This will really only make sense to one person
And he won’t read it until at least tomorrow, when he’s trying to avoid his work, but whatever.
Today I didn’t have time for breakfast before running out the door to catch the bus (yes, love, I ran out to catch it and then sat on the bench for a good three minutes. Shush). So anyway, I stopped by Cafe Adagio before catching my second bus and ordered coffee and a scone (raspberry–yummy!)
The lady asked my name to write it in my order and of course I hesitated before answering. Now, to explain, my name is not an easy one to spell (especially if you’re only hearing it). I usually give my mom’s nickname for me, Cori, but I always pause and have that two second deliberation between giving my name, the one I identify with, even though I know it’ll be spelled wrong and then pronounced wrong when they call me, or taking the easy road and giving a name that has never felt like mine (that’s right–I’m really not a Cori. Not unless you’re my mom or dad, and I stick pretty strongly to that).
Today, I had my normal pause, and then smiled secretively and told her it was Marci.
It felt like a deliciously private secret, but also comfortable. I love a pair of jeans that when you first tried them on, they were a bit tight and not the most comfortable pair you had, but they were super cute and you knew KNEW that they’d stretch and relax and be the most comfortable pair after a couple weeks. Marci, to me, is that pair of jeans. I’ve had them for a couple weeks (well, months?) now, and it’s my favorite ever. And still a private little secret, I thought everyone was going to look at me in the coffee shop and gasp! The poor barista must think I was off my rocker for blushing after telling her my name the way I did, but I don’t care. It put a smile on my face for the rest of the day.
Three posts in one day?
Whatever. I’m the only one that pays attention anyway. 
Maybe this tag will get a little more attention.
I treated myself to a new book recently, and I’m really enjoying it. It’s the perfect book with which to distract myself from finals. The perfect depth to keep my involvement, but not make me work too hard for comprehension.
It’s called “Broken Verses”
The main character sleeps in
a room that used to belong to a kid, and the walls are completely covered with all sorts of sea life. Now for my favorite passage so far:
” ‘I could go out and get some paint, and help you slap on a coat before our flight,’ my father said. ‘Unless the marine life is growing on you.’
‘Now there’s a pleasant image. Barnacles on my skin, seaweed draped around my neck…’ “
I really just like it because of how obsessed I’ve become with the mental image of sea life growing on a person. Jer has me a little hooked on the notion of blue-skinned peole, and it fits in perfectly with this idea of a tall, slender woman transfixed in a cross-legged meditating pose, barnacles crusted on her shoulders and chest and hands, signs of her paralysis.
The Little Ghost
There’s a little ghost peering out a window, the window where she died a couple months ago. The room that window belongs to has become her haunting grounds. She sits, blowing frost on the windowpane and making little marks. It’s hard to distract the little ghost; so closely does she watch and wait for his return. He might, after all, return. The man who murdered her might return to the scene of the crime. Don’t they all, in the end, return to the scene of the crime? She ticks off days in the frost, and doesn’t notice when it turns into years. She doesn’t notice when no one, not even her murderer, returns to the window, to the room. She doesn’t notice when they all disappear. The little ghost is so intent on her marks she doesn’t notice the gray dust thickening over the tables, the chairs, the books. She glances up when they take the books away, but only to search the faces of the movers. None of their faces were his. She fails to notice the cobwebs, and the crumbling edges of the window frame. The little ghost is so intent and focused she doesn’t even feel it when the building falls, and doesn’t even blink when her window looks out only into rubble. He’ll come, she’s sure. They always return to the scene of the crime, don’t they?
Pondering Voting
Why is it that the “student” age bracket consistently has the lowest voter turnout? It surprises me everytime I think about it.
We’re in the middle of our youth, we’re at a time when it’s right to get fired up and angry and passionate, and yet we don’t vote? Voting is the easiest path towards influence, and yet so many skip it. Why?
I wonder if it’s because after studying civics and political theory and history, do we manage to loose our passion? Do we stat to believe that we can’t change anything, so why even try? That’s how it feels, sometimes. I know I feel discouraged about voting. It feels like it doesn’t matter who you elect for president, the whole cabinet is already decided. it doesn’t matter if you personally approve this particular piece of legislation or not, it’ll get passed regardless if the right people want it passed.
It feels pointless, and yet it is the majority of citizens’ only method of communication and influence. Take it, no matter how potentially flawed it is?
I feel sometimes like a puppet, one that all the little CEOs of all the huge corporations just pat on the head for doing a good job and being discouraged, instead of actually caring and trying to do something.
Any recommendations for civic action? For how to not feel discouraged by ‘the system’? For how to feel like my voice counts in the political world?
On the way home
I saw a little birdy chasing a feather. It was so cute! It kept hopping up to the feather and chirping, but when it got close enough to peck and grab it, the feather would blow a few inches away. Finally, the bird got super close and then another bird swooped in and grabbed, then they both flew away chirping madly at another.
Nature is cute
For the history books
Granted, it would have been history regardless (I think the Democratic campaign as it is), but still…
It’s pretty cool. Now it’s time for Hillary to gracefully step down and work at keeping the Democratic party together and quite trying to divide it.
