three parts randomness

These are three parts randomness, rambled on the page. I step towards making a complete thought, another stage in getting the words out, another phase in telling a story. I balance the impatience, the desire for the buffed and buffered end product, with the excitement of simply letting myself be a part of this process. I love this process. ~gogo

i. The student and the writer: a polyandrous endeavor
I’ve been spending time at the coffee shop, procrastinating. My mind not wanting to focus on my paper, my fingers occupied with the rat-ta-tat-tat of this keyboard of mine. I’m stuck with a thought, wanting to come out, and having nothing to do with the implementation of research protocols for that sruvey I created. I keep thinking, if I can get it out, putting the words I want on paper, it might stop distracting the student in me. Every word an excursion into this wonderful process, I get further away from what I want to say, and deeper into the exploration of how many ways I can not say it. I think the student in me is in trouble, because I have found another lover to occupy all my time. But still not wanting to give up my endeavor towards that Masters paper, I am not ready to completely release that writer in me. I tell myself, I must keep these two relationships content with me. Thank the goddess for a blog. :O).

ii. Another one stanza poem
Dusk is pulling at the edges
of the horizon,
the light dimmer these days
dims into the night in this day.
and here i am again,
stuck in the first stanza
of another one stanza poem.

iii. Going Home: The Rough Draft
This is a story of a treaded road that leads me home. I want to write this story. Share the experience as I have known it, know it, and will know it this next weekend when I travel it once more to go to a friend’s baby shower. I want to pass along the wisdom shed between flat highways and rolling hills as I cut off the main roads to experience all those side roads towards home. It’s funny how many roads I have collected since I first learned to drive. I cut my teeth driving the back roads looking for a way out of my home town, then built my experience driving back and forth to that home and school. I could drive it eyes closed, leaning on the experience of that waviness in the roads. There is a story in this road – one that offers conclusion and inclusion of who I am now from what I was then. I can almost hear the tread on pavement, connecting me to this story. For now, all I can offer the page that is ready to absorb my words is that I’m listening for what needs to be said.