Wednesday, April 28, 2010


When Mom Makes A Good Joke
Furtive Glances From Across the Room
When You Set Your Cell-Phone On It (yer heart), Forget, And It Buzzes
When Smart Cute Babies Sing You Happy Birthday
When Smart Cute Babies Give You Hugs Or Bessos
El Cafe Magic
Exercise [or so I've heard]
When the Sun Beams You
Dance Parties
Snow Flakes
Snow Balls Flying At Your Face
Coffee Coffee Coffee
Joanna Newsom
When You Make A Joke Mom Would Make
When People Who You Thought Did Not Like You Tell You You're Alright

Tuesday, April 27, 2010


It's that time of year.

In spring I spend lots of time sitting and missing things. In spring I get sappy, clingy, hopeful, hopeless, desperate, lonely, tired, excited, hungry, full. In winter had some semblance of confidence, but it seems to have melted with the snow and I am second guessing and quadruple analyzing everything again.

This is why I have been taking so many naps.
I swear I am still fun, I just have more inner turmoil than I did last week.

"my dearest scatterheart, there is comfort, right in the eye of the hurricane"

Monday, April 26, 2010


Mifflin is coming up, which is not normally something I would at all be excited for, but I am interested to see it, and compare it to what I have been told about what it used to be. Spring always seems to bring the protestor out in me, and I swear my heart was made in the '60's. It was not just protesting the war, but a weird era of unity that I don't think I will ever get to experience. I know I seem to write about this same idea every 6 months, but it is because I never have the time or energy to properly give a full rounded explanation of my idealization of this era.

Paul says that Mifflin used to be more about drugs and less about drinking, more about everyone getting together to celebrate life and, in the back, fight the system. He called it anarchy and I know I wasn't there, but I don't think that was it. Or maybe I just don't have the right view of anarchy.

In the '60's people from all over came to Madison. Paul told me about all the Runaways. Mifflin street co-op was the only co-op in town, and it doled out food these young runaways, and helped foster various other like-minded businesses. Madison has a good heart, even if it has been slightly tainted by my generation. Many say that the Sterling Hall bombings put an end to it. It crossed a line, it was too violent, and droves of people left after it happened. Karl and his brother learned how to fly planes, stole one, and tried to bomb some WI company's fields (I of course don't remember the name or what they produced now). And they managed to do all of this without killing themselves in the process.

The don't condone violence. But to care about something so much, to be so frustrated with a system that ignores and ignores the fact that thousands of people are dying, for no apparent reason, that you don't know what else to do is amazing. I feel like that is so lost on my generation. Lost on me. I have written and angry essay or two, but I never DO anything. All these people that raised me, my fake aunts and uncles, they were a part of something, they were a part of a movement, they were fighting for what they believed in and being stupid college kids at the same time. I am just being a stupid college kid.

Someday, I will gather all the information that I have learned through years of story telling, documentary watching, book reading, and write a fictional book about Madison in the 60's, that will draw heavily of real life accounts. The take-over, the beginning of Mifflin, Sterling hall bombings, the police paranoia, everything. Perhaps a good project if I ever decided to try to get an MFA in creative writing here.

Monday, April 19, 2010


Post weekend o' mayhem I scrubbed my carpet, I swept, mopped, I replaced furniture, and I passed the fuck out. Yesterday I was not pleasant, I was sleepy, I was irritable, I needed some time to myself. This is why I need to live with these kidz. Because I love them, and mostly just want to be around them all the time, but need my own space to escape to every now and again.

I used to get like this (x's 10) every time visitors came and left, a sentimental sort of emptiness. Lately I've been having lots and lots of "I don't know what to do with myself" moments, and I think I know what this means, but it is still a little unsettling none the less. There is some hint of deeper sadness in this, just a drop, but it is something I have not felt in so long, I am not sure what to do with it. But yesterday, I was sitting, half asleep (as that is how I spent my whole day) thinking about how much different I am, really, if I look at myself a year ago and look at myself now, I have rediscovered my inner child, the one that is not so afraid of what people will think, the one that just wants to dance around and do hand stands and enjoy things. I was always trying to catch up with my cousins, trying to act older than I really was, trying to impress them. Now I trust that each age has its own sort of wisdom, and to deny yourself the perspective of the age you actually are is to deny yourself some important learning experiences.

At a certain point, when we were standing on the porch watching birds, talking about this and that he said "Oh, to be 20 again" which is something people always say, that doesn't make sense to me ("oh, you'll understand when you are older," I don't want to.) I suspect each age has it's value, I suspect our ups and downs have nothing to do with how old we are at all. I also have a hunch that each age is not so different as we make it out to be. Last week, I had the same weird break downs I used to have when I was little, one involving tears that I did not understand, a moment where I was terribly upset and had no inkling as to why. We change, but at the same time we are rather static.

I am desperate for something to happen with this, but doing my best not to push or shove, doing my best to be calm (though I wake up in the middle of the night singing "desperation is the devil's work, it is the folly of a boy's empty mind"). Yesterday I fell asleep in the living room, while my roommates watched a movie or two and I woke up every hour, ate pizza, fell back asleep. It was strange, my computer glowing next to my head the whole time, waiting for something, waiting for nothing. For the first time in a long time, I am not fully satisfied, and that is a comfort, it means I am ready for something new.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010


Has already proved itself an improvement on 19. I am calm, but brimming with disbelief/joy. Unfucking believable. Too tired to articulate really, because in one sense, it is such a big thing, and in another sense, such a typical day in the life of el cafe, which goes back to it being an even bigger, cooler sort of thing. In my head all I can think is :"guys. guys. guys." It is clear that my life is charmed, though I don't think the universe needed to pull this stunt to prove it.

Thanks brudder fou.

the waking lyfe

A series of strange dreams, strung together through out nights, all of them related, all of them sending me mixed messages. I suppose my wires are crossed and firing inconsistently. Today I woke up feeling a little hopeless, a feeling I have not had in a long time, I don't like what these dreams are playing at. I don't like surprises. There is some amount of anticipation, my expectations always get too high, I am always a little disappointed, even though I have no reason to be. That and even when I don't realize it, I plan things out in my head, even Savannah 2.0, who is less concerned with how things will turn out, plans things in her head, just little things, details, which are really the important things anyways. It is a bad habit, it is something that needs to be shaken out of me, so bring on the surprises (and bring on the stomach aches).
My heart is permanently in my stomach, I can not get the two separated for the life of me, so these dreams keep having me wake up earlier than I should, with a big hollow sort of stomach churn. Having just woken up from such dreams, I am not sure I am making sense, and convinced I am being more dramatic about the dreams than necessary, but there is a certain amount of drama or distance required when writing, and I can't seem to play the distance card today. I am always trying to make my dreams mean something. Last week Lauren and I were talking about dreams, and she told me she heard that dreams are just us playing out possibilities. Not necessarily desires, just the various options. We both liked this, mostly because it comforted us.
My hair is in a not, my eyes are pale, my breath has a faint taste of tobacco, and my body is just recovering from the routine morning weakness. I am nothing but I bundle of nerves, and that is all to apparent to me most days. When I was sick last time (not fatal, just something that happens when a young gal like myself decides to not take her medicine), I went to Mary (a message therapist, of sorts). My leg has a "shaking point" as I call it, but she said it was all the toxins releasing themselves from my body, and that the gurgling of my stomach proved it. She held my leg at it's shaking point for 20 minutes maybe more, waiting for the toxins to be released, waiting for the leg to stop shaking. At the time I just thought she was not very bright. Now I am starting to consider the possibility that my constant nervousness actually produces this many toxins. Regaurdless, I left the appointment feeling so nauseous I thought I was going to have to puke in the bushes. I made it to the car and slouched, low, as low as I could get without falling onto the car floor. I missed eating custard, my stomach was too angry with me. There is never a moral to my stories.
On the other note, I have been thinking a lot about my lovely nest of friends, my true niche (at least for this time and place). I know some good people who know some good people who know some good people, so basically, I know lots of good people. These kidz could not be nicer (well, they could be, but I wouldn't want them to be). I am learning to be comfortable around people, which is new and so much nicer than being constantly uncomfortable around people. Regardless, I, for once, feel like I really belong somewhere, and am not just always lurking on the edges of various social scenes. 19 was a success. I suspect 20 will be even better.

Sunday, April 11, 2010


Today, I am being a birthday brat, which is completely unacceptable because it is not even my birthday (which everyone has so kindly reminded me over and over again). I won't go into details, because they will most definitely make me sound bratty. What is it about family that sometimes make me act so bitchy and terrible, even though I am fully conscious of it. It ends up making me more annoyed (with myself) and ergo more of a brat. I should know by now, that Birthdays are not special. I don't mean this in a passive-aggressive way, I mean, in general, no one I am close with thinks much of birthdays. But I have always thought they were nice. Celebrating the fact that someone you love exists, it is a nice thought. Right? A good reason to eat good food, and get down and boogy. Which I will do soon. Perhaps I am realizing that the things I used to consider as family things, are being spread out to the families I have created for myself. And I am perfectly OK with that. Or, I am learning to be. I don't know what is wrong with me. I am going to blame it on hormonal imbalance. Yeah, that always works for girls, right?

Tuesday, April 6, 2010



It is spring, my window is open and I can hear the rain trickling outside my window.
The last two days have moved in slow motion, I just feel sleepy.