I browsed Borders for hours today and found a goldmine of creative writing/writing inspiration books/materials that i want want want!!!! (They appear in the order of awesomeness.)

Write, Karen E Peterson Ph.D
A Writer's Toolbox, Jamie Cat Callan
The Writer's Idea Book, Jack Heffron
The Pocket muse, Monica Wood
A picture is worth 1,000 words, Phillip Sexton
The Synonym Finder, J.I Rodale
A Writer's Book of Days, Judy Reeves

and for good measure,

The Pirate Primer, George Choundas

what a world of possibilities was laid out before me in my college years!
oh to live not beholden to anything but whims, desires, passions. it was fine to let these wild things pull me in every direction because i wasn't on a steady course anyway; i was finding my road, finding my adventure. and what an exciting adventure was the discovery of it!

nothing was truly permanent but came and went in semester-long "seasons." didn't like that professor? never take him again. did that piece of literature, that way of seeing the world, that realm of thought interest you? get more of it!--change your major. loved that assignment? pick up a minor. passionate about those people? be in this club. need to exercise your natural leadership? be president of this association. get an F on that paper? drop that minor.
i could test the waters; step out a bit and then decide if water-walking or sailing was my thing.

there was such FREEDOM for me at school, and then i was able to be at home for holidays and summer to have someone take care of me for a change. i could switch roomates, could go on trips with friends, could move somewhere new for the summer to work and then be back in the central location of home or school whenever i desired. i had support from loans, scholarships, friends and family that sustained my in all of my endevours (thought i'm paying a heck of a lot of money back now). the ultimate liberty: not to be truly tied down. almost everything and everyone was just passing through.

sometimes the constantly altering picture of life would become tiring. sometimes i wanted there to be a steady something or someone. i guess that's where boyfriends and clubs and soririties and fraternities come in to play for some students. there were some things that lingered a little longer than others that provided some comfort--good friends were that for me at school and then, of course, i knew my family was always there, caring deeply for me, when i needed them.

i was deeply involved in some organizations where i was able to exercise my passions for people and worship. i was on leadership there and found myself challenged and growing. this is where i developed close friendships. i often skipped class, stayed up too late and slept over in other people's rooms because the fellowship was so near, so open, so strong that i didn't want to leave. i experienced a hightened sense of belonging, individuality and acceptance that i had never had before. i felt more wanted, more enjoyed, more loved in four years of college than i thought was possible in a lifetime. there was also a healthy sense of pride that developed in me from taking chances, trying new things, being courageous in "putting myself out there" and in the process, finding that i was actually good at some things, and that i had value in both the big and small picture around me.

there are so many memories cycling through my mind that encapsulate these emotions in me and discoveries about me. i once walked down to the school's little convenient store with a friend, huge cardboard boxes dangling from our teeth with our wallets inside, just to buy some half pints of Ben and Jerry's. don't try to make sense of it--it was NONsensical. but i can still feel the enjoyment i got out of it-being silly, having enough self-confidence not to care, and still being abosolutlely accepted in it all.
i often slept over in the room of two of my best friends. i fell asleep snuggling next to them on tiny dorm mattresses. we had tea parties and stayed up talking about stupid and serious issues, sometimes all jumbled together in beautifully chaotic speeches. we took care of each other when we were sick; keeping vigil at bedside; changing trashbags full of...well...; bringing saltine crackers and gingerale; forcing each other to visit the campus health center when we knew they were going to make us take a pregnancy test first (maintaining suspicions even when we insisted it was NOT possible...) before giving us any helpful advice or medication.
when it was nice outside, we blissfully sat in the gathering evening on the well-kept lawn in front of the cafeteria. the fountain wasn't on because of drought my first several years of school, but it didn't stop us from lounging about on blankets and listening to college boys wooing us with their guitar skills.
we had massive movie parties that broke every fire-code ever established. we ate breakfast in the cafeteria whenever we could-oh, powdered eggs-and sneaked out what would fit in our backpacks just for the heck of it. we complained like champs about papers and tests and stupid professors and boring classes (that we never went to anyway), but how fleeting those worries were.
we met together and discussed our issues honestly. a group of senior girls met over coffee my last year and we knew everything about each other and spent time enjoying and listening to one another. we cried over lattes and laughed over warm chocolate bundt cakes.
my best friend and roomate encouraged me to date the love of my life when no one else thought it was a good idea. she told me i could never be a better friend when i needed to hear it the most. she left me post-it-notes of love and encouragement on my computer desk and i snuggled next to her warm back to wake her up for breakfast in the mornings. i wore her pajamas out on the town and she taught me how to be comfortable with myself.

ah, back to the good old days when i am the only one visiting my blog, and it's to be a perfectionist and check for spelling and grammar issues.

but here's what's in my head today:

All stories have a setting, so here, in all it's mundane-ness is mine: a bright English classroom. Ha, and English teacher and I've already made up my own word. When I'm not grading papers, lecturing students and giving the murderous "teacher look," I run a struggling coffee shop about the size of a closet but with the best doggone coffee in town. In my 20's, when I looked to my future, I saw some fantastic things...

...rocking my babies to sleep on my porch; kissing my husband hello upon his return from work and having dinner ready to eat as a family; having playdates with other mothers, our kids sleeping peacefully as we consume each other's conversation (and any chocolatey treats that happen to be involved)...

...apron-clad and flour-dusted, baking goodies to place in the glass display case at my coffee shop; greeting regular costumers as they came in and asking about their lives; making new costumers feel welcomed; brewing deep, rich, smooth beans that soothe the palate as the coffee slides down the back of the throat...

...being deeply involved in other's lives, mentoring, coaching, having honest conversation, being needed and being known...

Reality has a way of spreading itself wide and bright before your eyes, forcing you to look it full in the face in order to see that it truly is nothing like what you imagined it to be.

I get lost,
a trance, staring deep into the steaming earthiness of my coffee
heat permeating styrofoam
i can see the lights above me in its surface,
see whisps of my hair as my reflection gazes down
my image is blurry, an eyeless smudge,
but my steady breaths ripple the surface, changing the picture slightly
i think,
a dangerous pasttime,
about the muddiness, the ambiguity that comes in my relationships
when i dont have the guts to clear things up with truth
our words are just breaths on the surface, distorting the image
each interaction builds and builds on top of the one before
a shaky jenga structure
mamoth gaps left by unsaid words and unreleased emotions
and we bide our time until it crashes down
in the end, it's merely moments before the cup is drained,
and what refracted light, what blurry image, what was there
is simple stains on the rim and grounds clinging to the styrofoam floor

verbs bouncing to her throat
colorful adjectives brightening then falling out her open window as the
landscape blurs by in light-speed streaks while passion and volume presses
rubber and metal harder and harder towards the floor and mechanics whir into
action so that she whips around corners and down vacant streets
words words illuminating, giving movement to emotions and yet not advancing much of anywhere,
nor a very bright bulb are they
but oh how good they feel, a burst of flavor from her mouth though
the taste behind is bitter
and when she is slowed, her mind, her vocal chords, her body stopped from motion, alone
no answers have come knocking
no puzzle pieces quietly snapped together
but there are always words red, orange, black, blue, gray to start all over again