I've been nose to the grindstone lately, making an attempt to get caught up (or- gasp!- ahead) at work so I can jet off to Ireland in peace. Or at least semi-peace, knowing my coworkers won't be bombarded by BS I've had to leave behind. I'm excited about Ireland, of course, but equally stressed out about how I am going to pay all of my bills (the spreadsheet could choke a digital horse) for November and December and still make the following happen: Halloween celebrations, Steph's wedding weekend, IRELAND, Thanksgiving, Christmas...I have already slacked on some birthdays lately and though I have big dreams for making more money next year and enhancing my credit score (think bows and ribbons on a janky Charlie Brown tree enhancements,) but I don't want to count any chickens pre-hatch.
On the love end of things, I'm just adrift. I'm connecting with people- a lot of boys actually, which is new and different- and feeling a lot of great things. But I still haven't felt heart-wrenchingly, knock-the-wind-out-of-you stabbed by anything. Not since that one boy fell off the radar. That's OK. We can't feel big things everyday, or else we would all probably be a mess and never able to get work done or get to the gym. But I hope, someday, I end up with someone who makes me feel small pieces of a big things everyday. Talking with friends in long term relationships lately- healthy ones, at that- I have come to realize though I am enjoying the dating world so much, I do, in the back of my head, just want someone to cook dinner for, wash the dishes with and cuddle up with for a movie. It's fun staying out late and discovering hidden corners of the city and meeting new people and unearthing miscellaneous facts about them, but come on...a girl can only remember so many things about so many people. Or make out with a certain number of people til she starts wondering the value of half empty kisses. And I mean half empty on my part...Counting chickens may not be a good idea in this realm either, but putting eggs in one basket...as I've said before...might not be so bad. We'll have to see.
On the creative side of the world, I have been having lots of fun. I have been working on a secret project since May and it's starting to take some fun shape. I have been updating my roommate's company's website and working on monograms for a friend's wedding...creating a logo for an LA a capella group and pixelating pictures for my friend's apartment wall art project. I love that people come to me with ideas and projects, but I sometimes feel guilty that I can't do more or put more time into them. I feel like balancing these things into the equation makes for a happier Amanda, but spending more than a few hours a week on each just leads to me getting less sleep. Not good.
But this, my friends, is all for now. For it is time for lunch. And then back to work. I will write more soon and I apologize to some people who feel coughcoughrichcoughcough like I've been slacking....Love to all. Watch the leaves fall.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Project Mission: Day Twenty-Seven
Well, it has been said before. I am often unable to fully commit to projects I throw myself into. I usually finish things, but it often takes a few days. Or weeks. Or sometimes, a hiatus of years (I speak of a particular mission to grow my hair to my waist.)
Looking back to days 1 and 3, I was looking to achieve a more relaxed balance for life. I think in many respects, this has gone well. I am more comfortable leaving the office at 5 even if every single thing hasn't been taken care of. This may sound like poor work ethic, but I will say this much- working 13-15 hours a day for multiple days in a row keeps stress at a very high level and makes for a poor Amanda ethic.
In a more personal sense, I have refound that feeling that I've had before...that I don't need to prove my worth to any person, place or ideal on this earth. I often get wrapped up in new people or new situations or commitments that become "be all, end all" for a hot minute and I forget that I am perfectly fulfilled without those anxieties. Balancing a social life and a professional life has also become slightly easier or messier, which ever way you view it since the arrival of
this little buddy.
On the eve of my running out of cell phone minutes for this guy,
I realized that I had another resource. I am not a heavy cell phone user as it is. I don't chit chat, really. Simple necessaries, I call it, though I lived many years without having the ability to communicate these "necessaries" on the road...and I survived. As demonstrated in July, I can live without a cell phone just fine. But I feel taking small advantage of my resources to keep life organized is a smart choice.
I have also resigned myself to the fact that I do need money for food every week. Sounds like something the obvious girl could have told me, but gosh, in the tizzy of getting every bill paid every month, I often forget. I forget that food doesn't extend to the backs of the cupboards and that I will often walk into the office kitchen, seeking what combination of leftovers and gift basket condiments could possibly be a meal today.
So pulling it all together, I have worked hard to put the correct pieces on each side of the scale, and though it's still wobbling and things fall off and get placed back on, we are somewhat balanced today, these days, and hopefully, in the days to come.
So the mission for day 27 and beyond...to be more graceful in all things. This will have to be a continuation of the original combination of relaxed balance, but incorporating a more steady heart and mind and applying beauty to the whole damn thing. That will be the mission. Graceful balance. Like walking with an unabridged dictionary on my head in 5 inch stilettos in Shelton Hall in 2004, I will probably tip over and crash into people. And I will probably resort to sitting on the ground and eating olives and laughing hysterically. But if not for trying to grow, we would all stay small and unremarkable. Here we go, here we go, here we go again. Here we go again.
Looking back to days 1 and 3, I was looking to achieve a more relaxed balance for life. I think in many respects, this has gone well. I am more comfortable leaving the office at 5 even if every single thing hasn't been taken care of. This may sound like poor work ethic, but I will say this much- working 13-15 hours a day for multiple days in a row keeps stress at a very high level and makes for a poor Amanda ethic.
In a more personal sense, I have refound that feeling that I've had before...that I don't need to prove my worth to any person, place or ideal on this earth. I often get wrapped up in new people or new situations or commitments that become "be all, end all" for a hot minute and I forget that I am perfectly fulfilled without those anxieties. Balancing a social life and a professional life has also become slightly easier or messier, which ever way you view it since the arrival of
this little buddy.
On the eve of my running out of cell phone minutes for this guy,
I realized that I had another resource. I am not a heavy cell phone user as it is. I don't chit chat, really. Simple necessaries, I call it, though I lived many years without having the ability to communicate these "necessaries" on the road...and I survived. As demonstrated in July, I can live without a cell phone just fine. But I feel taking small advantage of my resources to keep life organized is a smart choice.
I have also resigned myself to the fact that I do need money for food every week. Sounds like something the obvious girl could have told me, but gosh, in the tizzy of getting every bill paid every month, I often forget. I forget that food doesn't extend to the backs of the cupboards and that I will often walk into the office kitchen, seeking what combination of leftovers and gift basket condiments could possibly be a meal today.
So pulling it all together, I have worked hard to put the correct pieces on each side of the scale, and though it's still wobbling and things fall off and get placed back on, we are somewhat balanced today, these days, and hopefully, in the days to come.
So the mission for day 27 and beyond...to be more graceful in all things. This will have to be a continuation of the original combination of relaxed balance, but incorporating a more steady heart and mind and applying beauty to the whole damn thing. That will be the mission. Graceful balance. Like walking with an unabridged dictionary on my head in 5 inch stilettos in Shelton Hall in 2004, I will probably tip over and crash into people. And I will probably resort to sitting on the ground and eating olives and laughing hysterically. But if not for trying to grow, we would all stay small and unremarkable. Here we go, here we go, here we go again. Here we go again.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Spiky Spikes.
An Interpretive Poem for Wednesday Morning
I am at the cube at Comcast
And when I sit up straight (which I usually do)
And stare straight ahead
I am eye level with the top of the wall part where it meets the glass part
and I see only the spiky hair of the middle aged man who sits in the next cube
The middle aged spiky hair man...
Just the spikes
like a tiny patch of brown grass.
It is my corporate field of dreams. The spikes are always spikier on the other side of the cube.
I am at the cube at Comcast
And when I sit up straight (which I usually do)
And stare straight ahead
I am eye level with the top of the wall part where it meets the glass part
and I see only the spiky hair of the middle aged man who sits in the next cube
The middle aged spiky hair man...
Just the spikes
like a tiny patch of brown grass.
It is my corporate field of dreams. The spikes are always spikier on the other side of the cube.
Monday, October 5, 2009
A brighter grace
I left work on Friday and half ran to the XPN Free at Noon concert at the World Live Cafe, mainly to see my new musical obsession, Langhorne Slim. Maybe less of an obsession and more of a calculated and adoring interest. His band's sound makes me want to lie in the grass and then get up and jump around and sprint to the river and jump in. What grass? What river? I'm not sure. But I'm digressing. Langhorne Slim did not let me down. I was blessed to be with Susan who, though I was ready to run back to work, bumped into the Slim himself and brought him out to meet, greet, hug and smile in pictures for me. And then she bought his CD and the whole band signed it. These were all amazing things.
But the real punch in the face happened during the second half of the performance when fellow Americana folk rocker, Will Hoge, and his band were on stage. Nearing the end of Langhorne Slim's performance, I'd gotten a little teary eyed because their music was so *UGHH* good. The good kind of good. The great kind of good. But there was something about Will's voice and the bluesy steel pick sound that tore me up from the beginning of their time on stage. I literally spent the entire set in various stages of tears and grinning and clapping and dancing. Not in a gross, snotty, eww-look-at-that-gross-girl way, but in a more contained and natural way. At least I think it was :) That is, I felt contained until I had a great moment of brain and heart and soul seizure. The thoughts, as I was grooving to these sounds pulsing and pulling on my chest, started flowing into my head- "I do not want to grow up, grow old, get cold, forget how to love like this, to let myself go, to let myself become fully a part of things. I don't want to. I don't want to. I can't let it happen." And it was at that moment, when realizing how much I had been willing to compromise to find someone to share myself with every moment- friends, family, lovers, coworkers, even strangers on the street- and how I kept little bits of my happiness hidden and major parts of me to myself, and how little I really needed to do so, that I felt the most warm and joyful.
I will grow old. I will grow up. I already have. Though, I’ve felt very young lately. Young at heart, which is nothing new, but especially young in my mind. I’ve felt confusion and hesitance, coupled with a heart-stopping compulsive joy that has just boggled my mind. The joy has come from within and from my experiences and maybe even things I don’t understand yet. The confusion though, and the hesitance, from a place that feels oddly like my later teenage years, when I was trying to figure out just who it is that I am and what I’d like to get out of the world. I guess I'm back there again, but a little more graceful and quieter and sweeter this time. I'm trying to get this being a girl thing down, I swear.
But just because I am getting it all down, the task of getting my heart into one solid piece to give to someone else can't really be a focus. Not at all. I think it may just happen when I'm not looking. For now, I'll just make sure the music never dies, my fingers keep painting and tapping and drumming and my face keeps smiling and that my mouth never says things my brain doesn't agree with. I haven't found it, but gosh, maybe I haven't lost it either.
But the real punch in the face happened during the second half of the performance when fellow Americana folk rocker, Will Hoge, and his band were on stage. Nearing the end of Langhorne Slim's performance, I'd gotten a little teary eyed because their music was so *UGHH* good. The good kind of good. The great kind of good. But there was something about Will's voice and the bluesy steel pick sound that tore me up from the beginning of their time on stage. I literally spent the entire set in various stages of tears and grinning and clapping and dancing. Not in a gross, snotty, eww-look-at-that-gross-girl way, but in a more contained and natural way. At least I think it was :) That is, I felt contained until I had a great moment of brain and heart and soul seizure. The thoughts, as I was grooving to these sounds pulsing and pulling on my chest, started flowing into my head- "I do not want to grow up, grow old, get cold, forget how to love like this, to let myself go, to let myself become fully a part of things. I don't want to. I don't want to. I can't let it happen." And it was at that moment, when realizing how much I had been willing to compromise to find someone to share myself with every moment- friends, family, lovers, coworkers, even strangers on the street- and how I kept little bits of my happiness hidden and major parts of me to myself, and how little I really needed to do so, that I felt the most warm and joyful.
I will grow old. I will grow up. I already have. Though, I’ve felt very young lately. Young at heart, which is nothing new, but especially young in my mind. I’ve felt confusion and hesitance, coupled with a heart-stopping compulsive joy that has just boggled my mind. The joy has come from within and from my experiences and maybe even things I don’t understand yet. The confusion though, and the hesitance, from a place that feels oddly like my later teenage years, when I was trying to figure out just who it is that I am and what I’d like to get out of the world. I guess I'm back there again, but a little more graceful and quieter and sweeter this time. I'm trying to get this being a girl thing down, I swear.
But just because I am getting it all down, the task of getting my heart into one solid piece to give to someone else can't really be a focus. Not at all. I think it may just happen when I'm not looking. For now, I'll just make sure the music never dies, my fingers keep painting and tapping and drumming and my face keeps smiling and that my mouth never says things my brain doesn't agree with. I haven't found it, but gosh, maybe I haven't lost it either.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
On Loneliness
Coming home from very lonely places, all of us go a little mad: whether from great personal success, or just an all-night drive, we are the sole survivors of a world no one else has ever seen.
- John le Carre
Sometimes we can feel so a part of the world, so social, so alive and connected and engaged daily, by work, our friends, the media, our family, that we can’t recognize the loneliness that sits within, until someone finds the true person we are…sitting up against the wall in there, head down, listening to music, not remembering the last time we went out…and they take our hands, help us to our feet and take us on a walk, a drive, to dinner and dancing. And then we come back to that place and think….I might not have to hang out here alone anymore ☺
- John le Carre
Sometimes we can feel so a part of the world, so social, so alive and connected and engaged daily, by work, our friends, the media, our family, that we can’t recognize the loneliness that sits within, until someone finds the true person we are…sitting up against the wall in there, head down, listening to music, not remembering the last time we went out…and they take our hands, help us to our feet and take us on a walk, a drive, to dinner and dancing. And then we come back to that place and think….I might not have to hang out here alone anymore ☺
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Things I'd Like to Say That I Won't
Because people rarely read this. And I just needed to JUST NEEDED TO SAY IT OUT LOUD. Or kind of...
1. I said some crazy fucking things last night! I didn't mean to explode all over with gushy rambling. You just made me feel so good. And people these days...well, I guess they have been able to make me feel good, but not like that. Not in a while. Not with just kissing me. And talking to me. I was hungry for you. I was hungry for the way you kissed me. The heat behind it and within you and the words you peppered into it all. It's amazing to me, that even while smashing faces, we still had witty banter. The rapport lives.
2. You drive me crazy! Because you drive me places. You don't know how much not having a car has made me sad. And I hate taking advantage of people with cars. I hate it. But I do love when people offer me rides. Like I said, it makes me feel fancy.
3. You treat me like a friend and I adore that. In the most respectful way, you can make fun of my every move and I just....melt for that.
4. You're the perfect height for making out. Yet somehow I was still on my tiptoes, grabbing your face in my hands.
5. I hope my crazy fire doesn't burn you out. I want to stoke things slow and right and I just don't want to....freak you out and away. I just want to show you your wit and intelligence and charm and sincerity are so worth waiting for.
6. On the note of crazy fire, I really really want to touch you. And I am sorry if that is too much touching...it's just that you're new. And interesting. And attractive. And a BOY! And it's like getting a new toy for Christmas and you don't want to wear it out or use it up too fast, so you try to play with it only occasionally.
7. When you are honest and kind of embarrassed about it and your eyes crinkle, I also get a little melty. I know that's not your fault. You can keep it up though, if you think of it.
I think that's all for now. I'm just sitting here, remembering how my legs almost gave out when your goatee was on my neck and your breath moved across my collarbone. I won't send this to you. I won't. I won't. I won't. I won't. I won't. I won't. But maybe, if there's more of this to come...you can see it someday. Tom McMahon, stop getting to me. I need to catch my breath and remember I met you like, A WEEK AGO. Or was it two?
Deep breaths. Here I go.
If you want to like, call me sometime though...that's cool. Talking is less dangerous than...ok, who am I kidding? That's how we got into this mess :)
1. I said some crazy fucking things last night! I didn't mean to explode all over with gushy rambling. You just made me feel so good. And people these days...well, I guess they have been able to make me feel good, but not like that. Not in a while. Not with just kissing me. And talking to me. I was hungry for you. I was hungry for the way you kissed me. The heat behind it and within you and the words you peppered into it all. It's amazing to me, that even while smashing faces, we still had witty banter. The rapport lives.
2. You drive me crazy! Because you drive me places. You don't know how much not having a car has made me sad. And I hate taking advantage of people with cars. I hate it. But I do love when people offer me rides. Like I said, it makes me feel fancy.
3. You treat me like a friend and I adore that. In the most respectful way, you can make fun of my every move and I just....melt for that.
4. You're the perfect height for making out. Yet somehow I was still on my tiptoes, grabbing your face in my hands.
5. I hope my crazy fire doesn't burn you out. I want to stoke things slow and right and I just don't want to....freak you out and away. I just want to show you your wit and intelligence and charm and sincerity are so worth waiting for.
6. On the note of crazy fire, I really really want to touch you. And I am sorry if that is too much touching...it's just that you're new. And interesting. And attractive. And a BOY! And it's like getting a new toy for Christmas and you don't want to wear it out or use it up too fast, so you try to play with it only occasionally.
7. When you are honest and kind of embarrassed about it and your eyes crinkle, I also get a little melty. I know that's not your fault. You can keep it up though, if you think of it.
I think that's all for now. I'm just sitting here, remembering how my legs almost gave out when your goatee was on my neck and your breath moved across my collarbone. I won't send this to you. I won't. I won't. I won't. I won't. I won't. I won't. But maybe, if there's more of this to come...you can see it someday. Tom McMahon, stop getting to me. I need to catch my breath and remember I met you like, A WEEK AGO. Or was it two?
Deep breaths. Here I go.
If you want to like, call me sometime though...that's cool. Talking is less dangerous than...ok, who am I kidding? That's how we got into this mess :)
Friday, September 11, 2009
Project Mission: Day Two
But really, it's day 3. Yesterday, the mission was to be more chill. I guess you could define "chill" as the very laid back and relaxed attitude some people are able to take to all things. I tried to apply it to work. Still got a lot done, but found my ultimate chill a little too unfocused. I think an edge does me well.
Although, there may have been other factors at work keeping me unfocused.
I have been trying to relax in many ways recently, keeping the stresses of modern life at bay. The work and family and social balance is tougher now than ever, as fully connected individuals. I feel very sure of myself in a lot of ways, but still question 60% of my actions. Constantly. Dating has become a 24 hour a day dance around and with people who I am coming to enjoy greatly, but I am trying to even in that arena, relax and maintain my head.
What can I say? Chill was a good place to start. I think for today, tomorrow and the weekend, my mission is to maintain balance.
I have a lot of work to do, both for FD kinesis and for my own projects- those, too, being on the more personal side (gifts I'm making) and business related as well (freelance web and design work.) I also would like to make time to be active tonight and tomorrow and I know Sunday will bring much walking, which I love. I would like to ease off of the kickback into butter I had this week- absence makes the heart grow fonder, it's true! And I think my vegetable habit is one I might not have to break. I have also this growing arsenal of invitations to things- shows, concerts, comedy, brunches, classes, festivals....all for this weekend. I know I can't do it all. I know that much at 25. So I will have to be selective. And no more planning to make plans and being disappointed.
Can't keep the heart hanging on a string like that :)
I'm off to work some more, achieve some balance and...live well.
Although, there may have been other factors at work keeping me unfocused.
I have been trying to relax in many ways recently, keeping the stresses of modern life at bay. The work and family and social balance is tougher now than ever, as fully connected individuals. I feel very sure of myself in a lot of ways, but still question 60% of my actions. Constantly. Dating has become a 24 hour a day dance around and with people who I am coming to enjoy greatly, but I am trying to even in that arena, relax and maintain my head.
What can I say? Chill was a good place to start. I think for today, tomorrow and the weekend, my mission is to maintain balance.
I have a lot of work to do, both for FD kinesis and for my own projects- those, too, being on the more personal side (gifts I'm making) and business related as well (freelance web and design work.) I also would like to make time to be active tonight and tomorrow and I know Sunday will bring much walking, which I love. I would like to ease off of the kickback into butter I had this week- absence makes the heart grow fonder, it's true! And I think my vegetable habit is one I might not have to break. I have also this growing arsenal of invitations to things- shows, concerts, comedy, brunches, classes, festivals....all for this weekend. I know I can't do it all. I know that much at 25. So I will have to be selective. And no more planning to make plans and being disappointed.
Can't keep the heart hanging on a string like that :)
I'm off to work some more, achieve some balance and...live well.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Project Mission Inception: Day Zero.
I read today that a business should refine and review its mission every 28 days. Perhaps the world would benefit if people did this individually, too. I know most people don't have a mission statement. I know I don't. My mission changes everyday, maybe even every moment. Sometimes, my missions overlap. Sometimes, they are scattered and undefined and my main one is to get to my bed that night unharmed.
But really, I think this could be a good experiment - a daily one...maybe for a month. It could be that everyday, I define what I was weakest at that day and just try to become better at it tomorrow. It might be a back and forth of, "More Relaxed. More Patient. More proactive. More Relaxed. More Patient. More proactive. More Relaxed. More Patient. More proactive. More Relaxed. More Patient. More proactive." But we'll see. What do you think, cyberworld? I know you don't comment. But I think I might do it.
I think I must.
Tomorrow, I will be more................................................................................
....................................................................................
....................................................................................
........................................chill.
Yup, that's the best I can come up with right now. I was on edge today. On a good edge for the most part, but on edge nonetheless. Here I go.
But really, I think this could be a good experiment - a daily one...maybe for a month. It could be that everyday, I define what I was weakest at that day and just try to become better at it tomorrow. It might be a back and forth of, "More Relaxed. More Patient. More proactive. More Relaxed. More Patient. More proactive. More Relaxed. More Patient. More proactive. More Relaxed. More Patient. More proactive." But we'll see. What do you think, cyberworld? I know you don't comment. But I think I might do it.
I think I must.
Tomorrow, I will be more................................................................................
....................................................................................
....................................................................................
........................................chill.
Yup, that's the best I can come up with right now. I was on edge today. On a good edge for the most part, but on edge nonetheless. Here I go.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Some days I feel I'm getting smaller and smaller,
But some nights I seem to grow taller and taller.
There are times I feel very tall. And there are times I feel quite small. Most times, I fall somewhere in between. Tall, yes….but also not quite powerful enough not to feel small as well.
I can control very little in my world. I can control the way I act and react to my environment and the people in it, primarily. And in some cases, I can choose where that is and who those people are. But for the most part, none of us can dictate what goes on outside of a very small sphere of influence that we do have- at home, at our jobs, in our communities, among our peers.
In this world where we control so little, I have become increasingly accustomed to letting go. Relaxing. Letting the current take me where it will. This, of course, does not prevent me from analyzing the world to death, but it does give me solid ground within my own mind, in the raging river that is my life in this world. I have learned that to love and live with my full self, I need to be prepared to adapt and change and make immense compromises. All of these things, I am getting better at doing. And all of these things, I thoroughly enjoy.
When recently given an analogy (that life itself is like getting a phone call today, saying that you were being taken away to an unknown place, with no one you knew, and not given any instructions, only to be plucked out just as suddenly some undetermined day in the future, ) and asked, “wouldn’t that be scary? Who would do that? Would you agree to that?” I responded, “Absolutely.”
To me, it sounded more like a crazy reality show or a fun game than some tiresome and terrifying thing to endure. Which is, I suppose, what makes me different than many people, who have consistently answered no to that same question. But I don't think that makes my approach any less valid than this...enduring with solemn purpose and stoic heart.
With all of this gusto- with all of this sunlight and this almost maniacal desire to live and love- I have still gone and gathered my grievances. There are only a handful of them. I don’t believe I am entitled to the treasures of the world, nor do I think I am more brilliant and gifted than the next person.
But as promised, here they are. All three:
1. The moment when I realize someone expects me to compromise myself for them. I do it. I know I do it. I do it everyday. But the second you sense my good nature and free spirit and easy-to-please and eager-to-please-others attitude and try to put it to good use…I turn. It may not be perceptible to the average bear. But it exists. As I become less and less naïve, I am able to gauge when this moment actually occurs, be it conscious or unconscious on the other’s part.
2. Those who live solely for themselves, or who may feel exempt from participating in...humanity. I understand some people “live in their own little world,” or “are apt to get lost in themselves.” Don’t get me wrong- I can get like that too. I can be introspective or contemplative and almost step right on someone at the crosswalk. But gosh, a few years and some self awareness has cured most of that. But there are people who seem completely and utterly unaware that others do any of the following: require space, oxygen, time to sleep, time to laugh, time to eat, money to do all of the above…or even, like I said, that they even exist. By others, I can mean anyone from the person in the elevator or the cashier at the store or even the stranger they pass sitting on a stoop. I consider myself a fine human specimen...and I believe most other people are as well. And I hope I do not ever end up treating anyone with anything less than the respect they have earned. And in my book, which again, might make me different, respect exists until you zap it with your actions.
3. The last is a simple one- those who make no effort to do good in this world. If you can't give much more than a smile today, then that is all you can give. If you can't give a g*ddamn thing for weeks and weeks, well...the tide can turn. But the people who just take and take and take and give nothing back...well, I wish them well but I'm not sure their kind will survive this century. With the way the winds are changing, it seems individual impacts are making more and more of an impression. I only hope that one by one, this type of person...becomes a different kind.
So. That's that. Things that make me feel tall are many, things that make me feel especially small are few :) And that is the way we hope things will stay. I have good feelings about this planet. I think we can do it.
There are times I feel very tall. And there are times I feel quite small. Most times, I fall somewhere in between. Tall, yes….but also not quite powerful enough not to feel small as well.
I can control very little in my world. I can control the way I act and react to my environment and the people in it, primarily. And in some cases, I can choose where that is and who those people are. But for the most part, none of us can dictate what goes on outside of a very small sphere of influence that we do have- at home, at our jobs, in our communities, among our peers.
In this world where we control so little, I have become increasingly accustomed to letting go. Relaxing. Letting the current take me where it will. This, of course, does not prevent me from analyzing the world to death, but it does give me solid ground within my own mind, in the raging river that is my life in this world. I have learned that to love and live with my full self, I need to be prepared to adapt and change and make immense compromises. All of these things, I am getting better at doing. And all of these things, I thoroughly enjoy.
When recently given an analogy (that life itself is like getting a phone call today, saying that you were being taken away to an unknown place, with no one you knew, and not given any instructions, only to be plucked out just as suddenly some undetermined day in the future, ) and asked, “wouldn’t that be scary? Who would do that? Would you agree to that?” I responded, “Absolutely.”
To me, it sounded more like a crazy reality show or a fun game than some tiresome and terrifying thing to endure. Which is, I suppose, what makes me different than many people, who have consistently answered no to that same question. But I don't think that makes my approach any less valid than this...enduring with solemn purpose and stoic heart.
With all of this gusto- with all of this sunlight and this almost maniacal desire to live and love- I have still gone and gathered my grievances. There are only a handful of them. I don’t believe I am entitled to the treasures of the world, nor do I think I am more brilliant and gifted than the next person.
But as promised, here they are. All three:
1. The moment when I realize someone expects me to compromise myself for them. I do it. I know I do it. I do it everyday. But the second you sense my good nature and free spirit and easy-to-please and eager-to-please-others attitude and try to put it to good use…I turn. It may not be perceptible to the average bear. But it exists. As I become less and less naïve, I am able to gauge when this moment actually occurs, be it conscious or unconscious on the other’s part.
2. Those who live solely for themselves, or who may feel exempt from participating in...humanity. I understand some people “live in their own little world,” or “are apt to get lost in themselves.” Don’t get me wrong- I can get like that too. I can be introspective or contemplative and almost step right on someone at the crosswalk. But gosh, a few years and some self awareness has cured most of that. But there are people who seem completely and utterly unaware that others do any of the following: require space, oxygen, time to sleep, time to laugh, time to eat, money to do all of the above…or even, like I said, that they even exist. By others, I can mean anyone from the person in the elevator or the cashier at the store or even the stranger they pass sitting on a stoop. I consider myself a fine human specimen...and I believe most other people are as well. And I hope I do not ever end up treating anyone with anything less than the respect they have earned. And in my book, which again, might make me different, respect exists until you zap it with your actions.
3. The last is a simple one- those who make no effort to do good in this world. If you can't give much more than a smile today, then that is all you can give. If you can't give a g*ddamn thing for weeks and weeks, well...the tide can turn. But the people who just take and take and take and give nothing back...well, I wish them well but I'm not sure their kind will survive this century. With the way the winds are changing, it seems individual impacts are making more and more of an impression. I only hope that one by one, this type of person...becomes a different kind.
So. That's that. Things that make me feel tall are many, things that make me feel especially small are few :) And that is the way we hope things will stay. I have good feelings about this planet. I think we can do it.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
The Day the Internet Died. Part 1.
I want to pose a question to the universe.
What will, what would, what could we do...on the day the internet collapses? The whole thing. Down in one shot. Everyone would call their provider or unplug and plug again. Everyone would grab their cell phone to check google to see what Comcast was saying. There would be no google. Who would they call? Who would I call? I think my day would go something like...this...
Wake up. Stretch a little bit, wriggle around and debate staying home from work. Realize I left something vital at the office (on paper, probably) and couldn't ideally telecommute today, so I get out of bed. Trip over a cat or two and stumble to the pink morning light-glowy bathroom. Weigh myself.
"Nicely done. .5 pounds. I'll have to update RealAge later."
Brush my teeth, maybe utilize a little strategic astringent. SPF-i-size. Take a little stroll up the catwalk to get dressed in the artificial arctic of my room. Pick out...
[well, would it be a Comcast day or a non-Comcast day? Let's say Comcast day, for sake of looking fancy. And being in the room with my client on the day of No Internet.]
...a fluttery skirt, some sandals and a top that somehow makes sense. My fashion has no rhyme. Only color. Descend the stairs, where Jess is on the phone with Comcast Customer Service and gives me giant rolling eyes. It's probably about 6:33. OK, let's be real. 6:55. I shrug off the fact I cannot facebook or tweet or look at the weather or do 3 minutes of work, but pack my charged up laptop up anyway. I've actually somehow saved time, not wasted it.
I walk to the train, listening to my ipod, filled with music I bought legally from itunes. I spend the train ride putting on make up and reading Vanity Fair. I make a mental note to look up, say, Francis Bacon when I get to work.
I walk up the great big Comcast stairs, into the belly of the center- the 4 story high lobby. I look up where the great LCD, the Comcast experience usually is.
And I need to back track here. I may not use the internet much before work. But the world does.
I am unclear on the scale and depth of the chaos that would have occurred from the down time to the time I wake, depending on how long that is...but I have to say, I kind of got self involved there. Street lights and traffic grids and power and water and trains and lights and the people of the world might be lost and confused and giving up on the day already. But I digress. Let's say they're not. Let's say it started at my house and moved outward as I traveled to the city...
To be continued.
What will, what would, what could we do...on the day the internet collapses? The whole thing. Down in one shot. Everyone would call their provider or unplug and plug again. Everyone would grab their cell phone to check google to see what Comcast was saying. There would be no google. Who would they call? Who would I call? I think my day would go something like...this...
Wake up. Stretch a little bit, wriggle around and debate staying home from work. Realize I left something vital at the office (on paper, probably) and couldn't ideally telecommute today, so I get out of bed. Trip over a cat or two and stumble to the pink morning light-glowy bathroom. Weigh myself.
"Nicely done. .5 pounds. I'll have to update RealAge later."
Brush my teeth, maybe utilize a little strategic astringent. SPF-i-size. Take a little stroll up the catwalk to get dressed in the artificial arctic of my room. Pick out...
[well, would it be a Comcast day or a non-Comcast day? Let's say Comcast day, for sake of looking fancy. And being in the room with my client on the day of No Internet.]
...a fluttery skirt, some sandals and a top that somehow makes sense. My fashion has no rhyme. Only color. Descend the stairs, where Jess is on the phone with Comcast Customer Service and gives me giant rolling eyes. It's probably about 6:33. OK, let's be real. 6:55. I shrug off the fact I cannot facebook or tweet or look at the weather or do 3 minutes of work, but pack my charged up laptop up anyway. I've actually somehow saved time, not wasted it.
I walk to the train, listening to my ipod, filled with music I bought legally from itunes. I spend the train ride putting on make up and reading Vanity Fair. I make a mental note to look up, say, Francis Bacon when I get to work.
I walk up the great big Comcast stairs, into the belly of the center- the 4 story high lobby. I look up where the great LCD, the Comcast experience usually is.
And I need to back track here. I may not use the internet much before work. But the world does.
I am unclear on the scale and depth of the chaos that would have occurred from the down time to the time I wake, depending on how long that is...but I have to say, I kind of got self involved there. Street lights and traffic grids and power and water and trains and lights and the people of the world might be lost and confused and giving up on the day already. But I digress. Let's say they're not. Let's say it started at my house and moved outward as I traveled to the city...
To be continued.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Magic Happens...
...when you least expect it. And sometimes when you do kind of expect it, but doubt that it will actually materialize, it does.
I followed my heart and intuition to NY on Friday for my friend Cal's whirlwind USA-visit party and to see my forever long-lost friend Justin who has recently planted himself in Brooklyn, despite only having $100 until my next paycheck.
And here I am, only $57 poorer, having traveled the globe and met 1,000,000 people. Well, maybe that's an exaggeration. But I came away with a new white tank top, a pair of CVS moon-boot flip flops, a homemade mix disc of world music, a giant rooster glass and a 1940s water pitcher. Not to mention about 4,398 photos. You can see my up and coming photo galleries on picasa or just on facebook, which, let's be real...is where the pictures seem to be these days.
So, I don't think I made out too badly, in terms of monetary decrease to material gain and emotional release. I got to have a Magner's on ice at Niall's. I got to see old friends from college and high school...and, as always, meet brand new ones. I got to share my Sharpies with a drunken man at Pete's Candy Shop while trying to dictate the name of the band playing (Barons in the Attic, or as he wrote on his hand, Barons in vthe Atti c,) as his date was giving my friend a long range lap dance. I refused pie and felt proud and refused drugs and felt even prouder. I slept on a kitchen floor and only thought briefly about the bugs that may end up in my hair. (None were found- if they did, they only visited and left politely before I woke.) I woke at 7:21 and left a note on my folded blankets and proceeded to walk to Bedford Avenue and just be. I was greeted in New Jersey by Michael, my tiny gamma ray of a man, with a rainbow boa "lai" and a small shower of rose petals. I was treated to a picnic of fresh mozzarella, Jersey tomato and Wertlieb Family Garden Basil sandwiches, in the middle of the Radburn, NJ park, the hippie Jewish commune town in Fair Lawn. I fell in love with them. I saw butterflies. I didn't look at a clock for hours. I listened to cicadas and didn't get angry. I made peace with my big toes and their corpulence. I navigated to Bryn Mawr with sleepy wrong turns and missed exits. I made the bed. I made drinks. I made Mike smile. I had an outfit concocted for me, before my eyes, out of a pair of dress pants and half a pair of leggings. I applied make up in the dark speeding car. I took a breath and opened my eyes to see far more than I had seen in some time. I touched a latex hand-mold. I watched a woman's back get pierced. I watched a man suspend a woman by cords and carabeners. I applied mascara to a friend in a cage. I danced with leather clad and lace clad and bunny-costume clad party-goers. I played leader. And I played follower. I rolled with the punches. I laughed at myself. I swallowed my pride. I had fun. I ran in the rain. I sat in my office in dark eye makeup and packed my laptop bag. I bought fruit and eggs at 4AM. I got checked out by a teenager (agh!) while in shorts and heels. I felt tall. I am tall. I slept and slept and slept til 11:30. I made eggs and silver dollar pancakes. I was fed pancakes by a gentle clover-honey-bearing man as I flipped the ones cooking. I made mix tapes. I was baptized by Amma holy water and hugged by my tiny vagabond. I debated jumping in his car and running away from home to roam. I took stock and decided instead to wave goodbye. I joined Jess to fold and purge my clothing collection and reorganize my room and listen to a tale of whirlwind romance. I feel cleansed. I feel new. Again.
And it is time....to start the week all over again. After, of course, some veggies and beans and steak and Wall-E. And sewing. I am going to try to approach all things this week with the zennist of zen minds. And an eye on accuracy and efficiency. Cropping down excesses seems to be working out well for me. Don't spend unnecessarily, don't worry, don't procrastinate, don't get sidetracked, don't dally; just do the basics. Mantra, written. Now, to make that steak...
Friday, July 31, 2009
Revisions Necessary
Bits and pieces of a sleepy, saucy, silently-typed rave on the 6:07 train after a day in Jersey.
Sometimes, I feel liable to collapse.
I feel so overwhelmed by possibilities - options, courses of action, absolute outcomes of the next 15 seconds - that I literally paralyze my mind or my legs or my hands, which stop altogether in whatever I am doing or thinking. My eyes may well up, I might get a little shaky or break out into a giant wide smile. For me, at least recently (much like many, many years ago), possibility holds no anxiety: only joy, wonder or confusion.
There are no sweaty palms, no hyperventilation, just a whole set of hopes and wishes for my immediate future or the future that might have been- might have been, might have been - occurring every few seconds as the possibilities scatter like chopped film strips left to collect dust on the studio floor. This is not an everyday, all-the-time occurrence. Just an occasional road block in the normalcy I've adopted to cover my tracks as the tallest 4 year old girl on the planet.
***
When I see a stranger visibly upset - someone I haven't met and probably will never see again - I still feel the urge to comfort them. My instinct tells me (my American-bred, kind but cautious instinct) that going up and hugging or striking up a conversation or patting the back of a stranger who is upset could lead to a multitude of problems.
But gosh, it is hard to see someone cry or blink away tears and look down with a heavy, heavy stare, when you cannot do a damn thing about it. Some of them look like the VCR that was playing their soul got its tape ejected and was unplugged and put in the basement. I wonder when the next time there will be (or last time there was) wonder in their eyes - life in their eyes. And it makes my heart hurt so much to see people trudge from point to point and stare into space. Even if this is a relaxing comfort between work and home - and I know I’ve been there myself - it makes me sad.
I think I may have some sort of disease that wants every moment to be filled with gorgeousness and light and beauty and fun and creativity. I feel somehow that this is the best defense against waking up one day and realizing I am completely numb…like an Obsessive Compulsive taking vitamins and washing their hands, done unintentionally but with great care.
I just can't imagine being that someone sitting on a train, staring at the back of the head of the person in front of me, wondering how long I could prolong the journey home before launching into another night of work. To go sleep. To go to another day of work. To be back on that train, wishing I was anywhere but this place.
***
Sitting in a company meeting this afternoon, I began to want and dream and scheme and plan things I haven’t wanted (or dreamed or schemed or planned) in quite some time. I began to feel the stir of that feeling I got back in Judy Austin or DeLamarter & Schaefer’s classes, when I thought that advertising could make anything possible...
Large grassroots movements could launch and gain momentum and grow and grow and change the world.
People could be mobilized to get up from their very televisions and help to fix the state of things.
People could be persuaded by a newspaper or magazine ad to write a letter and together, they could save the Grand Canyon from muddy flooding.
I lost some of this wonder in my third year of college, regained for a brief shining moment watching a Sony Bravia commercial on the second floor office on Lower John Street outside of Picadilly Circus. [Bouncing colored balls on a San Francisco street and Jose Gonzalez’s Heartbeats.]
But today- well, today was just sunshine. Sunshine packaged in the form of men and women and a Powerpoint presentation that wasn’t projected in quite the right colors. A man who turns phrases like some people jiggle rusty light bulbs out of sockets. A man who doesn’t say no. A man who turns the world into a neat joke. A woman who believes that anything can be done with the right amount of time and brainstorming.
I am just in awe of how such a functional and successful company could be built in only 8 years and how I (one who has years and years of experience at being an extroverted, flashy, flighty, messy, loud, sometimes quiet and dead, messy messy colorful accidentally-intelligent mess of a human being) got taken under its wing and trusted to maintain something as large as what I do. It might not be large in the scope of their entire project roster, but man, it’s insane to me.
Sometimes, when I have a call or a meeting with people- people at a network or an agency or even the clients I talk to daily, I think, "Do they know who I AM?! Do they know what I’ve done?! Do they know where I came from??" Not like I’ve murdered people or chopped up puppies in my basement, but...I am not one of them.
I mean, I might be one of them. Whoever they may be...I mean, I might have ideas, I might be creative, I might be driven. But I am not born and bred from agency or corporation stock. My mom has a mind for numbers, a soul for art and hands for baking. My dad loves to read and write and talk to people and now cleans a grocery store for a living. I don’t think my parents have ever individually made the amount of money I am making this year- and they have at least 28 years of experience on me.
It’s insanity.
I feel insane.
But happy. And hopeful.
***
I can be known to overwhelm myself and others. I hope I have not done the latter here. I know I have already accomplished the former.
Sometimes, I feel liable to collapse.
I feel so overwhelmed by possibilities - options, courses of action, absolute outcomes of the next 15 seconds - that I literally paralyze my mind or my legs or my hands, which stop altogether in whatever I am doing or thinking. My eyes may well up, I might get a little shaky or break out into a giant wide smile. For me, at least recently (much like many, many years ago), possibility holds no anxiety: only joy, wonder or confusion.
There are no sweaty palms, no hyperventilation, just a whole set of hopes and wishes for my immediate future or the future that might have been- might have been, might have been - occurring every few seconds as the possibilities scatter like chopped film strips left to collect dust on the studio floor. This is not an everyday, all-the-time occurrence. Just an occasional road block in the normalcy I've adopted to cover my tracks as the tallest 4 year old girl on the planet.
***
When I see a stranger visibly upset - someone I haven't met and probably will never see again - I still feel the urge to comfort them. My instinct tells me (my American-bred, kind but cautious instinct) that going up and hugging or striking up a conversation or patting the back of a stranger who is upset could lead to a multitude of problems.
But gosh, it is hard to see someone cry or blink away tears and look down with a heavy, heavy stare, when you cannot do a damn thing about it. Some of them look like the VCR that was playing their soul got its tape ejected and was unplugged and put in the basement. I wonder when the next time there will be (or last time there was) wonder in their eyes - life in their eyes. And it makes my heart hurt so much to see people trudge from point to point and stare into space. Even if this is a relaxing comfort between work and home - and I know I’ve been there myself - it makes me sad.
I think I may have some sort of disease that wants every moment to be filled with gorgeousness and light and beauty and fun and creativity. I feel somehow that this is the best defense against waking up one day and realizing I am completely numb…like an Obsessive Compulsive taking vitamins and washing their hands, done unintentionally but with great care.
I just can't imagine being that someone sitting on a train, staring at the back of the head of the person in front of me, wondering how long I could prolong the journey home before launching into another night of work. To go sleep. To go to another day of work. To be back on that train, wishing I was anywhere but this place.
***
Sitting in a company meeting this afternoon, I began to want and dream and scheme and plan things I haven’t wanted (or dreamed or schemed or planned) in quite some time. I began to feel the stir of that feeling I got back in Judy Austin or DeLamarter & Schaefer’s classes, when I thought that advertising could make anything possible...
Large grassroots movements could launch and gain momentum and grow and grow and change the world.
People could be mobilized to get up from their very televisions and help to fix the state of things.
People could be persuaded by a newspaper or magazine ad to write a letter and together, they could save the Grand Canyon from muddy flooding.
I lost some of this wonder in my third year of college, regained for a brief shining moment watching a Sony Bravia commercial on the second floor office on Lower John Street outside of Picadilly Circus. [Bouncing colored balls on a San Francisco street and Jose Gonzalez’s Heartbeats.]
But today- well, today was just sunshine. Sunshine packaged in the form of men and women and a Powerpoint presentation that wasn’t projected in quite the right colors. A man who turns phrases like some people jiggle rusty light bulbs out of sockets. A man who doesn’t say no. A man who turns the world into a neat joke. A woman who believes that anything can be done with the right amount of time and brainstorming.
I am just in awe of how such a functional and successful company could be built in only 8 years and how I (one who has years and years of experience at being an extroverted, flashy, flighty, messy, loud, sometimes quiet and dead, messy messy colorful accidentally-intelligent mess of a human being) got taken under its wing and trusted to maintain something as large as what I do. It might not be large in the scope of their entire project roster, but man, it’s insane to me.
Sometimes, when I have a call or a meeting with people- people at a network or an agency or even the clients I talk to daily, I think, "Do they know who I AM?! Do they know what I’ve done?! Do they know where I came from??" Not like I’ve murdered people or chopped up puppies in my basement, but...I am not one of them.
I mean, I might be one of them. Whoever they may be...I mean, I might have ideas, I might be creative, I might be driven. But I am not born and bred from agency or corporation stock. My mom has a mind for numbers, a soul for art and hands for baking. My dad loves to read and write and talk to people and now cleans a grocery store for a living. I don’t think my parents have ever individually made the amount of money I am making this year- and they have at least 28 years of experience on me.
It’s insanity.
I feel insane.
But happy. And hopeful.
***
I can be known to overwhelm myself and others. I hope I have not done the latter here. I know I have already accomplished the former.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
On the face of a dime.
In a hundred words or less, my thoughts on...
Homeless in the city:
I hope they don’t see me smile and think it’s out of pity. I keep my eyes bright and warm and full of love and not shock or sadness at their physical state. I hope they don’t remember me for the times I pass them by, but for the times I dig my last dollar bill out of my wallet and dump the change out of my receipt stuffed change purse. I hope they know that I’ve been close to where they are and I feel nothing by brotherly love and lots and lots of hope for them.
Americans today:
I cried for America on the train today. I shed a tear, hoping my fellow passengers didn’t have the burdens I keep hearing about, reading about, experiencing; hoping my smiles on the street aren’t ignored; hoping my transparent optimism does not come off as ignorance; hoping we all are not in for it. In for it with China. In for it with the world banks. In for it with Japan and India and with god. The gods. All of them. Don’t cry for America, I tell myself. Just say a prayer and do some good.
On race:
I see a man, a woman, a child, an Indian America, a Korean American, a fellow Anglo-Saxon American. I believe I didn’t see these things 20 years ago. When my brain was completely immersed with how people walked and if I could picture them dancing and how I thought they’d look in a hat. I wish I could rewind and capture that sense of the world. Capture, not color blindness, but the unimportance of color and nationality and race and their connotations. I don’t believe I made decisions based upon these factors, but gosh, I wish I could be sure of that.
On art:There are few things that bring us closer to god than taking a paintbrush to paper. Or a hand to clay. Or a camera to glow sticks at night. Or even a box of chalk to a wall or sidewalk. In a culture so thick with media driven values and sicknesses, can we find peace? Maybe in nature or quietude or architecture. But these are all art. I think I would like to carry music and speakers and paint, and just paint to the music as I went about my day. It might be messy, but I’d feel a bit holier.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Logging the Journey- Rural Corruption.
July is a great time to hang out in the sun at a train station....but why are there never working payphones anywhere anymore?? Good thing there are nice groups of young gentlemen fishing...
Morgantown, PA: a beautiful rolling scape of green cornfields, small mountains, lovely old houses, flower gardens, ponds and simple structures.
Mohnton, PA: Rural-tastic. But really pretty. Met Rachel & Lindsay; walked to the park/pool/bar/playground & listened to a teen cover band while eating a hot dog and $1 lager.
With Emma and SLS to Sonic: you have to press a button?! and speak into a speaker?! I got grilled cheese w/ bacon. And small tots.
Wal*Mart: They all look painfully the same. I bought freeze pops, lighters & gum.
Then I danced through the parking lot to the Avett Brothers, holding my freeze pops out like a small dance partner, watching the sunset over the cornfields. How old am I again?
Then I met Becca's mom. How old does she think I am?
Then it was to the beer distributer and the state store. Now I remember how old I am. Inklings have already begun to develop that I have bought too much.
But the fireflies are so distracting.
And lovely. Emma makes good conversation too. Kids these days...and their conversations.
To the Red Carpet Inn...to meet Hersh, buy postcards, and *oops* make it clearly obvious that I am the oldest person residing in room #101 this fine July evening. To the room!
Obligatory leap onto made-up king sized bed.
Obligatory dance around the room to Michael Franti.
Obligatory first shot of Penn 1681.
Obligatory reading of verses from the nightstand Bible.
Toenail conversations in the closet, investigation of every crack hole and drug spot in the room, fridge stocking, taste testing, the realization we have no cups, the arrival of a Mooney mistress...
And what was to become the demise of the first round of fun: the boys.
[F*CKING DOUG.]
Passing out the drinks, another couple of ladies arrive, and then another. Drinking, passing, drinking, smoking, passing, chatting, laughing, a step outside and-
Don't close that when you come out, we don----
BAM.
[F*CKING DOUG.]
We really don't have the key. Really.
[F*CKING DOUG.]
Press the call button for the office multiple times. Walk back shaking my head...
[F*CKING DOUG.]
"Is everything alright?"
"Nope."
[F*CKING DOUG.]
"THE COPS ARE COMING! EFFING RUN!!!"
No, ladies...we're just locked out.
Guess who bolts? Among others,
[F*CKING DOUG.]
SLS joins me at the office to convene with some sane-telligence. Which is eclipsed by the smooth move of a full body slam of the locked door. Enough (or more than the call button) to rouse Hersh from his slumber.
Another head shake.
We're back in.
The night gets hazy. Girls and girls and girls. I sober up into an alternate half awake reality where I play inquisitioner in game show style truth or "double truth." I participate half-heartedly in platonic spin the bottle where I am passed over for a bag of BBQ chips by the one person I'd be interested in kissing...but am surprised at those who don't chose the chips over my cheek. Which is simultaneously odd and unnerving.
I went to the fair. We rode the ferris wheel twice, got some cotton candy, some balloons and headed back.
We rode in a backseat with four people. Seven total in the car. To Sheetz. I do not know the Sheetz I speak of.
I spooned with a girl. Two or three in total. They were tattooed and smelled like cigarettes and ironically were not old enough to buy either of those things.
I kept myself in check. I broke the law on only two fronts. No, three. Four?
Becca guarded my face when I slept from Sharpies gone awry.
I woke to Indian music at 8AM.
I went for a morning drive with a nice young gentlelady. I bought her some coffee for her generosity and the fact she kept me sane.
Mooney mistress brought me an hour out of her way to the train...
After a casually confusing kiss goodbye. I gave up figuring it out. And that's seemingly OK.
Drank my latte and listened to Tegan and Sara while waiting for the train, processing the day, the week, the month, the year.
Came home and launched into another kind of debauchery- drinking up sunshine and water and filling my stomach with all (by all I mean 2 or 3 or 4) the things I denied myself last night. Threw out the cigarettes with the dirty drawings on the pack.
[F*CKING DOUG.]
And took a drive. And a nap. And had another glass of water.
Refreshed. Renewed. Ready to make this week another great one.
The question is...focusing primary mental energy on one person seems to get me into trouble. Is it time to sow some oats? I think it may be.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Getting to Here, from There
I'm trying to get faster at everything work related. But things still take a minute to upload. So I'm writing.
And reflecting.
One month ago I was struggling to know what I wanted in a relationship.
Two months ago I was struggling to learn how to do my job.
Three months ago I was struggling to lose weight.
Four months ago I was struggling to figure out where I was going to GET a job.
Five months ago I was struggling to figure out how I was going to even get myself to Philly.
Six months ago, this was all just a spark in my eye- one of those things you tell people to which they raise their eyebrows and say, "Really? How cool..."
[You doubt they believe you. You don't know if you believe yourself.
But then you think of a year before that. January 2008. When life was just getting back to being OK. When things were just starting to clear. When the fog began to lift in the slightest and you started to peer out of the cabin on the ship and realize you didn't know where the storm had taken you.]
That was further along than 6 months before that. Two years ago- July 2007. Returning to Queensbury, NY with my head hung, not understanding why I couldn't find a job. Or take care of myself. Or face people. Or dress myself properly. Or find my lost confidence.
Where was 2005 Amanda? Where was the girl who kissed a stranger at the top of the world in San Francisco less than a year and a half before? She was missing. She was packing a UHaul with tears in her eyes, tail between her legs, begging the roommates she was leaving to try and understand. But there was nothing anyone could understand at that point.
Confusion had escalated or morphed or gained momentum since 6 months before that. When I was letting my lip (and my friendships) heal from a major tumble...and trying to grow out my 2 inch long platinum blond hair. Stacking soda cans in pyramids. Drawing pictures in finger paint on my rented walls. Running off to Albany to binge drink a week away in the snow and NY to spend my student loan money freely on unnecessaries. Not understanding how denying myself healthcare could possibly lead to another trip to the hospital.
The place it had seemingly begun a little less than a year before. March 2006. Defined as the beginning of the end to me when I reflected on it three summers ago, I can see it now more as a beginning of something bigger. Not an end at all, but a deeper understanding of my own brain and consciousness. And of how my own personality flaws or quirks could spiral into a massive web of madness that just knocks me down flat and out like no other person could do to me.
The most intriguing part of that crippling madness is that it felt like a privilege at the time- a flight with the gods. I felt I was privy to secret knowledge, secret dimensions in the everyday that others didn't see or know or even comprehend. I painted grass gold. I stole Bibles and buckets of change, leaving my own books and shoes and poems and drawings and clothes in exchange. I proudly presented a purple sign I'd bought [that said "Pimp Street"] to the 18 year old rental car staff member who helped me clean the junk out of my car while we talked politics. I wore 6 layers of scarves and dresses and t shirts, but no undergarments. I spoke almost only with strangers and wandered through different streets in California, ripping down flyers that I believed held great truth for my future. I did all of this as though I was doing the work of something greater.
I believed I was blessed; able to rhyme lines and lines and lines of poetry and prophecy, which, though it didn't make sense, was mildly entertaining to others. I felt I was blessed to be so happy, so powerful, so indestructibly full of life. Until something, from the smallest thing like hearing a beautiful song up to a big scary thing like being strapped down to a bed, made me feel so tiny and insignificant and young and scared that all I could do was cry and cry and ask [my kind young boss or my mother or the doctors] to be let out of my own head.
Seeing my loved one's reactions to my illness was hard. At first fulfilling- getting more visitors than any patient at McLean made me feel oddly popular and like I owned the place. I'd tour my friends and coworkers around to meet the locals. The man who spoke to his cane, which had the head of a dog (Gerard from South Boston). The girl who wanted me to share everything I owned, who traded me an Alanis Morrissette CD and disc man for my toothbrush (Arlainne from Armenia). The young man who promised to send me his screen play to share with my BU film maker friends (Scott, from Waltham...who did send me that screen play. I think I threw it out with a sigh.) I wheeled my friends and family around the wings of McLean as they came in and out, dropped by with gifts, only to leave sad and scared. I spoke nonsense, I didn't understand why it was nonsense and I was, in many ways, relatable to people I didn't know more so than those who were looking to recognize the old me- the intelligence or sense of humor or, at the very least, the honesty they had known before.
These three things are what I feel it has taken me over three years to get back. It took months of mis-medication, over-medication, numbness, mindless eating, lying awake in bed for hours, drugs, alcohol, learning how to think, talk, write, breathe, enjoy life; it took weeks of working out my own mind, something no therapist helped with in the least. It took years to get me to a place where I cared about myself enough to put my pain to good use and then shake it off like a cold chill or a summer shawl.
But now, July 2009, I have a job and a house in a city I love, see people I adore, try new things, branch out daily, travel, paint, dance, sing, walk everywhere, solve problems, make plans, socialize, stay in touch, maintain a busy schedule, extending and retracting my limits of time and space and constantly remembering at the back of my mind just how long it took to get here. A reminder that keeps me on track.
I feel revived. And though still challenged by things each day, I haven't struggled so far this month. With any of it. Any of it at all. It's like someone pulled the book down from a shelf I hadn't seen, handed it to me and walked away. And I'm flipping through it, looking up incredulously every so often wondering, "why the hell didn't I get this book 10 years ago?"
Maybe next month will be a different story. But for now, I thank the gods for their flight. It was longer and more enlightening than I ever could have imagined. And I'm pretty sure we're still on the tarmac.
Stay tuned.
And reflecting.
One month ago I was struggling to know what I wanted in a relationship.
Two months ago I was struggling to learn how to do my job.
Three months ago I was struggling to lose weight.
Four months ago I was struggling to figure out where I was going to GET a job.
Five months ago I was struggling to figure out how I was going to even get myself to Philly.
Six months ago, this was all just a spark in my eye- one of those things you tell people to which they raise their eyebrows and say, "Really? How cool..."
[You doubt they believe you. You don't know if you believe yourself.
But then you think of a year before that. January 2008. When life was just getting back to being OK. When things were just starting to clear. When the fog began to lift in the slightest and you started to peer out of the cabin on the ship and realize you didn't know where the storm had taken you.]
That was further along than 6 months before that. Two years ago- July 2007. Returning to Queensbury, NY with my head hung, not understanding why I couldn't find a job. Or take care of myself. Or face people. Or dress myself properly. Or find my lost confidence.
Where was 2005 Amanda? Where was the girl who kissed a stranger at the top of the world in San Francisco less than a year and a half before? She was missing. She was packing a UHaul with tears in her eyes, tail between her legs, begging the roommates she was leaving to try and understand. But there was nothing anyone could understand at that point.
Confusion had escalated or morphed or gained momentum since 6 months before that. When I was letting my lip (and my friendships) heal from a major tumble...and trying to grow out my 2 inch long platinum blond hair. Stacking soda cans in pyramids. Drawing pictures in finger paint on my rented walls. Running off to Albany to binge drink a week away in the snow and NY to spend my student loan money freely on unnecessaries. Not understanding how denying myself healthcare could possibly lead to another trip to the hospital.
The place it had seemingly begun a little less than a year before. March 2006. Defined as the beginning of the end to me when I reflected on it three summers ago, I can see it now more as a beginning of something bigger. Not an end at all, but a deeper understanding of my own brain and consciousness. And of how my own personality flaws or quirks could spiral into a massive web of madness that just knocks me down flat and out like no other person could do to me.
The most intriguing part of that crippling madness is that it felt like a privilege at the time- a flight with the gods. I felt I was privy to secret knowledge, secret dimensions in the everyday that others didn't see or know or even comprehend. I painted grass gold. I stole Bibles and buckets of change, leaving my own books and shoes and poems and drawings and clothes in exchange. I proudly presented a purple sign I'd bought [that said "Pimp Street"] to the 18 year old rental car staff member who helped me clean the junk out of my car while we talked politics. I wore 6 layers of scarves and dresses and t shirts, but no undergarments. I spoke almost only with strangers and wandered through different streets in California, ripping down flyers that I believed held great truth for my future. I did all of this as though I was doing the work of something greater.
I believed I was blessed; able to rhyme lines and lines and lines of poetry and prophecy, which, though it didn't make sense, was mildly entertaining to others. I felt I was blessed to be so happy, so powerful, so indestructibly full of life. Until something, from the smallest thing like hearing a beautiful song up to a big scary thing like being strapped down to a bed, made me feel so tiny and insignificant and young and scared that all I could do was cry and cry and ask [my kind young boss or my mother or the doctors] to be let out of my own head.
Seeing my loved one's reactions to my illness was hard. At first fulfilling- getting more visitors than any patient at McLean made me feel oddly popular and like I owned the place. I'd tour my friends and coworkers around to meet the locals. The man who spoke to his cane, which had the head of a dog (Gerard from South Boston). The girl who wanted me to share everything I owned, who traded me an Alanis Morrissette CD and disc man for my toothbrush (Arlainne from Armenia). The young man who promised to send me his screen play to share with my BU film maker friends (Scott, from Waltham...who did send me that screen play. I think I threw it out with a sigh.) I wheeled my friends and family around the wings of McLean as they came in and out, dropped by with gifts, only to leave sad and scared. I spoke nonsense, I didn't understand why it was nonsense and I was, in many ways, relatable to people I didn't know more so than those who were looking to recognize the old me- the intelligence or sense of humor or, at the very least, the honesty they had known before.
These three things are what I feel it has taken me over three years to get back. It took months of mis-medication, over-medication, numbness, mindless eating, lying awake in bed for hours, drugs, alcohol, learning how to think, talk, write, breathe, enjoy life; it took weeks of working out my own mind, something no therapist helped with in the least. It took years to get me to a place where I cared about myself enough to put my pain to good use and then shake it off like a cold chill or a summer shawl.
But now, July 2009, I have a job and a house in a city I love, see people I adore, try new things, branch out daily, travel, paint, dance, sing, walk everywhere, solve problems, make plans, socialize, stay in touch, maintain a busy schedule, extending and retracting my limits of time and space and constantly remembering at the back of my mind just how long it took to get here. A reminder that keeps me on track.
I feel revived. And though still challenged by things each day, I haven't struggled so far this month. With any of it. Any of it at all. It's like someone pulled the book down from a shelf I hadn't seen, handed it to me and walked away. And I'm flipping through it, looking up incredulously every so often wondering, "why the hell didn't I get this book 10 years ago?"
Maybe next month will be a different story. But for now, I thank the gods for their flight. It was longer and more enlightening than I ever could have imagined. And I'm pretty sure we're still on the tarmac.
Stay tuned.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Fishing for...fish.
I sat here this morning, listening to the sound of a fishing video. One of our company's partners is off on vacation and has posted updates along the way. (Apparently his kids have been...seasick.)
But thinking about fish and fishing, I begin to wonder...what if fish developed some kind of mass communication network? And the "one that got away" spread the word about food hanging from strings, with hidden hooks in them? Would it go like Halloween candy in the 80s? Would mother fish have to check baby fish's food at all times? Would some fish go vegetarian and start eating only underwater plants?
And what would people do if the fish stopped biting? It might not affect bigger fishing operations who use giant nets. It also might not affect people who use quick hand grabs in rushing rivers. But would all the sport fishermen of the world slowly get the message and stop sitting out on boats and drinking beer and chatting? I think they wouldn't. I think they would complain at the end of the day about the fish not biting. I think legend and myth would get stirred up about where the fish WERE biting. And men would follow the stories and buy different bait and wait and wait and drink their beers.
I don't think anyone would stop fishing.
I wonder what things we engage in now that are lost causes...participating, devoting time to things that may never give us the outcome we hope for, time and time again. Are there things we do for the simple enjoyment of doing them- but which have a particular finish line we never reach? I'll think on this one and get back to you.
But thinking about fish and fishing, I begin to wonder...what if fish developed some kind of mass communication network? And the "one that got away" spread the word about food hanging from strings, with hidden hooks in them? Would it go like Halloween candy in the 80s? Would mother fish have to check baby fish's food at all times? Would some fish go vegetarian and start eating only underwater plants?
And what would people do if the fish stopped biting? It might not affect bigger fishing operations who use giant nets. It also might not affect people who use quick hand grabs in rushing rivers. But would all the sport fishermen of the world slowly get the message and stop sitting out on boats and drinking beer and chatting? I think they wouldn't. I think they would complain at the end of the day about the fish not biting. I think legend and myth would get stirred up about where the fish WERE biting. And men would follow the stories and buy different bait and wait and wait and drink their beers.
I don't think anyone would stop fishing.
I wonder what things we engage in now that are lost causes...participating, devoting time to things that may never give us the outcome we hope for, time and time again. Are there things we do for the simple enjoyment of doing them- but which have a particular finish line we never reach? I'll think on this one and get back to you.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Memorial Day Weekend Begins
After a slightly less than stressful work week (Wednesday and Thursday's work totaled 47 minutes), the folks at GD Onassis are flying the coop at 2:00 and going for drinks.
Where, you ask?
The Beer Hole.*
Tonight brings a chance to relax (god, did I mention how STRESSFUL this week has been?!), clean the house a bit (this might preclude the relaxing bit- I do have a growing list) and indulge in the second greatest American fatmaker: pizza. The first of course, being the hamburger. I think the might also include a screening of the Woody Allen favorite, Annie Hall, most likely at the Grand Cinema of County Line.
Enjoy your Memorial Day weekend, folks : )
*anywhere that serves beer
Where, you ask?
The Beer Hole.*
Tonight brings a chance to relax (god, did I mention how STRESSFUL this week has been?!), clean the house a bit (this might preclude the relaxing bit- I do have a growing list) and indulge in the second greatest American fatmaker: pizza. The first of course, being the hamburger. I think the might also include a screening of the Woody Allen favorite, Annie Hall, most likely at the Grand Cinema of County Line.
Enjoy your Memorial Day weekend, folks : )
*anywhere that serves beer
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