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This is something I was just thinking about. I don’t remember what I was doing when I wrote it, but I have it saved as a note on my iPhone. Thanks for commenting!

There was nothing he could do; the thoughts would just not leave his head. The terror in his dreams made him sick. He felt nauseated just walking in the area, driving by the old house, which he really tried not to do, but sometimes you can’t prevent the circumstances. His psychiatrists couldn’t seem to get through to the terrible pain he was feeling in the depths of his being. Torture. Sadness. Not even his guitar-playing was therapeutic anymore. East Banner was not a place he could feel himself in. It wasn’t a place he could feel alive. Mentally, he was dying.

His world was crumbling around him. He couldn’t deal anymore with the fact that she was dead. His face was grief-stricken and the tears just wouldn’t stop coming. He was all she had left.

He never thought about what would happen if she ever died. Those feelings just didn’t come to him; he lived his life while she was there, like they would always be…. To be continued

“Can you read my love
written with my fingertips
on your arching back?”

Writer’s Almanac - A poem for you.

Summer Night

by Connie Wanek

The street lamp looks down;
it has dropped something
and spends the whole night
searching around its feet.
The rumble of a jet, and the fast road
blocks away, roaring like a cataract.
The scent of mown grass,
and of the body that mowed it.
The sidewalk, made of warm squares
heaved by maple roots,
covered with hieroglyphs in chalk.
A maple sapling, its trunk
wrapped to the knee
like the legs of a racehorse,
galloping straight up.
At dawn the prodigal sun returns
accompanied by equatorial birds
and a floral entourage.
What good has it done us to labor so
when all are rewarded?
Let the spade fall, then,
and join the feast.

"Summer Night" by Connie Wanek, from Hartley Field. © Holy Cow! Press, 2002.

I try to read from Writer’s Almanac every day. It’s a website that a college English professor had us read for class, and I got hooked. A different poem each day - keeps me reading, keeps me thinking. It gets me inspired. It makes me laugh, cry, and reminisce at least once a week. Try it out, friends.


Anonymous asked:

I think reading TigerLily is perfect because it just shattered my soul in the best way ever.


Thanks! I actually got really behind in my reading, but I can’t wait to read that still!

“What good is sleeping
if when it comes to waking
you are never there?”

Reading List Update

Womp…womp…my summer reading list as of today has been neglected. Abandoned even. “11/22/63” has been such a long read, that I just can’t seem to finish it. The book is amazing. It’s over 900 pages. I now love Stephen King, and the character that is Jake Epping/George Amberson. I just can’t seem to finish that darn book. So I am now a month behind, which I guess is roughly 4 books. I see myself spending a bunch of time in bed tonight and this week trying to finish this book. It’s amazing, don’t get me wrong, it’s just so. Dang. Long.

Summer Reading List 5/1/13 - 9/1/13

I never had a summer reading list for middle or high school, but I’ve always considered myself an avid reader. I like to read just about anything, and I read fast, and if I’m in the mood, I could finish a book in a day (Admittedly I read most of Eclipse on a plane from Phoenix to Buffalo one summer). So I’ve decided to make myself a reading list for May through September. I got a recommendation from a bookworm friend (Hi Stephanie) that 16 books was a good starting point, so I upped it to 20 and here’s my list! Disclaimer: I have not read any of these books before - I did see Moneyball and The Help movies, but the others (including classics and other books that it seems literally everyone has read, I truly haven’t), so no spoilers! These are not really in order, either except #1 - the movie comes out May 10, so I know I can read Gatsby in a short amount of time. This is a general list, too. If I end up buying a book or going to the library, I may change the list up - but this list is all books I own currently.

  1. The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald 
  2. Beautiful Disaster - Jamie McGuire
  3. The Color Purple - Alice Walker
  4. Firefly Lane - Kristin Hannah
  5. The Last Lecture - Randy Pausch
  6. Moneyball - Michael Lewis
  7. The Perks of Being a Wallflower - Stephen Chbosky
  8. Risky Business - Nora Roberts
  9. Why Can’t I Be You? - Allie Larkin
  10. Swimming With Maya: A Mother’s Story - Eleanor Vincent
  11. Always Looking Up: The Adventures of an Incurable Optimist - Michael J. Fox
  12. Tiger Lily - Jodi Lynn Anderson
  13. Everything is Perfect When You’re A Liar - Kelly Oxford
  14. How To Be a Woman - Caitlin Moran
  15. Heart of the Matter - Emily Giffin
  16. Bad Habits: Confessions of a Recovering Catholic - Jenny McCarthy
  17. The Help - Kathryn Stockett
  18. Water For Elephants - Sara Gruen
  19. What Remains: A Memoir of Fate, Friendship, and Love - Caroline Radziwill
  20. Sleeping Around: Flings and Faux Pas of an American Girl in London - Catherine Townsend.

So - without spoilers, what do you think?

Lightly Seared on the Reality Grill

Death is scary; like Psycho or Halloween scary.

Like American Horror Story meets Nightmare on Elm Street.

Jason and Michael, and Norman, and the weird dead baby from the basement all chasing you at once.

The vodka will do that… Bring you close to death, even at the age of eighteen.

Even with a whole life ahead of you, vodka drowns your insides, clouds judgement, and blinds your sense of reality.

Seventeen is supposed to be…

exciting, invincibility, recklessness, parties, late-nights…

College at eighteen should be…

the same exact things, plus professors and classes.

Neither of those should equal close-to-death experiences with a liquid that looks identical to water.

Vodka says “fuck life,” as soon as you take your 7th straight shot.

That’s when alcoholism says “reality is a nightmare” and nothing in life matters. You may as well be a vegetable. At eighteen, you’re a fucking vegetable.

#3 (Married to the sea)

Once upon an old sailing ship, 

the sailors went to sea. For lobsters, shrimp,

a drink or two, though dozens it may seem.

From Maine they left, to Florida they went, along

the Atlantic Sea, Wishing, drifting, sailing along, 

the deep blue, dark blue sea.

The sailors, old, they lived alone, in Maine, 

no wives had they, but not all alone,

just married to she sea.