What's new?

I'm bored.

I've spent the past couple months balancing my job with Delta events and working on graduate schools applications. Now that the new line has crossed and I've finished my graduate school applications - all detailed 16 of them - I find myself at a crossroads and that place is well...a little boring.

I'm used to being stressed and called upon to do so many things at once that I don't know how to react when I get a downtime. So I've been looking for a second job, something part time, maybe 5-9pm on weekdays or a little freelance writing gig. I haven't been able to find anything much and I'm a little disappointed, but hopefully something will come up. I'm tired of just being subjected to the usual rounds of copywriting and editing, though interesting, it's obviously not what I'm called to do forever.

Anyway, these are the schools I applied to. In no particular order:

University of Iowa
Indiana University
Purdue University
University of Notre Dame
Southern Illinois University
University of Michigan
University of Minnesota
Vanderbilt University
Washington University, St. Louis
University of Virginia
Virginia Commonwealth University
Virginia Tech University
Louisiana State University
University of New Orleans
University of Alabama
Penn State University

I think that's the first time, I've been able to recite all of them like that. Last night, I was talking to Ross and tried to do it and could only hit 10. Ouch!

Ross, too, is applying to schools. The same ones -minus Washington and Southern Ill.; in their place, he's inserted UMass and Irvine.

Well I'm just feeling out this whole process. I have some scholarship applications to write, but...what do I do now?

Even work has slowed done. I'm still working on managing the program, but since students are going away for break and stuff soon, things are a little slow.

Weird.

Allegiances

Allegiance (n.) Loyalty, devotion, fidelity, etc.

It was easy to contemplate this topic in the midst of the historic election that took place last week. I remember memorizing the "Pledge of Allegiance" in pre-school. My three year-old lips struggles to form the words in the correct pitch and rhythm, so my classmates and I stumbled on certain parts, rushing to have these statements all end at the same time.

It hasn't set in fully that I can relate to the nation's leader. I don't mean because he is black. I couldn't relate to Bush. My life's ambitions weren't handed to me on a silver platter.

But I didn't write this post to get politically sentimental.

I started thinking about personal allegiances, in my relationships. Am I loyal? Am I faithful? Yes, tirelessly so. I began to think about all of the things that I do for others, despite the better wishes of others. I am that person that puts others first, in all occasions and what does that leave?

Emptiness.

Take for example, my family. To my grandmother, I am the one she calls when she needs groceries. This is even though I don't have a car and that requires a trip on the bus and then a ride back with a stranger in a 'hack'. This is even though she has an able-bodied daughter and grandson living with her and who possess cards. I am the one she calls to buy her incontinence pads when there are people who could easily fetch them for her. I am the one that will wash her clothes, clean her house, and rake her yard, without any promises of things in return. In fact, I never want anything from her. I don't do these things for money, for attention, but for the want of helping. I even did these things while I was in college 2 hours away, lending a hand whenever I had the opportunity.

My brother refuses to better himself. Ever since my mother died five years ago, he has denied anyone's help. Daily reminders about normal upkeep activities: get a haircut, go to the doctor's, go to class have been ignored. But it's gotten worse.

Revealed to me on a Thanksgiving morning voicemail was the fact that he thinks he is dying. Crying, he revealed little to no information on his illness. My boyfriend dropped me off at home immediately after we reviewed the message. At home, I saw the suicide letter he wrote and began reviewing the instability of the signs he had been trying to project.

To this day, I still know nothing about this illness, about what his struggles are, but I've tried to understand and respect his privacy.

This is a courtesy that I extend to him, but is not done in return.

To him, I am a plaything, to be dusted off its quiet resting place and throw back with the other rag dolls and stuffed animals when completed. I am the butler, the maid, the personal assistant that runs around various places, completing various errands. I am to be bossed around like an eight-year old.

I am 22 and have always been the responsible one.

But when is enough, enough?

Stars Fell on Alabama

I'm sitting here, listening to an album I haven't seen in a couple years. Sitting in my closet was my CD case I hadn't bothered to locate or touch, but a couple of nights ago, I decided to explore it. Some CDs fell out, neglected to be put in their storage sleeves. This was my jazz collection that I had been proud of, especially in my nonconformist teenage years.

There it was, "Ella & Louis." Louis, with his low-throated growl, trumpet calls, and quick-witted sentiments scattered throughout the songs. And Ella, her perfect pitch, scatted syllables, and delighted alto range. The first that came on, random, was "Stars Fell on Alabama" and I thought about my boyfriend Ross who envisions a life for us in "Alabamy."

Right now, we're both applying to graduate schools for creative writing, hoping to perfect our craft in poetry. Yes, we dream someday of becoming famous poets, of being awarded with numerous praises, eager students asking for us to sign collections of poems graces with our poetic presence. Yes, this is the life we've dreamed of for years, though separately. We didn't know each other then.

Ross and I had been attending school together for 4 years. Over that time, I had heard his name, mentioned in various circles of poetic friends and yet, we didn't meet until our senior year of college. He was working on a portfolio for graduate school, as was I with our respective poetry professors. At the end of the semester came a reading that we both participated in with another student. I was impressed by him and his poetry, but never gave him another thought. At least not romantically.

The next semester, Ross and I were in an Advanced Poetry workshop, the final step in our university for ambitious, aspiring, serious poets. I fell in love with my classmates, my professor, and the combinations of words we included on pages to create poetry. At the end of the course, another reading and who was last to read but Ross, impressive in his craft, and even more attractive than I had ever remembered. He has a true presence about him, in class and about campus. After mentioning an aside to the poet sitting next to me and after the reading, I jokingly, asked if he would marry me. I told the professor that I proposed and she went to Ross, saying, "your life is about to change." Who would have known that was true?

Ross and I have been dating for the past 6 months. I got his number from a classmate at another writing class' ending dinner the next night. I called him, intoxicated with the thought of having a new lover, of being wanted. It wasn't just that, though. I sensed something in him - something intriguing and mysterious and lonely and loving and I wanted to know that. I had been pushed aside too much from a heart that had known me, intimately, for 3.5 years. That past, that ex-, graduated college, moved to New Jersey and had dragged me through a long-distance relationship, complete with twists of emotion. And perhaps, dragged isn't the best word. It was a welcome prospect for me, too. Senior year, new experiences, new moves, new plans.

Out of work for nearly a year, except a minor gig, working for his uncle in a clothing store. This was a boy, a man, with a college degree from one of the best schools on the East Coast, working in retail. And, please believe. There's no shame in my game. But when you're out of work for almost year, not applying, and living with your parents, there's a problem. A lack of motivation. A fear. Something is holding you back. Applying to graduate school at the time, he decided that the best bet was to follow me to school...and then what?

We never discussed beyond that. There was always a fear, an apprehension that both of us had talking about these issues. But with Ross, we have a certain level of maturity, we acknowledge the steps we want to take in our life, in our careers. And I love him for that. Yes, we would love to get into the same schools and forge our lives from there, but that may not be option for us. So, we'll work it out.

Ella and Louis. Their music love affair. It made me think of him. It made me think of Alabama and renting houses with 2 dogs and poetry and love and it made me happy. It made me laugh.

So right now, I'm listening to that album, between catching glimpses of "Girlfriends" and writing this post. The windows are open for various graduate school applications, my resume, apartment and job listings on Craigslist, and my poetry portfolio. "Girlfriends," admittedly a show I used to enjoy, is making me a little sick in my newfound relationship "maturity," I'm flipping through college football and seeing just about every school I'm applying to play today.

Interested in what the choices currently are?
Here you go:

Washington University, St. Louis
Southern Illinois University, Carbondale
University of Iowa
Indiana University
Notre Dame University
Vanderbilt University
University of Michigan
University of Minnesota
Purdue University
Penn State University
University of New Orleans
University of Virginia
Virginia Tech University
Virginia Commonwealth University
Louisiana State University
University of Alabama

I'm ready to work on my personal statement now and I need to plug in my Macbook.

"Born to be Blue"

The name of the song I'm listening to. (Yes, I ended a sentence with a preposition. Deal with it).

I'm a sucker for sad, slow songs - and if they're beautiful instrumentals that can stand on their own - soulful and elegant, then I'm in love.

Songs like that actually make me feel happy, in my own way - contemplative, imaginative. They evoke a daydream of anyplace I would like to go.

The blues ain’t nothin’
But a bad woman feelin’ good.

Am I a bad woman?


Am I feeling good?



I woke up around 8:30am, which is very early for me (especially out of school me). It's trash day and I'm working on my Teach for America essay which is due tonight. I'm also going to Center City to buy a suit later this morning. And I'll print out some resumes at Kinkos or perhaps the library.

Well, I'm going to lounge around and brainstorm a little.

Life & a bit of Billie

Sorry, I can't actually bring myself to write that much right now. You could blame it on my current lack of motivation.

I'm on my winter break from college. Yes, relaxation time and all that jazz, but now I'm sitting here, attempting to place the pieces of the puzzle that is my life. Trite, I know - both the situation and the phrase about the puzzle (we're losing focus here!), but it's true.

In about 5 months, I will be venturing (or at the pace I'm at) wandering into the work world. Apprehensive...unhappy. I guess it's too early to say for the latter. I could actually like working if I found a position I enjoyed.

This summer, I researched - no, obsessed about my future. Got an internship at the local courthouse, swore up and down (what did I say about those trite phrases) that I was going to law school and graduate school. But after a few weeks of unsuccessfully studying for the LSAT and getting to know myself a bit more, I saw that law school wasn't for me - at least at this point in my life. It's all good though.

Writing was pulling me in a direction I didn't think I would experience. And the yearning to both teach and share my writing - ah, new directions.

But this semester, I chose not to apply to graduate schools, even based on the fact that my professors believe I had a strong portfolio and sponsored a reading for two other student writers and I.

There were a number of reasons for this "sudden" change...I was too busy trying to keep my head above water (I feel bad for the original person who wrote phrases like this...they should get some sort of spoken copyright royalty or something) with all my clubs, my job, my schoolwork, my sorority, and my boyfriend. It was difficult, but somehow I did it this semester and didn't fail a course OR have a nervous breakdown. Yay, me?

And I felt like I needed a break from school...at least for a bit. I dreamed of being Dr. and Esq.,but something about the time feels wrong and I also missed the deadline for NYU's writing program (I swear the earliest deadline of any graduate school in writing I have seen...Dec. 18!) and hadn't even thought about the GRE.

So I'll save the application drama for next year, when I'm more prepared and confident. I had already decided in the summer that I wouldn't be attending graduate school unless I was given some considerable financial aid and with some serious networking coming up (meeting reps. from Random House and Doubleday just to name a few on Monday in NY) and AWP in NY at the end of the month, I have some faith that I can generate some interest. Besides, I can only hope that Jane's been talking to Allison Joseph and Camille Dungy (two of her writing comrades) about me. That...would...secure...the finances.

Since I've been home (when I wasn't lounging around with my boyfriend), I've written about 30 pages of poetry in a beautiful untouched journal.

(I started to think about this journal 'phobia' I have, which randomly became sort of a collection. I hate wasting journals...)

I'll post a fall poem. It's my favorite month and I feel as if it hasn't truly exited...

My Autumn
for Rilke

Perhaps it is just a tree
lanky and overgrown.
Braches sweep the ground,
dramatic gestures as the
wind bristles its limbs.

Sneakers crunch through piles
of leaves, scuffing concrete.
Reds, yellows, browns
float to the ground.

I think of Frost, Eliot, Rilke –
what a true poet would say –
Wander along the boulevards, up and down,
restlessly while the dry leaves are blowing.

I'm thinking of submitting to a chapbook contest (a contest that published short manuscripts/books of poetry). There are several deadlines coming up...and the worst they could say is no.

I just started working on a charcoal drawing of Billie Holiday. I haven't drawn in years. Sometimes, I just get these urges.

The picture's not so awesome and I'm obviously not done. I dabble in all of the arts (some more than others. For example, I am a musician & writer more than I am any sort of a skill Artist).
The eyes will be the hardest...their proportioning is always hardest to me...and it's Billie. Her eyes were her. As was her voice, but not the sort of dynamic that can be caught on paper...in a drawing. I applaud the poets who could capture Billie.

"I go back where I came from to 6th Avenue
and the tobacconist in the Ziegfeld Theatre and
casually ask for a carton of Gauloises and a carton
of Picayunes, and a NEW YORK POST with her face on it and I am sweating a lot by now and thinking of
leaning on the john door in the 5 SPOT
while she whispered a song along the keyboard
to Mal Waldron and everyone and I stopped breathing."
-Frank O'Hara

I could comment so much on this poem "The Day Lady Died," but I prefer this response:

"I wanted to be Frank O'Hara,
staring at the newspaper with her face on it.
What picture did they use?
That gardenia - would it sit with her? Rot?
Was it even real? The way she was?
I could have held it - my breath - afraid,
as if it would have ruined the moment."
-Me

Well, I'll have to save some more Billie for later. One of my favorite poems I've written is about her.

Goodnight.

Welcome to Blogger

This is my very first blogger post.

::Applause ensues::

I guess a little about myself:

I'm from Philadelphia, currently residing in Baltimore. Go to Loyola College. Quickly approaching my senior year of college. I'm a writer (poetry, non-fiction, journalism) and musician (Clarinet, alto sax). My plans for the future: MA in Writing and then my JD.

Alright, enough of that. I've got a paper to write.