abigailnicole: (bad day)

today in evolutionary psychology we talked about a study done to determine what children think after about the afterlife. The question was: “Now that the mouse is no longer alive…” and there were a variety of questions, ranging from “will he ever need to eat food again?” to “does he still hope he gets better at math?” and they recorded the percentage of five year old children who said yes or no.

When asked "Now that the mouse is no longer alive, is he still angry at his brother?", 60% said no. When asked: “Now that the mouse is no longer alive, does he still want to go home?” only 24% said no. When asked “Now that the mouse is no longer alive, does he still love his mom?”, only 6% of children answered no.

A girl in my creative writing class collapsed yesterday in front of me during the break. Her legs gave up and she fell over. “I just haven’t eaten much today,” she said when pressed, and we went back inside. When you’re falling down in front of other people there is something else wrong. I didn’t know what to say to you, but I hope things get better soon.
abigailnicole: (dreams)

Basia Bulat - The Shore
you can take away the divine, my dear, and comb your hair, and I won't mind at all

it's starting again

the hair-pulling, the pacing, the one-song-repeat, the 'ladies' playlist pulled out, Joanna and Florence added to it. the restlessness, the resentment, the cabin fever, the short showers and forgetting chapstick. they are like tiny signs of something larger, small leaves turning their bottom sides to the sky before it rains, to wash off the parts that aren't often seen. I'm not sure. I miss my mother.

Tonight I walked around pacing and eating everything, my stomach ever-expanding and never full. I HAVE THIS HUNGER. cold canned green beans, a sandwich, half a pint of blueberries, yogurt, pudding, cookies, bread, books, GAGA sequences, hangnails, all-consuming hunger, coffee that gets too bitter. LISTS OF OBJECTS. have you been where I am now?
abigailnicole: (Default)

My creative writing teacher asked me "if you made a playlist right now what would be the third song on it?"

without hesitation: "Snow Cherries From France." I still know what songs one through five are, too.

I miss my wife. I miss her dearly. I want to give her hugs and play her CDs, the kind of CDs you give someone in movies where you drive through colored leaves with the dappled sunlight falling through the car windows, when you're wearing that crummy old perfect sweater and the best sunglasses. Maybe you're driving to the coast where there are ocean-noises and the smell of salt water to make you forget, maybe you're not, maybe it's just somewhere where tree'd mountains give way to those scratchy tall grasses. Maybe you're in shorts and ratty old canvas tennis shoes, maybe not. Maybe we are listening to the milk-eyed mender or maybe it is little earthquakes. I think of you when I wake, amanda, every luminious two-in-the-morning with bon iver and no one call. I miss you dearly.

I read A Midsummer Night's Dream today at work. It is still my least favorite Shakespeare play; I like his comedies but this one is too caricatured for my taste, I am not fond of slapstick humour and magic love potions are full of it. I am not overfond of Romeo & Juliet either and this parody-version of it is still not my cup o tea.

somewhere there would be Here. In My Head. just for the
show you the roses, that brush off the snow, and open their petals again and again

I would.

I have a job now. I am manning a desk in the English office. right now I am quite hungry and too discouraged to say more. I will make some bread dough and try again.


abigailnicole: (Default)

March 2013


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