but my cats handily helped me escape so blissful a fate by arriving promptly at 601 am. henry had his new kitty toy, a shiny fish with a tiny, tiny rattle and string, and shiva had her rumbling purr. both of which required me to fulfill their early morning agendas.
shiva's included half a can of wet cat food. blech.
henry's included playing fetch with his new fishy, but in true cat fashion, returning the fishy to about five feet away from me, and then yowling pitifully when said toy was not hurled again for him to race after immediately.
*sigh*
my life isn't ruled by my cats, mind you. i got up and played and fed and then went back to bed for an hour, during which i had a bizarre dream about being ferried around new york by my cousin therese, only the version of therese was from years ago, pre hubby and kids and job, etc. my mom and dad and i were packed into her car and she was navigating these side streets i'd never seen in new york -- broad avenues, with bright, cream colored pavement and lots of wide staircases that led to the base of a skyscraper, where there was a large wooden door that lead to therese's apartment--clean and modern, lots of light, and overlooking what my mind said was central park.
i woke up because my left hand was mashed under my face, and tingling painfully as blood rushed back into it.
then i was wide awake, and it wasn't even 9 am yet.
lucky for me, catland beckoned again, this time in the form of "cleanup in aisle five," where henry had kindly cleaned his cute little ass on our living room carpeting, and shiva had graciously tossed her cookies (wondertwin powers unite: form of--HAIRBALL!). so out with the steam cleaner and away with stain.
there are days when i wish my life was more glamorous than this. days when i dream of flitting about in magically pain-free high heels, with perfect, smudge free mascara lashes batting confidently and a handbag that is in fashsion. i don't even have kids, or a good excuse, for why i don't have that fabulous dream--i just don't feel like keeping up with the world enough to do so. it seems a waste of perfectly good time.
the other glamorous dream is not really glamorous at all. it involves a house with a backyard, and time to bake muffins and read whatever i like all day long. this dream is much more dear to me, i believe, than that of socialite with runway-ready figure, mostly because it seems a tad more accessible.
and then i wake up to the jingle of cat-toy and am reminded that i have a house and cats and time today to fulfill part of the more-accessible dream. well, portions of the dream. which for now, will need to be enough. in lieu of sleeping, at least, until three.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Saturday, December 15, 2007
pass or fail
the other day while driving to work i had an epiphany. it wasn't one of those "world peace" or "end hunger" epiphanies--not anything so large as that. it was about the way in which i view my life, and the terms i find to describe it in my own little epic movie that's recording constantly in my head.
anyway i was sitting in traffic, which was moving slowly for reasons unknown to man--i like to think that it's because the sun rising over the minnesota river valley is so stunning that people have to pause and appreciate it, but in truth i'm sure it was because of a car that was stopped and empty on the opposite side of the highway. sometimes i'm glad that everyone goes slowly over the bridge because it allows me the time to stop and see the pretty, as well as the eagles and herons that float over the bridge.
so i'm sitting there listening to the defrosters pump hot air into the car and the guys on the radio share stories about their worst blunt-object-to-nutsack tales when it comes to me that i've done a lot of writing but haven't got a thing published.
i've done a lot of writing, since it's the one thing that i enjoy as an outlet for all the invisible stuff bumping around in my mind. poetry, stories, novel-length stuff. one weekend i finished the ump-teenth romance novel and thought, i could write one of these.
so i sat down and wrote 100 single-spaced pages. i'm reasonably sure that it could be published. but it's not up to my standards. what standards those are, i can't quite explain, because i really don't know that i have standards until i read something that runs into my Standard Wall.
i thought about how when i was a kid my dad would tempt me with ten bucks if i wrote a story and he could read it. i never wrote anything that i thought dad would like, and thus, there has never been the ten dollar payment.
usually when i think about my writing i think of all my attempts as failures. i've written the same opening to the same story about fifty times, give or take, but none of them develops further than a certain point at which i lose interest and feel that a re-write is in order.
generally, when i do this, i save what i've written, because you just never know when something might lead your sentences forward, and the rest of the story could tumble out onto my computer monitor.
the night before my epiphany, i'd opened the folder in which all my random writings are saved and remember the thought that crossed my mind: look at all the failure.
sitting on the bridge, however, i decided that perhaps i needed to change the way in which i viewed that folder of what i usually term "junk."
instead of failure, i needed to see practice.
julia child, i'm fairly sure, had some misfires in the kitchen and some inedible objects before she started to get the hang of things. da vinci had artwork that didn't actually work, and i'm sure that robert jarvik, inventor of the artificial heart, didn't dream it up in one sitting and have everything function.
trial and error--that is the way you learn. for such a long time now i've thought of my written word as error, and not only error, but failure. i feel that i have failed to be published, which must disappoint my dad, my friends, the rest of my family. their dreams of me as a published author--based on all the stuff i scribbled as a child--have not come to fruition.
and that is what leads me to consider my works as failed, instead of practice runs.
in the car that morning, cursing other drivers and watching the clock tick along while i sat there cursing, it occurred to me that if i changed my viewpoint, i could change the way i felt.
the same thing is true of so many things in life. i see things as insurmountable, but i do not take the steps necessary to change them, and why? because i leap to the conclusion that i will fail, instead of seeing it as a chance to better or even just a chance to practice.
i have to play it as it lays, as joan didion writes.
life is pain, life is joy, life is practice. if i try to meld it around my own thoughts of whether i have passed or failed, nothing will look correct, and everything will be skewed.
anyway i was sitting in traffic, which was moving slowly for reasons unknown to man--i like to think that it's because the sun rising over the minnesota river valley is so stunning that people have to pause and appreciate it, but in truth i'm sure it was because of a car that was stopped and empty on the opposite side of the highway. sometimes i'm glad that everyone goes slowly over the bridge because it allows me the time to stop and see the pretty, as well as the eagles and herons that float over the bridge.
so i'm sitting there listening to the defrosters pump hot air into the car and the guys on the radio share stories about their worst blunt-object-to-nutsack tales when it comes to me that i've done a lot of writing but haven't got a thing published.
i've done a lot of writing, since it's the one thing that i enjoy as an outlet for all the invisible stuff bumping around in my mind. poetry, stories, novel-length stuff. one weekend i finished the ump-teenth romance novel and thought, i could write one of these.
so i sat down and wrote 100 single-spaced pages. i'm reasonably sure that it could be published. but it's not up to my standards. what standards those are, i can't quite explain, because i really don't know that i have standards until i read something that runs into my Standard Wall.
i thought about how when i was a kid my dad would tempt me with ten bucks if i wrote a story and he could read it. i never wrote anything that i thought dad would like, and thus, there has never been the ten dollar payment.
usually when i think about my writing i think of all my attempts as failures. i've written the same opening to the same story about fifty times, give or take, but none of them develops further than a certain point at which i lose interest and feel that a re-write is in order.
generally, when i do this, i save what i've written, because you just never know when something might lead your sentences forward, and the rest of the story could tumble out onto my computer monitor.
the night before my epiphany, i'd opened the folder in which all my random writings are saved and remember the thought that crossed my mind: look at all the failure.
sitting on the bridge, however, i decided that perhaps i needed to change the way in which i viewed that folder of what i usually term "junk."
instead of failure, i needed to see practice.
julia child, i'm fairly sure, had some misfires in the kitchen and some inedible objects before she started to get the hang of things. da vinci had artwork that didn't actually work, and i'm sure that robert jarvik, inventor of the artificial heart, didn't dream it up in one sitting and have everything function.
trial and error--that is the way you learn. for such a long time now i've thought of my written word as error, and not only error, but failure. i feel that i have failed to be published, which must disappoint my dad, my friends, the rest of my family. their dreams of me as a published author--based on all the stuff i scribbled as a child--have not come to fruition.
and that is what leads me to consider my works as failed, instead of practice runs.
in the car that morning, cursing other drivers and watching the clock tick along while i sat there cursing, it occurred to me that if i changed my viewpoint, i could change the way i felt.
the same thing is true of so many things in life. i see things as insurmountable, but i do not take the steps necessary to change them, and why? because i leap to the conclusion that i will fail, instead of seeing it as a chance to better or even just a chance to practice.
i have to play it as it lays, as joan didion writes.
life is pain, life is joy, life is practice. if i try to meld it around my own thoughts of whether i have passed or failed, nothing will look correct, and everything will be skewed.
Saturday, December 08, 2007
the hermit's reluctance
the hermit watched "ratatouille" last night, quite amusing. i say "the hermit" because that's somewhat how i've felt again lately. tonight i am supposed to be at a surprise birthday party for an ex-coworker but i feel like sticking my head in the proverbial sand again.
it comes and goes, you know, the healthy level of sociability. perhaps it's part and parcel of my mental cocktail--all that crap that's written on my diagnosis sheets. more often than not i think that it's due to my job, and that i really ought to start looking for a different job, but then apathy sets in and i think about all the effort and whatnot, and i conclude that nothing's going to change.
there's a line in an anna nalick song: can't jump the tracks/we're like cars on a cable/and life's like an hourglass/glued to the table.
i think that about sums it up.
***
yesterday we had an 8 pm visit from our internet provider's service guy. nice fellow, i think his name was luke. anyway luke replaced our modem, which has been crapping out now and then for ages. while he was standing here he noticed that we had some world of warcrack paraphenalia sitting about, and noted that he's also a player. he's got a level 70 warlock.
strangely enough, so does dan. later i commented that it was a small world, and how odd that the repairman played.
"nine million people play, hon," he reminded me. "i guess i'm not that surprised."
everywhere, i am reminded, is a crowd. everywhere there are people, waiting in groups or by themselves, wherever i go. there is not any place on this planet where you are entirely alone. when you're born, usually you're in a hospital, and certainly people do not spawn spontaneously--there is another person bringing you into the world.
even in death, even buried, you are not alone--i think of graveyards filled with tooth-shaped stones, granite angels, lettering tapped out carefully.
which is probably a good thing, really. humans are social animals; we're genetically constructed to face each other and communicate. it just happens once in a while that the inner hermit comes out, at least in some of us, and we feel the absurd need to hide.
i suppose it must be attached to the fight or flight switch in our brains. either we wish to face our adversary--friends, shopping, the hungry face of my cat--or we want to run away, and avoid whatever those things are.
why would i feel the need to avoid? why is it that there are some days i long for hermitage, a cave in the mountains, a living tomb?
they say that the fear of snakes or spiders is generally not even learned--it's a basic genetic response, tempered with experience. i like snakes; it's bees and hornets that i cannot abide.
but friends--why would i avoid friends? i suppose it is the fear i have of becoming attached, only to lose that friend. and that cannot be boiled down to genetics; that is a purely emotional response, based on experience. i suppose it's all linked together, and if i pick it apart, i can see it for what it is: excuses.
***
often i react and simply go with that reaction, instead of pausing to question it. i can see where things stem from--my aversion to making new friends, or being in their company or the company of old friends. that whole melange springs from having friends live miles and miles away, as much as it does the whole not-sure-i-can-trust-friends thing that i am trying so hard to face and learn to live with.
in addition, i feel un-interesting, i feel blank, i feel meaningless. i'm not really working towards anything, and i'm certainly not moving in any direction.
and why? because taking that first step is so terrifying to me that i cannot move. i'm the fawn, frozen and scentless in the grass as the wolf stalks. and other days i feel like the wolf, stalking that self-same fawn.
it comes and goes, truly. i long for connection, but fear the price--the emotional price--that might be exacted. it's safe here, in my little realm of blankets and purring cats and books.
i've allowed myself to moulder away, and why? for what reason? because i am afraid of the possibly consequences? what if the consequences are only pleasant, and not something to fear? what then? i could die trying--trying anything, even just making contact with others--or die languishing, too scared to move.
more than one of my coworkers laugh when they hear my response to their panicked situation, but i'd do well to take my own advice. when they begin to shy away or show fear, my first response is always the same: you're six feet above ground. count yourself lucky, and keep trying.
it comes and goes, you know, the healthy level of sociability. perhaps it's part and parcel of my mental cocktail--all that crap that's written on my diagnosis sheets. more often than not i think that it's due to my job, and that i really ought to start looking for a different job, but then apathy sets in and i think about all the effort and whatnot, and i conclude that nothing's going to change.
there's a line in an anna nalick song: can't jump the tracks/we're like cars on a cable/and life's like an hourglass/glued to the table.
i think that about sums it up.
***
yesterday we had an 8 pm visit from our internet provider's service guy. nice fellow, i think his name was luke. anyway luke replaced our modem, which has been crapping out now and then for ages. while he was standing here he noticed that we had some world of warcrack paraphenalia sitting about, and noted that he's also a player. he's got a level 70 warlock.
strangely enough, so does dan. later i commented that it was a small world, and how odd that the repairman played.
"nine million people play, hon," he reminded me. "i guess i'm not that surprised."
everywhere, i am reminded, is a crowd. everywhere there are people, waiting in groups or by themselves, wherever i go. there is not any place on this planet where you are entirely alone. when you're born, usually you're in a hospital, and certainly people do not spawn spontaneously--there is another person bringing you into the world.
even in death, even buried, you are not alone--i think of graveyards filled with tooth-shaped stones, granite angels, lettering tapped out carefully.
which is probably a good thing, really. humans are social animals; we're genetically constructed to face each other and communicate. it just happens once in a while that the inner hermit comes out, at least in some of us, and we feel the absurd need to hide.
i suppose it must be attached to the fight or flight switch in our brains. either we wish to face our adversary--friends, shopping, the hungry face of my cat--or we want to run away, and avoid whatever those things are.
why would i feel the need to avoid? why is it that there are some days i long for hermitage, a cave in the mountains, a living tomb?
they say that the fear of snakes or spiders is generally not even learned--it's a basic genetic response, tempered with experience. i like snakes; it's bees and hornets that i cannot abide.
but friends--why would i avoid friends? i suppose it is the fear i have of becoming attached, only to lose that friend. and that cannot be boiled down to genetics; that is a purely emotional response, based on experience. i suppose it's all linked together, and if i pick it apart, i can see it for what it is: excuses.
***
often i react and simply go with that reaction, instead of pausing to question it. i can see where things stem from--my aversion to making new friends, or being in their company or the company of old friends. that whole melange springs from having friends live miles and miles away, as much as it does the whole not-sure-i-can-trust-friends thing that i am trying so hard to face and learn to live with.
in addition, i feel un-interesting, i feel blank, i feel meaningless. i'm not really working towards anything, and i'm certainly not moving in any direction.
and why? because taking that first step is so terrifying to me that i cannot move. i'm the fawn, frozen and scentless in the grass as the wolf stalks. and other days i feel like the wolf, stalking that self-same fawn.
it comes and goes, truly. i long for connection, but fear the price--the emotional price--that might be exacted. it's safe here, in my little realm of blankets and purring cats and books.
i've allowed myself to moulder away, and why? for what reason? because i am afraid of the possibly consequences? what if the consequences are only pleasant, and not something to fear? what then? i could die trying--trying anything, even just making contact with others--or die languishing, too scared to move.
more than one of my coworkers laugh when they hear my response to their panicked situation, but i'd do well to take my own advice. when they begin to shy away or show fear, my first response is always the same: you're six feet above ground. count yourself lucky, and keep trying.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
snow and other dreams
today it's finally snowing, and it's so lovely that unless i position myself in front of a window, i'll probably have whiplash by 2 pm--the patio doors are to my right and i keep looking over to ensure that yes, it is still snowing.
henry is watching things for me while i type; he's positioned in front of the doors, about a foot back, watching the snow fall, and people bundled in layers fumble through the wind to their cars.
i think this fall i have been sick more than i have any other year. it's been awful--random fevers, a cold that doesn't ever just get nasty but dabbles along in annoyance, and yesterday, the stomach flu, courtesy my beloved spousal equivalent. this last one happened so rapidly that i thought he had food poisoning, but then six hours later i was sick, too.
today i feel fine, but have that tender-tummy feeling that'll take a bit to go away.
anyway i was bummed about being sick for two reasons. the first was that i was supposed to do training on friday at work, and was actually very excited to do so. the second was that dan had made reservations tonight at a nice place, at which we would get to dress up a bit and go eat fancy food.
this morning we discussed it before he went to work and made the decision to cancel. i doubt either of us would have enjoyed the meal simply because in my mind at least, i'd be overly concerned about eating a ton of rich food when for the last 24 hours i've been subsisting on apple cider and peanut butter toast.
so the dressy night out will be postponed. but i suppose in the end, that just will allow me to spend more time enjoying the weather.
when i say that, i mean it honestly. i love living in minnesota, for the simple fact that it snows. in the summer, when all ten thousand lakes have moved from lake form to humidity, and you sweat just considering the movement of your eye lids, i could live elsewhere. but in the winter i'd live no where else.
(except perhaps new england, which seems to have gotten a ton of snow in the last few years...)
***
the sunday morning before thanksgiving i came downstairs to see that i'd missed a call from my dad, so i called back. mom answered; they were out having breakfast and had run into someone that looked familiar.
mom: hello dear.
me: hey mom, i saw dad called, what's up?
mom: well...we're at the ihop here in town and we ran into someone you used to live with.
me: what?
mom: someone you used to live with, in bemidji.
me: like a roommate?
mom: yes, that minister's daughter. i can't remember her name so we had to call.
me (hesitating): oh, you mean serena?
mom: yes! that's it!
me: yeah, we don't talk anymore.
mom: that's what i thought.
me: did she talk to you?
mom: no, she looked at us and i could see that she knew us, but she didn't say anything. so i went up to her.
me: (dead silence) what did she say?
mom: she's here visiting her brother and sister-in-law. they're having a baby. so you don't talk to her anymore?
me: well, honestly, she decided not to talk to us anymore.
mom: oh, well, i just couldn't remember her name. she's put on some weight, though...
(which is mom for: she's fat. but mom's too minnesotan and polite to just blurt that out.)
it was kind of surreal. i guess after that year happened and since then, i've tried to excise her from my life--which really didn't work at all. then i tried another tactic--accepting that she was in my life, and that now she is not in my life any more. which worked much better. since i've started thinking in that manner, i'm not such a nervous nelly when someone brings up her name. but that morning was still a reminder for me that i've got a ways to go.
dan and i discussed it later; he was surprised that mom would say anything but i wasn't. she wouldn't be my mother if she hadn't.
***
thanksgiving, by the by, was nice. it's always good to see dan's parents, and they're such a hoot to be around. they remind me so much of my mom's extended family that i always think that his uncle louie could be another member of her family.
which would be gross, considering my relationship with dan, but i think it just comes from living in northern mn for your whole life and never leaving. i'm sure that if my mom's entire family was french i'd feel the same way if i went to france, or something along those lines.
anyway it was good to see his family and their myriad animals, and it was just as good to get home, scrape and wash the smoke-smell from ourselves and our clothing, and see our own two fuzzy beasts, who chastised us with their big kitty eyes for having abandoned them for days at a time.
***
which brings me back to today, saturday. usually a day during which i'd have cleaned the whole house by now--just to get it done and out of the way. however i cleaned the kitchen, rested, rearranged the foyer, rested, blogged...and now it is time to get up again, and perhaps take a chance at rescuing my carpeting from cat hair.
which in itself is a pipe dream. (;
henry is watching things for me while i type; he's positioned in front of the doors, about a foot back, watching the snow fall, and people bundled in layers fumble through the wind to their cars.
i think this fall i have been sick more than i have any other year. it's been awful--random fevers, a cold that doesn't ever just get nasty but dabbles along in annoyance, and yesterday, the stomach flu, courtesy my beloved spousal equivalent. this last one happened so rapidly that i thought he had food poisoning, but then six hours later i was sick, too.
today i feel fine, but have that tender-tummy feeling that'll take a bit to go away.
anyway i was bummed about being sick for two reasons. the first was that i was supposed to do training on friday at work, and was actually very excited to do so. the second was that dan had made reservations tonight at a nice place, at which we would get to dress up a bit and go eat fancy food.
this morning we discussed it before he went to work and made the decision to cancel. i doubt either of us would have enjoyed the meal simply because in my mind at least, i'd be overly concerned about eating a ton of rich food when for the last 24 hours i've been subsisting on apple cider and peanut butter toast.
so the dressy night out will be postponed. but i suppose in the end, that just will allow me to spend more time enjoying the weather.
when i say that, i mean it honestly. i love living in minnesota, for the simple fact that it snows. in the summer, when all ten thousand lakes have moved from lake form to humidity, and you sweat just considering the movement of your eye lids, i could live elsewhere. but in the winter i'd live no where else.
(except perhaps new england, which seems to have gotten a ton of snow in the last few years...)
***
the sunday morning before thanksgiving i came downstairs to see that i'd missed a call from my dad, so i called back. mom answered; they were out having breakfast and had run into someone that looked familiar.
mom: hello dear.
me: hey mom, i saw dad called, what's up?
mom: well...we're at the ihop here in town and we ran into someone you used to live with.
me: what?
mom: someone you used to live with, in bemidji.
me: like a roommate?
mom: yes, that minister's daughter. i can't remember her name so we had to call.
me (hesitating): oh, you mean serena?
mom: yes! that's it!
me: yeah, we don't talk anymore.
mom: that's what i thought.
me: did she talk to you?
mom: no, she looked at us and i could see that she knew us, but she didn't say anything. so i went up to her.
me: (dead silence) what did she say?
mom: she's here visiting her brother and sister-in-law. they're having a baby. so you don't talk to her anymore?
me: well, honestly, she decided not to talk to us anymore.
mom: oh, well, i just couldn't remember her name. she's put on some weight, though...
(which is mom for: she's fat. but mom's too minnesotan and polite to just blurt that out.)
it was kind of surreal. i guess after that year happened and since then, i've tried to excise her from my life--which really didn't work at all. then i tried another tactic--accepting that she was in my life, and that now she is not in my life any more. which worked much better. since i've started thinking in that manner, i'm not such a nervous nelly when someone brings up her name. but that morning was still a reminder for me that i've got a ways to go.
dan and i discussed it later; he was surprised that mom would say anything but i wasn't. she wouldn't be my mother if she hadn't.
***
thanksgiving, by the by, was nice. it's always good to see dan's parents, and they're such a hoot to be around. they remind me so much of my mom's extended family that i always think that his uncle louie could be another member of her family.
which would be gross, considering my relationship with dan, but i think it just comes from living in northern mn for your whole life and never leaving. i'm sure that if my mom's entire family was french i'd feel the same way if i went to france, or something along those lines.
anyway it was good to see his family and their myriad animals, and it was just as good to get home, scrape and wash the smoke-smell from ourselves and our clothing, and see our own two fuzzy beasts, who chastised us with their big kitty eyes for having abandoned them for days at a time.
***
which brings me back to today, saturday. usually a day during which i'd have cleaned the whole house by now--just to get it done and out of the way. however i cleaned the kitchen, rested, rearranged the foyer, rested, blogged...and now it is time to get up again, and perhaps take a chance at rescuing my carpeting from cat hair.
which in itself is a pipe dream. (;
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
lost and found
i haven't lost much lately except a few brain cells, and that's just due to age in general. what i have lost is my sense of purpose, and that's not due to much at all.
usually i look forward to winter with a longing not unlike the feeling of thirst--the yearning for snow, as if my dehydrated body cannot live one more moment without a few shimmering flakes. but this year...i'm impartial.
yeah, i was overjoyed tuesday when i saw those bits of rain-spun silver, but today while i shopped for gloves i realized that i was actually interested in decorating for christmas.
which is something that i haven't done for years. yes, actual years.
i've never been much into holiday decorations because i own cats, and cats enjoy creating a general ruckus with any and all objects that are shiny and possibly breakable.
yes, this includes christmas trees, which are apparently set up simply for concealment and climbing purposes.
anyway while i was wandering about the store, bemoaning my state of mental disarray, i had an urge to stroll through the red and green section of the store to peruse this year's version of fashionable tree-wear and whatnot. there was a whole lot of black velveteen--in the form of oddly shaped deer forms that could adorn a mantle, i'm sure, and ornaments resembling jennifer lopez' earrings and/or the discards of a rummage sale at boy george's home.
nothing against said celebrities but honestly...who decided that christmas needed to be so terribly overdone?
that is when i realized that my malaise comes not from the lack of indefinables--no, not in the least. it's the fact that i have far too much.
i've got a computer with endless possibilites stored in neat rows of sparkling chips. books lined up wall to wall, cats that are happy to sit on my lap and purr or play with string. i've got baking that i could do, people to visit, something that is begging to be written from the depths of my brain. crosswords to finish, a kitchen to sweep, checks to deposit in the bank. a car to find, clothing to launder, and a partridge in a pear tree.
well, not the partridge.
there's a line in kahlil gibran's "the prophet" that i'm going to mangle, something to the effect that you could not know one thing without knowing the other--that what makes you sorrowful is what once gave you joy. and i'm sure vice versa.
there's plenty in life for me to be thankful for--i have a job, i have a fridge full of food, i have a loving man willing to give me all the hugs i crave. and yet i feel a certain sense of emptiness, in that i am probably not doing a job that i enjoy, and i do spend a great deal of time at said occupation.
as my dear cari would say, so what am i going to do about it?
i suppose i could start by making a list, since lists are the only way that i can get things completed. otherwise i hare off far too much and end up with my nose between the pages of my latest novel-shaped acquisition. perhaps put out my feelers again and see what is available in the land of milk, honey and capitalism, and see if perhaps i can find not what i have lost, but simply that which i have yet to find.
usually i look forward to winter with a longing not unlike the feeling of thirst--the yearning for snow, as if my dehydrated body cannot live one more moment without a few shimmering flakes. but this year...i'm impartial.
yeah, i was overjoyed tuesday when i saw those bits of rain-spun silver, but today while i shopped for gloves i realized that i was actually interested in decorating for christmas.
which is something that i haven't done for years. yes, actual years.
i've never been much into holiday decorations because i own cats, and cats enjoy creating a general ruckus with any and all objects that are shiny and possibly breakable.
yes, this includes christmas trees, which are apparently set up simply for concealment and climbing purposes.
anyway while i was wandering about the store, bemoaning my state of mental disarray, i had an urge to stroll through the red and green section of the store to peruse this year's version of fashionable tree-wear and whatnot. there was a whole lot of black velveteen--in the form of oddly shaped deer forms that could adorn a mantle, i'm sure, and ornaments resembling jennifer lopez' earrings and/or the discards of a rummage sale at boy george's home.
nothing against said celebrities but honestly...who decided that christmas needed to be so terribly overdone?
that is when i realized that my malaise comes not from the lack of indefinables--no, not in the least. it's the fact that i have far too much.
i've got a computer with endless possibilites stored in neat rows of sparkling chips. books lined up wall to wall, cats that are happy to sit on my lap and purr or play with string. i've got baking that i could do, people to visit, something that is begging to be written from the depths of my brain. crosswords to finish, a kitchen to sweep, checks to deposit in the bank. a car to find, clothing to launder, and a partridge in a pear tree.
well, not the partridge.
there's a line in kahlil gibran's "the prophet" that i'm going to mangle, something to the effect that you could not know one thing without knowing the other--that what makes you sorrowful is what once gave you joy. and i'm sure vice versa.
there's plenty in life for me to be thankful for--i have a job, i have a fridge full of food, i have a loving man willing to give me all the hugs i crave. and yet i feel a certain sense of emptiness, in that i am probably not doing a job that i enjoy, and i do spend a great deal of time at said occupation.
as my dear cari would say, so what am i going to do about it?
i suppose i could start by making a list, since lists are the only way that i can get things completed. otherwise i hare off far too much and end up with my nose between the pages of my latest novel-shaped acquisition. perhaps put out my feelers again and see what is available in the land of milk, honey and capitalism, and see if perhaps i can find not what i have lost, but simply that which i have yet to find.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
time
stephen hawking, i've got your answer for you regarding wormholes. they happen when you least expect it, and it's not painful or anything, just surprising. one day you step through the door and when you step back through it's a week and a half later.
***
chicago was a great deal of fun--we rode in cabs and limos and ate at at least two swanky places, all courtesy company funds. then stayed at a really ritzy place down town chicago called the congress plaza hotel. the building was old--not, obviously, as old as a castle in, say, romania or something, but old enough to have twelve-foot ceilings and doors that, if the paint were stripped, surely would have had beautiful wood beneath.
the hotel room also came with assorted pipe clunkings in the night and a closet in the room that had a light that was supposed to turn off when you shut the door.
of course, it did not, and i woke at one point when the el went past at 4 am wondering if i was on set for the next poltergeist movie. (glowing door, etc.)
anyway the plane was lovely even with lateness and turbulence, though on the return flight i got seated next to The Squirmer--by this i mean a man crunched on his side, trying to get comfortable with an inflatable pillow and an airplane blanket.
his version of comfortable unfortunately involved making me vaguely uncomfortable. the guy in front of me also was conspiring and knocked his seat back. if it were any further i could have done a dental exam. ungh.
so after that trip, i slept wednesday night, laundered on thursday night, picked up a vehicle on friday afternoon, and drove 250 miles west to have a pedicure and a massage and be a general amoeba with my girlfriends at a fairly posh hotel that was definitely not covered by company funds. *sigh*
drove to my parents' house on sunday and stayed until monday night, drove home and spent tuesday returning the rental car and surprising my sister with a visit.
and now it's 1 pm on wednesday, and i am finally doing what i'm supposed to do on a vacation: sitting around in my fuzzy pink slippers and pajamas, surfing the web for cars and listening to the soft drone of my cat, snoring on the pillow at my feet.
***
my youngest sister got a dog three weeks ago from the humane society. she's about a year old and a mix of breeds that resulted in her looking like a smaller version of a german shepherd. she's quite friendly and affectionate, and already knew how to sit and shake hands, and ask to be let outside.
b took her in the day after she'd adopted the dog and was told she was in good health and was probably full-grown at 35 lbs. in the last week and a half, though, she's gained some weight.
and miraculously, is preggers.
on monday i got to go with b and her friend to the vet, to find out how many puppies darcy was carrying. it was a total of six and the vet said she could be giving birth at any time in the near future.
this morning i got a call--the dog's water broke last night, but no puppies were delivered, so she's in surgery now. i'm waiting on a call to find out if mama and babies made it through.
time stretches out based on what is going on. since i'm waiting for a call, the last two hours have been terribly long and improbably time-consuming. i know most folks would say, "it's just a dog," but having seen the bond between my sister and her dog, and knowing how attached i am to my felines, i cannot imagine how much longer time must feel for her.
***
and now it's wednesday. i still have a lot to do this week, and so little time in which to accomplish it. i really would like to get my house cleaned--by cleaned i mean floors shampooed and a load of stuff taken to the thrift store. but i also want to relax some, read and watch the three or four netflix items sitting on our tv that are solely for my viewing.
and i want to write, and find a car, and possibly find a couch and a new bed, too.
it's a steep slope i'm working on here, one that i'm not sure i want to navigate, but one that i suppose i ought to tackle. i would like to make some headway this week, even if it's just showering on a daily basis. i don't ask for much.
but i certainly wish there was a bit more time.
***
chicago was a great deal of fun--we rode in cabs and limos and ate at at least two swanky places, all courtesy company funds. then stayed at a really ritzy place down town chicago called the congress plaza hotel. the building was old--not, obviously, as old as a castle in, say, romania or something, but old enough to have twelve-foot ceilings and doors that, if the paint were stripped, surely would have had beautiful wood beneath.
the hotel room also came with assorted pipe clunkings in the night and a closet in the room that had a light that was supposed to turn off when you shut the door.
of course, it did not, and i woke at one point when the el went past at 4 am wondering if i was on set for the next poltergeist movie. (glowing door, etc.)
anyway the plane was lovely even with lateness and turbulence, though on the return flight i got seated next to The Squirmer--by this i mean a man crunched on his side, trying to get comfortable with an inflatable pillow and an airplane blanket.
his version of comfortable unfortunately involved making me vaguely uncomfortable. the guy in front of me also was conspiring and knocked his seat back. if it were any further i could have done a dental exam. ungh.
so after that trip, i slept wednesday night, laundered on thursday night, picked up a vehicle on friday afternoon, and drove 250 miles west to have a pedicure and a massage and be a general amoeba with my girlfriends at a fairly posh hotel that was definitely not covered by company funds. *sigh*
drove to my parents' house on sunday and stayed until monday night, drove home and spent tuesday returning the rental car and surprising my sister with a visit.
and now it's 1 pm on wednesday, and i am finally doing what i'm supposed to do on a vacation: sitting around in my fuzzy pink slippers and pajamas, surfing the web for cars and listening to the soft drone of my cat, snoring on the pillow at my feet.
***
my youngest sister got a dog three weeks ago from the humane society. she's about a year old and a mix of breeds that resulted in her looking like a smaller version of a german shepherd. she's quite friendly and affectionate, and already knew how to sit and shake hands, and ask to be let outside.
b took her in the day after she'd adopted the dog and was told she was in good health and was probably full-grown at 35 lbs. in the last week and a half, though, she's gained some weight.
and miraculously, is preggers.
on monday i got to go with b and her friend to the vet, to find out how many puppies darcy was carrying. it was a total of six and the vet said she could be giving birth at any time in the near future.
this morning i got a call--the dog's water broke last night, but no puppies were delivered, so she's in surgery now. i'm waiting on a call to find out if mama and babies made it through.
time stretches out based on what is going on. since i'm waiting for a call, the last two hours have been terribly long and improbably time-consuming. i know most folks would say, "it's just a dog," but having seen the bond between my sister and her dog, and knowing how attached i am to my felines, i cannot imagine how much longer time must feel for her.
***
and now it's wednesday. i still have a lot to do this week, and so little time in which to accomplish it. i really would like to get my house cleaned--by cleaned i mean floors shampooed and a load of stuff taken to the thrift store. but i also want to relax some, read and watch the three or four netflix items sitting on our tv that are solely for my viewing.
and i want to write, and find a car, and possibly find a couch and a new bed, too.
it's a steep slope i'm working on here, one that i'm not sure i want to navigate, but one that i suppose i ought to tackle. i would like to make some headway this week, even if it's just showering on a daily basis. i don't ask for much.
but i certainly wish there was a bit more time.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
travel
today i get ready to go to chicago--tomorrow morning my flight leaves when it's still dark out, and then i return on tuesday when it's dark, too. friday i drive to my girly weekend in western minnesota, and then i have a blessed week to recover, during which i can hopefully:
a) visit and hug friends
b) come up with a halloween costume
c) relaxxxxxxxxxx
but this morning, when i woke and thought i'd bake muffins to munch this morning, i decided after being vertical for an hour that it's time to travel--the short distance, back to bed.
a) visit and hug friends
b) come up with a halloween costume
c) relaxxxxxxxxxx
but this morning, when i woke and thought i'd bake muffins to munch this morning, i decided after being vertical for an hour that it's time to travel--the short distance, back to bed.
Friday, September 28, 2007
you give me fever...
marlene dietrich growled out that song ages ago, and today, i wish i could sing it to my coworkers. fever isn't that high but i feel all muddled and chilly. will be putting myself down for a nap shortly.
when i get a fever i know it before i take my temp because i feel like i do when i get a migraine--everything is louder, smellier, i can feel every hair on my scalp and every line of my clothing pressing into my skin. it's like having your eyes dilated--the world is too bright to look at.
at the same time, i am lost, distracted by all the glaring minutae, and i want to crawl into bed and sleep, but i know that when i lay down and become comfortable, i will be too hot, and then too cold, back and forth until i give up and sit up on the couch, and wait for whatever this is to pass.
i try to be positive about it--perhaps i will not get the full cold, the one everyone at work has been propogating for weeks. perhaps the fever will burn all those renegade cells to a crisp, yellowstone after the fires, and i will simply wake tomorrow or later today and be clean and ready to move.
it feels, however, at the beginning of the fever when my joints are tender and slightly achy, that my skeleton and assorted fleshy bits are settling in for the long haul.
when i get a fever i know it before i take my temp because i feel like i do when i get a migraine--everything is louder, smellier, i can feel every hair on my scalp and every line of my clothing pressing into my skin. it's like having your eyes dilated--the world is too bright to look at.
at the same time, i am lost, distracted by all the glaring minutae, and i want to crawl into bed and sleep, but i know that when i lay down and become comfortable, i will be too hot, and then too cold, back and forth until i give up and sit up on the couch, and wait for whatever this is to pass.
i try to be positive about it--perhaps i will not get the full cold, the one everyone at work has been propogating for weeks. perhaps the fever will burn all those renegade cells to a crisp, yellowstone after the fires, and i will simply wake tomorrow or later today and be clean and ready to move.
it feels, however, at the beginning of the fever when my joints are tender and slightly achy, that my skeleton and assorted fleshy bits are settling in for the long haul.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
the week of rude and obnoxious thought
i could begin this post by saying "it's been one of those weeks." but that seems silly at the moment, because EVERY week is "one of those weeks."
honestly this week was bad--an emotional roller coaster, ending with a trip to my parents' house today to literally and figuratively shoot guns. yes, guns: rifles, shotguns, etc. it's quite refreshing to shoot--to hear that loud, loud bang, to feel the gun plunk into your shoulder, to smell the tang of gunpowder and grease. there's a kennel, run by the shooting range, so the day is also punctuated by barks and yelps.
of course all of this will be muffled by ear plugs.
the figurative shots will be taken at the house, where my sisters will be annoyed with me for missing a camping trip. i doubt that my brother will even have noticed. which would be par for the course.
what i keep echoing in my mind is that life is too gods-damned short to be tied up constantly in drama or self-recrimination. if something happens, deal with it. there is no other way to live.
i will freely admit to putting it into practice not as often as i should.
example: i have a car. said vehicle needs either to be overhauled so that i can stop dumping antifreeze into it, or traded in for a new model. i've looked online, sat in a few cars, considered my options. but have a made a decision, and dealt with it?
i'm sure most folks would say i have not dealt with it, and they're partially correct. but filling the antifreeze on a weekly basis is my way of dealing with this situation. i've made a decision. it's just not the decision that everyone else would make.
this week i've been faced with some odd things: one friend loses a child, one friend takes their still-tiny preemie home from the hospital, one friend reveals a stress about a child who is yet to be.
there is no fair. there is only pain--but pain can be sweet and it can be sour. one serves to illuminate the other; that is the only way to view it, in my mind.
the problem i am having this week is that people all too easily forget the beauty of their lives--how their love for one another is beautiful daily, how the frost settling on grass is breathtaking, how having food in their kitchen is a miracle. it is the small things in life that have to balance out the large and ugly ones. one cannot expect that those big ugly things are balanced only by large beautiful ones, because they are not. the balance comes from keeping this in mind.
i cannot always practice what i preach, mind you. but for whatever reason this week i am simply glad to be alive, and i'm feeling quite ungracious to those people who rail against the unfair and ugly on an indifferent planet, where both can quickly become the opposite.
last night i could have come home after work and spent the evening writing, but that would have been in the company of friends, and i was not the most social of women yesterday. instead i shopped, hidden and finding anonymity in the masses, and when my feet were sore enough for me to be thankful, i came home.
yes, sore feet. those two soles reminded me that i was among the lucky to have sore feet from walking in heated comfort, and not from walking over rocks barefoot. that i had a roof over my head, when i wanted and needed it, and a place to lay down in safety.
and if that is not enough for me, then i am too needy, and need reminding again of the lack of fair in the world.
that's my inflamatory post of the year. i'm off to pull triggers.
honestly this week was bad--an emotional roller coaster, ending with a trip to my parents' house today to literally and figuratively shoot guns. yes, guns: rifles, shotguns, etc. it's quite refreshing to shoot--to hear that loud, loud bang, to feel the gun plunk into your shoulder, to smell the tang of gunpowder and grease. there's a kennel, run by the shooting range, so the day is also punctuated by barks and yelps.
of course all of this will be muffled by ear plugs.
the figurative shots will be taken at the house, where my sisters will be annoyed with me for missing a camping trip. i doubt that my brother will even have noticed. which would be par for the course.
what i keep echoing in my mind is that life is too gods-damned short to be tied up constantly in drama or self-recrimination. if something happens, deal with it. there is no other way to live.
i will freely admit to putting it into practice not as often as i should.
example: i have a car. said vehicle needs either to be overhauled so that i can stop dumping antifreeze into it, or traded in for a new model. i've looked online, sat in a few cars, considered my options. but have a made a decision, and dealt with it?
i'm sure most folks would say i have not dealt with it, and they're partially correct. but filling the antifreeze on a weekly basis is my way of dealing with this situation. i've made a decision. it's just not the decision that everyone else would make.
this week i've been faced with some odd things: one friend loses a child, one friend takes their still-tiny preemie home from the hospital, one friend reveals a stress about a child who is yet to be.
there is no fair. there is only pain--but pain can be sweet and it can be sour. one serves to illuminate the other; that is the only way to view it, in my mind.
the problem i am having this week is that people all too easily forget the beauty of their lives--how their love for one another is beautiful daily, how the frost settling on grass is breathtaking, how having food in their kitchen is a miracle. it is the small things in life that have to balance out the large and ugly ones. one cannot expect that those big ugly things are balanced only by large beautiful ones, because they are not. the balance comes from keeping this in mind.
i cannot always practice what i preach, mind you. but for whatever reason this week i am simply glad to be alive, and i'm feeling quite ungracious to those people who rail against the unfair and ugly on an indifferent planet, where both can quickly become the opposite.
last night i could have come home after work and spent the evening writing, but that would have been in the company of friends, and i was not the most social of women yesterday. instead i shopped, hidden and finding anonymity in the masses, and when my feet were sore enough for me to be thankful, i came home.
yes, sore feet. those two soles reminded me that i was among the lucky to have sore feet from walking in heated comfort, and not from walking over rocks barefoot. that i had a roof over my head, when i wanted and needed it, and a place to lay down in safety.
and if that is not enough for me, then i am too needy, and need reminding again of the lack of fair in the world.
that's my inflamatory post of the year. i'm off to pull triggers.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
peanut butter toast and procrastination
i'm a procrastinator. i know very well what that means, and i'm not always that proud of that title. but knowing that i am one sometimes can help me overcome the tendency.
not, however, this morning.
for the past few weeks i've had the worst insomnia. i can fall asleep, but i can't stay there. for whatever reason, the minute i tumble into blissful oblivion, my mind wants to crawl out and move around again. it's something i can combat by taking two benadryl, but i dislike that due to the groggy feeling that overwhelms me the next morning.
so last night i figured i'd go the natural route, so i could be fresh for today. my goal was to get up, get going, and get out the door to do some laundry. however, what happened instead was the nasty state of my kitchen slapping me across the face, and my first instinct to clean it up. which i did.
and then i was hungry. i almost baked muffins for the umpteenth week in a row but then decided against it and slathered peanut butter on my toast while watching a backyard be re-done on home and garden television.
i have a list of things to be done--bills to pay, clothing to wash, places to go, people to see--but i'm lagging behind. right now i'm thinking in terms of my life as my toast--peanut butter sticking my tongue to the roof of my mouth.
a natural phenomenon, but annoying all the same.
not, however, this morning.
for the past few weeks i've had the worst insomnia. i can fall asleep, but i can't stay there. for whatever reason, the minute i tumble into blissful oblivion, my mind wants to crawl out and move around again. it's something i can combat by taking two benadryl, but i dislike that due to the groggy feeling that overwhelms me the next morning.
so last night i figured i'd go the natural route, so i could be fresh for today. my goal was to get up, get going, and get out the door to do some laundry. however, what happened instead was the nasty state of my kitchen slapping me across the face, and my first instinct to clean it up. which i did.
and then i was hungry. i almost baked muffins for the umpteenth week in a row but then decided against it and slathered peanut butter on my toast while watching a backyard be re-done on home and garden television.
i have a list of things to be done--bills to pay, clothing to wash, places to go, people to see--but i'm lagging behind. right now i'm thinking in terms of my life as my toast--peanut butter sticking my tongue to the roof of my mouth.
a natural phenomenon, but annoying all the same.
Friday, August 31, 2007
dusk
i'm living in one of those between times--the time before the sun makes up its mind about rising or falling. it's gray, it's murky, it's plush and soft, and i'd like to remain insulated thusly forever.
the problem with being in said position is that at some point you have to wade out and face reality.
reality in the form of many, many things: my yowling cats, a car that needs work, bills that probably should be paid, milk before it goes bad--i could continue for weeks on end.
sleeping and waking in the gray is tempting. it's safe here--secure. i can pretend that the rest of the world and its opinions don't matter to me.
i am the ostrich, head stuck in sand.
and i'm comfortable.
i think a lot of the time it's because of this that my life stalls out. it's not that there is not fuel, or that i cannot find the fuel, to keep going. it's because locating fuel takes effort, and living in the gray is effortless, like coasting down a long, sloping hill.
there are always hurdles, and the hurdles and fences of the world are what stop me. there is usually a way around the distraction: i can hop over it, i can look for a way around, i can get pissed and just punch my way through ala the doors and break on through to the other side.
but again, that requires effort. and i am a minimal effort kind of person.
that doesn't mean that my house is a mess--because it's not. it doesn't mean my kitchen is moldy--because it's not--or that my cats are living in filth.
the definition is simply that instead of scaling mount everest, i'm the one cleaning out the pots and pans at base camp. and i'm happy to be there and not proclaiming myself queen of the known universe at the apex of a mountain.
my problem, i am discovering, is that i feel the pressure of the world's expectations of me to be the one at the top of the mountain. i feel pressure to be in as good of shape as my sister, the marathon runner, whose dog can wear me out after two miles. i feel pressure to be as well-dressed as my youngest sister, who is always at the height of fashion and make-up. and i feel the ubiquitous pressure of friends to keep up with the proverbial fucking jones family, whoever they are, blast and damn them to hell.
in the end, however, i keep trying to remind myself that the pressures i feel are all self-inflicted. just because someone says something does not make it so--ie, if i am told the sky is yellow, i've gotta check for myself before agreeing; science needs to back it up with fact.
now, if someone implies that i'm a plump woman, i take it to the next level. when i walk past a mirror, all i can see is my giant ass, crammed into khakis, swaying around like a lost planet. it does not matter that probably half the planet has larger tushes; mine is attached to this body, and this body is what i lug around on a daily basis.
that is just a simplified example of the self-flagellation that i perform on a habitual cycle. all the things i have agreed to--the things other people have said, the things society has mentioned--i have agreed to without pause, without basing my ideals in fact, without using logic. so when i look in the mirror, i can see all those labels pasted on me, as if i were a piece of luggage that's been round the world a few times.
yeah, i can blame the world, but in the end, i was the one who applied the stickers.
and in the gray, i'm too tired to remove them. perhaps tomorrow, when the fog lifts, after i have slept, after i have filled the hours with baking and cleaning and all kinds of things that cloud the between hours with meaningless matter--then, perhaps, i will sit down and begin to clean up my mental decoupage.
the problem with being in said position is that at some point you have to wade out and face reality.
reality in the form of many, many things: my yowling cats, a car that needs work, bills that probably should be paid, milk before it goes bad--i could continue for weeks on end.
sleeping and waking in the gray is tempting. it's safe here--secure. i can pretend that the rest of the world and its opinions don't matter to me.
i am the ostrich, head stuck in sand.
and i'm comfortable.
i think a lot of the time it's because of this that my life stalls out. it's not that there is not fuel, or that i cannot find the fuel, to keep going. it's because locating fuel takes effort, and living in the gray is effortless, like coasting down a long, sloping hill.
there are always hurdles, and the hurdles and fences of the world are what stop me. there is usually a way around the distraction: i can hop over it, i can look for a way around, i can get pissed and just punch my way through ala the doors and break on through to the other side.
but again, that requires effort. and i am a minimal effort kind of person.
that doesn't mean that my house is a mess--because it's not. it doesn't mean my kitchen is moldy--because it's not--or that my cats are living in filth.
the definition is simply that instead of scaling mount everest, i'm the one cleaning out the pots and pans at base camp. and i'm happy to be there and not proclaiming myself queen of the known universe at the apex of a mountain.
my problem, i am discovering, is that i feel the pressure of the world's expectations of me to be the one at the top of the mountain. i feel pressure to be in as good of shape as my sister, the marathon runner, whose dog can wear me out after two miles. i feel pressure to be as well-dressed as my youngest sister, who is always at the height of fashion and make-up. and i feel the ubiquitous pressure of friends to keep up with the proverbial fucking jones family, whoever they are, blast and damn them to hell.
in the end, however, i keep trying to remind myself that the pressures i feel are all self-inflicted. just because someone says something does not make it so--ie, if i am told the sky is yellow, i've gotta check for myself before agreeing; science needs to back it up with fact.
now, if someone implies that i'm a plump woman, i take it to the next level. when i walk past a mirror, all i can see is my giant ass, crammed into khakis, swaying around like a lost planet. it does not matter that probably half the planet has larger tushes; mine is attached to this body, and this body is what i lug around on a daily basis.
that is just a simplified example of the self-flagellation that i perform on a habitual cycle. all the things i have agreed to--the things other people have said, the things society has mentioned--i have agreed to without pause, without basing my ideals in fact, without using logic. so when i look in the mirror, i can see all those labels pasted on me, as if i were a piece of luggage that's been round the world a few times.
yeah, i can blame the world, but in the end, i was the one who applied the stickers.
and in the gray, i'm too tired to remove them. perhaps tomorrow, when the fog lifts, after i have slept, after i have filled the hours with baking and cleaning and all kinds of things that cloud the between hours with meaningless matter--then, perhaps, i will sit down and begin to clean up my mental decoupage.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
i need an interpreter! STAT!
the world is full of languages. there's that great story about the tower of babel, where all the people were together and couldn't understand a word the people around them were saying.
personally, i rarely run into this type of issue. i live in minnesota, and although there is a TON of diversity here (we boast the highest level of hmong-americans in the states) i scarcely ever run into issues with language.
i will freely admit to the exception of my hearing, which really needs to have subtitles at all times. case in point: earlier two teammates were discussing an issue. the comment was made that someone would "back up" soon, in relation to sides of the building and a person. i was really confused because i thought they said that the person had hiccups.
so mis-hearing things is a BIG part of my daily life.
i rely heavily on body language to get through the day--if i do not understand the words, if someone cannot enunciate, etc--then it becomes vital that i am reading their body and face well enough to keep up with the conversation.
emailing, unfortunately, is open to so much interpretation that it's painful, and none of it relies on anything but little ol' me.
long ago i learned the hard way that you cannot read ANYTHING into an email--you have to feel out the sender if you need more explanation.
during the workday, while you're sitting at your desk/cube/in your car/wherever you work, you are already dragging around the stress of work. you're annoyed because you had to leave the warmth and familiarity of your own home, and come in to a chilly office that surrounds you with the soft shade of gray and the gripes of a thousand souls.
so when you get an email that could be taken in a variety of ways, all of a sudden, the outlet appears.
i know this happens because it happens to me all the time, and it happens with everyone i know. my sister sends an email, my aunt, my father, my friends, my coworkers--and i read it and interpret their emotions, their feelings, their opinions, and it swells like high tide. before i know it, all the ugly that i have been schlepping around for the past week--at home and now at work--all of it pours out, and i see those words, and i react in a manner that perhaps i would not if the person were standing in front of me.
i know i have said things in emails that i would probably never say in real life, simply because the object of my anger is not sitting beside me, to remind me that i am speaking to another human being. i'm sitting in my gray cage, being angry, and replying with angry words because it's an angry kind of day.
if it happens, i want to deal with it, which is why email is a boon and at the same time, a horrible, horrible medium.
emailing facts is one thing--"it is 75 degrees outside and sunny here."
emailing opinions--"i really did not like that salad you made for dinner last night"-- is a horse of another color.
yesterday, i had enough of the angry.
it has only been 21 days since that bridge collapsed. years are in between me and the death of dan's brother, of my aunt, of cari's mom. but it all is so sudden, and i need to keep that in mind. i would not want to be gone tomorrow and have the people around me think, "she died hating me" or "i never got the chance to talk to her about that issue."
i am old enough to want to just nip things in the bud and move on, and live life instead of pussy-footing around the issue. it takes up too much time and energy, both of which could be better spent elsewhere--cuddling with my boyfriend, playing catch with my kitty, writing and re-writing the half-assed novel with which i've been noodling.
in the end, the end happens too quickly.
yesterday morning i went and found my copy of epictetus--this is obviously a modernized version of the original. epictetus, if anyone wonders, lived way back in nero's day (the guy who was violining when rome burned). he was born a slave and a cripple--unable to be anything more, in that time. luckily, his owner sent epictetus to school alongside his own son, and eventually emancipated him. he became a well-known philosopher, but eventually was exiled for being a philosopher.
he's one of the original stoics, and taught marcus aurelius at one point. i ought to read "the art of living" more often; the first page alone was so perfect for the situation that i will post a bit of it here:
"Happiness and freedom begin with a clear understanding of one principle: Some things are within our control and some things are not. It is only after you have faced up to this fundamental rule and learned to distinguish between what you can and can't control that inner tranquility and outer effectiveness become possible.
Within our control are our own opinions, aspirations, desires and the things that repel us....
Outside of our control, however, are such things as what kind of body we have, whether we're born into wealth or strike it rich, how we are regarded by others, and our status in society. We must remember that those things are externals and therefore not our concern. Trying to control or to change what we can't only results in torment."
personally, i rarely run into this type of issue. i live in minnesota, and although there is a TON of diversity here (we boast the highest level of hmong-americans in the states) i scarcely ever run into issues with language.
i will freely admit to the exception of my hearing, which really needs to have subtitles at all times. case in point: earlier two teammates were discussing an issue. the comment was made that someone would "back up" soon, in relation to sides of the building and a person. i was really confused because i thought they said that the person had hiccups.
so mis-hearing things is a BIG part of my daily life.
i rely heavily on body language to get through the day--if i do not understand the words, if someone cannot enunciate, etc--then it becomes vital that i am reading their body and face well enough to keep up with the conversation.
emailing, unfortunately, is open to so much interpretation that it's painful, and none of it relies on anything but little ol' me.
long ago i learned the hard way that you cannot read ANYTHING into an email--you have to feel out the sender if you need more explanation.
during the workday, while you're sitting at your desk/cube/in your car/wherever you work, you are already dragging around the stress of work. you're annoyed because you had to leave the warmth and familiarity of your own home, and come in to a chilly office that surrounds you with the soft shade of gray and the gripes of a thousand souls.
so when you get an email that could be taken in a variety of ways, all of a sudden, the outlet appears.
i know this happens because it happens to me all the time, and it happens with everyone i know. my sister sends an email, my aunt, my father, my friends, my coworkers--and i read it and interpret their emotions, their feelings, their opinions, and it swells like high tide. before i know it, all the ugly that i have been schlepping around for the past week--at home and now at work--all of it pours out, and i see those words, and i react in a manner that perhaps i would not if the person were standing in front of me.
i know i have said things in emails that i would probably never say in real life, simply because the object of my anger is not sitting beside me, to remind me that i am speaking to another human being. i'm sitting in my gray cage, being angry, and replying with angry words because it's an angry kind of day.
if it happens, i want to deal with it, which is why email is a boon and at the same time, a horrible, horrible medium.
emailing facts is one thing--"it is 75 degrees outside and sunny here."
emailing opinions--"i really did not like that salad you made for dinner last night"-- is a horse of another color.
yesterday, i had enough of the angry.
it has only been 21 days since that bridge collapsed. years are in between me and the death of dan's brother, of my aunt, of cari's mom. but it all is so sudden, and i need to keep that in mind. i would not want to be gone tomorrow and have the people around me think, "she died hating me" or "i never got the chance to talk to her about that issue."
i am old enough to want to just nip things in the bud and move on, and live life instead of pussy-footing around the issue. it takes up too much time and energy, both of which could be better spent elsewhere--cuddling with my boyfriend, playing catch with my kitty, writing and re-writing the half-assed novel with which i've been noodling.
in the end, the end happens too quickly.
yesterday morning i went and found my copy of epictetus--this is obviously a modernized version of the original. epictetus, if anyone wonders, lived way back in nero's day (the guy who was violining when rome burned). he was born a slave and a cripple--unable to be anything more, in that time. luckily, his owner sent epictetus to school alongside his own son, and eventually emancipated him. he became a well-known philosopher, but eventually was exiled for being a philosopher.
he's one of the original stoics, and taught marcus aurelius at one point. i ought to read "the art of living" more often; the first page alone was so perfect for the situation that i will post a bit of it here:
"Happiness and freedom begin with a clear understanding of one principle: Some things are within our control and some things are not. It is only after you have faced up to this fundamental rule and learned to distinguish between what you can and can't control that inner tranquility and outer effectiveness become possible.
Within our control are our own opinions, aspirations, desires and the things that repel us....
Outside of our control, however, are such things as what kind of body we have, whether we're born into wealth or strike it rich, how we are regarded by others, and our status in society. We must remember that those things are externals and therefore not our concern. Trying to control or to change what we can't only results in torment."
Saturday, August 18, 2007
the psychology of a muffin
i will never forget the first time i had dinner with my friend, cari. i knew we would probably be best friends, right then and there, when she was sauteing peppers and asked if i'd mind music, and the living room was filled with alice in chains.
about two weeks later we were sitting at work. one of the younger kids came and sat with us, where we were doing a crossword. (i know, it sounds really staid, but i think that was the day we gave up on the clues and tried just fitting swear words into the puzzle. "will fuck fit there? no? how about fuk? sweet.") tom sat down and we chatted for a few minutes, and then he said, so what kind of music to you guys listen to? dave matthews?
we both grimaced and rattled off a list of bands. as the list grew, so did the size of tom's eyes. he clearly had no clue that two girls working at a grocery store and wearing green aprons could possibly enjoy music that makes moms cringe and dads yell things such as: "will you turn that crap down? for the love of god!"
is it because i don't look like a hard rock chick? i don't wear lots of black, my hair is calm and aqua-net free, and i've retired the combat boot look since it wore out in the nineties.
and yet i love love love metal. my current repeat cd is disturbed, ten thousand fists. it's so cathartic and pleasant.
of course i alternate this with that music that people might expect me to play--the puppini sisters, loreena mckennit, dead can dance, amy winehouse, they might be giants--being that i could win a suburban soccer mom look-alike contest. there are three categories in this, two of which i could pass with flying colors, the third of which i'd fail miserably.
1. enjoys shopping
2. can create dinner (with help of the frozen foods section and betty crocker)
3. has 2.5 children and drives an suv, preferably one that gets less than 13 mpg and sports a "my child is an honor student at (insert name here) middle school."
dan and i were talking about this the other day. in my mind, men can listen to just about anything they want to, without getting weird looks. oh, people might laugh at someone's choice, but they won't look at you as if your third eye is wearing bad mascara.
i have a lot of girlfriends like this--women who like to rock while putting together a pan of berry cobbler, who turn up the music until the windows rattle. you would think that after this many years, the stereotypes would be little broken shards on the floor, but there still seems to be some unspoken rule about the way that you look needing to fit into the cookie cutter section at the crafts store.
why the focus on this? well, my new job position is going to be something wherein i will be meeting the public more often, and therefore must dress up. i think about the small talk that people make during meetings--how was your weekend, what did you do, etc--and i think about what i have in common with an accountant.
for a while this week i was in a panic. yesterday i pled headache and scurried home, feeling the need to hide somewhere until all the wrinkles were ironed out.
this morning i decided to consider my fears in a different manner. the first thing that popped into my head was: here i am, being such a complete hypocrite! i've been stewing on the fact that perhaps i am afraid of this position, and meeting people who might think that i am strange and odd for being who i am.
how can i sit here and be so selfish? the first time i walk into a room, how do i know that the other person will not be feeling the selfsame way? how can i label a cpa as someone who golfs on weekends and wears glasses, when in all actuality, they might be doing the same thing i did this morning--baking oatmeal chocolate chip muffins while listening to three days grace?
i need to let go of the label i have placed on this position and on myself and remember that every person on this planet is just as unique and has the capacity to be just as confused and afraid as i am.
the muffins came out of the oven hot, smelling like warm oatmeal and melted milk chocolate. it's pretty sappy, and well do i know it, but i've gotta just keep thinking of those 12 muffins, each one in its individual cup, made up of the same ingredients as its neighbor, but each shaped separately and by that separation, made different.
about two weeks later we were sitting at work. one of the younger kids came and sat with us, where we were doing a crossword. (i know, it sounds really staid, but i think that was the day we gave up on the clues and tried just fitting swear words into the puzzle. "will fuck fit there? no? how about fuk? sweet.") tom sat down and we chatted for a few minutes, and then he said, so what kind of music to you guys listen to? dave matthews?
we both grimaced and rattled off a list of bands. as the list grew, so did the size of tom's eyes. he clearly had no clue that two girls working at a grocery store and wearing green aprons could possibly enjoy music that makes moms cringe and dads yell things such as: "will you turn that crap down? for the love of god!"
is it because i don't look like a hard rock chick? i don't wear lots of black, my hair is calm and aqua-net free, and i've retired the combat boot look since it wore out in the nineties.
and yet i love love love metal. my current repeat cd is disturbed, ten thousand fists. it's so cathartic and pleasant.
of course i alternate this with that music that people might expect me to play--the puppini sisters, loreena mckennit, dead can dance, amy winehouse, they might be giants--being that i could win a suburban soccer mom look-alike contest. there are three categories in this, two of which i could pass with flying colors, the third of which i'd fail miserably.
1. enjoys shopping
2. can create dinner (with help of the frozen foods section and betty crocker)
3. has 2.5 children and drives an suv, preferably one that gets less than 13 mpg and sports a "my child is an honor student at (insert name here) middle school."
dan and i were talking about this the other day. in my mind, men can listen to just about anything they want to, without getting weird looks. oh, people might laugh at someone's choice, but they won't look at you as if your third eye is wearing bad mascara.
i have a lot of girlfriends like this--women who like to rock while putting together a pan of berry cobbler, who turn up the music until the windows rattle. you would think that after this many years, the stereotypes would be little broken shards on the floor, but there still seems to be some unspoken rule about the way that you look needing to fit into the cookie cutter section at the crafts store.
why the focus on this? well, my new job position is going to be something wherein i will be meeting the public more often, and therefore must dress up. i think about the small talk that people make during meetings--how was your weekend, what did you do, etc--and i think about what i have in common with an accountant.
for a while this week i was in a panic. yesterday i pled headache and scurried home, feeling the need to hide somewhere until all the wrinkles were ironed out.
this morning i decided to consider my fears in a different manner. the first thing that popped into my head was: here i am, being such a complete hypocrite! i've been stewing on the fact that perhaps i am afraid of this position, and meeting people who might think that i am strange and odd for being who i am.
how can i sit here and be so selfish? the first time i walk into a room, how do i know that the other person will not be feeling the selfsame way? how can i label a cpa as someone who golfs on weekends and wears glasses, when in all actuality, they might be doing the same thing i did this morning--baking oatmeal chocolate chip muffins while listening to three days grace?
i need to let go of the label i have placed on this position and on myself and remember that every person on this planet is just as unique and has the capacity to be just as confused and afraid as i am.
the muffins came out of the oven hot, smelling like warm oatmeal and melted milk chocolate. it's pretty sappy, and well do i know it, but i've gotta just keep thinking of those 12 muffins, each one in its individual cup, made up of the same ingredients as its neighbor, but each shaped separately and by that separation, made different.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
shifting ground
i've never been through an earthquake, so i can't say i know how it feels to have the earth actually dancing around beneath my soles. i can say that i have had the rug pulled out from below too many times to count, and i can report that every time is just as surprising as the next.
i suppose that's why every time it takes a while to pick myself back up and move forward.
my feeling is that the rug at this juncture is my job. everyone else at work is getting new job duties--mine. and i'm just handing them out as if my coworkers are trick-or-treaters. it's difficult, and i know that the next job position will be interesting and i'll enjoy it because that's just who i am, but i'm still peeved at the way the entire process has been handled, stem to stern.
the job thing has been affecting all bits of my life. i've always been a cautious person--probably overly cautious, anyone who knows me would venture. and if i withdraw at times like these i can only say it's instinct.
i didn't get the tortoise award in 2nd grade for nothing, folks.
i'm a plodder, and when the going gets rough, i need time to process. that time is spent in my shell, patching up my psyche for the next encounter.
it comes and goes, the depression. i know that there are ways in which i can assist my body in the climb, and i do a good job for the most part. it's only when that rug gets replaced that i find myself sliding down again, into that pit that's always waiting.
in my mind it's an open mouth--a large, gaping red maw, lined with rows of sharks' teeth and the blunt molars of a horse--all the better to eat you with, my dear.
sometimes i can shut it up. or ignore its presence. but other times--these times--it is a precarious act of balance for me to remain vertical for the majority of the day. i just want to sleep--curled up in the afternoon, a siesta, a nap.
i think it's because internally, at the core of my concious, i know that the bed does not move. i feel safe cocooned under comforters, more safe than i can when i am awake and alert. how is it that when i am at my most vulnerable i am most secure?
ignorance, i suppose, is bliss.
ignorance is what keeps me plodding along, every day. it is what keeps me lugging around the shell on my back, ready at a moment's notice to be pulled over my head, so that i might consider the world in silence and darkness. ignorance of my own life.
ignorance bothers me, in a general sense. but in the sense of life, it's necessary. if i am able to be ignorant about the future, if i cannot plan for every contingency, then i will keep on going.
if i dwell on the scary and the shadows and those things that go bump in the night, i will stop altogether.
so i suppose in the end this shifting ground beneath my feet is healthy. it is part and parcel of being alive, and on the planet, and a member of society at large. it is something to which i should be conditioned, by now.
but the fact that i have not--that is what keeps me ticking, in the end.
i suppose that's why every time it takes a while to pick myself back up and move forward.
my feeling is that the rug at this juncture is my job. everyone else at work is getting new job duties--mine. and i'm just handing them out as if my coworkers are trick-or-treaters. it's difficult, and i know that the next job position will be interesting and i'll enjoy it because that's just who i am, but i'm still peeved at the way the entire process has been handled, stem to stern.
the job thing has been affecting all bits of my life. i've always been a cautious person--probably overly cautious, anyone who knows me would venture. and if i withdraw at times like these i can only say it's instinct.
i didn't get the tortoise award in 2nd grade for nothing, folks.
i'm a plodder, and when the going gets rough, i need time to process. that time is spent in my shell, patching up my psyche for the next encounter.
it comes and goes, the depression. i know that there are ways in which i can assist my body in the climb, and i do a good job for the most part. it's only when that rug gets replaced that i find myself sliding down again, into that pit that's always waiting.
in my mind it's an open mouth--a large, gaping red maw, lined with rows of sharks' teeth and the blunt molars of a horse--all the better to eat you with, my dear.
sometimes i can shut it up. or ignore its presence. but other times--these times--it is a precarious act of balance for me to remain vertical for the majority of the day. i just want to sleep--curled up in the afternoon, a siesta, a nap.
i think it's because internally, at the core of my concious, i know that the bed does not move. i feel safe cocooned under comforters, more safe than i can when i am awake and alert. how is it that when i am at my most vulnerable i am most secure?
ignorance, i suppose, is bliss.
ignorance is what keeps me plodding along, every day. it is what keeps me lugging around the shell on my back, ready at a moment's notice to be pulled over my head, so that i might consider the world in silence and darkness. ignorance of my own life.
ignorance bothers me, in a general sense. but in the sense of life, it's necessary. if i am able to be ignorant about the future, if i cannot plan for every contingency, then i will keep on going.
if i dwell on the scary and the shadows and those things that go bump in the night, i will stop altogether.
so i suppose in the end this shifting ground beneath my feet is healthy. it is part and parcel of being alive, and on the planet, and a member of society at large. it is something to which i should be conditioned, by now.
but the fact that i have not--that is what keeps me ticking, in the end.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
odd
i've been feeling quite odd since leaving work yesterday. since all my job duties have been divvied up in between about 5 coworkers, i technically should have nothing to be concerned about come Monday.
strange to consider. i don't think i've had a vacation in ten years that has allowed me the comfort of being worry-free in regards to my own desk.
i am, of course, still worried. it's genetic, and despite my best efforts, i still am concerned about my coworkers and how they will handle things. i disliked the way in which my responsibilities were divided, and there was so much grumbling yesterday that i wanted to weep. it's not my fault that my friends are being overburdened with all this work--clearly i would have liked to have kept the position i had--but i still feel responsible, in no small way.
and guilty for having a few days off this week, while they are trying to learn and keep things under control. i told them to call or email if they had questions, but i'm sure that they'll muddle through.
(all right, truth be told, i have no idea if they've called or emailed this morning, because although i've been awake for two hours now, i have yet to examine either media source.)
i also am not looking forward to the next few days. my sister and bro in law are going out of town and their usual dog-sitting duo is awol due to a broken leg on the part of one spouse. i volunteered and while caring for a dog is fairly simple, i am not especially looking forward to it. i like dogs, don't get me wrong. but in the last few years i really feel like i've become a cat person--cats are so much more independent, and mine at least are just about as social as any dog i've met. i don't have to take them outside every few hours, or wake up at ungodly hours of the morning to go for a walk and feed them.
tonight we are finally going to spamalot, though, and that i have been looking forward to since dan purchased the tickets a year ago. so with no further ado, i'll be cleaning up the house, looking up directions to the ordway, and getting myself ready for a night of music and laughter.
in the end, odd as it may feel, i ought to be grateful simply to be feeling.
strange to consider. i don't think i've had a vacation in ten years that has allowed me the comfort of being worry-free in regards to my own desk.
i am, of course, still worried. it's genetic, and despite my best efforts, i still am concerned about my coworkers and how they will handle things. i disliked the way in which my responsibilities were divided, and there was so much grumbling yesterday that i wanted to weep. it's not my fault that my friends are being overburdened with all this work--clearly i would have liked to have kept the position i had--but i still feel responsible, in no small way.
and guilty for having a few days off this week, while they are trying to learn and keep things under control. i told them to call or email if they had questions, but i'm sure that they'll muddle through.
(all right, truth be told, i have no idea if they've called or emailed this morning, because although i've been awake for two hours now, i have yet to examine either media source.)
i also am not looking forward to the next few days. my sister and bro in law are going out of town and their usual dog-sitting duo is awol due to a broken leg on the part of one spouse. i volunteered and while caring for a dog is fairly simple, i am not especially looking forward to it. i like dogs, don't get me wrong. but in the last few years i really feel like i've become a cat person--cats are so much more independent, and mine at least are just about as social as any dog i've met. i don't have to take them outside every few hours, or wake up at ungodly hours of the morning to go for a walk and feed them.
tonight we are finally going to spamalot, though, and that i have been looking forward to since dan purchased the tickets a year ago. so with no further ado, i'll be cleaning up the house, looking up directions to the ordway, and getting myself ready for a night of music and laughter.
in the end, odd as it may feel, i ought to be grateful simply to be feeling.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
the muse escapes
a tide, when it rushes in, leaves behind midden--
shells, dead small-mouth bass, tiny crushed blue crabs,
a pencil marked with someone else's teeth. they say
the moon pulls it, sure as you draw thread and correct seams
of late you have waded into this tide, felt the currents
tug closer to swirling middle
where seaweed winds round ankles
and you can feel undefined dark things writhe--sheets
wrapped around your legs at four am, unseen and taut.
ripe and sodden the lake lulls skeleton silent, and numb
you drift, lost in pulsing lake. you cannot feel the sand
under your feet, not any longer, and you should
be afraid--the night is long, and you are chilled.
but instead you tread this water, and you murmur
nothings, over and over,
and when your hands reach for words, they elude you,
the description of drowning
is your only explanation.
shells, dead small-mouth bass, tiny crushed blue crabs,
a pencil marked with someone else's teeth. they say
the moon pulls it, sure as you draw thread and correct seams
of late you have waded into this tide, felt the currents
tug closer to swirling middle
where seaweed winds round ankles
and you can feel undefined dark things writhe--sheets
wrapped around your legs at four am, unseen and taut.
ripe and sodden the lake lulls skeleton silent, and numb
you drift, lost in pulsing lake. you cannot feel the sand
under your feet, not any longer, and you should
be afraid--the night is long, and you are chilled.
but instead you tread this water, and you murmur
nothings, over and over,
and when your hands reach for words, they elude you,
the description of drowning
is your only explanation.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
the net
if you haven't seen it yet, a bridge collapsed right here in minneapolis today. it looks awful--cars floating in the water, twisted cement and wires, the bones of that structure bent and warped. people have been injured and so far one person has lost their life.
these things always elicit so many feelings all at once--perhaps moreso the closer they are to where you are. when the towers fell, i knew people out there--but it was not here, not something i could point at and say, i drive across that all the time!
the second thing is the sheer horror of it, the fact that death walks close to the river tonight.
and the third thing is joy--joy because humans are such a connected bunch of animals. i am reminded forcibly of the good things that come with being human -- people reaching out to other people, helping, saving, soothing.
the phones are clogged, and the news reminded us to stay off the phones. but it's too hard when you don't know. my sister takes that road all the time. i could not keep off the phone until i knew she was okay.
now i am waiting to hear back from nathan. and from my friend cari, whose brother lives down town.
when my mom called originally i was just happy to hear from her. but now in retrospect, i can see the net that links me and all these other people, miles apart, invisible but strong.
these things always elicit so many feelings all at once--perhaps moreso the closer they are to where you are. when the towers fell, i knew people out there--but it was not here, not something i could point at and say, i drive across that all the time!
the second thing is the sheer horror of it, the fact that death walks close to the river tonight.
and the third thing is joy--joy because humans are such a connected bunch of animals. i am reminded forcibly of the good things that come with being human -- people reaching out to other people, helping, saving, soothing.
the phones are clogged, and the news reminded us to stay off the phones. but it's too hard when you don't know. my sister takes that road all the time. i could not keep off the phone until i knew she was okay.
now i am waiting to hear back from nathan. and from my friend cari, whose brother lives down town.
when my mom called originally i was just happy to hear from her. but now in retrospect, i can see the net that links me and all these other people, miles apart, invisible but strong.
Monday, July 30, 2007
dude...
i've had a busy weekend. but it's only monday night, you say...well, cork it.
saturday i got up, did a few things around the house, and took a nap until about 1. was up for a while and then my friend rene came down, and we sat around chit-chatting until heading over to the MOA for dinner and shopping. of course we ended up at a barnes and noble, because that is how we operate. (:
went to sleep at 1130. got up at 355 to deliver said friend to the airport, where i'll be picking her up next weekend. got home, went back to sleep for a few fitful hours, then got up and lazed around since my eyelids simply would not function correctly. worked on a story that's been brewing for a few days and then took ANOTHER nap, was up for a bit and back to bed.
monday dawned bright, early and icky. work was a mess when i arrived, which was compounded by the fact that i was there for an hour before i had a meeting. then another meeting.
the first meeting was run of the mill--reminders, updates, mainly administrative stuff.
meeting number two was totally different and entirely unexpected. my job is being eliminated.
by the end of the week.
i have four options, and i'm lucky to have those four, since apparently other offices around the country had to do the same thing with this position and they had no where else to put people...so they just got pink slipped.
behind door #1: i can discuss a severance package.
door #2: i can go back to client services, and answer phones from angry people.
door #3: i can go back to conversion, and set up payrolls.
door #4: i can go into a totally new position, in which i would deal only with accountants and actually leave the office to visit them half of the time.
guess which one i'm going for?
yes, #4.
as with any other announcement made in corporate america, i have one night to decide if i want to do this--they were going to talk to me friday but i had to leave early due to overtime. odd how that works, isn't it?
and also, again as with anything done in corporate america, i couldn't breathe a word to anyone else in the building, since this was between me, management, and the human resources lady on speakerphone.
so as soon as i got out of the meeting i called dan and hashed it out. he knows me often better than i know me--i got done babbling like an auctioneer selling off the world's remaining cattle and he said, "are you asking for my approval? because you've already made your decision."
of course i was still in panic mode so my response was, well, what is my decision?
so another new road. since i started at adp five years ago, i've made three job changes--one from client services to conversion, and then from conversion to part of the sales team. now i would be moving back to client services, but would be working more with the sales team.
in the end i hope that it all works out for the best. my only fear right now is who is going to take over all the various and sundry job duties that comprise my current position. just because you eliminate the title does not mean that the rest of the job just disintegrates. i'm not sure that management has considered everything quite yet. but tomorrow morning they're announcing it to the building at large, and i have another meeting to dice up the job i've had for the last year.
in fact, it hasn't even been a full year yet.
i don't mind change--usually i revel in it. i enjoy moving things and rearranging them, making them all new and shiny. i like pioneering, which is what this new job position would be, since it's brand spankin' new, and only 2 other people in the country are doing this, as of now. i'd get to define the job, as it were.
it's just the rug, slipping out from under your feet. the rung of the ladder, splintering as you ascend. the escalator, moving faster than you can keep up with it, each stair disappearing into the next, until you are really not sure where you are going: up? down? sideways?
heroditus said that you can never step into the same river twice--i think that life is handing me this lesson again, as if i have forgotten from the last time it was meted out.
and i suppose that the river itself is familiar--it's just the knowledge, the understanding, that it is no longer the same water it was moments ago.
dude. that's deep, for a monday.
saturday i got up, did a few things around the house, and took a nap until about 1. was up for a while and then my friend rene came down, and we sat around chit-chatting until heading over to the MOA for dinner and shopping. of course we ended up at a barnes and noble, because that is how we operate. (:
went to sleep at 1130. got up at 355 to deliver said friend to the airport, where i'll be picking her up next weekend. got home, went back to sleep for a few fitful hours, then got up and lazed around since my eyelids simply would not function correctly. worked on a story that's been brewing for a few days and then took ANOTHER nap, was up for a bit and back to bed.
monday dawned bright, early and icky. work was a mess when i arrived, which was compounded by the fact that i was there for an hour before i had a meeting. then another meeting.
the first meeting was run of the mill--reminders, updates, mainly administrative stuff.
meeting number two was totally different and entirely unexpected. my job is being eliminated.
by the end of the week.
i have four options, and i'm lucky to have those four, since apparently other offices around the country had to do the same thing with this position and they had no where else to put people...so they just got pink slipped.
behind door #1: i can discuss a severance package.
door #2: i can go back to client services, and answer phones from angry people.
door #3: i can go back to conversion, and set up payrolls.
door #4: i can go into a totally new position, in which i would deal only with accountants and actually leave the office to visit them half of the time.
guess which one i'm going for?
yes, #4.
as with any other announcement made in corporate america, i have one night to decide if i want to do this--they were going to talk to me friday but i had to leave early due to overtime. odd how that works, isn't it?
and also, again as with anything done in corporate america, i couldn't breathe a word to anyone else in the building, since this was between me, management, and the human resources lady on speakerphone.
so as soon as i got out of the meeting i called dan and hashed it out. he knows me often better than i know me--i got done babbling like an auctioneer selling off the world's remaining cattle and he said, "are you asking for my approval? because you've already made your decision."
of course i was still in panic mode so my response was, well, what is my decision?
so another new road. since i started at adp five years ago, i've made three job changes--one from client services to conversion, and then from conversion to part of the sales team. now i would be moving back to client services, but would be working more with the sales team.
in the end i hope that it all works out for the best. my only fear right now is who is going to take over all the various and sundry job duties that comprise my current position. just because you eliminate the title does not mean that the rest of the job just disintegrates. i'm not sure that management has considered everything quite yet. but tomorrow morning they're announcing it to the building at large, and i have another meeting to dice up the job i've had for the last year.
in fact, it hasn't even been a full year yet.
i don't mind change--usually i revel in it. i enjoy moving things and rearranging them, making them all new and shiny. i like pioneering, which is what this new job position would be, since it's brand spankin' new, and only 2 other people in the country are doing this, as of now. i'd get to define the job, as it were.
it's just the rug, slipping out from under your feet. the rung of the ladder, splintering as you ascend. the escalator, moving faster than you can keep up with it, each stair disappearing into the next, until you are really not sure where you are going: up? down? sideways?
heroditus said that you can never step into the same river twice--i think that life is handing me this lesson again, as if i have forgotten from the last time it was meted out.
and i suppose that the river itself is familiar--it's just the knowledge, the understanding, that it is no longer the same water it was moments ago.
dude. that's deep, for a monday.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
to work or not to work...
to say that i don't want to go to work tomorrow is an absurd understatement. i'm not sure if there is a good way of saying the same thing, without using much harsher language.
and i know i feel this way after all vacations. they begin so slowly and roll along and then they are over, before i can contemplate being comfortable. i feel as if i have finally shrugged off all the stress of employment and now it is sunday eve and i have to get up and return to my gray cubicle tomorrow.
i cannot say it will be all sad. i do enjoy the people with whom i work, and i enjoy the satisfaction of completing a job. but i think that perhaps the stress of said job is from what i cringe.
part of me wishes daily that my bank account was filled to brimming with lottery winnings, and that i could simply remain home, perhaps have children and a big yard with a garden that smelled of fresh turned dirt and green beans.
but it is a wish; to make the wish reality i would need to either win the lottery itself, or just keep working, with my head down. my only problem is that the keep working mentality has driven me for all my life, and i am no where nearer any of those lottery dreams, despite all the hard work.
***
one of the things i love to do is cook. and bake. i like to be in the kitchen, cubing chicken and feeling the handle of my wooden spoon press into my palm as i stir.
yesterday i had the urge to make blueberry muffins. it was the thought of those berries, hot to bursting, oozing in sweet dough, that drove me to turn on the oven and bake. after i dropped dan off at the airport, all i could taste was that tangy-sweet bubble popping open in my mouth. i made six muffins, and over the course of the day, ate 4. this morning i ate the last two, savoring that longed-for taste.
today i longed for silence. i had to leave the house only to go to the grocery store; otherwise i have been reading, sipping lemonade and eating some casserole prepared for this week's lunches. it's been quite relaxing. and the majority of my collective cell mass would prefer to remain here for all of next week, too.
***
i have only a few more days off this year--in a few weeks, the day of and the day after we see "spamalot", and another week in i think october--in which i can indulge this urge to be schedule-less and shiftless and altogether liesurely as i rise and make my way through the day. i know that a month of this would not be enough--i would crave more time, more space.
for many months now i have craved the solitude of this house--silent except for a cat, dreaming and snoring--this solitude that i can usually only find in the wee hours of a sunday morning. it has been so wonderful, this quiet.
perhaps it is that which i will crave, that silence, that i will put away in a box on a shelf for the time that my next days off come upon me. during the week, when dan and eero are here, there is noise, which cannot be avoided and which is a comfort to someone who grew up in a household of six. during the week there are phones ringing and women gossiping and the sound of the copier, thudding along.
i really don't have much choice in the matter--there is no question of working or not working. i enjoy too much having a roof over my head and the funds to purchase blueberries, and pay for the electricity with which to bake them. the mobility of going to the library, where i can find books that soothe my soul and offer balm.
perhaps this is simply my oasis, this week. i can almost feel and see the disruption that work brings, ahead of me--as if the smooth pavement will give way to rocks and gravel and potholes. it is this that pains me, i think, this foreknowledge of what is to come, when the alarm blares monday morning.
and i know i feel this way after all vacations. they begin so slowly and roll along and then they are over, before i can contemplate being comfortable. i feel as if i have finally shrugged off all the stress of employment and now it is sunday eve and i have to get up and return to my gray cubicle tomorrow.
i cannot say it will be all sad. i do enjoy the people with whom i work, and i enjoy the satisfaction of completing a job. but i think that perhaps the stress of said job is from what i cringe.
part of me wishes daily that my bank account was filled to brimming with lottery winnings, and that i could simply remain home, perhaps have children and a big yard with a garden that smelled of fresh turned dirt and green beans.
but it is a wish; to make the wish reality i would need to either win the lottery itself, or just keep working, with my head down. my only problem is that the keep working mentality has driven me for all my life, and i am no where nearer any of those lottery dreams, despite all the hard work.
***
one of the things i love to do is cook. and bake. i like to be in the kitchen, cubing chicken and feeling the handle of my wooden spoon press into my palm as i stir.
yesterday i had the urge to make blueberry muffins. it was the thought of those berries, hot to bursting, oozing in sweet dough, that drove me to turn on the oven and bake. after i dropped dan off at the airport, all i could taste was that tangy-sweet bubble popping open in my mouth. i made six muffins, and over the course of the day, ate 4. this morning i ate the last two, savoring that longed-for taste.
today i longed for silence. i had to leave the house only to go to the grocery store; otherwise i have been reading, sipping lemonade and eating some casserole prepared for this week's lunches. it's been quite relaxing. and the majority of my collective cell mass would prefer to remain here for all of next week, too.
***
i have only a few more days off this year--in a few weeks, the day of and the day after we see "spamalot", and another week in i think october--in which i can indulge this urge to be schedule-less and shiftless and altogether liesurely as i rise and make my way through the day. i know that a month of this would not be enough--i would crave more time, more space.
for many months now i have craved the solitude of this house--silent except for a cat, dreaming and snoring--this solitude that i can usually only find in the wee hours of a sunday morning. it has been so wonderful, this quiet.
perhaps it is that which i will crave, that silence, that i will put away in a box on a shelf for the time that my next days off come upon me. during the week, when dan and eero are here, there is noise, which cannot be avoided and which is a comfort to someone who grew up in a household of six. during the week there are phones ringing and women gossiping and the sound of the copier, thudding along.
i really don't have much choice in the matter--there is no question of working or not working. i enjoy too much having a roof over my head and the funds to purchase blueberries, and pay for the electricity with which to bake them. the mobility of going to the library, where i can find books that soothe my soul and offer balm.
perhaps this is simply my oasis, this week. i can almost feel and see the disruption that work brings, ahead of me--as if the smooth pavement will give way to rocks and gravel and potholes. it is this that pains me, i think, this foreknowledge of what is to come, when the alarm blares monday morning.
Friday, July 20, 2007
lemons
it's friday, the last day of my actual vacation before the weekend, when i'll have to start prepping for actually going back to work next week. my house is very, very clean (yay!) and i was able to get rid of two bags of clothes and two boxes of assorted household crap.
there's lots i never got around to doing: the cedar chest is still untouched, i only called my sister and not my sister and nathan, i haven't written at all...so on and so forth. but i'm trying to stay positive, and for me, i jumped a big hurdle this week.
yesterday i got up the nerve to drop off my car at the mechanic. the coolant hides somewhere (it's not dripping, it's not burning off...) and then of course my poor shiny new radiator has to overheat, and i have to stop, pop the hood and dump in premixed antifreeze.
it's quite the opposite of neat and tidy, and of course there's a horrible smell of toasted almonds to contend with.
anyway, four months ago i had the aforementioned shiny new radiator installed. the month before that it was a radiator plug, and my 62000 mile flush of various fluids. today i was told my water pump is leaking, and there's a bunch of belts that need replacing. the belt thing i knew about, and the leaky water pump explains the consistent lack of coolant.
all that said, i'm not sure i feel like springing for another 700 clamshell fix. despite the fact that there's few miles on it, it is a ten year old machine, and time tends to wear things down. so replace or trade in? that is the question.
today after hearing the verdict i called and spoke to my dad, dan, and my sister. it still took me two hours after that to place a call to the mechanic and let them know i'd pick it up tonight.
reasons for the wait are conflicting. it's hard to explain. i feel like an irresponsible car owner, to say no, don't fix it. i feel like i'm taking away someone's business, someone's paycheck, by not having the car repaired. i feel juvenile to be at this crossroads yet again, just over two years into owning the car. i have this need to pay it off and then look for a new vehicle. however i am tired, sick and tired tired tired, of driving around in a ten mile radius, terrified to go further in case something goes awry. it's exactly what happened with my mazda--it's like life being rewound and replayed, only in a different color choice and shape.
***
i suppose secondary to that is the guilt i feel having to rely on others for transportation, and the guilt i feel at being over three decades into life and still owning a lemon.
but i think of my mom's mantra about said fruit and optional products of this fruit, and i think that perhaps sometimes even if you are expecting a refreshing drink, sometimes you have to be flexible and change your options. perhaps instead of an ade i will have just lemon zest. or perhaps instead of that i'll have lemon bars, or a pie topped with airy, velvety meringue.
either way, i have to keep thinking this. i have to. otherwise i get mired down under the dumptruck load of lemons that life hands out, free of charge, to everyone regardless of race or creed.
there's lots i never got around to doing: the cedar chest is still untouched, i only called my sister and not my sister and nathan, i haven't written at all...so on and so forth. but i'm trying to stay positive, and for me, i jumped a big hurdle this week.
yesterday i got up the nerve to drop off my car at the mechanic. the coolant hides somewhere (it's not dripping, it's not burning off...) and then of course my poor shiny new radiator has to overheat, and i have to stop, pop the hood and dump in premixed antifreeze.
it's quite the opposite of neat and tidy, and of course there's a horrible smell of toasted almonds to contend with.
anyway, four months ago i had the aforementioned shiny new radiator installed. the month before that it was a radiator plug, and my 62000 mile flush of various fluids. today i was told my water pump is leaking, and there's a bunch of belts that need replacing. the belt thing i knew about, and the leaky water pump explains the consistent lack of coolant.
all that said, i'm not sure i feel like springing for another 700 clamshell fix. despite the fact that there's few miles on it, it is a ten year old machine, and time tends to wear things down. so replace or trade in? that is the question.
today after hearing the verdict i called and spoke to my dad, dan, and my sister. it still took me two hours after that to place a call to the mechanic and let them know i'd pick it up tonight.
reasons for the wait are conflicting. it's hard to explain. i feel like an irresponsible car owner, to say no, don't fix it. i feel like i'm taking away someone's business, someone's paycheck, by not having the car repaired. i feel juvenile to be at this crossroads yet again, just over two years into owning the car. i have this need to pay it off and then look for a new vehicle. however i am tired, sick and tired tired tired, of driving around in a ten mile radius, terrified to go further in case something goes awry. it's exactly what happened with my mazda--it's like life being rewound and replayed, only in a different color choice and shape.
***
i suppose secondary to that is the guilt i feel having to rely on others for transportation, and the guilt i feel at being over three decades into life and still owning a lemon.
but i think of my mom's mantra about said fruit and optional products of this fruit, and i think that perhaps sometimes even if you are expecting a refreshing drink, sometimes you have to be flexible and change your options. perhaps instead of an ade i will have just lemon zest. or perhaps instead of that i'll have lemon bars, or a pie topped with airy, velvety meringue.
either way, i have to keep thinking this. i have to. otherwise i get mired down under the dumptruck load of lemons that life hands out, free of charge, to everyone regardless of race or creed.
Monday, July 16, 2007
morning minus coffee
it's monday morning, and i'm at home, grubby and in my pajamas, because this week is my week off.
today i've got an exciting schedule: clean kitchen, clean living room, clean carpets (this due only to the fact that princess-pukes-a-lot has done her royal hairball duty only too well), clean up the laundry (which is clean but in baskets yet) and probably clean my self.
tomorrow i'm planning on working a bit on the cedar chest in the garage, but only if i wake up early enough and am motivated enough to put on more work-ready clothing. re-finishing a cedar chest in a night-gown might be cooler but it also could be a tad messier.
and then after that...who knows. probably read the books to which i've become addicted--yes, another romance novelist, mary balogh. hers are quite well-written, and remind me a great deal of austen and georgette heyer, with a great deal less fondling and mushy crap, and a great deal more history. i've learned quite a bit about the Battle of Waterloo in the last few days; i think this is in part due to the author being a teacher herself. but it never gets overly instructional, and her characters are just so lovely to read that once i pick up a book i have a very, very difficult time putting it back down.
then again, this happens to me quite often. i get sucked into one thing for a long period of time. in probably two months or so i'll have moved on and be obsessed with a different author.
who knows. it's hard for me to develop habits, and it's hard for me to stick with one passion solidly for more than a month at a time.
i suppose it's cyclic, just like the rest of the planet--seasons, tides, day and night, the whole shebang. sometimes it's just plain frustrating, though, to be so at the whim of your brain.
which i'm sure is the case for everyone, every day, perhaps some moreso than others. dan lately has been swinging about in a mixed state for a few days--days in which i remind myself constantly that it's probably nothing i've done, and it's up to him to fish himself out of the morass. just as this week, left unscheduled and unwritten, it is up to me to create the structure by which i'll pass the days, and not anyone else.
i think about all the things i could do on my vacation, my week off, and i get entirely overwhelmed. i need an oil change, i need to have my car looked at for the millionth time. vice versa i could shop for a new vehicle...also annoying. i've been putting off calling nathan and my sisters and my parents. chores, chores, chores that have been neglected in the last few weeks of mid-year year-end. spending quality time with my lightly snoring cats. reading and writing and walking.
of course this is a july vacation, which for me, anti-heat girl that i am, means that anything that means going out-of-doors and not immediately into the comfort of AC is just plain old disgusting and out of the question. anything over 80 degrees is simply out and out wrong, in the land of kim.
so here i sit, overwhelmed at 1015 am, trying to decide which item to begin first.
i think my lack of motivation is partially based on the title of this diatribe--i'm without my usual brain booster, coffee. so perhaps i'll start there, and brew up something to wake me up, or better yet, dash off scrubby to caribou and have someone there whip up my wake up.
today i've got an exciting schedule: clean kitchen, clean living room, clean carpets (this due only to the fact that princess-pukes-a-lot has done her royal hairball duty only too well), clean up the laundry (which is clean but in baskets yet) and probably clean my self.
tomorrow i'm planning on working a bit on the cedar chest in the garage, but only if i wake up early enough and am motivated enough to put on more work-ready clothing. re-finishing a cedar chest in a night-gown might be cooler but it also could be a tad messier.
and then after that...who knows. probably read the books to which i've become addicted--yes, another romance novelist, mary balogh. hers are quite well-written, and remind me a great deal of austen and georgette heyer, with a great deal less fondling and mushy crap, and a great deal more history. i've learned quite a bit about the Battle of Waterloo in the last few days; i think this is in part due to the author being a teacher herself. but it never gets overly instructional, and her characters are just so lovely to read that once i pick up a book i have a very, very difficult time putting it back down.
then again, this happens to me quite often. i get sucked into one thing for a long period of time. in probably two months or so i'll have moved on and be obsessed with a different author.
who knows. it's hard for me to develop habits, and it's hard for me to stick with one passion solidly for more than a month at a time.
i suppose it's cyclic, just like the rest of the planet--seasons, tides, day and night, the whole shebang. sometimes it's just plain frustrating, though, to be so at the whim of your brain.
which i'm sure is the case for everyone, every day, perhaps some moreso than others. dan lately has been swinging about in a mixed state for a few days--days in which i remind myself constantly that it's probably nothing i've done, and it's up to him to fish himself out of the morass. just as this week, left unscheduled and unwritten, it is up to me to create the structure by which i'll pass the days, and not anyone else.
i think about all the things i could do on my vacation, my week off, and i get entirely overwhelmed. i need an oil change, i need to have my car looked at for the millionth time. vice versa i could shop for a new vehicle...also annoying. i've been putting off calling nathan and my sisters and my parents. chores, chores, chores that have been neglected in the last few weeks of mid-year year-end. spending quality time with my lightly snoring cats. reading and writing and walking.
of course this is a july vacation, which for me, anti-heat girl that i am, means that anything that means going out-of-doors and not immediately into the comfort of AC is just plain old disgusting and out of the question. anything over 80 degrees is simply out and out wrong, in the land of kim.
so here i sit, overwhelmed at 1015 am, trying to decide which item to begin first.
i think my lack of motivation is partially based on the title of this diatribe--i'm without my usual brain booster, coffee. so perhaps i'll start there, and brew up something to wake me up, or better yet, dash off scrubby to caribou and have someone there whip up my wake up.
Friday, July 06, 2007
worth
i struggle often with being worthy--of people, of things, of attention. i have a difficult time rationalizing spending money on my self. usually my purchases are the marked down bits, the ones where you spend a good solid hour picking off the orange clearance tag when you get said object home.
it's a habit in my family to do this. we take pride in one-upping each other with "i-got-that-for-less" tales. i'm not sure if it's genetic--my father loves flea markets, and my mom is an inveterate garage-saler--or perhaps just learned. who knows. but it translates into my life and often makes it difficult for me to see things i buy for myself as necessary, with the obvious exception of clothing and shoes, which i still will only shell out when items are half-off.
take, for example, my new bracelet.
at work recently i've notice that i wear rubber bands around my left wrist on a regular basis. they come off of whatever folder is crossing my desk and just remain there, indefinitely. i've considered buying a bracelet, but i'm picky about jewelery. i suppose the devil is in the details, and perhaps my being drawn to shiny things just means that satan is somewhat sparkly.
today i indulged in three (yes, three at one time!) brassieres, which are a necessary evil that need not be too terribly vile, even for those of us who require valkyrie-supported battle garments just to keep the girls in place. after that i spent an astronomical amount of time in the jewelry department, shopping for a birthday gift for a friend. i found the perfect item and then thought, when was the last time i spent any time looking for something for me?
i thought about my ubiquitious rubber bands and decided that i'd look for a bracelet. after half an hour of looking at all things ovoid and stretchy and clingy, i was ready to call it quits. i kept rejecting the ones that are hard and require the dislocation of your thumbs, and the ones that are so tight once on that they leave a dent in flesh.
"can we help you, ma'am?"
usually i say no. usually i decline, figuring that someone else needs assistance more than me. but today, riding high on my handful of hangers, i said, "yes."
she showed me the sterling silver chains and i'm now wearing one, sitting here typing and feeling slightly more elegant.
this is by far the most expensive piece of jewelry i've ever bought. my two rings were gifts--my right hand pinky ring is a spoon ring that was a dollar at a church rummage sale, and the ring on my left ring finger is a small picture of sea, mountains, bird and sun, made of different stones. it's unique and lovely, with a thin band. but it was free.
i have oodles of earrings, purchased on sale, and necklaces from the clearance rack. but nothing new, nothing bought just for me full price. twenty dollars--i am worth that much, i concluded, standing there in bright ceiling lights. i'm worth enough to purchase something just because it's pretty, something that makes me happy simply because it is unnecessary.
it's a habit in my family to do this. we take pride in one-upping each other with "i-got-that-for-less" tales. i'm not sure if it's genetic--my father loves flea markets, and my mom is an inveterate garage-saler--or perhaps just learned. who knows. but it translates into my life and often makes it difficult for me to see things i buy for myself as necessary, with the obvious exception of clothing and shoes, which i still will only shell out when items are half-off.
take, for example, my new bracelet.
at work recently i've notice that i wear rubber bands around my left wrist on a regular basis. they come off of whatever folder is crossing my desk and just remain there, indefinitely. i've considered buying a bracelet, but i'm picky about jewelery. i suppose the devil is in the details, and perhaps my being drawn to shiny things just means that satan is somewhat sparkly.
today i indulged in three (yes, three at one time!) brassieres, which are a necessary evil that need not be too terribly vile, even for those of us who require valkyrie-supported battle garments just to keep the girls in place. after that i spent an astronomical amount of time in the jewelry department, shopping for a birthday gift for a friend. i found the perfect item and then thought, when was the last time i spent any time looking for something for me?
i thought about my ubiquitious rubber bands and decided that i'd look for a bracelet. after half an hour of looking at all things ovoid and stretchy and clingy, i was ready to call it quits. i kept rejecting the ones that are hard and require the dislocation of your thumbs, and the ones that are so tight once on that they leave a dent in flesh.
"can we help you, ma'am?"
usually i say no. usually i decline, figuring that someone else needs assistance more than me. but today, riding high on my handful of hangers, i said, "yes."
she showed me the sterling silver chains and i'm now wearing one, sitting here typing and feeling slightly more elegant.
this is by far the most expensive piece of jewelry i've ever bought. my two rings were gifts--my right hand pinky ring is a spoon ring that was a dollar at a church rummage sale, and the ring on my left ring finger is a small picture of sea, mountains, bird and sun, made of different stones. it's unique and lovely, with a thin band. but it was free.
i have oodles of earrings, purchased on sale, and necklaces from the clearance rack. but nothing new, nothing bought just for me full price. twenty dollars--i am worth that much, i concluded, standing there in bright ceiling lights. i'm worth enough to purchase something just because it's pretty, something that makes me happy simply because it is unnecessary.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
cravings
this week has been about cravings--cravings for all kinds of odd bits. randomly yesterday i wanted to sit at my desk and listen to my new amy winehouse cd and eat a package (yes, the whole package) of cherry pull n' peel twizzlers. instead when i was done with work, i was whisked north into the city, to meet an old friend.
teresa was at a conference for the blind; she's a grad assistant to a very well-known professor in the blind community, and they were staffing a game called "power showdown." there's not a lot of games out there for people who are blind; this one is a cross between air hockey and ping-pong, a large, oval table with edges rising about six inches on all sides. in the middle there is a large board, poised over the surface, to block hits that could potentially harm your opponent. players are positioned at each end, with a hard wooden paddle and a protective glove for the hand holding the paddle, protecting a net at their end. the ball has a distinct rattle, and games become quite explosive--the ball shoots off the table, a guide dog jerks to retrieve it, or the ball hits the middle board with a crack.
as i stood there watching two sisters slam the ball back and forth i considered how much fun the game looked, and how, if playing, i'd be at quite the deficit: when you're sighted and playing, you're given a blindfold, so that you are on par with your opponent.
even half-deaf, i can't discern where sounds are--they are everywhere, all at once. sirens in the distance attack from north and south, east and west. someone in a neighboring townhouse shuts a door and i jump, thinking that it is in our own home. when i was a kid and received my very own radio, with ear-buds, i popped them in and immediately wondered what the attraction was: it was a stereo radio, so in my right ear i heard the drums, and in my left ear i felt a rumble, as if all the music was there.
on the way home, i opened the window and shut my eyes, rested my head against the seat as dan drove. i felt the wind brush over my shut eyes and the hot glow of lights as we passed gas stations. i thought about walking through life with my eyes shut, and never really knowing the full depth and breadth of color and beauty.
at once i corrected my own thoughts. my life has been an experience in half-heard noise, in missed jokes and lost sentences.
do i miss those words, those moments? perhaps i would, if it was something i craved daily. but when you live at a different pitch and level than your neighbor, you become comfortable with the place you are in.
one of my ex-coworkers was nearly fully-deaf; she had hearing aids that did help considerably, but despite having them, she always said she forgot to put them in, or would just leave them on the counter on purpose, because it was frustrating to have to listen to the whole world and not just her own small and familiar corner.
i am sure that it would be nice, to fully hear. and i cannot possibly equate my experience with someone who is fully deaf or blind, and cannot pretend to crave the same things they might. i can only say that standing there, watching that ball shuttle and slap against the paddles, i had a depth of understanding about my own cravings--that the craving to taste licorice was transitory, as transitory as breath, while the craving to hear and not feel that i have missed things--that is a craving that perhaps i will never satisfy, but that in itself perhaps is satisfactory.
teresa was at a conference for the blind; she's a grad assistant to a very well-known professor in the blind community, and they were staffing a game called "power showdown." there's not a lot of games out there for people who are blind; this one is a cross between air hockey and ping-pong, a large, oval table with edges rising about six inches on all sides. in the middle there is a large board, poised over the surface, to block hits that could potentially harm your opponent. players are positioned at each end, with a hard wooden paddle and a protective glove for the hand holding the paddle, protecting a net at their end. the ball has a distinct rattle, and games become quite explosive--the ball shoots off the table, a guide dog jerks to retrieve it, or the ball hits the middle board with a crack.
as i stood there watching two sisters slam the ball back and forth i considered how much fun the game looked, and how, if playing, i'd be at quite the deficit: when you're sighted and playing, you're given a blindfold, so that you are on par with your opponent.
even half-deaf, i can't discern where sounds are--they are everywhere, all at once. sirens in the distance attack from north and south, east and west. someone in a neighboring townhouse shuts a door and i jump, thinking that it is in our own home. when i was a kid and received my very own radio, with ear-buds, i popped them in and immediately wondered what the attraction was: it was a stereo radio, so in my right ear i heard the drums, and in my left ear i felt a rumble, as if all the music was there.
on the way home, i opened the window and shut my eyes, rested my head against the seat as dan drove. i felt the wind brush over my shut eyes and the hot glow of lights as we passed gas stations. i thought about walking through life with my eyes shut, and never really knowing the full depth and breadth of color and beauty.
at once i corrected my own thoughts. my life has been an experience in half-heard noise, in missed jokes and lost sentences.
do i miss those words, those moments? perhaps i would, if it was something i craved daily. but when you live at a different pitch and level than your neighbor, you become comfortable with the place you are in.
one of my ex-coworkers was nearly fully-deaf; she had hearing aids that did help considerably, but despite having them, she always said she forgot to put them in, or would just leave them on the counter on purpose, because it was frustrating to have to listen to the whole world and not just her own small and familiar corner.
i am sure that it would be nice, to fully hear. and i cannot possibly equate my experience with someone who is fully deaf or blind, and cannot pretend to crave the same things they might. i can only say that standing there, watching that ball shuttle and slap against the paddles, i had a depth of understanding about my own cravings--that the craving to taste licorice was transitory, as transitory as breath, while the craving to hear and not feel that i have missed things--that is a craving that perhaps i will never satisfy, but that in itself perhaps is satisfactory.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
the crack in my eye
this week i was privy once again to the fact that sometimes my view is skewered by my own paranoia and imagination. i'm one of those kids whose mothers handed her a paper lunch bag when she was seven and said, just keep breathing, or you're going to faint.
what was i so worked up about? no clue. a few years back when i saw my therapist for the first time and described the horrible feeling of trying to suck air in over some invisible wall in my lungs, she said it was a nice way of describing anxiety.
my powers of description abound.
i imagine that most paranoid folks have a vivid sense of imagination. you're always wondering what's around the corner, and whether or not your own invisible monster is going to gobble you up. i imagine these things at the obvious times, like when the floor creaks at night, but even when i'm sitting on the sofa watching television in broad daylight, or shopping for paper toweling at target. the lurking fear creeps around behind me, dogging my heels.
and this is what it's like when it's better.
i've had this constant companion for so long that most of the time i can ignore the red maw waiting to envelop me. i can talk myself into falling back asleep, i can walk without always looking over my shoulder. i don't know what it is in me that imagines these things, but whatever it is, it is probably the strongest muscle in my body, due to its consistent exercise.
***
when i see the world it is through rose colored glasses. rose colored because i enjoy that romantic sense of hope and innocence, but rose-colored too because the world takes on a distinctly bloody overtone. i see carnage around me at times when perhaps it is something simple.
take, for example, my drive into work the other day.
along the highway, where sometimes you'll see the remnants of shredded tire, there was a cardboard box. it was torn up, a large box, perhaps something that had housed a microwave or washing machine. it was plain and brown, warped and ragged.
and when i saw it, at first, i thought it was the body of a doe. i couldn't see the blood yet, or the soft white of her underbelly, but i was certain that it was a carcass.
as i pulled closer i realized that it was just that box.
***
one of the reasons i dislike walking on my own, at least here in the big city, is due to this overactive and shaky view i have. it is as if little red riding hood and the big bad wolf are waiting around each corner, perhaps playing a hand of gin before leaping into character as i round the turn: young and naive and sweet, and large and ferocious and toothy, both of them grinning for different reasons.
perhaps it is why i am reticent to make friends: i am always hoping but consistently waiting for the proverbial other piece of footwear to fall from above. perhaps it is just a story i tell myself, so that i can remain silent and shy, and keep to myself, a hermit wandering the streets. leftovers of a childhood spent on edge? the malfunctions of a brain drenched in unbalanced chemicals?
personally i find it all quite lovely--what is there not beautiful about the shiver of a sob, or the crack of laughter?
***
during my drive home i have to wait in line on the on-ramp, watching the light and the car in front of me, waiting for my turn to speed up and get home. on my right there is a house, next to the wetlands in the middle of the city, that has a large, sloping yard leading to the ditch between the ramp on which i'm parked and their home.
i've seen wild turkeys there, strutting around. but that day, after imagining the worst in a cardboard box, i can perhaps appreciate better the innate grace of the living doe, slender neck bowed to lawn.
perhaps that is my own secret: that to live with the dark on your shoulder, even if it is imagined, makes you more able to wonder at the light.
what was i so worked up about? no clue. a few years back when i saw my therapist for the first time and described the horrible feeling of trying to suck air in over some invisible wall in my lungs, she said it was a nice way of describing anxiety.
my powers of description abound.
i imagine that most paranoid folks have a vivid sense of imagination. you're always wondering what's around the corner, and whether or not your own invisible monster is going to gobble you up. i imagine these things at the obvious times, like when the floor creaks at night, but even when i'm sitting on the sofa watching television in broad daylight, or shopping for paper toweling at target. the lurking fear creeps around behind me, dogging my heels.
and this is what it's like when it's better.
i've had this constant companion for so long that most of the time i can ignore the red maw waiting to envelop me. i can talk myself into falling back asleep, i can walk without always looking over my shoulder. i don't know what it is in me that imagines these things, but whatever it is, it is probably the strongest muscle in my body, due to its consistent exercise.
***
when i see the world it is through rose colored glasses. rose colored because i enjoy that romantic sense of hope and innocence, but rose-colored too because the world takes on a distinctly bloody overtone. i see carnage around me at times when perhaps it is something simple.
take, for example, my drive into work the other day.
along the highway, where sometimes you'll see the remnants of shredded tire, there was a cardboard box. it was torn up, a large box, perhaps something that had housed a microwave or washing machine. it was plain and brown, warped and ragged.
and when i saw it, at first, i thought it was the body of a doe. i couldn't see the blood yet, or the soft white of her underbelly, but i was certain that it was a carcass.
as i pulled closer i realized that it was just that box.
***
one of the reasons i dislike walking on my own, at least here in the big city, is due to this overactive and shaky view i have. it is as if little red riding hood and the big bad wolf are waiting around each corner, perhaps playing a hand of gin before leaping into character as i round the turn: young and naive and sweet, and large and ferocious and toothy, both of them grinning for different reasons.
perhaps it is why i am reticent to make friends: i am always hoping but consistently waiting for the proverbial other piece of footwear to fall from above. perhaps it is just a story i tell myself, so that i can remain silent and shy, and keep to myself, a hermit wandering the streets. leftovers of a childhood spent on edge? the malfunctions of a brain drenched in unbalanced chemicals?
personally i find it all quite lovely--what is there not beautiful about the shiver of a sob, or the crack of laughter?
***
during my drive home i have to wait in line on the on-ramp, watching the light and the car in front of me, waiting for my turn to speed up and get home. on my right there is a house, next to the wetlands in the middle of the city, that has a large, sloping yard leading to the ditch between the ramp on which i'm parked and their home.
i've seen wild turkeys there, strutting around. but that day, after imagining the worst in a cardboard box, i can perhaps appreciate better the innate grace of the living doe, slender neck bowed to lawn.
perhaps that is my own secret: that to live with the dark on your shoulder, even if it is imagined, makes you more able to wonder at the light.
Monday, June 18, 2007
round trip
so saturday we went camping.
camping was delightful. dan grilled some melt-in-your-mouth steaks, and my mom made cake, and we had a blast just playing bocce and rummikub and tramping around the lake. it rained cats, dogs and farming implements on saturday night, but the tent stayed dry. sunday we had a great breakfast, packed everything up, and went home.
the campsite was 1.5 hours away. i planned a road-less-traveled route, which we discovered was under construction. the detour for that route was, yes, also under construction. it took twice the scheduled time to arrive.
sunday when we were driving home we took the road more traveled, the major highway in the area. the sun beat down and we were warm and tired, so were looking forward to a quick arrival. about half an hour from home i glanced down and my heat needle was buried.
fabulous.
for about five miles we drove on the shoulder, hazard lights flashing. pulled off and filled up the antifreeze, which was nearly empty, and then drove home with the heaters on full blast and windows open. our travel time on the final leg was tripled.
***
it's not the destination, they say, but the journey. and the journey this time was arduous, to say the least.
it got me to thinking about most of the journeys i've taken, alone or with my family. it is the truth--the journey is the long part, and the destination often doesn't hold the glow it did when you began. or else perhaps you've seen something more remarkable during the voyage, and the destination is not the hoped-for miracle.
then again, maybe my definition of destination needs to change, if for no other reason than there is no true stopping point--you are always, always moving, forward or backward. the actual distance, the direction, the place you turn around--those are just markers. even stationary, the human race is just that: a race.
the only destination is when you lay head to soil and end your journey, for good.
***
during the weekend we laughed over memories. i remembered being young, riding on top of my father's shoulders as my parents walked around the lake near my grandparents' home. halfway there, dad stirred up a snapping turtle. this is probably my earliest memory--watching a stick brush leaves over the turtle's beaked snout, hearing the harsh snap of its mouth clamp shut. i can smell the lake and the sweat on my mother's skin, and see the shine over her tan. my father's arm is all i recall, jabbing outward, not hurting the turtle, but showing off the whip-snick crush of its jaws.
i think i was around two years old, then--almost three decades ago. my father's beard is white now. in talking it was made clear to me that, as then, if he came across that turtle now, he would do the same demonstration to some other child--beware, caution, this is a small animal but even it can be vicious, and you must respect it.
that turtle will no doubt outlive my entire family, if it hadn't already by that time. i cannot imagine going through the world so low to the ground, hauling my home around on my back, moving that slowly.
then again, the turtle's journey will end the same way mine will. i suppose it is not so different, then, when it comes to the journey.
camping was delightful. dan grilled some melt-in-your-mouth steaks, and my mom made cake, and we had a blast just playing bocce and rummikub and tramping around the lake. it rained cats, dogs and farming implements on saturday night, but the tent stayed dry. sunday we had a great breakfast, packed everything up, and went home.
the campsite was 1.5 hours away. i planned a road-less-traveled route, which we discovered was under construction. the detour for that route was, yes, also under construction. it took twice the scheduled time to arrive.
sunday when we were driving home we took the road more traveled, the major highway in the area. the sun beat down and we were warm and tired, so were looking forward to a quick arrival. about half an hour from home i glanced down and my heat needle was buried.
fabulous.
for about five miles we drove on the shoulder, hazard lights flashing. pulled off and filled up the antifreeze, which was nearly empty, and then drove home with the heaters on full blast and windows open. our travel time on the final leg was tripled.
***
it's not the destination, they say, but the journey. and the journey this time was arduous, to say the least.
it got me to thinking about most of the journeys i've taken, alone or with my family. it is the truth--the journey is the long part, and the destination often doesn't hold the glow it did when you began. or else perhaps you've seen something more remarkable during the voyage, and the destination is not the hoped-for miracle.
then again, maybe my definition of destination needs to change, if for no other reason than there is no true stopping point--you are always, always moving, forward or backward. the actual distance, the direction, the place you turn around--those are just markers. even stationary, the human race is just that: a race.
the only destination is when you lay head to soil and end your journey, for good.
***
during the weekend we laughed over memories. i remembered being young, riding on top of my father's shoulders as my parents walked around the lake near my grandparents' home. halfway there, dad stirred up a snapping turtle. this is probably my earliest memory--watching a stick brush leaves over the turtle's beaked snout, hearing the harsh snap of its mouth clamp shut. i can smell the lake and the sweat on my mother's skin, and see the shine over her tan. my father's arm is all i recall, jabbing outward, not hurting the turtle, but showing off the whip-snick crush of its jaws.
i think i was around two years old, then--almost three decades ago. my father's beard is white now. in talking it was made clear to me that, as then, if he came across that turtle now, he would do the same demonstration to some other child--beware, caution, this is a small animal but even it can be vicious, and you must respect it.
that turtle will no doubt outlive my entire family, if it hadn't already by that time. i cannot imagine going through the world so low to the ground, hauling my home around on my back, moving that slowly.
then again, the turtle's journey will end the same way mine will. i suppose it is not so different, then, when it comes to the journey.
Friday, June 08, 2007
things that look like other things
when i was a kid i used to love watching clouds. it was just relaxing and such an easy way to exercise my own imagination--and oh, the things you could see: a pig riding a bike, a ceiling fan, the antlers of a moose.
i enjoy too the words that sound alike but mean entirely different things: pane and pain, there and their.
on my desk today there is a printout dan found for me, a showing of "serenity" at the riverview theater in minneapolis. it's for charity. it reminds me of the word serenity, and how now it has two meanings: the direct, pure, clean-of-soul meaning, and the movie, based on the television show.
this week my word is solitary. i feel the need to insulate my self with emptiness--the absorbing power of the void. empty has two meanings, too--empty and never to be filled, empty and to be filled in the future.
the empty space i crave right now is simply that: empty. it could go either way. sometimes it lingers for a long time. sometimes for just an hour or two, long enough for me to need a hug or a touch from dan, or to hear the voice of a friend, the meow of an insistently hungry feline, the caress of simply seeing humanity all about me.
i think it's the double edge of being human, this need. as a person you are individual, solid and solely of your self. your world is limited by the confines of your flesh, your mind unlimited. it's this mind that ties us all together, something unnamed and invisible. as much as you can understand the depths and meanings of what another person experiences, you cannot walk in their actual shoes. you are connected and yet separate.
on wednesday when i got home i went for a walk, just around the block. i enjoy walking for many reasons--mainly the health benefits, but also because i enjoy being outdoors a great deal, and i haven't had too many run-ins with gnats and mosquitoes yet this season. it won't be long, i know, before i'm swatting as i walk, and sweating in the dusk, and i dislike doing either of them.
anyway, i went for a walk, alone. it felt nice to just be outside, nice to be my self, nice to be separate from the world at large. wednesday it was windy--violently windy, gusts that moved my two-ton car around on the road and had trees flailing like children. i like the wind. when i lived up north, it would call to me. as soon as i was done with work i'd run home, put on my hiking wear, and trek out to the state park. i'd stand on the beach, winter or spring or whenever, until my cheeks were chapped. it was better than taking a shower, just to stand in the wind.
wednesday i remembered how long it has been since i walked in the wind, and savored the feel of it enfolding the limits of me--each and every finger, the small line of hair that i missed shaving on my shin, the bowl of my ankle bone. it was beautiful, plain and simple. while i walked i saw kids riding bikes and parents fetching the mail, all of us experiencing the same blustery atmosphere, all of us alone in our own pockets of life.
i had a silly theory once that the wind is just imagination--you cannot see it, but you can feel it, just like love or anger--and that perhaps the world and our bodies conspire together, bending limbs and follicles, in the pretense of being blown about by the wind.
it does not look like anything, wind. it moves around and tosses gravel to sky, violently strips homes from earth and uproots whatever is in its path--and yet for all this result, there is no hand that you can see, moving it all about. at least if it rains you can see the flood, rising.
something that looks like something else. wind doesn't look like anything. perhaps that is why i enjoy it so.
i enjoy too the words that sound alike but mean entirely different things: pane and pain, there and their.
on my desk today there is a printout dan found for me, a showing of "serenity" at the riverview theater in minneapolis. it's for charity. it reminds me of the word serenity, and how now it has two meanings: the direct, pure, clean-of-soul meaning, and the movie, based on the television show.
this week my word is solitary. i feel the need to insulate my self with emptiness--the absorbing power of the void. empty has two meanings, too--empty and never to be filled, empty and to be filled in the future.
the empty space i crave right now is simply that: empty. it could go either way. sometimes it lingers for a long time. sometimes for just an hour or two, long enough for me to need a hug or a touch from dan, or to hear the voice of a friend, the meow of an insistently hungry feline, the caress of simply seeing humanity all about me.
i think it's the double edge of being human, this need. as a person you are individual, solid and solely of your self. your world is limited by the confines of your flesh, your mind unlimited. it's this mind that ties us all together, something unnamed and invisible. as much as you can understand the depths and meanings of what another person experiences, you cannot walk in their actual shoes. you are connected and yet separate.
on wednesday when i got home i went for a walk, just around the block. i enjoy walking for many reasons--mainly the health benefits, but also because i enjoy being outdoors a great deal, and i haven't had too many run-ins with gnats and mosquitoes yet this season. it won't be long, i know, before i'm swatting as i walk, and sweating in the dusk, and i dislike doing either of them.
anyway, i went for a walk, alone. it felt nice to just be outside, nice to be my self, nice to be separate from the world at large. wednesday it was windy--violently windy, gusts that moved my two-ton car around on the road and had trees flailing like children. i like the wind. when i lived up north, it would call to me. as soon as i was done with work i'd run home, put on my hiking wear, and trek out to the state park. i'd stand on the beach, winter or spring or whenever, until my cheeks were chapped. it was better than taking a shower, just to stand in the wind.
wednesday i remembered how long it has been since i walked in the wind, and savored the feel of it enfolding the limits of me--each and every finger, the small line of hair that i missed shaving on my shin, the bowl of my ankle bone. it was beautiful, plain and simple. while i walked i saw kids riding bikes and parents fetching the mail, all of us experiencing the same blustery atmosphere, all of us alone in our own pockets of life.
i had a silly theory once that the wind is just imagination--you cannot see it, but you can feel it, just like love or anger--and that perhaps the world and our bodies conspire together, bending limbs and follicles, in the pretense of being blown about by the wind.
it does not look like anything, wind. it moves around and tosses gravel to sky, violently strips homes from earth and uproots whatever is in its path--and yet for all this result, there is no hand that you can see, moving it all about. at least if it rains you can see the flood, rising.
something that looks like something else. wind doesn't look like anything. perhaps that is why i enjoy it so.
Friday, May 25, 2007
cleansing
i always read about these cleanses people go on, wherein they imbibe things that clean out the insides of their bodies. it works for some, and i won't knock it, but i personally figure that nature works well enough on its own.
no, my cleansing is cleansing of the household. there's a good bit of cleaning to be done, and with the day stretching like a waking cat before me, i find myself lingering in front of the computer, knowing that this is another part of my cleaning--just like restocking the paper towels in the kitchen, i need to get out on paper the little beasts that live inside my mind.
one of my housemates, a seventeen-pound mass of short white fur, gingery-tabby spots, and a rumbling purr, is trying to annex my lap. why he only wants to do this while i type is beyond me, but in deference to his random affection, i'm going to type fast and then try to fill his cuddle tank, just like i often ask dan to fill mine with an even spent leaning together on the couch.
at any rate, the carpet is vaguely crunchy and in need of vacuuming, and the kitchen is a mess. i suppose it's a cycle that will go on forever, just like the sun coming up every darn morning.
then again, i welcome the sun each day, and i suppose in the end that it's cathartic to clean up the outer areas of my existence, and do some internal straightening, too.
no, my cleansing is cleansing of the household. there's a good bit of cleaning to be done, and with the day stretching like a waking cat before me, i find myself lingering in front of the computer, knowing that this is another part of my cleaning--just like restocking the paper towels in the kitchen, i need to get out on paper the little beasts that live inside my mind.
one of my housemates, a seventeen-pound mass of short white fur, gingery-tabby spots, and a rumbling purr, is trying to annex my lap. why he only wants to do this while i type is beyond me, but in deference to his random affection, i'm going to type fast and then try to fill his cuddle tank, just like i often ask dan to fill mine with an even spent leaning together on the couch.
at any rate, the carpet is vaguely crunchy and in need of vacuuming, and the kitchen is a mess. i suppose it's a cycle that will go on forever, just like the sun coming up every darn morning.
then again, i welcome the sun each day, and i suppose in the end that it's cathartic to clean up the outer areas of my existence, and do some internal straightening, too.
Monday, May 07, 2007
hair
grandma
i remember when you lost your hair
all the wispy silver twirls, whirling
at your nape.
you were scared, i think, because you thought
it signaled
the end.
my sister and i found a hat for you, blue denim.
it made your eyes
pop
out of pale face, startling and lovely.
by the time your hair grew back, the circle
was complete: your hair in pure white curls,
pressed into the pillow
as you died. quite morbid, that thought.
i'll endeavor to forget
all that hair, sprouting anew, and instead
recall the easter hat, and your smiling eyes.
***
cousin
when i was young i slept in your room, on your
waterbed, when we visited. my parents
sat outside the room, your room, which had
no door. at the table they drank black coffee and told
off-color jokes, things i shouldn't have heard. i think
they hoped i slept, or thought i did. leftover perfume
on your comforter, the steady pipe of smoke from your
mother, my aunt. it was dim in the room and i could
see little--i don't remember the color of the blanket,
or the carpeting, nothing. just the light between table legs,
and your picture, near the closet--the crinkle of smiling cheek,
the blonde feathered locks, which you'll be losing, come Monday.
***
red
when i was a child i longed
for darkest, sleekest, wavy midnight--
but it all remained, this rust.
it's thick--it always has been. things have
changed, though--names that childhood bullies chose
evolved
into red-haired woman: the stigma of passion,
desire, temper, fire.
i blame my genetics for this hair--what
else?
there is no box from which i pour this color.
as i age it fades, slowly, a dense auburn.
twined about are thick fishing lines--
bleached with age, heavier than the rest.
in time it will all wash away, and all the names
that cracked pride like dry tinder
will be forgotten, gone gray as ash.
i remember when you lost your hair
all the wispy silver twirls, whirling
at your nape.
you were scared, i think, because you thought
it signaled
the end.
my sister and i found a hat for you, blue denim.
it made your eyes
pop
out of pale face, startling and lovely.
by the time your hair grew back, the circle
was complete: your hair in pure white curls,
pressed into the pillow
as you died. quite morbid, that thought.
i'll endeavor to forget
all that hair, sprouting anew, and instead
recall the easter hat, and your smiling eyes.
***
cousin
when i was young i slept in your room, on your
waterbed, when we visited. my parents
sat outside the room, your room, which had
no door. at the table they drank black coffee and told
off-color jokes, things i shouldn't have heard. i think
they hoped i slept, or thought i did. leftover perfume
on your comforter, the steady pipe of smoke from your
mother, my aunt. it was dim in the room and i could
see little--i don't remember the color of the blanket,
or the carpeting, nothing. just the light between table legs,
and your picture, near the closet--the crinkle of smiling cheek,
the blonde feathered locks, which you'll be losing, come Monday.
***
red
when i was a child i longed
for darkest, sleekest, wavy midnight--
but it all remained, this rust.
it's thick--it always has been. things have
changed, though--names that childhood bullies chose
evolved
into red-haired woman: the stigma of passion,
desire, temper, fire.
i blame my genetics for this hair--what
else?
there is no box from which i pour this color.
as i age it fades, slowly, a dense auburn.
twined about are thick fishing lines--
bleached with age, heavier than the rest.
in time it will all wash away, and all the names
that cracked pride like dry tinder
will be forgotten, gone gray as ash.
Monday, April 30, 2007
burned
i'm a fair-skinned person. i don't tan well at all; usually i just burn. i can tell when i'm going to burn by looking at the number of freckles that appear underneath my nose. when i'm going to burn, suddenly i have a lot more freckles there, regardless of where on my body i'm burned.
in the summer, i shun the sunlight. i'll venture out in early, early morning, or dusk--but midday is poisonous. my mother's italian skin just didn't make it to me. i often wish, especially in summer, that i could have inherited her skin tone--that soft olive that tans instantly in sun, and rarely, if ever, burns.
saturday i went garage saling. i should have known better--i remembered to wear a hat, and my sunglasses, since my eyes are very light sensitive as well. (dan calls me the "movie star" because i'm always wearing my sunglasses, rain or shine.) anyway, i forgot to put on sunscreen.
this usually happens at least once at the outset of summer, before i've slapped the coppertone 60 on the counter as a reminder. and inevitably, after i burn, i get sick.
i don't know what it's called--sun poisoning? heat stroke? heat exhaustion? all i know is that i'm sick, and the burn aches. this time i've burned just the back of my neck, and part of my shoulders. it makes turning my head agony--the burn is tight across my skin, and everything that comes in contact with it feels huge and painfully scratchy.
my hair has been up since saturday; i haven't been able to take it out of a pony tail, because each little strand is like a teeny, tiny brand. yesterday i wore a tank top all day--just to avoid the agony of a collar--but today i need to take a short jaunt to walgreens for something to help with the pain, and so i am sitting uncomfortably straight in my chair, trying not to look sideways at my cats, my neck frozen as i type.
why is it that, as a child, if you stick your hand in fire and you are burned, you remember not to do it again...but if you are burned by the sun, a much further-from-you flame, you forget? from year to year, month to month? is it because it is so much farther away than a campfire?
today i'm staying home from work. my stomach is still upset with me, and my neck hurts so badly that i cannot imagine sitting at my desk and looking about. this is the last time this will happen. at least this year.
in the summer, i shun the sunlight. i'll venture out in early, early morning, or dusk--but midday is poisonous. my mother's italian skin just didn't make it to me. i often wish, especially in summer, that i could have inherited her skin tone--that soft olive that tans instantly in sun, and rarely, if ever, burns.
saturday i went garage saling. i should have known better--i remembered to wear a hat, and my sunglasses, since my eyes are very light sensitive as well. (dan calls me the "movie star" because i'm always wearing my sunglasses, rain or shine.) anyway, i forgot to put on sunscreen.
this usually happens at least once at the outset of summer, before i've slapped the coppertone 60 on the counter as a reminder. and inevitably, after i burn, i get sick.
i don't know what it's called--sun poisoning? heat stroke? heat exhaustion? all i know is that i'm sick, and the burn aches. this time i've burned just the back of my neck, and part of my shoulders. it makes turning my head agony--the burn is tight across my skin, and everything that comes in contact with it feels huge and painfully scratchy.
my hair has been up since saturday; i haven't been able to take it out of a pony tail, because each little strand is like a teeny, tiny brand. yesterday i wore a tank top all day--just to avoid the agony of a collar--but today i need to take a short jaunt to walgreens for something to help with the pain, and so i am sitting uncomfortably straight in my chair, trying not to look sideways at my cats, my neck frozen as i type.
why is it that, as a child, if you stick your hand in fire and you are burned, you remember not to do it again...but if you are burned by the sun, a much further-from-you flame, you forget? from year to year, month to month? is it because it is so much farther away than a campfire?
today i'm staying home from work. my stomach is still upset with me, and my neck hurts so badly that i cannot imagine sitting at my desk and looking about. this is the last time this will happen. at least this year.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
attack of the overzealous cleaning fairy
every month i go through a week of ups and downs. it's generally the week prior to my period, so i should have an idea of when this will occur. however, i have selective amnesia, which is a boon to my existence.
this week kicked off with the usual suspects: insomnia, a ravenous appetite, and the activation of my genetic "clean the freaking house" gene.
my mom's mom is known as "the white tornado," since she's super fast and kept her house immaculately clean, when she was still living at home. my own mom cleans every saturday morning; my sister cleans on mondays. i generally stick to the saturday or sunday morning routine--clean, clean, clean, then shower and nap, and then start the day. i know, makes your heart race, doesn't it?
anyway, thursday night i slept for shit--par for the course. after four or five hours, my brain pokes me awake and i have to get up and start the day. which i did--i was at work by 630, and home by 1230. at that point, i thought i should take a nap. but there was a cat vomit stain next to the entertainment center, and i couldn't slumber in good conscience until it was clean.
as usual, this turned into an hour-long marathon, in which i vacuumed and steam-cleaned the whole living room, took out all garbage and recycling, cleaned the cat restroom area and the human bathroom, and got the dishwasher loaded and running. by the time i was done i had to shower, but all i could think was, what else can i get done?
this will wear off shortly. but for this last week, my kitchen has been clean, and now the carpet in the living room is not covered with fine layer of shiva.
i suppose i should look on the bright side: if i do this once a month, the house will stay clean.
but it does get me thinking about cycles--the earth has a cycle, which dictates to humanity how we shape our lives. for the most part, the modern primate can live however they want to--regardless of weather, your house can be filled with light and cool, or dim and warm: it's your choice.
i think this gives humanity the false sense that they are more in control of their existence than they really are. i also think it separates us from our direct environs, which in turn can be confusing to the system in general.
anyway, this morning i woke up smelling the leftover linen refresher spray that i'd doused the bedroom drapes in yesterday, during the scouring spasm. i lay there, listening to the world wake up--the birds chirping, the random hum of a vehicle. i remembered when i was a kid, waking up in the summertime, cool air on my face, and the smell of roses blooming below the window, warm beneath my blankets, the soft snores and rustlings of my sisters melting into the coo of fifty doves on the line outside. i thought of five years ago, waking up in the little cabin and hearing my cat purr on my chest, and the loons on the lake sharing their eerie music.
i am in a different place now, a different part of the world. and yet the cycles of life--seasons, genes, my very own pair of X-chromosomes--still control the memories that are triggered, the scent of my comforter, and the cleanliness of my linoleum.
this week kicked off with the usual suspects: insomnia, a ravenous appetite, and the activation of my genetic "clean the freaking house" gene.
my mom's mom is known as "the white tornado," since she's super fast and kept her house immaculately clean, when she was still living at home. my own mom cleans every saturday morning; my sister cleans on mondays. i generally stick to the saturday or sunday morning routine--clean, clean, clean, then shower and nap, and then start the day. i know, makes your heart race, doesn't it?
anyway, thursday night i slept for shit--par for the course. after four or five hours, my brain pokes me awake and i have to get up and start the day. which i did--i was at work by 630, and home by 1230. at that point, i thought i should take a nap. but there was a cat vomit stain next to the entertainment center, and i couldn't slumber in good conscience until it was clean.
as usual, this turned into an hour-long marathon, in which i vacuumed and steam-cleaned the whole living room, took out all garbage and recycling, cleaned the cat restroom area and the human bathroom, and got the dishwasher loaded and running. by the time i was done i had to shower, but all i could think was, what else can i get done?
this will wear off shortly. but for this last week, my kitchen has been clean, and now the carpet in the living room is not covered with fine layer of shiva.
i suppose i should look on the bright side: if i do this once a month, the house will stay clean.
but it does get me thinking about cycles--the earth has a cycle, which dictates to humanity how we shape our lives. for the most part, the modern primate can live however they want to--regardless of weather, your house can be filled with light and cool, or dim and warm: it's your choice.
i think this gives humanity the false sense that they are more in control of their existence than they really are. i also think it separates us from our direct environs, which in turn can be confusing to the system in general.
anyway, this morning i woke up smelling the leftover linen refresher spray that i'd doused the bedroom drapes in yesterday, during the scouring spasm. i lay there, listening to the world wake up--the birds chirping, the random hum of a vehicle. i remembered when i was a kid, waking up in the summertime, cool air on my face, and the smell of roses blooming below the window, warm beneath my blankets, the soft snores and rustlings of my sisters melting into the coo of fifty doves on the line outside. i thought of five years ago, waking up in the little cabin and hearing my cat purr on my chest, and the loons on the lake sharing their eerie music.
i am in a different place now, a different part of the world. and yet the cycles of life--seasons, genes, my very own pair of X-chromosomes--still control the memories that are triggered, the scent of my comforter, and the cleanliness of my linoleum.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
the anatomy of pancake syrup
we have this place that we love to go to breakfast. i say "we" because it's usually me and dan. but the collective "we" also encompasses our friends with the new baby, and corpse, and eero too. pretty much anyone who sips of their delectable syrup is inducted into a select group of people who then crave said liquid from time to time in the future. we haven't indoctrinated devin yet, but judging by her enthusiastic five-month-old response and the resulting amount of drool, i'd say she's well on her way. excellent choice, little one. excellent choice.
the reason for meeting this morning was dan's big three-one birthday. we all pretty much had our usual fare: scrambled eggs, thick pepper bacon, breakfast potatoes, and something porous to sop up the syrup.
the syrup isn't sold in the cafe itself. we tried to break down the ingredients and came close to what the waitress said it was, but in reality, i doubt we'll ever replicate that same jarred bliss at home. sweet with a hint of salty; maple with a hint of praline and cream. there's just nothing like it.
they also have good coffee, which is an added bonus, and the staff is always quite friendly.
we're not there every day because then we'd get tired of the syrup. i'm sure of it. this way, imbibed infrequently, it's a treat, and stays just as miraculous with each forkful.
***
this last week has been nice to have off. we got to attend the only wild hockey game that they won in their series against anaheim--and had the best seats in the house. i'm not kidding, either--third tier, first row. the view was fantastic.
then on thursday we met a friend for a big-screen showing of "ghostbusters." it came complete with a new rendition of Ecto-1, this time in a ford crown victoria station wagon, outfitted with all the requisite flashing lights and details. the movie itself was just fun to see; i cannot count the number of times i've seen the stay-puft marshmallow man, but never that size! it made me feel like i was eight again.
then yesterday we met friends to see "hot fuzz." i probably won't be the first to say that it was brilliant, nor the last, but quite possibly the most vehement. (with the exception of dan, i'm sure...he's taller and has a deeper voice and just more resonant all around.) there were guns. there were one-liners. it's british humor; what's not to love?
i got my car cleaned out, and the garage straightened up. not swept yet, but that can wait until the wind dies down some.
i also did a TON of reading this week. i think in all i read 6 books, and just one more on the docket. today we're heading into minneapolis and braving the Big City to hit Uncle Hugo's, a used sci-fi/fantasy book store. it smells just like a book store should: fibrous.
so despite the fact that i didn't do all the things i thought i would get accomplished--mopping the kitchen floor, watching the three chick flicks that have been collecting dust on the entertainment unit, getting a haircut and a massage, steamcleaning the living room carpets, and going through the boxes of childhood memorabilia that's been stuffed into the storage unit for almost two years now--despite avoiding all that like the plague, i had a good week off.
my only gripe right now is that now that i've had a week off, i feel rested enough to actually HAVE a vacation. i'm finally unwinding, only to get all wound up again by tomorrow morning.
***
it's times like these that i dream of a day when i win the powerball and can relax for a good solid month before i get bored and have to find a job, just to keep myself occupied and out of the trap of becoming one with my computer.
or becoming one with a book. that was my biggest splurge this week: i hit half price books, unique thrift store, and the library, and i've read everything i got, already, and then some. when i read books i feel compelled to devour them, in the same two-gulp manner that my sister's dog wolfs her dinner. i sit down, i read the book, i finish and then i'm onto the next one.
during the week, when i'm back at the grind, i don't have the time or energy to devote simply to falling into the pages of a book. it's a reprieve to find that i can sit with my feet propped on the coffee table, one cat curled at my left side and one purring like a muscle car on my stomach, sipping pulpy, cold orange juice, and flipping idly through the pages.
i have another vacation coming up in july. another week off. i suppose that in the end my vacations are dispersed throughout the year much like our syrup-tastings--something to keep me moving forward through the sludge of day-to-day cubeland.
so despite the strong urge to call in tomorrow and say, "i'm taking another week off, now," i'll resist the siren song and wade back into the fray. which will make my next vacation all the lovelier.
i hope. (;
the reason for meeting this morning was dan's big three-one birthday. we all pretty much had our usual fare: scrambled eggs, thick pepper bacon, breakfast potatoes, and something porous to sop up the syrup.
the syrup isn't sold in the cafe itself. we tried to break down the ingredients and came close to what the waitress said it was, but in reality, i doubt we'll ever replicate that same jarred bliss at home. sweet with a hint of salty; maple with a hint of praline and cream. there's just nothing like it.
they also have good coffee, which is an added bonus, and the staff is always quite friendly.
we're not there every day because then we'd get tired of the syrup. i'm sure of it. this way, imbibed infrequently, it's a treat, and stays just as miraculous with each forkful.
***
this last week has been nice to have off. we got to attend the only wild hockey game that they won in their series against anaheim--and had the best seats in the house. i'm not kidding, either--third tier, first row. the view was fantastic.
then on thursday we met a friend for a big-screen showing of "ghostbusters." it came complete with a new rendition of Ecto-1, this time in a ford crown victoria station wagon, outfitted with all the requisite flashing lights and details. the movie itself was just fun to see; i cannot count the number of times i've seen the stay-puft marshmallow man, but never that size! it made me feel like i was eight again.
then yesterday we met friends to see "hot fuzz." i probably won't be the first to say that it was brilliant, nor the last, but quite possibly the most vehement. (with the exception of dan, i'm sure...he's taller and has a deeper voice and just more resonant all around.) there were guns. there were one-liners. it's british humor; what's not to love?
i got my car cleaned out, and the garage straightened up. not swept yet, but that can wait until the wind dies down some.
i also did a TON of reading this week. i think in all i read 6 books, and just one more on the docket. today we're heading into minneapolis and braving the Big City to hit Uncle Hugo's, a used sci-fi/fantasy book store. it smells just like a book store should: fibrous.
so despite the fact that i didn't do all the things i thought i would get accomplished--mopping the kitchen floor, watching the three chick flicks that have been collecting dust on the entertainment unit, getting a haircut and a massage, steamcleaning the living room carpets, and going through the boxes of childhood memorabilia that's been stuffed into the storage unit for almost two years now--despite avoiding all that like the plague, i had a good week off.
my only gripe right now is that now that i've had a week off, i feel rested enough to actually HAVE a vacation. i'm finally unwinding, only to get all wound up again by tomorrow morning.
***
it's times like these that i dream of a day when i win the powerball and can relax for a good solid month before i get bored and have to find a job, just to keep myself occupied and out of the trap of becoming one with my computer.
or becoming one with a book. that was my biggest splurge this week: i hit half price books, unique thrift store, and the library, and i've read everything i got, already, and then some. when i read books i feel compelled to devour them, in the same two-gulp manner that my sister's dog wolfs her dinner. i sit down, i read the book, i finish and then i'm onto the next one.
during the week, when i'm back at the grind, i don't have the time or energy to devote simply to falling into the pages of a book. it's a reprieve to find that i can sit with my feet propped on the coffee table, one cat curled at my left side and one purring like a muscle car on my stomach, sipping pulpy, cold orange juice, and flipping idly through the pages.
i have another vacation coming up in july. another week off. i suppose that in the end my vacations are dispersed throughout the year much like our syrup-tastings--something to keep me moving forward through the sludge of day-to-day cubeland.
so despite the strong urge to call in tomorrow and say, "i'm taking another week off, now," i'll resist the siren song and wade back into the fray. which will make my next vacation all the lovelier.
i hope. (;
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