well, so much for consistency

No excuses, but I must admit (and desire the acknowledgment that): teaching turned out to be quite the time-absorber. I have been neglecting everyone and everything but my students, with the exception of horrifyingly (and probably worrying) heavy drinking on the weekends. With friends. Ah, an effective use of sentence fragments, I hope. My return is prompted by my sister's beautiful writing and blog, as well as a need to articulate myself with words unspoken. Writing offers a reflection that speaking or simply thinking cannot.

Although, as for the  reflective process, what I should probably do is purchase one of those giant sketch pads from Walmart, the kind that are to be placed on the floor, on-top of which children on hands and knees create masterpieces made of multicolor finger-paints, crayons, and markers. On those plain, expectant, and inviting sheets, I should write how I actually feel. All of the disgusting, shameful thoughts and deeds of the past should be chronicled--not for posterity, but for some sort of actualization and true digestion, away from the manipulation caused by internet accessibility. Jonathan Safran Foer, while speaking at my college's yearly Summer Common Reading in the fall of my freshman year, made a remark about writing and one's inevitable self-consciousness while doing so, throughout the whole process. Even when you're sitting on a bench writing, completely self-absorbed, the moment a person walks by, or your mind stumbles onto the thought of another person, your writing is instantly affected. I believe that. Hopefully, my Crayola floor-pad writing will be exempt from such altering. Some pages will have large letters, the width of a page, shouting truths and finally announcing lies. Others should be adorned with letters whose sizes crescendo, from meek beginnings to trumpeting endings, ellipses and improperly placed semicolons highlighting truth and a somewhat un-welcomed cognizance.

Writing all of this makes me feel quite self-absorbed and important. I know, however, that I am not. I just said "I know I'm not important" (about two or three minutes ago) to my heaven-sent (I like the imagery that common descriptor can conjure) roommate and flight philosopher Dana. Not in a pity or pouty way. This world is very big and I am a silly little dot. The earth is just a pale blue dot, right?

Right now, Harmonica Man is moving souls and enhancing my life with his smooth melodies, which he plays over top of prerecorded harmonies, every Sunday. An accidental tradition that I hold so dearly. Such a small gift must be rare--I am not remarking on the size of his talent, but the gift that he (and the universe) give me every week. I cannot imagine that many people nor places get to experience the absolute charm and joy that a man, and his take on creating, like I do.

Well, okay.

inaugural hello [and my apologies]

this blog is a long time coming, and an even longer time coming if you consider promises of blogs from the past. the blogs i meant to create while adventuring in wyoming, rome, and albania have now found some sort of fruition in this blog--although the strange irony of finally creating a blog when i am in the least exciting situation of all of those may strike some as slightly discouraging, to me it is somehow appropriate. the difference between then and now, i suppose, is that my time in charlotte is not only an adventure, but actually a life. in rome, albania, and wyoming, i was constantly adventuring: although those places finally felt like home (usually right before i departed), they were not destined to be my life for two years. with everyone being far away, and with this being a completely new lifestyle in every which way, this blog is finally finally necessary. hopefully, i hope i hope i hope, it will include vacations across the sea and excavations and the like at some point in the near future. but for now, it will contain my remarks on a completely different sort of adventure: a semi-grown up life and the heavy and beautiful responsibility of educating little humans.

i am writing you, as the blog title says, from the bird couch. my beautiful roommate dana bought this couch before i even arrived in charlotte. my approval was requested via a phone call and then text messages containing pictures....her taste, i must say, is spot on. i have approximately one billion photos of this beautiful couch in its entirety (not sent from dana, but photos i took trying to create this blog!) and i will post them soon. this lovely piece of furniture sits in a yellow room, with three huge windows behind it. this couch, i will argue for now, is the heart of our home (physically speaking, at the very least, it is in the middle of our home.)

now. quick life updates, photos later.
1] i have a car. this is huge for those of you who know: a) my general dislike of driving and b) my lack of driving experience. i drive this little silver honda civic (1999, my friends) around town like an old pro. sometimes, when pulling into my driveway,  or pulling out of my school's parking lot, i think to myself "well, wow. i'm just a little grown up, huh? driving myself around. it's so natural...." or, something like that. the radio is busted, so i am currently catching up on all of the pop hits (advantageous, in some ways, considering the age of my students). this busted radio has lead to my unnatural affinity for the song "deuces" by chris brown and various drake songs.
2] i live in a purple house in the arts district of my southern city. i have several videos to share, soon i will. i'd show you now, but i have to keep you hooked, you see.
3] i teach highschoolers. "highschoolers" is not actually a word, but i dig it so much that i'm using my poetic [blogging?] license and going ahead with it. i teach ninth grade english. my students are enlightening and bright and so so young.
4] i am in love with the fact that the mountains are so close to me, but i've only been once on a haphazard camping trip.


song that i cannot stop listening to this weekend, coming later on what should be a fine sunday evening.