Some days I feel like if I don't write I'll just explode. On a day like today I'd probably burst into a blue flame of book pages and student essays. I need to keep telling myself that I'm happy because otherwise I'll forget. It's easy for me to forget how good I really have it when I get myself into one of my stirred-up moods. I was just feeling oddly homesick today, which is strange. I'm homesick for all of my homes from the last 5 years-- St. Louis, where I have so many wonderful memories and with so many artistic marvels within arms length...New York, where I have exbf and Bryant Park and so much activity and culture...DC, where I have the best friends a girl could possibly ask for, true soulmates...and Cleveland, with my family, where I discovered some hidden treasures this weekend and where I oddly feel myself drawn, even to teach at my former high school.

When I started this blog two years ago, I remember remarking that this time of year is hard for me. I think it might be that I always feel slightly on the outside of the holiday cheer, because I'm so often transitioning to a new city and trying to find my "home," and this time of year is really all about loved ones, memories, and special places. It's also the time of year when exbf and I first became friends and, not too soon after that, more than friends. It's always difficult to be flooded with those memories when things are so different now. This time of year, and the accompanying chill, always makes me long for body heat and familiarity. It makes me long for lighting candles together and eating holiday cookies, and being so overwhelmed with joy that you actually twinkle. Then again, I recognize that I'm working on developing myself as an individual right now and that romance will follow. I'm supposed to be with somebody; it just always happens when I'm not looking.

(here)

And high above or down below

When you're too in love to let it go

But if you never try you'll never know

Just what you're worth

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you.

We passed the hash pipe, we played our Doors tapes

This still remains one of the best things I've ever seen:

Who knows what tomorrow brings

You're not a dream

You're not an angel

You're a man

I'm not a queen

I'm a woman

Take my hand

We'll make a space

in the lives

that we'd planned

And here we'll stay

until it's time

for you to go

Yes we're different

Worlds apart

We're not the same

We laughed and played

in the start

like in a game

You could've stayed

outside my heart

but in you came

And here you'll stay

until it's time

for you to go

Don't ask why

Don't ask how

Don't ask forever

Love me now

This love of mine

had no beginning

it has no end

I was an oak

Now I'm a willow

Now I can bend

And though I'll never

in my life

see you again

Still I'll stay

until it's time

for you to go

Don't ask why

Don't ask how

Don't ask forever

Love me now

You're not a dream

You're not an angel

You're a man

I'm not a queen

I'm a woman

Take my hand

We'll make a space

in the lives

that we planned

And here we'll stay

until it's time

for you to go.

"Then in the middle of my set, I'd throw in this love song that I had written, because, you know, I was in love, and I found out that, you know, sometimes you just have to leave a space in your life for life to happen, see?"

~Buffy Sainte-Marie~

(photos from here, ever beautiful)

The smoke it sank into my skin

I want a man with a poet's eyes and a pirate's voice.

"Her heart was so laden

She fell by a tree

Sang of some pirate

Who haunted the sea

A wail through the willows

All hollow through the willows

She'll wail through the willows

Till she finds him."

"There's a man who's been out sailing

In a decade full of dreams

And he takes her to a schooner

And he treats her like a queen

Bearing beads from California

With their amber stones and green

He has called her from the harbor

He has kissed her with his freedom

He has heard her off to starboard

In the breaking and the breathing

Of the water weeds

While she was busy being free."

Dee dee dee dee dee

Incredible.

Sunday kind of girl...

An Education. Masterful. I'm in love.

I think my version would include these:

(all items from Anthropologie and J. Crew)

the strange pillows of my wanderlust

Some things I love/lust after right now:

The lovely Abbie Cornish, looking ethereal on this cover-- and memories of Bright Star, from which images are displayed below.

Ben Whishaw's notes for Bright Star-- how lovely is his penmanship?

I love these magical words

As always, Anthropologie beguiles...

It never gets old-- I cranked up the radio today in the car so I could sing along:

This incredible article about Joni Mitchell's "Amelia"

The anticipation of seeing "An Education" tomorrow

Weekend. Almost. Finally.

God that was strange to see you again

There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave

You were what I wanted, I gave what I gave

I'm not sorry I met you

I'm not sorry it's over

I'm not sorry there's nothing to save

I'm not sorry there's nothing to save

I want dresses that look like cakes

I want dusted eyelashes

I want a moment to close my eyes and dream and wake up refreshed

I want sugared violets

I want cool clear streams

I want glossy lips and sweet tastes on the tongue

I want to have my thoughts and words come easily

I want to stroke the softness behind your ear, that feels like clouds

I want unicorns to exist

I long for the moors

this time I as I, and not as we

Today I was talking to one of my 11th graders who is having trouble writing her essay that's due Thursday. She feels like her thoughts are all tangled and she has no idea how to get out on paper what she is trying to say. Obviously, this is a problem I've had over the years, more with oral communication than written...but I've had to read my writing with a critical eye, piling words and arguments like a child would blocks until all of my components are present. Getting started was always the hardest. I had to learn to pour myself out onto the page, unfiltered and raw, and worry about purity and structure later. That's when I found myself saying to her, "That's why I have my blog. It's my raw space." Of course, she then wanted to know the URL, which is not happening. First of all, I'm uncomfortable with my students knowing my personal thoughts to that degree, and secondly, there's something so reassuring about sending my thoughts out into this vastness, touching immaterial forms, like they're flowing into the sea. I write here what I can't say to anyone, and it's so important that I have that sounding board, because otherwise I bottle it up and get want-to-cry headaches that pain me throughout the day.

Sometimes when I have a moment to breathe, I wipe away the negativity and the stress and the words of the haters and realize that overall, I'm in a good place right now. I still lack balance, and I wish I were better...I wish it came easier. I wish my words flowed like a stream instead of like debris projectiling from a wrecking ball. I wish that I had friends here and that I had more hours in the day. But my students are loving, and for all of the problems that come with the 10th graders, I know that I've positively affected at least one child every day. I may be too exhausted and cranky to realize it in the moment, but afterwards, I can take a step back and realize that on the disaster continuum of first-year teachers, I'm probably doing pretty well.

I took these photos today. Dried roses + glitter + teacups + crochet + crystal garlands= lovely.

Just to say

that I think that sleep is magical, as are confetti picture frames, glitter-dusted rose-petals, miniature houses, vintage buttons, bows, a good biography, and a moment to breathe.

Exhale....

Goodnight.

drip drip plop

I want a bowl of sweet red plums on my dining table, like these from Pia's blog. How lovely!

This Is Just to Say

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

Beware of fainting fits...beware of swoons...

Run mad as often as you like; but do not faint.

I feel like I'm drowning in my own bottled-up tears and my own inadequacy. I know that I am just beating myself up for nothing-- for my lack of perfection-- but it's also a lack of

preparation. I know I can be doing better. But the fact is, I get home at 5 PM after being up since 6 AM and having been on my feet all day, and I'm overwhelmed with the urge to be still. To not think. To light candles and eat heart-shaped pasta and dream of canopy beds. I long for the moors...and for unicorns to exist.

I have a black-tie "do" for school on Saturday night, so I plan on gett

ing my hair styled by a professional. An updo, I think, to complement the sweetheart "neckline" and crew-neck top. It's oddly like Emily Deschanel's dress below. Of course, it's the Deschanel sisters whose styles inspire me. I need something with some volume at the crown to detract from my round face, with a sweep of my bangs to add a retro edge, and something on the simpler (and lower) side in back. What do you think?