Keep Calm, Carry On

To tread in glass is a campaign.

But these timetested callouses

I keep on my soles

save me–

from fresh edges

of brokensharpandshining pieces

that litter the bare earth.

So I keep the march alive.

Highstep, as if I can touch

my nose with my knees/

push forward.

Follow the beat

that pounds

like wild horses

in quiet hillsides.

Fact: those spots of blood,

that drag like the train

of a sunset's wedding dress,

are a testament

to luckyhard&lovely

times—

this: the reason why

I will never give it up.

End of an Era

Today is my last day of college. Yet, I don't feel inspired, excited or happy in the least bit. What sentimentality I would have had toward this accomplishment left me after a conversation I had on earlier in the week. I liken this to kicking an addiction. Something I have been doing steadily for the best five years is going to leave me. But I know I should have some positive feelings toward the matter. They're fleeting, fleeting and gone. At least I won't take the nostalgic route to my college years. "I miss so much about undergrad, so on and so forth." No, I didn't like undergrad either. Looking back on this blog, I can see the effect that undergrad had on me. The progression is despotic. I don't remember the time I spent during each of the postings. Whatever glimpse of the college experience I will remember has taken life in written form. So, instead of taking on this new direction like it is some passed torch, I think of why I am still here. I've been struggling with how unceremonious this seems to me. I turn, I question why I spent the extra quarters at the university. Devaluing my decision won't help anyone. Neither will the question "was it worth it?" I like to think yes it was. Que sera sera.

Tonight is an Irish holiday apparently. I wrote about it once before I think. You look like I need a drink, so I'll have one. Maybe the liquor of Ireland will catch up to me tonight, like it did when I was there. That seems like it was a lifetime ago. It was a lifetime. I'm living a lifetime away.

Two Non-Relatable, Relatable Paragraphs

Warning: I'm going to vaguely relate cooking, methamphetamine, emotions to create a motif.

I hate being put on the back burner. I don't even know what that is. Is this a reference to a stove top? Perhaps the back burner is the lesser of the burners, less heat, less significance. But this idiomatic expression is for that of low priority. Letting something cook on the lesser burners, having it simmer. Simmering food is that of non precedent. As so, let the slow, soft warmth of a tiny flame keep the food edible.

To change the subject, I once saw the aftermath of stove top methamphetamine. This was in the apartment of my classmate's mother. We both saw the process set out on the stove. The various pans and plastic bags laying out without shame. I wonder what cooker she made her science on. Did she use the back burner? Did she have the product simmer? However this substance was cooked, it was gone now. By the women, who in fact, had been put on life's back burner.