Shudder shock of pale.

I'm piecing my peace back together, how about you?

I've felt on edge, out of sorts and completely consumed with MYSELF this past week. This past month. Or two.

When I'm going about my daily livings, one of two things will occur:

1. I feel like an absolute and massively cumbersome idiot. How is it Sarah, that you can spend so much time talking about what you're "going to do" and so little time doing it? How is it Sarah, that you cannot find the words or actions to properly comfort/encourage/love someone who needs it? How is it Sarah, that you cannot finish a degree in the same time span it takes everyone else? HOW DO YOU LIVE WITH YOURSELF?!

2. Or, I feel like everybody around is me a complete and total idiot. How is it McDonald's worker, that you do not know the difference between a plain sandwich and one that is covered in condiment and vegetables? How is it truck/car/van driver, that you have your license when you cannot signal to turn/merge properly/DRIVE? How is it boyfriend/best friend/family member that you cannot grasp these simple concepts I have properly outlined for you? HOW DID I GET TO BE SO MUCH SMARTER THAN EVERY ASSHAT IN THIS CITY?!

It's a funny thing, this coexisting. I never was a team player.

You know how when girls are middle school-ish age they all want to be the Hannah Montanas of the world? They dream of big stages and bright lights. Or at least, I would assume (through my careful observations as a nanny) that the average young girl does.

When I was in grade seven I fell in love with... Emily Dickinson. Although I still find her poetry astonishingly beautiful, it was her life that enthralled me when I first read of her. She was a total recluse, who never left her house and kept in touch with the important people in her life through letters. She wasn't even a known poet until after her death, when all of her poems were discovered in her room.

At the tender age of twelve, I would dream of myself becoming a reclusive poetess. It seems, much to my befuddlement, that my path to this point has been a steady one.

Mind you my tale is set in this new era - blog entries and text messages are my choice of correspondence. My poetry is a bunch of scribbles, quotes and words that rest in the coil-bound journal in my purse. Or on this site.

This post was supposed to be about the music I've been enjoying lately. It somehow progressed here. Why fight it?

But in case you need to be inspired by others through the art of song, have a listen to one, two and three.