Things I Did Right in 2011: An Incomplete List

*Wrote a manuscript.

*Became more ~active~.

*A ~300% increase in the time I spent outside (May-Sept).

*Drove/walked around NYC by myself.

*Created Mr. and Mr. Seahorse.

Things I Hope to Leave Behind in 2011: An Incomplete List

*Knee pain.

*Staying up until 3am for no reason and then texting Kate that I’m on a yacht.

*Having a minimum goal of how much alcohol I want to consume on a given night.

*Bethany, my first smart phone. Rest in Peace, gurl.

*Writing all the words and then writing none of the words.

*Writing papers for graduate classes the day they’re due.

Goals for 2012: An Incomplete List

*Make/meet more self-imposed writing deadlines.

*Go on a road trip of undetermined distance or duration with Katheryn.

*Get some more rejection letters.

*AIDS Walk, May 20^th 2012.

*Read some damn books.

*Send Amy more snail mail.

*Learn more German (ex. tschüss!).

*Improve my spelling.

*Improve my map-reading abilities.

*Look at Lucy’s face. A lot.

*Read books in EDR.

*Keep saving for the Dream Jeep.

*Continue discovering/obsessing over musicals.

*Do the RENT lottery.

RENT 11/12/11

Dear Jon,

I don’t know if I can put into words exactly what Rent means to me. It seems to have stretched into every part of my life, each year it becomes a part of me in new ways. I paint my nails teal, the color I associate with Angel, every Halloween to honor him. I write “We begin” in my planner every year on December 24^th and I believe in the possibility that hangs in the air on that night. Every time “Seasons of Love” fills me up, I look up for you at the line, “Though the story never ends.” That’s a belief, but also a promise. I could tell you so many more ‘little things,’ but I don’t want to keep you from working on your plays much longer. So I’ll tell you just these two:

A year and a half ago I came down with an auto-immune disease that attacked my body via my thyroid. Although nothing like what your characters experience, it was the sickest I have ever been. The doctors couldn’t do anything for me. I was doubled over in pain, sobbing, while my body attacked itself. Simply put, I was so sick that I was scared. One night I decided to put in the Broadway DVD of Rent. Your play gave me so much strength that night. Watching it was the first time I was able to truly focus on something in a week’s time, probably longer. I felt calm for the first time in days. It didn’t matter that I was constantly throwing up or that I was spitting into a cup because I’d lost the ability to swallow. Hours later that night my fever broke and my symptoms began to lessen. I know that Rent kept me from losing myself that night – it helped me find peace for a little while. You helped me hang on.

Two years ago I got a Rent tattoo, Mark’s line from “What You Own,” – ‘Angel’s voice is in my ear.’ I’ve always most identified with Mark. We’re both insecure and lonely. We would do anything for our friends. And we both see a true value in storytelling.

“The filmmaker cannot see / And the songwriter cannot hear

Yet I see Mimi everywhere / Angel’s voice is in my ear”

Angel is my favorite character and for me is the character who most embodies the meaning of Rent. But I also love what the larger quotation means as an artist – to look for creative inspiration even in unlikely places – to keep yourself open. Often in life we learn the most meaningful lessons from people who are very different than ourselves. I love how deeply and permanently Mark is affected by Angel – as a person and as an artist.

Your play’s message has given me so much courage and is in large part why I’ve been brave enough to live an authentic life. A greater gift than that I’ve never been given.

Thank you,

Pat

You can read my original Rambling about Rent here.

I've made a Tumblr!

So, I've shared a joint Tumblr with Amy Rose for three quarters of a year now and while it is basically my own personal Jesus I've decided to create my own Tumblr which I can post things to occasionally that aren't specific to that friendship and are things that would kind of be too random to put on here. So, I give you http://mouseofmedium.tumblr.com/!

The feeling of finally knowing I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

It has taken me a really long time to realize that I'm the kind of person who sticks around. In all aspects of my life. Really, I don't know why it took me so long to reach this conclusion. Four years ago I think I felt like a bit of a cop out. But now I actually think I'm the opposite. I stick around even when shit gets really tough. I don't bail but the thing is, I don't think I've ever been the kind of person who would bail. It's weird to spend four years trying not to be something or worrying about being something and then getting to the end and realizing that I never even could have been that person. I'm the person who stays. And that's not a weakness. It's a strength.

Dabblings

Everyone likes a rat friend (1.0)

No one likes a cracked-out lightning bug.

Conversations with Merlin

Conversations with Merlin

I'm supposed to be studying

An Open Letter To Merlin

So, I guess what happened was I got drunk last night and wrote a letter to Merlin, the character I've traced from origin to modern day over the course of this semester in my capstone class.

Dear Merlin,

Your beard annoys me. At least trim that shit down a little. Your spectacles are stupid, especially that half-moon pair you have. Though I’ve described your magician’s gown as “flowing” in several papers now, please understand it’s not necessarily a compliment. And why does it always look so shiny? Like that material graduation gowns are made out of? Merlin: part of the graduating class of 1136. And, another thing, Merlin: Can you please stop creeping on poor little Morgan le Fay? In most of the stories of your first meeting she’s like fifteen years old. And you’re like…two hundred and fifty. Now, I’m in no way a prude when it comes to relationships society might deem unconventional but two hundred and thirty-five years is a pretty big age gap. It’s just inappropriate.

Merlin, when you first appeared in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s writings, I was humored by your novelty. By the time I had slogged through all of The Suite du Merlin I was admittedly a bit less enthralled with the idea of you. Still, I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. But, by the time I reached Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur I wanted to kick you in the nuts. Okay, so T.H. White’s portrayal of you was a fun little reprieve in which you actually managed to be interesting, but that was rather short-lived, wasn’t it?

Honestly, Merlin, for someone with the ability to FLOAT THE STONES OF STONEHENGE I would just think you would be a little more interesting. And, one more thing, while I’m at this. What the fuck was up with your role in Arthur’s conception? You disguised Uther Pendragon as Duke Gorlois so Igerna would sleep with him. Merlin, I know I’m judging you by modern standards but dude…THAT’S RAPE. I mean okay, I know it was for the good of the kingdom and the future of England and all that. My only real point is that Uther was an idiot who came to you begging to be disguised so he could lay siege to another duke’s TWO castles and then repeatedly have sex with said duke’s wife, via tricking her by impersonating her husband. Merlin…sometimes you have to tell idiots no. SOMETIMES YOU JUST HAVE TO SAY NO.

Also, I demand to know how you did it, how you managed to disguise Uther. Some sources, and believe me, I’ve read them all, state you used magic, some have you waving a wand while muttering some crazy voodoo shit, some just say you used some cracked-out herbs. I mean, what the fuck? If you tell me it was polyjuice potion I’m going to be pissed as hell.

So, in conclusion Merlin: stop creeping, wash your robe, and go away. I’m really just so fucking sick of you. I think we need a long time apart from one another to achieve some clarity. Maybe a lifetime. Go sit in your cave, Merlin. There, I said it. GO SIT IN YOUR CAVE.

Love,
Pat Kelley

P.S. You’ll never be as cool as Dumbledore. Stop trying.

Poems Poems Poems

Later

After picking out our tree
we walk down to a nearby brook
to take a picture for the cards.

Later I’ll curse, bent over the side of the truck,
head in my hands as you pull briars
out of the seat of my pants.

Later you’ll curse, after your dramatic jump
across the babbling stream results
in a soaked foot.

But for now I breathe in deep,
and feel the snow crunch beneath me
as I lean into your weight.