tonight I'm going to ohio with my mom. my aunt is having a masectomy tommorrow. I don't know my aunt very well & we're not very close but something felt right about going. I feel like I'm in a secret club. I helped pick out a book & card for her at target. my knees got shaky looking at the get well cards. I'm not very astute these days.
it rained a lot today. I jumped in a puddle at notre dame, just because I could, and got my ankles wet.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
in which don't leave me dry.
I was at the beach all day yesterday. I got a sunburn on the curve of my left hip, a gentle prickling pink that stings more than it aches. I haven't celebrated (read: gone far away from everyone) labor day in 4 years, because school was always in session on labor day. which was a very flawed choice, but I do digress. after nearly a month of doing laundry & putting sweaty sleeves on sweaty actors, it was nice to do nothing. I laid on an 11-foot raft with OK! & ELLE & my sunglasses. sometimes I swam. sometimes I ate. usually I just laid there.
I'm getting sick. I can tell by 3 surefire indications:
1. because my nose feels strange. I read that you're supposed to snort a pinch of salt & a handful of water to clear your nose, & then snort it back out again. I'm not sure I'm ready for that. mostly because of my immaturity when I read the name of the practice. "nasal douching" is still funny.
2. because I'm very tired. that... actually might not be an indication of impending illness. I am doomed to eternal lethargy. it's in my genes. if I were a deadly sin I suppose I would be sloth.
3. because I've been craving juice. apple juice, grape juice, & cranberry juice, to be specific, but at this point I would stick my teeth into a raw apple & suck on it in hopes of becoming a fruit vampire or something. I only crave juice when I'm sick & this is a definite craving. I didn't even drink my usual 12 pints of coffee this morning (oh horror, horror).
anyway, I suppose jobless is a good state to be in when one is sick. I am still applying for jobs; I am not losing hope. I'm writing & helping at notre dame & picking up my sisters from school & being delightfully domestic. I made chili & cookies & bread last week alone. I'm enjoying my free weekends & my free time. this is a fine old state to be in. (I know it seems like I'm reinforcing this for myself, since I keep repeating it, but I'm actually truly happy. maybe a little bit lonely but generally happy. strange but true.) sometimes I miss college. mostly I think about what's still to come.
I'm getting sick. I can tell by 3 surefire indications:
1. because my nose feels strange. I read that you're supposed to snort a pinch of salt & a handful of water to clear your nose, & then snort it back out again. I'm not sure I'm ready for that. mostly because of my immaturity when I read the name of the practice. "nasal douching" is still funny.
2. because I'm very tired. that... actually might not be an indication of impending illness. I am doomed to eternal lethargy. it's in my genes. if I were a deadly sin I suppose I would be sloth.
3. because I've been craving juice. apple juice, grape juice, & cranberry juice, to be specific, but at this point I would stick my teeth into a raw apple & suck on it in hopes of becoming a fruit vampire or something. I only crave juice when I'm sick & this is a definite craving. I didn't even drink my usual 12 pints of coffee this morning (oh horror, horror).
anyway, I suppose jobless is a good state to be in when one is sick. I am still applying for jobs; I am not losing hope. I'm writing & helping at notre dame & picking up my sisters from school & being delightfully domestic. I made chili & cookies & bread last week alone. I'm enjoying my free weekends & my free time. this is a fine old state to be in. (I know it seems like I'm reinforcing this for myself, since I keep repeating it, but I'm actually truly happy. maybe a little bit lonely but generally happy. strange but true.) sometimes I miss college. mostly I think about what's still to come.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
in which I make a lame return.
woooow have I been slacking.
many things have happened to me. I sequestered myself on an island for a week, became 22, got a tan, washed loads & loads of sweaty clothes for 2 different shows, ended up sewing, got an extension on my loans, lost friends, gained friends, ended something that needed to be ended, went to concerts, loved my new cat, watched all the trilogy/sequal movies I could think of, started eating spinach by the bucket, became a domestic goddess (?), picked blueberries, made progress on writing, started writing something new (!! and good!), visited a snow leopard, and never found a job. well, whatever, that will come in time.
this week I'm sending stuff into magazines & crossing my fingers for possible potential publication.
it's been strange to be home again, but I am all right with it, really, because I am prepping myself for other things. I am ready to be out of here, but I'm happy to be with my family again. there's a lot still to do before I move out completely, & I'm okay with that. I get up, take my sisters to school, come home & pet my cat (he's the one with the really green eyes), go to Notre Dame to do laundry, come home & make cookies, go back to Notre Dame to do laundry, & write whenever I can. so really, I'm very happy.
many things have happened to me. I sequestered myself on an island for a week, became 22, got a tan, washed loads & loads of sweaty clothes for 2 different shows, ended up sewing, got an extension on my loans, lost friends, gained friends, ended something that needed to be ended, went to concerts, loved my new cat, watched all the trilogy/sequal movies I could think of, started eating spinach by the bucket, became a domestic goddess (?), picked blueberries, made progress on writing, started writing something new (!! and good!), visited a snow leopard, and never found a job. well, whatever, that will come in time.
this week I'm sending stuff into magazines & crossing my fingers for possible potential publication.
it's been strange to be home again, but I am all right with it, really, because I am prepping myself for other things. I am ready to be out of here, but I'm happy to be with my family again. there's a lot still to do before I move out completely, & I'm okay with that. I get up, take my sisters to school, come home & pet my cat (he's the one with the really green eyes), go to Notre Dame to do laundry, come home & make cookies, go back to Notre Dame to do laundry, & write whenever I can. so really, I'm very happy.
Monday, June 30, 2008
in which I think about what I like.
I have been dealing with lots of negativity lately (ie no job, bad shit, bad karma, raining on sundays, etc.) so I started composing a list of things I like while I was in the car yesterday.
- driving at night on a newly paved road, smooth like satin
- watching stingrays swim, the way their flippers move like water
- fresh brewed coffee
- spider crabs
- chinese food at a tiny hot chinese restraunt, with everybody speaking fast chinese
- good phone calls
- hot days in the summer when you can see the heat on the pavement
- rainstorms
I haven't finished it, clearly. I will elaborate in the future.
I got a phone call inviting me to be an assistant for a really good friend of mine at a certain summer shakes. that means I guess I'm back at notre dame. but melissa is part of my unbeatable team, so I am not worried. I will be stitchin and bitchin and doing alterations and wardrobe crew for dummies and all sorts of good things, plus sewing a goddamn banner: the bane of my existance. but I get time to go to lovely ocracoke & all good things like that. & it's a small part time job with a little bit of money. I am pretty damn stoked about that.
- driving at night on a newly paved road, smooth like satin
- watching stingrays swim, the way their flippers move like water
- fresh brewed coffee
- spider crabs
- chinese food at a tiny hot chinese restraunt, with everybody speaking fast chinese
- good phone calls
- hot days in the summer when you can see the heat on the pavement
- rainstorms
I haven't finished it, clearly. I will elaborate in the future.
I got a phone call inviting me to be an assistant for a really good friend of mine at a certain summer shakes. that means I guess I'm back at notre dame. but melissa is part of my unbeatable team, so I am not worried. I will be stitchin and bitchin and doing alterations and wardrobe crew for dummies and all sorts of good things, plus sewing a goddamn banner: the bane of my existance. but I get time to go to lovely ocracoke & all good things like that. & it's a small part time job with a little bit of money. I am pretty damn stoked about that.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
in which I get my muse back.
I have started writing again. I really like it.
whenever I don't write for months & months (I mean write consistantly, daily, for hours at a time) it is always hard to get back into it. it's like I have to remember how to form sentances & spell & be coherant all over again. but once I got it, then baby, I really got it.
someday I want to be a writer in a shiny white apartment with four cats and a new computer and a cup of coffee every few feet. that day is not today. I will let you know when it is.
whenever I don't write for months & months (I mean write consistantly, daily, for hours at a time) it is always hard to get back into it. it's like I have to remember how to form sentances & spell & be coherant all over again. but once I got it, then baby, I really got it.
someday I want to be a writer in a shiny white apartment with four cats and a new computer and a cup of coffee every few feet. that day is not today. I will let you know when it is.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
in which, life limps along at subsonic speeds.
I have been driving every day to the other high school across town to drop my sister off for summer school. it's about ten minutes away and it's really not a bad trip. city block, city block, city block, sketchy street corner; crumbling bridge, car lots, gas stations, shitty park; right turn, speed bumps, dangerous parking lot. stop the car & wave goodbye.
I took driver's ed at the other high school, something like six years ago. oh my god, when I said that to myself the first time I almost lost it. six years ago? really? I sat in the middle of the class next to autumn and doodled the whole time. made fun of the box in the road video. didn't listen. the roads around the other high school are where I learned to drive, little winding backstreets and sleepy neighborhood lanes. the twisting road into the town, following the river. past the police station, the park, the daily grind. a thousand things I used to look at almost every day.
it was raining this morning when I got in the car. I like to drive in the rain; I like finding the right mood music, watching the wipers scrambling across the windshield like little arms. and the way rain smells, the way that smell soaks into everything in the car. I had my coffee in one hand, the steering wheel in the other hand. sometimes when I had to execute a difficult turn, I'd clamp the coffee tight between my thighs and put both hands on the wheel. when I was ready to pick my coffee up again, my legs were weird and warm.
I turned down the twisting road to town. the sky was dark in front of me, gray on gray clouds swelling on the horizon. they were caught between the trees, like cotton swabs on spiny fingers. and there's the little waterfall on my right, where I used to go wading summer weekends. where I saw that crane in that weirdly poetic moment. I remember so much about this town it's ridiculous.
I hate Indiana. I hate this town with a passion. I can't stand living here. I love my house; it's like this little Indiana oasis. but every time I step out my door--I smell that weird Indiana smell. unwashed houses, processed corn, car exhaust. everything is gray & nothing matters. so it amazes me I can have so much attachment to a place I hate so much. I don't even really understand it. but there's this weird nostolgia every time I look at a shitty crumbling building, or watch the ugly brown water surge down the river. I know it's a nostolgia for something simpler, but it still weirds me out.
post-college, I still haven't found a job. I have gotten used to my cat, whose name is capone. he's got a gravally voice, growls like a dog, & miows like a raptor: mrrrrrrreeeooouw. but he loves to lay next to you on the couch & purr like crazy. & I have started writing again, which is good, I guess.
I took driver's ed at the other high school, something like six years ago. oh my god, when I said that to myself the first time I almost lost it. six years ago? really? I sat in the middle of the class next to autumn and doodled the whole time. made fun of the box in the road video. didn't listen. the roads around the other high school are where I learned to drive, little winding backstreets and sleepy neighborhood lanes. the twisting road into the town, following the river. past the police station, the park, the daily grind. a thousand things I used to look at almost every day.
it was raining this morning when I got in the car. I like to drive in the rain; I like finding the right mood music, watching the wipers scrambling across the windshield like little arms. and the way rain smells, the way that smell soaks into everything in the car. I had my coffee in one hand, the steering wheel in the other hand. sometimes when I had to execute a difficult turn, I'd clamp the coffee tight between my thighs and put both hands on the wheel. when I was ready to pick my coffee up again, my legs were weird and warm.
I turned down the twisting road to town. the sky was dark in front of me, gray on gray clouds swelling on the horizon. they were caught between the trees, like cotton swabs on spiny fingers. and there's the little waterfall on my right, where I used to go wading summer weekends. where I saw that crane in that weirdly poetic moment. I remember so much about this town it's ridiculous.
I hate Indiana. I hate this town with a passion. I can't stand living here. I love my house; it's like this little Indiana oasis. but every time I step out my door--I smell that weird Indiana smell. unwashed houses, processed corn, car exhaust. everything is gray & nothing matters. so it amazes me I can have so much attachment to a place I hate so much. I don't even really understand it. but there's this weird nostolgia every time I look at a shitty crumbling building, or watch the ugly brown water surge down the river. I know it's a nostolgia for something simpler, but it still weirds me out.
post-college, I still haven't found a job. I have gotten used to my cat, whose name is capone. he's got a gravally voice, growls like a dog, & miows like a raptor: mrrrrrrreeeooouw. but he loves to lay next to you on the couch & purr like crazy. & I have started writing again, which is good, I guess.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
in which, all summer long:
in other news, I am the happiest, most cheerful unemployed person in America right now.
this is like a good old fashioned summer. grilled food. bomb popsicles. driving long distances for no real reason. campfires. a little glass of wine or 2. eating out on the deck. the beach boys. movie marathons. not doing shiiiiit.
my mom is buying me a cat. he's huge, like not fat, just muscley. if he was a person, he'd be a football player. probably somewhere on defense. but he's older and the nicest cat I've ever met. I used to dream about getting my own cat. my dad hates them, but my mom promised me when I finally moved out of the house, she'd buy me a cat of my very own. I was counting down the days even back then, and now that it's here... I always thought I'd get a kitten, calico, green eyes. something small and foofy and mini. but when I went to the animal shelter--I don't know. this cat was 5 years old. he was somebody's housecat before but they couldn't afford to keep him. he was on the very bottom, next to a cage of wiggly adorable kittens, so you know no one was going to give him a second glance. & he didn't even try to get attention, he just laid there. but then the minute I started petting him through the bars, he was purring like a motor and rubbing his cheeks against my fingers. when I held him, he laid in my lap like 20 pounds of love and rubbed his cheek against my cheek. he's not the cat I ever thought I'd get, but as soon as I held him, I fell in love. I just kept thinking about him.
so I'm adopting him on monday. I'm naming him al capone, and I'm going to sleep in the basement with him until the vet says he doesn't have kitty leukemia anymore. & I couldn't be more excited.
other than really enjoying the simple things of summer, I am feeling out of it post graudation. I don't believe in limbo, but if it existed, I bet this is what all those halfway souls would feel like. word, man.
this is like a good old fashioned summer. grilled food. bomb popsicles. driving long distances for no real reason. campfires. a little glass of wine or 2. eating out on the deck. the beach boys. movie marathons. not doing shiiiiit.
my mom is buying me a cat. he's huge, like not fat, just muscley. if he was a person, he'd be a football player. probably somewhere on defense. but he's older and the nicest cat I've ever met. I used to dream about getting my own cat. my dad hates them, but my mom promised me when I finally moved out of the house, she'd buy me a cat of my very own. I was counting down the days even back then, and now that it's here... I always thought I'd get a kitten, calico, green eyes. something small and foofy and mini. but when I went to the animal shelter--I don't know. this cat was 5 years old. he was somebody's housecat before but they couldn't afford to keep him. he was on the very bottom, next to a cage of wiggly adorable kittens, so you know no one was going to give him a second glance. & he didn't even try to get attention, he just laid there. but then the minute I started petting him through the bars, he was purring like a motor and rubbing his cheeks against my fingers. when I held him, he laid in my lap like 20 pounds of love and rubbed his cheek against my cheek. he's not the cat I ever thought I'd get, but as soon as I held him, I fell in love. I just kept thinking about him.
so I'm adopting him on monday. I'm naming him al capone, and I'm going to sleep in the basement with him until the vet says he doesn't have kitty leukemia anymore. & I couldn't be more excited.
other than really enjoying the simple things of summer, I am feeling out of it post graudation. I don't believe in limbo, but if it existed, I bet this is what all those halfway souls would feel like. word, man.
Monday, May 26, 2008
in which, what a time to be alive!
four dollar gas prices! sticky hot weather melting into thunderstorms & the like! wading in a creek! remodeled bedrooms! memorial day steaks on the grill & blue raspberry jell-o on the deck! graduating from college!
crazy times!!
also, I am getting my own cat. he has six toes; a hemmingway cat, or one of those lucky ship's cats. I am pretty much psyched out my mind about it. I've already bought him a shit ton of cat toys, completely unnecessary.
I have not yet found a job. but am keeping the faith. everything will be all! right!
my fortune cookie said today would be a "five star day"! and it was!
crazy times!!
also, I am getting my own cat. he has six toes; a hemmingway cat, or one of those lucky ship's cats. I am pretty much psyched out my mind about it. I've already bought him a shit ton of cat toys, completely unnecessary.
I have not yet found a job. but am keeping the faith. everything will be all! right!
my fortune cookie said today would be a "five star day"! and it was!
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
in which my distress is soothed.
I have been having dreams where people with bags tied around their heads come and break all my windows, and slide their hands under the bottom of my door, feeling around for feet nearby. and then what do I see on television but a trailer for a movie (http://youtube.com/watch?v=nCU0k_jbCUo) where people with masks (1 mask is just a bag tied around a dude's head) try to kill some other people. uggggh.
so lots of crossed fingers, crying, & praying ensured that I do not in fact have to go to summer school in the summer, thank godddd.miz v said she would make an exception in my case, but asked me for "advice" as to "how exactly we [she] can get students to actually read their emails, so this does not happen again". I told her as nicely as I could that I like the internet & I check my email at least 2x daily, so I was the wrong person to be asking for advice. not knowing exactly how to give up, she kept rephrasing her question & asking me, as though I would be fooled. well, whatever, I am not going to summer school, so what do I care, exactly.
last night was one of the best nights I've had in a long time. pizza with Melissa & then getting completely senseless with some truly great people. laying on Ays' couch trying to go to sleep with contacts still in my eyes, I could feel the fluid in my brain sliding from the left, to the right, back to the left again. it was this white hot amazing feeling. just what I needed.
I burned the shit out of the roof of my mouth & now it feels shiny when I press it with my tongue. gross.
so lots of crossed fingers, crying, & praying ensured that I do not in fact have to go to summer school in the summer, thank godddd.miz v said she would make an exception in my case, but asked me for "advice" as to "how exactly we [she] can get students to actually read their emails, so this does not happen again". I told her as nicely as I could that I like the internet & I check my email at least 2x daily, so I was the wrong person to be asking for advice. not knowing exactly how to give up, she kept rephrasing her question & asking me, as though I would be fooled. well, whatever, I am not going to summer school, so what do I care, exactly.
last night was one of the best nights I've had in a long time. pizza with Melissa & then getting completely senseless with some truly great people. laying on Ays' couch trying to go to sleep with contacts still in my eyes, I could feel the fluid in my brain sliding from the left, to the right, back to the left again. it was this white hot amazing feeling. just what I needed.
I burned the shit out of the roof of my mouth & now it feels shiny when I press it with my tongue. gross.
Monday, May 12, 2008
in which I get some no good horrible very bad news.
o where to begin.
KEY:
good things -- being done with school. my fantastic friends. senior week. hanging out with melissa & anna like all day tomorrow. day party. melissa's birthday. my party on sunday. again, my fantastic friends.
bad things -- being done with school. the goddamn email. miz v. last minute reminders. I TOLD YOU SO's.
where this things meet -- saint goddamn mary's.
KEY (to the key):
this morning I get an email from the office of student affairs saying that they need me to make an appointment with miz v, immediately, concerning my graduation. (a note about me: I always assume the worst because then the hurt is not quite as strong. & a further note: whenever I get an official email from saint mary's, I lose it. I expect each one to be informing me that I owe them another thousand dollars, or I'm kicked out, or something terrible.) I immediately start to freak of course. I start breathing really hard and my body starts rejecting my organs. but I manage to make an appointment with miz v.
this afternoon I go to said appointment. miz v makes me wait 10 minutes while she snacks on some activia, & I sit twisting a ring around my little finger with my stomach halfway up my esophagus, trying my hardest not to puke on the tacky faux persian rug. eventually she calls me in & says, "we have a problem." so I start babbling like a fucking moron: yeah I know there was some problems with my credits but you'll see I added 3 for this semester & you signed off so if that's all that it is there should be no problem I took care of it. & she goes, your credits? she starts adding them up, & says, "no, no problem with your number of credits. but you are missing a gen ed."
I'm struck fucking dumb shit speechless. like I never expected this in a bajillion lifetimes. I just stare at her, & then I'm pretty sure I squeaked out an ohhhh shit before I really start hyperventilating and snotting and crying all over the cushy chair. my eyeballs are throbbing & I can see my heart hammering against my sweatshirt, & I'm just like trying to remember when they're doing belltower tours so I can plan my immediate suicide.
so it's like this: 1) someone sent me an email August 17th (right in the thick of summer theater season) saying I needed 2 science credits & 1 social science credit to graduate. I don't remember that email. miz v makes some brief & torrid lament about students not having the sense to check their email; I counter with oh really you think I wouldn't have responded to an email in boldface caps saying YOU NEED THIS TO GRADUATE? 2) no one followed up with that email when I didn't email back. 3) in january when that same someone told me I needed 3 credits to graduate, she didn't look in the file (where the necessary info about my credits happens to be) & see that I still hadn't added that social science, even though I'd taken care of the physics. or she assumed this is a student that wants to stay at saint mary's so bad, she's decided to just not take 3 credits of social science & do summer school, awesome. 4) my advisers, much as I love them, never advised me about my gen eds, just my major requirements. & I mean never as in maybe once, like freshman year, but never ever after that.
from this I can conclude: someone tried to tell me about the problem, but never followed through. this is my fault, but this is not my fault alone. I'm the first to admit that I'm irresponsible. I've done really stupid ass things in my life but really. school. why would I just not do 1 goddamn gen ed? why would I ignore it?
ramifications: summer school that I can't afford. delaying real life. telling any forthcoming interview hopeful phone calls "oh never mind I have summer school". all right, so not the end of the world, not really. but scary & frustrating & irritating & scary & just fucking obnoxious? yeah, yeah, yeah. getting that news was probably the 3rd worst thing I've heard in my life.
anyway miz v still has to deliberate & decide. I have another meeting with her tomorrow in her lair, to decide my fate. maybe she'll let me off the hook. maybe I'll be enrolled at the i u b s for summer fun, & waste another couple thou I don't have. sweeeet.
after I cried for 2 hours & called my parents & talked to anyone who would sit through my intermittent crying jags (carol, anna, stray cats, a piggy bank), I revised my venn diagram:
KEY:
good things -- mint dilly bars. renting a whole season of "friends" (what a predictably collegiate guilty pleasure). my actual friends. my parents (who did not even get mad & were surprisingly cool with the news). sunlight. playing with my new jewelry. getting up for breakfast & sewing tomorrow. an uplifting little message from L. 4 glasses of sangria (most of all).
bad things: possible summer school. worrying. the inconsistencies of saint mary's. money.
conclusion: the good clearly outweighs the bad. I am satisfied.
(if you made it through this shitstorm of BAD BAD BAD JUJU, kudos. if you are unclear, I promise I explain it much better in person, with illustrative hand gestures. trust/ask me.)
Thursday, May 8, 2008
in which, we're just learning to be still.
FINALS WEEK, also known as : a week of finality, literally.
I have been keeping to myself the past couple of days, recluse style. it's like the end of freshman year part 2. but in a way this is refreshing. I'm arming myself, prepping for the inevitable next week. I'm also: finishing papers, cleaning, getting rid of old shit, & sleeping much more than is actually healthy. yiiiikes.
yesterday my mom took me clothes shopping all day. I have never spent so much money/I have never had so much money spent on me in my whole life (maybe when I was a baby, but not since then). it was alternately terrifying and thrilling. but in the end I just had a really bitchin time with my mom, who I'm head over heels in platonic daughterly love with, partly because she threw up her raspberry fruity cocktail in the bathroom of an uno's pizza & emerged smiling & classy. a-mazing.
but I plan to rejoin the ranks of the sociable sometime soon. I think I'm finally caught up on sleep & finally over rejection. everyone finds a job, eventually. everyone works eventually. & it will all work itself out, if I stop jumping up & down stressing about it oh my god. my parents made it clear this weekend that summer doesn't have to mean starting work ASAP. if I don't have a job, I can stay home for awhile. it's cool. I got a really sweet message of reassurence from a really good friend, & another sweet email from someone I've been having lots of trouble with. & even though it's cold outside, & even though I have a physics final tonight, & even though it totally looks like something exploded in my room, I'm still okay.
I have been keeping to myself the past couple of days, recluse style. it's like the end of freshman year part 2. but in a way this is refreshing. I'm arming myself, prepping for the inevitable next week. I'm also: finishing papers, cleaning, getting rid of old shit, & sleeping much more than is actually healthy. yiiiikes.
yesterday my mom took me clothes shopping all day. I have never spent so much money/I have never had so much money spent on me in my whole life (maybe when I was a baby, but not since then). it was alternately terrifying and thrilling. but in the end I just had a really bitchin time with my mom, who I'm head over heels in platonic daughterly love with, partly because she threw up her raspberry fruity cocktail in the bathroom of an uno's pizza & emerged smiling & classy. a-mazing.
but I plan to rejoin the ranks of the sociable sometime soon. I think I'm finally caught up on sleep & finally over rejection. everyone finds a job, eventually. everyone works eventually. & it will all work itself out, if I stop jumping up & down stressing about it oh my god. my parents made it clear this weekend that summer doesn't have to mean starting work ASAP. if I don't have a job, I can stay home for awhile. it's cool. I got a really sweet message of reassurence from a really good friend, & another sweet email from someone I've been having lots of trouble with. & even though it's cold outside, & even though I have a physics final tonight, & even though it totally looks like something exploded in my room, I'm still okay.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
in which I hope I die before I get old
seriously this is the most surreal time of my life.
I have spent 12 years preparing for this and now that it's here, I have no idea what to feel. I spent 4 years wishing it would go faster so I could be somewhere else, and I'm glad to be going somewhere else, & I've always liked change. starting something new doesn't bother me. but it still seems fucking weird.
I had my last class in Regina 16 last week. that's where I spent most of my 4 years of college. I've had some of my best rehearsals there (& worst I guess--Necessary Targets, god damn you). I've spent so much time there. and then walking out last week it just hit me. I acted in my last college show sunday. & I didn't cry. I don't know when this will really get me--probably after I graduate--that none of this is going to last.
I never felt like a part of things I guess, socially. in high school I was anti everything. anti school spirit. anti sports teams. anti organized activities. & not that I regret that, or not that I would go back & change that, because I liked my anti nature. it was very purpoesful for high school & I'm glad I held onto it. but now that I've done what I've done--contributed and committed to some little organization for so long--I don't know. maybe this is all needlessly sentimental. but I feel like I was happier.
my comp reading was tonight (heeeeey wow). I sat in the ever tiny vander vennet and realized I hardly knew a single english major... but I knew every theater major. I started remembering what it felt like to not know anyone around you. to be surrounded with girls that were all giggling and comparing notes.
if I rewound & redid things, I wonder how I would be feeling right now. if I'd be at all sad to be going. I wonder if I would've taken that leave of absence.
well it's all coming to a close. it's also getting cold again: so close, spring; good try. and oh um still no job. this problem will eventually get solved, I am confident. I can be confident. right?
"All things must pass. None of life's strings can last.
So, I must be on my way and face another day."
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
in which I start to lose it
I didn't get another job.
when I get depressed about shit, I tend to just sleep & sleep & sleep. that's all I've felt like doing lately. I called my mom against last night and got all worked up for a half hour on the phone, nursed a glass of that shitty wine, and then I just turned off the lights and went to bed.
I just wish I could figure out what I was doing. I've been groomed for sixteen fucking years to go out into the world, prepared and literate and knowledgable about useless shit. like physics. like algebra. like philosophy, and women's issues, and a thousand other useless things. I've been sitting in a classroom for the past sixteen fucking years of my life getting educated, and now that I'm finally ready to do something, they only want 3-5 years of experience. they just want you to have been with a major publishing company for the last 10 years. they just want you to be older, smarter, fitter, wiser, and I've been skipping class and sewing costumes. you watch television and everyone gets a fucking dream job right out of college, and everyone lives in five hundred square foot apartments in new york fucking city, and everyone wears gucci and burbury and styles their hair perfectly and weighs about ninety pounds. it's this unrealistic idealistic bullshit. my mom's been telling me my whole life "you can be whatever you want to be". but she always forgot to add: you can be whatever you want to be IF you have beautiful cheekbones and clear skin. you can be whatever you want to be IF you can make it with the Man. you can be whatever you want to be IF you can fake 3-5 years of experience.
I guess I don't handle rejection well is what I'm getting at. it just seems like everyone around me is figuring out their life, and I'm going to get stuck in fucking indiana still looking.
should've gone to grad school. put off the inevitable for another 2+ years. well, whatever.
when I get depressed about shit, I tend to just sleep & sleep & sleep. that's all I've felt like doing lately. I called my mom against last night and got all worked up for a half hour on the phone, nursed a glass of that shitty wine, and then I just turned off the lights and went to bed.
I just wish I could figure out what I was doing. I've been groomed for sixteen fucking years to go out into the world, prepared and literate and knowledgable about useless shit. like physics. like algebra. like philosophy, and women's issues, and a thousand other useless things. I've been sitting in a classroom for the past sixteen fucking years of my life getting educated, and now that I'm finally ready to do something, they only want 3-5 years of experience. they just want you to have been with a major publishing company for the last 10 years. they just want you to be older, smarter, fitter, wiser, and I've been skipping class and sewing costumes. you watch television and everyone gets a fucking dream job right out of college, and everyone lives in five hundred square foot apartments in new york fucking city, and everyone wears gucci and burbury and styles their hair perfectly and weighs about ninety pounds. it's this unrealistic idealistic bullshit. my mom's been telling me my whole life "you can be whatever you want to be". but she always forgot to add: you can be whatever you want to be IF you have beautiful cheekbones and clear skin. you can be whatever you want to be IF you can make it with the Man. you can be whatever you want to be IF you can fake 3-5 years of experience.
I guess I don't handle rejection well is what I'm getting at. it just seems like everyone around me is figuring out their life, and I'm going to get stuck in fucking indiana still looking.
should've gone to grad school. put off the inevitable for another 2+ years. well, whatever.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
in which college: how I love you college
re:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=yiWsWzUgcXE
that's all I'm doing anymore. that's the life. whatevvver.
I have been having this killer diller week. it has been one stressful stress after another but then night falls and everything gets automatically 100x better. between sitting around with cathair all over my black clothes, staying over at castle point, backstage claustraphobic quick changing in a tiny booth with three of my favorite people, & just acting like a dumbfuck maniac, I have been loving life.
at the same time I am waiting for it [read: LIFE, again] to start. I will never be done waiting. I will always be waiting for the next thing to start, forever and permanently a-men. & today anyway I am okay with that. who knows about tommorrow.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
in which I get my shit together
re: last blog.
setting: good descisions land. early april. modern day.
I emailed away a feud. even if it doesn't get resolved, I feel better for having said what I said. & I guess that's what's really important. or so they say, whoever they are. more on this another time. maybe. actually I think not, because I think it's done. I've let the issue drag me out enough. it's very springlike to get it over with.
I applied for 2 jobs.
....then my hands fell off, the hard drive imploded, and the computer lab caught on fire.
....shortly thereafter, the world came to a big fucking messy END.
actually I just applied for the jobs and now I am waiting patiently for a response, like 1 million other impending graduates. it is nice to finally be over that fear of applying for jobs. I am not sure what was wrong with me. pretty much this accute job application phobia, and now I've clensed myself. I even wrote 2 resumes, oh maaaaan. I am well on my way to joining the Man and becoming a Clean and Organized and Contributing Citizen. I am not sure I am prepared for THAT step, but... we'll see....
I am making a list of things that I want in life so I don't forget. I am not sure the Internet is the best place to do this because this information could fall into the wroooooong hands.
- floor made out of matresses
- tubes of jellyfish to light up a room
- purple walls + purple curtains
- sexy red dining room
- go see india and see what all the fuss is about
- probably write a book
- probably write a book that people will actually want to read (ooooo...)
- find a job?
- adopt some babies
anyway, these are exciting times that we live in.
setting: good descisions land. early april. modern day.
I emailed away a feud. even if it doesn't get resolved, I feel better for having said what I said. & I guess that's what's really important. or so they say, whoever they are. more on this another time. maybe. actually I think not, because I think it's done. I've let the issue drag me out enough. it's very springlike to get it over with.
I applied for 2 jobs.
....then my hands fell off, the hard drive imploded, and the computer lab caught on fire.
....shortly thereafter, the world came to a big fucking messy END.
actually I just applied for the jobs and now I am waiting patiently for a response, like 1 million other impending graduates. it is nice to finally be over that fear of applying for jobs. I am not sure what was wrong with me. pretty much this accute job application phobia, and now I've clensed myself. I even wrote 2 resumes, oh maaaaan. I am well on my way to joining the Man and becoming a Clean and Organized and Contributing Citizen. I am not sure I am prepared for THAT step, but... we'll see....
I am making a list of things that I want in life so I don't forget. I am not sure the Internet is the best place to do this because this information could fall into the wroooooong hands.
- floor made out of matresses
- tubes of jellyfish to light up a room
- purple walls + purple curtains
- sexy red dining room
- go see india and see what all the fuss is about
- probably write a book
- probably write a book that people will actually want to read (ooooo...)
- find a job?
- adopt some babies
anyway, these are exciting times that we live in.
in which I heal & purify
I've been horribly sick for this whole week. sick as in: laying on the couch under three blankets, drinking plain old hot water, and just watching my four channels on the television. you know. as we do. hacking up shit from the bottommost depths of my lungs and just plain snotting all over my own face. graphic and yet totally true to real life.
but finally, finally; FINALLY I'm starting to feel better. I can't stop coughing & hacking up shit, but at least I don't feel like this achey streaming pressurized mess.
it's full on springtime now. I don't care what john fisher and his five degree piece of shit say. it's sunny in the mornings now; when I wake up, there's beams and stripes of sunlight making my blankets all tosty. I really get hit with seasonal depression hard every year, and I don't realize it till after the winter is in the past. I wore flipflops and shorts yesterday, which was long overdue. it's april & I have never been more ready for it.
when I wasn't on the couch this week, I was cleaning. I threw out a lot of my old shit--old notebooks and papers and toys. I gave a bunch of shit away to goodwill--old clothes and costumes and things I was holding onto for no concieveable reason. (I'm part of this packrat family and we have the hardest time trashing shit. sometimes I wonder why this is. then I started finding broken headbands and shoes without any real sole left, and it just started pissing me off instead.) I felt like renewed almost, like if I could just shake this cough and congestion, I would be this reborn person.
I've been looking forward to next week. I don't really know why; nothing is happening next week, to speak of. I have to get a girl naked in the wings of the little theater every night (heeeey quick changer), and I'm catsitting, and of course there's always a million projects and stuff due, on top of trying to find a damn job, make resumes, and figure out the rest of my life. but next week seems monumenteous to me. I guess I'll get back to you on why exactly. but I've got this feeling that it's got something to do with the rest of my life.
inspired to figure out what the hell this feeling is about, I looked up my horoscope.
"Today, your presence will be requested by many fun-loving people, but your mood might not make it easy to get social. Like a broken swing set, your mood will be going back and forth unpredictably -- and someone could get hurt. Your mind will wander with little provocation right now, and it could be difficult for you to concentrate. So if you are working on detail-oriented tasks, you are going to have to give yourself plenty of extra time to get them done."
I suppose those "detail-oriented tasks" refers to my job situation/quandry. How astute of you, horoscope.
then I looked up my cat's horoscope. I didn't even know they made cat horoscopes. I mean I guess that makes sense, because cats have birthdays. I was like "who the hell would check their cat's horoscope, ugh!" ...and then I realized obviously I the hell would check my cat's horoscope, because I was.
"Today is perfect for group activities -- playing, cuddling or just sitting around together, enjoying the good energy. You and your fellow cats are getting along better than ever, so have a good time!"
I hope that's true. I don't want to hang out with bratty cats for a whole week oh my god. I guess cat horoscopes are no more retarded than cat blogs or something. but seriously. unless you can type you don't need a blog. unless you can read or a brain that comprehends the future beyond about five seconds, you don't need a horoscope. probably the horoscopes for cats are written by crazy cat ladies who want desperately to know what their cat is thinking. probably the same ladies who buy those books about reading your cat's mind, or put their cat on the "pet psychic".
man, what happened to the pet psychic. oh sonja. she was one crazy chick. asking questions about the horse's best friend, talking about dogs liking banjo music, and whatever. I did some reaserch and I guess there were only like 13 episodes of that shit. I wonder why that is, sonja. maybe it's because most people don't mind not know about mr. paws' past life. maybe there were only so many troubled parakeets. maybe everyone bought your book, learned how to be a pet psychic themselves, and never had to use your services again. or maybe animal planet finally saw through your crock of shit psychic abilities and decided to stop giving you money and air time, and instead put on something more worthwhile. like I don't know, Ape Eden or that soap opera about the meerkats. I mean I don't know, I don't have cable, I just have 4 channels.
when my cats get here, I'm going to try reading their minds. first I'll ask them who their best friends are. and then I'll ask them if they believe in their horoscope.
but finally, finally; FINALLY I'm starting to feel better. I can't stop coughing & hacking up shit, but at least I don't feel like this achey streaming pressurized mess.
it's full on springtime now. I don't care what john fisher and his five degree piece of shit say. it's sunny in the mornings now; when I wake up, there's beams and stripes of sunlight making my blankets all tosty. I really get hit with seasonal depression hard every year, and I don't realize it till after the winter is in the past. I wore flipflops and shorts yesterday, which was long overdue. it's april & I have never been more ready for it.
when I wasn't on the couch this week, I was cleaning. I threw out a lot of my old shit--old notebooks and papers and toys. I gave a bunch of shit away to goodwill--old clothes and costumes and things I was holding onto for no concieveable reason. (I'm part of this packrat family and we have the hardest time trashing shit. sometimes I wonder why this is. then I started finding broken headbands and shoes without any real sole left, and it just started pissing me off instead.) I felt like renewed almost, like if I could just shake this cough and congestion, I would be this reborn person.
I've been looking forward to next week. I don't really know why; nothing is happening next week, to speak of. I have to get a girl naked in the wings of the little theater every night (heeeey quick changer), and I'm catsitting, and of course there's always a million projects and stuff due, on top of trying to find a damn job, make resumes, and figure out the rest of my life. but next week seems monumenteous to me. I guess I'll get back to you on why exactly. but I've got this feeling that it's got something to do with the rest of my life.
inspired to figure out what the hell this feeling is about, I looked up my horoscope.
"Today, your presence will be requested by many fun-loving people, but your mood might not make it easy to get social. Like a broken swing set, your mood will be going back and forth unpredictably -- and someone could get hurt. Your mind will wander with little provocation right now, and it could be difficult for you to concentrate. So if you are working on detail-oriented tasks, you are going to have to give yourself plenty of extra time to get them done."
I suppose those "detail-oriented tasks" refers to my job situation/quandry. How astute of you, horoscope.
then I looked up my cat's horoscope. I didn't even know they made cat horoscopes. I mean I guess that makes sense, because cats have birthdays. I was like "who the hell would check their cat's horoscope, ugh!" ...and then I realized obviously I the hell would check my cat's horoscope, because I was.
"Today is perfect for group activities -- playing, cuddling or just sitting around together, enjoying the good energy. You and your fellow cats are getting along better than ever, so have a good time!"
I hope that's true. I don't want to hang out with bratty cats for a whole week oh my god. I guess cat horoscopes are no more retarded than cat blogs or something. but seriously. unless you can type you don't need a blog. unless you can read or a brain that comprehends the future beyond about five seconds, you don't need a horoscope. probably the horoscopes for cats are written by crazy cat ladies who want desperately to know what their cat is thinking. probably the same ladies who buy those books about reading your cat's mind, or put their cat on the "pet psychic".
man, what happened to the pet psychic. oh sonja. she was one crazy chick. asking questions about the horse's best friend, talking about dogs liking banjo music, and whatever. I did some reaserch and I guess there were only like 13 episodes of that shit. I wonder why that is, sonja. maybe it's because most people don't mind not know about mr. paws' past life. maybe there were only so many troubled parakeets. maybe everyone bought your book, learned how to be a pet psychic themselves, and never had to use your services again. or maybe animal planet finally saw through your crock of shit psychic abilities and decided to stop giving you money and air time, and instead put on something more worthwhile. like I don't know, Ape Eden or that soap opera about the meerkats. I mean I don't know, I don't have cable, I just have 4 channels.
when my cats get here, I'm going to try reading their minds. first I'll ask them who their best friends are. and then I'll ask them if they believe in their horoscope.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
in which there is tiny cars, shitty wine, & big steps
easter is one of my favorite holidays. easter easter easter. I end up liking it for a lot of reasons some of them high holy churchy and some of them more down to earth & somehow lowbrow.
three weeks ago my brother wrecked our van. this huge, hulking monstrosity, white and gray, eight-seater, truck engine, and he wrecked it. so okay, it's bad news these days to drive a van that guzzles gas and racks up the credit card bills / ruins the atmosphere for future generations. I actually like the atmosphere a lot. some people are waaaay more down with that shit than I am, but I'm just like whatever, atmosphere. stick around. I enjoy breathing you. I'm not about to get all crazy on my congressman to preserve you, but please don't go anywhere. maybe that's shallow of me but I'm just apathetic I guess. it feels hollow to try and pretend that I'm really excited about shit that I'm not excited about. and it's hard to get behind a cause if I'm not excited.
ANYWAY. this may be news to you, but according to a recent study of my family, 6 people who do at least one crosscountry camping trip drive per year (never mind monthly trips to Chicago) are actually in need of a bigass van. but my brother wrecked it. so my parents have been surviving with 2 cars for the past few weeks. and then... we realized it was Easter and we were somehow going to have to drive to Chicago. 6 people... 1 car.
"6 people 1 car" is a fun college past time. you might have played it! here's how it's done in case you want to relive your college career:
get six friends together. decide to go to steak 'n' shake at 4 am. now everyone, pile into one car. drive maybe 3 minutes down the road. giggle a lot. get out of the car at steak 'n' shake.
6 friends crammed in a car, and it's the funniest thing in the fucking world--because in just 3 short minutes, you know you're going to unpeel yourself from your neighbor and go eat a chocolate malt. "6 people 1 car" is not a fun family past time, not for 2 and a half hours. not with dad snoring in the back seat. actually it wasn't all that bad. but it was difficult driving on the toll road at night maria's elbow in my side. and it's a good thing we all get along. I can't even imagine what the trip would have been like if we hated each other. probably it would have ended with somebody's still-beating heart getting tossed out the window or something jazzy like that. oh well. we like each other and that didn't happen. I think I even kissed someone's forehead at one point like this beneficent presidential elect or something.
so far, I've eaten about 15 lbs of salad this week. I feel like the world should be ending. 15 lbs of salad is an exaggeration but not by much. it was an ass lot of salad. curry and chicken and couscous and celery and apples and grapes yum yum yummmm. I sit around indian-style chowing down on this shit like it's crack freaking cocaine, and then I drink the shittiest glass of wine I've ever had.
TIP: if you're ever at the grocery and you see wine selling for $4.00, and you start thinking "holy fuck four dollars! that's such a steal! I'm a poor collegiate on a limited budget! sure, I'll buy that!"--STOP YOURSELF. PUT YOUR HANDS IN YOUR POCKETS AND WALK ON BY. YOU WILL REGRET BUYING IT. if for whatever reason you end up buying that wine, you'll shell out the four george washingtons; you will get all excited; you will go home and pour a big glass, and then you'll take this huge enthusiatsic gulp--and then, you will spew. and while you're spewing you'll realize that someone mislabeled the wine, and it's actually just vinegar and food coloring and maybe some shitty grapes. the kind of shitty grape that has fucking mold growing on it. in your few minutes of spewing, you'll learn that "bohemian highway" is actually the path leading to some hilljack fucker's outhouse. and when you're done spewing, you're really going to want your four dollars back so you can buy a box of wine. eight dollar wine. beer. anything to wash that nastyass taste out of your mout.
that negative experience doesn't stop me from sitting on the stoop in the evening with Carol, nursing the bottle and wondering why bohemians would make wine on the fucking highway anyway. but whatever, I hate things going to waste. and some people just never learn. don't you follow my example.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
in which there are cups and countdowns: 10, 9, 8 it's over.
my mother called me last night to exclusively tell me that the jobs I applied for were filled. not by me. then I yelled "I WISH I WAS BRIAN WILSON" and climbed into bed with a glass of wine.
I have a mountain of cups on my desk. seven cups stacked on top of each other, leaning precariously over me when I sit & type. a stack of vultures just watching me. I use the cups and then I never take them back downstairs again. there is a wine glass next to the cup, making sticky reddish rings. I never wash it, I just fill it up over & over again. most of my life has been not finishing things. leaving them half assed. just once I would like to finish something & think YEAH. thank god. that was good.
I guess it's good to have something to look forward to.
I am not so much in love with my life right now. I am waiting and waiting for things to happen; I have a list of countdowns that I keep counting down, and it never seems to get any closer or better.
I didn't get out of bed till 11 today. I laid there and stared at the ceiling and thought of all the things that I miss & all the things that I am waiting for.
I have a mountain of cups on my desk. seven cups stacked on top of each other, leaning precariously over me when I sit & type. a stack of vultures just watching me. I use the cups and then I never take them back downstairs again. there is a wine glass next to the cup, making sticky reddish rings. I never wash it, I just fill it up over & over again. most of my life has been not finishing things. leaving them half assed. just once I would like to finish something & think YEAH. thank god. that was good.
I guess it's good to have something to look forward to.
I am not so much in love with my life right now. I am waiting and waiting for things to happen; I have a list of countdowns that I keep counting down, and it never seems to get any closer or better.
I didn't get out of bed till 11 today. I laid there and stared at the ceiling and thought of all the things that I miss & all the things that I am waiting for.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
"spring at last
spring at last
great god almighty
it's spring at last"
I've been opening windows and pulling back curtains. drinking wine upstairs and schluntzing on the keyboard. not wearing socks, not wearing coats, watching the sun rise. it's only march and maybe too soon to celebrate but it's been so long in coming. climbing into the car this morning in a halfawake dozy daze and it was fourty degrees. fourty. a number not seen since texas. a climate too warm for south bend. a temperature that I will never complain about no matter what.
in all my springtime exhuberence I managed to clean up my room. I was a week away from stringing yellow caution tape around it and leaving it for dead. but it's been revived. no more creepy dead spider stuck on the wall. no more leaning tower of empty dirty cups. sometimes I honestly live so disgustingly it's disgusting.
in the same temporary excitement, I also managed to sautee some peas and thyme and shit. now I feel like a real professional.
instructions:
1. put peas in pan.
2. put pan on stove.
3. add some butter.
4. turn on the stove & sautee.
5. add thyme and peper.
6. stuff your face.
7. maybe add some chicken?
8. keep shoving your housemates motherfucking dog off your lap until he almost bites your face, and then stuff him in a kennel and finish your sautee peas.
that dog is seriously pissing me the fuck off. yesterday whenever I laid on the couch, he would run up and yip in my face till I paid attention to him. he's a puppy and he wants to play but godfuckingdammit I hate yippy barky dogs,especially up in my grill. I mean not cool motherfucker. and this morning when I came downstairs he'd shit all over the floor. even LESS cool. I am ten steps from leaving him outside for wolverines.
there are only two months till I am out. two months wherein I have to do something with my life. two months to try and still go to classes. two months within I have to not kill any dogs. good luck.
spring at last
great god almighty
it's spring at last"
I've been opening windows and pulling back curtains. drinking wine upstairs and schluntzing on the keyboard. not wearing socks, not wearing coats, watching the sun rise. it's only march and maybe too soon to celebrate but it's been so long in coming. climbing into the car this morning in a halfawake dozy daze and it was fourty degrees. fourty. a number not seen since texas. a climate too warm for south bend. a temperature that I will never complain about no matter what.
in all my springtime exhuberence I managed to clean up my room. I was a week away from stringing yellow caution tape around it and leaving it for dead. but it's been revived. no more creepy dead spider stuck on the wall. no more leaning tower of empty dirty cups. sometimes I honestly live so disgustingly it's disgusting.
in the same temporary excitement, I also managed to sautee some peas and thyme and shit. now I feel like a real professional.
instructions:
1. put peas in pan.
2. put pan on stove.
3. add some butter.
4. turn on the stove & sautee.
5. add thyme and peper.
6. stuff your face.
7. maybe add some chicken?
8. keep shoving your housemates motherfucking dog off your lap until he almost bites your face, and then stuff him in a kennel and finish your sautee peas.
that dog is seriously pissing me the fuck off. yesterday whenever I laid on the couch, he would run up and yip in my face till I paid attention to him. he's a puppy and he wants to play but godfuckingdammit I hate yippy barky dogs,especially up in my grill. I mean not cool motherfucker. and this morning when I came downstairs he'd shit all over the floor. even LESS cool. I am ten steps from leaving him outside for wolverines.
there are only two months till I am out. two months wherein I have to do something with my life. two months to try and still go to classes. two months within I have to not kill any dogs. good luck.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
all last week I was in Texas. TX TX TX. sunny and 70 one day, cold and 35 the next. it was also just fucking unrealistic. guys tipping their cowboy hats: evenin' ma'am. people kept holding doors for me. there was a boy in a cowboy hat and boots riding around on a bike with a kitten in a milkcrate. no one tries to rev up in front of you and cut you off when you're trying to get on the highway. everyone drives a truck and has a dog. I ate steaks and went to the fanciest hotel buffet I ever saw. & when I came back to the northcountry it was fucking snowing again.
C brought her drumset to the house. we carried it upstairs. I had a blanket wrapped around me and a cowboy hat on my head. like a douchebag, or just a stupid hippie. she played all night and it was cool, and then I got a headache. like forehead axe splitting headache. couldn't get to sleep, just sat in bed. read outdated magazines from 2006 and drank outdated milk from a week ago, while it snowed little icy lace flakes outside. it was this poetic moment. and then my lightbulb just burned the fuck out.
while stitching today, I thought about what I would do if I got a phone call that my dad suddenly died. I couldn't even figure it out. if I were science minded I would want to learn what it is about people that makes them think dull stupid morbid thoughts like that.
when I sit in the computer lab and I hear footsteps coming up behind me, I worry that they're reading over my shoulder. another question for science: where does that mindless paranoia come from.
C brought her drumset to the house. we carried it upstairs. I had a blanket wrapped around me and a cowboy hat on my head. like a douchebag, or just a stupid hippie. she played all night and it was cool, and then I got a headache. like forehead axe splitting headache. couldn't get to sleep, just sat in bed. read outdated magazines from 2006 and drank outdated milk from a week ago, while it snowed little icy lace flakes outside. it was this poetic moment. and then my lightbulb just burned the fuck out.
while stitching today, I thought about what I would do if I got a phone call that my dad suddenly died. I couldn't even figure it out. if I were science minded I would want to learn what it is about people that makes them think dull stupid morbid thoughts like that.
when I sit in the computer lab and I hear footsteps coming up behind me, I worry that they're reading over my shoulder. another question for science: where does that mindless paranoia come from.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
I'm sitting around waiting for someone to recognize me, and I don't think it's going to happen yet.
things are pretty unrealistic these days. I'm waiting for the boredom and skin to clear; I'm waiting for Friday, and driving to Texas. these are the days that I wish that were over: Monday through Thursday, debating banality with the walls. these are the days that I wish I had perfect vision and green eyes. these are the days that I wish it were summer next year, that my life would fast forward; that I wasn't trapped in this halfway armpit of shit. welcome to the Leap Year of our discontent. welcome to losing your headphones in a snowbank; to running your chair over your wool coat; to kicking the fucking dog; to not preparing for tommorrow. welcome to waiting for the rest of your life to get started, while it's just busy ending one day at a time.
I haven't had a vegetable in a week. I'm failing miserably.
"Watching white moon face,
The stars never feel anger,
Blah, blah, blah, the end."
things are pretty unrealistic these days. I'm waiting for the boredom and skin to clear; I'm waiting for Friday, and driving to Texas. these are the days that I wish that were over: Monday through Thursday, debating banality with the walls. these are the days that I wish I had perfect vision and green eyes. these are the days that I wish it were summer next year, that my life would fast forward; that I wasn't trapped in this halfway armpit of shit. welcome to the Leap Year of our discontent. welcome to losing your headphones in a snowbank; to running your chair over your wool coat; to kicking the fucking dog; to not preparing for tommorrow. welcome to waiting for the rest of your life to get started, while it's just busy ending one day at a time.
I haven't had a vegetable in a week. I'm failing miserably.
"Watching white moon face,
The stars never feel anger,
Blah, blah, blah, the end."
Friday, February 22, 2008
today I did this good deed.
I'm not of the opinion that good deeds need to be rewarded or actualized or anything like that. I don't want recognition; it's not that kind of deed. it just made me feel good.
I went to Chicago today to see the Edward Hopper special exhibit at the Art Institute. (it was one badass art exhibit.) on the way back, after narrowly beating rushhour traffic, deciding AGAINST pizza for once, and falling asleep a few times, we stopped to pee at a rest stop. the minute I open my door, the guy next to me opens his and gets out of his car.
he's tall. lanky. plain face, blue eyes. texas longhorns baseball hat. I think he was wearing sweatpants. he starts talking, stumbling over basic shit: I'm almost embarrassed to ask this; well, I am embarrassed really, but I don't know what else to; no one will help me and I'm; I just want to get back to Purdue; etcetera...
I'm skeptical at best. like yeah right. but he puts a hand to his forehead and it's shaking. like bad shaking. and he looks like he's tearing up and I can hear it in his voice, and he just wants 4 or 5 gallons of gas. and I go, yeah I can do 4 or 5. I'll put it on my card.
so Carol and me go to the gas pump with him and he's all grateful: oh thank you thank you I'll pay you back. and I'm going, how are you going to pay me back, you go to Purdue. so I say no, whatever, it's fine. 4 or 5 gallons isn't that much.
and he drives off and I put the receipt in my wallet, and go pee.
I've been feeling very wholesome lately. like green wholesome, like save the planet, do good deeds, whatever. I guess this is one for Karma or statistics or whatever.
I'm not of the opinion that good deeds need to be rewarded or actualized or anything like that. I don't want recognition; it's not that kind of deed. it just made me feel good.
I went to Chicago today to see the Edward Hopper special exhibit at the Art Institute. (it was one badass art exhibit.) on the way back, after narrowly beating rushhour traffic, deciding AGAINST pizza for once, and falling asleep a few times, we stopped to pee at a rest stop. the minute I open my door, the guy next to me opens his and gets out of his car.
he's tall. lanky. plain face, blue eyes. texas longhorns baseball hat. I think he was wearing sweatpants. he starts talking, stumbling over basic shit: I'm almost embarrassed to ask this; well, I am embarrassed really, but I don't know what else to; no one will help me and I'm; I just want to get back to Purdue; etcetera...
I'm skeptical at best. like yeah right. but he puts a hand to his forehead and it's shaking. like bad shaking. and he looks like he's tearing up and I can hear it in his voice, and he just wants 4 or 5 gallons of gas. and I go, yeah I can do 4 or 5. I'll put it on my card.
so Carol and me go to the gas pump with him and he's all grateful: oh thank you thank you I'll pay you back. and I'm going, how are you going to pay me back, you go to Purdue. so I say no, whatever, it's fine. 4 or 5 gallons isn't that much.
and he drives off and I put the receipt in my wallet, and go pee.
I've been feeling very wholesome lately. like green wholesome, like save the planet, do good deeds, whatever. I guess this is one for Karma or statistics or whatever.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
technology is the most frustrating of all fucking frustrations. maybe just short of technology is "people in the mac lab photoshopping strawberries over their faces". there is no use for faces replaced by strawberries, or maybe there are small uses but faceberries are mostly unbeneficial and probably just unapatizing.
the battle of the vegetable continues: I have been eating brocchli salad (I have never eaten brocchli, never mind bothered to write about it, so I have no idea how to spell it) pretty nonstop. just a few days ago, at panera, I ordered a salad. a motherfucking salad in a resteraunt. bells and whistles should have gone off; confetti should have dropped from the ceiling; a full marching band should have blasted through the joint, with shriners zooming around on scooters and beauty queens throwing handfuls of candy to adoring crowds. that is how fucking EPIC this moment was. never before, for the first time in public: that sort of EPIC.
there are just days that I don't get to eat. and I'm okay with that. fortunately there is an airhead, just waiting for me.
airhead in my bag,
bitches in the lab,
this makes my mouth feel funny.
the battle of the vegetable continues: I have been eating brocchli salad (I have never eaten brocchli, never mind bothered to write about it, so I have no idea how to spell it) pretty nonstop. just a few days ago, at panera, I ordered a salad. a motherfucking salad in a resteraunt. bells and whistles should have gone off; confetti should have dropped from the ceiling; a full marching band should have blasted through the joint, with shriners zooming around on scooters and beauty queens throwing handfuls of candy to adoring crowds. that is how fucking EPIC this moment was. never before, for the first time in public: that sort of EPIC.
there are just days that I don't get to eat. and I'm okay with that. fortunately there is an airhead, just waiting for me.
airhead in my bag,
bitches in the lab,
this makes my mouth feel funny.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
be in love
in all of these lit classes, people are obsessed with death. I guess I already knew that because I've read stacks of books in my life. (I guess this doesn't make me any kind of lit expert but it at least makes me into an informed lit opinion.) (sometimes I think about next year and how I won't have any furniture. I get comforted knowing that I can always make furniture out of my books. at least make bookshelves out of books for incoming books that I'm going to eventually buy.) in an interview, one of the authors said she had been "obsessed by death since [she was] five". she
pointed out how weird and twisted it is, that we're all going to die one day, and we all know it. there's no other human condition where we have a preknowledge like that.
so this lit class. as soon as we started talking about the human condition of death, I got stopped by this weird something:
I was tiny. I was probably six. my brother and I were laying across our parent's bed. I know it was forever ago because they had their old bed--pink comforter. carved headboard. white sheets. all that shit that's been outdated forever ago by arts and crafts in my house.
we were laying across their bed. my dad was at work. it was around bedtime because were praying. I was wearing knobby cotton wonderwoman pajamas.
and I don't know how it came up. maybe someone had just died. but my mom was all of a sudden talking about how one day we're all going to die. even Jacob and me. even her and my dad. even baby Maria. brothers and sisters we don't have yet. cousins. aunts. uncles. nana and papa. kids at school. pastor Deck. strangers. friends. people we like and people we don't like. everyone is going to die.
she started talking about heaven then. that we were going to all go to heaven and it would be a big reunion. like a pancake breakfast or the christmas party at aunt marge's. everyone would be there, even people who hadn't died yet; because we all had to be happy, we couldn't be missing anyone.
my family is always realistic about death. it's sad but it's happy. it's a celebration actually because the deceased (that word is awful; awful, awful. english needs something else.) is happy: perfect and whole and well. I like funerals with few sad acceptions.
but that conversation was the first time I knew what death was.
I remember I rolled over toward the crown of the bed, so I was stretched across the pillows. I remember crying while she was talking; I left behind this damp little circle from crying. I remember feeling this weird aching sad pain in my gut that I'd never known or realized before. even while I'm typing this I'm remembering, I'm crying.
I don't know what this is supposed to mean or why I remembered it, or why I didn't ever remember it before now. I don't know why I thought it was important to write it down but I did. I don't want to forget that moment again: I feel like it will be significant one of these days. so don't forget it. keep it.
today is valentine's day. I used to hate this holiday. I'm indifferent now I guess. it's this pretty lame excuse for buying shit. but then my sisters brought me cookies yesterday: the prettiest cookies I've seen in awhile. it made me rethink it; I guess it reminded me not to be too damn bitter.
it could be about just doing nice things for people. like you should always do nice things for people but this could be a day to really do them; because everyone always says that they will and then they don't.
or it could just be about being in love. and the more I think about it, the more I'm like: yeah, I am in love. forget all the bullshit about whatever else love can mean does mean will mean. forget that I get frustrated and fucking bored with the way I live. think about: living in my house with two of my best friends and a little dog that get so excited to see me he trips me everytime I walk in the door. think about how it's going to be springtime and I'll go to the beach every fucking weekend. think about evenings: going to reherals with more of my best friends. think about work, think about sewing and having the time of your life. be in love with that. be in love with my family: my sisters, my brother, my parents; dog and cats and fish. think about next year; be in love with the future. let that make you completely retarded.
& that's when I get happy.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
some kind of thoughts ( or: green, how much I want you green.)
Q. Tell me what did you think was beautiful.
The snow hanging heavy on the branches was beatiful, the way the limbs shivered and twinkled and blinked in the streetlamp, and the way that you grabbed onto my arm to save me from roaring taxicabs.
That longest night. Walking down the sidewalk with my nose buried in your shoulder, whispering to bones. And how surely if I have ever been in love, it was with you.
Standing still at the end of the shining hallway, listening to whispering: I'll come back for you. A little girl. The neat white line of the part in her hair, a division of pigtail from pigtail. The thickness of her chubby fingers, the way they laced through the bars; the brightness of her eye and of her cheek. Her little white stockings spilled onto the gray floor.
The simple warmth of a hand. The simple warmth of my back. Fingers splayed out, spider webbed against my bare ribs. Supporting. Pushing. I take a breath, I look over my shoulder.
The lucid lines of water, clear and clean. The murmur against the rocks. Washing clean.
Over the lip of the bridge curl your tones, curl your feet. Up the strong line of the leg, drips water.
Am I learning?
I look over my shoulder. Watch you hurdling up stairs. Your long legs arching, reaching. The tendonds of your arms, how clearly they cleave and bend at the elbows, tight and taut.
A neat triangle, dimpling, forming from the muscles on your back while you do a morning stretch, reaching your arms over your head with this sigh.
Your black button hair.
Your hands, unwinding.
Do you remember that couple? Standing under the crouched silver dome. Eyes closed. Feeling. She had a handful of wite lillies; his was busy holding his hat on his head; tis saccharine oblivion--
The thick dot of a mole on your right hand, a skip away from the swelling arch of your wrist.
I am losing the blurred urgency of youth. The urgency you left behind.
Begin here this time: Springtime.
The sound of the carousel, far away. The windows open. The curtains trailing like ghosts over the carpet, whispering. Silent, wordless. Waiting for an answer.
A sinful inkblot on your cheek. The careful field of sandpaper, stubble, roughing your skin.
Do you remember the smell of dandelions? The way your voice felt, low in your throat? The way it tasted; the plush velveteen taste of your mouth?
I am learning to be slow.
I am learning to be more careful, move careful; more carefully.
The unexpected clean beauty of the white sheets stretched across your bed.
The clear stretched miles of your skin. A thousand cuts, abandoned; a real roadmap of scars.
I traced the scars with fingertips, followed behind with lips. I followed along the hard ridge of your thick, around the raised scallop of your hipbone.
Stiff organized hallways. Miles of carpet, endless division: wall floor wall ceiling; repeat.
The thick throb of the walls. The sick sweet smell of the tile. Tasting, lips parting; fingertips.
Two eyes on two: tasting mine, lids parting; the long feathered lines of your eyelashes, brushing.
Butterfly kisses.
Catching ladybugs between barred fingers.
Letting go. The light in your eyes, reflecting.
What are we waiting for if not for now?
And how surely if I have ever been in love, it was with you.
The snow hanging heavy on the branches was beatiful, the way the limbs shivered and twinkled and blinked in the streetlamp, and the way that you grabbed onto my arm to save me from roaring taxicabs.
That longest night. Walking down the sidewalk with my nose buried in your shoulder, whispering to bones. And how surely if I have ever been in love, it was with you.
Standing still at the end of the shining hallway, listening to whispering: I'll come back for you. A little girl. The neat white line of the part in her hair, a division of pigtail from pigtail. The thickness of her chubby fingers, the way they laced through the bars; the brightness of her eye and of her cheek. Her little white stockings spilled onto the gray floor.
The simple warmth of a hand. The simple warmth of my back. Fingers splayed out, spider webbed against my bare ribs. Supporting. Pushing. I take a breath, I look over my shoulder.
The lucid lines of water, clear and clean. The murmur against the rocks. Washing clean.
Over the lip of the bridge curl your tones, curl your feet. Up the strong line of the leg, drips water.
Am I learning?
I look over my shoulder. Watch you hurdling up stairs. Your long legs arching, reaching. The tendonds of your arms, how clearly they cleave and bend at the elbows, tight and taut.
A neat triangle, dimpling, forming from the muscles on your back while you do a morning stretch, reaching your arms over your head with this sigh.
Your black button hair.
Your hands, unwinding.
Do you remember that couple? Standing under the crouched silver dome. Eyes closed. Feeling. She had a handful of wite lillies; his was busy holding his hat on his head; tis saccharine oblivion--
The thick dot of a mole on your right hand, a skip away from the swelling arch of your wrist.
I am losing the blurred urgency of youth. The urgency you left behind.
Begin here this time: Springtime.
The sound of the carousel, far away. The windows open. The curtains trailing like ghosts over the carpet, whispering. Silent, wordless. Waiting for an answer.
A sinful inkblot on your cheek. The careful field of sandpaper, stubble, roughing your skin.
Do you remember the smell of dandelions? The way your voice felt, low in your throat? The way it tasted; the plush velveteen taste of your mouth?
I am learning to be slow.
I am learning to be more careful, move careful; more carefully.
The unexpected clean beauty of the white sheets stretched across your bed.
The clear stretched miles of your skin. A thousand cuts, abandoned; a real roadmap of scars.
I traced the scars with fingertips, followed behind with lips. I followed along the hard ridge of your thick, around the raised scallop of your hipbone.
Stiff organized hallways. Miles of carpet, endless division: wall floor wall ceiling; repeat.
The thick throb of the walls. The sick sweet smell of the tile. Tasting, lips parting; fingertips.
Two eyes on two: tasting mine, lids parting; the long feathered lines of your eyelashes, brushing.
Butterfly kisses.
Catching ladybugs between barred fingers.
Letting go. The light in your eyes, reflecting.
What are we waiting for if not for now?
And how surely if I have ever been in love, it was with you.
_____________________________________
me at my most dull
me at crumpled brown:
me at my most predictible.
(There's a book that I re-reread. Makes me want to change so much about myself, or at least get off my ass and fucking do something. Let's see how long this brief mania lasts.)
pirogies tonight. I'm backsliding.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
new obsessions:
waiting for the snow to melt
the way wet dirt smells
toffee flavored things
the so great Janis Joplin
writing bad haiku.
Another new obsession: celery. Celery with peanut butter. Celery with ranch. The way celery crunches, crispy animal bones in my mouth. Digging out the peanut butter, like digging for bone marrow. Something green that I actually enjoy.
I snuck into C.'s room last night and stood on her scale. Standing there, awkwardly balanced in the corner beside that empty cabinet, one hand splayed against the wall; standing there in the half-dark, looking down at the numbers. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks. Maybe I misread.
(I think there's a girl that hates me. I don't know why she hates me but she sends me these blackhot looks. I think there's a girl that hates me because I didn't cast her in the play that I'm directing. I don't know why she hates me. It's continually amazing whenever I get this lame and anxious.)
waiting for the snow to melt
the way wet dirt smells
toffee flavored things
the so great Janis Joplin
writing bad haiku.
Another new obsession: celery. Celery with peanut butter. Celery with ranch. The way celery crunches, crispy animal bones in my mouth. Digging out the peanut butter, like digging for bone marrow. Something green that I actually enjoy.
I snuck into C.'s room last night and stood on her scale. Standing there, awkwardly balanced in the corner beside that empty cabinet, one hand splayed against the wall; standing there in the half-dark, looking down at the numbers. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks. Maybe I misread.
(I think there's a girl that hates me. I don't know why she hates me but she sends me these blackhot looks. I think there's a girl that hates me because I didn't cast her in the play that I'm directing. I don't know why she hates me. It's continually amazing whenever I get this lame and anxious.)
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Last night, I ate salad.
This is the third time in my career as some sort of fuckedup herbivore that I have had salad. I'm not sure that salad will ever be completely enjoyable to me, but at least I'm learning. I have had the punishment of salad leveled on me on a few other times, and I have never enjoyed it. Usually I eat it to be polite--my uncle used to serve salad as a meal, and salad alone; I ate it. I picked the chicken and cheese out of it and ate them first with tiny bits of lettace garnishing the top, but I ate it.
So I ate salad last night. Surprisingly, I did not recieve the usually system shut down information from my twisted, lurching stomach. I didn't really enjoy it, either, but I didn't seize into stomach arrest, either.
Grocery shopping again. Sometimes I think I buy things to have things. I'm not hungry, but when the cabinets get empty looking, I go to the store and I buy things to fill the cabinets. Four kinds of pasta. Three boxes of macaroni and cheese. Six cans of soup. So repetative, so repetative. I feel like some throwback to the Great Depression: what if I run out? What if I need more than just one box of macaroni? What if we're forced to stay in our deathtrap house, and I eat all my food? What if all I needed was just the one box more. And so on and so forth, ecetera ad nauseum. So at the grocery store--as if to conteract the night's unsettlingly pleasent salad experience--I bought the makings for pierogies. I suppose you could make pierogies vegetable friendly, but I made sure to make them into this little cheese and potato loaded timebombs, just waiting for me to eat them.
In other news: it's snowed and frozen and resnowed and refrozen so much that tires are freezing to pavements. We poured hot water on the car door to unstick it. It is not a pleasent time to try and eke out a life in, vegetables aside.
This is the third time in my career as some sort of fuckedup herbivore that I have had salad. I'm not sure that salad will ever be completely enjoyable to me, but at least I'm learning. I have had the punishment of salad leveled on me on a few other times, and I have never enjoyed it. Usually I eat it to be polite--my uncle used to serve salad as a meal, and salad alone; I ate it. I picked the chicken and cheese out of it and ate them first with tiny bits of lettace garnishing the top, but I ate it.
So I ate salad last night. Surprisingly, I did not recieve the usually system shut down information from my twisted, lurching stomach. I didn't really enjoy it, either, but I didn't seize into stomach arrest, either.
Grocery shopping again. Sometimes I think I buy things to have things. I'm not hungry, but when the cabinets get empty looking, I go to the store and I buy things to fill the cabinets. Four kinds of pasta. Three boxes of macaroni and cheese. Six cans of soup. So repetative, so repetative. I feel like some throwback to the Great Depression: what if I run out? What if I need more than just one box of macaroni? What if we're forced to stay in our deathtrap house, and I eat all my food? What if all I needed was just the one box more. And so on and so forth, ecetera ad nauseum. So at the grocery store--as if to conteract the night's unsettlingly pleasent salad experience--I bought the makings for pierogies. I suppose you could make pierogies vegetable friendly, but I made sure to make them into this little cheese and potato loaded timebombs, just waiting for me to eat them.
In other news: it's snowed and frozen and resnowed and refrozen so much that tires are freezing to pavements. We poured hot water on the car door to unstick it. It is not a pleasent time to try and eke out a life in, vegetables aside.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
We can't stop here!
It begins with my tongue. Every tongue looks the same—pink. Round, with some kind of tip to it. Lumpy. A little bumpy, like wet sandpaper. I once saw a tongue without a mouth. It looked crippled and funny, like a semi truck without the bed in the back. It was a cow’s tongue, so it was different, I guess; but all tongues are basically the same, just sometimes varying in size. This one looked almost like a thumb, or some soft stretched-out worthless piece of Silly Putty, if you remember that shit. There were deep blue and red roots sticking out of the broader end of the lopped off thing, the roots of some soft pliable organic plant; or thick hippie dreadlocks; or snakes shooting out of this malleable Medusa’s pink head.
It 's been this long running joke among everyone I know that I am allergic to vegetables. This is not necessarily true. There are four vegetables that I do like: potatoes, carrots (uncooked), corn, and yams. And I can stand onions (as long as they’re cooked into things), and mushrooms (as long as they’re in a casserole or fried), and zucchini or pumpkin (in pie or bread alone), and peas (snow peas with teriyaki beef, and maybe in fried rice), and even green beans (but only encased in a carbohydrate shell of a meat pie, snuggled up cozy beside succulent chunks of roast beef). And the red sauce of pasta or pizza runs thick in my bloodstream. But those picky, mundane exceptions to the rule are where the extent of my vegetable adventures end.
I’m not sure when I began to hate vegetables. I used to have a love affair with beets. (More on that later.) I didn’t have a neglectful mother; she did her best. One sister loves green things. My brother downs raw lettuce like a human/rabbit hybrid, the physic of a man and the taste of a bunny. Even my father eats salad, with a lot of garlic dressing; but salad is salad. Most of my friends are vegetarians, which can get weird. None of them are militant vegetarians, or even vegans, and some of them eat chicken wings at Buffalo Wild Wings. I don’t understand this, but I’m not a vegetarian. And I admire vegetarians, because it’s a discipline I couldn’t keep up. Not to mention that it would be a discipline that would spell my death, since without meat or animal products, I would be floating in a sea of starvation, with nothing but bread, corn, and potatoes for company. And it’s not being dramatic, it’s just telling the simple truth, when I say that putting a piece of lettuce in my mouth turns my stomach. My face crumples, my eyes squeeze shut; I can feel the gag reflex setting in, my throat contracting and closing up; I grab spasmodically at tables and place settings, groping blindly to try and find a glass of milk or a chicken wing to clear the green, fresh, disgusting taste from my mouth. I can’t help it. I can’t do it.
I would like to like vegetables. They’re healthy and good for you; they’re full of all these useful vitamins and nutrients (or so I’ve been told). Plates of vegetables look so bright and colorful and fresh. Everyone who eats vegetables always look so happy and pleased with themselves, caught up in this secret joy of vegetables. I would love to be in that club, the vegetable club, in love with greens and yellows and reds; shoots and roots and leaves, stuffing my face with all those colors. I can’t do it.
There are plenty of things that I can’t do. Math is for sure at the top of the list. I’ve never been able to do a cartwheel, not for lack of trying. Every time I try and make an exact scientific measurement, my hands start to shake, so I’m terrible at science, too. I can’t draw a straight line without a ruler, I can’t bring myself to really like farm animals, I can’t make New Year’s resolutions, and I can’t climb ladders without feeling my stomach end up somewhere at the bottom of my pelvis, and I can’t eat vegetables. I’ve tried to do all of these things, but I always screw them up.
So that leads me to the vegetable resolution. When the ball dropped on the last hour of New Year’s Eve, I sure as hell wasn’t thinking about resolutions. I know that they’re something I can’t do. I don’t have some bullshit poetic reason for not making them, something deep and stoic and existential; I don’t even have a good reason. I just have a bad memory, which means if I ever did make a resolution, I’d forget it right away. So I wasn’t thinking about resolutions. The resolution didn’t come until weeks later. It wasn’t even an official resolution, really, it was just this thing that sort of happened.
Senior year of college. I’m not living on the main campus, just in this great old junky house a couple of blocks away. I have a room all to myself on the second floor, and it’s bigger than any room I’ve ever had before. It’s a communal house, almost a weird sorority; it’s me and these two great girls and a little puppy called Tito who pees on the couch when he gets overexcited. He gets overexcited like once a day, so our couch is in this perpetual semi-washed, semi-peed-on state. It’s everything I wanted and more, and now we’re in the second semester. The first day of classes. We drive ten minute to the grocery store, start the monthly stock up—and I find myself standing in this vegetable jungle, surrounded by green leaves and red shiny bodies—and my housemates have wandered off to fill their carts with bananas and green beans—and I start thinking. I wish I liked vegetables. I really do wish I liked vegetables. I really wish I liked vegetables.
And then I’m walking away from my cart. I’m peeling a plastic bag off the roll, picking it open with careful fingernails. I’m reaching down and picking out a modest head of romaine lettuce. I’m shaking off the water, putting it in the plastic bag, and tucking the thing down into my cart—my cart, the bed of which vegetables have never graced by my hand—right beside the pork chops and mozzarella cheese and Fruit-By-The-Foot—and I let go, and I’m going to buy lettuce. This green, foreign object, staring up at me, with ruffles and ridges like this deep-sea creature, lying there like an abandoned child. I’m going to buy lettuce.
In some weird vegetable heat, I put a pound of snow peas in a flimsy bag and jam those beside the lettuce. Maybe I’m hoping they’ll keep the lettuce company, or act as an ambassador between the two of us—me, the lettuce, and then the snow peas, who are acquainted with both of us and will maybe speak some common language. And I’m staring at these green vegetables and I’m thinking, “This is it. This is the end of some age. I don’t know what age it is or why this feel so monumental, but it does. The End of an Age.” I don’t normally wax stupid poetic like that, but it was the first phrase that leapt to my mind. And I think it fits.
When my housemates finally made their way back to me, I proclaimed proudly the presence of my vegetables. They didn’t react with the same amazement that I found, but tolerated my pleasure. I found some potatoes to keep the vegetables company. I made sure they were not smashed, but safe and comfortable beside yogurt containers and boxes of corn cereal. When I finally weighed the produce at the check-out, I felt like some alarm should go off. “WARNING. THIS GIRL HAS NEVER BOUGHT LETTUCE IN HER LIFE.” Or maybe balloons and confetti should tumble down from the ceiling, and triumphant music would begin blaring from the speakers: Congratulations on your first head of lettuce! But the scanner just burped dully, and demanded my credit card.
I’m not sure when I will eat the lettuce. I will eat it—I hate food going to waste. I feel like this is the start of something, but I don’t really know what.
It 's been this long running joke among everyone I know that I am allergic to vegetables. This is not necessarily true. There are four vegetables that I do like: potatoes, carrots (uncooked), corn, and yams. And I can stand onions (as long as they’re cooked into things), and mushrooms (as long as they’re in a casserole or fried), and zucchini or pumpkin (in pie or bread alone), and peas (snow peas with teriyaki beef, and maybe in fried rice), and even green beans (but only encased in a carbohydrate shell of a meat pie, snuggled up cozy beside succulent chunks of roast beef). And the red sauce of pasta or pizza runs thick in my bloodstream. But those picky, mundane exceptions to the rule are where the extent of my vegetable adventures end.
I’m not sure when I began to hate vegetables. I used to have a love affair with beets. (More on that later.) I didn’t have a neglectful mother; she did her best. One sister loves green things. My brother downs raw lettuce like a human/rabbit hybrid, the physic of a man and the taste of a bunny. Even my father eats salad, with a lot of garlic dressing; but salad is salad. Most of my friends are vegetarians, which can get weird. None of them are militant vegetarians, or even vegans, and some of them eat chicken wings at Buffalo Wild Wings. I don’t understand this, but I’m not a vegetarian. And I admire vegetarians, because it’s a discipline I couldn’t keep up. Not to mention that it would be a discipline that would spell my death, since without meat or animal products, I would be floating in a sea of starvation, with nothing but bread, corn, and potatoes for company. And it’s not being dramatic, it’s just telling the simple truth, when I say that putting a piece of lettuce in my mouth turns my stomach. My face crumples, my eyes squeeze shut; I can feel the gag reflex setting in, my throat contracting and closing up; I grab spasmodically at tables and place settings, groping blindly to try and find a glass of milk or a chicken wing to clear the green, fresh, disgusting taste from my mouth. I can’t help it. I can’t do it.
I would like to like vegetables. They’re healthy and good for you; they’re full of all these useful vitamins and nutrients (or so I’ve been told). Plates of vegetables look so bright and colorful and fresh. Everyone who eats vegetables always look so happy and pleased with themselves, caught up in this secret joy of vegetables. I would love to be in that club, the vegetable club, in love with greens and yellows and reds; shoots and roots and leaves, stuffing my face with all those colors. I can’t do it.
There are plenty of things that I can’t do. Math is for sure at the top of the list. I’ve never been able to do a cartwheel, not for lack of trying. Every time I try and make an exact scientific measurement, my hands start to shake, so I’m terrible at science, too. I can’t draw a straight line without a ruler, I can’t bring myself to really like farm animals, I can’t make New Year’s resolutions, and I can’t climb ladders without feeling my stomach end up somewhere at the bottom of my pelvis, and I can’t eat vegetables. I’ve tried to do all of these things, but I always screw them up.
So that leads me to the vegetable resolution. When the ball dropped on the last hour of New Year’s Eve, I sure as hell wasn’t thinking about resolutions. I know that they’re something I can’t do. I don’t have some bullshit poetic reason for not making them, something deep and stoic and existential; I don’t even have a good reason. I just have a bad memory, which means if I ever did make a resolution, I’d forget it right away. So I wasn’t thinking about resolutions. The resolution didn’t come until weeks later. It wasn’t even an official resolution, really, it was just this thing that sort of happened.
Senior year of college. I’m not living on the main campus, just in this great old junky house a couple of blocks away. I have a room all to myself on the second floor, and it’s bigger than any room I’ve ever had before. It’s a communal house, almost a weird sorority; it’s me and these two great girls and a little puppy called Tito who pees on the couch when he gets overexcited. He gets overexcited like once a day, so our couch is in this perpetual semi-washed, semi-peed-on state. It’s everything I wanted and more, and now we’re in the second semester. The first day of classes. We drive ten minute to the grocery store, start the monthly stock up—and I find myself standing in this vegetable jungle, surrounded by green leaves and red shiny bodies—and my housemates have wandered off to fill their carts with bananas and green beans—and I start thinking. I wish I liked vegetables. I really do wish I liked vegetables. I really wish I liked vegetables.
And then I’m walking away from my cart. I’m peeling a plastic bag off the roll, picking it open with careful fingernails. I’m reaching down and picking out a modest head of romaine lettuce. I’m shaking off the water, putting it in the plastic bag, and tucking the thing down into my cart—my cart, the bed of which vegetables have never graced by my hand—right beside the pork chops and mozzarella cheese and Fruit-By-The-Foot—and I let go, and I’m going to buy lettuce. This green, foreign object, staring up at me, with ruffles and ridges like this deep-sea creature, lying there like an abandoned child. I’m going to buy lettuce.
In some weird vegetable heat, I put a pound of snow peas in a flimsy bag and jam those beside the lettuce. Maybe I’m hoping they’ll keep the lettuce company, or act as an ambassador between the two of us—me, the lettuce, and then the snow peas, who are acquainted with both of us and will maybe speak some common language. And I’m staring at these green vegetables and I’m thinking, “This is it. This is the end of some age. I don’t know what age it is or why this feel so monumental, but it does. The End of an Age.” I don’t normally wax stupid poetic like that, but it was the first phrase that leapt to my mind. And I think it fits.
When my housemates finally made their way back to me, I proclaimed proudly the presence of my vegetables. They didn’t react with the same amazement that I found, but tolerated my pleasure. I found some potatoes to keep the vegetables company. I made sure they were not smashed, but safe and comfortable beside yogurt containers and boxes of corn cereal. When I finally weighed the produce at the check-out, I felt like some alarm should go off. “WARNING. THIS GIRL HAS NEVER BOUGHT LETTUCE IN HER LIFE.” Or maybe balloons and confetti should tumble down from the ceiling, and triumphant music would begin blaring from the speakers: Congratulations on your first head of lettuce! But the scanner just burped dully, and demanded my credit card.
I’m not sure when I will eat the lettuce. I will eat it—I hate food going to waste. I feel like this is the start of something, but I don’t really know what.
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