bewildered syllables

i try to remember

2009-09-13T12:11:00.000-07:00

i try to remember
the last time i was this
nervous,
blood humming in my ears, even the
deaf side, so loud
that i remember the atlantic ocean
thrumming
one young summer.
my heart pounds and instead of
considering why
i recall the pow-wow, feet thudding,
color swirling, the steady beat of each drum.
air catches behind my ribs,
an invisible hand tugging it down,
further and further, and
the kite swoops towards tree,
red and light,
caught by tangled green branches,
and i cannot remember
how to breathe.

***

when i was a kid i used to hyperventilate on a semi-regular basis. my mom would hand me a brown paper lunch bag and tell me to breathe in and out, and remind me that my grandpa did the same thing. clearly i recall this on my first day of second grade, so many years ago now.

as an adult i cope better with nerves...but apparently not much better. buying my first home is...terrifying and wonderful. i'm excited to make the house my own, but at the same time, my "what if's" list expands with each minute, spiraling down and out of control, and i'm transported back years to the last time my breath escaped and i worried.

it comes and goes, these nerves, that scratchy feeling of fear, much as seasons whirl around, out of control. i know that it is within my capabilities to snatch it back and make it mine, make it useful, but today i cast my mind back, trying to find that anchor, and i'm adrift.

time to do something--activity always helps, no matter the kind, reminds me that life will continue, regardless of if i am at the helm.

estates that are real. aka, real estate.

2009-09-03T19:06:00.000-07:00

so for a long time now i've been looking at houses online. it's been interesting, to see what's out there and also, perversely, to see how other people decorate their homes. *shudders*

at any rate, we've looked at 16 houses so far now--actually walked through with our realtor. saw two that were possibles...both of which had offers that were accepted before we could even formulate questions. i suppose that's to be expected.

where before it was interesting to see the houses online--pry into bedrooms and dens, peek at kitchens, wonder why on earth someone would put forest green carpeting with hot pink walls--now we get to actually go into it. we've seen some really...different places. one had a shrine to jagermeister, one had what appeared to be a flood in the basement, another had a shower that qualified for its own show on The Discovery Channel. nothing, yet, has been "the one."

everyone says you'll know it when you walk into it. i suppose that is true; i think of it in terms of other things i have acquired: shoes, purse, earrings, jeans. i see it and i think: that looks like something i would wear. or: that looks like it belongs in my house.

now i need to find that house that says: this is where i want to live. this is where i want to store all that other stuff that says "me" all over it, in shades of blue and green and pink and whatever other colors seem apropos.

i usually think of myself as going with the flow--accepting life as it comes, whatnot. it's strange to realize that you're exceedingly picky.

i was soothed tonight talking to dan's sister and bro in law; they looked at over thirty houses before finding the right one, and i'm guessing that we'll have to do the same.

years ago when i wanted something hard to find--a book, the right dress--i used to ask it to come to me, and then let go. just ask the universe at large--whatever you call it, spirit, god, jesus--to send that item my way. i haven't done that in a long time, mainly because i haven't needed anything in a long time. i need a house now, a place i can call home, where i can plant flowers and gripe about mowing the lawn and cleaning the gutters.

so here it is: home, find me.

the blog less traveled

2009-08-01T09:19:00.000-07:00

when i started blogging it was already on its way out the popularity door; i'm slow that way. there seem to be a lot of people who still do blog, but not nearly as many as previous to myspace or facebook or the ever-present twitter. blogging is becoming, to my mind, something outdated, outmoded and already, in the span of a few electronic years, ancient.

it always awes me to think of a time in my own life when we didn't have access to all of this--and yet i have grown up more connected to technology than i'd ever like to admit. my parents, when they were young, didn't even have private telephones, and tv was a luxury. they adapted to these things just as i have done in my lifetime.

perhaps that is the hallmark of being human and adapting to our environs. then again, dogs seem to have done pretty well, as far as adapting goes. how many thousands of years ago they were wolves--and now we have daschaunds, rottweilers and poodles.

i always wonder if all this technology is slowing us down -- ie, my memory of phone numbers is crappier than it has ever been, simply because i just have to tell my phone who to call. it's fantastic and it's strange.

no one buys a black and white tv any longer; they're not made. i suppose that eventually blogging will go completely out of style, but i've never been on the cutting edge of fashion or whatnot anyway, so i'll just continue plugging away, until the plug is pulled.

in moderation

2009-07-19T05:59:00.000-07:00

for the last two weeks i've been sick again. it's probably all hormone-related but sick is sick. i generally feel weak and tired, and a bit afraid to leave the safety of my own home, mainly for restroom purposes.

anyway on friday when i was driving home from work i really allowed the sick to get me down. by the time i got home--after a ten minute drive from work--i was so down in the dumps that dan took one look at me and said, what's wrong?

he cheered me up--brought me to the grocery store, was all around uplifting and after an hour and some food, i felt much, much better.

i suppose the "all in moderation" thing goes for emotional upset just as it does for chocolate consumption.

***

today when i went on facebook i was scrolling through everyone's thoughts and what not. i ran into my post from yesterday, and below that, veronica's note about posting something i remembered from our shared past. i was going to post about the Shred-It guy who came in and was pretty darn hot, and had a thing for veronica even though she was in the beginning stages of a relationship with her now-husband--which i eventually did, after some thought.

the thought was required because serena had posted there too.

i try to avoid thinking about her. she's like a pain, a toothache, that's finally dead and numb. when i saw her picture i did not feel anything but curiosity. which is perhaps what you would feel after this many years have passed. time, they say, heals all wounds -- but that isn't true. it isn't true because the minute i saw her picture and the numb feeling passed, and the curiosity set in--what has she done, what is she like, has she changed as i have?--after all that, all i could think was, would dan be happier if he was with her? would he have had to deal with the histrionics of friday night if she walked in the door? no, he probably wouldn't.

at first it hurts again, that same wound. the one that reminds me i'm not good enough, the one that breaks open every now and again and says, why is he with me, truly? is it because he loves me or because he's comfortable?

it's been many years since we indulged in our first love, our first headlong plunge into passion. what i feel for him now is so very different than what i felt for him then. i can still remember those heady feelings of lust, of adoration, of puppy-love, but they are a memory now.

then again, do i remain because i'm comfortable? i certainly love being around dan -- i do, honestly. he's the first person i want to call when i have seen something new, the first person i want to hug at the end of the day, the first person i want to see in the morning. that part has not dimmed, for me, and as often as i wonder if it has for him, i am reminded that he loves me in the things he does -- the chocolate bar when he knew i was feeling down, the gift of a picture because i know he listens to me.

i do love him, and i don't want to consider the other option--but seeing her face makes me doubt, makes me wonder, makes me a little upset.

***

last night, feeling a bit better, i allowed myself two small squares of the chocolate bar he brought home. they were so good and filled that strange void that is "craving," and so far, my stomach is not unhappy with me.

that said, i need to address the upset i feel with the same handling. i need to allow myself the upset, in moderation, and then i need to set it aside, perhaps to moderately ponder again later...but not now.

the space between my fingers

2009-06-20T12:09:00.000-07:00

when dan and i first started seeing each other, we held hands. constantly. i used to hold my hand up to his, to see how much larger it was than mine. for whatever reason that consistently astounded me.

the size, the shape of his hand, so foreign from my own, and yet so well known.

every once in a while i still do that -- measure my hand to his. remind myself of the span of his hands, how he can palm a basketball with ease.

it's been many years since we met. so much shapes you, as you grow--the wind, rain, the cold and the heat, all the various emotions. when we were young we used to argue all the time--sometimes about the most mundane of things, sometimes about simply who was right and who was wrong. as time passed and we grew to know one another better, other things stood in our way and our arguments shifted. then we argued about money, about jealousy, about the things that are so terribly important when you're twenty-two and think that you're All Grown Up.

really, nothing could be further from the truth.

but at that age, you don't know it.

i think that many people, myself included, have a difficult time understanding how to put aside that drama from childhood--the fears of monsters under the bed, of the dark, of things that are unknown to us, the proverbial bump in the night. that drama sustains us, for a time. when dan and i first held hands it was strange and comforting and exciting. of course later we argued about it, i'm sure. if i look in all my old journals i'm certain to find that it was some part or parcel of discussion.

who knows.

it grows easier and easier with time to become mellow--to drift, to float along, to find all the things that bind you together with other people and forget the things that keep you apart. while swimming you forget that you cannot fly; while walking you forget that you can swim. there is space between my fingers--it's always been there, holding them separate. in the womb there was no space, the fingers were paws, webbed and alien.

and then growth--time passes and one is born, and the fingers are their own little entities. did i take the time then to quibble about the why, or question the need for ten digits? was i overwrought with this change? did it consume me?

no--i was too young to remember it. and now i am old enough to see the difference and appreciate it. so very few things separated my fingers three decades ago, so very few things separate me from dan, from my family, from my friends, now. why should i argue? why should i gnash my teeth and suffer? what is the point?

i guess somewhere along the way--in between the fretting and worrying and shouting--i let it go. there was no point to holding onto all of that drama; it was useless. it became a question, each time an issue arose--is this life-altering? if not, then pick another battle. save your strength. wait, this too shall pass.

all the arguments we had ten years ago, all the suffering and agonizing over decisions and opinions--it all falls away. in the end it is his hand in mine, and if it were not for the space between my fingers, i would not know that balm.

lost and found

2009-06-14T09:36:00.000-07:00

here's a list of what i found under a tv stand yesterday while assisting with a move:

--child's cap, blue & purple striped tiger with ears and eyes
--batman action figure
--Tony Hawk's something or other disc for Playstation
--red bowl
--one small pink striped sock, rolled into a ball
--neon orange squirt gun, thankfully empty
--sudoku book

and assorted other items. it's always strange when you move -- you pick up one thing and discover an item you'd written off as gone years and years ago sitting there, patiently waiting for you.

moving always hurts; it hurts to lift all the stuff you've accumulated and it hurts to leave a place you've called home. i guess in this case it just hurts because i've got all kinds of muscles, whose location i'd rather not disclose, clamoring in pain, but there's no "why-did-we-have-to-move" pain. just the pain of disuse, which is my own fault.

i remember the last time i cleaned the carpets in the house, before we got the new couch. when i shoved the old one out from the wall, there were items to which i too had said goodbye: a red twenty-sided dice, cat toys galore. this morning i cleaned out a bin that's been in the front closet probably since we moved in. it's where we keep the light bulbs but heaven forbid that you actually lay hands on a light bulb in said bin. it was more of a catch-all for cords, duct tape, those dowel-holders for closet rods, some tiny, tiny light bulb that could only be for a car we no longer own, and a random vacuum cleaner belt for, yes, an appliance that's no longer here, either.

it's so odd to think of all these items lurking in the house -- things that i don't necessarily need on a daily basis, but items that could, at some conceivable point, come in handy. part of me wants to scour the house for these treasure-troves of stuff, while the other half of me would rather write about it and then perhaps take a nap.

i won't even discuss the random bits that end up beneath seats in cars.

anyway, today i'm going to relax and allow my own found treasures--at the moment, my biceps--take a well-deserved break. with some flexing now and again, to reassure myself and my body that everything's still there, and perhaps won't be forgotten again for a while.

dejavu

2009-06-09T16:49:00.000-07:00

It seems like every day’s the same/and I’m left to discover on my own -- seether, Fine Again

i get this feeling a lot, that "i've been here/done this before" feeling. today i had it and then i realized that it was just the radio conspiring to make me think that i had just repeated monday.

they're doing this promo giving away a year's worth of gasoline--they see your license plate, they call you, you win, the usual crud. anyway yesterday on my way home i was interested and strangely uplifted to hear someone win this.

it didn't occur to me until today, when on my drive home i heard the same winner again, that it could be recorded.

everything else on the radio is recorded...so why not the winners?

as i waited at the turn signal, however, i had an internal argument. was this the same thing i heard yesterday? or was this actually something that just sounded that familiar? or had i actually heard it but just in a dream or something?

it sounded familiar because it sounded vaguely like my brother, and the guy used the words "dude" and "unbelieveable" and "you have no idea how much this means."

so the question becomes: of all the random shit that piles through my brain during the course of the day, why on earth do i remember this?

i have no idea.

***

anyway the fact of the matter is that every day is different, and every day is the same. the sun comes up, the sun goes down. i go to work, i come home. never-ending cycle. which is fine, because there are so many permutations that can occur that it makes every day different.

until you hear something on the radio and begin to question your sanity, ie, did i just repeat monday all over again, or is it actually tuesday now?

noise

2009-05-30T09:50:00.001-07:00

when i was a kid, my parents really didn't curtail my reading habits. i read whatever i pleased, even if there were the unforseen consequences of misunderstanding that i probably couldn't be a leper at the age of 11 in wisconsin. (a gift of james michener's hawaii and an overactive imagination.)

at any rate, i never had much if any restriction on what i read. i was restricted in what i listened to, however, and whether or not i could go to concerts. everything was too late, too out of the norm--which amuses me now, as at the time the music of which i thought so highly was hair bands of the eighties. when my friends were sneaking out of windows to attend metal concerts, i was home, reading--my one escape.

of course as i got older i had the ability to go to live shows, when and where i pleased. in my first few years of college i didn't see much at all, as i was going to bemidji, but i discovered alice in chains, which changed my outlook on music completely.

dark, bleak, rolling over you with the strange melody of layne and jerry--it was auditory beauty.

***

being deaf, i guess i never questioned much the thought that i don't listen to a lot of music. the stuff that other people really enjoy--dave matthews, etc--sounds so bland to me. perhaps it's because of being deaf that i came to this "noise" as my parents would term it--it has to be loud enough and brash enough to snare my attention and keep it held.

who knows. all i know is that my first two tapes (yes, cassette tapes) were janet jackson's rhythm nation and heart's brigade--and janet got tossed aside soon thereafter.

***

one of my first concerts was type o negative--dark and dreary, but ever so crunchy. standing in that small venue, pressed up against so many people, sweating and feeling my very marrow quake, was almost the most relaxed i've ever been.

years afterward i learned about "toning," which is kind of an auditory massage therapy--different sounds and tones that have various affects on your body. it makes sense, if for no other reason that just as a therapist manipulates your muscles, the volume of music can move the fibers of your being--physically and mentally, i suppose.

anyway, last night we went and saw a band that was definitely "noise." had a few beers and felt old among the crowd of twenty-three year old kids who had a penchant for thinking they were goth...or at least costuming themselves as such. i remembered fondly my days of combat boots and dark clothing, the industrial feel of a carbiner filled with jangling keys. i'm generalizing here because i guess as you get older that's what you do, and how you become the old shit sitting on the porch, railing at "those kids" to get off your lawn.

today i have a stamp that is slowly bleeding ink in jagged lines on my hand. i remember how i longed for this twenty years ago--to be one of the cool kids, to sneak out and disobey--and how much better it feels, and how completely relaxed i can be, without the pleasure of guilty window panes, for having heard and felt all that noise.

corey

2009-04-18T07:33:00.000-07:00

it's too many yesterdays to count
since you were here. it seems as if
you've just left--
especially these days
when celebration and mourning
wear the same dark mask. if i look at that scar,
the one i've worn for ten years
to this day
to this hour
to this very moment--
the tears well up hot and fresh, just
as they did then.

the grief i feel is small
compared to the one that i see,
when time slows long enough
for his own wounds to show. i believe
they go deeper
than he would ever admit,
even to you.

it all
continues,
despite our best efforts
to call out a halt, to savor, relish and sorrow.

the best we can do all these
yesterdays later
is remember, and in doing so
keep you
here.

***

i cannot miss him near so as much as dan does. april is always such a hard month, no matter what you do to prepare yourself for it. no matter how you celebrate a life missed, you still do that -- you miss it.

after corey died, dan's mom found a stash of his--puzzle pieces, ones that he would steal just before she finished a puzzle, so that the puzzle would never be finished. part of me feels as though he still has one piece with him, somewhere, and is probably grinning about it just now.

simplification, the long route

2009-03-23T06:43:00.000-07:00

it's been quite some time since i posted again, which in reality doesn't mean too terribly much as i suppose i'm not posting for my adoring fans but mainly for my own writing needs.

which, sadly, have taken quite the backseat lately.

why, you may ask? because there are so many things going on! every weekend has been busy, every weekday long. in my heart of hearts i know how much i enjoy sitting down and allowing my fingers to play over the keyboard, listen to the tap tap tap of keys as the words appear before me. it's like watching a magic act, or someone playing the piano. i'm no houdini, and certainly no virtuoso with words, but i do so much enjoy the act of vowel creation.

it's basic and plain, and both of those items are close to my heart.

it seems like so many things are not basic or plain any longer. recently i needed a new phone -- mine had no range, anywhere, except for one square of the sofa, part of the stairway landing, and a corner of the upstairs bedroom...and anywhere outside of my own home. so i jumped online and found a phone.

generally speaking i'm reluctant at best to enter the world of electronics or vehicles. to put it mildly, i exist in a state of ever-present "i don't need a different one...mine works fine." but my car has not been working fine, and my phone's hijinx were annoying, to say the least.

(this horrid reluctance does NOT apply to purses or clothing or books, unfortunately...)

online i picked out what looked like a simple phone -- a shiny, satiny pink. it's actually quite easy to use, and it has a calendar in it, so that i can store events, which is completely fabulous when you consider that for that last how many years, despite the advent of palm pilots and i-phones and the myriad other personal oranizers, i've still relied on my little paper day planner. works great provided you have a pen handy--which usually i do not.

thus when i realized what my phone was able to do, i tossed the planner.

there was hesitation, of course, because my heels were dug into the "this is good enough for me" mentality. why shouldn't my found-in-the-dollar-store planner not stay in my purse, taking up residence among my mango-flavored chapstick, my mp3 player, the wad of keychain and keys that only actually has 3 keys on it, a package of kleenex and some burt's bees hand salve. it was good enough for last year; what has changed?

it seemed so strange to replace something so basic with this sparkling pink device, which was only a third of the size of the planner itself--something that could store all of the days of the year AND notes AND phone numbers in one compact place. replacing the simple with something more elaborate--and yet that in and of itself simplified my life some.

at any rate, my simplified organizer is indicating that it's high time i get to the DMV and renew my license.

and as long as i'm at it, perhaps look at a different car. or mule. your choice.

online cat dating: tips and hints

2009-01-03T14:19:00.001-08:00

henry's been mopey lately, if a cat can be mopey. he and shiva were never the best of friends, but he keeps looking for her, watching the stairs as if she'll come down, and has become completely obsessed--to the point of self-mutilation--with the end of his tail.

dan and i have done everything we could think of to get him involved with toys and away from the tail, but it's been a losing battle. the other day i realized that a series of spots on the wall was actually blood spatter. it would have made "dexter" proud--little action dots and dashes that soaked in and will not come out without a coat of paint. i felt a little like i was covering up a crime scene when i broke out the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser--but even Mr. Clean cannot take on blood, i learned.

either way, i came to the conclusion that we needed another wee beast in the household. we considered a dog, but at this time of year, with my hours, it would be all on dan, and that did not seem fair to me. also i have to admit i was a bit nervous about him bonding with the theoretical dog whilst i crunched numbers at work.

so it came to a cat. that said, we wanted to adopt a cat around henry's age. he's not a small animal, and needs a companion who is roughly the same size. i looked on petfinder and saw a ton of eight-week-old kittens, and a variety of cats who were quite elderly, and a lot of special needs.

i know my limits.

instead i turned to craigslist.

i know, i know. there was that horrible incident in the good ol' state of mn itself involving a homicide and craigslist. i figured if i stuck to pets i would be safe.

for a few weeks now i've cruised the pet info. first i looked at dogs--but after deciding against a dog, i started surveying the feline choices. there were quite a few, but most of them were either the aforementioned kittens, or a pair of cats who "would prefer not to be separated."

on thursday i saw a post for an orange tabby. the picture reminded me of henry--orange spots on a white cat--and i thought, why not. emailed and today we are now proudly owned by a timid tabby whose name is skitters.

i'm not sure i can live with that moniker, but it remains to be seen what she'd like her name to be.

she's bigger than henry, but just as much a silly cat--terrified of the ceiling fan, even when it's not on.

she wants to meet henry quite badly; henry, for his part, is huddled under our bed, probably wondering why we're putting him through this hell.

either way, he's not chewing on his tail, and i'm hoping that, given his past interest in shiva, and skitters' current interest in him, he'll come around eventually and they will be able to keep one another company.

in whatever way cats do.

rock, meet hard place.

2009-01-01T07:55:00.000-08:00

i hate this time of year. not for any of the usual reasons--the cloying muzak about christmas trees, the glittery tinsel that gives me a headache, the ubiquitous travel during a season meant for staying put.

no, i hate this time of year because of where i work.

this year, for some reason, i'm having a much harder time with it than i did last year. perhaps last year it was just the newness of being back in the same position where i started, or the fact that i was on different drugs, or age, or any thousand things.

when i lived up north my days were busy too--but not this sapping, please-god-be-merciful exhaustion that sets in after 10 hours spent trying to help Very Angry People without any support other than from my bra.

this year i have run into the proverbial wall. i'm tired but too stressed to sleep, i feel like i'm getting sick but cannot quite get truly sick, i want to curl up on the sofa and do Nothing, since my days are so full of Something that i cannot keep up.

there's a ton of snow outside for the first time in years, and i have not played in it once. i haven't gone hiking, haven't done anything. perhaps it scares me--if i go out and enjoy myself and recharge, all that recharge will just be squandered on getting up tomorrow morning and heading back to work. by tomorrow night i will be the same husk of a person that i am this morning.

i feel bland and uninteresting--and i know the only way to change that is via action. the mountain will not come to mohammed, etc.

i know these things--logically, i know them all the time--so why is it so difficult to make waves in my own life, when the ocean does so with ease?

half empty, half full

2008-12-06T07:55:00.000-08:00

i wear grief like a shroud
like an old familiar shirt
the same one i've worn a thousand days
over time it frays, gets soft, worn
by fingers and arms and tears
and i forget that i wear it, and it falls
away.
then one morning i wake
or one day over lunch it comes
and i find myself wearing that same
dark clothing again.

i wear it like my sister's fine french perfume
lingering, even after i have washed
a scent so strong that it makes
me cry, a bit, but so lovely
that i cannot help but mourn
when i can no longer sense it.

***

yesterday i got a call from the vet, before i could go and pick up shiva. they said that she had been up and around and was doing well, and then she ate some food, and lay down on her side, and was not moving. they said i should come and sit with her, because it looked as though this may be the end.

so i did. my poor little girl was all wrapped up in heating pads, with an iv in her tiny leg. dan got there and we cried together because it is so difficult to watch another being in pain.

and yet she was purring--a loud, rumbling purr.

i know cats purr when they're happy, or when they're in pain. i listened to teresa's cat purr as she gave birth--welcoming her kittens, easing her own discomfort. i had the feeling later that perhaps shiva was purring for both those reasons--because she wanted to comfort herself, but also because she wanted to comfort those around her. for what other reason is a purr so loud?

we sat with her for about half an hour, just petting her little chin and listening to the purr fade down to a low murmur. neither of us could stand to watch her suffer any longer, and my vet said, you have done all you could do.

they asked if we would like to hold her while she passed, but shiva hated being held in life, so we both thought she probably would in death, too. instead we sat and petted her, and then she was gone.

***

dan and i sat up talking that night, discussing the odd string of events that led her to live with us. it all went back to september 11th--which was how cari and i met. and then her mother dying--which led to the pug moving in with cari and tony, and shiva being relocated to our house since they didn't get along.

cari and i cried for a while on the phone, remembering a small gray cat who was tenacious, mellow and social.

i know that logically we did the right things: the vet, the shots and medicine, tempting her with all manner of food. i know that even if we discovered what it was, her life would never be the same--there would be more meds, more shots, more of everything--and that is not how shiva would have wanted to live.

she was so cold the last few weeks--even with all that fur, she had no fat left. i cannot tell you the number of times i could feel her cold little feet through my jeans. closer to the end, she did not care if you covered her when she cuddled close, something she never would have allowed when she was feeling better.

i know all these things, and yet i look around for her when i sit typing, wondering if she is warm. i listen for that bleating meow, asking for food, and when i go into the kitchen, i expect that she will be sitting there, waiting patiently.

my heart just has to catch up to my head.

***
when quinn died six years ago, shiva had just come to live with us. she arrived in may; quinn died on july 4th. i told dan that i did not want to go through that again--that we would keep shiva and that was the only cat we would have.

and then the next thing you know, we have henry.

i can see the future this once and i know that henry will be sick and die before i am ready for him to do so. i know that the same thing will be true for my parents, for uncles and aunts, for family and for friends. death swoops them away in the same manner as the mystical stork dropped them into this world.

every time someone dies--and i mean someone, because cats or dogs or birds, they are all little someones, even if they are not human--it reminds me that i cannot stop loving those around me. that i cannot wall up my world so that i can ignore the pain when they leave. that i must--i must--make an effort to take the opportunities as they come, and love unreservedly. if i did not care so much, i would not hurt right now.

the pain i feel, the sorrow, is only because i knew joy. when i lay down this mantle of grief that i currently hold, i do so with the knowledge that i will wear another, and another after that, until someone picks up what i have left behind and wears one for me.

the responsibility of companions

2008-12-04T17:16:00.000-08:00

i'm owned by two cats, one of whom is sleeping happily on the sofa right now.

the other is at the vet's, awaiting a temperature-taking at 8 pm that will determine if she stays where she is or if she gets retrieved and brought to urgent care for observation overnight.

i keep thinking of all the things in life that are important--how it is not just a human life that is important. today at work i suddenly thought of that bible verse about how god knows even when a sparrow dies.

then certainly he knows that shiva is suffering.

part of me feels like a horrible friend to her: forcing meds to make her feel better, electing surgery to see if we can figure out what the problem actually is. she is not quite 15 yet, and still fiesty and sweet and terribly, terribly cuddly. in spite of the fact that she has been having issues with her bladder, and knowing where to poo, she is still my responsibility. maybe she just wants to die--but i am keeping her alive because i am being selfish. i don't know.

today she had the surgery--they biopsied her liver, stomach, intestines and lymph nodes, to see if it's cancer or something else. she had a 50/50 chance of making it and she made it through the surgery. however the vet called me later and said that although she'd made it through surgery, she wet herself, and then punctured the hot water bottle that was in the heated kennel with her. the vet blow dried her fur, but her temperature was still sliding. normal for a cat is 100-102; shiva is at 91. in the last month she's gone from 7.5 pounds to a bit over 3.

i keep wondering if i am doing the right thing--if i am simply prolonging her suffering, if she would prefer just to sleep and not have pain any longer. it's hard to guess, when you're not a cat, and a hard decision to make as her friend.

cari had her from the time she was born until she was nine--that was when her own mother died, and she got her mom's pug. the pug and the cat did not get along, and thus, shiva relocated to my house. shiva's been my companion for six years now; she goes to sleep on my back, and wakes me with a hungry stare. when i read she is on my lap. when i cry she is on my lap. she's sociable and friendly and so mellow.

now she is not herself any longer. i dislike the notion of playing god with her, but i suppose that when one is companion to a being whose lifespan is considerably shorter than your own, that is the path you follow.

mentally i can handle this--i know that it is out of my control, that there is nothing i can do. jed and donna, my sister's loss, and now my shiva--who is really not mine, anyway.

i think of donna's funeral--the pastor quoted a bible saying. you know for someone who's not a fan of the bible i seem to be thinking of it a lot lately--but then again, death does make you think. anyway the quote was akin to "my father's house has many rooms."

when i consider it in that fashion--that death is simply a part of life, that it is not entirely an end, but perhaps a status change, or a change of scenery--then i can handle it.

it is when i focus on how it affects me that it becomes overwhelming. then all the deaths pile up and sit around me, making my fingers cold and my body shiver.

there is nothing i can do now, for shiva, which is the most difficult part. right now i just wait until 8, when they take her temperature and see if her body is ready to continue its small fight, or if it is ready to move on.

either way, i will support her.

addendum: shiva's temp is up to 95.2 and rising, so she is staying overnight at the vet in a heated kennel. go koja go!

long week

2008-11-30T13:14:00.000-08:00

monday - wednesday were busy, with work. thursday we had turkey at my sister's house, and friday we drove to brainerd for my cousin's funeral. saturday we lounged about and i performed some retail therapy at my fave thrift store. today we were just hanging around the house when my dad called to let me know that my uncle passed away.

it's not like i did not know this was coming--jed's been bedridden and nearly mute for a long, long time, and he wanted to move on. it still hurts, though. the difference in the wound someone leaves upon your soul is often your own perception of how you were able to interact with that person before they died, and how you were able to say good bye. or at least that is what i've pondered.

when corey died it was sudden--there was no chance to allow time to heal bits and pieces. same with bev--gone, in a blink. with donna there was the gradual understanding that perhaps she might not win her battle--but i clung to the idea that she would, in spite of that.

with jed--with jed it has been a long time coming. he had his first heart attack when he was forty-six--which is always one of my favorite warning tales: once upon a time, jed had a heart attack at home. since he knew what was happening, he popped a beta blocker, and then drove himself to the er, where he was severely chastised for his bad behavior before suffering another heart attack and then actually dying on the table during angioplasty.

not the end.

jed came out of the closet, joined AA, and moved out west. he had a stroke years later and spent a good year rehabbing from that. and then in 2005 he had a series of strokes and has been in the hospital ever since.

and today was finally the end.

jed lived an unconventional life, in comparison with his siblings. dad, my uncles bob and tim, all had families. dan worked and continues to work, a bachelor.

jed was the uncle with matching pillows and a good friend named chuck. he was the one who made a mean beef stew and who partied and sent me emails after he sobered up, talking about feelings and spirituality and past lives. he was different in ways that i cannot describe, since he was always this way--it does not seem terribly unconventional, to my thinking, but to the rest of the world, during my childhood, it was vibrant and so very strange and wonderful.

i know that he was ready to go--i know it, in my bones, that he had come to terms long ago with the demons people face when they battle a long illness--whether it is cancer or some other demon--and i know that when he passed away he was probably thankful.

and in some strange way it is a relief that he is gone, in that he is no longer suffering.

there's been a lot of grief in these past few weeks: my sister losing the baby, my cat wasting away despite treatment, and now, my cousin and uncle passing away. i know that all of these things are natural--that life and death are simply rooms next to one another, doors in a long hallway. trees fall over every day, leaving themselves to nourish the next generation. i know these things, and while i am grateful to whatever it was that finally allowed jed peace, i am still sad that his tale had to end in such a manner.

i will miss you, jed.

cancer and kleenex

2008-11-23T19:36:00.000-08:00

a few weeks ago i ran out of my lexapro. i've been struggling with my decision not to refill my perscription, mainly because the withdrawl is horrible: nausea, dizziness, a feeling of complete detachment.

but with this comes a rush of feeling that i didn't realize i was missing.

tonight i almost wish i was back on the lexapro. maybe it wouldn't seem so sad. but it probably still would. my cousin donna passed away tonight after a long battle with cancer. her motto was beleive always -- and she always did, and i guess i did too.

she was this indomitable force, and for some reason in my mind the happy ever after was that she would beat it.

it seemed within reach sometimes -- earlier this year the doctors said if she could make it to fall there was a new drug they wanted to try on her. but fall came and she was not healthy enough so they did not. i suppose you have to keep hoping until you give up hope.

this feels so different from my uncle jed -- he is lingering but has given up already, has surrendered to the idea of death, and looks forward to that release. donna didn't. she wanted to keep going, she wanted to live.

or perhaps at this point she did not, and that was just my hope--that i wanted her to live and keep going.

i know all too well that life isn't fair -- that the world doesn't care whether you live or die, that the earth will continue and time will march onward. it just doesn't seem right to do that without donna's smile and those big blue eyes.

i believed, right until 918 when dad called, that she would triumph, that she would beat cancer at its game. but i don't know why i thought this, because i don't know a lot of success stories when it comes to cancer other than my cousin aaron's new wife, who beat it in childhood.

***

in the oddest of ways i am glad that i can cry again, freely. i'm glad my lips can get all swollen and puffy, and that i can run out of kleenex. the downside to being off that drug is feeling all these things again, more deeply than i have in a few years--but that is the upside, too.

i guess that it is all balances, in the end. the books total out--the ledgers must match--a fact which donna would enjoy, with her accountant background.

cancer brought together donna's entire community. the strange and horrible growth within her created growth without. i guess i just don't like the cost at which such balance is achieved.

jed

2008-10-20T14:38:00.001-07:00

how long will he linger
tied to this world with
such small, small threads?
one by one they are unhooked.
from this great distance
i cannot smell your cologne anymore
i cannot remember anything
other than the feel of your chin
brushing my cheek when you hugged me.
i know that this is not
how you'd hoped to live your life--
you, the man who camped in the desert
slept in the back of your pickup
and counted stars until you slept,
the same man who knew nana's secrets
to reading tea leaves
and making stew.
soon enough you'll join them all
so far away
and yet so close.
the only thing holding you here
is pain, and the cage
of your body.
so i ask again
i ask
how long will he linger

***

my uncle jed has been in a care facility since may of 2005. he had a series of strokes at that time. at first it appeared that he would recover, with enough therapy and time, but he has suffered more strokes since then, infections and everything that happens when you are trapped by your own body. he made the difficult decision to begin hospice care--which means that he will receive meds to soothe pain, but nothing further to control his blood sugar or his heart conditions.

when i was a kid jed lived in a townhouse in the cities--we'd visit him and i always loved his house, because it was so neat and tidy and smelled like cologne--which my father didn't wear. when i was a kid i knew my uncle was different from his brothers--he enjoyed colored pillows, matching furniture, and liked to cook and listen to show tunes.

it wasn't terribly different from my dad, or his brothers, i suppose--except my dad had no idea that pillows came in different colors, and i doubt that he notices when and if furniture matches. dad's idea of cooking is a grill and a spatula. jed's was always something tasty prepared in the oven, and a glass of wine. it never seemed odd that my dad and his other three brothers enjoyed cars and hunting, and jed enjoyed movies and line dancing--it was just who he was.

on his fridge he had a picture of his "friend" chuck, a man who i thought for a long time was magnum p.i., standing by a red sports car. it's too late now to ask if he loved that man--if he even remembers that man, i suppose.

jed came out of the closet when i was in college. he sent a letter around thanksgiving explaining that he was coming out and joining AA. my siblings and mom were more shocked that he was actually joining AA, but my dad was shocked that jed was gay. he felt horrible because what if he had insulted jed earlier in life, with jokes or pressing girlfriends on his brother?

i met so many diverse people in college--gay, straight, transsexual, liberal, conservative, wiccan and methodist and catholic. i cannot tell now how much of an impact jed had on me when i was growing up--all i know is that i'm not sure i would be the same person if i hadn't had him in my life. would i have accepted all around me, just as they were, if i had not had someone in my early years who was different and yet completely accepted?

for the past three years jed has struggled, soul trapped on earth, unable to speak or communicate with ease, unable to move himself, reliant on others for everything. in deciding to go into hospice care only, he's finally able to begin letting go, something that i began years ago, i suppose, when he first entered the care facility he's presently in.

jed, i think of you every day. i think of you when i drive past the denny's near my house--the one you knew as a "good denny's" and i know as a "bad denny's." i think of you when i go to the sales just south of town, in the townhomes where we visited you. i think of you when i see a banana cream pie at the grocery store--and i remember popping that into uncle dan's face, while you stood there waiting to serve it, plates and server in hand, shocked.

you used to have a book of naughty limericks in the bathroom, and being the literate child i was, i remember reading them and of course not understanding too terribly much, but thinking that they were so very interesting.

there was one time we visited and you took us to a horse farm, south of the cities, i think. they bred thorobreds and i was in heaven--the rest of my family was in horse manure, and bored after five minutes, i hazard. but you knew how much i loved horses and did that for me.

i always had the feeling that i could tell you anything i wanted to, anything at all, and you would not judge me. now i wonder why i did not tell you more, did not talk more, did not listen better.

i wish you only the best--that you might leave this world and move along to wherever it is the soul journeys. i hope that you can return again to sedona--you loved it there--and perhaps to the northern forests of minnesota. i will wait for you here, wait for that one last hug that i know you will give me.

love, your neice kimberly

believe

2008-09-22T10:15:00.000-07:00

i wish i could say with all authority that i had a good weekend. saturday was fun--picked up rene from the airport, had lunch, saw pics of new york. sunday was my cousin's fiancee's wedding shower--so i got to see my mom, my aunt, my just-married cousin and about 10 friends of my aunt's. it was fun and the weather was perfect.

my cousin shelly, however, and her daughter lauren, weren't there. my aunt was concerned so she called shelly.

after the shower, when it was just my mom and aunt and my cousin, my aunt revealed that shelly's sister, my cousin donna, had been in the hospital again this weekend. her intestines shut down. the doctors restarted them, but shelly had spent pretty much the whole weekend in bed with donna.

standing on the warm front lawn yesterday my aunt said, she's such a fighter. i just don't know how much longer she can fight.

i cried most of the way home.

***

it's not like i know donna well--but she's my cousin, older by probably 10 years or so, and she has the most beautiful smile.

when i was a kid, i remember staying at her parent's house over christmas--it was only a few blocks from my grandma's house, which was chock full to the seams, and shelly and donna weren't home that year. i got to sleep in shelly's room, if i remember correctly. shelly had a waterbed--something i'd never slept on--and the door to her room wasn't shut all the way. i fell asleep listening to my parents and aunt and uncle drink coffee and smoke, and laugh, and staring at shelly's graduation picture on the wall.

i was probably about nine and wanted to grow up now now now--for various reasons, i didn't want to be a child any longer--anyway when you're nine you dream of being like whoever it is in your life that is your dream. shelly and donna were my dreams. i wanted to have donna's feathered blonde hair and shelly's ready laugh. i wanted the independence i dreamt they were exploring--and they were, i'm sure of it.

my sisters and i would play dress-up in my family's basement. our most common play theme was being on a ship that was marooned--i'm fairly certain that came from watching "swiss family robinson" a few too many times. sometimes we'd mix it up and play that we were in college--sharing a room, going to class, dressing up for a dance. that was an idea that stemmed directly from me wanting so badly to be older and prettier and not me--i wanted to be donna or shelly, pretty and independent and strong.

of course life goes on. you forget these things. you forget longing for your frizzy red hair to be white-blonde, and your strange hazel eyes to turn some color--brown, green, blue, pick one. you grow up and forget who your role models were when you were younger.

***

last weekend was my other cousin's wedding--tis the season, i suppose. this was my cousin chris--donna and shelly's younger brother. donna's been going through chemo for so long that i honestly cannot remember when she was not fighting that insiduous second being, cancer.

she'd just had chemo that week, but she was there. her smile was the same--bright and shiny, despite being weak and tired. she's lost her hair, but she has a great wig, one she calls her "candy" wig, that's a dark brown and makes her blue eyes that much more blue.

when i hugged her i could feel how terribly thin she's become. during the actual ceremony i saw her and her husband clinging to each other--listening to the vows, watching as her little brother became a husband.

i remember when donna and biz got married--nearly 20 years ago now, i think. you cannot know in the ensuing years what will happen. they have two children, a house, a dog, jobs and lives, and this thing, this cancer, has entered into their lives and changed everything. it's an unwanted guest, one that just will not leave.

but she was smiling. despite being in a great deal of pain--the kind that necessitates massive doses of drugs, and still lingers--she was smiling.

i realized while standing there that the strength and independence and beauty for which i longed when i was younger was still there--made stronger over time. your heroes when you're young grow up too--but they don't have to stop being your heroes.

months and months ago they made bracelets--a royal blue color--with donna's motto on it: believe always. i haven't worn it in a long time, but i recall it often. in the same way i think of my uncle jed and his saying, "little by slow." i look at my own life--the small hills and valleys through which i travel, the complaints that fill my days--and they are tiny compared to the paths donna and jed have traveled. miniscule compared to the paths of others on this planet.

i realized long ago that i would never have donna's blonde hair, feathered and falling neatly. she no longer has her hair, either. but the inner core of her--the strength and independence that i saw, years ago, and longed for--that is still there.

cool

2008-09-10T18:59:00.000-07:00

it's finally becoming autumn, and i'm quite thankful for that. i'm not a summer person, not by a long shot. in fact just a few weeks ago i had an epiphany while talking to my sister. we were discussing a family gathering, perhaps camping.

sister: well, we can't go camping in march. maybe we could all stay at a cabin or something. but then it might still be too cold out to do anything outside.

me: too cold?

it was then that i realized that i see temperature in exactly the opposite fashion of my sister, and probably the better part of humanity, too.

there's just something about summer--the humidity, the heat, how it's so terribly bright outside when the sun's up--that makes me cringe, in the same way that my sister cringes when the wind bites her cheeks.

i don't even know why i love the cold so very much, but i can hazard a few guesses. cold, to me, feels clean. it is tidy and neat and precise in ways that humidity can never be--and ways that i will never be, either. i think of winter and i think of walking outside when there's that tang of snow in the air, hearing the geese escape to southern areas while the wind picks up and the sun sinks. i think of bare branches, stark against pale sky, and the crunch of millions and millions of crystalline bits of angular water beneath my boots.

there is so very much to love. it's not only the outside, either. it's coming in from the cold, being accepted into the heat of one's home. your cheeks--so red and wind-chapped that they're nearly solid--slowly warming. hot cocoa and stews, biscuits hot from the oven, a warm cat and a blanket and a book.

as i type our patio door is open, and there's a small, chill breeze blowing through the house. it's making me smile, this bit of wind.

i know part of the reason i enjoy it so much is the extremes. the house is always warm and outside is always cold enough to make your teeth hurt. those same extremes are present in summer--at least in my house they are--but they're backwards. it's cold inside and hot outside--muggy and bright with lazy sunshine. i've not hing against sun, mind--but i burn so easy that it makes shade and darkness my haven.

in minnesota in the winter the sun is a fleeing guest, running across the southern sky, barely saying hello before it's murmuring goodbye. maybe that is what i love--the feeling of being hidden, in winter. the solitude of the woods, when no one else is poking about--because it's too cold.

personally, i've yet to meet too cold. but i'm a bit odd, i spose.

comfort in odd places

2008-09-06T08:37:00.000-07:00

there are weeks that go by in which my day job overtakes my life. this past month has been no exception. by the time i arrive home all i want are--and in this order--a pair of comfy pants, a less-confining bra, a old, worn t-shirt, and a tall glass of cold milk.

then it's hugs from man, and cuddles from cat, and a book opened in my lap.

of late it's been all i can to do read anything other than pd james. years ago one of my well-intentioned aunts gave me a paper sack filled with mysteries and other assorted books. this was when i was about twelve, give or take, and completely bored with what i was reading. it's been twenty years since then, and i've no clue of what your average twelve-year-old reads these days, but to give you an idea of where i was at:

when dad went away on work he'd come back with these little nancy drew books -- case files. they were interesting and held my attention for their time span...about an hour. my parents are not big readers, and those books he brought as gifts were the only books i owned well into my teens. (along with an astrology book. don't ask. or maybe later.)

one night when my parents were out at their bowling league i discovered a copy of james michener's hawaii downstairs, on a shelf with a book penned by lee iaccoca webster's dictionary, and an atlas. i gobbled that up like a starving child and by the time bowling was done, convinced myself that i was a leper.

i think it was the summer afterward that my aunt gave me the bag. it was white paper with these twisted paper handles -- nothing like that at our house, as it came from herberger's, and heaven forbid we shop anywhere above k-mart. the bag alone was a treat and i remember treating it as if it were made of ivory, and not fiber.

anyway, in the bag was a pile of pd james, martha grimes, one dorothy sayers, jean auel's clan of the cave bear, and stephen king's the eyes of the dragon. there were also a few lillian jackson braun books in there--what my aunt called "popcorn," since they were quick reads.

i've seen movies in which people open chests of gold, and it shines back in their faces like the sun. that was me, with this heap of ink.

that fall we moved, and my mother, who encouraged library usage, found herself ferrying us to the library more and more often. i was careful to choose enough books to tide me over until the pile was due, and then i'd inveigle myself into the suburban when mom went to work, and take the bus from there to the library.

i motored my way through every mystery i could find. the following year i wanted to impress a boy on whom i had a horrid crush, and when i saw him reading piers anthony's a spell for chameleon, i found that in the library, too.

as a reader i was fearless. in books i could escape and adventure ever so safely, while in reality i was the red-headed, slightly plump target for schoolyard bullies. i was afraid of everything outside of those pages, and yet those pages were what showed me things so much more horrific than my own petty scares.

***
bees have long been a phobia--that heavy buzz, the thick abodomen. there is something about a bee that raises alarm in me. there's no reason for my fear, since i love flowers and fruits and honey, and bees are somewhat integral to those items. over time i've squelched my greatest of those fears, however, and can remain seated, if with thudding heart, when one swings close.

there is one other bug, however, that i cannot stand.

the other day i was in the downstairs bathroom when i saw something moving across the floorboards. at first i thought it was a mouse, and laughed at the thought of my two sedentary cats trying their paw at catching it. then i realized it was an insect of some kind, and gradually realized it was a centipede.

when i was a kid we had centipedes all over the house in wisconsin, until dad sprayed insecticide. you had to check your shoes before you put them on, etc. nasty things. either way, they've been part of my fears as long as i can recall.

and i was stuck in the bathroom with this beastie.

for a good long second i didn't move, as if like the dinosaur in jurassic park the insect would not see me, if i did not move. it sped under the door and was gone.

i found a bottle of windex and, thus prepped, opened the door, fully expecting to see it flowing across the white linoleum. but it wasn't there. it was climbing swiftly up the door.

after a great deal of histrionic gasping and shouting, during which my cats stared at me in terror, i was able to subdue the thing with the bottom of the windex bottle and a puddle of blue liquid, and it was subsequently flushed.

in the end i resolved to conquer my fear by overload. for an hour i read online about how to rid the house of these pests, and how they actually were fairly beneficial: as carnivores, they scour your floors for other bugs, and have no interest in humanity.

***
my latest pd james is "the maul and the pear tree," a co-written account of two brutal murders in 1811 london, nearly eighty years before a man stalked whitechapel and made a name for himself with a knife.

the murders are shocking in their own right--the marrs and their three-month-old baby and servant boy, and the williamsons and their servant--but worse is reading them and knowing that the powers of detection at the disposal of regency police was so terribly...minimal.

the prime suspect in the murders was never able to be actually questioned at the inquest; he hung himself, thereby cementing any doubts that he was guilty.

heaven forbid that he was not.

either way, it reminded me of how different things are, two hundred-and-some years down the line. it reminded me of how terrified i am--this grown woman, nearly hopping onto her coffee table to avoid an insect smaller than a quarter. i feel nearly desensitized to the horrors that await me within a novel's pages, but that one scurrying creature turns me into a child of twelve again, gasping for air as my mother hands me a paper bag.

perhaps lately i crave that delicious English rhythm of pd james. i don't know. books are comforting to me in ways that i cannot explain. when in stress i turn to a select few, again and again. lately work has been stress--which is why i put my hands on james' detective dalgliesh and take comfort.

the shape of my dreams

2008-08-02T11:08:00.001-07:00

lately i've been obsessed with writing. it's like i'm in college again and have a paper due tomorrow. a better approxiamation would be the scene in "alien" when the guy's sitting at the table and the alien ejects itself via his sternum. bloody and unexpected--that's what this feels like.

it doesn't happen all the time. some nights or even mornings i sit down with the urge to put fingers to keyboard and nothing--and i mean nothing--happens. i wish that the urge could have a constant outlet, that i could put into words all that i process during the day--but that would be impossible, unless i wrote in my sleep, because even there my mind overhauls the days and weeks and compresses them into a pseudo-reality that's difficult to separate from my actual waking hours.

perhaps those are the real hours, and these "waking" hours are the dream? there are days that i don't know. nights when my brain is a fertile ground in which every green shoot becomes jack's bean stalk, a fantastical ladder to a fantastical world.

it's hanging there at all times--the option to fall into sleep and clamber up, see what's there. when i do wake the rest of my life becomes a gathering ground for the dreams, but it does not stop there. i often wonder what it is about the brain that forms the shape of my dreams. they're not anything i can describe properly with words, despite my attempts. dan often looks at me and says, you're weird.

i cannot honestly recall a night in which i did not dream. sometimes i cannot recall the dream itself -- but i know that it happened, just as i know that i forgot to brush my teeth last night before bed.

but where do they come from? the deepest pits of hell, the heights of heaven. loving, bloody, horrific, sweet and sentimental, you name it--one dream can be peppered with all of the above, and often is. everything in the dream is incongruous, when i wake up, but during the dream it is seamless and makes perfect sense.

perhaps that is why i can accept real life for what it is--odd and terrifying, in both good and bad ways.

i remember waking up years ago--literally like seven years ago--and telling dan about the dream i'd just had. we were traveling somewhere, me and dan and some other girl. in the dream we walked with another group of people across a broad, waving grassy plain. the sky was gray, a hint of hidden sun. at some point we walked into a cave, a giant black maw in the landscape, and then something happened to us. we woke up in a room with a huge number of people, all waking with the same puzzled faces.

i read somewhere once that you do not dream about people you do not know--but my dreams are so often staffed with a bevy of unknowns that i know it's not true.

anyway. the room is huge--the ceiling is probably twenty feet high, the walls are poured concrete, the doors are giant and unrelenting dark steel. the whole place is new and clean. bright neon lights cast everyone in lurid color. there's a voice, saying that this is a game. there is another like group of people in a twin to this room. the lights go out and there is the hiss of gas; we topple into sleep again.

awake again; we struggle to our feet, but this time it is just dan and me and this strange girl with whom we travel. as our eyes adjust to the light we see that the people around us have been dismembered--they are strewn about all over, clean and bloodless, bright red seams of flesh where they have been cut apart. the voice comes again, explaining that we have to put everyone back together again--find the body parts that match, assemble them again, humpty-dumpty style. there are arms clad in flannels, denim legs, torsos wearing various t-shirts and blouses.

there is no time to be horror stricken; the game is that we must put together all of our bodies before the people in the next room do the same. whoever wins will live.

at that point i woke up, confused. it was about three am, and i told myself to change my dream, and fell back asleep.

this time we were in the room, with all the chilled body parts, but rescue was on its way. we opened the doors and people from all kinds of other rooms were doing the same--it was not just two rooms, but many. or perhaps there were rooms in which others were just not all dead. either way, we surged up a wide hallway, going towards the light at the top of it. there was no noise; we were silent, this large herd of people.

at the mouth of the cave we paused. helicopters buzzed through the air--some belonging to whatever terrorist group had held us, others to the police. cop cars dotted the previously peaceful landscape, lights flashing. it was near dusk or dawn--the sun was behind gray again.

i pressed myself against the cave wall and everyone behind me did the same, creeping forward slowly. a helicopter swung into the cave, swirled over us, sprayed us with bullets. some of the escapees fell. then a bazooka boomed, and the aircraft slammed against the wall, crumpling to the cave floor. the pilot's body oozed out of the helicopter just like a caterpillar's body would, if stepped upon: yellow and green, slimy.

we ran out of the cave and i woke up again, and told dan my story.

he, too, had dreamed. he'd dreamed that he flew to chicago, the plane crashed, and he rescued a kitten.

***

there are times when i know that my dreams are different--there was another dream about finding a serial killer's house--the killers were a husband and wife in their seventies; it was gruesome. and another dream where the world was going to end because teenagers on skateboards were bombing things.

then there was the one about the giant stuffed spider (which actually hangs from the ceiling at half-price books) that me and an asian produce mart owner killed, which was part and parcel of the same dream where my sister being held hostage at a community center, and a girl was knifed on a city street.

i could chalk it up to television or books, but to be honest, i don't watch a lot of gruesome shows, or read horrifying books. what is it about my mind, swimming in this bone goblet, that leans towards the horrific, and can be lead down the ridiculous, too? (ridiculous being the dream in which my siblings and i slugged our way through some humid and tropical south american jungle, after which my brother gave birth to a glistening ebony bowling ball.)

there are folds in the corpus collosum--is this my subconcious doing the mundane job of ironing them flat? if so, does it use starch or just a spritz of stale water, as my mother does?

i'm in my thirties, and the dreams are more and more reality and not fiction. i cannot always separate them from my life. did i dream that i filled up my gas tank, or did i fill it? did i bake bread, or do i need to pick some up at the store? do i need to review cnn online to see if there has been some horrific thing that is real, or did i dream it?

the evening news can be just as disconcerting. case in point: the boy randomly decapitated on that canadian bus.

what is real? what is just my mind, shaping invisible clay into whatever it wishes? tossing it in the air, seeing the virgin mary's face on one side of my lopsided creation?

***

this week i've been watching shark shows on discovery channel. do i dream of sharks, swimming arrogantly beautiful in the ocean, large eyes searching? no, i dream of assembling bright orange cheddar cheese balls and garnishing them with fresh, green parsley for some ghoulish zombie ball, at which there are actually rotting undead. why would they want a cheese ball?

this morning, i woke and finished a book, and thought about sitting down to work on the story that's constantly bubbling on the back burner. while i drank my first coffee, i watched more sharks, and came to the conclusion that a writer does not always just graze like an antelope, gleaning what they can from life. sometimes they have to go on the offensive, chase out their prey--nouns, verbs, whatnot--and trap it.

it's odd to think that my mind can be just as gory as it is--scary and terrifying, and beautiful at the same time, to my poet's eyes. during the day i am the prey--i am the four-legged ungulate, cropping at new shoots. i'm not a bull shark, sampling the world with my thousand teeth.

so perhaps if i graze during my real life--the time in which bills are paid and cats are fed--then i hunt in my dreams, where every individual can go beyond the acceptable pale? i don't know.

then again, are my eyes open, just now?

Pan of brownies keeps woman sane.

2008-06-28T04:58:00.000-07:00

this week was another "week from somewhere hot, humid and governed by Satan." it seems like i have been having a series of those, lately, compounded by the fact that weekends have been so very nice. relaxing, filled with fun--until sunday afternoon, when i realize that i have to start everything all over again.

i feel a bit like cinderella, minus the fireplace ashes. on the weekends my pumpkin transforms into something grand and lovely, but i know that at the stroke of midnight or thereabouts, it's going to turn into a pumpkin again.

which has brought on a fit of depression, one which has been stayed only by the hand of Wellbutrin and Lexapro.

in the resulting ennui, i'm creeping up on "that time of the month." usually it's manageable these days, what with the different meds, but this time i feel as if i spun too many times around, and am lost. on thursday night i came home, feeling a need to sob wildly, and watched two hours of law and order.

two hours.

then i watched "the joy luck club," which is a guaranteed tear-jerker for me at any time of the year.

when i got home, however, the first thing i did was bake a pan of brownies. i don't pretend to understand the general link between women and chocolate, or the more personal link between me and cocoa powder. all i knew was that i needed to bake that pan of brownies, and bake i did.

so in the end it was therapy of a type i'm not sure is sanctioned by psychiatrists nationwide, but one which worked for me at that point in time: a potent combination of steaming chocolate pastry and dramatic, poignant, movie. it helped that the movie has the most haunting and evocative music. by the end of the evening i was drained, happily sated on chocolate and cried out, and feeling as if i really, really wanted my mommy.

who is working all day today at a food festival. so driving there would not have helped much, i'm guessing.

also not helping would be the fact that since we've put off laundry for-ev-er i'd have to drive and visit in the nude. not an option.

it's strange to consider the way life works. sorrow and happiness, balanced without my noticing, often times. even when there is a dearth of sorrow--or at least when that is my perception--i can laugh. it's my terror to wake one morning and feel nothing again. i'd rather be in pain, carrying the weight of fear and sadness on my shoulders, than feel that horrid numb feeling i've felt before. gray and silent, it creeps up on me, envelops me. for a while it's comfort: soundless, motionless, nothingness. cool and quiet.

and then after a while you realize that the lack of everything--the lack of feeling--is invasive. it overtakes your life, poisoning your relationships and your creativity. the comfort of being that way--numb, i think of it--is that outweighed by the overdose of emotion?

for a long time i thought that taking my meds was helping--and often i will say that it does. without my blood pressure and birth control meds, i'd be a wreck. without my wellbutrin i'd never get my bills paid. and without lexapro, right now i'd be curled in a ball somewhere upstairs in a dark corner, terrified to face even the rising sun.

but equally important is the self-medication of feeding my soul what it requires.

on thursday it required tears and brownies; and that means that on saturday morning, i feel more in balance once again.

unconcious

2008-06-17T18:15:00.001-07:00

lately it feels as though
i'm walking in my sleep
i bump into things during dreams:
my car, a cat, the vacuum i've left out
as a reminder of what needs cleaning.
my toes are bruised, stubbed so many
many times.
there does not seem to be
anything
that will wake this sleeper,
i hear them say. it is up to
her.
last night, in cavernous living room
the dark creeping through screen doors
and across beige carpet,
i hear so many things that could
nudge me to clarity--horns honking,
the chirping of a thousand birds, a cricket, man and woman's
voices fighting over something they'll later
forget,
and then a sneeze, incongruous at dusk.
i cannot see the person; their anonymous breath
jostles air, and pushes me
to laugh,
blinking awake
before i doze again.

purposeless instruments

2008-04-26T11:59:00.000-07:00

shiftless, i sit before the screen, a million things to do and none of them compelling enough to move me from my chair, at least not at the moment. i can hear the hum of dan's earphones behind me, hear him mouthing the words to a song i know, rearranging his neatly organized desk.

my own desk is a pile of...piles. cds stacked haphazardly, paperes sitting atop books sitting atop more papers. everything is dog-eared in the land of kim. there is an instruction manual for a mp3 player i've already figured out, a recipe for beef stroganoff, a code for one of my cameras, my w2 from 2007, a small pink tin lantern i picked up for half-off at the Bibelot, a candle that smells like pumpkin pie, the little brochure from my uncle paul's funeral.

when i open it i see the little card that is placed there--something to carry along, i suppose, in remembrance. it holds what is quite possibly my favorite prayer. i'm not the praying type--i feel that if there is a prescence that is all-knowing, then it will know what i consider thought-consuming, without me putting voice to words.

i'm not Christian, i'm not Wiccan, i'm not anything, really. i don't believe in the here-after--not in the sense of cherubs and harps and angels and haloes. there's quite a lot i don't believe in, come to think of it, but what i do believe in is that people have the opportunity to be--more.

the prayer does not tell me how to be--it is a suggestion, really, a recipe for getting into a heaven i don't believe exists. so why do i love this prayer so very much, then? because it embodies so many people i know, and it is after their image that i would like to model my own.

prayer of st francis of assisi

lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.
where there is hatred, let me sow love.
where there is injury, pardon.
where there is doubt, faith.
where there is despair, hope.
where there is darkness, light.
o divine master, grant that i may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
for it is in giving that we receive,
and it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

good fences make good neighbors.

2008-04-20T19:36:00.000-07:00

when i was a kid, probably around 9 or so, i was obsessed with popping a wheelie on my purple bike with the orange-and-purple flowered banana seat, and the little white basket up front. it was a normal looking bike, one that fit the shape of my persona at that time: young, innocent, fresh. why i was so obsessed with popping a wheelie now escapes me; all i know is that i wanted to be cool, to fit in, and just having a normal bike did not allow me entrance.

i'd been an outcast all my life. often i blame it on my deaf ear--i could never hear things, and therefore, i probably was not much of a communicator until later on when i learned how to keep up in a conversation--or at least make it look like i was. my childhood probably was quite separate from others insofar as just that simple fact alone. i think i miss a lot nowdays, but then--a redhead is enough of a pariah without being plump and deaf, too.

i guess you could say that i lived in my own little world for many, many years.

anyway, i wanted to pop a wheelie. my mom warned against it since she'd probaly done it as a kid and skinned some portion of her own body, but as a kid you have to try it and find out the worst before you can believe in it.

i popped my wheelie and then promptly flew over the handlebars. skidded down the pavement on my head. when i looked in the mirror, it looked as if i had a large, red, scabby area in the shape of lake superior and lake michigan. if only it'd been on purpose.

in my mmeory i remember wobbling home, crying. i remember that i was wearing maroon courderoys, and a white shirt--a blouse, with buttons up the front. mom came racing across the lawn, and eventually we went to the hospital, where i threw up before being examined. then i had to stay up for at least 8 more hours, as i'd had a concussion.

the whole memory is tinged with reminders of what happens when you take a chance. i learned on many, many occasions that it's just not good to stand out, but with the genetic predisposition of 1% of the population, i didn't stand a chance of blending in. i could ignore insults and i could actually turn a deaf ear towards bullies, but i heard enough to know my place in the pecking order.

when we were at the mall months ago, my friend rene and i saw a place selling hermit crabs. she put one finger to the glass and the little legs and slender antennae withdrew into a shell the size of a quarter. now when i think of me as a child--ungainly and unknowing--i think in terms of that crab, pulling back, hiding.

i've been hiding a long time. it's something i'm good at. being ignored--it's an art form, really, a form of camoflauge to which the navy seals will never ascend. it's one thing to blend in with the crowd, another to fade into the walls and exist on the fringe.

escaping notice was my own great insulator from the world. some days, lately, i question its necessity, and whether or not that insulator can ever be removed. perhaps at one time it was needed, but now i find that it's a wall over which i cannot see.

i know that other people have these same issues--i've been to the self-help section at barnes and noble. there is so much information regarding building confidence and removing all the blocks people like me erect in order to protect themselves. i've read my own share of those books, listened to therapists, tried to question my behavior.

to remove this wall would take years. it took years to build. some of the spots are patchy, made up of whatever was at hand--holes plugged with gum, caulked with a handful of mud. other parts are solid and smooth, fear and anger poured solid. all of it surrounds me, protects me in the same way that the Great Wall in China protects people living on the other side.

what i suppose i realize, when staring up at my own inner insulator, is that this thing that has kept out invaders and withstood all that crap the post office plods through, has also kept me, quite ably, in.

the question i'm pondering is whether or not i want out.

home, home on the range...

2008-03-21T15:53:00.000-07:00

it's been a while since i last blogged, which isn't surprising as it's been a nuthouse around here again. go figure. (; this week we've been on vacation, and for the first time in 15 years, we actually LEFT the state for our vacation week. as in, on a plane, left the state.

on a plane 3 times, no less. we flew out last sunday, after ditching my car in the lot at work and hoofing it to the MOA, where we took the light rail to the airport, boarded our plane, and jetted to vegas. there were two items of import on that first day: one, the shortcut we took while walking to the mall, in which i "gave in to the terrorist demands of gravity," to quote myself, and did a slo-mo fall, during which one foot collided with one shin and left quite a mark.

and two, that during our first leg of the flight to denver, we heard the ubiquitous announcement requesting that if medical personnel were on board, they were needed for the passenger in seat 12D, who was either drunk or just plain old ill. who knows. by the time we landed he must have been fine because no one who'd sworn a hippocratic oath emerged after the request.

our second leg of the flight was on the united airlines subsidiary called "Ted." the only notable on that part was that the staff were attempting to be funny, and failing horribly. ungh.

due to winds, both flights were delayed, and the turbulence was glorious.

the first day in vegas--sunday night--was fine. we stayed at the stratosphere, so we ate at their buffet--which was quite tasty, imho. and then we went to the top and i roamed gleefully whilst dan sipped coffee, lest his vertigo get the better of him and i would be forced to haul him back down the express elevator single-handedly. thank heavens he knows his limits and didn't test my ridiculously absent upper body strength.

i think we were asleep by 930. it was kind of sad. (;

monday we trekked to the monorail after coffee and took the train all the way to mandalay bay. all the casinos, after a while, look the same on the inside. it's the outsides that are different, and in magnificent fashion, too. in minnesota, contractors regularly build lake cabins that rival Graceland, but in vegas, they erect shiny black glass pyramids and bathrooms with marble dividers. it's just not the same, there.

we got to eat at tom collichio's restaurant for lunch, 'wichcraft. so tasty. monday was st pat's so we cabbed to fremont street, during which our cabbie regaled us with tales of his five ex-wives and three offspring. he was in his early sixties and claimed that women were poison, and that wedding cake caused them to not want sex any more. you just can't make this shit up.

then back to the hotel for a show--bite, the same one dan had previously seen. it was amusing and changed my mind a great deal about the way in which i will henceforth view "erotic dancing." those girls were ATHLETIC, in the way that triathalon participants are athletic. they truly were dancers who just took off more clothing than your regular prima donna.

tuesday was somewhat a repeat of monday, but on a much, much slower basis, as both of us had aching feet. we stayed at the hotel in the morning and got a roulette lesson, and then tromped back to the monorail to view the remainder of the strip. by the end of the day, we'd been spritzed by the bellagio fountains and awed by the Wynn, which is just far too lavish a place for anywhere other than perhaps next door to the taj mahal. that night we had grand plans to perhaps find a show--but that did not happen, as i couldn't decide on anything. also planned to see the mirage volcano--which was out of commission--and the sirens of treasure island--which was such a press of people that we decided to skip it. side note: when we got back we found it on youtube (which is where you can find everything. honest.) and it was awful, so it was a blessing in disguise that we missed it.

wednesday we rented a car and drove to hoover dam, took the tour, and got to see lake mead at such a low that it resembled a wading pool instead of a lake. interesting place, that.

we drove across las vegas to red rock canyon after that. it was beautiful and strange--i kept likening it to another world, something alien. you can see for miles and miles there, since there are no trees to obstruct your view, and the mountains (which we discovered were really just old, old sand dunes...who knew...) were lovely, if a bit dusty. after that we drove back into town and tried our hands at red rock casino's single-player video roulette, which was not much fun at all. i believe i lost a total of 30 clamshells gambling in vegas, and that was a total of probably 15 minutes. dan made out a great deal better--at the roulette wheel on fremont street he made 45 bucks. (:

our flight departed around midnight and was so hot that we alternately drowsed and sweated in our blue leather seats. during the descent, however, the gal in the middle seat directly in front of dan had a seizure. i keep remembering her husband's face, panicked, as he slapped her cheeks lightly, asking "honey, honey, wake up, honey, what's wrong, honey, honey..." luckily there was a nurse in first class who came back and took things in hand. i believe our plane was landed more quickly, and when we landed, the paramedics boarded to remove the poor woman. she was sensible by that point, and from what dan gathered, had a case of extreme heat stroke, which had resulted in the seizure. but really i suppose we'll never know.

***

i did not expect to like las vegas. much like my trip to new york city, i had pre-conceived notions about how it would be, how it would look (despite having seen numerous pictures, television shows, you name it.) it was loud, it was flashy, it was awake twenty four hours of the day, every minute blurring and whirring into the next.

on sunday night, one-hundred and eight stories above pavement, there is a ring of light--flashing, smudged, blinking, scattering. the circle is edged in black velvet--the mountains, where the lights cannot climb further. in the day the city is dwarfed by the mountains, craggy dusky peaks, some dabbed with icy snow.

out in the middle of nowhere, this place has sprung up. it seems like only in the middle of the desert, where there is no need for something this bright and shiny, could this possibly belong. it needs that balance of space in order to exist--the sand is yang to the city's bright yin.

surrounded by those hills, vegas is a small cup of weird, but it accepts all the weird that can be tossed to it. people were dressed in tuxes and ripped jeans, painted with tasteful cosmetics and made up as clowns, singing and smiling, crying--everything, all at once, everywhere you looked.

i had the perverse feeling that of all the places in the country, vegas would open its arms and welcome you. "no room at the inn" is simply inconceivable, there.

i'm not slighting any other place in the world, mind you. the midwest is my spot of choice, and i'm comfortable here in a way that i'd never be in the land of scorpions and tarantulas and low-growing mesquite. i think the difference is the fact that there, in vegas, you are not judged, you are not labeled, you are not named. you're anonymous and on the stage, and celebrated for being both.

***

the mystery of what happened to our fellow airline passenger is akin to the feeling i now carry about las vegas. it is odd to consider--but neither of them make too much sense. i'm sure that with research i could pin point both--the woman's need for more water, the city's bizarre mix of gourmet and 99 cent shrimp buffet.

i'm glad to be home; this morning we woke to a foot of snow, falling and blowing, clean and white. i had my peanut butter toast and a glass of orange juice, and cuddled with a purring cat. it was quiet and silent here. i fell asleep on the couch, relaxed and warm.

i fully expect that i could have done exactly the same thing, in the foyer of the Pallazo hotel, and no one would have thought twice, and i think that, in the end, is what made sin city somehow endearing.

yes, i would like some cheese with my whine.

2008-02-23T08:51:00.000-08:00

i'm kinda...crankily this morning, if that's a word. i've got a half-hearted cough--just a cough, no stuffy nose or any of that shit. didn't sleep that well, and woke to henry playing in a plastic bag and then getting stuck in said bag. then when i got downstairs i see that he's been playing with one of his favorite toys, poo, all over the living room floor--which will now require the steam cleaner. i enjoy a good cuddle, but henry came and sat on my chest so now i've got itchy cat-dander eyes. i really, really would like to visit the newest addition to the owen household, but since i've got no idea of whether or not the cough is developing into something or if it's just a cough without basis, i don't want to do that, either.

last night i foraged at my favorite thrift store, unique, and came home with books and a cd of piano music. it's quite mellowing so i've been listening to it for the last bit here, hoping that it will soothe whatever demons are bothering my head today.

hearing piano music reminds me of going to DL a while ago, and sitting in the foyer of a beautiful log cabin hotel, listening to my friend amanda play the grand piano, and beautifully so. that thought alone is enough to remove some of the sharp edges of my mood.

total eclipse of the...moon

2008-02-20T19:11:00.000-08:00

tonight there's a lunar eclipse, so every half hour or so dan and i run outside to see where it's at, grin, and run back in again. due to the sporadic nature of this, and the fact that my other blogging option is my uncle paul's death and funeral tomorrow, i'm going to go with something fun: a meme...that i stole from goldilocks... (;

***

1. What is in the back seat of your car right now?
about 15 canvas bags, stuffed everywhere, a jug of antifreeze, a pair of mittens, and possibly flip flops from last summer

2. When was the last time you threw up?
that would be january, when the dr told me to use this nasal aspirator in my nose when i had a sinus infection. she didn't mention that water would come through my nose and out through my mouth. DISGUSTING!

3. What's your favorite curse word?
Fuck, and variations thereof, my favorite being: pumpkinfucker.

4. Name 3 people who made you smile today.
tish, dan, sara (to clarify: goldilocks sara)

5. What were you doing at 8 am this morning?
leaping into the shower after toiling away on my treadmill (and by toiling i mean watching cnn while i walked...)

6. What were you doing 30 minutes ago?
un-bundling from a run outside to view said celestial event

7. What will you be doing 3 hours from now?
hopefully sleeping!

8. Have you ever been to a strip club?
no, although i suspect that i will eventually. you only live once, really.

9. What is the last thing you said aloud?
something about how i need glasses

10. What is the best ice cream flavor?
bailey's irish cream

11. What was the last thing you had to drink?
milk, duh. (;

12. What are you wearing right now?
white t-shirt, blue sweatshirt, red track pants, fuzzy pink slippers

13. What was the last thing you ate?
a cinnamon heart, leftover from valentine's day.

14. Have you bought any new clothing items this week?
this week, no. last week? yes.

15. When was the last time you ran?
probably tonight when we were walking outside

16. What's the last sporting event you watched?
hockey game, last night. unfortunately the wild did not show up to win the game. :(

17. To what extent do you recycle?
i recycle all the time. i'm sometimes one of "those people" who picks recyclables out of the trash to recycle them. and i'm positive that 3/4 of the stuff i recycle is probably not even recyclable. (;

18. Who is the last person you emailed?
someone at work, about some work related item.

19. Ever go camping?
oh yeah. i like camping, but i despise the bugs and especially the showers at campgrounds. *shudders*

20. Do you have a tan?
no, because there is no such thing as a healthy tan. that and i don't tan--i burn and then i freckle.

21. Do you formally set the table each night?
hahahaha...the only thing i set every day is the food dishes of my small but demanding cats.

22. Name a favorite TV series from a) your childhood b) your teen years and c) your adult life. Why did you enjoy them?
a) Scooby-Doo, and as to the why, who the hell knows. although i despised scrappy. ugh.
b) saved by the bell? no idea, really...
c) top chef and csi: las vegas. they're both about chopping things and whatnot. (;

23. If you aren't married yet, describe your dream wedding. If you are already married, and you could go back and change something about your wedding, would you?
family and friends only, no extended relatives, a state park, and breakfast. shortest service ever: do you? yes. do you? yes. okay, done. (;

24. Do you drink your soda from a straw?
no, unless i'm forced to.

25. What did your last IM say?
i was at work so it said something about taxes.

26. Are you someone's best friend?
yup

27. What are you doing tomorrow?
funeral, sadly.

28. Where is your mom right now?
probably settling into the hotel for the evening, after the wake.

29. Look to your left, what do you see?
the entertainment center, our crap-laden coffee table, my rocking chair...

30. What color is your watch?
it's called a cell phone...and it's silver.

31. What do you think of when you think of Australia?
"i come from a land down under...where women blow and men chunder..."

32. Would you consider plastic surgery?
only if it was pain-free.

33. What is your birthstone?
amethyst--prettiest stone, imho...

34. Do you go in at a fast food place or just hit the drive thru?
in, when and if there...

35. How many kids do you want?
i have 2 cats, which are the equivalent of two-year-olds with fangs.

36. Do you have a dog?
no, and after puppy-sitting my canine niece, it ain't happening anytime soon. dogs are so...needy.

37. Last person you talked to on the phone?
dan

38. Have you met anyone famous?
define "met"--we nearly trampled garrison keillor but that's different i'm guessing...

39. Any plans today?
keep tabs on the moon and go to sleep.

40. How many states have you lived in?
three--new york, wisconsin, minnesota

41. Ever go to college?
indeed i did...bills and responsibilities were a few years off, and we could stay up until the wee hours doing nothing. it was fabulous.

42. Where are you right now?
in the living room, typing and watching my cat sleep

43. Biggest annoyance in your life right now?
work

44. Last song listened to?
rob zombie, i think, in the car

45. What do you wish you could bake/cook?
i think perhaps i just wish i could do so on a more regular basis...

46. Are you allergic to anything?
sometimes cats, all the time pennicilin and sulfa, and sadly, most beers and wines...*sniff* but not guinness!!! YAY!

47. Favorite pair of shoes you wear all the time?
right now my red and black slip ons. they're so retro. LOL

48. Are you jealous of anyone?
people who can hear, skinny people...

49. Which do you prefer: bath or shower?
shower. my grandma always says that taking a bath is marinating in your own dirt, and i agree.

50. Is anyone jealous of you?
not that i know of!

51. What time is it?
934 pm

52. Do any of your friends have children?
yup

53. Do you eat healthy?
i try...

54. What do you usually do during the day?
um, work, which requires me to do math. which sucks.

55. Do you hate anyone right now?
i have no idea...i'm annoyed with people...but that's run of the mill.

56. Do you use the word 'hello' daily?
oh yeah...

57. Name something you admire and something you dislike about your country of origin (or country of residence - your choice).
a) admire: the freedoms i have, which i too often take for granted
b) dislike: the hypocracy of living in an immigrant nation and having the melting pot try to "keep out" immigrants.

58. How old will you be turning on your next birthday?
32, but really, 28...again.

59. Have you ever been to Six Flags?
no

60. How did you get one of your scars?
you wanna hear a good one? i've got a scar on my nose, and here's how i did it. this one year i went home for easter, while at college. i had your proto-typical boil on my nose from eating crap--pop tarts, mello-yello, assorted greasy grub--and was whining to mom about it. "put a hot washcloth on it, and it'll go away," she advised. so far too late that night, after kibbutzing with my sisters, i run the hot water and put it on my nose. feels hot but the boil eventually goes away. in the morning i wake up and have a GIGANTIC blister on my nose. it's beyond gross, i tell you.

i go to mass and have to sit behind my high school english teacher, and then return to college, with a 2nd-degree burn healing nicely on my nose. i go into student health to make sure it's coming along and the doctor asks, "how did you get this?" and then stares at me like i'm covering for a crack-pipe accident when i tell her the truth.

turns out that mom and dad's water heater was on the fritz and was pumping out water that, when run hot, was well over the safe point. my bad.

and that's why i've got a red splotch on my nose. fabulous, eh? (;

so are the days of our lives...

2008-02-16T08:52:00.000-08:00

i'm feeling terribly procrastinational this morning, if that's actually a word. my taxes are sitting here on my desk, just waiting to be electronically filed, and i've got about ten loads of laundry upstairs, also in a hold pattern.

the problem i'm having is simply the lack of energy that spikes so often on saturday morning. i feel like i need to slouch away the am hours simply in revenge of the week of mornings in which i'm forced to awake, wash and garb myself, and hurry out the door to be productive.

being productive on the weekends, however much it would be for me alone, is just out of the question.

and thus, at 1059 am, i'm sitting here in my shorts and giant shirt, barefoot and toes cold, too freaking lazy to roll upstairs and shower, or even go in search of slippers.

it happens every weekend. it's not like weather, either--you hear the weather report and think, perhaps i ought to wear boots, since we're getting two feet of snow. there is no preparing for this rout of inability. i can't promise myself coffee--which tastes ever so good and is also a fantastic version of wake-kim-up--because my blood pressure goes through the roof.

perhaps it's that i look forward to little during the weekends--during the day, that is. during the week i have the impetuous to leave the house, immerse myself in the ugly, and then return home to my safe and secure cocoon, filled with two purring cats and my very own adoring spousal equivalent.

on weekends, i wake and do not need to leave.

does that mean i take less pleasure in being home on the weekends? i don't think so. i just like the opportunity to retreat so very much--hide in my own den, whatever have you--that it takes away the rush of the week, the momentum that keeps me going long enough to get the kitchen cleaned up and the litter boxes emptied.

today as i sit here i am lost in the realm of possibilities. i could visit friends--i could clean--i could read--i could write--and it all becomes so overwhelmingly within reach that i close down and sit here in my filth, playing fetch with my cat and listening to the furnace turn on and off in a futile effort to keep the house warm.

usually by one o'clock i'm up and running. i'm done with being a laz-about and want to move, stretch limbs, accomplish something or other. it's now 1105, and my feet are one degree chillier, and i'm staring half-heartedly at the screen while my fingers tap out discontent on the keyboard, a song unto themselves.

all the days in my life are numbered--this is just another one of those days, and just as watch the evening forecast and see that tomorrow calls for a 60% chance of snow, i can forecast my own day to day feelings. monday through friday there's a good chance that i'll be motivated enough to show up at work, every day, and exceedingly motivated to return home each night. but on saturday and sunday, the two days in which i've no one to please but myself, the batteries run out and i pretend that i am plugged into home, recharging for the coming week.

***

as a side note: in january i was sick for a good week, actually missed 4 days of work, and had a sinus infection. after that i threw out my back. per the dr i get to have physical therapy, starting whenever it is that i get around to finding out which pt actually is covered under my insurance...yet another thing to do, on another day.

my very own civic duty

2008-01-13T06:41:00.000-08:00

i've been called to jury duty a total of four times. twice in duluth--once i sat a jury, once i didn't. another time when my parents moved to st cloud. and now again, for federal jury duty.

as luck would have it, i finally set up my dr's appt (which i loathe doing) for january 22, and guess when my first day is? you got it.

part of me is actually glad for this, since it's year end and right now i despise my job with the hate of a thousand-strong mob. that being said, it's going to be a bitch to balance what's on my plate at work with leaving work randomly and traveling downtown to sit and wait and see if i get placed on a jury.

i wish, very very very much, that i could choose a replacement. dan would love to sit on a jury and he's never even been called.

then again, my mother had never been called either, and she's twice my age. she finally was called last year but i don't think she actually got to sit on a jury.

you just never know.

i guess in america we don't have to many duties to state or country. we don't have mandatory military service, or anything like that. we don't have to donate all of our paycheck to the government in return for health care and whatnot. but we do have quite the fine sense of justice, in some manner or fashion, since that is what is mandatory in the good ol' us of a.

and even jury duty can be gotten out of, with a plausible excuse.

i'm hoping for a good long courtroom drama, like you'd see on law and order. but i'm guessing that if i'm even selected it will be a day in and a day out, and then i'll be back to the grind.

so i guess that a small vacation from the normal isn't that bad, really, despite any annoyances it might bring. i need to see it as an adventure and perhaps that will change my viewpoint--instead of seeing jury duty as on the same par as cleaning the kitchen, i need to see it as an escape from the every day.

the road to hell

2008-01-09T19:03:00.000-08:00

last weekend we went to chicago--i say we, meaning me, my sisters, and our friend shelly. it should have been a fabulous weekend filled with cocktails, sightseeing and laughter, but it turned into an emotional rollercoaster.

i remember getting on the plane and watching the sky move past as we took off, and thinking of the brush of bristles on dan's face as he kissed me good bye that night. if i knew what was going to happen i suppose i'd have turned around and gone back home, but then again, that's the beauty of life--it's all a surprise.

friday night we spent flying, riding the train downtown, finding the hotel, and then finding a cocktail. saturday was fine--roaming into little italy, where we noshed on irish fare and coffee, and then downtown again, where we located a starbucks for additional caffeine.

it was there that the whole weekend came into brilliant and ugly focus. i remember sitting down and seeing beth's face, the muted crimson blush of anger. i could feel the tide of emotion washing off of her, and i knew that the weekend was a loss, not even twelve hours in.

the accusation was that we--being my middle sister and i--had been inconsiderate when we planned this trip, and the fact that we surprised her was unforgivable. we didn't understand where she was coming from--i think the term "you don't get it" was uttered about five hundred times--and then she stomped off down the street. shelly followed, and sara and i were left to wander about by ourselves.

the weekend was supposed to have been a surprise--beth just had sent off her best friend to prague, and her puppies had been adopted out. shelly'd come up with the idea of surprising her with a trip to chicago for a weekend, just to get away, and sara and i jumped on the bandwagon.

and then, in the blink of an eye, shelly was the only one who loved her and sara and i were depriving her of the best part of her day--coming home and seeing her dog's tail, waving hello.

there was the eventual knock down drag out in a bar, until sara stepped in and said she was done discussing this, we were in chicago and we might as well enjoy ourselves. so we all put on our happy faces and had a good-ish time, but the whole weekend was flawed.

i don't understand why it had to happen like that--i know that people are under a great deal of stress, and i know that there's financial strain. between sara and shelly and i, we paid for the whole weekend for her, and the only reply we got was that we were treating her like a charity case.

it hurts--hurts, hurts, hurts. at one point sara and i sat in the upstairs of a brewery, in the two seats near the bathrooms, and tried not to cry. i remember us agreeing that we were enjoying each other's company, but that if we could go home that night, we would, since we'd so obviously fucked up.

i didn't expect that beth would be gushingly grateful, or that the weekend would be utterly fantastic, but the fact that my own sister could be that ungracious, and that angry, over what had begun as a gift--that incensed me.

it still ticks me off, today.

this weekend was admittedly not a good time for me to travel, either. it's the middle of our busiest season at work, and i've been dragging the bottom of the barrel to keep up. i had to work my ass off to get done with work in time on friday to actually make it to the airport, and i'm still catching up on lost sleep. i haven't spent much time at home in the last few weeks, and when i am at home, i'm sleeping.

so, while sara and i were forced into walking in beth's shoes, she neatly avoided walking in ours.

the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

our intent was good, pure and simple. beth found out about the surprise the week before--plenty of time in which to speak up and say "no, i'm sorry, i can't go." i would have been fine with that. flying to chicago to be told i was inconsiderate by my beloved sister was not preferable to being told, honestly, that she did not want to go on the trip in the first place.

i don't want my family to end up being one of those families who are related but do not speak to one another. it's not something about which i dream--in fact i have nightmares about it. but in the end, it's not up to me, not entirely. i can only soothe so many irate people, and i suppose in the end, i do expect that my family, of all the people with whom i have contact, will be a place of harmony and honesty, and not a backstabbing mess of hurt.

an expectation that i need to chuck out the window, another bit littering that god-damned road.

today i was gonna sleep until 3.

2007-12-29T09:18:00.000-08:00

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.

pass or fail

2007-12-15T08:49:00.000-08:00

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.

the hermit's reluctance

2007-12-08T06:19:00.000-08:00

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.

snow and other dreams

2007-12-01T08:43:00.000-08:00

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. (;

lost and found

2007-11-07T20:01:00.000-08:00

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.

time

2007-10-24T10:51:00.000-07:00

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.

travel

2007-10-14T05:29:00.000-07:00

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.

you give me fever...

2007-09-28T09:00:00.000-07:00

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.

the week of rude and obnoxious thought

2007-09-15T05:08:00.000-07:00

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.

peanut butter toast and procrastination

2007-09-08T07:39:00.000-07:00

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.

dusk

2007-08-31T18:09:00.000-07:00

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.

i need an interpreter! STAT!

2007-08-22T14:21:00.000-07:00

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."

the psychology of a muffin

2007-08-18T09:16:00.000-07:00

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.

shifting ground

2007-08-14T19:13:00.001-07:00

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.

odd

2007-08-08T06:50:00.001-07:00

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.

the muse escapes

2007-08-05T19:47:00.000-07:00

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.

the net

2007-08-01T18:30:00.000-07:00

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.

dude...

2007-07-30T18:49:00.000-07:00

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.

to work or not to work...

2007-07-22T14:11:00.001-07:00

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.

lemons

2007-07-20T12:22:00.001-07:00

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.

morning minus coffee

2007-07-16T08:01:00.000-07:00

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.

worth

2007-07-06T14:37:00.000-07:00

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.

cravings

2007-07-04T08:05:00.001-07:00

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.

the crack in my eye

2007-06-30T09:13:00.000-07:00

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.

round trip

2007-06-18T16:38:00.000-07:00

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.

things that look like other things

2007-06-08T20:46:00.000-07:00

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.

cleansing

2007-05-25T05:19:00.000-07:00

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.

hair

2007-05-07T15:11:00.000-07:00

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.

burned

2007-04-30T05:39:00.000-07:00

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.

attack of the overzealous cleaning fairy

2007-04-28T04:50:00.000-07:00

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.

the anatomy of pancake syrup

2007-04-22T08:55:00.000-07:00

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. (;

scattered

2007-04-18T08:45:00.000-07:00

yesterday there was a shooting; the biggest massacre in our country's history. (at least by the standards of school shootings--i am reasonably sure that other massacres have happened, undocumented and off of school grounds, perhaps even prior to the founding fathers setting foot on north american soil.)

it's something that catches people off guard. and well it should; i would hate to be so numb to these things that i didn't care. part of me is reminded of columbine; it's that time of year, so on and so forth. part of me is reminded of corey; today is the day he passed. and part of me is reminded of my own youth, spent hating school.

yes, hating. i hated school--grade school and high school, to a lesser degree. i hated it because i was one of the kids who was always bullied and teased. it bit.

i continually find it of interest the way that kids group together; is it some leftover herding instinct? like finds like, and blends in? who knows. there is inevitably a group of children in any yard at recess who are the cast-offs: for whatever reason available, the other children cut them off, don't pick them in gym, you name it. everyone in the "in" crowd is just that: in. everyone in the group to which i consistently belong was out. out of fashion, out of sorts, out of the picture. we were a solid group, a group held together by the fact that all of us were ignored for some different reason. that was what made us alike--not the same jeans, or the shirt with a certain logo on it--a feeling, an emotion.

i was always a member of this group, due to my red hair and hand-me-down clothing. i could go on and on about the hair issue--when you're older, everyone wants it, when you're a kid, it's nothing but trouble, etc--but that's another story for another day.

being part of the cast away portion of the recess crowd meant that i learned certain lessons quite early. my dad would repeat the time-old mantra: "sticks and stones can break my bones, but words will never hurt me." and over time, you try to ignore the slurs and insults. you learn to be innocuous in other ways--you are quiet, you blend into a crowd, you could be anybody.

dan was one of those kids too, at our high school. his boys ran around wearing black and playing roleplaying games, and being scoffed at for those reasons. they were the "nerds"; my group of girls were just the ones who didn't wear guess jeans and couldn't afford anything from ralph lauren unless it came from a thrift store.

you make your own group, you make your own rules. but you are separated from the whole; you are scattered about, and have to take the time to come together. some people never do find that niche, even if it is the group of forgotten and teased. they prefer the army of one mentality that comes with the solidarity of self.

those kids are the scary ones, nowdays--the ones who are pushed to the side for being too intelligent, too off-mark, the ones who never find people that allow them to be who they are and allow them the acceptance they seek. they're the ones termed "loners."

a song that we sang in grade school comes to mind. it's to the tune of "glory, glory hallelujah."

glory, glory hallelujah
teacher hit me with a ruler
standing behind the door
with a loaded forty-four
and there ain't no teacher no more.

there's more on this at wikipedia, of course: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Burning_of_the_School

school violence is nothing new, i guess is what i'm saying. it's nothing to be forgotten, either. i loved kindergarten; it was the grades between then and graduation that i despised. when i got to college i fell in love with school again, because it was a place where everyone was forgotten, and your clothing ignored. everyone was on a level playing field, at least at my university.

i fear for my sister, who teaches middle school. i fear for her because no amount of protection or security can ensure that someone, somewhere, isn't hating and feeling alienated, by their peers or teachers, parents, siblings. there are any number of reasons why people do what they do, and hindsight is 20/20, and makes it seem as though these things could be prevented.

but it starts earlier than anyone remembers--it starts when you are walking to school at the age of six with your twelve year old neighbors, and suddenly you are the target.

twenty five years down the line, i can see it for what it was--children being cruel. but at that time, it was painful. it was abhorrent. it shaped the person i am now, in ways that i cannot fully explain. i'm one of the lucky ones; my father had guns in his house, but i never got to the point where i thought that was even the remotest option.

my struggles, my violence--was aimed solely at me. i can see it in the suicidal poems i wrote, and the books into which i disappeared for days.

yesterday the first footage that we saw was of people, running away, and police, closing in, on great stone-gray buildings. bodies in motion, united in a common cause.

is it only then, at those times, that the divisions of thought and action are forgotten? that you cling to whoever is closest, for support? that you forget about the barriers that have been erected, and just accept others for the sheer need of it?

it annoys me that it has to come to that; and it terrifies me that more and more often, it does.

cousin

2007-04-12T19:40:00.000-07:00

all around me, you falter,
you fall
leaves in autumn, drifting
in winter wind.
in the spring you are heavy
leftover snowflakes,
gathering in april descent.
i have fallen, too--many, many times,
perhaps not nearly so far. but
i know what it is like to feel
the ache in your knees, your hip
where it connected with bruised pavement.
i find as time runs hand over hand
that it is harder
to watch as
all around me, you falter.

***

my cousin donna was diagnosed with cancer about six months ago. it was right as my friends darin & cathy welcomed their new little daughter into the world. donna was being treated for a bladder infection, and when the pain got to be too much, she was flown south to larger hospitals, where it was determined that she was far gone with colon cancer. they took her uterus, part of her stomach, part of her intestines. 90% of the cancer was actually removed; she is now going through chemo.

since i seem to have either allergies or a cold that's been coming and going, i've been afraid to visit her, for fear that i'll pass along bacteria or virus. she has a caring bridge site, just like my uncle jed's, where she updates from time to time; i try to read whenever i can, as she chronicles her path.

this last round of chemo was particularly rough. she says she knows it is working. when i read what she has written i see the demoralizing aspect of medicine, how low you must go.

when you're young they don't tell you these things. how could anyone draw a map of suffering, or of comprehension? there is no outline for how to be compassionate, no directions on what joy or fear or loss feel like.

donna wrote that she could not believe the sounds that were coming out of her body, when she sobbed during treatment. there is no describing them--they are the unholy side of your self, the darker half that is hidden with makeup and a smartly matched outfit. but to each there is a balance.

sometimes it is just hard to see that balance.

i forget that the trees must lose their leaves, in order to withstand winter. i forget that fire sometimes scours the earth, burning back life only to allow room for the new. i get mired in the here and the now, the suffering of those around me, their pain. it is more difficult, i think, to watch your friends and loved ones in agony, than it is to undertake that pain yourself.

unbidden my throat tightens; if i speak now, my voice will be harsh and rough. my eyes are warm, ready to weep. the line is so fine between weeping for joy--that the chemo is working--and weeping in sorrow--that she must go through this process in the first place.

under the weather

2007-04-07T06:49:00.000-07:00

yesterday i think i had a fever. (i think i had a fever because i was all hot and cold, but when i got home i just went to sleep...and was too tired to rummage around for the thermometer.) anyway, after sleeping the afternoon away and spending the night tossing and turning, i feel better. not "i'm Wonder Woman!" better. but better.

as far as the title goes--aren't we ALL under the weather? it's it kind of...above us? around us? out of our immediate control?

easter in minnesota is usually warmer; it's when you see kids running around in their easter clothes. this year it's sunny, the skys are a washed-out blue, and it's freezing cold; so over the lacy yellow dresses and little sailor outfits, i'm sure that parents will be zipping up coats and squashing hats onto heads.

ah, the frigid north. i love it. (:

april is always a touchy month, a weird time. it's a month of memory and some silent times, and also a lot of laughter. to paraphrase khalil gibran, the same thing that makes you cry, makes you smile.

april is when i remember dan's brother, corey--his birthday and his death. it's when i celebrate dan's birthday--on earth day--even though he's never been much into it, and since it's only 4 days off from when corey passed, it's hard to celebrate. i celebrate because his mom decided to have him, and raised him into the guy who made sure i ate dinner last night, when i was still feverish.

april is also the month that my uncle, jed, suffered his last stroke, the one that has incapacitated him. he clings to life with a tenacity that i cannot help but admire, even two years later.

a year ago this month, dan got his job.

happy and sad; sweet and sour.

***
i drive using things to navigate. by things, i mean points of interest--a gas station, a church spire, a strange house. my dad long ago gave up writing down directions in terms of milage, since my mom drives the same way i do. they say that it's a female tic, to navigate this way.

when i think back on my life, i have a hard time remembering what year something occurred. i have to think about what was going on at that time--where did we live, for whom did we cook dinner, what happened that year. even then, it gets blurred. memory is faulty; the memory of traumatic times, even worse.

it is strange how clear your mind can be, when remembering certain parts--but then other parts are a dream-memory, slipping out of your fingers. i remember corey's sly smile; i remember driving back to bemidji with all the leftover after-funeral cake, a box sliding around the back seat, bumping into a rubbermaid container of cold lasagna. but i cannot remember the sound of his voice.

in duluth you live under the thumb of the weather--you get lake effect snow, strange twists of temperature, and fog, thick and soft. that is what i picture, overlaid on my own mind--that heavy, touchable mist, coalesced into clouds, drifting over the ground.

***

two years ago on easter my sister and i took my grandmother to church. at the time, her meds made her lose most of her hair. beth and i found a very cute denim cap for her to wear, one that went with her outfit and brought out the blue in her eyes, so vivid. she was terrified that it would fall off during mass; we kept reassuring her that it would not. she argued that she had no hair to pin the hat down; we replied that it fit just right, she did not need pins.

all through mass i watched the dome of her head, watched her long, slender fingers fiddle with the brim. she had trouble moving it; her joints were knobby with arthritis. the church was cold and warm at the same time--the heat of bodies pressed into pews, and the breeze on ankles of a door, opened somewhere to alleviate the heat.

i remember walking outside after mass that day, and the sun beating down, hot on my skin. i remember grandma saying that she was glad for the hat, all of a sudden.

grandma didn't pass away until thanksgiving, that same year. her hair had grown back in by then, shining silver and white. but i remember her in april, when i remember all things that have lived and passed, when the weather reminds me that i am small and insignificant, and my memories, ephemeral as time.

christmas nougats

2007-03-31T06:09:00.000-07:00

as usual, i'm behind the times. it's now the end of march, and i'm just now cracking open a bag of what used to be my all time favorite holiday candy, the minty christmas nougats by brachs. if you don't mind having sugary candy stuck in your teeth for a while after eating them, the peppermint taste is quite strong. again, if you like peppermint...

***

it's been nearly a year since dan started his new job. i am very, very proud of him. when i think of this pride, i have a hard time not weeping, so thankful am i. dan made a decision, at some point, to live, to try, to keep trying. i have great respect for this courage of his, the sheer tenacity of being on the bottom and crawling back up.

i think of organisms living deep in the ocean, swimming slow to the top, breaking the meniscus of water, and gulping in air.

***

in so many ways i feel that i am behind. i am late. i am slow. when i was a kid i got the turtle award for being slow. it was second grade and at the end of the year we had a picnic in a park. under the pavilion, with the taste of cheap hot dog and orange drink from mcdonalds lingering in my mouth, my hands sticky, i remember that green award. other kids got awards for being smart, or speedy, whatever. i got the turtle award.

i guess i think of it with bitterness--why would you reward someone for being slow? but then again i review in my mind the story of the tortoise and the hare--slow and steady wins the race.

my middle sister married three years ago this fall. i hear conflicting reports about how the tedium of every day life and taken for granted-ness is wearing on their union. am i glad that i have not yet made an honest man of dan? i don't know. perhaps it is fate, kismet, what have you, that we did not marry all those years ago when we first spoke of it. perhaps we needed to go through and experience what we did, find our separate selves and the full appreciation for what we have together. it is difficult to see that, when you are living in that moment.

***

with time comes perspective, objectivity even when you are reviewing your self, or at least a semblance of objectivity. yes, i may be slow. and life may not be the headlong race that i often feel i am just watching roll by me, quick and flashy. maybe i'm just running in a different race. the marathon, not the 100 meter dash.

i eat another red striped white nougat, take a long look at the mashed up green pine tree in the middle. the wrappers are a little crisp; i'm sure that they are not meant to wait four months before being used and recycled. sometimes i suppose that me being behind is unhealthy. then again, is it so horrible to be reminded of snow and wind chills and warm blankets, when the sky is low and gray and damp april is in your bones?

i know that dan gets frustrated with me because of the speed at which i manuever through life and its varied obstacles. i know that i get frustrated, with my self and my own meandering. but having been to the points that i have--watching dan grasp at life and find a hold, remembering my own struggles, and contemplating that the struggle in life is constant--at those points and at the ones i can imagine occuring--i am glad that i move slowly through the world.

the earth itself is slow--a creature out of sorts with time. it slumbers for a few months, and upon waking, takes its time to rinse sleep from its eyes. it'll rain for a few more weeks, before blooming hot and humid into the next season. probably by then i'll have eaten the rest of my leftover mints.

the lone four leaf clover

2007-03-18T08:22:00.001-07:00

i've spent hours of my life, short and few to be honest, squatting in a patch of clover, searching for that elusive lucky one in the middle of all the normally shaped plants. just that one--searching and searching for that one, as if the rest of them were not symbolic in their own green solidarity.

***
yesterday at this time i was getting into my car, to drive to the st pat's parade downtown st paul. my sister had the brilliant idea to march in it--all you have to do is pay twenty bucks, and make a banner, and ta-da! instant parade group.

a coworker advised me that it was an "irish" parade, which meant it was a generally unorganized crush of people. in the interest of shared genetics, i believed my sister, who told me that the twenty clamshells paid for the organizers, etc, and i figured it'd be like the parades i was in as a teenager, with our high school band: lined up people, someone telling you when to march and how far back to stay from the preceding folks.

what actually transpired was more of a chaotic shuffle of people dressed in green sequins, home-made kilts, tall hats purchased at wal-mart, and irish step dancing groups in sweat suits.

the actual parade was only about half an hour long. once we got started. my family was number 106. due to the fact that it was an irish parade, we marched between numbers 57 and 93. not that we can't count. we just don't much care for organization.

i'd spent the previous night making a banner--three hours with my glue gun and a heap of multi-colored felt swatches, which turned out better than i'd hoped, including our family name and our coat of arms. if my sister emails the pic, i'll post it...i think.

at any rate, we made it to the staging ground at around 1145. we actually started marching at 110 or so. there were about five hundred people all gathered in the shade of a five-story orange brick building, with pale green trim around the windows. in the shade, it was about 25 degrees. in the sun, about 35. the difference was sublime, once we made it into the sun. i actually had an image in my head of people bursting through the imaginary line between shadow and light, coming to life and blooming. it actually reminded me of when people finish marathons, the ones who aren't crawling to completion--these would be the ones with hair swept back in the breeze of their own making, arms flung out and back, head held high, cheeks red with accomplishment.

once we got going we marched happily for the whole half hour, finding three other parade goers who shared our last name and spontaneously joined us on the route. it was amusing to have them just step in, strangers who probably shared all the same name mishaps as we did: "no, it's not pronounced that way...switch the a and the e, and you've got it...well, that works, even though it's not really right..."

***

after wards i was exhausted; we met at my sister's house for irish stew and soda bread and coffee, all of which was quite tasty. after that, i schlepped to the mall of america and shopped for two hours, came home, and collapsed. i think i read for forty-five minutes, and then, with henry curled at my side purring, i fell asleep. i don't remember turning off the light, just that my alarm clock read 9:18 pm.

***

today my face is wind-chapped. my thighs are tired; sitting here i can feel the muscles ache, a pleasant experience that reminds me of the ground i covered yesterday.

the thing i found, amid all those people, surrounded by my family, was how alone we all really are. i usually consider that on clear winter nights, when you can see every star in the sky, and feel small and dwarfed by the universe. yesterday, though, in the crush of parade, with the hogan-logan clan singing and hoisting a st patrick statue above their heads behind us, clasping my home-made banner and trying not to shiver, all i could think was that i was alone.

in the mall, the huge gaping space reserved for capitalistic spiritualism, i rode the escaltor. behind me a mother grouped her children to her, calling names and ordering them close. i pictured geese crossing before my car, goslings cuddling up to their parents.

when does it happen, the division between being a child and being an adult? being able to travel on your own, not being afraid of the big world? when does it happen that you find yourself alone, and are just as safe and comfortable as if you held your mother's hand?

***
on my way to my parking spot there was a woman walking in front of me, probably fifteen years ahead of where i am. she sported a wedding ring and from the lines on her face and the size of her purse, i'm sure she had children somewhere--college, home, out underage drinking with friends.

my insecurity lessened as i watched her do the same things i did, unconciously and conciously scanning the parking garage for potential attackers, clasping keys so that they could be used as a weapon.

from the sea of bodies we'd left behind, we separate out, we become individuals, we get into our own cars and lock the doors. the herd thins, parts, and i escape into anonymity.

slouching

2007-03-07T14:40:00.000-08:00

the chair i have at work routinely rotates down. today i noticed that it'd done it again. i get so used to having to reach the keyboard in a weird manner that it becomes second nature. i wonder in the mornings why my neck hurts, or my shoulders.

i'm slouching.

at work i slouch because my chair is sneaky about swivelling down. at home i slouch on the sofa, i slouch while doing a crossword before bed, i slouch as i type this. when i slouch my back bows out, backward, and i hunch up a bit.

i feel a lot of the time that that's how i go through life. i'm permanently huddled a little lower, stomach too lazy to lift up my rib cage. or perhaps it's just my abdominal muscles, waving the white flag. or my vertebrae, loose links in their bone chain.

i'm not getting anywhere, at my job. i'm not getting anywhere with my writing, with anything.

when i was seeing my therapist, helene, i felt this guilt to move forward. and when i started to take my meds, and remembered to exercise and watch what i was eating, i felt as if i could move forward. the sun sinks south for winter and i lag--email unchecked, games unplayed, people ignored.

slouching is malicious, i've concluded. if i wasn't slouching my back probably wouldn't hurt, i'd write more often and maybe get published, perhaps i'd be in touch with more people.

it's all a big bottle of What If. i can get stuck in that miasma for days. in fact, i have been.

whenever i drink from that bottle, my slouch deepens. i compare myself to other people in my life--my sister, friends--and i find myself lacking.

and the slouch deepens--it's despair, and it tugs me down quite faithfully.

dan wrote in his blog that he thinks of serena, often, and it keeps him awake. i do too--probably more often than i need to. it's the what if of where she is at--is she "better" in some way, better than i am? better off, better emotionally, not such a mess?

does she slouch, thousands of miles west?

i wonder this about many many many things. does my sister have time to slouch? my homeowning friends? or is it just me, tripped up and spineless?

i feel like an invertebrate--perhaps an amoeba--that's been reformed into this human self, propped upright around a skeleton. my amoeboid nature wants to slouch, and there is more of it than the bony structure upon which it's been molded.

and i slouch.

snow and little sneezes

2007-02-25T09:40:00.000-08:00

it finally snowed! now, keep in mind that i never think it can snow enough, so despite the fact that we have a good solid 6-8 on the ground, i'm up for another foot or two. can't help it. i love snow.

last night we braved the weather and drove over to visit darin and cathy and their new little one, who's almost 3 months old now. devin's got a cold and sneezed a few times--these cute little baby sneezes that expelled more baby crap than i thought possible. the sneeze sounded so...small. and yet...large ew. who knew.

i find it interesting that there are some things that stay the same and some things that change, as you move along. the constant is my love of winter--i have an inane need to be buried under 3 feet of snow. i love the feel of the wind crisping my cheeks and the tiny flakes kissing my eyelids. it's beautiful, it's clean, it's cold.

the thing that has changed, with time, is my gross-out factor. i used to have a problem with people puking--i was a sympathetic puker. over time the reflex has died down some; the odor will still provoke a reaction, but it's manageable. snot has ALWAYS been repulsive to me--mine, anyone's. doesn't matter.

last night while holding small devin she heaved up a good sneeze on my face. i was lucky that there wasn't much in it; but what was in it ended up on my chin. i heard dan say, "kim can't stand mucus; i don't know why she wanted to hold the baby now." but i didn't have that first reaction of: drop baby and leap for shower.

i calmly reached over and selected a tissue, and wiped off my face and hers.

***

when i was a kid i didn't like a lot of things. i was honestly a horrid hypochondriac--i thought i had aids, i thought i had leprosy, i wouldn't drink from a soda can in the family car on road trips unless i drank first. i've always had a horrible fear of bees--that heavy hum--and centipedes.

i know i can handle these things logically--i know that i am thousands of times the size of a bug, i know that i haven't fondled any armadillos lately to infect myself and get shipped to a leper colony. is it maturity that allows you to take a step back and say, this is not a Big Thing.

the Big Things in life come at you like the jack in the box of a child--you open the box hoping for chocolate, and you get the four horsemen: pestilence, war, death and famine.

those are the Big Things. when i was young my mom used to tell me that i was "making mountains out of molehills" -- her way of telling me that i was overreacting. when i was seven or so i had a habit of hyperventilating when i was nervous. mom would hand me a paper bag and say, just breathe.

***

i'm still a bit of a germ fiend--i'm constantly after dan to wash his hands--but it's toned down enough that i'm not a fanatic about it. and i will freely admit that i tense up when i hear a bee--but i no longer run off screaming and waving my arms around wildly.

it is of interest to me that the constants in your life can be good and bad--helpful and detrimental, etc. this morning i'll put on my boots and tromp around outside until my nose is so cold that i cannot feel it. i'll make a snow angel, i'll leave some kim-sized footprints roaming around the townhouse area, i'll probably bring my younger cat, henry, outside and put his small pink toes in the snow, since he seems to want to explore so badly.

how does time soften the fear, but not the eagerness? logically i'm old enough to wonder why i have this obsession with snow and this season in general. logically, it's not one of the Big Things, so i put that fear aside--what will people say, what if they laugh and point at the grown woman grinning at suspended water.

the same way that i set aside my disgust of mucus and hold the baby close, hear her heart beat and smell her soft hair--she herself is one of the Big Things in life; her little sneezes are just that: little.

tuesday

2007-02-22T17:30:00.000-08:00

tuesday night was the memorial service for the mother of one of my coworkers. i felt compelled, for whatever reason, to attend, even though my coworker is very new to the office. it was just niggling at the edge of my mind--go, go, go.

so i went. the church was packed; one other coworker, a supervisor, showed up, and we sat on creaking, cold metal folding chairs at the back. our coworker spoke, her voice cracking a bit--to be expected.

three years ago, my friend cari's mom was killed in a car accident; she was about the same age as my coworker's mom--early 50s--and people said things about this other woman that applied to vickie very, very much.

i teared up during the service, but it was when i got in the car afterwards that it struck me that i felt as if i had finally attended the service for cari's mom. i think it was when they said that she invited strangers home, and made everyone feel comfortable.

i remember when i met vickie the first time--we played taboo late into the night, with her sister and brother in law, then a version of scrabble that i'd never seen. she was so ready to laugh, to hug--to embrace life, in general.

the pastor said, during his sermon, that it was a break from the day, that this woman's death offered us. a chance to review and breathe.

in the dark of the car, i thought of vickie, i thought of cari and her "god-bubble" that protected her that first year. i thought about how much i had wanted to be there--and yet, i had no idea of what to do.

i suppose that is always true, with grief, that it is as different as the weather. sometimes i think that depression, at least in my case, is like grief, unspecified. a general sadness about my life. can you grieve over your own life? is that what this is, this malaise that settles on me now and again?

even with the little pills i swallow each night, i still ride that wave, fluctuating between dark and light, between drenched and drought. perhaps others find the happy medium; they surf along, falling only when specified by some life occurance. for me it is not happenstance, to slide into the darkness, and climb out again.

i could see grief on many faces, on tuesday past, a group of people gathered to show support. i didn't know my coworker's mother. i was not there to grieve over her; i was there to hug her daughter, the living embodiment of how wonderful a being she herself had been.

the pastor was right; i needed that break in the day. i needed to remember vickie, i needed to cry and attend some kind of service.

sometimes the need to weep builds up within, the urge to sob, to hear my voice crack and gasp, to stretch my lips across my teeth as i keen, until they are swollen. it rises the same way that laughter rises.

i've been going through a dim area again. i remind myself that it is my lapse into depression. but really, is it a lapse, or just a change of the clouds that hang above? is it unnatural, to feel grief? who says that i must be joyful at all times?

dan read a book called lincoln's melancholy, a while back. the book talked about how in his day, lincoln's depression was accepted as just another part and parcel of his self. now a days, it is supposed to be quarantined to a tuesday night.

i suppose it is always tuesday night, somewhere within me.

breaking down

2007-02-19T07:51:00.000-08:00

as in a car, folks. no worries.

yes, this weekend was The Weekend of the Car. or perhaps, The Weekend of Kim Being Late. Or maybe even The Weekend of Things Breaking. your choice, really.

friday's office party went well--which was good because i was one of the organizers. then saturday i got up, cleaned up after my pukey and poopy cats, and packed. dan and i ran to target for some last minute items, and then had breakfast, and then i was off on the road north for girly weekend in bemidji.

halfway between home and st cloud, i realized that i'd left my shirts--for that night's festivities, and for sunday's drive home--hanging on the back of the door. great.

then in st cloud, at the first stoplight, i glanced at the instrument panel. all good...except for the temperature guage, which was buried in HOT HOT HOT. i thought, oh, that's not good. then i looked up and saw smoke pouring from beneath my hood. even worse. i pulled into the nearest parking lot and called my dad.

dad called my brother, who rolled up a few moments later and looked at the car. his diagnosis was radiator hose leak. dad arrived, with my sister. it was like a family reunion in the grocery store parking lot. then we ran to the store for antifreeze, filled up the car, and drove it to my parents' house. ran it for an hour and nothing overeheated, however dad didn't want me driving so i borrowed my sister's car and drove north.

later than late--dinner was supposed to be at 6, but luckily the girls pushed it back to 730. it was a most excellent evening--all dressed to the nines, dinner at a fantastic italian restaurant, then drinks next door at the pub. my dear friend amanda rented a limo--for 4 girls in a town of 10,000. it was fabulous! we got chauffered to the next bar, had a few drinks and chatted, and then back into the limo for the final bar.

the last bar was a real winner--out in the middle of nowhere, and late enough that all patrons were one of two states: sobie-cab sober, or drunker than a skunk.

one of the skunks cornered me and cari at the bar and made conversation. it was all quite nice and good. then his three friends moseyed over, and the most foxed one, a guy named lee, was at the huggy stage. "jus a hug, plllllllleeease." "can i have anudder hug? just one more?" dear lord preserve me. he went on to tell us that his wife was actually Satan, which i'm sure may come as a shock to her, and that he was "like snowflakes," complete with a fluttery finger motion remniscent of snow falling, if snow could be drunk and clumsy.

sunday i drove back to st cloud. had dinner with the parents, chit chat with my sister. i broke a glass, whoops. dad showed me how to fill up the antifreeze if needed, and i started up the car.

then my sister backed her car up and planted her right front fender underneath my dad's truck's front fender. lovely!

luckily, getting out of the car to assess the damage allowed my mom to point out that my car was once again smoking and smelled like burning antifreeze.

thus, i am ensconced in my parent's den, typing this post as i await the call from the radiator shoppe, who will probably tell me that i need to replace my radiator, and that the bill comes to $8000.00 with tax.

*le sigh*

at any rate, dad's home, so i'm going to hang with my papa and wait for news. hugs all. (;

danger, will robinson! danger!

2007-02-14T14:40:00.000-08:00

i want one of those robots. no matter how cheesy, it'd be nice to have. people might point and laugh at my robot. but i'd be warned about things, before harm could befall me.

so here's your warning. you just have to follow these rules:

1. put your arms out at your sides, raise them over your head, jiggling them as if you are swatting at fifteen angry bees.
2. yell, "danger, dear reader! danger!"
3. and if you're feeling lucky, punk, keep reading.

i had a bad day at work. i find it no coincidence that it happens on a day of the year wherein we are celebrating the death of a saint, a guy who went against the grain and lost his head for it.

yes, valentine. he was jailed for being a bad boy, at least in claudius' eyes. during his time in the pokey, it's said that he wrote love letters to the jailor's daughter, with whom he was in love. and that is why kids hand out little cards with cartoon characters on them, and share chocolate, etc.

when i was a kid i hated valentine's day. in school, we always had to exchange cards. i always got the least cards. it's left me somewhat jaded towards the holiday. that and learning about the apparent progenitor of the day himself. who knows. i'm bitter, and it's leftover from 20 years ago.

i'm lucky that dan likes the day. he found the sweetest cards, and got me the special dread pirate roberts version of the princess bride. he makes it less icky, and over the years, it's grown on me, a bit.

today, though, was one of those days where i was glad i got to come home.

i'm a firm believer in the trickle down effect--the one that says that the shit rolls downhill. so those of us at the bottom of the office chain receive the crappy leftover bits of attention, and that only when the people higher up the stairs are prodded to action.

it just seems like the trickle is always dripping on my head; and then there is this sense of wonder from above, that i could possibly be annoyed by said drip. *sigh*

all in all, it's a much easier life i lead than that of some of my primate relatives. i don't have to club my dinner before eating. i don't have to wrap up in fur to keep warm. i don't have to fear lions, tigers or bears. i've got it better than valentine ever did--my head is still square on my shoulders, and that's an upgrade from his standpoint, i'm sure.

i just have this feeling of anger, twitching along my nerves like the shivers when you're chilled. the day started out so nicely--dan's cards, purring cats, a warm car. about an hour into work there was the first email--one accusing me of something that i don't remember doing, and can't imagine that i would have done, anyway.

this afternoon, it was the approach of my manager. "i have a question about the process..."

and then another email: "this is going to be a mess, if this client isn't happy."

first of all, i didn't do what i was accused of doing. second of all, the process is fine--it just needs to be a tad more flexible, because you're working with human beings, and they're not made of obsidian. and third, and probably most important, if it's going to be a mess, perhaps the client could have gotten her butt in gear last week, when the pressure was on, and not this week, when the office is winched tight enough to produce diamonds from pencil lead.

this, right now--this is when i need that robot with the flailing arms. this is when i need the robot with blinking lights and strident voice--"danger, kim, danger!"

or perhaps just some yellow "caution" tape would do. i'm not high maintenance, really.

you can't go through your life with a safety harness attached, or a life raft at the ready. there's just some days when it seems like it would be prudent to have some kind of warning system. brace yourself, bridget--that sort of thing.

today i was caught unawares. i was floating along, content and peaceful. i don't like to make waves--usually i do whatever it is in my power to avoid being at the epicenter, to keep all ships on top of the water and safe.

right now, i feel as if that is the problem--i am so busy trying to keep everyone else's ships secure that mine is suddenly sinking.

the bottomless pit

2007-01-27T09:54:00.000-08:00

it's almost february; outside, it's chilled and pale, sky milky with scattered clouds. my inner writer has been nagging me for weeks now: "sit down, you fool, and type!" but i'm on a reading kick, and apparently my inner reader needs to be fed.

i don't know how i would describe these rushes of feeling--cravings, perhaps? the ravenous urge for prose, tripping along the page. i sneak up on it like a predator, i hang round its known watering holes--the library, half-price books, barnes and noble. and then, when i'm not sure i can take the suspense any longer, i pounce.

last night we watched "muppets take manhattan." i hadn't seen it in years; it brought me back to my young days of pink and yellow footed pajamas, with the slippery white padding on the soles of the feet. my mom always cut those off--the feet, i mean--and i don't know why. perhaps she knew that her offspring would have a propensity for wearing nothing on their feet that might constrict their toes. who knows.

anyway, it solidified something in my mind that's been rattling around for the better part of a week: i'm hungry for youth.

not in the perverted sense, mind you. just hungry for that endless, bottomless curiosity, and the energy to satisfy it at any given moment. as i get older, i find that apathy sets in--i'm still curious, but i don't seek it out like i once did.

perhaps it is knowledge that propels? when i was young i read books the same way i do now: i eat them, tear out their innards and savor. i think i read them for a different reason, though. when i was a kid i read to broaden my base of knowledge--what is it like to fall in love? what is it like to have leprosy? what is it like to...be an adult.

now i am an adult. i still fall back into my own personal classics--the 101 dalmations, by dodie smith. charlie and the chocolate factory, by roald dahl. go dog go, by pd eastman.

my childhood friend, rachel, and i used to read large books, just to say that we had read them. we'd closet ourselves in our separate homes for a competitive reading weekend. (i know, how nerdy were we?) this was in sixth grade, i think, when we were about 12 or 13 or whatever age you are at that time. her favorite book was "gone with the wind." i read it just because it was a big book. we came in on monday and i remember she had read the book like 11 times or something. it's a big book; i look at it now and find it daunting. but we were so enamored of that open door--what is beyond this little realm of classrooms, barbie dolls, and the embarrassed pre-puberty showers after gym class?

before that, i'd read michener--chesapeake, alaska, and the omni-present hawaii. that last i found in the basement, along the wall with the few books my parents owned. i read it obsessively; it was a buffet of nouns and verbs, actions and romance, violence, history. i can't say that it set the tune for the rest of my reading diet, but it certainly set the tone for the next few years, during which most of my contemporaries were reading "sweet valley high" and such.

boooooooor-ing. who cares which cheerleader the quarterback dates? puh-lease. not my style.

when i was in 8th grade, i had a crush on one of the kids in my math class: sam. *insert dreamy sigh here* sam'd read during class, while the math teacher droned on about, horror of horrors, fractions. he was reading piers anthony, "a spell for chameleon."

of course i just had to go out and find it. that summer i remember taking the bus downtown to the library, alone, and finding a whole new section: fantasy and sci-fi.

the library was a dream, and being set free in it, with no time limits and a library card, was nirvana.

i think of stopping in the grocery store on the weekend, when they're handing out samples, and that is what i associate with the library: many different options, and you can choose to taste what you like. a smorgasboard of delights.

***

my mom would make new foods for us, when we were young, and my father would intone, above our heads at the dinner table: "try it; you'll like it."

for the most part i try, very hard, to be open to what is being tossed my way. yeah, i'm not perfect--i'm well aware of that. reading is a safe hobby; it's traveling across stormy oceans while sipping cocoa, exploring greenland from the security of my sofa and blankets, soaring through the cosmos and touching stars while my cats are curled at my feet.

i might not be the most adventuresome woman alive, but i certainly hope that my appetite for writing--both reading and creating--is never satiated.

got the time

2007-01-21T06:31:00.000-08:00

this time of year is always busy for me, what with work and all. i took on an additional responsibility at work, helping plan the year end party (which we have at the end of january, since that's when the busiest time of the year is over, when you work with taxes and W2s, at least.)

anyway, after i typed my last post i got in the car and drove to wal-mart. en route, i called dan to let him know i'd be late. while on the phone, i got to witness a three-car accident. no one was hurt (except for a goose-egg on the offending driver, and a 10-year-old scared witless), although the cars involved were no doubt totaled.

the whole moment was so surreal--i can remember the first thought i had, after one car mangled another: "i've never seen an airbag go off before." metal crumpled like paper; cars swerved and brakes squealed. i stopped and gave my phone number to police, in case they would need a witness, and then went to wal-mart, and then went home.

it's odd when you see how fortunate you truly are. usually at intersections, when i need to make a left turn, i pull out far enough so that if the light turns red, i can still squeak through. the only reason that my car was not the folded bits of steel that the others were is because i was slow to react, and chatting with dan. a few more feet forward and it would have been my car, my body.

there have been many times in my life where i wanted to end it--it being my life--myself. by whatever means came to mind--i find i cannot type it here. there have been times that i have been so sick that i thought, "perhaps i am dying, right now." and i know that each step i take is another towards the inevitable, that i have only a certain amount of time allotted to this conglomeration of cells i call "me."

perhaps that accident was a reminder, in a strange way. a reminder that it is not entirely up to me--it is in the hands of the fates, of chance, of serendipity.

***

yesterday i had lunch with my sister; then we shopped and had dinner at her house, prepared by her husband. this morning i remember the topic of conversation, the one that shook me the most, at least, was my dad.

when i was a kid my dad had stock phrases that he kept in the wings. things like: "stop crying, or i'll give you something to cry about." or "if you had a brain cell, you'd be dangerous." for many years he's been much better--he doesn't stress out about everything, and he's much more open with his feelings.

lately, though, since he's been retired, he's been leaning back to being a powder keg again.

when my sister was talking about his behavior during their last visit, i realized that i was clamming up, inside. we talked a bit about how dad's attitude affected us when we were young, and about how we wished that he would see a therapist now. there's a lot on his mind; i know, because i think like my dad. he's probably worried about retirement, finances and his uncle paul, who just had a stroke; paul's the last of his generation, on my dad's side. dad's concerned with his brother, jed, who's in a care facility in palm springs, ca, after his own massive series of strokes. there's the entire country of vietnam, with all its memories, sitting in his head too. dad gets consumed by worry.

i've had a hard time coming to terms with the fear that i felt, when i was a kid. it was not the imminent threat of physical harm. it was the feeling of uncertainty around my father. i love my dad dearly, and he's a very, very good man. but his temper has always been shaky. i think of zeus, tossing lightning bolts around heaven, and i think of my father.

***

it has snowed, since my last post. and it's snowing this morning too, myriad white flakes drifting down.

i think of metal wrinkled like bedsheets. i think of that stab of fear i had, sitting in my sister's basement, hearing about my father's temper. i think about how they say you marry your father, or mother, whatever. i know that for many years our relationship, dan's and mine, was that same type--mental and emotional mines, planted below the surface, just waiting to be touched. lots of them were not even planted by us; they were planted by our parents, unknowingly.

i think about how much change has gone on, in the last few years: difficult, more difficult, most difficult. i think of the father and son, standing next to their rumpled cars; the son has pulled on a gray sweatshirt, stained with dark spots of cola. i hear the father say, we are safe.

i dislike comparing life to that car wreck, but in truth, it often seems that way. you survive the car wreck, or whatever disaster is on the menu, and then you take that moment and you file it away and you move forward. that father and son took something different away from that accident than i did, sitting in the periphery.

can i honestly say i am glad to have seen it? nope. can i say that i'm glad that my dad's got a bad temper? not really. can i say that i am happy about the way the last few years tossed me around, a fish between sharks? not especially.

can i say that i am glad to be here? today, yes. today i know dan will wake up and we will smile together, and he won't be afraid to share his emotions, doled out like small precious bits of treasure. or perhaps that is how i feel--that i can share my self with him again, and in that sharing, there is a strength that would not be here, had i not experienced what i have.

i haven't got all the time in the world; and yet i do.

741 post merdian

2007-01-09T17:42:00.000-08:00

it's now 741 on my monitor screen. i just logged out of my system and am going to be heading home. after, of course, a stop at wal-mart.

why, i am asking myself, do i need to stop there, when i have this nagging head-ache that i think is brought on due to the overhead lights and eye strain with the computer?

because, i'll answer...i'm out of underwear.

year end at work is always sucky. no matter how you slice it. some days are short because you're caught up and can sneak out the door on time. other days sneak up and beat you over the head. if you've never been assaulted by your job, just imagine a few reams of paper hanging over your head and then dropping suddenly. it's kind of like the coyote-roadrunner fights, with the coyote mashed under the anvil.

at any rate, i have this nagging headache. i'm going to start calling it my 741 headache because it is at this point in the day where i wave the white flag and do one of the following:

1. crawl into bed
2. slither into the shower
3. start doing head rolls that would make ichabod crane shiver

and it's that time, today. and i'm still at work. and if i don't stop at wal-mart, tomorrow i will be going commando. and that, my friends, is just all wrong. (;

let me count the ways

2007-01-06T08:13:00.000-08:00

i've never been a math-alete. i can scrape by in percentages, but don't ask about fractions or ratios or *shudder* geometry. word problems were continually the bane of my existence, during school. for as many years as i've been employed, however, i've been put in situations where i am forced to do math, mainly bookkeeping, or in the case of my present job, figuring out where numbers come from or where they went.

in some ways i look at this as a mystery, waiting to be solved, and that makes it easier to swallow. however i'm still jaded about word problems. for instance:

question: A pool is filling with water at the rate of 1/2 gallon per minute. It is emptying at one gallon an hour. How long until the pool is filled?

answer: PLUG THE FRICKING LEAK.

i get disgruntled, quickly.

this week has been a reminder of how far i have come, mathematically speaking. in my new position i just do a lot of checking off of lists, etc, versus my old position, where i assisted clients with their taxes and deductions and why something was not figuring correctly. at any rate, people still come to me for help with figuring out things that they cannot figure themselves. and not to toot my own horn, but usually i can solve them.

in fact, at one point, someone actually said that i was LOGICAL.

huh? me, logical? not usually! then again, perhaps i am more logical than i think, but less so than say, spock.

i think the problem i usually have with math is that i hare off on a different topic before i can complete the current function. therefore when i come back to it, i don't know what i just did, and voila! i'm lost.

i don't know what the difference is at work, where suddenly i become the Inspector Poirot of Numerical Crap.

it does give me pause.

why? because there are many, many things that i never thought i could do, but i have done. i remember when i was first learning to drive, and i had a moment of hesitation about stepping on the gas pedal. in fact i was such a cautious driver that i did not think i would ever drive in a big city.

scoot fifteen years down the line, and i love driving in the cities. driving itself is second nature.

and the same thing is true when i consider math.

i don't think that i will ever overcome my fear of math, my loathing for imaginary numbers. (if they are imaginary, does that mean that i can imagine that they're simply gone? hm?) i think that, like many other things, i have become accustomed to dealing with it.

i cannot count the number of things that i have encountered with fear, and now live with on a daily basis. but if i think of those things, even just a few, it makes me feel strong enough to handle the next one, or just continue to live with the fears i do have.

my fear of math, in the scheme of things, is small. i have much greater fears--losing loved ones, for example--but i have lost loved ones, and i know that life goes on, whether i will it or no.

when i was a young child and my parents yelled at me, i would do one of two things: hide in the back corner of my closet, or any dark small space, or go outside and run over to the park, and pretend that i was elsewhere on the planet.

when i was in my teens, my dad used to get frustrated with my math skills, or lack thereof. he would rail and shout at me, until he gave up and walked away. my reaction was generally to sit and try not to cry, because then i'd hear that wonderful phrase: "stop crying or i'll give you something to cry about." when he finally would storm off, i would give in and sniffle through the math problems myself, and then content myself with walking into the woods behind our house, alone, and trying to make the feelings go away.

it's something i carried, along with all those basic habits you pick up as a kid. when something happens that makes me want to cry, my first instinct is to run off somewhere and curl up, that if i make myself a small enough target, i will be forgotten and will forget.

it's something that i have to face, every day. my mother always said you have to pick your battles. i understand now that it's not only the battles you have with other people; more important are the battles we wage against our selves.

the truth of the matter is understanding that there really is no battle, just a simple question to be asked of your self. the question varies, as will your answer. it is the pause that is important, the pause where you question your behavior or action or thought, and hold it up and consider it, no matter how briefly. my therapist calls this "coginitive therapy."

whatever you call it, it does slow down the world a little. the questions i pose to myself are my own inner negotiator, feeling out reactions.

i cannot count the number of times that i have filed my nails; nor can i count the number of fears that i have come to live with, the number of times i have fought to a truce with my own thought process.

but if i think about it in the smallest of ways--my hidden math abilities, say--then it becomes more realistic, for everything else i face.

i'm dreaming of a hypocritical christmas.

2006-12-30T09:52:00.000-08:00

i'm feeling a bit jaded. so take this with two advil and comment later. (;

it's minnesota. it's two days from two-thousand-seven, and the grass outside my patio has the temerity to be GREEN.

we've had a few days of icy windshields, and some frosty lawns, and even some large, fluffy, beautiful snowflakes.

but the weather is being pretty damn hypocritical for a minnesota winter, and withholding the cold and snow that makes me love the state.

of course, being a minnesotan, i can glance outside, sigh, and continue with my day, because that's what being minnesotan is all about. usually.

and if any of the rest of this post makes any coherent sense, let me know. my man dan made me some kickin' coffee this morning and i'm kind of punchy. (;

***

perhaps i get frustrated this time of year because my workplace celebrates the holiday with wild abandon--cookies and gift exchanges, toasts of non-alcoholic bubbly--all while taking phone calls from the most ungrateful, ill-mannered group of public i've ever encountered.

for almost three years at work the holidays have been a time of overtime with a thin veneer of joy. here's why:

people forget that they are speaking to other people.

other people who are working double time and triple time, staying later than late trying to patch up a human error committed by one of their teammates, who probably ran out of coffee and wasn't able to run for a refill. other people who arrive at work three hours early, other people who are trying to make ends meet. other people that you probably brushed elbows with, at wal-mart, while edging in for the same cabbage patch doll.

i'm in a different position now; i no longer have to assist people on the phone who preach the Golden Rule to their kids but don't practice it with the rest of the planet. i still work a ton (workspeak: sixty hours or so) during year end (workspeak: December 15th through January 30th, no time off and weekends optional) and i help out a lot with my client service coworkers, because i cannot stand to see someone go without assistance. props and thanks to my mom and dad, who would give their last shirt to their neighbor.

at any rate, most of the people in my exceedingly short-handed office don't see their family a lot during the time of year when family is touted as the focus of the season. if our customers knew what the stress level was like in our office, would they take pity? would they not raise their voices, when they call about a problem that can be fixed? would they edit the swear words from their vocabulary, and perhaps treat their fellow humans with a bit of respect?

yesterday, at the height of the week's strife, i turned a corner to run into one of our managers, heidi. she was carrying a sheaf of files and paper, and from her direction, had been in a meeting with some irate client.

i'd never seen this bubbly girl cry. and i suddenly also knew what the term "big, fat tears" defined. i stopped in my tracks and asked if she was okay, if there was anything i could do. she shook her head and choked out no, she'd be fine.

the problems that cause people to explode like this, they are minor. the compassion that the season preaches gets lost.

my rule of dealing with an angry client is to remember that there are worse things that could have happened than the post office losing their payroll package.

i think of dan's brother, corey, and having lost him is much, much more terrible. it's not that i do not treat my clients with respect; it's just my way of keeping a calm head, when dealing with a ready-to-detonate person.

***

on top of the stress of work and being home long enough each day to shower and make sure the cats have kibble, my mom had a cancer scare, which has since been alleviated and found to be a fatty deposit. thank heavens for fat. never thought i'd say that again, except when i slip and hit the ice and then am thankful for the deposits on my ass, which protect said tailbone.

however one of my cousins is still in hospital, after a week and a half. she was being treated for an infection, and when rushed from the northern hinterlands to the Big City, it was found that she had cancer. they removed part of her stomach, her uterus, a lot of her colon. there are still three more tumors there. she's not much older than me; it's kind of scary, and it's much worse than anything that happens at work.

it's not that i don't care about my fellow man. i do. i have been in those shoes before, so frustrated that i can't do anything other than search for my tissues and a hershey's bar for solace.

i guess it just bothers me that halloween has passed and yet people wear the same hypocritical mask: love thy brother, love thy church, love thy family, but do not spare the verbage when you're angry.

my parents always used to preach the whole "do unto others" policy. dan's mom had a little plaque on her wall about not bitching about someone else until you have walked a mile in their moccasins. there's the wiccan rede: do unto others, an it harm none. the three-fold law: what you mete to others will return to you three-fold.

it's all the same message, backed by a god or quip-creator.

i'm not pissed off at the people who call and whose invoices pay my salary; i'm annoyed with their behavior. in therapy we talked about that difference, how you sometimes have to separate behavior and being.

i'm going to generalize here: everyone on this planet has the capacity and the ability to be hypocritical. and if they haven't been, yet, they will be, at some point, about something.

i know i have. i know i will, in future. it's inevitable. it's the two-faced nature of humanity, the yin and yang, night and day. if you walk far enough in one direction, there is the chance that you will meet your self, coming the other way. you might not recognize your own face, but it's you, meeting in the middle.

and if that is the case, i'd hope to meet me with open arms, and not show the same hypocrisy for which there is the potential.

the mating habits of electric deer

2006-12-17T07:52:00.000-08:00

every year our townhome managers decorate for the holidays with pine boughs and red bows on the mailboxes and such. for the past two years, out by the big townhome sign on the street, they've put up these deer-shaped lighted deer.

last year, as we waited for traffic to ease up so that we could leave the house, i giggled to dan that wouldn't it be funny to move the deer around, perhaps having some type of discovery channel mating session? dan vetoed that; he said it would be like grafitti.

this year, same thing. decorations go up and i wonder briefly if i have the stones to go out in the middle of night and re-arrange the deer into as much of a compromising position as deer could be found. and then the notion is forgotten amid the detrius of work and mundane life crap, the never-ending list that runs through my head as i sit in my car at the stop sign: did i turn on the dishwasher? did i feed the cats? do i have my purse with me?

about two weeks ago i was doing just that. we were leaving, after dark, headed towards a bookstore foray. i was sitting in the passenger seat; we were chatting about something. as we turned, i looked over my shoulder and voila! someone had read my mind! there was a lighted, moving stag mounting his very own lighted doe.

how quaint.

the next day the deer were gone, moved back to the front area near the townhome office.

go figure.

***

those deer drive me nuts, during the holidays. they aren't painted to look like the real thing; they're just wire with white lights, heads bobbing up and down. they look frighteningly like golems of the real thing. i can almost hear the pinnochio-related thoughts: but i want to be a real ungulate! i want to graze on clipped suburban lawns! i want to nibble your nasturtiums to their roots!

i don't like being out by myself at night. in fact, i'm not so keen on it during the day, either, unless i am in a public place. for whatever reason, being in barnes and noble with nine hundred other people makes me feel safer than being in the local park by myself, with just one or two other hikers.

out of nine hundred bodies at the bookstore, i'm sure that there is a better chance that one of them will be a perverted person with mayhem, mischief and assault on their mind. but my imagination paints that lone jogger on the same hiking trail as myself as much, much more scary.

last night i was supposed to meet friends at the legion in richfield, for drinks and such. i arrived and could not find them; when i got back to my car i realized that my phone was dead, so i couldn't call for clarification or anything. i decided to do some retail therapy and drove to the local wal-mart to pick up a few items needed yet for christmas prep.

as i walked up to the store i thought about how easy it would be to just be gone--be mis-placed in the sea of bodies. dan thought i was having drinks; the people i was meeting thought i was probably home. my parents and friends would think whatever they would like to think about my present existence. in the end, how long would it take before someone even realized that i was gone?

i considered briefly getting in the car and driving somewhere, and staying the night, just to see if i was missed. it was a scary thought, that momentary urge to disappear amid the throng.

i thought about how easy it would be, how simple. i thought about how much i missed my northwoods, and the safety that i felt when i was in those woods, even if it was a sham and probably imagined security.

one of the things i used to dwell on, or perhaps cling to, when i lived by myself, was the fact that a tree, standing for years in the darkness outside, could not be scared of the night. it was rooted in ground. animals, too, could not be scared of the dark--they had no choice about flipping a switch and being ensconced into the wee hours by beautiful, lovely, safe light.

this year as i plodded back to my vehicle, shopping completed, i thought again about being alone in the dark. as i drove home i thought about those ridiculous deer that bother me so, thomas edison gone horribly awry. i thought about how they could subsist in the darkness, alone or in pairs, and not feel a thing about their situation.

were they luckier, those deer, than i, for their lack of brain cell? or were they aware of their own irony: that if they were real deer, they would stumble through tight forest and browse thickets for leftover buds, all in utter blackness?

apparently that is why i'm sitting in my house, warm and well-lit, and the lighted deer are plugged in down the street.

the ticking of a thousand clocks

2006-12-09T07:31:00.000-08:00

yesterday while typing up a comment on dan's blog, i realized that i'd been sitting at my desk for a good solid two minutes, just listening to the clocks in our living room.

they both read the same time. but due to the fact that humanity had a part in setting that time, they are off, by just a second or two. they don't tick in tandem; they tick separately, never leaving a space between them wherein there is actual silence.

upstairs we have two ticking clocks, in addition to the myriad electronic alarms, but they are in separate rooms; if they do not track time at the same instant, you do not know. it's only in the living room that you hear these two.

i remember when i was a child reading a story about a puppy being just brought home, and how the father puts a hot water bottle and a clock in the little puppy's box, to soothe him. the clock is supposed to remind him of his mother's heartbeat.

truthfully, it doesn't sound that far off, if you muffle it with your pillow.

i also remember laying in the basement of my grandma's house. interesting that at my father's parents home we slept in the upstairs bedrooms, while at my mother's home we slept in the basement. it's all about area, i suppose, and a family of six takes up considerable space. anyway, in my grandma's basement the walls were painted a pale turquoise, almost white, and they leaned in, shoved by frost in the winter. there was a beer sign on the wall--budwieser, i think--that one of my uncles installed in their youth. the bar light was our night light, red and white neon against those turquoise walls.

my mom's home town is steam heated. when the heat kicked on at grandma's house, the radiators were silent. but in the basement, the pipes clicked and made odd noises. at least odd in the light of three am, i guess.

at any rate, being a light sleeper even as a child, i'd wake up at night and in wobbly sleep-vision, see those walls, pressing in and wavering. i'd hear the pipes clanging, a sound i never heard at home in the land of natural gas furnaces. i only hear with my right ear; the left is nerve damaged and deaf. so i'd put my good ear on the pillow, to drown out the pipe noises, and that is when i would hear the footsteps.

soft, at first. slow and steady. and then, as i panicked, they'd speed up. for hours i'd lay there, frozen, waiting for a man to come out of those bowed turquoise walls and step into the darkness of the basement, perhaps take a seat on the brown sofa from 1952 that felt like astroturf rather than fabric, or lean up against the three television sets stacked in the corner.

it wasn't until years later, after suffering through visits during which i'd play dead to avoid the man in the blue walls, that i realized that the footsteps i'd heard were the pulse of my own heartbeat, throbbing in my temple, pressed against the pillow.

***

i'm still a light sleeper. at night, everything wakes me, even though i don't hear well at all. perhaps that is the reason i am a light sleeper--during the day, i am always straining to hear things, so it stands to reason that that alert would remain through the night.

it also explains why hearing these clocks annoys me, but the other people in my house probably do not even notice. their focus on sound is very different than mine, more relaxed.

sometimes i have to take sleep aids, to keep me drowsy enough to fall back asleep. it annoys me to do so, because i sleep deeply but i wake drowsy and it takes quite a while for that feeling to wear off. this morning, when i am awake and my cats are starting their daylight nap, the noise surrounds me: the heater, clicking and whooshing to life, the cars on the street, the sound of a neighbor going down stairs. somewhere there is a high pitched whine, as if off a television. my fingers on the keys, and the ticking of those two clocks.

***

a thousand clocks regulate life. as a rule the one which we are most attuned to and yet most ignore is that of our own inner clock, our heart. it's not until the night, when you lay in the deep of your bed, that you focus and pay attention to your very own pulse, that you can hear your heart, thudding its own rhythm in a bony cage.

the clock inside--that is the clock to which i should listen, i think. and yet i am dominated by the clocks that tick in my house: the alarm, the wristwatch, time running down sun.

usually i am not constrained by the ticking of clocks. i like to pretend that i am free as lynyrd skynyrd's bird. but the clock winds down, at some point. i see that clock in my parents, and suddenly my life is all about the time remaining. it seems often that i have frittered away my life, living outside time in my own pretend land. i have time left, if i care for my body, during which i can make the most of the little lapse between the ticking of my two clocks.

siberia

2006-11-30T11:00:00.000-08:00

during the past few years, dan and i have spent time in separate bedrooms. for many years prior to this, we shared a double bed. but neither of us are small people, and when we decided to merge bedrooms again last year, i just pushed together the double bed and my acquired single bed.

when dan saw it, the first thing he said was: "my god, it's like siberia...it just goes on and on." (;

it's actually quite comfortable--mainly because we're both thrashers, and on separate beds, you don't feel your partner shifting around and trying to get comfy. the exception is that if you want to cuddle you have to roll across the divide.

this morning i woke up a bunch--i think i saw every hour after 2 am, and then between 530 and 7 i just laid there, cocooned in my down comforter, listening to the white noise fan, the burbling vaporizer, and the feathers in the comforter crinkling, awake and drowsy. for a while i thought, "i should get up and exercise, since dan was kind enough to fix my exercise machinery." but i couldn't get up the gumption.

i thought about dan's blog, and how sometimes you can be so close to a person that it creates the biggest distance on the planet. i thought about the work on my desk and the time in which i had to complete it. i thought about devin and babies, buying a new house, renewing the lease on our current townhome, how much i wanted it to snow. i thought about the dreams i'd been having, strange and convoluted, not scary but for some reason unsettling. of course i couldn't recall any of them, just that i'd been unsettled.

suddenly i wanted to curl up next to dan, just to be close to him. i laid there thinking about all the things i'd been mulling. i remembered two things, right then:

1. one of dan's issues with me was that i always waited for him to make the first move
2. my friend cari saying that if you're having issues then you have to ask yourself: what are you going to do about it?

it seems like an aggressive stance toward emotional and mental items. but it's something that i think people like me, who wander between distraction and depression, need to do on a regular basis. perhaps everyone does; i don't know. but i suppose i avoid it, because to answer that question, to even take the first step, would mean that the problem would be on its way to being resolved.

resolution, in my world, exists only with dishwashers and sitcoms. it's not something in which i try to take an active part. i'll help it along, but i won't initiate it.

and i think asking that question is the R L Ermey of brain militia.

someone has to police my mental status, and it has to be me.

i'm still learning the ropes, mind you. i'm not able to all the time take control of the runaway train and route it correctly again. but i am trying. and that's something, right?

***
anyway, i lay awake, trying to excise the wandering of my mind and erase the odd sense that i just dreamt i was a half-dressed barbie doll, plastic tits and all.

trying to get over the need in my marrow to cuddle up to dan's sleeping warmth and leech some comfort from that heat.

the two thoughts ran like tandem hamsters through my head, endless circles: start something, kim! what am i going to do about it?

i rolled across the great divide and found a limb; felt like a knee, folded. i didn't much care. the frantic pace of my head slowed a notch. i could feel the heat radiating through the comforter. hear his breathing, smell the familiar scent of sleeping dan.

***
when i got to work this morning i thought about that morning, laying there next to an unconcious man who feels like an extension of my own body, but whose mind is often further away than any hands can grasp. and how mine often does the same to him--hiding, flitting about, crawling into the darkness.

i think about serena--the other day her birthday reminder popped up in my yahoo! mail. lingering there in memory is a dangerous place, especially when it's a memory of pain. i think of my dad's mother a lot too--when i wake in the morning and stand up, the first thing i see is her perfume bottle. then i think of the tender scent of her, wearing that perfume, and i think of her laying on her deathbed, lungs rattling.

it's like biting your lip again, just after you have bitten it the first time.

in the dark, at my desk, in the car, reading a book--those memories overtake me, pull me under. they are just as familiar, much of the time, as the feeling of love and calm, and they beckon me towards that dark end of the pool. can i stop them? can i keep them at bay? the question then becomes: what am i going to do about them?

laying on that bed this morning i wavered--i could have remained on my side, could have suppressed the need to roll closer to dan. it's what i would usually do, the litany of fears: what if i wake him? what if he's angry that i woke him? what if what if what if...

thinking those two things--i CAN start something, i CAN do something about this--that rolled me over, that silenced some of those clamoring thoughts. knowing that i can try--that even if i i fail, i have tried--that is to what i should cling. the other things--the doubts, the pain, the frustration and the apathy--they're still around, old relations i cannot remove from my blood. but i have the choice, i always have the choice, of whether i wish to allow my habitual responses to rule me, or if i choose to question them and martial some random order in my mind.

***
in siberia, i imagine that there is no time to dwell on these things.

i also imagine the alternate: that this morning some person woke and thought in another language something akin to my thoughts, felt like emotions, crossed the space within themself--their own personal siberia.

passion, potlucks and pride

2006-11-25T08:16:00.000-08:00

so last night, due to the fact that there was no Sci Fi Friday (sniff!), dan and i sat down and watched the two Netflix movies that had been taking up dust atop the tv. the second was one i'd highly recommend, Thank You for Smoking. excellent movie, very excellent.

first up was A Prairie Home Companion, which was good and amusing but disjointed. i wanted everyone to hear garrison keillor say, "not much is going on in lake woebegon these days..." and all that. but he didn't. it was interesting to see downtown st paul on the screen (another moment when we could both point and say "i've been there!") and to hear meryl streep and lily tomlin sing. but the plot was thin, if present, and it could have used a bit more...passion.

of course, it *is* the midwest, and we're not a passionate people up here, unless it concerns a few things: hunting, children, fishing, potlucks and snow boots.

i'm not making a mean-spirited comment about the midwest. perhaps more of a generalization, based on movies made, songs sung, tales told. midwesterners, minnesotans in particular, seem to take some inordinate pride on being dispassionate.

from where does this stoicism stem? perhaps that's not such a mystery. watching garrison keillor, spawn of lutheran norwegian ancestry, you get the idea perfectly: it takes patience to live here.

down south you can storm out of your house pretty much any month of the year, slamming the door on your spouse/parent/child/dog.

up here, nine months out of the year, you have to stay in the house, content with moving room to room, because storming out the door would mean a variety of things: jackets, scarves, gloves, fumbling for car keys, shovels, ice scrapers and kitty litter, so that your escape can be made with head held high, and not skidding on slippery sidewalk.

it's hard to maintain a good righteous anger when your ass hits the pavement and you need to ask for help to get up.

does the weather really shape us, that much? perhaps. culturally, the folks up north of the mason dixon line have to be more patient, in my mind, not just with the weather but with each other.

you can't fight as much, but it's not because the weather has pounded it out of you. it's because you know that you have to huddle together for warmth, it's that genetic code that says, don't antagonize your neighbor...you might need to borrow wood for the fire this winter.

perhaps the disjointed arena of that movie just pointed it out, at length. it wasn't lacking anything; it just wasn't like the majority of hollywood movies, with their heated arguments and wild actions.

i'm sure that long ago, before we had highways and electricity, people had to all get along in their own little caves. and the further north you went, the better you had to get along. the less passion you could cultivate, the more subtle it had to be, because the microcosm of your world was, for many months, the size of your cave.

are there less secrets here? nope. they're just better kept. less passion? no; it just doesn't stand out in the same way, it's not broadcast visually; it's radio waves, things you can't see, something you hear and you know and you internalize.

welcome

2006-11-19T12:26:00.000-08:00

on thursday i stared in awe
the pale skin of your face, stretched
thin and new

friday i held you, nestled deep,
blinking dark eyes and restlessly
feeling out your
boundaries

watching her face,
perplexed
as you twist and swirl
onl y the night before
shrouded in mother
you slumbered

today the blanket rises
shoves at the crook of my elbow
one small foot
each nail a transparent crescent
pokes out,
heel tasting air

call it what you want

2006-11-16T14:33:00.000-08:00

it's some sixth sense--not smell or taste or sight, and not hearing, especially for me. (;

my great grandmother read tea leaves for the police department. she saw things sometimes before they happened, or so the stories go. the only person who remembers is my uncle jed, who's immobilized by strokes and unable to speak.

*sigh*

when i first went to therapy one of the questions helene asked was about knowing the future, or having ESP. i grudgingly admitted that yes, i often had dreams that came true, or knew something before it happened. it's never anything life shattering--nothing that they'd make movies about, and helene just asked for some examples and moved on.

one of the examples i gave was years ago, when dan's parents got a german shepherd. i dreamed that they had a dog that looked like an elkhound but people kept telling me was a german shepherd. then his parents got gabe--who looks like he's been crossed with an elkhound.

another was a friend who needed to get into the doctor, but was on a long list. one day two months prior to the scheduled appointment i said, call now. and there was an opening that afternoon.

it's little things like that, daily bits, that enforce my belief that sometimes people are given, or people sense, things that you cannot predict. my sisters and i all call our mother on the same day. we send each other the same cards. is it esp? probably not--we all think a lot alike. but to pick out and send the same card at the same time was a bit odd, i will admit.

some dear friends of mine are due to have their baby next week, 11/25/06. due to the baby being bashful when it comes to ultrasounds, they've no idea of what the sex is, and they haven't told anyone what names they're considering, either. i had a silly dream months ago that it was a boy, with the same first name as last name. like, Smith Smith. personally, i had a very strong feeling that the baby would be a boy, for whatever reason.

anyway, this last tuesday night i dreamed i stood in the kitchen with my friend cathy. i dreamed she held a little girl in her arms, with wispy red-brown hair and cathy's gray eyes, named evan. the child was about 9 months old, sitting upright, with fingers in her mouth.

this morning i woke up at 3 am. i'd been dreaming about a hose, spraying water all over a crisp green lawn. i fell back asleep. at 4 i woke up, dreaming that dan was bringing me a cup of water that ran over the lip of the dark little cup. usually these dreams mean i need to go to the bathroom--it's my subconcious' way of reminding me, i suppose. but i didn't, when i woke.

later that morning, we got the email: cathy's water broke around 4, and they had a little girl named devin.

how much of this is coincidence? how much of it is random chance? how much of it is something else, that cannot be pinned to anything but the unknown ether that makes up this world?

just when i had given up on my gut instincts, and the dreams that seemed to have abandoned me as of late, i dream something that is so close to reality that it doesn't feel as random as it should.

my sister beth and i have discussed how dreaming feels just as real as being awake, and how sometimes the dreams mix so well with reality that you cannot separate them--they have fallen out of separate bottles, and swirl on the floor, reality melding into dreamscape.

goliath, felled by one stone...

2006-11-11T13:23:00.000-08:00

or kim, felled by one bacterium.

i'm here. existing. crawling out of whatever virus-infested hole i got sucked into.

will post more later. after much cat-enhanced napping. (;

insomnia

2006-10-25T07:52:00.000-07:00

in the dark
beneath the skin
i wake
lids peeling like oranges
eyes gritty with unslept dreams

in the dark
where i have prayed for release
from unending dawn
i sit up on edge of bed
curl one leg into the comforter
gray cat thuds against my side, purr
rumbling marrow

in the dark
your seige on slumber
rages on, you roll over
small countries shaped like
a green and purple crocheted blanket
breathe deep and deeper

in the dark
i surrender, my war
lost
i rise and pad on pink toes
running from my battlefield
i envy
your fight

recess

2006-10-23T09:00:00.000-07:00

the word recess always reminds me of elementary school: crisp autumn races around the cement playground, skimming across the monkey bars and swinging wildly, trying to see how high i could get, just flinging myself back and forth on steel chain and a slice of rubber.

recess also reminds me of holes in the wall--a recessed area, for example. when i was young i always wanted to find places to hide, always dreamed of secret passages and hidey holes, like a priest's hole: a spot designated for just little old me to shrug into, and hide from the world.

for the most part i remember this time with happy memories. i was a happy kid, for the most part, but that may have been because i was living about 85% of the time in my imagination.

like a recess in my brain, where i was permanently at recess.

does that make sense?

when i was in third grade my teacher was mr. zagorski. very nice guy--tall, with a good-sized belly, glasses, dark receding hair and a bushy mustasche. we read "call of the wild" by jack london, out of a big book with pictures. my parents went in for their annual conferences and he shared that if i could just pull myself out of my imagination, and apply myself, i could be a very good student.

i now wonder if that's a byproduct of this add, that the dreamer in me is just more focused than the reality-creator will ever be.

right now i'm on vacation--another kind of recess. a recess from work, where i spend weeks holed up in my fuzzy gray cube. i've got lots of plans, probably too many, and i'll probably accomplish only a fraction of what i feel i should be able to.

***

when we read jack london's shortened version of "call of the wild" i took that name and went to the library. i found the real book, and devoured it. i don't to toot my own horn, but by the time i was in fifth grade, i was reading james michener. the reality of that book scared me, probably more than any scary movie could--that people could have things like leprosy, something i'd never heard of.

i think that is when i started to become an anxious person. i've always been afraid of the dark--where i think the well of imagination is disguised, bushes piled up in front of an endless cave. the monster under the bed changed when i started reading things that were probably out of my league, morphed from a dark, toothy blob into germs and the unknown world outside my house.

i started doing things like checking to make sure doors were locked, and only drinking out the family water bottle in the car if i could drink first. when i was thirteen my parents went bowling one night and came home to find me sobbing, sure that i had AIDs. my mom sat me down and said: "kim, are you having unprotected sex? what about using dirty needles?"

when i look back i can see the silliness of it, the ridiculousness of my brain. the structure of school i always felt held me back, when in truth, it kept me in bounds...of some kind.

now that i'm without structure--ie, no work deadlines, nothing to keep me on the tracks--i'm scattered and lost. too many bright and shiny objects on which to focus.

too many projects, too many thoughts.

***

so maybe i'll regress just a little and go find a playground, and sit on the swings for a while. provided there aren't any kids around. (;

mirror mirror on the wall

2006-10-14T19:05:00.000-07:00

i found a mirror at ikea (one of my favorite stores, if you couldn't tell from...well, most of my home...) it's a circle with all these little squares around a large center. the patterns are interesting, as the little squares around the edge are not all glued on perfectly, and pick up light and color at different angles.

then another, at a church rummage sale. and a few more on clearance somewhere else, squares that i have to figure out how and where to place on some vertical area.

at any rate, the garage sale mirror started this afternoon's Attack of the Re-arranging Spasms.

the boys are at a computer thing today, so i've had the house to myself since i got home from work. always refreshing, as i never have the house to myself--don't take this wrong, i've lived my whole life save eight months with two to 8 people, and i like the comfort of having others in the house with me. i think it's the vestiges of growing up in a larger family; i'm most comfortable in the house both when i'm entirely alone, and when i'm surrounded by other people.

the dichotomy is not lost on me.

at any rate, in fall and spring i go through these predictable phases in which i want to clean and junk old crap and rearrange the house. this year i thought i was going to wait until the week after next, when i'm on vacation and plan to take care of a number of appointments, etc, that just never occur during the week.

had to go to work this morning, had to have dan stop in and move a HUGE computer monitor (props to dan for doing so--thanks babe!!!) and then stopped at ikea on the way home. (it's right next to work, honest...) the only reason i stopped there was because the other day we'd been talking about how cold it gets over by the patio doors during the winter, and how much i despise putting plastic up, since the windows are the only source of good light in the living room. dan suggested hanging a blanket, or curtains, instead of our horribly ugly vertical blinds.

so i stopped in with the intention of picking up a curtain rod and such, and then working on sewing the curtains at a later date. of course in the as is section i found curtains marked 60% off, so they came home with me.

now, the garage sale mirror has been sitting in the foyer for weeks. months, perhaps? i can't recall when it made its debut. i was going to wait to put up the curtains until dan got home, since that's a tall person thing and i'm short. so i thought, heck, i'll just hang up the mirror. found a spot, leveled things, got the mirror cleaned up and hung. i think it looks very nice, if i do say so myself.

however after hanging up the mirror, i felt empowered, which is always a dangerous thing, when you're alone in the house with power tools at hand, in my opinion.

i had options: i could clean something, or i could hang up the curtains.

however, to hang up the curtains, i needed to move the kitty tree. to move the kitty tree i had to move shelving units, lamps, plants, and the occasional concerned cat, until things looked more or less the way i wanted them to look. so far i am enjoying the new look--it freshens and somehow makes the living room look more finished, even if it is such a hodge-podge of the new, the slightly used and, in the case of the couch, the broken.

then of course i had to make trips to the garage, to ditch extra stuff, and clean up the kitty poo zone by the back door...so on and so forth. when i finally sat down on the couch to survey the look, i realized that i had two mirrors in the living room, and recalled the others upstairs, awaiting installation.

hello, my name is kim, and i have a mirror problem. i think. i suppose the first step is admitting...

***

mirrors reflect the reality. memory and opinion shift that reality, warp it into something that resembles a real fun-house mirror--stretch me tall, wide, crazy swishes for a face and hands the size of old oak trees.

i've never really liked mirrors, mainly because i don't like looking at myself in them. that being said, i've done a lot of reflecting lately, while working copious amounts of overtime. what can i say, sometimes data entry is like meditation.

(that and i have this theory that stress is like juicing oranges--under pressure, the orange changes and produces something different...follow? if not, oh well. it's my theory anyway. last week my exec T and my old manager S got canned on tuesday morning, out of the complete and utter blue. needless to say the office has been in uproar since.)

anyway, back to relflections.

when i look back in pictures i can see the way that i see the world, at different times in my life. sometimes i took pictures of my feet or hands, sometimes a blurry shot of my self, mostly shots of trees and the outdoor world. lately i haven't done much picture taking.

if you face two mirrors together you get infinity; perhaps this is my inner spirit, reminding me that my reflecting is not done, that it never will be.

***

when i was leaning over the big mirror that started my empowered interior design fit, scrubbing at the sticker on it, i saw my face, determined. that is not the face i always see, in the mirror. i have many faces, many looks, many emotions. i suppose that life does have beginnings and ends to it, just like a length of string, but for the duration, reflecting is a mobius strip, from which i cannot remove my self.

so thus, there is a reason for my multitude of mirrors. at least i think there is. (;

through the looking glass

2006-10-07T06:36:00.000-07:00

can i just say this? i HATE being on all these drugs. i despise it. i'm sure that there are folks out there who take handfuls more, and i should be thankful that i just take this little bit, but i'm starting to feel like alice--drink this, eat this, grow tall, grow small.

are things better when i am on my drugs? i have to admit that yes, they are.

my blood pressure drug really does lower my blood pressure.
my hormone drug really does control my hormones.
my depression drug really does help keep my depression smaller.
and my favorite drug, my adhd drug, really does keep me focused.

the last time i was at the doctor i said that i didn't think that my cocktail was working quite right. my dr rocks; she pulled up all the visits we've had and went over the little test that i take whenever i go in. i didn't want to be on wellbutrin anymore, because i didn't think it was doing anything for my adhd.

then the world had to show me up. i got this thing from my perscription company stating that i needed to start buying meds thru the mail. why, you ask? because it cuts down on price for them. yay. the new rule was that i could get a refill twice but then after that, the refills would be normal price, and not the price that my insurance company covers.

fine. dandy. i order them by mail.

and in the mean time, i run out.

the pill that scares me the most is my blood pressure tablet. without it, my blood pressure ranges pretty far into the Ick Numbers--the ones where nurses take it and say, "are you feeling okay? you should be having a stroke." i actually stopped by the pharmacy and the pharmacist was kind enough to give me a few tablets to get by.

anyway, i didn't think that not being on wellbutrin would be a big deal. it didn't seem like it had made that big of a difference to me, while on it. however my doctor apparently didn't go to school for nothing: in combination with the lexapro (which is for depression and dysphoric disorder) the wellbutrin really does make a difference.

i think i was out of it for a good solid month. being stubborn i didn't worry, and i certainly didn't call the pharmacy looking for extra tablets.

and things slid down hill: my house kind of has piled up, work showed a lack of focus, and i really have been drifting again.

having since received mail refills and started back on my regular regimen, i can feel the difference. it's a difference that i don't want to feel--i want to be just fine, minus these little chemistry miracles.

i guess what it comes down to is that i'm not. the doctor agreed that next spring we will try to wean me off some of them, see where i'm at, etc.

it's a double edged sword, when and if you find the right combination for yourself. i've been lucky enough to do so.

the double edged sword part comes in when you realize that with this little white pill you feel better. and that you hate that pill, you hate yourself a bit, for needing that pill.

i am having trouble finding a good metaphor for this. it's like and dislike, sitting on opposite ends of the see-saw, having a grand old time.

but i suppose it's more like alice in wonderland than i would like to believe. i am handed a little cup and told to eat, and i eat. the differences are not so apparent as a giant blonde girl, or a shrinking one.

the girl in my head, the one who apparently needs the cup of pills, she is the one who changes, she is the one who orbits the looking glass, wondering which side she is on today.

home

2006-09-23T08:23:00.000-07:00

when i was a kid we used to drive 8 hours north to visit my mom's family, every other christmas, and sometimes in between. my grandma's house was small--i say my grandma's house because despite the fact that my grandpa was always there, his home was in his boat, which had a more lived in look than anything else that had his name attached. my grandma's house was exactly that: hers. and we didn't spend more time anywhere than in her kitchen.

the kitchen was, and still is, tiny. i can't imagine how she raised a family of 7 in there, baking bread by hand and creating food. my grandma is a strong woman; i have no doubts about that. there's this family story about when her and my grandpa were going to remodel the house so as to add a bit more room for all the kids. grandpa was dragging his feet, so my grandma took a sledgehammer to the wall herself and said, well, there's a hole in the wall, you better fix it.

she's one of those people about whom legends begin.

morgan lwellyn wrote a book that i love, called finn mac cool. in the book she delves into the humanity behind the irish legend of finn, basing the great feats that made him notorious in reality. the legend happens later, when the tales are told around fires and roasted turkey legs.

i can see how legends are born; i am proud to say that i am born of legends. my family is a bunch of tale-tellers--tales of our family, what happened yesterday while we were shopping, the what-if of science fiction. we tell tales because it's written in our genetic code to do so.

but i think it's written in everyone's code, to share experiences with someone else's ear. the telling is as important as the listening, the absorbing, because at some point you will have to re-tell that self-same tale.

i've told more stories about my family than i can count. there's too many of them, i often think, to write down, so many that they'd fill a book. why do i keep them around, these stories?

because they remind me of home. they remind me of that feeling i had when i was a kid, that if i got a hug from my mother, the world would be put at rights. that when i sat in my grandma's kitchen, i was safe.

grandma doesn't live in this house anymore. i won't ever hear her bedroom door, which was just off the kitchen, open up with that little creak. i won't hear her slippers slapping across old yellowed linoleum, or the swish of her aqua-flowered house coat as she putters around and starts the coffee. it's not because she's dead; it's because she has alzheimer's.

people with alzheimer's often wander. they say they're going home. i read an article not long ago concerning that search--that they're not really going to any certain place, that they're searching for the safe place that they remember as home.

my home has been in many different states, many different dwellings, with many different people. it makes me feel safe, knowing that home is where you take it.

it also makes me wither a little, to know that the tales i tell about my legendary grandma, who won a nail-hammering competition by burying the nail in one hit, will someday flit away from my mind. that her kitchen table and those bright curtains will be dimmed and lost. the inevitability of losing her, the woman, is already made manifest in my mind. it's the loss of the idea of home, the loss of security, that is hard to fathom.

this morning i sit in my own home, secure and warm, watching my white cat loll on the dark couch, little rib cage rising and falling. i will keep this thought of home safe inside me, for as long as i can. it's my refuge, wherever i am, whoever i might be.

afraid of the dark

2006-09-19T19:55:00.000-07:00

when i was kid i was always
afraid of the dark
the dim shadow beneath.
i'd leap from floor to mattress,
muffle the world with my pillow,
and if i woke at night,
i'd lay there imagining the shape
of my nightmares

later in life you realize
--while sleeping one night, next to your
snoring
bedmate--
that you are no longer afraid of the dark
that is sky lacking sun,
or moon behind cloud.

the dark that you fear, the darkest
of darks
is the pit of your own soul
which perhaps has been lurking along
for all these years,
disguised as the shimmery breath
beneath your bed.

a different arsenal

2006-09-17T10:43:00.000-07:00

henry is being a little feline shit this morning--attacking shiva, begging for the faucet to be turned on, biting when he's annoyed. so on and so forth.

however i have to give him credit--he is more aware of his landscape and his surroundings than i am. he uses his body better, and is in better shape. how much of this is due to species differences and how much is due to good kitty kibble, i don't know.

about a month ago i stopped at ikea on my way home. i'm a dedicated clearance bin shopper and the ikea as-is section is yet another red-stickered mecca for those in my cents-off bracket. for a while now i've been eyeing this stepstool, wooden and unpainted, of course. being the short person in a house of tall people is generally not an issue; but i don't like being totally dependent on the tall folks being around 24/7 to fetch items for me that seem out of reach.

so finding a host of stepstools in the as-is department, for 7.50 instead of the regular 19.99, was a boon.

i got it home and found it a home in the living room, within easy reach. i stood on it and considered the world from dan's height, and asked if he could always see the top of the refrigerator. he spent a goodly amount of time smiling at me, balancing atop the stool, pondering the vagaries of being so much shorter.

so i added a new tool to my household--a tool that is basically just for me.

friday i was in the kitchen, cleaning or something, and i looked up and noticed that there was a large amount of clutter that had gathered on top of my cupboards--pint glasses, a large stainless steel bowl that fits nowhere else, bits of pottery that i like but have no real useful purpose, some emtpy glass jars with lids for a fit of crafting.

i had just gotten that stepstool; if i wanted to, i could have used the stool to dust and sort and reimagine the upper realm of my kitchen.

but i didn't remember until this morning, when henry was careening around the living room after being shooed away from his squalling and angry feline roommate, and launched himself to the top of the stepstool, that i had the necessary tool to complete the job i'd considered only two days ago.

***

it's of interest to me how quickly thoughts pass in and out of people's brains. the sieve of your mind is not as thin and finely woven as cheesecloth; it's more like two hands trying to catch a bag of rice as it tips and falls off the counter. even the good ideas, each grain scattering on white linoleum--the ones you have as you fall asleep, or blearily search for your car keys before work--the ones that startle you into thinking that einstien is not the only genius in the world--they're often forgotten.

but just as easily forgotten are the simple things, like stepstools.

***

many many moons ago dan wrote a letter to my parents, asking for my hand in marriage. it was very charming and when i heard that he'd done this, i was sure beyond belief that my parents would be happy, that this would appeal to their post-WWII sensibilities.

instead dan got a response that we should wait, etc. perhaps they were right, perhaps they were just being protective, perhaps they were wrong. it's not been long enough, historically speaking, for me to be emotionally objective about their response. perhaps i'll never be able to be emotionally objective about it; i'm too close to the situation, too involved.

last weekend, however, my dad made a comment that has had me flummoxed, something to the effect of when would dan be his next son in law, he enjoyed his other son in law so much he would like another one.

it was something small in the conversation, but it overshadowed the whole weekend, and i kept coming back to it during the week.

i have had the tools, for a long time, to move past the original negative statement that my parents made about my choices. but i've never really used them. they've been as forgotten as my stepstool.

i could have picked up that stepstool years ago, when we first moved here, and cleaned comfortably and safely from the floor, instead of walking around on the counters and trying to keep my stocking feet secure.

for years i have chosen the harder road, the path of most resistance, the path that i felt was defining myself. i didn't use the tools available to me, i didn't see that there were tools i had. in retrospect, i could have made this leap of realization at any time.

why didn't i? i wish i knew. now that the stepstool has been revealed by my rambunctious cat, perhaps i will delve further, excavate the tools i have always had, my arsenal in plain sight.

as the rooster crows...

2006-09-10T15:54:00.000-07:00

the older i get, the earlier i like to get up. it's like internally my body is aware that there is only so much time left over between this exact moment and whenever it is my ticket gets punched, and most of the day is taken up with mundane things like scooping the litterbox and emptying the dishwasher.

last week i got up very early for most of the week, just trying to keep my head above water. this week i doubt will differ; there is just too much to do and not enough hours in which to accomplish said work.

i think back five years to tomorrow, the day the trade centers fell. i think of the lives that were snuffed out, and the people who probably got up early that morning to get to the office, get their days started. how many cups of coffee were brewed prior to the first plane hitting? how many reports printed, files filed, voicemails checked and deleted?

how many people had yet to arrive, that day? what twists of fate those spinners tugged, what weavings they wove, to keep bodies out of the dust that day.

i think of all the souls whose lives ended and i think of their mentality. they were feeling just like me: the work is at hand, and it needs doing. they showed up that day, not knowing what it held in store. ready to share gossip over cubicle walls and curse at the copier.

what of all those people who were not in the towers, for whatever reason? those lucky, blessed number who escaped? we remember the day, we remember the fallen, we remember our emotions.

i think of the sole survivor of that plane crash last week, the one man who lived through cartwheeling flames. i wonder at the feelings he is only beginning to process--does he feel guilty to still breathe?

in college one of my fellow students was a gentleman about ten years my senior. i can't remember his name now, but i remember that he was a quiet, quiet soul. quiet in humor, quiet in contemplation. just quiet. his face did not bespeak silence--you know some people, with their animated features, the way they look on the verge of mischief or great thoughts. that was this man.

i asked someone, one day, if he was okay; i didn't know him well enough to touch his shoulder as i would a friend and offer support. he just looked bereft, or lost, adrift in thoughts.

he was in a bus crash, in south america somewhere. like peru, i was told. out of the eighty-some people on the bus, he was the only one who lived. he's been different ever since.

you cannot experience these things--this disastrous type of event--without being changed. the heat melts your mentality like lake ice in spring: the middle buckles, and all the waves push it up onto the shore, jagged until it trickles back into the lake.

i think of the blessed many who count each day as a day of luck, for having missed the subway or seen the dentist or buttoned their six-year-old's jacket instead of showing up to work right away. or those who called in sick, or late, whatever their reason.

i consider how early i must rise, tomorrow, to begin my day. i cannot know what tomorrow holds. it probably will be the same menu as friday, as thursday, as last week and month and year, crowned with a gray cubicle.

those whose lives were lost, i remember you. but today, i raise my glass to you, you survivors. your existence reminds me daily to be grateful for the bumps and potholes in life, the endless jostling. i will be quiet, like my quiet college compatriot, and remember how glad i am to be.

just be.

once upon a time...

2006-09-02T08:26:00.000-07:00

when i was in college, i came home the first year over christmas break and promptly got sick. i think it was something about finally having time to rest, and being completely exhausted.

i think of those videos on the Discovery channel, where they sedate the lion and then let him loose later, stumbling around and finally dashing away. it's got to be tiring.

at any rate, i flopped down on the couch one night. my mother said, "kim, are you okay?"

my reply? this is lovely: "She's tired, she said."

as if i was narrating my own life, not only that but in the third person. i didn't use "i." i used "she."

***

once upon a time i wrote a poem. it was something that spilled out of me after corey died. i'd have to go looking for it, but in summation it was like this:

my sound is wind
my color is gray
my name is lucy
and i feel sorry for kim.

i took that in to one of my professors, who read it and even now, years later, i can remember the look on his face. "you're distancing yourself," he said. i remember feeling a profound sense of comfort, just knowing that someone else could see my location, even if i was still there, alone.

***

dan's been writing about being the star in his own movie, and how he doesn't feel like he ever has been. the idea sprouted after i was paging through "the four agreements," a book that has some good ideas but wanders too much for me. i kept thinking that i'd read the page already, only to peek back and find that the author was reiterating what he'd just said two pages ago.

anyway, the author posited that perhaps everyone's lives were their own movies. i do agree with parts of that statement--your movie is what you are seeing. your eyes are the cameras.

but if that is the case, if you are looking out and watching the film run through reel, then you are never the star of your movie.

you're the narrator of "a" movie. is it your movie? only insomuch as you feel the need to narrate it.

i'm a pretty word-based individual. i do my best thinking on paper, or in this case, virtually. i find it difficult to speak sensibly about things, because as i speak i lose direction, and before you know it, you've sprayed water all over the kitchen, and not just at the cake pan in your hands.

sitting down and writing, i can focus, for a while, and it's more personal to me than talking. or perhaps it's because in writing i don't have to miss words with my bum deaf ear. (;

***

anyway, back to my narrative.

i think a lot of the time, people don't feel like they're even narrating their own movie. you dance to the beat of your parents' drum, you try to blend in with the herd of children at school, you walk between the lines across the street, as if those lines are going to save you from that chance horrible driver.

the other people in your life, the ones who walk on and off the set, become the stars. you're relegated to cleaning up after them, supporting their shoulders, wiping tears and feeding and loving them.

you never know, narrating your own tawdry tale, if they feel the same way as you. you don't know how much of a star you are in their movie; just as they probably will never know about the Oscar nod you gave them, in yours.

***

once upon a time, there was a girl, sitting at her keyboard, typing. she listened to the clack of her fingers on the keys, the softer thud of her thumb hitting the space bar, and the pause as her brain caught up with her fingers, and tried once more to lead the dance.

speaking of serendipity...

2006-08-31T04:47:00.000-07:00

speaking of serendipity
it's nearly labor day
and i feel as if i am actually
laboring
this year
just to make it to friday.

perhaps it's not serendipity
perhaps it's just ironic
a weekend reserved for picnics and gatherings
is the three days that i would like to hole up
and be
alone

this week has been rough
serendipity played its little games
filtering emotions like coffee--
dark, rich, moist.
i want to curl up in the loveliness of the word
but i'm reminded again and again
that it can go
either way.

the olive branch of peice of my mind.

2006-08-28T17:33:00.000-07:00

so you know those emails that get forwarded all the time, about politics or religion or whatever the flavor of the week has been? last week on thursday i got an email forward from one of my aunts. it was labeled: Allah or Jesus?

the email went on about a christian minister who was privy to a talk from a muslim imam. the imam, when questioned, apparently said that muslims view americans as infidels.

it's an email that i usually would just go for the Delete key on, as quickly as possible. but this time i read it, and a growing intolerance blossomed.

so instead of deleting it, i replied.

my argument was first that you cannot generalize all muslims, just as you cannot generalize all christians. labelling and generalizing are sad paths to destruction.

my second argument was that the lines that separate are far fewer than the ones that unite. the god of abraham is the christian God. the god of abraham is yaweh, jehovah, eloh, allah.

he's the same entity. and i'm sure he's laughing his ass off somewhere at this entire debate. or at least smirking. i know i wouldn't be able to help it.

anyway, my email was countered with an email that stated that in her neighborhood, my aunt has three (yes a whole THREE) muslim families, and they believe that my aunt and the neighborhood at large are infidels. they apparently look down their noses in scorn at the christians.

personally, i have a difficult time believing that these parents would willingly raise their children in an area peopled with the Bad Guys if they believed such.

but that might just be me.

***

at the end of her email, my aunt said: "Allah or Jesus, Kim? I know my choice is simple."

it comes down to faith, dan said, and you can't argue with faith.

and that part at least is true. part of my argument was based on discussions i'd had with my muslim coworker, dilshad, who was frankly appalled that the american public grouped all muslims in the same terrorist family, despite the fact that the Qur'an does not support or encourage such activity. in fact, the actual dictate in their holy book is that to kill one human is to kill all humans, and to help one is to help all.

the thing that got me, that i keep going back to, is when my aunt said in the same email that perhaps the dilshads of the world would be able to educate the muslims about american culture.

i so badly wanted to return fire: dilshad IS american. perhaps you ought to take a lesson from her, instead.

***

when i was a kid i was always afraid of the monster under the bed. it wasn't even so much the monster; it was the shadow, the idea of lurking darkness, the unknown. for the same reason i never jumped off a boat and swam in the middle of lakes--the murky bottom was reaching up, in my imagination, to grasp a toe and gently drag me under dim weeds.

i see my aunt in this same way. i see her lack of compassion, fueled by imagination and lack of understanding, stretching forth a hand and tugging her away. i see that the monster under the bed, the one that switches our "terror alert" from level to another is that self same monster.

i think of my own family tree, stretching back across the ocean. my family is here, i am an american, because somewhere back in time, some little genetic coding urged my family west. i think of the irish in history, the oppression and the derision. the slurs for my italian grandfathers.

in my aunt i see hypocracy--the fact that she is a child of immigrants who themselves had to stand up to the accusations she spews.

you would think, in a country based on cultural differences and the freedom of religion, that there would be more compassion for your neighbor, who has climbed the same ladder.

meditations on polyester fiber

2006-08-24T19:58:00.000-07:00

o, soft as astroturf beneath my toes
i'd like to know where the softness goes
is it swept away in the rush of feet
or deposited via cat-parcel so neat?

when does malleable concrete emerge from plush,
the seemingly indestructible foot-cradling lush
of fibers woven like a beige throw of grass
capable of cradling both heel and ass--

can it be proven, that optimum time
when everything falls away from sublime
and becomes spotty, blotched and stained
over and over and over and once more again?

i suppose it's just fate. the way you rake leaves.
the way farmers bushel autumn barley in sheaves.
so seasons, they pass, and i hope beyond hope
that the steam cleaner will create miracles with soap.

***

darin and cathy were kind enough to offer use of their really nifty steam cleaner so that i could steam clean the carpets tomorrow. it's not that i figure it'll last a long time; not by a long shot. i'm certain that just like washing your car brings certain rain showers, cleaning my carpet will mean that the cats will find new levels of regurgitation, never before seen in the feline realm.

anyway, i'll be glad when it's done. tomorrow is my day off for the month, and i'm looking forward to it. i do realize that this steam cleaning is going to take longer than i figure. most things happen that way when your mind skips around like mine does--time folds in on itself. i am a black hole in motion.

so yeah. that's my Big Day Off. i know, keep the excitement to yourself. (; i also need to run some errands, so i'm hoping to get on the bandwagon early and get this done so that i can move on from cleaning the house and into something else.

like ironing.

i suddenly feel like i'm channelling doris day. *sigh* must be middle age, settling in for the long haul.

in place of a witty title...

2006-08-16T19:59:00.000-07:00

i'm feeling a bit out of steam. perhaps that's because it's been a long week again, already. i'm ready for the weekend and it's only midweek. well, past midweek, at this point, being wednesday night and all.

still struggling with a sinus infection, still trying to sleep for more than 6 hours a night. still tired during the day and still worshipping at the altar of Coffeemate Fat Free Hazelnut Creamer. it honestly is why i get up some mornings.

okay, not the whole reason. but part of it.

i'm just feeling...mired again. when i was a kid i remember my mom gave us some old containers to play with--peanut butter tubs, these metal Schwans ice cream tins, and the gallon size plastic ice cream containers. i remember trotting around the basement, one foot in an empty Blue Moon flavor and one in Fudge Ripple.

which is where i feel i'm at, right now. skidding about on the carpeting in the basement, 8 years old and unaware of the world at large.

my friend rene was down on monday; i met her and her daughter at the moa and we romped around until we were tired and kendall was still trucking. back to my house, where henry was horrified to realize that there was indeed someone on the planet with more energy than him. he spent most of the night slinking around, trying to avoid being scooped up by tiny arms and a roar of blonde energy.

i suppose that's what it's like, to be seven.

i often wish i could go back to being a kid; i think that's the trope i loop through, every once in a while. the mobius strip of memory and future, rolling around and around. i would only want to be a kid in the summer, at home, with my mom and siblings--i was quite bullied as a kid, and hated school for the most part.

that is when i liked being a kid--roaming around the park, building forts underneath giant pines, climbing up the crab apple trees, gathering acorns and trying to put robin eggs back in their nest.

those are the glossy pages of my memory. i'm sure if i went back and relived those days now it would seem tedious, and i'd refresh the memory of longing for adulthood.

i've been thinking alot about kids lately. perhaps it's the ol' biological ticker. but thinking about kids makes me remember being a kid. perhaps that's from where my lagging attitude springs--i'm in a holding pattern, reliving and letting go.

i'm not going to get to go back, not going to be that young again.

when we met in the mall, kendall threw herself--literally threw her little body--into my arms. i caught her and hugged her close, remembering that i met her while she was in utero. i remembered that childhood indestructibility--the knowledge that if you tossed yourself at someone, they would catch you.

when does that flee? that sensation of just living life to live, with no thought of tomorrow. is it when you get your first invoice for electric heat? is it when you realize that a lot of the time, no one is there to catch you? is there a day, or an hour, a second when i could pinpoint my innocence falling to earth?

or is it a slow loss, this gradual slope to middle age, when you realize that there is no going back, when that finally sinks in. i'm sure i've considered that before--my own mortality--but something about friends having babies and children growing like crabgrass has a few cells in the noggin fixated on where i'm at, and what i'm doing.

i am the hamster on the wheel, running. the wheel squeaks and i continue. the wheel groans and i dash onward. where am i going? when will i arrive? am i running for a reason, or just running to fill my time?

i'm not feeling particularly depressed right now. just out of sorts, not quite in place. i've come un-moored. i think the reality for me is in remembering that childhood--where it is fine and dandy to drift about from time to time, to lose yourself and toss your self to the winds, regardless of if there is someone there to catch you.

it's like fat has momentum.

2006-08-04T21:27:00.000-07:00

i've been overweight most of my life. i can't remember a time anymore when i was happy with my body. there are times that i'm glad of my eye color, or my hair color, or the shape of my feet. but for the most part, my body is just terrain that's difficult to camoflauge.

i don't write about this...well, ever. for the most part i live in blissful ignorance--i'm so used to the body that i don't notice any more. it's like walking with a limp, and after time wondering why you are limping, and not remembering...but still limping anyway.

i've tried watching what i eat--which does help. and exercise--which helps a lot, both physically and mentally. i just have such a difficult time sticking to any kind of regimen.

a few years ago i started taking vitamins, every morning. a nice centrum way to start the day, just in case i was eating for shit. (which happens often in kimland, where you get distracted before you can eat, and then realize later you're so hungry that you'll eat anything) they say that after 21 days, if you do something the same every day, you develop a habit.

for a while i thought this was true. and then one morning i missed taking my vitamin. and after that i didn't take one again.

i thought about it months and months later, when i was talking to my sister. we figured out that we'd both done the same thing, around the same time: put the vitamin bottle next to our clock, so that when we sat up and turned off the alarm, we would just take the pill. however we both did the same thing--after a few months, missed and just never picked it up again.

is it my memory, losing the middle parts of the bridge, unable to continue in a straight line?

yesterday i took a walk, before movie night with dan. i walked until i was sweaty and red-faced. as i walked it came to me that there were many things that i could say that i didn't remember when it started, or i couldn't remember a day when... (for example, i can't remember a day that i haven't eaten one piece of chocolate) i realized that i cannot say that i can't remember a day on which i was healthy.

which is scary. i don't want to have a zipper scar on my chest, between breasts, like my father's bypass scar. i don't want to always take a hypertension pill. but then why is it so hard to change?

i think part of it is comfort.

when i feel sad, i sink into those things i know will bring me comfort--my pillow, a familiar book, a movie, curling up with my cats, cleaning something. i hide in those things.

if i apply this thought to my body, suddenly it becomes clear--i am hiding. behind one gigantic fat cell.

when i think of it like that, it seems silly. beyond silly. well into ridiculous. i see me, the fat me, hiding behind that one tiny cell. which in my mind i can see as huge. it's the size of the world. i've hidden behind it for years. for most of my life.

but the cell isn't opaque. it isn't solid. it's clear. you can see me, behind it, looking out at the world.

i wouldn't know how to clothe a thin body, my subconcious shouts. what kind of bra would i wear, if i didn't have the boobs i do? what if i go too far, what if i get too thin? what if i try and nothing happens? what if i just stay fat?

years ago i was really, really healthy for a good stretch of time. i lost weight. i felt better. i wasn't depressed as often, and i wanted to do things.

thus my conclusion: the more baggage i schlep around in the form of extra weight, the less i feel like moving. it's like fat has momentum.

anyway, when i was eating better and exercising more, i used to visualize this body as if it were a candle. the longer i burned, the more wax poured off of me. i pictured the weight sliding off my bones, pooling on the ground. i pictured walking away from that weight, leaving behind something the size of michelle pfeiffer, a pile of liquid that i no longer needed.

***

i see this shield that's sheltered
my soul, the comfort
the knowledge of
being
solid.

i relate to earth in a way
you can never imagine--dense,
molten core, compressed and bright,
it's burning inside me, somewhere
you can't see
i've hidden it so successfully
that stephen hawking would need
another lifetime to create
that equation and that theory.

i know the edges of this self
this body that i propel
and fuel, this flesh i wash
and perfume.

it is simpler to hide
than it is to peer over the counter
and into the mirror
and know
know to your very cells
that the body looking back
is your own

for so long it's been missing
a lost dog, reclaimed, the watch found
under the bed
i don't have to sit and affirm--
"I love my arms. I love my calves. I love my ass."
in the end, i just have to
accept that all these bits
are
mine

aural serendipity

2006-07-29T08:43:00.000-07:00

i don't often pick up new music because i don't hear too darn well. in fact i ought to be that old lady in the chair, with the giant cone held up to her ear. i'm partially deaf, and if you know me well enough, you stay on my right hand side.

if you don't know me that well, you'll probably stumble at some point when i dash around to your left, to make sure i can hear what you're saying. i do read lips, but not well enough to get by entirely on that alone. it's all about positioning myself; in the good times when i'm not unhappy to be deaf, i think of it as a sunflower just getting in the way of the rays, turning and twisting.

at other times, when i'm laughing at a joke i can't hear, or sitting at the wrong end of a table confounded by the conversation, it's a burden, one that i don't want to carry.

in the scheme of things, it's a pretty small burden--all my limbs work, my eyesight is fine, etc. it's just this bum ear.

anyway, at work, the gal to might right (the good side) turns on her radio every day. i can hear the words if the singer is the right pitch; most of the time i just tune it out, because i'm on the phone or concentrating on something else entirely. lately there's a song that's played over and over and all i can hear is the chorus: just breathe.

who is the singer? what does the rest of the song sound like? the deaf girl knoweth naught.

last saturday i met my sister downtown for a concert. she's pressing me to get a myspace account, because she has one and is addicted to them. while waiting between bands i glance at the up and coming posters--who's travelling through. one name sounds interesting.

so a few days later when i finally give in and set up my my space account, i look up the name. the song playing on the account is not familiar; i click on the next one available.

and there it is--just breathe.

so yesterday the deaf girl bought a cd. listened to it for a good three hours last night. and i really, really like it. the words are well wrought, and anna nalick's voice is a little smoky, a little husky, a little young. there's something warm about it that appeals to me in the same way that norah jones did, years ago.

strange turns take you to where you need to be. this isn't my normal listening music--generally i like heavier rock, and recently i just keep listening to the same Disturbed cd over and over. so it was time for something new, i suppose. it's just strange the path that you can see, once you have arrived at some stopping point on the journey.

***
Breathe (2 am) -- Anna Nalick, off "Wreck of the Day"

2 AM and she calls me 'cause I'm still awake,
"Can you help me unravel my latest mistake?,
I don't love him. Winter just wasn't my season"
Yeah we walk through the doors, so accusing their eyes
Like they have any right at all to criticize,
Hypocrites. You're all here for the very same reason

'Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button, girl.
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe... just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe

May he turn 21 on the base at Fort Bliss
"Just a day" he said down to the flask in his fist,
"Ain't been sober, since maybe October of last year."
Here in town you can tell he's been down for a while,
But, my God, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles,
Wanna hold him. Maybe I'll just sing about it.

Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable,
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table.
No one can find the rewind button, boys,
So cradle your head in your hands,
And breathe... just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe

There's a light at each end of this tunnel,
You shout 'cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out
And these mistakes you've made, you'll just make them again
If you only try turning around.

2 AM and I'm still awake, writing a song
If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me,
Threatening the life it belongs to
And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd
Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud
And I know that you'll use them, however you want to

But you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable,
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button now
Sing it if you understand.
and breathe, just breathe
woah breathe, just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe.

running in place

2006-07-26T18:31:00.000-07:00

so tuesday was my last appointment with my psychologist, helene. i'm terribly bummed that she's moving. at the same time, i feel like i'm entering some kind of graduate area in which i may be able to not see a therapist all the time.

that being said, i already have another one lined up. just need to find time to call my insurance provider and make sure that she's covered, even tho it says she is on the site. oh well.

there's this ongoing list of shit that i have to get done--around the house, with bills, you name it. living just as an adult is a freaking full time job--without the regular nine to five cubeland drudge. it's invoices for your heat, credits and debits, paperwork and filing and stamps and envelope licking.

i need an assistant.

course the job description would suck, and i doubt that i'd want it, myself.

"amateur thirty-year-old looking for professional assistant to organize, de-clutterize, and manage her life. must be willing to do dishes, vacuum the stairs, pay bills online, clip coupons, and clean out the litterbox as needed. other duties may apply, including pedicures, facials, general primping in the morning prior to work, and ironing. this is a volunteer position. if you are interested, please call...blah blah blah..."

yeah, sign me up for that one.

when i was a kid my sisters and i all shared a room--the three of us, pretending we were in college and in a dorm room all at the same time. you grow up and find out that you actually can't live with your sisters anymore, not because of the miles between you but because of the time between you--the time spent with other friends, growing up in your own ways.

my sisters and i are like three shrubs at the nursery. we're all marked with the same tag. but we're all different shapes, too. i'm short and round, my sister is tall and lovely, and another is slender and svelte. we all belong in different places--perhaps i'm for under a window, beth is for near the stairs, and sara's for sitting by a doorway, framing the height.

or something like that. it's been a long week, cut me some slack.

anyway, i think back on those days and i wish that it could be as easy as we dreamed--living together, going out dancing, sharing all our secrets between us. the bond is still strong--apparently mitochondrial dna is a much more solid glue than anything else. i don't usually see men figuring these things out on their own, let alone being able to voice them.

last night we went out to dinner for craig's birthday, at ichiban's, a japanese steakhouse downtown minneapolis. dan and i took the train; it was cheaper and easier--no battling traffic or finding a parking space. the dinner was a great deal of fun, although a bit pricier than i'd normally imagine spending. afterwards we walked back to the train, as the rain pattered down, and then got on the train and meandered home.

sitting here making a mental list of the stuff to be done around the house, i think of how i would like to be able to curl up with a cup of cocoa with my sisters, and share the story of such a lovely night--holding hands in the rain, laughing at the teppanyaki chef, drinking ice cold chilled sake. it's something that i will always remember.

nowdays it's harder to share things with my sisters. i think it's that pool of unknown time between us, the fact that we are shaped so differently after all these years. sometimes i feel as though i have run in place--that i am still running in place--being the oldest, wanting to help them, protect them, pick them up.

at night, sleeping in the same room as children, we shared the same air. we woke up talking to each other in our sleep. when i got to college and slept alone in the room for the first time, i slept poorly, waking often without the reassuring hum of siblings. i suppose that is where i would find that same childhood solace again, sleeping dark and formless.

it makes me wonder if they also feel that same marathon, neverending adulthood, the scales balanced?