Hoo buddy. Anyone else lay around like cats after work today? I tell you what, when the temperature reaches triple digits and there is no source of water large enough to jump in available, it’s a sign of a stay-in night. You know, the kind with cereal for supper and Breakfast at Tiffany’s and you don’t even wear your shirt you’re still so hot.

Want to lose weight? Work in a warehouse during the summer. Trust me, the pounds melt right off. As does your face on days like these. Tit for tat.

Tonight a lightning storm blew into town, and it was a real humdinger. Man oh man. We haven’t had one of those formonths. It went something along the lines of this:

I only recently upgraded to digital (after holding out for film as long as possible…until the cost of developing my film exceeded the cost of the Nikon d40 that I got. No need for a horoscope, I get it.) so pardon the lack of professionalism. But whenever we get big lightning I can’t help but get as close to outside as possible (in this case I WAS outside…don’t tell my mom).

Lightning does that to me. My big brother and I would often stay up way too late watching lightning storms from a window upstairs. I never did it with anyone else in the family, just my big bro. I like lightning for that, for that unique little memory that’s just mine and my brother’s.

But those big lights in the sky also both fire me up and calm me down. I never feel more alive when I’m watch lightning, especially, I admit, when I’m sitting outside while the lightning bolts crash far too close for adequate safety. Anyone else get that? It’s that adrenaline rush that makes you hear every heartbeat singing. Like in the immortal words of Sylvia Plath: I am, I am, I am.

You know those tattoos where you wish you’d thought of it first?


But lightning also brings me to a calmer place. Because it reminds me of the smallness of my role in the universe. It’s like, hey, you got problems? Yes, yes you do. But then those light fingers trace paths in the sky and you remember that there are greater forces than you in this chaotic life we lead. It reminds me to remember to just be. Lightning, it just is. We build up all this extraneous shit and we freak out (this ‘we’ is an ‘I’ with an invitation for agreement, of course) because it seems so huge and dire. What does he/she/they think, what’s the best decision, should I do this/that/ahh shit.

It’s hard to believe, but it’s not huge and dire. In the end things just happen. I hate learning this lesson because it’s totally against my tendency to overthink things to a obnoxiously excessive degree.

But I promise I’m not being overly simplistic when I say that things will happen, you will live out what follows from your decisions and actions and dreams, “right ” or “wrong,” and that will just be the way it is. It’s just that it’s that simple.

And yes, I’m going to go there: it’s simple as lightning.


Last semester, I decided on a whim to take a film class. It was a whim because I’m not a huge film buff (read: we used to go the cheapo video store every week as kids. I got Bambi every single time for probably over a year. I do not have exceptional cinematic taste). But I had room, and there weren’t any English classes to take. Why not?

I hated it at first, to be honest. It was a small class full of intimidating potheads and baseball players, for one. Not ideal. Our teacher also insisted that every single person share something during weekly discussion, which really, really sucked. Especially in the first few films, when I was new to the whole idea of stuff like mise en scene and montages and, uh, anything profound related to film analysis. (Plus Apocalypse Now scared the bejeezus out of me. Eek. Gory war nightmares after that piece of work.)

But I learned to love it. The turning point was when we watched The Shining. FINALLY something I could confidently comment on. I think I even shocked the prof when I got all chatty about Kubrick’s interpretation of King’s novel. ZING, unusual Stephen King obsession pays off.

(Your eyebrows are scarier than anything you do)


From then it, it went ok.

The point is this: the right thing is very rarely going to be the path of least discouragement.

And as an example I’m going straight for writing. Writing writing writing. I wrote for years before college, just having fun, entertaining wild dreams of publication. Then I disappeared into my alma mater for three years and barely wrote anything. Why? Because writing got harder. I started to question myself. And I got lazy, and didn’t commit to it. Fast forward and now I’m at the beginning of my last summer before college. I’ve just decided that I’m going to take to the empty page again and I sit down in front of my keyboard with relish, ready to pound it out like old times.

Yeah right. It hurt. It was almost like physical pain, how hard it was. There’s a little mission control somewhere in my head that tackles creative enterprise. All those operators were on vacation and there were cobwebs in the corners.

(My mission control is not full of middle-aged white men)


Now we know why so many people want to write a novel before they die, and so few do.

For me, writing is all I’ve got. I’m not particularly talented in many other areas but writing is what I cling to when I think I’m just a hopeless pile of semi-educated unambition.

So for me, it was the right thing to do to renew my vows of writing. It will be long and discouraging and will it probably commit me to many a crappy job to make ends meet? Hoo buddy yeah.

But you do the right thing because it’s the only way, not because it’s the way you’ll get the least hurt. It’s one of those things about human nature. You get hurt so you can grow back even stronger than before.

This is my long-winded way of saying that I could work at a resort in CO this summer, but it’s so hard to decide what the right thing is. Well. It’s not so hard to decide what’s right. But the right way is so often the scary one. And knowingly picking the road in the shadows instead of the one well-lit…that’s so hard.

Dear library:


Library on top. Oh yeah.

I like you, Mr. Lib.

Anyone else feel this way? I’m way biased, I admit. I work at the circulation desk at my college’s library and it is, without doubt, a top-notch job. One, you get to read. All the time. In an ideal world we’d do our homework there but it’s somewhat shameful to use your time that wisely. And two, the way our building’s set up, the entrance is right in front of the circ desk. So us desk workers get to see every. single. person that comes in. It’s great. Whether it’s a friend, a cute guy, or just an odd duck or two, it makes shifts go fast when you get to see everyone in and out.

But recently the lib has become more like this:


Is it too much to use a literary reference to define a library? Aargh. Oh well. The lib, thus, is my little hobbit hole (I would like you also to know that I just wrote ‘hobbit scruff’ because my mom and I were discussing Philip Philip’s facial hair and I got distracted. Hah).

I like libraries because they’re free, for one. I don’t feel obligated to buy a latte there, which I definitely do at coffeeshops, if I need someplace to go to write because being at home is driving me batshit.

But they also feel safe. It’s oddly like meditation. It’s quiet, airconditioned, and filled with this sort of holy presence (rows of books are divinity to me). Libraries aren’t trying to get something out of you. I like that. No assumptions, no expectations. Just a place you can go and do your thing, no strings attached.

In short, I get by with a little help from the lib. Anyone with me? Bookies (intentional double entendre, yes) unite!

A lot of what I’ve been drawn to read lately is about what to do when you’re in your twenties (big surprise, eh?). What defines happiness, especially–read: ESPECIALLY– in careers? Is that even possible nowadays? I mean, it definitely is–I think¬† big-name successful writers have it pretty great, personally, because I know exactly how hard they had to work to get there, that point where your life’s passion pays your bills. I’m so far from that it’s screamingly funny, but I’m not jealous (Well. Who isn’t a little jealous of Ms. Rowling. Shoot. She got to invent the Harry Potter world. How bombass and fun that must have been.) because I know that no writer has it easy at the beginning and most of the time along the way.

But I’m wrapping up my college career soon and I’m starting to shit a brick, just a little. Because I’m starting to worry that I did it wrong.

I feel like this:

(source: whatshouldwecallme)

What’s the point of college? To get a degree. Most (I didn’t think it WAS most but it sure feels like it. A “bachelor’s degree” is starting to become “JUST a bachelor’s degree.” scary.) then go to grad school. To get another degree. For what purpose? Money? I can’t speak for doctors, lawyers, or nurses but I KNOW my motivation behind a degree for surely isn’t money, not as an English major.

But when I think about the future beyond my twenties (which I try to avoid. Quite frankly, it gives me heart palpitations.) I start to wonder what it’s all about. Because so many people hate what they do. And it seems absolutely horrifying to me that the purpose of life is just to put up with a job you despise in order to get by.

And I do know that the suck-factors of life must indeed be factored in, even though I’m an unbelievably, extremely lucky live-in to a middle-class household. Don’t worry. I work in a warehouse. I know that sometimes all you can do is take what you can get, because it’s either that or your kids get the same thing that you did.

But there’s no point in trying one-up life stories. We all have it, had it, or will later have it bad enough somewhere.

There just a big ole WHAT DO WE DO?

And I think that we need are causes. That my profundity for the day. Let’s get creative here.¬† Not just us, but the big guns too. The big cheese. The government. We need jobs that give us meaning. Don’t jobs, essentially, solve problems? Need a school shipment of learning supplies? Enter: distribution warehouse, with people who supervise and people who pack boxes and all the other little puzzle pieces, people whose jobs solve all those problems (you bet I’m absolutely drawing from life experience here).

I think we just need some better problems to solve.

And to reconcile with the fact that we should not all be the same. There is such pressure to be the best at certain things. Hapana, asante. I suck at a lot of things, including ambition, GPAs, extracurriculars, and dressing appropriately for office jobs. Self-esteem is hard to come by when everything in the world is telling you that you suck if you can’t do things like that.

Did you know that ‘mind over matter’ generally refers to, in the omniscient words of Wikipedia, “paranormal phenomena, especially psychokinesis”? I definitely didn’t. Shoot.

What I was going for when I conned my blog was the idea that we can do things outside our circumstances. Knock down the walls of our boxes, in other words. So when I faithfully wikipediaed the phrase, it was mildly disheartening to see, under Definition, the first sentence: “The term does not relate to the belief that the mind is more powerful than the body.”

Well shoot, I thought. There goes my whole thing. The premise. My social platform just dropped out under my feet.

But omniscient Wikipedia goes on to say that mind over matter also goes along the lines of “responsibility assumption.” Basically, we pave our paths. We have this great ability to affect our future. Thank God. Platform restored.

Because that’s my thing, that’s what gets stuck in my head. Wherever you are in your life, you’re there because the choices you made led you there.

I’ve made some shitty choices, particularly now, as we stand at the cusp of summer. Who hasn’t? Not only am I indecisive, uncertain of my future, and timid, but I am in college, specifically the end of college. We ace the shitty choice game, right? Staying up till three watching Friends or studying for that philosophy final. Uhhh…

So I did two things. They might not technically qualify as good choices but I did them.

I started a blog.

And I applied to work at a resort in CO for the summer three days ago. After three weeks of resigning myself to another summer of warehouse work.

Today I got a call for a phone interview.

I’m just another hippie Goodwiller who goes through books like pieces of gum and writes as much as possible, even if it just feels like shoveling shit from a sitting position. But once upon a time I would have never had the balls to apply for something like that, for making some crazy leap. So I made this blog to see if this girl can keep on riding this train. Let’s do this thang.