War, Warm Food, and Kale Smoothies

1.
It came to my memory today that when we were bored, Jeremy and I used to play war, also known as the most inane card game in existence. For those of you who aren't familiar, the game entails splitting a deck of cards equally, one half for each player, and holding the cards face-down. Gameplay involves dramatically drawing your top cards and throwing them down into the space between you. Whoever has the higher value card takes both. If the cards are the same value, you have war or something, and whoever wins gets six cards? I barely remember. I had to look it up.
Anyway, the game continues until someone has won all the cards. There is absolutely no strategy.
I'm fairly sure we used to play this for hours.

2.
If you know Nathan, you know that he's occasionally prone to be very emotional about very specific things.
One of these things is warm food.
Nathan could cry if you gave him warm food after a long day.

3.
Not too long ago, Dan made a smoothie with a lot of stuff that sounds like it will make a gross smoothie: broccoli, cauliflower, Brussel sprouts, and garlic, among other ingredients. It was healthy, I think, and didn't taste as awful as one might expect, but it was healthy.
Last night, Dan asked me if I'd like a smoothie.
I said, "That depends. Is it a regular smoothie, or THAT kind of smoothie?"
He said slowly, "I...could put kale in it, if you want?"

Now, what Dan actually meant was that if I wanted a healthier smoothie, he could add kale to a sweetened fruit smoothie. But I thought he was offering to add kale to his healthy smoothie, deigning to make it somehow more palatable for me, which would have been hysterically pretentious.

4.
That's it, if you were wondering. That's our family in a nutshell.
JuST KIDDING, it's not.
If you'd like more of a glimpse, you should have been around for the dance party that just happened in the kitchen to "What Makes You Beautiful," which was mostly my parents.

Oh look, a poem. What?

the definition of stress

I am upset with Dan.
He says, “try something new
using the 'new constraints'
that this environment is giving you”
which means,
“i don’t care about you
enough to shut up when you’re
trying to write”
oh NO
NATHAN IS HERE TOO
I’M DONE
DONE

Week 5 at Drexel University, Winter Term

Alternatively titled, "How Is Davina Surviving? She Doesn't Know."

Also alternatively titled, "Apologies From The Author, Who Is Writing A Lot Less Fiction Than She Wanted To This Month."

Or, "Why This Is A Blog Post And Not A Story."

The first reason that this is a blog post and not a story is that I write fiction about ten times slower than I write poetry, because it's a form I don't practice very much but retain all my perfectionism about, and also because by nature it has to be longer than most poems. There are a couple things in the works, but it will be a while longer before they're coherent and long enough to post.

The second reason is that I am inches away from drowning in schoolwork. In addition to my regular coursework, which is challenging enough to juggle, I have not one, not two, but three tests next week, including a midterm in my hardest class. Monday and Tuesday are especially daunting, with tests on both mornings, two (fairly long) online homework assignments due, a lab report due, an in-class presentation scheduled, and another lab to complete. Not to mention the fact that I need to come up with a class schedule and register for next term on Monday as well!

I'm finding that this term is much more difficult for me than last term, because of all the new material I'm learning about chemistry, physics, differential equations, programming, and a little mechanical stuff for the robot I'm trying to build. Some of the new information is getting digested, but the rest is just hanging out in my throat, waiting for me to throw up or something.

I'm also in like, three group projects at once, which is pretty frustrating. On the plus side of this, though, I am making new friends, which is super exciting after a gap year in which I met new people at an approximate rate of 1 per every 3 months.

I hope this doesn't come across as complaining. I am very happy where I am, and I'm confident in God's ability to carry me through this, and I'm not even despairing about my grades yet.
However, this is definitely an excuse for any poor writing or ridiculously short posts over the next week and a half, as I crack down on my time management. I've already spent 23 minutes on this piece that I should probably have used studying for Chemistry.

Back to chemical kinetics, y'all.

Blog Challenge, February 2015

Today I had meant to write something that didn't mention Stevie's 2015 Blog Challenge. I thought I'd begin by writing and posting original content right away, and just let my readers take whatever I threw their way.
I am, unfortunately, a very distracted person sometimes, and I spent most of the evening sleeping and playing guitar instead, so...I'm going to talk about the Blog Challenge. Fortunately for me, it seems like an introduction to this month's posts would be a good thing to write anyway.
The Blog Challenge is a very simple matter, if you haven't yet heard of it: with Stevie Parris as our organizer, a bunch of participants attempt to write and publish at least one blog post every day for a full month. It's a fun way to get yourself into a discipline of writing, ignoring the pesky, elusive ideal of "inspiration," and the past one or two challenges I've participated in have been rewarding times of growth for me as a writer. I've previously focused on one of my two blogs at a time, but for this challenge, I'm hoping to post on both of my blogs about equally: Rainstorms, this one, and Cry of the Stars, where I post my poetry.
Because I'm smack-dab in the middle of one of Drexel's notoriously fast-paced terms, I didn't think it was a good idea to give myself a theme or limit myself to any one kind of writing, so if all goes well, you'll see a variety of posts on this blog. This should include journal-type entries, opinion pieces (or maybe some late-night rambling, who knows), and a short story here and there, along with one or two longer stories I hope to begin writing in episodic format.
If you are someone who has my contact information, and you care, please do your best to make sure I don't lose the challenge for something as silly as forgetting to post. Also, if you have ideas or prompts you'd like to see me try out, I will gladly take all the inspirational material I can get.
I hope it isn't some ominous precedent to be posting at night on the first day of the month. Here's to writing until we drool blood and cry sweat—best wishes to all my fellow participants, and may the odds volunteer you as the tributes in my favor, or whatever it takes to get me a better sense of humor.
Here we go.

Typical Conversations #20

ME: You know they make fake meat out of tofu.
JEREMY: Really?? I didn't know they could make fake chicken into tofu!
NATHAN: Of course! They call it 'Buddha'.
A pause. 
ME: What?
JEREMY: Yes.

Speed Poetry

As midnight drew nigh, two poets turned face-to-face and tested their hands and skill. Whizzing back and forth like two-minute bullets, they searched their souls and let words of love and pain spill unfettered onto the paper (or screen, as it were).

Sirenia Featherheart:
I look at you
and my pancreas just weeps
and hurts
because all of the insulin
in the world will never be able
to break down
your sweetness.
And so,
I cannot take it in.
It clogs my arteries like dead rivers.*
And I am so sad.


thoughts of. rivers of. tears:
In the middle of the day
at 12:03 P-M, I think of you
and you are like sugar in my heart
making me happy
like I was never happy before
Will you love me back
because at 12:03 P-M, I love you.


Sirenia Featherheart:
Sometimes I wait for you to
whiz by me
like a freight train
with wheels
and love for me like a big silver bullet on a steel track.
My suitcase
is by my foot.
My foot
is by my face
because
every time I see you
speeding by,
all I can think to do is stuff
my foot
in
my face
and wish that you
would slow down
just a little bit
for me,
just a little for me.

Dang,
I missed the train again.


thoughts of. rivers of. tears:
I wish you would look at me
the way you look at your dog
and your pet turtle
and your dinner
and even
her
but you will never feel
this same way for
me
because your dog is loud
and your turtle swims
and you are hungry
and she is your girlfriend
and I will never be.

--
* Phrase "dead rivers" © Sirenia Featherheart 2013.

Blessing

Something about the dimness of a rainy sky has its fingers rooted in my spirit, so that when the rain comes cold and trembling to the thirsty ground, it comes singing like a blessing. It draws me irresistibly outside to hold me close, to hold me shivering and happy, bare-foot in the muddy grass and face tilted to the sky-born water, calling out:

Oh wash my eyes and make me see!
Wash my lips and make them clean,
run down my chin and through my teeth
until I thirst no more!

Beneath me, the earth drinks deep until its pores are full and overflowing in cool streams between my toes. I am too small to do the same: this body cannot hold enough of anything to satisfy my heaven-reaching soul.

Someone’s voice is in the rain and echoes in my brain. It is a love song. It cries:

I love you, I love you,
I will quench your thirst both today and tomorrow,
when the sun returns to wither the grass,
and the earth’s wells run dry.

These words, falling heavy on my chest, steal the breath from my throat.
With my tiny voice drowning in all this thunder, how can I sing my reply?