I just finished watching Sylvia, a film about the doomed, jeopardous relationship between poets Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes that ultimately led to Plath's melancholic suicide in 1963.

I have been intrigued by Plath's life story, as well as her work, which are basically one in the same.  She was her own subject when it came to most of her writing.  It's gut-wrenching that she always felt sophomoric and inferior to Hughes.  She ached to be first in his eyes, and when she finally realized he'd never be fully hers, she gave up.  The saddest part of it is that she probably was; he was just incapable of expressing his desire and passion for her.

Nick and the Candlestick

Sylvia Plath

I am a miner. The light burns blue.

Waxy stalacmites

Drip and thicken, tears

The earthen womb

Exudes from its dead boredom.

Black bat airs

Wrap me, raggy shawls,

Cold homicides.

They weld to me like plums.

Old cave of calcium

Icicles, old echoer.

Even the newts are white,

Those holy Joes.

And the fish, the fish-

Christ! they are panes of ice,

A vice of knives,

A piranha

Religion, drinking

Its first communion out of my live toes.

The candle

Gulps and recovers its small altitude,

Its yellow hearten.

O love, how did you get here?

O embryo

Remembering, even in sleep,

Your crossed position.

The blood blooms clean

In you, ruby.

The pain

You wake to is not yours.

Love, love,

I have hung our cave with roses,

With soft rugs-

The last of Victoriana.

Let the stars

Plummet to their dark address,

Let the mercuric

Atoms that cripple drip

Into the terrible well,

You are the one

Solid the spaces lean on, envious,

You are the baby in the barn.

First "Real" Christmas

This Christmas will technically be mine and Jason's first real Christmas together. The past two Christmases I've traveled to Houston to be with family. This year I have a different job that requires my presence this holiday season. I was bummed at first thinking back to each of the 22 Christmases I've spent with my family in the past, but I quickly began to see the silver lining. Jason and I have now started our own tradition and developed a Christmas color theme for our decorations. I even bedazzled a plain ol' $5 wreath by making bows made out of a cute little gingerbread man pattern and attached them to the wreath. As much as I'd like to think I'm a DIY girl, I'm really too lazy, so I was super proud of myself for this creation.


I'm actually not missing out on seeing some of my family. My dad, Rebecca, Meme and Papa are all driving up to take Jason and I out to dinner at 24 Diner. I haven't been yet, but I've heard it's fabulous! They have chicken & waffles with brown sugar butter. How could that be anything other than amazing?

Merry Christmas, Everybody!

xoxo

consequential thought on a lonely night

You are the moon and I am the sun.

Such beauty,

wonder lies ahead.

Surprise: You were human.

I've been such a baby lately. Last night during dinner, Jason and I discussed our unfavorable financial situation, and, because it's been weighing heavily on my mind, I broke down into tears right there at the table. He said he knows it would have been nice if he were rich. I told him I wouldn't want that, and it's true. I'm really not attracted to wealthy guys; you can always tell, trust me. When we first moved, I felt comfortable -relieved, even- that, after paying rent and bills, I still had money left over for my own entertainment. Now, for whatever reason, I feel as if I'm spending every cent I earn. It's really starting to exhaust me. I mean, I realize I'm a young twenty-something in the midst of the struggle of putting my life together. Sometimes I wish I could just push a button and fast-forward to when my life is in place.

I eventually want marriage and kids, but I want to be financially secure and ready to bring other life into the world. Currently it feels as if that may never happen.

On a separate note, Nana is supposedly completely healthy, according to doctors and test results. However, she's not recovering or regaining her strength because she's too exhausted to do her PT exercises, not motivated to practice her lung exercises and has no appetite for meals. Everyone is getting frustrated with her; they think she's just milking it and not trying. But, seriously, she's 76 years old. None of us know what that's like - especially being 76 right after a major heart surgery. One of my aunts said something about her possibly ending up in a nursing home soon if she doesn't start trying to recover. So that's weighing on my mind as well. Not a second of the day goes by that she's not on my mind. She is the strongest woman I know. It's so hard to talk to her. I started crying when I called her a few weeks ago because she sounded like a confused, distant stranger. She even asked me how old I was...she had no idea. I tried to hold it together for the rest of our conversation, but I was falling apart on the inside. It felt like all of my organs were detaching from their places and slowly sliding to the floor. Nana has always been my rock- the blood in my veins.

"I wake up and the phone is ringing

Surprised, as it's early.

And that should be the perfect warning

That something's a problem.

To tell the truth, I saw it coming

The way you were breathing

But nothing can prepare you for it...

The voice on the other end.

The worst is all the lovely weather

I'm sad it's not raining.

The coffee isn't even bitter

Because, what's the difference?

There's all the work that needs to be done

It's late for revision.

There's all the time and all the planning

And songs to be finished.

And it keeps coming 'til the day it stops.

When someone great is gone."

Pyromaniac

This morning
I woke up crying
So I lit myself on fire.
I walked out of my body
Like a zombie out for brains

I knew I wasn’t me
I could see myself
From the outside
I didn’t like what I’d seen

I found a revolver in the grass
I shot it in the air
But I didn’t hear a sound
Until a tiny bird dropped out of the sky

I held it in my hands
And sang it a lullaby
Tonight
I went to sleep crying.

Thoughts on Mediocrity

Perhaps my work day was just super relaxed today, but I'm feeling quite content. My job can be overwhelming at times (it's no fun to take the blame for the shortcomings of others on a daily basis). However, I live in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, and I'm madly in love with someone that fits me like no other. We share great times and a great living space. I'm not making near as much money as I'd like to be, but I get by easily. I am sincerely grateful that I even have a job in this economy. These concepts remind me of something I wrote a couple of years back in my journal. I was young and dependent, but I think I was on to something-

08.10.09

As the saying goes

Nothing gold can stay

Well maybe it truly can't.

But what about silver?

What if you have something good

Not great, not always flawless

But something satisfactory with minimal errors.

Who's to say you can't love that something?

That mediocre piece of your life

That you've come to depend on...to cherish.

Why can't that stay?

It wasn't gold, so why did it leave?

To tell you the truth,

I prefer silver to gold anyway.

Had a dream about old friends last night. It evoked severe nostalgia as well as the feeling of needing to reconnect with those people.

We were in an old house-turned-bar fighting with three atrocious, monster-like men to the death. I watched two of my cousins die from head trauma, yet it didn't really seem to phase me. And it was like nothing had happened when a memory from my past walked through the front door. There was a period of about 2-3 years that we were really close. We shared things about our relationships, gave each other advice, drove around in my (then) new car blaring RX Bandits and Operation Ivy. He was fun. Gradually, our feelings developed into something more than just friends, but it never blossomed. I still see it as a result of something beautiful. After that time period, we simply grew apart. His attention turned elsewhere, and I was forced to be content with that.

Tell me - is this all it's gonna be?

Please hold for transfer.

I have finally caved. I'm ready for tattoo number two. This one won't have as much meaning as the anchor, but I think it suits my girlish personality. I want to get an antique cameo in plain black on my right upper forearm. For awhile I wasn't sure if I wanted anymore ink, but working in Austin has changed my mind. So many incredible pieces of art injected into the skin of the city, it was only a matter of time before it persuaded me.

I've seen a few good movies lately. HANNA was especially brilliant. An enigmatic thriller starring Saoirse Ronan, Eric Bana and Cate Blanchett with a stunning score by The Chemical Brothers. The other day on my day off, I caught A Serious Man on HBO, which impressed me as well. Not surprising for a Coen bros film. Dark comedies warm my soul.

I'm in the prime of my life, so to speak. I'm happy for the most part, but somehow I don't feel complete. I feel as if I'm forever ruined because of past events in my love life. I don't want to be this way- think the things I think, remember specific instances, doubt people around me. I have such a lack of energy all the time, which the cure could be something as simple as changing my diet. I want to try not to consume as much sugar as I usually do. I've had quite the sweet tooth the past few months and that needs to change. I'd like to drink less alcohol and less soda. If I makes these changes and experience no results, I have no clue what my next move will be. Hell, I take my vitmains and love my veggies!

I'm looking forward to the move to South Austin with my love. We've been selecting new furniture and saving our pennies to make our real first place together as warm and true to ourselves as possible. I can't wait to be able to have people over for dinner parties and games nights and all that other cliche young coupley stuff. We'll hopefully be getting a new addition to the family as well, a baby kitty that I want to name Iris.

Cheers.

like snow, like gold

"I wrote this for a baby
Who has yet to be born
My brother's first child
I hope that womb's not too warm
Cause it's cold out here
And it'll be quite a shock
To breathe this air
To discover loss
So I'd like to make some changes
Before you arrive
So when your new eyes meet mine
They won't see no lies
Just love."

-Conor O.

There's something inherently beautiful in suddenly realizing you're an adult. Yet it's also dreadfully depressing. Lately, random memories from my childhood have been haunting me, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. 2010 was a bastard of a year, and I know now that everything is different. Nothing is the same anymore. It's almost shocking for me to think my mother is single. My stepfather has gone through two divorces. My brother and sister are part of a broken home, and they have to live with knowing that their parents didn't fake their love for each other, but they also didn't tough it out. I can't say I blame my mother though. I feel certain I would do the same thing in her position - kids or no kids. My Nana is seventy-six. Although she's still 100% mentally present and physically healthy for the most part, the reality is that she's seventy-six. Each time I talk to her, that becomes more evident. It's killing me. When she's gone, I'm gone. She is my soul. She's the best person I've ever known. When I think of her, I think of how excited I used to get when I'd spend the night with she and Pop. Sleeping in between them. Betting Pop that I could stay awake until midnight. Playing house with his handmade chess pieces. Looking through old photographs in the dresser upstairs. Nana getting mad at me for snooping and finding an old picture of she and her first husband.

Living at home, I yearned to be on my own away from the confounds of my parents and curfew and the word "no." Now, being twenty-two, a college graduate, working full time, I long for my mother's voice. I just want to wrap myself around her and never let go.

Sweetness. The American Eskimo puppy my dad gave my mom after she had me. She swallowed a piece of glass in a trash can and died. I was four.

Tiny plastic swords in my drink. Little red drinking glasses.

Lime green kitchen cabinets. Red faux brick linoleum. Grandma Kitchen's costume jewelry. Dressing up in pageant dresses with my cousins.

Holding my baby sister.

Saving her from drowning in the lake.

Her little blue and white gingham dress.

She looked like Dorothy.

There is no one like her//

I finally went to see Blue Valentine last week after six months of building anticipation, and I have to say it lived up to my every wish. Beautifully filmed and meticulously planned (Derek Cianfrance originally chose Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling for the parts eight years ago). It was filmmaking at its highest degree of purity. So raw and insightful, the film had tears crawling down my cheeks beginning with the first flashback. It's so sorrowful to see something so flawless fall by the wayside; a neglected plant that had been malnourished for too long.

I guess it touched me in more personal way than some. My mother recently went through something similar, and she's still dealing with the weight of consequences. I hate seeing her distraught, and I don't like the position it has put my younger brother and sister in either. This is something no one should have to go through. No deserves that degree of pain...but it's a cause and effect type of situation I suppose.

Anyway, the movie is superb, and the soundtrack is the icing on the cupcake.