These Articulations

Seasons, seasons, seasons

Wed, 09 Nov 2011 22:48:36 -0500

After turning back the clocks for the winter, it always takes me by surprise how much I like having it get dark earlier. Perhaps it’s because I tend to find comfort in the darkness and that turning down the shades and flicking on the light switch allows me to focus more, to be more productive. But I think it’s much simpler, much subtler.

For the past few days I’ve returned to my room from class in the late afternoon. The sun is lower in the sky as I’m walking back, and once I finally unlock my door, I see it—the golden rays of the sun spilling through my window over my white bedding. It’s a rather simple sight, and perhaps one that is not unique, but it always seems more pronounced in fall and winter.

It will be getting cold again soon, as the last few chilly nights have promised, and I feel quite alright about this. I always miss winter, but I think I miss it the most right before it gets here. Until then, I’m content to watch the last leaves fall.

Gaining an hour while you're already far behind

Sun, 06 Nov 2011 20:53:05 -0500

I’ve always loved the idea of daylight savings time, of watching the clocks fall backwards and gaining what we so often long for—more time. Lately, this is something I’ve been wishing I could have a lot more of, because pages can not be read or pages written or sleeping accomplished within the too few hours of a single day.

I’ve been behind, lately, and it’s a difficult thing to carry. I’m too often going to sleep with things left unfinished, things left open and festering in my mind while I try to sleep. Once I eventually wake, my eyes too tired, the dark shadows of stubborn mascara shows me I can not even wash completely the previous day away.

But then there are good moments, also. There is one moment that I can think of in the way I used to revisit old memories, one that holds so much possibility that it almost feels as though my heart might burst with the keeping of it. When there is someone to listen, you want to speak, speak, speak—and just as strongly, to hear, hear, hear.

My cough drop wrapper appears to be very confident that...

Sat, 05 Nov 2011 13:55:00 -0400

My cough drop wrapper appears to be very confident that I’ll get a lot of work done today. …I hope it’s right!

Left: Lilia by Carolus Duran / Right: drawing by Egon...

Wed, 02 Nov 2011 14:48:56 -0400

Left: Lilia by Carolus Duran / Right: drawing by Egon Schiele

Amazing.

When I’m home from school and wake up in my own bed, this...

Tue, 01 Nov 2011 16:58:00 -0400

When I’m home from school and wake up in my own bed, this is one of the first things I see—the shadows of leaves brushing against the window behind the blinds. This is one of the things I miss when I’m at school, where there are black-out blinds and the first moments of the morning are inevitably dark. One day, I would like my bedroom to have lace curtains—the delicate kind—so that the morning light can filter throughout the room in patterns. I think it would be a nice and quiet way to start the day.

The purple gown from Halloween's past

Mon, 31 Oct 2011 20:33:32 -0400

I used to dress up for Halloween as a little girl. It was something I looked forward to. A lot of costume catalogs came to my house, and I remember my sister and I used to flip through them in order to pick our favorites as well as laugh at the sillier ones. I always came back to the catalogs when I was on my own, flipping again through the pages and thinking of all of the things I could pretend to be while wearing the various costumes.

One year I did actually order a costume from one of these catalogs—my mom sent an order form away and in the beginning of October it arrived in the mail—a dark purple “Renaissance Lady” gown. I tried it on almost immediately, and tried it on many days afterwards, both leading up to and following the actual night of Halloween. The sleeves were open around my wrists and the fabric flowed nicely as I walked around my room, the skirt just long enough to brush the ground but not enough for me to step on or trip over. I also remember the headpiece that came with the costume, the one I wore with my then obnoxiously-long hair left to fall over my soldiers.

Halloween gives you a night, or as many moments in which you try on your costume, to become something else—perhaps someone else—until you come back to empty your pillowcase of candy and eventually settle into a reality perhaps marked by a sugar rush. I’ve always liked this idea of Halloween, and thinking about it now, I wouldn’t mind having another opportunity to walk around my room in that purple gown.

It’s only a few days before Halloween, and already...

Sat, 29 Oct 2011 13:36:00 -0400

It’s only a few days before Halloween, and already it’s snowing. The flakes are the fluffy kind, the kind that stick to your hair and coat and only melt once you’ve come out of the cold. This is my favorite kind of snow—and it’s here early. So early that the leaves are still colorful, colorful enough to compliment the whiteness. It really is beautiful (and is making want to drink some hot chocolate…)!

awritersruminations: Happy birthday Sylvia Plath (October 27,...

Thu, 27 Oct 2011 21:18:54 -0400

awritersruminations:

Happy birthday Sylvia Plath (October 27, 1932 - February 11, 1963)

I’ve been seeing a lot of different articles about Vincent...

Wed, 26 Oct 2011 22:25:23 -0400

I’ve been seeing a lot of different articles about Vincent Van Gogh, which is particularly interesting to me because I’ve always found his life, personality and art to be so interesting. I remember coming across this song sometime last year and it quickly became a song that comforted me, that could calm down my nerves. In case you haven’t heard it before, I think it’s worth a listen.

“But I could have told you, Vincent, this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you…”

I used to do things, and maybe I still do

Wed, 26 Oct 2011 21:40:46 -0400

I’ve always been shy, but when I was younger, it appears that this never really held me back. For example, some of my earliest memories are from pre-school, in which I often chose to hide in the dress-up bin if I decided the story one of the teachers was reading to the class was too “boring.” In my early years of elementary school, I always tried to set up play-dates with the kids I talked to and tried to ignore the obvious indication that most of these kids thought I was a weirdo. In first or second grade, I signed myself up for the school talent show (before I had even vaguely considered whether or not I actually had any talent to display). I remember coming home from school, telling my mom about my latest decision, and brainstorming with her until we finally came up with my “talent”—hula dancing. I of course do understand that there is some talent required for this, but I most certainly did not have it. I wore a too-big Hawaiian shirt and a hula skirt left over from a Halloween clearance rack tied loosely around my waist. For approximately two minutes, I stood on stage and did literally nothing but smile and sway and wave my wingers while a Beach Boys song played much too loudly. I actually watched a VHS of this night that I found while my family moved out of our old house, and let me assure you—it was bad.

But then I grew up a bit, too. In sixth grade I wrote a poem and submitted it to a children’s poetry anthology, and it was actually published—something I actually felt proud of myself for. By seventh grade, my grades had allowed me into my middle school’s chapter of the National Junior Honor Society and I ran for president. For a whole week I wrote and constantly rehearsed a speech, gave it, and was actually voted into “office” by the twenty-something twelve year olds, the majority of which had rarely ever heard my voice.

Needless to say, I started growing into the person I am today—someone who loves what she studies, but through shyness, is not always very good at sharing this love with people. However, for a lot of reasons, I feel like this is just fine.

Over the summer a friend of mine had a picnic in which she introduced her new boyfriend to me and a couple of friends she knew from work, in which proceeding conversations I became referred to simply as “the quiet smart one.” Naturally, I found this very annoying, but wouldn’t have let it get to me were it not for the particular comments one of her co-workers made to me as the night went on. Basically, he repeatedly made it known to me that he believed an education in English Literature was utterly useless and pretentious because, after all, “what does all that stuff Shakespeare wrote really have to do with anything that matters?”

My answer to that is perhaps best suited to another post, but what is relevant is what this comment really meant to me. It came from a guy who attended a career institute for college in a field that has allowed him to acquire a practical job very soon after graduation. In my opinion, no part of this decision was a bad one. Not everyone wants to delve into academic study, especially in the humanities where the majority of disciplines are largely perceived as “impractical.” But, to me, if you are someone, like myself, to whom these things are important, they do matter.

All in all, I perhaps do not fit the mold of a “practical” person—I have tried too hard in making friends, have embarrassed myself in an obnoxious hula skirt, have become a person that no longer chooses to hide in dress-up bins when things don’t go my way. Maybe I can be “the quiet smart one,” but I can take comfort in knowing that the things I study and the things I am working for are things that I believe in. I guess, in that sense, maybe I AM doing things—things much more practical than signing up for talent shows without a talent.

"She always had the feeling that it was very, very, dangerous to live even one day"

Wed, 26 Oct 2011 01:33:37 -0400

Lately, I’ve been staying in bed until the last possible moment, fitfully tossing and turning under my covers while the alarm blares defiantly. My subsequent showers have been either too hot or too cold, my skin scalding or shivering, and more often than not I’ve arrived wherever it was I was going a few minutes late—with damp hair. I have novels and articles and plays I need to be reading, but the pages are piling up and my eyelids have been growing tired. There’s so much to worry about, so much about which I’m unsure.

But then, of course, there’s the colder weather that finally seems to be here to stay. There is something lovely about wearing jackets and scarves again; something comforting about the shivers that pass through my bones every now and then. There is the hope of conversation, of the air’s chill and the leaves’ promises to fall. There are pages still to be read, and pages still for me to write. Here’s to hoping I can set something down to paper.

Some photographs from the past few days: Finishing up Evelyn...

Tue, 25 Oct 2011 21:24:00 -0400

Some photographs from the past few days: Finishing up Evelyn Waugh’s A Handful of Dust, delicious wild blueberry muffins that I was previously unaware my school sold, the beginning pages of Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day, and perhaps most importantly, friendly words from my tea bag while studying for a Shakespeare exam.

fancyismymiddlename: Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds- “Red Right...

Tue, 25 Oct 2011 21:15:52 -0400

fancyismymiddlename:

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds- “Red Right Hand”

Halloween is a comin’ my friends. It’s time to set the mood.

This is particularly fitting song for a particularly chilly October night.

"To sleep; perchance to dream"

Sat, 22 Oct 2011 18:58:52 -0400

One of these days I’ll learn not to set alarms for myself on Saturday mornings with nowhere to go. This morning, the familiar ringing awoke me only long enough to turn off the alarm before falling back into a partial sleep. Part of me, however, is convinced that the reason I continue to set these alarms, Saturday morning after Saturday morning, is for this exact purpose—being able to doze between dream and reality without any concrete obligations to force me out of bed.

This morning, I allowed myself to stay in bed for nearly an hour, willing the dream I had been having to continue while I pulled the duvet up closer to my chin. It wasn’t a particularly spectacular dream, nor was it notably strange, but it was engaging in that I felt a certain happiness within it. I was interested in the people that surrounded me, and they in me, and somewhere within my unconsciousness a certain loneliness had dissolved.

I always find it nearly disorienting to shower, dress, and prepare for the day after such dreams. While my hair grows heavy with water and my skin later dries, something stays with me of the visions that were so lately near to being real. A dream can stay with me for the day, can linger in the quotidian monotony. And, perhaps strangely, this lingering can become the most memorable aspect of my time spent awake.

I haven’t posted a picture in a while…so here is...

Fri, 21 Oct 2011 17:14:00 -0400

I haven’t posted a picture in a while…so here is Mrs. Dalloway and a first draft of my paper! Also, I really do love how peacefully quiet it is in the library on a Friday evening.

The week is almost over

Fri, 21 Oct 2011 16:25:27 -0400

It’s Friday afternoon and I’m finishing writing a paper that’s due at midnight, and It’s strange to realize that what has been an incredibly stressful week is coming to a close. In between paper writing, two midterm exams, a stomach virus, and general stress, I’ve had an interesting past few days.

So, while I’m procrastinating on writing my paper, here’s a list:

I miss sick days. When I was sick this week I kept thinking back to high school, when it was possible to have your parent call the school so that you could stay home, get well, and put school work on hold for a few days. In college, it’s not so easy. Of course, you can choose not to attend your classes (which is what I did one day this week), but it’s not quite the same. Especially when you have midterms to study for and are quite stressed out.
I kept on thinking about what I believe was either my sophomore or junior year in high school, when I got the flu and ended up being home from school for a week. The first few days home I was incredibly worried about all of the work I was missing, but as the week progressed, I started to allow myself to relax a bit more. I watched a lot of episodes of sitcoms on television, ate a lot of soup, and allowed myself to get enough sleep. Even though I admittedly felt like crap, it ended up being a strangely refreshing week. Also, when you’re sick, it’s nice to be around your family. It makes things much, much nicer.
It’s hard for me to write academically about novels that I’m passionate about. I’m currently writing a paper on Mrs. Dalloway and, for some reason, I can’t seem to properly articulate what I really want to say. I’m already nearly over the page limit and not nearly finished, so I’ve got a fair amount of editing ahead. But even so, I don’t feel like I’m really making any sense. Hopefully I’ll have better luck once I stop writing this and really get to work.
It really is the little things. Last night a friend from class texted me to ask how my midterm exams had gone, since he knew how stressed out I had been all week. He even wished me luck on my paper. These types of things are usually rare for me, and I don’t think he knows how much I appreciated that, but it really made all the difference and I’m so grateful for the encouragement.

egonschiele: Design for a postcard 1911 Egon Schiele

Fri, 21 Oct 2011 16:06:24 -0400

egonschiele:

Design for a postcard
1911 Egon Schiele

cordisre: venial (di matthewheptinstall) Photographs like...

Fri, 21 Oct 2011 13:55:10 -0400

cordisre:

venial (di matthewheptinstall)

Photographs like these make me long to travel.

On the difficulty of saying hello

Mon, 17 Oct 2011 21:12:02 -0400

Last night I sat in the dining hall alone, eating dinner and taking sips of soda while I alternated between staring out of the window and at my plate. I always feel so self conscious when I am eating alone—I am aware of the plastic fabric of the booth against my legs and back, of every person walking by, of how long it takes me to chew and swallow each and every bite.

While I am so aware, it is not very often that anyone else appears to be very aware of me.

However, last night a boy sat down at the booth adjoining mine, so that we could both see each other very clearly from where we were sitting. Not wanting him to feel like I was watching him, I was careful to direct my gaze to the window, and was therefore unaware that he was watching me. Nearly each of the times that I did look over, he was looking directly at me, and did not drop his gaze until long after eye contact had been made.

There are, of course, numerous explanations for why this boy would be watching me—perhaps he was curious as to why I was alone also, or simply is someone who is very interested in watching other people (as I tend to be as well). But still, there is something so nice in feeling like you were, for once, the one being watched.

These are the times I wish that I was the type of person that could easily say hello.

Well, as you can see, I spent most of the weekend reading (and...

Mon, 17 Oct 2011 20:51:08 -0400

Saturday October 15, 2011

Sunday October 16, 2011

Monday October 17, 2011

Well, as you can see, I spent most of the weekend reading (and receiving advice from my tea bags)!