After the first round of rejections, I'm submitting more of my writing for publication. My friend suggested an online journal called "Bent Pin," and from there I found a link to litmags.org--a site that lists literary magazines, the types of submissions they take, submission guidelines, etc. What a gem! As a result of this I submitted work to both "Memoir (and)" and "River Teeth." Plus, I found other possible destinations for my work if these fall through, including: "New England Review," "Cherry Bleeds," and "Apple Valley Review."
I'm excited.
May 28, 2009
May 27, 2009
May 24, 2009
In regard to "Ode to Medication #3: The Missing Piece"
It is proving more challenging to write than I would like. The final product should capture my hopes for it as well as my fears of it. It should be full of the detailed images of pleasure and comfort and contentedness that I wish to recapture. It should be fairly vague and elusive yet clear, vibrant, and concise. It should make my eyes sting with tears of self-recognition. All of the pre-requisites ensure that it will never meet my expectations and will slip through my fingers like fine, soft sand.
May 20, 2009
Your regular dose of Tom Waits
And I'm glad that you're gone...but I wish to the Lord that you'd come home...
Memory
As a child I used to worry a lot. I used to worry specifically about something happening to my mother. At this time in my life I was convinced that my mother was the most beautiful, intelligent, and wonderful woman in the world. I also worried that she was going to forget about me or leave me. I did everything I could to be near her.
One morning I sat on the furry orange couch in our dumpy little trailer. I faced backwards, looking out the window on the gray rainy day. I was busy thinking, “What will I do if my mother dies?” I couldn’t bear to be left alone without her. The logical answer, of course, was that we would have to die together. But what if we didn’t die at the same time? Obviously I would still have to be buried with her. The prospect of this was overwhelming.
My mother came out of her bedroom to find me with my head on my arms sobbing into the couch fuzz. “What’s wrong?” she asked in alarm.
“I don’t want to be buried alive with you!” I blubbered.
One morning I sat on the furry orange couch in our dumpy little trailer. I faced backwards, looking out the window on the gray rainy day. I was busy thinking, “What will I do if my mother dies?” I couldn’t bear to be left alone without her. The logical answer, of course, was that we would have to die together. But what if we didn’t die at the same time? Obviously I would still have to be buried with her. The prospect of this was overwhelming.
My mother came out of her bedroom to find me with my head on my arms sobbing into the couch fuzz. “What’s wrong?” she asked in alarm.
“I don’t want to be buried alive with you!” I blubbered.
May 18, 2009
Overheard at grocery store this evening
Woman: What kind of pasta sauce do you want?
Man: I don't care. You can pick. Your sauce always ends up watery anyway.
W: No, it doesn't!
M: Yes it does. That stuff the other night was so watery I couldn't even eat it.
W: You were probably just drunk.
M: Well, everything tastes good when you're drunk. Everything except your pasta.
Man: I don't care. You can pick. Your sauce always ends up watery anyway.
W: No, it doesn't!
M: Yes it does. That stuff the other night was so watery I couldn't even eat it.
W: You were probably just drunk.
M: Well, everything tastes good when you're drunk. Everything except your pasta.
May 15, 2009
November 2001
We sat on the edge of the bathtub waiting in silence. I imagined that this could be the moment when everything changed, the point at which we departed from the path we were on and went down another for the rest of our lives. We might look back at this day in the bathroom affectionately, saying, “We freaked when we found out. Remember that?”
After another moment he looked at his watch and said, “Okay.” I bit my lip and got up and went to the sink to have a look.
“It’s negative,” I said quietly.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yeah, negative,” I responded, looking at the test again, just in case it had changed all of a sudden.
He let out a deep breath. “I’m kind of disappointed,” he said softly. I looked up in surprise.
“What?” I asked incredulously.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong—I’m relieved. We can’t handle a kid right now. But I’m kind of disappointed, too.”
'Scratch that,' I thought. 'Maybe THIS is the moment when everything changed.'
After another moment he looked at his watch and said, “Okay.” I bit my lip and got up and went to the sink to have a look.
“It’s negative,” I said quietly.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yeah, negative,” I responded, looking at the test again, just in case it had changed all of a sudden.
He let out a deep breath. “I’m kind of disappointed,” he said softly. I looked up in surprise.
“What?” I asked incredulously.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong—I’m relieved. We can’t handle a kid right now. But I’m kind of disappointed, too.”
'Scratch that,' I thought. 'Maybe THIS is the moment when everything changed.'
An offer
He absentmindedly rubbed my five year old back as he watched a baseball game. My attempts to get him to talk to me were met with distracted one-word answers, and I wanted more of his attention. I only knew one thing that might work—it was what men liked.
I took a deep breath. “You can if you want,” I told him.
“Hmmm?” he asked, not taking his eyes from the television.
“You can if you want,” I said a little louder this time.
This took his eyes from the screen and he looked into mine. “I can what?” I flushed a little, not wanting to spell it out for him.
“You know,” I said simply.
“Hon, I don’t know,” he said. He hugged me and went back to watching the game.
I took a deep breath. “You can if you want,” I told him.
“Hmmm?” he asked, not taking his eyes from the television.
“You can if you want,” I said a little louder this time.
This took his eyes from the screen and he looked into mine. “I can what?” I flushed a little, not wanting to spell it out for him.
“You know,” I said simply.
“Hon, I don’t know,” he said. He hugged me and went back to watching the game.
May 13, 2009
I'm so excited!
(There's really no reason to hide it.)
I found my friend Katie. Well, she actually found me. On Facebook. This is Katie who played Barbies with me as detailed so excruciatingly in "Dirty Barbies." Remember? (Assuming that you do.)
We spent an awful lot of time together during our years at Simpson Elementary before she moved away after 6th grade.
That's all I have to say.
I found my friend Katie. Well, she actually found me. On Facebook. This is Katie who played Barbies with me as detailed so excruciatingly in "Dirty Barbies." Remember? (Assuming that you do.)
We spent an awful lot of time together during our years at Simpson Elementary before she moved away after 6th grade.
That's all I have to say.
May 11, 2009
"For a year we caught his tears in a cup."
Año (part two of two)
spring enclosed grief i can't go with you please stop asking me empty space please ask me just one more time detaching waiting drying up closing up summer regroup trying again hope eager mistaken premonitions comparison tentative as usual it became important new adult freedom fears mornings have a whole new meaning why haven't I heard from you please ask me one more time I will say yes fall trying to keep it together sleeping in the car trying and trying because it only takes one I wrote a letter confession falling behind more erratic fleeting winter I'm drowning obsession 98 feet deep this time last year you predicted it the nights are so long sleepless I just need a break losing control I'm going down chanting and rocking and screaming clinging to the shower wall Nannette's tears a voice of reason answers questions an orphan grieving spring trying
spring enclosed grief i can't go with you please stop asking me empty space please ask me just one more time detaching waiting drying up closing up summer regroup trying again hope eager mistaken premonitions comparison tentative as usual it became important new adult freedom fears mornings have a whole new meaning why haven't I heard from you please ask me one more time I will say yes fall trying to keep it together sleeping in the car trying and trying because it only takes one I wrote a letter confession falling behind more erratic fleeting winter I'm drowning obsession 98 feet deep this time last year you predicted it the nights are so long sleepless I just need a break losing control I'm going down chanting and rocking and screaming clinging to the shower wall Nannette's tears a voice of reason answers questions an orphan grieving spring trying
May 8, 2009
Filling jars full of silence you'll get nowhere.
You know, I worried that this medication would take away my inspiration and creativity. I think it has. I don't feel like writing and I have nothing to say to anyone.
I will tell you about a dream I had last night (that recurred all night). I was with a group of people from different parts and times in my life. We were walking through the woods. We came to a clearing to find a ravine the size of New River Gorge in WV. There was a swinging rope bridge going across it.
Everyone but me exclaimed in delight and surprise and started crossing it, but I was frozen in place. Every time I peered over the edge, my stomach dropped and I jerked in my sleep. My friends looked back at me and urged me on. "It's fun!" they cried, "Such a long way down!"
I gathered my courage and ventured out 2-3 steps on the bridge. My head swam and I became dizzy, and I staggered back to land. I shook my head vehemently at those who were calling to me. "I can't!" I shouted. "You go ahead. I'll stay here!"
And then I looked at the forest around me, wondering what I would do by myself.
I will tell you about a dream I had last night (that recurred all night). I was with a group of people from different parts and times in my life. We were walking through the woods. We came to a clearing to find a ravine the size of New River Gorge in WV. There was a swinging rope bridge going across it.
Everyone but me exclaimed in delight and surprise and started crossing it, but I was frozen in place. Every time I peered over the edge, my stomach dropped and I jerked in my sleep. My friends looked back at me and urged me on. "It's fun!" they cried, "Such a long way down!"
I gathered my courage and ventured out 2-3 steps on the bridge. My head swam and I became dizzy, and I staggered back to land. I shook my head vehemently at those who were calling to me. "I can't!" I shouted. "You go ahead. I'll stay here!"
And then I looked at the forest around me, wondering what I would do by myself.
May 6, 2009
I don't want to grow up.
I'd rather stay here in my room
Nothin' out there but sad and gloom
I don't wanna live in a big old tomb
On Grand Street...
Nothin' out there but sad and gloom
I don't wanna live in a big old tomb
On Grand Street...
May 3, 2009
Weirdly...
I think of you now more than ever and I go to you in my head and dreams when I need comfort.
May 2, 2009
Wants
(AKA 500th post)
Financial security. Stronger fingernails. Softer skin. Better singing voice. Maintenance-free car. Peace of mind. Peace and quiet. Amazing metabolism. Lucid dreams. Insomnia-free nights. Perfect temperatures. Quiet neighbors. A world without waiting in line. Strength. New mattress. Trash that takes itself out. Good luck. A pillow with a perpetual cool side. Thick, lustrous hair. A funny partner. A smart side-kick. A working iPod. More and more music. Peony lotion. Starry nights. Champagne fountain. More time here.
Financial security. Stronger fingernails. Softer skin. Better singing voice. Maintenance-free car. Peace of mind. Peace and quiet. Amazing metabolism. Lucid dreams. Insomnia-free nights. Perfect temperatures. Quiet neighbors. A world without waiting in line. Strength. New mattress. Trash that takes itself out. Good luck. A pillow with a perpetual cool side. Thick, lustrous hair. A funny partner. A smart side-kick. A working iPod. More and more music. Peony lotion. Starry nights. Champagne fountain. More time here.
May 1, 2009
April 30, 2009
April 29, 2009
How to disappear completely.
I want to crawl under my desk. It goes beyond that, actually. I want to stay under my desk for an extended and indefinite period of time.
I have been having this feeling since a couple months into my job. Every day I indulge in this fantasy a little: I roll back my chair, gaze at the darkness beneath my wrap-around corner desk, and note that there's plenty of room. I always look to my office door and the full length window next to it to examine whether the average passerby could tell from the hallway that I was under my desk. (I think from the hallway the answer is know, but once they entered my doorway they'd probably notice.)
This has been a weird secret of mine until last night. I talked to my best friend C. and confided this to her. I thought it was some weird little quirk about me that she would probably understand. "I know exactly what you mean," she said. "When I worked at that job I hated I used to think about getting under my desk every single day."
I have been having this feeling since a couple months into my job. Every day I indulge in this fantasy a little: I roll back my chair, gaze at the darkness beneath my wrap-around corner desk, and note that there's plenty of room. I always look to my office door and the full length window next to it to examine whether the average passerby could tell from the hallway that I was under my desk. (I think from the hallway the answer is know, but once they entered my doorway they'd probably notice.)
This has been a weird secret of mine until last night. I talked to my best friend C. and confided this to her. I thought it was some weird little quirk about me that she would probably understand. "I know exactly what you mean," she said. "When I worked at that job I hated I used to think about getting under my desk every single day."
April 27, 2009
Attempts at "Toning Down the Crazy"
I've been trying to break out of my comfort zone in my writing. I'm trying to write about more present day issues and people. Trouble is, I prefer to cloak experiences in humorous pathos, and all I can come up with at the moment is pathos. With the exception of imitating myself, I can't squeeze a drop of humor out. Maybe I'm not far enough away from these events yet to be able to reflect on them well? Maybe some things just aren't meant to be funny?
I tried writing a piece called "Toning Down the Crazy" and I hate it. It came out sounding like a regular old blog entry or a simple recount to a friend. I need to think about it more. If you've been reading this blog, most of this will already be familiar to you because I wrote about it as I was experiencing it, but here's a stab I took. I don't even have an ending! I just stopped.
* * * * * * * * *
Toning Down the Crazy
I spent some time over the last couple of years losing my shit. It culminated in an ecstatic cacophony from December – February. I thought I was losing my mind. I wasn’t quite sure what was happening to me.
Let me tell you some of the gory details.
I vacillated wildly between crushing depression and hysteria. The depression is pretty self-explanatory, but the hysteria… There were days when the roar of noise was so loud in my head that all I could do was try to calm myself. My childhood patterns of obsessions and compulsions returned full-force. I would drive home chanting to myself—anything to shut off the noise. One day I needed to yell over and over, “I’m sorry,’ she said, “but I have nothing left to give!’” to no one in particular. Another day I found myself rocking back and forth at work furiously whispering Christmas carols to deal with the panic rising in me. I knew perfectly well that my office was a fishbowl and that anyone could see what I was doing. But I didn’t care! I banged out words on my keyboard that day that looked like this:
Dashingthroughthesnowinaonehorseopensleigh
O’erthefieldswegolaughingallthewaaaayyyy
Bellsonbobtailsring
Makingspiritsbright
Whatfunitistorideandsingasleighingsongtonight…OH!
JINGLEBELLSJINGLEBELLSJINGLEALLTHEWAY
OHWHATFUNITISTORIDEINAONEHORSEOPENSLEIGH…HEY!!!
I check my personal email inbox repeatedly, thinking frantically, “Somebody talk to me SOMEBODYFUCKINGTALKTOME! I NEED TO HEAR FROM SOMEBODYANYFUCKINGBODYIDON’TCAREWHOYOUARE.”
I wanted someone’s—anyone’s—words and appearance of normalcy to soothe me.
I became obsessed with the Golden Gate Bridge. I didn’t really want to jump off of it but part of my couldn’t stop thinking about ‘what if?’ I had to read about it and drive to it and stare at it and research it. I needed to know how high it was from the water and how deep it was underneath. (How far could one go?) I needed to watch clips of others jumping off. I was terrified of the thoughts my brain insisted on having but all I could do was go along for the ride.
If a friend made me laugh to hard I couldn’t stop. It would turn into a hysterical, manical laughter and then—just as quickly—into uncontrollable sobbing.
I would call friends and beg to come over—couldn’t I please just come over for awhile? They always said yes, and often by the time I was supposed to head over I didn’t want to go anymore—couldn’t bear the thought of seeing anyone. So I’d call and cancel.
I found a quote during that time. I don’t remember where I found it or know who wrote it, but ohmygod it was me:
I have a darkness that I have to feed. I have a sadness that grows up around me like a weed. I'm not hurting anyone. I'm just spiraling in. I close my eyes and hear the song begin again...
There were days that—like a fog—everything would lift. I would feel completely normal. “What is my problem?” I would think. “I’m obviously fine. I need to stop acting so crazy. Why can’t I stop? I just need to be tougher with myself.” It felt like I'd managed to fool everyone into thinking there was something wrong with me--my God, what an actress!
Maybe my eventual bipolar diagnosis doesn’t come as a complete surprise, but it confused me. I thought the mania was supposed to feel good! I thought you were supposed to have super-human energy and feel like you could do anything! I just felt like a wayward tornado.
I tried writing a piece called "Toning Down the Crazy" and I hate it. It came out sounding like a regular old blog entry or a simple recount to a friend. I need to think about it more. If you've been reading this blog, most of this will already be familiar to you because I wrote about it as I was experiencing it, but here's a stab I took. I don't even have an ending! I just stopped.
* * * * * * * * *
Toning Down the Crazy
I spent some time over the last couple of years losing my shit. It culminated in an ecstatic cacophony from December – February. I thought I was losing my mind. I wasn’t quite sure what was happening to me.
Let me tell you some of the gory details.
I vacillated wildly between crushing depression and hysteria. The depression is pretty self-explanatory, but the hysteria… There were days when the roar of noise was so loud in my head that all I could do was try to calm myself. My childhood patterns of obsessions and compulsions returned full-force. I would drive home chanting to myself—anything to shut off the noise. One day I needed to yell over and over, “I’m sorry,’ she said, “but I have nothing left to give!’” to no one in particular. Another day I found myself rocking back and forth at work furiously whispering Christmas carols to deal with the panic rising in me. I knew perfectly well that my office was a fishbowl and that anyone could see what I was doing. But I didn’t care! I banged out words on my keyboard that day that looked like this:
Dashingthroughthesnowinaonehorseopensleigh
O’erthefieldswegolaughingallthewaaaayyyy
Bellsonbobtailsring
Makingspiritsbright
Whatfunitistorideandsingasleighingsongtonight…OH!
JINGLEBELLSJINGLEBELLSJINGLEALLTHEWAY
OHWHATFUNITISTORIDEINAONEHORSEOPENSLEIGH…HEY!!!
I check my personal email inbox repeatedly, thinking frantically, “Somebody talk to me SOMEBODYFUCKINGTALKTOME! I NEED TO HEAR FROM SOMEBODYANYFUCKINGBODYIDON’TCAREWHOYOUARE.”
I wanted someone’s—anyone’s—words and appearance of normalcy to soothe me.
I became obsessed with the Golden Gate Bridge. I didn’t really want to jump off of it but part of my couldn’t stop thinking about ‘what if?’ I had to read about it and drive to it and stare at it and research it. I needed to know how high it was from the water and how deep it was underneath. (How far could one go?) I needed to watch clips of others jumping off. I was terrified of the thoughts my brain insisted on having but all I could do was go along for the ride.
If a friend made me laugh to hard I couldn’t stop. It would turn into a hysterical, manical laughter and then—just as quickly—into uncontrollable sobbing.
I would call friends and beg to come over—couldn’t I please just come over for awhile? They always said yes, and often by the time I was supposed to head over I didn’t want to go anymore—couldn’t bear the thought of seeing anyone. So I’d call and cancel.
I found a quote during that time. I don’t remember where I found it or know who wrote it, but ohmygod it was me:
I have a darkness that I have to feed. I have a sadness that grows up around me like a weed. I'm not hurting anyone. I'm just spiraling in. I close my eyes and hear the song begin again...
There were days that—like a fog—everything would lift. I would feel completely normal. “What is my problem?” I would think. “I’m obviously fine. I need to stop acting so crazy. Why can’t I stop? I just need to be tougher with myself.” It felt like I'd managed to fool everyone into thinking there was something wrong with me--my God, what an actress!
Maybe my eventual bipolar diagnosis doesn’t come as a complete surprise, but it confused me. I thought the mania was supposed to feel good! I thought you were supposed to have super-human energy and feel like you could do anything! I just felt like a wayward tornado.
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