FuhRuhstrated

I am feeling very frustrated with school right now. I have been taking general education credits for about 3 years now and I'm still not done. That's not to say there is no validity in a class on Race and Ethics or Social Psychology, but when it comes down to it, I don't have to time to do the work so I do the bare minimum to pass (sometimes I don't even have time for that) and then I forget all of the information I sort of learned over the semester.

The most frustrating bit about it all is that because I am so busy faking my way through these required classes, I'm not writing and I'm not reading. Typically the last thing I want to do when I happen to be on top of my homework (which never happens) is engage my brain some more to write something brilliant and best selling. So I end up turning on a movie or watching reality television, which in turn is leaving me completely uninspired and heavy. So fellow writers and artists out there: How do/did you balance school work, life and writing? Because I am failing miserably at it.

In a perfect world this is what I really want:

• To meet and marry a man that I love, wears TOMS and drives a moped.
• He'll be some fancy architect or own his own publishing company in London that's doing fabulously well despite the world's economy.
• He'll make enough (but not too much) so that I can stay home. But don't worry, I'll learn how to cook and wear heels to make up for it (ouch, did I just set back feminism?)
• Fine, in the name of progression, I'll become a part time yoga instructor.
• I'll write eight hours a day everyday. But it won't be tedious or boring. It won't feel pointless. It will be like playing dress up and make believe.
• I'll learn how to do awesome things like make jams and sew my own clothes. I'll make my own stationary, but not that cheesy crap suburban mothers get together and make while they drink wine coolers and play bunko. No, mine will look like this. I'll teach myself how to paint, and I'll be terrible at first but the husband will put my creations on the refridgerator any way.
• Eventually I'll be so damn crafty I'll start making furniture and painting murals on all the walls in our house (all while writing 8 hours a day of course).
• We'll have a second house in Portland, but we're giving people and find it ridiculous to have two houses so I'll spend my time (when I'm not writing or being a carpenter/seamstress/jam maker) to turn it into a sober living facility or refugee housing for African women effected by the war in Northern Uganda.

And there you go. My future in a nutshell. I'll have stop using the law of attraction to NOT get swine flu so I can focus my attention on those little (and totally realistic) nuggets above.

I'm not getting my hopes up. In fact, I actually foresee myself squandering my time for the next two years, maybe longer because I'll inevitably fail a few classes and then graduate completely burnt out and uninspired, never write anything, end up marrying some guy I can sort of tolerate, work at walmart and die unsatisfied.

That was a little dramatic, I'm sorry. I really don't want this blog to turn into something incredibly negative, which is what it has been lately. All of it seems to stem from school. I'm ready to have nationwide healthcare so I can drop out again and still have insurance.

Do you want to know the REAL reason I'm sticking it out until I graduate? Graduation ceremonies remind me of Harry Potter. I will be suggesting we walk to the HP Theme song rather that Pomp and Circumstance and some how rigs candles on fishing wire and hang them from the ceiling.

Moral of this blabbering- I'm sorry for all the negativity and complaining. Blogs are an easy place to vent frustration but that doesn't mean that's all I should use this for. I promise to upload a picture of a cupcake or something I can't afford from Anthropology real soon.

{photo from here}

New Music Monday: Oh Mercy

Ok, I love these guys. I heard about them just last week and I'm probably a little late in the game compared to my Aussie friends. But never the less, I give you Oh Mercy. I only know three things about them:

1. The lead singer is increadibly dreamy in a completely average sort of way. His voice is beautiful and totally sounds like a girl's, just the way I like it. That may add to his attractiveness factor.
2. Frankie Magazine gives them their seal of approval
3. They are amazing.

The End.

Oh Mercy - Get You Back from Milefire on Vimeo.

Feels Like Winter Today

I don’t want to go out there, where the wind blows my dress and there’s frost on the roofs. I can see it from these windows. The low roofs of the temporary classrooms all ablaze with that white stuff. Not quite snow, but not quite settled rain either. The sky is gray, so gray it seems like we skipped autumn completely. If I go out there my nose and cheeks will turn red and I’m wearing bronzer today. The two will mix like oil and water, showing everyone the mask I paste on every morning.

I want to stay here, drinking my earl gray tea wearing my scarlet pashmina, feeling too hipster for my own good, and looking out at the grey sky, thinking this must be what London’s like. There’s this song in my ears that makes me want to sing out loud, or run to the nearest piano. I know where there are some, they aren’t far. It would be too easy to disappear into one of those tiny rooms, just big enough for you and the piano, maybe a second lover if you want. But today it would be just me and that wooden box of soul. We could talk to each other for a while, the piano pounding notes on my heart, and me filling the walls with words that sound like winter.

But instead I’ll trudge along these sidewalks to a completely uninspiring class about power and wealth and the way we’ve twisted the world into a dollar sign. Then I’ll trudge home, alone and songless, until my shuffle finds a song that pleases my heart and the dark haze of an early winter seems magical and inspiring again.

Sir Eliot Can Suck It

Today in my creative writing class I had my first workshop experience. I knew I would have to read my poem aloud and hear constructive criticism from the class on it. I knew I would freak out and turn red and probably hyperventilate a little. I believe Auraria campus sells alcohol on campus for just such occasions. And thank God they do. So I downed a few Hazed and Infused before heading off to class. Let's just say that while everyone in class was complaining about how freezing it is, I was warm and toasty and probably had jolly red cheeks. I'm not Irish but this tends to happen when I drink. And I can't breathe through my nose. But I digress.

Right as Sir Eliot comes in, I turn to the girl next to me and say "I need to go first so I don't lose my buzz!" As luck would have it, the prince of poetry choses me to go first without having to ask. I'm feeling quite hilarious and read my poem quite dramatically and sit back thinking I am so confident (and slightly drunk) that whatever they say is no big deal and I can handle it.

Nothing will kill your buzz more quickly than a creative writing workshop. It was dreadful. I felt like a complete failure. And I've decided there are a few reasons for this:

1. I am notoriously too hard on myself. My inner critic always gets the better of me and convinces me to give up because I have absolutely nothing to offer.
2. I am absolutely and irrevocably terrible at poetry. It is something I am simply not gifted in. Some people are born to write beautiful lyrics. Some people are born to paint wonderful and complex paintings. Some people are born to take stirring photographs. Some people are born to write elegant poetry. And some people are born to write thought provoking and entertaining prose. Of course there are countless instances where people overlap in these talents (I hate those people, for the record). I am NOT one of those people. I enjoy photography actually, but painting, lyrics, and poetry are something I wouldn't touch with a ten foot stick.
3. This class counts as a general education credit, which means people from varying majors are taking it to fulfill their graduation requirements. So why in God's name is Sir Eliot so brutal? Why would he say that a particular line made him want to pull his hair out or make feel like I should absolutely, positively never ever write EVER AGAIN?

I guess this blog post is my way of saying "Suck it Eliot." But for a minute I truly thought I would just give it all up, drop out of school and be a nanny for ever. That may have been the booze talking. But I did realize that I can't just give up every time I hear something that upsets me about my work. Not everyone is going to love what I have to say or how I say it. I absolutely believe that Eliot goes about the critiques the wrong way and that the rest of the class are a bunch of idiots that follow his lead, but they will not be last. And if I really want to get into this writing game then I'm going to have to suck it up and get used to it. I just cannot wait for this poetry unit to be over. Although since Eliot is a "published poet" (he never misses a chance to remind us of this) I haven't been able to find a prose section on the syllabus. So much for a CREATIVE WRITING class.

To top my night off. As I sat on the light rail on my way home, there was an extremely cute guy across the aisle from me. I made eye contact with him once and made some sort of strange jerky movement with my head I've never experienced before, and then awkwardly clunked my foot against the metal underneath the seat. For some reason he still decided he'd like to talk to me. Oh that was a bad idea on his part.

I was sitting there, brooding in my little world of inadequacies, contemplating how I could drop out of school and still have insurance, and parents that would speak to me. He leans across the aisle and asks what my tattoo on my foot says. He took me completely by surprise. I was thrown out of my heady world and into a social situation with a stranger. Uh oh. Watch out.

I explained to him it was my name in Hebrew and then explained why Sarah is a Hebrew name. He said "Well Sarah, my name is Jake. Nice to meet you." He put his hand out, I shook it and said "Hi, I'm Sarah... right, well... er, we already went through that." He was kind enough to over look that little faux pas but a guy behind him laughed. Then as the train got to where I needed to get off I said "Well, this is my ste ste ste... stop." I do not have a stutter. At least I didn't think I did until that moment. He shook my hand again and said "See ya later!" I said "Thanks." For what? I'm not sure, it just came out. And then by the time I got to the doors of the train they had already closed. They only thing I could think of was to push them with my index finger over and over again, praying the damn thing would open. In a strange turn of fortune, this worked. Though I'm sure I looked pretty pathetic doing it.

PS- I'm making a conscious/lazy choice not proofread this. Think of it as another way of telling Sir Eliot the Bastard to suck it.

{photo from here}

Sleeping At Last- New Music Monday

New Music Monday Y'all!

Today, I have for your pretty little ears, the musical stylings of Sleeping at Last. Dear Lord they have beautiful lyrics. Every time I listen to them something new will pop out and stick in my mind. They are seriously poetic.

They have a new album out called Storyboards and it's streaming in it's entirety on PureVolume. I am listening to it as we speak... er, type. I love love LOVE their water color artwork. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

Sunset Skies and the End of the World

I missed the VMA’s the first time around, but I caught parts of it tonight. Don’t worry, I’m not going to sound off on Kanye. I think everyone else is doing a pretty good job at that. And anyway, it’s old news by now right?

As I watched Alicia Keys and Jay Z perform together I started thinking about the book I had just finished for my political science class called Hot, Flat and Crowded. In it, the author reveals some very real and very scary truths. Truths about what could happen to our country, our world, if we don’t seriously pay attention to global warming, global crowding and the implications of globalization.

By the end of the book I felt so helpless. So guilty! I finally understood those people that simply live for the after life, that look around them, scoff, and pray they be delivered sooner rather than later. I felt myself feeling the same way actually. I thought, “what is the point? We’ve dug ourselves into such a deep whole that it’s hard to imagine we will ever emerge on the other side, the green side." In all seriousness, I felt completely and utterly helpless.

And then, by watching MTV of all things, I realized that no matter what terrible things our world is facing, there are constants around us that make life worth living and experiencing. One of those is music. True music. Like Jay Z and Alicia Keys singing about New York and saying things like “let the lights inspire you.”

And that took me back to my kids. It’s hard to feel doomed when you look into their beautiful, hopeful faces. I picked them up one evening and Olivia looked up and said “Oh Sarah! It’s beautiful!”

“What is,” I asked?

“The lights!”

She was looking up at the sunset sky and marveling over the way the rusty street laps shined against it. I saw billions of electrons being wasted, carbon emissions bombing against our ozone layer, and the dirty trail of blood money the price of energy and oil leaves behind. She saw magic and beauty. And when I looked up again, this time through her eyes, I saw it too. It really was beautiful.

So I don't feel so helpless, so meaningless anymore. Even though this world really may be royally fucked, there is still enough beauty left to make every thing, every single thing, worth it. If I can still find inspiration from MTV, then there is something yet to be broken in the world. Art may never save the world but it certainly makes life easier, more enjoyable, and worth the shit we have to put up with.

Do we need a green revolution? Yeah, we really do. But quite possibly what we need more are hopeful faces looking up into a sunset sky, illuminated with magic and appreciative of the beauty.

Inside Scoop

Those of you in LA probably already know this because Los Angelites always get to the trends first. BUT, I am here to tell you that Starbucks is now selling instant coffee. I just tried a cup and let me tell you, it's damn good. Not as good as in the store, but still. Wow. I mixed mine with Italian sweet cream and some hot chocolate mix (because I am way too much of wimp to even go near black coffee) and I am in hang over recovery heaven!

And in regards to that hang over. Last night someone called me a "conceited titty bitch" because I asked him to stop staring at my chest. He then proceeded to tell me he'd only stare at my chest if there was something to look at. And THEN he asked if we could go hang out at his place. I obviously said yes (not really). Can someone please remind me why I don't stay home reading books and drinking instant coffee? Denver is starting to feel a little tired.

This is Not a Love Story, This is a Story About Love

Wouldn't you like to hear about my relationship problems some more? Oh good, I'm so glad!

We last left our characters (Me, being the easily wooed fair maiden and Mr. Long Distance being the well meaning, devastatingly handsome yet flawed non-hero) on New Years Eve. At midnight he grabbed my hand and kissed me. Our kiss, our new found love, brought in a new 365 days. In our minds it would last, and surpass, those days. We were infatuated. He left the next afternoon to go back to South Dakota. Both of us had no idea what we had gotten ourselves into. I had never had a long distance relationship before and he had only been in one before, and it was terribly unsuccessful. All we knew was how hard it was to fight back those feelings and how right it was when we just gave up and gave in to each other.

Long distance relationships are fun and exciting.... at first. We texted most of the time and talked on the phone the rest. There was always something to say, some mushy anecdote to send to the other person, and oh they never got old. I could've gotten a million "sending you a thousand air kisses watch out!" and never be satisfied. (Ok, yeah, looking back, most of it was over the top and cheesy, which also means it may not have been genuine, but I was so head over heels for this guy I didn't care. The cheesier the better. Our relationship was like Macaroni and Cheese). I would sometimes think about what a great story this would be if we ever had grand kids (yeah, mind jumped a head a little bit there. Don't judge me). He would send me letter with poems he wrote for me, and I would write him back with the most elegant prose I could muster.

I made plans to go to South Dakota three months after he left. At the time I booked the flight, I didn't really give it a second thought. I was that comfortable with him, and missed him that much. But when I told my friend SP (a fellow romantic, writer, and dreamer) about LD and the trip, she looked at me with something of disbelief, fear, and esteem.

"You mean, you're going to a state you've never been before and where you know no one but a guy you, honestly, barely know. Wow, you're gutsy!"

At the time I just poo-pooed her and said "Well yeah! It's going to be great and I miss him so much I just can't wait." I was so confident about it all, I was impressing even me.

Let's flash forward to about 3 days before I left.

I was freaking out. I absolutely did NOT want to go anymore.

When someone asked why I said "Because I'm going to a state I've never been before, where I know no one but a guy I, honestly, barely know! What am I doing?"

It finally hit me that I was taking a big leap. I knew that I really liked this guy, but I had only ever seen him in my state, basically on my terms, when I always had a way to leave if I needed one. Now I was going to a place where I would be powerless, with absolutely no control over anything. Not that I really thought I'd be in any danger. No, I like to think my intuition is a little better than that, but I would be meeting all of his family and best friends and South Dakota is a pretty wildernessy place. I am not a wildernessy girl. Not in the slightest.

So, before my flight took off, before I was even at the airport, I was in the middle of a full fledged anxiety attack that would literally carry me through the entire trip. I had my moments of calm, mostly while I was sleeping, which wasn't much, because, what if I snored or my mouth was open or *gasp* tooted in my sleep? It was way too much to enter into any sort of REM cycle.

And here in lies the main problem with our relationship, and yes, I will admit it was mostly my fault. I felt way too much for him, way too soon, that it led to constant anxiety attacks when I was around him. Anxiety has always been something I've desperately struggled with but I refuse to take medication until i can afford therapy to go along with it. Yes, I am being self destructive on principle, damn it. Anxiety attacks aren't like panic attacks which are quick, dramatic and totally visible and evident to everyone around you. Anxiety attacks are much more self-contained. I've gotten quite good at hiding them, only leaving the observer with the idea that I'm bitchy, closed off, and unemotional, when really I'm desperately trying to catch a breath and get my mind out of an anxious haze. It was because of this anxiety that I couldn't really partake in a real relationship with him. More often than not, when we were in the same state, we were silent. I would try so hard to think of something to say and never could, because my body was in survival mode. You know Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs? Yeah, breathing comes way before trying to make witty conversation with flirtatious undertones.

There was a moment, I can't remember which state we were in at the time, when we were sitting next to each other in his car and I just thought, "When is he going to realize that he is wasting his time with me? When is he going to realize that we have no business being together. I am nothing compared to him." It sounds so over the top, so pathetic, and not something I enjoy admitting, but it's where my mind was. So insecure that not even a million cheesy text messages about air kisses could change my mind.

If you couple my strong feelings for him with my extreme insecurities and the steady flow of new people ("best friends") I was supposed to meet and impress, you get a severely inhibited Sarah. Looking back, I'm surprised he put up with me as long as he did.

I did tell him once about how I was in a constant anxiety attack the entire time I was in South Dakota the first time, hoping that maybe he would be more in tune with it, that if he saw I was distant or shut off around his friends (or around him for that matter) he could understand and ask if I was ok. He never did, and I can't blame him for that. Who wants to coddle an anxiety ridden girl every time they go out? Like I said, I'm surprised he put up with me as long as he did.

This saga is coming to close. The end is coming next.

(I'm sorry that sounds so ominous)

{photo from here}

{side note: I hated 5oo Days of Summer and feel a little dirty for using that title, but it just fits}

Goodbye Summer

{dreameveryday}

Baby, I Gotta Go

I need to go on a vacation.  I need to get out of this city.  I love Denver but I need to see a new one for a while.  I want to go alone.

I don't want to go to a secluded cabin in the middle of no where.  I don't want peace and quite.  That's probably the last thing I need, to sit alone in the woods thinking about how my life has felt like a crapshoot for the last month.  No, I've done enough of that kind of pondering and now I want new people.  New strangers.  I want new architecture, street art and bookstores.  

But I have $80 in my savings account and $100 in my checking to last me until October.

Where can I go for super cheap?