i might be nocturnal.

i got absolutely nothing productive done today. i laid in bed. and now i'm wide awake and it's one in the morning.

good job, jessie.

i'm not that remorseful about it, to be honest - i've always been one to do the least i can and still get away with it. which i suppose makes today a very successful day, if you change the camera angle. perhaps i'll upload all the photos i've been meaning to, and then read.

yep.

come on get higher

i haven't done the two-a-day post thing in quite awhile. i actually don't think this blog has seen it yet, come to think of it.

well. the reason i'm posting twice is that i desperately want to listen to the rest of this album, and i absolutely cannot justify spending anymore time on facebook, and no one is online. so. here i am; i will not promise anything of consequence, since i'm essentially just killing time. not that most of my posts are anything of consequence, but you know.

come on get higher
loosen my lips
faith and desire
and the swing of your hips
pull me down hard
and drown me in love

i'm so full. it's the kind of full that makes you curl up in a ball on the wrong end of your bed and just listen for awhile. i don't know if that happens to any of you, but it's terriblewonderful; my all-or-nothing emotions have flicked the switch to "all," it seems.

just push me 'til i have to fly
i've shed my skin, my scars
take me deep out past the lights
where nothing dims these stars
nothing dims these stars

i think i'm officially in love with matt nathanson. and when i say "in love with" i mean to say that some mad hope, in general, makes me close my eyes, lean my head back and just glow. especially come on get higher. i haven't had one of those in awhile.

side note: hob nobs are delicious (oatmeal digestives - which are cookies - dipped in milk chocolate. hello.). i'm going to be in chocolate hell when i get back to the states. people heaven and chocolate hell.

i kept falling over
i kept looking backward
i went broke believing
that the simple should be hard

all we are we are
all we are we are
and every day is a start of something beautiful

see? love. there's been such a build up of little things. little things like spontaneous conversation and new people and new music and old friends and newer dear friends and family. and presence. he's just here, with me, and i can't forget it because he keeps giving me these little presents. i'm so overwhelmed and grateful and captivated, i think. it makes me want to just love someone. i forget that he means for it to make me want to love all of my someones; i'm afraid my heart tends to be fairly one track. it's actually very useful at times, i just have to remember to give it (ever-changing) direction. you know, focus it on whomever i'm with at the time.

mm.

on and on, to the beat of our noisy hearts

i think i'm just going to sit for a bit and listen. i've squeezed enough nothing out that if i were to try anymore it would just get . . . ridiculous. for lack of a better word, and there is one.

[matt nathanson: come on get higher/car crash/all we are/to the beat of our noisy hearts]

singing in the rain

"hey, this is jessie"
"hey baby."
"how are you?"
"i'm wonderful, how are you?"
"i'm doing really well"
"when do we get to see your lovely face?"
"i'll be back in time for christmas"
(he sings) "i'll be home for christmas"
(i join him) "you can count on me"
"i'll go get jonlyn - she'll be so glad to talk to you"
"thank you"
"love you"
"love you too"
"by the way, you look beautiful today."

oh. oh how i miss papa linville. there is no one like him, i don't think. it just takes me there - with the green trim and twisted branches and the creaky wooden floor and sink-in couches. the windy roads and the sound of gravel under the tires. driving, even. i miss lucy.

*sigh*

i went and played piano for a long time yesterday night - i realized that i shouldn't play piano when i don't want to feel. although, anytime i resist feeling i'm always glad i did in the end, you know.

i . . . well, yesterday and today have been god-date days.

i'm going to go read for a bit, i think.

oh the people you'll meet

we watched 8 1/2 today in film studies. maggie hated it, steven slept through it, and i think i really liked it. here's a thought-provoking piece of it:

[to set this up in the most simple, and therefore incomplete (although sufficient for my purposes), way, guido is a director who is presenting his idea of a film to the potential lead actress - claudia]

claudia: i don't understand. he meets a girls that can give him a new life and he pushes her away?
guido: because he no longer believes in it.
claudia: because he doesn't know how to love.
guido: because it isn't true that a woman can change a man.
claudia: because he doesn't know how to love.
guido: and above all because i don't feel like telling another pile of lies.
claudia: because he doesn't know how to love.

so here's the question it begs of me: doesn't everyone know how to love? are there people in the world who do not, in fact, know how to love? and if there are, is it because they simply don't possess the ability or is it because they can't be bothered to extract it from themselves?

it's all the same question really - nature vs. nurture, predestination vs. free will, practical love vs. romanced love. it's a struggle between emotions and logic, science and the arts.

and what is the answer, dear friends?

both. and neither. which is why i love it so much (and why quotes like that grab my attention so easily and completely) - there is so much to discover in the discussion of an idea that has no solution.

anyway. i have a story to tell you.

"that's the most important part of travel, isn't it, the people. i think that's really what travel is, to be honest - it's nice to see beautiful scenery and wonderful things, but it's really the people you learn from."

* * *

i was staring out the window daydreaming as usual and on my way to london to meet my parents for the weekend, when i found the seat next to me had become occupied by another passenger. she was an older woman, maybe in her 60s, with glasses so thick they distorted my view of her eyes. she was wearing a pink sweater with a black broach, and her hair looked like cinnamon sugar and fell to her shoulders; it was styled in loose waves set in place with hairspray. she emanated comfort. everything about her was worn in, but she was bright and vivid for it. her open presence was that of authenticity, not brokenness, and i was content to sit with her. suddenly, a loud beeping startled both of us from our thoughts.

"oh my," i chuckled.

"what's that, a fire?" she responded.

"something, anyway." with the silence broken, she began:

"when the train came in, we all thought it would be at that platform over there, but when it got here we had to run across to the other one! i just think about the elderly and disabled trying to hurry so quickly!"

"i saw everyone rushing - i wondered what was going on."

"now, with an accent like that you're not from this country are you?"

"no, i'm from america - i'm here for a term at lancaster university"

"ah, lancaster. my grandson graduated from lancaster - the styx!"

(i laugh)

"yeah - it's definitely the countryside; it's been really nice so far."

and thus our conversation grew and changed in the most normal and easy of ways. we talked about the future and how plans are limiting, we talked about her goddaughter who she was traveling to reconnect with after 30 years:

"they asked me to be her godmother and i agreed, but i warned them that i'd be terrible at it - i'm an atheist, you know. do you have godparents?"

"no, i know people who've got them, but i don't"

"well, they make you vow to sure they go to church and everything, and i just crossed my fingers behind my back the whole time!"

we also talked about suvs, the temptations of convenience, the nature of teenagers, the nature of growing and learning and conflict, and she shared that she's worried about becoming one of those older women who lives in the past and frets over how the world's changed since she was a young girl.

as we came up to crewe, she bid me farewell and then waved to me through the window as she walked away as if we were old friends, and i couldn't help but think to myself that this world is a place full of wonder. how can you not think so, after such a simple, beautiful conversation? it wasn't remarkable, it wasn't pronounced, it was just a gift. a little, unnecessary (and therefore all the more valuable) gift.

* * *

i feel like i have so much to tell - and it's the kind of so much that ends up turning into nothing because it would take so long to communicate. i think that's why i've been so quiet lately. there's just too much of me in here. i need to start giving it to people.

tricky thing, investment.

mm. i'm back. (thank you).

she takes a bow

apparently my assessment of my condition yesterday was a little melodramatic - nothing (even remotely) close to mono for this chica. in fact, today i feel quite wonderful. and not even 24 hours ago i was convinced i was dying. perhaps i'm crazy.

i've got michael buble radio on. yes, i do realize that makes me about 60 years old, but if you didn't know i was an old woman in a girl's body already it's time you found out . . . i crochet, for crying out loud.

let me just say that i will be forever grateful to whomever invented washers and dryers - i don't use them here because they're expensive, so i hand wash everything. which is not unpleasant, necessarily, it just takes a long time and makes your hands a bit raw. that's what i've been doing all day - listening to the soundtrack of hairspray and washing clothes in my sink. i can practically hear my drying rack complaining for the piles of clothes i've heaped onto it. but. i will have a full wardrobe again! i've been living off half of one for . . . a month, at least, because i'm lazy.


i think i might go see paris, je t'aime tonight - it's showing at the cinema on campus. i haven't been to a movie by myself in quite a long time. i actually can't think of a time i've been by myself; i usually either take tim or mom when i'm at home, and i just don't go to movies at school. it's time i start, i think.

wait. michael buble singing "can't buy me love"? mmph. no. now i'm in the mood for some beatles.

that's better.

and anytime you feel the pain, hey, jude, refrain
don't carry the world upon your shoulders
well don't you know that it's a fool who plays it cool
by making his world a little colder

i'm going to london tomorrow to spend the weekend with the fam, which i'm anticipating enough to make me quite tunnel-visioned about it. any other thoughts are (comparatively small) blips on the radar, right now, so i'm going to leave you to your own devices : ).

cheers.

sticky throat syndrome

it's times like these i wish we could just be recorded already. i want to hear jenn's voice singing jenn's song coming from somewhere other than my head, please. especially now that i know she's finished it. this year seems to be the year for that - finishing songs we've been working on forever. both jenn and i have completed our perpetually unfinisheds. i suppose it has been a year of coming full circle for both of us, in a lot of ways.

mmph. for candlelight and loved-on keys.

alright. i know this is not important, but there is no cursor on my screen as i'm typing this and it's about to drive me up the wall. i can't tell where i am when i stop typing.

oh glory! i have my cursor back. now i can communicate again.

i suppose i should catch y'all up on the past couple of days, yeah? i'm going to go get some food first. the problem with sleeping all day is that you don't eat. but i'll get to the sleeping part later.

tuesday was relatively remarkable, if just for the fact that we watched a film called broken flowers in film studies. it's a jim jarmush film, and bill murray plays a don juan-type character. at the beginning of the film, he receives a letter that makes him embark on a quest to find a potential son, and it's one of those films where the details just fit together, you know? which is simply an indication of it's categorization as an independent film, i've learned, but the wonder of indie films is a relatively new discovery for me, so let me marvel a bit. i just really enjoy things that present a connection between the title and the film that the viewer has to figure out for themselves. really, though, i just like good, meaningful titles.

obviously . . .

*she smirks*

speaking of titles (what a lovely, effortless transition! and i didn't even plan it that way), wednesday (yesterday - oh my.), hannah and i went to liverpool. we got there pretty early and went straight to the beatles' story, which is this underground museum dedicated to the beatles.

it was amazing. i bought a t-shirt.

just imagine walking through pictures of and stories about the beatles while listening to their music. so good. so cool. made me question my abilities as a musician, but that's a normal occurence in the face of such talent, i think. i'm getting to how this relates to titles, give me a second. after that, we walked along the pier to the tate.

modern art museum.

in liverpool, one of the artsy-ist cities in england.

*hallelujah*

it was so wonderful. hannah and i both were enthralled the whole time - it took us two hours to make it through three (fairly sparsely occupied) floors, so we will have to go back for the fourth another day. we also need to go back so that we can find penny lane, since we ran out of time.

i think my computer is retarded. maybe i gave it a virus.

i almost forgot to tell you about the titles! that would have been . . . anticlimactic of me. not that it's much of a climax. anyway - i was thoroughly unimpressed with the titles in the tate. which is disappointing, isn't it, because i always esteem artists to be creative and philosophical and i feel that those things should lead to good titles. i'm not claiming that the artists on display were not creative or philosophical by any means, i'm just saying they didn't offer good titles, like i think they should have. there were some good ones, but most of them were something to the effect of "woman bathing." great, i can see that for myself. but what does it mean? you're supposed to suggest what it means via title, not reinforce what it is. personal opinion: i would rather you label it "untitled" than tell me what i'm examining in a literal sense.

so, slightly bothersome, but not on the level that it interfered with my experience.

let's move down the road-bump-continuum to things that are troublesome (which is past bothersome, but not nearly devastating). i went to bed at 10:00pm last night, woke up at 9:30 this morning, went to two hours of class, came back and slept from noon until 5:30. i've been awake for a couple of hours and i'm already exhausted again (i haven't moved from my bed, mind you, apart from goin to the toilet and getting food). i just feel so off kilter physically. mono has been listed as a possibility, but i'm resisting it mentally. hopefully that will transfer to my body and i'll be fine. i do wish things worked like that, don't you?

well. i should go, because i'm feeling a little out of it and i'm not sure i have as much conscious control over what i'm typing as i usually like to anymore.

have a lovely evening.

9-1, the introverts.

there was a period of time where i thought i'd finally evened out and become one of those half-n-halfs, in terms of the introvert/extrovert debate.

how silly of me.

i can count my loves on one hand. i am no extrovert.

as much as i love the idea of being hospitable, i'm afraid i'm only able to be truly hospitable if i've got my own space to which i can escape. although my ability to welcome will improve with different circumstances, i feel.

there's a verse in the debate of king milinda in which nagasena claims that knowledge and wisdom are the same (my buddhism seminar today, if you were wondering where that came from).

i'm sure they are not the same thing, but i am not sure what exactly they are that makes them different.

knowledge is concrete and specific and grounded. wisdom is a state of mind, as martin put it, which i like very much. you use knowledge to gain wisdom, but there are very knowledgeable people who are very removed from my conception of wisdom. i find myself assuming that wisdom is a practical awareness of the nature of humanity, while knowledge is made up of the facts that point one in that direction.

i think i also make the distinction that one is earthly and the other divine, but that's an instinctive separation that i'm not sure is accurate. in fact, i don't think it is at all. omniscience, anyone?

i'm exhausted. i've got a couple hours until lecture this evening, so i'm going to go nap.

but first! i must tell you about the bookstore in lancaster. it's a chain and it's not got loads of character, but it is distinctly european and does have a balcony-type second level. i love it, and i'm going to model my library after it. my hypothetical library, that is . . . anyway. katie jane and i explored it after we froze ourselves at the castle watching the sunset, and i bought wuthering heights (seeing as how it's made for me, according to hannah, and i've yet to read it) and the time traveller's wife (that one's for you, kim - i will have read it by february so we can discuss/revel in it together).

mm.

and good morning, baltimore

hannah, lauren and i got italian in town this evening and then danced out of the theatre after hairspray.

"we're like a couple; dinner and a movie?"

i would love to live in a musical. everything would be easy and put to catchy music.

but. since that's not a particularly reasonable life goal, i'll just download the soundtrack and daydream, as usual.

excuse me while i indulge myself . . . i'll come back to the real world in the morning.

love, actually

i think i shouldn't watch movies like that . . .

but it was so lovely, no pun intended. i haven't cried since i've been here, with the exception of seeing katie jane in london, so it was well due.

and it's finally decided to be blustery, the kind you can hear through your window, you know; i like it very much.

i think i'll sleep just fine tonight, even if i only gave myself a few hours before seminar. it was worth it, i feel.

"irthdays" and that conversation thing

the times i feel most connected and alive here are the times that make me wonder if i've become socially dependent on the party culture. what if my ability to make conversation is being reduced to yelling back and forth in a club? why is it that when someone comes into the kitchen, the most i can muster up to say is "how was your day?" and after the answer is given, i'm quiet?

now, i know i've never been the most amazing conversationalist, but still. i feel so inadequate, so crippled in this! and then she thinks, maybe it has to do with the fact that you have very few things in common with the people you're trying to talk to. coincidence? of course not. it takes effort to make conversation across (very diverse) personalities, especially when you're as far into yourself as i am some days, and lately it seems i just can't be bothered. which will turn into a pattern of behavior more than a bad couple of days, if i don't watch it.

i also haven't done any work lately, so once i've freed up that part of my mind i'll have more to give, i think.

i don't particularly want to go to CU tonight, but i think i need to (well, i know i need to, but the word "know" doesn't give me much room to get out of going, does it?), in keeping with the having-something-to-give theme.

we watched a film called slacker in film studies today that was very disjointed. it wasn't a very good story, first-hand, anyway - it was a picture of different stories that i could have explored mentally if i wanted to (and thus realized the stories being communicated), but again, i couldn't be bothered.

i should really remember to take my iron, i think.

other than my energy slump, things are well. i'm enjoying a blast from the past to the tune of gavin degraw, and i think i might actually get some work done today; i looked at my buddhism essay for a bit yesterday, and it's going to be really interesting to write. i'm comparing the concepts of suffering in buddhism and christianity and potentially islam, if i can find good information on it. well, if i have the time to find good information on it. which means, if i don't procrastinate. heh.

right then.

cheers.

a reflection on autumn

usually you think of the words "crisp" or "clean" to describe the cold air, yes? autumn is a crisp time of year, all the way around. i think what i love about fall is that it leans toward minimal. the trees empty their branches, the air empties itself of that squelchy warmth and everything is in transition. and transition breeds a rare form of almost-emptiness that is not bad, in itself. in fact, i think i've learned quite a lot from transition-emptiness, as far as truth goes. i think the thing about transition-emptiness is that there's a lot of room for possibility, obviously. and there are always hints of what's to come that filter through, but they never stay; you're not there yet, after all. it feels very healthy, when your center is elsewhere. or maybe it's healthy because it makes you find your center elsewhere. via a series of misplaced centers, albeit.

some devil is the most autumn album i've ever heard, i think. however. i'm listening to coldplay.

lights will guide you home
and ignite your bones

i read over my old blog last night. the highschool part, the angsty and searching for everything part. it was . . . good, to look. when good means:

revealing,
surprising,
humorous,
thought-provoking,
removed,
an avenue for gratitude, and a little healthy embarrassment for myself.

i hate that the word good is so big. and it's never used the right way. but i'm guilty of it, as well, so i suppose i shouldn't be complaining until i change my ways : )

i should start clarifying my "i'm doing well," with a "which means i'm in transition, and i'm comfortable there, because i feel like it's where i'm meant to be, so i'm pretty settled, anyway." i also don't have much to say, since transition isn't terribly full, as we've already discussed. could've fooled you with the amount of posts lately, eh?

ok. well. dinner is calling. or rather, the ingredients of what soon will be my dinner are calling.

i should say "tea," to be culturally correct.

i'm going to go make tea, then : )

tears for taylor mac

a one-man-(in)-drag-show. very minimalistic and very raw? but still very much a show, in that his personality is a showy one, as are most drag-queen's personalities, i would imagine.

just a guess.

i was more moved by the authenticity of feeling in this drag show than i have been by a sermon in quite a long time.

maybe it's the novelty - maybe the feeling seems more real because it's such a new angle. maybe i'm just jaded when it comes to church, which a real and distinct possibility.

maybe my expectations of church have muddled the experience for me. it certainly wouldn't be the first time my high expectations have led to cynicism.

anyway, i just feel like truth is much more internal than all of that. which means it's portable and not confined to a certain atmosphere.

to be fair - my heart moved in the same way while i was listening to the choir practice in manchester cathedral. i think that's what it is - my heart moves to beauty. taylor's a cappella the only thing to fear is fear itself with feeling in his eyes and coming out from behind the sequins and paint under the spotlight was beautiful because it was honest. the kind of honest that lingers in the air for a moment after it's communicated. like the sound of the choir.

i'm afraid of fear
i'm afraid of fearful people

[taylor mac]

church is too formulaic to be beautiful sometimes. it's too big not to be formulaic. which leads me to wonder, when did the idea of fellowship come to mean walking into a sea of people every sunday morning? how did we twist the idea of community to be more impersonal than staying in bed, alone?

i suppose that's what sunday school and bible studies are for - heck, it's what families are for - to be your community, with corporate worship being a gathering of the communities, ideally.

i should disclaim all of this and say that this is my personal opinion and a lot of this stems from my introverted-self's preferences. my heart's capacity for community is about 10 people big. if that, some days.

amos lee's voice sounds like a male version of norah jones's, i think. at least it does in night train.

i've been searching for a simple place
don't know if it exists

there's a sunrise out there calling my name
i can see her moving, i can see her moving

well at a certain time of night, now
i'll become one with the wind
where there isn't a beginning
and there is no end

[amos lee]

the entire day is gone, and i haven't done a single thing . . . except process a thought. that's valuable, right?

i'll take it. and try not to run : )