thank you

Considering the fact that I had multiple syringes stuck in my mouth about twelve hours ago, I've had a pretty excellent day. On the anniversary of having one wisdom tooth extracted in a hellish surgical experience we shan't speak of, I had another wisdom tooth pulled in a much less traumatizing fashion today. It only took two songs on my iPod.

When I got home, I proceeded to feel sorry for every person I had smiled at since leaving the dentist as I appraised my bloodstained mouth in the mirror. I asked my sister why no one had told me that I looked like a dopey cannibal and she responded by saying she couldn't look at me until I rinsed the blood out of my mouth.

Attractive.

I started to get feeling back in my lip while watching Gilmore Girls and eating apple sauce. Rachel was a lovely provider. I sat in the comfiest chair ever and got to relax and tumbl and feel better than I had in three days, reminiscing about a year ago today.

A year ago today feels like a lifetime behind me but I still remember coming home from the dentist after test driving the Westie we eventually bought, and lying on the bed that was mine for the last time in that moment, with a person I cared about more than anything. I remember being cranky because I hadn't got my pain medication fast enough and I remember asking her not to leave me. And she didn't.

I remember it so clearly. My sore jaw and swollen cheek. I remember picking up sushi and Starbucks. A smoothie for me--I had to eat it with a spoon. I remember warmth, despite the ice packs.

And even though those memories are buried in a past that's not all hand holding and half-numb smiles, I'm still grateful to have them.

bandages and maps

Your birthday is still my bank pin.

I know I should change it, I know.

But it’s not like it’s my main card,

just the one for family groceries and things.

Still, every time I’m at the checkout with my jug of milk or shampoo,

I get to celebrate the simple fact that you

are alive.

You see, I told myself I was going to stop writing poetry about you.

And I lied.

Because writing poems about you is as easy as putting too much sugar in my tea.

I know I should be weaning back on my dependency

but the sweetness is irresistibly

pulling and I’m tired of resisting.

I’m tired of telling myself to stop thinking about you.

It’s exhausting. Like falling asleep when you’re so tired you don’t remember how.

Logically, I know there was a time when your voice meant less to me and your name, said aloud, didn’t bring tension to my body like the cold days I’ve gotten all too used to.

But logic doesn’t sink through my skin as the feel of your sharp hips once did.

Sometimes, I sit on my floor like a philosopher, tracing the lines on my palm to see if I can figure out where it all went wrong. I think we spent so much energy trying to let each other go while clinging tighter, creating our own world in which we could be together. Lying through quick messages, spelled out through fingers didn’t believe us. But I wanted to.

I wanted to believe we could be friends, people who didn’t hurt each other by being themselves.

But If I wanted to take back all the pain I would have to unravel every second we spent together because like that knitted sweater I never made you, the imperfections are a part of the design,

helplessly intertwined with the wool and the warmth.

I cannot forget you.

So I have to believe that one day, we will be friends. One day we will be people who sit on lawn furniture and drink wine together and I know you probably don’t like wine and maybe you never will so I’ll let you drink Mountain Dew and I’ll even pretend I’m not judging you.

The bandages we wrapped around ourselves to hide the marks of each other will fall away to reveal maps that tell us who we are.

They’ll say that you

will always be a part of me.

But for now, I’ll change my bank pin.

spring appreciation post

It bothers me that though I can call images and sounds to mind, I can't recreate smells inside my head. If I could, I would backdrop my life with scents related to rain.

I. Freaking. Love. Rain.

I love days that can start with clouds, threaten rain, actually rain and then allow the sun a guest appearance before it sets. I love the anticipation of rain, the heavy air filled with moisture. I love the smells and colours that are recreated after a shower, like a layer of paint has been peeled off the world to reveal something brighter and more vibrant.

I love the breezes that make the hot sunshine bearable. I love feeling comfortable in a t-shirt and my Toms. I love the light that stays past 7:30. I love the baseball games that have started up at the diamond a block from my house. I love the sheer possibility of spring.

And maybe it's irrational. Maybe a girl who says things like, "Time is something we've created to make sense of our meaningless lives," shouldn't be saying what I'm about to, but hell. I can't help but feel as if spring loves me back.

things that I like

• Keyboards that have a distinct click and bounce like the ones in libraries and the one I'm typing on this very second.
• Mumford & Sons.
• When people start to talk about something they really care about and everything about their person becomes a storm of energy and passion.
• Drinking London Fogs on patios in the sunshine with people who stumble through sentences in the most endearing ways.
• Saying that I'm an anarchist.
• Mumford & Sons. 
• Painting my nails, even though I hate nail polish slowly peeling off.

On that note, I think I'm going to go paint my nails because I haven't in quite a while and I have the belief that we should all do nice things for ourselves when we're alone in other people's rooms, damn the consequences.

Okay, so I didn't mean it quite like that. But yeah. Be nice to yourself. You're awesome.

my life as an archivist's assistant

I'm finishing up my job in the near future. The title of Archival Assistant which I have so adored will belong to my past and some other girl for the summer. All of the negatives I, so lovingly, placed on the scanner will end up in the freezer, double zip lock bagged, with oven toasted mat board and a humidity tester to keep everything in check.

It's been fascinating getting to know the history of my new-ish community through donated photographs. I've also got to catalog a ton of really cool objects and artifacts. That cataloging may have taken place in a freezing building during mornings that lasted ice ages, but it was still pretty sweet. And then there are the expected coffee runs that come with being an assistant. I loved it all.

And I'll miss it. Only a couple more days and I'll have logged my last hour at the museum. Hopefully my next job will be half as neat. But probably not.

more voting angst

"If voting changed anything, they'd make it illegal." - Emma Goldman (1869-1940)

I realize that I'm spending a lot of energy thinking about this whole voting thing and I can be spending that energy doing something more productive and stuff but I have three weeks to decide on this shit and it's important to me. I also realize that in the most likely scenario, I will end up casting a ballot. But why do I even feel that way? Am I so brainwashed that I will forego my ethics and be an active participant in the corrupt system?

I related it in this beautiful simile today. Okay, so it's not a great simile but it's helping me make sense of my situation here...

Voting for an elected official is like deciding who you want to punch you in the face. First, you have to decide who is least likely to lie about the fact that they're going to punch you in the face. You know that all of them probably will but some might have a lighter touch, so you have to consider that. Maybe they don't want to punch you in the face but at the end of the day, it will be their job. At the very least, they'll be standing a little off to the side, complicit in the fact that you're getting punched.

Then there's the guy in the corner with the green banner saying that they've never punched anyone in the face. But they also haven't had the chance to. And they probably won't get that chance.

Even people who wholeheartedly believe in democracy will tell you that politicians lie. Then the people who are critical of the current electoral system will tell you that the first past the post system does not create representative governments. And so we have to cast a ballot choosing between evil things so we can get someone to maybe not punch us in the face.

Great. Yeah. Sign me up.

If I check off someone's name and drop it in that box, isn't that me buying into the system? Isn't that me giving consent for someone to punch me in the face, even though I had the chance to pick who? Doesn't that make me a complicit member of the corruption that goes on every election and in the space between them?

Will someone please help me? I'm drowning in the gray area of my moral compass.

juxtaposition, or, I use big words because I can

I don't really want to write a blog today. I've written blogs for twenty of the last twenty one days and I'm kind of really tired. I say kind of a lot. Okay, so I've had more than my usual amount of wine tonight and it's made me very sleepy. Also tipsy. Mostly sleepy.

Now I'm watching Star Trek. Sort of. It's on in the background.

So you might have realized this is one of those filler blogs. I'm just going to talk about my day until I get too sleepy to do even that. Feel free to go back to tumbling or whatever. I won't be hurt.

I had a really awesome day. I dyed Rachel's hair and ate a delicious egg sandwich and called three churches. And it's weird because yesterday was mildly shitty. But today has been awesome in an unadulterated fashion. The juxtaposition of shitty and awesome is pretty remarkable in my life.

Now I have to go because I'm being kicked out of the living room. Okay bye.