Rule Number 27

Rule number 27: Never knowingly be serious.

How have I been doing since the last semester or so? Absolutely crazy. Like, about to cry because of every song I’m listening to one evening, so excited I need to do push-ups to expend energy another. I’ve never felt more emotionally up and down in my life, and at least for the moment I think it’s actually a good thing. I think that probably seems weird, but it’s 100% true. I’m growing and I can feel it. (Like a t-rex!)

In the last two weeks I’ve started a gym regiment which I’ve actually stuck to, have gone cross-country skiing for the first successful time in my life (there were forced attempts in highschool, but we won’t go there), and climbed a particularly difficult part of the rock climbing wall in the SRC. I bought a hiking backpack for my trip to the UK (I’m going to the fucking UK!) and then I bought a few plane tickets. I’m preparing to go to a totally paid for conference in Anchorage to talk about making theory into practice (specifically multilingualism). My roommate Lauren, myself, and our mutual friend Sophie will be going to a rented cabin for three days over spring break to cross-country ski some more, and knit. Oh, and I’ve started knitting. Which has been very rewarding. It’s all been hugely rewarding, just setting out goals and actually accomplishing them. It is such a simple thing and yet it’s so scary. Any kind of failure can feel huge at first, and derailing. Which might explain the rollercoaster that has been me.

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Something I found funny, which I don’t want to forget:

Lauren told an amazing story about shooting a parrot in the heart with a blowgun the very first (and last) time she ever shot a blowgun. Don’t worry, she let us know afterward that it was a wooden parrot.

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Cross country skiing was good and bad. I enjoyed doing it, but didn’t dress warmly enough so my fingers went numb a few times. The instructor was kind enough to loan me her jacket, and then her gloves, and then a hat and switch me buff and everything. So basically I stole all of the ski instructors clothes. I felt very bad about this and a bit embarrassed. But I own shitty gloves and a jacket that’s too long and excuses excuses. I don’t like to complain very much, but I also didn’t want to lose fingers. What I was also avoiding complaining about were the blisters I could feel forming on my heels. I asked about when we’d be getting back and discovered we had another hour and a half to our journey. So, I soldiered on in borrowed clothes, skiing without poles in an attempt to improve the circulation in my hands. We made it back to the Outdoor Activities office and I removed the borrowed boots, discovering blood on the heels of both my socks. Quite a large patch of blood on both. I had skied straight from blister to open wound. It was gross. Check it out:

After 1 day, Right foot

After 1 day, Left foot

Both ski instructors set about cleaning up my heels with alcohol wipes and applying something amazing called moleskin, which is an adhesive to help prevent friction. It was amazing except when MK (one of our ski instructors, very friendly) realized she had the wrong sized piece and wanted to remove it in order to put a bigger piece on. Peeling adhesive off of a fresh wound is unpleasant under any circumstance.

This whole experience led me to discover that Neosporin is actually magical and both of my heels look loads better after only three days of using it (bought it mid week, went skiing exactly a week ago). This could be like some kind of small commercial for Neosporin, but no one reads my blog.

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I was kissed on Valentine’s day, which was actually my very first Valentine’s day kiss ever, and I’m thinking I’m being pursued somewhat which is a very nice feeling because I like being pursued, as most people do. I’m playing it kind of slow because this time in my life is about working on me, and I can’t give myself to anyone if I’m unhappy with myself. What I really want is a totally uninhibited, growing relationship that will give both of us (whoever the other may be) the time and space we need for reaching up, and the close comfort we need as an anchor.

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I’ve been thinking about all of these things lately, and trying to locate where I find my self-worth so that I can concentrate on those things and really feel good about myself. Exercising has been helping, as well as putting an honest effort into my work. I’m going to spend more time reading and knitting this evening, and perhaps finally try to write a crown of sonnets. Talking about a thing too much kills the thing you’re talking about doing, especially if you haven’t started. This is true for me, at the very least.

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Sometimes I’m impatient and I want to see the return on my work immediately. I’ve been really (by really I mean consistently going and putting an effort in) working out for about ten whole days but I already want to be at my top level of physical performance. I know this is silly so I’ve set small goals for myself instead. Yesterday I ran two full miles in 24 minutes (5mph) without stopping. This is by no means earth shattering, but it feels good for me. And as someone (who is pursuing me) said, “Don’t let my winning day make your winning day feel any less important. If you feel like you’ve had a winning day, then you have.”

Perfect

Today, just now, my roommate told me the most Hilarious thing, "Just imagine if I'd come out perfect. I'd be insufferable. This way, at least God forces us to be smart."

Too true. I'm working on making myself into something I want to be. Intelligent but not condescending, in good physical shape so the stairs don't always best me, well-read, funny. In a class last evening a girl was trying to draw a parallel between not being able to have it all and reading every book in the canon. She asked why she should try that? What would it get her? Well, I'd rejoin with a very solid, Why Not? If you can try it, why shouldn't you? Especially when it comes to things like bettering yourself. This weekend I realized the only thing stopping me was myself. It's too hard, I'm tired, I can't concentrate, I'm not sleeping. All of those things are paltry excuses at best. If I can be happy and enjoy being myself, then that's what I'm going to do, and that's what I'm striving for now. Starting this week I've been exercising consistently. I like the feel of muscle burn. I feel like I'm getting somewhere. The results won't be immediate, but they'll be gratifying. I'll be doing the same thing for my brain. Reading things of actual relevance, actually reading for my classes instead of skimming and guessing.

Mostly I've been spurred by an article about new years resolutions and why they all fail. It's not about picking a starting time and telling everyone how much you're going to change. It's about just getting up and doing it. It's about making that change so hard and so well that other people actually notice something is different. So I've been waking up early and working out. From here on out I'm spending my free time a little more constructively. And I'm looking forward to it. There is no reason I can't relax in the pub with a few friends and have a pint, but there's also no reason I can't sit and read of book of poetry or criticism rather than the vacuous things I normally occupy my time with on the internet. So, here's to a new page. Literally and Figuratively.

I know. I'm not funny. I like to amuse myself anyway.

A New Beginning

When I was thirteen years old we moved from Maryland to New York. That day my mother rushed around, making sure everything in the van was packed up neatly, that everyone had used the bathroom, that each and everything had been collected or left on purpose. It was late afternoon when she felt satisfied, and without a backward glance she walked down the long hall and stairwell that lead into out apartment; the stairwell was at last leading us out. At the bottom of those steps, lingering near the stoop in the late sunshine, stood my brothers, Justin and Randy. I was holding a teddy bear I had gotten for my ninth birthday, one I had meant to leave behind for them, but then forgot to let go of. I hugged each one goodbye, got in the car, and haven't been back since.

In college I stayed with a friend for spring break, near the Maryland border, and we drove straight through Hagerstown, right by Frederick. The sense of Deja Vu was overwhelming. Somewhere in one of those two cities, my brothers were living their lives. It was a strange thought.

Although Facebook, and before that Myspace, have been around for quite a while, I never contacted my brothers through either site. I was afraid I didn't know what to say. I felt guilty, and guilt goes a long way toward silence. And so the wall remained, until I decided to break it, on October 24. I didn't tell anyone that I had decided to find Randy and Justin again on facebook, and I certainly didn't tell anyone that I'd sent Randy a message and an apology.

After a month without a reply I figured I wasn't going to get one. My twin sister, Melissa, had tried to contact him when we were in high school and that hadn't gone well, so I thought maybe he didn't want anything to do with any of us. So imagine my surprise, dear imaginary reader, when two days ago Dec. 10, I got a message in response. Of course, I didn't reply immediately. I wasn't sure what to do, what to say, if I was ready to speak to him again, and anyone else that might include me speaking to. I was afraid, essentially, of reopening a past that I had put a firm lid on. That lid may have a peep hole, but it's still there. The emotional response I had was one I didn't expect. I was happy, but I was also incredibly sad, and learned that there was still a little anger left in my heart. What was I going to do? It was a big question. Should I allow myself to be too sad and scared to respond? Should I let myself feel that anger again?

Here's what I decided: fuck that anger. That fear can go jump in a hole and stay there. If there's one thing I don't want to lose now, amid the loss of friends and close relationships, it's the opportunity to get to know a part of my family that I so nearly lost completely.

To Remain Thankful

While I realize it's no longer November and Thanksgiving was TEN whole days ago (which feels like ten weeks at the moment) I have to say that I still have a lot to be thankful for. And the thing I am most thankful for is the company of good people in an amazing place.

On Friday I went with my poetry workshop class on a mildly impromptu field trip to the Permafrost Tunnel. It's one of two such places in the entire world (the other is Russia, Alaska's back yard). It was beautiful in the way that frozen silt is beautiful, which is to say you've got to be a certain kind of person to find that kind of thing beautiful. It was a truly amazing experience though. Our guide was a straight forward German fellow who admitted to knowing only as much as fifteen years of being a tour guide had taught him (still a considerable amount). During our safety talk we learned that we were some of the few people on earth to come into contact with the mold growing inside the tunnel because it was endemic (it wasn't dangerous though, no worries). It was a strange thing to consider that we were a fraction of the few hundred people (a small drop in the well of our population) who had come into contact with a strain of mold thousands of years old.

A safety talk and a hardhat seem sufficient preparation for entering a tunnel through which people have safely traveled for a few decades, but because the tunnel (which isn't really a tunnel because there's no opening on the other end) belongs to the military, everyone had to sign a check-in sheet which listed our names and the time of entry. Not so unusual, except that sheet is then faxed to the military base. If it isn't faxed again in an hour signalling that everyone has made it out alive the military comes and saves the day. Intense stuff for some frozen dirt.

Dramatic image of the entrance

The first thing I noticed stepping into the tunnel was the smell. It was sour and musty with just a faint hint of over-ripe sweetness lingering underneath of it. The smell of rotting bacteria. As the ice in the ice wedges sublimated (turning straight from ice into vapors(the world is a crazy place)) the anaerobic bacteria trapped in the ice came into contact with the oxygen in the air and died (sad day for anaerobes). It left the exposed ice covered in a layer that looked a lot like dusty cobwebs but was actually decayed organic matter. Delicious!

The ceiling itself (where there wasn't solid ice present) was an array of free-hanging old root systems, spidery and silty after thousands of years, and in the entrance you could see 10,000 - 30,000 year old bones belonging to animals that once (hypothetically) drank from an old watering hole that scientists believe existed where the tunnel entrance now is.

Handy signs were hanging around letting us know the age of things. 14,000 is young compared to 30,000.

Potential Sheep Horn jutting from the wall.

There were two different pathways leading into the earth. At the end of one we stood beneath a convergence of ice wedges which formed a polygonal cross-way above our heads. At the end of the other we saw chaotic crystal patterns, formed by small movements in the ice pushing the outer layers of frozen silt into sharp geometric patterns. Those two places were where the really beautiful things happened.

After our trip into earth we went to eat at a brewery right down the road called The Silver Gulch, which has really delicious food and even more delicious brews.

The following day Zack (rockstar and astronaut extraordinaire) and I went to Chena hot springs. It was a really lovely evening and my first time being in a hot spring. It was particularly interesting because it was around -35 and the water was around 100+. Which meant I was really warm but my hair and eyelashes were icy. I need to build up a heat tolerance and go back. On the drive home we also saw a really amazing and intense aurora, several skeins of it in varying intensities of pink and green sweeping and bunching across the sky. A wonderful cap to two great days.

To the Self

For a while, a few weeks only, a small drop compared to the rest of the life I've lived, I have not updated this blog. With such grand notions of attempting to write frequently (dare I say daily?) at the outset of this blog, I was disappointed with myself for not doing so. Which made me even less inclined to continue with the whole thing. Imagine the melodramatic cry, "What is the point!?" That's the thing with melodrama though. Often times it's quite silly.

Much too much has happened for me to trace back through the weeks, and more than anything I am surprised by the passage of time. As November's end nears, I contemplate what it is I'm grateful for, as so many others have. There are times when those things are hard to remember, when they fade out of focus. But I try always to be mindful of joy and to be kinder to myself.

So I am thankful for the biggest, clearest sky I've ever seen; for the great grey owl, the red and white fox, the grouse and ptarmigan; for the silence so still you can hear the snow falling. I am grateful for peacefulness and the chatter produced by spending time with people who are interested in one another, and for feeling loved and cared for. I am grateful for borrowing books, for poetry, for the strange and varied passage of time, which insists on change. And to time I owe the changes in my life, which have brought me to this point, past harsh adversity and trembling sorrow and the buoyant moments of joy. No less than every moment could have brought me here, even if I still sometimes struggle. I am grateful even for the struggle.

November First

This is a good day so far (three hours into it). I'm writing a new poem, revising an old one, reading two poetry books and a stack of poems for review for the lit magazine at UAF. And I think being immersed in poetry can make good days, even if you know you're avoiding work for class. Even if you're avoiding sleep, as usual.

I'd like to blame the weather here for my poor sleep. I'd like to say, "Oh well the sun patterns have..." blah blah blah. Truthfully, I'm just ignoring sleeping patterns. The sun doesn't rise early anymore, why should I? We lose seven minutes of daylight a day. To put it in perspective, by november 18 we will have approximately five hours and fifty minutes of sunlight. By december 1 we will have four and a half hours of sunlight. Most of this will be horizon sun, rising and setting.

Homicide rates are highest in hot, bright countries; suicide rates are highest in cold, dark countries. Either way someone is killing something. Isn't that strange? The habits of people are generally confusing.

I suppose I'm updating this for the sake of updating it, and not for any real reflection or purposeful writing. just needed to give that poem I'm working on a little air. I did write a different new poem while I was up here, and I quite liked it. I might even venture to say that it's good. Not sure yet how I feel about the new one. Longer lines than I usually go for, and of a very personal and close nature. I guess I'd say we'll see if I was going to post it here, but I'm not going to. So...

Two A.M.

There's a certain kind of intimacy in knowing you won't be sleeping. It's strange. It sneaks up on you. One moment you're in class, talking about poetry, outside smoking a cigar with someone you want to call a boy, someone who's actually a man. Strange to think about people in those kinds of terms. I don't like attributing too much age to people. I try not to analyze myself too much. Sunday night and into Monday I didn't sleep at all. Slept four hours Monday night, and almost nine last night. Now I can see the not sleeping sneaking up. I don't mind. I have a paper to do anyway. I just need to get out some of this extraneous thought so I can work on it. I know I can do it, that's not the hard part. I just have to concentrate long enough. Making myself some tea, putting on classical music as loud as my ear drums can stand it. About to open the window to cool it off in here.

I wrote a poem I really like. I went on a late diner dinner date. Kind of. Zack. Aspiring poet, astronaut, and rockstar.

I really like people.