sex talk

I told my counselor (I used “therapist” in a recent post before I remembered I don’t aspire to write chick-lit) that I wanted to be more open about sex-y stuff. I may have been raving though, imagining throwing discreteness to the wind like I wanted to get everyone’s attention at the party and then vomit all of my chaos onto the dance floor.

He kinda shook his head. He grabbed a white board (these people draw A LOT—who knew psychology was so spatial?). Three concentric circles later, he was explaining to me that some stuff you share with only the small, inner circle, other stuff with the middle circle, and even less with the biggest circle.

It didn’t feel like the right time to say, “But Anne Lamott says...”

All in all, I think he wanted me to intellectualize it, psychologize it—but I just kept thinking, "That's your job."

His cross-examination made me a little more hopeful, though—like he’s on to something: these things get better when they’re talked through soberly and with insight. Jokes are there, but only to grease the wheels, not to divert attention. This, IMHO, is more of what churches and Christian schools like mine need: sex to be talked about in a way that’s honest and captivating without being ridiculously solemn or too wink-wink silly. It should be talked about the way it's actually lived--in all its complicated facets.

So I’ve put my brain to the task, coming up with some more to say for my next session. I’d tell you, but I just can’t be sure that you’re in the smallest circle.

fun with international law notes

Premature recognition – It’s common and even normal for States your age. Not to be fretted over too much; it’s probably psychological. Perhaps, recognize yourself shortly before multilateral talks are expected. Also, consider using two envoys.

this is what nancy gets for having me bail her out and sharing notes for the textbook she hasn't received yet

my excuses for not dating

-I’m a terrible driver

One turn in the wrong direction down a one-way street or one running of a red light and s/he’s gonna wish s/he stayed home to study. I also get lost, hopelessly, hopelessly, a-new-10-minute-drive-takes-me-30-minutes, lost.

-$20 Movie Tickets

 It’s only $10 when I’m single.

-Ratio Problems

 50/50: you talk/me talk. A conversation is not your consecutive responses to 10 of my questions.

-Sports

I will not play football with your brother. I’ve never watched ESPN; I have no idea what you’re dad is talking about.

-I like my alone time 

My ideal weekend is one spent in my underwear…alone, at home and accompanied by my programs, an ice machine, and limitless diet soda.


-If only I could still wear a bib
 
Have you ever seen me eat a burrito? Imagine a mitten-wearing Helen Keller at Santanas. 

but if those aren't a problem (I will yield to pre-feminist/egalitarian tradition on the movie tickets, though)...send me your number!

school has started again

This time there is hope, though. It’s my 8^th and final semester. Oh, the friends, eating out, and all of the talks are fun. There are just these damn classes to arrive at on time and those indomitable papers that I would pay hundreds of dollars to avoid

Reading the syllabus for one of my classes, paying particular attention to the section enumerating all of the requirements for the 30%-of-your-grade writing assignment, I muttered a low and dejected "fuck."

The class: Doctrine of Holiness

obsessed with youth

another election, another series of articles in the media about youth involvement, usually on the DNC side. college-age types have never tipped an election and they never will. young twenty-somethings aren't an omen nor the thin end of the electoral victory wedge and readers shouldn't let writers imply it.

a confession

I pretty much hate being condescended to—even more so when part of me assumes that the other person is somewhat justified in their estimation of their own higher intelligence or consciousness. Of course, I don’t care to let this show. I shrug my shoulders and give a half smile, secretly hoping that my silent or affable martyr shtick will encourage them to be racked with guilt later.

Hopefully a tragedy was avoided. The scratch on my learned veneer not too deep, not revealing the mess of ignorance and tawdriness comprising the core.

Sometimes I’ll pick their brain right that moment. If I’m ignorant hitherto I’d rather not be henceforth. My immediate shame does yield to hope, hope that future embarrassment over an untruth, mispronunciation or malapropism will be avoided—and that these little nuggets gained can later be paraded about, laurels of the educated life. If anyone’s lording intellectual tidbits over others, it should be me.

Of course, I couch this all behind wide, innocent eyes: Not only am I bright, I'm so modest about it.

not always thanks and peace

tear at this body
the sin is in my flesh
tear it out

fist punched into wall
car crash
explosion

get the HELL out of me

fuck the writer in my head
always summing up everything

always throwing things together into a story
not a real story

but the one that sells me

that damned brain
remove it, bleach it
HOLY light envelop it
cleansing rays leave nothing of me

i'm HERE! What are you waiting for

screaming, yelling, crying, slumped in a hostel bathroom. YOU ignore it all!!!!!

is this not broken enough for you?

Respond, RESPOND, RESPOND!

praise, scorn. i shake. shout. cough. insides tremor with them all and yet you don't care. You don't care. You don't care. FIX ME already.

i'm sick all over, my skin crawls with sin.

to sleep.