If I threw my guitar/ Out the window, so far down...


1. A Degree. Somehow--I don't know exactly how, and to be honest, I don't remember most of it-- somehow, I managed to complete my last four chapters of Biological Anthropology and Latin American history last night, and then wake up this morning to take two final exams, back-to-back, after getting four hours of sleep. And then BOOM! CRASH! SMACK! (the sound of fireworks) I'm done. With school. Forever.

No, really, I took the final exams today and then walked out of the Distance and Correspondence Education Office, climbed into my car, and drove away. It was as simple as that, and every bit as anti-climactic. I'm sad that I didn't get to ride the bus away from campus one last time. And in all the mayhem of struggling to survive this semester, I never called to get my cap and gown, so I won't be walking in the commencement ceromony. Will this mean that I will never commence? Whatever. I'm so totally commencing.

2. SURPRISE! My cousin and dear friend Mariah is graduating from a radiography program on Friday. We've been hectically planning a SURPRISE! graduation party for her. We've decided that we are going to surprise her at 7, but the plans she has made (who let her make plans?) sound even more fun than the party. She wants to get drinks and then go see a band called Undergrass Blueground, which describes itself as a funky blend of "hick hop." This I have got to see.

But to make things interesting at the party, I wrote a "graduation song" to play for Mariah. It goes like this:

So you've finally gone and graduated
It's been a long time that you've been waiting
and working,
yes you've been working hard, Mariah

You're gonna get yourself a new career
taking x-rays of everybody's gear
yes Mariah, you'll do a good job,
Mariah.

You'll find good news and bad news too
Don't you know we all depend on you,
Mariah, oh yes Mariah.

Chorus:
And if you need someone to hold your hand
at the doctor's office
Mariah, Mariah can
at the doctor's office.

And if you need someone to simply smile
at the doctor's office
Mariah, Mariah will
at the doctor's office.

So don't you worry, no don't despair
you'll be fine, so long as Mariah's there
Mariah, she does a good job.

And don't worry about no radiation
Mariah follows every regulation,
Mariah, oh yes Mariah.

She's gonna wear her blue scrubs to work
help heal them people whose bodies hurt
Oh Mariah, Mariah.


My vision is to get all 20 people or so who are there to sing along on the chorus parts, so she'll be serenaded by an entire choir. This will require me to call out one of those hokey "Everybody now!" phrases, but what the heck. Why not?

Gonna Lasso the Moon

Issac and I went camping Thursday night. Nowhere special, just the backyard. I built a fire and we made hotdogs and s'mores, which we did only for the sake of tradition, since I think marshamallows are mostly disgusting. We watched the moon and the stars, and Issac had fun learning how to weild a big stick with a piece of meat on it. I had never considered the implication of roasting hotdogs as a phallic symbol until I saw Issac holding his four-foot stick against his pelvis for added support, at which point he started pretending like he was peeing, saying "Pssst" and laughing maniacally. I swear, who teaches this kid these things?

However, he tempered this gross boy moment with a moment that melts a mother's heart. As we were watching the log's last embers, just before bedtime, Issac looked up at the sky and started talking in jibberish. It is my unfortunate conditioned response to only act like I'm listening, and simply say, "Uh huh, uh huh." But I caught myself in time to actually pay attention to his dialogue:


I'm gonna fly in the sky, up high! UP HIGH! Zoooom! I'm gonna get the moon, like this! (Pantomimes wrestling with the moon). Grrrrrr! Gotcha!

What are you going to do after you catch the moon?

Gonna give it to you, Mommy!


Then he gave me a monster big hug and a few ardent smooches. That boy sure knows what's good for him.

There is an unruly, rebellious child in my house--and it is not Issac. This child, in some respects, is far more unmannered and out-of-control. She is nothing less than demanding. She is my inner-child, who has written three songs on the guitar this week, and is willing to do anything to avoid schoolwork.

Part of me wants to slap her hand. But another part of me realizes that this little girl, this muse, is the guardian of my soul. She is dutifully protesting and resisting the process of me turning into a responsible, financially secure, mundane, boring, nine-to-fiver. I say, "It's time to get to work!" She says, "Who cares? It's a beautiful day outside! Write a song! Read some poetry! ANYTHING but work!!!" I say, "But I only have so little time to do all my homework!" She says, "What's time? Go with the flow!"

I appreciate my inner-child, and thank her for refusing to give up on my creativity.

What the indulgence of watching The Batchelor and Supernanny has to do with saving my soul, well, this is another matter for another time.

I look forward to posting more regularly when I'm done with my coursework in May.