What Shall We Sing for Easter Sunday?


The Witch Queen of New Orleans
me in glasses
ladieschoir
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Me looking out the kitchen windows

Everybody is so loud all the time, and I'm only loud in the mornings. It puts me at odds with afternoon louds which I look at scornfully, and make my blood boil. I am bubbling and frothing, and stomp stomp stomp down the hall on the way home each night. Thank God, K. is quiet and doesn't insist on talking, or I seriously might kill myself. I can't stand all these sounds everyone has. Fucking yak yak yak and their heels click clacking and their jowls chewing their foods. I come so close to just putting my fingers in my ears and screaming. It's ugly that I think this way, but I really do. No one knows how to shut the fuck up anymore, and no one can take a damn hint when I am not interested in talking. I got home and ate mashed potatoes for the 7th night in a row, and I went with K. and Mearl on a walk. The sunshine helped. Mearl saw a Husky, and she couldn't be calmed she wanted a piece of it so bad. Mearl is like me, too. I birthed her. She senses my electrical buzzzzzz "just try me" currents, and she becomes an appendage of mine, perhaps: barking and straining ferociously. They say dogs sense things you know? I was researching to see if other Bipolar people experienced rage over noises like I do, and I found this interesting article that is so right on, it's creepy.

That's not pretty, and so I wrote the above yesterday. It's today now here. I lived through the night. Since then, it is sunny and perfect, and calm and comforting and helpful. This is rapid cycling Bipolar II. It can even happen within a span of hours sometimes, quick as a finger snap and I'll turn on heel, turn on you. When I was little I thought I was just high strung like a prized Thoroughbred or my Grandmother, or I thought maybe I had a churning, swirling rip current soul. Those are true, but when you talk to a psychiatrist they write in, "Bipolar II." I have been reckless my whole life, especially with drugs and alcohol, but sometimes relationships, too. It's all a part of it. I like to wreck it all. Somehow my mind and body desire to wreck it all. It's strange to think of the little bits and pieces of my brain, watching from a distance thinking, "This looks stable. Burn it the fuck down." One friend said once, when I was in college, that he thought I did things just to sabotage myself. Now, it seems he may have been right. Really, that's how I am deep inside, though. And then I go into a dark, sleepy lazy hole with one who hates herself and doesn't care if she has another day. It's like looking at the entirety of your life and personality with a map key. So many things make so much more sense now.

K. helped me tuck my rose bush back up into the tree so it's safe, and the branches aren't along the ground just waiting to be broken. It was hard work for me, but he is tall, and he just snapped those thorny stems back in place, easy as pie. I need to get some twine to tie some of them up a bit better, but for now, it'll do. K. likes my eyes better lined brown and brooding and all flickering changing colors, but I read somewhere that lining your eyes makes you look older or smaller or something so I hadn't been doing it. If my boy likes it, and I secretly like it because I feel like a powerful Egyptian, I'll line these eyes all of my days.

At some point, I became a ma'am, and I tried to war with it by drinking an entire bottle of wine every single night by myself for a few weeks. Don't fret, I've given that up. Plus, it gave me even more purple smudges under my eyes. There's nothing to be done. Most days I still feel young so there's that.

I have my first staff senate reception tomorrow. They're doing a welcoming committee for new senators. I'm forcing Kelly to coordinate like a power political couple. In my mind, we will run A-State, but really, I'm just pretending. I was already put on my first committee to write down some hard policies on how elections in the future will be conducted since I had so many issues with this one. I just think it's an easy fix if you put pen to paper and hash some rules out. Frankly, I can't believe there isn't one in place. There is like a three sentence guideline in their constitution, but it's so vague it leaves tons of room for errors, unfairness, etc. So there you have it. I'm going to eat cookies and drink punch and hob nob with the other senators and here what they thing and start working on things I'd like accomplished over time. The election commission was my first one, though. I'm so glad they President thought to reach out to me since I publicly voiced how bogus it was many times. I better find my name tag and lapel pin.

Today, I should've said, "No, this is not allowed," when they appeared in our building with a wriggly puppy, but I couldn't. Instead I held him, and he licked me with puppy breath and his name was "Major". He was a beagle, and he loved me but he mostly loved wriggling and trying to get down and run all over exploring.

More soon, sweets.



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Half a World Away
me in glasses
ladieschoir
Last night K. took me out to a jazz show. I couldn't stop grinning the entire time. This one would come up sassy, cocky and loud while the back built, built, built until everyone was vibrating at that space like the top of getting off. Jazz also touches something inside of you, though. It touches you until you want to move your bones and you're messy and dangerous, and I'll be damn, we're alive and we're talking. It was so good. Some of these fucking kids can play two instruments, and that may not seem like much to musicians but it is to me. When a few did solos, I thought, "If that was my kid up there fussing and squalling and sexing," I'd come unglued right now and stand up and clap so hard for him. I did for them even though they weren't my kids. I wanted them to by kids, that's how fucking talented they were. That's how great they made me feel. My face hurt from smiling. My foot tapped all night. I wanted to dance in his arms, and I played it old school. I wanted an outfit worthy of a jazz show, and I hope I accomplished it last night. I wore the shoes I was married in and my wedding pearl earring, and I felt like K. could've stood me up, and we could've danced. I hate wearing heels, but I wore vintage wedges for my wedding so I would come closer to his height. I wanted to be able to look right into those baby blues and say my piece. His vows were good, but mine, well. I can't believe it will be 5 years soon. Back to our jazz friends, they played so many I loved, each one more than the next. The only thing they played that wasn't written for them was Horace Silver's "The Jody Grind" . It was perfect. The next thing I want to go to is the The Diamond Brass Band's Spectrum. Hopefully, we can make that!

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Before everyone was out on stage (we sat on 2nd row)So since we've really chatted the good news is that I've got, at present, the perfect med cocktail. I am my old outgoing sassy tell all and tell it like it is personality. I almost cried when I thought about how the last time I remember feeling this mentally healthy and safe was when I was in 9th grade. The bottom line the bipolar II and anxiety are under control. I went with friends to the local Oasis Artsfest. We stopped off at Bradbury Art Museum, and I interacted a ton with the education curator and other people on the tour. It was so special to me because it's been so long since I've been passionate enough to really engage and feel comfortable in those settings. Anyway, back to the bad news. My psychiatrist which I just got is leaving. So in three months when I go back, I'll have to start over with a different one. She took phenomenal notes (while we talked half the time), but it's just a little nerve wracking thinking what if I get someone I can't stand. I loved her so much. I saw recently Mariah Carey was also diagnosed as Bipolar II, and I'm glad she's speaking out about it, too. I don't do darkness, and it's been interesting reading interviews with how she experiences her episodes, etc.

People are talking about their futures around me, and it makes me woozy as it always did. I always also dread the question in an interview, "Where do you see yourself in five years?" I wish you could be honest and say, "I don't know where I see myself tomorrow frankly." Plus, it's such a boring question.

My colleague's spouse bought her flowers, but she had to go out of town so she put them on my desk. I'm drinking up the most vibrant blues and soft oranges in a blue pitcher. I catch myself just staring and daydreamy. I feel like a fucking milkmaid that gathered some from the yard instead of a sassy secretary. I do have galoshes on so I might believe that da
ydream if I push into it hard enough. Tell me these didn't come from a farm? She's a Dr. now so she deserves them, but I get to have the benefit since she's gone. I feel like I should write her spouse a thank you note.



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We were in the car, turning a corner, and he said, "You look really nice tonight." I thought to myself, "Baby, I'm going to show you off tonight. Just hold my arm, and watch me work." When we walked in the Grand Hall and bumped into an acquaintance, "Well, you look lovely tonight." Told.you.so.


"I'd Be So Still for You"
me in glasses
ladieschoir
DSCN0230

I go back inside and put on Miles, and it's been two summers since, but I remember it all the same. The four of us landing at the airport sometime after midnight, a different time zone. We drug our suitcases behind us like atrophied limbs, and she and I went looking for the smoking lounge while you stood heckling over a rental car. We watched the planes, silent on the tarmac, and our lips and eyes puckered purple under the green fluorescent lighting from lack of sleep. He found us later napping and bent oddly into the chairs, our legs and arms splayed curiously as welded curling metal . We followed behind him like lost children, trusting that he'd lead us somewhere, and we emerged into a omnipresent night with humid sleepy breath, still dragging the luggage behind us in search of our car. Later the two of them fell back asleep in the backseat, and he and I picked over maps, eyeing exits with interest, and listening to that lonely trumpet. He rolled down the windows, and although we were still a couple of miles off the beach, I sniffed at the salty air. I got us lost a few times, but it was already too late to really matter, and he just rumpled my hair affectionately, like a puppy, and told me that I'd be dangerous if I had a brain. He asked me questions quickly, snapping them forward like tense rubber bands, not really caring to hear the answers, but i droned on a bit too entertain him even though I was stupid in all my drowsiness. He nodded his head along and chain smoked, chuckling now and then. We pulled in and they had been up waiting for us, drinking margaritas and drying out their ocean snarled hair. He and I exchanged glances over their stories, united all the same.

Theater Under an Orange Moon
me in glasses
ladieschoir
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the daring one flashed the soft underside of his upper arms when he extended his hand to shake. a minute patch of skin, pale and lavender hued, intimate like orchids. i gnashed my clumsy horse teeth together and trembled with admiration & rage at such obnoxious courage. i felt our hands slide together, the skin between our thumb & index touching in silent prayer. the seashell curve of his ear, the vulnerability of the bones in his ankles. we were never in love, but all that intimacy of the streetlight bouncing off his brow at 1 a.m. and several beers had us momentarily questioning. he slept on the floor in my bedroom, and he was so tall he seemed to almost reach corner to corner. in his sleep, he mumbled something about Egypt, and i pulled him into bed now that the threat was passed. in the morning, we shared the last beer and some crumbling chocolate chip cookies in bed while we watched the godfather.

Feeing the Vain
me in glasses
ladieschoir
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I will rule you, but nice try.

I give plenty away to them.
I'll look him over, and I'll chat books with him.
I sit there, waiting like a china vase on a shelf. Pick me up, turn me around. See how I'd make a good vessel for you.
I'll chuckle at your jokes. Some actually funny, others I'll give a courtesy laugh to make you feel special.
I'll drop my chin low, lower, lowest and slowly raise my eyes up high, higher, highest a la Bacall.
Don't you know I watched all the old movies, and I know how bedroom eyes work?
I play off tension, and I'll push and pull like a Rothko painting.
You'll leave the door open, and I'll sway in a dress in the kitchen. I'll polish a plate in my bare feet, ankles out, and sing a song.
I'll feel you every second watching me.
The wind will blow through the door, and you'll look at me with those "what might be" glances. I like them. They make me feel powerful.

You can be a big strong man, or I can mother you. It doesn't really matter to me.

I remember the time when I was younger, and I visited his parent's house.
He picked me up and pushed me into a wall, and we had the best sex ever, and his sister came over, interrupting.
I worried she'd think I was a slut, but it was so good, I didn't worry too much.
I thought one time he might kill me. He put me in his car with his gun, and wouldn't tell me where we were going but I didn't really care at that time. I just wondered if I'd end up like some statistic, and I was sad I'd die in some backwoods flatland county I hated. I wondered if I'd beg for my life or just accept it.
I was the most reckless with him.
I still am reckless.
When men comment on my beauty, I collect it like pearls on my necklace.
When he walks in and says, "Hello, gorgeous," I feel every bit of me swell with pride.
I bloom, and I twist and turn so he can admire. I do like being admired.

They fed me.
I tasted their admiration.
I spit out the bones of they're leftover needing.
I threw the dishes in the sink leaving them for someone else to clean.
They fed me.

But no one knows about him because I don't write much about him, though I could.
I'm true to him.
You can see it when he enters the room, the way I immediately cock my head and smile.
He always mentioned that when we were dating, that cocked head.
It's my tell.
I am true to him because I have seen him cement gray and proposing to me before we were near being ready.
I have sat in the floor of the ER, and I've prayed for him when I had never even prayed for myself.
I begged God for him.
I know him better than anyone.
All these useless things throughout the day about being pet and told I'm pretty pale in comparison to his love.
I want to crawl through his scar from heart surgery, inside, and never come out.
I want him to carry me around.
We have the sex that I can't talk about out of respect for him, but man, would I.
He is the one who has left me floating beneath the stars on a mountain side outside of a yurt, turning and turning and turning, with a finger mounted inside, guiding me like a globe. Spinning and spinning in a hot tub.
Sliding naked down waterslides and floating under waterfalls, wound together in bliss.
You all think you're something, and you might be. But he, he is everything.

Soft Spring Sways
me in glasses
ladieschoir
1444402115_7d3f5a7bff
I love dead birds. I prefer them alive, but they're magic dead, too. I once kept a dead bird in my desk at work at my old job.

Our faces knot into gruesome orgiastic scenes above our sopapillas, and it's better than any drug, when we're licking our fingers, tonguing our palms, sighing soft contented moans. Our little "church of food" with cinnamon sprinkles on our lips and sticky honey haired choirs. Our cheeks are flushed with being generally naughty, and we head out into the night air, giggling and charming each other like we just met. Bruised berry cigarillos dangling from plump sensual girl lips. We are full and coy like the beginning of spring. Tempting with dewish faces like lily pads tempt heavy frogs searching for places to rest; the boys let their eyes linger too long on our dangling earrings. Tonight we are violet like the beginning of dusk and full of night's promise. Tonight we are ready. We are swaying our hips to the music, and the Mexican neighbors catcall. We haven't foreseen our futures, and we only exist for the present. By the end of the night, this moment will be fading like old bouquets, never to be smelled again.

"But I'll Make You Feel Like a Beginner"
me in glasses
ladieschoir
chicago6
Old Shit

e. and i used to walk around downtown jonesboro, and i'd touch the sides of the buildings i liked, palm nicely pressed against the sunwarmed bricks. i told her i liked that one because it reminded me of the Bailey Bros. Building and Loan Association building from It's a Wonderful Life, this one because i could imagine secretaries of old, pecking away on clanky typewriters until their gentlemen came to escort them home, and the that one because it was perfectly golden and squatting every evening when we were stopped by the red light. we'd peer through the dirty windows of the buildings that had yet to be restored and daydeam that we could afford one (not to mention the restoration!). i always liked the ceilings best, and e. liked to roll her fingertips across the doorplates, mumbling their numbers under her breath.

sometimes we would find ourselves wandering through the thrift store where, our lady of the nights, the drag queen "marina diamond" worked. she wasn't "marina diamond" during the workday through, and i always was startled when a depressed looking man would "ahem" behind me. i'd stand there staring at this pathetic man, and then i'd catch the curve of his fingers around the hangers he was holding, and i'd realize who it was. we didn't talk much; i always liked marina better anyway. she had a better habit of snapping her clip-on earrings open and shut during particularly good gossip she told, and truthfully i didn't even remember his name. later on, e. and i would go to the drag parties at her house. i'd sit around with the few hetrosexuals with only daytime names, and we'd smoke joints and change the cassettes in the tape deck to correspond with whose number it was, who was coming out. then the ladies would come, swishing through the doors in sequins and fake lashes. they sautered and rolled and whirled, and sometimes, someone would have to shake my knee when it was my hit because i'd become so enthralled with eva's carmen miranda oufit. after the show, they would get drunk in the kitchen and the resident hairdresser would do cheap cuts and coloring. we would sit with our hair wrapped in foil with blow dryers carefully trained. then hunched over the sink with sweaty margarita glasses, orbiting like planets, and get washed out. after the cut, we were released into the living room where a chorus of "OH, GIRRRRL," would ring out. we were made to turn our heads, primp and preen, but we did it clumsily and apolgetically, blushing like little girls around a room full of "women".

"They are wild with beauty faded"
me in glasses
ladieschoir
DSC_0004
Old Shit

n. stops me during conversation at a meal, and says, "do you know you only eat one thing at a time?" both of our eyes, dip to a lonely pile of mashed potatoes that is left, patiently waiting in a gravy moat. "uh, yeah," i say, "i've done it since i was little." she nods, and asks me, "don't you worry that you might get full, and won't be able to finish?" i don't answer her because i'm watching the silhouettes on the other side of the frosted glass; their heads, bobbing and jerking, like buoys at sea. there are old people docked at every table, and it's sort of sad because most of them are alone and wrinkled, eating their apple pies. when i'm paying the waitress tells me i have pretty eyes, and i just manage to lift the corners of my lips, some jerking motion, that resembles more of a tic than a smile. at night, i eat chocolate coins totaling eighty-five cents, three quarters and 10 pennies. i fold clothes, still warm from the dryer, in the kitchen listening to billie holiday and pressing my fingertips along honest creases. i saw d. today, and he pulled me close and laughed in my ear. Said, “You look amazing, Sarah.” and I blushed around a bit even though secretly I was happier than the cat that ate the canary.

Weekend Recap
me in glasses
ladieschoir
This weekend has been nice in a lazy sort of way. I had a dream that slept with a man with the most beautiful skin ever. Like, I just wanted to stare at that skin like I was eyeballing the view off the side of a mountain. Soft and tan, and he was funny. He had a leg brace that I had to be careful about when we had sex, but it was so good that sometimes it didn't matter that his brace was in the way. I'm not sure why he couldn't take off the brace, but there we were. Also, he was my roommate's boyfriend. In the dream, I didn't recognize the roommate or the boyfriend, but I sure would if I ever saw him in the real world.

In the real world, Morgan's boyfriend stopped by to show us his balloon animal creating skills he's learning on Friday at work. He made everyone in the office creatures. I demanded a Hippo, and I also got a flower.

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K. and I sat out to our usual haunts, the Natural Grocery stores in town. We had lunch at The Truck Patch's Stem and Spoon. Pictured is a photo of my love happy about all his collected samples. We really couldn't be more different.
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All more free shit to take to our house. He claims he was born in the Depression.
If K.'s not careful, I'll run away with the tough pirate patch man from the Fire Cider ads. Is he the dreamiest or what? ;)

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After hunting down samples and thrifting, the sun was so amazing, we had to break out the hammocks and take Mearl-Purvis on a walk. We went to our usual haunts on campus. Mearl walked fine, but then proceeded to ruin a photoshoot with her incessant barking so we finally had to give up. We bought her obedience training, you guys. I just lost the receipt and never took her, but we had the best of intentions.

I started walking her while K. set up the hammocks. Everything is in bloom and gorgeous, and now, only if the weather would continue cooperating.

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Mearl-Purvis exploring the flowers. It's so cute when she snorts at them.



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My favorite path on campus. I love the tall pines and the sun coming through them.

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At the end of the pines, more blooms. Swoon.

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This was by the art building and amused me.

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Final bloom photo, I promise


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When Mearl goes crazy barking, K. turns her on her back, and she somewhat calms down. She's never happy about it, though.

Pompeii
me in glasses
ladieschoir
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Flowers Starting to Bloom on Campus

In the night, I imagine we look like the citizens of Pompeii— tangled together and fiercely clutching on to one another in a deep silence. While we sleep under the covers, a momentarily frozen battle with foreheads pressed together, limbs knotted, hair entwined on a shared pillow. In the haze of early morning, we sometimes wake up separated, and you sleepily reach for me, and pull me to you, clinging to me like a lifeboat.


In the morning, we are fortunate enough to wake again with kitten bites, sniffs, pinches. Laughter fills the room. We are all life, and I stare into K’s pupil until I can see my reflection.

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