one single camera

Today has been fall. Yesterday was, too. And Sunday was almost there. We sat in an old crumbly cemetery that afternoon and read headstones with names "Temperance" engraved on them, and the afternoon light was lovely in the trees and it smelled like October.

As if that wasn't enough, I discovered that the dark and slightly creepy Kroger has a kid's cookie club. And that changed my opinion of them right then and there, as I inhaled a double chocolate cookie in the dairy aisle. Tuesday = success.

*****

And now I have a cast. On my arm. It is brightneonhotglaring pink and reaches past my elbow, halfway to my shoulder. We have had a tumultuous relationship. It went like this.

The first day was a mix of fascination and wonderings. This is strange. I have a cast. Can I drive? Oooh, people can write on it. How will I wash my hair?

Then, that night, I woke up. Not once, but several times. As I remember, there were tears and helpless flailings of the casted arm against a pillow. Everything was sad and miserable. The next few days were continuations of this theme. I cycled from frustrated discomfort ("dangit, this is awkward") to claustrophobic rage (GET IT OFF MY ARM GET IT OFF GETITOFFFFF) to fetal position whimpers (help,please,mama,help).

But now, though it is an annoyance and have the feeling that my elbow will be really sore in a week or so, I have grown accustomed to it. Hours pass and I forget that I have a Neon Barbie Robot arm. Sometimes it feels almost comfortable, familiar. And then I freak out. What is this, Stockholm Syndrome?

*****

This weekend was good and needed. Michael came to visit, and we ate Chinese food and walked through downtown (which took 10 minutes) and watched movies and most of all it was good to see him, his real live self, not the skype-pixelated version. Deborah and Evan also came and spent Saturday night, and introduced us to a place with good scones and coffee. They are fun and delightful, and we had fun and delightful conversation.

And now I just want to run off and live in the mountains by a lake, with all my friends and lots of s'mores supplies and my dog. Who's with me?

Categorized, for your convenience

Injuries Sustained Since Moving to the Flatlands

-one knuckle cut. Cause: the sinister ice maker that makes and makes and makes and in trying to empty it I cut my finger. On ice.

-one sprained wrist. Cause: flip-flops and rain. I should have known better. Prognosis: After a brace and 2 weeks - it still hurts.

-one near miss: on the English building stairs, when I took a flying leap over 2 stairs. Ankle breakage avoided.

-one bruised eye socket bone: from hitting my face on a chair when I bent down to pick up a bag.

-one sore shoulder: from walking into a doorframe.

Prognosis: send bubble wrap, please. I will be swathing myself in it from now on.

Today, Thursday, or Thor's Day, or the Day Almost as Happy as Friday

-I had eggs+onions+cheese and toast for supper. And hot cocoa after. It was simple. It was good.

-I got to leave at 1:30 instead of 4 because of televised SEC football on campus. Sometimes I like this big state school thing.

-grading papers=my life

-research and writing=my life

-avoiding grading and research in favor of 1.5 hour walks=my life

Continuum

-I've been steadily working on poems, a little or a lot, but every day. Writing routines are good.

-There's a frog that lives in the mossy water run-off area by our door. He's adorable. Clever roommate named him Sean. We're going to make him a house. Soon to follow: best-selling children's book, A House for Sean. Who needs grad school?

-I'm almost tired of peanut butter. And even beans and rice. Can one girl live on cereal alone?

living the grit

I have had a revelation. Would you like to know?

Grad school is a job.

(Maybe I should've been clued in by a tuition waiver and stipend. Or the fact that people talk about grad students not having a life. Or the prospect of teaching fourteen fresh-faced teenagers. Or . . . ).

Do I have to come back? It's just that the loneliness and stress are hitting and I know they said this would be hard, but - well. I guess these are the adulthood growing pains.

And I will say this: I know the best is not past, and much good is ahead.

It just feels a little dreary right now.

*****

What makes it all harder to return to is that I just had 4 days off. Which were marvelous. I spent them with my favorite guy, and we went to used bookstores and watched good movies and hiked and talked and ate ice cream. And I didn't think about school work at all. In fact, I think I sort of forgot all about it for a while.

It's good to be with people who make you laugh.

*****

And it's strange, because of all the people I miss I think my mom is maybe at the top a lot of the time. I remember the little kid needing-mommy feeling, but this is a different take on it. But the older I get, the closer I feel to my mother, and the more I need her. I need to cook with her and watch the way she slices cantaloupe. I need to show her decorating pictures from Southern Living. I need to go to Macy's with her and hit up the sales. I need to sit on her bed after lunch while she reads and absorb all her stories about boys and friends and God and the after-college years so I'll know that life goes on.

Most of all, I need to absorb her kindness and joy and love. Because she is my mother and the only way I know of being a woman and something about being her daughter roots me and if she thinks I'm doing ok, well then maybe I am ok.

Wendy: What about your mother?

Peter Pan: Haven't got a mother.

Wendy: No wonder you were crying.