Tagged fall

Ain’t nobody got time for pain

This is what I do know:

It’s nearly 5:00 p.m. on Friday, payday Friday, that is.

Binging on Halloween treats makes me feel like a trash bag.
My life feels a lot like Tetris.
It’s November. Bring it on, November. Can you believe that?

The only super exciting thing about November, besides the true death of everything colorful outside (I kid), is the November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2013. If you don’t know, it’s a little poetry challenge. You’re given a prompt every day for a poem. SO YOU WRITE ONE POEM A DAY FOR A WHOLE MONTH. You can do it; I dare you.

It’s inspired by the more well-known, NaNoWriMo. This challenge is actually where you attempt to write a WHOLE NOVEL in a month, since November is apparently National Novel Writing Month. (Get the acronym-ish title now?) But I don’t know about writing 50,000 words in a month—unless I was suffering from verbal Dysentery.

Anyway.

Ain’t nobody got time for that [pain].

I had this very serious post in mind. It was about pain. The kinds of pain, reaction/action… etc. I sat in my car before class on Tuesday, before I even went to the hospital to see my mom, writing about it. “Pain is subjective.” “No pain, no gain!” “You’re a pain in the ass!”  “I haven’t got time for the pain…”

Wait. That last one is a Carly Simon song.

I guess what I’m getting at, or what I was attempting to get at, is that we accumulate pain, maybe, like scratches on a wall. But it’s not just one type of pain; there are so many shapes that pain can take. Some are more triangular, some round and heavy like an oversized marble. And each pain, then, elicits both a reaction and an action. The reaction being more of the “involuntary” sort—auto-spat. The action seemingly becomes a way to cope.

Example:

John’s dog dies.

Reaction: He cries and loses his appetite.

Action: He doesn’t tell anyone, and he never gets another pet.

See what I mean? For me, this helps me to look at my pain. It’s good to find the source, of course, but also define it in my terms—the “subjective” part. I like to examine what has changed because of it. Perhaps, I am doing this because so much of me has changed—not just my living sitch, my relationships, my creative endeavors, but my core. For the better, I hope. In ways. It’s just been a dynamic (geez, that’s being kind) two years. YES, TWO. It’s like an obstacle course. Maybe, just maybe, making it to the other side is what has changed me and not the events specifically. Maybe this will show me that, not matter what, I can do obstacle courses.

Except for rope climb activities. I suck at that.

Happy Friday/Weekend/November, everyone!
Oh, and don’t forget to write your poem!

mt

Saving the bright

Overwhelmed with school (grading, lessons, research), I feel like fall is slipping through my fingers so quickly. October is soon pushing into November and before you know it—winter and then… (dun, dun, dun) 2013. This is, of course, if the world doesn’t end. Funny, I heard more about that at the beginning of the year than now; though, I’m sure December will bring a new wave of media induced fright. In recognition of this supposed apocalypse, I have a long document o poems titled, “End of the World Poem.” To a poet, I think, it’s always te end of the world, some world, anyhow.

Already I’ve been reflecting on the year and mapping out some 2013 goals no don’t feel I accomplished as much as last year, 2011. I mean, maybe I have. It just doesn’t feel as positive. I’m in a whole different place, and upon an unfortunate stumble with my previous journal, I realize there is a girl I don’t remember.

Maybe it’s too early to begin reflecting, but do you ever feel that way? That you’ve changed so much that it is almost scary? Bad? Good?

See, if you haven’t noticed, I tend to let things overtake me. Fixate on projects or people or places or, hell, sometimes even cereal. I just keep doin’ it until I overdo it. I can’t be the only one. But somehow I get to a place where it’s too much, and maybe I’m slow, but I get it. Then, I have to figure out how to move on. Maybe today, I’ll buy Cheerios instead, you know?

And on that note, I think it’s time to share a poem, since it’s been a while. Something fall-worthy. This guy got published, so I’ll link him:

http://arseniclobster.magere.com/archive/issuetwentysix/260401.html

Be well, all. Share with me.
mt

Falling, fire trees & the Stank Bug Wars

So. It’s here. Fall. And finally we’re getting a taste of this glorious season—and I’m not just talking pumpkin lattes and pastries; though, I think I’ve hit up just about pumpkin-flavored treat this side of the Mississippi. The hillsides are lit up with every fiery shade imaginable, and for once, I’m glad to be a Pennsylvanian suburbanite. There aren’t many times you’ll hear me say that… Let’s face it: unless you’re glued to your careers or your families, most of us are forever planning our escape routes. It’s like one of those emergency exit maps on the wall, you know? I’m sure we all have them taped up in our heads.

We bitch about the cold. We bitch about the heat. And if there is any middle ground, it’s probably raining. So when fall rolls around and the colors pop, I think—just maybe—it’s not so bad.

But then again, the Stank Bug Wars of 2012 make this cooler weather a plight all its own: a battle of wits, perhaps, to keep these resilient, alien-faced troops out of our homes, our cars and, as of the other day (for this girl), our beds. Listen, folks, it’s no joke. These nasty warriors sport camouflage and a visible armor reminiscent of Zelda’s shield. It’s not bad enough they can fly, but these nasty bastards are running amok on stick legs with some ungodly self-adhesive properties, making them more than a bitch to remove from your clothes or your hair.

And if you think I’m being dramatic, I probably am. Bugs are an irrational fear of mine. Besides, according to Stink Bug Smackdown, they don’t DIE. Stinkbugs just HIBERNATE. In your house, people! If you don’t think this is a problem, then why don’t you come take mine with you, huh?!

Oh, and something delicious to remind you about, as my friend just so sweetly reminded me (you know who you are!), there is a recipe for a stink-bug-seasoned bean dip. Yeah, apparently these lemon-headed creeps taste like cilantro! In Bruce Leshan’s article on 9News Now, “If You Can’t Beat ‘Em, Eat ‘Em,” you can find a recipe for Stink Bug Tacos even.

Shit, people… get on this train. You eat the bugs. They leave me alone. Simple.

I drew a little cartoon here. Can I tell you? I actually gagged whilst drawing the “unders.” Gross.

And I think that is about all for today. Up all night grading papers last night, spending my day working…still thinking about all the things I want to do. Such is life.

Hopefully you’re enjoying what is left of the season… sans the stink bugs.

Infected Zombie Blood

It’s that time again… preparing for the epic event of the year—the (holy shit!) 6th? Annual Halloween Party. Really creative title, right? Anyhow, Teesh and I are set to go all out, as far as decor goes. Today, we were perusing the Halloween section at Target, getting all giddy (high-pitched squeals, repetitive LOOK AT THIS‘s, touching/picking up/fondling everything). If you were to walk by while grabbing the obligatory bag of Reese’s Cups on special, you might think we were an unfortunate pair of four-year-olds stuck in hoodies.

As an aside, Target and I have issues. It seems I can’t walk in there without dropping at least double the amount of money I should be spending. That big red bull’s-eye? Yeah, it’s the same color of my car. The car they’re going to repossess after I spend all of my money at Target.

We decided this year, instead of spending a ridiculous amount of cash-money on corny decorations of cartoon ghosts with cut-out eyes and snaggle-toothed witches, we would make our own. Kids, I realize this is September, but one only has so much time to put together the bangin’-est party. Figure in a reasonable amount of time for make-your-own-decor, a suitable sleazy punch recipe, and about nine-to-ten days working on a costume that no one in the world has EVER thought of… and you’ve got yourself a solid month of planning (or more). Besides, these old, shady bottles we just bought at Goodwill aren’t going to fill themselves with questionable nasties.

Which leads me to the point… any ideas for ghoulish decor? Teesh and I decided to start with about $10 worth of glass bottles, in which will contain various liquids and maybe even PEELED GRAPES… I mean, eyes. I think this is classy. Set them up all over the house. Hope nobody tries to drink them. You know… nothing says Halloween like an accidental Windex ingestion!

Well, it’s getting late. I just know I’m going to have nightmares after the brainstorm session I had coming up with “labels” for these bottles. Eye of Goat Radish. Scuzzum of Mink Husk. Infected Zombie Blood.

Sweet dreams.

Just bee

Well, if you haven’t heard… I’ll be Professor Chicken by the end of this month. Ok. I’m teaching one class at the University of Pittsburgh at Greensburg. (From where I graduated about… ugh… 4 years ago.) Wow. Anyhow, it has me working some serious tail feathers, along with my arty art projects and cooking and sweating (the humidity this way has been obnoxious) and and and still trying to keep up any sort of motivation to do normal things like grocery shop, clean Mr. Winston’s cage, or sleep. Summer-induced insomnia. Nice.

But fall is coming! Are you pumped? It’s my favorite, even if it is cliche. These last few days, the air just feels like fall, you know? To me, it is so much more fresh than spring. Spring is mud and melted snow and rain and mud. And while Tash finds it depressing, the upcoming leaf-falling season gives me this strange feeling in my tummy—like butterflies with dumbbells tied to their wings. And THEN this whole montage of flashbacks (haunted houses, sipping cider, carving pumpkins, etc.) plays in my head with the reflective yet raspy backdrop of “It’s a Wonderful World.” Ha. It’s not that serious, maybe, but it is that corny.

I took this little snap when Tash and I went to visit Amy in Lancaster (Lan-cus-ter: she’ll beat you if you don’t say it right). We were hiking somewhere crazy (up RT 81, I believe)… and the whole forest floor was covered like this. It was like a dream…

Speaking of dream. That’s one huge pumpkin. Note the text on the little white one (and squash). Totally didn’t see that.
What’s your favorite season? I find Winter-lovers interesting. I like Winter… for like a second.
Ahhh… I better crash.
mpt