notes from somewhere in the back row

I’m moving and rifling through four years’ worth of notes and books and clothes. Here are a few fragments from notebooks that didn’t make the storage cut.

Summer 2011, Fiction Writing II:

I’m kind of in love with my professor for only calling me Beatrice.

How to be an asshole:

1. Mention your typewriter

2. Humblebrag about how post-modern your work/question is

3. Say these things:

3a.“I think, for all of us, youth might be our greatest fault,” and

3b. “I read a lot of Native American poetry,” and

3c. “You all know who Kerouac is, right?” and

3d. (on Indians) “Not Columbus’ misconception(????), the Asian ones”

Spring 2010, Earthquakes and Natural Disasters:

We lose dollars; we tend not to lose people

Unknown Class, Unknown Time:

New Mexico is for introspective writers/actors and geologists. Give it back to the Native Americans (96)

Summer 2011, Fiction Writing II:


Golf ball through the kitchen window


This guy did not. Get. It.

Every (f) Good (a) Boy (c) Does (e) Fine (accompanied by a picture of a treble clef and scale)


I feel stupid & contagious

In the middle of a thirty minute presentation on managing stress yesterday I realized I was tensing my shoulders and back as I checked the passing time on my phone.

I live ten minutes in the future.

What are you going to ask me?  Here’s the answer.

I’m not done yet, am I?  Let me anticipate exactly what you want (or what I think you should want), then do it.

I feel like I’m constantly ready to pounce and I feel it.

I feel it in my arms, in my back, in the tip of my tongue as it stumbles into my teeth when I try to scoot all my words out as quickly as possible.

Because we don’t have enough time and if I’m ten minutes in the future, then everything is due ten minutes sooner.  Pretty soon it will be due yesterday and don’t we want it to be the best that it can be?

On Thursday I spent twelve hours on campus.

Thirty minutes getting there.

One hour and fifteen minutes feeling confused in Astronomy.

One hour and fifteen minutes in an office.

Four hours in another office, filing scholarship papers, bills and sorting mail.

A few minutes every hour answering questions.

One hour printing papers, buying thank-yous.

One hour showing and telling.

Another hour just telling.

Two hours discussing.

I have skipped sleep and lunch and I am not one of those people who can do without the sustaining power of sleep or food.  I am the Hulk.  I am the evil stepmother.  I am not myself. And I am exhausted.

I spent an hour and a half talking before going back to the Hulk’s life.  I saw me for the first time in days, maybe even weeks.  I saw this me that I really enjoy.  I see this me when I write and read and tweet silly things and I want her always.

I write more when I’m feeling like this.

Maybe I just want the world–the whole world, Veruca Salt-style.

I’m in this place now where I cry when I read quotes from Lord of the Rings and it takes me two and half weeks to respond to my best friend’s emails (from New Zealand) and I send out messages like “Give me ten minutes” then take half an hour and I come home to more work and the monkey on my back is a deadline or two or four or seven and I can’t finish this sentence because if I stop talking I have to move on and I don’t feel like it yet.

“Remember what Bilbo used to say: It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to”

I want to hang the adventure plaque by the door and I want to explore.

But my bones are heavy with the weight of the future and I’m not sure they can take the extra steps.

This is probably the beginning of my mental collapse.  I need a  massage.  Or a margarita.  Or both.  Probably both.  But I’ll start with sleep.

Welcome to my nervous breakdown!

day 320. the final(s) countdown.

I will not write about that crazy dream I had last night, wherein I broke a bobble-head and was ostracized because of this.  It was a bobble-head of a woman named Dawn, who had short brown hair.  Like the last dream, I’m pretty sure that means something significant.

If I looked back in the files, I could probably find a couple of posts from midterms when I was FREAKIN’ OUT because I had no time and the world was caving in on me and studying was causing sensory overload and then everything turned blue and I was sure I was colorblind, then I calmed down, realized I was taking waaaaay too much cocaine and checked myself into rehab (jokes).

Wait, what just happened here?

Point: finals week is not a “sink or swim” type of week.  If you’ve paid attention in your classes, showed up for a majority of them, and generally understand the point of those classes, you’re going to do well–or, at the very least, you’re going to do as well as you have been doing.

Last semester my toughest class was my stupid Biology class.  I worked my ass off the entire semester studying for those exams, and I did pretty well, in general.  The Biology final was on Friday in the late afternoon.  I was completely exhausted from an entire week of finals–I had one every day that week.  I studied/memorized some facts about Biology, went into the test, filled out the test in less than ten minutes and left because I was EXHAUSTED, remember?  I got my grade back for the class and I got a B overall, but I definitely got a D on the final.  I’m not sure what lesson I learned with that one, but I was pretty excited about that B.

I hate science and math classes, and I’m very lucky I didn’t have to take any this semester.  I’m okay with my finals load this semester, because I’m not just filling in bubbles; I’m writing and explaining what I learned and it’s significance.  Yeah, my hand is going to get pretty tired and I’ll probably have carpal tunnel by Thursday, but at least I actually give a shit this time around.

day 115. unexpected.

Unexpectedly, a couple of my final grades were posted online this morning. One turned out a little better than I thought it would, and another was a little worse than I thought. I am ridiculously nervous to see how my grades come out overall. Refer back to the post from finals week that consists of different scenes of people screaming. That’s how I feel right now.