exit strategy

Dreams are lovely. But they are just dreams. Fleeting, ephemeral, pretty. But dreams do not come true just because you dream them. It’s hard work that makes things happen. It’s hard work that creates change.

—Shonda Rhimes (via myquotelibrary)

(via coypatalagsa)

The Eve of New

We can become closer or we can move further away in our screens and characters. 
We can’t live together- I have my work to finish, you have your forgetting to tend to-
but this isn’t about love, it’s about everyone not wanting to give too much
or reveal too much in the pendulum swing between narcissism and voyeurism.
Let’s reject this censured virtual social ostracism of the expressive.
If I saw you in person I would embrace you with the love of a thousand new mothers,
I would look in your eyes with the honest kindness of searching for words in a new language.

I moved to a farm outside of town.  I weird out the locals by running absurdly long distances down the country roads, work on my dissertation, and make pies.

My favorite knife came from my mother, a paring knife from a set of cutlery she and my father purchased together when they were married.  When I’m slicing an avocado, even though their marriage failed, this decision to purchase knives is somehow a success through me.

My mind can get a little overwhelming at times.  It doesn’t know when to stop or rest, and I don’t think it cares.  I think it’s pretty invested in self-preservation.  I wake up in the morning to the dull recovery from yesterday’s processing and creating, with dream reels rolling credits in the background.

Some mornings after I’ve had enough coffee to reach the present moment, I tie on my Brooks and hit the pavement for an intended 3 miles, inevitably turning into 6 or 8.  Endorphins quiet my mind.  Not since Crestwood Middle School Track & Field have I cared how fast I can run a mile.  I’m about finding a good pace and seeing how many miles I can run.  I’ve wanted to run a marathon ever since living 45 minutes outside Boston and quitting smoking. 

I ran a half marathon last year and thought, that’s probably far enough.  So, yeah, people who qualify for the Boston Marathon are my heroes.  I can’t imagine how many years it would take me to be able to qualify for that race, but I’m pretty sure I never would.  I know a woman who ran it 3 times as a bandit before she raised enough money for a number.  She told me about salt tablets, peppermint candies, Vaseline, taping my feet; it was all so hardcore.  Anyone who runs 26 miles in a row, at any pace, has a resolution I respect.

I can’t wrap my brain around why anyone would choose the Boston Marathon for a violent strike.  I understand attacking the World Trade Center, financial symbol of the United States, western capitalism, and puissance.  I’m not saying that was any less tragic or senseless; I’m saying I understand it.  But the finish line of a race where people thrilled to finish in four hours are met with chaos and injury?  It’s an especially shitty attack.

And after the fact, everyone is shocked.  No one has any idea what the hell is going on.  No one ever saw a fucking Crockpot filled with bomb or the asshole that put it there.  There’s a part of me that hopes we never find the person or people responsible for this.  I hate it when the media cycles repeat themselves to make those people famous.  It’s so frustrating and who really feels like they can do anything?  We’re all just waiting for the next carnage and praying that we’re somewhere else at the time.

Just discovered this.

FRIDAY AFTERNOON

If I could tell by looking at your computer that you incorrectly saved your files two days ago, I would not be teaching this lab for a peanut & cookie crumb salary.

TODAY MY DEPARTMENT CHAIR TOLD ME

I am crawling out of the pit of despair.  

I am a super mega dork.

Also, I got to meet with one of the leaders in my field and he answered my questions for an hour.

So yeah, it was a good day.