Writing Journal (Day 15)

I was driving to work and saw a white SUV with dust on the back window and whitewalled tires. Maggie had recently painted the stairwell to the library, and it took a few days of running a fan and keeping the door (to the stairwell) open for the smell to at least fade a little.

I'll be the first (of few, since that's how many I expect to stumble across this) to admit this is straddling the line of crap.

Something So White
I see something so white,
And I start smelling paint again.
Even the dust on the back
Evokes the scent
Still lingering on the stairs.

Writing Journal (Day 14)

I took inspiration from the main event of the day: receiving a new General Manager at work. It reminded me of all the changes in management/leadership I've experienced in the past, well, 7 years. I had about 6 managers at Subway, a couple of changes in the caf, in my 2 years as an RA, I reported to no less than 5 Hall Directors (or acting Hall Directors). Learning to deal with changing superiors was actually something I considered putting in my skill set on my resume.

What's One More?
Another replacement,
Another adjustment,
Another life to break.

The trick to adapting
Is to embrace it.
Lick your wounds and
Pretend you like it.

Hating the allies of the new
Is guaranteed to
Lengthen the road.

Choose to take the higher ground.
Learn to love your life's changes,
Lengthen your stride
As you glide towards happiness.

Reading Journal

A book I wish I had: Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst. I'm going to put that on my list of books to look for when I go to Half Price Books. The other one on the list: The Princess Bride. I've loaned out two copies of that book and neither one of them have been returned. Believe me, I've learned my lesson. I'm so desperate to find it that if I don't see it listed under "Goldman" I look under "Morgenstern," just in case someone is interested in playing a joke. Like how Stacy and I didn't really lace that pineapple sherbert with iocane powder; we just didn't want anyone to steal it.

One Thing...
The second half of this book has made me realize that if I've completed a cycle before I've completed the book (because, seriously, who only has a bookmark in one book at a time?), I should give it up. It's just not holding my interest as much as it once was. But if my bookmark's still in it by the time I get to the next book in my "True" category, this one's going back on the shelf. To be donated the next time I get my boxes to Goodwill.

...going over the 4th out of 10 commandments to keep the Sabbath day holy...(p. 114)
"No matter what you consider as keeping the Sabbath, you have broken it--and so has everyone else."
That's all Cahill says on the subject. What? Excuse me? Say that again? So, to paraphrase, you're telling me that, no matter what I do, I can't keep this commandment? What? What?

The Bluest Eye
Normally books make me think about things. I try to make connections, see beyond the words on the page, stretch the story into my life and my experiences somehow. But Morrison's descriptions and observations leave me without thoughts. At least, they are this time around. This is the closest I've come to finding a book that truly allows me to entirely escape myself in a long time. Which is rather enjoyable for a spell.

Writing Journal (Day 13)

Not much inspiration behind this one. I came home from Family Home Evening, realized I hadn't eaten anything since 2:00, nor had I written a poem yet.

Waffle
The waffle so warm
Between my fingers
Burns the skin of my teeth.

I am standing in the kitchen,
Watching myself eat,
Wishing today was tomorrow.

Eventually, my bed doth call.
And when it does,
I'll solemnly give it heed.

Away to never-slumber-land
I readily will fly.
Thinking if only, if only,
And always asking why.

Writing Journal (Day 12)

Again, I was inspired by the physical act (and auditory sound) of dropping that little plastic cup into the metal tray during Sacrament meeting. A few months ago, I'm pretty sure I at least jotted some lines down, if not formed an entire poem that Lucy is holding hostage. (Or is in a spiral notebook/journal gone MIA at some point in time.)

Keep in mind, I'm considering this particular poem underdeveloped and unfinished. I still feel that it needs some rhythm and a direction that leads it to an ending.

Sins
There go my sins
Into the cup,
And then into the tray.
I willingly take upon me
The name which clears my own.
My dirtiness is thrown away
Without a second thought.