The American Dream

Isn't it weird when you just know that someone is talking to you?
Even when you are asleep, just a voice guided in your direction (not even your name) is enough to pull you from your slumber.
I was napping in my front yard, sun glaring down on my already burnt body, when I heard a call: "excuse me. Excuse me. EXCUSE ME." even as the first words had barely left her mouth I knew that she was talking to me, the second the sound hit my ears my brain (and I say brain here and not mind with utter confidence) began to rouse me.
"My brother threw the ball over the fence, can you get it for us?"
I rolled over, and stood up, my hair between wet and dry, my bangs sticking up in all directions. As I walked towards the side yard, I pulled the hair together with my hands and twisted it on top of my head.
I opened the side gate, making sure that I propped a rock in front of it to keep it open. I looked back at the gaggle of black children just beyond my white picket fence, "the big pink one?"
"Yeah".
I carefully placed my un-shoed feet on the grass that I knew to be teeming with glass and other fun bits, and rolled the ball into my hands, big enough that I needed both to keep it in place. I picked my way back to the front of the house and tossed the ball into the arms of the girl who had woken me.
"Thanks!"
"Of course." I fell back onto the blanket that I had deserted as the children began to walk away, in the direction of the park.
"You tryin' to get a tan?" the leader asked.
"Tryin'." I said.

Thoughts on Graduate School

It has come to my attention (once again)

That I haven't been writing enough my friends

Creativity used to flow

"I've GOT to blog this!" and to the computer I'd go

But recently, within the past few years

I've lost my passions and replaced them with fears

School this, school that, and start your dissertation this summer!

I'll I want to do is lay in the sun, and slumber

I want to think, share my ideas, and dream

I want to love and laugh, cook with cream

But all is lost in the therapy room

I take on others' emotions, and mine turn to doom

What if I quit, just stopped one day

What would I do to replace my time, my bills, who would pay?

There's got to be a way to marry the two

To feel like I am doing something for me, not you

I love people! That's why I got here at all

I didn't know I'd feel lost, questioning the long haul

I should be doing something else, more of an entertainer

But it's true, I am confused. God, I'm such a complainer