coming up short.

i told myself i was going to write here every day.
and clearly i fail at this.

i procrastinate far too much. big exam due on friday, with a two to three page essay as well, and i really need to be doing it. right now. but instead i am congratulating myself for doing well on my exam today by watching one tree hill. lots and lots of one tree hill. because what's better for a "i rock" party than a large amount of nathan scott?
nothing, i tell you. nothing at all.

so on that note, i'll say "hello" to all my new followers (love you, jm.org-ers!) and to my old ones too.
i wish you all a wonderful night.

you're the reason why.

there's a reason i deleted you off my facebook in the first place.
it's because i hated logging on and seeing your status updates, your silly posts on other people's walls, your photos from weekend adventures.
but then you had to notice i was gone.
too soon.
you had to fight for me back, even when i didn't want you to.
then, when i finally responded to all of it, you had to be sweet.
right before i left.
just as you started dating her. finally.
so i added you back.
and we've said nothing since.

i'm not supposed to still be thinking of you.
i'm supposed to be off in my big city, far away from you, moving on.
across the country.

but i still hate seeing your status updates.


reason why - rachael yamagata.

why i am not a poet.

a poem by e.e. cummings i stumbled upon tonight.
i adore him, and love this.


somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

setting goals and making changes.

So I just signed up for NaNoWriMo.
Which, for those not in the know, is National Novel Writing Month. Basically from November 1st through the 30th, you're supposed to write a whole novel. It makes goals for you and word counts, to keep you on track. I feel like I'm going to fail at this, since I'm such a procrastinator and I'd rather watch Supernatural or Pushing Daisies or one of my million other shows instead of concentrate.
Plus poem writing has been my thing recently.
But what the hell. I'm living a little.

Random, but I have had killer headaches for the last few days. I wonder if it's because of my sudden obsession with music. I mean, I'm always into music, of course. But lately it's become this addiction, where I need it and crave it and spend my whole day waiting for when I can listen to some Rachael Yamagata or Sufjan Stevens. Calming.
Though earlier, I couldn't stop listening to Beck and William Tell (specifically Fairfax).
So I guess my ear isn't quite as discerning as I'd like.

And finally, awkward note: my frequent OC watching has caused a renewed crush on Benjamin McKenzie, aka Ryan Atwood. He's soooooo adorable. Why has he done nothing since this show ended? Why are there not more big strong protective Ryans in the world?

Though at this point, I'd kill for a funny, sarcastic, too skinny, incredibly dorky Seth.

frowny face.

today has been one of those melancholy days.
i'm actually feeling much better now, but not before creating an extremely long playlist.
here's a sampling.

wonderwall - ryan adams.
the biggest lie - elliott smith.
something vague - bright eyes.
orange sky - alexi murdoch.
if you leave - nada surf.

perhaps this should be a series.
it helps a lot.

sweet musical depression.

all i have today is a song.

the way we get by.
spoon.

and with that, i'm off to my obsessions.

purple lines.

You traced the cobwebs with a fingertip,
Coloring me purple, pencil-thin.
My heartbeat in your hands
Facets of life, dulled
By your skin on mine.

Candlelight and tears
Keep me awake at night, waxy
Reminders that cut the evenings in half.
The sun shines in my window
Some days.

Tasting the color blue--
Sweet depression, a faint revival
And the beginnings of reasoning.
Meadows stretch for years on either side
But red is all I see with you.

In all my memories, your stripes are faded.
A product of the time, or
Symbol of what it meant to be me:
I can’t remember anymore.
Forget about it.

Your sentences spread across the page
With all the twang, all the talk
I’ve come to expect.
You say the right thing at the right time
She laughs and leans in, ready.

Keep it simple, but don’t ever let me go.
Lines spread out from your fingers
Purple ropes
Binding my pulse to your contact.
My scissors left rust behind.