Emoetry

Ready for a break from the doom-and-gloom? I sure am!

Finding my college application got me thinking about the past.  And when I start thinking about the past, my next step is to usually search my email.

My email goes back a long ways.  It's practically become an auxiliary memory bank.  When I can't find something, chances are it's in my email.  Old files, old essays, old friends... and old poetry.

But not just any poetry.  Angsty poetry.  Angsty teenage poetry.  Or, as I'd like to dub it from here on out, emoetry.

Don't Panic

I have this poster for a good reason

I'm really proud of this one, and am really enjoying writing lately.  This is about overcoming anxiety.  I'm hoping being open about this might help other people feel like it's okay to get help and also that they aren't alone.  As an added bonus, it certainly was cathartic.

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It’s strange how you can be an inhabitant in your own mind for so long, and yet not notice when things have, slowly but surely, begun to go awry.

In my college admissions essay, I wrote about fear – that “it may drive, or inspire, or limit me, but with knowledge, and independence, and powerful motivation, I can conquer the things that strike dread into my soul.”

Little did I know that, sometimes, fear itself is what you have to conquer – and that you can’t always overcome it on your own. 

When I wrote that essay, was I beginning to realize?  Did I have any inkling whatsoever? Had I begun to look inside myself and see what was there for what it truly was?

Bus Stop

I've been thinking about this a lot, lately.  It isn't happy or uplifting - you've been warned - but I do believe it's very important to consider.  I wanted to capture the fear and paranoia of being a target of street harassment.  Hopefully I've done it some justice.

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Now I remember why I don’t like taking the early bus. 

He’s there, again.  Middle-aged, medium height, salt-and-pepper goatee – and a gaze to fix upon me.

A Matter of Balance

I found my old college application, which required a personal statement.  I totally forgot about this, but I wrote about "that time I thought I was going to be kidnapped but actually wasn't", as relayed to some friends at dinner a couple weeks ago.  The story hasn't changed much, and apparently neither has my writing style - I was 17ish when I wrote this.

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As my grandfather taught me to ride a bike he put his steadying hand on the frame—balancing while I pedaled. Unstable and uncertain, I was terrified that at any moment I might be flung from my seat, over the handlebars, and onto the car-torn pavement. But I wasn't. There were falls, of course, and a fair share of scraped and scabbed knees and hands, but I soon felt like a master atop those two white rubber tires.

How to rock the pancake

"Rocking the pancake" is a figure of speech I invented one evening, coming back from a sumptuous Valentine's Day dinner with my husband.  Swaying in my seat, beaming with contentment, and feeling more than a little boozily blissful after two excellent cocktails, I suddenly blurted out, "I'm rocking the pancake!"

"You're... what?"  He asked, concern tinging his voice.

"I'm rocking the pancake!"  I declared it with verve and grandeur, like the beauteous phrase it was.

And so it stuck.  I don't know where my brain got it, I just know that it did.

To my mind, "rocking the pancake" means you're doing awesomely and just generally being awesome (my natural state, of course).

A few usage examples:

1. Just got a good grade? "I'm rocking the pancake!"
2. Code just compiled? "I'm rocking the pancake!"
3. Daylong baking experiment turns out to be a ravishing success? (Anyone? No? Just me?)  "I'm rocking the pancake!"

A friend mentioned that she imagines me doing air guitar with a pancake on my head when I say this.  I have to agree that this is the only appropriate accompaniment.  No other ones will do.

In all seriousness, it's tough to find a good name for a blog, especially one that may or may not be about Feelings.

I don't think I'll always be writing about Feelings-with-a-capital-F (or even feelings-with-a-lowercase-f), but it's nice to have a place to post these things anyway.  We'll see how it goes.

Until then, keep on rocking the pancake, my friends.  Preferably while doing air guitar with a pancake on your head.