In Which I Fail at Everything

the mouse that roared — Sun, 19 Jul 2009 21:25:30 +0400

So I'm in a foreign language intensive this summer, taking scads and scads of elementary Hindi. All of my Hindi-class friends have left for the weekend, so I'm a bit at loose ends. Saturday night I go over to my distant cousin's house for dinner with his family. A cute family night on the whole. I get back to my coop and there are people on the porch. My next door neighbor--Dalia--has invited some of her friends over. There's a guy sitting on a couch on the other end of the porch who launches into a graphic story about masturbation.

to the source of my drama for the semester

the mouse that roared — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 09:49:14 +0400

I think I shouldn't miss you, given how you treated me, given how you tried so hard not to miss me, that you can't even admit you were attached--and maybe have extricated yourself as quickly... It's not worth it to miss you. When will you change? Do I even respect myself?

In college, you, too, could fall for an alcoholic nun!

the mouse that roared — Sat, 18 Apr 2009 17:12:42 +0400

Her: drinks every night, drunk a couple times a week. The walls are thin in her dorm (I don't have a single) and her next-door neighbor goes to sleep at 10 and yells at us for singing Closer to Fine after hours. She makes her home in the mountains of Kashmir, India, in a Buddhist nunnery, where it is -50 degrees Farenheit during the winter, and the roads are closed seven months of the year. (Although of course you could risk your life fording the frozen river in the winter.) During the summer, it's only a four-day hike up to 12,000 feet from base camp, and a week's acclimation time.

For those virgins out there, how old are you?

the mouse that roared — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 05:18:17 +0300

* under 13 * 13-14 * 15-16 * 17-18 * 19+

god why don't i just drop out

the mouse that roared — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 22:10:22 +0300

Background: So I decided to see what would happen if I stopped calling my best friend of fifteen years. He never called me back. He was sick and dying for many of those years and our friendship, and now that he's better and I moved to college (only two hours away) he doesn't have time for me.

Jaundice--I'd love some feedback, it's for a writing class

the mouse that roared — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 20:13:44 +0300

Death comes at you when you least expect it, flies in your face like a baseball in gym class, you looking the other way like always. Death settles in fast in the bottom of the bottomless pit that is your gut, settles and sits like cement, waiting, waiting, to dry.

Lost. I really could use some insight.

the mouse that roared — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 08:13:11 +0400

I am lost and I don't know what to do. My life, if it ever was together, is falling apart. I lost my best friend of fifteen years because he's obsessed with his girlfriend and can't be bothered to keep in touch. I'm trying to move on from the horrors of my first-year drama and friends, but it's hard to make new friends all at once and I'm shy about getting close to people.

The ex, again.

the mouse that roared — Mon, 05 May 2008 00:40:48 +0400

My ex-girlfriend walked into the dining hall this morning, walked into brunch with a girl at her side.

Her one and only best friend is in Mongolia, so it's not like this girl is a friend. As far as I can tell.

Running Away

the mouse that roared — Thu, 17 Apr 2008 04:09:55 +0400

I think I'm gonna leave college, go take time off. This year has ended on such a shit note with such few real friends, and the rest of the year wasn't really bubbly. It's not like I've found a girlfriend that's normal, no, I've only maybe had three crushes since I've been here, and maybe one of those could have turned to love.

college and its myth of sparkling intellectualism: my miserable disillusionment

the mouse that roared — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 08:29:39 +0400

I thought college would be a bastion of spirited intellectualism, that there would be so many more people like me, that I would love my classes. There would be vibrant lectures and debates, I would think deeply about hard issues every day, I would go to art shows and concerts and plays, I would play music, write music, sing music, become a poet.

Oy. Down the confusion road again.

the mouse that roared — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 06:57:21 +0300

So I know I like women. Some women. Haven't met one right one yet, or anything. I don't even like stereotypical beauty, but I have liked women for a long, long time.

Ironing

the mouse that roared — Sun, 02 Mar 2008 03:50:44 +0300

I said goodbye in a gaze thirty-seven degrees away from your eyes on my sockets;
In short words in short sentences:
“We’ll chill, it’ll be cool.”
(my hands dove in my pockets as if it were your cheekbones they were holding)
words full of curdled nectar, fermentation of old pumping blood.

You ironed on a smile that
Saw in my lips those vines you wound about my heart.

A lesson in not hooking up with best friends

the mouse that roared — Fri, 22 Feb 2008 00:43:16 +0300

So we had the day off of classes yesterday. And my friends and I decided it would be a good idea to get crazy drunk the night before. One girl--Diamond, we'll call her--procured some delicious rum from the Bahamas (from a previous hookup in her dorm), and four queer, single girls proceeded to down an inordinate amount of generously measured shots.

Binding--please read

the mouse that roared — Mon, 11 Feb 2008 20:08:23 +0300

I wrote this for my poetry class (it's supposed to be a prose outpouring on a body part). What do you all think?

Plain Clothes

the mouse that roared — Wed, 02 Jan 2008 03:42:00 +0300

I long for intensity
the way I ache
for sex.

One in my heart, squeezed in a juicer and
left to sit,

One in my gut, gobs of clay longing wrapped
to my ribs and
opening my lips
chapped with kissing.

And my refusal to love ordinary isn't snobbery,
it's simmering stronger than tea, than tomato soup,
heavier than the buzz of alcohol.