Two-a-days

I guess I'm on two-a-days since I can't even remember to post every day no matter how much I remind myself. How am I going to write 2700 words a day if I can barely write 100 once a week?

Everything is high school comes in twos.
         Two books for each class: a textbook and a reading book.
         Two credits for Advanced Placement.
         Two required P.E. courses.
         Two valedictorians.
         Two plays a year.
         Two hours of rehearsal, two times per day, for two weeks, twice a year.
And this on top of classwork and homework and life. The musical is always worse than the Fall play. All that dancing in step with everyone and singing at a higher pitch than your voice goes just to contrast with your prepubescent costar who is supposed to be a tenor. By the end you might as well be singing opera and breaking all the glass props (mostly vases, vases...whatever).

But in the Fall play, despite there being no aching feet and broken vocal chords, there are still the two-a-days with no hope. The days are short and so they go like this: Wake up at 4:30 am, shower, eat a bar or shake, remember to dress in leggings under jeans, forget brushing teeth, out the door and thank goodness you live two minutes by car, at school by 5 am in the freezing cold darkness just as the custodian arrives, do stretches and practice lines, greet the director-teacher at 5:05, walk through, talk through, act through, then again with each cast member as they arrive, consult with the lighting, sound, stage director, and set builder, check props, go over lines with peers and practice micro-expressions made large, walk across from stage left to right and then back four or five times, go over one or two imperfect scenes, practice the kiss and the slap and costume changes, without seeing any light in the sky grab books and change and go to English, World, Health, Bio, Art, P.E., and somewhere in there lunch, drink two gallons of water and squirt lemon juice down your throat, don't forget the vitamin C, stare listlessly at your friends, glare at your understudy, and high fives, hold hands with your boyfriend for five minutes after school, giggle with the girls for another two, call Mom just in case, annnnnd rehearsal at 4 pm, run through and over, through again and repeat, costume fitting number five, meet with director, voice coach, and then blocking, blocking, blocking, snack, scenes with scenery, alter walk throughs for new scenery pieces, try and remember where to turn, walk, stand, face, then finally when the stars are bright or it's raining crunch through leaves to the car with keys in hand, two minutes home, sit with Mom for dinner and a lecture about how "it's too much," English essay, math practice, Art drawing that was due last class, an AP practice test and one more run through of lines in your head while you brush your teeth and wash your face and fall into bed, tossing and turning over whether or not your friend is mad that you kissed your boyfriend in front of her.

At least in the Spring you see the sun.

1 + 1 = 2∞

There is a stuffed whale-shark on her bed, mechanical pencils in her purse, and a tapping in her fingers.

He has a knit alien atop a shelf, a tattered black jacket over his t-shirt, and a hunch to his shoulders.

They have a Skype rhetoric, shared Reddit links, and a repertoire of micro-expressions.

For always, they are a rocky start, a pause in the sadness, and a love unconditional. ∞

Training Days

43/52

He is a kind man with fiery red hair and a propensity for balance. An excellent waiter by trade. His speech is not too quick for you to comprehend before it is filtered out of your short term memory like everyone's orders. He emits no anger, only brief laughter and a pat on the head. You are like everyone's kid sister.

In a blind smiley fashion you blur from table to table, the only person with a notepad, five new pens, and a spik-n-span apron. You have pep. Some people do appreciate pep. Plus you have your looks going for you. Still, at the end of each evening you have ten dollars less than the worst waiter on the schedule.

All the man and woman at table seven want is their Mountain Dews. Your trainer lets you get the drinks while he observes your peppy demeanor. He reminds you what they ordered as you fumble with cups. No straws allowed in the apron (what is it there for, you wonder). 

As you approach with the tray and the unbalanced drinks you notice the floor needs to be swept. The tray starts to twirl as you set it down on the table and the edge knocks the table and reverberates to your arm, causing the sugary beverages to both fall sideways into the seat. The seat of the man's pants, that is.

Trainer Red pops up and apologizes while you freeze and start to cry. Apologize and apologize and then walk quickly to the kitchen as the man tries to comfort you. Later you will remember that his girlfriend is a waiter, that everyone spills drinks, that it is nerve-wracking to serve people. 

As you stare down at the floor so that no one sees your red eyes, your trainer just smiles at you in bemused silence. The man and woman leave you a generous tip. You pass it along for him, as he deserves. He folds it into your palm and squeezes your fingers, looking into your face and explaining, "It's okay."

You never get any better. Always you remember the spilled drinks, the wrong orders, and the less-than-impeccable service. They all remind you that you are fine. It is perhaps that you think too much, they say. Even with the negative opinion, the peppy attitude remains. Nevertheless to your tips, you always smile thinking of him, watching you make mistakes.

So begins the countdown...

So begins the countdown. This is blog post 42 of 52 for 2012. On October 31st, I will have completed part of my New Year's Resolution for 2012 and be beginning the big challenge, National Novel Writing Month. From November 1st to 30th, I will be writing a 50,000 word novel. That is about 1,700 word per day. I have some comrades joining the fight this year - my best friend and a coworker. This is going to mean some seriously early mornings and some equally late nights as I try to pack in four stories a day of 500 word each. I'm hoping to post excerpts not only on my NaNoWriMo page, but also here.

For your reading pleasure:

If I were you I'd quit while you're ahead.
Ahead the road looks insanely bleak and I don't know.
Know the things that get you up in the morning.
Mornings are worth having coffee or tea or NPR.
NPR is this new thing I'm trying.
Trying isn't good enough for some people.
People are cruel, but they are also creative.
Creativity runs in my family unknowingly.
Unknowingly I step into an argument.
Arguments are unsanctioned debates.
Debates are staged and fake and vague.
Vagueness is something to avoid when teaching.
Teaching is my passion.
Passion is something I would have only if...
If I were you I'd quit while you're ahead.

What I Believed

"What is love," she asked,

For I've been deceived.

They were quiet

And so I believed

Love was a quiet porch,

And an always-made lunch,

And a bedtime story,

And three words.

"If you care," she proposed,

Then you stick to a budget,

You put the kids to bed

And never argue about it.

Forget about romance

And the wedding dance.

About the kids and, perhaps,

Another on the side.

"Not that, you say? Well

Then what," she queried?

Is it a holding of the hand,

Or the ring that says married?

How would you know it?

How would I know it?

Does it end on that 

Zero anniversary day?

Perhaps it is when.

The question, I mean.

Over time it fades.

It is a transitory being.

How can my love be ample

With this set example?

Will I ever be able

To simply, eternally, love.

How to Puzzle

Always start by separating. Color from color, pattern from pattern, edge from middle.
It is cheating to start with pieces already together, so separate those manufacturing errors as well.
Always have more than one thing going at a time. Edges are great for starting, but when a lull comes, you'll want to have a patch of color to work on.
When choosing, look for big blocks of color, but not so big to be undistinguishable by shade. Save those for last, when shape of pieces is all you have to go on.
Turn them over and over. Run your hand through the box, uncovering useful pieces.
Eventually, turn them all over slowly and collect them in your hand. Visual memory will be tested.
When large blocks come together, make big moves.
Before you start, make sure you have the space to move large blocks, and space for the whole.
Make big connections and fill in the gaps. Look for tiny bits of color on corners and the final few edge pieces.
Once the edges have come together, start fitting in pieces already set aside as different. Only the same pieces will be left in the end.
When all else fails (particularly your eyes) separate the pieces by shape. How many innies? How many outies? Zero to four. Put them all facing the same direction.
Here your patience is tested, painstakingly testing each logical piece. Start with the single spaces, then with the mostly surrounded ones, Three innies or three outies are usually the easiest to find. Begin snapping them in faster and faster...until they're all snapped in.
Run your hand over the ridges and valleys of your work. Step back and appreciate the whole which matches the picture. Hopefully no holes remain unfilled.
Start loosening row by row and enjoying the cardboardy sound as large handfuls drop back into the box. This takes awhile if done properly, so that no connected pieces remain for the next time.
The next time rarely comes. New pictures begin. Start over by separating.

Twister

The world whirls
     and spins
          stops
             as the
               rain
                falls
                to
nothingness on the ground. Collects, sinks, floods, and dies.
With nothing to build up, we hide in          and weep.
                                                          holes

      We
stand where
       the
     homes
      used
    to     be
and we look up at the sky and curse                                        used to be.
                                                      those                           home
                                                           deep                  our
                                                                places where


                                  As
                                 time
                            goes by we
                         rebuild to forget
                         it until the next
                        dark          winds
                        blow           out
                        our             door
and shatter our windows and flatten our walls and make us hide          in the earth.  
                                                                                                            deep                      
                                                                                                                   
                                                                                                                  s                    e.
This                                                        endure                                   we   u             v
        is                                               we            all                        how           r   v   i
            the                                 what                     of                 is
                 cycle                     is                                 our         It
                         we          This                                         lives.
                               fight.