So, I bought my parents a new faucet. Be jealous. It's part of their presents until 2013, so I'm not THAT generous.
School has been school. Received a sunburn from walking around campus yesterday with Marina. I can't scratch my face/chest.
Scotty texted me yesterday (he works at a cleaners):
Scotty - Good God work is boring as shit today. I just wanna hang myself.
Me - Can't you play dress up with the clothes?
Scotty - Work is like an irremovable benign cancer on your right testicle. You feel it, you know it's there and there isn't a single thing you can do about it.
Me - Ha. What a simile. Love it.
Today has been so fucking productive that I actually want to do nothing, which already happened. Finished the last four episodes of scrubs. They should've never made a ninth season.
Oh, and my creative writing teacher has been weird to me lately. I just thought he didn't like the person I had been (because I wrote about a high night I once had -- I asked permission) and since then he has been very, very weird towards me. So, yesterday, I stayed after class to ask him a question and he told me he wanted to speak to me first. Basically, he said that he was very, very honored to have me in his class and that he's glad I'm there for the other students to realize how to better their writing. He said I was an inspiration to them (ha!). Oh, and that my eye for detail is amazing. I was stunned that this man had wrote on a girl's paper in class, "This is good if you want to write for hallmark."
HAAAA.
Oh, I never posted my finished sonnet. Well, I'll go ahead and post all the poetry I've done thus far because I'm quite boring otherwise.
The Scent of You
The smell has you in it – a soft, but firm
Aroma soaking in the clothes, the fabrics,
The thoughts of you. Somehow the odor squirms
Under my skin, infecting the rhythmic
Beat of my heart. I feel like it murders,
Slowly constricting pumps to make venom.
Veins alter color: Green, red, black deeper
Than I can clarify. In waves, symptoms
Appear in my flesh, mimicking the lull
Of breathing, only… The smell is all I
Have; it’s rare, nearly sudden flashbacks mull
The scent of your lips, skin, ears, hair, and eyes.
My breathing is shallow, a perfect mold
Of what lingers in the air, and in me.
Blindly Beautiful
From the plains of Africa
With stripes and tusks
To plant-less cities
With blinking cellphones
And headlights as stars
From the stacked stones
With miles of solitude
To coral reefs
With colorful life
And water like a glass prison
From the land of the rising sun
With tongue-tied language
To romance
With cathedrals like a castle to God
And the smell of coffee feeding passersby
From the barefooted temples
With a mantra of aligned hands
To the sunset low on the horizon
With natural sleep
And misshapen shadows
Life Above Us
A moon?
That piece of rock
Hanging in the sky?
Not hanging, but
Flying around Earth
A symbol of freedom
Each crater a scar—
A reminder of how it fights;
Fights to be flying
The earth is glued to the sky
The stars like the Sun’s minions
Its guards to keep order:
Little dipper,
Big dipper,
The Great Hunter
Tiny white dots as ponds
Are all codes
With their Morse code lights
The Earth spins and spins
Trapped in its escape plan
Twist, turn, roll, spiral
Repeat
The universe is dizzy from watching
Planets sway,
Stars Explode,
Earth tries to pull in the moon
For a hostage
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