Monday, June 14, 2010

The air feels so heavy, yet so familiar. It's the unforgiving Florida heat that permeates my senses. It rushes from the interior of my car and crawls up my nostrils. I exclaim, "Damn, it's hot", then chuckle to myself.

The past few days have been a hard life lesson. Sometimes we just have to let go of people/ideas/ things that we know are not good for us. My heart flutters endlessly and my mind is in a state of constant fickleness. This time, I think I will be okay. I am a single girl now. Whatever that means. I've never been "single" my whole life. My friends and families surround me like a big oven; warming me up and keeping me contained. I have only ever had two serious boyfriends. But that is fine. I am sure I will have more. I just hope they forgive me for my imperfections. I hope my future boyfriend will stick with me through tough times. Won't fault me for being sexually inactive. Will think I'm sexy if I'm reading a book and not only when I'm naked...

I just finished watching Cyrano de Bergerac. I have a terrible time pronouncing the title. My friend Stephanie (who has taken French classes) likes to correct me when I say it. She says it through her nose and it really doesn't sound all that pretty. But oh god...when Cyrano's love interest mutters his name, I swoon.

Sometimes I wish my life was a French drama.


Wednesday, May 5, 2010

He loves me, he loves me not. I love him, I love him not.
I always imagined that love was something that was supposed to hit you.
Right in the chest.
Never questioning.

It's so crazy how hurt I feel. I feel like my heart is being squeezed. Though, not in a good way.
I want to run back to him so bad, but I know that would be bad for me.

So I sit here at three in the morning and think, think, think.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Roommate From Hell

The roommate from hell knocks on doors, whistles loudly.
Shuffled feet, swishy pants fill the wooded hallway.
Knock two times, thrice he opens my door
his woolly hair massing together in a type of Jewish fro.
That breaks my concentration,
my frustration boils over.
Answering his pointless questions with short answers,
as he gallivants forth.
"Hey I never noticed that quilt before," he chatters unaware
that the tops of my arms are shivering, on end hair.
"I don't know where it came from," I answer back,
hoping he'll get the message and GET THE FUCK OUT!

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Charges due

Charges due on that history of journalism class
That droned on and on for three hours
My fingertips aching from typing out odes
To Benjamin Franklin and some guy that died in a snowstorm

To learn history so dryly is a cruel thing
Something no esteemed professor should commit
A crime against our fore fathers
School taken for granted once again

A concrete room with no windows
To gaze out of when the past got tough
Enough to lift my fingers from the keypad
And sit placidly, like a lake bed for mosquitoes
Enough, enough, enough

Charges due on the class I dropped
So easily a fortnight ago
Using my spare time on Wednesday nights
To speak German and write poems
About crimes against humanity
Historically speaking

Charges due later this evening

Monday, March 1, 2010


The dirt between my fingernails is removable
Shaking a keyboard upside down never did anyone any good
Just got food crumbs and dust all over a clean counter top

I wonder how many fingers have touched this keyboard
Dirty fingernails and all
On the third floor of library West

Staring at dual screens dreaming of magnolia trees
That protect my bare feet
And how sometimes I like the sprawl of a suburban city
With its pockets of goodness that are so hard to find
But sweet like a persimmon seed, over too soon

Sometimes I can't decide
What is good for me or not
So I shake my head and scream at my Dad for not understanding
Warum kannst du nicht mich verstehen?!
And I wonder at my German, and if I'm really all that great at it.

If I'm actually destined for greatness, or if it's all just a facade

On a hot Florida day, the mosquitoes even stay away
from an un-screened porch that smokes from the heat
The cloth chairs warming my achy thighs
From biking all those miles

Where the sweet tea bubbles on the mosaic table
The ice has long since melted away
Life seems too good to sit around
And wonder if you're living up to everyone's standards
Wondering if and when, how and where, why and what

Digging around in the dirt
One day I'll clean my fingernails

bruised apple

bruised apple
punctured hole
carried from Tallahassee by a lassie
to remind her of home

of organic gardens
coffee shops tucked away
a perfect bruise makes her want to stay
to remind her that nothing is perfect
except the place
she grew up in

yet she feels the need to face
a different world
unlike her own
although a bruised apple
believes every place is home

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Onion Breath

Onion breath

Permeating the pockets of my mouth

Wafting down my throat

The scent seeping through my teeth

Inhaling sweet air

Exhaling sweet onion breath

I brush my teeth

But it doesn’t help

Onion toothbrush bristles

Scrubbing at yellowed teeth

Scratching the enamel with onion scent

Scraping the tongue with onion hairs

Onion breath

Monday, February 15, 2010


That word never meant anything to me until I broke the heart of the boy I loved.
Twice I broke his heart, and fickle was my excuse.

I was not fickle when the freshman
A year younger than I
met me at the gazebo near the lake
Where the wind had not yet picked up.

I sat coolly on the railing, my right leg dangling in the tall grass
He approached me cautiously and I took his lips
knowing he would surrender them to me.

Knowing I had caught his heart
and I have yet to know what that means.

To hold a heart so tenderly in your hands
the slightest word can pierce the muscle
What a cruel girl I was to ignore him
when he approached me days later.

There was another boy that felt me up
in the dewy field.
It felt nice for a moment
Then I was done
Done with him
On to a new adventure.
Because holding a heart in your hands is too heavy
and it was better to let it go.

"You don't owe me anything," he said nonchalantly
over the phone
His voice reduced to a monotonous whisper.

To feel your heart beat fast,
your breath quicken and salt-water
well up in your eyes means something right?

Frantically I searched the Web
Depression does reduce your sexuality
Does suppress your libido
Either that or makes you want it more

Which one am I?
Who has the answers?
I want to keep searching for the answers

Life is not short
Life is long
because it goes on forever

And ever and ever and ever

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Pants Are For Losers

If I think about it too much, words are hard to find. How is the university student supposed to stay alert and imaginative when they don't even have time to read a book? Sure, I have time, but my mind is already so mushy from hours of work, that internet TV is the only thing I can handle...and sleeping. Not to mention I'm not eating that much, and because of that I've gained enough weight to not be able to fit into my size 2 pants? That's a lot of freakin' pants I can no longer wear! Oh, and the financial troubles. I have a feeling those kinds of troubles are here to stay.

My German workbook is still glaring at me, even though I completed the work over the course of this week. I'm out of studying ideas! It's not like you can read a bunch of German sentences over and over again and get the "gist" of it. I did, however, go to a German language meetup down at Cafe Gardens, a quaint little restaurant/bar situated in an ivy-covered courtyard with stones inlaid in the dirt. My German teacher Sarah told the class about it earlier today, and Nathaniel convinced me over the phone it'd be a good idea to go. I'm glad I went. I realized I need to get out more and show my face in this town that will be my home for the next two years.

Ich bin eine Studentin. Ich studiere Journalismus. Ich wohne in Gainesville aber ich komme aus Tallahassee.

I wonder if I'll stick with German that long, I hope so. I really need to know a second language. Every other person in the world (albeit for America) does.

Well, I'm going to sign off and immerse myself in this depression over my pants. My ten pairs of practically new pants.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Work Work Work

There is no way any sort of language class can be easy. Except if you are taking German I and already know German? Like three of the students in my class? In my opinion I think that is unfair, and it ruins the curve (if there is a curve). During class when we are reciting a conversation, the kids that already know German speak too fast, and than the rest of the class is left behind.

School has been getting really difficult. Teacher's are starting to assign projects, papers, and homework. There are already tests on the horizon, and a German vocabulary quiz tomorrow. Memorize over 100 words, get tested on 15 of them. The workbook is just daunting, and sits on my desk looking rather boring with its cheap paper. Why did that cost me $60?

I can't think of much to write because my mind just wants to shut down.

Thursday, January 14, 2010


I don't like angry confrontation. I don't like being called an idiot by a person on a bicycle that also did not obey the traffic rules. I'm so used to bicycling to UF that when I was driving, I completely ignored a stop sign.

I stopped short as a student went rising past. From my perspective, I wasn't even that close to him. He looked at me with wide eyes and yelled, "Woooooah", in a 'I'm-better-than-you-because-I'm-on-a-bike' way, "you have a stop sign!"

"No I don't!" I yelled out the window (because I seriously thought I didn't).

"Look right, idiot!" he shouted with his I'm-a-vegan-I-compost-and-I-am-an-art-history-major glare.

Guuuh. Sorry, I'm just upset. Even though it was mostly my fault, I kind of think he should have owned up to it a little. I'm pretty sure cyclist's have to follow the traffic laws too. I always look both ways when I roll past a stop sign on a bike. Not the safest method, but it saves a lot of dismounting and mounting again. And I wouldn't call someone an idiot for making a mistake. How is that supposed to help someone learn?

It feels good to write this out. I don't think I am an idiot, and I hate it when people call me that.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

College 101

A room in a state of disarray is one of my pet peeves. Come to think of it, I have many pet peeves, and not in the slightest clue where the phrase 'pet peeves' stems from. There are German note cards littering my floor, my couch is cushioned with outfits I tried on from mornings past. My desk is holding those crumpled receipts that I keep just in case I decide to get my money situation together. I keep saying to myself, "I'll do that when I'm older". But when will I be "older"? I didn't make my bed this morning (which is unheard of), and I didn't change the toilet paper roll. My shoes are not in the closet, and there is a television sitting in the middle of my floor with a James Dean poster lying on top of it. The makeup on my bureau isn't organized and I still haven't taken my shoes off.

It just dawned on me that I've finally become a real college student.

Monday, January 11, 2010

A Very Depressing Post

My Canon Rebel has still not come in the mail, and it was shipped on Thursday! This is disappointing. I'm wondering if there is some sort of Gainesville ritual when it comes to acquiring packages. I say this because I stupidly walked around the house in search of a mailbox, when it dawned on me that the little letterbox attached to the front porch is where the mailman/woman delivers the goods. Maybe they took my camera? Unlikely.

I am ordering the NY Times (Monday-Friday). I am excited about this, because I will finally have something to read in the morning when I eat my egg sandwich. Buying a subscription is sort of required for my Introduction to Journalism class, which is my favorite class right now, and it is only costing me $36 for the semester. Apparently this is a deal, but from what I have learned as a university student, deals do not make me any richer.

On a more somber note, if this blog post couldn't get any more somber( lost package, debt), my banjo strategy did not work. It is a big time-killer, however, and unbeknown to Jessie and Stephanie (yet) I'm going to try and set up a little gig here in G-ville. The Cicada Ladies aren't dead yet. Of course I will talk to them first before I seal the deal, but I'm searching.

I'm going to be starting a new blog for my Intro to Jou. class. Four posts a week of me commenting on international/ national/ local news. Whoever reads this blog, please feel free to comment on that one too.

Friday, January 8, 2010

Thursday, January 7, 2010

With the Power of the Banjo, I shall Summon Friends!

It is cold here in Gainesville. Or as the Germans would say: Es ist kalt! I just went outside to take the rest of my clothes out of the dryer. I have to go out the front door and all the way around to the back of the house. And you know what? I do not mind! I haven't had a washer and dryer for the past three years, and now I have one at my disposal. I do not have enough hangers though.

My classes are going well, but I've already been slammed with some homework. I studied today... It's Friday! I learned about digital camera's for my Photographic Journalism class. I also learned how to say the days of the week in German, count to twenty, and tell someone my name.

Guten Tag! Ich heiße Melissa. Wie heißt du? Wie geht es Ihnen?

I feel like my eyes are burning out of their sockets from having to read so much. It doesn't help that I've been glued to my laptop since I moved here. Hey, what can I say? I have no friends yet.

I did make orange juice with Daniel the other day. We picked oranges from our orange tree, and they were a little too ripe. But mix it with water and it tastes just fine!

I researched bluegrass jams in the Gainesville area. Not too much is coming up. I might just bring my travel banjo to school and play in the Plaza of the Americas (a very large green space). People might approach me because they are interested in banjo, and then they will realize they want to be my friend, hang out with me, and study with me... and stuff. It's a foolproof plan, but what if someone asks to play it? I hate it when people ask that. Especially sick people, or people with sticky hands, or people who play mandolin (horrible gasp). Just kidding Jessie!

Plus I have to bike to school... Sigh. Maybe.

I just realized I bought three Toblerone's at CVS. I meant to only buy two. Here is a picture of me attempting to balance a Toblerone on my head. It worked great the first time, the second time... not so much.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Ow, my ears.

If you have never biked fifteen minutes (heck, even five minutes) in the freezing ass cold with three layers, a thin pair of gloves, and no facial protection, I wish I was you. When everyone here in Gainesville was complaining about the cold weather a few days ago, they must have been sensing the freezing temperatures that blew our way today. My teeth were chattering, my fingers were going numb, my nose was running, and my ears were hurting. Biking in the already cold was just a nightmare.

I did make it to class though, with plenty of time to spare. I woke up two hours early, and biked to UF forty-five minutes early. I like to be early. I guess I just like to be sure. Sure that I'm in the right class, and sure that I'm in the right building. I had Photographic Journalism and German today. Two very challenging classes, but they will be a lot of fun! When I find myself getting excited about putting a news story together, editing myself, and interviewing people, I know I have chosen the right major.

All four roomies are home now and it's just great! Lu taught me some Chinese and Daniel and I laughed over our horrid pronunciation. Won Don (or something to that nature) and I like to talk about my studies. He actually has a wife and some kids in Birmingham and he came down here to do research for Shands on human diseases.

I studied my German out loud to myself and drank a cup of coffee out of a 4-in-1 coffee cup that Nathaniel gave me for Christmas.

It was a good day overall. Not too much to write about, just general things, and sometimes I like general things.

My ears still hurt.

Monday, January 4, 2010

I Am Journalist

In order to be a journalist, you can't get offended. Even when an older man asks you if you were raped in Jamaica. It seems funny now that I write it out, but it definitely gave me the chills when the words escaped his chapped lips. It made me tighten the muscles in my thighs, and it took a lot for me to say: "No, thank goodness. But there is always that possibility. In fact there was this female journalist once...". And that was the end of that. Some people just can't censor themselves, or maybe he was genuinely curious.

I'm at that used book cafe again because there are still no he-roommates in sight. There was a man sitting at a table beside me. He had on a dark blue baseball cap, a worn leather jacket and he was writing on a notepad, carefully checking a book called "Many Words". His name is Gary*, but his friends call him Swoop. He was a member of the hippie-era, but he informed me that was not what he called himself.

"The straight people called us hippies, but we referred to ourselves as 'Freaks'."

It sounded good to me. He is a man of many stories. I haven't had that much information about communes since I watched the documentary 'Commune'. He lived in Morningstar outside Santa Fe and told me about girls in long dresses collecting watercress by the river. I can't say too much because he is writing a book and is very adamant about not having his work on the internet.

He is a born-again Christian which was odd to me because he was prying for information on whether or not I had a boyfriend.

"How long have you been here in Gainesville?", he said.

"My boyfriend and I came down here in the beginning of December."

"You still have a boyfriend?"

"Yes. Yes in indeed I do."

Sometimes it seems that no matter what guy (or girl, sometimes) I give any sort of attention to, they somehow assume that I am single and very interested in them. No matter how old they are. Not every guy, but a lot of them. It gets exhausting, but I never get offended.

During our conversation, I realized how much I love hearing peoples stories. I thrive on them. I guess that is why I love reading peoples blogs. Especially when they talk about the good ol' days, days that will never be recorded. Unless I record them!

I remember when I was little, I used to listen to a man in a wheelchair for an hour, sometimes two. He went to the Unitarian Universalist church and he was a very old man. He had patches of white hair, and liver spots all over his face. His frail hands shook slightly whenever he opened his mouth. Sometimes white spit would froth at the corners of his lips. I wanted to gag, being 10-years-old and all, but I listened, all the while keeping eye contact, even if his eyes wandered. He told me amazing stories about the war, I was never sure what war, but it must have been WWII. Sometimes he would repeat the same story over again, but it didn't bother me. I was transported back into a time of fighter jets, uncertainty, and uncleanliness. There were no mother's trying to get me to go to bed, and no brother's bothering me. I was a soldier.

I guess that is why I love hearing stories. I become the person that is telling it. Sometimes I want to cry because I feel so honored that they trust me with their past lives. I was certain at that moment when Daryl was telling me about living in a pup tent in the Rockies, or hitchhiking from Berkley to LA, that I wanted with all my heart to be a journalist. I dropped my European Union course and let out a little sigh of relief. My future job will somehow involve people and my pen, and that is that. No diplomatic, or political bullshit. Just people, and me.

Oh, and some white gloves.

*not real name

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Here I Am

There is no internet at my new place. Well, there is internet but I copied down the wrong pass phrase and one of my three male roommates left two nights ago to take his girlfriend back to Cincinnati.

I'm all alone in a very large house with no internet. It is surprising how much I am accomplishing. I am actually going through my piles of crap and sorting everything out. I am throwing things away. I am saying to myself, "Do I really need this?". It's pretty cool.

Being alone can do things to a person. They make a person get out there and explore. I rode my bike to UF through Gainesville's 'Frenchtown' and found all of the buildings where my classes would be located. I rode in the freezing cold and realized that I needed to buy some nice gloves. Because unfortunately a journalist needs their fingers. I rode through town without listening to music and experienced the Sunday quietness. It was lovely. The students all come back into town tomorrow and the streets will be more crowded and the nights will fill with drunken yells and high pitched screams.

I am sitting in a very nice book cafe, which is how I am able to blog. The staff isn't so friendly. They have this 'I am too cool' demeanor about them, which is typical among the vegan/veggie bike crowd. Would it hurt someone to smile, or ask if I need anything? I guess it would. At least the coffee is good.

Being surrounded by books gives me a sense of peacefulness. It makes me want a library in my house, whenever I buy a house that is. All these books are pretty old. Nathaniel is taking an Intro to C++ class next semester and out of curiosity I pulled a C++ book off the shelf. Attached to the back page was a floppy disk! I kind of want to get it for him anyway. It's only $3.99.

The coffee is getting cold but my fingers have finally warmed up. I'm going to drive to Target sometime after 9 and use my gift card to buy some nice white gloves.