So Relevant

She said I think I'll go to Boston...
I think I'll start a new life,
I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name,
I'll get out of California, I'm tired of the weather,
I think I'll get a lover and fly em out to Spain...
I think I'll go to Boston,
I think that I'm just tired
I think I need a new town, to leave this all behind...
I think I need a sunrise, I'm tired of the sunset,
I hear it's nice in the Summer, some snow would be nice...

--Boston, by Augustana

Not much more to say. I'm just tired. Wake me up please. But wake me up when summer starts. Not now.

Keep Pushing Me Down

'Cause I need it.

I need to be able to get up by myself.

1973

Polaroid SX-70

Circle in Orange, here I come for $56 dollars of antique amazingness.

Miles and Miles

I am, quite literally, running myself into the ground.

I'm Not Liking

Thinking about college. 

I don't like to think about school period lately actually. Every time I think of it I feel degraded and disappointed in myself. And I am. I could do so much better, and I know it. There's something blocking me. And it's myself.

Empty Void

Within the cave of my chest,

the rib cage provides shelter, 

for something with nothing, 

a heart with a beat,

and something to beat for, 

but no one,

no one to race for, 

anxiety provokes that empty void,

as does excitement,

but without letting you in, there is no me to be let out,

no me to be acquired, 

only seen and judged,

a body,

a zombie, 

a heartless void,

until you caught my eyes,

when there was an electric current that can't be described,

only a lightning bolt or open circuit could know the feeling,

Locked in,

I'm still there,

Stationary as you move with your life,

as I do move, I don't,

I move around myself,

around you, 

the knowledge that you may or may not know me full well,

and the day when my heart becomes more than a half house for 'half way there's,

Lonely, empty, and translucent.

Annotation

Once again, close reading becomes the dictator of the next two days of my life. Amusing Ourselves to Death is a good book, but Neil Postman is a hypocrite (credit to Kenny), and he needs to shut up and write something that is easy to annotate.

And then after that, it's on to Frederick Douglass, more commonly known as FredDoug thanks to Cece. 100 pages of pure close reading glee. 

I need new highlighters. Mine are running low on ink.