in which I am following the pack.

5. things I am currently obsessed with:

1. buying dresses

2. eating out

3. fleet foxes

4. greek mythology

5. public transportation



awards luncheon tomorrow. weekend coming soon. life is good.

wouldn't it be sweet to trick-or-treat at Yoko Ono's? I have never much been inspired by her but she is a really interesting person. wouldn't that be something, to have such an intimate connection/knowledge to someone so famous and beloved the world over--knowing what their favorite color was, their favorite food, mudane banal information.

she gets such a bad rep but she's probably really sweet in person.

anyway it's a Friday. I am trying to write an apocalypse story but it keeps coming out too much like the Road.

"Jemmy has been sainted for a long time, but we are still walking toward home. He told us that all our troubles would be over the minute he got holy. When it finally did happen, he said success just tasted like wormy apples and started to cry. Juliette asked him to say a blessing over all of our parents on his sainting day, but she was just being nice. We haven’t seen our parents since a long time ago. Their bodies long ago fell apart into ashes, the ashes on our faces and the ashes we breathe. But I didn’t say this out loud because it would have made Jemmy cry again.

We are still walking toward home because walking is what they told us to do. Jemmy cries when he thinks we are not looking. He pulls his scarf over his face and sobs into the wool. Being a saint is not as great as he thought it would be, he says. Tears make pale tracts on his grimy face and he snuffles something awful. I have started plugging my ears with bits of paper and string just so I can get some sleep when the sun comes up, when we are all safe beneath the bridges.

It is my job to hold the map. It is Juliette’s job to hold the Baby Buffalo and to watch the clock. It is Jemmy’s job to make the night fires and do the praying. It is Wean’s job to watch the road. It is the Baby Buffalo’s job to tell us what to do.

When the sun comes up we run for the bridges. That’s the first thing we learned."


....see what I mean?


© christina k. 2009

in which time makes you bolder even children get older I'm getting older too.

so now I've got this job that I love.

I can't express enough what a relief a real job is and I can't stop smiling about it. I go home and feel so comfortable and grown up. it's like the minute I got a job everything I was worried about just drifted away. I wake up in the morning, make coffee, take a shower, eat breakfast, watch the news, get dressed, take a bus to a train to a train and unlock the doors at work. it's such a wonderful monotonous routine and maybe someday I will grow to hate it but for now... I love having somewhere to be.

I was born in Chicago, I was partially rasied in Chicago, and Chicago has always been my real home. when I moved here it was a fulfillment of everything I had been waiting for. I had been waiting and waiting to move to Chicago. but when I got here I still felt out of step. I started learning all the street names and EL stops; I started memorizing block numbers and Dunkin Donuts locations, but it still wasn't right. I went to school in the evenings. then I came home and laid on the couch.

now I feel a part of things. when I get on the train, when I walk fast with my head bent against the wind, when I jump on the bus, I'm immersed in this dance that is always happening in the city, all the time. I know the rhythm and I'm learning all the steps.

and I'm growing up. yesterday I realized that I am twenty-three. I realized how old that was and how young that was at the same time. I can feel my life coming together, assembling around me in interlocking pieces. that's not to say that everything must always stay the same, that nothing will ever change, that my life is my life and will be this way forever. what I mean is that I am feeling connected again, alive, vibrating with energy. I can feel my life working for me, and I can feel my purpose becoming more and more clear everyday. you know those money managment commercials where the green path lights everyone's way for them? that's how I feel things are working for me.

one thing I never talk about is my religion. I'm not ashamed of being religious, I just consider the matter very personal. I love being Lutheran, I love going to church and singing hymns and feeling the power and communion with something so much bigger than I am. every day, I feel this increasing spiritual awareness and some days my blood just feels electric. I don't credit my life to luck, I credit it to God, and that's where this path comes from. I have been praying for so long for my way to become clear and I think it finally is.


this office is so bright. my mother sent me flowers yesterday. it is getting colder and winter is coming. I am starting to wake up again.


thank you job. thank you Chicago. thank you God.

in which I start to grow up.

so today I got a job. then at school a condom got stuck to my shoe. fortunately it was unopened. I have had many encounters with condoms since moving to Chicago but this was definately the weirdest since I came into contact with it in a neutral classroom. I was walking to the bathroom and it was like I was walking on bubblewrap. then I thought maybe it was a wad of tape. no, it was a condom, taped to the heel of my shoe, so I started laughing & just couldn't stop.


but yeah, I'm a receptionist (condom shoe and all) at an interior design company downtown. so mark your calendars: Friday brings my last day of working retail f-o-r-e-v-e-r. REAL LIFE, here I come.

in which I eat with chopsticks.

the other day I saw a guy fall into another dude's lap on the red line. guy 1 was trying so hard to be cool. he had big shoes and a big hat on. and his lips were all puffed out like he was going "don't mess with me" in his head, over and over again in some crazy cool guy mantra. then the subway stopped really suddenly and he fell into this dude's lap. dude 2 lost it and cracked up and just kept saying "you should've told me you were so attracted to me" over and over. guy 1 caught on fire out of shame and got off with the next train stop, probably to wait for the next subway so he could ride home with some dignity. or as much dignity as a guy has while wearing big shoes and a big hat.



my best college friend CAROL visited me this weekend and pretty much made my month. I made chicken pot pie and we looked at Halloween decorations in the neighborhood. then we went to Chinatown. her boyfriend came too... turns out he's pretty cool. he taught me how to eat with chopsticks. he isn't Chinese or anything, he just knows his way around the chopsticks. !! eating with chopsticks is such a huge achievement for me, no joke. I have been trying to eat with chopsticks for 20+ years. turns out I was holding them totally wrong. now I am chopstick guru. I can even eat rice with chopsticks. yowza!

it has kind of been raining nonstop.

on a route obscure and lonely

hip deep in the briney swill, she remembers.
cheap pink plastic swine
six staring suitors
groping beneath the baclony below
her charming witty smile.
an echo trails in the hem of her skirt
she has been working for a pattern cutter
her teeth are yellow in the streetlamp
she is lucky to be working.
her fingers remember.


I have never considered the subway stalagtites
protruding sadly like sore baby teeth, small and easily forgotten.
The floor is pitted with grooves and footprints
the puddles gleam and every sound becomes an echo
the train is coming.
I take a breath and hear him answer.

m e d u s a

so this is what I've been writing lately:




This morning, I wake up in my bedroom at the top of dad’s house.

My bed is cavernous and my sheets are supple dark silk. The windows stand around me like empty eyes. The wash of the beach is far away.

Downstairs, Sally bangs around in the kitchen. The distant griddle hisses, musical grease. The twang of steel guitars on the radio, unfocused. Pelma is pumping water in the yard. The dog boys sing Johnny Cash out in the hills. The cicadas are droning in the trees. They’re saying: summer, summer, summer.
I climb out the window onto the red stucco roof and burn my heels on the hot tiles. The endless summer of the island slaps my cheeks. The breeze off the sea tastes like day old fish.

Some mornings I think about the white surf kissing the dark and bitter rocks below. Some mornings I contemplate dad’s hunting rifles, locked behind the frosted glass of the gun cabinet. This morning, I crouch over myself and put my face in her hands, make an X with my arms and legs.

And I wait.
 

 
 
 
 
© christina k. circa october 2009