In Which I Am Alive

They said the world would end this week, So I went sledding, and hugged my family, and sang a lot Spoke my love to the ones who have my heart And stopped worrying about the future, because why worry about something that doesn't exist? However, just in case the world didn't end I learned and felt and lived, saving up knowledge and ideas and memories for later I continued to create, as if someone would be left to see the results. I made plans, no...I spun dreams. They said the world would end this week It didn't. But who knows about next week?

I wish          that I had somewhere to be alone                  that I was a poet                           that all my boxes of mac and cheese would turn into real food         that my voice was as pretty as hers     that I had someone to hold me. I wish         that I could remember what feelings felt like.                 that I had choices besides "neutral" and "apathetic" and "meltdown"                        that I was better at being punctual                        that I had gone snowboarding this winter                 that it was spring. I wish      ...

I used to map my runs, to keep track of mileage and speed. Lately though, I've run lazily, without a watch, without keeping track of my distance. Just exploring, running where it looks interesting, and coming back home where I'm done. Tonight was a beautiful evening for a run. The spring sun sifted through the glowing leaves, couples walked hand in hand, children laughed, gnats bit me. I saw windows with cartoon characters glued in them,                             And windows with butterflies painted on. I saw an old man smoking, a wrinkly hippy riding his bike, and children playing with broken toy cars outside a crumbling apartment complex. I saw a man and a woman playing frisbee. The catch? She was pushing a stroller, running with it to catch the frisbee while the tiny girl inside laughed and laughed. I smelled barbeque, grass, and my own sweat. I saw a boy playing his banjo on the front porch, but lacked th...

Someone's Sweatshirt Fleece-soft, Your bright jacket that I wear when you're gone. I don't think I'll give it back soon, sorry.

There once was a young girl named Riss, whose life would be untempered bliss, were it not for the friction caused by Internet addiction, so she spends her nights writing on this . There once was a girl who loved Guster, And with all the love she could muster, she listened and sang, as the chords they all rang, With such music, she'd never feel flustered, There once was a girl late at night, who blogged as a form of respite, from her grown-up chores, (balancing checkbooks and more) but now wonders if it was right.

Thy living water pours through me, golden-glowing in thy Light, dampening my dry and barren ground. Making of me a more fertile soil. A seed, burrowed deep within, begins to take root, stretching out timid, hopeful tendrils. But, my heart is a sieve. And soon thy water trickles away, unnoticed at first, until the earth dries, hardens, cracks. The seed, the sprout, withers, my desperate tears a poor substitute for that first watering. Perhaps the stream was imagined after all? 'Twould be a tempting thought, were it not for a dampened spot remaining. A poor oasis in my desert. Oh Lord, I shrink to ask thee to send thy rains again, for I fear my sieve will again betray me. And so I ask, remake my sieve. Mold me. Fire me in thy kiln, e'en thy refiner's fire. Make me tight like unto a dish, a fitting vessel for thy love, fertile ground for thy word.

Rec Center Patrons: Toilet paper on the floor, Pick it up yourselves. Efy children: I let your wraps dry out. They're crumbly...don't hate me. Summer, let's be friends! Sorry for my unjust hate... I like you again. Haikus are tricky: Easy to compose and yet, Hard to make clever.

Oh, me of little faith. I shouldn't be so surprised that that just worked. I could feel my emotions spiraling downward, and felt terrified at my inability to fix them. I didn't know where to turn. And so I knelt. I explained my problem. I explained what I was feeling. I felt a little silly, letting an event so small make me so sad. I felt even sillier asking for help about it. But I didn't know what else to do. So I knelt. I didn't even ask for help. Just talked. But help came anyways. A finger stuck in the dam of my emotions. The situation is still the same. I still don't know what to do. And it still makes me a little sad. But my emotions are no longer swirling out of control. Thank you, Lord.

Dripping with sweat. No sprinklers in sight--apparently some Utahns do conserve water. The sun's fiery tendrils beating at my head. And yet somehow... Satisfaction.

--> To my latest teacher- Our first meeting was one of teaching: “No, I’ve never played racquetball, but I’d love to learn,” I offered coyly. You took me up on it two weeks later. I’ll be honest, I don’t remember anything you taught me that time, except that you were patient with me, and smiled when I held the racquet wrong, and laughed with me when I missed the ball, and cheered when I made a point, and didn’t let me win. Later, over Jamba Juice, you taught me the history of rock music, about the Ramones, Velvet Underground, Operation Ivy, Black Sabbath, Eminem while I responded in kind with a lesson on Chopin, Beethoven, Liszt and why I love the piano. Other lessons followed: how to make the world’s best peanut butter bars. how to appreciate the 80s. how to properly capture a duck. and how to play “Three Blind Mice” on the guitar. One night, we stayed out until three talking about truth, and God, and trust, and snow. And t...

In honor of Easter, and spring, here is one of my most favorite poems, by one of my most favorite poets, e. e. cummings. (Yes, he really doesn't capitalize his name, I'm not just being a lazy blogger). (P.S. for best results, read this poem out loud. It's better that way)/ i thank You God for most this amazing day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes (i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth day of life and love and wings:and of the gay great happening illimitably earth) how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any-lifted from the no of all nothing-human merely being doubt unimaginable You? (now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

Sometimes at work I get reallllllly bored. Here is the product of one such boredom episode. In just one more hour, I'll leave to devour Delicious grilled chicken at home. But till then I'm weary, though I try to look cheery, Manning the checkout alone. It's the slow afternoon times That drive me to force rhymes From my tired and overworked brain. No customers in sight. No task left but to write, Lest boredom drive me insane. I get kinda lonely, being the only one at this register desk. And so if you're seekin' A date for this weekend, Come visit me-I'll say Heck yes!