the painted angel

Yes, I am awake. Yes, I am writing. Writing other than this blog. Attempting to write an intelligent conclusion to my thesis. Which I am still not bored with--I consider this both a good sign and the result of my August breakdown.

=

In other news, I seem to be unable to write a good poem. Even a decent poem. A poem I'd feel okay submitting to workshop. You'd think--or rather, I thought--that finishing the thesis would leave my mind free and easy to write poetry, but it's not happening yet. Maybe next week. A change of scenery, etc. Or maybe it will take awhile. A brilliant poet once told me that writer's block isn't writer's block--it's part of the writing process, as the brain gathers material. My brain has been gathering, even on the off days. I hope the off days end soon.

what I'm thinking about

at least what makes it way to blogger.

Hi.

Grad apps are killing me. I live for the mail. I keep every letter, even the NOs. And there have been NOs. And you have to write NO in all caps, just so you can feel the pain of NO.

Still thinking about grad apps. And moving. As in: leaving Provo. As in: leaving Utah. As in: am I really going to do this? I hate that my future is in the hands of strangers. Even more, I hate that voice in my head laughing every time I think about moving. In one month, I'll be 25. Wait. That should get its own 'graph.

I'll be 25. Not the biggest of milestones, but a milestone all the same. I know I'm still a baby, but honestly, I thought I would have lived more by 25. Or at least kissed more. Instead I have two degrees and an apartment full of books. Don't get me wrong--I love my books--but there must be other ways to live.

Okay, a few link-thoughts for you:

David Cook and Carly Smithson are the only reason to even think about American Idol this season. And AI is a million times less exciting when you're YouTubing the aftermath.

I'm not sure why I didn't get around to seeing Dan in Real Life in theaters, but it's definitely worth renting. And I heart the soundtrack. Sondre Lerche. Must buy. When I someday have money again.

Friday last

So it's a week overdue, but I felt I should announce: Friday was the best day ever. Well, maybe not the best ever, but definite top 5 material.

Friday started on Thursday night with me reciting all possible questions and all possible answers for the morning's defense. The result was a very blurry 6:45 wake up call for the actual defense.

Which went well. Not the wake up call. The defense. I'd even say very well. I passed. I passed! (Class, why would an author use repetition?)

I passed!

And then, after an hour with L and Baby, I returned to campus for the Billy Collins reading. I was sitting in the JSB auditorium (which was filled by noon) and Jon Ogden stopped by to tell me that James Dewey was on campus. James Dewey! I confess, I was more excited about that than Billy Collins.

Billy read. I laughed. Because that's what you're supposed to do when Billy reads. And then I finally found out "what happened to James Dewey." In the past two years he's become a mythical figure.

And then, Lance asked if I would like to take an open seat at the lunch with Billy Collins. Very cool. Very good food.

L and I ended the day with Enchantment, which L hadn't seen yet. It's still cute. Funny, etc. Plus, I like popcorn and diet coke for dinner.

Thank you to everyone who was cheering for me. It helped. A lot.

Professor

If you like Lost, go here.

erring on the side of grievance

Too clever? I can always subtitle this post "On Annoyance."

1. Why does the thesis format have to be so ugly? Can't I employ my skills typesetting to make it look pretty and readable? Thus masking all its flaws? Instead it's a double-spaced Times New Roman nightmare, complete with chapter titles in ALL CAPS. Ick ick ick.

2. After hauling a box of books (and then some) to the library on Monday, I discovered the library was claiming that four had not been returned. Admitting my messy standard of living (creative chaos. . . ), I double checked my apartment, although I was positive that the books were not here. And they weren't. A trip back to the library found them exactly where they were supposed to be--on the shelves.

3. I knew the thesis wasn't done, but I can't seem to find the energy to give the conclusion whatever enthusiasm it needs. What do I want to read at the end of my thesis? Nothing. Or perhaps I should write that "NOTHING."

deserved

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLJobVC7uR4

the guilt

I've been beginning for the move in April. Because I will be moving, academic future or no. But seven years equals a lot of stuff. Books, movies, clothes, pillows. Two of my couch pillows must have mated, because they are taking over my apartment. So most of those have to be put to sleep.

I have no problem getting rid of clothes. Pillows. Random food storage. But CDs, movies, magazines, and books--it's as if I've decided to chuck my friends into a plastic bag. There's no way I can take them all with me. Maybe the CDs and DVDs in media folders. Maybe. But the books. . .

I stumbled over a solution tonight: selling books to a used bookstore in Salt Lake. They won't be subjected to the shame of DI, but still. . . am I doing the right thing?

the polls are now closed

USC won by a landslide (7 votes, most of which were courtesy of Mr. Tucker), followed by Utah, with Houston and Ohio tying for third place.

Unfortunately, these schools will not accept the editorgirl poll along with my transcripts and writing samples, so I guess we'll just have to wait for those envelopes to come in the mail. Drumroll please. . .

Cornell said no.

Utah said waitlisted.

Stay tuned as six other schools weigh in on my academic future.

- - -

In other news, my thesis defense will take place one week from today at 8:00 a.m. The gods must be crazy

Thesis is the Loneliest Number

67 pages

2 number of weeks between scheduling my defense and my defense

3 poets--Osherow, Gluck, Creech

3 committee members

1 graduate student writing her thesis

It's done.

Well, it's not done done. But it is drafted done. Intro, Osherow, Gluck, Creech, conclusion. All jammed together into one pretty little file and shipped off to the chair. I even wrote the acknowledgements.

And now I can't sleep. My brain won't turn off. Except what am I supposed to think about now? Other than sleep? And what revisions Chair will make me make in the morning? It is the morning. Maybe I should revise now. Except I can't. I might start screaming and that would wake the Abby Baby. Who is sleeping in Bountiful tonight.

So here's the plan: 8:00 a.m. Chair flips his way through the thesis. 9:00 a.m. I meet with Chair and listen obediently to what changes must be made before I send this thing on to committee. I'm hoping to be done with it by noon, or slightly after noon. And then I wait for them to tell me I can schedule my defense, which has to be done by Feburary 22. In the meantime. . .

Szymborska's "4 o'clock in the morning" suggests that what saves us from that awful hour is 5:00 a.m. But 5:00 a.m. is just as awful. Trust me. I have experienced it too many times.

Okay, meantime. I am planning a party. I'm not sure what day, but it will be after the defense. It will be a "Pass" party and if I can swing it, it will also be my 25th birthday party. I've wanted to be 25 for forever. Not sure why. But 25 is one I'm going to celebrate. I'm not sure what day (TB and K, this might be subject by any Utah-ward plans you have), but I know the schedule. 7:00 to 8:00: music and drinks. 8:00 to 9:00-ish: poetry reading/open-mic. Hey, it's an editorgirl party and the whole point is the poetry. And then the rest of the night will dissolve into conversation and celebration and more drinks and more music. Maybe cake. Maybe cupcakes.

Because you have to celebrate with cupcakes.

answers (courtesy of YouTube)

According to some of my friends, I haven't been blogging much lately (apparently pictures of the Abby Baby don't exactly count, even if they should). I've kind of written myself out with thesis and poetry attempts. So there's that. And there's the fact that it seems like the only things people want to know about my life are answers I don't have right now. For example, I don't know where I want to go to school next year, other than anywhere I applied that will let me in. (Although please see the poll at right: Where will editorgirl be in one year?). And I don't know when my thesis will be "done." Hell, I don't know what "done" means. I can't conceive of my thesis not being in progress, although I certainly will let you know when it is out of progress.

After this long list, I decided to find some questions I do have answers to. And to make it more fun, I suggest you follow the YouTube links.

The three songs I've been listening to over and over and over again.

I had to check out ABC's Eli Stone because I love Johnny Lee Miller and Victor Garber. This is the moment I decided I gave it two thumbs up.

This was the result of trying to find Victor Garber clips on YouTube.

And this was the result of spending more time on YouTube (skip to 1:40 for the performance).

Okay, so nothing groundbreaking. But it's keeping me up at night.

What's cuter than a thesis?

Answer:

and in conclusion. . .

I have just pulled another all-nighter. I'm sure my therapist and my mother won't approve, in that order, but I'm afraid it was necessary. Apparently my best thesis work happens when I'm not fully cognizant of what's going on.

Everything is now drafted, with the exception of the conclusion. You know, that part where I talk about what I mean by all those pages before. The part where I tell you you should care about all those pages before. The part where I. . .

It's not just tired. It's that I'm not sure what all this amounts to, other than graduation. I know I still feel passionate about contemporary American poetry, I still love these poets, and I think more people should read poetry, but that is a bunch of very general statements only loosely associated with the seventy pages or so that I'm ready to ship off to somewhere far far away.

How does this conclusion thing work, anyway? The Chair has told me to leave all critics behind and write as if I were talking to a class--if I were talking to a class about my thesis, it would be full of bizarre half-funny comments and warnings that graduate work can kill.

But hey, I just used the subjunctive, so I guess grad school taught me something.

No, wait. That was kindergarten.

it is

very very late. or very very early, depending on which direction you're heading. and for most people it wouldn't be either. i, on the other hand, no longer have a recognizable sleep pattern. i just sleep. a lot and at inappropriate times. which is why i didn't sleep last night. i told myself that sleep was not allowed until i have this chapter done. it's closer, but nothing meriting an all-nighter. although, based on this week's sleep, i'm not sure the past 12 or so hours qualifies as an all-nighter.

.

i stole periods from th. for this blog, and for that one poem i wrote a year ago.

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all applications are in, as of yesterday when i was pretending i was going to have a productive day, which i would then interpret as a good day.

.

i know what i want to write. both in this blog and in the chapter. but everything keeps getting mixed up so Creech's Judas and my sleeping patterns and Kneehigh's A Matter of Life and Death, which I saw in London and read sometime this week, and various TV sitcoms and epithalamions and everything else don't have a clear place.

.

i just want to write poetry. please.

confession/post 500

I just right aligned a poem. And it kind of works.

Dammit.

499

Where do titles come from?

I'll tell you.

I don't know.

********************

Seriously, I need help here. Strong poem, absolutely no title. I'd really like to include it in my manuscript for Denver, but I refuse to not have a title and no one word or phrase really stands out as title material. Can't I just be Dickinson and use numbers?

huh

I'm working on a poem when I hear a knock on my door. Answer it. Find two home teacher-y types from the ward. Invite them in.

They asked what I was working on. I tell them I was writing. They ask what. "A poem." One asks if it's an assignment or if it's "just for fun."

Okay, so the poem wasn't assigned (hi, no classes really). But "just for fun"? No. Not at all.

exactly how it is, everytime

I've had too many thoughts in my head to put any two together for a blog. And a one sentence blog isn't really my thing. Not that it can't be done. It can. I've seen it done. Read it done. Still not me.

So where I am right now: In the Hole (what was once the basement, my apartment, my flat, and the Fen). The Hole is a bit of a mess. Actually, it's a killer mess. Dirty dishes, dirty floor, file cabinet in front of the couch (so it's a loveseat, but so inappropriate). Tomorrow is going to be the day of cleaning. Promise.

Tomorrow is also the day of the thesis. It's coming. Coming coming coming. It will be done. This chapter will be done for Monday.

On a higher note, or a different note, I did get a job. Source checking my brains out. Not my favorite way to pass the time, but I can do it and do it well. Go me.

The best part has been doing reading and writing I don't have to do. I'm sitting in on Kim's classes, reading Summa Lyrica and brilliant contemporary poets (brilliant even if they do insist on right-aligned poetry, which I can't decide if I like). Brilliant classmates as well. (Can I call them my classmates if I'm not technically in the class?)

The only thing I really want to do now is write. And sleep. Write and sleep. The perfect life.

a post on emptiness

I don't know if I can explain how empty I feel right now. Maybe all you would have to do is look at the posts from last year--so much emptiness. It's that moment at the end of a story when it's not a happy ending, not a sad ending, when life just keeps going and you're left feeling unsatisfied and unhinged. Which is what life is. I keep looking for the "The End" sign for this chapter of my life, but there isn't a sign. There is this emptiness. Not happy, not sad. Empty. No roommate, no job, no friends I see every day, no one who needs me. But there is my thesis, my sister's family, my friends who are still in contact. I feel as if I'm waiting to be filled up. This isn't a religious question so much as a life question, that "So what?" Hickman is so fond of writing on my thesis chapters. What has all this meant? What does all this mean? Am I going to find out? So much happened last year, right down to the final coutdown with K and me holding our henna tattoos away from our sides so they wouldn't smear while the rest of the world ran into each other. So much. Is it right for me to feel empty?

26 Dresses

A few months ago I predicted that 27 Dresses would be my movie for the new year. It doesn't hit theaters until January 11, but yesterday I stumbled upon a sneak preview and I dragged K along. We were late (stupid parking in stupid SLC), so we only saw 26 Dresses (quip courtesy of K), but I still thought the movie was worth blogging about. (At this point, anything is worth blogging about as long as it's not my thesis.)




Please note that there will be spoilers, although none of them should come as a surprise if you've ever seen five minutes of a romantic comedy.



Katherine Heigl plays Jane, a perpetual bridesmaid and the owner of the 27 title dresses. Jane is super-organized, super-efficient, and super-super. She's super in love with weddings and romance and articles written by Malcolm Doyle, a wedding columnist for the New York Journal. She's also super in love with her boss George (note to self: blog about how George is not a sexy name), played by Edward Burns.
As mentioned earlier, K and I missed the 25th and 26th dresses because we missed the first ten minutes of the movie, but while wearing them, Jane meets Kevin Doyle (played by surprisingly adorable and just possibly outdoor material James Marsden). The next day, Jane arrives to work to find flowers on her desk and her sister Tess arrives from Italy and her super-glamourous life as. . . something. Missed that.

We can speed up this next part: Jane goes to party, George goes to party, George mentions he left something on Jane's desk, Jane assumes flowers, George means dry cleaning ticket, Tess shows up for drinks, George meets Tess. Oh, and Kevin sent the flowers.

Tess falls for George, George falls for Tess, and suddenly Jane is planning her sister's wedding to the man of Jane's dreams. In the meantime, Kevin is booking it after Jane--literally. In one of my favorite moments of the movie, Kevin returns Jane's day planner, but only after penning his name in every Saturday for the rest of the year.

Here's the spoiler/twist you may not see coming: Kevin Doyle is Malcolm Doyle. He's writing an article about Tess and George--but he's also writing an article about Jane's state as a perpetual bridesmaid. Hence the booking. Sad, because he really is cute. Cynical and cute make an excellent leading man.


The movie works itself out exactly as it's supposed to, complete with a boat scene and "Benny and the Jets." And most importantly, as K pointed out, Jane gets around to kissing both guys. We awarded the movie 3.5 out of 5 stars, mostly because Marsden wasn't on screen enough. He really was that cute.