A righteous reason to keep a journal beside one's bed!! (And to take Ambien I suppose.)
21 March 2011
Second Half
I discovered something fun last night. Most people, when taking Ambien either sleep like the dead, or sleep walk. I do neither. I fall asleep quickly (if I'm lucky) and then... I sleep-write. I keep a journal beside my bed that I write in about once a week. Last night I decided to write in it. I discovered pages of scribbling, mostly illegible and nonsensical, that I have NO memory of writing. I couldn't have been more mystified and pleased. My subconscious is clearly screaming for me to put pen to paper more often.
01 February 2011
nightmares
Last night was rough. Trapped in a dreamworld where everything was against me. My subconscious hated me last night. I woke up covered in sweat and unable to fall back asleep.
Doctors (medical) at universities who would take advantage and a cause terror in me. Graduate assistants who were so abused that they were like origami birds, about to fall apart at any second. Running. Running from all these fears. Having to EXPLAIN the abuses to others who then made me confront them - unsuccessfully though. I'd always run away. Run over and up and down stairs. So many stairs. All I had to do when running down stairs was extend my leg, lock my knee, and drive down with my heel and it was like I'd slide down stairs expeditiously.
Once escaped into the arms of someone I trusted, it wound out that his mother, who was "played" by someone I respect and admire more than anyone (in real life), had a vendetta against me, and wound up killing her son just to get better access to me, so she could get rid of me. I was able to see in the future what she was going to do to me, and thus avoided the ending she would drive me to (sliding down an icy hill on a sled directly into the path of a roaring subway train) and was able to instead, feebly, fly away. Up and over dark houses, among the trees, being whipped in the face by wet, bare branches. Never able to achieve more altitude than the height of the trees.
I awoke then... while I was flying away. The only ugliness was that I could hear the bad woman explaining to her daughter why it was good that she killed her son, and why I had to go as well.
Ugly. I couldn't sleep after ugliness like that.
Doctors (medical) at universities who would take advantage and a cause terror in me. Graduate assistants who were so abused that they were like origami birds, about to fall apart at any second. Running. Running from all these fears. Having to EXPLAIN the abuses to others who then made me confront them - unsuccessfully though. I'd always run away. Run over and up and down stairs. So many stairs. All I had to do when running down stairs was extend my leg, lock my knee, and drive down with my heel and it was like I'd slide down stairs expeditiously.
Once escaped into the arms of someone I trusted, it wound out that his mother, who was "played" by someone I respect and admire more than anyone (in real life), had a vendetta against me, and wound up killing her son just to get better access to me, so she could get rid of me. I was able to see in the future what she was going to do to me, and thus avoided the ending she would drive me to (sliding down an icy hill on a sled directly into the path of a roaring subway train) and was able to instead, feebly, fly away. Up and over dark houses, among the trees, being whipped in the face by wet, bare branches. Never able to achieve more altitude than the height of the trees.
I awoke then... while I was flying away. The only ugliness was that I could hear the bad woman explaining to her daughter why it was good that she killed her son, and why I had to go as well.
Ugly. I couldn't sleep after ugliness like that.
08 December 2010
snow
The only time I was ever not scared to walk outside in the dark growing up was when it was snowing. When the snow came, and was actively falling, there was a peace that made me eager to bundle up and experience. The rest of the year, I would either avoid walking even to get the newspaper, which was delivered in the evenings, or I would run. Sometimes I'd even put a dog on a leash to go with me, though the mailbox was only 100 feet from the house. The pressure of the unknown, and deep dark threat of the infinite blackness in the forests that surrounded my family's home at night was palpable. That almost tangible, ominous presence of the forest gave me chills, and made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
I was, essentially, terrified of the dark. Even inside, to this day, I hate the dark. Put me in a city, or in a habitated household and I am fine. But in a home that has only myself, or when outdoors in the deep woods of my childhood home, then the dark has a presence, and makes me feel vulnerable like nothing else does.
It isn't the menace that I want to write about though. Its the peace and hush of when it snows in Amboy. How snow, reflecting the meager light of the Pacific Northwestern winters at night, would create a glow that I would want nothing more than to bask in. Once it would get dark out, I would bundle up to my ears, and take off down the road towards the lake near my parent's home. The fat snowflakes would drift down, almost like a computer screensaver, in hypnotic and mesmerizing weight and rhythm. The evergreens boughs would dip, heavy under the weight of the wet snow. The only sound, aside from the soft squish of my boots in the snow, would be the occasional whooosh as a branch released it's heavy blanket of snow.
I tried walking in the snow at night when it first snowed here in Louisville. I saw the flakes softly falling from my apartment window. I immediately dressed warmly and rushed outside. I made it about one block before realizing the magic wasn't there. Cars whooshed by, instead of snow off evergreens. Sirens. Concrete. Houses. Artificial light. None of these things exist at night, when it snows on Frasier Road, at my parent's house.
At home, the night would be illuminated, glowing softly under the whiteness. The dark woods were not a threat, but a peaceful and beautiful place of solace. Nothing clattered, snapped, chirped, or most importantly - loomed. There would be no threat, my instincts were never challenged, my heart would never race. Silently, independently, freely I would, dare I say, commune with the forest in these moments as I walked for hours at times, through the hushed woods, across monumental fields, and oh so majestically, on the shores of the immense, black lake. I would stand for what felt like eons, staring at how the snowflakes touched and disappeared on the surface of that grand expanse of frigid water. The trees ringing the lake, covered in snow, branches reaching down to kiss the water, only emphasized it's blackness.
I would stare at that lake, so entranced, that I wouldn't have been surprised to see a phantasm jetting across its electrically charged surface, out of its infinitely timeless depths. A goddess could have risen from it, faeries and ghosts could have been drawn to it to commune, during those magical moments, and I would not have been surprised.
Once, I was across a giant field from the lake, and a large earthen berm/dike was between me and the lake. I was moving parallel to the dike, when out of the corner of my eye, through the swirling eddies of snow, I thought I saw something move on the dike. I fixed my eyes on it, and decided it was a large bird, flapping its wings, beckoning me. Was it wounded? Was it looking for me? I immediately cut across the field, a walk of about 15 minutes in the shin-deep snow. I bypassed all trails and roads, to trudge directly to the dike. I climbed the steep berm, which rose about 50 feet up, and once I hit the top, there was nothing. Just the lake.
I think perhaps I just missed catching the show, that only moments before I made it to the top, the dance had been happening on the surface of the water, and on the shores surrounding it.
One of these days I'll make it in time. Until then, I can't be afraid to keep watching out for it at night when it snows in Amboy.
I was, essentially, terrified of the dark. Even inside, to this day, I hate the dark. Put me in a city, or in a habitated household and I am fine. But in a home that has only myself, or when outdoors in the deep woods of my childhood home, then the dark has a presence, and makes me feel vulnerable like nothing else does.
It isn't the menace that I want to write about though. Its the peace and hush of when it snows in Amboy. How snow, reflecting the meager light of the Pacific Northwestern winters at night, would create a glow that I would want nothing more than to bask in. Once it would get dark out, I would bundle up to my ears, and take off down the road towards the lake near my parent's home. The fat snowflakes would drift down, almost like a computer screensaver, in hypnotic and mesmerizing weight and rhythm. The evergreens boughs would dip, heavy under the weight of the wet snow. The only sound, aside from the soft squish of my boots in the snow, would be the occasional whooosh as a branch released it's heavy blanket of snow.
I tried walking in the snow at night when it first snowed here in Louisville. I saw the flakes softly falling from my apartment window. I immediately dressed warmly and rushed outside. I made it about one block before realizing the magic wasn't there. Cars whooshed by, instead of snow off evergreens. Sirens. Concrete. Houses. Artificial light. None of these things exist at night, when it snows on Frasier Road, at my parent's house.
At home, the night would be illuminated, glowing softly under the whiteness. The dark woods were not a threat, but a peaceful and beautiful place of solace. Nothing clattered, snapped, chirped, or most importantly - loomed. There would be no threat, my instincts were never challenged, my heart would never race. Silently, independently, freely I would, dare I say, commune with the forest in these moments as I walked for hours at times, through the hushed woods, across monumental fields, and oh so majestically, on the shores of the immense, black lake. I would stand for what felt like eons, staring at how the snowflakes touched and disappeared on the surface of that grand expanse of frigid water. The trees ringing the lake, covered in snow, branches reaching down to kiss the water, only emphasized it's blackness.
I would stare at that lake, so entranced, that I wouldn't have been surprised to see a phantasm jetting across its electrically charged surface, out of its infinitely timeless depths. A goddess could have risen from it, faeries and ghosts could have been drawn to it to commune, during those magical moments, and I would not have been surprised.
Once, I was across a giant field from the lake, and a large earthen berm/dike was between me and the lake. I was moving parallel to the dike, when out of the corner of my eye, through the swirling eddies of snow, I thought I saw something move on the dike. I fixed my eyes on it, and decided it was a large bird, flapping its wings, beckoning me. Was it wounded? Was it looking for me? I immediately cut across the field, a walk of about 15 minutes in the shin-deep snow. I bypassed all trails and roads, to trudge directly to the dike. I climbed the steep berm, which rose about 50 feet up, and once I hit the top, there was nothing. Just the lake.
I think perhaps I just missed catching the show, that only moments before I made it to the top, the dance had been happening on the surface of the water, and on the shores surrounding it.
One of these days I'll make it in time. Until then, I can't be afraid to keep watching out for it at night when it snows in Amboy.
25 November 2010
Thanks
Thanks for family.
Thanks for abundance.
Thanks for means.
Thanks for coffee.
Thanks for health care.
Thanks for friends in a still-strange town.
Thanks for reminders of where I've been.
Thanks for options and choices.
Thanks for nephews and nieces.
Thanks for co-workers who make me giddy with glee at times.
Thanks for songs with accordions and upright bass.
Thanks for rain.
Thanks for sun.
Thanks for work.
Thanks for peace.
Thanks for teachers who inspire and challenge.
Thanks for experiences.
Thanks for the ability to reach out, touch, and participate globally.
Thanks for birds that fly world-wide.
Thanks for traditions.
Thanks for beauty.
Thanks.
Thanks for abundance.
Thanks for means.
Thanks for coffee.
Thanks for health care.
Thanks for friends in a still-strange town.
Thanks for reminders of where I've been.
Thanks for options and choices.
Thanks for nephews and nieces.
Thanks for co-workers who make me giddy with glee at times.
Thanks for songs with accordions and upright bass.
Thanks for rain.
Thanks for sun.
Thanks for work.
Thanks for peace.
Thanks for teachers who inspire and challenge.
Thanks for experiences.
Thanks for the ability to reach out, touch, and participate globally.
Thanks for birds that fly world-wide.
Thanks for traditions.
Thanks for beauty.
Thanks.
18 November 2010
ne pas mettre tous ses espoirs dans la même affaire.
I'm trying really hard these days to, "ne pas mettres tous ses espoirs dans la meme affaire..." - put all my eggs in one basket, or as the quote more or less translates to "not put all of one's hopes in the same affairs." Today I found myself ravenously searching for historical and architectural guide books to Syria, with the single-minded focus of someone who has already been awarded a scholarship to study in say, Jordan, for say, 10 months. That news, be it positive or negative, won't come until March at the earliest, so I really need to cool off and ensure I'm setting myself up for success by planning for all contingencies.
But I really really really really really really really really want to win this scholarship (Fulbright). And the Critical Language Studies scholarship. I really really really really really really really really really want to spend a year overseas in the Middle East, immersed, in the Levant. I can't picture what I'll do if I'm not awarded these, or at least one.
My friends and family are going to have to conduct a lot of damage control if that happens - sorry guys. Or I may just ditch my things and go on walk-about. Somewhere. Greenland or Russia maybe. Just disappear for a long time. :)
I'm definitely getting to a point where I really need to stop and go silent for a while - get out of my head, if you will. Go offline, go black, noise and light discipline enacted. Get away from people, hear some silence for a while. Its been a while, almost a year since I did that last. Where should I go?
And there is one more thing - something I want to keep encrypted, and explain mysteriously. One reason for me needing to get out of my head is my frustration at some people's actions, and the effects they have on me. It makes me feel like I'm so easily susceptible to the whims of others - easily convinced, easily moved, then swiftly disappointed by their failure to meet my explicit (yet secret) expectations. This makes me sound like I'm equally at fault as they, and this is likely true. But I can be selfish about it, and blame them. Maybe I need to be more forthcoming and explain, maybe I just need to take things as they come and not over-think things.
Maybe I need to get dressed and brush my teeth and start thinking about going to school.
Hmph.
28 October 2010
a gift
This was gifted to me today by a new friend by afar. Clearly he is already a valued one, for knowing to gift me such a treasure.
by Billy Collins -
The Country
I wondered about you
when you told me never to leave
a box of wooden, strike-anywhere matches
lying around the house because the mice
might get into them and start a fire.
But your face was absolutely straight
when you twisted the lid down on the round tin
where the matches, you said, are always stowed.
Who could sleep that night?
Who could whisk away the thought
of one unlikely mouse
padding along a cold water pipe
behind the floral wallpaper
gripping a single wooden match
between the needles of his teeth?
Who could not see him rounding the corner,
the blue tip scratching against a rough-hewn beam,
the sudden flare, and the creature
for one bright, shining moment
suddenly thrust ahead of his time-
now a fire-starter, now a torchbearer
in a forgotten ritual, little brown druid
illuminating some ancient night.
Who could fail to notice,
lit up in the blazing insulation
the tiny looks of wonderment on the faces
of his fellow mice, onetime habitants
of what once was your house in the country?
by Billy Collins -
The Country
I wondered about you
when you told me never to leave
a box of wooden, strike-anywhere matches
lying around the house because the mice
might get into them and start a fire.
But your face was absolutely straight
when you twisted the lid down on the round tin
where the matches, you said, are always stowed.
Who could sleep that night?
Who could whisk away the thought
of one unlikely mouse
padding along a cold water pipe
behind the floral wallpaper
gripping a single wooden match
between the needles of his teeth?
Who could not see him rounding the corner,
the blue tip scratching against a rough-hewn beam,
the sudden flare, and the creature
for one bright, shining moment
suddenly thrust ahead of his time-
now a fire-starter, now a torchbearer
in a forgotten ritual, little brown druid
illuminating some ancient night.
Who could fail to notice,
lit up in the blazing insulation
the tiny looks of wonderment on the faces
of his fellow mice, onetime habitants
of what once was your house in the country?
26 October 2010
tornado alert
Two piano keys, repeating their notes
The wind will lift, a shoelace will rise
The wind will gust, a scarf will brush my face
The wind will howl, my skirt will flip
The wind will scream, my bag will be torn from my arms
The wind will strip everything from me and leave me
empty
(two piano keys, repeating their song)
The wind will tear out my hear
will devastate my memory,
leave. it. blank.
Two piano keys repeat their melody
My new existence will be
where I've always lived
where I was before
Everything will be the same
But I will be new
The magical world will be
where I walked for miles and
grew weary of
the day before
No old, tired memories
No redundancies
No boredom
Everything is new
Everything sparkles
The world is strange
The world is abrupt
Everything frightens
Everything dazzles
twopianokeysechotheirtrance
Nothing is old but trauma overwhelms
What should have been new
and exciting
terrifies
What was desperately sought
a change
refreshment
terrifies
(two piano keys repeating their tones)
Beauty becomes horrible
Change is brutal
Difference cannot be accepted
The mind swirls
Thoughts pummel
Nothing can adapt
The adult brain screams where the infant brain absorbs
A new world
A new body (two piano keys)
cannot breathe
cannot
survive
this
storm
Two piano keys repeating their tune.
The wind will lift, a shoelace will rise
The wind will gust, a scarf will brush my face
The wind will howl, my skirt will flip
The wind will scream, my bag will be torn from my arms
The wind will strip everything from me and leave me
empty
(two piano keys, repeating their song)
The wind will tear out my hear
will devastate my memory,
leave. it. blank.
Two piano keys repeat their melody
My new existence will be
where I've always lived
where I was before
Everything will be the same
But I will be new
The magical world will be
where I walked for miles and
grew weary of
the day before
No old, tired memories
No redundancies
No boredom
Everything is new
Everything sparkles
The world is strange
The world is abrupt
Everything frightens
Everything dazzles
twopianokeysechotheirtrance
Nothing is old but trauma overwhelms
What should have been new
and exciting
terrifies
What was desperately sought
a change
refreshment
terrifies
(two piano keys repeating their tones)
Beauty becomes horrible
Change is brutal
Difference cannot be accepted
The mind swirls
Thoughts pummel
Nothing can adapt
The adult brain screams where the infant brain absorbs
A new world
A new body (two piano keys)
cannot breathe
cannot
survive
this
storm
Two piano keys repeating their tune.
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About Me
- Ann Marie
- I would be remiss if I didn't extend my gratitude to the Fulbright program for this jaw-dropping opportunity, as well as to the Honors Department at the University of Louisville, for its hard work in ensuring my selection as an English Teaching Assistant to Oman for the 2012-2013 year. My brief bio - Born and raised in Amboy, WA, I attended Clark College in Vancouver, before going on to the University of Washington in Seattle where I earned a BFA in Fine Arts - Oil Painting in 2004. I then attended USMC Officer Candidate's School, and accepted a commission as a second lieutenant in the summer of 2005. I served for four years as a logistics officer, stationed in Camp Lejeune and deployed worldwide. After the conclusion of my commission, I moved to Louisville, KY where I attended the University of Louisville, achieving a BA in Art History and a minor in Middle East and Islamic Studies.
