S a b i n a B a r t o n

"Dear Diary"

Sun, 20 May 2012 12:20:00 +0000

for late submission...

It's been over a week and a half now since leaving a state that supports inequality. Aside from this slight, but truthfully huge bummer, I am happy to say that I really do miss Cackalacky (and also that I've never referred to her as "Cackalacky" in the 4 years that I lived there)..... sounds as if one is choking on a hairball - a very unfortunate name.

My new roommate, Lucy, has a bladder smaller than my own- the size of a kidney bean, no doubt. It makes me happy to know that she uses just as much toilet paper as myself. Though her tastes run towards Charmin and Charmin only- a habit she developed courtesy of Gio, her old roommate from NY- I can't help but dig the fact that she's as water conscious as myself (just a little, but not over the top).

If it's yellow....

Giovanni, my biggest competition for "Best Roommate", was/is a musical theater enthusiast and used bleach on everything... mops, floors, sinks, babies.... Buckets (for submerging puppies) were also bleached, but an unwavering loyalty to cleanliness is expected amongst those who have undergone cockroach epidemics, mice, and bed bugs.

Due to this series of unfortunate events, Lucy has now pronounced herself anti-Goodwill/Salvation Army (a fact that I can't help but find very sad, yet sensible). Studying theater with a concentration in playwriting, she's at that point in her life where she feels it necessary to make a living and is currently in school for speech pathology.

My books are about writing better lyrics. Hers are, unfortunately, about swallowing.

Don't know why I find it so necessary to give you a detailed account of my roommate's history and our bladder abnormalities. There are so many other things I have yet to share, like the buses and trains I have yet to figure out. Numbers, shapes, colors- feels like preschool all over again, except that there are maps involved....and connections, special channels and junctions that my synapse can't process.

Gaps need closing, I guess... More than a minute space, for sure.

Dear Diary,

Week ___ in Boston.

...or, as the locals call it... Boston

"Beantown" works too, I guess.... "The Hub [of the Universe]", "The Unofficial Capitol of New England", and my personal favorite- "The Cradle of Liberty"

School is starting soon, and someone's shedding like mad. Since there are no dogs or cats present, I am unable to pinpoint the culprit, but can picture it now: Franklin undoubtedly complaining [after a long day at the office] about the furniture and how his favorite recliner is simply "un-sit-able" (not a word, but roll with it). Loosening his tie, with scotch in paw, he migrates towards the couch....

Hair loss is a good sign- or at least that's what I wish to keep telling myself. Groupon and Living Social coupons still grace my inbox from time to time, but I am somehow accomplishing it all on my own. Go me. No laser hair removal for this Chica.

Now, if only Stress would target the right areas.

On a slightly less private note, I am happy to report that the buses and trains are cooperating more so than they did last week. All involved parties sat down one morning- Joe, from the redline, supplied the coffee and Al from route 89, the donuts. After making my intentions known, most colors, shapes, numbers, and textures decided that all routes should lead to and from Berklee.

"Why was this ever an issue?" asked Bob, the builder.

"Beats me," responded sexy construction worker, who fixes train track connections, but doubles as a GQ model.

Farewell to Carolina

Wed, 25 Apr 2012 14:05:00 +0000

The Musical Chamber

I trust that my friends will remember,

Whilst I these my pleasures display;

Resort to my musical chamber,

The laurel crown'd desert in May.

Resort to this chamber at leisure,

Attend it by night and by day;

To feast on the dainties of pleasure

Which cannot be stinted in May.

This chamber is both pleasing and moral,

A chamber both lov'ly and gay,

In the shade of a ne'er fading laurel,

Whose grace in December is May.

Abounding with every fine story

Whilst time passes hurrying away;

This place is a banquet of glory,

Which rings with the ditties of May.

The chamber of Chatham and Dolly,

A place of Comical play;

Gave place unto Lovell's fine folly,

The birds and the sweet flowers of May.

Here Venus attends with her lovers,

Here Floras their suitors betray,

And uncommon secrets discover,

Which break from the bosom of May.

Here ever young Hebe sits smiling,

The wonders of youth to portray;

Excluding old age from defeating

The lads and the lasses of May.

Call in little stranger one minute,

Your joy will reward your delay;

Come feast with the lark and the linnet,

And drink of the waters of May.

Walk in little mistress be steady,

You're welcome a visit to pay;

All things in the chamber are ready,

Resolve to be married in May.

by George Moses Horton, The Colored Bard of North Carolina

from "Naked Genius" ©1865

bomp-baba-bomp

Tue, 10 Apr 2012 14:05:00 +0000

A blue moon caught me standing alone- but it was just a split second. I smiled, exposing gums as well as pearly whites, causing the Moon to cock its head curiously and show me her better and brighter side.

It may or may not have been her third this season, but she was definitely full in disposition. Longing...even with company present.

A camping trip near the Eno River proved effortless. Sleeping bags were forgotten, but guitars remembered. A shortage of rum and whiskey made the Moon giggle (no longer blue) and the wildlife around us began stirring during talk of ultimate weenie roasters and chips lacking MSG.

I caught sight of a girlfriend straddling an old, fallen tree. The trunk had good bounce and termites were nowhere to be found. “There’s nothing else to do,” she called out, tired of eating and apparently out of rum.

Barnyard sounds were administered then, replacing human conversation. I remember thinking that the only thing lacking in our forest was livestock....

Quacking seemed necessary.

Staring contests with a rather tame bonfire led to sing alongs with Linda Perry impersonators and a small tribute to CCR.

“Bad Moon Rising” caused a small reaction from above, and I worried that Darkness would take over.

Whose idea was it to make the Moon blue again?

“Without a dream in my heart…without a love of my own…”

~Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart, 1934

Conversation

Fri, 16 Mar 2012 14:50:00 +0000

A woman in her late thirties, with great hair and a sequined top, explained a few things to me last night in a dream. The location was a remote pub, on a remote island (obviously), that bore a single palm tree. She was piss drunk, but required an extra set of ears. Here is what I remember:

Woman: “There’s a solid difference between love and simple attraction.”

Me: “Sorry, where do I know you from?”

Woman: “Never mind that.”

Woman (again): “Love continues to do the silly things—the nuances—that may or may not lead to your demise. Love is not finishing your sentences…lacking direction and getting easily turned around (in conversation or in the act of moving). Love is infatuation, but not to the point of being unhealthy. Love is losing the ability to conjugate verbs and misspelling words on “porpose”.

::She stumbles and proceeds to grip her drink for security::

".... Love is forgetting how to drive, and becoming very self-conscious of the person to your right (do they have right-of-way? or do I?)…..”

::She pauses to inhale a bit more of her whiskey::

Woman: “Now, on to heartbreak…heartbreak is losing direction, but receiving no benefits—no fluttery sensations-- misspelled words making one seem ill-educated and unfortunate.... It's like dirty laundry; if left in the hamper too long, it WILL reek of sadness. Heartbreak---the other side of love---discarded, like wet clothes on a rainy day, in a corner..."

"Who wishes to handle and wash the heaviness out?"

I considered this rhetorical.

"No one, that’s who. …returning to the fetal position, selling possessions, making drastic changes in one’s lifestyle…all compliments of heartbreak."

Another pause. Another swig.

Woman: “Do you wear a retainer?”

Me: “Yes, but only sometimes. At night.”

Woman: “Heartbreak is going back to wearing your retainer at night.”

Me: “Should I avoid the retainer?”

Woman: “No, it keeps your teeth straight. May I continue?”

Me: “By all means….”

Woman: “On the upside, heartbreak is growth. It is opportunity for experience in disguise. And at the risk of sounding corny, it’s learning how to be stronger and molding a new You. Best of all, there are no false pretenses with heartbreak…. It presents itself accordingly—although leaving a bad taste in one’s mouth.”

And with that, she walked away, and ordered herself another whiskey on the rocks.