You're late for tea

Figs are beautiful little fruits. And they will be in season soon. And they will be at Whole Foods. And I will be buying them and wrapping them in prosciutto and stuffing them with goat cheese, balsamic vinegar, and paprika. Hopefully they will be beautiful little fruits wrapped in meat which my friends will enjoy. That is the hopeful moment of the day.

My computer has been fixed and it is working. I am quite happy with that. They replaced all the broken bits around the edges which is nice because now it looks prettier. I am taking pleasure in small victories because otherwise I will spend my month here moping which no one wants at all. I am reading a lovely novel about a nerdy girl who is in love and who is experiencing a terrible summer. Quite funny really. It will keep me quite entertained for the next few days at work. Work unfortunately has gotten no better.

I would like it if someone would text me while I am drunk and remind me not to fold other people's laundry. Not all of my friends are as good natured as S. when I berate them for folding their laundry incorrectly.

-The Dormouse

If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense

Today at work someone thanked me for taking a picture of her and her husband and I almost cried. People at work can be so rude that it's tear worthy when someone thanks you for taking five seconds out of your day to take a picture of her and her husband. Now, isn't that upsetting? I wish someone had told me when I took my job that in the eyes of the customers I had sacrificed my right to be treated like a human being. Oh well, mustn't complain too much Dormouse. At least you have a job. And your co-workers are nice. And every so often you'll run into some customers who are really and genuinely nice to you. Take pleasure in the little things or you'll lose your mind.

In other news: I wish they hadn't called it the iPad. And I wish they would stop saying "iPad" over and over again in the commercials. It sounds silly. Knock it off Apple. iTab would've been a better choice but I guess you didn't think to ask me for a name when you were designing the stupidly named tablet. That was silly of you Steve Jobs. Very silly.

-The Dormouse

Now, I give you fair warning, either you or your head must be off

I would like to be a mother. I enjoy mothering. Not that I would ever tell my boys back at school but I love to mother them. I love to bake them birthday cakes from scratch and make a fuss of them getting a year older. I like to make them dinner and force them all to sit down at the table and eat together. I like to do their laundry and fold their laundry and make their beds. Goddess, I miss being able to scream full names when they've got their fingers in the cupcake batter or hold their heads in my lap and pet their hair and tell them what to do with their lives.

I guess I've always mothered. I've got children in all of my homes. Children but no partners and isn't that strange? I don't think I'd like to do it alone when the children I have are finally and truly my own. But for now it's nice. And they like it. Or at least they pretend to. I'd never admit it to them, I'd never want them to know that I secretly love it when they call me mom or when they bring me their pants and their problems to mend. I'm going to miss my babies when I leave them. I won't have children anymore for a long time when school is over and I'm forced to let them go into the world. of course, they don't need me. They're all grown boys; they're all perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. But I think they know I need to be their mom. I think they know it keeps me centered, keeps me balanced.

I never used to think of myself as the mothering type but now I find I love it. I love children, not just my children but children in general. I love to take care of others. Now that's new Dormouse, since when have you liked to take care of others? I have no idea. I didn't always like this. Maybe I'm growing up? Maybe not. Maybe it's always been in me waiting to come out. It's new and it's fragile and it's scary but I like it. I like this me who wants babies, who wants to be loving, who wants to be caring. She's a lovely person. I hope she can stay around.

-The Dormouse

Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it.

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

- "He  Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven" by W.B. Yeats

So, W.B. Yeats writes some amazing poetry. I think he might be my favorite. Or possibly just one of my favorites. I think that one's dreams is the best one could possibly offer someone else. I guess that's sort of the point. Oh look at me being a literature major even in my time off.

Being home is still difficult. Dad is sick, mom is worried, and the family is barely functioning as usual. I am still missing my babies at school and it's making me sick with how much I can feel the lack of their presence. Oh well. C'mon Dormouse, just buck up and deal with it.

-The Dormouse

Was I the same when I got up this morning?

So here I am. Back home. It's warm, it's sticky, and I'm done with it. Having to be home and watch my dad wander around the house looking ill. He's so thin and so tired. It's too hard for me. Work starts tomorrow. At least work will get me out of the house. I will refrain from complaining about my job via internet because I don't want to lose it.

So now what? I'm home and school is over until August and I've got to figure out how to live thousands of miles away from my friends. This is always the hardest time of year. I always want to be anywhere but here. Of course, this is the only option I've got. Just need to keep thinking to myself I'm only here for a month. Only one month and then off to England.

But here I am, in the middle of nowhere, waiting for my trip to England to arrive. Meanwhile I miss my boyfriend, I miss my girlfriends, I miss my S. (I don't even know what else to call him at this point), I miss New York and the people I can tell all my secrets to. Because that's been the most upsetting thing since I've been back. I'm bursting with secrets and there's no one to tell them to. I want to burst with everything I've done at school, with how fabulous and conflicted and confused and wonderful I feel. So who wants to know what I'm about to explode with?

I want to be in the world, not out here in the middle of nowhere. There's so much out there and so little here. I'm bored and lonely and it's only been a few days. Goddess please let the summer go by quickly. If it doesn't I think I'll simply melt. How melodramatic of you Dormouse, just buck up and deal with it. Figure out how to exist here or you're going to lose it.

-The Dormouse

"And the mome raths outgrabe..."

Another day, another paper, and another several hours spent in the library desperately seeking research. And once again I find myself too distracted to actually get down to it and do my work. The more I keep trying to figure out how to write the diary of an eighteenth century French prostitute the more I find I cannot focus on my assignment. Perhaps someone should inform professors that they simply cannot assign papers during the last week of classes. What I turn in tomorrow will inevitably be absolute crap. At least it's only around four or five pages for each of the two assignments due tomorrow. I wish someone would simply invent a pill one could take which would force one not to procrastinate.

The weather outside is beautiful, I haven't got a single class today, and instead of having fun I am in the library attempting to make myself sound competent on the topic of eighteenth century prostitutes. It isn't working so far. I want to be outside in the sun. It's too depressing in this library. Everyone looks anxious, I suppose it's just that time of year. I feel like I'm about to crack. I hate this project, I hate not being sure I'm going to pass this academic year, I hate the pressure heaped upon students every year. It's insane.

-The Dormouse

The Pool of Tears

So here I am. In the library. Abusing my brain for ten pages on DH Lawrence's Sons and Lovers and coal miner class relationships in early 20th century England. I cannot think properly. I keep getting distracted which completely negates the point of coming to the library at 11:00 in the morning to work on a paper. I find I have nothing to say about class in the work of DH Lawrence. Unfortunately, I have nothing to say about anything else in his works. My brain feels like it's on total shut down mode and I'm just trying to decide if it would make more sense for me to take a break from all the work I'm not doing and grab lunch with my friends in the hopes that a brilliant idea will strike while I'm consuming my disgustingly oily and incredibly fatty egg and cheese sandwich. Welcome to a major in English Literature. The good news: my professor isn't a terribly hard grader so if I produce something I'll be able to make it by in his class. The bad news: I can't seem to produce a single sentence.

Time for total disclosure I suppose. My dad is sick. Really sick. Dying sick. And I'm 6,000 miles away from him and home trying to write a meaningless paper on DH Lawrence. This is so fucked up. I spend most of my nights awake crying until I can't cry anymore instead of doing my homework. It all seems so very pathetic. I feel so completely alone. I need someone to hold me so all the tiny pieces of me don't go flying to a million different places. I don't need to talk to anyone, I just need someone to touch me and to remind me that I am still human.

I feel lost. I don't know how to say to someone, "I don't need to tell you what's wrong, I don't need to tell you anything, I just need you to hold me and to stroke my hair and touch my skin until I don't feel like I'm about to break apart." I guess there's no other way to say it but saying just that. But I don't know if I'm ready to let another person in like that. I should just tell my boyfriend what's wrong, instead of confiding in another person who probably has no interest in what's going so wrong in my life. My dearest and sweetest friend in whom I have confided all of my problems in the last few months is undoubtedly sick of hearing about them. I would be if I were him. He has a life, other friends, and much more to be happy about. I don't know why I insist on bringing him down. It's just that when he holds me I feel completely safe, the way I did when I was a kid and my mother would sing all the bad dreams away at bed time. I just don't know if he'd understand what I need of him if I asked it. Things are becoming too heated, too passionate, too out of bounds with him. Asking what I need of him could push us too far over an edge we're both afraid to plummet off of. Who knew college could be so difficult? I thought growing up would get easier. Apparently it doesn't. It just becomes increasingly more like a bad emo song. Maybe all there is left to do is turn on the Bright Eyes and shut down. Or maybe, just maybe, things get better in the future. Maybe there's a time when I can stop crying and my dad will get better and I'll have a plan for the rest of my life. It's pretty to think so anyway.

-The Dormouse