backyard crowing


amateurs & airports

8:12 am:

Perhaps in life we must take the greatest leap of all as amateurs.
Perhaps being an amateur is the greatest leap of all.
This is the first thing that came to my head this morning.
I am an amateur at Journalism, and it took a great leap to decide to become one.
I am an amateur at love, and it will take a great leap if I want to stay an amateur at love.


An old high school friend told me recently, "I was surprised when I found out you weren't a journalism major. I can see you doing that."

I am going to hold on to her remark!

"Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how." - The Sunscreen Song


At: Hobby Airport, Gate 20, sitting around
time: 1:46 pm

I'm proud that I got myself here. There are several people around me on laptops, and one of them just looked sideways at me. No dude, I'm not trying to steal your company secret. I'm going to Tulsa, not Timbuktu, to attend a wedding.

I couldn't write my grandparents a poem. Well, perhaps I could have, but the result would have been a gross misrepresentation of what I believe to be true about their marriage. I am NOT my grandparents. And yet, I admire that they have tolerated each other for 50 years.

Airports are the best places to write. Plenty of people watching, a fast-paced atmosphere, and officials everywhere. I love this place. No one to bother you, yet if you need help, the airport workers are very friendly.

This particular airport is smaller and friendlier than Intercontinental. I saw a pilot talking to a passenger waiting for her plane to board. They just sat there, talking about this and that; perhaps he was hitting on her? Hm. Yes, I do love a small airport.

I'm flying Southwest today, are they the friendly skies? My laptop managed to start up again even after it went through the baggage check. Evidently I should have taken the computer out and ran it through separately.

I wonder if my seatmate(s) will peer over my shoulder the whole flight long. I wonder if that's a conceited thing to think. Perhaps I'll make a friend. Hopefully I have a window seat...

I forgot to buy gum! Oh well. I'm just happy I'm here, early, and that I have this time to chill out and write to no one.

I, I, I. What am I, full of myself?

Yes. I believe so.

Later on, while in the plane next to a really overweight guy:

I'm on Flight 36 to Tulsa now, just looking out the window (I got a window seat!) I have a fantastic view just past the glass, and yet I'm failing to find words fitting enough to describe the blueprint of earth beneath me.

I could easily say that cars look like ants and clouds like cotton candy or balls.

Clouds are wisps, I'll say.

Lakes are no longer landforms, they dip effortlessly into the earth, puddles that seamlessly blend, licking the dirt.

Fields like graph paper rippes around the edges.

Clumps of trees, sprinkled among the buildings.

Secret forest paths reveal themselves.

A barn of buses beneath us...half white, half yellow.

The clouds cast shadows, blocking what they must mercilessly and helplessy. They billow and blow along, taking captive our schools and stadiums. As we lose altitude, my mind drifts to SimTown, and home after home, neon blue splotch after splotch; we must be in Dallas now, among the rich.

-Construction site
-Rippling lake
-Wheels roar
-Engine releasing (moaning? no...)
-Taxiing should be called trotting, because in a taxi, your boobs don't bounce. My boobs are bouncing.

Is this writing in any way mesmerizing, or do descriptive words only succeed at boring people? Of course I suppose the reader must decide whether or not he or she enjoys a particular/certain text. Marcus certainly seems fond of my gerunds, but that is because he gets off to them.

Something I just heard over the loudspeaker in the plane:

"Please turn off all electronic devices now, as we are about to land. Everyone and everything. That would include you, sir, and you, ma'am." we laughed...

On the wedding:

It will be fun. In theory.

In theory, it will be fun.

But, that iswhat much of life is like.

My grandparents hold stock in Wal-Mart, and my grandma thinks it would be nice if I worked there. Yeeeeeah...never again.

Seems like all my jobs are like that, except maybe with FACE.

Can hardly believe ANNA is picking me up! I cannot wait to see her! Anna, the graduate. Anna J. Miller is driving to the airport to pick up her dear cousin Janeane.

We start to bump along again, this time I am not quite as pleased with our un-sedan-like movements.

And now, our quick loadup has finished. And now, takeoff.

Tulsa, here we come!

So, maybe planes were a bad idea...

But the bird's eye view gave me a little inspiration, anyway.

The earth: my muse. Wasn't it always?

I'm cheating today. Heaven only knows how many pages I've written with all of these skipped lines and large handwriting. And it's far from morning anymore.

Mom is far too serious for me. I am a woman of jokes in awkward or unnerving situations, and yet I cannot usually think of anything witty to say. And yet I feel like a funny person. I so love to make a person laugh, even just a little bit. If they chuckle at something I've said, I guffaw--not because I think I've got some sort of great comedic timing, but because I'm thrilled there is someone who seems amused.

The twins have always been easily amused by what I consider silly, perhaps that is why [we have lasted so long/I cherish them so much].

"Feel like there's a mirror beneath my skin." - Hanson

- Friday, august 04, 2006


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