Word count: 1009
Buying this notebook and the eight books for this class was completely anxiety filled. I have a tremendously indecisive personality and am terrible at buying books.
Or really good at it?
It is at the end just the feeling from the book that they’re decided on. If they’re new they have to be bound tightly and align perfectly. The pages should be untouched. There needs to be no evidence that another read so much as looked at this heaven forbid they breathed on it. Good on to the next book.
Jamie came book shopping with me and commented on want an incredibly entertaining time it was to watch me buy these books. I changed her, she bought her psych book only after careful examination.
I couldn’t even buy the Emily Dickinson one….too messy, I couldn’t do it. So tomorrow I must venture for a copy.
It needs to be pretty in a normal and regular way.
And you know once I get them, they don’t stay nicely. All my books turn dirty and torn and spilled on and are emerged in unrecognizable script of thoughts and even a grocery list at times.
I went to Target cause Alamo2 decided again to be un-respected whores and charge 3.49 for regular notebooks.
I stood in the aisle OCD-like and was shuffling through them and debating over color whispering to myself. I really didn’t want a color one. It was much too flashy, it seemed like I wanted to stand out among all the composition books….but upon closer evaluation the black books were not bendy to my standards
AHH the roommates not staying for the summer have shadily appeared and expect me to find them food? Excuse me, I’m in the middle of some hard core realization that I crazily drink too many rockstars and finally notice the childish ways of what notebooks buy…they don’t even know.
…and I chose the purple one, still have a pang of longing for the black one….but the purchase was made and ink was scratched along the first page. No return available.
I’m doing a decent job of avoiding the reading. I’m in this new partment and its pretty distracting to read. There’s no proper desk and the fan and dishwasher allow this constant gaspy noise of steam and defeat to fill my ears.
Aversion. Aversion. Distractions! Soo I have discovered that if everyone were to read my horoscope upon meeting me, we wouldn’t have to go through chatty banter and you could just understand my laziness and activity from my Gemini sign. I’ll spare you my horoscope for today.
I’m a terrible speller.
I hate people who can’t spell. Other than myself, of course.
See that’s a contradicting statement that Gemini’s are fond of. Ohh and its true that wasn’t just a fun example for the hell of it.
Reflection of class.
I nervous laugh a lot, this is my formal apology to our class. I’m sorry if it distracts you.
Now, this has been the third time Song of Myself and the first time I read it.
When I have been distracted with this post I have plunged my pen into the dry cracked earth, that resembles my dancer’s feet, instead of onto this fresh and very thought over notebook paper.
I see approximately five ants, however it is extremely possible that I miscounted seeing as my -7.5 prescription always deceives my mind.
As much as I’m trying not to, I have some expectations if at the very least or very most of myself
. I hope to be persistent and hardworking by continuing to develop my voice/s. I intend to be a presence in the class, only if and when I have something of substance or humor or of curiosity to share.
I must compel myself to keep writing and let go of what I think I should write or not write. Because all thoughts should at least count towards the word count goals for these posts. And you know, thoughts although created in my head deserve a placement in ink.
__and there I go sidetracking and not writing it out.
How silly to be typing this out and imagining the moments so close in the past.
The sun is hot and I am inappropriately dressed in jeans when some fashion of shorts is indeed necessary. My forehead is too sweaty to be attractive for the total of two people oh and one runner on the quad. And I must keeping going for quantity’s sake. For 6pm is approaching.
I expect to enjoy the class, to look forward to coming to class with hopes of discoveries small or big, even grande sized.
I expect that my classmates will display respect and trust and show forgiveness as I intend to display.
I expect to deeply incorporate summer into this class and not feel as I’m missing out by writing on poems I have no conviction of.
All I want to do is be able to rest my head down and sleep with the easy breeze that is pass by.
I know if I conquer my inability to focus I can be proud of producing work instead of pitiful pangs of laziness touching me lightly when I re read or see the grade on work.
Something that proves I know how it feels to write something surprising and insightful.
And in order to do that I know I must let go of expectations and instead turn and weaving and just be.
Whitman discovered it all and reflected so thoughtfully in Song of Myself and I find that it is suiting to start off with such a mindset in the classroom.
I must clear clear clear the mind of expectations, how difficult! I know where I must be and just can’t instantly transform, but what are the inbetween steps? Letting go and forgetting where I need to end? And enjoy this day two days before twenty years and consume , like Walt, all.
Bad and Good
Free and Difficult
Ants and Sky