There will come a time, you'll see

And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears


Sorry for all the ambiguity here of late. I'm having feelings I don't like about a person I should know better than to feel them for. Cut off from my usual therapy (ie telling every single person I work or live with and collecting their advice on the matter) I felt the need to journal about it.

Don't worry. I'm actually right about this being a terrible idea (and also not having the potential to go anywhere.) I'm just not used to being Mr. Darcy about these things. It's frustrating how much of my mind is not only happy but EAGER to be taken up with romantic thoughts. (Also, I'm not rich & powerful like Darcy, which, if I recall correctly, were rather key elements to his eventual success.) Right now I should be writing in Arabic about Khubz and I am daydreaming instead.

I blame the muzak version of "my heart will go on" blaring inside the cafe.

I really want to believe that one day falling in love will be easy and painless and not stressful and largely humiliating. I don't know if that's how it works, but I do know today is not that day. 

THIS IS A REALLY BAD IDEA

I very much dislike the ease with which I ignore my inner sensible person. My inner sensible person will say things like "you've been here before, it didn't end so well. Maybe you don't want to go back?" And I will say "hush, you. I know what I'm doing."

I don't know what I am doing. I make decisions and then promptly ignore them. I make grand declarations about things I Absolutely Will Not Do and then do them.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I know a bad idea when I see one and I somehow can't help myself.


I'm going to tell myself these petty little emotions I've been having lately don't mean anything. I'm going to tell myself that trouble is not two eyes grinning, long-lashed, in my direction.

I'm not going to give in.

In the square

Exhausted, sun-stroked, we sat
after hours of tying not to admit I'd gotten us lost
I gulped tepid water, pretending
that my thirst might be quenched.
Shade. The obliging trees of an unfamiliar village square,
Foreign bodies unused to Moroccan sun,
we rest.

Cigarettes appear, in an attempt to blend in.
I do not smoke.
As our talk turns to the nature of happiness,
I begin to reconsider.
I thirst for the taste of paper smoldering to ash between your fingers.
I believe you, when you say happiness is a poor child
you befriended in an alley by gifting a toy car.
You may not own him
or command his every secret
but you, at least,
would know him
if he passed you in the street.
His hand raised in greeting
And your response rolled out like smoke
exhaled over a native tongue.

I swallow more water.
The others are still discussing happiness
academic, abstract, now, but no less real than your barefoot boy.
It is as present, as possible for them as the sweat on their necks
the weight of sundry electronic devices in REI backpacks
the provocation of color in the spray paint on sand-colored walls.
They do not worry that we are lost.
They are paper, warm tobacco on your wet lips
I am hot ashes falling from your fingers in the
stubborn, stagnant afternoon air.

Oh yeah, my senior essay is almost done, too.

I think this version is much better than the last one I posted but you can be the judge, if you're interested:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Nj2uhYNpAYCf1EfxvR8tsXA0zsLF-9IeH7KFl9sQe2w/edit?hl=en_US&authkey=CLu1-PgI

Feedback is welcome. Even though I turned this in as my final for a grade, I'm still hoping to keep improving upon it.

Updates from Spain and smelling like an airplane

I already posted an update on my Morocco blog but I thought I'd post here because I'm killing some time waiting for a shower to free up. The Hostel I'm staying at is adorable and kind of strange but full of marble staircases and weird locks with codes that are all one number. It feels super secure but I'm still paranoid since my wallet was stolen and I'm not taking any chances. The challenge will be taking a shower without leaving anything too valuable out in the bedroom.

I met a couple of American girls in the coffee shop next door. (Ok, full disclosure: it was Starbucks. I know, I KNOW, I didn't fly across the globe to drink the same Americano I was too good for in Seattle. But they have free wifi and a bunch of open couches and I had to kill an hour before check-in. Wandering around Spain sounds great, just not with two giant backpacks.) They were nice girls, on their way to Portugal and then back to France. It's funny the way Americans meet when we're abroad. I probably wouldn't trust these girls as far as I could throw them back in the states, but here we are allies, guarding each others' backpacks while we take turns in the bathroom, sharing tips about what to see, what to read, and how to get to the airport.

I think I'm going to go shower now and wander in the sun in a dress while I'm still in a place where it is culturally acceptable. I really can't wait to stop smelling like airplanes. I miss and love you all!

The book!

A first look at the lovely cover art by Kitri Wood:

Detail:

Right now the printer that will make the inside of the book is down, so I'll be posting ordering details, pricing and all that jazz as soon as it is back online....