“Why worry about things you can’t control when you can keep yourself busy controlling the things that depend on you?” ~Unknown
I am a worrier. I fret and pace and ruminate and wonder "what if?" I worry about things that haven't happened in order to keep them at bay. I worry about things that have happened to keep them from getting any worse or happening again.
This week I have been in overdrive.
So when I found this list of "50 things you can control" I was intrigued. Some of them kind of make me want to barf (i.e., #1 feels a little too much like blowing sunshine up one's arse). Others really resonate with me (see the ones with the asterisks), because I have been bad at them of late. Take #13, for example. At least 3 times in the last week I have exited a conversation prematurely because I felt hurt or rejected, and I didn't know how to continue. At least once it led to confusion on the part of the other person, and then I agonized over what an idiot I was.
Then there is #3 and #29 which--for me--go together like peas in a pod. I tend to run on the "too honest" side--telling people things they don't even want to know. Telling people things that they may, in fact, be better not knowing. This week I have been struggling with that, too. My tongue has twisted; my thoughts got choked in my mouth; I have kept silent. It hasn't felt good.
I have faltered on giving the benefit of a doubt (#8). I interpreted every situation in the most negative way possible (#9). I have been hideous to myself in my head (#14). I stopped saying "I love you," because it felt unwelcome (#49).
Wow. I'm not very good at all this.
1. How many times you smile today.
2. How much effort you exert at work.
*3. Your level of honesty.
4. How well you prepare.
5. How you act on your feelings.
6. How often you say “thank you.”
7. When you pull out your wallet for luxuries.
*8. Whether or not you give someone the benefit of the doubt.
*9. How you interpret situations.
10. Whether or not you compete with people around you.
11. How often you notice and appreciate small acts of kindness—they’re everywhere!
12. Whether you listen or wait to talk.
*13. When you walk away from a conversation.
*14. How nice you are to yourself in your head.
15. Whether you think positive or negative thoughts.
16. Whether or not you form expectations of people.
17. The type of food you eat.
18. When you answer someone’s question—or email or call.
19. How much time you spend worrying.
*20. How many new things you try.
21. How much exercise you get.
22. How many times you swear in traffic.
23. Whether or not you plan for the weather.
24. How much time you spend trying to convince people you’re right.
*25. How often you think about your past.
26. How many negative articles you read.
27. The attention you give to your loved ones when you see them.
28. How much you enjoy the things you have right now.
*29. Whether or not you communicate something that’s on your mind.
30. How clean or uncluttered you keep your space.
31. What books you read.
32. How well you network at social events.
33. How deeply you breathe when you experience stress.
34. How many times you admit you don’t know something—and then learn something new.
35. How often you use your influence to help people instead of focusing on building your influence.
36. When you ask for help.
37. Which commitments you keep and cancel.
38. How many risks you take.
39. How creative/innovative you are in your thinking.
*40. How clear you are when you explain your thoughts.
41. Whether you formulate a new plan or act on your existing one.
42. How much information you get before you make a decision.
43. How much information you share with people.
44. Whether you smoke or drink (unless you’re an alcoholic, in which case I am not qualified to offer you advice.)
45. Whether or not you judge other people.
46. Whether you smell good or bad (unless you have some strange resistance to soap and deodorant).
47. How much of what other people say you believe.
48. How quickly you try again after you fall.
*49. How many times you say “I love you.”
50. How much rest you get at night.
April 25, 2010
April 24, 2010
Future-oriented
I keep telling myself: one day we'll look back on this period--at the things I did and thought out of insecurity--and laugh.
April 23, 2010
How could I?
Shyness is nice and
Shyness can stop you
From doing all the things in life
You'd like to
So, if there's something you'd like to try
If there's something you'd like to try
Ask me I wont say no, how could I?
Shyness can stop you
From doing all the things in life
You'd like to
So, if there's something you'd like to try
If there's something you'd like to try
Ask me I wont say no, how could I?
Do you like fire? Are you free Saturday night?
So last night, my friend Roberta and I were talking before going to bed and were making plans to do something this weekend. She likes dance clubs (I hate them); I like bars (not really her deal). So I was throwing out ideas for activities on which we might be able to agree:
Bowling!
Roller skating!
Ice skating!
Bonfire!
At the mention of "bonfire," she said, "Oooh!" From the time I first learned of people having bonfires at Ocean Beach I have wanted to do this. We're each inviting friends. She's taking care of s'mores supplies, and I'm working on the fire bit. (A little bit daunting!)
I don't actually care who shows up--nothing sounds nicer than a fire on the beach under the stars.
It will also help occupy my restless, wandering brain that is my curse these days.
Bowling!
Roller skating!
Ice skating!
Bonfire!
At the mention of "bonfire," she said, "Oooh!" From the time I first learned of people having bonfires at Ocean Beach I have wanted to do this. We're each inviting friends. She's taking care of s'mores supplies, and I'm working on the fire bit. (A little bit daunting!)
I don't actually care who shows up--nothing sounds nicer than a fire on the beach under the stars.
It will also help occupy my restless, wandering brain that is my curse these days.
April 22, 2010
A reason to visit Portland
My beloved friend Dave with whom I went to grad school in Richmond is moving west, and it's the best news I've heard all fucking week. I told him I mention him more often than he realizes to my friends here and it's true. I love that crazy boy to pieces. Here's him passing along the news of his move:
I realized I've slept with everyone in Richmond, so it's time to head out west. Fugitive or refugee, I can't decide. That's what the court is for. I'm going to move to Portland, Oregon, in the next month or two. We must catch up. I get the sense that your life has changed dramatically since the last time we talked in person. I would love to get to know you again. It was loads of fun the first time. How are the birdies? (Does that date me with you?)
I realized I've slept with everyone in Richmond, so it's time to head out west. Fugitive or refugee, I can't decide. That's what the court is for. I'm going to move to Portland, Oregon, in the next month or two. We must catch up. I get the sense that your life has changed dramatically since the last time we talked in person. I would love to get to know you again. It was loads of fun the first time. How are the birdies? (Does that date me with you?)
My tongue you're tearing out
Your teeth believe
That teeth are for tearing
Tear into me
The scent of you sweating
Smells good to me
As long as we keep in our clothes
That teeth are for tearing
Tear into me
The scent of you sweating
Smells good to me
As long as we keep in our clothes
Where is my mind?
"Thank you for calling Nerves R Us. For generalized anxieties, press 1. For suspenseful waiting, press 2. For skeptical analyses, press 3. For futilities, press 11."
We were made of gold
When I woke I took the back door to my mind
And then I spoke
I counted all the good things you are
And that list of charms was longer
Thank my chain of broken hearts
And when the days was done
I figured I had already lost
From the start, from the start
I was gonna love you til the end of all daytime
And I was gonna keep all our secrets and our lullabies
I was made to believe that our love would grow old
We were gonna live in a tree house and make babies
And we were gonna bury our ex-lovers and their ghosts
Baby we were made of gold...
And then I spoke
I counted all the good things you are
And that list of charms was longer
Thank my chain of broken hearts
And when the days was done
I figured I had already lost
From the start, from the start
I was gonna love you til the end of all daytime
And I was gonna keep all our secrets and our lullabies
I was made to believe that our love would grow old
We were gonna live in a tree house and make babies
And we were gonna bury our ex-lovers and their ghosts
Baby we were made of gold...
April 21, 2010
They are not the same.
"It's different," he assured her. "Nothing at all like that other situation you had." She sniffed tearfully, hopefully.
Busting out of this joint
I have started a habit I hope to continue. I have been applying for at least one job a day first thing in the morning after arriving at work. It helps me stay hopeful, helps to make more bearable the rest of the day at a place that makes me so incredibly unhappy.
R. and I promised each other. We're getting out.
R. and I promised each other. We're getting out.
Message from a friend tonight
don't let anxiety sabotage your love! i'm trying hard not to freak out too. two days after he tells me he loves me to pieces, i find out he can't come back to this country anytime soon.i'm in pieces allright. and he's gone completely off the air...not answering phone, text, email. i feel marooned, left for dead. i want him to know how i feel. i send letters into a void. why do i trust, i wonder? why do i love? THEY don't care. what is the point?
i feel your pain. i'm sorry. i love much too quickly and with too pure a heart. i never learn that the world is hard and dangerous. it is still trying to kill me and i will not learn. i want to believe that people are good, that life is beautiful, that love is the answer, that happy marriage is not an oxymoron. i am a fool apparently.
i feel your pain. i'm sorry. i love much too quickly and with too pure a heart. i never learn that the world is hard and dangerous. it is still trying to kill me and i will not learn. i want to believe that people are good, that life is beautiful, that love is the answer, that happy marriage is not an oxymoron. i am a fool apparently.
On anxiety
Three years ago I fell for someone I met online after talking for a few months. He visited once. I never saw him again. Then we planned to move to Barcelona together, and soon I stopped hearing from him again, too.
I got burned badly. I was devastated. I cried for nearly two years. My anxiety over a repeat situation is almost unbearable.
So that is what is going on with me. I should have told you sooner. And perhaps not in this forum.
I got burned badly. I was devastated. I cried for nearly two years. My anxiety over a repeat situation is almost unbearable.
So that is what is going on with me. I should have told you sooner. And perhaps not in this forum.
April 20, 2010
Vocabulary
fear - a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid.
trepidation - tremulous fear, alarm, or agitation; perturbation.
anxiety - distress or uneasiness of mind caused by fear of danger or misfortune
trepidation - tremulous fear, alarm, or agitation; perturbation.
anxiety - distress or uneasiness of mind caused by fear of danger or misfortune
April 19, 2010
Cuidate (reimagined)
For years she’d listened to them--those who would have her believe that her way of loving was naïve and that her head was in the clouds. Those who warned that she would end up alone because of her unrealistic expectations. She listened and nodded quietly, but stubbornly refused to give up. She refused to come ‘round to more realistic ways of thinking. She often gave up, and regularly fell to utter despair, but she continued to carefully cultivate her dream.
Vindication comes in the strangest forms.
There was the night she sat blindfolded and tentatively touched him—learned the shapes, tastes, and textures with which she wanted to be so intimately familiar. She was a good girl. She didn’t even give it all away—didn’t let it all go. But she privately lived a thousand lives in the quiet moments of those few days.
She drank greedily from his well and filled up all of her spare reservoirs for the long days of drought that surely lay ahead. She languished at the source of the river, putting out of her mind the questions that could so quickly make her terror rise. She waited and gave and received and listened and spoke and loved and—God! Oh, God!—had never been so well-loved and probably never would again. In the quiet moments she found her voice: in those where he kissed her hands, brushed back her hair, or parted her legs. Those were everything that there had never been but that she’d always known existed.
How had people kept these things secrets? How had they never let on that it could be this way? All this time she had been taking care and biding her time when—really—she should have been running headlong into these moments. For it was these that made it all worthwhile; it was these that had begun to be impossible to imagine living without.
Vindication comes in the strangest forms.
There was the night she sat blindfolded and tentatively touched him—learned the shapes, tastes, and textures with which she wanted to be so intimately familiar. She was a good girl. She didn’t even give it all away—didn’t let it all go. But she privately lived a thousand lives in the quiet moments of those few days.
She drank greedily from his well and filled up all of her spare reservoirs for the long days of drought that surely lay ahead. She languished at the source of the river, putting out of her mind the questions that could so quickly make her terror rise. She waited and gave and received and listened and spoke and loved and—God! Oh, God!—had never been so well-loved and probably never would again. In the quiet moments she found her voice: in those where he kissed her hands, brushed back her hair, or parted her legs. Those were everything that there had never been but that she’d always known existed.
How had people kept these things secrets? How had they never let on that it could be this way? All this time she had been taking care and biding her time when—really—she should have been running headlong into these moments. For it was these that made it all worthwhile; it was these that had begun to be impossible to imagine living without.
And the lights from the TV running parallel to you...
I am trying to think of just the right words. I tried to think of them at the airport, too. It appears I don't have them. All I can think of are other people's words.
I can say that I feel like I'm coming down of a multi-day heroin binge.
I can also say that I keep sniffing myself for hints of you, of me, of we. My lotion reminds me of walking home with you in the dark.
I can say that I feel like I'm coming down of a multi-day heroin binge.
I can also say that I keep sniffing myself for hints of you, of me, of we. My lotion reminds me of walking home with you in the dark.
April 15, 2010
April 14, 2010
April 13, 2010
One day
Alternative titles to this blog:
On anticipation
The hands that wrote this letter sweep the pillow clean
I'm so tired of playing with this bow and arrow
A thousand flowers could bloom
Move over, and give us some room...
Give me a reason to love you...
For this is the beginning of forever and ever
Its time to move over...
On anticipation
The hands that wrote this letter sweep the pillow clean
I'm so tired of playing with this bow and arrow
A thousand flowers could bloom
Move over, and give us some room...
Give me a reason to love you...
For this is the beginning of forever and ever
Its time to move over...
April 12, 2010
Confidential message to D.
I am writing you letters.
I know you'll never get them in time, but I am overflowing with words to you, for you, and about you.
I know you'll never get them in time, but I am overflowing with words to you, for you, and about you.
It has begun.
I am officially a wreck. Two. Days. How am I supposed to get through this?
You're just too good to be true
Can't take my eyes off you...
Now that I've found you stay
And let me love you, baby,
Let me love you...
You're just too good to be true
Can't take my eyes off you...
Now that I've found you stay
And let me love you, baby,
Let me love you...
April 11, 2010
Someone to throw the waffle back
I related this story to Dave earlier today in trying to convey to him some of the reasons I loved him, and it seemed worth mentioning here.
I know. All of my posts are about love these days, right? Deal with it. There's plenty of angst from the last four years to tie you over.
Anyway: I caught onto the show "Friends" several years later than everyone else. I thought it was a pretty cute show once I got into it. There was one episode that always stayed with me.
Monica decided to break off her relationship with a guy to whom she was engaged, and her friends were incredulous about why she would take such a drastic action. In trying to explain her reasoning, she relayed a story from a recent morning at breakfast. She was making waffles, and her fiancé was reading the paper. In a moment of playfulness she threw a waffle at him. He wasn't particularly pleased with her childishness, and went back to reading the paper. Monica pointed to that incident as an analogy for their relationship: "I want someone who would throw the waffle back," she said.
That struck a chord in me and stayed with me for years.
I want someone who would throw the waffle back. I want someone who would dance in the kitchen. I want someone who will sing off key and make silly faces and impersonate animals. I want someone joyfully and unabashedly ridiculous and comfortable being such. I want a fool who can turn around and make me feel naughty and sexy one minute later.
Hell yeah.
I know. All of my posts are about love these days, right? Deal with it. There's plenty of angst from the last four years to tie you over.
Anyway: I caught onto the show "Friends" several years later than everyone else. I thought it was a pretty cute show once I got into it. There was one episode that always stayed with me.
Monica decided to break off her relationship with a guy to whom she was engaged, and her friends were incredulous about why she would take such a drastic action. In trying to explain her reasoning, she relayed a story from a recent morning at breakfast. She was making waffles, and her fiancé was reading the paper. In a moment of playfulness she threw a waffle at him. He wasn't particularly pleased with her childishness, and went back to reading the paper. Monica pointed to that incident as an analogy for their relationship: "I want someone who would throw the waffle back," she said.
That struck a chord in me and stayed with me for years.
I want someone who would throw the waffle back. I want someone who would dance in the kitchen. I want someone who will sing off key and make silly faces and impersonate animals. I want someone joyfully and unabashedly ridiculous and comfortable being such. I want a fool who can turn around and make me feel naughty and sexy one minute later.
Hell yeah.
April 8, 2010
Holy blog hits, Batman!
So my interview about this blog is posted here, and my blog hits have shot way up. How exciting! Maybe soon I'll reach SPACE. Although I'm not exactly sure how that would work.
It should be noted that they messed up a comment I made at the bottom. It should say "a little wit" instead of "a lit." This is really bugging me, as my words will be messed up for posterity.
Better get my autograph while you still can...
It should be noted that they messed up a comment I made at the bottom. It should say "a little wit" instead of "a lit." This is really bugging me, as my words will be messed up for posterity.
Better get my autograph while you still can...
April 6, 2010
Totally punk rock
On Wednesday, Amber is coming from Richmond, VA to visit. For three fun-filled days. NEXT Wednesday, Dave is coming from Dallas, TX to visit. For four luxurious and blissful days.
I can barely think of anything else, which is unfortunate, since I have a grant to write and a class to teach and an apartment to clean.
He knows about my history. He knows about my bipolar. And yet he doesn't seem phased. When shall I tell him about my serial killer past?
I am happier than I have been in many years. If I could just get my professional life up to speed with my personal life, things would be nearly perfect.
"I laugh along but inside I know: being in love is totally punk rock."
I can barely think of anything else, which is unfortunate, since I have a grant to write and a class to teach and an apartment to clean.
He knows about my history. He knows about my bipolar. And yet he doesn't seem phased. When shall I tell him about my serial killer past?
I am happier than I have been in many years. If I could just get my professional life up to speed with my personal life, things would be nearly perfect.
"I laugh along but inside I know: being in love is totally punk rock."
April 5, 2010
Everything I've got
I feel like I am in a state of suspended animation--perched on the brink of big things, holding my breath and waiting. The wait is killing me.
I'd give you everything I've got for a little peace of mind...
I'd give you everything I've got for a little peace of mind...
A face with a view
We are well into our third week together, and it feels like I have loved you forever.
April 2, 2010
Today can only get better.
My boss is on the rampage again. And today I am her whipping boy (girl). Kill me now. Please. Thank you.
April 1, 2010
Two week anniversary
How can your life change so much in two weeks? How wonderful to celebrate each week--each day, for that matter. I can't remember what I was like before.
March 31, 2010
Humbled
My humble blog was selected as a reader favorite, and I was asked to be interviewed as "the person behind the blog." Oh good! More people can read about the train wreck of my life! When the interview is put up on Blog Interviewer's website, I will link to it here so you can read my words of wit and wisdom and tales of personal angst.
It's gonna be great!
It's gonna be great!
March 30, 2010
On insomnia (part 742)
I dreamed of the Golden Gate Bridge falling on my house.
I dreamed of sipping sweet mango nectar and wondering where it had been all my life.
I dreamed of my brothers when they were little and innocent.
I dreamed of standing in line, waiting to be picked.
I dreamed I was alone and pregnant in an empty house, about to give birth.
Then my dreams stopped, and so did my sleep.
I dreamed of sipping sweet mango nectar and wondering where it had been all my life.
I dreamed of my brothers when they were little and innocent.
I dreamed of standing in line, waiting to be picked.
I dreamed I was alone and pregnant in an empty house, about to give birth.
Then my dreams stopped, and so did my sleep.
On the alignment of stars
You may remember that a few weeks ago I wrote about advertising on Craigslist for new friends. I was so pleased that I did actually get a friend out of the deal--my new friend R. She is interesting and quirky and spontaneous and good-hearted. We started hanging out regularly immediately.
I was so happy I'd taken a chance and gone out on a limb a bit, despite some ribbing from existing friends.
You may also remember that I spent a couple years attempting (and generally failing) online dating. I'm not even linking to any of those posts here because I want to think of them as little as possible.
On the day before my birthday this year, Jan. 21, 2010, I gave up. I had the 2nd worst date ever and ended up in tears in my car on the phone with the lovely M.S.P. I took down my account and stopped, and prepared myself for a life of singledom. I cried, I mourned, I slept, and I became annoyingly apathetic again. My friends said, "You'll meet someone when you least expect it!" I scoffed at this, because I LEAST expected it at that moment.
Then I met Dave.
Dave and I met through R's Facebook page--by commenting on each other's comments--and now we are inseparable. Unfortunately, he is currently in Dallas. That makes being inseparable a little challenging and frustrating. He is coming here to see me in a couple of weeks, and I couldn't be more thrilled.
Isn't it funny the chains of events that take place to bring people into our lives? Isn't it funny how easily we could have missed each other had I changed my mind about posting my ad, had R. not responded, had we not gotten our schedules together to meet up, had I not left a comment on her Facebook page.
It's enough to make one believe in fate.
I was so happy I'd taken a chance and gone out on a limb a bit, despite some ribbing from existing friends.
You may also remember that I spent a couple years attempting (and generally failing) online dating. I'm not even linking to any of those posts here because I want to think of them as little as possible.
On the day before my birthday this year, Jan. 21, 2010, I gave up. I had the 2nd worst date ever and ended up in tears in my car on the phone with the lovely M.S.P. I took down my account and stopped, and prepared myself for a life of singledom. I cried, I mourned, I slept, and I became annoyingly apathetic again. My friends said, "You'll meet someone when you least expect it!" I scoffed at this, because I LEAST expected it at that moment.
Then I met Dave.
Dave and I met through R's Facebook page--by commenting on each other's comments--and now we are inseparable. Unfortunately, he is currently in Dallas. That makes being inseparable a little challenging and frustrating. He is coming here to see me in a couple of weeks, and I couldn't be more thrilled.
Isn't it funny the chains of events that take place to bring people into our lives? Isn't it funny how easily we could have missed each other had I changed my mind about posting my ad, had R. not responded, had we not gotten our schedules together to meet up, had I not left a comment on her Facebook page.
It's enough to make one believe in fate.
March 26, 2010
On love
Alternative title for this blog: Should I be alarmed that this is post #666?
I haven't felt this way since 1992.
I am giddy and excited and happy and floating. I can't sleep. I keep forgetting to eat. I make wrong turns when I'm driving because my head is in the clouds. I giggle and blush like a shy little 8 year old girl.
We talk for hours. I can't wait to hear his voice. When an email from him appears in my inbox, I am absolutely ecstatic. Even if he just wrote 5 minutes before. Especially if he just wrote 5 minutes before.
How can it only take a week for your world to turn upside down?
I haven't felt this way since 1992.
I am giddy and excited and happy and floating. I can't sleep. I keep forgetting to eat. I make wrong turns when I'm driving because my head is in the clouds. I giggle and blush like a shy little 8 year old girl.
We talk for hours. I can't wait to hear his voice. When an email from him appears in my inbox, I am absolutely ecstatic. Even if he just wrote 5 minutes before. Especially if he just wrote 5 minutes before.
How can it only take a week for your world to turn upside down?
March 25, 2010
March 22, 2010
Giddy
Let the words "I love you" surround you forever. I command everything that surrounds you to repeat this phrase endlessly. A thousand kisses I plant on your lips. Kisses hot as fire, kisses which thrill your body, kisses which make you surrender and promise you eternal bliss. Goodbye, love of my life. I would send you a whole volume, but a letter that large would only attract attention.
Alexandre Dumas
(To a married lady friend)
Alexandre Dumas
(To a married lady friend)
This morning I dreamed I was showing you my temple.
I dreamed about you. I dreamed that I went to meet you at the airport, and that when I saw you coming I ran up to you and we grabbed each other and held on. Other arriving passengers pulled their suitcases around us in irritation and the airport security staff nearby rolled their eyes in boredom--they had seen a thousand and one greetings before ours. I walked you back to my car and--once we put your suitcase in the trunk--we got in and held on to each other for the longest time. I knew it would be so much better when I got you home and we could do this in complete privacy, but I couldn't resist. Eventually we pulled ourselves apart and I did, in fact, take you home. We left your suitcase in the living room and climbed directly in my bed, all our clothes still on for the time being, and wrapped our arms around each other.
It was lovely.
It was lovely.
March 19, 2010
Let it breakthrough
So. Today I had my first appointment with my new psychiatrist, Dr. T. I love her. Love, love, love her.
Of course the first appointment is pretty intense. You have to establish why you're there and the life experiences that led you down this particular path. Even when she asked me the most minor questions I burst into tears and barely got my words out.
Now I am emotionally exhausted.
She and I are adjusting my meds a bit, and we're going to explore some different types of therapy other than just the standard cognitive-behavioral therapy that was not enough in the past. She is interested in having me consider psychodynamic therapy and EMDR as a way to treat symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.
I am willing to try.
I am happy to be back in treatment.
Of course the first appointment is pretty intense. You have to establish why you're there and the life experiences that led you down this particular path. Even when she asked me the most minor questions I burst into tears and barely got my words out.
Now I am emotionally exhausted.
She and I are adjusting my meds a bit, and we're going to explore some different types of therapy other than just the standard cognitive-behavioral therapy that was not enough in the past. She is interested in having me consider psychodynamic therapy and EMDR as a way to treat symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.
I am willing to try.
I am happy to be back in treatment.
March 17, 2010
March 16, 2010
On surprise, 2
Friday night I got home from drinks at El Rio with friends. While messing around on Facebook before falling asleep, I got an instant message from a former SFSU student I had a little over a year ago in class, M. At first we chatted about what we'd been up to since our class, and then he asked me out. I laughed and joked that I was 8 years older than him and why would he want to go out with an old lady? He got serious and said I didn't give myself enough credit. He said, "You can use me at your discretion."
My goodness.
My goodness.
March 15, 2010
"Our love is rice and beans and horses' lard."
I live cement.
I hate this street.
Give dirt to me.
I bite lament.
* * * * *
Gouge away, you can gouge away
Stay all day if you want to.
* * * * *
Sittin' here wishing on a cement floor
Just wishin' that I had just something you wore
I hate this street.
Give dirt to me.
I bite lament.
* * * * *
Gouge away, you can gouge away
Stay all day if you want to.
* * * * *
Sittin' here wishing on a cement floor
Just wishin' that I had just something you wore
March 14, 2010
Once there was a girl
This has been a long time coming. I just didn't have the courage to tell the story before.
*********************
Once there was a girl who didn’t think she was worth very much.
She was a shy, introspective, and melancholy girl by nature, and probably destined to have self-esteem problems even without the things that happened to her. She had a very young, single mom. Her mom was lost and lonely and didn’t think she was worth very much, either. So she did things to make herself feel worth something—all the things that made her feel worth something involved men and drugs. The girl’s mom loved her very much, but when she was on drugs she didn’t care what her daughter witnessed. Even when it involved men. And more drugs.
When our girl was five, her mom got married. This is when the girl’s problems began in earnest.
Her shiny new stepfather tarnished very quickly. (If you ever want a nice case study of brainwashing and pure, unadulterated physical and psychological torture, you should study this man. He still remains the cruelest human being the girl has ever personally known.)
The girl and her mom were stuck. They were broke. They were powerless against him. Other people knew he was not a nice man. No one ever knew the things they went through. He was very creative and sly.
The girl wanted to ask for help, but she didn’t know the right words. She didn’t know how to say:
“My stepfather makes me feed myself cat shit while he watches and laughs.”
Or what about, “He grabs me by the hair and beats my head against the wall if I don’t pick everything up off the floor. And even when I pick everything up off the floor, he pretends it’s still there laying in front of me and beats my head against the wall because I say I don’t see anything there. So I pretend to see what he sees, and gather up imaginary pieces of what he sees in my arms while looking at him, hoping I have pleased him.”
How was she to explain that he made it a game to see how hard of a hit she could take without falling down? She was only a little girl, and it was impossible to withstand the full force of a grown man. So she was destined to be knocked down. And to get back up. Over and over again.
When you are little, it’s not easy to tell people your stepfather held a gun to your head while the police surrounded the house and your mother screamed. He wanted to be sure she wouldn’t leave, you see. Sometimes he even hurt their pets in front of them. (This was especially hard for the girl. She loved all creatures. Except locusts. Their sounds and shells terrorized her.)
The girl and her mother were required to recite specific sentences regularly in order to ensure their powerlessness: “I am a bitch. I am a whore. I am ugly. I am stupid. I am fat. No one loves me. No one will help me. I am a bitch. I am a whore….” When the girl started off saying these things, she knew in her heart that they weren’t true and that she was just saying them to appease him. But after saying them regularly, over and over, these words started floating through her head even when she was not being forced to say them.
The girl did the only things she could think of to cope. In kindergarten, she went to school with bruises under her clothes and locked herself in the bathroom and screamed hysterically when it was time to go home. She escaped to her grandparents’ houses whenever she could. She played outside from morning to night with the neighborhood kids as often as she could. When the neighborhood kids weren’t around, she found places to hide and explore with imaginary friends created for that very occasion. She took long rides on her bicycle and ate green apples from other people's yards. She gave names and personalities to everything around her—the trees, the flowers, the animals, the broom—to make her feel surrounded by familiar faces and friends.
Unfortunately, her stepfather was not the only one who made the girl think she wasn’t worth very much. There was more than one man, in her family and otherwise, who were more than willing to let her know she was only good for one thing.
One of them was an uncle who had his own cross to bear. He did things that no little girl should ever have to experience. She was five. She wore Care-Bear pajamas. While it happened, sometimes she would stare at a picture of the devil whose iridescent paint gleamed at her in the moonlight; other times she stared out the window and directly at the moon itself. The girl felt so dirty and was so ashamed that she wanted to curl up and die.
But she did not.
She got really good at picking up the pieces of love and acceptance she could find and curling herself around them like a cat.
Years later, when the girl and her mom (and now two brand new baby brothers) finally got away from the stepfather by going into hiding for awhile, the girl’s mother fell apart. And rightfully so. But then the girl’s one constant ally through those times, her mother, felt more than ever like she wasn’t worth very much. And she tried to make the girl and her brothers feel as bad as she felt because she didn’t have anything else left to give them.
…Fast forward…
Our girl is 15. Her physical situation is much more stable now, but she is confused, hurting, and lonely inside. She is mortally self-conscious and shy and terrified of every move she makes—what if she makes someone mad? She gets better at hiding these things and at doing the things a normal girl should. She is positive, however, that if anyone really knew all of the things that made her up they would be horrified and disgusted and not want to be around her. They would discover for themselves what she’d always felt inside—that she wasn’t worth very much.
At that young age the girl fell in love with a shy, introspective, and melancholy boy. He didn’t have the deep, dark secrets that she had, but he listened to her secrets and didn’t make her feel ashamed. This boy gave her the courage to try for things she never thought she could do. She left home when she was 16 and set about trying to make those things happen.
She actually did some cool things.
She went to college and she was very, very serious. Others around her had the liberty to fuck around, but the girl knew she had one shot and she had to make it happen. She didn’t fuck around at all—not even one little bit.
She started to explore the world. Every chance she got to do so, she took it.
She didn’t know what she wanted to do when she got out of school, so she went to school some more. She wanted to know things and to feel she had some power and control over her life. She used to laugh when she thought of herself with any kind of high-falutin' graduate degree. It seemed terrifying and unattainable and ridiculous to her. So she decided to shoot for it. She eventually pulled it off.
The boy was there through it all--even when she tried to test him by pushing him away. (She was still very afraid, you see, of everything and everyone.) She warned the boy, “If you ever lay a hand on me, I will set you on fire.” She was pretty sure he wouldn’t hurt her, but she also knew a thing or two about self-preservation.
When the girl was 24, she started to honestly look around at her life for the first time. She started to look deep inside herself, too. She started to realize that she needed more—that what she had was not enough. She even started to admit to herself that the boy was not enough. This was terrifying to her. He had loved her and given her strength and courage when she needed it most.
She realized she had been in survival mode for a very long time.
Upon these realizations, she felt lost and lonely inside. She knew what her instincts told her but she hadn’t yet really learned to trust them. She was uncertain of who she was, what she needed, and how to go about finding out either of those things. (It was a tough time.)
Once again, she didn’t know the right words. She was now an adult and had a much wider vocabulary at her disposal, but she didn’t know how to tell the boy, “Thank you for loving me even when I couldn’t love myself. Now I need to move beyond these fences we’ve built; they are pinning me in and I am dying inside. You loved me as a child, and now, should I be lucky enough to love and be loved back again, it needs to be as the woman I am.”
When she was 28, the girl did another thing she never imagined she could do and that was very terrifying to her. She left everything and everyone she loved behind and moved far, far away to try to make a completely different kind of life for herself. It was very painful. It actually took her a couple of years to make it all come together, but she made it happen. At the last minute, the boy decided he wanted to come, too. The girl thought it wasn’t the right thing, but she felt like it was worth one last try. (She was still afraid, you see.)
It was a disaster from the start. The girl knew that living with anyone would never be easy, but this move proved to her once and for all that she loved him, but her relationship with him was not enough. She was honest with him from a very early point that it wasn’t working for her. He kept trying. It broke her heart, but it wasn’t enough. The girl finally told the boy she was moving out, that it might take some time to put the pieces in place, but that it was going to happen and he needed to make plans for himself. It was terrible, of course, and still continues to be very, very difficult. Her friends, both near and far, have helped her find the courage to move forward.
It took a very long time and seemed like a simple lesson to learn, but she finally started to realize that she is worth something. She also realized that she deserves something more. (The girl’s mother has not yet put these pieces together for herself. The girl has no idea how to help her.)
There are days, of course, when the doubts creep in and when “moving forward” seems to be at a glacial pace, but there it is.
This was that girl, a long time ago:
And this was the first postcard secret she sent out in the world to try to be set free:
(She still has work to do, but she has been fighting for years now with everything she has. She will make it.)
THE END
*********************
Once there was a girl who didn’t think she was worth very much.
She was a shy, introspective, and melancholy girl by nature, and probably destined to have self-esteem problems even without the things that happened to her. She had a very young, single mom. Her mom was lost and lonely and didn’t think she was worth very much, either. So she did things to make herself feel worth something—all the things that made her feel worth something involved men and drugs. The girl’s mom loved her very much, but when she was on drugs she didn’t care what her daughter witnessed. Even when it involved men. And more drugs.
When our girl was five, her mom got married. This is when the girl’s problems began in earnest.
Her shiny new stepfather tarnished very quickly. (If you ever want a nice case study of brainwashing and pure, unadulterated physical and psychological torture, you should study this man. He still remains the cruelest human being the girl has ever personally known.)
The girl and her mom were stuck. They were broke. They were powerless against him. Other people knew he was not a nice man. No one ever knew the things they went through. He was very creative and sly.
The girl wanted to ask for help, but she didn’t know the right words. She didn’t know how to say:
“My stepfather makes me feed myself cat shit while he watches and laughs.”
Or what about, “He grabs me by the hair and beats my head against the wall if I don’t pick everything up off the floor. And even when I pick everything up off the floor, he pretends it’s still there laying in front of me and beats my head against the wall because I say I don’t see anything there. So I pretend to see what he sees, and gather up imaginary pieces of what he sees in my arms while looking at him, hoping I have pleased him.”
How was she to explain that he made it a game to see how hard of a hit she could take without falling down? She was only a little girl, and it was impossible to withstand the full force of a grown man. So she was destined to be knocked down. And to get back up. Over and over again.
When you are little, it’s not easy to tell people your stepfather held a gun to your head while the police surrounded the house and your mother screamed. He wanted to be sure she wouldn’t leave, you see. Sometimes he even hurt their pets in front of them. (This was especially hard for the girl. She loved all creatures. Except locusts. Their sounds and shells terrorized her.)
The girl and her mother were required to recite specific sentences regularly in order to ensure their powerlessness: “I am a bitch. I am a whore. I am ugly. I am stupid. I am fat. No one loves me. No one will help me. I am a bitch. I am a whore….” When the girl started off saying these things, she knew in her heart that they weren’t true and that she was just saying them to appease him. But after saying them regularly, over and over, these words started floating through her head even when she was not being forced to say them.
The girl did the only things she could think of to cope. In kindergarten, she went to school with bruises under her clothes and locked herself in the bathroom and screamed hysterically when it was time to go home. She escaped to her grandparents’ houses whenever she could. She played outside from morning to night with the neighborhood kids as often as she could. When the neighborhood kids weren’t around, she found places to hide and explore with imaginary friends created for that very occasion. She took long rides on her bicycle and ate green apples from other people's yards. She gave names and personalities to everything around her—the trees, the flowers, the animals, the broom—to make her feel surrounded by familiar faces and friends.
Unfortunately, her stepfather was not the only one who made the girl think she wasn’t worth very much. There was more than one man, in her family and otherwise, who were more than willing to let her know she was only good for one thing.
One of them was an uncle who had his own cross to bear. He did things that no little girl should ever have to experience. She was five. She wore Care-Bear pajamas. While it happened, sometimes she would stare at a picture of the devil whose iridescent paint gleamed at her in the moonlight; other times she stared out the window and directly at the moon itself. The girl felt so dirty and was so ashamed that she wanted to curl up and die.
But she did not.
She got really good at picking up the pieces of love and acceptance she could find and curling herself around them like a cat.
Years later, when the girl and her mom (and now two brand new baby brothers) finally got away from the stepfather by going into hiding for awhile, the girl’s mother fell apart. And rightfully so. But then the girl’s one constant ally through those times, her mother, felt more than ever like she wasn’t worth very much. And she tried to make the girl and her brothers feel as bad as she felt because she didn’t have anything else left to give them.
…Fast forward…
Our girl is 15. Her physical situation is much more stable now, but she is confused, hurting, and lonely inside. She is mortally self-conscious and shy and terrified of every move she makes—what if she makes someone mad? She gets better at hiding these things and at doing the things a normal girl should. She is positive, however, that if anyone really knew all of the things that made her up they would be horrified and disgusted and not want to be around her. They would discover for themselves what she’d always felt inside—that she wasn’t worth very much.
At that young age the girl fell in love with a shy, introspective, and melancholy boy. He didn’t have the deep, dark secrets that she had, but he listened to her secrets and didn’t make her feel ashamed. This boy gave her the courage to try for things she never thought she could do. She left home when she was 16 and set about trying to make those things happen.
She actually did some cool things.
She went to college and she was very, very serious. Others around her had the liberty to fuck around, but the girl knew she had one shot and she had to make it happen. She didn’t fuck around at all—not even one little bit.
She started to explore the world. Every chance she got to do so, she took it.
She didn’t know what she wanted to do when she got out of school, so she went to school some more. She wanted to know things and to feel she had some power and control over her life. She used to laugh when she thought of herself with any kind of high-falutin' graduate degree. It seemed terrifying and unattainable and ridiculous to her. So she decided to shoot for it. She eventually pulled it off.
The boy was there through it all--even when she tried to test him by pushing him away. (She was still very afraid, you see, of everything and everyone.) She warned the boy, “If you ever lay a hand on me, I will set you on fire.” She was pretty sure he wouldn’t hurt her, but she also knew a thing or two about self-preservation.
When the girl was 24, she started to honestly look around at her life for the first time. She started to look deep inside herself, too. She started to realize that she needed more—that what she had was not enough. She even started to admit to herself that the boy was not enough. This was terrifying to her. He had loved her and given her strength and courage when she needed it most.
She realized she had been in survival mode for a very long time.
Upon these realizations, she felt lost and lonely inside. She knew what her instincts told her but she hadn’t yet really learned to trust them. She was uncertain of who she was, what she needed, and how to go about finding out either of those things. (It was a tough time.)
Once again, she didn’t know the right words. She was now an adult and had a much wider vocabulary at her disposal, but she didn’t know how to tell the boy, “Thank you for loving me even when I couldn’t love myself. Now I need to move beyond these fences we’ve built; they are pinning me in and I am dying inside. You loved me as a child, and now, should I be lucky enough to love and be loved back again, it needs to be as the woman I am.”
When she was 28, the girl did another thing she never imagined she could do and that was very terrifying to her. She left everything and everyone she loved behind and moved far, far away to try to make a completely different kind of life for herself. It was very painful. It actually took her a couple of years to make it all come together, but she made it happen. At the last minute, the boy decided he wanted to come, too. The girl thought it wasn’t the right thing, but she felt like it was worth one last try. (She was still afraid, you see.)
It was a disaster from the start. The girl knew that living with anyone would never be easy, but this move proved to her once and for all that she loved him, but her relationship with him was not enough. She was honest with him from a very early point that it wasn’t working for her. He kept trying. It broke her heart, but it wasn’t enough. The girl finally told the boy she was moving out, that it might take some time to put the pieces in place, but that it was going to happen and he needed to make plans for himself. It was terrible, of course, and still continues to be very, very difficult. Her friends, both near and far, have helped her find the courage to move forward.
It took a very long time and seemed like a simple lesson to learn, but she finally started to realize that she is worth something. She also realized that she deserves something more. (The girl’s mother has not yet put these pieces together for herself. The girl has no idea how to help her.)
There are days, of course, when the doubts creep in and when “moving forward” seems to be at a glacial pace, but there it is.
This was that girl, a long time ago:
And this was the first postcard secret she sent out in the world to try to be set free:
(She still has work to do, but she has been fighting for years now with everything she has. She will make it.)
THE END
Clit Notes
Alternative title to this blog: Why I want to dress like a lobster
"…was originally part of an evening called “Shrimp in a Basket.” The show began with me coming out as a sea captain with a cardboard parrot duct-taped to my shoulder. In a rich mixture of English accents, real and imagined, I welcomed the audience and assured them that if what they were about to see became unnecessarily avant-garde Walkmans would automatically drop from the ceiling; I reminded them that they should put on their own headset before assisting anyone else.
Then I scurried off…where I was hot-glued into a giant cardboard lobster outfit. This took about twenty minutes and was one of the quicker costume changes of the evening. I’d persuaded a friend to bring the accordion she’d bought that afternoon and entertain the audience with songs of the sea. By the end of the evening, after five or six sets of at least twenty minutes each, what she was playing was starting to sound pretty good, almost like music.
I reemerged with two women also in crustacean drag. We lip-synched to “It Ain’t the Meat, It’s the Motion,” although the audience couldn’t tell what we were doing because the lobster suits covered out mouths. The…stage was so tiny and the costumes, though exquisite, were so huge and fragile that we couldn’t do much more than just stand there while the taped played on a borrowed boom box. Because the tickets for “Shrimp in a Basket” were only $2.99, I think most of the audience felt it was enough for the three of us to just stand in front of them, being big and pink. Then we exited, and it was time for more songs of the sea."
Holly Hughes (“Clit Notes: A Sapphic Sampler”)
"…was originally part of an evening called “Shrimp in a Basket.” The show began with me coming out as a sea captain with a cardboard parrot duct-taped to my shoulder. In a rich mixture of English accents, real and imagined, I welcomed the audience and assured them that if what they were about to see became unnecessarily avant-garde Walkmans would automatically drop from the ceiling; I reminded them that they should put on their own headset before assisting anyone else.
Then I scurried off…where I was hot-glued into a giant cardboard lobster outfit. This took about twenty minutes and was one of the quicker costume changes of the evening. I’d persuaded a friend to bring the accordion she’d bought that afternoon and entertain the audience with songs of the sea. By the end of the evening, after five or six sets of at least twenty minutes each, what she was playing was starting to sound pretty good, almost like music.
I reemerged with two women also in crustacean drag. We lip-synched to “It Ain’t the Meat, It’s the Motion,” although the audience couldn’t tell what we were doing because the lobster suits covered out mouths. The…stage was so tiny and the costumes, though exquisite, were so huge and fragile that we couldn’t do much more than just stand there while the taped played on a borrowed boom box. Because the tickets for “Shrimp in a Basket” were only $2.99, I think most of the audience felt it was enough for the three of us to just stand in front of them, being big and pink. Then we exited, and it was time for more songs of the sea."
Holly Hughes (“Clit Notes: A Sapphic Sampler”)
March 13, 2010
On surprise
Every once in awhile it's nice to remember that I still can be surprised. I was surprised last night, and it was a beautiful feeling.
March 8, 2010
March 7, 2010
Pie
I'm proud of my pie crust. I don't know why, but I seem to have pretty good luck with them. Maybe it's because I researched the shit out of them before the first time I made a pie. The fillings--particularly apple pie for some reason--have been a little more mixed. But this strawberry raspberry pie is one of my favorites that I've made.
Spring is coming.
Spring is coming.
March 4, 2010
I have NEWS.
Sperm donation is less expensive than I realized. Now I just have to decide at what age that becomes the plan.
I am making light, but it really was a relief to find out.
Does this get filed under sex? Or lack thereof?
I am making light, but it really was a relief to find out.
Does this get filed under sex? Or lack thereof?
"You're not listening or I'm not saying it right."
Damn. I have been a hot mess! I have tried to limit my blog posts during this time and it's probably a good thing.
I'm having one of those days where the fog lifts and I feel normal. I want to run around and make up for the past few days of being in the toilet. I want to get back to the goals I was working on full steam ahead. I want to make decisions and take actions and make plans before the sun starts to set again.
Last night I had to teach class even though I didn't feel well. As I was sitting in the front of the room waiting for time to start, I glanced over at one female student just as she was saying something to her friend about me. I smiled and said, "What?" She flushed a little and said, "I was just saying that you didn't look very happy and we should try to cheer you up." I was really touched.
I am fighting the urge right now to look for apartments and jobs in RVA. I have other stuff to focus on--namely, my well-being. There's plenty of time for the other stuff if I decide to do it.
I'm having one of those days where the fog lifts and I feel normal. I want to run around and make up for the past few days of being in the toilet. I want to get back to the goals I was working on full steam ahead. I want to make decisions and take actions and make plans before the sun starts to set again.
Last night I had to teach class even though I didn't feel well. As I was sitting in the front of the room waiting for time to start, I glanced over at one female student just as she was saying something to her friend about me. I smiled and said, "What?" She flushed a little and said, "I was just saying that you didn't look very happy and we should try to cheer you up." I was really touched.
I am fighting the urge right now to look for apartments and jobs in RVA. I have other stuff to focus on--namely, my well-being. There's plenty of time for the other stuff if I decide to do it.
March 1, 2010
Hanging
I have been starting to suspect that I have attention deficit...if not disorder, then problems. It started occurring to me recently as I thought about my problems functioning on a day to day basis, and I've been doing some reading on the link between bipolar and ADD.
I don't see my new doctor for nearly 3 weeks and I'm so impatient. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to last that long. I feel like I'm hanging on by the skin of my teeth as it is, and it depresses everyone around me to try and talk to them about it. My aunt doesn't really want to talk to me like this. Nannette doesn't call back. I feel really alone.
I don't see my new doctor for nearly 3 weeks and I'm so impatient. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to last that long. I feel like I'm hanging on by the skin of my teeth as it is, and it depresses everyone around me to try and talk to them about it. My aunt doesn't really want to talk to me like this. Nannette doesn't call back. I feel really alone.
My future daughter
I had the most beautiful dream last night. I had taken medicine because I wasn't feeling well, and it gave me vivid, lucid dreams. I dreamed I was pregnant with a little girl, and I was getting ready for her arrival. I was preparing myself for her entire childhood and not just for the arrival of an infant. I filled a trunk with clothes for her to play dress up. I had visions of her and a friend digging through the trunk, adorning themselves with whatever they fancied. I went from thrift store to thrift store buying old ball gowns, colorful scarves, pillbox hats, and costume jewelry. I was thrilled with her imminent arrival and so looking forward to the person I would be meeting soon.
It was lovely.
It was lovely.
February 28, 2010
February 25, 2010
Musings
This blog has generated a bit of a stir.
A couple things before I go on:
1. This is my journal. You don't have to read it.
2. When I said I was thinking about moving I meant what I said. Thinking about it.
3. If you work with me and we are not friends and you read this I think it's really inappropriate. Especially if you are management. Ahem.
Anyway.
I'm trying to remember how it felt when I knew it was time to leave Richmond and come to San Francisco. I had been there for 6 years and I was itching for change. It felt like I had learned the things that I needed to learn there and I wanted to move on. I was restless and pent up and pacing. It's weird, because that's not really what I'm feeling right now.
I feel defeated and tired. Really fucking tired.
People have asked me where I would go. I'd probably start with North Carolina, but I think realistically I would end up in Richmond again. I know. That sounds weird after I described being ready to leave, huh? It's just that the times I have returned to Richmond since I have been here, I have felt absolute joy. When I feel homesick, it is for Richmond. When I hear a weather report or a news story about Richmond, I feel a pang. When a friend mentions traveling to or being in Richmond, I am incredibly jealous. I miss it. I miss Judith and Amber and Dave and the folks I used to work with. I think it's the closest thing to "home" I ever felt.
I don't know.
The last time I made this decision it was a natural transition period in my life. Plus, I had someone to go with. This time I have neither going for me. Can I do it again? I don't know. I am considering it seriously enough that I told my friends here. I promised Nannette that before I made the decision I would work on getting to a mentally healthier place.
I am working on that.
A couple things before I go on:
1. This is my journal. You don't have to read it.
2. When I said I was thinking about moving I meant what I said. Thinking about it.
3. If you work with me and we are not friends and you read this I think it's really inappropriate. Especially if you are management. Ahem.
Anyway.
I'm trying to remember how it felt when I knew it was time to leave Richmond and come to San Francisco. I had been there for 6 years and I was itching for change. It felt like I had learned the things that I needed to learn there and I wanted to move on. I was restless and pent up and pacing. It's weird, because that's not really what I'm feeling right now.
I feel defeated and tired. Really fucking tired.
People have asked me where I would go. I'd probably start with North Carolina, but I think realistically I would end up in Richmond again. I know. That sounds weird after I described being ready to leave, huh? It's just that the times I have returned to Richmond since I have been here, I have felt absolute joy. When I feel homesick, it is for Richmond. When I hear a weather report or a news story about Richmond, I feel a pang. When a friend mentions traveling to or being in Richmond, I am incredibly jealous. I miss it. I miss Judith and Amber and Dave and the folks I used to work with. I think it's the closest thing to "home" I ever felt.
I don't know.
The last time I made this decision it was a natural transition period in my life. Plus, I had someone to go with. This time I have neither going for me. Can I do it again? I don't know. I am considering it seriously enough that I told my friends here. I promised Nannette that before I made the decision I would work on getting to a mentally healthier place.
I am working on that.
February 21, 2010
Heritage
These were my great, great grandparents: Levi and Lula Williams. Aren't they amazing? I have no idea what year this was.
Thinkin' 'bout leavin'
Last night the Golden Gate Bridge had my number again. I'm terrified of that thing. There's something about it that draws my brain to it in times of despair.
I'm thinking about leaving San Francisco. Like, for real.
I used to feel optimistic. I used to have a feeling that things were going to work out for me--somehow, some way. I felt that good things were in store for me. That all ended a couple of years ago. I've struggled to figure out how to get it back, and I keep coming up short.
Things have gotten bad again, and it wasn't until last night when I told anyone just how bad they had gotten. I barely do the things I need to do to take care of myself, and this has to change. I deserve a lot more.
I'm giving some serious thought about moving to North Carolina, at least as a temporary stop en route to somewhere else, to be with my aunt for awhile. I need to leave the job that makes me want to slit my throat. I need some mental and emotional support. I can stay with her awhile while I look for a job. I can focus on myself and stop struggling so much just to survive. I need to sit with the idea a bit. If I do it, I need to seriously save some money, so it probably wouldn't be until after my summer class is over.
I'm scared. But I feel like there might be away out of this mental prison I'm living in.
I'm thinking about leaving San Francisco. Like, for real.
I used to feel optimistic. I used to have a feeling that things were going to work out for me--somehow, some way. I felt that good things were in store for me. That all ended a couple of years ago. I've struggled to figure out how to get it back, and I keep coming up short.
Things have gotten bad again, and it wasn't until last night when I told anyone just how bad they had gotten. I barely do the things I need to do to take care of myself, and this has to change. I deserve a lot more.
I'm giving some serious thought about moving to North Carolina, at least as a temporary stop en route to somewhere else, to be with my aunt for awhile. I need to leave the job that makes me want to slit my throat. I need some mental and emotional support. I can stay with her awhile while I look for a job. I can focus on myself and stop struggling so much just to survive. I need to sit with the idea a bit. If I do it, I need to seriously save some money, so it probably wouldn't be until after my summer class is over.
I'm scared. But I feel like there might be away out of this mental prison I'm living in.
February 15, 2010
I once had a friend named M.
M. was one of the first people I ever went on a date with and, while the romantic part of the relationship wasn't there, I loved him to pieces. We started hanging out all the time. We took drives. We went out to dinner. We sat and talked. He was a wonderful friend to me during a terrible time. He was a source of support and a confidante and a cheerleader.
M. met someone and fell deeply in love, and it was a joy to watch. He bloomed and grew and his happiness was contagious. He moved to the east bay and--despite my happiness for him--I was sad that he was going so far away. I knew it would take extra work to keep in touch, but I was fine with that. It was worth it.
I've never seen him again.
There were a couple of cursory emails since then, but that was all. It hurts me. I've struggled with how to handle this. I told myself it wasn't all about me. I know it's not. I told myself that I would let him know that I was here if and when he wanted to be in touch. I can't be in limbo that way anymore.
I wrote him and told him we needed to break up as friends, because I can't be in limbo about our friendship anymore and I'm so tired of crying over people who are now gone. Maybe it seems bitchy. Maybe it seems selfish. Maybe it seems heartless.
I just needed to prune the hedges. Everything is way overgrown around here.
M. met someone and fell deeply in love, and it was a joy to watch. He bloomed and grew and his happiness was contagious. He moved to the east bay and--despite my happiness for him--I was sad that he was going so far away. I knew it would take extra work to keep in touch, but I was fine with that. It was worth it.
I've never seen him again.
There were a couple of cursory emails since then, but that was all. It hurts me. I've struggled with how to handle this. I told myself it wasn't all about me. I know it's not. I told myself that I would let him know that I was here if and when he wanted to be in touch. I can't be in limbo that way anymore.
I wrote him and told him we needed to break up as friends, because I can't be in limbo about our friendship anymore and I'm so tired of crying over people who are now gone. Maybe it seems bitchy. Maybe it seems selfish. Maybe it seems heartless.
I just needed to prune the hedges. Everything is way overgrown around here.
February 14, 2010
Osama bin Laden sent this pie
She dreamed he was in the kitchen. Here. After all these years. He talked to the others in the room while she carefully averted her eyes, but she was dying to stare open-faced. He wanted to take a walk, and she casually offered him her favorite green umbrella. He suggested she come along. Her heart sang, but she reacted coolly. No reason to give it all away, after all.
She led him through her childhood backyard, pointing out where trees used to be, where daffodils bloomed every year, where second base had been when playing youthful games of kickball. They walked past her grandpa's, and she had the luxury of knowing he was there--still alive, inside. They walked through the neighborhood, first hand-in-hand, then with their arms around one another.
She tried not to think too hard. She knew she was dreaming. She knew to take it for the few moments of happiness it could bring. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek and it's sandpapery flush was so familiar.
She awoke alone, heart thumping, to grieve the loss of the dream.
She led him through her childhood backyard, pointing out where trees used to be, where daffodils bloomed every year, where second base had been when playing youthful games of kickball. They walked past her grandpa's, and she had the luxury of knowing he was there--still alive, inside. They walked through the neighborhood, first hand-in-hand, then with their arms around one another.
She tried not to think too hard. She knew she was dreaming. She knew to take it for the few moments of happiness it could bring. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek and it's sandpapery flush was so familiar.
She awoke alone, heart thumping, to grieve the loss of the dream.
February 6, 2010
You in?
I find myself in a strange position tonight: I have no one to go out with. Everyone is part of a fucking couple, and it's getting on my nerves. Plus, I feel lonely. I'd kill for a beer and a good conversation right now.
I decided to be proactive.
Back in 2005--when I first moved here--I found most of my friends (and all manner of other possibilities) via Craigslist. I decided to try it again. I spent some time this evening looking in the "activity partners" and "groups" sections in which I looked the first time. I didn't really find anything I was looking for, so I posted an ad of my own. It was short and sweet:
Try new restaurants and bars with me (San Francisco)
Some of my friends have recently moved away, and I'm looking for some new and interesting peeps of all stripes to try out bars, restaurants, and anything else we may see fit to get into.
Good: wit, sarcasm, curiosity, macaroni and cheese appreciation
Bad: closed-mindedness, dogma, bad breath, spitting on sidewalks
You in?
I've gotten one response so far, and I'm totally excited. We're waiting to see if we get a couple more before we make any plans. In the meantime, I'm putting together a wish list of places I want to try.
I decided to be proactive.
Back in 2005--when I first moved here--I found most of my friends (and all manner of other possibilities) via Craigslist. I decided to try it again. I spent some time this evening looking in the "activity partners" and "groups" sections in which I looked the first time. I didn't really find anything I was looking for, so I posted an ad of my own. It was short and sweet:
Try new restaurants and bars with me (San Francisco)
Some of my friends have recently moved away, and I'm looking for some new and interesting peeps of all stripes to try out bars, restaurants, and anything else we may see fit to get into.
Good: wit, sarcasm, curiosity, macaroni and cheese appreciation
Bad: closed-mindedness, dogma, bad breath, spitting on sidewalks
You in?
I've gotten one response so far, and I'm totally excited. We're waiting to see if we get a couple more before we make any plans. In the meantime, I'm putting together a wish list of places I want to try.
Do I dare disturb the universe?
...Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid....
- T.S. Eliot
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid....
- T.S. Eliot
February 4, 2010
Mystery that shall remain unsolved
I got a phone call at 5:30am from a 415 number with a voicemail (okay, so I broke down and checked out of curiosity) that say, "Hey, Amie. This is Robert. Give me a call." I don't know any Robert. Especially one that would call at 5:30am.
P.S. I took an ill-advised nap, Shobana, so tonight promises to be a productive one, too!
P.S. I took an ill-advised nap, Shobana, so tonight promises to be a productive one, too!
Break my body
Cripes.
The person to whom I lost my virginity was recommended to me as a friend on Facebook. And he is wearing a coat hanger on his head in his only picture.
Glad I dodged that bullet.
The person to whom I lost my virginity was recommended to me as a friend on Facebook. And he is wearing a coat hanger on his head in his only picture.
Glad I dodged that bullet.
There is no sign of land...
Sometimes the most interesting people end up in my dreams. This time it was a former student of mine whom I haven't even seen in a couple of years, but communicate with regularly on Facebook. It's not the first time he made it into my dreams. I imagine he must be totally creeped out by now. Here's the recount I gave him:
This time we were both 13. Early in the morning we stood on my childhood porch. You were in an old flowered bathrobe. I drank coffee and listened while you taught me words in Spanish. Devolver. I conjugated the verb in my head. I worried that my stepfather would wake up and find a *boy* within a hundred yards of me.
This time we were both 13. Early in the morning we stood on my childhood porch. You were in an old flowered bathrobe. I drank coffee and listened while you taught me words in Spanish. Devolver. I conjugated the verb in my head. I worried that my stepfather would wake up and find a *boy* within a hundred yards of me.
February 3, 2010
No one does it like you. (2)
She pressed her face against the cold window to watch him walk out into the dark January night. All she wanted was to be near him, and it seemed like they spent most of their time saying goodbye. Suddenly she felt desperate at the sight of his figure growing smaller as he walked away. She let out a wail and pounded frantically at the window. The deer who crept carefully nearby were startled into a run, but she didn't care. There was a singular goal. He heard her beating against the window and was bewildered, but ran back and inside to her out of concern. Suddenly she was back where she had wanted to be all along: in his arms, pretending the next goodbye was nowhere near.
January 31, 2010
Hand in unloveable hand
My friend put this song in my head. On one hand I'm grateful, because it's relief from Lady Gaga, but it's not exactly light and lovely, either. A great break-up song.
No Children
I hope that our few remaining friends
Give up on trying to save us
I hope we come up with a fail-safe plot
to piss of the dumb few that forgave us
I hope the fences we mended
Fall down beneath their own weight
And I hope we hang on past the last exit
I hope it's already too late
and I hope the junkyard a few blocks from here
Someday burns down
And I hope the rising black smoke carries me far away
and I never come back to this town again
in my life
I hope I lie
and tell everyone you were a good wife
and I hope you die
I hope we both die
I hope I cut myself shaving tommorow
I hope it bleeds all day long
Our friends say it's darkest befor the sun rises
We're pretty sure they're all wrong
I hope it stays dark forever
I hope the worst isn't over
I hope you blink before I do
and I hope I never get sober
and I hope when you think of me years down the line
you can't find one good thing to say
and I hope that if I found the strength to walk out
You'd stay the hell out of my way
I am drowning
there is no sign of land
your are coming down with me
Hand in unloveable hand
and I hope you die
I hope we both die
I have felt all these things. John Darnielle expressed them for me.
No Children
I hope that our few remaining friends
Give up on trying to save us
I hope we come up with a fail-safe plot
to piss of the dumb few that forgave us
I hope the fences we mended
Fall down beneath their own weight
And I hope we hang on past the last exit
I hope it's already too late
and I hope the junkyard a few blocks from here
Someday burns down
And I hope the rising black smoke carries me far away
and I never come back to this town again
in my life
I hope I lie
and tell everyone you were a good wife
and I hope you die
I hope we both die
I hope I cut myself shaving tommorow
I hope it bleeds all day long
Our friends say it's darkest befor the sun rises
We're pretty sure they're all wrong
I hope it stays dark forever
I hope the worst isn't over
I hope you blink before I do
and I hope I never get sober
and I hope when you think of me years down the line
you can't find one good thing to say
and I hope that if I found the strength to walk out
You'd stay the hell out of my way
I am drowning
there is no sign of land
your are coming down with me
Hand in unloveable hand
and I hope you die
I hope we both die
I have felt all these things. John Darnielle expressed them for me.
January 30, 2010
Someone like you
After a conversation with a friend recently, I was inspired to seek something out that had never really occurred to me before.
People like me.
I found a "Bipolar Disorder Meetup Group" here in San Francisco. They emphasized they're not a support group, just a social group. I joined. I'm going to a function on Thursday. I have no idea if it will be good or not. It seemed worth a try.
People like me.
I found a "Bipolar Disorder Meetup Group" here in San Francisco. They emphasized they're not a support group, just a social group. I joined. I'm going to a function on Thursday. I have no idea if it will be good or not. It seemed worth a try.
Roaming
While wandering around on the internet on friends of friends' pages, I found this bit, titled "low" about a break-up:
...well, it's stupid isn't it? why should i care about her birthday, that i can't wish her a happy one, that the cards would be returned or ripped to shreds, the flowers stomped to bits or brought back to my doorstep if she knew where it was? the following day, what would've been our anniversary, hurt more when I met a couple that'd picked the same wedding date that we had. i tried to listen along happily as they described plans for their burlesque extravaganza nuptials but all i felt was the constant sensation of a thick-soled boot in my ribs. my best attempts at nesting did nothing to soothe, nor did alone time. i will ride this out as i do, and will likely eventually lose this feeling in the busy-ness of my day-to-day until it sneaks up and temporarily crushes me again, whenever that next time may be.
It brought the pangs of recognition.
...well, it's stupid isn't it? why should i care about her birthday, that i can't wish her a happy one, that the cards would be returned or ripped to shreds, the flowers stomped to bits or brought back to my doorstep if she knew where it was? the following day, what would've been our anniversary, hurt more when I met a couple that'd picked the same wedding date that we had. i tried to listen along happily as they described plans for their burlesque extravaganza nuptials but all i felt was the constant sensation of a thick-soled boot in my ribs. my best attempts at nesting did nothing to soothe, nor did alone time. i will ride this out as i do, and will likely eventually lose this feeling in the busy-ness of my day-to-day until it sneaks up and temporarily crushes me again, whenever that next time may be.
It brought the pangs of recognition.
Stone-faced
Can't read my
Can't read my
No, he can't read my poker face...
Stop judging me. It's stuck in my head.
Can't read my
No, he can't read my poker face...
Stop judging me. It's stuck in my head.
January 28, 2010
January 25, 2010
Metaphor in dreams
I was on a plane when--somehow--the other passengers found out there was a terrorist on board, although no one was positive exactly who it was. The furious, terrified whispering among the passengers started. Unbeknownst to me, I was carrying a number of secrets vital to national security, and the flight crew had been instructed to save me before the terrorist took the plane down.
A kind flight attendant came and got me from where I sat huddled in a ball in fear, and said I would be getting off the plane in a moment and she needed to get me ready. "What do you mean I'm getting off the plane?" I asked in alarm. She smiled reassuringly and handed me a parachute. "But I've never done this before!" I cried.
"Don't worry. You'll figure it out," she said gently. "Just let yourself free-fall for awhile and--when it feels right--pull on the cord."
She stood me in front of the cabin door. I was mute with terror, and I was sure I'd never have the nerve to actually jump. Suddenly I didn't have a choice. The cabin door opened and I was sucked out: falling, falling.
I was startled that it was night--I had expected daylight. I looked down and saw my pale bare feet illuminated by the moon as they plunged into blackness below. I had always assumed that when one was in a free-fall, your thoughts were a blur. I was wrong, though. There was plenty of time to think. It occurred to me that I had never asked whether we were over water or land, and what part of the world we had been flying over. How high had we been when I went out the door? How would I survive when I couldn't even fathom what I would encounter when I reached the bottom? What were these secrets that I supposedly already knew, and to whom was I supposed to tell them? Would anyone even believe me if I tried? I felt strangely calm, and vaguely wondered how fast I was falling.
I reached up and felt for the cord. How would I know when it felt right to pull? Would it be a gradually dawning awareness or a sudden realization? I found the end of the cord flying somewhere up around my ear. My fingers tensed around it, ready to pull.
A kind flight attendant came and got me from where I sat huddled in a ball in fear, and said I would be getting off the plane in a moment and she needed to get me ready. "What do you mean I'm getting off the plane?" I asked in alarm. She smiled reassuringly and handed me a parachute. "But I've never done this before!" I cried.
"Don't worry. You'll figure it out," she said gently. "Just let yourself free-fall for awhile and--when it feels right--pull on the cord."
She stood me in front of the cabin door. I was mute with terror, and I was sure I'd never have the nerve to actually jump. Suddenly I didn't have a choice. The cabin door opened and I was sucked out: falling, falling.
I was startled that it was night--I had expected daylight. I looked down and saw my pale bare feet illuminated by the moon as they plunged into blackness below. I had always assumed that when one was in a free-fall, your thoughts were a blur. I was wrong, though. There was plenty of time to think. It occurred to me that I had never asked whether we were over water or land, and what part of the world we had been flying over. How high had we been when I went out the door? How would I survive when I couldn't even fathom what I would encounter when I reached the bottom? What were these secrets that I supposedly already knew, and to whom was I supposed to tell them? Would anyone even believe me if I tried? I felt strangely calm, and vaguely wondered how fast I was falling.
I reached up and felt for the cord. How would I know when it felt right to pull? Would it be a gradually dawning awareness or a sudden realization? I found the end of the cord flying somewhere up around my ear. My fingers tensed around it, ready to pull.
January 23, 2010
Three three
I'm a little late with this post. I think it is a good thing.
So I just turned 33 yesterday, and usually I am feeling quite nostalgic and write a rather reflective blog post. You can read those from years past by searching the tag "feliz cumpleanos a tu" if you're looking for some type of self-flagellation aside from reading this blog, in general. And who am I kidding anyway: almost ALL of my blogs are nostalgic and reflective. This year felt different. (Although it started off as par for the course.)
To begin with, I dreamed** about C. Now I should say that anytime I go on a date--irrespective of how good, bad, dull, or uneventful it is--my dreams take me to him. This one was particularly affecting.
**Brief dream aside: I came home to an apartment that was somewhere in the middle. It was a combination of all the apartments I've ever had in Richmond and San Francisco. He was waiting at the door for me with quiet brown eyes. I felt a rush of relief and said, "I knew you'd come." I unlocked the door and let us inside, and we sat down and looked at each other. The years apart left us unsure of how to interact, of how familiar it was acceptable to be. I started by asking him questions. "What have been your favorite movies that came out in the last three years?" We described our favorites to each other and I saw his favorites through his eyes and he saw mine through my eyes. I didn't want to know who he'd been with, who he'd loved or cried over; I was just so happy he was there. I hugged him and he said, "This feels so natural."
I woke grateful to have dreamed of him, and happy that I had taken the day off and allowed myself to sleep in. I decided to buy myself a birthday present.
I got a pedicure. I also decided at the last minute to get my eyebrows waxed. As I lay down on the table, my Vietnamese waxer lady said, "Why you neva wax mustache?"
I got some kind of crazy fancy new phone that I can use as a camera and video camera, and can use to access the internet as well as other regular phone things. (Look out Twitter and Facebook! Now I can write status updates and tweets all the time.)
I had Vietnamese spring rolls.
I had a brief nap, and I lay thinking about birthdays past**.
**Brief birthdays past aside: I remember on my 3rd birthday, my mom and I lived in our apartment on Broadway--the one with the cockroaches. My two major impressions of that birthday are, 1) I got roller skates that clamped on over my shoes, and 2) my grandpa and uncle taught me how to rub a balloon against my hair and make it stick to the wall. (My hair thus ended the night in particularly rare form.) I remembered my 13th birthday when I cried because I felt like I was leaving my childhood behind. (Yes, melodramatic and emotional from the start--that is yours truly.) I remembered my 23rd birthday in 2000 when I talked to my father for the last time for the following three years.
When I woke, the mail had come. Danita, C's mom, had sent me a beautiful card, and my old friend from Shepherd, Sally, had sent me a package that she put an awful lot of thought and effort into. I held them both and sat a cried with the emotion of being thought of and remembered by these two wonderful women.
I went out to The Orbit Room and to Pauline's pizza with four dear friends and had a lovely time. As one should on her birthday, I completely overindulged and ended up ill and in bed, being sung to over the phone by Miss Mary Smucker.
I felt loved.
So I just turned 33 yesterday, and usually I am feeling quite nostalgic and write a rather reflective blog post. You can read those from years past by searching the tag "feliz cumpleanos a tu" if you're looking for some type of self-flagellation aside from reading this blog, in general. And who am I kidding anyway: almost ALL of my blogs are nostalgic and reflective. This year felt different. (Although it started off as par for the course.)
To begin with, I dreamed** about C. Now I should say that anytime I go on a date--irrespective of how good, bad, dull, or uneventful it is--my dreams take me to him. This one was particularly affecting.
**Brief dream aside: I came home to an apartment that was somewhere in the middle. It was a combination of all the apartments I've ever had in Richmond and San Francisco. He was waiting at the door for me with quiet brown eyes. I felt a rush of relief and said, "I knew you'd come." I unlocked the door and let us inside, and we sat down and looked at each other. The years apart left us unsure of how to interact, of how familiar it was acceptable to be. I started by asking him questions. "What have been your favorite movies that came out in the last three years?" We described our favorites to each other and I saw his favorites through his eyes and he saw mine through my eyes. I didn't want to know who he'd been with, who he'd loved or cried over; I was just so happy he was there. I hugged him and he said, "This feels so natural."
I woke grateful to have dreamed of him, and happy that I had taken the day off and allowed myself to sleep in. I decided to buy myself a birthday present.
I got a pedicure. I also decided at the last minute to get my eyebrows waxed. As I lay down on the table, my Vietnamese waxer lady said, "Why you neva wax mustache?"
I got some kind of crazy fancy new phone that I can use as a camera and video camera, and can use to access the internet as well as other regular phone things. (Look out Twitter and Facebook! Now I can write status updates and tweets all the time.)
I had Vietnamese spring rolls.
I had a brief nap, and I lay thinking about birthdays past**.
**Brief birthdays past aside: I remember on my 3rd birthday, my mom and I lived in our apartment on Broadway--the one with the cockroaches. My two major impressions of that birthday are, 1) I got roller skates that clamped on over my shoes, and 2) my grandpa and uncle taught me how to rub a balloon against my hair and make it stick to the wall. (My hair thus ended the night in particularly rare form.) I remembered my 13th birthday when I cried because I felt like I was leaving my childhood behind. (Yes, melodramatic and emotional from the start--that is yours truly.) I remembered my 23rd birthday in 2000 when I talked to my father for the last time for the following three years.
When I woke, the mail had come. Danita, C's mom, had sent me a beautiful card, and my old friend from Shepherd, Sally, had sent me a package that she put an awful lot of thought and effort into. I held them both and sat a cried with the emotion of being thought of and remembered by these two wonderful women.
I went out to The Orbit Room and to Pauline's pizza with four dear friends and had a lovely time. As one should on her birthday, I completely overindulged and ended up ill and in bed, being sung to over the phone by Miss Mary Smucker.
I felt loved.
January 21, 2010
Oh, and...
I registered for my first race in years. I'm running in the See Jane Run 5K in Alameda in June. That gives me PLENTY of time. So much time, in fact, that I'd like to not just work up to running the distance, but also to run betters splits than what I ran in my 8K.
I'm incredibly excited.
I'm incredibly excited.
Trouble? No trouble.
Tonight I went on the 2nd worst date I've ever had. It was horrible. I burst into tears immediately afterward, and silently yelled at myself for engaging in this foolishness the night before my birthday. Sobbing on the phone to Miss Mary Smucker helped a great deal.
Thank you, Mary Lou.
Thank you, Mary Lou.
January 19, 2010
Post number #125 today
I thought of Chris when I read that the yearly mystery visitor to Edgar Allen Poe's grave didn't show up this year. He first told me about it when I was staying in Baltimore with him. Back when we were broke. And happy.
"...he had to time his need to reach out to humanity so that it might fall on a Tuesday*..."
Ruben--a beloved work friend--and I just had the most adventurous trip to the bank ever.
To begin with, we managed to pick the peak of the thunderstorm and wind during which to go. His giant golf-size umbrella immediately turned itself inside out. We, of course, found this hysterically funny. After waiting in line at the bank, I was helped by an extremely chatty teller. As he processed my transactions we talked about thunderstorms (love!) and earthquakes (hate!). I told him I was going to think of him the next time we had an earthquake, and he suggested we go out for a drink sometime. Next, Ruben and I went to his bank while his umbrella continued to blow itself inside out and we continued to laugh. On the way back a reporter for the Los Altos Town Crier asked if he could take our picture of us with our umbrellas for a story on storm preparedness.
It's nice to have a little excitement in the middle of the work day.
*Title quote from Dostoevsky's Notes From Underground
To begin with, we managed to pick the peak of the thunderstorm and wind during which to go. His giant golf-size umbrella immediately turned itself inside out. We, of course, found this hysterically funny. After waiting in line at the bank, I was helped by an extremely chatty teller. As he processed my transactions we talked about thunderstorms (love!) and earthquakes (hate!). I told him I was going to think of him the next time we had an earthquake, and he suggested we go out for a drink sometime. Next, Ruben and I went to his bank while his umbrella continued to blow itself inside out and we continued to laugh. On the way back a reporter for the Los Altos Town Crier asked if he could take our picture of us with our umbrellas for a story on storm preparedness.
It's nice to have a little excitement in the middle of the work day.
*Title quote from Dostoevsky's Notes From Underground
On rainbows
I have mentioned working with Engage As You Age before, and I am pleased to report that I am enjoying it very much. I have been placed with a spunky woman in her 70s confined to a motorized chair, D.
I find her incredibly inspiring.
One of my main tasks in working with D. is to help her learn to use her laptop computer. We work on email, and I teach her about things like Twitter, YouTube, Songza, Pandora, Mapquest, Wikipedia, Internet Movie Database (IMDB), Facebook, etc. When I arrive she always has a stack of articles clipped out of newspapers on things in which she's interested, and we set to work tracking them down.
As I've gotten to know D. better, we spend a greater and greater proportion of our time talking in addition to our computer use. She only offers little bits here and there about her life (and definitely doesn't want to talk about her injury), but really wants to hear anything I have to say about friends, work, travel, running, etc. We have a surprising amount in common. I love talking to her; she has a very sharp memory and a frequently sarcastic sense of humor.
What amazes me about D. the most is her outlook on life. She is in an assisted living facility in her motorized chair. She spends most of her time alone and has two windows through which to view the rest of the world--the house next to her facility. But she never shows me that she feels sorry for herself. She gathers things that she likes around her--scented oils, stuffed animals, flowers, small bird figurines, pretty calendars, pictures, quotes--and makes her home.
Yesterday, D. asked me to do her a favor and stop and purchase two single-use, disposable cameras for her. I was happy to do so, and when I brought them along with me she was absolutely thrilled. She interrupted our happy greeting to say, "Do you see any rainbows outside?" I peered out each one of her windows at the sky. It was raining lightly, and the sun was barely peeking through the clouds.
"Not yet," I told her, "but maybe if the sun comes out more we will."
We went back to talking about her cameras, and she asked me to get the pictures from two other cameras developed that she'd already used. I agreed, and said, "D., what do you take pictures of?"
"Rainbows," she said simply. "It was God's way of telling Noah that the rain was over, and his way of promising not to flood the land like that again. Seeing a rainbow is a sign we're doing something right."
I find her incredibly inspiring.
One of my main tasks in working with D. is to help her learn to use her laptop computer. We work on email, and I teach her about things like Twitter, YouTube, Songza, Pandora, Mapquest, Wikipedia, Internet Movie Database (IMDB), Facebook, etc. When I arrive she always has a stack of articles clipped out of newspapers on things in which she's interested, and we set to work tracking them down.
As I've gotten to know D. better, we spend a greater and greater proportion of our time talking in addition to our computer use. She only offers little bits here and there about her life (and definitely doesn't want to talk about her injury), but really wants to hear anything I have to say about friends, work, travel, running, etc. We have a surprising amount in common. I love talking to her; she has a very sharp memory and a frequently sarcastic sense of humor.
What amazes me about D. the most is her outlook on life. She is in an assisted living facility in her motorized chair. She spends most of her time alone and has two windows through which to view the rest of the world--the house next to her facility. But she never shows me that she feels sorry for herself. She gathers things that she likes around her--scented oils, stuffed animals, flowers, small bird figurines, pretty calendars, pictures, quotes--and makes her home.
Yesterday, D. asked me to do her a favor and stop and purchase two single-use, disposable cameras for her. I was happy to do so, and when I brought them along with me she was absolutely thrilled. She interrupted our happy greeting to say, "Do you see any rainbows outside?" I peered out each one of her windows at the sky. It was raining lightly, and the sun was barely peeking through the clouds.
"Not yet," I told her, "but maybe if the sun comes out more we will."
We went back to talking about her cameras, and she asked me to get the pictures from two other cameras developed that she'd already used. I agreed, and said, "D., what do you take pictures of?"
"Rainbows," she said simply. "It was God's way of telling Noah that the rain was over, and his way of promising not to flood the land like that again. Seeing a rainbow is a sign we're doing something right."
Haiti
I get so angry at the reporters when I'm watching the news coverage from Haiti. I'm sure fecking Brian Williams and Ann Curry have plenty to eat and drink as they observe the Haitians and the horrible conditions in which they're living. I'm sure the folks in the helicopters flying over head do as well. And now a cruise ship? What?
Go on ahead, honey.
It's death in our love that has brought us here
It's a birth that has changed our lives
It's a place that I hope we'll be leaving soon
And I fear for the year in his eyes
And it goes around in circles
One night is lovely, the next is brutal
And you and me are in way over our heads with this one
It's hard to admit it
But you hold me and I can't feel you
We hurt but we smile
I promise I'll make it back when the summer has warmed me awhile
It's a birth that has changed our lives
It's a place that I hope we'll be leaving soon
And I fear for the year in his eyes
And it goes around in circles
One night is lovely, the next is brutal
And you and me are in way over our heads with this one
It's hard to admit it
But you hold me and I can't feel you
We hurt but we smile
I promise I'll make it back when the summer has warmed me awhile
January 16, 2010
Conversation #842
Her: I'm scared to get off the phone because it means tomorrow is coming.
Him: I want to stay on the phone because at least I know you're thinking about me. I'm sorry. That was childish.
Her: Wait--what did you say? Thinking about you?
Him: No. That was the first childish thing I've said to you and I'm not proud of it.
Her: Well, at least let me hear it so I can participate, too.
Him: [sighs] I said I want to stay on the phone because at least I know you're thinking about me.
Her: But you don't know that.
Him: That's true.
Him: I want to stay on the phone because at least I know you're thinking about me. I'm sorry. That was childish.
Her: Wait--what did you say? Thinking about you?
Him: No. That was the first childish thing I've said to you and I'm not proud of it.
Her: Well, at least let me hear it so I can participate, too.
Him: [sighs] I said I want to stay on the phone because at least I know you're thinking about me.
Her: But you don't know that.
Him: That's true.
January 13, 2010
Cold
And old, old conversation:
Him: I'm not in love.
Her: Um. I never thought you were. And neither am I.
Him: Yeah, but I never will be.
Him: I'm not in love.
Her: Um. I never thought you were. And neither am I.
Him: Yeah, but I never will be.
Where you'll find me now
Your teeth believe that teeth are for tearing
Tear into me, the scent of you sweating smells good to me
As long as we keep in our clothes
And out in the dark the world is still rolling
Kids in their cars, cigarette smoking
And all that they are just reeks with the sweetest belief
But I let you down
Swollen and small is where you'll find me now
With that silver stripping off
From my tongue you're tearing out
And you'll never hear me talk
Tear into me, the scent of you sweating smells good to me
As long as we keep in our clothes
And out in the dark the world is still rolling
Kids in their cars, cigarette smoking
And all that they are just reeks with the sweetest belief
But I let you down
Swollen and small is where you'll find me now
With that silver stripping off
From my tongue you're tearing out
And you'll never hear me talk
January 11, 2010
A thousand rainy days
Do I have to tell the story
Of a thousand rainy days since we first met?
It's a big enough umbrella
But it's always me that ends up getting wet...
Of a thousand rainy days since we first met?
It's a big enough umbrella
But it's always me that ends up getting wet...
January 2, 2010
Año Nuevo
I wanted to post a New Year blog.
I wanted to curse 2009 and welcome 2010. I wanted to reflect on New Year's resolutions and my history with and without them. I wanted to say that I couldn't believe it's now been a decade since Chris and I sat on my couch in my first apartment in Richmond, VA, wondering if all hell would break loose when Y2K arrived.
Tonight I was at Safeway when Rod Stewart's "Ooh La La" came on. At first I was pleased and hummed along as I picked out my yogurt for the week. By the time I got to the frozen foods aisle, I heard:
I wish that I knew what I know now
when I was younger.
I wish that I knew what I know now
when I was stronger.
I started to cry. "Fuck," I thought. "Way to start out 2010: sobbing to Rod Stewart in front of the frozen pizza."
It's just that I really want this year to be different, and no words I can say or write can sufficiently convey just how urgently I want that. Every year I approach the new year with renewed hope about what my life might be, what I might accomplish. I suppose most people do.
This New Year's Eve I stared at the blue moon and thought about my best year so far: 2004. I finished grad school and my entire family came to be with me. My grandpa and grandmother were still here. I started training for a marathon and was in the best shape of my life. I felt like I was going places.
It's just that I've lost so much time. I have now lost years to depression, and I'll never get them back. I have always had a tendency toward nostalgia and melancholy, and my focus on absence--on the people I have loved best and most who are no longer with me for whatever reason--overtakes me for long periods of time.
They're never coming back.
I am turning 33 in a couple of weeks.
I am going to run. I am going to run my fucking ass off.
I wanted to curse 2009 and welcome 2010. I wanted to reflect on New Year's resolutions and my history with and without them. I wanted to say that I couldn't believe it's now been a decade since Chris and I sat on my couch in my first apartment in Richmond, VA, wondering if all hell would break loose when Y2K arrived.
Tonight I was at Safeway when Rod Stewart's "Ooh La La" came on. At first I was pleased and hummed along as I picked out my yogurt for the week. By the time I got to the frozen foods aisle, I heard:
I wish that I knew what I know now
when I was younger.
I wish that I knew what I know now
when I was stronger.
I started to cry. "Fuck," I thought. "Way to start out 2010: sobbing to Rod Stewart in front of the frozen pizza."
It's just that I really want this year to be different, and no words I can say or write can sufficiently convey just how urgently I want that. Every year I approach the new year with renewed hope about what my life might be, what I might accomplish. I suppose most people do.
This New Year's Eve I stared at the blue moon and thought about my best year so far: 2004. I finished grad school and my entire family came to be with me. My grandpa and grandmother were still here. I started training for a marathon and was in the best shape of my life. I felt like I was going places.
It's just that I've lost so much time. I have now lost years to depression, and I'll never get them back. I have always had a tendency toward nostalgia and melancholy, and my focus on absence--on the people I have loved best and most who are no longer with me for whatever reason--overtakes me for long periods of time.
They're never coming back.
I am turning 33 in a couple of weeks.
I am going to run. I am going to run my fucking ass off.
December 25, 2009
Tallies
Christmas festivities included:
- As previously reported, champagne, sleeping pills (and, hence, sleep)
- Counting the number of times I kissed beaks today (like, 10)
- Vietnamese spring rolls (4)
- Shaving my legs as my gift to myself (took 2 razors! Fuck.)
- Traveling between three grocery stores at 12:15am trying to do my grocery shopping. Number of grocery stores closed = 3
- Drinking at a local dive in order to be around people (number of drinks = 4)
- Observing folks playing frisbee in the street in my neighborhood (3)
- Tallying the types of candy my mom sent me in my stocking (7)
- Watching popes being knocked down by crazy women (1)
- Playing scrabble online with Facebook friends (4)
- Attempting to make a purchase at local pharmacies that had been robbed (1)
- Noting a live Christmas tree that was already thrown out on the sidewalk (1)
- Singing "Crimson and Clover" while driving myself around town looking at Christmas lights (number of times sung approximately = 6 1/2)
- Counting the number of times spent feeling sorry for myself for being alone at Christmas (842)
- As previously reported, champagne, sleeping pills (and, hence, sleep)
- Counting the number of times I kissed beaks today (like, 10)
- Vietnamese spring rolls (4)
- Shaving my legs as my gift to myself (took 2 razors! Fuck.)
- Traveling between three grocery stores at 12:15am trying to do my grocery shopping. Number of grocery stores closed = 3
- Drinking at a local dive in order to be around people (number of drinks = 4)
- Observing folks playing frisbee in the street in my neighborhood (3)
- Tallying the types of candy my mom sent me in my stocking (7)
- Watching popes being knocked down by crazy women (1)
- Playing scrabble online with Facebook friends (4)
- Attempting to make a purchase at local pharmacies that had been robbed (1)
- Noting a live Christmas tree that was already thrown out on the sidewalk (1)
- Singing "Crimson and Clover" while driving myself around town looking at Christmas lights (number of times sung approximately = 6 1/2)
- Counting the number of times spent feeling sorry for myself for being alone at Christmas (842)
December 24, 2009
Merry
To celebrate my first Christmas alone I will toast with champagne and sleeping pills.
Ho, ho, ho!
Ho, ho, ho!
December 23, 2009
Minimal
When they were introduced, he made a witticism, hoping to be liked. She laughed extremely hard, hoping to be liked. Then each drove home alone, staring straight ahead, with the very same twist to their faces.
The man who'd introduced them didn't much like either of them, though he acted as if he did, anxious as he was to preserve good relations at all times. One never knew, after all, now did one now did one now did one.
David Foster Wallace: "A Radically Condensed History of Postindustrial Life"
From: Brief Interviews with Hideous Men
The man who'd introduced them didn't much like either of them, though he acted as if he did, anxious as he was to preserve good relations at all times. One never knew, after all, now did one now did one now did one.
David Foster Wallace: "A Radically Condensed History of Postindustrial Life"
From: Brief Interviews with Hideous Men
December 22, 2009
Personal history
Holy mother of god.
I spent some time cleaning out my email inbox and I feel like I've relived the last 3 years of my life in about one hour. I should also add that the last 3 years of my life have been chock-full of physical and emotional turmoil.
I found:
Emails from, like, every book club event I've ever attended.
Messages from various (ill-advised) dates I've gone on about where/when to meet up.
Emails I sent to myself when I was trying not to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge.
Emails from C.
Emails regarding my research on moving to Barcelona and finding work.
Notifications of and condolences for the deaths of various friends and family members.
Emails regarding job search resources from when I finished my postdoc.
Announcements of 6 Birds Cards.
Messages from friends who--for whatever reason--are no longer in my life.
Drafts of writings I did during turbulent times.
Etc.
2010 has to be better. It just has to be.
I spent some time cleaning out my email inbox and I feel like I've relived the last 3 years of my life in about one hour. I should also add that the last 3 years of my life have been chock-full of physical and emotional turmoil.
I found:
Emails from, like, every book club event I've ever attended.
Messages from various (ill-advised) dates I've gone on about where/when to meet up.
Emails I sent to myself when I was trying not to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge.
Emails from C.
Emails regarding my research on moving to Barcelona and finding work.
Notifications of and condolences for the deaths of various friends and family members.
Emails regarding job search resources from when I finished my postdoc.
Announcements of 6 Birds Cards.
Messages from friends who--for whatever reason--are no longer in my life.
Drafts of writings I did during turbulent times.
Etc.
2010 has to be better. It just has to be.
December 15, 2009
The bright forever
There was a time when I loved Raymond Wright. Nothing that happened can change that fact. I'm not even sure I'd trade it if I could. Don't ask me. Just know there are days when you thank your lucky stars, when the world doesn't seem quite so old and used up. I lay in bed those mornings and listened to the martins singing. Sing, sing, sing--just like Mama said, all over God's heaven. Now these last summers--my last summers--when I hear them, I think back to those mornings, Ray in bed beside me, and my heart balls up so tight I can't tell what's love and what's misery. It's all the same, always will be. That's what I'd tell those girlie-girls now if I could somehow travel back to that afternoon at Brookstone Manor--that lazy afternoon when one of them said, "God," not like a prayer but like there wasn't a thing left to surprise her. I'd tell her there's always something around the corner, no matter how old you get, no matter how much you're sure you've got a handle on things. Sooner or later you live long enough--I hope that girlie-girl got the chance--and the love and the heartache get all mixed up, and that's what you've got....
That's the way it was, always will be. Nothing we can do to make it different. It's a story now, and stories have endings even when you don't know--fools like me--that you're already in the middle of one, and you're already making choices....Choices that will bring you to places you never thought you'd be, places in your heart you'll mourn the rest of your life.
Lee Martin, The Bright Forever
That's the way it was, always will be. Nothing we can do to make it different. It's a story now, and stories have endings even when you don't know--fools like me--that you're already in the middle of one, and you're already making choices....Choices that will bring you to places you never thought you'd be, places in your heart you'll mourn the rest of your life.
Lee Martin, The Bright Forever
December 13, 2009
December 9, 2009
New depths
You know you've hit a new low when you're in bed with a bottle of Vicodin and a box of chocolate, using a pair of clean underwear as a handkerchief, and crying every time you think about going back to work--even though you still have four days off.
December 2, 2009
Even though you are far away...
Ah, Mary S. I love you. I can't believe we weren't friends in high school. You saved me tonight.
December 1, 2009
The day only rain boots would do
I've always sort of had this thing for ugly rubber rain boots. It all started with a pair of red, rubber Mickey Mouse boots I had when I was a kid. I liked to weather them in all types of weather in all seasons, and preferred them with shorts. The rain boots and I were inseparable until one ill-fated day when I decided they were not only good for wearing, but also for transporting dirt. This had the unfortunately consequence of making my feet absolutely filthy any time I wore them from that point forward and--after days of muddy feet--my rain boots mysteriously disappeared. My mother denied any involvement, but even then I had my suspicions.
This love continued into adulthood, and for a few years I owned a hideous pair of green, lavender, and blue striped rain boots. For reasons I won't go into at this time, they are no longer in my possession. I have felt their absence for at least a year now.
I am having a difficult time at the moment, and in the last 24 hours I've had three panic attacks. Nothing can seem to alleviate my wild dread and anxiety. Today I sit in my office nearly immobilized. I cannot answer my emails. I cannot check my phone messages even though the little red light is blinking. I cannot seem to care about any of the things I have to do. When I went to the restroom, I seriously contemplated barricading myself in the bathroom and screaming, but decided against it. I don't really know what to do for myself right now, but while sitting at my desk the idea occurred to me. Rain boots.
It turns out Amazon.com has an amazing selection. I added several colorful pairs to my wish list and admired the many options until I found them. The perfect rain boots. MY rain boots.
So I ordered them.
November 30, 2009
November 29, 2009
November 27, 2009
Gobble
After all of my weird obsessing and reading/comparing of, like, 500 cornbread stuffing recipes, it turned out awesome. I was so pleased.
Yesterday I spent my fifth Thanksgiving at Nannette's house. Fifth! How is it possible I've been here so long? This year Jenny and Scott were missing, and there were several people I don't really know there. It just wasn't the same. I mean, our food was lovely. Everyone was in good spirits. But many of the people there didn't feel like MY people, and it made me feel a little sad. The best part by far was spending the morning and afternoon cooking and drinking mimosas with Angie and Nannette and periodically sending and receiving texts of Thanksgiving wishes. I am still wondering about the mystery texter, though.
In the late afternoon hours, someone from a 650 number texted me and said, "Goble, goble, goble!" Goble? I returned the text with, "Hi! Gobble to you, too! I'm sorry, but who is this?" The person responded, "Is this amy?" (Obviously it is not someone who knows me very well.) I texted, "This is Amie! Who's this?" and never heard anything again.
I find that my cell phone book fills up with names of people I don't remember. They come from dates I've gone on--times that I was meeting someone for a drink or coffee and we exchanged cell numbers in case anything happened. Because those times are generally the first and last date, the phone number stays in there and I promptly forget who it is. Last night in my food-induced coma, I sat down and deleted all the numbers I didn't recognize: Daniel, Kevin, Paul, Jon, Jon, etc. It makes it sound like my life is much more exciting than it actually is, I think.
Last night I got home around 10pm, and it was a relief to have quiet. My dreams were vivid and specific, and one of those times when I woke up to realize they weren't true and I burst into tears.
Today I will go back to Nannettes for a leftover dinner. You can bet I'm gonna rock that stuffing's world.
My dear friend Beau and his new wife are in town, and during the next two days I will show them around San Francisco sites, views, and restaurants. (Because more eating is exactly what I will need.)
Yesterday would have been my Papaw's 80th birthday. He loved Thanksgiving and I always loved when his birthday fell on Thanksgiving. I miss him terribly.
It looks like I will only be buying one Christmas present this year, and I'm trying to decide how I feel about that.
I will be 33 soon.
Yesterday I spent my fifth Thanksgiving at Nannette's house. Fifth! How is it possible I've been here so long? This year Jenny and Scott were missing, and there were several people I don't really know there. It just wasn't the same. I mean, our food was lovely. Everyone was in good spirits. But many of the people there didn't feel like MY people, and it made me feel a little sad. The best part by far was spending the morning and afternoon cooking and drinking mimosas with Angie and Nannette and periodically sending and receiving texts of Thanksgiving wishes. I am still wondering about the mystery texter, though.
In the late afternoon hours, someone from a 650 number texted me and said, "Goble, goble, goble!" Goble? I returned the text with, "Hi! Gobble to you, too! I'm sorry, but who is this?" The person responded, "Is this amy?" (Obviously it is not someone who knows me very well.) I texted, "This is Amie! Who's this?" and never heard anything again.
I find that my cell phone book fills up with names of people I don't remember. They come from dates I've gone on--times that I was meeting someone for a drink or coffee and we exchanged cell numbers in case anything happened. Because those times are generally the first and last date, the phone number stays in there and I promptly forget who it is. Last night in my food-induced coma, I sat down and deleted all the numbers I didn't recognize: Daniel, Kevin, Paul, Jon, Jon, etc. It makes it sound like my life is much more exciting than it actually is, I think.
Last night I got home around 10pm, and it was a relief to have quiet. My dreams were vivid and specific, and one of those times when I woke up to realize they weren't true and I burst into tears.
Today I will go back to Nannettes for a leftover dinner. You can bet I'm gonna rock that stuffing's world.
My dear friend Beau and his new wife are in town, and during the next two days I will show them around San Francisco sites, views, and restaurants. (Because more eating is exactly what I will need.)
Yesterday would have been my Papaw's 80th birthday. He loved Thanksgiving and I always loved when his birthday fell on Thanksgiving. I miss him terribly.
It looks like I will only be buying one Christmas present this year, and I'm trying to decide how I feel about that.
I will be 33 soon.
November 25, 2009
On annoyances
I just need to gripe for a minute. I loathe the following things:
- People who advertise themselves as once who "don't take life too seriously." I want to yell, "You're a fucking idiot! Pay attention! While you're kicking it on your magic cloud in the sunshine, serious shit's going down! Christ!"
- People who say they want someone who is "drama free" or "with no emotional baggage." Son, you should stay soooooo far away from me' and good luck to you, you unfeeling twit.
- Do people seriously like their stuffing in the bird? Really? Soggy and stuffed up the bird's butt?
There's probably some others, too. That's it for the moment.
- People who advertise themselves as once who "don't take life too seriously." I want to yell, "You're a fucking idiot! Pay attention! While you're kicking it on your magic cloud in the sunshine, serious shit's going down! Christ!"
- People who say they want someone who is "drama free" or "with no emotional baggage." Son, you should stay soooooo far away from me' and good luck to you, you unfeeling twit.
- Do people seriously like their stuffing in the bird? Really? Soggy and stuffed up the bird's butt?
There's probably some others, too. That's it for the moment.
November 24, 2009
All this grateful (and ungrateful) business
Several people I know are naming something they're grateful for on Facebook every day until Thanksgiving. Even though these are friends of mine and very lovely people, this practice makes me a little nauseous. Probably because I am cranky and cantankerous and bitter and jaded.
Still.
I thought I'd do my own version here. I wanted my version to include a lament about the things I am ungrateful for, too.
Please excuse any sap that may follow, and if you think it will nauseate you too much, you might want to take a rain check on this blog entry.
Things I am grateful for:
- Friends I can call when I’m sitting in my car for hours because I don’t know where to go.
- Little birdie belly feathers.
- Getting a teaching job for the spring semester because I will be much less broke in the months to come.
- My grandparents and my aunt, without whom I would probably be dead, in prison, or on crack. Possibly all three.
- Nannette. For being my friend during the most challenging years of my life thus far, even when it was hard for her, and for talking sense into me on one very dark evening. Without her I would have left San Francisco behind already.
- Cindy. For knowing me almost better than I know myself; for being insane in nearly identical ways to myself (and I say that with love), for listening to me at times when I am nearly incoherent, and for being my first grown up best friend.
- Christopher. For loving me when I was unable to love myself.
- My many friends at work who make each day Monday through Friday more bearable, who put up with me dropping into their offices when I need a break, and without whom I would have taken a bazooka to the joint. Ruben, Shayna, Wendi, Laurie, Tamara, Jodi, John, Peggy, and Diana: I love you to pieces.
- For a free washer and dryer in my building. SCORE!
- For Yan, Patrick, Scott, Brian, Amber & Suzie, Judith, Amber, Shannon, Dave, Kelli, Jenny, Tony, Lauren, and Cyrano for taking me out, getting me drunk, calling me, texting me, sending me sweet packages, going to dinner with me, inviting me to their parties, visiting me in the hospital, and letting me crash at their houses even if I was far away (mentally or physically), drank too much, didn't call back, was doped up on morphine, and/or didn't show up.
- Danita and Nan, for treating me as part of the family no matter what.
- The color green for adorning my walls, pants, shoes, umbrellas, and coats and for cheering me up in the most ridiculous and random ways.
- The funniest, weirdest, and most thoughtful book club in the history of the world.
Things I am not grateful for:
- Several days without antidepressants because I am totally broke.
- Four parking tickets waiting to be paid.
- E. for making up his mind, J.H. for not being in the right mental space at the right time, P. for breaking my heart, and J.T. for what amounted to persistent booty calls.
- A very specific person whom I see five days a week who makes me distinctly unhappy, treats me like I am stupid and incompetent, has unreasonable expectations, seems to always suspect that I have or am about to screw her over, and blames me for what feels like everything.
- C.J.B. for leaving without saying goodbye and re-smashing my heart into itty bitty pieces.
- The raccoon fight club that meets nightly behind my house.
November 23, 2009
"Such sweetness was not meant for me.""
"You never started with me. (You never finished with me.)"
[Go here and listen to "Sabina." My friend Jim wrote it.]
[Go here and listen to "Sabina." My friend Jim wrote it.]
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)