Survival is a given

Public service announcement

Stacie — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 18:33:32 GMT

I am starting Nursing school on August 25th! Some blather about how I am intending to take care of myself duing the next few years can be found here: http://idiosyncraticdaydream.blogspot.com/2008/08/nesting.html Wish me luck! Better yet, send coffee!

What I wanna be when I grow up

Stacie — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 17:08:23 GMT

http://idiosyncraticdaydream.blogspot.com/2008/08/what-i-want-for-when-i-grow-up.html I have been mostly blogging over there. A lot in the last month, actually. Check it out and feel free to leave comments.

Poetry-Emulsify

Stacie — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 21:46:37 GMT

Emulsify Wouldn't it be a fine thing If I could just sink into you? Blend between your molecules Dilute myself in your breath? I always stubbornly drift below Or float above, never integrating. Always with me the tiny space Between love and belief. I am the fire in love with the air I consume it and inflame But what gift can fire give to you? Is the warmth enough if you can't touch? I would that we were both water And could stir together, cool as rain. And all my faults could therein diffuse Buffered by the goodness in you. (c) Stacie Ferrante 7-31-08

Size guide for Melodia or Geisha Moth pants?

Stacie — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 20:00:39 GMT

I'm going to start dancing again. I'm short and curvy and want some new pants. I don't know what size/style to get. how do you measure for length, especially? I have sorta short legs and curvy hips.

I am more than 39 and a half

Stacie — Thu, 24 Jul 2008 14:36:33 GMT

I need to start planning what to do for my 40th birthday, which is in December. Any ideas?

Fragments- A poem

Stacie — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 20:59:33 GMT

Fragments Forget the lens, the open window Look only through the cathedral stained glass. And if you see me, flickering within Bent around the photons, in peace leave me. Better to be seen between the lines Barely glimpsed, a shard in the whole. Shattered bits of colored glass reassembled A simulacrum of a pattern in God's realm. See me in the lead-lined spires In the gargoyle's leer, the swinging smoke. See me in the blessed saint's entreating hands, In the monstrance that carries the knuckle bone. Behold the mosaic floor beneath your feet And there find me in perhaps every indigo tile. I am the wood that resides beneath the gilt, The honey-scented beeswax, but not the candle flame. Think not to find me in a singular place As a penitent kneeling at the altar rail. I am more the third from the last bead In a long and weary rosary. (c) Stacie Ferrante 7-1-08

How was the weekend?

Stacie — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 18:20:00 GMT

In a word: Interesting. I got some good ideas and stirred up a lot of things that I will be thinking about for some time to come. I listened to some street drummers, had a beer in a local pub, had some good coffee and scintillating conversation. I was also homesick and at times a little lost. I came home kind of early on Sunday and had a nap in my own bed. Zzzzzz

Strange Planet

Stacie — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 14:59:56 GMT

Spinning on the periphery A lush planet intent on a stable orbit. It might not be the center of the universe, But it gravitates nonetheless. What strange creatures live there! Endless streams of writhing lemmings Cooing, gurgling dolphins in the spray And thriving societies of hermit crabs. So lovingly it rotates Showing every continent to an effulgent sun. In longing sighs it turns its seas below the daily horizon. Those darkened, paranoid chaparrals Teem with life and wayward daydreams. Psychropiles abound in the polar caps And cry for light, glorious light. (c) Stacie Ferrante 2-21-08

HANDS

Stacie — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 15:56:39 GMT

Who gets to decide Where I will lay my hands? When did my flesh and bones Cease belonging to me? Fingers hesitate on buttons and keys On skin, on lips, on knees. Clutching like claws to fight the need To feed the hungry integument. Have I lost the right to tickle? To poke, to caress, to gouge, to stroke? I can rend the bread at table But can only build with empty clay. Never mind who holds the title on my lips My hips, my back, my hair, my womb. Just for today, I want my hands Just fingers, palms, nails and scars. (c) Stacie Ferrante 6-26-08

Dude, what gives?

Stacie — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 22:49:48 GMT

With all the Tribe outages lately? It bugs! If you are on facebook and want to talk to me there: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1311478141

Friday the 13th?

Stacie — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 15:29:00 GMT

I'm superstitious, but not about that. Friday the 13th always sneaks up on me.

Free parenting advice

Stacie — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 18:31:26 GMT

http://idiosyncraticdaydream.blogspot.com/2008/06/heres-thought.html Gawd, I am such a cranky bitch. Why do we have to hear about kids dying in hot cars EVERY FUCKING SUMMER???????????

Need a Break

Stacie — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 22:09:55 GMT

I have decided that before school starts in the fall, I need a few days away from home. I'm going to get a hotel room out of town and read a novel for more than 2 minutes straight. Where should I go? I'm not going to go see my mom because that just isn't relaxing.

Creativity and Libido

Stacie — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 16:06:20 GMT

Staying home from work and taking a bunch of cold medicine sometimes produces odd, navel-gazing moments. I posted a meditation of sorts on the nature of writing romantic or erotic content here: http://idiosyncraticdaydream.blogspot.com/2008/06/creativity-and-libido.html I don't know what is up with my mood swings these days. I'll take waxing philosophical over crying and feeling sorry for myself, though.

Speaking of Dirty old Women

Stacie — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 14:05:25 GMT

I had painted myself into a bit of a corner, writing-wise with my Daniel series. Then I figured out that the latest chapter was already done, and I had tried to stretch it out too far. This one is a little less heavy on explicit content, for reasons that become obvious. If you want to read it or ask what the hell I am talking about, post here or drop me a note. Here's an excerpt: Chapter Seven: January Two weeks into the new term, I found myself standing outside the multi-arched entrance to Branner Hall Dormitory, holding a large to-go container of Thai coconut lime soup. This was where I swore a hundred times I would not go; yet there I was venturing in for the sake of a sick boy. My presence on the floor caused a miniature stir. Like startled mice, the students scattered as my high heels clicked on the tile floor. To my chagrin, I saw a few faces I recognized from my classes. I had been so hoping to complete this errand unnoticed. The door to the dorm room Daniel shared with his roommate Ethan was slightly ajar, and I could hear voices within. For just one guilty moment I hung back outside it, my hand against the wood, listening. Daniel’s voice was a hoarse whisper, so I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I did hear a girl’s voice, high and babyish, say “Awww, poor babe. I can stay with you if you want. Or I can go get you some cough syrup and be back really fast.” I knocked lightly, hesitant to break in on a scene I had pictured in my mind more times than could be called strictly healthy. I imagined I was going to catch them kissing. I pictured the way Daniel touched my face lightly with his fingers when he kissed me. I couldn’t bear to see him do that to someone else. The girl who opened the door was a pretty, petite bottle blonde with her hair done up in little messy buns on the top of her head. It was a style I had tried on myself at home, but then rejected as being too immature. Her eyes were guileless, a lovely shade of hazel. “Can I help you?” I hated how surprises always seemed to make me stiff and formal. “Is Daniel in?” She stepped aside and let me in. I became immediately aware of how austere my light gray wool suit looked next to her lemon yellow, form fitting sweater. Daniel was huddled in his bed, looking pasty and feverish, He smiled pathetically at me. “Hey there.” He managed to croak out after a moment of obviously painful throat clearing. He pointed at the girl. “This is Amber.” I put down the soup and shook her hand. Recognition leapt into her face. “I tried to get into your ‘Intro to Anthropology’ class this semester, but it was full.” “Ah, at least this won’t be awkward.” I muttered. “What?” she hadn’t heard me. “Oh, nothing. Keep trying to enroll in that class. Most people eventually get in.” She changed tactics, her keen gaze leveled at me. “How do you know Dan?” He interjected on my behalf. “The professor’s been a friend of the family for ages.” “Oh.” She smiled at me like I was ninety years old. “That’s nice.” Daniel shifted uncomfortably before asking me. “Is that my soup?” “Yeah.” I started to pry the lid off. “It is so spicy, it should open your sinuses right up. You’ll be running like a faucet.” “Charming.” He pulled a face. “I didn’t know you were having company, though. I’m afraid there isn’t enough for everyone.” Amber took the hint. “Oh! That’s okay. I’d better be going anyway.” Daniel gave her a little wave. “See you later.” She hesitated for a moment before giving him a self-conscious hug. He shot me an apologetic look over her shoulder. As soon as she’d gone, I shut the door and asked. “Where’s Ethan tonight?” Daniel checked the clock. “He went to the ‘Rose and Crown’ over on Emerson. He’ll be gone a few hours at least. He was meeting some mates there.” I took off my jacket and laid it over the back of his desk chair. “I’ll bet you’re sorry to have to miss that. You look a mess.” “Cheers.” He said sourly, blowing on his soup. “Anyway, it’s just a pub.” “Now I know you aren’t feeling well.” I felt his clammy forehead, frowning. “Just a pub?” “It’s stupid anyway.” He shrugged. “At home, I could go to the pub if I like, but here I need a fake I.D.” I grimaced. “I don’t want to hear about your fake I.D. It makes me feel old.” Image: http://rougedementor.deviantart.com/art/Daniel-Radcliffe-Rocking-Out-8373554

Other blog updated

Stacie — Thu, 29 May 2008 16:02:35 GMT

http://idiosyncraticdaydream.blogspot.com/2008/05/hero-worship-gets-you-nowhere.html Sorry for the redirect. I seem to put my longer rants over there.

Proof of Generation Gap

Stacie — Tue, 27 May 2008 16:51:57 GMT

If this is your idea of "dreamboat", you are younger than me. My 14 year old niece has informed me that I just don't know what "good looking" is. All I'm saying is that if you're going to see Indy 4 for this guy, your priorities are all outta whack.

Think good money thoughts

Stacie — Wed, 21 May 2008 15:55:57 GMT

Economic stimulus, my ass. It seems that the fickle gods of fortune are not intending to smile on me this summer. Everyone has a hand out. Everything costs money. I am within 2 payments of paying off my car-if I increase my payments. I have to pay my tuition and books out of pocket and wait 6 months for tuition reimbursement from work. I'm desperate to take a road trip and see some friends in SF before school starts in August. My dates with my husband cost twice as much due to babysitter fees (paid gladly, but wincingly). What I need is a big pile of cash this summer. And some free time. And some good Bordeaux. And some vacation hotel sex, possibly. And some good quality chocolate and killer coffee and heady talk with grownups that has nothing to do with my child's potty training. Gah!

Time flies

Stacie — Mon, 19 May 2008 17:54:24 GMT

I just thought I would post a Duran Duran photo and give flashbacks to my homegirls. I love how JT is giggling in this. *swoon* I love a guy with a great smile.

Posted photos for the first time in forever.

Stacie — Wed, 14 May 2008 22:48:22 GMT

Just a few self portraits, etc.

Why don't they break this mold?

Stacie — Fri, 09 May 2008 19:41:19 GMT

I was just told by a patient's wife that she would like to speak to one of my male colleagues because "men are just more competent than women". She also told me that she wants her husband moved from the ICU because the attending physician "looks Vietnamese and I don't like it." Dang, lady.

Excuse me, are you making a pass?

Stacie — Thu, 01 May 2008 19:20:36 GMT

I was walking up some stairs at the hospital, and this elderly gentleman was walking down, albeit slowly and with a cane. I said good morning, and he looked down my shirt. And then he said. "What lovely (gasp, wheeze) FABRIC you have on!" I guess he means the fabric that is grazing the curves of my décolletage. Note to self: don't wear this shirt to work ever again.

You mean this thing wants to HELP me?

Stacie — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 14:39:33 GMT

Not every session with the head shrinker is going to be fun, I had to remind myself after my appointment yesterday. But one thing stuck with me: that the wish-fulfilling dreams I sometimes have are my brain's way of trying to help me fulfill a need that isn't being handled by my waking life. Interesting concept. So if I dream that I am being intimate with some old lover, or zipping along a European mountain road in a glossy sports car, or even getting in a physical fight, that has a purpose. My brain is trying to give me what I want/need in the only way it can. My therapist assures me that if I take care of some of those needs in a real way, then the dreams that trouble me will go away. We'll see.

Where do I put my long diatribes?

Stacie — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 19:50:12 GMT

Over here: http://idiosyncraticdaydream.blogspot.com/2008/04/sacred-or-profane.html There's me, throwing my personal angst into the God vs Biology debate. Make of it what you will. I think I need to go on a "talking to old friends" diet. It just makes me morose. Some people just have no concept that I have grown up and changed. To a degree, at least.

A different kind of Mothers' Day poem

Stacie — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 02:39:53 GMT

Rear tire stuck in snow bank She gets out, pushing it free I’m still inside when it lurches Still in gear. Faster than she can run Though she tries, crying, screaming I’m still inside, pulling away Too small to reach for the brakes. Watching her run after me As if she would never catch me I had never been that far from her And never that close to a tree. They make her wait outside I tremble in the x-ray machine Instead of her sheltering arms Embrace the cold table. Still feel that way sometimes Like the wheel just broke loose And there I am in the passenger seat Driverless and caterwauling. (c) Stacie Ferrante 2008 Image: http://thesportinglife.net/index.php/category/tips/