One day we'll talk about 2000, 2005, and 2012, and people will listen the same way we listen to older people talk about the '50s and '60s. It will all seem unfamiliar and uninteresting to them, even though these years currently hold our lives and everything we love. We'll remember a few important memories from them - some songs and images will always remind us - but our neurons can't hold it all. Most everything will be gone. People will live in our dorms and think about the students who lived there 50 years ago: us.
I want to always be twenty. I want to always go to college and stress out over final exams and what I'm going to do with my life, as if there will ever be any certainty. I want to be able to play roller derby without worrying about my body falling apart. I want to get drunk and do stupid things and live off of Ramen Noodles and dry cereal. I want to always have enough courage to yell at old conservative men and sexist people at parties, and I want to always care enough to do it. I want to be able to stay at my parents' house knowing they expect me to
make a mess of my bedroom, and I want to always have a room here. I want to cuss every other word because why the fuck not?
Friday, May 3, 2013
Friday, April 19, 2013
I can never erase the Southern part of me, and I don't want to.
I don't want to hide my Southern accent from pretentious academics, and I don't want to feel ashamed when I get excited about country music, about banjos, about George Strait.
I never want to leave the south and say "it's not worth talking about those people there," as if the place didn't introduce me to some of the best goddamn people I've ever met, as if some people matter less than others.
I never want to deny that part of the reason I love slam poetry so much is because it reminds me of the anger and conviction I always heard in my Southern Baptist preacher's voice when he talked about God being an angry, wrathful, and male God. I also can't deny that I originally learned what it means to be passionate in Sunday school classrooms with cold metal chairs and wooden walls - at alters and with youth groups.
I'm convinced that so much of my writing style, so much of the way I tell stories, so much of the way I talk comes from the stories I heard riding the church bus every single Sunday starting at age three. I can hear myself stopping in the same places the men who told the stories would stop. I break my sentences in the way they spoke. The stories they told were always funny stories, ones you could tell were made up at least a little, with a moral at the end - something the men learned about God that made the narratives they constructed meaningful. And the stories were always way too insightful, way too sentimental.
Every single Sunday I heard stories told almost universally by Southern men, and despite their sentimentality, they helped shape me; they're a part of the way I speak. They taught me how to make an every day experience useful, how to infuse it with so much meaning it becomes sickening.
I don't want to hide my Southern accent from pretentious academics, and I don't want to feel ashamed when I get excited about country music, about banjos, about George Strait.
I never want to leave the south and say "it's not worth talking about those people there," as if the place didn't introduce me to some of the best goddamn people I've ever met, as if some people matter less than others.
I never want to deny that part of the reason I love slam poetry so much is because it reminds me of the anger and conviction I always heard in my Southern Baptist preacher's voice when he talked about God being an angry, wrathful, and male God. I also can't deny that I originally learned what it means to be passionate in Sunday school classrooms with cold metal chairs and wooden walls - at alters and with youth groups.
I'm convinced that so much of my writing style, so much of the way I tell stories, so much of the way I talk comes from the stories I heard riding the church bus every single Sunday starting at age three. I can hear myself stopping in the same places the men who told the stories would stop. I break my sentences in the way they spoke. The stories they told were always funny stories, ones you could tell were made up at least a little, with a moral at the end - something the men learned about God that made the narratives they constructed meaningful. And the stories were always way too insightful, way too sentimental.
Every single Sunday I heard stories told almost universally by Southern men, and despite their sentimentality, they helped shape me; they're a part of the way I speak. They taught me how to make an every day experience useful, how to infuse it with so much meaning it becomes sickening.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Last week I felt like I had completely lost my ability to appreciate anything. I walked around downtown, did homework, swung in the middle of the night, talked to a psychologist, and spent way too much money on food. During everything, I felt hopelessly sad.
This week I successfully interacted with new people socially (okay, one person, but everything counts), had a really good roller derby practice, walked back to my room at 2 AM in the wind and freezing rain without an umbrella, and realized that I'm not going to do so great grade-wise this week. I also still spent way too much money on food.
And yet, I feel okay. I feel good sometimes, even.
When I talked to the psychologist (it was for ADD, but she also asked questions about depression), I probably seemed like some hopelessly depressed and socially anxious person. At that time, and most of the time prior to that, I was. And I can never tell when I will be again, despite feeling more okay right now.
I don't understand my life.
This week I successfully interacted with new people socially (okay, one person, but everything counts), had a really good roller derby practice, walked back to my room at 2 AM in the wind and freezing rain without an umbrella, and realized that I'm not going to do so great grade-wise this week. I also still spent way too much money on food.
And yet, I feel okay. I feel good sometimes, even.
When I talked to the psychologist (it was for ADD, but she also asked questions about depression), I probably seemed like some hopelessly depressed and socially anxious person. At that time, and most of the time prior to that, I was. And I can never tell when I will be again, despite feeling more okay right now.
I don't understand my life.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Lovely things about this winter
I feel like getting through every winter is a struggle. I hate knowing that I can't walk outside without feeling like I'm going to crumble and break in half from how cold and windy it is. I hate how I feel I'm never warm, no matter how many huge jackets I wear. I hate that I feel the need to run all the places I need to get to just because it means I'll be inside quicker. I hate how going anywhere seems like such a daunting and miserable task.
I like being able to walk outside barefooted, and I love the feeling of walking from an overly air-conditioned building and into the heat. (Somehow it's different than walking into a heated building in winter; I need the sun.) I love how hot asphalt is in the summer. I love picking berries in my yard and spending time on my front porch. I love the laziness of summer, how it slows everyone down, and how it gets chilly again at night so you can still wear sweaters. I love how the city is always hotter, and how you have to wear as little clothing as possible to not feel miserable. I LOVE warmth. I need it to be happy, and to even just feel okay. And not artificial warmth, either. I need the sun.
I'm trying to be more positive, though. Even though the good moments were surrounded by coldness and probably by my silly brain shit, there were definitely some not-miserable moments. I got an email from my favorite professor, for example, that will always mean the most to me. I joined a roller derby team. I got to see one of my favorite musicians play a beautiful christmas show with my mom, which involved singing christmas carols with some lovely strangers and seeing him perform "Sister Winter," a song that pretty much sums up my wintry experiences every year. I got to spend christmas with my family.
My mom also got her very last hepatitis C shot, which is really good for her. She's starting to gain back the weight she lost, enjoy food again, and just feel better in general. Hopefully the hepatitis will stay out of her blood for good, but it was an experimental drug, so there's not much certainty at this point. But for now, things are okay, and I'm glad and hopeful.
It also snowed on my campus, and I walked through it alone in the middle of the night with the stupidest smile. I made a snow cat and hit people with snow balls. My loneliness didn't matter anymore because everything - the bike racks, the buildings, the sidewalks - was covered with snow, and everyone was outside playing in it. I would have died for that when I was little and spent hours outside playing in the snow by myself.
In January and February I spent the night at my best friend's dorm and saw the Vagina Monologues, and I remembered how much I love the people who go to Salem. I went to the Idiot Box, had vegetarian "steak," and visited a bunch of cute shops downtown with another lovely person. I was reunited with my other best friend after an unbelievable year and a half of not seeing each other. I got to fly, which is something I always want to do. I got to spend time in different airports, go to places beyond North Carolina, and spend way too much money on airport food and drinks. I got to have homemade spaghetti and drink wine with a bunch of kind people I immediately liked. I got to have a relaxing weekend where I escaped from all the usual things that stress me out.
I know it's new right now, and my opinion might change, but I also started to work in a lab I really, really like. I like the people I work with, my bosses, and the grad students I get to help. I'm honestly not that passionate about the research we're doing, but the overall "theme" (social and emotional development in children) aligns pretty well with what I want to study in graduate school (I just want to focus more on gender socialization). Working with data is just a surprisingly relaxing experience here, in a way it wasn't when I worked in the neuroscience lab. I'm happy here and will hopefully stay in this lab until I graduate.
Music helps a lot, too. Bowerbirds' album "The Clearing" is absolutely perfect for cold and miserable winter days. It has lyrics like, "on and on goes the long winter," but is ultimately hopeful as well - particularly in the song, "Overcome with Light." That's how I'm feeling right now. Winter still has a month or so left in it, and I'm going to make it through. And then it'll be spring, and my soul and body will feel warm again, and I can be the person I need to be for myself and others. It will be a fresh start.
Things will be okay, things will be okay, things will be okay.
I like being able to walk outside barefooted, and I love the feeling of walking from an overly air-conditioned building and into the heat. (Somehow it's different than walking into a heated building in winter; I need the sun.) I love how hot asphalt is in the summer. I love picking berries in my yard and spending time on my front porch. I love the laziness of summer, how it slows everyone down, and how it gets chilly again at night so you can still wear sweaters. I love how the city is always hotter, and how you have to wear as little clothing as possible to not feel miserable. I LOVE warmth. I need it to be happy, and to even just feel okay. And not artificial warmth, either. I need the sun.
I'm trying to be more positive, though. Even though the good moments were surrounded by coldness and probably by my silly brain shit, there were definitely some not-miserable moments. I got an email from my favorite professor, for example, that will always mean the most to me. I joined a roller derby team. I got to see one of my favorite musicians play a beautiful christmas show with my mom, which involved singing christmas carols with some lovely strangers and seeing him perform "Sister Winter," a song that pretty much sums up my wintry experiences every year. I got to spend christmas with my family.
My mom also got her very last hepatitis C shot, which is really good for her. She's starting to gain back the weight she lost, enjoy food again, and just feel better in general. Hopefully the hepatitis will stay out of her blood for good, but it was an experimental drug, so there's not much certainty at this point. But for now, things are okay, and I'm glad and hopeful.
It also snowed on my campus, and I walked through it alone in the middle of the night with the stupidest smile. I made a snow cat and hit people with snow balls. My loneliness didn't matter anymore because everything - the bike racks, the buildings, the sidewalks - was covered with snow, and everyone was outside playing in it. I would have died for that when I was little and spent hours outside playing in the snow by myself.
In January and February I spent the night at my best friend's dorm and saw the Vagina Monologues, and I remembered how much I love the people who go to Salem. I went to the Idiot Box, had vegetarian "steak," and visited a bunch of cute shops downtown with another lovely person. I was reunited with my other best friend after an unbelievable year and a half of not seeing each other. I got to fly, which is something I always want to do. I got to spend time in different airports, go to places beyond North Carolina, and spend way too much money on airport food and drinks. I got to have homemade spaghetti and drink wine with a bunch of kind people I immediately liked. I got to have a relaxing weekend where I escaped from all the usual things that stress me out.
I know it's new right now, and my opinion might change, but I also started to work in a lab I really, really like. I like the people I work with, my bosses, and the grad students I get to help. I'm honestly not that passionate about the research we're doing, but the overall "theme" (social and emotional development in children) aligns pretty well with what I want to study in graduate school (I just want to focus more on gender socialization). Working with data is just a surprisingly relaxing experience here, in a way it wasn't when I worked in the neuroscience lab. I'm happy here and will hopefully stay in this lab until I graduate.
Music helps a lot, too. Bowerbirds' album "The Clearing" is absolutely perfect for cold and miserable winter days. It has lyrics like, "on and on goes the long winter," but is ultimately hopeful as well - particularly in the song, "Overcome with Light." That's how I'm feeling right now. Winter still has a month or so left in it, and I'm going to make it through. And then it'll be spring, and my soul and body will feel warm again, and I can be the person I need to be for myself and others. It will be a fresh start.
Things will be okay, things will be okay, things will be okay.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
"No good times, no bad times,
There's no times at all,
Just The New York Times,
Sitting on the windowsill
Near the flowers.
We might as well be apart.
It hardly matters,
We sleep separately.
And drop a smile passing in the hall
But there's no laughs left
'Cause we laughed them all.
And we laughed them all
In a very short time.
Time
Is tapping on my forehead,
Hanging from my mirror,
Rattling the teacups,
And I wonder,
How long can I delay?
We're just a habit
Like saccharin.
And I'm habitually feelin' kinda blue.
But each time I try on
The thought of leaving you,
I stop.
I stop and think it over."
-Simon & Garfunkel, "Overs"
There's no times at all,
Just The New York Times,
Sitting on the windowsill
Near the flowers.
We might as well be apart.
It hardly matters,
We sleep separately.
And drop a smile passing in the hall
But there's no laughs left
'Cause we laughed them all.
And we laughed them all
In a very short time.
Time
Is tapping on my forehead,
Hanging from my mirror,
Rattling the teacups,
And I wonder,
How long can I delay?
We're just a habit
Like saccharin.
And I'm habitually feelin' kinda blue.
But each time I try on
The thought of leaving you,
I stop.
I stop and think it over."
-Simon & Garfunkel, "Overs"
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