We cut the legs off of our pants.

"Let me begin feels good 'cause it's early
Ease open my eyes and let light in
Some ideas are brewing (growing?)
The radio abides with flying string
Old ideas worth doing
Are taking their time

Fine let's not hurry
It's our morning
(Spread out)
Let's not worry, it's our morning
(Spread out)."

Josane, my best friend, once told me that "Graze" by Animal Collective was "our" song, and by "our" she means the writers of Pratt, those who are, as Kesey would phrase it, "On the bus." Merry Pranksters. Anyway.

I finally (*finally.*) got the courage to do something that I've been meaning to do since day one of my fall semester, and I could barely sleep last night because of it. I've said "yes" to life. It's mind-expanding. 

I spent all day reading this short story called "My Father's Suitcase", in which a man breaks down the lifestyle of a working writer, and essentially states that to be a writer, one must actually turn their back on the world for half of their life. Half of the time, he said, we need to explore the external world and how it makes us who we are. The other half of the time, we need to lock ourselves away to explore the hidden person inside of us. (he started the story [essay] by claiming that all writers have an "other", someone that we need to spend a good deal of our time on earth getting to know.) 

So today, I'm waxing eternal. I'm content and even vaguely proud of the person inside of me. (dirty.) My "other" finally got through to the external. Let light in. 

I couldn't sleep last night after what happened. I woke up and ruffled my newly-cut hair several times over, sent some meaningless tweets, and watched the sun rise over Pantas hall. Hello, Brooklyn. God, it's good to be home. 

I don't want to ever feel as crummy as I was feeling yesterday, before my set of testicles finally grew. Maybe that's all sadness is; fear. That's probably too simplistic, but it's making a lot of sense to my overjoyed mind. And in a way, I'm glad I took my time. It'll be better, after having waited so long. And even if this doesn't "snap" into place, if somehow my boldness was simply an unexpected turn of events, it's still not a mistake. 

Would it be cliche to end with the new heart symbol I have learned? Probably. All the same, I'll not worry, it's my morning. Time to touch God's little hand. :-D

The Centre of the Pray-ree Lands

January 12th 2009

Part of me wonders why I'm even starting up a blog. I'm a writing major who keeps a journal religiously, why is a blog even necessary? I can only think of my sister, who is heading off to Africa, and all of the legitimate stories she will be able to write down. I thought I would get the official title of "Adventurer" in my family after I forsook my arctic tundra for the centre of the universe, New York City. Yet Renee is already off to change the world at the tender old age of 20. 

The picture is taken from my bedroom window. It never ceases to amaze me how depressing the Minnesotan landscape can be. Minneapolis has culture, class, inside jokes...but it still is one of the most uncomfortable cities to live in.

Four days, and my winter break is over. My favorite playwright, Tony Kushner, once wrote a scene in which a husband and wife make love after having been seperated for several months. After this act of "passion", all the wife, Harper, has to say is "Oh, oh, whatdoya know...back in Brooklyn...back with Joe..." 

Back in Brooklyn would be a really cool band name.