inspirational wasteland.

the majority of the time i spend in my room in the south wing of my wilson avenue abode i am sitting in a high-back wooden chair, facing west, at my 'desk,' collecting my thoughts and words as they buzz about, channeling them back to my chosen medium, with a backdrop gustav klimt tapestry and whichever itunes specialty i have been craving as accompaniment.

today, my thoughts turn less to the obscure, limitless realm of human experience, but more concretely, to the desk itself.

it, for one, is approximately... (helen? the measuring tape, please?)

(helen is my dress form, and thus the keeper of my measuring tape and whatever project i am pinning and sewing onto her.)

31.5 x 22 inches.

it's... quaint. and while my laptop claims its rightful stake in the matter, the residual surface is covered and layered in... well, in my life. which equally serves as my ever-evolving inspiration and my mind's tangible wasteland.




it's contents, with explanations offered:

vase of pens, pencils, paint brushes, and other such useful/less items- i think 2 of the pens work. there is also a souveneir pair of chopsticks, a silver glittery leaf that was a festive hair piece, and a $1 chip from caesar's palace, which one day i will bet recklessly on a game of roulette and never look back.

two coffee- stained articles, from new york magazine- among the sporadic postal gems sent to me from harrisonburg.

an antique jewelry box- contents formerly a long, cameo pendant necklace from a shop in town. which i will never divulge the name, in fear that people will realize she sells antique jewelry.

a day calendar- and because i do not like keeping track of days on paper, i flip through it casually. according to the date showing, there is still snow on the ground.

albums- the black keys, spoon, mgmt, modern and traditional tango mix.

a spool of tan thread.

two bottle caps- one birra moretti, one flying dog- the italian, from mi italiana, and the flying dog a single-bottle purchase, just because there was a bike on the label and i wanted to walk outside and open it using the bottle opener on my bike. (i did just that.)

two wine corks.

a stack of post-it's, awaiting their fate as meager attempts to collaborate the random sketches that make up my life.

my moleskin journal- for those sketches and words that require more staying power than a sticky note.

a set of christian lacroix stationary that i overpaid for, but justified as 'inspiration'- which i did actually use as such for a project.

a fabric swatch, the necessary color i had to use as a central aspect of my challenge garment for the fashion show.

my passport, sniffling, neglected. shamefully dusty.

numerous safety pins, straight pins, sewing needles, thumbtacks.

a glass of wine- because i am supposed to be working on my story on this weekend's wine festival, which so clearly requires a glass of tempranillo for inspiration (but seems to have alternatively inspired some haphazard blogging.)

folded up bib from the monument ave 10k.

crumbled napkin sketches- unintelligible souvenir collectibles from blacksburg nightlife's finest.

and lastly, a perpetually relentless clock and a pending deadline.

<3.

the thawing out period- a haiku.

i'm alive thank God
i'm alive, i'm inspired.
finally thawed out

word quota.

i feel like i wake up each day with this underlying word quota. not so much thoughtless words, but the ones that you think over, say in your head first, compose onto paper and then scratch through, rearrange, toss and start over again and again. for this, there is a quota. a creative word quota.

and thus, my pleasant agony of being a reporter for my university's newspaper. i love the excitement of being connected with so many students, the pride i see in someone's eyes when their life is featured in a story, the thrill of seeing my name under that story at least twice a week.

however, most days i'll have an idea that won't leave my head without a fight, and i'll race home to develop it with a combination of words in my own style, only to be left with a series of jumbled characters and twice as much backspacing. i sigh, and watch another day go by, postless.

for my ongoing list of words with obligatory priority, click here.

white flag.

i am now on the third day of an ongoing battle with the spiders in my basement.

these aren't just regular old creepy spiders, mind you, but some sort of heinous hybrid of cricket, spider, and the abominable snowman that can jump unimaginable heights and tend to survive on a diet of kittens and pure steel.

i haven't been able to do my laundry for three days now, and it just doesn't seem fair. i've tried screaming warnings down the steps, politely asking them to move along, and even bargaining with them by offering small bits of leftovers from the fridge.

the gatekeeper, among the largest and likely wisest, mocks me from the bottom of the steps, keeping constant vigil of their newfound territory. often he high-five's the lewis-and-clark of the group, the forefront of the expedition and consequent fertilizers of the now herd.

i've tried everything, but most of the time i end up somewhere in between slamming the door, giving up while scoffing a 'FINE, you win!' or the much more subtle reaction of running back up the stairs screaming, throwing the majority of my clothing items in the recycle bin for fear of infestation, and doing that dance where you hop around a lot and wipe off every surface of your pants, shaking out your hair and shimmying your shoulders.

i've tried wearing my darkest sunglasses, so then they just appear to be greasy stains on the cement, which works until they launch themselves 50 ft in the air, fangs out, claws sharp, hungry for young collegiate brunettes.

i've considered bringing along my hairspray, immobilizing the mutant legs of the beasts just long enough for me to throw a load in... after testing the range of my pantene weapon i realized that by the time i was close enough to spray, they'd be dragging me into the depths of their den, feeding me piece-by-piece to the queen arachnamonster.

and so, i've given up. for the third night in a row i will sleep on a bed with no sheets. tomorrow i will revisit my beloved laundromat, and also draft a formal letter requesting the beasts pay for part of our rent, waiting to deliver the request upon the purchase of a hazmat suit.

lucille.

still the reigning king of blues.

inside all of us is a wild thing...

oui, oui!

oui, oui! Parisian leaves!

i just shuddered, realizing september is about to pass me by without one new blog post. that, or it was just the fact that somehow, once again, it seems that blacksburg has so graciously skipped right over fall and brought us straight into winter. or so it seems. let's just hope this cold front passes and welcomes us into the season of apple-picking and fall festivals, rainy football victories, bouquets or freshly sharpened pencils, and brown over-the-knee boots.

a friend told me today "fall just makes me feel so collegiate. i don't know. it's exciting." and i agreed, 100%, here in my last fall of being a college student. i'm celebrating with a glass of wine and an exam study guide in front of me... so i will leave only this, for now:

my first full story published in the collegiate times. check it out.