October 26, 2014 § Leave a comment
Today marks a week of straight of nonstop wind and water and sporadic bouts of sunlight that vanish in about two whole minutes.
We’re officially rained in here in Oban. Ferries have cancelled. A boat named The Elizabeth washed up on the bay in the wrong spot. I’m not sure if my umbrella is an appendage or just a lost cause. BUT WHAT ELSE ARE SUNDAYS FOR? I’ve written a rained-in recommendation list for you nice readers. Don’t act like it isn’t comforting to be trapped indoors when it’s cold.
October 19, 2014 § 2 Comments
How I didn’t expect my short trip in Glasgow to go: faking an immediate bereavement at midnight with my Swedish coworker, Johan, insisting we had to fly to Stockholm in the morning– receptionist doing his best to seem concerned but implying there was no unbooking in our future. Our accommodation was truly bad, but we survived. Twenty minutes after our stunt, we giddily took to the streets, grief-less, hungy, drunk.
It was a blast. It was dark. It was gloomy. The archictecure! The history! The art! The cafes! The easiest metro in the whole UK! We met up with our other coworkers, engaged and now on their way to Thailand (Alice: “Do you blog about us?” Me: Yes. Here. Now. I hope you’re safe.) who introduced us to their friend from Auckland, now living in G-Town, who did a seriously good job of showing us the city. I’m doing a lot of nationality and name dropping here, but all I’m saying: there is something better than exploring a good place—and that is exploring it in good company. In the words of Johan himself, it was a proper good time.
October 17, 2014 § Leave a comment
The universal sign for packing may be crying. It is hard.
It is frustrating. We’d all like to punch the “I love packing!” people in the face, but they’d probably be prepared for that, since packers are prepared for all things. I’m not. However I’m getting better at carrying a light load, metaphorically and physically. And these items are the items I’d write love poems to if I wasn’t already writing actual poems about other things.
October 14, 2014 § Leave a comment
Spent Tuesday driving up and down an Island on a single-lane road, which I learned makes hearts do weird things. There is nothing natural about moving toward Argyll animals or vehicles at such speed. I also learned that people have been hanging out on the Isle of Mull since the last Ice Age. There are fun legends and castles and other things you might expect. So stunning. So humbling. This place would have a lot of birthday candles on its cake.
October 11, 2014 § Leave a comment
It’s International Day of the Girl. Which I feel very strongly about, but which I won’t stop feeling very strongly about tomorrow, once its designated day ends. And which I can’t compile the right words this morning for, so read elsewhere and understand how it would be hard for me to form any cohesive, accurate, easily structured thoughts. I am very happy about the things that happened this week: mostly what Malala’s award means for girls everywhere, what Lena Dunham’s book tour means for certain, identifiable girls in US venues listening to her, hearing my mom over facetime that her mom’s (pictured above) heart is working normally again, that no children ate these heroin packets a four-year-old accidentally misused a lesson in sharing for. The bigger picture behind all of it. The heartbreak it comes from.
One thing I can do is offer a list of sorts, that has helped me tremendously throughout the past month of transitions and thoughts and realizing how privileged and lucky I am, but how much I feel and think and hurt often. And how often I am wrong and not alone in my wrongness.
That list is a book list. They’re women writers because once they were girls, writing. Girls, reading. Another kind of being privileged. Another thing this day should bring attention to (the girls who are doing neither, because they are not allowed). But it just so happens that the only things I’ve downloaded or reread in the past month happen to be written by women (aside from magazine articles, The Everyman Pocket Series Blues Poems, edited by Kevin Young, my first ever college creative writing professor John Warner’s new book, and Jake Adam York’s posthumous book). Do not think too deeply about that.
October 7, 2014 § 1 Comment
October 4, 2014 § Leave a comment
The first thing I wrote in Glasgow was, “I do not want to live in the U.K. and hate myself.” Which, reading now, seems dramatic. And, maybe not directly but definitely inspired by the first line of Lena Dunham’s book, which I read with lightening speed and a swelling heart. But here’s the thing: I left France sobbing. Instead of taking street style photos of cool girls in Paris going to and from Fashion Week shows, I cried in my hotel room and occasionally got up to look at the Eiffel tower sparkling. More drama. Mass text I sent: “I miss a farm, bad.”