Right Field
Saturday summers, when I was a kid
We'd run to the schoolyard and here's what we did
We'd pick out the captains and we'd choose up the teams
It was always a measure of my self esteem
Cuz the fastest, the strongest, played shortstop and first
The last ones they picked were the worst
I never needed to ask, it was sealed,
I just took up my place in right field.
Playing...
...right field, it's easy, you know.
You can be awkward and you can be slow
That's why I'm here in right field
Just watching the dandelions grow
Playing right field can be lonely and dull
Little leagues never have lefties that pull
I'd dream of the day they'd hit one my way
They never did, but still I would pray
That I'd make a fantastic catch on the run
And not lose the ball in the sun
And then I'd awake from the long reverie
and pray that the ball never came out to me
Here in...
...right field, it's easy, you know.
You can be awkward and you can be slow
That's why I'm here in right field
Just watching the dandelions grow
Off in the distance, the game's dragging on,
There's strikes on the batter, some runners are on.
I don't know the inning, I've forgotten the score.
The whole team is yelling and I don't know what for.
Then suddenly everyone's looking at me
My mind has been wandering; what could it be?
They point at the sky and I look up above
And a baseball falls into my glove!
Here in right field, it's important you know.
You gotta know how to catch, you gotta know how to throw,
That's why I'm here in right field, just watching the dandelions grow!
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
on this day...
I may have a thing for traditions. I love holidays. Birthdays are always very special and I tend to remember anniversaries of all sorts. Dates just stick in my head and each annum becomes significant. Yesterday I celebrated (sort of) the years that have passed since a day where I failed. Today marks another anniversary, though not in years. It is three months since I arrived in Austin.
My experiences in Austin have been mostly of the internal sort. All that intrinsic crap that only coming-of-age novelists write about. Okay, I'll admit, the months have flown by in simplicity and rote. What angst I have experienced got compacted into the last week or so. Which basically means: it's time for a change.
The nature of this change is not yet clear to me. I've written fourteen pages in my journal about it and made a spreadsheet or two, and Nora, Emilie and Mom have been victims of my need to discuss it all. But that's just a girl trying to understand the problem, not yet moved on to solving it. I haven't written about any of these conundrums on my blog, because I haven't talked about it openly in this here the real world. I've tried, but all my friends know how lame my efforts generally are.
Poor April, she was the first one to demand of me: won't you say something! Bryan and Ted (opposites themselves in their communication habits) fought me tooth and nail to get me to say the things I had to.
And so, knowing my own proclivity not to talk about my concerns/worries/hurt feelings/anything that's not fictional, I feel like I ought to make a written commitment now, to say, at least I am talking about it all tonight. Because that's my plan, to gird up my loins and express myself. But just on the off-chance that I chicken out, I think I'll keep that quiet.
My experiences in Austin have been mostly of the internal sort. All that intrinsic crap that only coming-of-age novelists write about. Okay, I'll admit, the months have flown by in simplicity and rote. What angst I have experienced got compacted into the last week or so. Which basically means: it's time for a change.
The nature of this change is not yet clear to me. I've written fourteen pages in my journal about it and made a spreadsheet or two, and Nora, Emilie and Mom have been victims of my need to discuss it all. But that's just a girl trying to understand the problem, not yet moved on to solving it. I haven't written about any of these conundrums on my blog, because I haven't talked about it openly in this here the real world. I've tried, but all my friends know how lame my efforts generally are.
Poor April, she was the first one to demand of me: won't you say something! Bryan and Ted (opposites themselves in their communication habits) fought me tooth and nail to get me to say the things I had to.
And so, knowing my own proclivity not to talk about my concerns/worries/hurt feelings/anything that's not fictional, I feel like I ought to make a written commitment now, to say, at least I am talking about it all tonight. Because that's my plan, to gird up my loins and express myself. But just on the off-chance that I chicken out, I think I'll keep that quiet.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
auld lang sine
I was reminded this morning that today is New Year's Day, the day to which I looked forward last year, the day in which I failed two years ago. But like last year, this day I feel more in limbo, in the process of turning the bend in the road. I am not at the apex. Though, if I think about it, I never have been in March. Even that awful day, two years ago, didn't end everything. That came on April 20th. If the date means nothing, then at least the fact that it was the last day of finals should. The last day of finals last year had me toasting Emilie at PF Changs and singing Rainy Days and Mondays. So while I feel a little crumbly and somewhat adrift today, I will wait and see how I feel in a month.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
me time
Ted called me an hour after I'd been hit by the car. "Are you okay?" he asked me after a little while. I told him I thought I was a little bit in shock. "It's not that. You don't sound well." Ted, I've been crying for the past hour. Of course I don't sound well. "No, Audrey. There's something else going on, isn't there?" I didn't say anything at the time.
Yeah, there's something else going on. There are times, very predictably the first weekend of each month, that I cry seemingly for no reason. (Hormones are a reason, though.) But last Sunday was not one of those times. Neither was Tuesday or Wednesday. Nor was last night. A week of this? I mused. In the middle of the month? This can't be right.
I called my Mom, my sister, Emilie, my home teachers and Kevin. And then yesterday I turned off my phone.
It's the first time since before I moved here that I told myself the world could wait, when the hope that someone would reach out to me wasn't enough to keep me anchored to my cell. I went on a walk and left it behind. I never checked it, not once, to see if someone had called, if there was a text message or a voicemail. I felt free of my shackles. My phone no longer sat in the back of my mind like a large, red, lidless eye tempting me in my every move.
I spent the morning writing in my journal, reading scriptures and praying. I didn't have any answers by the end, but I felt calmer and now at least I know what many of the questions are. That's a relief.
Yeah, there's something else going on. There are times, very predictably the first weekend of each month, that I cry seemingly for no reason. (Hormones are a reason, though.) But last Sunday was not one of those times. Neither was Tuesday or Wednesday. Nor was last night. A week of this? I mused. In the middle of the month? This can't be right.
I called my Mom, my sister, Emilie, my home teachers and Kevin. And then yesterday I turned off my phone.
It's the first time since before I moved here that I told myself the world could wait, when the hope that someone would reach out to me wasn't enough to keep me anchored to my cell. I went on a walk and left it behind. I never checked it, not once, to see if someone had called, if there was a text message or a voicemail. I felt free of my shackles. My phone no longer sat in the back of my mind like a large, red, lidless eye tempting me in my every move.
I spent the morning writing in my journal, reading scriptures and praying. I didn't have any answers by the end, but I felt calmer and now at least I know what many of the questions are. That's a relief.
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