fais de beaux rêves

"If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time. " - M. Proust

come sail away.

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones that you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade wind in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." - Mark Twain

un moment de vérité (ma pétition).

i want you to love me.

i want you to beg for my kisses,

to long for my lips

even after i sip

the last few drops

of a burnt cup of coffee;

even after i wake up

on a lazy sunday morning

without having brushed my teeth

the night before;

even after i slurp a hot bowl

of soupe al'oignon gratinee;

even after garlic.

i want to keep you up at night

because you wish you could call me

to discuss that new book you read

that new photograph you took

that new restaurant you found

around the corner from your apartment.

i want to floor you,

knock you down,

with my thoughts on jung

and my citations of eliot,

with my smile;

a smile that draws you in

delights you

disarms you.

i want you to know,

by the look on my face,

by the furrows in my brow,

and the reflection in my eyes,

what i think

and feel,

what i need.

and i want you to give it to me.

but what i want,

more than anything,

is for you to exist;

not as a fanciful memory

or faraway stranger yet unfound,

but here

and now

with me.

is that so much to ask?

in the weeds

confessions of an insomniac

So, this is my third night in a row getting little to no sleep. I must say that I am becoming quite tired of it (pun intended). I have yet to determine the cause of my recent slumber-deprived state, but I thought that writing about it might assist me in getting to the root of the problem... I am now approaching the end of my third week at my father's house, a new chapter of life in an old, familiar place. It is not easy living at "home," particularly in my mother's absence, but I feel a strong sense of obligation and necessity to be here. To be completely honest, everyone in my family (including me) is broken in some way, and I believe that our wounds might best be healed together. It is quite possible that I am completely wrong in thinking this but, for better or for worse, I am here now and will be staying for a bit. I am finding, however, that there is so much to do and I feel helpless to do it all in the time I would like. You see, my dear, I am impatient to the hilt and frightfully restless (these things I think you already know) and I do not quite know what to do. After a brutal year of graduate school, I am utterly exhausted and want to do nothing but soak up the sun and read the novels that were collecting dust on my shelves as I was scouring over countless pages in educational journals. And yet, my restive soul aches for adventure, for travels to faraway places and lovers' kisses and foreign food, for meaning and excitement and experience... but every day I wake up and feel the weight of all that is to be done here: the empty bank account that desperately needs replenishing; the house that needs tending; the projects that need completing; the hearts that need mending... And so, every night I find myself reluctantly trudging to bed, trying to feel satisfied with the day's meager accomplishments but finding it nearly impossible to do so. I lie awake with anxious thoughts of time lost and tasks unfinished. It is quite troubling, to tell the truth. Some peace of mind would be heavenly. Any suggestions?

sweet nothings in springtime

I cannot believe that it is already mid-May, reader. I apologize for the extensive hiatus in my writing, but April marched on with such intensity and agony it was a challenge just to catch my breath... research papers, heartache, tearful goodbyes, a graduation... phew! It is overwhelming just to think of the past few weeks and all that has transpired. I am now an Ivy League graduate - a status I have sought after since I was a little girl, yet something that seems fairly meaningless as I lie here in my father's backyard, a topless sunbather watching my rambunctious pup frolic about the lawn in her typical gazelle-like fashion. I feel the weight of my prestigious, overpriced education on my shoulders, the vast array of books and authors, pedagogical philosophies and stratagems neatly tucked away in the appropriate compartments of my mind, but for the moment that all seems trivial. So, what was the point of the past eleven months? The acquisition of glory? Accomplishment? Simply to have my name associated with a distinguished institution? Thankfully, no, although no doubt such a thought crossed my mind a time or two. Luckily for me, despite returning home jobless, partner-less and without a penny in my pocket, I have walked away from my year at Penn with a set of valuable truths I now hold dear to me. I have learned, my love, that I am capable of accomplishing nearly anything to which I set my mind. I have discovered the meaning of a true friend. I have stumbled upon a hidden talent for baking extraordinarily pretty and scrumptious desserts (a faculty I plan on utilizing frequently in the coming years). I have realized the importance of cutting yourself a break every now and again. And, perhaps most importantly, I have learned that in spite of my constant yearning for adventure and new experiences, adventure without purpose is essentially inane. All the escapades and trysts, however exciting or romantic, could never satisfy my desires because what I truly crave most in this world is meaning. Purpose. Depth. No thrill or rush, no matter how strong, is of value to me if it does not bring me closer to the ones I love, or God, or a better understanding of the world. No lover's kiss, no matter how sweet or passionate, is worth it if I have no hand to hold or heart to share... With this in mind, reader, I set out on the eve of summer and my 25th year, to fill these next few months (and why stop there?) with meaningful adventures to share, and to cherish and to learn from. Maybe you will come along. I can only hope.