all i want for christmas is to be able to sing well… but here’s what i’ve been doing for the last half hour. clearly avoiding studying for finals.


he stood
unsure and
briefcase in hand,
polished shoes,
ironed shirt with
matching tie.
weight shifting
from heel
to toe.
a knock on the door,
a quick exchange,
two sweaty palms,
a pounding heart.
selected words,
all rehearsed.

across the table,
a suited stranger,
for whom he paints
a vivid picture.
a familiar sight,
a man he knows
who looks like him
and shares the same
lopsided smile.
but whose demeanor,
charisma, character,
and qualifications
set him apart.

and the gated bridge that stands between
the man and the man he longs to be,
is the suited stranger across the table,
who holds the keys to this man’s dreams

so there he sat,
unsure and
briefcase wide open,
polished shoes,
ironed shirt with
matching tie.
a knock on the table,
a quick exchange,
two sweaty palms,
a spreading smile.
four short words:
to the company.


from two doors down,
the tapping taught me
when to stay away.

when after supper,
the clicking came
to mark the end of day.

the chorus started,
with the sound
of whistles, hums, and whirs.

fluorescent lights,
computer fans,
and twelve e-mail alerts.

his ball-point pen
a stand-in drum stick,
a rhythm never ceasing.

the inhale, exhale,
a ritardando
to guide his quiet breathing.

fingers all dancing,
and hand swiftly sliding
the mouse across slick surfaces.

order forms, spreadsheets,
logistics and planning,
details of programs and purchases.

with the work never ending,
his days and nights claimed,
I knew to give him his space.

but still, every night,
after clicking,
and sliding,
and whirring,
and humming,
and frustrated tapping,
a knock on my door
signaled his intermission,
his giving permission
to be present once more.


My mind used to feel most alive when I could spend two hours releasing my thoughts onto the pages of my journal or pouring them into this blog. For the past few months, I haven’t given myself more than a few minutes at a time to do this. As a result, my thoughts are disjointed and my discoveries few and far between. I’m not sure what is even worth saying at this point. All I know is that I should be writing. Logistically, it makes most sense to update on my life these days.

Classes: Despite taking 18 credit hours, I don’t feel like I spend all that much time in class. My BioPsych class is awesome. I love the professor, and the material is fascinating. Bio 172 is less interesting, but it’s logical enough that it doesn’t bother me yet. Chem 230 is fantastic. I forgot how much I loved problems with simple formulas and algebraic derivations. Bio 173 is my only lab this semester, and today we planted tomato, alfalfa, and rye plants. Simple, quick, and fun. I think I’m going to enjoy this lab quite a lot. Eng 223 is by far my most intimidating class. Writing poetry and short stories used to be some of my favorite things to do, but at this point, I’m nervous that I won’t commit the time to it that I should. Here’s to hoping inspiration hits me frequently and that first drafts easily transform into final, polished pieces. The last class I have is Piano 150. Awesome, right?

ResStaff: Makes me so happy. The whole idea of being a part of a group that is unified by their desire to make people feel loved and pursued is the most exciting thing in the world to me. More to come on this…


At the moments that I feel most inspired, most motivated, and most ambitious about a thought, idea, or creative venture, I find myself paralyzed under the weight of possibilities. An infinite collage of ideas floods my daydreaming mind, and instead of sitting down to force abstract ideas into physical manifestations, my mind floats away. I collapse in the realm of the things into which I long to invest myself. My knees give out and, in the end, I find myself holding a piece of writing that is far beneath my expectations. A song spills through my speakers that violates that ideas I wished to convey. A painting is mere outlines of my original dream.

I wish I could take the ideas that jump the synapses of mind as mere electrical impulses and form them into the beauty that I understand them to be. I wish I could project my thoughts with accuracy, simplicity, and clarity.


Tinsel and Convection Currents—MA Project One: Self-Reflection [5/23/2011]


It’s much harder to analyze myself than I originally realized. The things that I’m currently experiencing seem to take precedence in how I view myself, and I don’t like the bias that has been created. Regardless, I’m going to try rambling once again to come up with an idea.

I love to think about things. I analyze situations relentlessly in hopes of making new discoveries and changing the way that I see this world. I am ambitious for the sake of setting goals and achieving them, but I don’t like being competitive. I don’t want to do better than others; I just want to accomplish my impossible goals. I have a bad habit of investing myself into a lot of things superficially. I am a dreamer. I imagine myself floating away on an umbrella every time it’s windy outside. Music is an escape for me. I am extraordinarily awkward about all romantic situations. I just avoid them entirely. I am excited to be married and wholeheartedly committed to another person. I can’t wait to let my husband lead me and I can’t wait to know one person that fully. Silly. I don’t know why that’s on my mind.

People fascinate me. I am enamored with the beauty of even pieces of trash. A cup on the side of the road has a very complex story. It was a seed, then a tree, then processed in a factory. It was built and inspected, shipped, and filled with a drink. It was purchased, used, and tossed heartlessly out a window. Now it will be picked up, thrown in a bag, and put somewhere to never be used again. Even that piece of trash has seen a big chunk of the world. Amazing.

I am torn between a desire to succeed and a desire to have nothing. Luckily, I also value the importance of balance. I’m at a stage of my life where I feel like I can pursue anything.

WOOHOO! Inspiration. That last statement mixed with my tendency to day-dream inspired my song. Next post will have it!


I’ve been ruthlessly thrown before a mirror, forced to examine every flaw and unique feature in my mentality and belief system. I find myself helplessly conducting an auto-ethnography, and I’m not sure what I’m seeing yet. Here is the chaotic conglomeration of superficial and deep observations of myself.

I, above all else, care about people. I want to invest in peoples’ lives and dedicate myself to their betterment. I think it’s important to realize that this world is not just my personal bubble. It’s not just Ann Arbor. It’s not just Michigan, or even the United States. This world has billions of people. And they’re dying, growing, wishing, killing, teaching, learning, suffering, fighting, losing, needing, and pursuing purpose. I like thinking about the vastness of the world. It makes every moment remarkably significant. My world truly shatters when I expand my thoughts beyond this planet and into the rest of the universe. I’m but a speck, and yet my entire existence is understood and dictated by the mysterious electrical signals of my little cranium. [As a side note, I think one thing worth noting about my character is that I am genuinely interested in and fascinated by this world called Earth.]  …exhausted. more later.


You’d be bored because I’m literally just watching the grass ripple in the wind.


Some things don’t hit you until they’ve gained enough momentum to knock you to your knees. I know because my knees are currently coated in bruises… metaphorically speaking, of course.

I thought that I would be immune to the psychological stages of my late teen years. I know what I believe. I have values. I made commitments to these pursuits after careful consideration. I didn’t think that a few short months away from home could change that. And to be honest, it didn’t hit me that I’d changed until my very last day of freshman year.

Walking to the last of my final exams, the reality of life beyond just classes and organized extracurriculars became evident. I have changed. Things that seemed entirely irrelevant and unimportant in high school now cause me to lose sleep at night. Conversely, the things that were of utmost importance in high school now remain just as they are labeled—things that mattered in high school. They haven’t carried over. I’ve outgrown interests, ignorant beliefs, and certain apathetic tendencies.

I am remarkably malleable, but I am not weak. Ideas transform me. I fall in love with every subject and class because each one contributes significantly to who I am.

There are so many things I want to say, but after so many months of learning to push aside reflection in order to study, I am now incapable of thinking in an organized fashion. I will finish with this one simple thought:

This world is broken in so many ways, and the more I learn, the more confident I am that I can actually heal some of its wounds. Maybe I can only contribute to one tiny scrape, but I am willing to give everything for this.