one small step for man...

...one giant leap for ktb.

tomorrow i'm going to get up. finish packing. run about a million errands. and then i'm going to board a plane 100% by myself and travel to the other side of the country. this might be the bravest thing i've ever done.

i'm not very good at being by myself. true, i enjoy my space sometimes, i enjoy my solitude. there are days i don't feel like being social. but overall, i hate feeling left out. i hate knowing my friends are having fun without me. and i get lonely. this trip to prague is a huge exercise in independance for me.

i think i've gotten better at being independant since graduating, moving back to the chicago suburbs, and starting grad school. i have a feeling by next monday i'll be just fine, living in up in prague with all sorts of fabulous writers. but right now, i'm as sad about leaving as i am excited about going. i'm upset, i'm anxious, i'm in denial, i'm ecstatic, i'm confused...

in the grand scheme of things, it's only a month. and two things are for certain: it will fly by, and it will change my life. mostly i can't wait to see how the experience of prague shapes me. shapes my writing, shapes my outlook, shapes my attitude, shapes my life. throughout the trip, i only hope i will remember one piece of advice given to karen and i two years ago as we traveled to vienna (but i think it applies here too)...

"you have years to write about [prague] but only moments to live there" -matt nickel

here's hoping i can truly LIVE every moment...

i want this kind of love.

Fingerprints on a Glass, by Willie Ziegenhagen
(For Ingrid and Chris)

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
-Pablo Neruda

Your love will quietly weave
Throughout the world. It will be the first drop
From the coffee maker, and the last
Drip of the icicle on a warm April afternoon.
You will hear it in the gentle
Persistent hum of street traffic and the click
Of dog paws on wooden floors.
Love will fall from birdfeeders
With the twitching of sparrows;
It will be the worn out bits on the soles
Of your running shoes. Street lamps
Will splash love
Across sidewalks, it will burrow
Into beach sand and twirl with the tide.
You will find it on swing sets
At the neighborhood park on rainy days,
Tucked under couch cushions
With forgotten nickels, in the scent
Of red wine on a stained
Cork. During the days
Love will walk along the lake,
Admire the color of leaves, whisper
In the eyes of children.
At night, pulse reverently
On the breath of sleeping pines.
It will be the grease
On the garage floor, the chop
Of the skate over winter ice, the wind
Pushing against the window.
It will slip
Into the bookshelves of a crowded room,
Nestling between pages of encyclopedias
And Dr. Seuss.
You will find love
In fingerprints on a glass of iced tea,
The melted snow
Tracked through the house, waffles
With maple syrup, and the crackle
Of the record player.
When you’re distracted by the warmth
From the fireplace curling
Through the living room,
Wrapping around your waist,
Love will slip into your pockets, snuggle
Among the clean towels
In the closet, and sneak into the bottom
Of the mailbox. It will be
Library cards, the smack
Of the morning paper against the front door,
Chocolate sauce on a bowl of ripe strawberries,
And the scent of fresh cut grass
In the evening.
Love

So close that your hand on his chest will be his hand,
So close that as your eyes close she will fall asleep.

those summer nights

i felt a little like i was in nyc walking through central park tonight.

we planned to go to the taste of chicago, but in the 100 degree weather, opted for a concert at lincoln park zoo instead. when the concert turned out to be a bust (NO where to sit on the lawn) we headed for the bar. a nice little walk down a number of busy city streets and we found ourselves hot and parched at duffy's.

the point of this story, and my opening statement about nyc, was the walk back. we cut through lincoln park. and that's one of the things i love most about cities: the parks in them. i loved the parks in vienna, central park in nyc, and now lincoln park in chicago. the moon was low, orange, and almost full. i just love the ponds, the reeds blowing in the warm summer breeze, the fresh smell of the outdoors, and all with a city skyline in the background. it was such a great walk back, and i felt as if i should walk there more often. like i should be living near enough to walk there more often. and i felt like you were supposed to be with me, holding my hand, taking a midnight stroll after a late dinner out and a bottle of wine. why do scenes like that come up in my head so often? and seem so natural? sometimes they feel so real, as if they were actually memories instead of things i imagine.

why is it....

that we save old letters and emails and cards and things? and why do we go back and reread them later? and why are they so powerful? it's like the whole flood of emotion felt when you first received the words comes back. only, you pile up ALL the correspondance related to one person and it makes the flood niagara-falls-sized. sometimes, i think rereading things is a bad idea....

14 days and counting...

In just two weeks I will be living here:
http:/www.wmich.edu/studyabroad/prague/general_info/dorms_photos.html

And will be seeing things like this:
http://www.wmich.edu/studyabroad/prague/background_info/photos_2003.html

the rhythm of my footsteps crossing flood lands to your door
have been silenced forever more
the distance is quite simply much too far for me to row
it seems farther than ever before

i need you so much closer
i need you so much closer

-death cab for cutie, transatlanticism-

aching to get off the porch...

"I took up conversation with a gorgeous country girl wearing a low-cut cotton blouse that displayed the beautiful sun-tan on her breast tops. She was dull. She spoke of evenings in the country making popcorn on the porch. Once this would have gladdened my heart but because her heart was not glad when she said it I knew there was nothing in it but the idea of what one should do. 'And what else do you do for fun?' I tried to bring up boy friends and sex. Her great dark eyes surveyed my with emptiness and a kind of chagrin that reached back generations and generations in her blood from not having done what was crying to be done--whatever it was, and everybody knows what it was. 'What do you want out of life?' I wanted to take her and wring it out of her. She didn't have the slightest idea what she wanted. She mumbled of jobs, movies, going to her grandmother's for the summer, wishing she could go to New York and visit the Roxy, what kind of outfit she would wear--something like the one she wore last Easter, white bonnet, roses, rose pumps, and lavender gabardine coat. 'What do you do on Sunday afternoons?' I asked. She sat on her porch. The boys went by on bicycles and stopped to chat. She read the funny papers, she reclined on the hammock. 'What do you do on a warm summer's night?' She sat on the porch, she watched the cars in the road. She and her mother made popcorn. 'What does your father do on a summer's night?' He works, he has an all-night shift at the boiler factory, he's spent his whole life supporting a woman and her outpoppings and no credit or adoration. 'What does your brother do on a summer's night?' He rides around on his bicycle, he hangs out in front of the soda fountain. 'What is he aching to do? What are we all aching to do? What do we want?' She didn't know. She yawned. She was sleepy. It was too much. Nobody could tell. Nobody would ever tell. It was all over. She was eighteen and most lovely, and lost.

-Jack Kerouac, On the Road-

beer garden

This is what my friends and I do at work. We email each other back and forth with subject lines like: "apparently..." and "beer." This weekend is Libertyville Days, so last night we went to the beer garden. And we're going tonight. And tomorrow. The tickets you get to buy beer are stupid little photocopied squares. We decided it'd be way too easy to just make ourselves a few extra copies for the rest of the weekend. This is the email Kari and I received from Scott this morning, subject line "uh oh..."

So it's like not even nine thirty and i've already made a whole case of beer...priorities...

love?

Love is the longing for the half of ourselves we have lost.
-Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being-

but what if you find that half, and it passes you by? . . .

my MSN daily horoscope

Good news is in store for you during the next few weeks, dear Leo. This period marks a tremendous time for you in the department of love and romance in which you will find that things are automatically going your way. Maintain your upbeat and playful manner around everyone you encounter. You will be respected and loved for exactly who you are. Let your heart lead the charge.

old school radio

do you ever feel like the songs on the radio are about your life? happens to me all the time. a couple oldie-but-goodies that i heard today. couldn't pick between the two, so i'm posting both.

you've already won me over
in spite of me
so don't be alarmed if i fall
head over feet
and don't be surprised if i love you
for all that you are
i couldn't help it
it's all your fault
-alanis morissette-

could you whisper in my ear
the things you wanna feel
i'll give ya anything
to feel it comin
do you wake up on your own
and wonder where you are
you live with all your faults
i wanna wake up where you are
i won't say anything at all
so why don't you slide
-goo goo dolls-

i think
spiderman
is sexy.

Honesty

Can you imagine how different life would be if we actually said what we were thinking all the time? If instead of worrying what people might think, or how they might react to our truest and most honest thoughts and feelings... we just said them out loud. If we just told people what we really thought of them, and how we really felt about them, instead of always being afraid and cautious and waiting for a sign, or for the "right time". How different...

"If I had the chance, love,
I would not hesitate
to tell you all the things I never said before.
Don't tell me it's too late.
Cause I've relied on my illusions
to keep me safe at night,
and I've denied in my capacity to love,
but I am willing
to give up this fight."
-Sarah McLachlan-

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