I'm Engaged!

I finished East of Eden. Or rather I finished my beginning with John Steinbeck. If I could marry a book I would marry East of Eden. I wouldn't even need to wait around to make sure there wasn't a better match for me in the vast vast sea/library. I would tie the knot at Town Hall tomorrow morning before work. I'm ready. I've been ready since page two hundred. Betrothed since the chapter on Timshel (translation: "Thou Mayest") when the trinity's discussed Cain and Abel, i.e. the human condition. I have never felt so committed to a book.

I guess The Diaries of Anais Nin would feel jealous if they read this. They have been my companions for six years now. I hope to never finish them. 

(Anais referring to her diary) "But I need a place where I can shout and weep. I have to be a Spanish savage at some time of the day. I record here the hysteria life causes in me. The overflow of an undisciplined extravagance. To hell with taste and art, with all contractions and polishings. Here I shout, I dance, I weep, I gnash my teeth, I go mad -- all by myself, in bad English, in chaos. It will keep me sane for the world and for art." 

And that is exactly it. I love the mystery and the turmoil still brewing in these pages. They are the perfect long distance best friend whose visits infuse my life with color and height and nuggets of insight. 

The Poisonwood Bible? Too intense and dark. Not sustainable. 

Till We Have Faces? Less hopeful. 

The Time Traveller's Wife? Less marrow.

There is no question. I have made my decision. It's me for East of Eden. Now on to The Grapes of Wrath....

Seventeen at heart.

http://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/p180-list.html

I love stumbling across free AND RELEVANT poetry anthology. Billy Collins is my hero.

Think Six

I find myself exhibiting the little shrugs and giggles and grimaces my first-grade students demonstrate for me. It’s like (while teaching them to read and write and figure) I’m taking a class on how to act like a six year old. I’m a sponge. For better; for worse.

My “What if I…” ponderings have exponentially increased in both quantity and bizarrity. Like…

What if I stuck my tongue out at the bus driver and stomped down the steps to the sidewalk when I couldn’t get my dollar to go into the payment slot?

What if I jumped off a bench into the arms of an unsuspecting passing stranger?

What if I walked around with untied shoelaces all day and didn’t trip?

What if I laughed awkwardly loud at jokes the voices in my head were telling me?

What if I ate Doritos and Nutter Butters and Ho Ho’s for lunch?

These are questions I ask myself now when no one else is asking me questions or telling me answers. The possibilities are ENDLESS when you think six. Deliciously endless.

Meeting the Relatives

So, it turns out I'm a Kennedy. I mean a Newell. Tonight's dinner party was a scene from my own very untheatrical and unmarketable version of the Princess Diaries. 

Apparently I have family in DC. Uncles and aunts and cousins and such. All over the east coast actually. They are brilliant. Witty. Friendly. Good-looking. Talented. They have golden retrievers. It's unrealistic. And I'm in the club. Just for being born. I love unfair windfalls. 

I hope they like me. And keep me. I just didn't realize I was missing out on all this loveliness!

Adaptations to DC

Kinda

I am TRYING here. Okay? 

I'm making friends. I go to Irish Times and Carolina's for happy hour Friday nights. I laugh. I tell secrets. I brush my teeth and wear deoderant. 

My eating habits are sub-par, though, I admit. And my sleep schedule is practically religious. I watch at least an hour of... TeeeeVeeee everyday, damnit. And the best part of ANY evening is a phone call or a text from The Sunshine State. 

I'm faltering. Wavering. Teeeetertottering. This is not good enough. ROOTS, I say! I need to extend ROOTS. Deep down into the concrete soil of this city- Washington, DC- if I am ever going to last. 

But I am tryyying. I promise. Kinda.