"Where are you now? Do you ever think of me in the quiet, in the crowd?"*

A Place in Thy Memory

            Gerald Griffin (1803-1840)

A PLACE in thy memory, Dearest!

  Is all that I claim:

To pause and look back when thou hearest

  The sound of my name.

Another may woo thee, nearer;

  Another may win and wear;

I care not though he be dearer,

  If I am remember'd there.

Remember me, not as a lover

  Whose hope was cross'd,

Whose bosom can never recover

  The light it hath lost!

As the young bride remembers the mother

  She loves, though she never may see,

As a sister remembers a brother,

  O Dearest, remember me!

Could I be thy true lover, Dearest!

  Couldst thou smile on me,

I would be the fondest and dearest

  That ever lov'd thee:

But a cloud on my pathway is glooming

  That never must burst upon thine;

And heaven, that made thee all blooming,

  Ne'er made thee to wither on mine.

Remember me then! O remember

  My calm light love,

Though bleak as the blasts of November

  My life may prove!

That life will, though lonely, be sweet

  If its brightest enjoyment should be

A smile and kind word when we meet

  And a place in thy memory.

*From Mumford and Sons' "Where Are You Now?"

The Stuff I'm Made Of

Last night while I sobbed silently while finishing The Fault in Our Stars (I highly recommend it!), I realized how much I relish those moments. When everyone is asleep and I can't stop reading by the dim light next to my bed but I don't want it to end and leave it all behind. (I get really attached. On my way to work, I had to force myself not to think about my favorite lines of dialogue, so I wouldn't start crying.) As I reveled in the solitude that makes me feel like there are people who are made out of the same stuff as me, I thought about how these late nights with books won't last forever. For one, I don't know that I would be as engrossed with someone sleep-breathing next to me, and then when I have kids, I will probably be too exhausted (or just wiser with my time). But those thoughts were before I got out of bed to get a Kleenex. Stupidly, I let myself see the trailer to Mama play in my head as if it were happening in my hallway. I ran to my bed as soon as I could, sliding to the middle to avoid any hands reaching out from under my mattress. I had to fall asleep listening to nice songs to keep myself from the terror. And then that left me wishing for the days that I can crawl into bed, wipe my tears, and not be afraid because someone will be there that will understand what I am made of. Or at least want to.

Side Effects of The Hobbit

The other night everyone in my dream was speaking in an Elvish accent. For some reason I just knew that's what the accent was. It cannot be created out of the dreamstate.

On the job front

I haven't given an update about my job. And honestly there isn't much to say. I was doing nothing for so long that this kind of feels like something to just take up my time. I forget that I am even getting paid. Which makes payday a nice surprise, even if the numbers aren't ideal. I think I have fallen into a different state of nothingness and boredom because I don't often have to think or feel stressed at work. I don't think I have found my calling yet.

Merry Christmas!

 

This is what I will fall asleep to tonight.

"Three Words, Eight Letters"

Gossip Girl is over. I am officially out of shows. And sadly, I am not satisfied with the goodbye. I didn't get a romantic scene from Chuck and Blair to watch over and over again. There was only one really great song, and it only lasted for 30 seconds. Gossip Girl, I gotta say, the young Bass with the bow-tie was not enough to make up for the lackluster finale. He should have had a curly-haired sister at least.

But I still love you. On Thursday I wore a headband and my watch-locket from the Empire State Building to honor you. I didn't wake up in time to curl my hair, but I did my best without my own Dorota.

I guess it's time to start my Dawson's Creek marathons again.

waiting

While writing in school, I would sometimes physically feel this rush of inspiration, and I would know exactly what the essay should be. After putting the idea into words, I would look back at what I had just written and be amazed that it had come from me. It was too complete, nearly perfect. I had found a piece of my truth. I guess this is what I am waiting for right now. I want an epiphany to surge through me and leave me with a vision of my future so gleaming that I know it wasn't really from me.