Good News! Onward to Teacher Certification!

When my acceptance from Drexel’s teacher certification program came through a few weeks ago, I didn’t know what to do with it. I left it in my inbox for a while, hoping for an epiphany about what to do. And it did come, while I was sitting out on the patio with my sister-in-law in Allen, Texas. Thanks, Joanne, for whatever was in that talk that helped me to figure it out.

My trepidations about teaching have been well-catalogued, but I think I’d be disappointed in myself if I didn’t try it. I absolutely love the easygoing job that I have right now, especially Friday Apples to Apples, but I need something bigger. The best moments at the library are the ones where I’m doing some genuine teaching, when I’m challenging the kids and myself.

My supersweet boss has told me a million times that no other after school leader has gotten the kids to write as much as I have, if at all. I still think anyone could do it, but I’m starting to admit to myself a little that getting kids to love writing is kind of a special skill.

I’m not sure what life’ll look like once I’m certified. Given the state of the Philadelphia school system, I may have to give up the part about working in a public school and fighting the achievement gap. But I hope not, because I still think that’s part of what I was born to do.

So, as long as everything works out with financial aid, I’ll be starting certification classes this summer. A million thank yous to the friends, family and advisors who supported me in the process so far, especially to those who wrote recommendations.

Dear universe, please make me into someone who can do this.

Dear poet pals, please make sure I keep writing.

April Resolutions

1. Write 30 Poems

2. Get on more stages

3. Do more things that are just about art.

4. Secret resolution, continued.

March Resolutions

Resolution 1: Secret Resolution cont’d.

Resolution 2: More silence.

Resolution 3: Get the new version of the manuscript finished and out into the world, even though I’m scared to.

Resolution 4: Do more things that are just about art.

Resolution 5: Get less lonely. (I have no idea.)

February Resolutions Check-in

Well, I’m getting a little bored with writing about The Happiness Project. That’s a good sign, I guess!

Anyway, so the February resolutions were:

Resolution 1: Is a secret.

I think it went pretty well. Could’ve been better.

Resolution 2: Ace the Praxis.

Well, I got 185 out of 190 on the reading section and 181 out of 190 on the math section (!) so unless my essay was too bloggy,(don’t think it was) it went great.

Now I can move on from worrying about the test and go back to worrying that I’ll actually get INTO a teaching program, and then I won’t have time to write.

Resolution 3: Finish teaching program apps.

Done, but I resolve to waste no more resolutions on paperwork. I’m a Virgo. Paperwork gets done.

Resolution 4: Finish bringing the 2010 photos into the physical realm.

I promise I’ll do this some time before 2011.

Resolution 5: Cut down on screen time by 1/3.

I think I accomplished this by virtue of not going online on the weekends, but I still feel like I’m guilty of overchecking. Does loneliness make me overcheck, or does overchecking make me lonely?

Serotonin Factory on the Twitter

You can put a bird on it at @serotoninxoxo

Thanks!

Couple of Cheer-Up Songs I'm Obsessed With

One is the very best use of the word "Profiteroles" ever. The other is the theme song of my favorite podcast.

Ben Lee - Catch My Disease from New West Records on Vimeo.

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Christmas Tree

Last night (a little late, probably...) we took down the Christmas tree. I miss it so much, it gives me a stomach ache. We left up most of the other lights though. Lights are needed.
My friend Daniel McGinn. inspired this poem.




Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Christmas Tree

1. Childhood is a percentage game,
waking up with my sister and finding
the stockings were full
even the dolls’-
chocolate chips wrapped up like Hershey’s Kisses,
mostly that, but-

2. They fought every year on Christmas tree day,
from the earliest snow-sparkle
all the way to the car.
I can’t remember a single topic,
but their voices like saws
in the front seat,
the flush of adrenaline
as we walked the aisles and chose—
they never once agreed.

3. Pools of light on the ceiling.
Being read The Gift of the Magi.

4. Eddie pulled down the Christmas tree once.
it was caught on cassette tape:
You look with your eyes,
not with your hands.

5. The year we shoplifted every pink thing.
and covered the roommate-tree with all of it.

6. My niece decorating Christmas tree cookies:
Gold to put a star on it, obviously.

7. Glitter on foil, wrapped around construction paper:
it was my job to make the star for the top.
Now it’s my job to write the eulogies.

8. Leave it up at least for all of January.
Take a picture and put it on the desk, year-round.

9. Afraid the cat would pull down a tree,
for year we decorated only
the houseplants.

10. Regularly check
your arbitrary limits:
We thought you had to have children
to have a Christmas tree.

11. A box of ornament hooks.
Leftover cards.
The address book, updated.
Unopened assortment of cookie cutters.
Fresh tablecloth,
fresh sheets.

12. My mother remembers the origin
of every ornament
in eight large boxes.
Your wedding favor,
any keepsake at all,
you’ll find it among the branches.

13. And becoming my mother:
still decorating on December 27th,
determined to leave up the lights forever.

Remembering My Uncle Tony

My Uncle Tony died of AIDS around this time in 2005. I just wanted to remember him with this thing I wrote on our Family forum at the time.

I can't believe how awful the music on the radio was in 1999.

Posted to the Oswego Carters Family Forum

"I have a lot to say. Ever since I found out I’ve been trying to remember as much as I can from my stay in Lemon Grove, so everyone could have a better picture of how his life was. Everyone sort of thinks of his life there as an exile, but he seemed so at home, and so cheery and welcoming. The first thing I noticed was how much of a Walecki he was, even after all those years of separation. His face, voice and mannerisms were so much like his sisters’. I even remember him using the word (words?) “moosh-a-moosh.” Most importantly, he had that Walecki-esque HEY! LET’S DRIVE AROUND AND LOOK AT THINGS! quality that I’m so glad I inherited. So that’s what we did. The first time I saw the Pacific Ocean, it had Pagan (his dog) running around in it. My first (bright red) California sunset was seen from the top-down back of uncle Tony’s Jeep, while speeding down the freeway. (I’m bringing pictures.)

One of my happiest memories so far is sitting on Uncle Tony’s futon smoking one of his generic (ew) cigarettes and watching him dance around the living room to The Offspring’s “Pretty Fly for a White Guy.” (Possibly the only meaningful experience anyone ever had to The Offspring.) Life was so bright there and new and full of possibilities. Speaking of music, that “Every Morning” song was on like every five minutes that winter, and Uncle Tony said he’d heard the guy play it in the park in San Diego “back when the lyrics were X-rated.” Uncle Tony was so cool that he saw Jane’s Addiction play in a small club before they made it. I was always envious of that.

Back to Lemon Grove, I just remember everything being so bright: the bougainvillea, the lemon tree in their back yard. I remember him and Chuck and me cutting up these huge bright tomatoes for whatever we were having for supper. (Chuck: roommate or “roommate”? Uncle Tony said they were roommates and I assumed he'd told me the truth until I discovered that my friend Randy had also been playing that sneaky and highly unnecessary word game) ANYWAY, their house felt as welcoming as any other family member’s house would. There was a lot more neon, though, and a lava lamp, and a big fish tank but I don't remember what kind of fish.

Uncle Tony helped me get settled in California, and I don’t know if I was ever properly grateful. I hope he knew how much he’d helped me. He helped me find a place to live and met the grumbly old glass blower I rented a room from. He even helped me negotiate more scholarship money with the school. He lent me his bicycle and I didn’t lock it and it got stolen-I feel louty about that.

Everyone’s got their regrets about what they forgot to do: I promised to send him our wedding pictures and I never did. I hope someone did because he really should have seen them.

When I found out, I told my poet friends across the country, so all week people have been reading poems for him in different cities. He definitely deserves it. If they’ll send me the poems, I’ll make a book and sell them for charity. It’ll be called The Lemon Grove Project.

Love you all and see you soon. "

Hey, that book was pretty great.

Martin Luther King, Jr. Day of Service

Photo by Wally Moyer.

You can go here for more info about the MLK Day of Service.

I’ve heard that Philadelphia has the most well-attended Day of Service in the nation—go us!

This year, it was especially festive for me because it was the first one that I’ve gotten to spend with Amy. We got up early and went over to my church, the Unitarian Society of Germantown. They had about 20 projects going on, including making meals for the homeless, caring for historic buildings, letter-writing for GLBT rights, and collecting supplies for a school that just burned down.

After we signed up for our project, we joined the stream of people going into the church’s sanctuary. It was a moving place to be, because MLK himself spoke from our pulpit back in the days. There’s a plaque and everything. If Amy and I look superserious in the above picture, it’s because we got real chocked up when we learned that Martin and Coretta met in a Unitarian congregation. (Not sure why that would choke up Amy, who’s not Unitarian—I firmly support her right to stay home on Sundays and watch Caprica and other shows that I don’t want to watch.)

The church was full to the edges, with Sesame Street levels of diversity. As I sang along to “We are standing on the side of love,” I felt the same measured optimism that I felt at the Rally to Restore Sanity: this is a really good thing to do, and I’m so glad to be in this crowd, but I hope everybody’s still gonna be working on this tomorrow. It’s beautiful, but it isn’t a solution in and of itself.

The project that Amy and I chose was helping to clean Johnson House, which I used to walk past every day on the way to work. The House’s website says it’s “Philadelphia’s only accessible and intact stop on the Underground Railroad. The Johnson House was home to three generations of Quaker families who worked to abolish slavery and improve living conditions for freed African Americans.”
Cleaning those walls was a little tiny thing, but it was satisfying. It made me happy to think that even in the midst of the nightmare of slavery, families were still reaching out to help other families. It made me want to recommit to being as loving and welcoming as I can be.

Friday Love Poems: Warren Longmire!

Don't forget to submit!

Descent:

You possess a spectrum of moans i've discovered, a flutter of wants in each forced twist of your forehead. What is your range, ms?

what memory in that cut of your breathe? The duck-like excursion of your face as it cranes toward my chest, was that a discovery? a nerve ending finding a new purpose?

we are stripped, bony and have i replaced a bad memory? A humiliation begins to dance like a dirty joke and you giggle like hyenas. so i can't even guess. but I do know you forgot to close the blinds last night. Didn't mind if the names echoed. left a winter coat scattered like an oil slick barely past the houses' entrance. we are newly nude and painful aware sinners sure, casual animal cloying cute a few fucks ago but look how we've grown. now i hear a chorus caught in half-mumbled curse words. you found sustenance in that dark semi-circle of mouth-marks on my neck and am only half-asking, what shade of flushed red throat is too much? i want to talk like having tea while skydiving but this does not seem like the time for questions of height. how was your day? you ask, as something dark is locked into place. a bead of sweat and a stained conversational ok, i don't mind, lets try it.


They live by the night

I once ate whole throatfuls of ice cream
and you are the closest I've come to a sunset since.

This is a cold place, sure sweetie and
countertops back when weren't always slate-covered but

This is some kismet kind of velvet sheet we are wrapped in here and I see red lights worth running every time you breathe yes.

There's a boutique of green in our pockets. No nightstick can stand to that slick little bop in your stride.

I still remember jumping into water like glass. Close your lids and I swear I fade night right along with you so yes baby.

Anything this dark must be chocolate.

Turn at the next right and tell me what key to lock into place.

There is no one living like this in the county. Let's point this story towards anything that makes you say I do.

Born and raised in North Philadelphia, Warren L. has been a consistent member of the Philadelphia Poetry scene for nearly a decade. As one of the founding members of University of Pennsylvania's Excelano Project, Warren has gone on to the final stage twice in the College Union Poetry Slam Invitational, and represented his home city once as part of the annual NPS. He has preformed theatrically in shows including The Dutchman, Trojan women, and Reunion. He has hosted several open mics and currently mcs for the Mosaic at the A-Space and the Storytellers' Reading series. He has been published in the Philadelphia Inquirer, Pax Americana, Mad Poets:San Francisco, The Fuze Anthology, the 16th and Mission review and his own chapbook "Ripped Winters." When not writing, which is far to often, he can be found building interactive dohickeys in flash for money and pleasure, reading short story anothogies, cooking and wandering the streets a bit dazed looking and somewhat lost. Rest assured Warren Longmire is within a 3 block radius of his destination if you find him on your own street corner in such a state. Warren Longmire is definitely not ignoring you and enjoys earl grey tea (hot!) and would very much like to share some with you if only you would snap him out of his fogginess and say "What's Up Stranger!." If only...

Motivated Part 3: The Apocalypse and Me

"How strange it is to be anything at all." -Neutral Milk Hotel

Over the weekend, I read Super Sad True Love Story by Gary Shteyngart, which is gorgeous, insightful, gut-excavating satire. I recommend it, but only if you can spare day or so’s recovery time afterwards- it’s hard to bounce back from.

(SPOILER ALERT)

Reading the fictional but plausible end of America In SSTLS made me think of my ongoing personal relationship with the end of the world. When I was a little kid in the Eighties, the Cold War was still going on and I was well versed in the principles of mutually assured destruction. Between 60 Minutes, commercials for The Day After, and doom-obsessed Eighties episodes of The Twilight Zone, I was full of fiery images and ready to pack it in at a moment’s notice.

When I was ten or so, I had a little red calico diary. I only remember one entry from it: “Last night I dreamed that the bomb was dropped. I went outside on the porch, and I breathed in the burning in the air.” The next paragraph begins, (With a sign, it seems.):

“And now back to my own small life.”

And that was the exactly right thing to do. My exaggerated sense of near-demise is, I think, what made me grow up so much in love with the world and with humans in particular. In the face of insurmountable whatever, your point of view is really all you have.

Here’s why I think expressing yourself is as important as whatever apocalypse is happening at the moment:

Being a particular human being on Earth seems to be a strange and unlikely miracle.I remember an Astronomy class at SU in which the professor broke down all of the planetary circumstances that had to align in order to create life at all, let alone humans, let alone Buffy episodes. I had a sense of that when I was little; in addition to laying awake counting the number of New Years Eves I have left, I used to think about how lucky and impossible it was to have been born, in this time, in this country, a girl who likes kittens, with a nice sister, etc. Think of all of the millions and billions of circumstances that had to conspire to place any of us here.

That’s why I think you are a miracle, and anything beautiful you say or make or DO is a miracle. That’s why I’ll always champion ANYONE’S unique point of view, not a genre, not a style, not ambition or fame, just the one and only example of you that will ever exist. I tell that to kids all the time, but I think grown-ups need to hear it, too.

How to Stay Motivated, Part 2: Vonnegut's Advice

Kurt Vonnegut said "We were put here on earth to fart around and don't let anyone tell you any different." He was extolling the virtues of a writerly trip to the post office, but I think it applies to anything.

Any time you're following a curiosity, (even if, I hope, it's by rewatching Ally McBeal or Googling phrases that include the word "Kittens," )you're collecting up some stuff for your art. So you don't have to worry about being motivated, per se.

Just as long as you sometimes make some stuff.

Friday Love Poems: Tara Betts!

Happy birthday, Tara Betts, one of my favorite poets/pals/mentors. I feel so fancy putting these up.

Don’t forget,y’all, I’m always taking submissions!

A Hushed Ache

Love holds beginning
hair above his lip or fleecy
nubs trapped between his
scalp and your fingers.
The slow seep of his whisper
draws that kiss—two words
into a wavery line releasing
an ache, saxophone riff.

This love smelled young,
peppermint anticipation,
cocoa butter and cherry cola
lip gloss true to taste, brushing
its linger across necks, heavier
than hormone-laden fist, sweeter
than cornbread sugar in long kisses,

more than that cruel club lobbed
at his shadow skin leveled to dirt,
spot, nothing, but no one could say
this was too dark, less than
anvil meeting hammer sparks.

You talk nearly 20 years later,
knowing your friendship was
more than flutter, not just
biker shorts and pinning him
to your mother’s basement stairs
before she wakes and you don’t care.

The old ache surpassed the surplus
of a decade. You both joke about half-
relationships and backup marriage plans
when he pauses on the phone line.
He says she’s pregnant
and a wide silence opens.


Spin Cycle

Love tumbles us through mundane life,
a rolling cylinder, we dive
into the dirty clothes we wash.
The scent of soap cuts clean across
daily bores of husband and wife—
a cotton kiss on pillows rife
with surprise in a rigid hive.
The wash, dry, fold, so far from posh.
Love tumbles us
into breaking, spinning alive
in cycles that turn us in strife,
foggy suds that leave us awash.
Each feeling we coddled and tossed
settles, fresh snap as you arrive
love tumbles us.


Originally appeared on http://therondeauroundup.blogspot.com/


My Man
for R.V.

black tides rising above his brow
eyes sepia as stained cathedral glass
birthmark bop across right cheek
the tender salmon of his slim lips
warmed with twin blade thought
cutting two languages
mouth, a cavern of crowing laughter
brown bear shoulders
easy chair chest upholstered
with two buttons
dark curls & tumescent halleullah
at his hips, shelf of ass on its own axis
his glazed ham treetrunk legs
curved span of his steadfast paws
nude musical in my jagged moments
clawed first to replace the unwieldy
shield I cringe behind,
My osito in skin of my friend,
my man, my man…

Tara Betts is the author of Arc & Hue (Aquarius Press/Willow Books, 2009). She is a fellow of the Cave Canem and VONA workshops. Tara teaches creative writing at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, NJ. Her writing has appeared in several anthologies, journals, theater productions, including Essence, Bum Rush the Page, both Spoken Word Revolution anthologies, and HBO’s “Def Poetry Jam.” She is working on her second collection and an anthology of Bop poems with Afaa M. Weaver, among other projects.

Poetic License Horoscope for January 7-13

Capricorn (Dec. 23-Jan. 20): Inventory your coffee cups. Count house cleanings like a year-long Advent calendar. Evaluate the necessity of every scarf, hat, and necklace. Visit your local thrift stores like a January Santa.

Aquarius (Jan. 21-Feb. 19): Declare all 2010 complaints complete. Unsubscribe to your grudges, put salve on your scars. Be ready for more loves and more exquisite disappointments.

Pisces (Feb. 20-March 20): One word of advice for you this week: Pillows.

Aries (March 21-April 18): In the words of Hafiz:
Now
That
All your worry
Has proved such an
Unlucrative
Business,
Why
Not
Find a better
Job.

Taurus (April 19-May 18): The Maven of Emotional Awesome, Jen “Flash” Andrews of Too Beautiful to Live has the most lovable New Year’s Resolution: Give yourself and others a break. Don’t lay awake worrying about spilt words or misspent kitchen table diatribes.

Gemini (May 19-June 21): I spent New Year’s Eve at my Aunt Patti’s house getting pretty drunk with my brother and my cousins and my cousins’ friends. I played my first game of Flip Cup (with chardonnay!) at 36. I wasn’t good at it. Do something rewardingly foolish—let yourself off the leash a little.

Cancer (June 22-July 23): Take a break. Everything doesn’t have to be written today, even if it seems that way. To paraphrase LCD Soundsystem’s spoken word/workout tune Pow Pow Pow: (No need to keep) “Coming back, coming back, coming back
Until there's nothing left in the well. Is that what they call it, the well?”

Leo (July 24-Aug. 23): My lovely Leo wife has decided to split the year into 52 mini-projects, and I can’t wait to see what she comes up with. What can you make in a week? Is it beautiful?

Virgo (Aug. 24-Sept. 23): I spent a pretty big chunk of my Christmas vacation watching episodes of Ally McBeal. It’s so romantic; it’s like the How I Met Your Mother of its time. Walk home from work in soft focus, with dreamy/feminist Nineties music for your guide.

Libra (Sept. 24-Oct. 21): Irony is so last year. See how much sincerity you can get away with.
Scorpio (Oct. 22-Nov. 22): Bring last year’s photos into the physical realm. Frame something optimistic. Spread all the pictures out like Tarot cards and read the future—you’ll like what you see.

Sagittarius (Nov. 23-Dec. 22): Leave all of your self help books on someone else’s doorstep, like so many paperback orphans. It turns out you’re perfect.

How to Stay Motivated, Part 1

My friend Lori asked me how I stay motivated, and I realized that I do have quite a lot of inspiration-scaffolding up around here. And some of it is admittedly similar to what I would've done at twelve.

This is as good a place to start as any:

I like to do this at the beginning of each year: Get a bunch of optimistic lady-magazines (I like O, Martha Stewart, Glamour,Real Simple) and a poster board. Cut out any pictures and words that you like, with no particular rhyme or reason. It's best if you do all the cutting and gluing in one sitting. Put it somewhere you can see it often.

New Year's Mix Playlist

I Can Change: LCD Soundsystem
Tightrope: Janelle Monae
Wake Up: Arcade Fire
Crash Years: The New Pornographers
How I Got Over: The Roots
We Used to Be Friends: The Dandy Warhols
We Used to Wait: Arcade Fire
Hands in the Air: Girl Talk
I Can’t Stand the Rain: Ann Peebles
Dear God 2.0: The Roots feat. Monsters of Folk
Home: LCD Soundsystem
Don’t Look Back: She and Him
Have a Heart: Sleigh Bells
Use It: The New Pornographers
You Are Not Alone: Mavis Staples
XXXO: M.I.A.
Halo/Walking on Sunshine: Glee Cast

January Resolutions/10 Minutes of Fireworks

1. Branch out!

I tend to fixate on one person/album/goal, but I know I’m always happier when I’m expanding my proverbial horizons.

2. Practice trust.

I have no idea how to put this one into practice, but it’s the theme at church this month, so that should help.

3. Get pretty drunk sometimes.

Sounds like a recipe for troublemaking, but it’s really just a way to say: let myself off the (very short) leash every once in a while.

4. Bring some of the 2010 photos into the physical world.

5. Schedule and study for the GRE.


Here are some motivational fireworks.

Merry Christmas: Best Magic Trick Ever, Plus Tons o'Sequins

I hope that everyone has the sweetest, most adorable Christmas ever. Thanks for reading me, it means a lot. Here's a present: My niece and nephews doing the very best magic trick in the world.

Merry Christmas to all and tons of fucking sequins, Jane

Year-End Heart-Inventory

1. I started this blog after a June day where I couldn’t stop crying, even while walking in the woods. I sat on a rock next to Wissahickon Creek and just bawled my eyes out, feeling this deep, nasty, desperate sense of unwelcomeness in the world. I realized that if I didn’t want to go on anti-depressants (nothing against them, it’s just always been a goal not to take them.), I was going to need to become a serotonin factory. I bought The Happiness Project and proceeded to do what it said. It took a while, but I do much less sobbing lately. I’m inching towards self-worth, as well.

2. The reader who helped me think of the blog and title is no longer in my life, and as much as I hate to admit it, that still bothers me. One of the great mysteries of 2010 is, how does someone go so quickly from dressing up as Lady Gaga and singing me Paparazzi to just completely disappearing. His sister, too, liked me enough to throw a party with me and then promptly dropped away. The sister said “I’m only talking to my close friends right now, “and how could it ever come back from that? I really, really needed friends last summer, and, I guess that’s no sin, but I’m still a little ashamed of how attached I got. Of course, let’s not forget, that for every disappearing act, there’s like, a million people who stick by me. I resolve not to forget that.

3. And while I’m on the subject of poorly-navigated friendships: Dear Bookstore Bully, everyone thinks you’re a sweet, lavender scented earth mama, but deep down, you are nothing but Mean Girl, a co-op Heather. I only hope that others begin to recognize you for what you are, before you cost your business too much more money.

4. Because of all of the turn-on-dime friendship of the year, combined with my general tendency towards anxiety, I have terrible friend-abandonment issues. The moment I start to feel friend-love, I almost want to make that person go away right away, so I don’t have to feel the (admittedly stupid) fear of the disappearance-shoe dropping. Today is one of those days where I just want to call everyone I know and ask “Did I mess up? Do you hate me? It’s okay, but let me know…” All I can do is type and fight the urge.

5. Okay, so that was a lot of not awesome, but many of the important things in my life are working out quite well at the moment, especially my job. I’ve learned to be pretty relaxed with the kids and that helps us all get much more out of the experience. Today is movie day. I wonder what we’ll watch.

6. I may be a little disappointed in who I grew up to be (like, I may never end up learning to be flexible, or aloof, or very spontaneous, or good with money, or…) but I think my twenty-year-old self would be startled! to find out! that! I have a mostly successful marriage and a great relationship with my family. I feel crazily lucky to be headed toward family holiday get-togethers with nothing but joy and anticipation.

7. I’m terrible when things go a little bit wrong, but great when things go terribly wrong. Recently, Amy started seeing a spot in her vision. Her family blessedly lent us money so that she could see a doctor, but so far, treatments haven’t improved the situation. I HATE SO MUCH that this is happening to Amy, but I’m grateful for the instinct that kicks in and says, “It’s okay, this is who you love, just take care of her.” (BUT REALLY, Universe, AMY? WTF.)

8. Maybe because of that extra-lovey instinct, I haven’t had a real crush on anybody since the summer. I’m still me, people are still cute, but no one has been very distracting. I’m not foolish enough to say there’ll never be another crush, there’s room in my heart I guess, but for now it’s such a relief to stick close to home.

9. It seems that I am going to pass this math class as long as stop I procrastinating enough to study for the final. Next step, GRE prep. The path to teaching seems clearish.

10. Last February, my brother bought Amy and me a new computer. Prior to that, our computer was so old that I never even watched a video on it. The new computer (plus a Rhapsody subscription) made all of the difference in the world.

11. Writing-ambition wise, I am as frustrated as ever. I’ve got a manuscript that I love that I haven’t found a home for. I haven’t been able to work in as many features as I’d like because of shyness and teaching schedule. I’m wildly behind my friends. I try to keep their accomplishments in mind as inspirations, but at the moment I feel like I’m so far behind that I’ve disappeared. I know that when I feel like this, submitting is the only thing for it. That’s why my theme for 2011 is: APPLY FOR STUFF!

If You Are a Follower! THANKS!

I like seeing your face to my right as I add to The Serotonin Factory. It makes the whole process less lonely.

I owe you a present. Email me at serotoninfactory@gmail.com so that I can send you something cute.