to destroy is always the first step in any creation.

here are a few things are a funny, and a few that aren’t.

funny things:

1.) fine dining. here is a silly part of society.

the entire concept of the absolutely excessive treatment of food is kind of moronic. but i can value it as some people’s art form. however, the idea of going to an “upscale” establishment is a bit like going to church. you put on your sunday best to impress the other diners. but the difference is that in the restaurant world, the kids putting the stuff together are dirty-fingered ragamuffins like me, and non-english speaking twenty-year-olds named (really) Juan, Manuel, Wilmer and Raul. my stained apron, my use of the vernacular, and my ways of making things more efficient are only incorrect because they aren’t stylized in the way that some rumpled geriatrics think they should be. come on, old people. i’m paying for your social security, while you’re leaving me change and sticky butter-pat papers face-down on the table. besides, your time is up anyway.

why complicate everything with formalities that you, or someone like you, have constructed?

2.) My coworker’s attitudes towards me. everyone that i work with thinks i’m an absolutely ghettotrash idiot. and granted, i am not the most eloquent speaker. i stutter sometimes, i stammer frequently, and i invert words within a sentence like syntax is just a set of vague guidelines.

but in reality, i’m almost done with my college degree.
which none of them have.
and i never say things like “supposabley.”
and i don’t pluralize with an apostrophe. (“egg’s,” por exemplo)
and i can spell “apostrophe”
and i speak several languages.

and i’m literate.

sigh. maybe someday i’ll drop a knowledge bomb on them.
or continue to contain my laughter every time they end a sentence with “at.”
suckers.

now here are some not funny things:

a.) that thing that you think is funny and how it makes me feel. and how i never thought it was funny when you felt like this.

b.) the future in general. i feel really, really constricted by everything and terrified by how that makes the exact present seem less valuable. it’s like watching a storm coming, but knowing that even if you get into the cellar, you can’t be saved. so you just stand watching the twister coming, mouth ajar, marvelling at the force of it all.

which brings me to….

c.) mayanmar/burma and the cyclone/hurricane that hit them. and while tools in team-related t-shirts are tipping back coronas and taking tequilla shots with straw sombreros on, there are 10,000 fewer people in the world, which puts at least ten times that many people in absolutely soul crushing pain. and we could not care less until sheryl crow and oprah go over there to save the natives with coloring books and makeovers.

in conclusion-

i’m a little conflicted. because in some ways, yeah, i see the irony in everything. and i see when things don’t make sense in a silly kind of way.

the difference between comedy and tragedy is that in comedy, no one is taking themselves seriously- no one ever gets actually hurt or truthfully angry.

and some things are like that. jobs, busywork and kids in class who use the phrase “in so far as” literally every single class period for an entire quarter. has not missed a day yet.

and some people are in more pain than i could ever imagine right now. however, i do not think this makes my feelings any less valid.

i’m hurting. and just because it’s not as much as other people, or even as much as you think you’re hurting, does not make it incorrect. or able to be “gotten over.”

that’s part of that whole “mental disease” thing.
and that whole “being a human” thing.

xoxo me

some days, they last longer than others.

baaaaaaaaaaaaah.

i’m inside-out. all yucky and red and ugly.

like, hey world. here are my innards.

like that exploded bird zach and i walked past in the woods.

ew. i have never felt so filthy as i did after seeing it’s little guts all strewn about and bloated.

sick.

mmmmm i don’t feel well.

on the upside, today in the computer lab, i ran into my friend aline! i haven’t seen her since she left for equador last summer. she is a very amazing and beautiful and intelligent woman. just thought i’d share that.

because for all my bitching, it’s not really that bad.

happiness for people like us lies in the idea, and nowhere else

i hope everyone knows that the subjects of my posts are never things i’ve written to myself.

just wanted to clarify.

in other news, i am a firm believer that a person will never be as close to someone as they are with someone that they are related to.

genetic similarities and identical upbringing are an unbeatable combination.

even when we’re just sitting across the table from eachother, making small comments and going about our daily activities, the rapport of eighteen years spent living in the same home is unsinkable.

siblings are an amazing phenomenon.

i’m not sure how anyone lives through losing them, let alone help re-raise their offspring and quell the instablilty of their widower.

Mom and Dad, do take credit. Because every one of the babies you bore is a miracle. And I feel blessed to have grown up amid the four of you.

they watched the hazy sun sinking in the sea.

tonight i really wanted to feel close to my dad.

i guess i just wanted to remeber how it felt to dance in the living room after pre-school until we were both worn out and giddy.

so i put on the eagles.

it just made me cry.

well, pretty much everything makes me cry these days.

how is that people tell you that it “gets better”, when all that happens is more people you know get sick, fall into debt,  lose their minds or die?

i think it’s like what they say about childbirth, only it happens every night when you go to bed-
you forget that it hurts, so you do it again. and again. and you just keep waking up, because

a.) what else are you going to do?

and 2.) you’ve blanked out the hurt.

the problem is, this isn’t trivial shit. this isn’t roommate drama, or boyfriend troubles, or even the fact that i’m up to my ass in ever-growing loans-

this is the biggest question people have been asking since it firt occurred to someone that there is more to the grand sceme than a human lifetime.

so to answer your question, dr. lester-
the reason people keep reading shakespeare is because everyone wants to know the answer to what it is that is the question.

in other news, i don’t have a schedule for work beyond next friday, so i really can’t give specific dates on my free time/ lack there-of.

but i’m flexible. and i work at a restaurant/bar. so, you know….never a dull moment.

xoxo hanna

don’t speak too soon, for the wheel’s still in spin.

www.freerice.com

it’s a vocab test…and a way to help feed starving children!
thanks Zach, for finding this delightful gem in the interweb.

in other news,  i have got a god-awful sinus headache.

also, a kid at my school died yesterday from the Super Flu. this is getting seriously ridiculous.

i didn’t know the kid. but it’s like between the ages of 18 and 21, the drop-off rate is astounding.

fucking Death. why ya gotta get so close? get out of my fucking grille.

also, today was a day of random acts of kindness. in my direction, because i am a retard.

1. I dropped my bus pass out of my pocket. i didn’t realize it until i was on the bus. before we were   halfway to campus, a lovely fellow named Steve had called to say he found it. Then, he called me again tonight, saying he’d spaced, he’s just gotten home from soccer and he would stick the bus pass in the door. i came home from the store, and there is was. So, Steve….thanks.
2.  Then, when i came home from the store, i had a bunch of bags of fruit and stuff, so i was having issues opening the door and not letting the dog out, who was all riled up, presumably because Steve had been at the door. Anyway, an hour later, there’s a knock at my door. And it’s the neighbor (who’s name might be mike, but i honestly don’t know), letting me know i’d left my keys in the door.

Final Score:

Hanna : Zero.
Nice Boys: A grillion.
i think this is because, although i’m not currently living in the motherland, i’m still in the PacNW-

and we all know that the west coast is the best coast.

so tell those angry lezzies to stuff it, melissa. because wasting energy on tiny battles is not a productive way to enduce change in the world.

they’ll realize this when oregon does something else progressive and awesome (like civil unions and madatory insurance coverage of women’s health medications) and they’re still over there arguing about whether or not the lyrics to the fight song are oppressive to upper-middle-class white girls.

i love you like a fat kid loves cake.

c’est tout.

xoxo

neck deep in contradiction in the gut of the beast

i am excited for-

-the blue scholars on saturday. i am fully prepared to hand over my senses and become immersed in epic words.
- Lonely, Dear. Their album is really lovely and I finally got it onto my computer.
-music in general.
-also, Post Harbor. Like Muse, but also like Explosions in the Skyl, but also like….early 90’s Kurt and Chris? Mostly, just beautiful.
-the greenness of everything.
-the greenness of me.
-the shrinking moon.
-my little indiana.

i’ve been writing like the price of ink is on the rise. it’s really been theraputic.
it’s keeping me out of a plunge. which i feel is immintent, but I keep rocking back on my heels, keeping my center of balance just low enough not to spill over into the sea.

everything is moderately mysterious theses days. and although everything is recycled, and nothing is truthfully new or different or novel, it all feels like the first.

the first full moon. the first deep frost. the first frozen puddle. the first crisp night. the first song. the first word.

people are dropping off from all around. i wonder what it means for anything to be permenent.
or meaningful, for that matter.

in my 16th century lit class, we were discussing Sir Wyatt the Elder, and his poetry, and how he continuously decided that he had wasted his time in the pursuit of love, that he had nothing to show for it, that he had squandered his youth.

but when you get down to it- what does it mean to waste? if something was learned, or a piece of art was borne or even an idea was formed, then wasn’t it purposeful, or at least meaningful? and really, what does it mean for something to “work out” if the end result is the big sleep anyway. I mean, how is there such a thing as a “fairy tale ending” when we all know that “happily ever after” is the same as “until they both died.”

the fact is this- our minutes of breath, of youth and of energy in motion in general are finite. and as long as you are interacting, loving, excersizing your ability to emote and feel and sense and touch and experience, then what does it mean for anything to be for naught?

alright, the point of it all is this- there is no such thing as a waste of time, as long as in the end you are a more evolved person. because everyone arrives at the same conclusion- it’s just who enjoys the trip there more.

so fucking love someone. alright?

and furthermore-

nothing in the world can be promised to any degree of certaintly except for that check, written out from fate, to be cashed when your time is up. you’re going to die and that’s all there is to be sure about.

so no, i can’t promise anything “forever.” i can’t even promise anything for tomorrow.
i can only say, right now, that i love you. whatever that means at the exact moment that you hear it, or read it, or even remember that i said it.

so i guess i made meaning. but it may only be meaningful right now, in this context.

but that’s another discussion entirely.

Noble characters and pure affections and happy scenes are very comforting things. They’re a refuge from life’s disillusionments.

what is this with the people dying? how did i live an entire life relatively removed from mortality, and now it’s flooding towards me.

the tide is coming in, but i’m not done trying to find creatures in the pools.

but maybe that will help with the sandcastles i want to build all around me.

and everyone knows that a pail full of dry sand doesn’t make a tower for a princess.

what am i even talking about?

the point is this:

i want love to be the focus of every interaction. i want everyone to look into everyone else’s eyes and see exactly how amazing every single person is. i want love to pour out of every cashier, pump jock, douchey business man and lying politician, because the more energy you can transfer to someone else, the more room you have to receive more.

it’s like incense- fan it a little, and the light gets bigger, and everything is sweet and smokey.

that’s my optimism for the day. chew it like gum, because it’s rare of late.

xoxo me

But the depth of your feelings, which is both your charm and your torment, prevented you, adorable woman that you are, from realizing the falsity of our future position.

when first we read it, everyone hated madame bovary.

yet i continually find myself coming back to it.

i’m unsure what to make of this. except that i am being indocrinated into the cult of literature and a love of language.

today, the sun was shining. it made everything feel warm, even if the ground was frozen.

also, i’ve officially turned into my grandfather- i love v8. but here is the great thing about that delightful veggie puree in a can- it has no nasty preservatives, and no corn syrup, and is only 80 calories per can.

the message here is: slim-fast is nasty, v8 is awesome. i’m going on the v8 diet.

v8 and apples. and cuties. and yogurt.

i miss my family. just thought i’d put that out there.

and now, a message to doctors, scientists, and other educated jerk-offs-

seriously. get this shit straight. what the hell.

sure, you make great-tasting genetically modified cereal, and pharmaceuticals that get college kids high without feeling like they are actually doing something wrong. and yeah, you figured out a couple of ways to make people living with diseases more “comfortable”- but really? people are dead and dying, every minute of every day. important, sweet, wonderful people. people who have made something of themselves, and of other people. people who are the product of a system that does *sometimes* work. people who are loved and love. these people, who have lived mostly healthy lives, who have children, spouses, and friends, are being eaten alive by cells on a mission that makes less sense than opperation iraqi freedom- and there’s nothing you can do to actually put a stop to it?

fucking get your shit together. stop spending money printing pink ribbons on carcinogenic water bottles and yogurt lids and t-shirts made by children with broken fingers and FIND A CURE. i know it’s more lucrative to have people on life-supporting drugs and toxic drips, but you’re slowly killing the goose that lays the cancerous eggs with chemo and radiation. you can breed a multi-million dollar pet but you can’t cure cancer? come on. step it up. we all depend on your lazy lab-coated selves. let’s move it along, here.

fuck.

what a stupid fucking word.

i’m so not sold on this whole life thing, today.

but you know what thoreau said…

How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.