Sipping the Tea

That's why I went and had a serious discussion with an Important Man at the Records and Registration office today. Actually, I kind of just ran into him, he asked me what was up, I told him I wanted to take a semester off, and he motioned me into his office.

And I thought I would have to schedule an appointment!

He was listening to some type of classical music that I couldn't recognize, and I flopped over onto his desk with a sigh, and we talked. (This wasn't the first time I've gone to see Important Man. I make my life more complicated than it should be.)

He told me a story about his sister - how she had taken six years off -

"Wh-whoa, I only want a semester off! I really do plan to come back!"

- worked at a state park, fell in love, and went back and got her degree, with flying colors.

Because then, she wanted it.
Before? She wasn't quite sure what she was doing.

I'm not quite sure what I'm doing. It's a sin in the English Department to tell anyone that you want to be a writer, because they'll laugh you out of the classroom. Generally, then, I tell them: "I want to go into editing! Or publishing!"

And what if I really couldn't make it? I'd have to get a lot more practice in, which could take until I'm fifty, find a publisher who thought my stories were worthwhi-

And you know, it's for the stories. I get all nauseous when I think that I might die tomorrow and my millions of stories that dance through my head will have gone unwritten, untold, unshared.

Each day I go into a classroom, and I sit, and I listen, and more often than not I daydream.

Then, there are days I skip. I fix myself a sandwich, sit in the sun and read a book, draw a picture or two, dream or sleep. I know, it's awful, and I shouldn't do it - but I get bored in the classroom and I ... there are just days where I can't see the big picture. I really can't - not the future, at least, most people want me to see (career, money, marriage, kids). I don't want to face tomorrow, the tomorrow that has one hundred things due.

So after addressing financial aid issues, he told me:

"Haleigh, we aren't here to take your money - I swear, I know it looks like that. We're here to educate you, and if you're burnt out and frustrated, then you're missing out on something, and a semester off will probably you do a world of good."

That's not the first time I've heard that speech. Mrs. Shuford in highschool told me during one phone call:

"It should be your love to learn. You love it, Haleigh, and if you aren't loving it, then something's wrong."

(That's when I changed majors the first time.)

I love English, and it is wonderful, but I still feel burnt out - so dead inside. I realized the other day that since I started kindergarten, I have gone to school about ten months out of every year. Those summer months are spent working- rarely vacationing, rarely going anyway. I'm so sick, so sick and scared to think that tomorrow I will die and not have seen anything of the world. I don't want to look back on my life when I'm older and think, "Good god, why do I regret going to college so much?" I want to enjoy it. I don't want to stress and cry and have to suffer the shrieking in my head when I recognize that I could be doing better - if I didn't procrastinate, if I weren't lazy - if I knew the reason I was like this - if I just had... some... goal I knew I was capable of attaining.


So I shook his hand and left the office, the weight of the world off my shoulders. Dad's going to yell and lose hope, and you know - that hurts. Why can't he believe that I'm coming back?

I just need to rest. I just need to... remember what I'm doing.

So I'm reposting this, because... it's how I feel, and how I've felt, about the whole thing.

I just want Dad to believe me.

I Am a Myth

Once upon a time, I lived.
Not just survived,
(As 'just surviving' is
Living off fried squirrels,
Living in trees,
And ****ting under bushes),
Not only breathed-
I lived.
I can tell you, first, that they elaborate
- “The multiple facets of your essence sparkle and glow with every turn.“ -
The battles were glossed over.
I cried, I bled, I held my beaten friends in my arms,
They held me-
Our armor clanking against
One another's awkwardly,
As we tried to stitch each other's
Wounds closed -
Truth be told,
I had no idea what side I was fighting on,
If there were sides,
If there are sides -
Or maybe we're all just fools
Slipping and sliding
Clumsily
Over one great, wet sphere-
(Those smooth roll-y things that people
Have in their front yard?)

The rare moments of sunshine,
The golden days –
There were never Golden Years,
No, they were lower-cased and
Played within a twenty-four hour,
Or less,
Period of time -
Were stolen or borrowed and never returned-
And in that, I must say,
I was a bit of a klepto.
But I existed,
And they were my battles,
And they were my victories
… And they were my losses –
And the embarrassing moments
Where I was unseated from my high horse
And had tomatoes smashed in my face -
I claim those too.


As I fade away,
And I will, because I must
For a time-
Because I must regroup,
Because I've lost my horse (I don't even have a kingdom
To trade it for
Go figure),
My sword,
My banner,
My wits,
And look like an idiot
Without them -
Remember me.
I leave no physical evidence behind-
I leave no sword,
I leave no sceptre,
No lock of hair,
No one Converse sneaker
Or comic book,
Or verse posted on the forum -
I leave nothing of any worth.
You may think me weak
For needing this,
For asking this of you,
For needing you--
Yes, I can be alone
Without feeling lonely,
But I am not worth much-
My worth cannot be determined-
Without people.

You thought I would be the best of them,
Lady-
Don’t give up on me yet,
Because I haven't.
You’re the only one who ever
Held my hands-
My sage, you were,
Your gnarled fingers soft
Against my long, ink-smattered
ones-
And looked me dead in eye-
Your gaze causing my
Bashful soul (poor thing,
It suffers from stage fright) to briefly panic
Before realizing that there
Was nothing to be afraid of -
And believed.

She cried out, "Why me?
I didn't ask for this,
I didn't ask for you to believe in me.
When I fall, I will fall that much harder,
And it will hurt that much more."

"Then keep your feet on the ground,
And your head just below the clouds -
Close enough to touch the stars,
And yet keep your wits about you."

"You ask a bird,
To become a giant,
And don't even offer the proper
Magic beans to make it happen."

I slip away now, into the mists -
Quite undignified,
As my boat has several leaks,
And creaks with every
Swell of a wave -
Wounded and battle-weary,
Conceding to the fact
That this battle-
Not the war,
The war ceases
For no man-
Has been lost.
I beg of you, though,
Remember me
The me of the golden days–
Immortalized by our laughter
And our pride.

At the heart of all,
In the cave,
On the green,
By the sea -
Waiting for the unicorns,
Most likely -
I existed,
The smallest of evidence remaining,
Kept to life by the hope
In your heart
That though we are but
Human,
Mortal,
And prone to burping,
And lying,
And dying,
Fighting our battles out,
Day-by-day-
At the end of it all,
We are remembered,

That at the center
Of a myth
There is truth,
And there I lie,
And from it,
Will rise again

If only you
Believe in me.
--And so every myth
Begs to be believed in.


"The point, gentlemen,
Is that they lived."
-Ever After.