Happy Thanksgiving... yesterday.

Wednesday:
"Wait. We cannot break bread with you. You have taken the land which is rightfully ours. Years from now, my people will be forced to live in mobile homes on reservations. Your people will wear cardigans and drink highballs. We will sell our bracelets by the roadsides. You will play golf and enjoy hot hors d’oeuvres. My people will have pain and degradation. Your people will have stick shifts. The gods of my tribe have spoken. They have said, “Do not trust the pilgrims, especially Sarah Miller.” And for all these reasons. I have decided to scalp you and burn your village to the ground."

Parking Lots

Being bored in the Home Depot parking lot has it's perks.

Lars and I collected catcalls. Send in your donations now. We accept all major forms of flattery. Thanks.

Lying in bed all day is like living as a shadow.

"Te amo como se aman ciertas cosa oscuras,

secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.
(I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.)"
Pablo Neruda

It's that time of year again.

Dear K.B.,

Today everything has me thinking back to when I first heard about what you did... how I fell, and how he crawled up after me, and how your family looked in black.

This is vague and I don't know any other way to look back at this but over my shoulder and past the murk that clouds the last couple years.

It's fall again. You've left behind small tragedies of people, a marble slab, and a scarf I'll wear to school because it's fall, I'm cold, and it's all part of the spoils of war.

Have faith and more faith and the most faith and I wish I would have tried harder to tell you these things.

Good Night.

Smartiepants. Smartie Pants? One or two words?

Exactly the thing I needed to feel better:

Me: Ryan. Grad school is making me talk like a smartie pants and no one likes me because of this unfortunate detail.

Ryan: Soon they'll all need hermeneutic approaches to your cacophony of non-heuristic semiotics rattling through their aural phenomena until the thing in itself reveals the thing it was, unbound from a hermetic noumena, free from teleological angst, and our only point of contact with reality will be the present, which offers us the whole of reality, precisely because it is a passage and a metamorphosis, revealing that all we ever have been saying is "yes."

Ryan: Was that too much? Admittedly, it didn't end where it started, but I promise it makes makes some sense.

Me: Talk me through all the big words and I will be the prettiest girl at the grad school prom.