September 10, 2003
Pagan Poetry
So. Tried out for 'Footloose.' Feel generally horrible about the whole affair, and have come to the conclusion that I will not only be flattered if I am cast as Chorus Girl #8, I will be extremely surprised.
I don't think I made it. In fact, I'm almost sure.
Maybe I need to enter a poetry contest, or something. At least in that area I can be obscure and shy and it will be expected. Yeah...
At any rate, if you haven't read this, please do. I am immensely proud of the unbridled anger therein, and while I hate to cover it up with this ramble, I've found that rambling is necessary for my sanity. So.
Ahoneorhnlansppreakjlnbaklsna;;asdl.
And that's not all.
Kjksbdkjhoippena, jshdklshdlajsdl kashflkjlsi.
Hard to believe, isn't it?
I got the tutoring position at the Learning Assistance Center, and with the addition of the 1 credit hour education course I am taking for it, and the 2 hour credit I get for joining the Choraliers, I now have 16 credit hours: a true student's schedule when compared to my previous 13. I'll be making five dollars and sixty-five cents an hour, which may or may not support my Need To Drive To North College Hill On The Weekend and Eat Off Campus and Go To The Movies Too Much habit. We shall see.
O. And The Buying Action Figures habit. We can't forget that one.
My bed here is too small. I find my legs stretching and searching for the edges that I am used to, but instead I come tumbling out. So narrow.
I tug the sheets free from where I had earlier tucked them; I wind myself inside linen but I do not find the warmth that I seek there. I want a body, and not pillow, and I fuss and end up flinging it to the floor, to wake up in the morning alone in my bed without even that feather fashioned comfort.
You aren't made of feathers, dear. I wrote a poem and I called you lead, I called you light, I called you a giant and pocket-size.
I'm carrying you now, though you may think it is you carrying me.
astera at 8:18 p.m.