Ingrid is the BEST

I hate it when in romantic comedies, the couple that finally resolves their issues in the end almost always kisses in front of a crowd and then everyone applauds.

WHO ACTUALLY DOES THAT?


Except maybe a bride and groom at their own wedding, I can't think of any real life examples of when it's ever appropriate or not awkward.

Jane vs the World

Sometimes I fancy my life is not so different from Jane Austen's.

She had her flirtations (Tom Lefroy, though there are likely others) and so have I (Matt and Matt).
She settled on a younger man, then changed her mind (Harris Bigg-Wither) and so did I (Darren).
She made her own clothes, and so do I.
The Mysterious Suitor-by-the-Sea, well, nothing can quite match that story.

Cassandra only mentions in her later years that Jane met (and maybe loved?) a charming man in Devonshire who "made it plain he should seek them out again." But he died before he could. Cassandra also burnt half of Jane's letters when her sister died. Any mention of him from Jane's hand is most certainly gone.

You know, I fancy this similarity also because life is just life. She published anonymously and amounted to not very much in the public eye, because they only knew her as "A Lady." She dedicated herself to her family and to the poor, and I find that admirable. She and her sister spent a great deal of time teaching Chawton Village's children how to read and write.

And yet she was sharper and crueler than anyone I know. Puns involving "Rears and Vices." Or perhaps this little piece of work from Persuasion:

The real circumstances of this pathetic piece of family history were, that the Musgroves had had the ill fortune of a very troublesome, hopeless son; and the good fortune to lose him before he reached his twentieth year; that he had been sent to sea because he was stupid and unmanageable on shore; that he had been very little cared for at any time by his family, though quite as much as he deserved; seldom heard of, and scarcely at all regretted, when the intelligence of his death abroad had worked its way to Uppercross, two years before.
He had, in fact, though his sisters were now doing all they could for him, by calling him "poor Richard," been nothing better than a thick-headed, unfeeling, unprofitable Dick Musgrove, who had never done anything to entitle himself to more than the abbreviation of his name, living or dead.

That's about as close as you can get to calling someone an outright Dickhead in Regency England.

Or how about this:

Mrs Hall of Sherborne was brought to bed yesterday of a dead child, some weeks before she expected, ow[e]ing to a fright. I suppose she happened unawares to look at her husband.

Ouch. Cruel indeed.

Even though I feel as though I identify with this woman of two centuries ago, I have a feeling she wouldn't like me. I think she is too shrewd, too sharp, too particular, that I would not be welcomed into her graces easily. Perhaps if I did something kind for her brother.

Hmm. I must remember this once I perfect my time machine. Or steal the TARDIS.

My mind has wandered to another random pondering. Do we fancy ourselves writers for writing on a blog? Everyone has a blog these days. I have more than one. I am not alone in this. Do we really think that we write well enough to spread our thoughts among the masses?

Perhaps that's why I don't openly share this blog on facebook. Hah.

That's all for tonight, before my sickly head explodes. There is no cumulative point expressively laid out in fine poetical American English nor in a proper narrative fashion. Just me, and my strange train of thought.

Good night, fair world.

oh, little ol' me

I'm just a messed up girl
who thinks too much
and likes talking about emotions
but I rarely do so aloud.
So I guess that means I think too much there too.

Most of all, I want to connect with people.
I want love. To have love: give love.
That's what we must do.
Fill up and overflow.

I'd love to wander down that street. I imagine it's Paris. Oh, to be in Paris once more! To be in Paris and just be. Be outside a sidewalk café with un cafe et une crème brûlée. Except I don't drink un café. I'd rather have une tasse de thé.

blech

I think I might be a strange combination of Summer and Tom from (500) Days of Summer.

Tom characteristics: hopeless romanticism, obsessed with falling in love, inability to actualize inner feelings

Summer characteristics: inability to fall in love

but hope that there is a you...

This song, by Sara Bareilles, has been in my head far too much as of late.
It's all made of my own devices.
----------------------------------------------
Just about the time the shadows call
I undress my mind and dare you to follow
Paint a portrait of my mystery
Only close my eyes and you are here with me
A nameless face to think I see
To sit and watch the waves with me till they're gone
A heart I'd swear I'd recognize is made out of
My own devices....
Could I be wrong?

[CHORUS]
The time that I've taken
I pray is not wasted
Have I already tasted my piece of one sweet love?

Sleepless nights you creep inside of me
Paint your shadows on the breath that we share
You take more than just my sanity
You take my reason not to care.
No ordinary wings I'll need
The sky itself will carry me back to you
The things I dream that I can do I'll open up
The moon for you
Just come down soon

[CHORUS]
The time that I've taken
I pray is not wasted
Have I already tasted my piece of one sweet love?
Ready and waiting for a heart worth the breaking
But I'd settle for an honest mistake in the name of
One sweet love.

Savor the sorrow to soften the pain

Sip on the southern rain
As I do, I don't look, don't touch, don't do anything
But hope that there is a you.

The earth that is the space between,
I'd banish it from under me, to get to you.
Your unexpected love provides my solitary suicide
Oh I wish I knew

[CHORUS]
The time that I've taken
I pray is not wasted
Have I already tasted my piece of one sweet love?
Ready and waiting for a heart worth the breaking
But I'd settle for an honest mistake in the name of
One sweet love.

One Sweet Love

Some days I wake up with a song stuck in my head. It's usually an indication of the state of my soul. This morning it's "One Sweet Love" by Sara Bareilles. If I actually lived according to my feminist ideals, that song would not be haunting me as of late. I am full of contradictions.

"A nameless face to think I see to sit and watch the waves with me, til they're gone."

the Germans capitalize all their nouns

Punctuation and capitalization heavily influences my writing style (including my poetry), and I thought it might be nice to explain my how I use capitalization. Though this may be something commonly deciphered. Oh well.

Here are two examples:

you - referring to the other, more intimate than the use of "they." Can be either singular or plural. I like clarifying the singular and plural in my poetry, specifically.
You - pretty much always God, the ultimate other being.

love - an emotion that is inexplicable but often expresses an attachment to someone/something
Love - the ultimate love that encompasses emotion and action into the best of anything and everyone that exists in the universe. This love is the love I constantly yearn for, sometimes feeling it physically at the core of my being.

Is this silly? Maybe. But there something symbolic to me about capitalizing a word.

inordinancy

"This is the sin of Sodom; she and her suburbs had pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease, but did not help or encourage the poor and needy. They were arrogant and this was abominable in God's eyes." Ezekial 16:49

Oh God, that we would recognize our prosperous standard of living and humble ourselves to help those in need. Let us recognize the sin of Sodom in our society.

which is it

Stop it
Stop it
Stop it
Stop it
Stop it
Stop it
Stop it
Stop it
Stop it
Stop it
Stop it
Stop it
Stop it
Stop it
Stop it
Stop it
Stop it
Stop it

tear down this wall

I am, as of late, realizing how many walls I've built up around me and through me, to the point where I cannot move. I am not Lynne when I am at this school because I do not share my full and true self with very many people. There is not much truth remaining in the stony version of me. It's no wonder I feel so alone when I do not reach out to others myself. I'm just scared is all, because I care too much about what they think. I'm scared of getting hurt...again. The healing is so hard and so arduous. Yet what is life, but suffering? If I were the honest version of myself, I would just love. That's it. Love.

all I know is Love will wake me up

Dear Elise Witek,
I know that we never hung out that much when we were in the English and Theatre programs in college, but I love your music and I perpetually have "All I Know" stuck in my head because that song is me. I am many times over tempted to post lines from that song as my facebook status, but then I remember that that might be weird. I hope you keep writing and producing new work because I will most certainly buy those future albums.

Sincerely,
Lynne

I flit and float through time and space, searching and hungering for a glimpse of Love, Real Love. Let's fly away to L'Paris and find our shadows in the cobblestones.

a poem for no one

The moon shines brightly on my head tonight.
I look out from my balcony into a valley I do not hold dear,
Because that notch I love is far and away.
Where there are waters and sands and hills.
The stars are the same, even if they illuminate less.

The stars are the is because they were, are, and continue to be and
Still were placed and named by the
Eternal Is, Was, Will Be who knows the secrets of the skies
We've only begun to know.

I've only begun to know
My heart and yours'.
There are years ahead of this precious Life gift.
The Gifts that throttle you back and forth
Are the Gifts worth getting.
Apparently.

What is this ever-present waiting sensation?
Where all [pronoun] do is say "Let's go"
But stay rooted to the shoes and the almost dead tree.
If I were stronger then I would let you go.
But I haven't found anyone that surpasses
the laughter and the philosophical escapades.

I remember Orion's journey across the sky.
From nine to one it tickled my insides.
On cold nights he wakes and every sighting
Searches what is left of this heart of mine.
We are so fragile.
Maybe one day, I'll let You in.

all that you wish to leave behind

I think my instability could possibly be measured in how I feel when I am not constantly surrounded by people or things to do. These moments alone frighten me. For I am scared of being alone.

If I could move to San Francisco
or Chicago
or London
tomorrow...
I would.


Thanks to everyone who made my spring break unbelievably fun and wonderful :D

You know, I made a joke in Love Me Dead about the song "Breaking Up is Hard to Do," but it really really is. Now that I have, my insides hurt. Like I'm going to cry or vomit or both. I thought I had prepared myself for this, but there is a feeling of grief and loss that is beginning to overwhelm me.
I've hurt like this before, and I know it will eventually pass, but it still sucks. This is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I'm not sure if it's the loss of feelings of attachment or the fear that I hurt him. Either way, I feel like shit.

I think I need to avoid facebook for a while, otherwise it will eat away at me to read those status updates.

all I ever wanted

photo credit

my life as MBTI

If I could order my life around personality typing, I would.

My best friends would be INFJs and ENFPs.
My roommate would be an ENFP.
I would marry an INFP.
Anyone whose's -N-J would make a great colleague.
ENFJs, ENTJs, ENTPs, ESFJs, ISFJs, ISFPs, and including the above mentioned would be included in my circle of friends.
I would love to learn from a (stable) INTJ.
I would stay away from the ESFPs, as they usually disappoint me.
And I'll probably avoid an ISTP at all costs. We wouldn't understand each other at all.

I'm not giving up on greener grasses.


I'm so sorry, because I know that's not what you'll want to hear.

when the heart hurts

Ruth
Emerson
Tyler
Elizabeth
Diana
Rachel
Bethany
Jessica


My life feels a little less without these dear ones in my daily life.
Yet I have life bursting in other ways.
I suppose I shouldn't complain, but I want them here with me as I attempt this journey through unknown waters...

to help stifle this feeling
(even if it's just for a little while)


that I really am alone.