beats.

I’ve fallen out of touch with friends back home. The phone doesn’t ring quite as much as it used to and e-mails have gotten shorter.

I’ve been swallowed whole by words, sentences and paragraphs. They grow larger and larger in my dreams and seem to encompass my thoughts and wishes.

I wish for tighter sentences, correct word usage and the perfect quotes.

I’ve been fully devoured.

Life consists of stories. Even when I have a day off (i.e. I force myself to take a day off) the stories still flutter around in the back of my subconscious. What’s the current unemployment rate? How are homeless shelters and their resources affected? Will that source ever call me back by Wednesday’s deadline?

Being a journalist is a full-time job.

Being a journalism graduate student is also a full-time job.

But as I sit here and ponder whether or not “full time” has a hyphen in it, my Lean Cuisine has finished cooking and the microwave beeps unceasingly, demanding that I recognize it’s hard work and eat the unfrozen meal it has prepared.

Even with all the work I have to do, I have to remember to take a break or I may just lose it. For this, I’ve picked up the guitar again, there’s a book by my bedside that I read for five minutes before I pass out and I haven’t missed an episode of “Lost.”

For those who are missing the sound of my voice, feel free to call.

I’m going to warn you though, my poor mother had to feign interest when I discussed Evanston’s budget deficit and the budget cuts of social services. Sure, she said it was interesting, but she’s my mom, she has to say that.

This weekend I’ll try to venture out into the cold to explore the Lincoln Park Zoo. Tonight, it’s a meeting for me and audio editing after that.

bookman's.

I discovered a new place to love today.

Today was a Brianna kind of day.
We all have those days when we need to take a moment, decide what exactly it is we want to do & then do it.
The kind of of day where you can either be alone or choose the moments & the people to spend it with.
Needless to say, it was a beautiful day.

A sign on the side of a building promises piles of books, "Bookman's Alley" can be found down a snow-crusted street. Two squat buildings face each other, encompassed by the retail shops hiding them from street view. I stepped from a sugary white world to a warm, dusty substitute of home.

Bookman's Alley smells of pages, moth balls and wood (at least, it smells like wood according to a 5-year-old visitor).
A bespectacled gray-headed man greets me silently behind a desk piled with stacks of books. He's wrapped in cocoon of words so I return the silent greeting with a quick nod & smile of my own.

A quick surmise of the room tells me this is the kind of place I'll return to often. Books line the walls with comfortable couches found in a grandmother's home interspersed.
Then I realize the this small building magically expands into three large rooms. I wonder if I'm still in Evanston or have somehow wandered through a magical portal where tiny buildings expand and old gentlemen guard the entryway to knowledge.


Architecture, history of the Sioux, Churchill biographies & waterfowl directories - these straight lines of thought capsules provide a glimpse of structure in a chaotic life.
Ah.

childish.

Sickness reverts you back to childhood.

Suddenly you have cups of water by your bed, you climb into pajamas as if they were your mother’s arms, bedtimes become earlier and loneliness creeps in. The need to be loved increases. Someone needs to take care of me, but I am all alone.

I call my mother with updates. Today I couldn’t stop sneezing. Tomorrow I am going to the doctor. The doctor prescribed this medicine to me. Yes, I am staying warm. No, I don’t want to eat any more soup.

Long distance love.

It sustains us. It keeps us warm, healthy and sane. Love feels so far and yet just on the other side of this bedroom wall. I feel alone wrapped in my great-grandmother’s quilt next to the stuffed animal I’ve owned since I was 4. I feel alone in my mother’s hand-me down robe. I am alone as I hang family portraits on my apartment walls.

Yet I know the love I so miss is closer than I can imagine. All it takes is one phone call and my sister is there telling me about her day at work, I can hear the concern in my best friend’s voice as she offers advice and I know my father misses me when he sends text messages demanding a phone call.

Love, love, love.

Times are tough. I am overwhelmed, stressed, sick and tired. I don’t want to climb out of bed tomorrow and into the inches of snow that will crust my boots. No, I want to stay in bed and act like I am home in Texas. Pull the sheets over my head and pretend my mother will call me for breakfast soon. But I know this is not possible. By placing that bare foot and then the next on the standard-issue carpet, I step back into adulthood, shedding the child self I become when sniffles and sickness arrive.

But that is tomorrow.
Tonight I will wrap myself in my quilt, family photos on the nightstand, and pretend that outside is my barren Texas waiting with friends and family who take care of me. In this small bedroom I will listen to songs that remind me of home, write words that take away the loneliness and dream.

faith video.

one of our class projects was to interview a fellow student. one of my friends/classmates interviewed me about faith. she did a great job, i told my mom who wanted to see it and so now here it is.