one stroke. one sound.

we get down to the shell house at the ripe ol' time of 5:45am to be safe. someone shows up at 6:01, they're doing 150 ballistics after practice. show up at 6:10, they got 200 and get thrown in the canal. no shows? eh, they just do the whole shpeel then next day, and tack on an extra 50 ballistics just for shits and giggles.. oh, ha, ballistics are the ever-lovely calf burning, ass-toning jumping drills where an oar is propped up against the back of a couch and the person must jump over the halfway mark, over and back equaling one completed. a long 150 for a miserable one minute late.

we grab hold of the boat at the coxwain's "all hands on", and walk it down in the pitch black to the dock, where we set it in the water, sit down and tie in. we push off the dock and do warm ups. it's utter silence other than the sound of the boat skimming across the water, our oarlocks clunking simultaneously as we feather and square our blades. feather. square. feather. square. its like a pulse.

the boat glides under the fremont bridge, the silence interrupted by the cars running over the grated surface. in about 25 strokes, if we look up, the aurora bridge looms far overhead. by this time the sky is a light purple. the cox calls out a power ten, and the speed doubles as we power up.

as we pass gasworks park, couples can be seen huddled under blankets holding coffee in a feeble attempt to keep warm. a corner of my mouth turns upward as i glance down at my bare arms, and i focus once again on the rhythm. feather. square. feather. square.

and then something glorious happens. just as the sky begins to turn an orange-pink, the clouds breaking apart, i feel rain begin to hit my face. i look down again at my arms as they become speckled with waterdrops, leading my gaze to the water surrounding me. little circles that rippled outward covered the entire surface for as far as i could see. our hair matted to the sides of our faces, we turned the boat around, as the most breathtaking sunrise welcomed the sight of faces rather than backs. "way enough" the cox said, and we stopped rowing and let our blades skid across the water, staring at the closest thing to the Aurora Borealis that Seattle would ever see.



and people wonder why i do crew.

wonderwall.

it comes every once and a while, something that convinces you to let your guard down. it coaxes you with charm or even its own flaws, setting your nerves at ease.

something that makes you feel.

your whole life, experience has led you to believe the only way to survive as one of the fittest was to block what seemed too unbearable to be felt. once you've felt it, why let yourself feel it again? live and learn. lose and move on.

pride normally is the driving force to continue on- unless it is torn by the matter, that is. then stubbornness take over. you become so headstrong toward figuring out what about that matter was able to penetrate everything you've built up to prevent saving you from yourself.

maybe you're gonna be the one that saves me.

happy hour.

we sit behind a pane of glass that is far from bulletproof, as we observe social expectations go from a steady drip to a torrential downpour through the cracks of the only foundation we have left, and we laugh.

the water level rises against the glass, as we finish the empty calories in our own. high society has trained us to suck it in when he walks through the door, smoke a cigarette to curb hunger, and care about the preservation of the environment despite the fact that our own is contained in a glass box that slowly but surely drowning.

nothing fails in the world of individualism. keep no ties, for they will soon be washed away. it's a beautiful life, really. boundaries are endless until you are pressed up against that damned pane of glass in your cocktail dress, holding your empty drink and smoldering cigarette filter. the music plays in the background as you regain your balance, smiling as you smooth out your dress and suck it in yet again, hoping he didn't see.

only a few more inches now. we glance briefly and then catch ourselves. we laugh.

i'll have one more drink, please.

clueless.

i have no idea what i want to do after graduation. i'm between so many different things i can't decide which one to deal with first. my money-driven mindset tells me not to flinch if i don't have a job lined up somewhere else. i have a job here, i have a base to fall back on if something else doesn't work out. if i move to portland or somewhere else, i have no idea what to expect- which, in a way it could be exciting, moving to a city i feel i should be familiar with but struggle to find pleasure in. i would figure out a way to adapt, a way to succeed and be happy, i'm sure. it would be economicall smarter to live there due to lack of sales tax, cheaper rent and just cheaper everything...

part of me- no, most of me wants to move somewhere where i know absolutely no one and start over, where nothing is familiar. all or nothing. someplace sunny and upbeat, and in need of good design. i want to be able to be within driving distance of a palm tree or reasonably-warm ocean water. it's not that i'd be perfectly content alone, i couldn't imagine living with anyone besides my roommate, or being even close to as compatible with. i just don't know if it's worth living somewhere i wouldn't want. i feel like now is my chance to go wherever i want. i came to seattle partially for someone else, i don't want that to be the only reason i'd move to portland. my plan is to basically whore myself out to different design agencies as well as freelance clients, and go from there. i have nothing else to go off of.

rain clouds.

on an infinitely seamless trail of uneven ground and worn soles, the wind weaves through my hair as it whispers stories yet to be told. my feet continue in motion, although without destination in mind as the clouds fold over themselves in front of me. i breathe in time with each step, each mile, each day. it's the window in front of me that i can never actually walk through, the glass just moves with me.

they say a city lies somewhere beneath, holding its legends, its memories, and history close. they say the shadows still dance along the earth, even thought the music is gone- as if they didn't need anything to cast them except for the clouds when the rain refuses to fall. but the music never died- i can hear it. the beat that paces each step, the pulse to each breath and the melody the wind still whistles. it fades softly as most memories do, buried once again in the ruins.

terrified to find what should remain in the past, i walk on. no skeletons i haven't seen before to reunite with their lost shadows, no history that is doomed to repeat itself, no luring scent created for enticing, and no familiar tune. no, i will keep counting each mile with each tarnished breath. i have already inhaled you, i have done the dance, and i have buried you before.

stop.

the beat has changed, and i can exhale freely in time with the living.

which world am i on again?

i'm glad we've finally come to a meeting place- a mutual knowledge of where we both stand. completely emotionless, we go through the motions selfishly trying to get the most out of the otherwise meaningless encounter we have. you assure me you're satisfied, which means we're done here, and neither of us remember the rest.

i guess i've arrived at some new checkpoint. i've been "friends" with people before and not particularly been obsessed with them, but never to the point where i labeled them as good for serving one purpose that keeps them in my phone book. and that we're using each other for the same thing... it makes things less complicated- no expectations, no surprises, it's strictly functional.

i beat this level in my sleep. on to the next stage. i wonder if i'll wake up.