Hiya.
I am made of bones and skin and meat and breath and blood. Sometimes I remember things, and sometimes I make them up. I'm a 1980 IUD baby, so I should be dead. If ever I spill or break something, lie, mislead, frustrate, leave, contradict myself, or just don't make sense, remember: I'm not supposed to be alive.

I was born in Fargo, North Dakota, and did the childhood thing in West Fargo for all the life I can recall. I currently live in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where I attended the U of M for four years. Having studied creative writing, cultural studies, and English and post-colonial literatures, I escaped in May 2003 magna cum laude with a degree in English. I enjoyed uni a lot—it was a tremendous and necessary experience, and though I wouldn't trade and don't regret that structured (...and costly...) education, I decided against grad school because I don't know what to pursue and I'm straight-up tired of school. I want to learn about other things now, outside of classrooms and away from the diverse yet self-contained environment of campus.

Given my writing focused undergrad program, a natural grad school choice would have been a Master of Fine Arts in creative writing... but that doesn't appeal to me. Sure, the networking opportunities would've been grand, but I dreaded the thought of two more years of "noticing" things, "just wanting to say," and "finding it interesting that." I've taken invaluable advice from my peers and professors in creative writing workshops, but I've reached the threshold where critiques aren't helpful in the ways I need them to be. In addition, I don't feel prepared to write heavily at this point and nor do I want to. I've hinted on d6 and to people in general about the sophomore delivery—a work of fiction with social commentary on exclusion, conformity, and all the bizarre complexities of family framed by the largely unexplored, misunderstood, and depthless figure of (I kid you not) the zombie—but I'm not feeling it right now, and I'm not sure when I will. I don't think I'm ready for it yet. Much less all of you. ;)

Despite the current reluctance, I definitely haven't ruled out continued higher education in the future. Passionate about literacy and education as a whole, I have also considered doing work in that sector, either with ESL adults or kids. I like kids. You should see me around kids. In the now I have a full-time job as a proofreader at a commercial printer. With my remaining life hours I devote myself to writing material for fake and other creative nonfiction and hanging out with those who inspire me and keep me sane. Though I knew this past spring, did I want to move from the Cities, now was the time to do it before I laid true roots and established connections, I also realized... I have dug my feet into the Mississippi River soil, the lakes, and concrete I love the people around me, and I don't want to leave.

It's also comforting to know I can I head to Fargo when need and want be for the family left behind I love more than anything. I don't profess anything of "settlement," but I do feel stable here and very much at home for the short long-term—at least the next couple-few years. Sure, this could change and I would welcome it, but I'm also content to know that my environment isn't stifling me creatively or intellectually. The Twin Cities have a helluva lot to offer—big city perks (music events both huge and small, art galleries and festivals, and an inexhaustible amount of restaurants with great vegetarian selections) without big city drags (exceptionally bad traffic, pollution, or crime). It's also an interesting and vital location to be a politically conscious citizen.

As ridiculous as it may sound with me having lived here nearly four years, I've only recently begun to visit the parks and lakes, and they are absolutely gorgeous. You can walk around at night in otherworldly wilderness and swear a city's no where near. And that reminds me of home—of Fargo and that feeling inside—of feeling alien but not alienated, by myself but not alone. Little is more exciting for me than making the familiar strange and new once more, and I strive to do this as much as possible, whether I'm stalking the streets of downtown, exploring the river, or sitting in my room, chained to my computer.

I don't have a map. Today while dance-crashing about my room, I crunched a finger into the floor. I was rockin' out. Playing the guitar. In so much pain I had to lie down. Ever since a four-month fight with kidney stones, any ow is instant nausea, a full body shutdown f' this goodbye, and now I cannot make a fist but the typing's going fine. I did recycling, cleaned the bathroom, and ate a corndog. And this song is beautiful.