cleaning out the closet

I was going through my thumb drive that contained most of my documents from my last semester of college. That was the semester I took creative writing with professor Kerry Sherrin Wright. She is nerdy to the point that it's graceful, and has a quirkiness that compels you to stay in her presence as long as possible (for the hope that she might say something unfathomably profound, or she'd trip on the carpet-- sometimes both). She was the kind of professor that changes your life in the same way a tiny pebble dropped into a pond changes the water. In my creative writing folder in my old thumb drive, I found several gems that I enjoyed reading and reflecting on.

I'll share one of the poems now, although I'm rather annoyed that I can't get the formatting to stay as it was in the original version. There should be some spacing and line breaks that you will not get the full effect of in this version, but I can't find a way to fix that. If anyone has any idea, feel free to fill me in.

September 24, 2007

The Girl

"You're mediocre, you know that?"

He's still yelling- then it really begins.
like a vacant nest during winter's first snow, emptiness
stares at me from the eyes of the mirror.
too tired to lift his hand again- or perhaps convinced of a hopeless cause
I am free to go.

bedroom door opens
a flood-gate of tears.
the first rain for a flower
that long ago withered
I throw a small glass bottle across the room
against the wall- it shatters.

the familiar, safe body sinks down next to me,
closes the door- keeping the family secret safe
inside the closet with us.
my brother pulls me close and I rest
my head on his shoulder.
His t-shirt becomes wet against my face.
He doesn't mind.
He sits holding me- strong, still
Silent.

supporting the hopelessness that consumes me.
validity evaporating
like breath into a bitter night
my resentment is not echoed
in his hollow gaze.
this closet- a tomb
for significance.

in the aftermath I learned to seek his comfort
in the aftermath I realized that it would never be enough.

Shih Tzu

Alright, so my roommate has a Shih-Tzu, for those of you who don't know what this is, I'll link a picture for your visual enjoyment.

My roommate's Shih-Tzu weighs around 12lbs. I know cats that weigh more than that. Sarah calls him something funny- Skippy? I can't remember- but that's the kind of dog it is, one whose name you don't even bother to commit to memory because it's never going to do anything worthwhile. This isn't the point. The point is-- WHAT are they bred for? What is their purpose for LIVING? As any good nerd would, I researched to find out, and do you know what I came up with? Nothing. Yep, this dog is as useful as a bag of hair. In fact, their reason for being was succinctly summed up as, "Today this breed is very popular, both as a companion and a glamorous show dog." Glamorous. Seriously? What do people THINK when they buy one of these dogs? Unless I was the recent recipient of a lobotomy, there's just no way. It's very similar to smoking cigarettes, I suppose, the warning is right there on the label, but you don't heed the advice of the SURGEON GENERAL.

To be fair, tiny dog behaves rather well around guests and the like. My dogs, on the other hand, act like it's the first time they've seen other life forms and go into a frenzy of tails and tongues. Tiny dog gets just as excited, but seriously, he weighs 12 pounds, what can he actually do? Oh wait, we covered that already, nothing. Plus, my dogs are actually DOGS-- and not the glamorous kind. It seems to me that some people get rather smug when tiny dog is all cute, and glamorous, just curling up on someones lap, and my dogs are behaving like-- SHOCK, GASP-- DOGS! Both of my dogs, however, are in advanced obedience. They will both be trained as search and rescue dogs, and on top of that Zulu will be trained as a Canine Good Citizen so we can make hospital and nursing home visits and bring a little cheer to people in need. They have jobs, their breeds have purpose. Both thrive on learning new things.

But, never fear, my dogs have given this jobless, purse-accessory a purpose in life: their personal squeak toy.

from the mouths of babes

From the archived files in my mind comes this following conversation:

[in an italian restaurant between Alora, 4, and Benny, 41]

Alora: Do you have a baby in your belly?

Benny: No.

Alora: Then you're fat.

Benny: Yes, yes I am.

man pee

Okay, what is it with men's urine that makes it smell like THAT. You know what I mean, that sort of acidic/sour smell. If it were a perfume it'd be Parish Hilton: The Morning After. What happens within the male body that causes such a rancid odor to emit from their PEE? Having to spray air freshener after a man does number 1 is just ridiculous. Any medical consult on this issues is appreciated.

Cape Town, South Africa

I just found out tonight, via voicemail, that I was awarded a grant from travelocity that I applied for about 3 months ago; it's called a Change Ambassador Grant, or CAG. Every quarter travelocity accepts hundreds of applications for four available $5,000 grants. They choose the recipients of these grants based on past volunteer experience and personal commitment to fighting for change, and for a better world. I am privileged enough to have been chosen to receive one of these grants and when I found out I was so excited that I could have pooed and flung it everywhere.

I found out as I left work, so on my way to class I called my mother to share my insurmountable exuberance-- no one informed her of the insurmountable part. I hastily- and excitedly- informed her of the great news to which she said something like, "Are you kidding? Why waste your time?" That isn't verbatim, but I was so in shock from the roundhouse kick to the teeth that I'm not sure of her precise verbiage. I think I blacked out for a second. Essentially she feels that, at 24, I should be looking for a job and settling down. I'm not entirely sure what this means-- husband, kids, finding some dead-end job to get stuck in for the next forty years-- I don't know for certain, but I could definitely ascertain that she felt my enthusiastic disposition was more than a bit unwarranted. I was then asked if I'd 'even' be making money while I was there. Money? I'm sorry, but let me jump up on my idealistic soap box for a minute and say-- NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT MONEY! *gasp* I'm sorry... did I hear you correctly? If by "money" you meant "gaining a once in a lifetime, irreplaceable life-changing experience that you'll never forget", then yes, I'll make plenty of that.

And, to set the record straight, Cape Town isn't exactly the middle of a third world country where I'll be hunting my own wild hog and narrowly escaping lions, it's one of the top tourist destinations in the WORLD right now. The program I'm going through, Cross Cultural Solutions, is an acclaimed organization that helps thousands of people plan their ideal "volunteer vacation". Another shock-- to some people, volunteering is exciting; helping people is rewarding. Coupling that with travel and the opportunity to explore an entirely different part of the planet makes for an experience unparalleled by any other. The program is inclusive of everything one might need while volunteering in another part of the world-- travel and personal insurance, 24-hour support, a huge house for all the volunteers to live together and share their experience, transportation to and from the airport, food cooked for us by locals who work in the CCS house, volunteer training and support, the list goes on but I digress. Sadly, my mother didn't hear about any of these things, in fact she didn't even ask. Because, here in America, first things first: SHOW ME THE MONEY.