Danny V.

So.. my Twins are spirally to their death by the Yankees..what else is new? I'm pretty sure if I believed in psychiatry, I would have something along the lines of Seasonal Depression. I mean, what will I do without baseball right now? My roommate is determined to make me a football fan.. gross. I hope she doesn't succeed. Also, school is just getting harder and harder, and it will soon start getting to that Minnesotacoldwhereyoucan'ttakeabreathbecauseitfeelslikethereisfuckingglasslacedinyourlungs. Why do I live here? Is there a land where it can be Fall all year-round and a lovely Danny V. to watch every night? I'd move in tonight. Fly away.



Tonight we went to the game early enough to watch the Yankees (fuck them.) batting practice, and so we just waltzed to the front row directly above our dugout and camped out there until the moment of the first pitch. Literally. I am officially in love with this one man, Danny V. He looks a little goofy on the television and in pictures, but believe me. Five feet is a pretty safe distance to decide that I'd be okay to marry him. On a more unfortunate note: he hasn't been having a great post-season. Oh and I heard JJ has herpes. (I think I've become more rambunctious

about their personal lives because I was just so close to them tonight.. Did that really happen?)

Anyways. I pray I PRAY that those fucking Yankees could just like.. not beat us in the next three games.. in a row.. two of which are in NY.. what? Oh yea, that won't happen. Sigh. Oh winter.

awake my soul.

Do you ever have soul-awakening moments?

























Do you ever have to make them yourself?

















Are they acceptable in society?



































Does it matter?

necessary madness.

Your cold mornings are filled with the heartache about the fact that although we are not at ease in this world, it is all we have, that it is ours but that it is full of strife, so that all we can call our own is strife; but even that is ours but that it is full of nothing at all, isn't it? And as you split the frost-laced wood with numb hands, rejoice that your uncertainty is God's will and His grace toward you that that is beautiful, and a part of a greater certainty, as your own father always said in his sermons and to you at home. And as the ax bites into the wood, be comforted in the fact that the ache in your heart and the confusion in your soul means that you are still alive, still human, and still open to the beauty of this world, even though you have done nothing to deserve it. And when you resent the ache in your heart, remember: You will be dead and buried soon enough.

Paul Harding, tinkers

I am thinking about this tree and quote as a tattoo.. it would cover most of the top of my left foot (so like, real big.) The quote is, again, Paul Harding's.. would I site that? Is it too many words?

rust.

It's funny how you know you are about to make a mistake. You can feel it coming. The rust covering it makes your heartbeat irregular. It makes your own blood feel rusty in your veins, in your heart, in your brain. And then you make the mistake. And the rust coats your eyes and your mouth. It gets hard to speak, to breathe. It cruds up your ears and gets under your fingernails. It takes awhile to shake yourself free of it. Because it's everywhere. It doesn't matter if it is small and insignificant--if you saw it about to happen, why did it? This thought is the rust. It is hard to shake.

On a lighter note, I finally made it over to my favorite park today. I think I must have stumbled upon it for the first time in winter last year because seeing it clade in fall colors was nothing like I have ever seen ever. Stunning. At first, I was very disappointed because a homeless man was camped out at the beginning of the site. So I didn't stop to sit on my little dock because I was afraid of being in a quiet secluded noplace with a homeless man for company. But I continued on and ran into an adorable old couple and a family with little tikes trouncing around and another middle-aged man walking his scraggly mut. And I felt safe again. And it was my park again. So I crawled down by the river and sat on a tree root jutting from the bank. And it was quiet. And chilly, but brilliantly sunny. And I looked at my beautiful city and felt happy and peaceful. The rest of my run was foggied with the rust, but sitting by the river I couldn't even think about anything. Only about beauty and nothing.

I google imaged to snag this photo, but it's interestingly taken probably from nearly my perch on the riverbank. Though my trees were a lovely orange, yellow, and red rather than green.

when will our heartbeats fall into two lines?

and now my heart stumbles on things I don't know..

and the blue even slowly falls about the garden trees and walls

At 8:30am today, I traveled the 2 miles down the road to my grandparents house. At 3:30pm, I made the return trip. Time = 7 hours.

A lovely day.

Working at the nursing home this summer, I've come to a passionate appreciation for age. In every one of its ugly, difficult, and deeply depressing forms, it is beautiful. For the people who appear to have been harden by age, you have to hold their hands the most often. What made them so bitter towards life? If only we knew, it would break our hearts.

For others, such as my grandmother, life gets more and more beautiful every day. She has endured enough life to make her angry. But she refuses to accept this. I need my hand held by these people the most often. It makes me better. It makes my heart muscles stronger. She teaches me how to love. Through age, she knows, better than anyone in the world, how to love.

We brought flowers to the cemetery today. She walked me over to a couple of fresh graves--two brothers from my hometown. Even though separate diseases claimed their too-young bodies, they died just 20 days apart at ages 79 and 82. It's funny how that happens. Lovely, in a way. Like, after a certain age it becomes impossible to recover from pain. Especially a pain as unimaginable as losing your lifelong best friend. That, or there is a God up there who doesn't believe in lifelong.

"I'm surprised they went so young," Grandma looks down, "Well I guess we can't live forever."