Thursday, August 25, 2011

five.minute.anyday

Update concerning the post below:

Actually, thinking about this, I decided why not do it every day?  So I've started another blog, called five.minute.anyday, where you can read my five minute blurbs for every day I can manage to get them done.

Let me know if it's too hard to read the way it is, and I can change the background/color theme.

Just thought I would let you all know.   I've also linked to it on the sidebar, where I have links to everywhere else I hang out on the interwebs.

Off to go read Dante's Inferno (Aah, school how I missed you... *sarcasm hand* ),
Christina

Saturday, August 20, 2011

Writing Prompts: Determination and Defect

Determination:

Determined. That's what I saw when I saw you, when I looked in your eyes. Grim, beautiful determination, and you were ready, willing, and capable to take on whatever came your way.
Determination is kind of an interesting thing when it comes to you, though. You can be wonderfully set on something, and intend to do it, to complete everything, to tie every loose end you've ever created, and I watch you, after you work and work until your fingerprints are worn thin, and you're burning out, and wearing down, and you're exhausted.
I wish your determination was less of a compulsive drive pushing you on, on, on, and more of a constructive feeling, inspiring you to do, and do well, and stop, and enjoy what you have done.
You mustn't mistake striving for determination, my love, is all.
You worry me sometimes. But I know all I can do is pull you close to me and let you rest your tired head on my shoulder, just beneath my collarbone, where you can hear my heartbeat, and you can just exist for a while. No striving. No determination. Just rest.
I love it when you rest.
You live in such perpetual hurry. Calm down. Slow down. Breathe, and taste the air. Blink, and feel your eyes refresh themselves. Open them, and focus on the flowers.
Busy, busy, busy, my love. Won't you rest for just a moment with me?

STOP


Thursday, August 11, 2011

To Everything Its Season (A Poem)

Loss


and


gain

I don't think there's a clear line
on which is which

I don't think it matters
as much

as things
that are changing


things are changing



Loss


and


gain

and who knows where one begins
and the other ends
and they all know
and we both know
it doesn't matter

it's simply

change

and everything is changing


Tuesday, August 2, 2011

So Fast

Four weeks ago I was walking to get feather extensions put in my hair in Manitou Springs, Colorado.  It was raining outside, and I had tied my floor-length dress in a hasty knot at my knees.   I was laughing under an umbrella as I walked, chatting with my best friend Purple Hippo Girl (also known as Anna) and our new friend Jimmy Brazell.  He was contemplating getting a feather put in his hair as well, talking about his Native American heritage and how cool it would be.
We encouraged him.  "Yeah, do it!" 
"That would be so cool!" 
"You would totally be the coolest guy at Summit if you did that." 
"Heck, yes!  And if any of the other guys give you any flack, just let us know.  We'll take care of them for you.  They're just not man enough to get feathers in their hair."
"Haha, and then they'll see that we think you're the coolest guy and get all jealous, and then they'll come and get feathers too." 
"Yes!  Trendsetter!"
He grinned listening to us, and his entire countenance lit up.  "Really? Do you think I should?"
"Yes!"  We chorused, beaming back at him.
"Okay, I'm gonna do it,"  he decided.  He was so excited, and that just made us more so.  This kid was brave.  We were proud of him.
I remember sitting on the floor at his feet on the gaudy carpet in the crowded and quirky little store, playing with my new pink extension and watching him flip through the huge blue binder with all of the colorful, striped feathers, trying to decide which one was just right.  Anna and I helped him choose a black and white striped one, not too long, but just long enough to peek out of his curly, sandy-brown hair. He got it placed three or four inches above and behind his ear, and it looked great.  "That is so cool!"  We cheered as he admired it in the little mirror.  "It looks so great, Jimmy!"
We all started walking back to the Summit hotel, having a great time.
"We should be a tribe," Jimmy decided.
"Yeah!"  We agreed.  "That would be great.  What should we call it?"
We threw around some names for a while, and then I giggled as we passed the Colorado Custard Company. I thought of the cute old man who owned it with his family, Victor C.  "Hey," I laughed, "We should be tribe VictorCee."
"Yeah!" Anna and Jimmy agreed.  "Tribe VictorCee!  That's great!"
"I guess since I'm the only guy, then, I'll be the leader," Jimmy concluded.
"Okay!" We grinned.  We would be his little tribe, one chief and two squaws.  We would follow him anywhere.