screaming loud enough to turn back the wind

Two As and two Bs for my first semester of the doctoral program! Considering I stopped caring about one of the classes halfway through, I'm happy with a B.

So, in two separate classes this semester I've had other students tell me that they really enjoy my writing.

I have no idea how to take compliments in person. But it really made me happy.

In 1987, the year before I was born, Freire said, “Language gives you a glimpse of how people survive,” (p. 137). It’s a cliché, perhaps, but who writes the history books? Whose exploits are recorded, remembered? When looking into the past, who is the default and who, it seems, never lived or did anything of worth at all? If there is no record of your existence, did you? I used to write frantically, skipping words in their entirety, messy and confusing, my opinions and my beliefs, my hopes and my fears, and I imagined that someone, somehow, someday, would find it and read it and know I had existed, that frightened and angst-filled 13-year-old. I wrote and so I would be remembered. I write. I have written and I will write. I will still be writing tomorrow and next week and decades from now. I’ll look back at that diary I kept in middle-school and I’ll remember the girl I was, the girl who couldn’t begin to fathom the woman she’d grow up to be.

Written November 27, 2016

I ask you
once
and you turn away
with no reply.
.
I chase after you down the block
crying
(me or you?)
and you don’t look back.
.
You don’t look back.
You never have.
.
I never learn.
I take it all—
I pull it in
until all I am is your reflection.
.
Have I ever been my own?
Caught in your lies,
tangled in your smile and your touch,
your toy when you think of me.
.
Your toy,
you toy—
I hold my breath,
faint with hope that always flees.
.
You don’t see me.
I ask you
once
and you leave me.
.
I chase after you
tears on my cheek,
tears in my throat,
and I know you’d never cry for me.
.
You’d never cry for me.
You’d never turn back.
You never have.
.
I watch you walk away,
your spine straight,
your steps sure,
and I exhale.
.
I ask you
but once.
A single time.
A single breath.
.
Exhale.
The dirt is cold beneath my knees.
Inhale.
The sun shines.
.
I chase after you
but you’ve never seen me
for me.
I’m just a reflection.
.
I breathe
as you turn the corner.
.
The ground is steady
and the sun is warm
and I shudder in relief.
.
Is this the kindest you’ve ever been to me?
.
Inhale.
Exhale.
You won’t turn back.
I never learn—
.
Exhale.
But time is all I have now.
Inhale.
Exhale.
.
Breathe.

There's still hope! Holy shit, I had no idea about this. And it comes down to Louisiana?!

Title: (the folly of) youth
Fandom: Merlin (BBC)/Doctor Who
Disclaimer: Merlin, Arthur, Jethro, Jethro’s parents, and the Doctor aren’t mine
Warnings: post-series for Merlin; during season 3 and 4 for Doctor Who; time travel shenanigans
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1730
Point of view: third


Arthur is born as Jethro and his parents settle into their hotel on Midnight.

Can you guess what my favorite book is?

I’m never saying the pledge, singing the national anthem, or saluting the flag again.

.

I’ve never been proud of my country, exactly, but in all my life, I’ve never been more ashamed of it than I am right now.

.

The garbage bag wearing a human suit can’t even finish a coherent sentence, so how did so many people vote for him? How did any woman? I hadn’t actually realized what ex-felons being unable to vote could do. I hadn’t even realized a Voting Acts Right existed much less was taken away in 20 fucking 13.

If I, a middle class white woman, feel this horrified and terrified… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

I need to find something GOOD to do because I’m about to crawl out of my skin.

I’m going to check the results, I’m going to finish this episode of Elementary, and then I am going to lie awake in my bed and tell myself a story as I try to fall asleep, and when I wake up in the morning, Hillary will have won because anything else is a horrible, terrible mistake that can’t possibly have happened.


(Just... how? I legitimately never once actually thought he could win. How?)

To those who don't live in the US - are you as nervous as we are?