One of those nights where a study break involves the heavens dancing.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Welcome to the future
On Saturday, Valerie took an impromptu roadtrip to Canada to help out a friend who's boyfriend got into an accident near Beaver Creek. And Celie was at her friend's birthday party. And Denali is always gone anyway. And it was the first time I've been alone for any significant amount of time in... months? years? ever?
I watched the Olympics until I got tired of watching luge run after luge run after luge run, and then I put on a playlist consisting of every Shins song I own, the new Ingrid Michaelson single, and some music I'm trying to get into to make other people think I'm cool because I haven't really matured beyond 11th grade. And by 9:30 p.m., I had washed the dishes, folded my laundry, and boredom was oozing out of my pores.
About four hours into my evening alone, Valerie texted me to let me know where they were and I told her that I my innards were liquifying from disuse because what is the purpose of life/internal organs if you don't have anyone to hang out with, and she responded, "Welcome to the future."
Since I've been back this semester I've been fluctuating between buying every map of Alaska the Geophysical Institute has and papering my body in the topography of home, and also figuring out a way to manipulate the time-space continuum so I can cancel the rest of winter and skip right to the end of my life as I know it.
Anyway, as per usual, I'm an emotional wreck because A. the melodrama that occasionally happens to seep through into my writing is always on in full force inside my head, especially now that I'm a few months away from LEAVING MY LIFE IN ALASKA AND MOVING ACROSS THE WHOLE WORLD and B. it's February, objectively the worst month of the year because it's still really cold and there's no hope for anything.
It should be reassuring that I've moved about a dozen times in my life, and I never end up losing any organs out of loneliness. But on Saturday I think I came really close.
I watched the Olympics until I got tired of watching luge run after luge run after luge run, and then I put on a playlist consisting of every Shins song I own, the new Ingrid Michaelson single, and some music I'm trying to get into to make other people think I'm cool because I haven't really matured beyond 11th grade. And by 9:30 p.m., I had washed the dishes, folded my laundry, and boredom was oozing out of my pores.
About four hours into my evening alone, Valerie texted me to let me know where they were and I told her that I my innards were liquifying from disuse because what is the purpose of life/internal organs if you don't have anyone to hang out with, and she responded, "Welcome to the future."
Since I've been back this semester I've been fluctuating between buying every map of Alaska the Geophysical Institute has and papering my body in the topography of home, and also figuring out a way to manipulate the time-space continuum so I can cancel the rest of winter and skip right to the end of my life as I know it.
Anyway, as per usual, I'm an emotional wreck because A. the melodrama that occasionally happens to seep through into my writing is always on in full force inside my head, especially now that I'm a few months away from LEAVING MY LIFE IN ALASKA AND MOVING ACROSS THE WHOLE WORLD and B. it's February, objectively the worst month of the year because it's still really cold and there's no hope for anything.
It should be reassuring that I've moved about a dozen times in my life, and I never end up losing any organs out of loneliness. But on Saturday I think I came really close.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Glaciers
Inside of me, there are glaciers.
They were still for thousands of moments,
but it's springtime in my soul and
now they are shifting ever-so-slowly--
but ever-so-much is all I have ever needed.
Soon enough, they'll melt into oceans,
and ships will sail on my insides,
charting courses to foreign lands,
and historians will write textbooks
about the great icy land I once was.
But for now, that future is as fleeting
as mid-winter sun. For now,
my glaciers are shifting ever-so-slightly,
and that's enough.
They were still for thousands of moments,
but it's springtime in my soul and
now they are shifting ever-so-slowly--
but ever-so-much is all I have ever needed.
Soon enough, they'll melt into oceans,
and ships will sail on my insides,
charting courses to foreign lands,
and historians will write textbooks
about the great icy land I once was.
But for now, that future is as fleeting
as mid-winter sun. For now,
my glaciers are shifting ever-so-slightly,
and that's enough.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Black and white
As a part of an assignment for a photography class I'm taking this semester, I've been taking a picture every day.
I have a couple goals I want to accomplish with this assignment. First, to impress Richard Murphy, my poetic, wool-vest wearing professor with an excellent old Alaskan man beard. And second, to accurately capture my life in Fairbanks. Because I only have a few months left in this weird, weird place, I want to make something that I can look at again when I'm somewhere else and remember that living here has had a impact on who I am.
One of the students in the class has been taking all her photos in black and white, and this week after it dipped back down below zero and everything was covered in hoar frost, I realized that a lot of life here happens in shades of white and black between October and March.
I have a couple goals I want to accomplish with this assignment. First, to impress Richard Murphy, my poetic, wool-vest wearing professor with an excellent old Alaskan man beard. And second, to accurately capture my life in Fairbanks. Because I only have a few months left in this weird, weird place, I want to make something that I can look at again when I'm somewhere else and remember that living here has had a impact on who I am.
One of the students in the class has been taking all her photos in black and white, and this week after it dipped back down below zero and everything was covered in hoar frost, I realized that a lot of life here happens in shades of white and black between October and March.
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