STOP LEAVING ME BEHIND.

(i need to make this blog private, it is my only sounding board for all the times i feel sorry for myself, and it's embarrassing.)

i miss christian.

i really do.

i wonder if i'll ever be ok.

mumford and sons hasn't stopped making my heart swell yet
i love that my desk is littered with paints and brushes.  i am feeling particularly creative.
finals are on wednesday but i'm wholly unconcerned.
day 4 of no smoking.  going strong.
starting to think about my theme for 2011.  big changes ahead.  gonna go ahead and not panic.  counterproductive.

sometimes want to reduce my communcation to stops and starts.  morse code.  sign language.  grunts and mutters.  a series of raised bumps.  my throat is still sore.

He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy. And during the course of each day his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right, or nothing was right for him, and by the desire to be alone. By evening he was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of his grief, alone in his aimless guilt, alone even in his loneliness. I am not sad,he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others--the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the midafternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad.


I first read this a year ago when I was in a relationship and needed a way to explain why I wasn't happy.  it was the first time i'd ever seen an accurate articulation of this feeling - a constant, daily attempt at convincing yourself that you are not sad, you are not sad, you are not sad.  but you are.  i was in a relationship and i was sad and now i'm not in a relationship and i'm still sad and i'm wondering if maybe the presence (or lack thereof) of a man in my life isn't really what's causing all the problems.


maybe i'm just sad and there's no explaining it and this weight in my chest isn't something that i can fix but rather, something i have to live with.


my head is an empty white room.  i am vacant.  fill me.

this weekend is:

working at destination maternity at the roseville galleria on saturday.  i get to fold, steam, and hang maternity clothing at 10 bucks an hour!
possible shopping at urban outfitters, or...
...coffee with kevin?
MOVIE NIGHT!
writing my unit proposal (Hamlet, 12 grades, tech-based)

next week will be:

figuring out if my internship hours will transfer even though i didn't use the proper forms :(
working on shakespeare paper
thanksgiving!  parents!


i've been sick for a week now and i'm simply exhausted :(  today i had to write my pyschology paper and i swear it's the worst thing i've ever written.  i just don't understand how to write in APA!

so i've got the sorest throat but i splurged last night on some really nice whiskey so i'm in my comfiest clothing drinking a spicy hot toddy and watching In the Realms of the Unreal.  better times are coming.

the face of some despondent thing.
hugs, please?

OH MAN IS A GIDDY THING.

i biked home at midnight in the freezing cold and wanted to cry because the wind hurt my hands so badly.  i'm proud, though, that i'm not detered from riding again today despite the weather forecast predicting even lower temperatures.  i'm going to put on my favorite cozy cold-day outfit, and this time, i won't forget my gloves.

my story must be finished by 4:40.  i love days that force me to be creative!

A day without a bombing is worth celebrating and I'm out with the lads down for a few pints, not to Cosgrove's as they got sacked to shit last week but to Kate Daly's where you can still have a good chinwag with your mates and not worry so about being pushed around much.  We're all rowdy coming off a week of being pent up inside watching news waiting for the all clear to get back out on the streets.  My family's got the only working TV on our floor so we've had visitors in and out trying to get a glimpse of what they can't see looking out their own windows.  My mam eats it up, she gets so riled sitting there in front of the telly with a cigarette and an angry look, grumbling at the set with the other wives wondering when the fuck something was going to be done, there are children walking those streets, God bless, and don't they know how dangerous it is for a child in these times?  The other wives rock and mutter agreements and cross themselves like pious little biddies and I laugh but really I'm thinking how fucked up it is myself.  When I was just a wee thing I thought that this was how the whole world lived, getting woken up to bombs in the middle of the night, molotov cocktails thrown through windows of abandoned buildings, getting shouted at by kids on the other side of the street that you weren't allowed to play with since they went to a different church than you.  The world must be a pretty fuckin' miserable place.  But now we're big men, 17, not little babies anymore and I'm seeing that it's just Belfast that's gone to Hell and that's a good cause to make it to mass every Sunday.  So when the lads across the street shout taunts at us now we know well enough to shout back and usually we can't get to school without there being a fight.  Just got to be careful not to fight with the ones with guns.  They're pretty hard to miss though, running down the streets in packs shouting and hollering like hooligans.  I've got some pride but I'm no good to my mam if I'm shot dead in the chest so when I hear those sorts of shouts I stay inside and keep my baby sister away from the windows.

So we're off to Kate Daly's as it's Thursday and there's the canteen quiz.  As usual none of us win the big cash prize but we have a few laughs calling out answers to the stupid questions and trying to drink each other under.  There's four of us lads and we've been mates since primary, back when we were little punk shits who'd play truant from school and go kicking rocks into the harbor and the talk was nothing but tittes, who'd seen 'em and how big were they.  Our talk's grown up a bit now but Aiden still likes to boast when he's had a few too many and we give him shit but we all know we're just jealous.  There's a girl I've seen a fair few times on the walk to and from school, I know she lives near me but when I turn to go down the lane to my school she turns the other way and I know we're from a different class of people so I don't even bother with the hullo.  She probably has an older brother who'd come try and rough me up and might even knock his pretty sister around for carrying on talking to someone like me and I can't have that on my head.

When the quiz is done we stick around the pub and I order up another round of pints.  Brian asks me if I've heard from my brother and it gives me a pain to tell him no, we've heard nothing.  Six months and not so much as a phone call.  Brian shakes his head and claps me on the shoulder, 'salright mate, he'll come home right soon enough.  I shrug.  I don't think I'd recognize him even if I saw him now.  The night before he left there was big fight in the living room where he'd stood up to my da and said that someone in this family had to do his bit for Ireland and it sure isn't going to be you, you sorry excuse for a man.  I could tell my da wanted to hit him but my mam was crying in the kitchen and I knew he didn't want to make things worse.  So they squared off to each other, my brother with his face all red and that white spit at the corners of his mouth and my da, who after hearing that, lights a cigarette and tells him, go then, be a man.  And so he did, and now my brother's in the provisional IRA off somewhere doing his bit for Ireland.  I know my mam watches the news because she hopes to see him but if he's dead, it's not the six o'clock report that she's gonna hear it from.  

I don't want to get into a big political talk tonight so I say thanks and raise my glass to my brother Johnny, let's hope he's still breathing.  They three laugh.  We drain our glasses and head outside where Darren starts rolling up a spliff for us to share on the walk home.  We're leaning up against the side of the pub while Brian and Aiden light cigarettes and stand in the street with their fists shoved in their pockets and their collars turned up against the wind.  The air smells acrid.  Aiden tells Darren, shut your fat mouth for a second, there's something going on.  We stop and listen and from a few blocks away we hear angry cheers and someone speaking muffled into a bullhorn.  As we're standing there some bloke comes running full tilt by and nearly knocks me on my are.  I want to shout after him but I'm thick tongued from the pints so Darren and the others do the shouting for me.  The man what ran past hollers back over his shoulder that we better start running too, there's a rally on in the square and they say it's going to be bloody.  It takes me a minute to realize that he's not running away.  Brian laughs, looks like there's a show on tonight, lads.  I think I probably should be getting home but I don't want to look chicken in front of them so when they start off walking towards the sound of the crowds I start off too.

more to come.

the internet is an awful place.  for all the things i like about it there is something else i hate, no ground is ever made and i am constantly treading in the same damned place.

i cannot stand the fact that i willingly, upwards of 20 times a day, log in to a website that reminds me relentlessly that there are hundreds of people doing funner things than anything i will do in a 24 hour period.  i am reminded of my inadequacies.  i am told over and over again that i am single.  my ex is shoved in my face by applications i have no control over.  this site makes me miserable.

but the kicker?

i go back on my own volition, every single day, because i am convinced that if i delete my account i wills suddenly become unreachable, as if i don't have a phone number or an email account.  i cannot stand the idea of not getting invitations to events and shows that i will not attend in the first place.  without facebook, i do not exist.

or do i?

if you look at my wall, the only posts come from a pool of about 10-15 people, a respectable social group.  my friends list boasts 240 people.  so, if only 10-15 people post regularly on my wall and photos, then...who the hell are these other 225 people?

my personality has been taken from me.
or rather, i gave it away to an algorithm and a poisonous site and then i have the nerve to complain about it being invasive, misleading and insulting.

tonight i am having a party!  what could be better than a gathering of my closest friends for a potluck dinner, lots of wine, and pumpkin carving?

so in preparation i've been scrubbing my kitchen all morning.  it now looks better than i did than when i moved in (well - it will look that good momentarily, after i finish this wine and blog break)  i was lacking wine glasses, but after a trip to the SPCA this morning i now own 6 delightfully gaudy green wine glasses - only a dollar each!  they have gold around the lip and i giggle every time i see them.  so wonderful!

but yes, tonight.  party.  i'm putting ravioli and vodka sauce in the slow cooker to simmer for a few hours, and later i'll be baking this:

(courtesy of smitten kitchen)

pumpkin bread pudding!  nothing has sounded so decadent in a very long time.  i can't wait to have my house fill up with fall smells and to devour this with lots and lots of whipped cream.  

some days i wake up really lonely.
like today.

someone hug me.

painting my nails and watching Food, Inc. when i should be studying for my cognitive pysch midterm tomorrow. it's kind of hard to study for an exam that is open book/open note. i think i'll be fiiiine.

man, i really hope this movie scares me out of buying food at grocery stores. i've already cut out meat and buy in bulk as much as possible. No Impact Man made me aware of how much garbage i produce. this movie needs to make me more aware of where my food comes from.

5 minutes in and i'm already freaked out by the whole industry. yikes.

I'm working on a new story for 100F.  It took me a while to get going on this one, but now that I have some steam, I'm really enjoying the writing.  Though...it is taking an emotional toll on me.   the subject matter is heavy, and trying to do it justice is difficult to say the least.

"They are in the car, driving towards his childhood home where his mother and father patiently wait.  A doula for most of her entire life, Jacob's mother has been promised the birth of her first grandchild.  His wife is pregnant for the sixth time and they are both certain that this time they will deliver on that promise.

Margot has made it to the eighth month.  She is quiet, her head resting on the passenger side window leaving a greasy stain on the glass.  Neither has spoken in an hour.  There is the fear that if either one breathes too loudly, the baby will come and it will be too soon.  They have never made it this far before and the unfamiliar territory they now find themselves in extends out like a tightrope stretched between two mountains.  They are balanced in the middle and afraid to look down."

my baby bianchi is being worked on by a lovely fellow who knows much more than i do about bikes.  soon enough, i will be back on two wheels!  i miss riding my bike through davis streets, especially now with the weather cooling down and the leaves falling from the trees.  a lovely refurbished single speed will be the perfect addition to my autumn days!

sitting at my kicthen table, sweating and nose running from my super spicy dinner, i cannot help but grin when i catch myself thinking, "ashleigh, you're so pretty!"  it's nice having confidence even when you feel so gross.

Mumford and Sons - Little Lion Man

oh my goodness, Mumford and Sons. HOW DID I NOT KNOW?

this is just what i need to kick the last year of undergraduate work off right. music that is both mournful and uplifting.

WHY DON'T I LIVE IN NEW YORK?
california, you bore me.  i need skyscrapers and people with an overwhelming sense of entitlement.  oh, yeah - and the company of all the amazing folks i left behind last time i was in the true "city".  take me hoooommeee.

i'm in an american apparel deep-v feeling mighty douchy, at the computer lab, looking woefully out the window at a town i don't feel like belonging to anymore.  SOMEONE, SAVE ME.

i believe myself daily to be on the mend, to be the master once again of davis seas, to know this word "happy" and embody it fully.

all this means is that i am allowed a daily sense of accomplishment.  all this means is that i am allowed something small to be proud of,

until sleep and dreams come and rob me of my two steps forward, drag me that unforgiving one step back, leaving me with ground to cover in the morning.

it is a daily struggle.  i cannot see the end.  though i am convinced that as readily as i conquer day, i will soon be able to conquer night, i am weighed down by the enormous, daunting shadow of that looming task.  there is so much effort to be expended and i cannot find the motivation to expend.

perhaps this is melodrama.  i will admit to such possibility.  but have you, in turn, entertained the notion that melodrama is the loaded slingshot to my goliath?  my enemy is great and powerful in his lackadaisical apathy.  while he drinks the days away, i compose.  when we find eachother on the streets and his steps bring him unsteadily towards me, i will have no shortage of carefully thought-out barbs filling my bag.  i will be prepared to slaughter with a smile. 

i still love my enemy. 
i cannot imagine a world or a life where i do not wrestle constantly with the plain-as-day fact that is: i still love my enemy.
and so my tiny victories, my daily accomplishments are soured by love, by the repetition of the name in my head and the looping projection of the "good times", the memories i cannot bear to sully, the memories that sully me.

and what i wouldn't give for an accomplishment that is wholly mine.  a first prize badge awarded not for avoiding his street, deleting his number, not speaking his name, but for going a day without using what used to be as a way to define what presently is.

my prize will be a life reclaimed.  my only task is patience.

the band (whose record i used as a gift to first tell him "i love you")
is playing tonight at sophia's (where we had our first date)

everything is too relevant, too now
i feel PANIC.

so of course, my natural reaction is to drive home to my dad where we can play scrabble and eat food and fall asleep watching TV because we're cut from the same cloth, we are, we are.

and there will be no mention of boys or olive juice or Dawes or balcony B or that suit vest he wore or kissing him in the dark outside his bedroom door and thinking yes yes yes thiscouldbesomething.

no mention of the things that make me want to cry.

today, i start my new internship working with 6th graders. i've heard from my mum that that is a terrible year and oh, it's spring and they're 12 and everyone will be so hormonal! i am unfazed, though! there is a grin on my face that i cannot get rid of and i'm wearing what i've deemed to be "teacher clothes" and it feels so good to finally be dipping my feet into the big pool of "what i want to do for the rest of my life".

wish me luck? i'm only a little bit nervous.

:D

ETA:

So, they're 4th graders and not 6th graders and OMGSOFCUTTTEEEEE!

AHHHHHH CHAUCER.

this paper will be the death of me. it couldn't be a standard analytical english paper, could it? i can pull those out of my ass. but NOOO. it must be a research paper with at least 2 outside sources. hey, fools. i did that the first time around and you docked me points for not staying close enough to the text!

here's a thought. howsabout you take your chaucer, this old dude who wrote in a language that no longer exists, and shove him up your pretentious english professor ass. he only exists in the canon to give you medieval studies people something to read. don't make me suffer because you picked a stupid, boring course of study.

BE RELEVANT, CHAUCER. STOP BEING SO OUTDATED AND OLD AND WORTHLESS! maybe then i'll be motivated to...you know...read you?

i am frustrated and exhausted and annoyed by quite a few things right now.

this quarter is going to be the death of me - both scholastically and financially. i am barely holding it together.

but but but...i have creamy potato soup and reruns of Shear Genius on demand, so at the moment, all is well.

my grandma clipped a column about maturity out of the newspaper and mailed it to me along with a poem she found about growing up and being an adult and not forgetting things like "love" and "closeness".

i read a blogpost by a man describing his wife's home birth and cried at the dinner table thinking about babies and marriage and how big a love for someone else can be.

my body does funny things sometimes.

laying up in bed, called out sick from work. climbing the stairs became a trial this afternoon, so i figured that standing on my feet for 6 hours was pretty much out of the question.

i am contorted under the covers in just the right position to take the edge off the pain, enough so that i can see clearly enough to read the wonderful blogs i'm finding in the "daily reads" section of Cup of Jo.

www.youaremyfave.com is slowly becoming (coincidentally) my favorite. if you're a link-a-holic like me, you'll love it too. i click links like alice tumbling down the rabbit hole always looking for more inspirational interior design/fashion/food/photo blogs to add to my reader.

in other news, i just satisfied my craving of really buttery toast with jam and am now sipping on hot chocolate that, in true childlike fashion, is more whipped-cream than cocoa. through the dizzy painkiller haze i cannot help but feel full of love and happiness.

facebook tells me that a girl i went to high school with, same year and age as i, is now engaged.

2 of my female coworkers are engaged, both college students, same or close in age to me.

why is everyone getting married?? or maybe the question should be...why am i still childishly content with dates to get frozen yogurt and movies on netflix?

i can't even keep my pantry stocked, what on earth would make me think i am ready for marriage at such a young age? i'm just about a baby myself, don't be fooled by my puffed out chest and rent checks - i've only just taken the training wheels out and when no one looks, i'm pretty wobbly. how are these other girls so ... certain?

it doesn't make any sense!