For Laughs

Karma

I once read about the poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I remember reading that she wrote amazing poetry, poetry about what was going on in the world and the great issues of the day. Apparently she made quite the influence on the world with her work, which was incredible for a woman in Victorian era England.

I also read that after marrying fellow poet Robert Browning, her poetry “declined”. I remember reading that it was disappointing, how love addled her  writing and that after she fell in love she couldn’t write about anything else.

I have two things to say about this memory of mine:

  1. At the time I went right along with whoever was writing that and judging her harshly, wondering how she could’ve let that happen to her.
  2. Karma is real. Very real.

And that is all.

Have a nice day.

For Laughs

I Prefer Steadfast

For about as long as I can remember, people have found it necessary to tell me that I’m a stubborn person. Well actually, for longer than I can remember, I’m fairly certain.

Now to continue on with this honesty thing, most of the time this comes from my mom when I call her in hard situations. Somewhere along the line it usually comes up that I’m a pretty stubborn person.

honkedWell it has been my experience in life that calling somebody “stubborn” is not a compliment. I’m not necessarily proud of my so-called stubbornness, however it seems to be a fact that the entire world knows about.

So I’ve been thinking.

I think being stubborn is a good thing, obviously to a point. Being too much of anything is probably not a good thing. If you’re not willing to stick with something and believe in it, then you should probably just go home right now. But you don’t want to be so stubborn that you miss wonderful opportunities.

Anyway, I guess the point here is that I’ve decided to not be stubborn.

I prefer “steadfast”.

It’s much more positive.

Just Writing

Clock Like

Clock Like

Looking at the clock
For months on end
Waiting for it to stop
Just waiting

Dreading it so much
Hardly able to think
Would there be touch?
How many tears?

Then came the night
The clock finally stopped
Beside bright car lights
That moment

Beautiful, when it came
More so than I thought
A memory in a frame
So precious

Books and smells
Talking and reading
Laughter can tell
All of the story

Funnier than I thought
The moment at the end
A moment so caught
By friendly eyes

It ached, you know,
More than I imagined
I held the tears close
Until the clock began again

It is much different now
A different kind of waiting
More subtle, anyhow,
Than I expected

So long since words
Came from me in poems
Somewhat like birds
Singing the veiled stories

I wish I knew how to say
All the things it was
That moment at end of day
But I cannot

For it was both beautiful and unfinished
Like a clock

 

For Laughs · I'm Just Saying

The Oxford Club

shoesThe English Department in my university is housed in a very old building that was originally the men’s dorms. It’s made of old, yellowish brick and is about three stories tall. It sits near the bottom of the hill on which our campus is located, and inside the lights are slightly dim and the halls slightly narrow.

In short, it’s pretty much perfect for housing the English Department in every way. And I mean this with the utmost respect. English is one of my areas of study, after all.

So one day a few months ago I walked past this building, and outside of it I beheld a truly wonderful sight. Several of the professors, all male, were standing outside in a half circle. They all  held mugs and wore tweed jackets and caps, and in the center of them was my favorite professor of all time expounding on some great topic.

Yesterday while I was walking past this building I once again beheld this group of libraryprofessors, again in the half circle. This time they were without the tweed jackets, though the caps were still thoroughly present.

I cannot explain why, but this is literally one of my favorite things on the entire planet.

I’ve named them The Oxford Club.

I'm Just Saying

My Plea

waste of a treeIf I don’t survive this Finals Week, somebody please tell Josh Groban that he’s nice. And also that I’d like him to sing at my funeral.

And my collection of Frank Sinatra paraphernalia is to be distributed amongst the sympathetic believers.

I'm Just Saying

Witty Paradoxes

I’ve gone to the “Add Post” section of my blog no less than three times today. And just stared at the page. Blankly. Knowing from the sadness in recent statistics that I should probably write something, not knowing what to write. I guess my blog hasn’t been the happiest of places lately. I’ve been doing this “be honest” thing, and while liberating I have a feeling that I’ve chased many of you away.

simpleTruthfully, my blog has been teetering on a ledge for several months now. Not that this is something to worry about. I know I’m not the only one to have problems like this with my blog.

The problem is that I want to have more followers. I want to reach more people. But I don’t want to do anything that this requires. I don’t want to use social media to promote my blog, which would basically be the solution to all of my issues.

But here’s why.

I’m an incredibly private person. Shocker, I know. For a long time my blog was anonymous. There was no picture of me, none of you knew my name. To this day you don’t even know my last name! And get this: only within the last few months do some members of my family even know that I have a blog. Up until about two months ago the only people in my immediate circle that knew about my blog were my sister, my mom, and my best friend. That circle has now extended to several of my siblings and to some more friends. But that is it.

It’s this weird paradox I have. Because nobody really knows that I write a blog, I can write torn betweenanything that I want. Because nobody that I know who knows I have a blog reads my blog (you may have to read that sentence more than once), I can write anything I want. Now many of you know that my blog is anything but rude. I’d never write anything bad about anybody. There is just a freedom in this anonymity that I’ve created. And I like it that way.

But then I have this constant, “I’m so incredibly witty and talented! Why don’t I have more feedback and views on my blog?” thought process going on in my head. (Part of the problem could possibly be that many of my devoted readers – bless your hearts – live in England and so the time difference could play a role there…) But in general this is a daily lamentation.

There are lots of paradoxes happening in my life, actually. And oddly enough, all of them involve my writing. I have this huge dream of being this incredible, world wide author someday. And yet I can’t even share my writing with others because I just have zero confidence in that arena. I mean, I can write a blog post because I’m fully aware that I’m hilarious and the way I put posts together is completely ingenious, but when it comes to my actual writing…my confidence may as well be subzero.

all and nothingActually, in general I am not a super confident person. Most people don’t know that about me, but it’s true. There is a certain sense of security in pretending like you are confident when underneath you really aren’t.

But now I’m off on philosophical tangents and we all know how messy THAT can get. The point is that I’m in several writing paradoxes. Witty paradoxes, but paradoxes nonetheless.

Happy Tuesday.

For Laughs

Featuring: College

cat benchToday, let’s talk about college. Let’s feature the college life.

There are really only two types of people in college:

  1. Those who sleep on random benches
  2. Those who eat carrots or Cheetos in class.

There is no in between.

Because that is college.