Radio Silence

Sometimes I go through periods of unintentional radio silence. I have nothing to say and rather than fill this space with nonsensical fluff, I would rather not fill it. This summer has been full of working two part-time jobs, cuddling with my 1 year-old-niece, and preparing for the biggest move of my life. To put it bluntly, I’ve been crazy busy. But today I have some time to rest.

It’s odd to think that in less than a month, I will pack up my car and make the 998 mile journey to my new home of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I’ve never lived anywhere besides Nebraska (and Kansas, but that was kindergarten and first grade, so I don’t really count it). I’ve never up and moved across country because of a dream that I’m chasing. And that’s what becoming a children’s librarian is for me, a dream.

I still have to pinch myself sometimes. Did I really get accepted to one of the top 10 Library Science programs in the country? Am I really starting classes on August 26? Sometimes I feel like it’s not real. As if mid-August will hit and I’ll wake up from a dream wondering what I’m going to do with my life.

But no, it’s real and tangible. I have a place to live now. It’s a five bedroom, two bathroom house that I’ll share with four girls I’ve never met. It’s the risk you take when you move somewhere that you don’t know a single soul.

All of this, though, is in the near future. For right now, I’m sitting in my favorite coffee shop in Kearney, excitedly anticipating a wedding this afternoon. So many wonderful beginnings and endings happening all at once. As for when I blog again… well, you’ll just have to be patient.


poetic confessions of an insomniac

Who needs sleep when your morning shift begins at 6 a.m.? Apparently not me. Completely wide awake after a 10 hour work day and an extremely short amount of time to rest up for the 13-hour day ahead of me.

Every noise is like an air horn when the one thing you need is silence to force your self to drift off into a semi-coma in order to give the illusion of well-restedness the next morning.

After asking the other members of the house (who do not have to be up before the sun rises, by the way) to shut off the incessant repetition of the menu from a scary movie they finished, they fail to complete the simplest of tasks.

I wouldn’t have known it was a scary movie, only for the fact that I had to shut off the pathetic soundtrack loop that sounded more like a cat dying than something that would cause me to fear the contents of the film.

And now that the sound from below has been silenced, sleep still evades me due to muffled, loud dialogue from people who should already be asleep. Conversations drift from farting to who knows what because I simply do not care, except that I can hear it.

I have 4 hours and 30 minutes to snuggle with my teddy bear named Jasper, but that does not matter because by the time I fall asleep there will be far less minutes and hours to spend away from getting paid an hourly rate.

I will most likely offend someone with the publication of this post, but does it truly matter when they offended me with their sound?

Soul-wrenching complexities

As I sit here taking in the sounds of Dario Marianello’s score to Anna Karenina, I’m thinking about the significance that poetry has in my life. I am convinced that music without lyrics is its own source of poetry due to its ability to cut through our very selves and reach into something deeper. Call it our soul or something more abstract, but it affects us in ways that the written word cannot.

I was watching a tv show today and it included a poetry slam. The character’s passion as he told a simple story enchanted me, I felt the goosebumps before they appeared. Reading poetry silently is like reading a piece of music without playing it. You understand the technical aspects of it, but the affect the poem or piece of music could have is completely lost. I would much rather watch a Shakespeare play than read one.

The soul-piercing reaction that music and poetry create provides the proof that the world we live in is so much more complex than we would like to believe. Our very DNA is more complex than most things in this universe. The hidden intricacies of poetry are so subtle that usually the author doesn’t even notice them until another points it out.

I’ve been learning that the complexities in the lives we lead completely eliminate the argument that things can be black and white. The same is with God. If we truly understood God, he wouldn’t be real. I have a feeling that when we reach heaven, he’s going to say, “good try, but you’re way off,” when it comes to truly understanding His will and love.

Or maybe He won’t say that… who am I to know.

I guess just as poetry and music have this mysterious way of moving us, so does life. But it only works if the instrument is picked up and the words are spoken.