but nothing drear can move me
Something new to think about (tagged by the Dok):
“If you were left alone on a deserted island, which celebrity would you choose to spend the time with?”
Oh the possibilities! While my sister (sticking closely to the notion that the celebrity should be both single and straight) has carefully chosen Bruce Willis for an island-mate, I’m not so sure.
While I’ve never been a Priscilla Presley fan (at all!), I have always felt a good deal of sympathy for Lisa Marie. To lose one’s father so young, and after losing one’s family . . . and in the public spotlight. Having to watch your father disintegrate before your eyes and then watch as your mother attempted to reanimate his memory for business reasons. That can’t be healthy.
In between repainting the bedroom, I’ve been watching Fox’s So You Think You Can Dance. Why? Aside from my secret love of dancing, I like the show’s general creativity and overall gentleness (keeping in mind it is, ostensibly, a competition). A competition with heart? Who’d believe it? Strangely, I do. I like the fact that the judges are both frank and respectful (by and large), I like the fact that the contestants seem to respect each other, and I like the fact that both of the aforementioned seems to be encouraged by the show.
And it’s almost over for this year. Alas. How will I get my weekly dance fix? Perhaps I should take some classes instead of pretending to waltz around the livingroom with a cat.
Okay. Now back to my usual cynical self.
They’ve been separated a week when the phone rings. She doesn’t really want to pick it up, but her sister is there and answers for her. There are a few muffled words. Her sister puts the receiver down on the table, carefully, and returns to the livingroom.
When you don’t have anything to write about (word-drained) might as well do a meme (found via Dok).
ARE YOU:
1. A Cuddler? Not as a general rule. But with someone I trust? Sure. This reminds me of a scene from Veronica Mars where her ex-boyfriend says to her (after a night with her new boyfriend) “if cuddling was the best part, he didn’t do it right.”
2. A morning person? Not particularly. I’m not too bad in the morning, but I don’t really get going until nighttime.
3. Are you a perfectionist? With myself? Probably. With others? Not really.
4. An only child? No.
5. Catholic? No. Radical protestant.
6. In your pajamas? Definitely. The most comfortable clothes I own.
7. Currently suffering from a broken heart? Yes. Always. I miss my mother.
8. Okay styling other people’s hair? Ugh. Touching other people’s hair? Gross.
9. Left handed? A little.
10. Addicted to MySpace? For the love of all that’s holy.
11. Shy around the opposite gender? Not at all. More comfortable around the opposite gender. My gender makes me nervous with all the makeup and high heels.
12. Loud? What?
What does your name mean? Ladypirate means I am/wish/could be/have been a pirate of the specifically female gender. I.e. ravishing the high seas (or, more accurately, the attendant winds thereof) with the sales of my imaginary ship; enjoying the singing of songs that begin with (or include) the words ‘yo ho’; marauding other ships I may or may not approve of.
How old are you? I could just assume a state of general denial and plead insomnia. Oh, wait. I mean amnesia. Same dif.
The poetry project centres around mothers, specifically my own mother or, alternatively, female literary influences. Since the project is creative in nature, the details will morph as needed.
I find it’s been an intense bit of work thinking about my mother and then translating those thoughts and memories into verse. I don’t feel like I’m giving voice to my mother, or appropriating her voice, but actually just airing my own impressions of our shared past. Memories and impressions coalescing into something others want to read (I hope). I’m excited about it, but seriously drained. And my emotional preoccupation is taking a toll on Mr. Ladypirate and I, in terms of our relationship. I think that as I get used to being a serious writer I’ll get better at negotiating the mine-field.
The poem I’ve just finished is a treatment of Hamlet’s Ophelia as expressed through my own theory about her role in the play. This is the second Ophelia poem I’ve attempted. The first (written some ten years ago) was somewhat successful, but I think this one is actually better. A good sign that I might be improving as a poet.
I wonder if watching HGTV is counterproductive whilst attempting to write poetry?
I’m back. That’s right. After a long absence (during which I did little but read), I have returned to . . . well . . . proffer up the same blather I was proffering up before. I find myself in a tizzy because I’ve just been awarded a prestigious arts grant and have about a month in which to finish the poetry project it was granted for. Yikesy. Feelings of euphoria are mixed with equal parts terror and weariness. I think I’m all worded out.
Lifted wholesale (well, except the answers) from the blog of Doktor Holocaust:
1. What is in the back seat of your car right now? Since Mr. Ladypirate has had my lovely little blue car lately (when HASN’T he had it?) it is filled with junk. I think he uses it as a storage locker. There’s a fishing pole, some kind of do-dad for re-inflating tires, shoes (okay, they’re mine), a sweater-like garment, and a garbage bag (empty. Don’t know what it’s for).
The PhD will have to wait. For at least a year. I decided that Mr. Ladypirate’s peace of mind was worth more than the immediate fulfilment of my professional goals. Plus, it gives me some more time to think about applying elsewhere. There’s a better, bigger, brighter university closer than the one I’d applied/been accepted to. I didn’t apply because I’d wanted to have a better application package. Well, this gives me time to get one together.
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