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1. Thinking (a sonnet)

Alone in the silence, his clear eyes flash.
His shirt is white, his eyes are clearly blue,
His cigarette burns red, leaving an ash.
His hand is guided by the Nous, the true.

Muse of the Philosopher, guide his hand
Let his mind peak at Aristotle’s “A.”
Lead him through thought’s difficult land,
Show him the first, the only, correct way.

Now an inference, now intuition,
Now two premises brought to conclusion.
Now a guess, but it is carefully done.
Now he sees the end, like viewing the sun.

The joy of writing, the joy of success
The joy of finishing a mental quest.

2. Cheating (a sonnet)

A test spinning in one hundred young heads
Calculus, a difficult and pure class.
It’s filling one hundred young hearts with dreads
Calculus, I hope it kicks not my butt.

The test is scaled - I must beat other kids.
I place two books on the desk to study
Their covers heavy like my tired lids
Their contents so difficult and lovely

My pencil draws numbers in my own hand
Failure looming, my brain has grown a lock
It’s like my head is filled with rocks and sand
Failure looming, up I can only look

My look is caught, my test taken away
And I'm taken from the scholastic fray.

Things haven't been the best, lately. *mouth quirks*

My mother went in for her first chemotherapy session last week. She had an extremely bad reaction to the drugs she was given and spent three days in the hospital being violently ill. *sighs* My parents and I are taking turns telling each other what we hope are comforting lies to prevent the other side from getting too worried. This works poorly, to be quite honest, but that may be due to the fact that I'm a shitty liar.
They ask me to not worry, to know that Mom will be fine, that being in the hospital wasn't really a big deal. I tell them that of course Mom will be fine, and that I'm only stressed out because of the (very easy) classes I'm taking. I don't mention the hours I spend lying in bed staring at the ceiling trying not to think of anything, the food I've been compulsively stuffing myself with when I remember to eat, the days when I spend three hours running and cycling myself into the ground because obsessing about my weight is a lot easier for me to deal with than the fact that my parents are human, just like everyone else's.

I make lists, trying to inject some semblance of order into my life: lists of things I need to do for class, things I need to make, exercise schedules, food I should try to eat, anything that might give me some sort of schema, some plan.

  • Alter coat to fit me.
  • Learn how to make pleated skirt.
  • Finish second sock for long-delayed swap.
  • Make hat for Mom.
  • Knit something. Anything, at this point.
  • Start a damned painting.
  • Finish a painting from last semester.
  • Do anything creative, at this point.

  • Mon: BAC- spinning
  • Tue: Home- exercise video, light weights + abs
  • Wed: School gym- elliptical; Home - exercise video
  • Thu: School gym- elliptical*; Home - light weights + abs
  • Fri: BAC- spinning
  • Sat: Home- exercise video, light weights + abs
  • Sun: Home- exercise video

  • Do inter-library loan paperwork.
  • Get books for my research paper. Y'know, the one that's due at the end of the month.
  • Stop putting off take-home exam.
  • Hand in psych survey for extra credit.
  • Watch "Iron-Jawed Angels."
  • Clean my room.
  • Clean the fridge.
  • Sort out the mess that is my emotional life. (Ha.)
  • Survive.

Sometimes I follow them, sometimes I don't. Lately, I've been considering any day where I leave the house and get the things I am contractually obligated to take care of done something of a win. *mouth quirks* I know that things will get better eventually, but right now, you have no idea how good the idea of hiding until everything resolves itself, one way or another, sounds.

Ah, life. You do stop sucking at some point, right?

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