Monday, October 15, 2007
Monday, October 08, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Oh right. The blog.
(I'm almost afraid to admit how much I love the new Shins album.)
Sometimes you forget why you do things. Or maybe, I forget why I do things. For a while, I forgot why I kept this thing. I forgot why I needed to write at all. These days I'm completely surrounded by people who are fantastic writers, and it's intimidating. Why bother, you know? I'm so behind. I'm not anywhere close to being a professional writer like I'd planned, so why maintain something that might indicate mediocrity? So I stopped making an effort, and it fell away.
But then other things quickly bubbled up in it's place. Drawing with cool japanese markers. Biking further and further away from my apartment. Flamenco. And it began to seem like a trifle, just another thing I played at.
Until, there was, ug, I hate to admit that this might be the reason, but a new boy came into my life. And he might not even turn into a romatic relationship, but he bumped something (not literally) that I guess had been dormant for a while. It's like when you move that bookshelf in your room to another corner, and suddenly your room looks totally different. Anyway, I've been really good so far with this one, even though it's only been a few days since our first (questionable) date (or not-date). I haven't sent any cute text messages or acted over-eager. I even jumped out of the car super-quick when he dropped me off after our maybe-date. We have another maybe-date to see the movie in the cemetary this weekend.
I was sooooo close to jumping the gun the other day thought, and the whole incident reminded me why this forum is important for me to keep up. It was a beautiful, hot, sunny Sunday afternoon, and I was super stressed out about work, freaking about things I couldn't control but were my responsibility anyway. I was looking for validation, from someone, anyone, and I thought about texting him. He gave me a few of his films to watch (he's doing a project for me for work, which is how we met), and they're actually good. I was going to text him something funny about his films, and see what his response was. But I didn't! I actually had the fortitude to think critically about the situation, and not mess it up. And I remember what I did with a lot of that nervous energy before, when I was actually dating (or something) people with some frequency. I wrote. A lot.
I've always sort of felt like writing, and likely all art, comes from a bubbling over of some emotional experience. When you can't hold something in your skin or your brain or your heart, it comes out. And it doesn't matter whether it's through the pen, the brush, the guitar string, or the flamenco shoe. It just has to come. Or else we go a little crazy, and our whole world gets thrown off. We stop communicating effectively, we begin looking outside ourselves for relief. And that's backwards you see, because it can't ever come from the other person.
Sometimes you forget why you do things. Or maybe, I forget why I do things. For a while, I forgot why I kept this thing. I forgot why I needed to write at all. These days I'm completely surrounded by people who are fantastic writers, and it's intimidating. Why bother, you know? I'm so behind. I'm not anywhere close to being a professional writer like I'd planned, so why maintain something that might indicate mediocrity? So I stopped making an effort, and it fell away.
But then other things quickly bubbled up in it's place. Drawing with cool japanese markers. Biking further and further away from my apartment. Flamenco. And it began to seem like a trifle, just another thing I played at.
Until, there was, ug, I hate to admit that this might be the reason, but a new boy came into my life. And he might not even turn into a romatic relationship, but he bumped something (not literally) that I guess had been dormant for a while. It's like when you move that bookshelf in your room to another corner, and suddenly your room looks totally different. Anyway, I've been really good so far with this one, even though it's only been a few days since our first (questionable) date (or not-date). I haven't sent any cute text messages or acted over-eager. I even jumped out of the car super-quick when he dropped me off after our maybe-date. We have another maybe-date to see the movie in the cemetary this weekend.
I was sooooo close to jumping the gun the other day thought, and the whole incident reminded me why this forum is important for me to keep up. It was a beautiful, hot, sunny Sunday afternoon, and I was super stressed out about work, freaking about things I couldn't control but were my responsibility anyway. I was looking for validation, from someone, anyone, and I thought about texting him. He gave me a few of his films to watch (he's doing a project for me for work, which is how we met), and they're actually good. I was going to text him something funny about his films, and see what his response was. But I didn't! I actually had the fortitude to think critically about the situation, and not mess it up. And I remember what I did with a lot of that nervous energy before, when I was actually dating (or something) people with some frequency. I wrote. A lot.
I've always sort of felt like writing, and likely all art, comes from a bubbling over of some emotional experience. When you can't hold something in your skin or your brain or your heart, it comes out. And it doesn't matter whether it's through the pen, the brush, the guitar string, or the flamenco shoe. It just has to come. Or else we go a little crazy, and our whole world gets thrown off. We stop communicating effectively, we begin looking outside ourselves for relief. And that's backwards you see, because it can't ever come from the other person.
Monday, April 02, 2007
Loose threads
(Tonight I'm listening to the Guillemots. Fantastic album. They're one of those bands I heard on the radio, really liked, and then forgot about. I'm so glad they wandered back to my ears.)
One snag can end an entire dress. A dress you love, a dress that falls on you and looks perfect. And then one day, you lean too close to a wall, and there's a nail there. An old, unassuming, just-barely-sticking-out nail that sticks it's hangnail into a tiny loop you can't even see. And then it all begins to unravel. Maybe you don't notice it the first time you wash it, but the second time you wash it, suddenly it's a hole. And your heart sinks, not really because of the garment, but because of the way it made you feel, even temporarily. You'll never have it again, at least not the same way. It's hard to replace a dress like that.
This is how my brain operates. Like everything will be lovely. I'll be productive and healthy, singing without noticing. And then the rusty nail comes out, and all it takes is one snag. One little thing that I'll do wrong, one thing that maybe I didn't even do wrong, but just think I did wrong, and it'll latch on and unravel all of my happiness. I'm actually starting to notice it more and more as it's happening, which I suppose is progress. The first thing that descends is the exhaustion. I become too tired to complete any of the tasks I assigned to myself, probably because I've spent all my emotional energy worrying about this thing. Then I resort to escapism, usually in the form of a movie or a book. Then I might eat something, not necessarily junk food, but something that makes me feel guilty about eating whatever I'm eating (tonight it was tofu, celery and a soy fudgicle). The lowest point is when I begin stressing about the fat that is clearly going to build up as a result of eating and stressing. It's a vicious cycle, and results in me feeling like a pile of tangled thread at the bottom of a junk drawer.
In addition to this, I've realized that I'll probably never be able to meet and date a man, because I have fucking issues. I hate it when guys throw their game at me. I hate it so much, I've discovered, that I end up turning away perfectly wonderful men. And yes, maybe the perfectly wonderful men were not perfectly wonderful for me, but I never find out, because I get so sick of their cheesy-ass bullshit that I don't give them a second chance. I just want them to be honest with me -- is that too much to ask? To let go of their normal come-to-the-party-in-my-pants lines and just talk to me, like a person who maybe they might like to connect with intellectually, and hey, what a nice bonus it is that we're sexually attracted to each other. Oh, but no, that's too much to ask. Guys seriously, girls know when you're coming onto them -- is subtlety out of the question? Or perhaps, could you for a minute stop undressing me with your eyes and just think about what we're talking about, or how I'm reacting to you? Amazing. I think I might just be actually, completely doomed to spend my life alone.
One snag can end an entire dress. A dress you love, a dress that falls on you and looks perfect. And then one day, you lean too close to a wall, and there's a nail there. An old, unassuming, just-barely-sticking-out nail that sticks it's hangnail into a tiny loop you can't even see. And then it all begins to unravel. Maybe you don't notice it the first time you wash it, but the second time you wash it, suddenly it's a hole. And your heart sinks, not really because of the garment, but because of the way it made you feel, even temporarily. You'll never have it again, at least not the same way. It's hard to replace a dress like that.
This is how my brain operates. Like everything will be lovely. I'll be productive and healthy, singing without noticing. And then the rusty nail comes out, and all it takes is one snag. One little thing that I'll do wrong, one thing that maybe I didn't even do wrong, but just think I did wrong, and it'll latch on and unravel all of my happiness. I'm actually starting to notice it more and more as it's happening, which I suppose is progress. The first thing that descends is the exhaustion. I become too tired to complete any of the tasks I assigned to myself, probably because I've spent all my emotional energy worrying about this thing. Then I resort to escapism, usually in the form of a movie or a book. Then I might eat something, not necessarily junk food, but something that makes me feel guilty about eating whatever I'm eating (tonight it was tofu, celery and a soy fudgicle). The lowest point is when I begin stressing about the fat that is clearly going to build up as a result of eating and stressing. It's a vicious cycle, and results in me feeling like a pile of tangled thread at the bottom of a junk drawer.
In addition to this, I've realized that I'll probably never be able to meet and date a man, because I have fucking issues. I hate it when guys throw their game at me. I hate it so much, I've discovered, that I end up turning away perfectly wonderful men. And yes, maybe the perfectly wonderful men were not perfectly wonderful for me, but I never find out, because I get so sick of their cheesy-ass bullshit that I don't give them a second chance. I just want them to be honest with me -- is that too much to ask? To let go of their normal come-to-the-party-in-my-pants lines and just talk to me, like a person who maybe they might like to connect with intellectually, and hey, what a nice bonus it is that we're sexually attracted to each other. Oh, but no, that's too much to ask. Guys seriously, girls know when you're coming onto them -- is subtlety out of the question? Or perhaps, could you for a minute stop undressing me with your eyes and just think about what we're talking about, or how I'm reacting to you? Amazing. I think I might just be actually, completely doomed to spend my life alone.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Sometimes lonliness is a purple blob
Ah, Valentine's day. The single person's day of punishment. As if we're not constantly reminded (see three or four posts ago for a fuller explaination of our reprimand) about how awful and bad it is to be single. There's an entire day devoted to people in love.
Instead of being bitter this year, I'm going to take a lesson from Mrs. Barbara Brodsky. I might even declare tomorrow BB Day. Why? Well, she's freaking smart and connected to some part of the universe that many of us don't wish to acknowledge or don't believe exists. What's interesting about her advice, or the advice that she's asked to pass on, is that it's so perfectly logical. She says that instead of denying that we feel pain, or lonliness or anger, we have to confront those feelings with love. We have to visualize the feelings, understand their role, and let them dissipate.
Something about this reminds me of what I know about AA. After meeting a few AA members and talking to them about their AA experiences, I realized that much of what they do in that group should be common practice. They are allowed to embrace their weaknesses, and ask for forgiveness. They are allowed to acknowledge publicly that they have this terrible part of themselves that leads to self-destruction, and publicly ask for help with that. They make the negative confrontable, and they use love and forgiveness to diffuse that negativity. They don't deny that it's there. Ever. They don't have to, because when they're in the meetings, no one judges, and when they're in public, they're saved by anonymity.
So what would we, the people who's poison is lonliness, do about our affliction? Is there a point where we take refuge in lonliness because it's familiar? Because it's easy? When do we get to stand up and say, hello, my name is ___________ and I'm freaking unbearably lonely. And not lonely because we don't have wonderful people around us as friends or family. But lonely because we're missing that significant other. Lonely because we hope there's one other person out there who can help make this existence slightly less painful.
But let me get back to BB. The thing I really like about BB's philosophies is that they do not allow for the denial of any part of us. The anger, the depression, the self-depricating critic. They're all there. I've been assigning them colors. Anxeity is orange, a seething orange mass that has scribbles around the edges like a supernova threatening to burst. So I think about it, I see it, and I watch it dissipate into a cool blue calm. Anxiety was there, it was present, I accepted it, and let it go. Lonliness is purple, a deep, dark ocean floor purple. It's frosted -- not like the flakes -- more like one of those black ice slicks that meet unfortunate drivers in the middle of winter. Purple gets thawed by a fresh spring green, and wisps away when I can make it.
So that's what I'll be doing tomorrow. Instead of dismissing the holiday, I'll be reclaiming it. Lonliness doesn't have to be bad, and it doesn't have to be destructive. It is one of those things, part of the human experience that just is, no matter who we are, no matter who we're with. I'm not going to fight it anymore.
Instead of being bitter this year, I'm going to take a lesson from Mrs. Barbara Brodsky. I might even declare tomorrow BB Day. Why? Well, she's freaking smart and connected to some part of the universe that many of us don't wish to acknowledge or don't believe exists. What's interesting about her advice, or the advice that she's asked to pass on, is that it's so perfectly logical. She says that instead of denying that we feel pain, or lonliness or anger, we have to confront those feelings with love. We have to visualize the feelings, understand their role, and let them dissipate.
Something about this reminds me of what I know about AA. After meeting a few AA members and talking to them about their AA experiences, I realized that much of what they do in that group should be common practice. They are allowed to embrace their weaknesses, and ask for forgiveness. They are allowed to acknowledge publicly that they have this terrible part of themselves that leads to self-destruction, and publicly ask for help with that. They make the negative confrontable, and they use love and forgiveness to diffuse that negativity. They don't deny that it's there. Ever. They don't have to, because when they're in the meetings, no one judges, and when they're in public, they're saved by anonymity.
So what would we, the people who's poison is lonliness, do about our affliction? Is there a point where we take refuge in lonliness because it's familiar? Because it's easy? When do we get to stand up and say, hello, my name is ___________ and I'm freaking unbearably lonely. And not lonely because we don't have wonderful people around us as friends or family. But lonely because we're missing that significant other. Lonely because we hope there's one other person out there who can help make this existence slightly less painful.
But let me get back to BB. The thing I really like about BB's philosophies is that they do not allow for the denial of any part of us. The anger, the depression, the self-depricating critic. They're all there. I've been assigning them colors. Anxeity is orange, a seething orange mass that has scribbles around the edges like a supernova threatening to burst. So I think about it, I see it, and I watch it dissipate into a cool blue calm. Anxiety was there, it was present, I accepted it, and let it go. Lonliness is purple, a deep, dark ocean floor purple. It's frosted -- not like the flakes -- more like one of those black ice slicks that meet unfortunate drivers in the middle of winter. Purple gets thawed by a fresh spring green, and wisps away when I can make it.
So that's what I'll be doing tomorrow. Instead of dismissing the holiday, I'll be reclaiming it. Lonliness doesn't have to be bad, and it doesn't have to be destructive. It is one of those things, part of the human experience that just is, no matter who we are, no matter who we're with. I'm not going to fight it anymore.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Wine stains are hard to wash out
This will probably sound trite, and slightly emo. Sorry.
What makes us go to the darkest parts of who we are? What makes us think the worst of ourselves, or of others? What makes us seek validation outside ourselves, when we know everything should be in place? We have the good job, the good people in our lives, and still there's something that pulls us down from that white fur-lined slot called comfortable?
It's Thursday at 8:38, I just got home from a wine tasting with a brilliant group of women, and I feel like that red wine poured down my throat and so deep into my soul that my whole insides are stained a darker red. Either that, or the wine pulled back the thin layer of rational thought that was protecting me from myself.
Is it capitalism? The idea that what we have is never enough, that there's always something else we could have, something else we should have, that leaves us empty even after a perfect social interaction?
And then of course, I attach it to the unattainable. I've started a secret admirer correspondence with someone who has absolutely no idea who I am, which is so completely safe for me, because even if he rejects me, he'll never know who I am. Simultaneously, this supplies me with an outlet for whatever jagged feeling that's stretching out my pores trying to escape. It's like a longing that I want to have, that feels good and awful at the same time. I feel longing and know that whatever semblance of love I feel for this person will go unfulfilled. That's comfortable somehow, because I can control it. I realize now that it's not about finding someone. It's about accepting the fact that finding that someone is completely out of your control, and no matter how I try to manipulate that, it will not get me closer to finding that someone. That someone will find his way here. It will happen, as all things do, in there own time. I'm not advocating fate of course, but just the natural course of things, if those two are different.
And the other weird thing about this feeling is, is that it not only stems from my singledom, it also stems from a feeling like I am in some way intellectually inadequate. I've not felt like that in a long time. But now I am surrounded by writers, brilliant fucking writers, who know exactly how to express themselves with these words, with these letters I so often struggle with. Words that are my friends and enemies all in the same phrase. I want the thing, whatever it is that switches on in these people that makes them see things in words, only I don't want to envy. I just want it to be. I want that part of my brain to switch on, and not to struggle to get out a sentence that I'm proud of.
What makes us go to the darkest parts of who we are? What makes us think the worst of ourselves, or of others? What makes us seek validation outside ourselves, when we know everything should be in place? We have the good job, the good people in our lives, and still there's something that pulls us down from that white fur-lined slot called comfortable?
It's Thursday at 8:38, I just got home from a wine tasting with a brilliant group of women, and I feel like that red wine poured down my throat and so deep into my soul that my whole insides are stained a darker red. Either that, or the wine pulled back the thin layer of rational thought that was protecting me from myself.
Is it capitalism? The idea that what we have is never enough, that there's always something else we could have, something else we should have, that leaves us empty even after a perfect social interaction?
And then of course, I attach it to the unattainable. I've started a secret admirer correspondence with someone who has absolutely no idea who I am, which is so completely safe for me, because even if he rejects me, he'll never know who I am. Simultaneously, this supplies me with an outlet for whatever jagged feeling that's stretching out my pores trying to escape. It's like a longing that I want to have, that feels good and awful at the same time. I feel longing and know that whatever semblance of love I feel for this person will go unfulfilled. That's comfortable somehow, because I can control it. I realize now that it's not about finding someone. It's about accepting the fact that finding that someone is completely out of your control, and no matter how I try to manipulate that, it will not get me closer to finding that someone. That someone will find his way here. It will happen, as all things do, in there own time. I'm not advocating fate of course, but just the natural course of things, if those two are different.
And the other weird thing about this feeling is, is that it not only stems from my singledom, it also stems from a feeling like I am in some way intellectually inadequate. I've not felt like that in a long time. But now I am surrounded by writers, brilliant fucking writers, who know exactly how to express themselves with these words, with these letters I so often struggle with. Words that are my friends and enemies all in the same phrase. I want the thing, whatever it is that switches on in these people that makes them see things in words, only I don't want to envy. I just want it to be. I want that part of my brain to switch on, and not to struggle to get out a sentence that I'm proud of.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Laundry pile eats young girl's room in LA!
I think laundry only becomes a monumental task when you let it build up. If I didn't hate doing it so much and it wasn't so inefficient, I'd probably do it every day. Instead I choose to wait until there's nothing left to wear (except underwear. I always have enough underwear. If I could just wear underwear around, I'd be good for like 5 weeks). I should be doing laundry right now, in fact. But that's not the point. I was trying to make up a good excuse for why I haven't updated my blog until now by making an analogy to my growing lump of laundry. I have a huge lump of colorful things to write down, and I'm afraid I won't be able to do them all justice. But at least I'll get them all hung out to dry.
1. I went to a ridiculous wedding on NYE. It was by far the drunkest few days I've had since college (yep. Few days. Something about the midwest makes you want to get wasted at almost every opportunity). It was all-around excellent. I reunited with so many old friends, and it only took us about 30 seconds to fall back into our old habits. Some of us developed new habits (was there a number 10 you say? Oh yes. There was. And he was hot.). I spent most of my time laughing I until I was crying, and listening to people talk about where they're headed. I can't wait for Weddingtastic II.
2. I started a new, freaking awesome job. It's not in LAUSD, but it is education-related. It's allowing me to help lots of kids, distribute resources equitably, and meet an entire barrage of new people in the city. It's also allowed me to meet Ted Danson, Ed Norton, Will Ferrell, Dave Grohl and my favorite of all time, Michael Cera. What is it? Oh, I'm not going to tell you here.
3. As usual, I've been having lots of interesting realizations about boys. I had the fortunate/unfortunate opportunity to meet and hang out with one of my literary heroes (he's a lesser-known author and magazine editor, it's not who you're thinking of). I've had this secret crush on him forever, and I've seen him read about 5 times. The interesting thing about him is that he does not possess the physical qualities that I'm usually attracted to. In fact, one might be so inclined to say he's kind of a "bro." For some reason, that doesn't seem to temper the intensity of the crush. He's just so freaking smart, but not in a traditional 19th centrury philosophy quoting way. He has this incredible curiosity about people that I find so very beautiful. Two negatives: he lives no where near here, and he's completely in love with his ex-girlfriend. I think it's probably better to be in love with him in my head only anyways. Second realization: I'm miles away from wanting a super-serious relationship. Watching all the people around me go through crap with their others, it's so awful. I don't think I could deal with that. As much as I'd like to have someone in my life, I don't think I could say, 'yeah, I'm ready to be with you, and only you, and deal with all your baggage, and ask you to deal with all of mine.' Bleh. I would hate to inflict myself or be inflicted on. Perhaps when you meet the right person you become more willing, but for me right now, it's just not there.
So that's good for now, at least I feel like I did my delicates.
1. I went to a ridiculous wedding on NYE. It was by far the drunkest few days I've had since college (yep. Few days. Something about the midwest makes you want to get wasted at almost every opportunity). It was all-around excellent. I reunited with so many old friends, and it only took us about 30 seconds to fall back into our old habits. Some of us developed new habits (was there a number 10 you say? Oh yes. There was. And he was hot.). I spent most of my time laughing I until I was crying, and listening to people talk about where they're headed. I can't wait for Weddingtastic II.
2. I started a new, freaking awesome job. It's not in LAUSD, but it is education-related. It's allowing me to help lots of kids, distribute resources equitably, and meet an entire barrage of new people in the city. It's also allowed me to meet Ted Danson, Ed Norton, Will Ferrell, Dave Grohl and my favorite of all time, Michael Cera. What is it? Oh, I'm not going to tell you here.
3. As usual, I've been having lots of interesting realizations about boys. I had the fortunate/unfortunate opportunity to meet and hang out with one of my literary heroes (he's a lesser-known author and magazine editor, it's not who you're thinking of). I've had this secret crush on him forever, and I've seen him read about 5 times. The interesting thing about him is that he does not possess the physical qualities that I'm usually attracted to. In fact, one might be so inclined to say he's kind of a "bro." For some reason, that doesn't seem to temper the intensity of the crush. He's just so freaking smart, but not in a traditional 19th centrury philosophy quoting way. He has this incredible curiosity about people that I find so very beautiful. Two negatives: he lives no where near here, and he's completely in love with his ex-girlfriend. I think it's probably better to be in love with him in my head only anyways. Second realization: I'm miles away from wanting a super-serious relationship. Watching all the people around me go through crap with their others, it's so awful. I don't think I could deal with that. As much as I'd like to have someone in my life, I don't think I could say, 'yeah, I'm ready to be with you, and only you, and deal with all your baggage, and ask you to deal with all of mine.' Bleh. I would hate to inflict myself or be inflicted on. Perhaps when you meet the right person you become more willing, but for me right now, it's just not there.
So that's good for now, at least I feel like I did my delicates.
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