Curious and curious-er

Posted by samantha on Apr 26, 2014 in What I Think

Why is it…

…that I am terrible remembering names — but good with faces — especially when it comes to pets? I know all my neighbors’ dogs’ names, but only a few of the owners’, even though I’m friendly and speak with them often.

And for that matter, why should I remember the remotest fact about a person I met once, yet I can’t remember when or where that I met them? I can recall what they were wearing, what they said about their cousin’s new car, or who they were roommates with but can’t remember if they were in class with me, marched in band with me, or were in some random conversation at a rare party I was convinced to attend.

Some things make you go, “Hmmm.”

Some poetry. Possibly bad. Definitely old.

Posted by samantha on Apr 25, 2014 in What I Think

Each night that my husband has rehearsal I try to find a new task to tackle. Sometimes it is the weekly cleaning list; other times it is a craft or a space to organize.

Tuesday night I decided to clean out the drawers of a certain piece of furniture that had obviously not been organized since I was in my first apartment. Of course I found new items, receipts and things from more current times, but also sketches from a dear friend I dated in high school and even some bizarre poetry I wrote.

In the spirit of entertainment, here is some weird poetry from me about 10 years ago.

<6:36 p.m.>

It happened one night.

I don’t know how.

Do I care, no, only

that it came to me.

I did not mean for it;

just felt it creep in

and settle deep within.

And then this seed grew,

Made a whole new complete.

I do not think to

be without it again

is a possibility that

I even crave at all.

Too long, an addiction

more than a tolerance to,

and bound, behold, I am.

Yet it happened one night.

I don’t know how.

Do I care, no, only

That I fell in love with you.

The Nighttime Promenade

I walk.

The ert, ert, ert of my treads

scratch on the sandy concrete.

Wet pavement.

As the wind tosses at curls

better kept behind ears,

which are alive with the sound of

the inevitable nighttime.

A glow, distant but warm, reflects

in the searching eyes.

I walk,

stirring crickets and still

of the evening air.

I have been here before.

Once upon a time…

but then, fairy tales were real.

Now there is only the

soft pounding on the sidewalk.

Fireflies dance to a mystic music

in the growing dark.

Do I know where this path goes,

My lonely sidewalk?

No, but I know I’ve been before.

So I walk, banging out the rhythm

Of the nightfall, the dark promenade,

with ert, ert, ert.

I walk.

Random thought number 607

Posted by samantha on Apr 24, 2014 in What I Think

I think my generation saying something is the “best thing since sliced bread” seems kind of ridiculous.

When have we ever lived without sliced bread?

Maybe we should say the best thing since cellphones, or instant mac ‘n’ cheese, or the country of Moldova.