I have been running around like a mad woman this week trying to get the chapter edits done and make some headway with my thesis. I’m not sure how much luck I am having, but I survived the week, so at least that is something.
All the running around means that I have been too lazy to cook. I stopped at Subway on my way home this week, and while I was waiting for my sandwich, the guy behind the counter asked me if I was headed to work or headed home from work (it was 4). I told him I left one job and was headed home to another one. This is the conversation that followed:
Him: another job?! What is it that you do?
Me: I work for a university, but I am headed home to work on my PhD.
Him: (sceptical) what are you working on?
Me: I study how students respond to the feedback they receive from lecturers and whether or not they learn from it.
Him: Feedback?
Me: Like the comments on an assignment, or if you write an essay and get notes written in the margin.
Him: You can study anything…
Me: I mean….there is a guy studying how takeaway trauma effects people. Like how anxious you get waiting for your pizza to arrive.
Him: See, that is a worthwhile study! That is important!
Me: ……….
That’s it. I quit! I’m done with academia. I had a really good giggle over that because it reminds me that my work, as important as I think it is, is really only important in my corner of the world.
I’m okay with that though. Even though I am massively behind schedule and freaking out about the future, I am happy that universities will fund almost anything so that I have a chance to try and help people in my little corner of the world. I also really needed the laugh.
Plus, the guy looked so serious that I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the takeaway trauma study was probably bullshit.
I would just like to take this time to apologise to the people in Tollcross at 4 pm this afternoon. I know I offended a lot of British sensibilities when I got off the number 10 bus and went straight into the arms of one of my best friends and sobbed like a baby.
For a good five minutes.
I’m sorry for the people on the number 10 bus who saw me using my jacket to mop up the snot.
I’m sorry for the people on the number 16 bus who didn’t get to sit down during rush hour because I was a drunk mess sobbing on my way home.
I am, however, not sorry for my emotions, or the fact that when I am upset I have no control over them.
For the last three years, I have been busting my ass to finish a four-year project. I have dealt with changes in my job role, setback and delays with my writing, and the constant niggling fear that I was not going to be able to complete my work before my funding runs out. 6 months ago I was told that I was on track to submit by July. I’ve been working toward that deadline.
Today I was told that it is almost impossible for me to meet that deadline.
So I did what any mature person does: I cried like a baby.
The last four months have been really tough on me. I’ve been juggling multiple jobs, sending out loads of job applications and suffering from stress-induced writer’s block. I have not seen my family in over a year because I had to prioritise finishing my thesis, and have not had a break since New Years. I’m burned out. I have zero fucks to give and now it turns out that is going to cost me graduating on time.
This means that in two months I will lose my primary source of income and have to figure out how to pay my course fees and all of my bills. To say I am in a panic is an understatement. To say that my struggle with anxiety and depression is making it worse is like saying the sky is blue…just so painfully obvious it doesn’t need to be said.
Last week the dean of our department basically told the staff to strive to be average. I heard this from people who were actually at the meeting (I wasn’t allowed to attend, because let’s be honest, I have never been a part of the office). At the time I sided with my supervisor who was raging. Why should anyone strive to be average? Who wants to be mediocre?
Right at this moment, I understand being okay with just being average. I would love it if my thesis was just average, just passable. At this point, I just want it to be good enough for me to get my degree, rather than the best work I am capable of producing. I understand that mindset right now.
The positive in all of this is that I am surrounded by people who are very supportive of me. One of my supervisors hugged me and let me cry whilst telling me that I can still prove my main supervisor wrong and that it is okay for me to feel this way. My mom paid off a large part of student loan for me so that I could save the money I was going to use for my bills next year. My wombmate sent me photos of my babies that she knows make me happy so I had something else to focus on.
One of my best friends here pretended that he missed the bus when I text him and hugged me until I stopped crying and then filled me with rum and chips while helping me look at the situation objectively and make a plan of attack that would allow me to move forward. My llama offered to burn down the place and promised to keep me on my writing schedule so that I could kick ass and prove everyone wrong.
Now I am drunk, which never happens, full of pizza and self-loathing, and reminding myself that a setback just means that I am going to feel that much more accomplished when I finish.
Right now though I am going to cry a little more and watch cute baby animal videos on Youtube. Tomorrow when I am hungover and remorseful I will get myself back into my research and try to get myself back on track.
As social media gears up to celebrate mental health awareness week (14-20th of May) in the UK, I am gearing up for the onslaught of cliche inspirational posts that make me want to bang my head against the wall. This year the focus of the week is on stress and whether or not we are coping well.
I can already tell you that I am not coping well. Anyone who has ever undertaken a PhD will tell you that the end of the write-up is no picnic.
I saw a post the other day that said, “You are not your mental illness”. Maybe you aren’t your mental illness, but I am very much mine….and I don’t think I am alone in that thought.
I am sad more than I am happy. I struggle with crippling self-doubt. I find it hard to leave my flat for days at a time because I am worried about the what people see when they look at me. I’m anxious about my future and often find sleep elusive. I cry out of frustration when I can’t do things well the first time. I constantly feel like the universe is shitting on my head while a little black rain cloud follows me around. I am extremely hard on myself and the people around me, and they often bare the brunt of my moods and feelings.
But, just as I am my illness, I am part of my treatment. I take my medication every day. I see my therapist every two weeks. I do yoga and practice mindfulness to slow down the negative thoughts and racing heartbeat. I wear bright colours and crazy prints so that people focus on my clothes and not my face. I work hard
I watch a lot of baby animal videos.
I’m one of the lucky ones though. I can afford to get my meds, afford to get help and have a really great support system.
Today is American Mother’s Day, and I called my biggest supporter to wish her a good day. I haven’t seen her in 6 months, and haven’t even really been able to Facetime with her in the last couple of weeks. She still checks in every day, tells me it is going to be okay and reminds me that there is a lot of good that comes from working hard and occasionally asking for help.
She also funds some of my adventures.
So, for mental health awareness week, I am going to embrace my mental health challenges and continue to work towards learning how to keep my depression and anxiety from running my life. It is a process. Last week was a really great week for me. Everything went my way and was smooth sailing. The two weeks before that were stressful and draining. It’s a balance that I am still learning to navigate. I don’t often get it right, but I have a therapist and a clear plan of action to help manage the bad days.
If you are struggling in the UK, here is a helpful site to get help:
I like big books and I cannot lie. I have a really flimsy bookcase in my dining area that is full of books that I want to read, that I’ve read and that I want to hold on to forever. The challenge this week is to discuss the book I am currently reading, and one that I just finished reading.
I’m in the middle of trying to get my UK driving licence, so the last book I read was the Highway Code for the UK. I need to know that inside and out to help me driving here. I have my first driving lesson tomorrow, and I am going to attempt to learn how to drive a manual car for the first time (I already apologise to all those that will be on the road near me tomorrow).
The book that I am currently reading is Michelle McNamara’s I’ll Be Gone in the Dark: One Woman’s Obsessive Search for the Golden State Killer. According to Goodreads.com:
A masterful true crime account of the Golden State Killer—the elusive serial rapist turned murderer who terrorized California for over a decade—from Michelle McNamara, the gifted journalist who died tragically while investigating the case.
“You’ll be silent forever, and I’ll be gone in the dark.”
For more than ten years, a mysterious and violent predator committed fifty sexual assaults in Northern California before moving south, where he perpetrated ten sadistic murders. Then he disappeared, eluding capture by multiple police forces and some of the best detectives in the area.
Three decades later, Michelle McNamara, a true crime journalist who created the popular website TrueCrimeDiary.com, was determined to find the violent psychopath she called “the Golden State Killer.” Michelle pored over police reports, interviewed victims, and embedded herself in the online communities that were as obsessed with the case as she was.
Unfortunately, McNamara died before she completed the book. Her husband, comedian Patton Oswalt gave complete access to the lead researcher on the case and he finished the book so that it could be put out for publication. On the 24th of April 2018, the Golden State Killer was captured. I don’t want to say that the book is the reason he was finally found, but I don’t think all the attention that the book brought to the case hurt.
The book is well written but incredibly disturbing. I only read bits of it at a time because the GSK was a violent rapist and sadistic killer. I’d heard about the book from my favourite true crime podcast My Favourite Murder. They did a fantastic podcast detailing the capture of the killer and spoke to the man who completed the research.
It is worth a listen, and for those of you interested in true crime, the book is worth a read.
Alas, I must put all of this to the side for the moment so I can get back to my thesis and finish a draft chapter that should have been completed three weeks ago.
The fun never ends. Stay sexy and don’t get murdered.
I’m really not good with the challenge this year. I have not come close to 16 posts, and while I would like to blame it on the fact that I am busting ass on my PhD, it is really because I am just lazy by the end of the day. I feel really bad neglecting this part of my world, especially since I started the writing challenge to help get me through my dark and twisty moments.
I’m also slowly creeping my way to 500 posts….not that I ever thought I would get that far.
The writing challenge for this week is a fun one for me. I’ve been tasked with writing about the podcasts that I like to listen to. I spend a lot of time on public transportation and die a little bit inside whenever I forget to charge my iPod. A few months ago I might have apologised for this crazy list of my favourite podcasts, but today, I am not.
I like to be entertained, I like to laugh, and I like true crime. There is a very very very very very strong language warning with all of these. If you don’t like explicit sex, then steer clear of one (you’ll know which one), and if you are not a fan of poop talk, stay away from You Mom’s House.
This is a comedy podcast hosted by Tom Segura and Christina Pazsitzky. They are the power couple of comedy. Each of them is funny on their own, but together, they kill me. They are crude, lewd, and socially unacceptable, and I love them both. I want to be friends with them. The topics range from comedy to current events, and more often than not, they delve into the seedier parts of the interwebs to bring the bizarre to the forefront.
Here is an episode featuring the star of the next podcast on the list. Be warned. It’s graphic and might be offensive to some.
Powerful Joe Rogan: comedian, UFC commentator, and believer of educating the world hosts a podcast that ranges from getting high and hanging out with his friends, to commentating UFC fights, to discussing current events with experts in the field. I can remember the first time I heard this podcast. My brother and I were driving to the wombmate’s rehearsal dinner. I was not looking forward to seeing most of the paternal side of the family, and my brother put it on for the drive. It happened to be an episode when they had all eaten way too many mushrooms, so I hated it. My brother insisted that I keep with it, and it was through this podcast that I was introduced to Joey Diaz, Bert Kreischer, Ari Shaffir (who I got to see perform in Edinburgh). There are times when the podcast is nothing but silly, and times when it is very serious. One of the best episodes lately was one with the ultra-conservative Ben Shapiro. I don’t agree with a lot of what he says, but this podcast was so good and made me respect him a lot more.
Here is a bonus of Joey Diaz. Explicit content. He’s wildly inappropriate. He’s a Cuban comedian who has lived quite the life that has included everything from kidnapping, jail, drugs, and running numbers.
My Dad Wrote a Porno
This one kills me. It is exactly as the title suggests. A guy is reading the porn that his dad is self-publishing. It is horribly written, and hilarious. I started listening to this with the heterolifemate, and we spent many a long bus ride through the Baltics laughing and dying over the crazy things (and people) Belinda does. I saw a live show this summer during the festival. I went by myself and in a moment of stupidity, I volunteered to go on stage and act like Belinda….of course it was to act out one of the sex scenes in the book to demonstrate that what was written was not humanly possible. I ended up getting felt up by a tiny Asain lady named Joy and regretting my life choices.
Here is the first episode. It is graphic, x rated, and horrible. On my worst days though it makes me laugh until I cry.
My Favorite Murder is the hit true crime comedy podcast hosted by Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark. I’m a major muderino. These two women are neurotic, riddled with anxiety and dependency issues, and like to play fast and loose with facts sometimes, but they are absolutely fantastic. Each week they present a murder, or survivor story. They are very pro victim, and often do a really amazing job highlighting the strength of the survivors by telling their stories in a very authentic way. They acknowledge that not all the victims are perfect, that they are not perfect, and that the podcast is not perfect, and because they seem so real and genuine, it makes you feel like you are in the room with them while they are sometimes stumbling their way through a story. They are very open about their struggles with mental health, and often remind listeners that it is okay to seek help and that things will get better. They also have the best catchphrases
Stay sexy and don’t get murdered
Call your dad you’re in a cult
Fuck politeness
Stay out of the forest
They tend to get really sidetracked at the start, so if you get tired of the nonsense and just want the murder, skip ahead about 15 min.
Last Podcast on the Left barrels headlong into all things horror — as hosts Ben Kissel, Marcus Parks and Henry Zebrowski cover dark subjects spanning Jeffrey Dahmer, werewolves, Jonestown, iconic hauntings, the history of war crimes, and more. Whether it’s cults, killers, or cryptid encounters, Last Podcast on the Left laughs into the abyss that is the dark side of humanity.
They do a lot of research for each podcast and cover all kinds of strange and fascinating things. I like listening to LPOTL because I really feel like I am getting a history lesson.
Each week Nic & The Captain get in the garage and talk true crime and drink beer. This is another one that feels like it has been well researched, and they often highlight little-known cases to not only honour the victims but in some cases, help solicit listeners for help new information to help solve the crimes. Like all the true crime podcasts I listen to, they are very respectful of the people in the cases that they present.
Loveline
Started in 1983, Loveline was a call-in radio show on 106.7 KROQ in Califoria. Callers would ask the hosts of the show everything from relationship and sex questions to questions about addiction recovery. Dr. Drew Pinsky hosted the show and his co-hosts included Adam Carolla and Mike Catherwood. The show ended in 2016 and is now a weekly podcast with new hosts. I really only like the Adam Carolla and Mike Catherwood eras of the show. The episodes from these eras used to be available for download, but when the show went off the air, so did the podcasts. I’ve almost worked my way through all the episodes that I had downloaded, and I will be really sad when I finish. I used to listen to Loveline on my way home from Cal State Fullerton…if I had it on loud enough, I couldn’t hear myself cry after class.
So there you have it. These are the voices that are between my ears when I am on the bus, pretending to run on the canal, or walking through the Royal Mile. If you aren’t familiar with any of these, take a listen. Just be warned, harsh language, extreme content and disturbing subjects abound in these.
One of the worst things you can do when you are sick is google your symptoms….except for that one time WebMD said I probably had Lupus.
I digress. The worst thing that you can do is google your symptoms because chances are the internet is going to tell you that you are dying within three months. Last week I went to a department-sponsored lunchtime lecture on the notion of Imposter Syndrome. This pesky problem is the feelings of inadequacy that can cause a person to believe they are not worthy of their position and live in constant fear of being exposed as a fraud.
Until last week, I did not count myself among the countless academics that suffer from IS. I have always felt that I am a good little academic research monkey who belong in higher education. I would like to think that I am a good teacher, and that my students are getting the most from me.
Now, I am not so sure. I am two weeks behind schedule with my writing and I am terrified of sending the drafts that I have to my team because I am sure that they are going to tell me that they suck and aren’t worthy of a PhD. I’ve never actually gotten this far in the PhD process, so I am not sure how to handle this little valley of shit that I find myself in.
It sucks.
At the end of the month, I am turning in an application to become a teaching fellow in the Higher Education Academy. I was going to apply for associate fellow because the university doesn’t offer me teaching opportunities, but have decided to aim big and use the rest of the teaching I do to help justify the award. I am going to do a 45-minute presentation of how great I am and hope that after that they decide that I am worthy of the award. This whole time I have felt like it was easy to provide examples that demonstrate my teaching and assessment skills, but not so much this week.
Now I am wondering if I let the ‘fake til you make it’ philosophy give me a sense of overconfidence and if I really should be worried about how good my chances are for the award. I don’t like this feeling. I like feeling confident, like knowing that I am capable of doing all the work that is in front of me.
But, on the upside, it is nice to know I am not alone in these feelings.
The challenge this week is to write about a word I overuse.
Easy. The word I overuse is: fine.
I must say at least 50 times a day that I am fine.
Fine seems to be my go-to for describing how I feel.
Fine seems to be my go-to for describing how my work is going.
Fine seems to be my go-to when I have to make sacrifices to do what other people want, regardless of if I want it.
I’m in a mood this week after accidentally stumbling on a wedding photo of an ex. I’m not upset that he is married. He cheated on me six years ago. I do not want to be the one in the photo with him. I’m upset that I had to see it and therefore acknowledge that he exists. I’d rather live in ignorance, and pretend he no longer exists. Out of sight, out of mind. Now he isn’t.
And during a month when I am worried about my future; when I’ve gotten rid of people that are bad for me; when I tried really hard not to lose people who are bad for me; when I was stuck in cold Edinburgh instead of visiting my nephews in warm California.
So I say that I am fine, but I am not really fine.
On the plus side, I saw the sun today and went out wearing a jacket not made for snow, and I watched the sunset at 7:30 this evening….which means it is finally spring.
I like spring. Everything comes back to life in spring.
The woman in these photos is Frances Ann. Today is her 80th birthday.
Or, it would be if she believed in wearing her seatbelt. When I was in the third grade she died when she overcorrected her car on the highway. The car flipped and she went through the windshield. Her best friend was in the car with her and survived. Before the funeral, her friend insisted on telling the story of what happened. I remember the crazy curved couch that everyone was sitting on. She was sitting with her husband, my mom, aunt and grandpa sat and listened.
Sometimes I think it would be better for my mom if she hadn’t heard the story.
I can’t remember what her voice sounds like. I can’t remember the way she felt when I hugged her.
I can remember the way she smelled. Sometimes I go to the cosmetic counter at the shopping centre near my house and spray the sample of Red Door into the air just to trigger a memory.
I can remember where we stood when we spread her ashes in Indian Canyon. I’ve only been there one other time since then, and it was to spread my grandpa there after he died.
I can remember the horrible photo she drew of me when I had to go to the emergency room for an ear infection. The picture was me in a hospital gown with my butt exposed and a doctor with a very very large needle ready to give me a shot. In the butt. I have a few scarves that belonged to her with me now.
They smell like my mom.
When my mom smiles, she looks like my grandma….or at least how I remember my grandma in my head.
It is a smile that involves teeth. I know this because it is the same smile that I have (most people tell me they know I am Amercian because of my smile…all those teeth).
This is a hard day for my mom. She can’t call her mom and wish her a happy birthday. She can’t call her when one of her children (cough the oldest one cough) drives her crazy. It is a hard time for me because I have to think about the day when I won’t have my mom.
and that terrifies me.
A couple of weeks ago I had lunch with my great uncle who was in town on holiday. We haven’t seen each other in 10 years or so, but he knew exactly who I was when I met him for brunch. He gave me the best compliment that anyone could ever give me: he told me I look and act exactly like my mother.
Since my mom sometimes looks and acts like my grammy, and I look and act a lot like my mommy, it must mean that I am a little like my grammy too.
I’d like to think that she would enjoy what I am doing with her smile.
In about an hour I will turn 31 (Let’s be honest, by the time I finish this post because I stop and start a lot when I am writing). I have no idea where my 30th year went, but turns out it is almost done.
I’ve been in a very reflective mood lately as I start to prepare for the analysis chapter of my thesis (ladies and gentledudes, I have 40 THOUSAND words written so far!!!!!! I’m about 20k or so away from the minimum word count, so I am a happy happy girl) and I realised that I am finally looking at the light at the end of my educational tunnel. I’m a little freaked out by that since I have been a student since I was 18.
So, while my mind wandered, these were the 30 things that I have reflected on while I am waiting for the stroke of midnight.
30. I can survive a snowstorm. The key to surviving a snowstorm in Scotland is making sure I buy a lot of milk and loaves of bread. I survived 5 days of snow by drinking a lot of tea and writing over 8,000 words for my results chapter (and I was wearing my comfy Rudolph the red nosed Reindeer slippers and fleece pjs). That being said…it is almost springtime, so the Siberian weather better chill the fuck down.
29. Birthday cards are better when they sing to you. My mom sent me a birthday card that is a little beach in a bottle and it sings when you pop the cork. It makes me laugh.
28. I am a cranky Yenta in public. I cannot stand rude people, and as I get older, I have a harder time not yelling at people.
27. I need to get serious about my diet. I’m not fat, not even overweight, but I am so used to seeing myself super skinny, that right now I feel a little pudgier and a little less yoga goddess. I want to go back to the yoga goddess.
23. UKVI hates me. Visa nightmares, a million rules, and so many forms to fill out.
22. I can survive Albania.
21. It is okay to let go of friendships that I thought were supposed to last forever. I spent a lot of time being really upset about losing a friend I had since high school. She, on the other hand, never gave it a second thought. Meanwhile, I neglected friendships with people that actually love and care about me (sorry, you know who you are).
20. Slow cookers are not the enemy (okay, this one took me two years to learn….and the heterolifemate was the one that did the cooking)
19. My Spanish is not as good as I thought (and my language students do not let me forget it).
18. Missing the birth of my nephew was a lot harder on me than I thought it would be. I wish I had just accepted the trip home and been there for his birth. It’s been seven months and I still have not gotten to meet him. I worry that he is going to grow up not knowing who I am.
17. Struggling with mental health does not make me a bad person, it just makes me a person.
16. Following that, I think it is time to step back from social media and stop focusing on other peoples’ idea of happiness.
15. Not wanting to have kids does not make me a bad person. It also doesn’t mean I don’t like kids. I love them. I just love that I can give them back at the end of the day.
14. I have to let go of Cal State Fullerton. It happened. It sucked. But it was three years ago. I made a couple of really good friends there, but my life is so much better here in this space.
13. My parents moving out of the house I grew up in doesn’t mean I don’t have a place in their life. My mom is talking about cleaning out my room and selling my furniture, the furniture I bought when I went to uni, and I had a hard time with it. For a while, I looked at that room as my only connection to them, and the only space I had left in their life. But part of my choice to make my life 6,000 miles away from them means that I am a visitor when I am there and not a roommate.
12. It is perfectly acceptable to have my mother mail me American peanut butter.
11. Not wearing shoes that I love because I’m afraid they will get dirty is ridiculous. That being said, I have a pair of Vans with tacos on them that have never been worn. Ditto for a white pair that has flamingos and black slip ons with flamingos.
10. My loans will eventually get paid off….and until then I will make do being skint.
9. Statistics are not scary. I am not in a rush to more research with them, but they are not the terrible beast I thought they were.
8. I would rather follow French bulldogs on IG than real people. I am way more emotionally invested in puppies the lives of puppies I have never met (and never will for that matter) than I am in most people I know (well, their social media profiles anyway).
7. I like to set unrealistic goals(and then get really mad when I don’t achieve them).
6. My wanderlust list keeps growing.
5. I’m terrified I won’t find a job in the next few months.
4. I don’t think I can actually give up chocolate (I was doing really really well for a bit, but fell off the wagon recently)
Remember that time I said I was going to write weekly and be really good about sticking to the challenge?
(Please say no)
I currently have 4 jobs and my thesis to complete, and I am feeling a like a bit of a zombie. I haven’t been doing much other than collecting data and commuting, so finding some time to write, and write for pleasure has been sparse.
I had a rare evening off, so I thought maybe if I wrote about something fun and easy then I would be able to do the academic writing tomorrow. The challenge this week is to write about one of my favourite things: BOOKS! The challenge for this week is to write about the five books that I think everyone should read.
Pedagogy of the Oppressed
This work by Brazilian educator and activist Paulo Freire changed my life. The first time I read this I was 22 and working on my MA. It was the first time I had encountered Critical Theory and the first time that I really found someone who felt the same way as I did about the power of education. Freire calls for a new relationship between teacher, student and society.
In 1962, Paulo Freire created culture circles in Northeastern Brazil to support 300 sugar-cane workers to teach each other how to read the word and their world in 45 days, which enabled them to register to vote. These Culture Circles that began with Sugar Cane workers, catalyzed thousands more. Each with the purpose of not just literacy, but conscientization, or which involves people joining with their peers to name their world by reflecting on their conditions, imagining a better world, and then taking action to create it. This approach, developed as much by Freire as the workers he educated, was so galvanizing that he was jailed and exiled by the Military Government within two years (http://www.practicingfreedom.org/pedagogy-of-the-oppressed-what-is-it-and-why-its-still-relevant/).
Critical Theory, and the idea of giving a voice to those that are traditionally marginalised in education has become a driving force in my writing, my research, and my outlook on the world.
The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck
This is a self-help book I can get behind. Fuck is one of my favourite words and I believe that this book should be required reading for everyone when they turn 18. Mark Manson is not subtle, although he does give a fuck. Some gems include:
Think positive?
“Fuck positivity,” Manson says. “Let’s be honest; sometimes things are fucked up and we have to live with it.”
Be extraordinary?
“Not everyone can be extraordinary – there are winners and losers in society, and some if it is not fair or your fault,” Manson writes.
Seek happiness?
“The path to happiness is a path full of shit heaps and shame,” he remarks.
The Sound and the Fury
This book is not for the faint of heart. William Faulkner is one of the greatest American writers of all time (in my opinion of course) and the variety of narrative styles and the complexity of this story just make me want to read it over and over again. There is something about the stream of consciousness writing style that I love. There is something about the tragic fucked up family that I understand. There is something about writing a book in the way you want to regardless of whether people understand it that makes me want to keep writing.
“…I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire…I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools.”
― William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury
To Kill a Mockingbird
This speaks for itself.
God Went to Beauty School
Cynthia Rylant did something really interesting with this book. It is a collection of vignettes about God as a regular ordinary, everyday man.
God Went to Beauty School
Cynthia Rylant
He went there to learn how
to give a good perm
and ended up just crazy
about nails
so He opened up His own shop.
“Nails by Jim” He called it.
He was afraid to call it
Nails by God.
He was sure people would
think He was being
disrespectful and using
His own name in vain
and nobody would tip.
He got into nails, of course,
because He’d always loved
hands--
hands were some of the best things
He’d ever done
and this way He could just
hold one in His
and admire those delicate
bones just above the knuckles,
delicate as birds’ wings,
and after He’d done that
awhile,
He could paint all the nails
any color He wanted,
then say,
“Beautiful,"
and mean it.
Bonus book: Tender Buttons
Gertrude Stein is my favourite poet. Her poems are weird, her life was full of adventure, and she gave zero fucks about convention. As Wikipedia notes: it is a book consisting of three sections titled “Objects”, “Food”, and “Rooms”. While the short book consists of multiple poems covering the everyday mundane, Stein’s experimental use of language renders the poems unorthodox and their subjects unfamiliar.” I first read this book for a poetry class I took in Merced. That was the class that taught me I could be a poet without having to worry about convention, and it is the class that strengthened my bond with some of my favourite people. The book sits on my shelf now….next to The Sound and the Fury.
It is also home to my favourite poem.
Asapagus
Asparagus. Asparagus in a lean in a lean to hot. This makes it art and it is wet wet weather wet weather wet.
It is currently snowing quite hard for Scotland, so I think I am going to pull Tender Buttons off the shelf and enjoy the cozy night in.
Since my mom sometimes looks and acts like my grammy, and I look and act a lot like my mommy, it must mean that I am a little like my grammy too.
The Scamp Abroad 