clutter, must-read, must-hear

is it true that your mind is sometimes like a battering ram running all through the city, shouting so madly inside and out about the ten thousand things that do not matter? –Hafiz 

Can I simplify my mind the same way I simplify my wardrobe?   Trying to pair my clothing down to only basics, get rid of everything extraneous.

Like meditation for my clothing.

I never actually meditate.  I swim in a sea of distractions so I won’t ever have to be alone with myself.  Wake up, cook/shower/call boyfriend/ finish making my Hindi vocab flashcards for the week/ blog / donate some clothes / get started on my massive to-do list/bike/ 8 hours of work (studying on my breaks) / bike home/ chit chat with roommates, read until I fall asleep.

WHICH BY THE WAY I am reading an extremely interesting book involving cognitive dissonance, corrupt politicians, corrupt researchers, and other things that I love.  We we lie to ourselves. How we justify our own hypocrisy.   Also I think it might be fixing my writers block somehow.


Polish Girl – Neon Indian

systemas feos

“The incident in Oklahoma [in which members of the Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity were caught on tape uttering racist chants], that is a real argument for getting rid of the system altogether, in my opinion, even having been through a fraternity. Because when you break it down, it really is about creating cliques and clubs and being exclusionary. Fraternities were started as academic societies that were supposed to have a philanthropic arm to them.”

—comedian and movie star Will Ferrell

I never thought I would identify so strongly with Will Ferrell, but I feel him so hard on this subject.

The worst decision I made in college was joining a sorority.

The best decision I made was quitting it.

Sororities and Fraternities (whatever else they may do or good or bad) create an in-group, which in turn creates an out-group at the same time.  When I was in a sorority I spent most of my time with my “sisters”.  I had very few friends outside of the Greek system at NDSU.

We had a bunch of chants about how awesome we were… and some songs about how sh*tty the other sororities  were.

I hate things that create an us-them mentality.  Hate them hate them hate them.  I hate Americans who don’t like foreigners.  Also I hated being in the cage that Greek Life is… all your friends are rich white people. ick.  Also I didn’t have enough money for that nonsense.

Something I don’t hate:  Duolingo.  It’s really really really helpful for learning languages. Y’all should try it.


“Rose Madder” is why I do not trust arrogant/overly confident men on a very deep level.  Excerpts.

The concept of dreaming is known to the waking mind but to the
dreamer there is no waking, no real world, no sanity; there is only
the screaming bedlam of sleep. Rose McClendon Daniels slept

within her husband’s madness for nine more years.

Come over here, sweetheart, I want to talk to you up close.

Get out of here, that deep part of her said suddenly. Get out of

here right now, this very minute. Don’t even take the time to

run a comb through your hair. Just go.

‘That’s ridiculous,’ she said, rocking back and forth faster than

ever. The spot of blood on the sheet sizzled in her eye. From here,

it looked like the dot under an exclamation point. ‘That’s ridiculous,

where would I go?’

Anywhere he isn’t, the voice returned. But you have to do it

right now. Before

Before what?

That one was easy. Before she fell asleep again.

 Her feet, clad in white lowtop sneakers, patted the floor in a quickening

rhythm (the buzzing was now mostly in her head, rattling her brains,

heating her up), and what she thought was Fourteen years.

Fourteen years of having him talk to me up close. The

miscarriage. The tennis racket. Three teeth, one of which I

swallowed. The broken rib. The punches. The pinches. And the

bites, of course. Plenty of those. Plenty of –

Stop it! It’s useless, thinking like this, because you’re not

going anywhere, he’d only come after you and bring you back,

he’d find you, he’s a policeman and finding people is one of the

things he does, one of the things he’s good at-

‘Fourteen years,’ she murmured, and now it wasn’t the last

fourteen she was thinking about but the next. Because that other

voice, the deep voice, was right. He might not kill her. He might

not. And what would she be like after fourteen more years of

having him talk to her up close? Would she be able to bend over?

Would she have an hour – fifteen minutes, even – a day when her

kidneys didn’t feel like hot stones buried in her back? Would he

perhaps hit her hard enough to deaden some vital connection, so

she could no longer raise one of her arms or legs…?


‘I’m going,’ she murmured. ‘I’m really, really going.’
But she stayed where she was a moment longer, like an animal which has been kept in a cage so long it cannot believe in freedom even when it is offered. She reached behind her and touched the knob of the door – the door that led into her cage

 ‘No more,’ she whispered. She tucked her bag under one arm and took her first dozen steps into the fogbank which was now her future.

-Rose Madder, Stephen King