Alison

I'm feeling thankful. Someone really important to me almost died. And the truth is, as I whispered in her ear that she needed to come back, I knew that she could never recognize my voice.

How can you beg someone back to you if you were never really in her life?

We're not completely out of danger, but things are quickly improving.

I'm so selfish with my time. And as I type this I realize that I am galloping off to Ireland in less than two weeks.

I live so much in ideas and words that exist only in my head or on the page. What a lonely life this writer bullshit sometimes is.

In any case, Alison, I do love you.

Visiting the Grandparents

Moonshine is always Grandpa's special little treat to share with me when I drive to Woodsfield, Ohio to visit him. Grandma is not much for the moonshine. She says it makes her loop legged. Grandpa buys a gallon each year when he visits his relatives in Carolina.
Grandpa loves old cars like this 1975 Cordoba. Though he allowed me to drive the 72 Cadillac, I have not yet conned him into allowing me the privilege of driving the Cordoba.
Grandma just may be the sweetest thing in Ohio. She cooks wonderful Southern meals and says funny things like, "This kitchen ain't big enough to cuss a cat."

Getting Ready

I emptied my backpack today. I use it to store random things throughout the year, but in about three weeks I will be packing it for my summer.

My goal is to keep it under 30 lbs. That means I can pack about two pairs of jeans, a sweatshirt, a dress, five shirts, some underwear, some socks, hiking shoes, a bed-sheet, a towel, some basic toiletries, and a few books. And of course... a notebook and flash drive. I love to read books and then leave them in places. I always imagine who will pick them up. I left Camus in Belfast once.

My friend Kelli and I will have a rental car for the first two weeks so technically we won't be truly backpacking. We will be staying in a hostel or two but I imagine we will mostly stay in bed & breakfast style set-ups.

The real deal backpacking will begin on June 27 when I say goodbye to Kelli and the rental car. She will fly home and I will be on my own. Though I am looking forward to those first two weeks with Kelli, driving stick shift on the left side of the road, I am just as excited to be alone with my backpack. There is nothing like a backpack full of dirty clothes and public transportation. I will take Bus Eireann from Dublin to Doolin; I am definitely a West Coast girl when it comes to Ireland.

Right now I am listening to Radiohead and thinking about what Ireland may have in store for me this time. Each time I go there, it is harder for me to leave. Once I even brought someone home with me. I have promised my family and friends that I will not do that again. Some things need to stay in summer.

I have some pretty cool things going on here in Ohio right now; things that make me feel torn.

But not torn enough to make me stay, just torn enough to know I still have at least one good year left in Ohio.

After that, who knows. Ireland is much like a first love that I never quite get over and honestly, Telemachus would look quite adorable rolling around the hills of County Clare, his mother resting on a blanket nearby, pen in mouth, soul dew covered and happy.

It was a normal day...

...until I discovered that a new lady moved in my complex and she has a pug named Bruce. When she asked the name of my pug, I hesitated. It's such a big mess to say "Telemachus." People never say, "That's cute." They say, "What the hell does that mean? Why would you name a dog that? Do you actually call him that?" Anyway, I wanted to make up a new name for Telemachus. I want Bruce to like him and all. Telemachus doesn't have many pug friends. I almost said, "Fred" or "David," but I couldn't lie. Only time will tell if Bruce is allowed to be friends with a hooligan named Telemachus.

When I returned home and checked my email, I found out that New York Quarterly is taking a poem of mine. That has always been a dream magazine of mine. I'm so happy that I don't even care if my neighbors think I'm strange. I mean, who names their dog Bruce, right?

Wilde times after the MFA

Congrats to Frank on his good publication news as well as successfully making it through his first year of grad school.

I have been completely done with grad school for 26 hours and I am already catching up on little errands. I took Telemachus to the vet today for a check up and it cost me $140. What a rip off and I can't even retell the events of the vet visit. Let's just say that I should have named Telemachus something like Ron Jeremy and that even though he is my little prince, my next dog will be a girl.

I started reading The Picture of Dorian Gray today. It is a book I should have read years ago. I feel like every three paragraphs I am stumbling onto a huge idea that I need to write down, like, The only artists I have ever known who are delightful are bad artists. Good artists exist simply in what they make, and consequentially are perfectly uninteresting in what they are.


There is a gorgeous statue of Oscar Wilde in Merrion Square. Five weeks from today I will be in that very city of Dublin, perhaps perched on the grass, book in hand, Oscar looking down at me.

Lazy Sunday