I lost my baby at 3am yesterday morning, Saturday, March 19.
I had her in my bathroom. The pain was horrific and the scene was grisly. Most of the time I made Ivan wait on the other side of the door. I didn't want him standing in my blood or seeing and hearing the things that I was seeing and hearing. When I called his name he was through the door in a flash, folding me in his arms. The rest of the time he stayed outside, taking my instructions for what I needed and whom to call.
I want and need to tell my story of what happened in this apartment between 1 and 4am yesterday, but I don't know the right person or venue. I can't bear the thought of my friends who are mamas or mamas-to-be to read these awful things.
I can tell that she is gone. There is a terrible void where she used to be.
I feel such strange things toward my body. On one hand, it has been through so much in the last couple of days and I want to be gentle with it. But on the other, I feel betrayed by and angry with it. How could it fail to keep my baby safe?
I want to scream to the world that she existed. That she grew and fluttered in my body. That she was so important to us and already loved very much. That I thought of her nearly every moment, waking and asleep, and wanted to be a better person for her.
I have some irrational thoughts. Heroin addicts can shoot up while pregnant and still manage to have healthy babies. People can be unknowingly pregnant for as long as I was and longer and still manage to have healthy babies. Dogs can go off by themselves and burrow under porches and have healthy babies. But I--while taking the best care of myself that I could--managed to fuck it up.
I have some hateful thoughts, too. I wonder if the people who weren't happy for me before will be happy now that there is no baby.
I can sit and stare for hours at a time. I feel guilty if I smile at anything; my child is in a jar of alcohol in the bedroom. The grief and the anger come in tidal waves, and I am drowning. There just aren't enough tears in the world right now.
Showing posts with label In which the mouse is quoted. Show all posts
Showing posts with label In which the mouse is quoted. Show all posts
March 20, 2011
January 27, 2011
3rd Planet
"Well, a third had just been made
and we were swimming in the water.
Didn't know then
Was it a son? Was it a daughter?
.
.
.
The universe is shaped exactly like the earth.
If you go straight long enough you'll end up where you were."
4/9/11 update/key to my inner psyche: This was my way of announcing to the world that I was pretty sure I was pregnant. Even before I took a test.
and we were swimming in the water.
Didn't know then
Was it a son? Was it a daughter?
.
.
.
The universe is shaped exactly like the earth.
If you go straight long enough you'll end up where you were."
4/9/11 update/key to my inner psyche: This was my way of announcing to the world that I was pretty sure I was pregnant. Even before I took a test.
August 30, 2010
May 30, 2010
Novacain Stain
Remember her sounds
Remember her smells
Remember her colors
Remember through towns
With fear and fascination
of what was here
And what's replacing 'em now...
Remember her smells
Remember her colors
Remember through towns
With fear and fascination
of what was here
And what's replacing 'em now...
April 26, 2010
Edit the sad parts
Sometimes all I really wanna feel is love
Sometimes I'm angry that I feel so angry
Sometimes my feelings get in the way
Of what I really feel I needed to say.
September 10, 2009
Edit the sad parts (2)
Sometimes all I really want to feel is love
Sometimes I'm angry that I feel so angry
Sometimes my feelings get in the way
Of what I really feel I needed to say
- Modest Mouse
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.
April 8, 2009
You do, you have, you are.
You take trips in your mind.
You get crushes on cities the way others do on people.
You've saved that card for years, hoping for someone to give it to.
You will never say those particular words to another living soul.
You write all over your walls. And body.
Your hands still remember. And they refuse to forget.
You're trying to walk a fine line.
You do it to comfort yourself.
You long to do something more constructive with tears.
You're looking for a way out.
You don't actually need to know.
You look up to her.
You're closer than you've ever been.
My nose isn't that big. (It looks nothing like me.)
You get crushes on cities the way others do on people.
You've saved that card for years, hoping for someone to give it to.
You will never say those particular words to another living soul.
You write all over your walls. And body.
Your hands still remember. And they refuse to forget.
You're trying to walk a fine line.
You do it to comfort yourself.
You long to do something more constructive with tears.
You're looking for a way out.
You don't actually need to know.
You look up to her.
You're closer than you've ever been.
My nose isn't that big. (It looks nothing like me.)
April 3, 2009
"I have not had any sleep, so I ate Minithins to stay awake..."
"You crash your car right into me, there's two days that I didn't sleep... "
January 20, 2009
Medication
This is the part of me that needs medication.
This is the part of me that believes in heaven.
This is the part of me that thinks outer space is all dead.
This is the part of me that wishes it was with it.
This is the part of me that's trying to be funny.
This is the part of me that loves my parents.
This is the part of me that thinks that ants are cavemen.
This is the part of me that thinks all humans are ants.
This is the part of me that learns from sitcoms.
This is the part of me that means nothing.
And I don't know.
Well, I could go away and you could wish that
I had stayed or just stayed gone
And I don't know.
And I don't know at all.
So, out of the context and into what you meant.
And you know your reasons.
You don't know who you are but you know who you want to be.
I don't know.
So you go to the library to get yourself a book
and you look and you look
but you didn't find anything to read.
And I don't know at all.
Left all my kinder parts rusting and peeling
That guy was complaining as he looked at the ceiling.
My nose isn't that big;
It looks nothing like me.
We're all doctors trading sadness for numbness
Grass looks much greener but it's green-painted cement.
The mayor's machines are there cleaning the pavement.
You can't make dirt clean so we'll just lemon scent it.
(Thanks for reminding me to go back to this song, M.)
This is the part of me that believes in heaven.
This is the part of me that thinks outer space is all dead.
This is the part of me that wishes it was with it.
This is the part of me that's trying to be funny.
This is the part of me that loves my parents.
This is the part of me that thinks that ants are cavemen.
This is the part of me that thinks all humans are ants.
This is the part of me that learns from sitcoms.
This is the part of me that means nothing.
And I don't know.
Well, I could go away and you could wish that
I had stayed or just stayed gone
And I don't know.
And I don't know at all.
So, out of the context and into what you meant.
And you know your reasons.
You don't know who you are but you know who you want to be.
I don't know.
So you go to the library to get yourself a book
and you look and you look
but you didn't find anything to read.
And I don't know at all.
Left all my kinder parts rusting and peeling
That guy was complaining as he looked at the ceiling.
My nose isn't that big;
It looks nothing like me.
We're all doctors trading sadness for numbness
Grass looks much greener but it's green-painted cement.
The mayor's machines are there cleaning the pavement.
You can't make dirt clean so we'll just lemon scent it.
(Thanks for reminding me to go back to this song, M.)
December 2, 2008
"All the people you knew were the actors."
Well, all the apostles
they're sitting in swings
and I'd sell off my savior
for a set of new rings
and some sandles
with the style of straps that
cling best to the era
Some days I feel I’ve gotten off track.
And all of the angels
they'd sell off your soul
for a set of new wings and anything gold
they remember
the people they loved, their old friends
and I've seen through 'em all
seen through 'em all
How have I gone so far from where I thought I’d be?
Well, I'll go to college
and I'll learn some big words
and I'll talk real loud
goddamn right I'll be heard
you'll remember the guys
that said all those big words
they must've learned in college
And the people I thought I’d be with?
And it took a long time
but I came clean with myself
I come clean out of love with my lover
I still love her
loved her more when she
used to be sober and I
was kinder
But what if I’m exactly where I need to be?
they're sitting in swings
and I'd sell off my savior
for a set of new rings
and some sandles
with the style of straps that
cling best to the era
Some days I feel I’ve gotten off track.
And all of the angels
they'd sell off your soul
for a set of new wings and anything gold
they remember
the people they loved, their old friends
and I've seen through 'em all
seen through 'em all
How have I gone so far from where I thought I’d be?
Well, I'll go to college
and I'll learn some big words
and I'll talk real loud
goddamn right I'll be heard
you'll remember the guys
that said all those big words
they must've learned in college
And the people I thought I’d be with?
And it took a long time
but I came clean with myself
I come clean out of love with my lover
I still love her
loved her more when she
used to be sober and I
was kinder
But what if I’m exactly where I need to be?
September 17, 2008
"Every planned occupation..."
I am getting settled into my job.
I was describing the things that freak me out about it to someone last night (at least one of which I've mentioned here before), and it seemed worth writing about it here. Before I go down that path, let me begin by saying that I feel really, incredibly lucky to have gotten such a good position so quickly. I am pleased to be working in the field in which I was trained. I enjoy having a job that challenges me, that makes me think.
Now Ima set this thing off.
Even though I do like my job, this whole working five days a week business leaves a lot to be desired. There are so many days where I leave work feeling satisfied with what I accomplished that day, but then I'll think: "I have to go back again tomorrow? And again the day after that?" And so on. I can't let myself think that way too long, because I start to get freaked out by realizing that I am doomed to repeat this pattern for the next 35-40 years. Then I think, "Is this it? Is this all there is in life? Oh, my God!" And then, in the middle of the parking lot I throw my hands in the air helplessly and scream, "Why, God, why!? There must be more...."
I'm just kidding. I don't really do that. But I can't say that I won't do it tomorrow.
I think that part of what is feeling so weird to me is that in the past there was always something very specific I was working toward, and I knew pretty clearly exactly how long I was going to have to work to get to it. In high school, it was college. In college, it was grad school. In grad school, it was a postdoc. As a postdoc, it was a job. Now the job is here--okay, great! But...but...what else? I was being carried along on this forward-moving momentum for so long, and to suddenly come to an abrupt stop seems strange and uncomfortable.
It makes the future seem like a vast but hazy expanse.
I was describing the things that freak me out about it to someone last night (at least one of which I've mentioned here before), and it seemed worth writing about it here. Before I go down that path, let me begin by saying that I feel really, incredibly lucky to have gotten such a good position so quickly. I am pleased to be working in the field in which I was trained. I enjoy having a job that challenges me, that makes me think.
Now Ima set this thing off.
Even though I do like my job, this whole working five days a week business leaves a lot to be desired. There are so many days where I leave work feeling satisfied with what I accomplished that day, but then I'll think: "I have to go back again tomorrow? And again the day after that?" And so on. I can't let myself think that way too long, because I start to get freaked out by realizing that I am doomed to repeat this pattern for the next 35-40 years. Then I think, "Is this it? Is this all there is in life? Oh, my God!" And then, in the middle of the parking lot I throw my hands in the air helplessly and scream, "Why, God, why!? There must be more...."
I'm just kidding. I don't really do that. But I can't say that I won't do it tomorrow.
I think that part of what is feeling so weird to me is that in the past there was always something very specific I was working toward, and I knew pretty clearly exactly how long I was going to have to work to get to it. In high school, it was college. In college, it was grad school. In grad school, it was a postdoc. As a postdoc, it was a job. Now the job is here--okay, great! But...but...what else? I was being carried along on this forward-moving momentum for so long, and to suddenly come to an abrupt stop seems strange and uncomfortable.
It makes the future seem like a vast but hazy expanse.
August 3, 2008
Have car. Will travel.
I got a car! I have wheels! I got a 2008 Honda Fit. I wanted a lil' car to fit in tiny San Francisco spaces and that got excellent gas mileage since I'll be commuting...starting tomorrow. Oh! And it's orange! I named him Julius (the latest in a long history of naming my cars, peace be with you Fran, Maddie, Jill, and Maggie). Anyone know the source of the name? I bet one or two of you will understand...
July 25, 2008
No te preocupes.
Alternative title for this blog: A racecar grin
Well, as of today I officially accepted the job I was offered. When we were negotiating my package, my new boss said, "I'm more than happy to pay for your move to Los Altos..." To this I responded, "There won't be any move! I'm staying in San Francisco!" She thought I was crazy and I said, "Well, if makes you feel better you can put that moving money toward my new car..." (Not surprisingly, this didn't go over so well.) She's the kind of boss who puts emoticons into her email messages and, having already had lunch with her, I felt comfortable making this joke.
When I accepted the position over the phone she cried, "I'm so thrilled! Really? You've made my day!" I said, "Wow! You've totally made mine!" We worked out the details and I start Aug. 4. I'm totally and completely free until then so if you're in town and wanna hang out...or outta town and wanna come hang out...
A couple of people have asked me about why this 401K business bothers me. The short answer is that it means I'm going to die. Or wear adult diapers. Probably both. But hey! I'm siding on the bright look: I won't have to survive on a grad school or postdoc salary anymore.
I am really happy. Seriously. The last two weeks have brought about changes in my life that I never could have seen coming. This evening an old friend from grad school was in town, so I was waiting for the bus at 25th and Geary en route to visiting with him. For a brief moment, a postal truck pulled up next to where I was before making a right turn. Written in the dirt on the back of the truck were the words, "No te preocupes." In case your Spanish is minimal or nonexistent, it means, "Don't worry." I loved this. Those words at that moment were a beautiful thing. Fortunately--because I've been carrying my camera almost everywhere I go these days--I was able to quickly snap a picture before it turned.
I could write a book filled with all the things I never got to say. I think I will.
Well, as of today I officially accepted the job I was offered. When we were negotiating my package, my new boss said, "I'm more than happy to pay for your move to Los Altos..." To this I responded, "There won't be any move! I'm staying in San Francisco!" She thought I was crazy and I said, "Well, if makes you feel better you can put that moving money toward my new car..." (Not surprisingly, this didn't go over so well.) She's the kind of boss who puts emoticons into her email messages and, having already had lunch with her, I felt comfortable making this joke.
When I accepted the position over the phone she cried, "I'm so thrilled! Really? You've made my day!" I said, "Wow! You've totally made mine!" We worked out the details and I start Aug. 4. I'm totally and completely free until then so if you're in town and wanna hang out...or outta town and wanna come hang out...
A couple of people have asked me about why this 401K business bothers me. The short answer is that it means I'm going to die. Or wear adult diapers. Probably both. But hey! I'm siding on the bright look: I won't have to survive on a grad school or postdoc salary anymore.
I am really happy. Seriously. The last two weeks have brought about changes in my life that I never could have seen coming. This evening an old friend from grad school was in town, so I was waiting for the bus at 25th and Geary en route to visiting with him. For a brief moment, a postal truck pulled up next to where I was before making a right turn. Written in the dirt on the back of the truck were the words, "No te preocupes." In case your Spanish is minimal or nonexistent, it means, "Don't worry." I loved this. Those words at that moment were a beautiful thing. Fortunately--because I've been carrying my camera almost everywhere I go these days--I was able to quickly snap a picture before it turned.
I could write a book filled with all the things I never got to say. I think I will.
July 4, 2008
Positive/Negative
Yesterday was three years since I moved to San Francisco and it's sort of blowing my mind. I'm in a reflective mood. A lot has happened in this three years, both good and bad. I'll try to make one of those lists.
Let's get the ugly stuff out of the way first. The last three years saw...
- the painful end of a very long relationship.
- that long relationship attempt to be a friendship and then break down completely because it was just too damn painful.
- the completion of another degree through which I kicked and screamed the entire way.
- the moving out of a shared apartment.
- the death of my Grandmother.
- the meeting of the person who changed everything for me and the tears the subsequently came afterward when I realized I was the only one who felt that.
- the mourning of an aborted attempt to move to another country.
- the courage to try again to begin a relationship with someone I trusted, only to find that one apparently was doomed as well.
Now for the GOOD stuff. The last three years brought...
- lots of first experiences: my first Gay Pride Parade, Folsom Street Fair, big wheel race, etc.
- a weird and unforgettable trip to Poland.
- teaching at a new university.
- LOTS of new and fantastic music and concerts.
- the real beginning of my writing.
- the completion of the fellowship for which I moved here.
- the move into a new apartment with the most fantastic green walls ever.
- the courage to take a lot of actions I never thought I'd be able to do.
- my 30th birthday. For reasons I won't go into here, I consider that a good thing.
- a birthday on a beautiful island that I have dreamed about having for years.
- many new friends. I can honestly say I never thought I'd have such amazing friends.
I have no amazing ending. This is where I'm at.
Whenever I breathe out...
Let's get the ugly stuff out of the way first. The last three years saw...
- the painful end of a very long relationship.
- that long relationship attempt to be a friendship and then break down completely because it was just too damn painful.
- the completion of another degree through which I kicked and screamed the entire way.
- the moving out of a shared apartment.
- the death of my Grandmother.
- the meeting of the person who changed everything for me and the tears the subsequently came afterward when I realized I was the only one who felt that.
- the mourning of an aborted attempt to move to another country.
- the courage to try again to begin a relationship with someone I trusted, only to find that one apparently was doomed as well.
Now for the GOOD stuff. The last three years brought...
- lots of first experiences: my first Gay Pride Parade, Folsom Street Fair, big wheel race, etc.
- a weird and unforgettable trip to Poland.
- teaching at a new university.
- LOTS of new and fantastic music and concerts.
- the real beginning of my writing.
- the completion of the fellowship for which I moved here.
- the move into a new apartment with the most fantastic green walls ever.
- the courage to take a lot of actions I never thought I'd be able to do.
- my 30th birthday. For reasons I won't go into here, I consider that a good thing.
- a birthday on a beautiful island that I have dreamed about having for years.
- many new friends. I can honestly say I never thought I'd have such amazing friends.
I have no amazing ending. This is where I'm at.
Whenever I breathe out...
June 30, 2008
A strange request for assistance...
In recent months I've developed a growing fascination for the messages that people write on bathroom walls. I could easily insert some Modest Mouse lyrics here to illustrate this point but, in the interest of maintaining all of my friends' sanity, I will refrain. (Oh, but they're good lines...)
At any rate, I'm not talking about crap like "For a good time call blah-blah-blah" or "I heart so-and-so." I'm talking about really interesting things--poignant, creative...words filled with longing and pathos and/or humor. I realize that such things are highly subjective and in the eye of the beholder. An example of what I'm talking about can be found in the women's bathroom at the 540 Club here in the humble Richmond District at 6th and Clement:
"My daddy is a dollar.
I wrote it on a fence.
My daddy is a dollar
not worth a hundred cents."
I love these lines for reasons I cannot quite explain.
I would like to ask that you keep your eyes open for words that catch your attention. If you live near me, please let me know what you see and where so that I may document it myself. If you live far from me, maybe you could take a picture of it--a close up in which the writing is clear--and send it to me?
I'd be most grateful. And you'd be credited in what I end up doing with it--now isn't that an amazing incentive? No?
Anyway, thanks in advance.
Message read on the bathroom wall said: "I don't feel at all like I fall." And we're losing all touch, losing all touch. Building a desert..."
Okay. I lied about the quote.
At any rate, I'm not talking about crap like "For a good time call blah-blah-blah" or "I heart so-and-so." I'm talking about really interesting things--poignant, creative...words filled with longing and pathos and/or humor. I realize that such things are highly subjective and in the eye of the beholder. An example of what I'm talking about can be found in the women's bathroom at the 540 Club here in the humble Richmond District at 6th and Clement:
"My daddy is a dollar.
I wrote it on a fence.
My daddy is a dollar
not worth a hundred cents."
I love these lines for reasons I cannot quite explain.
I would like to ask that you keep your eyes open for words that catch your attention. If you live near me, please let me know what you see and where so that I may document it myself. If you live far from me, maybe you could take a picture of it--a close up in which the writing is clear--and send it to me?
I'd be most grateful. And you'd be credited in what I end up doing with it--now isn't that an amazing incentive? No?
Anyway, thanks in advance.
Message read on the bathroom wall said: "I don't feel at all like I fall." And we're losing all touch, losing all touch. Building a desert..."
Okay. I lied about the quote.
June 16, 2008
Never-ending math equation
There's lots going on today. In my head (where shit's always going down) and otherwise. A couple things are just things I've been thinking about.
To begin with, I'm getting ready for class tomorrow. Since we only met a few few minutes last Tuesday and canceled class on Thursday, we're hitting it full force tomorrow. It's been awhile since I've had a four hour class and a stack of papers to grade.
I had a student email me today freaking out because she didn't know how to get TWO FULL PAGES out for the paper they have due tomorrow. She said she'd done everything I asked, but just didn't have anything else to say and would I please look at it for her? So I took a look, and told her she'd missed half of the assignment all together. She said, "Oh! Well, I wrote the paper before I read the instructions you gave on the syllabus..."
Sweet Jesus.
As for my thoughts, I've started to get a serious glimmer in the back of my mind about moving.
If you've read even a tiny bit of my writing before, you already know a lot about me in this respect: I've never really felt like I was where I belonged and I'm always restless. I've always been this way.
I'm the same as I was when I was six years old...
When I was planning to move to Spain I was excited for so many reasons--not the least of which was fulfilling a life-long dream--but also because I felt like I'd come back with a whole new perspective on "home." Since then I've felt pretty stuck, partly because I haven't been able to think of anything that captivated me as much. But I've always wanted to live in New England, and I think I'd really like living in Boston. I'm not saying I'm leaving right now or anything. I'm just starting to think a little more seriously about it.
Maybe I'm crazy. I know that I'm crazy. Maybe I'm shooting myself in the foot by moving before I have the chance to feel really rooted to a place. But I'm looking, looking. I hope I know when I find it.
Where do you move when what you're moving from is yourself?
Also, I think I'm scrapping the whole dating thing. I don't think I have what it takes, and I don't think I can bear to be so disappointed again. After my most recent experiences--when I felt so incredibly good about the whole thing and so surprisingly optimistic--well, I just don't trust my instincts in this area. It makes me sad to say that, because I feel like I have much to give from this part of myself, but...well, anyway.
...Well, I know what I have and want but I don't know what I need...
To begin with, I'm getting ready for class tomorrow. Since we only met a few few minutes last Tuesday and canceled class on Thursday, we're hitting it full force tomorrow. It's been awhile since I've had a four hour class and a stack of papers to grade.
I had a student email me today freaking out because she didn't know how to get TWO FULL PAGES out for the paper they have due tomorrow. She said she'd done everything I asked, but just didn't have anything else to say and would I please look at it for her? So I took a look, and told her she'd missed half of the assignment all together. She said, "Oh! Well, I wrote the paper before I read the instructions you gave on the syllabus..."
Sweet Jesus.
As for my thoughts, I've started to get a serious glimmer in the back of my mind about moving.
If you've read even a tiny bit of my writing before, you already know a lot about me in this respect: I've never really felt like I was where I belonged and I'm always restless. I've always been this way.
I'm the same as I was when I was six years old...
When I was planning to move to Spain I was excited for so many reasons--not the least of which was fulfilling a life-long dream--but also because I felt like I'd come back with a whole new perspective on "home." Since then I've felt pretty stuck, partly because I haven't been able to think of anything that captivated me as much. But I've always wanted to live in New England, and I think I'd really like living in Boston. I'm not saying I'm leaving right now or anything. I'm just starting to think a little more seriously about it.
Where do you move when what you're moving from is yourself?
Also, I think I'm scrapping the whole dating thing. I don't think I have what it takes, and I don't think I can bear to be so disappointed again. After my most recent experiences--when I felt so incredibly good about the whole thing and so surprisingly optimistic--well, I just don't trust my instincts in this area. It makes me sad to say that, because I feel like I have much to give from this part of myself, but...well, anyway.
...Well, I know what I have and want but I don't know what I need...
February 6, 2008
Edit the sad parts
In times of crisis, repetition has always comforted me.
As an adult this has taken various forms, including cooking things that involved a great deal of chopping, beating, or kneading. [Actually, a close friend of mine discussed this tendency in one of his last blog entries: Still Life With Imbecile. Though he told me I was bat-shit crazy--a point that really cannot be argued--it was done rather affectionately.]
As a child, one way I fulfilled this need for comforting repetition was by pretending to sell hot dogs. It's still not clear to me why I did this because, for as long as I can remember, I've loathed hot dogs. But when I was upset and alone I would regularly gather up the raw hot-dog-making materials and pretend to sell them for hours.
The green waxy rhododendron leaves from the bush in our front yard made perfect buns. Broken sticks served as the actual "meat" (if any part of a hot dog can be called such). Freshly mown grass played the part of multiple toppings, including relish and sauerkraut. But my personal favorite were the onions. I would scrape white paint chips off our house that badly needed re-painting--and if I were ever to have been caught for this there would have been hell to pay--and break them up into bits for chopped onions. In my neighbor's yard a small dried up well with a lid made a perfect drive thru window.
I prided myself on the quality of my ingredients (each one hand gathered!), the value of my hot dogs (only pennies apiece!), and my unfailingly courteous service. Every once in awhile, though, a customer would get snippy with me. At my hot dog stand, the customer was not always right. When I was unable to reason with them I would take their order, throw it through the drive-thru window into their car, and tell them to go fuck themselves. Then I would brush the chopped onions off my hands while muttering, "Some people are never happy," and put on a big smile for the next customer pulling up for their order.
Sometimes I miss being little.
As an adult this has taken various forms, including cooking things that involved a great deal of chopping, beating, or kneading. [Actually, a close friend of mine discussed this tendency in one of his last blog entries: Still Life With Imbecile. Though he told me I was bat-shit crazy--a point that really cannot be argued--it was done rather affectionately.]
As a child, one way I fulfilled this need for comforting repetition was by pretending to sell hot dogs. It's still not clear to me why I did this because, for as long as I can remember, I've loathed hot dogs. But when I was upset and alone I would regularly gather up the raw hot-dog-making materials and pretend to sell them for hours.
The green waxy rhododendron leaves from the bush in our front yard made perfect buns. Broken sticks served as the actual "meat" (if any part of a hot dog can be called such). Freshly mown grass played the part of multiple toppings, including relish and sauerkraut. But my personal favorite were the onions. I would scrape white paint chips off our house that badly needed re-painting--and if I were ever to have been caught for this there would have been hell to pay--and break them up into bits for chopped onions. In my neighbor's yard a small dried up well with a lid made a perfect drive thru window.
I prided myself on the quality of my ingredients (each one hand gathered!), the value of my hot dogs (only pennies apiece!), and my unfailingly courteous service. Every once in awhile, though, a customer would get snippy with me. At my hot dog stand, the customer was not always right. When I was unable to reason with them I would take their order, throw it through the drive-thru window into their car, and tell them to go fuck themselves. Then I would brush the chopped onions off my hands while muttering, "Some people are never happy," and put on a big smile for the next customer pulling up for their order.
Sometimes I miss being little.
July 5, 2007
You know, I used to have a plan.
I'm a list-maker, a planner, an organizer. I have lists of things to learn about, lists of places to go, lists of dreams I had that made a lasting impact on me, lists of things to do to celebrate the month of October, lists of favorite smells, lists of memories, lists of letters to write, lists of books to read, and on and on and on.
Somewhere along the way things got fucked up.
Of course, it's entirely possible that they were actually always fucked up, but I was too busy sticking to the path I had picked out that I didn't realize. When the next several years of your life is planned out, you don't have to think very hard.
I used to think of myself like a donut: sugary sweet on the outside, and completely empty inside. I was positive that if someone looked at me closely enough they would realize that there was absolutely nothing inside of me. Just nothing fucking there. That I was actually just faking everything and going through the motions, looking like I had a clue what the fuck was going on. (I never did.)
Now my problem is almost the opposite: after peeks at that infinite darkness I might just want to pull that donut back out. It was safer. Prettier. Easier to deal with.
Today one of my students stayed to talk to me after class. He asked me what kind of job I wanted. I said I didn't really know. He asked me where I wanted to live. I said I didn't know that, either. All I could say was that I didn't want to be hot all the time. Or cold all the time.
Yeah, that's pretty much what I got.
All those "plans" are shot to hell.
I've been feeling for about a year now that there's something I'm supposed to be paying attention to. To be open to. It kind of irritates me to say it that way because it sounds so New Agey and mystical, but it's really the way I feel. What the hell to do with that? Maybe if I could stop to breathe for a moment I could pay attention to something besides running, running, running, going, going, going.
I have not had any sleep.
Somewhere along the way things got fucked up.
Of course, it's entirely possible that they were actually always fucked up, but I was too busy sticking to the path I had picked out that I didn't realize. When the next several years of your life is planned out, you don't have to think very hard.
I used to think of myself like a donut: sugary sweet on the outside, and completely empty inside. I was positive that if someone looked at me closely enough they would realize that there was absolutely nothing inside of me. Just nothing fucking there. That I was actually just faking everything and going through the motions, looking like I had a clue what the fuck was going on. (I never did.)
Now my problem is almost the opposite: after peeks at that infinite darkness I might just want to pull that donut back out. It was safer. Prettier. Easier to deal with.
Today one of my students stayed to talk to me after class. He asked me what kind of job I wanted. I said I didn't really know. He asked me where I wanted to live. I said I didn't know that, either. All I could say was that I didn't want to be hot all the time. Or cold all the time.
Yeah, that's pretty much what I got.
All those "plans" are shot to hell.
I've been feeling for about a year now that there's something I'm supposed to be paying attention to. To be open to. It kind of irritates me to say it that way because it sounds so New Agey and mystical, but it's really the way I feel. What the hell to do with that? Maybe if I could stop to breathe for a moment I could pay attention to something besides running, running, running, going, going, going.
I have not had any sleep.
July 1, 2007
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