84 D AY S U N T I L G R A D U A T I O N

May 22

Commence cute:

F I E L D T R I P/ N E T W O R K I N G

So, I'm on the phone with Jason right now--which means this may not be as coherent as usual. Well, maybe being incoherent is normal for me, I'm not really sure. :-/

----

Today was our literary field trip, a trip we spent in Natchez during a convention there where my class and I learned about Southern culture, humor, and roots. Speakers there were mostly public officials and college professors--my favorite of which being Trudier Harris, a writer and professor from Tuscaloosa, Alabama.








After her speech we planned to head back to school--but in a random act of kindness and spontaneity: Jules bought me a copy of Miss Trudier's memoir "Summer Snow." Now, earlier in the day, immediately following her speaking, I went to her autographing table and got her to sign my notebook--embarrassingly mentioning the fact that I could not afford a copy of any of her M A N Y novels, but wished I could. Now that Jules had gotten me my very own copy of her book of non-fiction essays (something that we decided was a very necessary purchase since it would assist me and lead me down the right path in my own writing), I of course needed her to sign this more appropriate item.





By the time I held this book in my hands, Miss Trudier had already returned to her seat--ready to hear the next speaker. This unfortunate turn of circumstances led to an extremely awkward and somewhat charming search party led by Jules and myself. At the time, we considered our options, weighed the less illogical ones, and decided standing uncomfortably and eventually just crossing the entire front of the auditorium to search for her was the best idea.

While crossing awkwardly, me fighting the urge to grab onto Jules's hand like a tiny toddler, we catch the eye of our executive director, Suzanne Hirch. Miss Suzanne is this tiny, dynomite of a blonde woman that commands attention to such extreme extents that while at the convention people mistaked her as being the woman in charge--reffering to her as "The woman in the beautiful white suit." Miss Suzzane, pitying our awkward demeanors no doubt, asked if we were looking for someone. We said, "Yes, Miss Harris--we're trying to get an autograph before we leave." She pointed her out to us and as we walked over I was certain every bifolcialed eye was on me, and I was never happier that Jules was beside me--helping me hold my composure and stay brave and mature-like.

She was so tickled to see that we had saught her out just for a signing, and after hearing that Jules bought the book for me her sister--though I'm not sure which one--commented that she hadn't seen such a nice gesture in quite a while. She signed my book, "Looking for your signing your first book for me!" Perfect.

Field trip win.

85 D A Y S U N T I L G R A D U A T I O N

May 22

M E M E Z

B L K H I S T R E E

We had a Black History Month performance to go to.

Which is fine.

However, I really wanted to write today.

And said performance disturbed that time.

Mean to work on writing, read Hipster Kitty instead.

Stop when you start to agree, WTF?

86 D A Y S U N T I L G R A D U A T I O N

May 22

B O O K E N D S, F T W

Just realized I'm just shy of 40 pages into my goal of 100 pages by May for my Mony Chronicles.

Today is a writing kind of day. Goal-- "Letter" to Mony: the first bookend to my Chronicles. Hoping it'll breech ten pages. Hoping to get that done by 11.30, it's 10.57 now. Starting at about 2 I hope to start my last bookend, a second letter to Mony: a sort of twin to the first. Also breeching ten pages. If I could get twenty pages today I would be quite happy.

There isn't going to be much B L O G G I N G today.

87 D A Y S U N T I L G R A D U A T I O N

May 22

Things I S T U M B L E D upon

And Almost None Of These Are My Food Sites

Enjoy:

Shirts.
Daft Punk.
A photo.
I do not love you.
Click.
Morgan Freeman.
Drunk.
Edit, edit, edit.
Do you like to put people in bucketz?
Click.
Listen.
...
Yeah.
Boom.
By now, you should just trust me.
ALASKA!
Jason would like it if you clicked this.
Write.
Letters are better than emails.
Yes!
Cast Away.
Read.
It all makes sense now.
:(:)
Draw.
Bible.
srsly.
This, I really shouldn't say.
And meatballs.
~
FML.MLIA.
Write.
Non-Fiction.
Music.
The one cooking thing I H A D to include.
:D
Almost done.
I hope you've had fun clicking.
And to finish it off, something like my Destructo Books.

A C C E P T E D

I got accepted to USM (University of Southern Mississippi!)

I'm going to major in Elementary Education and minor in Creative Writing.

I'm going to get a job and live in an apartment and eat at I Hop.

I'm going to college in F I V E M O N T H Z.

I could work at Forever 21. I could get D I S C O U N T Z.

I could make M O N E Y.

I'm freaking out.

I'm so excited.

O M G Z.

! ! ! ! ! !

:o

H O W have I blogged so much today?

This is unhealthy.

P U T Y O U R F E E T I N T H E S T I R R U P S A N D G O

(This girl thinks she's cool like Mony, but she is wrong.)

Last year when Granny told Mony that she couldn't wear those "Damn stirrup pants" any more I was in shock. It was Christmas. Since then, I've seen more girls in them, more of them on sale in Wal Mart (which only means they've made it big in fancy stores already) and above all-- Miley Hannah Montana wore them.

I wish people would just stop and realize, Mony knows everything. We should all just be her. Accept what she does and move on.

I've been wanting to dress like her for years.

Thank you Forever 21.

Book Making

I was going to do my destructo books for my senior show, but it caught on too fast (as most things I do seem to do) and is no longer an Ashlyn-Thing. So, I don't think it's original or cool anymore.

So, I'll come up with a new Top Secret project. :)
And it will be A W E S O M E!

Take that copy catz!

It's a treat.

As Tall As Lions

Lyrics to Love, Love, Love (Love, Love) :
Have I
ever told you before
I think you're beautiful when
you're sleeping?
I have faith you watch me in
my slumber, too.
If I'm
all that you're looking for,
tell me,
why is there a river streaming
down your face?
Sometimes makes me wonder
all about your
love.

After some time
it's something i find true. Love's
not a grave, it won't decay
on you.
Too many days I was afraid
of love.

What
if nothing is just that and
suffering's the only thing we're good
at?
Dreamning, picture that
a whole world in a slumber.
But don't get
too attatched to the living,
even every single memory's
fleeting.
That's a fact, being torn
asunder.
But to my suprise, no reason
why, one day i woke
up and realized.

Give it to me,
love. I'll keep you in my focus
with love and affection

Jason really is the only pillow worth having.

My sharpie doesn't bleed through my paper!

S O F O R S O M E R E A S O N E V E R Y O N E I S L O S I N G T H E I R M I N D A N D A L L T H E I R S C R U P L E S.

There are all these new rules in the SLC, which makes the students mad--who tell the administration that they are mad, who in turn get offended, which also offends the students, meanwhile offending the teachers (* in this case the word "offend" can be replaced with the words "pisses/pissed off" or "loses their Jesus fearing minds.") These occurrences lead to a campus in uproar. A division of the classes. A division of the ages, the disciplines, the sexes. A disagreement of Old and New Testaments.

My only solution is to continue on my non-rule-breaking path, to continue on my non-confrontational path, to continue to countdown the days until graduation in Seuss-like rhyme and colors.

To try my hardest to work in an environment of hate and turmoil and constant aggravation. To know that there are 88 days left.

To write. To write. To write.

C O U N T D O W N S

1
0
0
days until graduation
--
There once was a sack full of days
filled with songs and stories and plays
one hundred had gone
and before long
there were few, to some students' dismays--

but to the students who cheer
the good news is finally here
it's a pleasure of mine
to say ninety-nine
days are left of our great senior year.
--
I will not be able to count tomorrow, or over the weekend due to lack of internet at home:
tomorrow (my birthday) 98 days until graduation
and saturday--97
and sunday--96
Yay for snow and under 100 days until graduation!
--
I'm watching students,
I see all the days falling--
ninety-five to go.
--
I'm counting down,
I'm taking score--
from 95
to 94.

The days are few,
the days aren't many--
it won't be long
till there aren't any!
--
Cat Nappin' at Cat School
For Grace

The cat's on the couches
in a fort of bags and coats--
hungry like a wolf
sleepy like his mother always was.

Claws deep in the cushion
back stretched straight to China--
a dark brown spot on his yellow back: 93.

And we'll miss him when he's gone,
miss seeing his sleepy face--
92, sleeping under him, will have to
take his place.
--
"Echoes"

We spend our days dressing hours for plays,

painting minutes like splatter paint,

writing seconds like ballads,

and dancing to the bells that punctuate our days--

singing moments into corners

of the oldest Johnson halls,

but--

in 92 days we'll miss them all.
--
HOT DOG!

pickle, mustard, hot dog bun
91 days, yum yum yum.
--
Most Important Meal
There are 88 days left here, folks-
scrambled, boiled, runny yolks.

88 breakfasts, 88 eggs-
fast moving feet and quick running legs.

F A U L T

It's not our fault that we can't follow all the rules they didn't write on our foreheads.

B U M P I T Z

So, I've had a writer's callus as long as I can remember. Since about third grade there has been a very noticeable hill on my middle finger. I used to be very self conscious of it, thinking it looked gross (which I've accepted.)
It wasn't until recently, in dealing with my great-grandmother (Mony's) dementia, that I decided having this hill was to my advantage. Mony's memory and understanding is steadily decreasing and her grasp of time is slipping away faster than butter across a frying pan. But, as scary as that is for me and the rest of my family right now, it's helped me be thankful for all I have now. My youth, my writing, my family, my writer's callus--it's helped me to realize what we live for. The reasons we do things and how much they will eventually matter. Mony relives every moment of her life. She is only who she used to be. And I think she's okay with that, I think it makes her happy. Because she was a good person, because she took chances and did what it took to be happy. Because in her own way, Mony had a writer's callus, a hill on her finger that was her cooking and her children and her Bingo nights and her husband--and even though it's sad that she doesn't realize that's not the time it is now, or that she's slipping away, even though it's hard to look at, it's who she is.
I know that I could have dementia, I could lose my mind, my marbles, like a kids thumb plucking them outside a big circle--nothing is permanent. But as long as I have this callus. As long as all the memories and moments I care about are built up inside this hill, I'll be happy with myself. I'm finally as a point in my life where I'm happy with all of my decisions. All of who I am.
And I know there are Mony stories inside that callus. And one day she may not know me. Or herself. But I can run her finger across mine, like braille, and maybe she'll remember. Maybe she'll know me then. Because sometimes I think there's more of her in that callus than me, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

Because my parents got married in Mony's kitchen

When I think about my parents getting married in your kitchen I think about it differently than I used to. Now, I think Mom looked like a princess. And that maybe she did it all right. When me there to see you smiling at her. With Alyssa warm, somewhere she couldn't be the loud and annoying sister I fight with, but the quiet and beautiful one that I love. Mom was in a maternity dress that proved she was a mother, and found a husband as strong as a cowboy, young enough to believe in fairy tales.

Train Graffiti

If I knew how to paint her I'd cover all the buildings with murals. When trains went by people would see her running down the tracks. They'd see her face but it would be me, chasing after who she used to be--going farther and farther back. Crying us into a river, paddling across the tracks, eventually. Ending up nowhere, with nothing left but each other. Her perfect white hair would be covered in soot. And she would take me into her arms until I pressed deep inside of her, and the people in their cars waiting to cross the tracks wondering how a train could take so long to pass will have watched our whole lives. Then, as the last train-car went by, there would only be one of us--soaking wet, and smiling.

The way it used to be

I'd reach in the refrigerator, taller than me and as tall as you, in the very back, so that I'd have to get on my tiptoes to reach. I remember being too young for glass cups, but sometimes you would pour my tea in them and I would think I was special--as if you were saying, "Look how grown up you are, I know you won't drop it." I was holding your life and my life in that glass, then. But when I was making it myself, when you weren't there to reassure me, I would pour my tea in plastic Mardi Gras cups, just to be safe.

How much is Prom? = Can you assemble a bomb?

I really love this dress I found on Etsy. It's beautiful.

But more than pretty dresses, I'm worried about prom not S U C K I N G.

Which for the most part means that I have to do my part to make sure the music does not promote the slitting of ones' wrists. Our class decided that, in order to save money, we should just make a Playlist.com playlist and all contribute ideas as to what should be on it.

Here is my "I really hope prom does not suck" playlist:

• The Thong Song--Sisqo




• My Humps--Black eyed peas




• A-Punk--Vampire weekend




• Crimewave--Crystal Castles




• Helicopter--Bloc Party




• I will follow you into the dark--death cab for cutie




• Dawn of the dead--does it offend you, yeah?




• Blue--Eiffel 65




• My name is--Eminem




• Milk--Kings of Leon




• Prom Queen--Lil Wayne




• Free Bird--(yes) Lynard Skynard




• Here (in your arms)--Hellogoodbye




• First day of my life--Bright eyes




• Sexy Back--Justin Timberlake




• Somebody Told me--The killers




• Circus--Britney Spears




• Speechless, Bad Romance, Just Dance, Monster, Teeth...--everything by Lady GaGa




• Falling in love at a coffee shop--Landon Pigg




• Electric Feel--MGMT




• We are Golden--Mika




• Loser--Beck




• Man eater--Nelly Furtado




• Sleepyhead--Passion Pit




• Dirty--Christina Aguilara




• Peaches--Presidents of the United States of America




• Gold and a Pager--Cool Kids




• Hot in here--nelly




• That Vitamin C song.

L E T S H O P E F O R T H E B E S T

E P I C F O O D F I G H T

So I'm eating in the cafeteria today.

--

For the first time in T H R E E W E E K S. Since I email-battled her and said that I didn't like anything and wasn't going to eat in the cafeteria anymore. I'm just running low and foods and funds and I'm hungry. So, I'm just going to go get a hot dog.

--

I just really don't like that it had to come to this. I mean, you are a lunch lady. You are required to make bad food. I am required to complain. I won the battle. Accept it. Now I'm just hungry. Please don't shoot me.

L A Y E R S

B L O G G E R I S U N B L O C K E D

Which is great, because I was really missing out on some valuable blogging and free writing.

Oh blogger, how I've missed you. I K E P T T H I N K I N G of great things to blog, but then I couldn't. Which was really disappointing.

Things that have been going on:

• the literary magazine



• getting ready for college



• -scholarships



• -begging for my acceptance letters



• -trying to decipher fafsa



• -crying



• missing Jason more and more as the weeks progress



• counting down the days until graduation (100 today)



• coming to the realization that I'll be a grumpy old lady



• accepting it because Jason will be a grumpy old man



• laughing at the thought of us hating everyone together



• bashing my peers with the few faculty I have come to love



• smiling at the progress I've made in my two years at MSA



• falling in love with the way words fall on paper

--

M Y I P O D C R A S H E D I N T H E M O S T B E A U T I F U L W A Y

The people that were there for me last year, when I got my iPod, the ones that filled it with music--they aren't there anymore. Specificly one. And, losing all that music made me think:

1. I could be ok



2. I could lose people and still be okay



3. I didn't really like the music they listened to



4. I love Kings of Leon and Passion Pit



5. My life needs a soundtrack

--
I lost so much, but now the people I'm around, the ones that refilled my iPod--they mean the most to me.
--

But, at the same time I know I could lose them all and make it.
--

Time doesn't heal. You're never H E A L I N G when that time passes. You get to know who you are when no one is around. You come to love yourself for all the bad. I hate who I was before. And I'm shaking and I'm starting over and I'm watching the layers fall back and I'm realizing that I love myself. That I can love myself.

--
So maybe I can't lose these people.

--
Maybe they mean more to me than those people could.

--
I love these people because they are a part of who I am.
--

Which would make it impossible to lose them.

--
Because, in the end, I don't think I could ever lose myself.