Also, I've been a bum about writing new stuff, which has made me less enthusiastic about updating the blog. I generally make it a rule not to make New Year's resolutions (why does New Year's have to be capitalized? I think that's silly), but if I did, one of them would be to be more disciplined about my writing. So I basically just made two promises to you, and I have, at this moment, every intention of keeping them.
One thing I recently discovered is that if I make a concerted effort to get into the "writing zone," whether by sitting down at my computer or with my notebook in my lap or going to some kind of "inspirational" location, I veer in the opposite direction of the zone. I do my best writing-thinking in the shower, walking down the street on my way to work, or in one of the many coffee shops I frequent. I think I write better material on paper napkins than I do on the computer or in a notebook. Maybe I'll staple a bunch of napkins together and patent it as a notebook. If the rest of the writing population is anything like me, I'd be a millionaire.
In the meantime, though, here are the next six poems of my thesis.
Axis III: Neurology
His office smells like antiseptic and gauze,
the doctor who looks and talks like my uncle J.
He’s a neurologist I have to meet because
my new psychiatrist thinks it’s possible I may
have subclinical seizure disorder or some such
problem with my brain. I’m just another sight
for this man. He’s nice but I’m not comforted much.
the doctor who looks and talks like my uncle J.
He’s a neurologist I have to meet because
my new psychiatrist thinks it’s possible I may
have subclinical seizure disorder or some such
problem with my brain. I’m just another sight
for this man. He’s nice but I’m not comforted much.
The visit lasts three long hours, and driving home that night
I’m glad he said I’m “normal.” At least this part is done…
until my psychiatrist says she wants my blood, my piss
analyzed in a lab. Pin pricks and a cup: more fun
to make sure nothing in my body is amiss.
until my psychiatrist says she wants my blood, my piss
analyzed in a lab. Pin pricks and a cup: more fun
to make sure nothing in my body is amiss.
She tests my reflexes before she finally decides
I’m not completely normal, and gives me the pills she prescribes.
Axis IV: Structure
Rose and I do our work in the library
because it’s quiet there and we can concentrate
without anyone telling us we’re weird
or that we read too much.
We only get to stay for a half-hour or so
each day, but our teacher’s only redeeming quality
is that she lets us come here at all.
I’m not completely normal, and gives me the pills she prescribes.
Axis IV: Structure
Rose and I do our work in the library
because it’s quiet there and we can concentrate
without anyone telling us we’re weird
or that we read too much.
We only get to stay for a half-hour or so
each day, but our teacher’s only redeeming quality
is that she lets us come here at all.
We spend the rest of the day in her class
listening to her talk about history – she calls it “social studies” –
and she would go on all day
if she didn’t also have to teach us English (I know it all already),
math (she tries, but I have no idea what she’s saying),
science (she turns us loose and makes us make bridges
out of toothpicks and glue with no instruction at all),
and whatever else she thinks she’s teaching us
but isn’t because Rose taught me everything I know.
Together we’re smarter than our teacher.
listening to her talk about history – she calls it “social studies” –
and she would go on all day
if she didn’t also have to teach us English (I know it all already),
math (she tries, but I have no idea what she’s saying),
science (she turns us loose and makes us make bridges
out of toothpicks and glue with no instruction at all),
and whatever else she thinks she’s teaching us
but isn’t because Rose taught me everything I know.
Together we’re smarter than our teacher.
My fifth-grade teacher hates me.
She’d never say so, but she cuts me off
when I try to talk, gets frustrated
when I want to work harder than the rest of the class,
brushes me aside when I ask questions,
and writes comments on my homework
that I can’t even read. I’ve never seen worse handwriting.
She’d never say so, but she cuts me off
when I try to talk, gets frustrated
when I want to work harder than the rest of the class,
brushes me aside when I ask questions,
and writes comments on my homework
that I can’t even read. I’ve never seen worse handwriting.
Anna has moderate stress
including her present relatively unstructured classroom.
including her present relatively unstructured classroom.
The only thing I know to expect in school
is some form of humiliation
(between the teacher, the other kids, and gym class,
the world is a supremely cold and cruel place)
and a lecture on “social studies” that I won’t understand.
is some form of humiliation
(between the teacher, the other kids, and gym class,
the world is a supremely cold and cruel place)
and a lecture on “social studies” that I won’t understand.
Rose and I might get library time if we’re lucky,
but until then I pass her notes
about how I feel like crying
because the teacher hates me
and I’d much rather structure my own classroom
somewhere else.
Axis V: Irony
but until then I pass her notes
about how I feel like crying
because the teacher hates me
and I’d much rather structure my own classroom
somewhere else.
Axis V: Irony
Current Global Assessment of Functioning
is approximately 75 (high functioning).
is approximately 75 (high functioning).
Things I’m not afraid of:
Eating
Television
The cat
Talking to my friends
Anna has been coping fairly well.
Curve Breaker
Eating
Television
The cat
Talking to my friends
Anna has been coping fairly well.
Curve Breaker
I do not understand the concept of grading on a curve
until it is too late.
I don’t know what I had imagined, exactly –
maybe the teacher simply drawing a curve-shape in her grade book
or plotting the points of everyone’s test scores on a bell-curved graph –
but I had not expected my entire English class to hate me
because I got an A on my vocabulary test.
until it is too late.
I don’t know what I had imagined, exactly –
maybe the teacher simply drawing a curve-shape in her grade book
or plotting the points of everyone’s test scores on a bell-curved graph –
but I had not expected my entire English class to hate me
because I got an A on my vocabulary test.
I stop and think about it after my pride wears off and
confusion, loneliness, anger, bitterness, and shame take turns setting in.
If I had known from the beginning that my teacher graded on a curve
and if I had known from the beginning what that meant,
would I really have done anything differently?
Would I have foregone studying and failed on purpose?
Would I have answered some questions wrong and hoped for a B?
confusion, loneliness, anger, bitterness, and shame take turns setting in.
If I had known from the beginning that my teacher graded on a curve
and if I had known from the beginning what that meant,
would I really have done anything differently?
Would I have foregone studying and failed on purpose?
Would I have answered some questions wrong and hoped for a B?
If I had done poorly, someone would have given me that look I hate,
that look of disappointment mixed with muted anger and frustration,
and said, “What’s wrong with you? You’re supposed to be the smart one.”
Instead I’ve succeeded; surpassed even my own expectations for myself
and am allowed thirty seconds to revel in it and smile
before someone else gives me that other look –
anger and frustration mixed with muted disappointment and something new – contempt, I think –
and says, “I only got a C. It’s your fault!”
that look of disappointment mixed with muted anger and frustration,
and said, “What’s wrong with you? You’re supposed to be the smart one.”
Instead I’ve succeeded; surpassed even my own expectations for myself
and am allowed thirty seconds to revel in it and smile
before someone else gives me that other look –
anger and frustration mixed with muted disappointment and something new – contempt, I think –
and says, “I only got a C. It’s your fault!”
At that moment I understand what a curve is.
It’s the shape my mouth takes right before I start to cry.
It’s the wavering line of my handwriting as I start a new page of notes.
It’s the cylinder my test makes, rolled up in my backpack.
It’s the dejected lilt in my voice as I describe to anyone who will listen
that I really didn’t understand. I thought a curve was something else,
and in that moment I’ve broken all the curves I know.
It’s the shape my mouth takes right before I start to cry.
It’s the wavering line of my handwriting as I start a new page of notes.
It’s the cylinder my test makes, rolled up in my backpack.
It’s the dejected lilt in my voice as I describe to anyone who will listen
that I really didn’t understand. I thought a curve was something else,
and in that moment I’ve broken all the curves I know.
Now I understand
and it’s just me, clutching my crumpled vocabulary test,
walking home alone from the bus stop.
The Closet, Part 2: One Foot Out
and it’s just me, clutching my crumpled vocabulary test,
walking home alone from the bus stop.
The Closet, Part 2: One Foot Out
Have I told you about Emily yet?
There’s a girl in my theater workshop named Emily
which by the way I think is a gorgeous name.
It sounds like a song. I think it’s my favorite.
There’s a girl in my theater workshop named Emily
which by the way I think is a gorgeous name.
It sounds like a song. I think it’s my favorite.
You might know her. She has blonde hair
that falls down past her shoulders.
It’s the softest hair I’ve ever felt –
she brushed past me once and her hair
touched my arm. Right here, see?
that falls down past her shoulders.
It’s the softest hair I’ve ever felt –
she brushed past me once and her hair
touched my arm. Right here, see?
She takes the third bus home after school.
I have to catch her before she gets on
because I have something to give her:
last week at rehearsal someone spilled water
on this sheet music – she plays the piano –
and she threw it in the trash because she was upset.
Anyway, I took it home and fixed it.
I have to catch her before she gets on
because I have something to give her:
last week at rehearsal someone spilled water
on this sheet music – she plays the piano –
and she threw it in the trash because she was upset.
Anyway, I took it home and fixed it.
You must know her. She’s an amazing singer.
She had a solo in the chorus concert last night.
She was wearing a blue dress and black shoes, remember?
She had a solo in the chorus concert last night.
She was wearing a blue dress and black shoes, remember?
…I remember what everyone was wearing.
All the World’s a Stage
All the World’s a Stage
Emily – that’s my girlfriend, I wish –
is the lead in the school musical
and I am in it too.
I don’t have a very big part
but I like rehearsals because I get to watch her.
She never misses a line,
and even during Hell Week when she has a cold and says
she can’t sing,
her voice is smooth and crisp like fresh-fallen snow.
I imagine that’s what her skin must feel like.
is the lead in the school musical
and I am in it too.
I don’t have a very big part
but I like rehearsals because I get to watch her.
She never misses a line,
and even during Hell Week when she has a cold and says
she can’t sing,
her voice is smooth and crisp like fresh-fallen snow.
I imagine that’s what her skin must feel like.
(During costume changes, all the girls change in one room and I think I might actually die.)
I get to watch her.
She’s thin and elegant,
hair downy and really, honestly, perfectly blonde.
I can see her lips from my seat
in the audience,
wrapping around her words, and I imagine how
they’d feel wrapped around my lips.
I try not to look too long or
I’ll never look away.
She’s thin and elegant,
hair downy and really, honestly, perfectly blonde.
I can see her lips from my seat
in the audience,
wrapping around her words, and I imagine how
they’d feel wrapped around my lips.
I try not to look too long or
I’ll never look away.
(Every curve on her body must have been sculpted by God himself. Maybe I’m not an atheist after all.)
I have a scene with her.
It isn’t very long
and there are other people in it,
but we talk to each other andI get to touch her –
the director tells me not to look so nervous –
one hand on her shoulder and the other in her hair
which is softer than I ever could have imagined.
I look in her eyes,
get lost for a minute (or maybe five),
and say: “I know that you will soon unfold
a forgiving heart of purest gold!”
I wonder what would happen if I kissed her.
It isn’t very long
and there are other people in it,
but we talk to each other andI get to touch her –
the director tells me not to look so nervous –
one hand on her shoulder and the other in her hair
which is softer than I ever could have imagined.
I look in her eyes,
get lost for a minute (or maybe five),
and say: “I know that you will soon unfold
a forgiving heart of purest gold!”
I wonder what would happen if I kissed her.
(I rehearse what to say if she catches me looking. Is it really weird to say, “Oh, I like your bra!”?)
At the end of rehearsal, Emily – that’s the love of my life –
leaves with her boyfriend –
her real boyfriend; she’s not acting anymore –
and I try not to watch,
but I get to watch her anyway
because my ride is late.
leaves with her boyfriend –
her real boyfriend; she’s not acting anymore –
and I try not to watch,
but I get to watch her anyway
because my ride is late.
A napkin notebook. Brilliant!
ReplyDelete