"Pardon the eggsalad stains, but I'm in love." -Billy Collins

the ruth moose saga continues:

ok, so i have paid $35!! to make copies of my chapter, um yeah kinkos sucks. so we were supposed to workshop my chapters today and we DIDN'T. then today i realized that it's because she doesn't know my name! (which is a huge pet peeve of mine which most of you prob. already know) so when she wrote down jessica, she meant a girl named alison. how ridiculous. blah.

so now we are workshopping my $35 manuscript on monday, which she can't remember what it is about.

I WANT OUT!!!!


ok, so since everyone thinks that they need to recite "poetry" to me since i am skipping out on the beach retreat to see/hear the best poet EVER, here is a billy collin's poem, for your pleasure/education. and if you don't like it, don't tell me. this poem makes me cry:

On Turning Ten
The whole idea of it makes me feel
like I'm coming down with something,
something worse than any stomache ache
or the headaches I get from reading in bad light--
a kind of measles of the spirit,
a mumps of the psyche,
a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.

You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
but that is because you have forgotten
the perfect simplicity of being one
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit.
At four I was an Arabian wizard.
I could make myself invisible
by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.
At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.

But now I am mostly at the window
watching the late afternoon light.
Back then it never fell so solemnly
against the side of my tree house,
and my bicycle never leaned against the garage
as it does today,
all the dark blue speed drained out of it.

This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself,
as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.
It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends,
time to turn the first big number.

It seems only yesterday I used to believe
there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I would shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of like,
I skin my knees. I bleed.


the best day of my creative writing career is when james seay told me i wrote a billy collins-esque poem.

this is a big deal to see him. ok? sorry. plus i have to work. the spain trip needs funding...

sorry girls :(

to make it up to you, here is something i wrote...published on the internet for all the world to see...scary! (this is the billy collins-esque poem)

Dishes by hand
(2.18.03 )

You love to wash dishes by hand
you tell me,
bumping me aside
and handing me a tattered rag
so I can dry instead.
I know you’re not lying to me
because your forearms
are immersed in soap suds
and you’ve got this ridiculous grin
shaping your face.

Some pop song from the next room
causes you to dance
while scrubbing.
I am thinking I’m thankful for your height,
for its presence…
And you splash water in my face.
I swat your side with the rag.
Now we’re dancing together,
first you banter, then me.
An easy back and forth.

I realize in this moment
I love to wash dishes by hand, too.
Where’s the romance in loading a dishwasher?
Cups on top,
plates on bottom,
knives forks spoons
in their separate bins.

Too soon it’s time to pull the stopper;
the water swirls down the sink,
leaving only dingy suds.
Now there’s nothing left
but to wipe down the counter,
to meticulously put plastic cups
and chipped and faded plates
into stacks, into cabinets.

now perhaps everyone understands me a bit more.

night.