Like the Rain

Listen
to the downpour from the sky
falling freely from the clouds
to mingle with the earth
and hang from the leaves
Watch
as it patters harmlessly
on the head of the woman
as she sits in her windowsill
guitar on her knee
swinging her bare foot in the cold drizzle
and it drips onto the strings
that she plucks mindlessly
letting her fingers wander freely
through the droplets
to find a new chord
her eyes are closed
and she hums a melody
never before scripted
and it drips into the hollow
vibrating ever so slightly
as her thumb scrolls out a new melody
making the wood echo
with the sounds of her song
the drops chase the strings
like a wild love
free to go where they will
but always choosing the same path
dripping
away from the window
to what lies below
the sky never clears
and the drops just keep coming
but the song
finishes
and the woman goes inside
and dries her guitar
and leaves it propped
in a corner
to be brought out again
like the rain.

Countdowns

Seven more days left of school.

One week until my birthday.

Three more chem classes.

Better yet... three more stats classes.

A week and a half until summer.

Time can't go fast enough.

It's Definitely a Wednesday

I spent the better part of dinner trying to convince my mother that the mild salsa was not in fact salsa, but pizza sauce inconspicuously placed in a salsa jar.

I vowed to not let up until she admitted it.

She didn't.

So far, I've:

• Watched 4 episodes of The Office
• Eaten half a dozen Club crackers even though I only really wanted a few
• Read the same paragraph in my stats book three times

and...

• Rebooted my computer after it decided to overheat and turn off twice

Seems like a productive Wednesday.

The Clock Ticks in Proportion

My birthday is coming up in three weeks, as is the end of my junior year of high school.

This year has gone by so fast.

It seems as if every year goes faster. My freshman year was so long. The semesters took forever, and it felt as if I was stuck in the freshman hell of crowded locker hallways and pointless P.E. classes for an eternity.

Now I feel as if I have just recently become a junior, when in reality, it's been that way for the past eight months.

It's as if when we get older, the amount of time that we have spent in our life just keeps on compounding, making the minutes less important, and the weeks tick by faster.

When I was a kid, the prospect of having to wait four months between finding out about something and actually getting to do it would have been like some cruel and unusual form of mental torture.

Now, I feel as if Les Mis will be just a blink of an eye away; just a quick summer break and then we can start.

And that's only months. One day, when I'm in my twenties or my thirties or my forties, and I just have to "put in a few more years at this job and then I can move on to bigger things," the years will go by as quickly as the months do now.

I used to wonder how people could stand to live to be ninety, or even one hundred years old. I would just sit there are think good god, you would be so BORED. But now I realize how they manage it: they don't notice how long it is.

So why does time seem to change itself with age? Is it just that we get more patient as we get older, and that patience allows the minutes to melt into one another until they are no longer separate, important entities, and instead become a giant mass that goes quietly on its way, not calling attention to the passing of the time?

On another note, there is a man sitting on the coffee shop couch right now, listening to giant hipster headphones. He looks like Johnny Depp.

Clusterf#*%

That's what this post will be.

For the benefit of those children that may (or may not) read (but really shouldn't read) my blog, I censored the title.

Take that as a warning.

To not continue reading into the clusterfuck.

Aka, stop now.

Anyway. So much has happened over the past month or so, I literally have not had any time to write about it.

So, in order to put a halt on this unfortunate shunning of my blog, I have spent the entirety of this afternoon pondering the best ways in which to consolidate my thoughts of all of the things that have been going on.

In one sentence? People are entertaining.

Usually not on purpose.

In fact, it's usually quite serious. They just fail at being intelligent.

Like when people call in to work to place a phone-in order, and I can't understand their name, so I ask them again. And then the phone beeps, or there's static because they're using a hands-free, or they just have a really freaking weird name that I don't understand.

So after the second time I ask them "I'm sorry ma'am, can you please repeat that one more time for me?" they SCREAM it into the phone.

Which simply exacerbates their problem of white noise.

Making it so that I can't understand their name.

Again.

And while they're getting angry, I'm trying to keep from laughing. I usually just end up making up a name for them. Cross my fingers, hope that it's right.

Or the great people who called in on 4/20. "Would you like silverware in the bag?"

"....SuuuUUUUuuuure!"

Umm... Okay... Just silverware, nothing to get excited about sir.

Or the people at the Rise Against concert that I went to with Jen last week.

Concerts are essentially an excuse for all of the potheads, drunks, and bad dancers to emerge from their holes and mingle with the rest of society.

And it is absolutely hilarious.

Like the one girl who got so excited she started whipping her hair, and then almost fell over because she was completely wasted.

And you could always tell when somebody took a puff of weed, because this nice consolidated little cloud would slowly rise into the air.

Puff... OH LOOK! someone's gettin' high over there.

Then there were people getting hammered while standing in the line. Talk about time-efficient.

But enough about stupid people. Because honestly, I could go on all day.

But I would rather not.

And I'm sure you don't want me to either.

Dear Sweet Goodness

Man... or Jesus? Nobody knows.

Just Thought You Should Know

I almost wrote poetry the other day.


Then I didn't.

Discoveries of Spring

I love discovering new things to love.

First off, I think this is the first year where I've really had spring fever. I've discovered how much I honestly love the sunshine.

I almost went and sat in my car today because it was warmer than outside but sunnier than inside.

But then I didn't.

Because that would have been pathetic.

Not that I'm above pathetic things, mind you. I discovered a new YouTube channel that I loved... and then proceeded to watch every single video she has.

I mean, just watch this. How can you not say that she is hilarious?

Yeah, I bet you're all gonna be addicted now too. Haha. Suckaaas.

I love ancient Rome. I mean, I always knew that, but my love has elevated to new levels.

I bought a book at Borders last week about it. Historical fiction, my fave. And I have decided that I love it so much because it's about men.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Ooh, Emma likes sexy men, so she reads about Rome. Whatever. 

I do like sexy men.

But that's not the point.

Whenever there's a story centering around a character whose dominating characteristic is their strength, it is much more powerful when that character is a boy. Otherwise, it turns into all of this "girl-power" nonsense that demeans the overall effect that the story may have otherwise had.

But, in most historical fiction stories, especially ones that extend that far, it's always men. 

I'm watching Troy as we speak. Er, as I type. You know what I mean.

My book on ancient Rome is sitting on the couch.

I think I may have an addiction. 

But you know what I definitely don't have an addiction to? Or even a slight liking for?

Orlando Bloom. His character just needs to go. away.

There Is No Definition

Many ideas are abstract. Love, faith, courage. None of them can be clearly defined, because to each person they are a little bit different. But most people carry the same general feelings about them.

Love is when you're wanted, or you enjoy something. Faith is believing, in one manner or another. Courage is doing something that takes mental or emotional strength.

But there is one idea that baffles me. Loneliness. It is a curious thing.

What is it really to be lonely? Usually, according to the word's root, it's said that being alone is being lonely.

But that's not really true, now is it? There are plenty of nights that I spend by myself at my house, and I don't feel lonely in the slightest. I even rather enjoy it at times.

And going along with that, there are also times when I'm surrounded by friends or people I know, and I still feel lonely. I am by no means by myself, but somehow I still feel like inside, I am completely solitary.

So what is loneliness, if it's not that? If the direct definition doesn't actually apply, what does?

Some days I feel like loneliness can be caused by one missing thing. A finished book, the loss of an environment. I felt very lonely after Oklahoma finished, because no matter what I did, there was not the comfort of the place and the people with which I had spent so much time.

Loneliness is people. While that analogy itself is illogical, it's very true. In the blink of an eye, people can make you feel either entirely alone, or the complete opposite.

There are days when I talk to few, text none, and think of other things. Those days I am completely fine. I am alone, to be sure, but I am not lonely. Whereas other days when that happens, I check my phone every two minutes to see if somebody finally texted me back and I just missed it. Which usually is not the case.

So I am left completely confounded.

I finished a book recently, The Power of One. It left me very lonely. It filled my thoughts for days, and then it was over and done and gone from my hands, but not from my mind.

One thought that it left behind for good was the virtue of independence. Not political independence, or financial independence, but emotional independence. To build yourself a fortress and let nothing in, except the few things that really deserve your sincere and heartfelt attentions.

Things seem to mean so much more that way. And then the loneliness bird cannot build its nest of stones inside of me.

It Must Be Spring

I've been feeling very poetic lately.

Nothing sounds nicer than a good book and a classical piano.

I wish I could play better, but instead I am getting my piano fill out of my current good book.

I sit around and think. I ponder things. I listen.

Lately, I have not been in the mood for speaking. I would much rather sit in silence and observe.

In silence I can hear the birds chirping. I can listen to people's voices and try to hear the underlying messages. I can hear the wind whistle outside my window. I can hear the creaks and moans of the house after everybody else has gone to bed but the nature outside.

Now all I need is sunshine and poetry. Any suggestions for the latter?