Spark & Fizz

marinate. ruminate. repeat.

2011-12-30T21:09:00.000-08:00

as is to be expected, i find myself spending the last weeks of december considering the year that has passed and trying to anticipate what the next will hold. this has been nothing short of an eventful year, and despite all of my many ruminations (most of which are written in public, but unadvertised places), it has been incredibly difficult for me to summarize the changes that have taken place in any sort of articulate, succinct way. (and for those of you who do read those other places: some of this may be redundant for you--i know. bear with me.)

if you have been connected to any of my social media (or the other aforementioned places of writing/processing), you know the series of disasters that have taken over this year. for those of you still catching up, here's the short list: major anxiety attack, housefire, electric shock (that broke my arm!), car crash, violent mugging (that broke my nose!), and kidney infection. the series of disastrous events led several friends and family members to tell me that i had practically become a caricature of myself, or some sort of cartoon character (ha!). i have been in the hospital more times this year than i have in any other. i went from giving this bright, optimistic interview about my job as a domestic violence advocate to being completely burnt out and giving notice without a safety net or some sort of plan to save me from becoming one of the homeless folk i served. my dating life has been infinitely better than it has been this year than it ever has (a combination of increased self-esteem, an improved ability to vet, and the luck of meeting several fan-fucking-tastic people who, even if things didn't work out, have turned out to be friends that i hope to have in my life for many more years to come), but was still a seemingly turbulent component in the ever-tumultuous effort that is emotional growth and maturity. i threw myself into a lot of new things that were frightening and intimidating to take on.

basically: a lot has happened, and while, on the surface it may not seem like much has changed, i find myself a very different person than who i was one year ago. of course, that's the nature of rapid maturation that occurs when one is in their early twenties, yes? while intellectually i can recognize this is natural, normal, and ultimately, probably not that remarkable, as it occurs it continuously remains an absolute marvel to me.

one of the most satisfying things about reflecting upon what has passed is that although this year has possessed some of the most horrifying experiences of my life, this year has still not shaken me as much as 2008 did. fortunately (or unfortunately?), my father's death remains the most staggering, hurtful events of my life, and so, even though this year was ugly (and i was ugly through much of it, as a result), it wasn't the worst year of my life. it's a seemingly small comfort that relieves me enormously.

it's difficult to express all of the things that i have gleaned, particularly about myself, through the absurdities that 2011 offered. i barely know where to start. i learned so much about self-care, about developing community, about working through hard conversations and uncomfortable moments and my total aversion to legitimate vulnerability. the physical pain that occurred this year taught me so much about how i address all pain (physical and emotional). the disasters helped me unpack my pride, which never, ever allows me to ask for help, even when i am hurting myself more by pretending i can TOTALLY DO IT ALL BECAUSE I AM SO INDEPENDENT AND I KNOW EVERYTHING PS. DON'T TOUCH ME, ASSHOLE, I DON'T NEED ANY HUGS. HUGS ARE FOR PEOPLE WHO NEED THINGS. STOP TRYING TO BE NICE TO ME AND GO AWAY AND BY THE WAY, GO FUCK YOURSELF. (at this point, i would like to note that i am a superpleasant person to be around.) i also abandoned a lot of aspirations that i was committing myself to because i thought i "should," instead of focusing the energy on figuring out exactly where and who i want to be (and who i already am). i am still figuring a lot of this out, but the strides that have been made are massive.

most importantly, the people who were in my life this year made the most noteworthy impact. i was fortunate enough to have many of my existing relationships flourish in ways i could not have imagined. i also was fortunate enough to have a mass influx of new folk who have altered my foundation irreversibly. for every lowdown louse that has entered my life, i have had at least twenty sparkling souls serve the recovery of my faith in humanity. truly, if there is anything enviable about my life, it is that i have the most amazing friends anyone could ask for. they are so wise, so empathetic, so generous, so patient, so intelligent, so passionate, and so, so, so creative. they almost make me a little sick with how wonderful they are. i often feel like i do not deserve the presence of such incredible people, and i am so glad that they have chosen to let me into their lives. i am constantly inspired by them, with those big brains, even bigger hearts, and all of their lofty pursuits (also inspired by their many silly, sexy, altruistic, and ridiculous endeavors, as well). i cannot thank them enough for their presence. there just aren't enough words.

2011 has been a doozy, ladies, genderqueers, and gents. i would be lying if i didn't tell you that my anxiety for what the future holds doesn't still overcome me (and at the most inopportune times too, goddamnit), and there is still so much work to be done. i walk out of this year with so many scars (and an unfortunate bump on my nose), but i also walk out with more optimism than i can remember possessing in as long as i can remember.

several years ago, i wrote that i was falling apart, and one of my dearest friends (and possibly my number one reallife hero), july westhale, told me, "and we'll be here to help you pick up the pieces." i didn't believe her at the time, and i don't think i even understood what that meant. i had no sense of what community meant. the idea that there were people who were going to stick around, even when i wasn't performing for their benefit, and even when i wasn't doing my best to "earn their love," was completely unfathomable to me. i have often operated on the basic belief that we walk into this life alone, we walk through it alone, and we walk out alone. it has been a constant state of isolation. although on some level that still holds some truth, i walk out of this year knowing that hey, maybe the world isn't as lonely as i thought it was. silly me.

2011, i told you to bring it, and boy, did you. so 2012, bring me more. maybe, though, let's shed a little less blood this time.

either way: i'm ready for you. let's go.

2011-10-08T16:07:00.001-07:00

The Poor Relation

No longer torn by what she knows
And sees within the eyes of others,
Her doubts are when the daylight goes,
Her fears are for the few she bothers.
She tells them it is wholly wrong
Of her to stay alive so long;
And when she smiles her forehead shows
A crinkle that had been her mother’s.

Beneath her beauty, blanched with pain,
And wistful yet for being cheated,
A child would seem to ask again
A question many times repeated;
But no rebellion has betrayed
Her wonder at what she has paid
For memories that have no stain,
For triumph born to be defeated.

To those who come for what she was—
The few left who know where to find her—
She clings, for they are all she has;
And she may smile when they remind her,
As heretofore, of what they know
Of roses that are still to blow
By ways where not so much as grass
Remains of what she sees behind her.

They stay a while, and having done
What penance or the past requires,
They go, and leave her there alone
To count her chimneys and her spires.
Her lip shakes when they go away,
And yet she would not have them stay;
She knows as well as anyone
That Pity, having played, soon tires.

But one friend always reappears,
A good ghost, not to be forsaken;
Whereat she laughs and has no fears
Of what a ghost may reawaken,
But welcomes, while she wears and mends
The poor relation’s odds and ends,
Her truant from a tomb of years—
Her power of youth so early taken.

Poor laugh, more slender than her song
It seems; and there are none to hear it
With even the stopped ears of the strong
For breaking heart or broken spirit.
The friends who clamored for her place,
And would have scratched her for her face,
Have lost her laughter for so long
That none would care enough to fear it.

None live who need fear anything
From her, whose losses are their pleasure;
The plover with a wounded wing
Stays not the flight that others measure;
So there she waits, and while she lives,
And death forgets, and faith forgives,
Her memories go foraging
For bits of childhood song they treasure.

And like a giant harp that hums
On always, and is always blending
The coming of what never comes
With what has past and had an ending,
The City trembles, throbs, and pounds
Outside, and through a thousand sounds
The small intolerable drums
Of Time are like slow drops descending.

Bereft enough to shame a sage
And given little to long sighing,
With no illusion to assuage
The lonely changelessness of dying,—
Unsought, unthought-of, and unheard,
She sings and watches like a bird,
Safe in a comfortable cage
From which there will be no more flying.

by Edwin Arlington Robinson

holding on and letting go

2011-10-05T11:32:00.000-07:00

i keep trying to remind myself: healing is a process. healing is a process. healing is a process.
i know i am taking the right steps toward where i need to be, which is important.
i know that the emotional rollercoaster is going to last for awhile, and that it is okay.
i know that i am going to need to reach out to people when i need them right now, and that this is also okay.
i know that i am going to need to continue to be an advocate for myself, emotionally, financially, and legally.

lastly, i know i am capable of getting through this. i have been through worse, and came out better for it. when i think about how terrible this year has been, it occurs to me that 2008 still eclipses every terror i have ever faced. there is something comforting about the fact that the loss of my father still serves as a significant benchmark for traumatic events in my life. if it isn't as bad as that, then hey. i am going to be okay. i just need to hang on to that.

this year has been a year of setbacks, but i feel like i have still grown in many ways. there has to be something said for that. right?

Long. Very long.

2011-10-01T20:11:00.000-07:00

-Trigger warning for violence & physical assault-

I have been in fights, but until Thursday night, I had never been kicked in the face before. I had been having such a lovely evening, too; I never would have guessed that I would end up lying on the ground screaming, "YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" as some dude stomped on my head.

I had gone to a cafe about ten blocks from my house to write in my journal and sip on a cup of coffee. I have been working on a whole lot of self-improvement stuff (I won't get into the details here), and planned to write it all out in my journal. As I have mentioned here before, writing helps me process my emotions, and can help hold me accountable to my own goals. I ended up chatting with one of the cafe employees, and as we chatted, a few other employees and regulars from the cafe joined us. We sat on the patio, laughing, drinking beer, and playing silly games until around midnight. The night was yet another marvel at the magic of instant camaraderie. I left feeling sad that the evening was over, but appreciative that I got to participate. These kind of ephemeral moments are my favorite.

I normally would have listened to music on my way home, but my phone had died as I tried to call a friend on the way out of the cafe, so I shoved it into my purse and slung the bag over my shoulder. While I live in an area that can get a little rough in the evenings, I walk around at night all the time. I got accustomed to walking during the two and a half years I lived without a car. For most of that time, I had a job that didn't let out until well after dark, and I got comfortable with walking a good two or three miles to get home. I pride myself on generally being pretty damn vigilant, and based on how little I get harassed (aside from the occasional, "HEY BABY, CAN I GET YOUR NUMBER?" or the flasher that lives down the street), I am fairly certain that I give off an air of, "Don't. Fuck. With. Me." I make it a point to be civil, which usually makes it clear that I am not afraid, that I'm not trying to cause a problem, and that I'm aware of what's going on. If someone on the street asks me how I'm doing or what's going on, I'll answer. I will often greet people I pass with a "Good evening." I carry pepper spray in my bag. I always keep regular checks over my shoulder as I walk down the street. I am unafraid. I am fairly confident in my ability to assess whether someone is bad news or not. Clearly, at some point, it just doesn't matter.

I was almost home, with only three blocks or so to go, and all of the sudden I felt a blow to the back of my head. Some guy quickly moved past me, and I got a brief glimpse of him. I don't know if I said anything in response (knowing me, I surely did). I am not sure whether he hit me again, or whether it was because he grabbed the strap on my bag, but I fell to the ground. Things become blurry here. I remember screaming at him. I remember curling up on ground and clasping the strap on my bag. There were blows coming down on my face, on my head, and I remember the warmth of the blood in my mouth. I felt the tension in the purse strap release, the smooth strap running through my fingers as he snatched it and ran back the way he came.

I stood up, shaking, and felt my face. Bloody. There were no cars or people on the street. I have never felt so fucking alone in my life. I didn't know what to do, so I screamed for help. I screamed for someone to call the police. I kept screaming one word at a time ("Help! Police!") because I didn't know what else to say. I was afraid no one would come. I didn't know what else to do. A woman leaned out of her apartment window to tell me she was dialing the cops and told me to wait. I think she asked me what happened, but I can't remember. I remember looking at the blood on my hands and how my shoulders shook as I gasped. I was hyperventilating at this point. Some man with long blonde hair ran down the street, cell phone to his ear, and said, "I've got 911 on the line right now. Are you ok? Are you ok? What happened?" He sat me down on his porch, and the people who were at his house (roommates? company?) brought me paper towels and a bag full of frozen vegetables for my face.

The police came. I filled out a written statement. They took photos of me. The woman from down the street had a daughter who saw the entire event, and fortunately, could give a description of the guy. I couldn't stop crying. I kept asking the paramedics, "IS MY NOSE BROKEN? IS MY NOSE BROKEN? Is my face really fucked up right now?!" Clearly, my vanity knows no bounds. I told the officer that I hoped the gentleman who attacked me got a painful, incurable rash on his balls (the officer laughed, which made me feel a little better).

The list of injuries: Several abrasions on my head, two black eyes, a massive lump on the back of my head, a fractured nose, a tear behind my ear (meaning that my ear folded forward when he kicked me, and it was hard enough that the skin behind my ear tore--as in, my ear was tearing off my head), several massive bruises on my shoulder and arm, and cuts on my fist from (I believe) trying to hit him. ETA: For those of you who like photos, here are some of my absolutely fucked face.

What a fucking nightmare this year has been. First, a housefire. Second, an electric shock that broke my arm. Third, a car crash that totaled my car. And now, this. I have already been struggling to remain positive through all of these ordeals, and I am finding it incredibly difficult. This will be the fourth time in 2011 alone that I will have to put a large portion of my life on hold so I can recover from disaster. The amount of demoralization I feel seems bigger than me.

After this event, I was put up by a friend who lives near by. Amongst my friend group, I am notoriously terrible at being taken care of (please see: vulnerability turns me into a giant asshole. please see: sup, defense mechanism?). Regardless of that, being the generous, compassionate person he is, he set me up with ice, ibuprofen, and a beer on the couch, and listened to me rant and rave (and cry). I don't think I can thank him enough for his kindness. He created a space where I felt completely safe, even if I was difficult about it, which was exactly what I needed after such a disaster.

I am so grateful for all of the friends and family who have offered support in the two days (jesus, only two days?) since this has happened. They are the constant reminder that for every piece of shit I encounter, there are at least twenty benevolent folk to make up the difference. I think I would have truly lost my shit a long time ago if I didn't have their support.

I am hoping that by writing about the event, it will quell some of my rage. These things happen, right? It's not the end of the world. It's not my fault. My skull is not fractured. He didn't have a weapon. I'm alive. I have extraordinarily bad luck, but I do not want it to change me for the worse.

After each of these events, I feel angrier and more cynical toward the world, and I don't want to be that way. There were already so many reasons to be cynical prior to this year, and I had managed to maintain the tiniest semblance of optimism. While I have always been a bit of a grouch, I have always maintained my own special brand of brightness. I fear that these events are sapping me of it, bit by bit. While I have more than two dozen people who would gladly listen to me, there's no one I feel truly comfortable confiding in, and so, this all goes nowhere. I know that I need to reach out (more than just updating social networking with tiny snippets of my lividness), but I almost don't know where to go. After the fire, I went to a therapist, and while it served some purpose, it didn't solve this problem. I am trying so fucking hard to not become a horrible person, but every time something like this happens I feel like everything good about me is crumbling apart.

I don't know what else to do. I am so good at surviving, but absolutely terrible at building (or rebuilding). I can maintain, but I don't know how to move up from there. I have been trying to teach myself that, trying to work on it, but these things have happened in such a short period of time that I feel like every time I start heading somewhere, the world knocks my feet out from under me.

The Universe, to me: Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Oh, and by the way, Lizz, go fuck yourself.

I'm determined to make it better, but I don't know how to be happy while doing it. I have lots of exciting stories to tell, but the truth is that I would take being boring over the disheartenment this brings. Without question. I'm so sick of hearing the phrase, "But it could have been so much worse." Yes, it could have been, but I am not comforted because it was still horrible. Lastly, if you didn't know: these stories are only exciting when they didn't happen to you.

I'm sorry this isn't the inspirational story that we all love to read. (And I'm sorry this is not about something more important, like Occupy Wall Street, or Troy Davis, or any of the other shit happening in the world.) It is hard not to love it when someone posts about a struggle, or a disaster, and then follows it with a resounding, "BUT I WILL PREVAIL!" I know it's disappointing, but I cannot maintain a perpetual onslaught of GLITTER! CUPCAKES! KITTENS AND POSITIVE THINKING! Sometimes I wish I could. While I appreciate that there are people who are effortlessly capable of that (and who probably seem much saner than the likes of me), I can't. It wouldn't be real. Unfortunately, that's not my story. Not tonight. I know that this is life and these things happen, but come on. This is getting ridiculous, and I am exhausted.

what my life has been like lately.

2011-09-14T12:29:00.000-07:00

there are never enough words.

2011-06-19T16:20:00.000-07:00

Today is Father's Day, which is always a weird one for me. (I've talked about my father's death before, so I'm sure that comes as no surprise to those of you who are keeping up.) People on Twitter are talking about the things their fathers taught them, and I've tried to come up with something within 140 characters, but there's so much to say. With what he taught me, both through his positive and negative behavior...I can't sum it up so succinctly.

In life, my father taught me that learning for the sake of learning is worthy. My father taught me that compassion for the underdog is a necessity. My father taught me that forgiveness for those who are inextricably tied into your life is invaluable. My father taught me that the person who seems the most stoic and strong can also be the person that needs the most support. He taught me that generosity is one of the few things that is unregrettable. He taught me how small things, like calling at midnight on a birthday, can make someone feel unbelievably special and valued. He taught me that love can remain perpetual, although it may change, through time and conflict.

In death, my father taught me that vulnerability is a gift you give others. My father taught me that self-destruction isn't inevitable, or sustainable as an integral part of one's identity. My father taught me that an individual can be completely blind to the depth of their impact on others. His death taught me that ultimately everyone is alone, and that learning to be comfortable in the balance between solitude and loneliness is indispensable. He taught me that vanity and pride are terrible reasons to not reach out when you lack the resources to rebuild after personal disaster.

I wish I could've given him more when he was falling apart. I wish the last time I saw him wasn't a year before his death, when he was coming out of a coma induced by his own feeble attempt to stop drinking. I wish I hadn't left for some shitty bookstore job because I had somehow reasoned that this was somehow more important than staying by his side, and that I had known how much help he needed. I wish I'd known how to assure him that I still loved him, even when his alcoholism led him to behave in outrageously hurtful ways. I wish I'd known enough to see his anger as a defense mechanism, rather than an abandonment. Although I know that I did the best I could with the knowledge I had at the time, I find that these regrets have been indelibly woven into my conscience.

More than anything, I wish I could tell him all that he has done for me, even in his absence. He had no idea how important he was, and that hurts. If only he knew. If only. It's further evidence that the wisdom and experience that comes with being fifty two is not enough to keep someone from feeling small and worthless.

I want to believe that the person I have become is someone he would still be proud of. I've never missed anyone as much as I miss him. I wish he was alive, even if he was still all fucked up, just so I could call him and yell at him. I never realized that simply knowing someone is alive in the world, even when your relationship is imbued with contentiousness, is a gift.

Happy Father's Day, Daddio. You're still tops to me.

The Fishbowl Effect

2011-03-27T14:59:00.000-07:00

As you can see, I haven't been blogging at all. I haven't had any urge whatsoever to divulge my shit all over the internet. Shocking, I know! I've still been vaguely keeping up with Twitter, but both my online and real world social lives have taken a nosedive in the past month or so. Everything that has gone on in the past few months finally caught up with me and I became utterly overwhelmed. I decided to check out, and I think it's just what I needed. I've slowly started to come up for air. That's not really what I'm here to talk about though, and that's not the only reason I've stopped updating.

With the internet, it's so easy to people watch. Check in on people you don't speak to, or even care about, and spy on what they're doing. Peek in, take a look around, and get out, with no responsibilities or obligations to speak up and say a word. It's utterly noncommittal. It's living in the fishbowl.

I'm guilty of it, you're guilty of it (also, in case you were wondering: I do have a sitemeter and I do see you), we're all guilty of it. I'm sick of it. If you can't be all the way in, get out. While I may have resurfaced socially, I don't know when I'll be coming back here. I'm so tired of this vacant, disconnected world, where writing publicly is nothing short of speaking into an abyss of nosy parkers. Right now, I need and (more importantly) want more.

If you want to keep in touch, you can always email.

xoxo,

Tizz

laugh for days.

2011-03-18T23:33:00.000-07:00

It's Raining In Love
by Richard Brautigan

I don't know what it is,
but I distrust myself
when I start to like a girl
a lot.

It makes me nervous.
I don't say the right things
or perhaps I start
to examine,
evaluate,
compute
what I am saying.

If I say, "Do you think it's going to rain?"
and she says, "I don't know,"
I start thinking : Does she really like me?

In other words
I get a little creepy.

A friend of mine once said,
"It's twenty times better to be friends
with someone
than it is to be in love with them."

I think he's right and besides,
it's raining somewhere, programming flowers
and keeping snails happy.
That's all taken care of.

BUT

if a girl likes me a lot
and starts getting real nervous
and suddenly begins asking me funny questions
and looks sad if I give the wrong answers
and she says things like,
"Do you think it's going to rain?"
and I say, "It beats me,"
and she says, "Oh,"
and looks a little sad
at the clear blue California sky,
I think : Thank God, it's you, baby, this time
instead of me.

three years.

2011-03-08T21:52:00.000-08:00

For the Dead
by Adrienne Rich

I dreamed I called you on the telephone
to say: Be kinder to yourself
but you were sick and would not answer

The waste of my love goes on this way
trying to save you from yourself

I have always wondered about the left-over
energy, the way water goes rushing down a hill
long after the rains have stopped

or the fire you want to go to bed from
but cannot leave, burning-down but not burnt-down
the red coals more extreme, more curious
in their flashing and dying
than you wish they were
sitting long after midnight

tales of disaster: the retelling.

2011-02-28T13:14:00.000-08:00

Please excuse my silence. I've been dealing with this monster of a drama in the past two weeks or so. eta: just kidding--less than two weeks. it just feels like lots of time is passing, but in slow motion.

here's the story:
my aunt, to me, "you've suffered a lot of trials for a little, young twenty two year old!"

well, this is a lifetime of adventures, even when i'm not trying!

i spent friday packing and preparing to move. i'd packed about ninety percent of my things, and pulled them all out into the living room. my moving help was arriving the next morning, and after having moved so often (and typically, so haphazardly), i was determined to make this an organized, easy, relatively painless move.

in the middle of the day i took a nice long nap. it was chilly, but the sun was shining through my window and it was nice to lie there in my olive green room, half asleep, in the warmth of the sunlight. my flatmate charly took off around five thirty in the evening to go to her aikido class. awhile later, it had gotten much, much colder (the bay area has been experiencing a serious cold front--apparently it even snowed in san francisco on saturday), and i flipped on the heat. i kept running around the house, packing and moving and organizing, and after awhile i took a break, put on my headphones, and started watching a movie on my computer.

now, my flatmate has a dog, and the dog had been acting a little silly since everything in our house started getting packed up and moved around. after charly left the house, the dog had been following me around, and she started scratching at my door after i closed it. scratch scratch, whine whine. i kept telling her to go away, and she would be quiet for a minute, only to scratch again. finally, after about ten minutes (maybe?), she scratched incredibly hard, and then yelped. as i sat up and took my headphones off, i realized i smelled smoke. i thought that maybe i'd left something on the stove and forgotten, even though that's not at all something i normally do.

i opened the door to see kajal, the dog, pressed against my door, and half the hallway's floor in flames. kajal ran past me into my room, but i coaxed her out, fearing she would get trapped. i couldn't find my cell phone at first, so i ran through the house trying to find it and opening doors to let the smoke out. i ran back into my room to call my phone from my computer, found it, and then dialed 911. as i ran out of my room, the hallway wall had started burning, and the flame was bigger and taller than me. i ran past it and into the kitchen, where the smoke was so thick i could barely see. i ran out the back door and called for kajal, who had disappeared into the backyard. i grabbed her collar and literally screamed to the dispatcher, "MY HOUSE IS ON FIRE! send help, please, my house is burning down!"

people talk hypothetically about what they'd grab if their house was burning down, and that's a nice thought, but all i could think about was getting the dog and getting the fuck out. get the baby and GO.

i stood outside, barefoot and wearing thin pajama pants and a tank top, with kajal, watching the fleet of firefighters water down the house. a neighbor brought me a jacket. several asked if i was ok and needed food or water. my flatmates came home a little over an hour later, after finally getting my bazillions of phone calls. charly was in tears when they drove up. once the firefighters left, we surveyed the damage as best we could with giant flashlights. we stood in the house, aimless, and unsure what to do or where to go or what to even grab. they had turned the electricity off, and the house still felt warm.

we didn't see the extent of the damage until the next day, in the sunlight. although the firefighter said that on a scale of one to ten, it was a three, the damage was still fairly severe. they had to create a makeshift floor for us to walk on. two flaming doors had been ripped off their frames so they could be extinguished: one was found half charred, on the curb, and the other was found under the lemon tree. dave's bed is ruined, a huge bunch of my clothes and everyone's bedding got destroyed. what wasn't burned was ruined by the heat and smoke. the walls are covered with blistering paint and the windows are adorned with blinds that are paused in their half-melted form.

if it had been five minutes longer, i would've been trapped in my room. the hallway would've been too firey to escape from (plus, the floor fell through), and there are bars on my bedroom windows (to keep intruders out). the likelihood of both kajal and i being hurt is extremely high. and instead, we lucked out.

yeah, we lost some stuff. it's actually terribly lucky that we all were moving anyway, so we aren't homeless. the emotional trauma is worse than i thought it would be; all three of us who were living in the house are experiencing highs and lows. the financial hit is going to end up being huge; i had to buy a new mattress, and i don't even know what clothes i lost yet. i now have only one pair of pajama pants (which are currently soaked in firehose water and burnt wood--i've been sleeping in leggings/yoga pants), and i lost a ton of (really cute) underwear and stuff that i wore on a regular basis. what bedding and clothing i tried to salvage may still be ruined by the smoke smell that has permeated everything in that house.

the worst is the emotional distress, though. we're all experiencing ups and downs and trying to pull together. i definitely feel more bonded to my flatmates after this experience, even if we aren't flatmates anymore. we're still spending the next few weeks going back to the house, picking through to see what we can salvage and what's worthless, to clean up as best we can.

what a fucking ordeal.

on the upside, i'm in my new place, which is disorganized and strangely empty, but lovely. i have a little green tea kettle and my new mattress came this morning, so i can sit on my cozy bed and type type type. i still feel exhausted, but things are going to be ok. photos of the disaster: coming to your computer screen soon.

sometimes i feel like my life should come with a DISCLAIMER: NOT FOR THE WEAK OF STOMACH OR FAINT OF HEART. if it didn't actually happen to me, i'm not sure i'd believe it. it's all so ridiculous.

written february 27th, 2011

For Jane - Charles Bukowski

2011-02-20T14:49:00.000-08:00

225 days under grass
and you know more than I.
they have long taken your blood,
you are a dry stick in a basket.
is this how it works?
in this room
the hours of love
still make shadows.

when you left
you took almost
everything.
I kneel in the nights
before tigers
that will not let me be.

what you were
will not happen again.
the tigers have found me
and I do not care.

fountains and mountains of ink

2011-02-20T13:46:00.000-08:00

i'm taking a moment to write this from the middle of my bed, where i am wearing jeans that are two sizes too big and sitting on top of the polka-dotted tulle from a red prom dress crumpled among my bedsheets. i'm moving next weekend and i have taken on the dreary task of disassembling all of my shit to discard what i don't need or want and pack up what currently sits out. honestly, i've been trying to do this for the past few days, but instead it's amounted to going for walks, watching netflix, and checking my horoscope.

confession: when i feel misplaced, i find myself regularly clicking to find my astrological guidance or perusing sites that encourage hopeful anonymity (missed connections on craigslist, postsecret). while many people turn to god, i turn to pseudoscience and candidates voted "most likely to be socially awkward and/or die alone" to look for the answers to my questions, or a secret message that will say to me, "everything is ok!" and convince me that things are much more beautiful than they seem in the present moment. embarrassing and futile, but a habit i can't seem to break.

with every move, i've been determined to get rid of a bunch of the things i have lugged around for the past fifty or so (perhaps slightly hyperbolic, but not really) moves. brutal sentimentality has made it impossible to part with mementos, keepsakes, and anything that is a reminder of fondness. i can find affection for plain, unremarkable rock that was collected from the right beach, at the right time, with the right person. being that i don't want to end up on an episode of hoarders, i've done my best to keep my packrat tendencies in check, and what better way to do it than right before moving? leave it all behind; start fresh.

although the nostalgia i find in an old rusty paperclip from the bottom of a plastic box is certainly a heartbreaker, what kills me is the sketchbooks and the photo assignments with encouraging words and the paperwork with my father's name scribbled across it. i found an envelope from some health insurance paperwork he sent me in 2007 and convincing myself to throw it away requires a ten minute pep talk while staring down the envelope, seeing who will blink first.

the worst is the encouragement, though. however much potential i had at one time (according to the stacks of drawings and paintings and photographs that have the words of mentors written across them with the kind of language that makes for a great daily mantra) means very little now. i used to hope i would die young so that this potential would be all that was left; there's nothing more beautiful than what could have been, rather than the disappointment it turned out to be.

this is an ugly feeling and it's all tied together, the abandonment of photography and music and the lack of confidence to re-learn what, at one time, seemed to come so easy and my father's death and the endless parade of shitty jobs and academic failures. i feel my throat tighten when i think about it. so i am taking a break to take a breath, step outside, let the tears come if they're coming, and that's all i can do. the three year mark of his death comes after the first week of march, and sometimes i still have to remember to be gentle with myself. the pain may have subsided, but the broken parts still swell sometimes.

although generally things are good, i still feel like i'm in the aftermath of this (and without health insurance plus having my hours at work dropped drastically, there's little to no help to be had). i've said it before and i'll say it again: i'd trade the uncertainty of youth for lines on my face any day. i know that this is wasted on me and i should appreciate what i have while it's here, but sometimes i wish i could just fast forward to a time when things will make more sense. when all the work i'm doing now will actually lead somewhere, and when that feeling of forever spinning my wheels without moving even an inch forward will dissipate.

goddamnit, i hate moving.

blossom tea

2011-02-14T19:26:00.000-08:00

once again, it's raining in the magical realm of oaklandia.

delicious.

2011-02-11T09:15:00.000-08:00

Untitled [You did say, need me less and I'll want you more]

Marilyn Hacker

You did say, need me less and I'll want you more.
I'm still shell-shocked at needing anyone,
used to being used to it on my own.
It won't be me out on the tiles till four-
thirty, while you're in bed, willing the door
open with your need. You wanted her then,
more. Because you need to, I woke alone
in what's not yet our room, strewn, though, with your
guitar, shoes, notebook, socks, trousers enjambed
with mine. Half the world was sleeping it off
in every other bed under my roof.
I wish I had a roof over my bed
to pull down on my head when I feel damned
by wanting you so much it looks like need.

Grief, and I want to take it up in you;
joy, and I want to spend it all inside
you; fear, and you are the place I can hide.
Courage is what leaves me brave enough to
turn you around and tell you what to do
to me, after. Rivers, and downstream glide
I; we breathe together. You look, or I'd
get scared, but you're watching while you take me through
the deep part, where I find you, where you need
to know I do know where, know how to drive
the point home. Wit: you get the point and flat
statement of a gift of tongues. I get
up, and you get me down, get lost, you lead
me home, or I take you, and we both arrive.

How can you love me with the things I feel
that scare me crashing on the window glass?
How can you love me when I'm such an ass-
hole (sometimes) I can't take hold of what's real-
ly there and use it, let you take the wheel
and put my head back as the truck-stops pass?
Where would we go that morning? Would the grass
beside the highway mount to granite, steel
and rubber take us far enough that I
could pull my ghosts out of my guts and cry
for them, with you behind me, on some high
stone place, where water breaks from underground
arteries with hard breaths, that would sound
like mine, letting them go, saying goodbye?

over the tastebuds, through the stomach and into your heart

2011-02-08T21:45:00.000-08:00

Me, in my happy place.

For those of you that don't know, I love baking. In fact, I used to have a (now defunct) so-called cooking blog (that was really a baking blog) that eventually degenerated into the Tumblr trap of reposting a bunch of stuff that no one cares about. Point is: Baking is the best! The rhythm of it is therapeutic, it makes home feel comforting and cozy, and most importantly, I love how happy other people are when you offer them something you made from scratch (especially when you're offering a treat!).

Although typically I focus on breads and pies, I've recently been into baking cupcakes. I've been buying individual cupcake tins and then earlier today, I finally invested in one of these babies:

Cupcake pan!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Any bakers out there with tips for high quality cupcakes, or links to good cupcake recipes? Share the goods! (Amanda C, you know I'm lookinatchyu!)

reverberate

2011-02-08T11:50:00.000-08:00

February Prompt - One month into 2011, what question(s) are you living? Are there any prompts/questions that arose during #reverb10 that are still resonating in your life? Are you living new questions?

Much to my chagrin, I think the primary thing I'm still living in from December is that I am sick yet again. I was sick twice in December (once toward the beginning, then again during the holidays), again in January when I quit smoking (my sinuses became so infected that I got pink eye--yes, really), and now, once more, in February. WILL IT EVER END? I miss being able to breathe out of my nose on a regular basis. The irony? I've been healthier in the past few months than I have been in years. Like I said, I quit smoking! I've been eating healthy! Going to yoga regularly and trying to overcome the deepseated, irrational rush of hatred that seeps through my being every time I try to go running. Ugh!

One of the wonderful things about Reverb10 is that it actually encouraged me to acknowledge and release a lot of the subjects that came up. There were people and experiences I talked about during the course of R10 that I've since released. At the very least: I let go of the negativity. The anger, the hurt, the rejection, the loss (the smoking! I still cave occasionally, but generally speaking). All that want from last year? I managed to l et that want out with the cat .

Also, as the third anniversary of my father's death approaches, I continue to live the healing that came to me last year. I'm going on the wagon again come March 1st, and I'm looking forward to it. I'm also moving in March to my own studio, and I'm looking forward to pulling out the dishes he left me. I plan to use them, despite being desperately afraid of them breaking. What's the point in having nice things if you don't use them? I don't want them to sit in a box forever. These are things. Part of healing is letting go of the fear. I'm ready.

As much as I bitched about the R10 prompts, when I look back on them I'm glad that I participated, and I'm proud for sticking with it and completing all of them (even if I was a curmudgeon about it). I'm so inspired by the people that I met (and have stayed in touch with), and I'm inspired to blog more than I have before. What is more: it has given me the confidence and encouragement to keep writing, even when I am afraid.

The new questions I'm living: How is this year going to be better than before? How am I going to build on all those lessons learned? Where am I going to go this year that's going to change me? How can I maintain the community I've built and continue to develop it? How can I carve out the time and courage to use this gift to its fullest? What experiences can I create so that I, someday, can answer this question?

We'll see.

This blog post is my contribution to Reverb, an online initiative to reflect on the past and manifest the future.

trippin'. literally.

2011-02-06T10:02:00.000-08:00

Now that I'm back on a somewhat normal schedule, I've been waking up at around 7:30 every morning, pleased as punch to be alive. The sun shines through the windows in my room as I roll myself out of bed and start boiling water for tea, usually planning my day ahead. Today started no differently, although the items on the agenda seemed even more exciting than usual: there was an open house for my DREAM APARTMENT, and I planned to be the first there!

I prefer to start my day in a leisurely, comfortable way--when I was living in Santa Barbara, I learned that I enjoy getting up and having a good half an hour of quiet time to check my email and drink some tea before showering or getting into the hustle of my day. I made myself a little breakfast burrito (with a bowl of blueberries on the side--YUM), and turned on my "2011 Slow Jams Mix #2" that came in the mail from the most generous person I know. Then, I took my glasses off, tied my hair up with a scarf, and hopped into the shower.

Now see, without my glasses, my vision is clear for the six or so inches in front of my face. After that, things start to get fuzzy, and my ability to identify what I'm looking at is watered down to deciphering colors and basic shapes. Usually, in the shower, this is not such an issue; I know what I look like naked, and the shower tiles aren't typically offering stimulating entertainment. Oh-ho-ho, so I thought!

Suddenly, today, there was something moving on the shower wall.

What is that?

or maybe more like

(...Ok, ok, maybe it was more like this, but whatever.)

Suddenly, I found myself letting loose a blood-curdling scream, tripping over my feet and the edge of the shower as I stepped away, and falling backward into the shower curtain (and taking part of the shower curtain out with me).

Sigh.

I think this might have been a bad omen. And the dream apartment didn't turn out to be so great either.

Stupid spider.

***UPDATE***

My reaction suddenly seems totally reasonable. Look at what could've happened to me!!!!

night to day

2011-02-05T20:47:00.000-08:00

oh, and in other news, i recently went from

it's a brighter world.

auditory delight

2011-02-05T11:31:00.001-08:00

I recommend taking this one in with some kitchen dancing (and dramatic lip syncing, if you know the words!).

brought to you by sunsets, sleeping, and sam cooke.

2011-02-05T09:49:00.000-08:00

while the snowpocalpse (or whatever it is that we're calling this crazy thing) rages on elsewhere, it has been bright and sunny in the magical realm of oaklandia. i've taken advantage of this weather by donning a flowered sundress, strappy sandals, and a big, floppy sunhat. now all i need is a mojito!

in all seriousness, though, there have been lots of changes and lessons since i last updated. sometimes i'm truly amazed at the pace of life! things seem to click and change so quickly and i always feel like i'm tripping over my feet as i try to catch up. i keep reminding myself to take deep breaths, drink some tea, and take my time. to make time for myself to not feel rushed. i'm not a person that is inherently organized and put together (god, i wish i was!), and learning to create some of that organization and planning (and then committing to it!) has been vital to regaining my sanity. although i'm still struggling with this, it's gotten better already, in a very short period of time, and i can't tell you how grateful i am for that.

in the week following this mess, a bunch of other lousy things followed, and i was absolutely overwhelmed. although i've been fortunate enough to have a bunch of people come out of the woodwork in support, i also managed to get kicked (hard) while i was down. lessons, lessons.

see, i don't know about y'all, but i have this funny thing about believing love and admiration need to be deserved and worked for. meaning that if i do xyz for you and do it SO well, better than anyone, EVER, you will automatically love me and cherish me, right?!!??

well, no. it doesn't exactly work that way.

i also will be the first to admit that i'm a bit needy for admiration and validation. i want compliments! tell me how wonderful i am! especially when i'm working so hard! tell me i'm great! AM I DOING EVERYTHING CORRECTLY? CAN I FIX SOMETHING TO BE MORE PERFECT? OH MY GOD, THEY DIDN'T GUSH ENOUGH!!!! MAYBE THEY HATE ME AFTER ALL!!!!!!

i recognize this as utterly irrational, silly, and frankly, insecure. yuck. part of the price of having a perfectionist mother, i think. of course, i'm sure i don't need to tell you that this sets me up for oodles of failure. i end up working myself to the point of exhaustion (mentally, physically, emotionally--take your pick), and then falling apart because even after all that work, i've been kicked to the curb (or at least, relegated to the backyard). newsflash to self: most people don't give a shit about what you're doing as long as you're not fucking it up.

what a depressing revelation! all that energy expended is rendered utterly useless. whenever this has occurred to me, i've thought to myself that all that work is just the spinning of my wheels, and a total waste. getting nowhere, going nowhere, and what's the point of going above and beyond? get in, get out, and do what little you need to do to get yours.

that mindset grosses me out. i don't want to settle for the bare minimum--not from anyone, least of all myself! over the past few weeks, i've considered: how can i continue to use all my bright energy for its worth while keeping the ominous, hateful feeling of impotency at bay? how can i continue forward with my relationships and my life in a way that i'm proud of when i can't seem to find the approval, the validation, the "yes, you are doing well, and yeah, you are a bad ass! keep going!"? or worse yet, when i find myself being metaphorically kicked in the head after having fallen down the stairs?

it's not just me. i see this in many of the people that i love. it seems to be a common problem.

the answer came to me this morning, and it is so obvious that i feel like a fool. i decided that i would keep pushing myself to deliver the highest quality of intelligence, compassion, and hard work in all aspects of my life (as much as i'm capable of, anyway). i'm going to keep grinding myself down, and keeping myself doing the absolute best that i possibly can. this time, though, i'm doing it for myself. (did you just groan at the cheesefactor, there? i did, a little.)

i'm serious, though. and i encourage you to do the same.

i've reframed this all to make some sense of everything, and i've concluded a few things:

i am my own authority.

what does that mean? clearly, there are people out there who have technical talents and skills that i can't even imagine possessing, much less consider myself an authority on! and clearly, i'm not an authority on life at this ripe, young, silly age! furthermore, i'm not running any shows! (not yet, anyway--just you wait!) so what am i talking about?

i am the authority on myself.

nobody knows how hard i'm working at whatever it is i'm working on, be it a relationships or a project or a job. except me. nobody knows how much i've invested myself into this or that thing. except me. nobody can tell me whether i'm trying my hardest and using every source in my arsenal to make my shit happen. except me.

obviously, there are usually cues that allow other people to pick up on the fact that i'm doing all of those things, but no one really knows. no one except the authority. once again, in case you missed it: that would be me. or in the case of you, that authority is YOU.

there are always going to be people that are faster, better, stronger, smarter, etc. there are always going to times that we fall short of the expectations of others, and the expectations of ourselves. success is not a product of trying and working really really hard, although that definitely can help. and frankly, no one is going to pat you (by you, i really mean me) on the head and say, "hey buddy, good work!" so stop expecting it. pat your own self on the head. do the good shit because you know it's right and do it for its own sake. there isn't any long term gratification found in petty pointlessness.

i'll be the first to admit that it's a real bummer to remain unacknowledged, or even more, to be discarded by those you were hoping to impress, but let it go. more to me, than to you: let it go! it's not doing anyone any favors to get swept up in the approval of others. it's one of my radical self-love goals, and i welcome you to join me. let's all be absolutely amazing just because we can.

Gala Darling!

2011-01-26T08:33:00.001-08:00

The perpetually inspiring, number one radical self-love warrior and pink-clad glitter princess Gala Darling was kind enough to let me participate in her career series! I figured that I get enough of a response when I talk about working in a shelter that it would be worthwhile to see if Gala would be interested in what I had to say. If you're interested learning more about what I do (and why), check out the whole thing here!

Gala doesn't have comments on her blog, so you're welcome to leave 'em on here.

Thanks everyone!

something brighter: the edwardian ball

2011-01-26T00:08:00.000-08:00

despite feeling completely antisocial, i ended up dragging my behind out to the edwardian ball on saturday night. i'd spent money on the tickets, i'd been working on putting together my costume, and there was a group of us that had decided we were going to rally together for the event. although i had no desire to talk to pretty much anyone (and had been holed up in my house for every day since my actual panic attack), i thought that i'd regret it if i missed the ball. i reasoned that i was going with a good group of friends that i am extremely comfortable with--all people that feel like family or that i've lived with, which makes it easy to feel a level of ease and let go of the need to Perform, whatever that means. i thought that this would pretty much protect me from any major social anxiety or emotional/mental pressure. plus, getting dressed up in a costume never hurt anyone's need to escape, right?

i definitely did not expect my costume to be the most fantastic; hello, this is san francisco, and i know there are people in this world who are way better at putting things like this together. all that said, i didn't feel out of place or terribly underdressed, although i was definitely much plainer than many of the other wonderfully inventive attendees. i plan for next year's costume to be completely outrageous! i'd taken a lot of components i had at home to put together my look: a beaded dress i've owned since i was fourteen, a black corset over the dress, a faux fur coat from the eighties that's pieced to look like authentic fur (courtesy of my mother's closet--thanks, ma!), fishnet tights over ivory stockings, and some black booties. all that along with a headband with shiny, pretty, feathery detailing from the berkeley hat company and some costume jewelry for the final touches.

i also got the opportunity to indulge in my favorite "i might be legally allowed to drink in a bar but i'm actually nine years old" art form: paper mache. i made what we're calling "the world's tiniest parasol" out of a golf club, wire hanger, and paper mache. i don't think it looks nearly as cool in the photos as it did in person. also, i'm sure there's a far more brilliant way to make this sort of thing, but i was winging it. i literally had no idea what i was doing while i was trying to recreate the picture i had in my head. despite my sloppy and silly attempts to keep up with a brilliant crowd, i got a lot of compliments on it (and from people who had costumes and accoutrements that were a testament to their highly developed creative skills--far beyond my own!), and i was pleased with how it came out. i'm planning to make another one and see if i can improve upon it (ahem, perhaps with a medium other than paper mache).

i was so impressed and inspired at the creativity of the participants. it was absolutely amazing. although we took some photos, there are far better collections to be found. neil girling's work is always gorgeous, more fabulous shots by this flickr user, and ms. pixy_led had a good collection of shots too (credit to her for the two above photos of me with my parasol).

i associate with beautiful people.

not only were the other attendees enough to marvel at on their own, but the performances were absolutely incredible. jill tracy was enchanting! rosin coven was an absolutely perfect choice for the ball, and their performance was flawless (seriously, check them out--they were probably my favorite part of the performances). lastly, the vau de vire society used their magic to bring edward gorey to life. i was completely spellbound throughout the performances. even when my ankles had started to give me the big ol' middle finger for standing in those heels for two long, i opted to take my shoes off rather than move from my place in the ballroom that allowed me a decent view of everything.

on top of that, there was the edwardian bazaar downstairs, which included a ton of incredible vendors with all kinds of fabulous goodies that could be purchased (either to add to your outfit at that very moment, or to save for later). my favorites included singletree design, for their beautifully crafted assortment of goodies, and of course, the ever-clever sly violet's steampunk jewelry and other fine baubles (her etsy shop is still on vacation, but save the link--she has a ton of beautiful handmade delights worth checking out).

my only complaint is that the drinks seemed unjustifiably expensive, but it wasn't too big of a thing. my group wasn't there to drink and get crazy anyway, so we ended up buying one or two and sharing them. i suppose that's not unexpected, though--that tends to be a thing for big events. ~~also, ps. it wasn't real absinthe! false advertising, y'all.~~ An anonymous commenter schooled me in the comments--I seem to have been mistaken!

if you're in los angeles, i highly encourage you to make it out to the upcoming edwardian ball on march 5th (and who knows? i may be there myself. stay tuned!). if you're not, i highly encourage you to get yourself out to san francisco or los angeles for next year's ball! you definitely will not regret it. if you go to the edwardian ball website, you can check out photos, more information on the vendors and artists, and most importantly, buy tickets! they also have an incredibly useful resource page if you're having issues with costuming. go at least once, and go with gusto. don't hold back! you'll have an absolute blast--this, i promise.

hyperpersonal. hello, internet.

2011-01-23T22:59:00.000-08:00

I've essentially been AWOL since the holiday, short of reposting things that shoot straight to my heart and all that. There have been a lot of reasons for that, some of which I discussed already, but it came to light recently that perhaps my recent anti-sociability goes a little deeper. Well, a lot deeper.

I don't know how to start this.

Three days ago, I suffered the worst panic attack of my life. There was no major catalyst, but still I found myself crouched on the floor of the ER, weeping and hyperventilating, completely terrified and desperate for someone to help.

I've battled with depression and anxiety for as long as I can remember. At ten, I wrote suicide notes and wrote in my Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul Journal (yes, that does exist) that I'd been thinking about suicide. At fourteen, my insomnia was so severe that the only way I could get myself to sleep was to either steal liquor for drinking myself to sleep, or to walk around in the middle of the night for four or five hours at a time, until my body was so exhausted I could barely stand. That lasted for eight months. At nineteen, I took a ton of pills, and ended up being taken to the hospital by my dearest friend. Erratic emotions have been a staple of my existence. This is just the big stuff.

For a long time, I thought this was an inescapable and incurable aspect of myself, and on some level, I had accepted the fact that my demise would probably resemble the deaths of my father and his mother and my uncle and all of the other people in my family who have succumbed to addiction and suicide in one way or another. Less than three months after the attempt when I was nineteen, my own father died due to health issues that were greatly exacerbated by his severe alcoholism. After my father's death, people came out in droves to send me their condolences, and share their sorrow at the loss of such a charismatic, intelligent, generous person. My father was so ill in the head that he could not see all of the people who loved him so very much, and when I realized this, I made an agreement with myself that I would never, ever let myself go down that path. I can't. I won't. Even when I'm at my emotional worst, I know that the pain I felt after my father's death is not something I could ever, ever recreate for anyone else. And I don't feel self-important acknowledging that I could have that kind of impact, because my father's death taught me that every single person has more significance to those around them than they could ever even comprehend.

Since then, I've slowly and surely rebuilt a healthy life for myself. I still struggle with it, all the time, but I'm in an infinitely better place than I was before, and probably than I've ever been. Unfortunately, though, that doesn't mean that this will completely go away. Things are hard. Life is hard. And unfortunately, these issues make it hard to manage even the day to day with grace. I'm struggling. Maintaining, but struggling. Most of the time I'm in much better shape, but in the past few days (and to be honest, the last few weeks and perhaps months leading up to this), I have been vacillating between feeling ok and feeling...not so ok.

Why am I telling you all this? This is humiliating for me to admit so publicly. It makes me feel weak and unlovable and useless. Like a child. A very stupid child. I'm afraid that there will be blowback and that I will be written off as someone crazy and unstable and someone to avoid. I'm terrified of ostracization. I am so afraid.

It's funny, though, how the information can fall into your lap at the most apt of times. Three days after this panic attack-slash-anxiety reaction (did you know they are two different things? hey, me neither.), one of my favorite bloggers writes this post, and links to this video (long, but worth watching). And although I am scared, I am encouraged to speak.

I've written over and over again how I've learned in the past year or two how to uphold my boundaries, and how it has been an arduous process. I've learned that maybe I'm worth more than I thought I was. At one point last year, I actually wrote a letter to myself in which I said, "You know, you don't always have to fall in love with fuck ups." It was a revelation that walked all over the idea that any love I am going to get needs to be earned because of this internal, inexorable flaw. I've recently given up smoking and generally, I have been trying to rid myself of all of the shitty people who do shitty things to me and all of the shitty things I do to myself. It only makes sense that it's time for me to confront this occasionally overwhelming and generally ugly part of myself. It's the next step. Practicing radical self-love, accepting myself, and getting the help and support that I need not only clinically but also from those around me are all things that are imperative to my success. And in case you didn't know, I am here to kick some ass, so obviously, it's time to step up.

So here I am, standing with Jenny the Bloggess and Michael Kimber and all of my family that's metaphorically thrown themselves off the cliff, as well as all of the rest of us who struggle to maintain, and to succeed in spite of mental illness. As Jenny said: It's part of me, not all of me.

You Should Date An Illiterate Girl

2011-01-22T09:17:00.000-08:00

You Should Date An Illiterate Girl

By Charles Warnke

Date a girl who doesn’t read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and varicolored light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental trivialities. Use pick-up lines and laugh inwardly. Take her outside when the night overstays its welcome. Ignore the palpable weight of fatigue. Kiss her in the rain under the weak glow of a streetlamp because you’ve seen it in film. Remark at its lack of significance. Take her to your apartment. Dispatch with making love. Fuck her.

Let the anxious contract you’ve unwittingly written evolve slowly and uncomfortably into a relationship. Find shared interests and common ground like sushi, and folk music. Build an impenetrable bastion upon that ground. Make it sacred. Retreat into it every time the air gets stale, or the evenings get long. Talk about nothing of significance. Do little thinking. Let the months pass unnoticed. Ask her to move in. Let her decorate. Get into fights about inconsequential things like how the fucking shower curtain needs to be closed so that it doesn’t fucking collect mold. Let a year pass unnoticed. Begin to notice.

Figure that you should probably get married because you will have wasted a lot of time otherwise. Take her to dinner on the forty-fifth floor at a restaurant far beyond your means. Make sure there is a beautiful view of the city. Sheepishly ask a waiter to bring her a glass of champagne with a modest ring in it. When she notices, propose to her with all of the enthusiasm and sincerity you can muster. Do not be overly concerned if you feel your heart leap through a pane of sheet glass. For that matter, do not be overly concerned if you cannot feel it at all. If there is applause, let it stagnate. If she cries, smile as if you’ve never been happier. If she doesn’t, smile all the same.

Let the years pass unnoticed. Get a career, not a job. Buy a house. Have two striking children. Try to raise them well. Fail, frequently. Lapse into a bored indifference. Lapse into an indifferent sadness. Have a mid-life crisis. Grow old. Wonder at your lack of achievement. Feel sometimes contented, but mostly vacant and ethereal. Feel, during walks, as if you might never return, or as if you might blow away on the wind. Contract a terminal illness. Die, but only after you observe that the girl who didn’t read never made your heart oscillate with any significant passion, that no one will write the story of your lives, and that she will die, too, with only a mild and tempered regret that nothing ever came of her capacity to love.

Do those things, god damnit, because nothing sucks worse than a girl who reads. Do it, I say, because a life in purgatory is better than a life in hell. Do it, because a girl who reads possesses a vocabulary that can describe that amorphous discontent as a life unfulfilled—a vocabulary that parses the innate beauty of the world and makes it an accessible necessity instead of an alien wonder. A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much. A vocabulary, god damnit, that makes my vacuous sophistry a cheap trick.

Do it, because a girl who reads understands syntax. Literature has taught her that moments of tenderness come in sporadic but knowable intervals. A girl who reads knows that life is not planar; she knows, and rightly demands, that the ebb comes along with the flow of disappointment. A girl who has read up on her syntax senses the irregular pauses—the hesitation of breath—endemic to a lie. A girl who reads perceives the difference between a parenthetical moment of anger and the entrenched habits of someone whose bitter cynicism will run on, run on well past any point of reason, or purpose, run on far after she has packed a suitcase and said a reluctant goodbye and she has decided that I am an ellipsis and not a period and run on and run on. Syntax that knows the rhythm and cadence of a life well lived.

Date a girl who doesn’t read because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness.

Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. I hate you. I really, really, really hate you.

via Simmer, who always finds the writing that'll kick me in the ass.

overwhelmed but surviving

2011-01-20T01:46:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the best way to clear your head is to find the trees.

from the first to all the last

2011-01-16T01:37:00.000-08:00

what to say, what to say?

it seems like i'm living in a new world, with relationships that aren't fueled on the fumes of subtext and where the reality of neglect burns white hot in my muscles. i mostly come online to read intellectual bloggery, where my mind goes to spin, and poetry, the kind of therapy that doesn't request a check. i've been trying to rejuvenate the aspects of my life that have left me feeling antsy, and fighting the desire to flee by instead challenging myself in the moments that exist in the here and now, rather than in my own head. rather than inventing my own brilliance in the form of daydreams, i've been trying to knead out my flaws in the finest way that i can. hopefully this means that some day the brilliance i can picture will be more than a photograph that lives in my own mind.

unfortunately, this leaves me remiss in my communication, and has allowed some of my lovely friendships to get lost in the fog. for that, i am sorry. i am still learning how to balance. as i've said before about many other things: it's a process.

by bottling those imaginary scenarios, i have become better at cultivating my extracurricular activities into a life worth leading. passion is nothing without commitment, and my commitment to my own life has been a faltering, wavering entity, full of fear and little freedom. the change has been a long time coming, but you know, those of us that are hard-headed always have to learn the hard way. i've found myself beaten black and blue by the consequences of my own downfall, over and over again, and yet only now do i see it as a fine time to learn something.

sometimes, it's time to change, and this is one of those years. i've seen so many people talk about how this is going to be the year where they really go bold and brash, revel in their mistakes, and while it encourages me, i think, "but haven't i already done that?" i know how to make mistakes and live a ridiculous life, filled to the brim with experiences that walk the thin line between absurd and admirable, stupid and courageous, outrageously bold and self-effacing. i don't need that anymore.

i can feel the wildness of my youth trailing away into an oblivion, where knowledge and stability tread in lightly. i'd be lying if i told you i wasn't afraid. and maybe i will revisit this ability again--this self-protective form of self-destruction where throwing myself in with gusto and crossing my fingers for the best leads to a rumbletumble of adventure and disaster. but now, i need stability. i need quiet. i need people who pick up the phone and who don't rely on passive aggression to communicate their wants. i need hot tea and laughter in the evening and a place where tears are merely reserved for the sentimental commercial that comes on. this is the world that i need to cultivate. this is the world that i need to know.

sometimes this means turning in before midnight. sometimes this means that raising hell by myself isn't a necessity, but a bore. and most times this means seeking meaning and fulfillment in something other than external stimuli, which never proved to be that meaningful or fulfilling anyway.

i am still learning to let go of that life because there are attachments there that refuse to fade. people i think of on the daily and bad ideas that lead to the stories worth telling. a desire to be the daughter that walks in the footsteps of a man who referred to himself as a "middleaged madman." learning to distinguish where i should and shouldn't be my father's daughter isn't as easy as it may sound.

but no, this is a different world. and the contentment i feel is beautiful and brave. this is an adventure i didn't expect to come so soon, but i am happy to oblige.

this reminds me of the past

2011-01-15T16:19:00.001-08:00

The Benjamin Franklin of Monogamy
by Jeffrey McDaniel

Reminiscing in the drizzle of Portland, I notice
the ring that's landed on your finger, a massive
insect of glitter, a chandelier shining at the end

of a long tunnel. Thirteen years ago, you hid the hurt
in your voice under a blanket and said there's two kinds
of women—those you write poems about

and those you don't. It's true. I never brought you
a bouquet of sonnets, or served you haiku in bed.
My idea of courtship was tapping Jane's Addiction

lyrics in Morse code on your window at three A.M.,
whiskey doing push-ups on my breath. But I worked
within the confines of my character, cast

as the bad boy in your life, the Magellan
of your dark side. We don't have a past so much
as a bunch of electricity and liquor, power

never put to good use. What we had together
makes it sound like a virus, as if we caught
one another like colds, and desire was merely

a symptom that could be treated with soup
and lots of sex. Gliding beside you now,
I feel like the Benjamin Franklin of monogamy,

as if I invented it, but I'm still not immune
to your waterfall scent, still haven't developed
antibodies for your smile. I don't know how long

regret existed before humans stuck a word on it.
I don't know how many paper towels it would take
to wipe up the Pacific Ocean, or why the light

of a candle being blown out travels faster
than the luminescence of one that's just been lit,
but I do know that all our huffing and puffing

into each other's ears—as if the brain was a trick
birthday candle—didn't make the silence
any easier to navigate. I'm sorry all the kisses

I scrawled on your neck were written
in disappearing ink. Sometimes I thought of you
so hard one of your legs would pop out

of my ear hole, and when I was sleeping, you'd press
your face against the porthole of my submarine.
I'm sorry this poem has taken thirteen years

to reach you. I wish that just once, instead of skidding
off the shoulder blade's precipice and joyriding
over flesh, we'd put our hands away like chocolate

to be saved for later, and deciphered the calligraphy
of each other's eyelashes, translated a paragraph
from the volumes of what couldn't be said.

chilly toes.

2011-01-07T16:51:00.000-08:00

Hi there.

I'm back. I haven't written since the start of the new year, and I'm probably overdue.

Reverb10 is over, and I feel a little hungover. Although some of the prompts made me feel awfully punchy, it was a good project. It introduced me to 750words, allowed me to create a community with some really rad folks, and encouraged me to write in a way I hadn't before. It's definitely changed my writing focus and increased my confidence. While I didn't find the majority of the prompts inspiring in their own right, I found that the intelligent, poignant and hilarious responses of my fellow participants was enough to revive my love for blogging and writing as a whole. I can barely express the admiration I have for the people that I "met," and I'm excited to continue to follow their journeys through this online forum. And hey, in this day and age, maybe some day we'll even meet face to face! After all, I'm no stranger to making friends over the internet.

In other personal life news, I managed to make it to my gorgeous grandmother's eightieth birthday, I got a new-used bike, and I rang in the new year with a bang. It's been absolutely freezing in the Bay Area--when I drove to work last night, I had to get the ICE off of my windshield. (Don't I live in a temperate part of California?! I'm confused.) My life has been filled with work, tea, chilly fingers, and knitting.

I've been trying not to feel guilty about not blogging; I felt a little burnt out by the hustle and bustle of the holidays and R10 and all the other crazy business going on. I looked through some other journals from the past few years, and it seems that my public writing seems to drop off toward the changeover of the year every year. I always do a few obligatory "end of the year/beginning of the year" type posts, but otherwise, things seem to dwindle down to practically nothing.

In the same vein, I've also dropped off socially. Well, perhaps that isn't entirely true: I haven't dropped off entirely. My desire to interact with others socially has dropped significantly, though. Lately all I've wanted is to curl up with some tea, a good book, and some quality music. I don't want to talk to anyone, and don't want to leave my house. I always have these tendencies, but the balance has tipped more this way as of late.

Despite that, I've been making an effort to connect with people who I adore, but somehow can never manage to see. I have the bad habit of only hanging out with the same small group of people on a regular basis because it's convenient, and since they feel like family, it requires less output. However, it means that I'm missing out on the lives of some of the wonderful people that aren't in my inner circle of company, and I would like to change that.

There's much more to say, but it will have to wait for later this weekend. If you can't wait to hear from me, you can always check me out over on DailyBooth or on Twitter; microupdating is easier and therefore happens more regularly. I hope you all have been taking advantage of your fresh start in 2011, full of living and loving and generally taking life by the balls.

goodbye. hello.

2010-12-31T13:59:00.000-08:00

the new year is quick on the approach, and just like everyone else, i find myself assessing the events of the past year with a critical eye. there was a lot of heartbreak, and great discovery.

i find myself trying to approach the new year with a sense of relief. i want to let go of my own hurt and self-criticism. i want to find forgiveness bubbling up within me. i want to have understanding where i can, and where i can't, i would like acceptance. these are the things i'm striving toward.

i don't know if all of that is possible in the next ten hours, but it's nice to try.

lastly, an ee cummings poem

let it go - the
smashed word broken
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise - let it go it
was sworn to
go

let them go - the
truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers - you must let them go they
were born
to go

let all go - the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things - let all go
dear

so comes love

young.

2010-12-31T13:28:00.000-08:00

December 31 – Core Story. What central story is at the core of you, and how do you share it with the world? (Bonus: Consider your reflections from this month. Look through them to discover a thread you may not have noticed until today.)

I don't know that I have an answer for this yet. I'm twenty two.

Ask me in forty years and I'll tell you something good.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

fotox2

2010-12-30T13:21:00.000-08:00

December 30 – Gift. This month, gifts and gift-giving can seem inescapable. What’s the most memorable gift, tangible or emotional, you received this year?

I haven't picked up a camera in a very, very long time. Mostly because my camera of choice was long gone, and I'd surrendered the idea of actualizing my mental snapshots to the gods.

One of my big brothers got me a camera. I was completely flabbergasted. I've barely been able to put it down. There aren't words to describe how it made me feel, other than crazy and inspired and sentimental. There's life through a lens, and I'd given it away. Instead of rambling incoherently, I leave you with a photo of me with my new photo-maker:

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

yet another prompt i am not fond of.

2010-12-29T12:31:00.000-08:00

December 29 – Defining Moment. Describe a defining moment or series of events that has affected your life this year.

Isn't everything an event? Therefore, your entire life is a series of events. Meaning that your entire life is defined by a series of events.

Serious. Side. Eye.

I can look at this year and see how the progression with romance and with my family and with my friends has affected my year. I don't even know which to choose!

I've spent a lot of this year flailing. Hell, I've spent a lot of my life flailing. My impulsivity and tendency to operate on my emotions has always put me in the position of hurdling into total disaster at all times. While I still did a whole lot of that this year, I managed to rein some of it in. My defining moments were when I stepped up and changed the way I approached my life. I legitimately stood up for myself. I started cutting the negative, awful people out of my life.
Basically, I learned what The Frenemy said most succinctly:

Don’t try to explain behavior if you know it’s shitty. Being ‘tired busy scared of leaving the house after Black Swan always working at weird hours getting a falafel for six days’ does not mean they get to not talk to you for three weeks. Being ‘fresh out of a relationship’ doesn’t mean they get to treat you like you are less important to them than their last relationship was. And feeling bad as often as you feel good, especially in a new relationship, is bullshit and should be not something that happens. Don’t let your friends tell you otherwise or nourish your excuses with delicious lies. They don’t have the heart to tell you it’s not going to work out. Go with your gut, of course. But more reasonably, go with your common courtesy. A third grader knows that you shouldn’t forget to call somebody when you say that you would. A third grader knows you can’t lash out at somebody and then say ‘I just get really scared sometimes.’ A third grader don’t put up with no shit! Would YOU also commit the behavior that you are questioning them on? Would you do it if you really gave a shit? If the answer’s no, cut the strings.

My defining series of events were the ones where I made the decision to stop allowing bull shit people to be a part of my life. It's made my life infinitely better. It wasn't a perfect process; it was a lot of up and down and doing the right thing then not doing the right thing. All the same, it worked out. I get it. Now that is some fucking self-definition.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

my eyelashes catch my sweat.

2010-12-28T12:13:00.000-08:00

December 28 – Achieve. What’s the thing you most want to achieve next year? How do you imagine you’ll feel when you get it? Free? Happy? Complete? Blissful? Write that feeling down. Then, brainstorm 10 things you can do, or 10 new thoughts you can think, in order to experience that feeling today.

There are a lot of things I want to achieve in the next year. Quitting smoking. Continued learning and success at work. Succeeding in school. Generally continuing my efforts to be a better person as a whole.

The downside of perfectionism is a constant sense of dissatisfaction. Obviously, no one is perfect, and everyone makes mistakes, but my desire to be good (whatever that even means) can make it so that any error ends up being carried around with me. It means that my acknowledgment of my own success or positive growth can be overshadowed by my own self-denigration. So, I'm not sure how I'll feel once I get these things. Definitely not relieved or free, since there is so much more to be done beyond the few things I want to accomplish this year. I WANT MORE.

I guess that makes it impossible to brainstorm ten things that would create that feeling, since I still have no idea what that feeling is.

What I'd like to say is that I will get the biggest sense of relief and bliss when I can let it all go. Let want out with the cat and allow forgiveness and acceptance to come upon me in the new year. Imperfection is a staple of humanity and difficulty is the best way to develop character. So let me relish my flawed self, in all of its emotionally scarred glory, and let me appreciate how far I've already come.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

party of one.

2010-12-27T07:37:00.000-08:00

December 27 – Ordinary Joy. Our most profound joy is often experienced during ordinary moments. What was one of your most joyful ordinary moments this year?

When I first moved to the house I'm currently living in, I was overjoyed. I was fond of the quaint, quirky little spot I was living in prior to this, but my current house had all the same things, but one grade better. My favorite part of this house (other than the fact that my room is painted olive green) is the back; we have a little backyard, a lemon tree, and a wooden deck with faded red paint.

A huge part of my job is acting as a counselor, and as I'm sure you can imagine, working with domestic violence survivors means that some of the stories I hear are truly atrocious. When at least eight hours of my day was being dedicated to listening to others speak, I was forced to make a space for myself in a way that I hadn't before. It forced me to truly take time by myself and decompress. Rather than preferring solitude every once in awhile as a break from socializing, I started needing to establish a part of the day that was mine alone. Part of this process was that I started journaling again. I picked up a sketchbook to jot everything down, and it was filled with sketches and unsent letters and accounts of the day. My imagination and the creative side of myself opened in a way that I hadn't experienced for several years.

My favorite "ordinary moment" was a combination of several: All the quiet nights I spent sitting outside on that deck after work, bundled up against the chilly Bay Area summers, and with a mug full of steaming tea. Those nights were an integral part of my growth this year. Those moments are where I started sussing out my boundaries in a new way, and establishing that foundation I've mentioned so many times before. Although I grew up as a loner, and I'd always been a big reader, I fell out of a very important habit that those simple, every day moments let me reclaim: the habit of enjoying my own company.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

!

2010-12-27T02:04:00.000-08:00

watch your tense and case
by daphne gottlieb

oh baby
i want to be your direct object.
you know, that is to say
i want to be on the other
side of all the verbs i know
you know how to use.

i've seen you conjugate:
i touch
you touched
you heard
she knows
who cares

i'm interested in
a few decent prepositions:
above, over, inside, atop,
below, around and
i'm sure there are more
right on the tip of
your tongue.

i am ready to spend
the present perfect
splitting your infinitive
there's an art to the way you
dangle your participle and

since we're being informal it's okay to
use a few contractions, like
wasn't (going to)
shouldn't (have)
and a conjunction:
but (did it anyway)

and i'm really really glad
you're not into dependent
clauses since all i'm really
interested in is your
bad, bad grammar
and your exclamation point.

one liner.

2010-12-26T07:31:00.000-08:00

December 26 – Soul Food. What did you eat this year that you will never forget? What went into your mouth & touched your soul?

Give me pupusas or give me death!!!!!!!!!!

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

foto

2010-12-25T12:34:00.000-08:00

December 25 – Photo – a present to yourself

Sift through all the photos of you from the past year. Choose one that best captures you; either who you are, or who you strive to be. Find the shot of you that is worth a thousand words. Share the image, who shot it, where, and what it best reveals about you.

Striving to be:

October 2010. Brother's wedding. Shot by my grandmother.

A stylish member of the gorgeous and classy gene pool. A suave individual that doesn't trip on invisible-but-I-swear-there-was-something-there objects.

May 2010. Lake Anza. Shot by Elena.

A bonafide bad ass: completely fearless, with an abundance of apathy & sarcasm.

December 2010. My backyard. Self-portrait.

Modern day superhero.

Turning out to be:

Frizzy, messy, goofy.

From left to right, clockwise: November 2010, in front of the Buena Vista, photo by mom. May 2010, in the 2270 household, photo by Elena. May 2010, Lake Anza, photo by Elena. June 2010, in the mission, photo by Elena.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

cheating!

2010-12-24T12:25:00.000-08:00

December 24 - Everything’s OK. What was the best moment that could serve as proof that everything is going to be alright? And how will you incorporate that discovery into the year ahead?

a dreamer, settling for something really real.
written september 9th, 2010
I’ve learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow. I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights. I’ve learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you’ll miss them when they’re gone from your life. I’ve learned that making a “living” is not the same thing as making a “life.” I’ve learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance. I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back. I’ve learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision. I’ve learned that even when I have pains, I don’t have to be one. I’ve learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back. I’ve learned that I still have a lot to learn. I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.

-Maya Angelou

now ain't that the truth.

i'm currently having a quiet night at the shelter, which is a rarity indeed (especially in the last few weeks). i spent the evening making dinner with the assistance of a bright, imaginative nine year old who has a fondness for otterpops and wears a funny white sweater with comic book-esque cartoons on it. i taught her how to make rosemary bread from scratch, and we also made corn on the cob, baked parmesan tomato chicken, and a pea & carrot mix. she's a blast.

i feel bummed out. bummed on people, bummed on life. but i know that a lot of that is my own fault, and the sob story needs to end here. i took the first step yesterday, and although i cried for an hour and a half after doing it, i did it. time to wise up. ideals aren't much to run an engine on. my optimism has waned.

my life is good. this world is beautiful and strange, even when i doubt everything. but this is a good life, to be sure.

my mother dreamt of my father, and she asked if he was happy. he told her, "i miss my life." and he should. i cried when she told me that. i thought i was getting harder as i got older, but not always, apparently. sometimes i crave his conversation more than i can bear. especially when i feel misplaced.

instead i go to beckett's and get a beer from a grinning bartender who calls me beautiful and sit in the poorly lit corner to write page upon page upon page of chickenscratch in purple ink. and that's not such a bad solution, either. it'll do.

-----------------------------------------------------------

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

i love the ability to post-date posts.

2010-12-22T09:46:00.000-08:00

December 22 – Travel. How did you travel in 2010? How and/or where would you like to travel next year?

My main modes of transportation this year were public transit, but this year was a big year for me: I bought myself a car! Although I'd had other vehicles, it was the first I'd purchased on my own (ok, well, it's the first I'm in the process of paying for on my own). She's been dubbed Foxy Moxy, and she is my super speedy main mode of transportation these days.

I had gone over two years without a car; when I moved to the Bay Area, I ditched the vehicle I had at the time in an effort to cut costs and make more sense of my life. Although it was a difficult transition (being raised in a car culture made me so lazy), once I got accustomed to walking everywhere, I loved it.

The only reason I got the Foxy Moxymobile is because my work is in the 'burbs, and getting there on public transit is an absolute disaster. DISASTER. While the fifteen minute walk to the BART station by my house and the half an hour BART ride don't bother me much, I cannot stand ACTransit. Not only is ACTransit fairly expensive per ride, but the bus drivers are often rude, and the buses are almost never on time, if they ever show at all. Its inconsistency enrages me. I was spending an hour and a half to two hours on a fifteen minute bus ride. I'd often walk three and a half miles instead of waiting for it. Plus, with my work hours, my commute was unwieldy and difficult; more than once I'd been stranded because BART stopped running. So, finally, I decided to get Foxy Moxy!

Foxy Moxy took me on my most worthwhile trip of this year: I returned to Encinitas, the city he lived in for over thirteen years, in honor of my father's birthday. It was an incredible trip for a lot of reasons, but mainly as a result of the person that accompanied me. That, however, is a story for another time.

Next year, I'd like to travel a lot more than I have this year. I plan to go on more road trips, since I have the capacity to do so. Although I adore the Foxy Moxymobile, I plan to ride the bike I recently inherited with frequency, and I fully plan to keep my walkin' habits up where appropriate.

Also, I'm just letting you all know that I am begrudgingly trudging through the last of these R10 prompts. I have a sinus infection, a case of Swimmer's ear seriously, did you know you can get Swimmer's ear from cleaning your ears TOO OFTEN? it's an unfair world), and I have felt MISERABLE. FYI.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

prompt #2929 that i dislike

2010-12-21T18:18:00.000-08:00

December 21 – Future Self. Imagine yourself five years from now. What advice would you give your current self for the year ahead? (Bonus: Write a note to yourself 10 years ago. What would you tell your younger self?)

Honestly, I feel like you should go read Bob's post over at Head the Gong.

I don't want to write my former self a letter, although there are things I wish I'd known. Isn't that the point, though? I wasn't supposed to know those things at that time. I had to learn them. If I was able to give myself all the wisdom I needed from the get-go, this life would be pretty uneventful. I don't want to stop learning. I don't want to stop my former self from learning. And even if I could send my former self a letter, I bet that former self would still make a bunch of the same silly, stupid mistakes. I have a proclivity for swan diving into disaster; it's the hard, fast, and effective way to learn a lesson. I am headstrong, and I know that my former self would go, "Hm. That's an interesting thought," and then proceed to experiment with failure and chaos anyway.

Bob said it best:

Don’t get me wrong. I hope everything will turn out okay — with my Dad, with my marriage, with my life. But who needs hope if you already know everything will turn out fine? All that drives me to love, to cherish, to attend to with care, to “head the gong” — it all comes from a place of profound unknowing, inherent uncertainty, and incomprehensible mystery. I like the sense of possibility that comes from hoping without knowing for sure.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

OK OK OK .

2010-12-20T17:04:00.000-08:00

December 20 – Beyond Avoidance. What should you have done this year but didn’t because you were too scared, worried, unsure, busy or otherwise deterred from doing?

This prompt?

(Bonus: Will you do it?)
Ugh, sure.

All in all, I'm not much of one for avoidance. (Again, I feel like we covered this.) However, I definitely have some habits that are begging to be dropped (specifically smoking), but I haven't gotten there yet. At least when it comes to my nicotine habit: I enjoy smoking (of course I do--hello, addiction!). It helps me find something to do with my hands when I get nervous, I like the nicotine high, and it's a great social defense mechanism.

How? It takes the awkwardness away from talking to someone; I don't have to be awkward because I'm standing here, smoking this cigarette. I noticed that my smoking picked up, big time, when I was walking everywhere--it's a brilliant way to combat streetside hooting and hollering. I won't lie; it definitely makes me feel tougher. I've even used it as a shield when talking to someone who made me cry. As he spoke, I stared into the distance (I am so melodramatic) and willed myself against a full-fledged tearfest by focusing on each drag from my cigarette.

All that said, I also have asthma. I don't know if you know this (HMMM), but asthmatic folks aren't supposed to smoke. Not to mention all the other awful side effects of smoking--most of which I'm sure you're all familiar with. Also, I had a conniption earlier in the month that caused me to zoom in on a photo and stare at the developing crinkles around my eyes for approximately five minutes. I might be in my early twenties BUT OH MY GOD MY EYES ARE STARTING TO LOOK HELLA OLD.

Although I've thought throughout the year that I need to quit, I haven't gotten there yet. I need to. And I would like to. This year is the year.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

fireflies outside your window

2010-12-20T13:38:00.000-08:00

on saturday night, i had the most rotten insomnia. i sat up listening to the sheets of rain fall over oakland, the multicolored sounds of pitter patter as the droplets hit the pavement, the gutters, the cars on the street, the wooden fence enclosing our yard. the streetlamp outside my window cast an eerie light into my room as i finally drifted off around four or five am. i was in the midst of an unpleasant dream when i was rudely awoken by a crashing sound. i sat straight up in my bed and exclaimed, "JESUS CHRIST!" as i watched my bookshelf, overloaded with novels and trinkets, crumble off of my wall.

i don't think i need to tell you that this is an unpleasant way to wake up.

i am three days behind on R10; the prompts haven't left me inspired and i've been battling my own holiday blues. i've been trying to rejuvenate my cheer with wrapping presents and baking and donating and flitting around in cute winter clothing. i've been embracing the rain by drinking tea and wandering through it with a giant umbrella. bear with me as i try to catch up.

I know intensity's address and the letdown that rents there.

2010-12-20T13:10:00.001-08:00

love poem 2002
by Mary Fons

this poem is for the pillow clutchers/for those looking into the imaginary eyes of the person who fills their mind with sugarplum smiles/for those who have a cannon of dreams ready and waiting to blossom/for the men and the women who want to be understood in that way that only someone who kisses you can understand you/this poem is for you.

this poem is not for the desperate/the pathetic/the lame/the loser/not for the one who hasn’t gotten laid in awhile/not for the one who says they’re “choosing not to date” for awhile/there is no such thing/this poem is for the people who cannot bring themselves to admit that they would give their right leg for any length of time with the person on their mind.

forgive me/I am not a brave woman/I do not know what lurks in the hearts of humans and I don’t really want to know/if what’s there mirrors memories I show in my face on bad days it holds kisses that are long gone/people who have disappeared/and passions that have faded into the ether of the past/nothing lasts/that is the one lesson this coward can say she is able to teach.

this poem is for all those who wish to say “I’m sorry”/I’m sorry I couldn’t love you/you deserve love/I’m sorry I couldn’t give something to you/you deserve to be given to/I’m sorry that for every person that loves somebody/another person just doesn’t want to/and sometimes we’re the lucky ones/right/we get to feel sweet truth in the night/the bodies we reach out to are miraculously there/but I know the despair that comes when they are not/I know the long nights and the doubt and the fear and that crawling back to a womb that just isn’t there/I know intensity’s address and the letdown that rents there/I’m sorry for it/it takes years off your life and it cannot be avoided.

and some times these little words are crutches for the crush that we feel/so this poem is a pathetic vehicle for me to tell you/each one of you/that I love you/in so many ways/in the same ways that stay up nights and days/dreaming up the perfect way to be there for someone/meals you would cook for them/poems you would write for them and the things you plan to say when they say no/well I love you/and you will never know how in the slight of a magician’s hand we could’ve been lovers and grandly in love/could’ve changed the whole game/written words on the horizon/changed the compromise/but you will know something else instead/bitter as bitter ever gets/more bitter than a rotten peach pit/more bitter than a child’s most terrifying nightmare at night/you will know that I don’t reflect what I see in your eyes/will will share some banal recognition/some cordial understanding but have I mentioned that I love you for not lying/so many people lying all the time/I hate them/so I love you/and you will still go home alone/and that is very hard to do.

for all the humans with love for those who aren’t their lovers/I love you.

and so the poem ends because we know that it will/but before it slips away like everything else/I will attempt the only words I can think of that are a fraction as good as a kiss: when you reach out at night and find not someone/but the cold grey light of day that wakes you up like a slap/like a curse/like an insult/I love you/when you stay at home thinking of those who are long gone or those who are getting kisses from someone that is not you/I love you/for those who want what they probably need and whose bodies are starving not for food/for me and for you and for all the people who never knew or understood what you would do for them/I love you/I love you/I love you.

B.R.E.

2010-12-19T15:14:00.000-08:00

December 19 – Healing. What healed you this year? Was it sudden, or a drip-by-drip evolution? How would you like to be healed in 2011?

Oh my god, more hippie bull shit.

A lot of the severe wounds I've accumulated in my life were gathered before 2010. This year was really full of papercuts. One of these wounds has been discussed ad nauseum, both here and elsewhere, so I won't say much, but I felt like I reached a place of peace regarding my father's death.

Obviously, I still miss my father immeasurably. There are no words to describe such a deep loss. One of the things I learned when he died is that what they say is true: Time doesn't always heal--you merely become accustomed to the pain. And that's how I feel: adjusted to the absence. As time passes, where I miss him most is in the moments when I'd seek his counsel, or send him a silly card, or tell him about the new book I'm reading. I know he'd be proud of who I've become (and who I'm continuing to become). I only wish he could be a part of it. I wish he knew how much he contributed to the person he would have pride in.

This year, I let my regrets surrounding my father's death heal. I don't know that some of my actions surrounding his alcoholism and his death will ever sit well with me; I sacrificed precious time with him to work at a shitty bookstore and live in Davis and do a bunch of other meaningless stuff. I had a million excuses for not working out visiting him when I should've hustled and made it happen. I look at the experience I now have from working with people who are suffering from mental illness and addiction and I see all of the ways I didn't support him when he needed it most. I don't know if those regrets will fade. That said, this year was when they stopped haunting me. It was the year where I actualized my commitment to finishing where my father couldn't by making my life one worth living.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

in my own hands

2010-12-18T13:57:00.000-08:00

December 18 – Try. What do you want to try next year? Is there something you wanted to try in 2010? What happened when you did / didn’t go for it?

There are a lot of things on this list that I want to try next year. As for 2010, I was determined to try a slew of things I'd never done before and live a little more freely, and when I look back on the year, I see that I succeeded. I was in a date auction for charity, thrown by the ever-clever Amanda. I entered a baking contest (which, while I didn't win anything, was ridiculously fun and I had fans!!). I've blogged more publicly than I ever have before. I learned to drive a stick shift. I made new friends all over the place. Through work, I dove into difficult situations headfirst, taking on the world even when perhaps it wasn't expected of me (and for the most part, it paid off). There are more small things that I took on that turned out mostly successfully.

A long, long time ago I decided that I'd rather regret action than inaction. Inevitably, this philosophy led to some serious miscalculation (in case you didn't catch that already), but even with major lapses in judgment, my ability to hone when to return to this philosophy has improved. Generally speaking, I've learned that bombastic, ballsy behavior pays off. Being honest, being brave, and taking the leap is usually worthwhile (psst, that includes being vulnerable). Although in immediate retrospect I may beat myself up for being brash, I feel less regret as more time passes. I'm tempted to say that being young is about being out there and just going for it, but it's not about youth. As far as my religious philosophy goes: We live this life exactly once. I don't know about you, but I plan to make it worthwhile. When I look back on the things I've done that seemed crazy or ill-advised, I recognize them as defining factors in my life, and the memories are usually filled with immeasurably beautiful moments (however bittersweet). I'd rather die with that on my conscious than a plethora of "what if"s. That's what happens when you go for it, in this year or any other: you're left with lessons, memories, and heartbreak, and hopefully, a story worth telling. A story that you crafted yourself, because you didn't leave it to chance.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

grouch

2010-12-17T12:08:00.000-08:00

December 17th - Lesson learned. What was the best thing you learned about yourself this past year? And how will you apply that lesson going forward?

I really dislike some of these prompts. I feel like they're getting a little redundant--asking some of the same questions from ever-so-slightly-but-not-really different angles. I don't feel like this is digging deep. I feel like any response I could summon would be utterly trite and practically meaningless, inciting no more than my own half-hearted pat on the back. In my other reverb10 responses, there has been a multitude of talking about what I've learned without being forced into a poorly written corner. I feel like I'm the elementary kid, returning to school after a long summer, and being forced to write an excruciatingly mundane summary of the event, taking all of the fun and joy out of the memories I'd created.

If you want to glimpse some of my valuable 2010 lessons, please look here (ordered oldest to newest):

Little Lizz is growing up. Cool, I guess?
Lesson: Revelations during a month on the wagon.
Back when it was a Saturday
Lesson: Reflecting back to 2008, I saw how strong and thoughtful I was in the face of my father's death. Go, 19-year-old me. You rocked.
Hole
Lesson: Well, THAT'S an interesting way to lose your septum piercing.
April: STILL National Poetry Month
Lesson: After a while you learn
that even sunshine burns
if you get too much
so you plant your own garden
and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone
to bring you flowers.
Say YES to the mess!
Lesson: The people that matter will make it work.
I know you think I'm beautiful, but that doesn't mean I want to listen to your life story.
Lesson: How to spot a narcissist.
Learning & Lessons
Lesson: Establishing personal boundaries, seeing beauty in the broken, and dodging the ignorance of strangers.
Short & Sweet
Lesson: Origami cranes!!!
TL;DR
Lesson: The recognition of love in retrospect.
Stitches
Lesson: Trust my instincts.
Courage: to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart
Lesson: Vulnerability is not weakness. Compassion is worthwhile.
Devouring Words
Lesson: Books are the best.
Buddies
Lesson: I am inherently worthy of love.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

buddies

2010-12-16T20:59:00.000-08:00

December 16 – Friendship. How has a friend changed you or your perspective on the world this year? Was this change gradual, or a sudden burst?

One of the best parts about being gregarious is that I always meet a ridiculous amount of people. Maybe it's partially due to having moved so much as a child, but it's not at all difficult for me to make friends almost everywhere I go. I had a couple of good friends who, collectively, made a major impact on my perspective this year, but what made it possible for them to make an impact was the perception of one of my oldest friends. The new comrades came into my life after this comment made me realize what I'd been unintentionally missing out on.

In the spring, I went to an AIDSLifeCycle benefit with Elena, and who unexpectedly showed up? None other than J, who had driven out from Yuba City to surprise me and go to the benefit. I was completely floored--I'd casually invited him and told everyone about it, but I didn't expect him to come. Yuba City is a good two to three hour drive away from Berkeley, and although he and I are friends, we only manage to get together once or twice over the course of a year. Elena and I were sitting against the wall at Yoga Kula, where the fundraiser was being held, and I happened to look up at the entrance. I thought, "Wait, that guy looks really familia--WAIT! HEY!" I jumped up from where we sat and rushed him with a giant hug, completely shocked. He brought a friend of his to come along as well. After the benefit, the four of us trekked over to get beers at Bobby G's, this cute little pizzeria in Downtown Berkeley. As we caught up, the subject of dating arose. I was dating a particularly cad-ish type in the spring, and I was telling J about the silly saga. He said something to the effect of, "You know, people aren't like diamonds--they aren't coal that needs to be worked into something beautiful. You don't have to work so hard for them to not be assholes."

This may seem like an obvious statement, but I'm a gal with a poorly trained inner voice. The inner voice says: Hey, you want love? You have to earn it. And the minute you step out of line, the minute you aren't the perfect picture, you will lose it. Obviously, this leads to inevitable failure. I had the idea that I had to forever be enmeshed with fucked up people because for so long, I had identified as a fucked up person. How could I ever be expected to be liked by people who were, you know, normal and not horrible when I filtered myself as less than?

I was under the misapprehension that friendship and romance were supposed to be painful, and that it would somehow let up into a beautiful world. Once this all broke down, starting with this one keen observation, I started meeting people who redefined friendship, romance, honesty, and trust. It's something I'm still learning, it's something I should've comprehended a long time ago, and it's something I'm excited to be continuously discovering more about.

Westhale told me two years ago that chaos begets chaos, and relationships that have origins in disaster will perpetually remain in disaster. While I don't know if that's a hard and fast rule, I think she made a good point: Relationships require building from the beginning. When you meet someone, how you treat them can set the stage for the entirety of your interaction with them. Make it count.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

so many things.

2010-12-16T00:27:00.000-08:00

December 15 – 5 Minutes. Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010.

Drinking champagne on an Oakland roof, surrounded by friends. The lessons learned from a month of alcoholic abstinence. Giving up on Love - Slow Club. Having a spring existential crisis amidst daisies near Lake Merritt, after reading Franny and Zooey for the first time and dogsitting Jersey, one of my favorite pups. Pretty, intellectual, androgynous ladies with sharp hipbones. Vodka-blurried karaoke nights with fearless cohorts. Margaritas in the mission. I Am Not A Robot - Marina & the Diamonds. A stolen book from my favorite bar. Sacred secrets from long-time friends. Sex in all kinds of inappropriate and scandalous places. Generosity from women who have so little to give. Nightcaps with my favorite neighbor. The Berkeley Kite Festival. Standing on the edge of the empty outdoor subway platform in the middle of the night, smoking cigarettes and absorbing the chill. Coffee and affection and bedraggled bedhead in Downtown Berkeley. Your Ex-Lover is Dead - Stars. Seeking refuge from the pouring rain on a lifeguard stand in Encinitas. Bruises and bite marks left from late night mouths. Walking arm in arm with my best friend, shouting songs after late night drinks. Irish coffee with my mother. The nerf gun fight at my brother's Halloween wedding. Los Angeles. Pinball with my little brother. Reassurance from everyday superheroes. Nervous kisses. Elation. Even keel. Saying goodbye. Intimate hugs. Rebuilding love and friendships.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

devouring words

2010-12-16T00:00:00.001-08:00

December 14 – Appreciate. What’s the one thing you have come to appreciate most in the past year? How do you express gratitude for it?

Although I've always been a big reader, I really learned to appreciate books this year all over again. My love affair with reading had dwindled due to lack of focus and easy access to distractions; although up until July I hadn't had cable since 2006 and hadn't had a TV at all since 2008, the internet has been a blackhole I've fallen into over and over again. I'd forgotten how lovely it is to unplug and let my mind wander into any book I can get my hands on (I currently have approximately seven that are living on my bookshelf, waiting to be read). Shortly after I moved in July, my computer decided to jump ship, and whatdoyaknow? I had no real desire to watch television, and although I have a smartphone, surfing the internet on that newfangled gadget can get old pretty quickly. So what else to do, other than read?

It reminded me how much I love reading. I will read almost anything that's well-written (although I do have a fondness for classic American literature and sociological/philosophical non-fiction), and it reminded me how much reading can center me. I know that we're in a world where the Kindle is taking over and there are groups of people completely opposed to keeping any kind of book anymore, but I love books. I love being able to feel the weight of the book in my hand, the smell of the ink and the way the pages yellow. I love inscriptions and tattered bookmarks found in used books. I love giving and receiving books as gifts. I love the fact that turning the pages of a novel is an act that connects me to many generations that came before me. I love the connection I find with other people who also love to read. In a lot of ways, it's a litmus test for people I'm interested in dating: Do you read? Do you read real books? Let's talk about it.

I get such a charge when I talk about reading and I believe it to be one of the most satisfying forms of entertainment that exists. I can take it anywhere--on the BART, on the bus, to the top of a mountain, to a cafe, to the park, to my bed, to my back porch. It doesn't falter or error. It doesn't overwhelm. It taps into a part of my mind that allows me to connect to my emotions and intellect simultaneously.

Books have been a constant in my life from the beginning--when I was little, I would take my books and sit between my parents in their bed. They would read their respective books, and I would sit between them and "read" mine. In the morning, they'd serve me a little mug of coffee*, and they'd read the paper as I sifted through the cartoons. By seven, I was devouring Stephen King and the vast majority of the popular "young adult literature" section. By the time I was eleven, I was reading at a college level. At twelve, I dove headfirst into philosophy and religion, obsessing over Bertrand Russell and Zen & the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (this is when I wasn't powering through the Harry Potter series, of course). Basically, books have been opening worlds for me since I was a wee one.

*I was a little weirdo, drinking coffee at three. Yes, I liked coffee. This may or may not be responsible for the fact that with the exception of one aunt and my paternal grandmother, I remain the shortest person on both sides of my family. BITTER.

While I fell out of the book habit, having no access to the internet at home for over three months was amazing. It allowed me to get reintroduced to this world I forgot about, and also allowed me to rebuild my library. For my birthday, I got some of the best gifts in the world: several books, all from wonderful people with wonderful taste. I read books I'd been meaning to read for years and I was introduced to several new goodies. I am currently in the middle of five books that improve my life on the daily. 2010 was a reminder that technology is not the end all be all (and this is coming from an internet-o-phile).

There are a few things in this world that can improve almost any situation: a nap, a shower, a cup of tea, and last but not least, a few pages from a fantastic book.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

here to stay

2010-12-13T03:04:00.000-08:00

December 13th – Action. When it comes to aspirations, it’s not about ideas. It’s about making ideas happen. What’s your next step?

i have a whole lotta ideas. the biggest way that i'm churning them into reality is by developing a greater self discipline. i'm participating in several projects that involve daily or weekly attention, and even if they're silly, they're a stepping stone. i'm participating in reverb10, i've been doing a daily 750 words (usually more, actually), and i'm doing 365 self portraits over on dailybooth. i'm also making sure i go to yoga three times a week, getting up and flossing every morning (IT'S JUST SO EASY NOT TO, YEW GUISE), and spending some time every day reading.

another tactic that i'm using is forcing myself to commit by involving my community. for example: i've been rallying friends to get together and help plan a trip to coachella. i recently had a creative brainstorming sesh with the ever rad dylan--we're doing this amazing multimedia collaboration that i will (hopefully) be able to reveal more about in the next few months or so. the reverb10 community is constantly inspiring me to stay motivated and committed, even when i struggle with the prompts or when i feel like whining about not wanting to write. if i involve other people, i have to stay committed to myself as well.

it's said that it takes doing something seventeen times before it becomes a habit, and i intend to make diligence the best damn habit i've ever developed. i plan to make my aspirations tangible, even if that means losing sleep and forgetting to eat and losing my god damn mind. you can't be great without sacrifice and assiduity. while being an average jane may be an inevitability, i fully plan to do my best to actualize my dreams. i refuse to manufacture my own mediocrity.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

courage: to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart

2010-12-13T02:42:00.000-08:00

it can be enlightening to have a boss that is also a therapist. as i said, i'd been having some major stress at work, and i ended up meeting with one of the higher ups to talk out some of my emotions on the subject. at some point, it was mentioned that i have a very strong personality, and she said, "you're also very sensitive...and i recognize that some of that strength exists to counter that sensitivity."

bingo.

this is not news. i've discussed my bombastic approach to my emotions, as well as my issues with vulnerability and being what i've been told is "overly sensitive". i've developed tactics to deal with that--to mold it and change it and mask it. sensitivity is weakness. pacifism is less than. compassion is only for those who deserve it. with a childhood full of bullying and the pressure of perfectionism, there's no room for tears. when my dad's alcoholism hit its height, i remember several arguments we had over the phone, and when i'd start crying, he'd yell, "oh don't cry, you cry baby. there's no fucking crying in baseball!" (note: there may be no crying in baseball, but don't try to tell me that when i'm watering the outfield with the buckets pouring from my tear ducts, ok?) vulnerability is a defect.

today, i had a conversation with my mother and stepfather wherein they both concluded that my compassion was a result of my naivete. (yes, perhaps so.) see, both of my parents are fierce fightin' types. the level of protection they offer to their loved ones would give the mafia a run for their money, but if you aren't in the circle, then they genuinely don't give a damn. and if you threaten their flock, they're going to cause some damage. (if you think i'm being hyperbolic, i beg you to inquire with any of my friends who have seen my mother when she's angry.) i'm the bleeding heart black sheep of the bunch, spreading my "but did you think about their feelings?" everywhere i go. they told me today that they hope i never lose that compassion, because it is something they support and admire.

it's something i've spent a lifetime fighting against. let me be hard! let me be brutal! instead i turn into a prickly mess. it seems a common theme is being imparted to me from several directions: sensitivity isn't weakness. compassion is worthy and vulnerability is vital. in the video below, brené brown talks about human connection and how it is damaged by the numbing of emotion and the rejection of vulnerability. she sums it all up so succinctly--these things i've known and battled back and forth with. to be hard, to be soft, to be vulnerable, to be impenetrable: where should i go?

thank you, boss. thank you, parents. thank you, brené brown. thank you for reminding me that it is ok to be these things. while i am still learning how to protect myself (undoubtedly an equally vital skill), my commitment to vulnerability, to honesty, and to compassion is renewed.

i seriously encourage you to watch this--it's a bit long (twenty minutes or so), but entirely worthwhile. it's a reminder: you are enough. and so am i

Hippies Ahoy

2010-12-12T13:42:00.000-08:00

December 12th - Body Integration. This year, when did you feel the most integrated with your body? Did you have a moment where there wasn’t mind and body, but simply a cohesive YOU, alive and present?

What is this hippie crap? I live in the Bay Area and even this is a little much for me. Let me pull out my kombucha and quinoa for this one!

I am very rarely a "cohesive [ME], alive and present". Typically, my mind is wandering down some rabbit hole somewhere. I believe this is normal for most folks, but it also seems that most people have the ability to manage it better than I do. I'm neurotic, anxious, and analytical, and my head is spinning about 98% of the time. My analytical side is especially revved up by social interaction; I'm absolutely fascinated by subtext, social nuances, and the relational implications created with language and communication. This is well known among my friends--I even have been dubbed "the interpersonal hawk." Social interaction makes my brain churn fiercely. I talk and type almost as fast as I think, and slowing all that down to be IN THE MOMENT makes my brain feel all gummy. It's extremely normal for me to pop up in the middle of the night, driven awake by my own anxieties, and check my calendar JUST TO MAKE SURE I know what I have to do the next day. I can't even be in the moment when I'm deep in slumber!

I spent a good chunk of this year trying to train myself to get past that (a component of that: let want out with the cat), but I don't think I've gotten anywhere. During yoga class, elusive moments of cohesiveness always give way to the brain chatter. I find myself performing silent stand up about the pretzels I can't twist into, and berating myself for wearing a thong, my last pair of clean underwear, instead of just going commando under my stretchy, ill-fitted pants. Sex is probably the easiest time to give way to that bodily integration, but even then, only when my romantic emotional investment is nil OR when I truly like and trust someone. I often get so overstimulated by daydreams and mental schemings that I'll take long walks, listen to music, and let it all run wild in my head. Usually this is the time I can really start to come together, but it's a process. I know I've hit the mark when I start dancing in the street. Unfortunately, that's usually cut short when I realize I'm being watched by the group of teenage dudes with incredulous expressions, get embarrassed, and then run away.

When I contemplate the year that has passed, I think the times I felt most in the moment were when I was outdoors. I think about the sunny days I spent lying in the park, head on my bag while listening to the distant parkgoer conversation and chirping birds. I think of the time that Jessica, Elena and I went to Lake Anza, where Elena and I braved the chilly waters after sunbathing topless (right in the middle of the hiking path around the lake--something we didn't really realize until the parade of people passed by us...whoops). We wore our sunglasses and took our beers with us deep into the lake, charged by the harmless rule breaking, and laughed as the cool water splashed against our sunwarmed skin.

I'm tempted to say that I'm not much of an outdoorsy type. Not anymore, anyway. I grew up hiking and horseback riding, spending summers at summer camp and roughin' it with the best of them. Yes, my style is typically feminine--hell, if I were a Barbie doll, my accessories would be a closet of thirty dresses, perpetually painted nails and power cleavage. Even so, I swear that I can roll up my sleeves and slum it with glee, too. As an adult, though, I rarely do so. Maybe due to self-consciousness (I am not the most in shape lady, ok? And yes, I realize that no one else cares and that it's self-important to feel self-conscious because it implies that other people are paying that kind of attention, BUT I STILL GET SELF-CONSCIOUS ANYWAY OK?). Or maybe it's just that I haven't had the perspective to realize that I need to actively pull myself away from my mental pursuits to give myself a chance to become a cohesive being. Maybe that's something to look forward to in the new year--a commitment to making the worthwhile sacrifice of mental stimulation in order to become whole.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

Irascible.

2010-12-11T16:20:00.000-08:00

December 11th - What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life?

I said it before and I'll say it again:

I am not amused.

I'm having one of those days where I woke up tired and cranky, almost like I hadn't slept at all, and for no good reason, either. Work has been stressful and I have had so much I want to get done and I feel like I can't get anything done at all. Maybe this is just the product of being sick last week, or maybe it's a result of suddenly feeling extremely dissatisfied. I've been trying to manage non-profit office politics gracefully, and instead I keep ending up in tears. It's the holidays, and due to a scheduling error, I will be spending my Christmas night at the shelter--despite having worked on Thanksgiving as well. I was thinking about how I don't even remember what it's really like to be in a long term relationship, and I miss the comfort in knowing someone is there. My hair has been having a bad day that's lasted a week.

Basically what I'm saying here is that it's December 11th and I feel like a total sourpuss.

I dislike making lists, and what's more, I dislike making lists that don't inspire me. This response to the prompt hit the nail on the head--my process for addressing this prompt has been very similar, and I've been irritated with the shit that I apparently can't think to get rid of. Especially since I feel like I've been engaging in my own transformative process for the past couple of years, which has involved unpacking, discarding, and removing all on its own. Unlike Carwin, I'm not a minimalist, and yes, there are probably some things I could stand to toss out. However, I don't see how much this list will do for me in the coming year, other than give me something to look back at and disappointedly go, "Oh, right." I already made my list of major to-dos for the next 1001 days. I'm looking forward to the things I want to change and transform. I don't want to merely look back and see what I want to kick out. I don't view it as that simple--everything has their purpose. It's more about how I can use it to improve myself and change my world, and less about what I need to kick out. I don't need New Year's resolutions; I need goals that will impact more than the upcoming year alone.

On that sour note, at least here's a list of lists I could do without--and I mean permanently.

1. 12 Sex Tips You've Never Tried Before!
On this list? Please see The Frenemy .

2. 7 Food Items That Are Secretly Making you Fat!
On this list? Anything that tastes remotely good. Also, things that you already knew were fattening. Newsflash: Brownies are not a diet food.

3. 5 Habits That Will Cause You To Get Cancer and Die!
On this list? Drinking coffee. Not drinking coffee. Drinking too much wine. Not drinking enough wine. Owning a microwave, television, EasyBake oven. Traveling in anything other than a bike, paddleboat, or hang glider. Not living an Amish lifestyle, free of technology and radiation. Living an Amish lifestyle, where your genetic predispositions may catch up with you and will not be treated with modern medicine. Eating donuts. Breathing.

4. 10 Wacky Things Ridiculously Rich People Blow Their Cash On!
On this list? Who fucking cares?

5. 13 Things Recommended by Pop-Psychologists to Make You Feel Better About Being Depressed, Dissatisfied, or Otherwise All Alone
On this list? The same recycled lines about getting enough sleep, eating healthy, maintaining a positive attitude, and finding personal fulfillment. WHY DO WE CONTINUE TO SEE THESE LISTS OVER AND OVER AGAIN?

6. 11 Things Your Life Doesn't Need in 2011
On this list? A series of pointless obligations that will set me up for feeling guilty when they remain unfulfilled.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

slinky.

2010-12-10T19:47:00.000-08:00

Skin 2
Shane Koyczan

I don’t imagine you
saran-wrapped in black latex
or seeping out the edges
of something tight and red
I don’t close my eyes
to dream of your back
arched at the impossible angle
of a bow pulled tight
encouraging your shoulder blades
to drip the blood
of stockpiled broken hearts
but I hope the sound
of you not shielding your eyes
from my blinding humility
will one day top the charts

it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard
and you’re the charlie chaplin of your beautifuls
because you make me believe it
when you say it all without saying a word

looking at you it occurred to me
I could sit around all day
wearing nothing but your kiss

you make mirrors
want to grind themselves
back down into sand
because they can’t do your reflection justice

and this just in
I am done with those
who in life would have made me fight
an army of imperfections
a battalion of flaws
tonight we’re going to keep this city up
when they hear our bodies
slap together like applause.

Thanks to Simmer for sending me this delicious gem.

Stitches.

2010-12-10T02:14:00.000-08:00

December 10th - Wisdom. What was the wisest decision you made this year, and how did it play out?

I don't know how to write about the wise decisions I made without potentially making waves.

As I mentioned during prompt #8, I inquired on Facebook for some input on my "beautifully different" qualities (which as most of you saw, I did not end up using anyway). My ex-boyfriend from high school (turned good friend into adulthood) said that my prevailing unique quality is my "kamikaze approach to [my] emotions".

me: my kamikaze approach?

SUICIDAL?

7 minutes

1:38 PM me: SUICIDAL???????

35 minutes

2:13 PM J: Yeah. Like you barrel into things while knowing that they're probably going to hurt... a lot. But you're like "BONZAAAAIIIII!".

Ok. Maybe that's true.

I tend to get into situations where I know it's not going to end well. Of course, as most of us know, that doesn't have anything to do with how you feel; it's possibly to logically acknowledge that something (or someone) is a terrible, terrible idea, but if your emotional investment is immediately strong, it can be tough to fight. I'm all about embracing my emotions, especially fear. I've figured that every life and love comes with risk, and that my fear is an inevitable part of my emotional life. Intimacy is scary! The greater my fear, the greater my gusto, hoping to combat the negativity and come out the other side victorious.

What have I learned from all this?

I'm bad with calculated risk.

Point is: Most of my wise decisions this year have been made in an effort to clean up the messes I made as a result of diving in headfirst.

For example:

This year, I made the mistake of getting involved with a coworker. Not only a coworker, but technically, I'm pretty sure he was easily considered my supervisor.

LET ME STATE THE OBVIOUS FOR THOSE OF YOU THAT DON'T KNOW: This is not a good idea.

I knew this was a terrible idea, but there I went, weighing the options midair, inches from the icy depths I was about to plunge into. I'd immediately had a huge crush on him; we had this incredible chemistry and I had a lot of respect for his vast intellect. As I got to know him, some of his less than respectable traits (excessive recreational drug use, dishonesty, cowardice, hyperbolic self-absorption) came to light.

Not shockingly, he totally used me.

I played right into his hand, hoping for the best, falling head over feet (did anyone else have Alanis Morrisette pop into their head right now? No? Just me?) into his mess. Although this was a relatively brief affair, I ended up caring for him pretty deeply. Come to find that he did not care about me. Not even a little bit. He doesn't see me as a friend or even someone worth respecting. To him, it seems that I am utterly disposable. Burn.

The wisest decision I made this year was to leave.
I put in my notice at that job because I couldn't be around him. Although the rejection stung, what hurt the worst was the fact that I let this happen. I kept hanging out, hoping that things would get better. Granted, there was some suggestion from him that it would get better, but of course, these were empty promises that I willingly bought into. I wanted to believe him. Even toward the end of my involvement at that job, the promise seemed even greater, just for a moment; in retrospect, him telling me he was trying to be a better friend almost seems laughable. It's true: you can't teach an old dog new tricks.

Finally, the job was over. Shortly thereafter, everything was over. I still think about the energy it took from me this year, and my own foolish perpetuation of this fling, and it embarrasses me. Plus, I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt to know that one could so easily toss you aside. I haven't always been involved with the most honest, forthright people, but prior to this, I could say that pretty much everyone I really, truly cared about also really, truly cared about me.

My wise decision thankfully removed me. I'd considered it sooner, but hadn't done it because of some sickening stomach-twisting swirly cone of fear and hope. When I wrote the email sending in my notice, I laid on my bed and wept. I felt stupid. How could I do this to myself? I was leaving a job that was easy, but that I enjoyed and kicked ass at. It was fun. I liked most of the other people who work there. The majority of people at work had no clue what was going on (at least as far as I know), so it looked like I was simply abandoning the responsibilities I'd committed to (something that grieves my overachieving soul). What a mistake.

It's often said that wisdom is derived from failure, and at least in this case, this is absolutely true. For better or for worse, I learned.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

P.I.C.4LYFE!

2010-12-09T12:55:00.000-08:00

December 9th - Party. What social gathering rocked your socks off in 2010? Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, shenanigans.

When I read this prompt I didn't have an event pop into my mind, but instead, a person.

Meet Elena.
(Psst...it's "UH-lehn-a". Not "Eh-lay-na".)

If you look up "spontaneity" and "fun" in the dictionary, you'll find a photo of this bubblegum haired beauty queen. Before her life took her to the Midwest (grumble, grumble), she was my #1 Partner In Crime. She doesn't embody party because we went to lots of swanky soirees; she embodies party because she is one of the few people in this world that can make any activity fun. She is always up for the adventure, for meeting people and trying something new.

We spent so much time singing from rooftops, starting dance parties in the streets, skinny dipping in the lake, and making all kinds of harmless, but mischievous mayhem. She's my go-to girl when I want to sing a song I barely know at karaoke, when I want to doll myself up for the sake of feeling pretty, when I want to paint the town red and make new friends in strange places. She is a person that allows me to be myself, in all of my gregarious, loud, feisty glory, and never makes me feel ashamed or embarrassed to be who I am. To boot, she's wicked clever and extremely funny. This dear friend was my party over and over again through the middle of the year, whether we were drinking two buck chuck and sitting around talking, or singing at the top of our lungs as we walked down the street or dancing in a crowded bar.

She constantly reminds me that everything can be a party, no matter what you're doing, because what really matters is the company you keep.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

Party Pooper.

2010-12-08T19:35:00.000-08:00

December 8th - Beautifully different. Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different - you'll find they're what make you beautiful.

I am not amused.

When I first read the prompt, I was entirely displeased. It struck me as cheesy and offers itself easily to a smug, self-congratulatory response. I put up the prompt on good ol' Facebook, asking for input, and surfed the #reverb10 wave on Twitter, looking for inspiration. I found a few posts that I found insightful and clever in response to the prompt, but for the most part, everyone somewhat reluctantly listed the positive qualities that they believe define them best.

It is a wonderful thing that everyone can focus on their redeeming attributes, and it's great that this can make you feel like you're one-of-a-kind. Great! Honestly, though? Most of the responses reaffirmed that well, the things that make you different aren't actually all that different from that many other people. And in fact, the things that make you different are probably not all that positive or meaningful (for me, please see: my loathing of top bedsheets, my love of raw pasta, how invested and expressive I am when watching a play). There are over six billion of us--the likelihood of anyone being meaningfully and genuinely unique is pretty low. The likelihood of all of us being as such is even lower.

I have some good news for you, though: you don't have to be unique to be good, significant, or lovable. It's about the people that meet you, know you, and love you; they see you as a unique individual because of the way you connect with them, and the way that they've come to know you. The impact you have had on their lives (as well as vice versa), and the way you have personally affected them are why they find you one-of-a-kind. It's really not about you at all, when it comes down to it.

The fact that we, as a mass of fairly similar beings, can personally impact one another in a startling, compelling way (for example: anyone ever fall in love?) is absolutely extraordinary. We are not that different, and yet we can create so much variety through experience and what we share. To me, that is much more worth focusing on than why I am supposedly oh-so-very special. Because guess what, kiddo? Unless I managed to leave a little flag with my name on it stuck into your heart, I'm really not. Not anymore than the rest of you.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

TL;DR!

2010-12-07T22:52:00.000-08:00

today i was driving and for some odd reason, i thought of my ex-boyfriend. the one that i talked about marrying, even though we dated for a blink of time (relative to all of my other relationships). when i talk about him with my friends, i joke that i don't know what kool-aid i was drinking when i thought i would potentially marry him (marry anyone at all, really--at twenty? please.). that's mean, but it's true.

he's the only guy i ever broke up with while in the middle of an argument; all of my other break ups have been the kind where we both saw it coming and tried to delay it as long as possible. in fact, there were usually innumerable "WE'RE BREAKING UP AND I HATE YOU AND GOD YOU ARE SUCH AN ASSHOLE" arguments before we actually broke up for good. the conversation was never a blow out, but always a defeated discussion, muted by exhaustion, anger and sadness. having a relationship end right in the midst of an argument always seemed strange and sudden to me. how could you end things just like that? but that's exactly what happened.

shockingly, i didn't really feel sad about it either. i missed him briefly, but barely. i missed the companionship more than anything. to be completely candid, i mostly felt relief. he was a man that came with a whole lot of drama, a tendency to talk down to me, and a staunch unwillingness to compromise on absolutely anything, and boy, i cannot tell you how glad i was to get out of that mess. he kept trying to get back together with me for a year after we broke up. a whole year! he was relentless! i received long rambling emails and four page letters and mix cds. he even emailed my mother.

finally, the roar dulled to a polite inquiry, and i agreed to meet him for drinks. it had been six months since we broke up, and i saw it as an opportunity to end things on good terms. i didn't see a point in being friends, but at least we could both walk away with something positive. we got drunk on sangria and i barely managed to turn my cheek as he tried to kiss me. i remember shortly thereafter saying goodbye and fighting the urge to run down the escalator stairs in an effort to escape his overwhelming advances. seeing him confirmed what i'd thought all along: i was over it. i was over it before it was over, and i never could pinpoint where all the affection i'd had for him went. i thought that perhaps i'd deluded myself into thinking i loved him. when we met, i needed someone affectionate to fill the lonely spaces in my world, and he needed someone to let him escape the life he'd imprisoned himself in. in retrospect, it seemed like a relationship of utility.

today, as i drove to downtown berkeley and passed the ashby bart station, i thought of him. i'm not sure what made me think of him, but there he was. i thought about the white tshirts he'd wear to bed and the times i cried into his collarbone. (it seems like there was a lot of crying involved in that relationship.) i thought about the way his body leaned, his slightly crooked canines, and the letters he used to write. the soft tones he spoke in, often filled with clever quips and cheesy puns.

he wasn't a boyfriend that did that many sweet things for me, but he was the right person at the right time. i used to say that i wish he'd never happened, but now i can see where his presence in my past has served me. today i thought about him and thought, yes, i did definitely love him. for more reasons than his simple function, although not many of them (if any) can be explained in words. logic dictates that anything i can deem (retrospectively) as sweet or lovable are also things that were canceled out by his dishonesty and inconsideration. he's not someone i respect or admire (something i've come to expect in my romantic pursuits). perhaps that's the point, though--i didn't love him for any logical, concrete reason. as a person who doesn't love him anymore, i find it as inexplicable as, at the time, everyone else certainly did.

today, i thought of someone i'd left behind, someone that i don't think of much at all anymore, and thought how glad i was to know him. and how glad i am that it's over. and how i could easily thank him for the times he mopped up my tears and the letters he sent and the times his hand found mine in the dark. i don't need to know him anymore, but it was good that i knew him then. i'm no longer embarrassed by the mistakes i made with him. i'm no longer apologetic. now i feel this equanimity and acceptance bleeding into all of my other romances, all of my other foolish mistakes and unrequited loves and unremarkable affections. gentlemen, i thank you.

i am constantly baffled and overwhelmed by the fluidity of human emotion. isn't it a remarkable thing?

silver and gold

2010-12-07T11:02:00.000-08:00

December 6th - Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?

It's amazing how much one's perspective can change in less than six months.

In June, I celebrated my second anniversary of living in the Bay Area. When I was reflecting on the two years I'd spent here, I felt like I couldn't have a stronger, more amazing community of people to rely on. I had a pretty large group of friends that I'd come to rely on. I'd been working at the same job for almost two years and my coworkers felt like extended family. I'd found some ground, and finally got away from that run-run-away feeling I've experienced most of my life. I should've known it'd only be a matter of time.

Sure enough, less than six months later, I feel disconnected from a lot of my community. I left that job, and I don't talk to my old coworkers much. I ran into one of them on the street and he seemed completely uninterested in saying hi and briefly catching up--I felt like I was inconveniencing him with my attempt at friendliness. I was working three jobs, and I didn't have much of a chance to see many people. I watched friends change from sweet, gentle people into condescending, "Oh, I was just kidding," jerks. I had a falling out with a very dear friend of mine over something trivial. Some friends have gotten wrapped up in their own self-indulgence, others in self-destruction, and others have simply changed into different people. In general, my main community seems to have fragmented. Some of these cases are just signs of growing up. Many of the friends I have in mind are rather young (as am I); we aren't even Real Adults yet. And so, many of them now feel like near strangers.

All of these things, when compiled in this way, make me feel rather sad. I miss the confidence I had in my community. As a result of all this, I spent even more time alone than usual, and it wasn't lonely. Well, ok, sometimes it was lonely, but that's an inevitable byproduct of being alone. Mostly, though, it was peaceful. I spent a lot of time working and a lot of time reading. I spent a lot of time sussing myself out. As I was adjusting to my new job, I was forced to confront some of my own past trauma, as well as recognize the boundaries I needed to establish for myself. I learned to turn down social invitations, despite my extroverted puppy-dog-like tendencies to get super excited and say YES YES YES! to anything remotely social. All in all, the loss of community was a personal gain. I established that foundation I mentioned before.

In the new year, I'd like to find the balance between maintaining that foundation, and developing a new community, one that fits my goals, encourages my creativity, and keeps me sane. I need more people in my life that push their limits and encourage me to do the same (like the Reverb10 community--THANK YOU!). I feel fortunate for the friends I have that continue to stick around year after year--they are my permanently established community. I feel sorrow for the community that has recently crumbled. Change is inevitable, and no one is guilty. So, time to pick up and move on.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

short and sweet.

2010-12-06T11:01:00.000-08:00

December 6th - Make. What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it?

The last thing I made?

A pile of snotty tissues next to my bed.

Ok, ok, I guess that only counts if you're getting technical.

The last thing I made:

These are going to contribute to the person who taught me how to make them--my dear friend Dylan. He and his housemates are currently aiming for 1000 origami cranes by the new year to hang in their house.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

ranty: do something productive or get off my lawn!

2010-12-06T08:32:00.000-08:00

I'm taking a break from Reverb10 to post something that carries a lot of significance for me.

(Warning: Potentially triggering.)

For those of you that cannot watch (or do not want to):
This was a social experiment staged by People Opposing Women Abuse, a South African, non-governmental organization that offers services and support to women who have experienced domestic violence. They set up in an apartment complex in Johannesburg. One night, they had someone play the drums, and within minutes several of their neighbors were complaining. Several of them came to the door, and asked the gentleman playing the drums to keep it down. There are shots that get a better shot of the apartment complex as a whole, and the drum noises reverberate throughout the parking lot.

On a different night, in the same apartment complex, they played a recording that sounded like a domestic dispute between a couple. It's pretty grisly sounding (it escalates into lots of throaty screaming and what definitely sounds like physical violence), and is played at a volume similar to the drums. There's another distant shot showing the apartment complex again, and the screaming echoes off the walls.

Not a soul responded.

They played it twice more, hoping they would elicit a response.

No one complained. No response at all.

I've talked about what I do for a living, so my stance on the subject is pretty clear. However, I was shocked that when I posted this on Facebook, it got a mere two responses. Where's the outrage? I get that the people in this apartment complex didn't say anything, but where are my liberal, intellectually brilliant, ethically sound friends? Hello? WHERE IS YOUR OUTRAGE? At the same time, there's this group of people who are all changing their stupid profile pictures to cartoons "in an effort to end child abuse". Really? How are you ending child abuse by updating your Facebook? Are you kidding?

Here, help end child abuse by donating to one of these organizations:
-Stop It Now
-Coalition for Children
-Prevent Child Abuse America

Volunteer for your local YMCA or Boys & Girls Club. In the Bay Area, it's certainly not hard to find a charity event to contribute to. Become a mentor through your local high school. Become a volunteer at one or two or three of the non-profits dedicated to eradicating domestic violence (if you aren't in the Bay Area but are somewhere in the US, click here to find a local organization). Hell, get old school: hold a bake sale and donate the proceeds to a school in your area. Do something productive with your time.

I whined about this on Facebook as well, and I was greeted with the argument that this was at a least raising the subject up for discussion. I think it's fantastic that people want to bring this very significant issue to light. I think that's just wonderful news. But why do you have to wait for a Facebook meme to do it? How many people actually took proactive steps toward improving their community, and how many just googled their favorite childhood cartoon character?

Furthermore, how many people actually started a discussion about child abuse? I didn't see anyone talk about how we could encourage children who are being abused to speak up. I didn't see any conversation about how to potentially identify child abuse, how to report suspected child abuse to CPS, or what happens when CPS receives a report. Did you know there is actually a National Child Abuse Crisis Line? I saw a few people link to child abuse organizations, which is at least a start! But how many people clicked through to the links? How many people did more than click "Upload picture," and revel in their own "charity"?

Is it good that Facebook can bring up the conversation? Hell yes. I am not opposed to social or political activism on Facebook. Social media is a great way to get people involved and get the conversation started on what issues are important and which causes need support. That said--let's actually start the conversation, rather than reveling in how cute our profile pictures are and OMG YOU LIKED SNOOPY TOO?!

Let's stop patting ourselves on the back because of the social representation we've created for ourselves. Contributing to your community should be something you do, regardless of what your Facebook profile looks like. If you're reading this right now, and have the time to fool around on Facebook, you're more privileged than most. Take the opportunities you have, and use them to improve the community you live in.

It's your world. You can make things better. All you have to do is actually try.

Edited to add: There's also a fantastic blog about this over at Skepchick. Check it out.

a two-step to cowboys.

2010-12-04T23:08:00.000-08:00

December 5th - Let Go. What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why?

On my birthday, I was laying on a black table in the upper floor of a tattoo parlor, staring up at the shaggy hair of the beautiful gap-toothed man that was leaning over me. I'd decided to go alone, without telling a soul, to go and get the one and only tattoo I possess. A line from a poem: let want out with the cat. Something I'd been trying to do all summer, all year--hell, perhaps most of my life. Let want out with the cat. Let go of want.

Want, and desire, are troublesome things. It can change on a whim, from one thing to the next, and therefore can seem meaningless. It is possible to desire something in the moment, but realize that momentary desire can be overridden by the consequences. Wanting someone can mean a million different things, from something heady and sexual to something more intimate and meaningful. And even when I've finally gotten what I want, I usually find that it's not what I thought it would be. Hey, this is not what I signed up for! This here has stipulations and complications!

Want damages easily. Damage of the self. Damage of others.

It's not simple to let it go. Just like most things worth doing, it's a process.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

don't be such a ninny.

2010-12-04T10:56:00.000-08:00

December 4 – Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?

wonder, when used as a verb, is defined as "to be filled with admiration, amazement, or awe," and "to speculate curiously about." as a noun, wonder is defined as, "the emotion excited by what is strange and surprising, a feeling of surprised or puzzled interest, sometimes tinged with admiration." the examples offered by dictionary.com are about someone feeling wonder at the grand canyon or wondering about the solar system. these are all definitions we're familiar with.

lastly, wonder can also be defined as "to doubt."

i wonder if i'll succeed.
i wonder if she's lying.
i wonder if he's really ok.
i wonder if i can trust you.
i wonder.

this is the side of wonder that is easiest to cultivate, and it will eat you alive.

at least, as a well-known worrywart, it eats me alive.

throughout the entirety of the year, this side of wonder would sporadically devastate me. it's hard to remain optimistic when doubt plagues you. every time that happened, i decided to revisit the things that make me feel inspired. do something spontaneous and/or silly! go on an adventure, do a duet at karaoke, make a new friend at a coffee shop. walk through the bookstore and run my hands along the books, just to sit on the floor and briefly peruse one. peel off my clothes to go wading in the water at alameda beach during the heatwave. do something crazy and hope it turns out for the best. walk down the streets at nighttime and sing at the top of my lungs (i now have a neighbor that yells, "AMERICAN IDOL!!!!" whenever he sees me). listen to the women i work with at the shelter, who are brave and lovely in spite of horrendous circumstances, which is a wondrous thing indeed. and if they can be brave and lovely, i know i can too.

i feel that if i'm doing it right ("it" being "living my life"), i shouldn't have to do much to cultivate the right side of wonder. it can be hard to do, but it can save your heart when its breaking. it can save you when you feel bogged down by the mundane. wonder is right here, in my backyard and my kitchen sink and my heart. all it requires is opening my eyes and taking a good look around.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

damp

2010-12-03T17:15:00.000-08:00

Meanings
Adrienne J. Odasso

The rain could mean a lot of things. It might
mean that we’ve caught a cold front, or that this
is the End. Any number of possibilities.
At the moment, there’s water leaking
into my train car through a tiny gap
near the floor. Even though we’re moving,
the rain—that clever creature—is finding
a way into our hearts, or at the very least
our shoes. I know that the storm is nothing
in comparison to what it is south, but
there is something awful and damply true
in the tiny leak that I am watching
here in my corner of the train. It means
the thoughts I’ve been having about endings
will wet my heart and my shoes no matter
how fast I think that I’m moving.

circles and stars

2010-12-03T11:21:00.000-08:00

December 3 – Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).

OK, LET'S TRY THIS ONE MORE TIME.
(For those of you that are catching up: I wrote a response, then took it back down for a few hours. Then, the following.)

I spent an hour this morning pounding out some godawful rambling on a moment during the summer in which I did feel quite alive. Immediately after I posted it, I was filled with uneasiness, regret, and that same feeling that settles into the gut after one has eaten some really rotten chow mein. I couldn't figure out why (beyond being sure that I have become the epitome of mediocrity, if I wasn't already), and as I drove to work, it occurred to me that I'd spent over twelve hours ruminating on this prompt. TWELVE HOURS. Why was this so hard?

For starters, the moment I ended up posting about isn't the moment in which I felt most alive, although it is a moment that felt magical and wonderful. I read the prompt last night, and an entirely different moment came to mind. The instance that comes to mind was a moment that occurred right at the half-mark of the year. It was a moment shared with someone who hadn't yet become a lover, but would. Someone who would move from friend, to lover, to practically a stranger in a mere summer's span. I had some major apprehension about sharing that moment with the world; I didn't know if I even have the capacity to do it justice, and the idea of sharing it makes me feel vulnerable. Plus, the moment was remarkable, but it doesn't place the person I shared it with in any higher esteem than any other romantic interest of this year, and I wouldn't want him to seem blown up as a result of this oh-so-magical moment.

Lastly, part of what makes that moment so significant is that it's private. The intangible quality that emerged from the circumstances was created as a result of spontaneity, subtext, and sexual tension. And, of course, a proclivity for romanticization. Those are things I don't want to share with the world. They're mine (and his). He may not have the same feelings about that moment--they may not have given him the same feeling of being alive, and he may not share the same retrospective, quivering bittersweetness that sometimes comes and goes for me. Even so, we both own it. I can't write about some other moment--I tried, and it read as disingenuous (not to mention being just plain terrible). My moment this year is private, between me and one other person. And I'm going to keep it that way.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

tunnel vision, baby

2010-12-02T11:52:00.000-08:00

I overslept this morning due to a late night involving cheap red wine, paper crane folding, laughter and two of my favorite flicks. When I finally managed to lift my bedraggled bedhead off of my pillow, I made myself some tea, and finally had a moment to be excited about a particular email in my inbox.

Come to find this:

December 2 Writing. What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?

Then, this prompt caused immediate displeasure. Ugh, what? Why? I opened and closed a blank blog post four times within forty five minutes, only to write half a sentence and then discard the entire thing. I don't have any trouble writing! I write all the time! Shut up!

Good game, Reverb10. You're kicking my ass already.

Finally, I realized I'm going to have to sit down and make myself do it. Ok. Obviously, I'm in denial; I don't always do the writing that I want to be doing, and I definitely have factors that inhibit my ability to get my words down on paper. I don't consider myself a "writer" really--more of a rabid document-er/blogger. I write as a means of catharsis, but I don't write anything particularly fantastic. Hardly a writer.

Even so, my primary writing demons boil down to two things: hyper multitasking and intense self-criticism.

Even now, I have approx eight tabs open, and I will stop after a sentence, flip through each tab to click, read, respond, write, so on and so forth, and then come back to this blog to write something else. I'll stop and make ten paper cranes. I read one chapter of a book, then come back to the post. I get sidetracked and if I finish at all, it's taken me forever to get it done. I'm spectacular at starting a project enthusiastically, but the follow through is where I truly struggle. It's not merely an issue within my writing--it's pervasive throughout most of my life. I have amazing initiative to stir things up and start things anew, with a rotten commitment to the long haul.

My intense self-criticism is related to an intense perfectionism. I am a perfectionist in the finest of forms: either I will succeed with absolute immaculacy, or I will fail in a fifty foot high blaze of disastrous glory. There is no middle ground. There is no "did my best". There's only perfection, or destruction. I end up becoming so self-belittling that I start to edit in the middle of my sentences, in the middle of my words, and I sabotage my ability to get out anything at all. The fear that the little voice in my head that wreaks havoc is going to be echoed by everyone else out there is so great that it destroys my ability to produce anything.

Both of these can be eliminated by keeping in mind the word I chose for 2011: dedication. Although my initial enthusiasm is a fantastic jumping point, I need to scale it back in an effort to make it last longer. I need to remind myself that I can combat my two biggest obstacles by making the determination to focus and simply getting it all out on the page. I can edit, throw it away, and give time to all the other things swirling around in my head later. The hardest part is putting it out there. I need to hush my inner critic, remember that I'm doing it for myself, and keep moving forward. When I'm writing, I need to dedicate myself to being in the moment.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

singular noun.

2010-12-01T14:00:00.000-08:00

December 1 One Word.
Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?

One word?!? This is tough already, yew guise!

It felt like 2010 was filled with groundbreaking personal growth and discovery. After many years of typical coming-of-age confusion, 2010 was the first time that I felt like I understood my priorities, I truly knew what I wanted, and I had figured out how to maintain an even keel, even while surrounded by fauxtragedies. Granted, it wasn't always a perfect process, and it still is just that--a process. There were definitely slip-ups and "hello CRAZYFACE!" (a la the Frenemy's Crazy Bitch Dating Manifesto) moments. As the year went on, though, things seemed to smooth out and I found my equilibrium. The most appropriate word for 2010 seems to be foundation.

The word I'd like to use for 2011 is dedication. I have a lot that I would like to accomplish, including taking on a full time school schedule in addition to work. I don't have time to pander to imbeciles or flounder in negativity! Nose to the grindstone. Let's go.

This blog post is my contribution to #Reverb10, an annual, month-long, online initiative to reflect on the year that has passed, and focus on how to improve the year ahead.

Thanks for the heads up, Suki!

101 in 1001: the Beginning

2010-12-01T13:09:00.000-08:00

After being entirely inspired by Suki, I am now officially participating in the 101 Things in 1001 Days Project. Whenever I get in a funk, I do my best to revamp my life in an effort to get back on track. Sometimes revamping means something small, like giving myself a little self-care, while other times it means taking on a new approach to friendships, relationships, romance, work, whatever. I'd gone over to Suki's blog to add her on 20something bloggers (because you aren't real internet friends until you've friended someone on EVERY SINGLE SOCIAL NETWORKING SITE known to man), and I came across her 101 for 1001. I'd read about the project before, but it never really piqued my interest. Seeing Suki's list and what she had already accomplished really encouraged me to engage and create my own. (Also, she always does the cool stuff--she also just blogged about Reverb 10, which is awesome, and I think I will be participating in as well.)

The list was much more difficult to create than I thought it would be. It started out easy; I had all these things I'd been trying to keep track of in my head, and they popped into my mind faster than I could type. It was especially easy to write down some of the really big things that I've been carrying around with me as "To Do"s. Some of Suki's goals resonated with me, so a very small handful of the 101 stayed the same, or at least, remained very similar. When I'd completed about eighty, though, my brain started to putter out. What else to do? I didn't want them to be too redundant, and I wanted to make sure that they were something that did, in fact, require an effort on my part. There were a couple that I had to fix because initially, they were much too vague. Finally, though, the list was completed! (Er...then edited it twice, but hush, you.)

Some of them are frivolous and silly, while others more serious, but all in all, I think it's a pretty solid list. I don't expect to complete all of it (although I would like to), but I know which ones are up first. Having the list concrete, with a definitive end date, has lit the fire under my ass, so to speak, and I've already jumped into planning. Now, time to keep it going...wish me luck! (And if there's anything you'd like to join in on, you let me know!)

do not hug it out.

2010-11-29T10:13:00.000-08:00

all of my emotions finally caught up with me yesterday. i was parked on the shoulder of the freeway in vallejo, being handed a speeding ticket, and just as the officer turned on his heel to walk back to his car, i burst into tears.

my little brother did his best to comfort me, but we operate too differently for him to be successful. we deal with our emotions very differently, and my brother, at fifteen, doesn't have a keen understanding of what that means or how to deal with that. my brother is openly emotional, sensitive, touchy feeling and nurturing. even though he's just as argumentative as the rest of my family, he's ultimately the "can't we all just get along?" guy. he's the kid whose comfort really just adds up to a big fat hug and a sodapop, and then he's a-ok!

i am, on the other hand, prickly and impossible. especially when i'm upset. i am not good at being nurtured, or comforted. i've learned to (politely) ask my loved ones to knock it off and give me a bit of breathing room; i need the space to get upset and deal with my shit on my own. too much hugging or frantic questions or comfort makes me feel suffocated and angry and i can't HANDLE IT OH MY GOD GET AWAY FROM ME. even thinking about it later makes me feel irritated. i know that my dears encounter a complicated, high maintenance task when they venture to emotionally support me; i want to know my loved ones are available and willing to be there, but if they breach the invisible barrier of comfort without being invited, i freak out. my mother has spent twentysomething years trying to balance her need to HUG IT OUT with my greatest desire to set fire to anyone who invades my personal space past the level of comfort.

one of the hardest things in this world is to let someone else take care of you. (and by that, i mean that if you come too close to me i may or may not lose it and stab you with a toothpick. or maybe give you a papercut. STAY. BACK.) obviously, self-sufficiency and autonomy are fantastic things (er, so i tell myself), but it's not bad to have support, or help, or love. or to accept those things from people who love you and want to give them to you. this is not a battle that has gotten easier, but it's something i'm continuing to make an effort to contend with, since i don't want to end up a crazy old bat, living in a hut in the woods, completely estranged from humanity.

anyway, after regrettably yelling at my brother for trying to hug me too much as i wept, i wiped off my smeared eyeliner (charming), and as i drove him the rest of the way home at 45 miles an hour on the freeway, i spoke to him about respecting the boundaries of other people. despite the honking of all those fecking speeders (70 MPH? how dare you.), we made it through just fine.

your weekly dose of poetry

2010-11-29T10:09:00.000-08:00

"Gravity"
Maura O'Connor

Today I am fragile
pale
twitching
insane and full of purpose.

I'm thinking of my lover:
my soft hips pressing his coarse belly,
my tongue on a salmon nipple,
his hand buried in my thick orange hair
the telephone ringing.

I'm thinking we tend our illnesses
as if they are our children:
fevered
screaming
demanding attention and twenty dollar bills,
hours we could have spent making love with the television on.

Faith is a series of calculations
made by an idiot savant.
I'm in love.
I'm alone
in this city of painted boxes
stacked like alphabet blocks
spelling nothing.

There are things I know:
trees don't sing
birds don't sprout leaves
roses bloom because that's what roses do,
whether we write poems for them
or not.

I concentrate on small things:
ivy threaded through chain link,
giveaway kittens huddled in a soggy cardboard box,
a fat man blowing a harmonica
through a beard of rusty wires
brown birds chattering furiously on power lines.

I try not to think about
lung cancer, AIDS,
the chemicals in the rain;
things I can't imagine any more than
a color I've never seen.

My heart is graffiti on the side of a subway train,
a shadow on the wall made by a child.
Nothing has been fair since my first skinned knee

I believe death
must be.

I cling to love as if it were an answer.
I go on buying eggs and bread,
boots and corsets,
knowing I'll burn out before the sun.

I'm thinking of
the days I tried to stay awake
while the billboards and TV ads
for condoms, microwave brownies, and dietetic jello
lulled me to sleep.

A brown-eyed girl once told me a secret
that should have blown this city
into a mass of unconnected atoms
Our sewage is piped to the sea.
Beggars in the street
are hated for having the nerve
to die in public.

Charity requires paperwork,
Relief requires medication

as if we were the afterthoughts of institutions
greater than our rage.

Gravity chains us to the asphalt with such grace
we think it is kind.

We all go on buying lottery tickets
Diet Coke and toothpaste
as if the sky over our heads
were the roof of a guilded cage.

We provide evidence that we were here:

initials cut into cracked vinyl bus seats,
into trees growing from squares
of concrete,
a name left on a stone, an office building,
a flower, a disease, a museum,
a child.
Tonight the stars glitter like rhinestones
on a black suede glove.

In the coffin my room has become,
I talk to God
about the infrequency of rain
about people who can't see the current gentleness
running under the pale crust of my skin.

I tell him under
the jackhammer crack, the diesel truck rumble,
even the clicking sound traffic lights make
switching from yellow to red,
there is a silence
swallowing
every song,
conversation,
every whisper made beside graves
or in the twisted white sheets of love.

I tell him I can't fill it
with dark wine, blue pills,
a pink candle lit at the altar
the lover
touching my hair.
God doesn't answer.
God doesn't know our names.

He's only the architect
designing the places we occupy
like high rise offices or ant hills

I know this
the way I know
sunrise and sunset
are caused by the endless turning
of the Earth.

ebb and flow

2010-11-26T22:25:00.000-08:00

my holiday wishlist includes a few simple, but significant things:

-fuzzy socks
-good books
-pleasant surprises

the latter primarily refers to people.

you know, i was always envious of those people who managed to maintain a solid core group of friends from high school (sometimes earlier) on. between moving a million times and being an antisocial teenager, i never managed to acquire that kind of herd. i do have a solid collection of long time friends, but they are scattered across the US (sometimes, even outside of that), which makes it difficult to communicate with them and rely on them when it feels like a rough patch is upon me.

right now i feel like i'm going through a sort of social changeover. some of my friendships feel like they are changing for the worse (or for the distant), and my core group of friends is disconnecting into a group of acquaintances i have a deep and faraway fondness for. i feel incredibly disconnected from many of my cohorts. with some of them, the distance is due to their behavior, and with others, it's a product of many, many miles between us. and with a lingering few, it's a side effect of growing up and having different lives. the most upsetting, though, is the disconnect caused by the behavior of others; a lot of it is behavior that i don't have confidence in talking out with anyone. i don't think it would do anything other than cause an argument, which is not really something i'm interested in engaging in. i used to be down for the battle it out arguments because i thought that communication was the end all, be all solution to problems, but sometimes, it is truly better to keep your mouth shut. or rather, sometimes it's better to keep my mouth shut.

i guess this is a normal part of growth and change. even so, it fills me with sorrow to feel detached from so many of my favorite people, and it makes me want to run away. i've been trying to stick here in the bay--it was my two year anniversary in june, and i've been trying not to move so much. stay in one place! stick it out! when change like this happens, though, i have to fight all of my instincts that encourage me to make a break for it. it's difficult, even when the vast majority of my life, at this moment, is divine.

i'm sure that part of this melancholic feeling is related to stress at work, and the time of year. thanksgiving is the last real holiday i spent with my dad. he died in 2008, but the last time i saw him (when he wasn't attached to a bunch of hospital tubes) was thanksgiving in 2006. i almost forgot that this was the four year mark. as i was driving to work this morning, with the sun shining in my eyes, the thought popped into my head without prompt. an interesting development in grief: thoughts like this used to make me feel like i'd been unexpectedly punched in the stomach. nowadays, it sinks in as an understanding, a recognition, and the only response i can muster is, "oh."

i wish i knew what the magic trick was for maintaining friendships and relationships that feel perpetually fulfilling. the isolation that washed over me today was overwhelming. i imagine the ebb and flow is a normal component of human interaction, but i'm not sure. i do my best to reach out to others and connect with them, listen to them and share myself and my life, and yet these times come regardless. how do you beat the blues when you're in ninety percent ebb, ten percent flow?

so for the holidays, i'd like some pleasant surprises. i want people to come through when i don't expect them to. i want the love in my life to be tangible.

my solution for today is simple: drink a beer, write it down, and curl up among some cuddly blankets and go to sleep. the best thing i can do for myself is lay my head on a pillow and hope that my dreams are a better state. i'm hoping that by the time i wake, the sun will have washed away all of the cynicism and sadness i'm carrying around with me. tomorrow is new.

found in the city of angels

2010-11-22T22:27:00.001-08:00

whenever you lose your way, remember that your feet can take you anywhere.
most importantly, they can take you forward.

learning and lessons

2010-11-18T17:35:00.000-08:00

for a long while now, i've wanted to update with something about my job. i've been here about six months (although i was volunteering in this field before that), and i already cannot imagine doing anything else. i had dreamed of working in social services for a few years, but i was still working out major issues in my personal life, and i wasn't content to give up on the arts as a career option. however, i'm so glad that this opportunity came up when it did, because as i said, i cannot imagine doing anything else, and i love my job more than i can express.

oh, and for those of you who aren't keeping up: i work in a domestic violence shelter.

it's definitely one of the most difficult jobs i've ever had, but i've found that my passion for it completely balances out the hard days. in the brief time i've been here, i have learned more about myself and about people than i could have ever imagined. i've wanted to talk about the lessons i've learned, but i'm not sure how to do so without falling into an entire cheesefest. the cliches will abound! i'm not entirely sure how to describe my depth of feeling.

working with women who are traumatized and potentially suffering from severe mental illness/substance abuse issues presents the dichotomy of humanity's capacity for both kindness and cruelty. some of the things that have happened to these women (and sometimes, what these women have done themselves) are unfathomably awful. the emotional and physical torture they've endured, the manipulation they have and continue to suffer at the hands of their abuser, and the abandonment they receive from their family, friends and loved ones is absolutely heartbreaking. sometimes their sorrow and anger are so palpable that i have to stifle my own tears as they tell me their story.

at the same time, these women often remain shockingly generous, optimistic, and kind. their capacity for love is not diminished, and their ability to laugh can be astonishing. although i'm not at all unfamiliar with being forced to find humor in horrible situations, it can still be shocking to hear that from someone who is in the midst of suffering. their optimism and determination is a constant source of inspiration; if they can work as hard as they do when they are going through so much, why can't i? why can't everyone else? they are a testament to how when things get rough, you still have to get up out of bed, tie your shoelaces, and keep going. the world doesn't stop revolving because shitty things are happening, so call the people you need to call, and do what you have to do. don't shut out the people you need. don't give out more than you can afford. remember that there is always someone who has it worse. they've taught me the power of a simple "thank you" to someone who has run themselves ragged helping you--even the smallest show of gratitude or appreciation makes the entire world different. and they've taught me that ultimately, we have no one but ourselves to rely on. in crisis, this may seem terrifying--to only have yourself. the truth is, though, that you are the strongest person that you know. this much, i promise.

when i started this job, i didn't realize that one of the job hazards would be to deal with the reactions of strangers when telling them where i work and what i do. apparently, the subject is something that people feel passionate about to allow common courtesy to fly right out the window.

two experiences that immediately come to mind:

a russian man at a bar telling me that "the destruction of manhood is the root of domestic violence!" the guy had already pissed me off by criticizing my drinking (apparently ordering a guinness and a shot of whiskey is not ladylike enough for him--EXCUSE ME AS I DESTROY YOUR MANHOOD WITH MY LOVE OF BOOZE. watch out, gentlemen! next thing you know i'll be doing something really egregious, like wearing pants and demanding equal pay. can you feel your testosterone depleting and penis shriveling away? IS YOUR MANHOOD DISINTEGRATING BEFORE YOUR VERY EYES?), and then when i told him what i do, he ventured to tell me about this half-witted theory of his. i told him that i disagreed, but tried to be good-natured and listen to his point of view. i asked him what he defined as manhood, which he couldn't answer. he told me to look at him--he is a real man, and then made the mistake of inquiring, "can't you look at me and see there is a difference between me and other men?" cue lulz. i replied, "uh, not really," and which point he told me, "you can go fuck yourself. i can show you how i'm a real man. do you want me to show you?" i ended the conversation shortly thereafter. i do not need to be introduced to his, uh, manhood.

the second experience is far less irritating and comes from a better place. i was at a yelp event with my dear friend matthew (one of my most hilarious and dear drinking buddies), and we started socializing with some people sitting at our table. this woman ended up spending forty five minutes, fervidly recalling her account of sexual assault and near rape at a frat party when she was in college. obviously, she needed to talk about this and get it out, but it was a little much for me at a lighthearted social function in which i planned to eat, drink, and otherwise be merry.

of course, i suppose these are exceptions to the rule, and the most extreme reactions i've received thus far. that said, the reaction is rarely mild and uninterested. even the gracious, respectful people who commend me for my work sometimes make me uncomfortable if their gushing gets excessive; i am not any more inherently extraordinary or wonderful because i do this. no one is a bad person for not wanting to work in the social services. i didn't choose to get involved in this job because i am some kind of saint! i'm just interested in people, and i want to make a tangible impact on the world around me. i believe this life happens exactly once. i'm not relying on a deity to make this reality tolerable, which means that for me, my purpose is to make this world one worth living in, both for myself and for others.

additionally, another big motivation for doing this work is that i am a domestic violence and rape survivor. i have a personal interest in supporting other women who have also experienced that trauma. i understand how difficult it can be, and how it can disintegrate your self-worth and sense of well being. no one deserves to feel that way, and every survivor needs all of the support they can get, especially when we live in a rape-culture where victims "deserve what they got" and where perpetual, systematic, debilitating assault is considered a "private issue". working in this field is just as much for me as it is for the people i work with.

i'm lucky to have found something that inspires me with such fervency at such a young age. i'm lucky that i work for a completely amazing agency that has helped women and children for as long as i've been alive. you should know that i get to meet the most amazing women, and i get to say that about them when i'm meeting them at their worst. can you imagine what they're like at their best? i hope to someday be as brave and beautiful as they are. i only wish i could express to them how much they have done and continue to do for me.

the power of your intense fragility

2010-11-18T17:30:00.000-08:00

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

e.e. cummings

Hark, hark, the watchdogs bark!

2010-11-15T10:59:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I get so caught up in the life outside of my house that I forget how important it is to maintain the sanity inside of the house. My wardrobe becomes a floordrobe, I start a small collection of half filled water glasses and tea mugs by my bed, and the minute I go to wash my bedding, it never quite makes it back on and I end up sleeping in a blanket-burrito. Eventually it gets to the point where I don't want to deal with it, so I find excuses to escape, and get depressed when I'm home. However, I refuse to keep doing that to myself. Today's major goal is to pull myself out of the messy pit and make my home a sanctuary! How can one even think when surrounded by such chaos? Today, I'm going to shove, er, ahem, I mean organize, fold, and hang all of my clothing back into the appropriate storage, and go to Ikea to find me some bookshelves, which are direly needed.

Back when I moved, my bookcase fell apart. I decided to be super handy (a la Lucille Ball) by simply using packing tape to keep it in one piece, and then leaning it against the wall, hoping that the wall would be a good influence and encourage the bookcase to remain sturdy. After having a moment of, "I am a grown-ass woman (in theory) and I have a bookcase being held together by tape, WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE!?!?" I tore the bookcase down, and put the books on my floor. In theory, this should motivate me to go get a goddamn bookshelf...right?

Fast forward three months later, my desk is now a bookshelf and my room is starting to look eerily similar to when I was sixteen years old. Last night, I fell asleep on top of my clean laundry, with a bowl of hummus next to my pillow, my laptop within arm's reach, and one beer bottle, two tea mugs, and four water glasses on the nightstand.

Honestly, I'm stoked on being single, but I may have to consider getting a boyfriend if that would serve as a motivator for making my room look like a habitable place.

In the mean time, let's procrastinate with some sparkling, fizzling goodies:

Cutting Ball's The Tempest

As a lover of classical theatre (and someone who has taken an English class, any English class), I've seen and read a lot of Shakespeare. Even so, it never gets remotely tiresome, especially when I come across a show that I'm not so familiar with, like The Tempest. I've seen one other show at Cutting Ball (if I remember, I saw The Bald Soprano with one of my favorite theatre dates, Quinn) that I liked quite a bit, and The Tempest certainly didn't disappoint.

Three actors played all twelve roles, which seems to be a new standard for performances of this particular show. Although sometimes it got a little convoluted (especially in the climax of the show, when all of the characters finally come into one room), it was an extremely clever and entertaining adaptation of the show. Often times, the productions I've seen that try to give a classic an avant-garde twist seem like they're trying too hard, but Cutting Ball manages to deliver this zany interpretation almost effortlessly. It almost seems as if it was meant to be performed this way! The set was described in the program as, "a psychiatrist's office at the bottom of a swimming pool," where the three primary characters played out all twelve, which were presented as manifestations of their psyches. With the use of trapdoors and audiovisual effects, the audience was transported all over the lost isle. The actors were extremely skilled at distinguishing each character they played from the next, even while switching between personas in front of the audience's eyes. I was especially fond of Caitlyn Louchard's character transitions; she fluidly switched from Miranda to Ariel to Trinculo, all who possessed a vastly different energy, voice, and demeanor. When watching performers like Donell Hill, Caitlyn Louchard, and David Sinaiko get onstage, I remember why I loved theatre for so long. Their tireless energy and dedication to sincerity in performance is inspiring to watch.

Cutting Ball is located at the Exit Theater, in the Tenderloin of San Francisco, which offers a cozy space with truly intimate theatre. A huge congratulations to them, by the way, for hiring the first Managing Director in their history! I expect we'll see much more from them in the near future. In the mean time, make sure to show your support by buying one of their super cool t-shirts and/or becoming a season subscriber. I was going to include a photo of me, excitedly wearing the tshirt, but the best I could do is this:

A photo in which I felt like a complete douchebag, with an unenthusiastic thumbs up, as I stood on the edge of my bathtub in an effort to catch a clip of the rad t-shirt.

Service Announcement: This douchery is not a side effect of Cutting Ball or their tshirt. It's my own malfunction called "Why Isn't There A Fecking Web Cam On This Computer?!"

The Tempest runs at the Cutting Ball Theater through November 28th.

Lena Dunham

Now, I am a Jezebel fan, but often times I won't get a chance to sit through and watch the videos they post or get all of the good stuff, so I'll bookmark things and come back to them later. Unfortunately, this means that some things can get caught in the shuffle. Luckily, Lena Dunham is not one of them! I went back and saw this post that talks about her film, Tiny Furniture, which was just released in New York and soon to be released elsewhere, and her attitude approaching her work. My first impression when I watched the video was, "Wow. She is so not Hollywood. I love it!" Her face, actually, initially reminded me of an old friend of mine (a brilliant writer and poet named Jen Westhale). The more that I tracked down about her made me associate her with Westhale even more--the wit, the humor, the brilliance! It's so refreshing to see smart and pretty ladies using their brains to get somewhere, and giving the big ol' middle finger to those who say that anyone who has a vagina is incapable of being funny or successful unless they fall into a very specific role. Dunham proves, once again, that women are more than just the ingenue or the sex symbol. I will make sacrifices of small fuzzy animals to see her film in a theatre. SMALL FUZZY ANIMALS! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!

Check out her website above, and let's all be sure that we get ourselves to see Tiny Furniture. Apparently there's a screening in San Francisco on December 10th...who wants to be my date?

Also, make sure to check out the aforementioned writer and poet friend, Jen Westhale. Her blog is here, and her amazing jewelry/craft business is here. You won't be disappointed.

The Frenemy

This is one of my new favorite blogs! Obviously, I feel some affinity for Alida, the Frenemy ringleader, due to both being of the same age, being single, and possessing the proclivity for drinking cheap wine in excess (followed by questionable decisions). Not to mention that I think we might be leading the same life. I've been reading her fairly religiously, but this recent post jumped out at me the most. Especially the below.

So..do us a favor...Our demands are reasonable, give us a little more than we’re expecting. Call us back. Let us know you’re thinking about us. Buy us a shot of whiskey when we look thirsty. No matter how sarcastic and shitty we can get, tell us we’re pretty or something. I mean, whenever I step out of my track shorts and into a pair of normal people pants, I’m trying to impress you. So note it, you fucker. However, most of all, don’t leave us hanging. It sucks. I mean, we’ll drink anyway, but you don’t want us to drink more because of you. Open a door once in a while, too. We’re not fragile, but we’re not fucking unhurtable. We’re those unbreakable wine goblets that actually break if you throw them on the ground hard enough. We can get damaged.

So listen, buddy. Make us laugh, let us make you laugh, and drink with us until we’re tired. It’s not much, it’s not ‘knight in shining armor’ (which you’re probably not capable of) It’s real, for real.

Isn’t that easy enough?

Thank you, Alida!

Well, I'm off to rub last night's smeared make up off my face and shop for cheap Swedish furniture that may very well lead me to turning into Tyler Durden some day. Hell, I'm convinced that early adulthood is merely a route to insanity.

i don't think i've posted this one before...

2010-11-12T23:47:00.000-08:00

Tigers

by Eliza Griswold

What are we now but voices
who promise each other a life
neither one can deliver
not for lack of wanting
but wanting won’t make it so
We cling to a vine
at the cliff’s edge.
There are tigers above
and below. Let us love
one another and let go.

How The Internet Saved My Life

2010-11-12T10:06:00.000-08:00

I am so sick and tired of people banging on the heads of bloggers. I've had multiple friends and acquaintances mock my love of Livejournal, blogging, and social media in general (I should've known that not even a friendship would work out with MOC when he jumped on the bandwagon of blog derision). You know what? Stop raining on my god damn parade.

I'm the first to admit that I have to keep an eye on my internet usage; the internet is more of a vice than mine than any other (even more than cigarettes, older men, and yes, even more than WHISKEY). I can type "like the wind" (as a coworker put it--120 WPM, on a bad day), I can navigate almost everything on or in a computer, even when it's unfamiliar (although I'm not nearly smart enough to be an Official Computer Nerd, which means I probably can't articulate to you what I'm doing or how I'm doing it--I JUST MAKE IT HAPPEN, OK?), and I can find almost anything or anyone on the internet. Lastly, I am the QUEEN of social networking subtext, and I've used it repeatedly to accurately predict how things would play out between people (or to interpret the stages of relationships people go through). These skills seem generally useless to me, but I gain great pleasure out of using them (for the most part), so I spend an exorbitant amount of time wrapped up in a virtual world.

One of the best things that happened this year was my laptop saying "Deuces!" and shutting down permanently. It left me without a computer at home for four months, which seriously curbed my ability to troll the intarwebs. I have to say that I missed the ability to get my words down on paper ("paper") more than anything else. I have several handwritten journals, but I've noticed that my written voice varies greatly between mediums. Plus, written script can't compete with the flow that comes from typing so fast. At the same time, though, it gave me the opportunity to remind myself how much I love reading, drawing, and IRL socializing infinitely more than spending time on the silly internet. I developed a new appreciation of privacy, and in general, it taught me to use all the things I love about the internet more efficiently and intelligently. Now that I'm back to my old interneting ways, I'm making a better use of my time, and enjoying it more. Even so, I missed my old bloggin' ways.

The wet blankets against blogging tend to make accusations of blogging being boring, narcissistic, and pointless, but you know what I have to say to that? Fuck you. Blogging, and the internet, saved my life. Maybe that sounds melodramatic to you, but it's true.

I spent my early life perpetually being "The New Kid" (I went to thirteen schools before I graduated high school), which combined with being a mouthy booknerd (complete with glasses), made me a perfect target for bullies. Male bullies especially took a liking to picking on me. My theory is that because I had brothers, I thought we could all just be friends while tussling and joking around (despite my femme-y ways, I was a tomboy once), and apparently, this was Not Allowed. Girls can't be friend with boys, remember? EW, COOTIES. I remember being regularly pushed around, knocked over, and having my hair pulled by groups of boys that didn't like my attitude. In fifth grade, I was jumped by two older boys on my walk home from school; they hit me so hard that I couldn't hear out of my left ear for several days. My parents pulled me from school, and I ended up spending a few months of fifth grade at home, alone, surfing AOL chatrooms and eating Top Ramen.

I spent a lot of time "losing" my glasses.
Which means I was walking around half-blind all of the time.

Even though I'd already learned how to type (thank YOU to Mario and Luigi--there was a Mario Brothers typing game that I played religiously when I was about five years old), the AOL chatrooms were my first real introduction to the internet. I wanted to talk to people because I was lonely at home. I lied and told everyone I was thirteen or fourteen, since I thought they wouldn't speak to me otherwise (I was right--I still faced a lot of contempt for being "thirteen"). I started surfing the religious discussion chatrooms (which later inspired me to do my own research), my curiosity led me to porn (there was a lot of "ew"ing, as you can imagine), and of course, I did some trolling (for example: Enter the Wiccan chatroom, type in "YOU ARE ALL SATAN WORSHIPPERS!!!!" Shitstorm starts; hilarity ensues!).

Even though many people were appalled that I was supposedly thirteen and surfing the web unattended, there were a few kind folks who would chat with me about school, religion, their lives, whatever. I don't know if anyone ever figured out that I was actually a dejected nine year old, surfing for some human connection. I only had one scary incident: I had been talking to some kid that turned out to be a man in his early twenties. He tracked down my phone number (I did NOT give it to him) and called my mom's house, asking for me. Other than that, my interactions with everyone were pleasant and filled the time I spent at home with something other than cartoons.

The bullying and violence in my life got worse in junior high. I remember girls in seventh grade telling me how ugly I was and how I should go kill myself. The small town I spent my teenage years in was an intellectual wasteland. Being intellectual and an "out-of-towner" meant that I was the unwelcome outsider. I remember being ostracized for being a "weirdo," because I knew about semi-obscure musicals, brought Bertrand Russell books to school, loved theatre and art, and ate sushi. Being mouthy, cutting my hair short and not acting all flirty to the boys my own age meant that I was a "dyke bitch." I can't count the times I spent lunch sitting at a picnic table by myself, or worse, crying in a bathroom stall with my lunch in my lap. To boot, my first serious boyfriend was not a wonderful dude, and our relationship ended up trailing off into teenage domestic violence. I suffered from depression that was so intense that in high school I developed debilitating migraines.

The internet continued to be a sanctuary for me. It allowed me to research philosophy and religion and introduce me to schools of thought and people that were more like me. As I got older, I started keeping a journal on Bolt, then Melo, and finally, Livejournal. This connected me to all kinds of people who were different but could empathize, who supported and encouraged me. People who recognized my mind as something valuable, rather than worthy of contempt. I feel fortunate that I figured out how to use the internet in this way, what with this rash of recent suicides. Later, my depression was so severe that I later had my own brush with suicide, but during my early teenage years, I can easily say that the support system I developed from blogging kept me from feeling alone and pained enough to go that far. I still have friends from when I first started writing in Livejournal!

So is blogging narcissistic? I will concede that yeah, it probably is. After all, in the case of my blog, it's me talking about myself. Why shouldn't I talk about myself, though? To this day, writing remains the best way for me to work out what's going on in my life and how I feel about it. It allows me to process the events in my day to day life, and gives me insight to myself and others. It documents the days I've spent on this planet, and earmarks important moments in my life, which often can become muddled and forgotten with time. I'm not forcing anyone to read about me, nor insisting anyone comment or tell me how wonderful I am. I don't market myself practically at all (outside of perhaps announcing "Yo, I updated.").

Is blogging boring? Maybe to you. Granted, there are some blogs I cannot stomach to sit through because they are so mundane, but I'm sure there are some people who feel the same way about mine. Isn't that just a matter of personal preference? In general, I find other people interesting. I find their lives and their perspectives fascinating. I love to know what's going on with other people, why they do what they do, and what has changed in their world. Maybe this is why I enjoy the counseling aspect of my job so much. I love engaging with people on an intimate, in-yo-face level, and you don't always get to do that in person. Sometimes it's too intense, sometimes there are social barriers, and sometimes, the person just doesn't know you well enough to discuss their personal business with you straight up (who knows if you'll be interested, who knows if you'll scoff, etc.). The facelessness of the internet and the removed quality of writing can allow someone to share the rawest aspects of themselves with less reproach. These are things that I love about blogging, and the internet.

I'm sick of the blogging nay-sayers!! If you find blogs inane, boring, narcissistic, whathaveyou--then don't read them! It's that easy. If you cannot recognize the benefits of this world, then don't be a part of it. You just don't get it, and that's ok. You go do your little non-blogging business, and I'm going to write about how you make me feel (probably while drinking red wine and crying, you meanie!). Really, though--I know that I certainly don't need your disdain, and neither do any of these wonderful people right here (and here and here and here).

yes

2010-11-07T15:09:00.001-08:00

Come on sweetheart.
Let's adore one another
before there is no more
of you and me.

...
A mirror tells the truth:
Look at your grim face.
Brighten up and cast away
your bitter smile.

A generous friend
gives his life for a friend.
Let's rise above this brutish behavior
and be kind to one another.

Spite darkens friendships.
Why not cast away
malice from our heart?

Once you think of me
dead and gone
you will make up with me.
You will miss me.
You may even adore me.

Why be a worshiper of the dead?
Think of me as a dead man.
Come and make up now.

Since you will come
and throw kisses
at my tombstone later,
why not give them to me now?
This is me.
That same person.

I may talk too much
but my heart is silence.
What else can I do?
I am condemned to live this life.

~ Jalal ad-Dīn Muhammad Rumi

I'm not sorry there's nothing to say

2010-11-07T14:52:00.001-08:00

Ms. Simmer never fails to deliver.

Izzy the Dragon Slayer

2010-11-04T17:52:00.000-07:00

The most inconvenient time to ask your aunt to hold you is when she's teeter tottering on four inch heels, holding her purse in her left hand and her half empty champagne glass in the right. You know she'll cart you around anyway since she thinks you're the bee's knees.

hello, hello again.

2010-11-03T19:26:00.000-07:00

Life remains fan-freaking-tastic! 2010 has really turned around (and after all that griping, too)! This is the first time in my life that I've really felt a sense of inner equanimity, and I believe I've discovered my...I don't know. Inner foundation? I'm not sure there's a graceful way to articulate how I feel, except that things are on an even keel that I hadn't been able to achieve prior to this. I am notoriously moody (or as my mother would say, whimsical!), which, when combined with being young, makes for a perpetually overemotional rollercoaster. I'm still moody, but it feels like I've somehow settled into myself.

A huge part of this has been setting my boundaries, which is something I've been terrible at in the past. The job that I have right now has such an emotional drain that in a big way, I've been forced to establish more intense boundaries for my own sanity. After starting with that minimum, it turned into something bigger, and more satisfying, which has allowed me to set my life on my terms. Obviously, sometimes there is a need for compromise, but I've gotten better at establishing when it's appropriate for that compromise to come into the picture. This alone has increased my confidence, especially because once I called one or two mental/spiritual/emotional vampires out on their bull shit, they floundered. Floundered and failed. What used to be a devastating battle of wills has become a mere annoyance.

Additionally, my dating life has improved significantly. The minute I actually believed I deserved better, it showed up. Being treated well by others (friends, family, romantic interests) is a massive improvement in my life. If someone can't recognize my value from the get go, then they can get out. Easy peasy. (That's the way it should've been in the first place.)

As for day to day life, the past month or so has been full of fun. I dropped down to one job, which I thought I would regret (in the past, I have loved having multiple jobs, even if it meant I was crazy busy and usually exhausted). Having more freedom within my schedule has helped me focus on the job at hand, and generally improved my quality of life. Plus, being out of the theatre world is a welcome change (something I never thought I'd say!). I am so over the melodrama, politics and gossip. I'm sick of the love/hate relationship that happens between coworkers. Bleh. I miss some of the social aspect (and of course, some of the lovely people), but not much else.

I drove to Encinitas in my father's memory, and spent his birthday there. My flatmates managed to turn me into a bandwagon Giants fan at a pumpkin carving/beer drinking party held at our house. I went to a long time friend's Halloween party dressed as a glitter zombie (accompanied by none other than the lovely Red Riding Hood). I hung out with my three year old niece, who is absolutely hilarious and one of my favorite people. My brother got married, and I got all dressed up. Et cetera.

Things move on. This life is a good one.

yum.

2010-09-30T21:01:00.000-07:00

please do

scuse this poem-gasm.

2010-09-16T20:01:00.000-07:00

"Slow Dance" by Tim Seibles

Some days I can go nearly an hour
without thinking of the taste
of your mouth. Right now, I’m at school
watching teenagers fidget through a test.
Outside, the sky is smoky and streets are wet
and two grackles step lightly in yellow grass.

Two weeks ago in Atlantic City
I stood on the boardwalk
and looked out across the water -
the railing was cool, broken shells
dappled the beach – I had been
playing the slot machines
and lost all but a dollar. I
tried to picture you in Paris,
learning the sound of your new country
where, at that moment, it was already night.

I thought maybe you’d be out
walking with the street lights
glossing your lips, with your eyes
deep as this field of water.
Maybe someone was looking at you
as you paused under the awning
of a bakery where the smell
of newly risen bread buttered the air.

I remember those suede boots
you wore to the party last December,
your clipped hair, your long arms
like the necks of swans. I remember
how seeing the shape of your mouth
that first time, I kept staring
until my blood turned to rain.

Some things take root
in the brain and just don’t
let go. We went to
a movie once – I think
it was “The Dead” – and
near the end a woman
told a story about a boy
who used to sing: how, at 17,
she loved him, how that
same year he died. She
remembered late one night
looking out to the garden
and he was there calling her
with only the slow sound
in his eyes.

Missing someone is like hearing
a name sung quietly from somewhere
behind you. Even after you know
no one is there, you keep looking back
until on a silver afternoon like this
you find yourself breathing just enough
to make a small dent in the air.

Just now a student, an ivory-colored girl
whose nose crinkles when she laughs, asked me
if she could “go to the bathroom,”
and suddenly I knew I was old enough
to never ask that question again.

When I look back across my life,
I always see the schoolyard -
monkey-bars, gray asphalt, and one huge tree -
where I played the summer days into rags.
I didn’t love anybody yet, except maybe
my parents who I loved mainly when they
left me alone. I used to have wet dreams
about a girl named Diane. She was a little
older than me. I wanted to kiss her so bad
that just walking past her house
I would trip over nothing but the chance
that she’d be on the porch. Sometimes
she’d wear these cut-off jeans, and
a scar shaped like an acorn shone
above her knee. In some dreams I would
barely touch it, then explode. Once

in real life, at a party on Sharpnack Street
I asked her to dance a slow one with me.
The Delfonics were singing I’ll never
hear the bells and, scared nearly blind,
I pulled her into the sleepy rhythm
where my body tried to explain.
But half-a-minute deep into the song
she broke my nervous grip and walked away -
she could tell I didn’t know
what to do with my feet. I wonder
where she is now, and all those people
who saw me standing there
with the music filling my hands.

Woman, I miss you, and some afternoons
it’s all right. I think of that lemon drink
you used to make and the stories -
about your grandmother, about the bees
that covered your house in Africa, the nights
of gunfire, and the massing of giant frogs
in the rain. I think about the first time
I put my arm around your shoulder. I think
of couscous and white tuna, that one lamp
blinking on and off by itself, and those plums
that would brood for days on the kitchen counter.

I remember holding you against the sink,
with the sun soaking the window, the soft call
of your hips, and the intricate flickers
of thought chiming your eyes. Your mouth,
like a Saturday. I remember your
long thighs, how they
opened on the sofa, and the pulse
of your cry when you came, and
sometimes I miss you
the way someone drowning
remembers the air.

I think about these students
in class this afternoon, itching
through this hour, their bodies new
to puberty, their brains streaked
with grammar – probably none of them
in love, how they listen to my voice
and believe my steady, adult face,
how they wish the school day would
hurry past, so they could start
spending their free time again, how
none of them really understands
what the clock is always teaching
about the way things disappear.

players only love you when they're playing

2010-08-25T19:26:00.001-07:00

dot.

these days i'm spending most of my time immersed in work, books, and somewhere between wine and tea drunk, depending on the time of day. the first day of this bay area heat wave killed me, but i adjusted quickly (i was scared for a moment there that i'd become a bay area wienie and couldn't handle the heat anymore!) and i've been reveling in it since. fuck, i love summer nights. LOVE. every night, i take the long way home just so i can dance off my work stress (which has led to an interesting interaction or two).

i love my new home. i have no internet (my computer's charger went kaput, and i've yet to replace it), so i've been spending so much time reading, listening to records, and laying on my cozy lavender bedding. every time i've moved i've managed to finagle a free bed that's bigger than the one i previously possessed--lucky me!--and i'm finding it harder and harder to un-sprawl myself from the massive space i call mine each morning.

i signed up for an oakland library card. there's a cute little branch right down the street from my place, right next to godspeed (A PLACE I KNOW I WILL BE FREQUENTING SOON. $7 UNLIMITED WAFFLES & BACON? ...it's shit like this that explains why i'm fat), and i imagine i'll be spending a lot of time there in the near future. the branch is small, but they have access to anything within the oakland library system, and they have picnic tables on the side of the building, as well as a grassy area out front.

not having internet has been frustrating at times, but i'm actually enjoying it. who woulda thunk? removing myself from the bull shit subtext of social networking has been a relief on the mind. i feel like i freed up so much space in my brain. i still update both facebook and twitter and whatnot with my phone, but it's less obsessive, time consuming, time wasting! i've rarely missed it. the only weird thing is how my friendships have degenerated into distant interactions--we're all passing ships in the night. i work a lot (between three jobs, that's to be expected), and i work mostly weird hours, so i've been mostly unavailable. i feel bad--i think about the people i regularly socialized with all the time, and i miss them, but having this space for myself and for focusing on the things that Really Matter has been gratifying in its own right. i'm just hoping that no one is offended by my absence; i don't know how important i was in that regard anyway.

dot.

a few nights back, wakefield j, d and i trekked out to alameda beach. it was in the midst of the heatwave, so we picked up a couple of bottles of wine from tj's, and spread ourselves out on the moonlit beach. we laid out a big white blanket and turned on some tunes. eventually, the other wakefield and i ended up stripping down to wade waist deep into the water, where we stared at the moon and passed one of the wine bottles back and forth. there's something really personally satisfying about my two best friends getting along as well as they do. it was the perfect summer night--i mean, hey, if we're only going to get one or two, i couldn't ask for a better one.

sometimes i get stressed and sad, but that's just because i'm moody. learning to roll with it as it comes, because honestly, all in all, life is mostly good. not always supercalifragilistically fantastic, but you know. i'll take what i can get.

this makes me happy.

2010-08-25T19:25:00.001-07:00

Textbook Statistics
by Arkaye Kierulf

On average, 5 people are born every second and 1.78 die.
So we’re ahead by 3.22, which is good, I think.

The average person will spend two weeks in his life
waiting for the traffic light to change.

Pubescent girls wait two to four years
for the tender lumps under their nipples to grow.

So the average adult has over 1,460 dreams a year,
laughs 15 times a day. Children, 385 more times.

So the average male adult mates 2,580 times with five different people
but falls in love only twice in his life—possibly

with the same person. Seventy-nine long years for each of us,
awakened to love in our twenties, so more or less

thirty years to love our two lovers each. And if, in a lifetime,
one walks a total of 13,640 miles by increments,

Where are you headed, traveler?
is a valid philosophical question to pose to a man, I think, along with

Why does the blood in your veins travel endlessly?
on account of those red cells flowing night and day

through the traffic of the blood vessels, which if laid out
in a straight line would be over 90,000 miles long.

The great Nile River in Egypt is 4,180 miles long.
The great circle of the earth’s equator is 24,903 miles.

Dividing this green earth among all of us
gives a hundred square feet of living space to each,

but our brains take only one square foot of it,
along with the 29 bones of the skull, so

if you look outside your window with your mind only,
why do you hear the housefly hum middle octave, key of F?

If you listen to the cat on the rug by the fire with
the 32 muscles in your ear, you will hear

100 different vocal sounds. Listen to the dog
wishing for your love: 10 different sounds.

If you think loneliness is beyond calculation,
think of the mole digging a tunnel underground

ninety-eight miles long to China
in one single night. If you think beauty escapes you

or your entire genealogical tree, consider the slug
with its four uneven noses, or the chameleon shifting colors

under an arbitrary light. Think of the deepest point
in the deepest ocean, the Marianas Trench in the Pacific,

do you think anyone’s sadness can be deeper? In 1681,
the last dodo bird died. In the 16th century,

Queen Elizabeth suffered from a fear of roses.
Anne Boleyn had six fingers. People fall in love

twice. The human heart beats 3 billion times — only — in a lifetime.
If you attempt to count all the stars in the galaxy, one

every second, it’ll take 3 thousand years, if you’re lucky.
As owls are the only birds that can see the color blue

the ocean is bluish, along with the sky and the eyes
of that boy who died alone by that little unnamed river

in your dreams one blue night of the war
of one of your lives. (Do you remember which one?)

Duration of World War 1: four years, 3 months, 14 days.
Duration of an equatorial sunset: 128 seconds, 142 tops.

A neuron’s impulse takes 1/1000 of a second,
a morning’s commute from Prospect Expressway

to the Brooklyn Bridge, about 90 minutes,
forty-five without traffic.

Time it takes for a flower to wilt after it’s cut from the stem: five days.
Time left our sun before it runs out of light: five billion years.

Hence the number of happy citizens under the red glow
of that sun: maybe 50% of us, 50% on good days, tops.

Number who are sad: maybe 70% on the good days—
especially on the good days. (The first emotion’s more intense, I think,

when caught up with the second.) So children grow faster in the summer,
their bright blue bodies expanding. The ocean, after all, is blue

which is why the sky now outside your window is bluish
expanding with the white of something beautiful, like clouds.

Fact: The world is a beautiful place—once in a while.
Another fact: We fall in love twice. Maybe more, if we’re lucky.

birthday crazies

2010-08-15T23:15:00.000-07:00

more poetry, but you aren't surprised

2010-08-14T03:20:00.000-07:00

It's Good We Only See Each Other Once a Week
by Phillip Lopate

It's good we only see each other once a week.
A young man about to move in with his fiancée
died of a sudden heart attack at twenty-six.
One hears these stories all the time.
The heart is trained to handle deprivation,
not unforeseen happiness. Just as when you
throw your arms around me I start to overflow,
but then I think of course, where was she before?
I deserve it and a lot more besides—
your love gets soaked up quickly
and I pull back brooding over something
I never had.
But don't stop on that account, keep going.

I was brought up to make
the most of accidental brushes with kindness.
My pleasures were collected almost unawares
from stationary models, like the girl
who sat in front of me in tenth grade,
who let me stroke and braid her golden hair
and never acknowledged it.
I wouldn't know what to do with frontal love;
would I? One snowy winter night in Montreal
I felt so great I danced a flamenco
and insisted that everyone call me Fernando.
But then I was by myself. And last night,
if there are many more nights
like last night with you —
when I think of all my nights of total happiness
I get the panicky sense that the balance
has already tipped,
and I will never again feel free
to pass myself off as a have-not.

Maybe it's good we only see each other once a week.
But don't stop on that account, keep going.

--
"It's Good We Only See Each Other Once a Week" by Phillip Lopate, from At the End of the Day. © Marsh Hawk Press, 2010.

poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry

2010-08-09T17:52:00.001-07:00

Aubade
by Pit Menousek Pinegar

It is a mistake to think, All this
will change, not because it won’t—
not even the cells in our bodies

remain the same; the bulb in the lamp
across the room will burn out,
need to be changed, the switch,

eventually—2000 5000 50,000
flicks later—will need replacing,
but because when you say All this

will change, you must subscribe
to loss more quickly, more completely
than necessary. I will not weep

about your going until you pull out
of the drive. I will not lie at dawn,
arm draped across your chest,

leg flung over yours and grieve
the sun. And later, when you are gone
and I empty of you, I will invite

something into the void: an iris
from the garden, an image, still warm,
the willful insistence of a poem.

how much do i love this? and how apt it is at this moment.

2010-08-02T12:51:00.001-07:00

“Have you ever defended a way of life you were on the verge of exhausting? Have you ever given service to a creed you no longer utterly believed? Have you ever told a girl you loved here and felt the faint nausea of eroding conviction? I have…What is Doubt? Each of us is like a planet. There’s the crust, which seems eternal. We are confident of who we are. If you ask, we can readily describe our current sate. I know my answers to so many questions as do you. What was your father like? Do you believe in God? Who’s your best friend? What do you want? Your answers are your current topography, seemingly permanent, but deceptively so. Because under that face of easy response, there is another You. And this wordless Being moves just as the instant moves; it presses upward without explanation, fluid, wordless, until the resisting consciousness has no choice but to give way.

It is Doubt (so often experienced as a weakness) that changes things. When a man feels unsteady, when he falters, when hard-worn knowledge evaporates before his eyes, he’s on the verge of growth. The subtle or violent reconciliation of the other person and the inner core often seems at first like a mistake, like you’ve gone the wrong way and you’re lost. But this is just emotional longing for the familiar. Life happens when the tectonic power of your speechless soul breaks through the dead habits of your mind. Doubt is nothing less than an opportunity to reenter the Present.”

John Patrick Shanley, Doubt preface

Doing this!

2010-07-29T20:04:00.000-07:00

Write a letter to these people:

Day 1 — Your Best Friend
Day 2 — Your Crush
Day 3 — Your parents
Day 4 — Your sibling (or closest relative)
Day 5 — Your dreams
Day 6 — A stranger
Day 7 — Your Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush
Day 8 — Your favorite internet friend
Day 9 — Someone you wish you could meet
Day 10 — Someone you don’t talk to as much as you’d like to
Day 11 — A Deceased person you wish you could talk to
Day 12 — The person you hate most/caused you a lot of pain
Day 13 — Someone you wish could forgive you
Day 14 — Someone you’ve drifted away from
Day 15 — The person you miss the most
Day 16 — Someone that’s not in your state/country
Day 17 — Someone from your childhood
Day 18 — The person that you wish you could be
Day 19 — Someone that pesters your mind—good or bad
Day 20 — The one that broke your heart the hardest
Day 21 — Someone you judged by their first impression
Day 22 — Someone you want to give a second chance to
Day 23 — The last person you kissed
Day 24 — The person that gave you your favorite memory
Day 25 — The person you know that is going through the worst of times
Day 26 — The last person you made a pinky promise to
Day 27 — The friendliest person you knew for only one day
Day 28 — Someone that changed your life
Day 29 — The person that you want tell everything to, but too afraid to
Day 30 — Your reflection in the mirror

A fantastic idea from Super Duper Fantastic.

Wait...do we actually have to send the letters? That might be a bad idea.

Polar Bears: What do we exist for?

2010-07-21T22:19:00.001-07:00

My least favorite dreams are the ones that resemble my real life so much that I can't entirely tell that they aren't real as I'm having them. It causes a lot of confusion and anxiety, and it's just a general drag (although I'm not much of a fan of anything other than daydreams due to a history of sleeping issues).

This morning, I had a dream that I was in bed, and as I woke up to look at my olive green wall, I saw a sign. It had a big red circle with a slash through it, and in the circle was the silhouette of a dancing bear. Yes, I dreamt that on my wall there was a sign that said "NO DANCING BEARS!"

Just...why?

This, coupled with the depressive funk I seem to have settled in, have made it clear that I need to fall in lust with life again (hey, if I can't be in love, I can at least want to get down, right?). Here's my list of things that will hopefully re-ignite my passion for being alive (or at the very least, make me feel a little giddy):

Get back into the snail mail
I owe several lovely people letters anyway, so why not start up again?

Do a reminiscent-of-Davis party night with my best friend
This means we stay up all night listening to music, talking, and sipping on vodka tonics until the sun rises--no bars allowed!

Ocean Beach bonfire
It doesn't have to be a Big Thing, but it's definitely something I'd like to do before the summer (albeit a joke of a summer--thanks, Bay Area!) fades away

Keep picking up my camera, and getting old film developed
I have a ton of old film that has been rotting in a box, and it's a fun, but also slightly terrifying mystery to find out what it beholds.

Plan a real trip for next year
Be it to Sweden, Encinitas or Arizona (or somewhere completely different). I don't CARE. I'm long overdue for a pilgrimage back to Encinitas, though, so I think that's probably going to be what I'm shooting for.

Send silly videos to my niece
My niece is soon to be three, and she loves recording silly videos for my sister in law to put on Facebook. I'm sure I can come up with a G-Rated version of the Lizz & Jess Show...right? I can already envision the sparkles and sock puppets that are going to come of this. EPIC.

Start cooking again (and actually update Fumbly Foodery & Other Fine Things)
I miss cooking/baking on a regular basis--it was such a catharsis, and now it's all gone because I've been too broke and too busy. Eff that noise. I need to get back into this.

Lastly, little things, like:
riding my bike, going on picnics, drinking wine on the downtown roof with the other Wakefield, doing double feature movie nights with amazing friends, playing music with friends (um, apparently I may be starting a cover band with a group of friends from karaoke? Awesome? YES. Hilarious/ridiculous? Obviously.), reading (I just finished Steppenwolf, which turned out to be absolutely amazing), taking bubble baths, daytrips to fun places that are nearby (can you believe that I've never been to Santa Cruz?), journaling, and going to theatre that isn't being produced by the two theatres I work for.

I need to get myself out of this funk, and out of my bubble.

What are things you all do to get yourself back on track when you find yourself in a rut? Any tips and/or tricks?

reading poetry is the best therapy, i swear.

2010-07-10T18:58:00.000-07:00

Damn it. It won't post the poem with the proper formatting.

Read it here.

Jumpstart

2010-07-10T12:50:00.000-07:00

I shall keep in contact with all things that cross my path, and trust all things that do not cross my path, and exert more greatly for further and further visions of the other world, and preach (if I can) in my work, and love, and attempt to hold down my lonely vanities so as to connect more and more with all things (and kinds of people), and believe that my consciousness of life and eternity is not a mistake, or a loneliness, or a foolishness--but a warm dear love of our poor predicament which by the grace of Mysterious God will be solved and made clear to all of us in the end, maybe only. Otherwise I cannot live.
-Jack Kerouac, August 1949

Tomorrow I'm picking up a camera again for the first time in three years.

Wish me luck.

Slide

2010-07-07T22:16:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have been caught up in:
-working too much
-preparing to move
-dealing with a shitstorm of health problems
-saying hello, hello, hello to friends from out of town, and
-saying goodbye, goodbye, goodbye to friends that are leaving (some temporarily, some devastatingly permanently)

Summer is usually my favorite season, but in the Bay Area, summer isn't much of a season at all. Actually, my one and only qualm with living in this lovely place is the lack of summer heat. While most people bitch and moan over it, I cannot get enough of 110+ degree weather. Remember when I went to Arizona last year? Ms. Florida was in a constant state of whine over the weather, but I was absolutely in heaven. Yolo County summers are also blazing hot, where summer days that drop to 99 or below are considered on the cool side of things. My dreams of summer are full of sticky heat, cotton candy, and driving through sunflower fields with all the windows down.

This summer, especially, has been a bummer in general, and the weather certainly doesn't help. To be honest, this whole year has been a bit of a letdown. We are already over halfway through 2010, the start of a new decade, and I can't say I'm impressed. It's been a year full of growth and friendship, which is something to be grateful for, but it hasn't been all that full of joy. On the flipside--not so much tragedy, either. I'll take what I can get. Lessons learned and love to show for it all is absolutely worthwhile, but I suppose I just wanted more. Price of an insatiable appetite: disappointment.

Whenever things feel strange and misplaced, I yearn to go home and watch the stars from an unlit road that's surrounded by dark fields. I crave walking through the streets of tiny towns, where due to the lack of traffic, the colors of the streetlights have become static. I want to go to the Yolo County Fair to interact awkwardly with people who went to the same junior high as me, eat the pink spun sugar of the gods (seriously...forget the blue stuff) and hop on the ferris wheel, where the view from the top is the vast blackness of the country. There's something less heartbreaking about loneliness when tangible alone-ness can be found. In the YC, I could find myself in the middle of a dark place and take in the world--truly revel in the empty roads, empty fields, empty sky. Granted, it wasn't far from civilization, but it was just far enough to feel small.

I can't really call Woodland home; after all, Woodland was no more my home than all of the other places I spent my childhood in. But it definitely holds a fat piece of my heart. I miss the way it soothed my soul when things started to churn.

Click on the photos for the source.

moving on.

2010-06-24T18:14:00.001-07:00

If a guy's messing with you, just party him. If a girl's annoying you, just party her. IF SOMETHING'S WRONG, JUST PARTY IT.

Ok.

I am actually not entirely sure that I know what this means, but I am positive that it is my current life motto.

NEWSFLASH

2010-06-24T17:27:00.000-07:00

THIS IS STILL TRUE.

That is all.

Speaking from the sphere

2010-06-23T19:05:00.000-07:00

It is 2010, I am turning twenty two in less than two months, and I am still utterly baffled at how much change occurs from moment to moment.

You think that by now this would be old hat!

In other news, too busy, sentimental, and intensely protective of my current privacy to really blog right now. Hope y'all are living wonderful lives and making your dreams come true.

More to come, as always. Just wait for it and the floodgate of BLAHBLAHBLAH will be released again soon.

Much love,

Tizz

Six months: Futurism

2010-06-23T17:36:00.000-07:00

Science Fiction Story

I will meet you again in the future. It will be 100 years from now. We will be evolved. We will be larger. We will be gentle with each other. When I try to touch your hand, my hand will feel like water. Your hand will feel like a fish. We will be evolved in different directions. We will be so gentle and evolved we won’t even be able to lift our glasses to our mouths. We will just sit in a bar, looking at the glasses, and being incredibly gentle with each other. You will gently slap my face. I will gently say something cruel. We will gently torture each other, not saying any of the things we’ve been thinking for the last 100 years.

We will not say, ‘I’ve missed you,’ or, ‘You look good,’ or, ‘I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.’

We will be too futuristic to say those things.

There will be mobile phones made of water and seeds, 1 millimetre in diameter.

There will be children that look like shrivelled dogs.

Every thing ever will have a slot to put money in, and when you put money in the slot the thing will vibrate.

There will be tinfoil, inflatable shoes, and holographic statues of the cast of Friends.

Everything will be okay.

The sun will be burnt out – it will be like a black floating acorn – and it will be dark in the bar, and I won’t be able to see if you are crying.

- Chris Killen