Memories…like the corners of my mind

There are times when I am too quiet for my own good. It is those times I dread the most. It is here I start to “what if” and “only if I.” There’s no real thought that triggers it, rather just a few minutes that are a little too quiet and then my mind takes me places I thought I escaped awhile ago.  Maybe I lied. Maybe there are triggers; it’s just that my train of thought is so anything but linear that the simplest task can turn into a trip down memory lane I never intended. Today it was a bookcase. Last week it was the washcloth I was using. Tomorrow it may be the extra key on my key ring. All of this is not to say that I’m pining for what’s been, rather I wish things were different. I wish there was still an iota of the uneasy civility that was shattered by unnecessary actions. I wish what could have eventually healed over the years didn’t have to turn into extortion, threats, name calling and declarations that someone was dead to the other. But I can only wish for that right? I can’t control the actions of others. All I can do is control my own and truly know what my intentions were in the last years and what they’ve been in recent months. Its funny how one action, one transgression can make someone forget all you ever were, make them care so little about how you feel or what made you do what you did. Maybe that was all it took… one action. Maybe that was the out they’d been waiting for. Maybe someone felt the need to destroy what was left of a life because they knew they couldn’t scare this one away; they wanted to have some sort of control because they were afraid of being alone. I don’t know.  I do know that I’ve been slowly, but surely trying to convince myself that this situation here isn’t meant to be healed or corrected (even if it can be) any time soon. I have to make myself come to the realization that this is so deep, so life changing that it may be years before the ripples stop fanning out from the impact. But it’s in me to want to make things right. It’s in me to try my hardest to stop people from hurting, but at what point do I realize I can’t sacrifice myself for the “happiness” of others? I can’t convince someone not to hate me, not to continue to do things that are intentionally hurtful. What I can do is not allow them to walk away from this with no blame. Then again how do I know they aren’t feeling something? Maybe because their actions and words haven’t shown they care one bit about anyone outside of themselves. I’ve said time and time again these past months that I will be able to look back at this period of my life and say I’ve handled myself with class and dignity, that outside of one e-mailed I wish I worded a little differently, I have not retaliated. Class, however at this point, is little more than me gritting my teeth and biting my tongue.

I really know how it feels to be stressed out…

After the debacle of my poem being erased last night and the mind numbing boredom of work today I come home to learn I can’t log into my MySpace account because someone has had excessive failed log-ins today and so my account is locked. I have my suspicions, but whatever.

Secondly, like I said I’ve been plugging away at my thesis bit by bit only to hear from my adviser today that she’s going to look at my book as a whole and not the individual pieces I’ve been sending. I understand the decision due to the craziness of her summer, but I guess my trying to avoid the crunch really isn’t going to happen. *shrug* It always seems to happen to me.

Keep on Truckin’

I’m making strides on my thesis y’all. As of today I’m about halfway through my compilation and first edits of my book. I’ve finally decided on a title as well. It will be called “Way Station: Poems”. I’m very excited. The vision of what I’ve been working toward the last two years is coming true.

 The poems are starting to fall into place and I can’t wait to start sequencing the pieces. I have a general idea of what I want achieve and hopefully it will be close to perfect by my graduation reading January.

These two years have gone by so fast, but I still feel a little overwhelmed. But I’m almost there right? I figured out the other night that I’ve been writing poetry for 17 years. It has literally been my life since I’ve been congnizant. I was born to do this.

Allow me to reintroduce myself…

They say the third time’s the charm right? We’ll see about that. After a conversation the other night about my lack of posting online since my days at Fireseek and UrbanPoetic, I decided maybe I just need to ease back into it. I highly doubt I’ll ever get back to my record numbers from a few years ago, but I will at least try. So here we are again ! :)