assured we’d already paid for. And I’m pretty sure Mr. Rogers made the process last eons longer than necessary.
We ended up hopping on the train with only seconds to spare (ok, that might be a tiny exaggeration, it could have been a minute or two) and making it back to Birmingham at 1:30 in the morning….Where we had to take a cab for an hour to actually get back to our flats. Our hurried footsteps echoed in the empty train station and I tried not to notice the caution tape around the exit door with bullet holes as we went outside to the taxi queue and climbed into a cab with a driver who slurred his speech, drove on the shoulder a little two much and had no idea how to get us home.
With guidance from us we made it back to our flats at 2:30…about 19 hours after our little adventure began.
We’ll see how my return trip in a couple weeks turns out.
I know I suck at this whole blogging/keeping you updated thing, but hey, things are wonky here.
Voltage/ outlet differences complicate my life in ways you can only imagine. (dramatized)
I had an awesome day in the city today. There was a festival with cool booths set up and it was really cool. I got to hear street music, see a smelly man juggling fire, and do some crazy line dancing with costumed old ladies. Fun.
It’s shocking how contagious the accents are. Seriously, I’m worried about coming back with one.
Travel plans are falling into place. Things are expensive and I wish I had more time, but I’m really starting to love where I am.
Tomorrow, I meet London.
Oh, and in case you were wondering, subway is just as tasty in Worcester, England.
2. The plane I took from Indy to New Jersey had to stop in the middle of take off because one of the auxiliary engines failed.
3. I got a sweet window seat though so it was ok.
4. In Newark we were stuck on the plane, that wasn’t moving at all, for over three hours.
5. The Statue of Liberty and Empire State building were right outside my window. That was neat.
6. For some reason, I had to sit really far away from the rest of my group.
7. I sat with these English folk instead. John and Nyphma.
8. They were cool, they taught me how to play fun card games. Nyphma hugged me in the terminal as we departed. It was sweet.
9. Sleepy.
10. I got a sweet window seat again!
11. When I got up in the middle of the night an Irish man walked by me at the back of the plane and said “Hey it’s the girl from 24F” I’m really confused as to how he knew my seat number.
12. We flew through giant, beautiful white clouds while lightning was flickering within them. It was amazing.
13. Security makes me nervous and the customs man was very mean.
14. My flat is really cool.
15. Except the water is apparently not safe to drink.
16. I am battling sleep in an attempt to defeat jetlag!
Cody Davis is a funny and talented human being and I’m glad that he associates with the likes of me.
How can Mr. God be both Just and Merciful at the same time? What is justice? And what of Mercy?
Why did it surprise my friends when I said I identified as Christian? Am I a Christian? (Some days I say no. Some days I say yes. Some days I say what’s that)
I have the utmost amount of respect and admiration for those who create something and have the balls to show it to the rest of the world.
More courage than I will ever have. I think that to be unguarded must be to be free.
But what the fuck does that mean?At the White River
If I say “Can you pass the salt?” You hand me salt. If I say “Can you run 50 miles?” You don’t start running.
I have chiggers. They itch.They are crawling all over me.
Today I feel smart. Today I feel capable. Today I feel worthwhile.
