Caroline Loves You More

Boys and Girls Part I

2011-12-20T23:21:00.001-06:00

Ah yes. A most popular topic amongst (whoa, apparently "amongst" isn't a word) most people. It pops into my brain...usually....and now I can't think of the actual blog I've been brewing for a while. Oh well. That one was probably overly sentimental anyway.

So, boys and girls. Why is it that we get into these debates over what people think, and how things are, and how they should or shouldn't be? Is it just me? Am I target because I happen to enjoy "goofing off" (that's what I'm calling it. You can call it what you will) at parties and/or gatherings? Someone always asks my big ol' mouth what I think about it all...about the debate...or the state of things...whatever. And I carefully (I give myself some credit) dive in. Why? I'm pretty sure I'm better at debating the realities than the people that try to rile me up.

When I was a little one (girl, that is), I used to surf the channels on the radio to find a girl singing. It's not that I didn't appreciate music sung by boys. I did. My parents mostly listened to oldies, so there was a lot of Frankie Valli, Brian Wilson, Simon and Garfunkel, etc. All boys, I know. There was also A LOT of Judy Collins. My dad LOVED Judy Collins. I still listen to one of her albums, Sanity and Grace, and think of my dad. BUT, for me, and my time, the station changing/searching for female voices lead me to Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, The Bangles, etc. I don't know why I wanted to hear girl voices, other than the fact I felt that I could emulate them (magnificently at age 6), or the fact that I KNEW, I KNEW there was something different about us.

So there it is. My rebuttal to the first argument that people throw out against feminism: You can't deny that men and women are DIFFERENT. Correct. I cannot, and I do not wish to do so. Some propagandist had the grand idea to toss that one out to the women all over the world fighting for equality. Can't you just see him right now? "Hey, y'all! How can y'all be equal if y'all don't have no penis? Y'all are different. Get over it!" And the tragedy (the familiarly American of all tragedies) is that it worked. People are still using that same DAMN argument. OH FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE! Read a book.

Yes, I knew at a young age that I was different. Even before I really had any idea about the anatomical differences. I never wanted to be Van Halen when we played pretend. I was always Cindi Lauper (even though I totally wanted to be Madonna, but my friend Melody HAD to be her, and I HAD to be Cindi...so...whatever. I woulda rocked The Apprentice). I was always a girl because I always wanted to be a girl.

And just as I never wanted to be a boy, the women who first began to speak out, step out, and stand up in the name of equality had no interest in being boys, or men, or what have you. They were always only women.

So let's start there. A dialogue. It's not a trap. It's a dialogue. There is so much to say. Margaret Fuller, an early proponent for women's rights (my favorite, actually), organized "conversations" wherein she encouraged men and women to talk about what they new, and how they felt, and what they wanted. It was a place for men and women to teach each other, and it was, if not ground breaking, the beginning of something as such. Elizabeth Cady Stanton attended Fuller's conversations. She wrote the women's declaration of independence (using a great deal of Fuller's teaching), which was signed in 1848 at Seneca Falls, NY by 68 women.....and 32 men, and that was only the beginning.

For the Sake of Having a New Post

2011-11-16T12:59:00.000-06:00

OH goodness. It has been quite some time since we had ourselves a little chat, and the last chat was a bit of a downer, I suppose. I will say, that I had a great response from it. I got exactly the response I was looking for: People that were silently dealing with the same mud I was wallowing in came out of the woodwork to talk to me about their own struggles. It's good when we share.

I'm sitting here listening to Big Star with my sleepy dog beside me, like a personal heater, and the rain is plinking on my tin roof. It's 66 degrees right now, in November, and THAT, my friends, is why I love living in the south. It's humid and misty, but not unpleasant in any way. My windows are open, and the rain smells good.

As I was driving home last night from Relapse through patches of dense fog, I was reminded of my time in Shenandoah National Park a few years ago (....10?). I was working at a gift shop/camp store/cafe as a slave to Miss (a carton of cigarettes a day) Dolores, but that's a different story entirely. On my coveted days off, when I wasn't rushing down to the nearest town off the mountain to drink real Dr. Pepper (Dr....Best? is just not the same) (and, yes, these are the things I voted on as important...10? years ago. Shut. Up.), I was exploring the park.

The great (hahaha) thing about Shenandoah National Park is that it sits on the top of a 105 mile ridge of the Appalachian Mountains. It sits on top. ON TOP. So, anywhere you might find yourself exploring, you are going to be going down, and to return to your starting place, you are going to have to go up. It took me a while to figure this out. I was determined to spend the summer running the trails.

It was a lovely foggy day up on the ridge at Skyland when I set out on one of my seemingly simple jogs. I was running along the drive, headed for a trail head a mile *down the road. It was so easy. I felt like I must be hitting a runner's high awfully soon in the run, but I was pretty much a bad-ass, so this did not surprise me in the least. I took a little break at an overlook of an ancient hemlock forest. I read the information marker, and played a balancing game with the stone wall that separated the highway from the drop into the forest below. It was here that I saw my first bear of the summer.

Everyone had been talking about bears. People would run into the store randomly shouting about how everyone needed to run out to see the bears eating the garbage (ah, the great outdoors), but I was stuck behind my stupid counter restocking film (stuff that was once used to make pictures), or gum. GUM. I wanted to see a bear, dammit. Instead, I just stuffed my face with fudge when Delores wasn't looking. BUT TODAY! Today, I saw a bear. A bear cub, my friends, a cute bear cub, foraging on the side of the road, the edge of the woods, across the highway from me. THIS was an accomplishment. Not only had I run a delightful mile (entirely down hill), but I had stopped at just the right spot to see a bear.

I stared for a moment, then slowly tiptoed away (despite the noisy vehicles on the drive). I kept balancing on the stone wall. Someone may have slowed down to warn me of the dangers of my behavior, but I didn't care. I had totally just seen a bear. On my left, Skyline drive wound along the ridge, and on my right, a thick fog rested on the tops of some of the trees down in the valley.

I found my trail head and made my way...up. Tried running a little, realized I wasn't quite the athlete I had assumed, but finally made my way to the overlook....I assumed. I knew where I was because I had been to the overlook via a different route a number of times, but this time it was a bit of a mystery because of the fog. I sat on the edge of the cliff, and rested my body against the wall of cloud in front of me. I was sitting in a cloud. It was misty and cool, but not cold. I knew the cloud was hiding the drop directly in front of me, and that felt amazing. I was sitting in a blind cloud on top of a mountain, a huge invisible drop beneath my dangling feet.

I suppose there should be a point to this, a wrap up. But there isn't actually. It's just a story. A day I spent in the woods/not the woods. Shenandoah was like that. This bizarre amalgamation of actual wild-life and the people that are terrified of it watching it from the comfort of their cars. I saw many bears after that. They mostly hung around the employee dorms eating our trash. I never really saw one in the true wild, but I saw plenty of deer. One of my first days in the park I was exploring a trail early in the season that was delightfully empty. It crossed the AT at one point and got pretty narrow. This is where I saw my first buck. It was standing in the middle of the trail, inches from me. I had to keep going forward to get back to the dorms, so I slowly made my way towards the buck. He watched me the whole way, but he never moved. He allowed me to slide myself between him and the drop off the trail into the hollow. I could'v touched him, but I didn't. I didn't make any noise either. We just watched each other. I don't know why, but I too was a bit nervous as to what he would do.

Then I went back to my dorm, ate some fudge, and listened to the guy in the room next door watch episode after episode of Who Wants to be a Millionaire.

Bleak House

2011-08-30T23:06:00.000-05:00

I'm about to do something that might not be too safe. I like to present myself to the public of the world wide interwebs as a person of clear mind and outstanding character, a girl that laughs in the face of adversity and walks with a spring in her step. I certainly don't want to make anyone uncomfortable or come across as melodramatic and lame. I have been known to be both of those things, and I do not wish to propagate that personality aspect with this particular blog. I just want to be honest, and I just want to share. Maybe someone out there needs to hear this. I don't know. I could certainly use it.

I suffer from a delightful disease that was once called "depression," but has now been upgraded to "major depressive disorder." I guess that sounds more medical. Maybe because so many people like to whine about how "depressed" they are, the mayo clinic (or whoever's in charge of that sort of thing) decided it might be easier to give it a more technical/medical sounding name. It IS, after all, a medical condition. I have a history of it, and I come from a long line of afflicted who, if not properly diagnosed because of their generation, were terribly misunderstood. It is, as they say, in my blood. And this one is heavy.

I bring it up now because I seem to have slipped deep into a bout of it over the past few months. It's a funny feeling watching things slip out of your grasp, sinking, but spinning uncontrollably. I could not tell you, if you asked, when it started, or give you an outline of my descent. The pictures are never that clear. That's what it is: a fuzziness in your brain, a cloudiness, that fogs the reality, the logical order of every day life. Maybe it happens in slow motion, but a blind slow motion, not one during which you see all the little nuances of every single move made. Slipping into depression is like sinking slowly underwater. It's comfortable, yet suffocating, calm, yet terrifying.

I feel it in my whole body. Every muscle aches. Sometimes I think I can't even move under the weight. Every single decision I make throughout my days, is tossed up against this wall that I watched building around me, yet said nothing. It's a heaving of myself into each task, and it's exhausting. Sometimes I have to convince myself that I have to talk. I have to will myself to communicate. I have to fight myself to keep from crying.

And sometimes I do cry. I cry until I laugh at myself because I know exactly where I am. I made it home a few days ago and sat myself back in the far corner of my house, and I cried out loud, "I don't want to be sad anymore," and then I laughed, and I breathed, and my dog licked my knee.

And it's no one's fault. It's not even my fault. It just is. Just hovering there, completely unrelated to the earth's rotation. Simply a wire or two in my brain that is malfunctioning. But it's very lonely.

I suppose that's why I'm writing this. Depression is terribly lonely. Sometimes I don't even want to be with people because it feels more lonely than when I'm alone. Because I have no idea what to say. Because it takes so much energy to keep from responding to "hello" with "I'm so tired of being miserable." I can't find anyone talking about depression online except doctors talking about how we need to talk more about it. To whom? Who among us is able to take on, even for a brief moment, the cross we, the depressed, flail beneath? Who would we want to do that to?

Yes, I take medication, and, yes, I am a believer. Sometimes it takes work, to find the right drug and the right dosage, and sometimes everything changes, and you have to go back to square one, but it's worth it not to feel this way. It's worth it to have hope that the world isn't quite ready to write you off. I'm also a believer in therapy. NOTHING feels quite like having an hour a week during which to talk while someone listens. So few people really listen to each other. So many people need someone to listen to them. Someone that takes the weight for just a moment, and then helps you grow strong enough to bear it yourself. The weight is always there. We do have the capability of carrying it, and that's a relief.

So, I hope someone reads this, and feels relief. I hope someone stumbles upon this, and it soothes the dull pain of waking up to depression again and again.

Even with medication, depression is a tough road to travel, but it doesn't last forever. It can't. As soon as this room becomes too dark, a light will find its way in.

How To Be a Feminist Runner

2011-08-19T15:51:00.000-05:00

Many of you might consider yourselves to be runners. Many of you may consider yourselves to be feminists. But, do any of you consider yourselves to be feminist runners, or have you ever experienced a truly feminist run?

The feminist run begins at home. Mental preparation is of the utmost importance. I like to listen to the Tron Soundtrack. This is feminist because the girl in the movie is a sexy fighter. I am preparing myself for a sexy fight: me and the road. Ladies: you must wear a sports bra. Your body must be solid. You can wear a skirt. You have the choice to exercise your femininity while running, or you can wear shorts, but sometimes they ride up. How can you focus on the fight for equality while you are pulling your shorts out of your butt? I recommend a good layer of corn starch between your legs. The thighs of the maternal are big and powerful. They also chafe. Don't let this defeat you.

Step out into the night. I always run at night because I live in a small town, and I can. No one bothers me. If you live in a place where you don't feel safe, but you still want to run at night, carry some mace...or a gun. Not everyone is a feminist. No one takes advantage of you! No one crosses you!

Choose music that speaks to your soul as a woman in charge of her own destiny and riles you up (this is key). I recommend: Aretha Franklin's "Respect," Ladytron's "They only want you when you're seventeen," Metric's "Help I'm alive," or anything Liz Phair prior to her brush with pop fame. If you like, you can also listen to incredibly degrading, hard-core rap. I find this to be just the ticket when needing that extra push to keep running. Nothing makes me want to bulldoze someone like listening to a rapper degrade his woman.

Do I need to buy an arm band for my iphone? No, you do not. I put my iphone in a sock, and I lodge it safely between my shoulder-blades inside of the back of my sports bra. Make sure the sock is good and absorbent. You don't want the phone getting moist.

Finally, end your run with a song that lifts you up and makes you feel like you've won the fight and can do so again and again. I like Lady Gaga's "Edge of Glory," but, "Born This Way" works really well too.

"I'm a dude. Can I be a feminist runner?"
Yes, you can. Follow all these instructions, but leave out the sports bra and skirt bits...unless you really like wearing skirts. There is nothing wrong with that. Skirts are awesome. Instead of thinking "manly," "misogynistic" thoughts, think empowering thoughts for all human beings. Listen to "Born This Way" at least once during your run. Maybe twice...and definitely Madonna. Then eat some chocolate ice-cream and call that lady you've been thinking about. Tell her how awesome she is. And, ladies, if that's you he's calling, thank him. Then, return the complement. Everyone is awesome.

A New Home

2011-08-13T02:34:00.001-05:00

I took a class in grad school on the Literature of the American West. It was taught by a Canadian and was probably my 2nd favorite seminar in grad school next to my Emerson class. I didn't love it because the books we read were astonishingly good. I mean, we read James Fenimore Cooper, for crying out loud (He wrote The Last of the Mohicans and the rest of the adventures of Natty Bumpo in the Leatherstocking tales. That's right. Daniel Day Lewis's ACTUAL character name in The Last of the Mohicans was Natty Bumpo. So sexy). No, I loved the class because it opened up the idea of a broken history to me...the idea that the American hero was a myth, and the atrocity of that myth is just as important in upholding American culture as the myth itself. There really were no heroes, just people...that took a chance.

We read a book by a woman named Caroline Kirkland, A New Home, Who'll Follow. In this book, Kirkland tells the story of her move to the great western frontier of Michigan. Michigan. But it's not drama and romance, nor is it bravery and heroism. In fact, she writes more about the hilarity and ridiculous culture and manner of the people she encountered in the land her husband informed her she would be living. By the time the book was published, everyone in town knew who wrote it and hated her for it because she refused to write heroes into corners where heroes did not exist. She wrote what she saw and what she experienced, not what the rest of America expected.

I think about her and her book, which I hurriedly read during my lunch hour before the class, when I go out in Dahlonega, when I bump into locals and listen to their stories, or when I read their stories in my conversations with other people, or when I just watch...and occasionally join in on the life that is Dahlonega, GA.

Warning: From this point on, the names have been changed to protect the innocent (me), but my guess is, if you're reading this, and you're from Dahlonega, you know who you are and who I'm talking about.

I began the evening at Shenanigans Irish Pub with professors. Mostly gay, all southern. I could listen to a cd of those people talking about their lives and their jobs and the other people in their lives for hours. I had to lean back, cross my legs, and fan myself while I sipped red wine and let the sounds of the south dance around my ears. I went from Shenanigans to The Historic Holly Theater to watch a show I had directed. Great fun. Nothing feels better than FINALLY relaxing to watch a play you've been blocking and coaching and tweaking to some semblance of perfection for the past month. The old people loved it. The young people loved it. It was okay for me to let loose.

So, from the Holly, I walked to everyone's favorite bro bar: Johnny B's because American Anodyne was playing, and the show was guaranteed to be a hit. Should I tell you what I was wearing? It seems insignificant compared to the antics I lovingly witnessed. I was wearing a dress from Banana Republic that my mother had bought me when I was 22. I'm pretty sure she had no idea at the time that I would be able to fill it out as well as I do now. The dress, a military chic, hit my curves like nothing I've ever experienced. My hairdresser and I had decided, earlier, that I had to wear heels tonight, no matter what. So I did, for six hours, until it didn't matter what was happening below the boob line. I put on my sandals and danced with Dahlonega until the bartenders kicked us out.

It's funny when a town like this comes together. You can spend night after night, month after month, seeing the same people frequent the same bars, grow weary of the familiarity of it all, but nothing feels quite like a night when it all comes together. When the locals overrun the bar most frequented by fraternities. There were beautiful women, in beautiful dresses, with a slight sheen on their skin from the humidity that the bar tried desperately to combat with large fans mounted on the walls. Nothing cuts the humidity in the south. Nothing. And there were men, in jeans and t-shirts, cowboy boots, and hippie sandals, drunkenly gazing at the women, looking for a way into their world.

There was Brian Scheltz, who, even if you've never met him, has a personal motto that you'll never forget: "I'm Brian Scheltz, I do what I want!" He hit on me early on, and finished off the night dancing with a beautiful, voluptuous woman in one hand, and a pitcher of beer all to himself in the other. Ever seen a bear (straight) dip a woman and kiss her passionately during the move? You should meet Brian Sheltz.

Then there was Brandon, a skinny boy that works at the local superstore, manages actually. You see, everyone in town has a weird feeling about Brandon. They figure he must be gay, but he keeps hitting on women. All I know for sure, is that the boy can dance, and there's not a woman on the dance floor that won't lovingly give him a moment of their time to shake hips and knock knees.

Of course, Riley, who had performed the ceremony at a wedding that hitched up two well loved locals, was dancing like a fool, with his dress shirt off and his very own pitcher of beer. Apparently, his final words in the wedding were, "And now, by the power invested in me from the internet, I now pronounce you man and wife." We danced. He instructed me to set down my wine so that we could dance like they do in the movies. It's hard to do that with a guy that can't quite see straight.

Everywhere I looked there was a picture to be taken, a moment to be captured. Students, teachers, locals, transplants, dancing and drinking together and raising a glass to the music with its roots in the deep red clay of the mountains. It was worth a bit of a sweat.

I finished my evening on the balcony of the new Chow at school, alone. The panorama from the west end of the drill field is breathtaking, even at night in the moonlight. I could see the silhouettes of the hills and mountains in the distance, against the deep purple of the night sky. A cool breeze hit me from the east, and I looked up at the moon to feel, all at once, terribly insignificant and incredibly imperative at the same time.

It smells like trees here. It smells like cut grass. And the people want you to find a reason to stay. And, sometimes, you do too.

Talking it Out

2011-08-04T22:50:00.000-05:00

I wish I could tell you that things were great or things were terrible. I can do neither. Things are neither great nor terrible, but they still seem to be weighing on me a great deal. I'm in a blank, still, muggy place that shakes me to my core while at the same time boring me to death. Sometimes I think I'm losing my mind. I'm just going to be honest. Sometimes I think I'm going insane. I feel like I'm too busy to think straight whilst getting absolutely nothing done. When my therapist cured me of perfectionism, she left me with this unique ability to be satisfied with mediocrity. Yes, I no longer explode over the tiny details, but I don't seem to hone in on them ever either. I feel content yet stifled to be sauntering through my days.

Do you know what I'm saying?

I'm also feeling the weight of being alone these days. I sit at home, surrounded by my animals, and I think, "I'm incredibly lonely." The only contact I feel I have these days is with people I'm telling what to do, and people that are telling me what to do. I'm losing my ability to have a rational, normal, inspiring conversation with anyone. Oh...and nothing inspires me these days. And that makes me sad.

Am I losing you?

Maybe...maybe...for the first time ever...I feel age. I don't feel young, fun, or energetic, and that is daunting. I probably haven't eaten enough today, and that is part of the problem....but...even when I do eat enough...when I eat a lot, I feel dragged down. I kinda wish something super awesome would happen to just knock me off my feet. I could probably find it myself, but that would require motivation and inspiration...BLURG.

Perhaps...just maybe...I need a new goal.....Oh...wait...now I'm a little bit inspired....

A Walk Down Memory Lane

2011-07-20T12:12:00.000-05:00

(I hope you don't think I'm too lazy)

Here is a post from my old Myspace blog...when I used to spend all my money running around the world.
Remember when we used to be able to take liquids on planes? This blog is about the day that all ended:

August 11, 2006

When You Don't Buy Me A Drink, You Let the Terrorists Win

Thursday morning, 6:15 a.m. London: I arrive at the check-in for my United airlines flight out of london....there is a huge line. i get a little nervous that i'll miss my flight. I ask someone. "Oh...there are just a

few security concerns, we're taking some precautions."

6:45: airport staff starts looking for people are two specific flights, one being mine. they take me out of my line (queu...because i don't want to confuse anyone) and move me to another one, where they instruct me to put all my carry-on luggage into a huge plastic bag they have given me. "only keep your money, passport, and prescription drugs." can i take my chap-stick and my book? "nothing." but...."nothing."

7:50: I am escorted from check-in to security with a group of other people on my flight. i throw my "things" in the little bin and ask about my shoes....don't worry about it...the guy tells me...i'm wearing flip-flops. i go through the detector thing. then....oh joy of joys...cause i really needed it...a woman searches my body. you know how usually when this happens, they're real careful, and tell you everything they're going to do...and touch...before they do it...and touch....well...she just felt me up. it was hot. then she yelled at me for not sending my flip flops through the xray thing. "shoes are shoes." but...the guys said....whatever...not worth it.

7:55 we are instructed to run to the gate or we will miss the flight. I get there....i didn't need to run....they search my body...again. then i sit...for about an hour and a half.

8:10 this is when i notice the news on the t.v. apparently some peeps were trying to blow up my plane...and some others. I get a little sick to my stomach. i lean forward and put my head between my knees. i can't get anything to drink because i don't have any change...and i can't take it on the plane.

9:30 we start loading on the plane.

10:00 maybe...i had no concept of time at this point...i had no watch or phone to tell me. we take off.

11:15 i get something to drink...for the love of everything that is holy. i feel like crap. the movies are crap, i don't have a book, and the music eventually starts repeating. i sleep for a few hours.

1:00 p.m. chicago time (7:00 p.m. London time). 8 hours and twenty minutes have passed since the plane took off. we are greeted at the gate by armed homeland security guards that can't believe i've been out of the U.S. for upwards of five weeks. who would want to leave this place for that long? your mom. now give me my damn passport and get me away from this plane.

1:10: baggage claim. announcement: it will be around 45 to an hour before we can get our bags. they are going through a second screening. it takes about an hour and a half. there are no phones before you get through customs. i cannot call my mom. i am tired.

2:20 i get my bags. i go through customs. "czech republic? what'd you do there?" teach english. "did you drink a lot of that delicious beer?" too much. "well...you don't seem like a threat. you can go on through."

2:25: someone grabs me outside of customs. do you have a connecting flight? yes. they tell me where to go...they tell me the wrong location...i have 20 minutes before the flight leaves. i check my bags. outside there are crowds of people yelling questions at me. did i just get in from london? what's taking so long with the bags? blah blah blah? how long were you stuck there? i call my mom. i get on the train to go from terminal 5 to terminal 1....sonofabitch. i get there. i need a boarding pass. i have to go through security again.

2:38: i'm waiting in security for this guy to stop being mad about them throwing away his vitamins.

2:40: my flight has been delayed.

2:45: I start thinking some french fries might be good...and a dr. pepper. oh wait...i haven't changed my money. shit.

3:20: i get on my plane....an hour and a half to m-town....right?

3:30: the pilot speaks. "hey folks. I'm (whatever his name was) and i'll be your captain today. i'd like to able to tell you that the flight will be smooth, BUT it probably won't be. so....sorry about that. we'll get you to memphis though....where it is....um....hot and humid."

3:45 we leave the gate and begin to taxi around the airport.

3:55 we arrive...back at the gate. the pilot speaks again, "um...so...there are a lot of storms up there, so we've been redirected around them, but we don't have enough fuel to make the new route...so we're going to fuel up. also...i'm going to make a phone call." because we care...about the phone call.

4:10: the pilot speaks again, "okay. we've probably got enough fuel now to travel around the country, but we'll just go to memphis. enjoy the flight."

5:20: the pilot speaks again, "go ahead and buckle your seat-belts, we're coming up on some really bad storms, i'm going to try to get around them, but i may not be able to. we'll be landing in about 20 minutes. the weather in memphis, i hope you're sitting down for this (i love a pilot with a sense of humor) 105 and sunny. 105. yes. 105."

5:30 i look out the window. half of the sky is clear and gorgeous. i can see the world below. the clouds all around me have built cities out of themselves. we are flying around them. i can see the curve of the plane's course. for the first time ever...i wish i could fly outside of the plane....but not actively fly...just float. some of the clouds are pure and white...some are angry....deep in the core of the cloud city there is a lightening storm. i catch my breath.

5:45: we land...smoothly....i close my eyes and feel memphis wrap around me. home has a feeling. just the feel of the ground beneath the plane...and then my feet. reaching up through the soles of my shoes....grounding me....the soul is connected to home....always.

Safe Distance Book Report

2011-07-06T10:51:00.000-05:00

I finished reading Jane Smiley's A Thousand Acres exactly two years ago, and I now feel that I have had ample time away from the book to be able to look back on it with discretion and far less emotion than I would have at the original time of completion. I found the book at a charity shop in York, England while on my way to Newcastle, and I was excited to find it published by the same UK company that had published the copy of Smiley's The All True Travels of Lidie Newton that was given to me by my "Literature of the American West" teacher during my final semester in grad school. Matching books!! YAY!

I began to read the book on the train to Newcastle, and immediately fell in love with the language:

"I was always aware, I think, of the water in the soil, the way it travels from particle to particle, molecules adhering, clustering, evaporating, heating, cooling, freezing, rising upward to the surface...The grass is gone, now, and the marshes, 'the big wet prairie,' but the sea is still beneath our feet, and we walk on it."

A Thousand Acres is about a family farm in Zebulon County, Iowa. Beyond that, it is a remarkable retelling of Shakespeare's King Lear. All the books that I have read by Smiley (all two of them) have been about the prairie. The harshness of the landscape and the constant battle to tame nature may be a bit of an inspiration. She writes about women, and their endeavors in such a climate, always environmental and always political.

If you are not familiar with King Lear, I will sum it up for you. While Hamlet is considered to be Will's greatest play, King Lear is probably his greatest "achievement." SO, it's not really all that funny. It's a lot more tragic. Maybe not as tragic as Hamlet, but probably a lot more relevant. In short, Lear is about the aging and undoing of a king, a man, and a father. King Lear decides to divide his kingdom between his three daughters. In Smiley's version, it is land (an American's "kingdom" I suppose). However, he requires that his daughters each profess their love for him. His two oldest daughters gladly step forward to make daddy feel good about himself, but the youngest, Cordelia, refuses to make a spectacle, "Nothing, my lord." "Nothing?" "Nothing." "Nothing will come of nothing, speak again." "Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave my heart into my mouth. I love your Majesty according to my bond, no more nor less." And, thus, she makes dad real mad, and he decides to divide his kingdom between his two eldest, because they clearly love him so much more.

Smiley has her Lear (Larry) divide his thousand acres between his three daughters, the youngest of whom (is that right?), Caroline (tee hee), feels doing this is a bad legal move ('cause she's a big ol' lawyer). The story is told from the point of view of one of the eldest, Ginny, and her story is inspired by the fruits of dysfunction.

Shakespeare's Lear, at first glance, is about a crazy old king that likes to talk a lot and is eventually exiled by his mean, selfish daughters. Smiley is not one for surfaces, from my experience. She digs down to the heart of the matter, which is more than I can say for myself upon reading Lear for the first time. I can talk a big game and glibly pronounce the validity of Shakespeare, "We can all totally connect with every subject he writes about, y'all," but I suppose an education at Vassar requires a bit more of a lady. I believe a review I read used the word "illuminates," to describe the actual effect of the work.

I think, and maybe this is just me, that we tend to look at the basics of Shakespeare's work: Romeo and Juliet is all about tragic love, Hamlet is about revenge, A Midsummer Night's Dream is about doing acid, etc...It takes a true scholar/artist to break beneath the surface to find the heart of the truth that Shakespeare's work truly touches on every possible human experience.

I'm not going to summarize the book, or tell you the way it ends. That would be mean. I'm also not going to recommend you read the book unless you have a strong constitution and someone close by that has also read the book when you finish it. That would also be mean. I finished A Thousand Acres over the course of an entire evening in a dorm room in Pilsen, Czech Republic. It was during this time that everything...EVERYTHING...caused me a great deal of anixety, not the least of all being feeling the sunlight come into my room while sitting in bed pouring over a book about the dissolving of a family and an idealism.

A Thousand Acres is an immensely emotional novel. It is a truth to be reckoned with. I had been told by people I didn't even know, that happened to see me reading the book, that it was a book that had an intense effect on them emotionally. I suppose that is part of why I kept reading: to figure out what they meant.

There is no lost love (of a noble nature per se), and there is no build up to an insanely tragic conclusion. Like the reality of life that Shakespeare set out to portray with King Lear, Jane Smiley paints for us a picture of the gradual decay from within that is derived using the metaphor of the poisonous ways we attempt to control the ever changing landscape. Nothing is overtly romantic. Nothing is terribly evil. People hurt each other. People hurt themselves. And everyone will grow old and die. Nothing more. Nothing less.

In the Epilogue, Ginny, our storyteller, is looking at her sister's children, and she observes, "I see in them what I am too close to see in myself, the fusing and mixing of their parents. I see how their inheritance takes place right there, in the shape of their eyes and their glance, the weight of their bodies and their movements, in their intelligence and their thoughts...my inheritance is with me, sitting in my chair...All of it is present now, here; each particle weighs some fraction of the hundred and thirty-six pounds that attaches me to the earth..."

There is nothing that can separate us from our kin.

Nancy

2011-06-21T10:18:00.001-05:00

In case you didn't know, that is my name. My name is Nancy....Caroline Allen. I am a middle name-r, and I have been for most of my life, save one day...

Let's go back bit. All the way to back to: where my parents are from. My father grew up in the south, and my mother grew up in the mid-west (Oklahoma), but they met each other while working in Washington D.C. They fell in love, mostly to insure my existence, and got married. Then, they moved to Hickory North Carolina where my dad worked selling cars (I NEVER go to a car dealership without him), and my mom carried me around...in her belly. This is a brief version. I'm sure my mom did more. She's kind of cool like that. Anywho...

It was in Hickory, North Carolina on October 12 that I was born--in case you're wondering why I'm so pretty...it's because I was a C-section baby, and my head did not get smooshed. I'm not sure the process, but I know my parents had decided that I would be named Nancy Caroline after my mom's sister, Nancy Carol, who was named after their aunt: Nancy Elizabeth Irene Caroline (THIS was ALMOST my name). If I had been a boy, the name of this blog would be: George Thomas Loves You More. Seriously. GEORGE THOMAS. I digress. A birth certificate was signed, and I'm pretty sure my feet were rolled in ink and stamped on the fancy government document: NANCY CAROLINE ALLEN.

The morning after I was born, my mother was feeding me, and probably falling madly in love with me, when a nurse walked into the room and asked in a big ol' pretty southern accent, "How's Nancy?" (In the south, Nancy is pronounced as such: Nane-see, with a long "a." This is quite different from the mid-western pronunciation: Nan-see; thus, it startled my mother) For a moment, a very brief moment, my mother was taken aback by the nurse's butchering of a name she held so dear. Therefore, she was able to respond promptly, "Her name is Caroline." I suppose in the brief moment after the nurse butchered my name, my mother saw my entire life, but all she saw was children and adults alike saying, "Nane-see!" over and over again. It must have hurt terribly.

My father was not present at the time, and had to learn the news later, I'm sure after dreaming big dreams for me as Nancy.

And this is how I became Caroline. It's funny how much a name can affect a person. People often ask me if they can call me Nancy, which is absurd to me. Why? It's my name, but it's not my name. Insurance and payroll companies refuse to call me by any other name. Sometimes people call me Caroline Nancy, but that doesn't make any sense either. Nancy Caroline flows a lot better. Right?

So, yes, my name is Nancy, but you can call me Caroline.

Out and About in Dahlonega, Georgia

2011-06-15T12:08:00.000-05:00

I feel like it's been quite a while since I reflected on the wonderful complements I often get paid when walking down the street or shopping for cds (a long time ago) or shopping for the newest version of Strunk and White. Maybe it's just been a while since I found these encounters entertaining. OR, it could be the fact that I live in a pretty calm place for..."compliments"...

Yesterday I set out on a trek from my house to The Holly Theater to sweet talk businesses into advertising for us and sweet talk the managing director to overlook my laziness. It's not uncommon that I wave to a lot of people on such walks, nor is it uncommon that I have conversations with people I don't even know; thus, when a large man in a striped polo shirt carrying an oversized Nascar photograph made eye contact as I was passing by the antique mall, I geared up for the usual "hi, how ya doin." Instead of "hello," however, the man's first words were, "WOW! NICE," in a voice that one can only learn after living in a frat house for a few years or gearing up for marathon tailgating in the fall. Being me, I don't usually assume that people are referring to...me?...when they make comments like this...especially not passing by in front of the antique mall in Dahlonega. I turned and smiled, and he continued, "you live around here?" To which I responded with the truth, "yeah." He then used my tattoo as an excuse to get a little closer and ask his next question, "but yer not from here, right?" "No," I responded, "I'm from Memphis, Tennesse."

Then he launched into my FAVORITE pick-up strategy: "Well, what the hell'dyou move here for?" Right. 'Cause I'm an idiot. Because I'm slightly mentally handicapped. So I could meet a man like you. It's almost as complimentary as "I'm sorry," when I tell people I'm from Memphis. THANKS! Really. Not enough people have apologized to me for my coming from MY HOME. Oops! My panties just fell off. It's so hard being me, and no one quite understands. If only I could live in a place like you...a suburb (undoubtedly)...surrounded by strip malls, churches, and a false sense of security. Maybe I could get some sleep.

I digress. If you thought his strategy couldn't get any worse, you would be wrong. Remember, this guy likes Nascar (yeah, I'm just that judgmental). He then explained that he comes into town every now and then on business and dropped a delicious cherry on top of the whole encounter by asking, "you wanna go out sometime? I mean, it's just me in my hotel room."

Yep. He said that. He said that. He did. He actually said that. Don't believe me? He did. I'm not lying. That is what he said.

Gee. How does a girl reply to something like that? Let's brainstorm the possibilities:

-OH, HELL YES! I'm so bored! I can think of nothing better to do than hang out with you in your hotel room.

-*giggle* okay. What are you doing tonight? *wink*

-You think you can afford me?

-YOU DISGUST ME! *biff* *wham* *pow* IN YOUR FACE! (this is my favorite/preferred)

I'm sure there are plenty more, but I just calmly and politely responded with a simple no thank you, and I may have made a face that suggested disgust. I don't usually know when those faces happen, but I do know that I have a difficult time holding them back.

So there it is. My first indecent proposal in Dahlonega. It's almost hard to believe it took this long. But, then again, Dahlonega is a pretty mild, laid-back place to live. I know. I know. How lame is that? It totally sucks, and I appreciate your apologies.

Spray Sunblock

2011-06-07T13:49:00.000-05:00

I recall a day back in 2003 when I was wearing a skirt and teaching a theatre class to a bunch of 13-14 year olds in Dallas, TX, and a girl, when called upon to answer a question, responded, "Ms. Allen...the sun is not evil." A few years later, I had upgraded from teaching to waiting tables at the illustrious Outback Steakhouse in Midtown Memphis. I was wearing some cute short shorts, and I had been layering fake tan on my legs. Despite this fact, one of my managers, upon being greeted before the shift, responded, "your legs are so white, they're practically transparent."

So, you know what, fine. Fine. I'm sorry, but someone told me that the sun not only causes aging, but it is also responsible for a great deal of cancer. And, if you must know, I had a killer tan last summer when I was farming...a killer farmer's tan. The clothed part of my body was still pretty white. 'Cause I'm white.

Thus, based upon my aforementioned attitude towards the sun, one can probably conclude that my trips to the beach involve a great deal of SPF. I'm pretty down with 50+. And now it comes in handy no rub sprays. The best part of all of this is that, instead of the awkward "I clearly couldn't reach this part of my back" sunblock white hand print, users get the "I had no idea the spray didn't get to this part of me" tan lines. Mine look like bruises. I have a nice sunburn bruise on the right side of my stomach and on my right shoulder. LOVE IT. This happened to me despite the fact that I reapplied the SPF 50 more than once during about a two hour stint on the beach in Savannah.

I don't care though. Srsly. I don't care. So there. I'ma be a patchwork of age. Maybe parts of me will be old and damaged from the evil sun, but I'll just turn your attention to the sexy, youthful, milky white skin on the other shoulder.

Woozy

2011-05-26T00:47:00.000-05:00

Today I did Bikram Yoga again for the first time in over a year. If you aren't sure whether or not you're in or out of shape, doing Bikram Yoga is a good way to let you know. Holy cow.

All my memories of Bikram Yoga include me with a bright determined face, a spring in my step, and a farmer's exercise regimen. I forgot how healthy working 5 hours a day digging ditches and pushing wheelbarrows makes a person. I also forgot how unhealthy eating out every day, sitting around watching Netflix, eating cookie sandwiches, and drinking beer beer beer makes a person. I learned today.

Maybe I went into the room too soon. I was lying on my back about 15 minutes prior to the beginning of class, focusing on my breathing. Then, I started focusing on how much time till class started. Then, I started focusing on whether or not I should be stretching. Then, I started focusing on whether or not I was directly in front of anyone. Then, I realized I was focusing on way too many things, and I tried to focus on not focusing on so much, which made my body even more uncomfortable. Then I got scared that I wouldn't be able to shut my mind down in time for class to start. I was breathing heavily before we even began half moon.

It's amazing the power the mind has over the body, amazing that the body cannot be truly separated from that power. The instructor told us at one point to ask ourselves if our minds were telling us we couldn't do it instead of our bodies. She stated that the body is actually much stronger than the mind, but the mind is more powerful. If that makes any sense. Our bodies can do more than we often give ourselves credit for. The mind can make a strong body weak. It's terrifying.

Even while lying on my stomach, my left ear to the ground, staring blankly out the window in between postures, I couldn't get my mind to allow my eyes to stop shifting from one spot to another. Moving one's eyes around during resting poses literally deprives the body of much needed relaxation and recovery.

The pièce de résistance of the entire 90 minutes was the fact that, despite all of my reassurances to other people that even though you might feel like you're going to throw up, you won't, I still highly doubted my ability to finish without booting at more than one point in the class. My face was the color of a beet. My sweat was so salty, it burned my eyes, and I was starting to get some intense chills.

Now, I'm sore, and tired, and my head hurts, but my mind is actually clear. I've been giving myself quick and easy answers for all my questions these days, but I haven't been giving myself solutions because solutions take too much time. My body taught me today that I cannot continue to be unless I allow myself and my mind to slow down and sit in the quiet. There will always be another challenging pose to keep my interest in life, but the times in between, the times when I'm resting, I really ought to rest, and allow my mind time to regain confidence in my body.

In Comes the Fog

2011-05-16T01:11:00.000-05:00

uuuuugh. It's that time again: time for Caroline to bemoan her existence.

Yay. Summer is here. It's beautiful outside during the day; it's beautiful outside at night. Everything is green. Everything is warm. Everything is easier and lighter. Except I made the mistake of falling for someone over the past couple of months, then being pushed away by someone, then pushing someone away, and now wishing everything would have gone differently. I feel about as heavy as an elephant, physically and emotionally. I'm actually sitting here being sad. Just sitting here. Being sad.

What a grand time spring is. You've been dating and dating and miserable and hopeless, and then someone pops up out of nowhere, and you can't get enough. They are so NEAT. Except YOU can't get enough. Just you. And you think, "hey! I deserve to be with someone that feels the same way! Feel the same way, dammit!" But they don't, or, at least, it FEELS like they don't. And you get scared. And everything falls apart. And you go back to dating and dating and being miserable with all that. No one sparks. No one really grabs your interest. Nothing seems to fit. Especially not your pants.

That was the part where I help you empathize with me.

So, I'm sitting here. Being sad. Feeling broken. Feeling like I've irreparably malfunctioned somewhere along the line. But mostly just feeling lonely. Surrounded by people, and completely alone. And I'm too pissed to even make jokes about it. Right now, at least.

Well, Duh.

2011-04-24T21:49:00.000-05:00

Man. It is so damn hard, right?

This weekend has been a roller coaster. Back up. The past two months have been a roller coaster. I keep tumbling into these positions where I know EXACTLY what I want, but I'm surrounded by someone else's fear/confusion/subconscious games. We do that, don't we? We play games without even realizing it. Someone holds us at arm's length, and we dance around the fact hoping we'll find an opening at some point, but the game is too hard. And falling in love is easy.

It is. Relationships are hard. Falling in love is the fun part. I believe in that. I've never had an experience where the falling in love was hard and the relationship was easy. The falling in love is the easy part. It's hard to let go of that fear, though. I know. But it is a glorious free fall, isn't it?

Here are some things about me:
If I like you, you will know. You'll never have to wonder...does she like me? You'll know because I'll look you in the eye and tell you...repeatedly.

I've fallen in love more times than I ever thought possible (and don't take this to mean that the number is high. It's not. I never thought I'd fall in love again after my first love). It's always scary, but it's always totally worth it.

Someone once told me, "When you know, you know. When you don't know, you know." I think I was probably bitter at the time, and groaned at the words, but the more they bounce around in my head, the more sense they make. When you know you KNOW. When you don't know, you KNOW. The heart is wild, fickle, many things, but NEVER a liar. Trust your heart. Or whatever it is you trust inside yourself.

If you tell me no again and again, I will stop asking...eventually.

Sometimes all it takes is one act of courage...sometimes one act of courage is required almost every day. NO, usually.

Stand up for what you want, for what you need. Don't be afraid of falling and having to rearrange a lot of things in your life. That's the fun part.

Go outside. Take a deep breath. And, as Eudora Welty said, "Never think you've seen the last of anything."

Just some chicken soup. No organization. Just sodium. Lots and lots of it.

Attendance

2011-04-20T11:00:00.000-05:00

How hard is it to live in the moment? How hard is it to be present? Do you want to know? I'll tell you.

It's pretty damn hard. I spend most of my time and my brainpower making plans for the future and inventing outcomes. I did a workshop with my acting students yesterday wherein we practiced being in the moment, taking the time to take things in, listening.

That's the key word: Listening. Ha. How often do I catch myself hearing a friend talk to me about his or her life while my mind jumps back and forth from what they are saying and what I'm going to to say in response. It must be incredibly difficult to be a therapist. To sit and listen for an hour while doing nothing more than ask "the right" questions (and, contrary to popular belief, if your therapist is talking to you more than asking you questions and repeating back to you what he or she is hearing, something's wrong). Do they have classes that require them to practice listening? I suppose we could all use a semester or two in one of those classes, if they do, in fact, exist.

Listening requires us to take things in, or being able to listen, I should say. I cannot react to or properly respond to the words of my friends, or even the goings on around me if I cannot take the time to absorb it all. I guess that means sitting still a lot. Clearing my mind (which is TOTALLY IMPOSSIBLE...I think). My favorite word of advice from meditation practitioners is that the hardest part of meditation is not clearing your mind, but being gentle with yourself when you find it difficult to think of nothing. This says to me that the act of properly taking things in, properly listening is an endeavor that I must be able to forgive myself for failing (does it feel like I'm dancing awkwardly around my words? 'cause it totally feels that way).

Thus, living in the moment demands brave caution. Right? I account for my current state of being. Without forgetting what's behind, I walk away from the past, and without anticipating an outcome, I move forward from the present into the future.

Hi. It's been a while. I got caught up in a lot of living. Then I got caught up in learning how to live without. Now I'm back, taking stock of what I've lost and what I've gained. Count me in, please. Count me present in this particular moment.

I Laugh Out Loud

2011-02-10T01:47:00.000-06:00

at the most juvenile things. I do. This evening (around 1:00 a.m.) Linus and I were walking in the snow and enjoying the quiet, when I stepped in a small pothole, slipped a little, and simultaneously farted a fart that sounded a bit like a low pitched clown horn. Well, you know how it is when it snows, quiet, peaceful, never too cold. This echoed. My laugh echoed. I couldn't stop laughing. It was better than an episode of I Love Lucy. Linus just stared at me with his furrowed brow concerned look: concerned that I hurt myself, concerned that I was actually crying, or just concerned that I was going crazy.

Random, unrelated bridge: I'm in a bit of a pickle. My penchant for peace these days is putting me in the position of peacemaker, naturally; however, treading lightly is not always my strongest suit, and peacemaking often demands it. I meditated tonight, but all I could concentrate on was the fact that my back is currently so weak that it hurts to sit up straight for a long period of time. It's good to know but doesn't get me any closer to a solution. I realize I'm being vague. It's on purpose.

Anyway, back the fact that farting out loud is probably one of the funniest things in the world. I enjoy the irony of it. The fact that it's so frowned upon in civilized circles. I made a joke once when having fun with a whoopie cushion. Someone asked me if I could sit on the cushion and make myself burp at the same time. I did my "laugh that morphs into a cry" to indicate the fact that being able to do so would secure my place in the realm of singledom forever, and we were just talking about a whoopie cushion. A few months later, while chopping vegetables and listening to NPR (the most civilized of activities, in my opinion) I actually farted out loud and immediately burped this long drawn out belch. I froze. I had DONE IT. I was officially too disgusting for words. SO, I laughed out loud...for a LONG time. I gave myself the hiccups.

I believe it was Benjamin Franklin that said, "Fart proudly." If I am correct, doesn't that make me the most patriotic of Americans? I should say it does.

P.S. yeah. I know I just grossed some of you out. Especially my mother (well, I really just embarrassed the living daylights out of my mother). Apologies.

Dear Future Caroline

2011-02-04T22:58:00.000-06:00

Dear Future Caroline,

Worrying doesn't do anyone any good. Remember how you always worry about money, and SOMEHOW, everything works out? Yeah. Keep remembering that.

Also, don't forget how freeing it is to DELEGATE. Trying to do everything yourself because you'll do it the best is WRONG. It's actually a sin. The worst of all the sins. Worse than public displays of affection (unless someone else is PDAing...then that's worse). Other people want to help, and they will bring new and fresh ideas to you. Other people are talented and good. Yay for other people!

Gaining weight in the winter is warm. Do not fear it.

If you put your clothes away now, you don't have to do it later...after your cat pees on them.

Never click on a link entitled "Secret Crush Revealer." Boooooooooooo.

If a cat headbutts you, it is because the cat thinks you are cool. Guess what: you are cool in the eyes of many cats. This also means that you are "crazy" in the eyes of a lot of "people."

If your pants don't fit. Buy pants that fit. Stop being lame and uncomfortable. MR. PANTS loves you regardless of your muffin top (again...a lot of people will not think this is sweet...but rather "crazy).

Star Trek is awesome.

Antibiotics WILL give you heartburn. Be prepared.

Trust your friends. They don't sit around judging you. They really really don't. Right?

FLOSS!!!!!

Go sit on a beach in Mexico right now...or, you know...soon.

You are, more than anything, YOU. Don't try to be anything else and never compromise the things that make you THAT. It is more painful than having really bad gas on a first date....and you KNOW how painful that can be.

LOVE,
You

P.S. Sometimes cheap Chinese(ish) food really hits the spot.

Reason Number 78 That I Defy Intelligence (because saying I'm dumb is too harsh)

2011-02-03T23:41:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I can be really dumb. I mean, I'm such a smart lady and then I go and do a thing like this: I got sick, as you've read, and I thought, ten days later, that my cold had run its course. I was wrong. My cold never went away. It seemed to get better, and I assumed that it was going to continue to get better...and I guess I thought I was better, just really tired. I got used to being sick for about two weeks after the worst of it. Then, luckily, my mom came to visit and told me after about a day of being here that I had to let her take me to the doctor because I was clearly too run-down to be healthy. So, we saw a nurse, and she told me that once a cold goes past 10-12 days, it's safe to assume that your immune system isn't going to kick in, and you're stuck with an infection.

Since I started having bad luck with antibiotics fending off infection for longer than a couple of months back in 01-02, I decided to wait out my "sick days" and let my immune system try its hand at keeping me healthy. Before, I had always run to the doctor at the first sign of illness. Of course, another reason I decided to let my immune system do the work was that I had fallen off my parents' healthcare at 22 (yeah, the dark ages) and couldn't afford (or get accepted) to buy healthcare for myself. I couldn't afford to keep going to the doctor every time I felt the exhausting sadness of a cold coming on. And whatdya know? My immune system turned out to be pretty rad. I had to wait through a good 4-7 days of grrrrr + ickiness, but, in return, my body fended off infection a lot more efficiently. I stopped getting colds all the time. In fact, I only had to deal with a cold twice a year after that...which is pretty normal for adults (pause, Alexander the Great is giving Mr. Pants a sweet, thorough bath right now-they are my cats).

Moral: sometimes you can't beat it. Sometimes the cold decides to make it's soujourn in my body a little longer, and ends up turning into an infection. I'm hard-headed though and try to avoid going to the doctor at all cost (mostly because it's expensive--STILL, and I have insurance now....and I pay for that too....GAAAAAAAAAAH MONEY!!!!! I digress). In this case, my staunch immunosuperiority got the best of me, and I had to spend two weeks wondering why the hell 9 hours of sleep still left me feeling like I'd been run over by a truck by lunch time? Coffee lost its effect and hence its joy (Now Mr. Pants is washing Alexander the Great). I could barely make it through one song at karaoke. Something was wrong, I ignored it, and I paid a price.

Well, I tell you, since I started the anitbiotics and steroids, I feel so much better. I didn't even realize I felt as bad as I did, I just kept going, feeling like, somehow, I was never getting enough sleep, even though I totally was...more than enough, or I was spreading myself too thin, which I wasn't. Hooray for moms!!

Hey. What can I say, I'm an incredibly irrational/hard-headed (really intelligent) lady. The big picture, people. It's the only way I get by.

I'm a Puzzle Even I Can't Figure Out

2011-01-21T23:44:00.000-06:00

Tonight, when we got home from a drive, I opened the car door to guide Linus out and into the house, but he slipped passed me and went running. This happens on occasion, and it's never a time when I feel like I can handle it emotionally. It never happens when I can laugh it off and say, "What a jerk. He'll come back." Of course he always runs past the house in which that old lady that stuck her tongue out at me lives. She stuck her tongue out at me once when I stuck my tongue out at her yappy dogs on the porch. It's a long amazing story that I'll tell you sometime, if you're nice. He runs past her house and riles up her dogs. Which means there's a chance she'll come out and yell at me for being a delinquent or something.

When I could get close enough to him, I'd call for him to come, and he'd stop briefly, size me up, then dash away from me. When I say I can't handle it emotionally, I mean, I take it personally. I admit it. I do this. I pile on all the reasons that he has to want to run away (I've been sick and not taking him out for long enough walks, I don't have enough toys for him, he doesn't get to play with his friends every day, he doesn't get to run free as much as he wants, he hates his food, etc.), and eventually I get a little stifled by it all. AND I cried. Like a little kid whose dog has run away and she doesn't understand why, except I felt like I knew exactly why, and it had more to do with me than the fact that HE'S A PUPPY and LIKES TO RUN.

This is what I do in almost every situation in life. There. I admit it. I am ridiculous. I take everything personally (to an extent). I'm a little better about it than I used to be, but I still have my glorious moments of ridiculosity. I can't help feeling that the world's ailing might be slightly my fault. Where, in the name of all that is holy, does this NONSENSE come from? Is it religion? Is it childhood trauma? I can't figure it out. The only thing I can do is maintain a calm dialog with myself when it starts to overtake me. Yep. I talk to myself, slowly and methodically explaining that my immediate thoughts are not necessarily rational, or based in reality. I think the thing we need to focus on here is the fact that I'm aware of this. That I figure it out.

Here's where I'm going with this. A friend of mine recently described a fight she had with her partner in which her partner was making a horribly irrational argument and she was fighting back...until she realized how irrational the argument was. Once that happened, she simply said, "you're right," and left her partner, who eventually came around and apologized, alone to suss it out. I have never found someone that would do that with me. I have never found someone that would recognize my irrational thoughts as irrational, disarm, and leave me alone to come around. Because I ALWAYS come around. I'm actually pretty sharp. Despite evidence against the fact. It's true. I'm a smart kid.

A neighbor eventually helped me trick him into coming home, and he pouted, of course, which made me even more sad. But I sat down on the couch, ate my pizza and watched my movie, and, eventually, he jumped up and plopped down next to me, half in my lap. So, I gave him some pizza, which is probably all he really wanted. Whatdya gonna do? He's a dog, for cryin' out loud. And he freakin' needs me.

This Blog Sponsored by Nyquil Cough

2011-01-16T00:37:00.000-06:00

Oh jeebus. I've been sick since Tuesday. It is not something I like. I am currently trying to stay awake under the influence of night time cough medicine. Hopefully, when I do go to sleep, I will be able to stay that way because my coughs will be suppressed.

I'm actually writing to let you in on something. I don't know if it's the fact that I've been watching a lot of Heroes and am inclined to think that I have a special power, or if I actually might have quite a powerful subconscious. In any case, I've been having incredibly poignant dreams lately. Maybe poignant isn't the right word. My dreams have been surprising me. Earlier this week, when I was staying at my friend's house during the snowpocalypse, I dreamed that she got locked in the back yard with the dogs while trying to feed them in the morning, and I found her there (in the dream) after I woke up, after she had spent a good deal of time yelling and screaming for someone to let her inside. Well, it turns out, that at right about the time I was dreaming this (I know because I woke up and then went back to sleep and dreamed it during the second sleep), she had fallen down the stairs that lead to the backyard while feeding the dogs. This may not seem like much to you, but it weirds me out.

THEN, a couple of nights ago, I dreamed I was playing in band again, and the director handed out a piece of music that was in one of those crazy keys that you hate to play in with, like, a million sharps. The next day, I walked into my classroom for theatre appreciation, and there was a bar of music on the board with a million or so sharps.

Okay. Writing it makes it seem kind of lame. It's much more heroic and important when it's my own personal achievement (dreaming such things on my own). Then I dreamed my dream last night...

I had been writing to a...guy, and he had asked if he could come to see me, to stay with me, live with me (we had developed this history long before the dream began) and I said okay. He was not a guy that I have ever met in waking life, but I recognized his face somehow. He moved in, and he immediately began spending time with another woman. She was not a woman that I had ever met in waking life, but I knew her somehow in the dream. I think she was some woman from a tv show, but not wholly. They began to treat me with disdain, to mock me, even, for allowing them to continue in their relationship when it was so clearly against and in spite of my own relationship with the guy. I remember in the dream, the woman kept trying to get my attention, while in my house by repeatedly calling me "miss? oh miss?" It was condescending, and it hurt. I remember being deep in my head, being silent, until finally, while she was giggling and trying to get me to look up, I raised my head, and I said calmly and firmly, "You have to leave. You both have to leave now." The guy was confused, maybe played hurt a little, and definitely apologized profusely on his way out the door, but I shook my head while maintaining eye contact. I remember going to my car as they were leaving, and pulling out a large bouquet of flowers from the front seat. "Where did those come from?" This nameless guy asked, and I replied, "It doesn't matter. They're for me."

Then, in the dream, I remembered. I had bought them for myself.

Heroes

2011-01-13T23:26:00.000-06:00

A friend of mine loaned me her copy of the first season of Heroes because I have never seen it. Now, I'm hooked. And just when I was beginning to think I had caught up on the all the television that I could possibly ever want to spend hours at a time watching. BLAST.

I've been struggling with a little lapse into depression that often snags me in the winter months. I've been spending a lot of time in my head. Not sure if that's the best place to be, but it's definitely forced me to listen a lot more. People will tell me the most interesting things if they feel that I'm really listening. And THAT, my friends, is between people and me.

Tonight, I accomplished the daunting task of thoroughly brushing and flossing my teeth. Sometimes I feel that I have to muster up the strength of a super hero to complete certain daily tasks...or tasks that should be daily, but are usually not, for me. So, tonight I mustered up the courage and the super-human strength to clean the inside of my mouth. It required a lot of staring myself down in the mirror over the sink, and a bit of out loud commentary...and some commentary in my head, while my mouth was unable to talk through the rinse, or the floss. I cleaned the living daylights out of my teeth and gums. It was no small task. But I met the hell out of it, and I usually do...at least once a month. I mean, I brush my teeth twice every day, but I don't always floss, even though I KNOW I should. How long does it take before something becomes a habit?

The snow days this week have been surreal. They were needed (after an arduous three days of classes), but they were surreal. I spent the first two at a friend's house in the woods. Each day, we took the dogs out for a long walk in the forest, and to the neighbor's land to check on their home. It's hard walking in 7 inches of snow. It's exhausting. We would walk out of her driveway and back up her neighbor's impossibly long drive to their home. The woods in the snow are eerily haunting enough, but this house was something else. It was a log cabin. Beautiful polished wood, so light that it almost looked gray, unpainted, and the roof was red. It was obvious that no one was home. I could feel it whenever the house came in view. There was a stillness. Everything around the house was quiet, pausing. I have no memory of the sound of our footsteps in the snow, or the dogs trudging around and ahead of us. Just silence. Stillness. Solitude. I wanted to touch part of the house, to lean against one of the red doors and listen to the silence inside. There was something being said in the peace of that clearing, and I wanted to hear it.

But we kept walking. As we so often do.

The snow is melting. Linus is getting a little annoyed by it too. The top layer is ice, and walking through it is more of a challenge than actually trying not to fall down. He doesn't like the breaking of the ice beneath his paws. He also doesn't like having to walk around in it to find a place to relieve himself. He looks at me, and I shrug my shoulders. What else can I do?

May I recommend an oatmeal bath to you for these cold cold winter nights? So soothing.

Addiction and Recovery

2010-12-23T00:58:00.000-06:00

There's a moment just before I fall asleep wherein I have the ability to fight off the soporific effects of my medication. My mind pops and fizzes during the last moments of creativity that exist only between sleep and waking life. These are the moments that exist for writers. The inner critic has already fallen asleep. The subconscious is just waking up. This is the time I am most likely to cry.

Who would think that life could be so mind numbingly difficult? Who could imagine every step is capable of tilting the balance? The days when nothing happens seem like wastes and blessings. I always feel like I should be doing more than I am currently doing, even when what I am currently doing is bearing down on me. It makes breathing, time to breathe, almost uncanny. Glorious.

I have a friend who claims that everyone is an alcoholic in one way or another. Everyone has an addiction. Everyone walks anonymously along the path of his or her own personal addiction. Everyone needs a sponsor. Everyone needs a support group.

I've lately been trying to figure out what my personal addiction is. I think, perhaps, it is the idea that things should be easy. Never mind the fact that I tout the inevitable difficulty of anything worth doing. Anything worth doing is hard. I believe this. Then I enter into a project, imagining it to be too difficult to think about. This leads to a weak completion of a lot of my endeavors. Looking back on things, I find that a concerted effort and a clear driven vision would have pushed me further along my path. Would have awarded me more fully with the satisfaction that can only come from the knowledge that I did everything I could possibly do.

But, then again, I've been told that I'm often too hard on myself, and I'd have to agree. I fluctuate between healthy drive and detrimental self-criticism. Despite the stars under which I was born, I struggle to find the correct balance.

The truth is, I am frightened. I am frightened of failure and even more terrified of success. So, perhaps my addiction is fear. And fear is a cold place to live. It aches, and it paralyzes. My heart tells me to listen carefully, to take heed, while my brain tells me to breathe and to listen to the breath. Behind the breath is a powerful mechanism. The air goes in, and the air comes back out again, and it requires little to no effort on my part. Under the sound of the breath, I can hear the truth.

You're not out of it yet. Each day holds the capability to hurt and to heal. Fear will tell you to sit still. Fear will remind you of all the ways you will cause yourself to fall, to fail. Let your breath bring you back. There is no pain without pleasure. There is no pleasure without pain. And there is no way to recover from the pain without faith. Faith that fear is lying. Faith that the truth that gives you effortless breath will carry you forward. You will cause yourself to fall, to fail. But you will forgive yourself, over and over again, with every breath, and you will keep walking.

Blah

2010-12-14T10:16:00.000-06:00

I'm currently struggling with the fact that I've been sickish for almost a week now and with this sickishness has come one fail after another. I have a huge list of intentions that just don't seem to be hitting the top of my priorities. What are my current priorities? Sleep a full night and...remember to take my medication.

The real question is: what are my intentions? Clean my house. Christmas shop. Call about my insurance (honestly should be a priority). Go on a walk every day. Do yoga every day. Write for an hour every day. Lesson plan for an hour or two every day. Buy groceries. Cook. Buy a dry erase board to list priorities vs. intentions.

What do I do instead? Lie awake in bed until around 11. Pout because I have to actually make coffee if I want to drink it. Eat the easiest thing available for breakfast. Watch television. Find creative ways to be warm. Stress out because no one wants to hang out/too many people want to hang out.

My existence is a plateau.

My final question is: Is this so because I am ill/school is out, or is there something bigger going on? Perhaps it's my aversion to the holiday season in general. Christmas is ten days away. Shouldn't I be more excited?

In my head this blog sounded a lot funnier than it reads. Anyone want to pat me on the back?

Chicken Soup for the Cheesy Soul

2010-11-15T08:48:00.004-06:00

If you know me, you know I love a metaphor, and when life gives me one, I have to share it. Hey! Chicken Soup for the Soul, NOTICE ME! Ima talk about how things happen for a reason, and stuff.

I'm amazed at how little I care about getting dirty, and uncomfortable. I remember a time just a little over a year ago when I approached nearly EVERYTHING with trepidation. I suppose it was the fear of being uncomfortable, of getting dirty, of not being able to enjoy myself. Seems a bit OCD thinking about it now. I carried around a lot of anxiety about...everything. I don't know what has happened to me. I don't know if it's medication induced, or if I'm actually growing out of my fearful self, but I like it.

Saturday afternoon I was out at the Garden (you know) with good friends/awesome people, working on a horror film we wrote together. Final scene! It was the end of a "chase," and Mr. Foy Tootle (yes. that's his real name), God bless him, decided it would be cool to have me running through the creek and up the bank before running into my scene partner (Julie Best-est). Usually creeks don't tend to get much deeper than mid-calf, but this was a bend, and a deep one at that. It was a deep bend full of rotting fallen trees and stagnant cold water. I know. I had draped myself over a fallen tree to get my nose close enough to the water as to catch a glimpse of some secret underworld. No such luck. Just muck.

My first reaction was to say "Hell no! It's too deep," and I did. But my next sentence was, "I mean, I'll do it if you think it will actually look good," which was a totally STUPID thing to say. OF COURSE it was going to look good: Me scrambling through the mucky water and up the bank. It was going to look terrifying and desperate. So, it should have been no surprise to me that I found myself doing just that mere moments later.

The first thing one instinctively does before endeavoring to cross any kind of body of water is to look for ways to avoid getting wet at all. I climbed gingerly from one fallen tree to another, throwing my body against the high bank and hanging on to visible roots, and it worked, that one time...for the practice shot. For the first shot, I slid down the opposite bank and stepped clean through the first "stepping stone" covering myself with mucky cold water.

It was then that Carrie remarked, "Okay. Now, you're ready." And I was. All bets were off. I was already wet. It was time to go all in. So, for the next shot, I threw myself across the creek towards the pile of fallen rotting tree branches that had collected in the bend, but none of them would hold. Everywhere I stepped, they gave way until I was desperately gripping the roots on the bank with my body in cold water up to my waist. I made it. I pulled myself up, and the shot was great. Better than great.

And there it was: the metaphor glaring me in the face. Do this thing. It will be good. It will be awesome even. And don't be afraid. But you are. And you step cautiously. Trepidation. Then, your footing gives way, and you fall in up to your waist. NOW you're ready. Forget those initial fears. You're already wet. It makes the feeling when you get to the other side and you get dry that much better.

Half-living is not living at all. Fear is a liar. Trust me.

This message brought to you by the fact that I'm getting more and more sentimental. Suck it.

Tricycle

2010-11-12T09:24:00.004-06:00

I was sitting in the backseat of Matthew's car last night on the way to Dad's Garage, when I realized. I'm the third wheel. I'm actually on a date with my friends Matthew and Carol, two really awesome people, and super fun, but in a relationship with each other and not me. Have I become that person? I mean, it's one thing to be young and hanging out with your dating friends, but I'm 30-something with a job, and a sense of responsibility. I had this bazaar vision of myself at 50 in the same position. Hey! Let's invite our funny single friend, Caroline, along! She can sit in the back and make jokes about the date MST3K style. And that's pretty much exactly what I do. But hey, I look damn good while doing it.

So, in general, my third wheel status doesn't usually occur to me because I'm so awkwardly starving for attention anyway. However, next time I demand that someone whisper sweet nothings into my ear, so I don't feel too ostracized. It doesn't have to be sexy. You can say things like "man, kittens are awesome!" You just have to lean in close and whisper it in my ear. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?!

Does Seltzer count as water?

I'd go so far as to say that I've spent so much time with myself this past year, the two other people in my company are the 2nd and 3rd wheel on my unicycle. It takes a while to figure out the correct balance for riding one of those, but once you do, it's exhilarating. So, if anything, joining a couple for a night of free/discounted fun is pretty much like riding a tricycle, and I get to be the big wheel up front, the one that determines the direction in which the unit goes. I win!

Is it obvious that I'm an only child?

Closing That Door

2010-11-11T10:38:00.003-06:00

I have now been single for almost ten months. It is time for me to stop being bitter about my breakup and start being bitter about being awesome and single. No more sad blogs about disillusion. Let's move on to ironic blogs about disillusion. No more questions about the meaning of life. More jokes about the meaninglessness of daily battles.

So. Let's begin.

Oh, my good Lord. My wit has left me. I'm sitting here with a cup of coffee in my hand, and I can't think of a damn thing to say but "yawn." Last night I had a glass of wine with dinner and a beer when I got home. I was going to go to karaoke, but the beer (unit number two) knocked me down. I watched Scott Pilgrim again, curled up in a ball on the little couch, smiling to myself because I liked it. I wish movies were cheaper to see at the theater. I wish Dahlonega HAD a movie theatre.

Sometimes, despite the fact that life is awesomer at age 30 something, I DO miss parts of my twenties. The newness of everything. The stress. The confusion. The hilarity. The camaraderie. Life now is a different kind of awesome.

Then, going to bed with a little beer buzz was a warm and happy occasion. It meant I was previously out with friends, and I was currently choosing to go to bed. Now, going to bed with a beer buzz means I had a couple of beers with my dinner...in front of the television. But, hey, I made the dinner, and I listened to NPR while doing so, and I'm awesome.

Then, going out meant I was going to see a million people I knew for impromptu partying. No invitations required. They would all be there, wherever I was, and if they weren't, I would find them at a different location, but I would find them. Now, going out means making plans to make sure I'm not the only one there, and a good time is ensured by the people that agree to come out. If I go out on my own, there's a 90% chance I'm going to be sitting at the bar alone chatting with the bartender while occasionally striking up a conversation with another bar patron. Great way to meet people, though.

Then, being with friends meant drinking, dancing, social networking. Now, being with friends means making art, drinking, cooking, eating at the table and telling stories, dancing, and social networking.

Then, everyone, and I, was single, even the people that weren't single were totally single. Now, 80% of everyone is committed in one way or another, except for me, and the other 20%.

Then, I had no idea how pretty I was, how much value I possessed. I just knew people liked me. Now, I see myself, and I try to share my value, and I know people like me, and I like them.

I'll try to be more cynical next time.

Girl and Dog Go for a Walk

2010-11-05T09:11:00.002-05:00

Girl puts on a scarf, hat, and jacket. Dog wears his collar and a leash. Girl and dog go for a walk. They find a secret path through the woods off the square. Girl and dog follow this path happily.

They are surrounded by leaves of red, gold, and orange. They climb over fallen trees, soft from decomposition. Girl climbs, and dog leaps.

Soon, girl and dog realize that they are lost. The path is gone. Girl tries to find the easiest way through, while dog tries to convince girl to follow him to a small creek. Girl finally gives up and follows dog. Dog leads girl out of the woods.

Between the woods and the road there is a giant muddy patch. Dog prances over the mud, while girl gingerly attempts to avoid getting too muddy. Girl steps in every wrong place. Girl steps in mud up to her knees. Girl is upset for a moment, then she shrugs.

Dog pulls girl away from the mud. They are in the back yard of someone's dream house. Girl and dog hide in the woods and rinse off in the small creek. Girl rolls muddy pants up and continues on the walk with dog.

Despite being muddy and having cold feet, girl and dog are very happy.

Girl and dog watch the sun set behind a red, orange, and yellow ridge.

Girl and dog walk home in the dusk.

Girl makes spinach and goat cheese pizza, and girl and dog curl up on the couch to watch a movie. Tabby cat joins girl and dog.

Everyone is warm.

2010-11-03T22:47:00.002-05:00

An old friend did this: http://killmommynetlabel.blogspot.com/2010/10/kil023-thedirtycoast-thedirtycoast.html give it a listen.

I'm sitting at my kitchen table, calm and warm. I've had a couple of fairly normal days. No more rehearsal. No more fast food. No more gasping for air. I'm ignoring my cat. He can't decide whether he wants to be inside or outside. I'm making him stick to his original choice: outside. I'm also wondering what sort of wisdom, if any, I have to impart. I'm not sure.

Walking back to my house from school today reminded me of London: Spitting, cold rain, the smell of diesel as a truck or two passed, no umbrella. Nothing ever seems quite as clear as it does when I'm looking back at it. Even the moments that felt more alarmingly real, they look like raw film shots that have yet to be layered. If that makes any sense. I'm slowly learning about film by listening to my friends as they chat about it over storyboard drawing and motion graphic type headache work. But looking back on it all, it's art...in my brain...the finished product. I have no fascinating stories yet, I mean, I'm sure I do, in the recesses of my brain, but nothing comes to me right now.

I was thinking the other day, I don't really have ideas. I mean, I have ideas that are good ideas, but I don't have great ideas. I haven't been inspired by myself in...I don't know how long. Maybe my head's in the wrong place. Can anyone remember any really good ideas I've had in the past...two years?

You know what (my brain's a little fragmented right now)? It'd be nice to find people that aren't afraid of me. It'd be nice to never have to apologize for myself. It'd be nice to not get knocked down for a little while. It'd be nice to be able to let go. It'd be nice to be able to trust. Anyone. Ever.

That's as good as it gets right now.

This is the Actual Blog for Today

2010-10-18T22:11:00.004-05:00

And, just as I'm thinking I should be falling asleep because I am so damn tired, the real blog for today makes that impossible.

Let's stop pretending this is a cute little howdy-do kind of blog. I've always been fairly gut wrenching in my explanation of my life on these pages. I'm sorry for tip-toeing earlier.

I noticed my old blog "Outlaw Gardener" picked up another follower. I haven't written for it since May. The pictures on the last blog are so outdated, so sparse, of a land that had not yet grown to its full potential. I read the last blog, and I remembered that small part of my pain that I keep to myself most of the time because I can't imagine who would understand. I'm just going to let it go now. If I talk about it outside of my head and my walks, during which I cry very briefly and quietly on occasion, perhaps I can more efficiently let it go. So, here it is:

When I moved here, I wanted so badly to be a part of what Brad was doing at the restaurant and winery. I felt so utterly useless most of the time. Everyone had a place but me. I begged to help out, but was rebutted. I don't know why. I cannot fathom any reason, but I do not share a mind with my past loves. I can only see my part and try in some way to see his.

I planted a garden. I planted a garden for him. And I say it like it was nothing, but it was everything. Every single day for a year I spent 4+ hours on 2 acres. I walked with no shoes when the ground was newly tilled, soft, wet from the torrential rain of October 2009 that washed trenches through my spinach rows. I wore nothing but clothing stained in the mud and clay because there was no point in wearing anything else. I trudged through the creek, carried pails of water back and forth because it took a year to secure a working irrigation system. I dug ditches. I pulled weeds. I hurt. I sweat. I froze. I worked in the rain and snow. I watched the weather. I woke up in the morning, every morning, in anticipation of the first frost. And in February, I awaited the end of the cold. I know what the earth feels like when it's frozen. I know when it's ready to give. I had no idea what I was doing, but I did everything I thought would help. And every day, I waited for him to come and to see what I had done.

But he didn't. And every day I wrestled with my own anonymity. The hidden member of the family. Alone in the garden. I begged for a raise to make ends meet, but I was refused. My work wasn't important to anyone...but me.

When Jenni told me she was leaving, I cried. Jenni was my help. She was scared to make decisions most of the time, and that made me crazy, but she was inspiring and comforting. She truly gave of herself to the earth. But she hated it here, and when she left, I cried out loud because I hated it too. Because no one saw nor heard me. At least, that's how I felt.

So, everything fell apart, despite my efforts to hang on, it hurt so terribly much to be invisible. So I let go, but I kept working for him. I couldn't let the garden go. And I brought in someone that I thought I could trust to replace Jenni. Someone that I enjoyed. Someone that I knew could teach me.

Over a period of three months, I was gradually pushed aside. I did get to see the fruits of a year's labor. I enjoyed it too. I learned so much about myself. I learned so much about life, and for that I am so grateful. I had one of the best jobs anyone can ever have. Trust me.

But I had to let it go. And I still cry about it. I still feel like I'm a part of those two acres. When I started digging the beds for the fall garden in August 2009 by myself, I would sit in my car when it rained and draw pictures of what I had done, and what I envisioned for the future.

The garden taught me how to be an artist again. It taught me to take risks, to dig in, to work hard, to hurt. It reminded me of how it felt to be a child, and it quelled my fears.

I quoted Emerson in my first blog post on Outlaw Gardener:

Our age is retrospective...Why should not we also enjoy an original relation to the universe?...Embosomed for a season in nature, whose floods of life stream around and through us, and invite us by the powers they supply, to action proportioned to nature, why should we grope among the dry bones of the past, or put the living generation into masquerade out of its faded wardrobe? The sun shines to-day [sic] also.

For a year, I rested in the arms of nature and let the floods of life stream around and through me; thus, I cannot continue to grope among the dry bones of the past. I have been invited to action proportioned to nature, to action as mighty as the earth and her workings. The sun shines today also. And I am grateful for that.

It only takes me so far

2010-10-18T18:50:00.003-05:00

I had a bit of a fantastic/frustrating/empowering weekend. I'm not going to go detail by lame detail, but I will say, I feel a bit at sea, or I did this weekend...at times. At sea like, on a cruise that's kind of great sometimes, but also kind of lame other times. You know...those cruises...that are like that.

It's scary to put yourself out there. I will also say that. It's scary to open up. It's like jumping off of a cliff. You know how it sucks when you convince your friends to do something or go somewhere with you, and they seem to be all about it, but, when you get there, it's just you?

I don't know what I'm trying to say. I kept feeling like I was going to throw up all weekend. I couldn't make it stop. My skin feels too small right now. I hate feeling like no one gets me. I'm a what you see is what you get kind of gal. I don't say much that I don't really mean, and I tend to take people at their word. This gets me into trouble. A lot.

Anyway, enough about that. I'm tired. HA! I was so excited about getting home tonight to finally finish my laundry (I was holding off for fabric softener so as not to pull crusty clothes off the line) that I promptly changed into stretchy pants, climbed into bed, cuddled up with Alexander the Great, and am thinking about staying here until I fall asleep.

Today rolled at a pretty good pace. I thought I would be miserable having slept a mere 5ish hours, but coffee came to my rescue, and I powered through, even after an afternoon bath, but now, I'm dying.

Can you tell that my brain is currently holding itself together in fragments? I wish I could find the balance. It seems I am either out of my mind busy, or bored as hell. Are you bored as hell reading this? I'm going to try to get up early tomorrow, do yoga, wash dishes, and finish this God-forsaken laundry. Going to try not to focus on the fact that I'm terribly lonely. BAH! Pretend I didnt' say that. Okay?

What's on the Other Side

2010-10-10T08:52:00.002-05:00

I had a thought this morning. I know. Crazy. Why is it that I can only think of two songs about rainbows: Somewhere Over the Rainbow, and Rainbow Connection, which actually inquires, "Why are there so many songs about rainbows?" I love that song. I love it so much, I want it to be a pizza topping. But, I can't think of more than two songs about rainbows, and that does not equal "so many."

I had the biggest crush on Kermit the Frog when I was a child. I also had a crush on the Robin Hood fox from Disney's Robin Hood. I'm serious. I wanted to be a cartoon marvelous much so that I could marry that Robin Hood fox. I miss those simple urges. The child-like dream that perhaps there is a world in which cartoons are real, and they are waiting, just as I am, to be friends.

Last night, after my show, I took some complements, changed clothes, simmered down, and went home alone. Man, I was sad. It's hard to look forward to an evening alone after something as earth shattering and intense as the role I'm playing right now. Of course, I still feel that my college acting coach would not be happy with my performance, but that's not really important at this juncture. I went home alone, and I was sad. And I thought, "if only I didn't have to go home alone..." If only. There was a time when that thought would end there, but not last night. Last night, only moments after the conception of the first thought, I replied to myself, "Going home to someone is not always the happiest of things." And it's true. It isn't the person waiting at home that brings happiness. I have had plenty of nights, when I was in a relationship, that coming home to someone was not the proverbial icing on the cake.

The truth of the matter is that it isn't up to the person waiting at home or the person that wants to be with me after the show to make me happy. What a horribly difficult responsibility to bestow upon anyone else. No, my happiness is entirely up to me.

OH NO! I've figured it out...the answer at least. Practice is the hardest, most frustratingly painful part. And that's where the rainbow song comes into play. So, there aren't that many songs about rainbows, but the songs that do exist are fantastic. So, there's no one waiting at home to tell me how fantastic I am. I have a home. I have a bed. I have cuddly animals. I have me. I always have me. I wait for the day when the comfort is that I am waiting on the other side. I follow the rainbow from one end to the other, and I find...me. Comfortable, strong, loving, and happy.

No subject

2010-10-06T11:52:00.002-05:00

It's hard to get back into blogging. At it's height, I feel like my blogging was pretty entertaining, but it always starts a little ragged. I lose the ability to start with a bit of a thesis, ramble, and then tie it all back together in the end. PLANNING. I've never been good at it.

I'm back in the whirlwind. I had forgotten how much time and energy is required to make theatre happen. I'm reminded of my days as an undergraduate student. At the end of every semester, I would look back in awe of how I had managed to survive. It's hard to see it when you're in it, though. I feel fine. I don't feel like I'm falling apart or anything. I just feel that if anything shifts, if only slightly, I will. So, I'm trying very carefully to balance.

My least favorite aspect of theatre kids (and I'm speaking as one of them) is their propensity to have competitive conversations about who is the busiest. I used to sit and listen, while drowning in my own hell of too much, to everyone, "You think YOU'RE busy, well I...," blah, blah, blah. I resented it. I still try to stay away from competition. I simply tell people I'm busy, and I'm sorry, but only when I need to. I don't begin to think that I am perhaps more busy and important than anyone else. I'm trying to stop thinking of myself as the star of the only film ever made.

It feels good though. I think that's why we like to talk about it. It gives purpose. It opens our eyes, pushes us to the limit. Makes beer necessary and good. ;)

And busy-ness often leads me back to this: blogging. I may have only an hour to myself every day, but if I can spend it putting my thoughts into words, it is a well spent hour.

I'm going to try to be "back" for a little while

2010-10-05T11:42:00.003-05:00

It has been OVER A YEAR, I know. This past year has been absolutely...just life, the way it should be, I suppose. I turned 30. I'm about to turn 31. I am no longer in a relationship. I have a dog. I teach theatre at NGCSU. I'm fully active in a number of improv projects in Atlanta. I live in a small house off the Dahlonega square. I refuse to mow my lawn on a regular basis. I worked on a farm for a year. I spent most of my days for a whole year working outside in all types of weather. I built wooden compost bins in the snow. I dug ditches in the heat of the afternoon. I had a killer tan. I swam in rivers. I ate. I drank. I was merry. I hurt. I was hurt. I hurt others. I repented, or, at least, I tried to. I sang karaoke.

I've been practicing trust. I'm not always good at it. I do yoga. I meditate. I'm not always good at it. I've been practicing forgiving myself. I'm not always good at that either. I've been practicing self love, self acceptance, and self awareness. I'm not always good at it.

The only thing missing is writing (or ego stroking, call it what you will). So, I'm going to try to be back for a little while. Let's see how it goes. I'm not lying when I say I'm not always good at this, but you know that already.

The Resistance

2009-09-25T09:45:00.002-05:00

I have been living in a small town in North Georgia for four months now, and I think it's time to review.

As I've said before, about three days into my move here, I started experiencing a great deal of depression and panic. I used to stand in the shower and suffocate, worry that I would pass out because the weight of everything was crushing my chest. Brad and I have argued like cats and dogs, although, not all cats and dogs argue, but you understand the expression. Brad has worked 60+ hour weeks, gone from satisfied with his work, to frustrated and disappointed in his employers, and from excited about the outdoors, to desperate for the culture of the city. I don't think there has ever been a time when I was not desperate for the culture of the city. To counter some of the insanity, we have made frequent trips into Atlanta to enjoy things like Indie movie theaters (movie theaters in general, actually), good restaurants that serve classy beers, and creative martinis, organic markets, book stores (for crying out loud), and urban metro yoga studios. We've had lovely trips into the city.

Back in Dahlonega, my days unfold as follows: I get up, I sit on my back porch, avoiding the spider webs (they kill the bugs), drink a cup of coffee, and eat some sort of breakfast....and play Spider Solitaire for about an hour. Then I go to the garden at the winery. I take my shoes off, check the progress of all of the plants, pull weeds, smash little caterpillars that are eating my greens between my fingers, search for edible wild fruits and weeds. I know there is a Persimmon tree somewhere close to the garden, I just haven't found it yet. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I try to make it to Yoga at the gym at 1, then I teach from 3:55-6:45. On Wednesdays and Fridays, I take my time, grade papers, meet with students, clean my house, visit The Tomato House (my favorite roadside local market where I can by all kinds of novelty sodas, sauces, local eggs, veggies, nuts, beans, and delicious boiled peanuts...DELICIOUS). Most of these things I do by myself as everyone else works at the restaurant. Sometimes I go into town and sit at the bar at The Half Moon Saloon to talk to Irish Dave and enjoy a unique selection of beers. Aside from Dave, I haven't met a lot of people. My students are the people I consider to be my "new friends" in that we talk to each other, spend about three hours a week together, laugh at each others' jokes, and encourage each other. My students are fantastic. Love em. LOVE! But NGCSU doesn't have a place for me in the spring. Sometimes I go to Atlanta alone to do Bikram or hang out at a bookstore or Trader Joe's. And sometimes I go up to the winery and chat with the servers, who, of course think I'm the cutest, mostly because my boyfriend has fired a couple of them...and no one else wants to get the boot. They give me free glasses of Prosecco, and Brad brings me the occasional free beer. Or sometimes I just sit in the office and play Spider Solitaire.

The biggest complaint I have is that I am lonely, but as it is, don't I have the most lovliest of schedules? I feel like a jerk when I complain...but loneliness is really horrible and painful. It is the resistance. The only thing that, at its worst, makes me create scenarios in which I pack up everything and move away to start a new life alone.

Also, I seem to be putting my underwear on inside out as of late. What's up with that?

Rain, Addiction, and Recovery

2009-09-23T09:29:00.004-05:00

The rain finally let up yesterday. Despite rain being forcast, the sun stayed bright until it fell below the horizon. I let my classes go early because I wanted to enjoy it, and I'm sure they did too. The sun, recently, is like snow. When it appears, you want to be able to enjoy it.

Let's back up a few days. I started working on my own to build the organic garden at a winery that I am apparently not allowed to name about a month ago. I transplanted some greens, herbs, and tomatoes. By the end of the week before last, I had designed a garden paradise, providing the cutworms didn't kill everything before it had a chance to reach its full potential. The land was my canvas, the soil, my medium. Then, last Monday night, it started to rain. It rained all the way into Tuesday afternoon. It didn't stop raining until around 4 p.m. Then, later that evening, it started raining again. It rained all night and into the morning. I lay awake in bed listening to it beat down on my tin roof, imagining the garden washing away. It wasn't until Wednesday afternoon that I was able to make it out. The rain had been at bay for most of the day, so I drove to my little haven to check out the damage. The only terrible damage consisted of two large ruts that rivers of water had plowed into my tilled soil. They tried to tear up the lettuces, to no avail, but they took a good chunk out of my row of flowers and Quinoa. Small sections of my spinach rows had been washed away, but not the whole things, and the plants, despite being slightly water-logged, seemed to be thriving.

But it kept raining. I had a good maybe 6 hours I was able to spend in the garden last week. On Saturday, it started raining, and it didn't stop until Monday night. LITERALLY. It rained non-stop. I almost lost my mind. I haven't been back to the garden since the sun came out, as I've been stuck grading papers (self-inflicted), but I am venturing out there today. I have a feeling I have a great deal of work in front of me...

Now, I never thought I had a problem with addiction...until I discovered Spider Solitaire...and candy corn. Yes. I am insanely addicted to both. I can sit and play Spider Solitaire for hours and not even think about it...and I can inhale a bag of candy corn in less than a week...a big bag. I need help. Any suggestions? I actually think about organizing cards during times when I really should NOT be thinking of doing such a thing. I mean...really inappropriate times to be trying to develop the best Spider Solitaire strategy.

Seriously. I need help.

The silent blogger

2009-09-20T19:30:00.002-05:00

Been trying to figure out why I have no desire to blog when so much is going on in my life and in my mind. I suppose blogging lost a bit of its charm when I started worrying about, heaven forbid, what other people would think. I felt like I couldn't write all the hard thoughts I was having because I didn't want to worry anyone. When, the truth is, that's just life, and isn't blogging some weird new way to share, to connect with other people. OR, is it just some self-proclaimed fan-club where I can stroke my own ego? I don't know. But here goes.

Yes, I moved to Georgia. I left off in the Czech Republic. The truth is, not too long after I moved, I began falling into a deep hole. By the time I made it to Czech, I was waking up every morning with tears in my eyes, afraid to get out of bed to face the day. I came home to a very small (non-existant) fanfare, and I had a major breakdown. I hit bottom? I went to my dad's and cried for the next three days. It's hard to really understand depression unless it really and truly affects you. I wanted to die. I would sit and look around me at all the beauty and think, "this is meaningless. There is nothing else to look forward to. Life is just a series of painful disappointments." I wanted to hurt myself to see if I could possibly experience pain deeper than the pain I felt inside, to see if anyone else would notice. I sat motionless, crippled, for hours. I was pale. I was miserable. I thought, something must be wrong with me. I can't be happy. I'm incapable. I am a failure. But I was just sick. Very sick. I went to the doctor, and she, of course, spoke of my pain in very medical, technical terms. Because that's what it is, technically a chemical imbalance that feels like the weight of the world on your shoulders. People still don't talk about it as much as it needs to be talked about.

I started taking Zoloft. Again. I remembered the first time I started taking it, I felt very little but crushing headaches and a heavier weight on my whole body. I made the mistake of taking a full dose the first day, and sat in a chair all day with my eyes wide open, unblinking. I felt like I'd just had 17 cups of coffee. And my mind was totally empty. For the first time in a very very long time. You cannot imagine how grateful I am for that time, about two weeks, in which I experienced very few deep thoughts. My mind had been so overcrowded with confusing thoughts and feelings. Any small addition would set me off the handle. But now I just felt good...despite the headaches. When the headaches cleared, I went through the period in which I didn't want to do anything, not even get off of the couch, and I didn't give a damn. But, luckily, that faded as well...

Lately I've just felt fulfilled. I've felt comfortable, hopeful, and content. Sometimes people have a hard time with medication because they think it turns the patient into a zombie. I assure you, for those that require its aide, it is anything but that. During my lapses into depression, Zoloft helps me keep my head up. Zoloft gets me out of the house. It clears my head...makes me think rationally. I don't feel happy all the time. I still experience down time (like when it rains very hard NONSTOP for a whole week with a prediction to rain for ANOTHER WHOLE WEEK).I still get the blues...but I never get so heavily buried under my own thoughts and fears as I do without it. I am not nearly as terrified of life as I have been in the past. I even started doing Bikram Yoga, and I love it.

With that in mind, I don't promise loads and loads of cheer-y blogs. I only promise honesty...I'm going to give it another go. Just remember, I'm a big girl.

grrrrrr....ammar

2009-07-17T04:22:00.003-05:00

I have now been informed that my late afternoon students really like me...BUT...what they really want from their "conversation" class is GRAMMAR. So. I am now being tested on the online course I took this past fall. It's stressful. Grammar is ALWAYS stressful, but, luckily, it's not like reading a different language, reviewing things like the perfective and the progressive forms of verbs. I just have to take my time and make sure I explain everything slowly and clearly. It's really just a matter of building on the simple forms of the verbs. Imagine me stacking those little cardboard bricks from day school on top of each other...except there are words like "simple present of to be" and "+" and "present participle" (which can also be a gerund...please don't ask me that today). This morning at breakfast Charles Hall asked me to tell him what I taught yesterday and we both got confused trying to remember the present perfect vs. simple present. Lots of rules. Never a dull moment.

The coffee in the cafeteria is WEAK. I woke up this morning a.)very hungry and b.) tired. Yesterday, I hadn't really left myself time to eat. I had cereal when I woke up (10:00), and then I didn't eat until 6:30 (because I was cramming in some grammar) when all I had time to grab before the Czech film was a bag of chips and a Kit Kat. When the movie let out, the only thing I could get to eat at a restaurant was...another bag of chips and a beer. Of course, in the Czech Republic, beer is food...and also medicine. I went to bed hungry, annoyed, and not at all medicinally satiated.

It was hot yesterday. It was so hot in the classrooms, my knees were sweating. It's hotter today. However, tomorrow it will be a great deal cooler, and it will be raining. So sayeth the weather man. I will either visit "The Athens of the South" in the Czech Republic on Saturday or "Pilsen's sister city in Germany" on Sunday. Any thoughts? I can't manage to do both and rest up for next week...and wash my underwear.

My walk to school...sometimes I stand and watch the wind blow waves across the grass...or wheat? It's some sort of grain. I'll take a closer picture of what makes up the field, and you can tell me later.

The girl on the bottom is one of my old students from 2007. She is a physics professor at the University. Yep. I will not reveal her name.

A french guy at the party on Wednesday. Again...yep.

Joan Jett has made it to the Czech Republic

2009-07-15T08:01:00.003-05:00

I have two classes here in ol' Pilsen (Plzen). I teach a class at 2:00 with upper intermediate students who, so far, really like me, and I teach a class at 4:30 of beginners-lower intermediate students who...are divided I think on how they feel about me. I think most of them like me, but there is one (why is there ALWAYS one) that is completely unsatisfied with me (why is there ALWAYS one and why can't I focus on anything else). I plan my lessons with this one lady in my mind. I gotta shake it. She just gives me these looks, sighs a little too loud, and sometimes...I think...she rolls her eyes. But, you know, now that I think of it, she might be the only one that doesn't really like me.

Last night I attended the Welcome party which had a Mardi Gras theme...and since I don't usually think to bring Mardi Gras costumes with me when I go overseas, I didn't have anything to wear. So, I went naked. Just kidding. I went topless.....JUST KIDDING. It would have been SOOOOOO Mardi Gras, though...right? My students from the early afternoon found me right away. They were hanging out with this kid that I taught two years ago when he was 14. He's sixteen now, tall, awkward...like sixteen year old boys are...but with a little goofy swagger. He bought shots for everyone and, on my suggestions, made them girly. He had an extra, and he gave it to his TEFL teacher (the teacher in training), who is a woman in her 60s. She was hilarious. She took her hat off and said, while holding the small glass "I've never done THIS before!" So we took a shot together, and she went to dance. Then my old (16 year old) student leaned over to me and said, "anytime you need a shot, you come to me," and then he wondered off to find a girl his age to flirt with. I wished him luck.

Most of the time the soundtrack at these parties consists of Europop, Roxette, the Friend's theme, and random old dance remixes from the states that made it over here (like that cotton eyed joe song...seriously). However, last night, we enjoyed a number of Michael Jackson songs, some newer hip-hop, and...Joan Jett. What a surprise.

At one point, I was in the bathroom washing my hands and one of my very first students ever...from 2006, came out of one of the stalls. We gasped in shock of our good fortune, hugged, and laughed at the irony of meeting in the bathroom...for it was in the bathroom where I explained to her and some other students the term "Breaking the Seal." She reminded me of that, and then we caught up. When she was my student, her English was Ok. It hadn't gotten much better the following year, but this year, it was fantastic. We could talk about anything and everything. It was such a nice surprise.

Tonight I am going to a Jazz festival in the town square with some of my students. I might need a break from beer. It's a little exhausting. Am I getting old?

Up the Down Escalator

2009-07-13T05:24:00.002-05:00

It doesn't matter one single bit that I have been here twice before, I still can't manage to get it right for the first week and a half. I walk into the Menza to get my lunch, deciding on the very unappetizing-looking pasta dish. But I don't see a station for it once I get to the front of the line, and I ask, "Pasta?" Which is returned with a great deal of Czech that I don't understand. So, I just repeat, "Pasta?" and point to where I am standing, which, I'm sure must be really confusing to someone who clearly doesn't know the meaning of the word pasta, but might very well assume that I am not it. So I leave to find the number on the display case outside of the main cafeteria, but the turnstile doesn't go both ways, and I slam into it going the wrong direction in front of a few of the coordinators. At this point I feel like a three legged woman, or someone that was born with arms that go all the way down to the floor. I mutter an expletive, and find that my pasta dish is number 4. OF COURSE. The most impossible Czech number to pronounce. You can say it any way you like, mimic their pronunciation a million times, and it will never sound to them like the number 4. So I walked back into the Menza, and I held up four fingers, and he served me a square of over baked broccoli pasta "'surprise" that I managed to eat about a third of.

But that's not all. Oh no. Of course not. For my drink, I decided that it would be a good idea to stick with one of the drinks from the soda fountain. I chose the one with the picture of the orange on it. I thought, I have this coupon, and they say it is good for the main meal which I'm assuming includes something to drink. I'm wrong though. The lady says something to me in Czech about 5kc, and I say something back in English about how I thought the coupon covered something to drink, and she says, impressively, "We are not prepared." So I gave her what I had, 50Kc, and she gave me change...so now I can get an instant coffee from the machine before I teach my class. Which is drawing ever nearer.

I have never taught a class that I haven't felt utterly terrified about. I have never gone into teaching a new class thinking, "This'll be easy. I'll be fine. Bah!" Of course, it usually is fine, but there is always this underlying dread...right beneath my skin...right around the line of my scalp, heavy on my chest...that it will not be all right, and there I'll be, staring back at a room full of students, with nothing to say, and no way to figure it out. That's pretty much where I am right now. We'll see what happens.

Body Clock

2009-07-12T09:58:00.004-05:00

I did a very bad thing. I threw my body clock all out of whack. I made the mistake of allowing myself to sleep from midnight on Friday until noon on Saturday. When I got in bed on Saturday night, I ended up reading until 5 a.m. on Sunday. The sun was coming up. Well, the sun was up. The sun had started coming up at around 4. So, I slept until 1 today instead of another 12 hours. Perhaps we can do it tonight...and by "do it," I mean go to sleep at a normal hour.

It's a beautiful day in Pilsen today. It is in the low 70s, high 60s, with a nice breeze. I had a brisk walk through town, some Risotto at the corner pizza parlor, and then I stopped by a corner store to buy some milk for my coffee, but ended up with yogurt. You know, same old, same old.

One of my favorite things about cities in Europe are the little dogs everywhere. It can be a bit difficult, though. I hate having to run into an animal without being able to touch it. I saw a dead hedgehog on the side of the rode today...didn't touch it though. At first I thought it was a porcupine, but those have really long needles. Wasn't there a porcupine in Ol' Yeller? I seem to remember one.

It amazes me how much emotion being back in Europe is causing me. It all reminds me of my time in London, of my previous times here. I'm kind of lonely and stuck with these thoughts. The restaurant right down the street from the dorms has closed, so I can't count on running into people lounging on the patio in the afternoon. Not like the old days. I'm sure it will get better once school starts, but I'm currently having trouble connecting with people.

Hopefully my next post will be a little less...blue-ish?

In Czech

2009-07-11T09:41:00.002-05:00

I've brought my laptop to Europe, and I can't seem to get the internet set up in my place of residence. It is infuriating. I am at a coffee shop about to break a 1000 kc note for a coffee that is going to cost me around 30 kc, and I'm sure the server is going to rue the day that I walked through the door. The Czechs hate, HATE, making change. Of course....that's all the damn ATM will give me, so...whatareyagonnado?

The weather here is cool, chilly at night, and clear. I forgot how quiet it is before school starts. I also forgot how rich the food is. I had pizza for lunch today with about two blocks of cheese melted on top. Last night, I ordered a specialty at a restaurant, and ended up with about 50 pounds of potato, meat, gravy, and vegetables...as well as two beers. I ate until I was satisfied and still had about 45 pounds of food left on my plate. The server was aghast.

By the time I made it to bed last night, I was hanging by a thread. I had been walking around Prague all day...with slow walkers...after maybe six and a half hours of broken sleep while sitting up on a plane. I took a nap on the bus from Prague to Pilsen as well. Nothin beats waking up with that horrible pain in your neck from sitting up and snoozing. I lay awake in my bed for a moment, and then disappeared from existence for almost 12 hours.

To tell the truth, the shower in the sink doesn't really bother me as much as it did before. The smell of the room is nostalgic. I woke up to the sound of tennis balls bouncing on the court across the street.

I missed the walking tour this afternoon, for the third time in a row. I always intend to go, and I always end up missing it...so I have to give myself a walking tour. I'm sure I'm missing some secret amazing thing by not participating in the guided tour.

Europe reminds me of England...or of Europe...or maybe it all just runs together. There is something similar about the whole...experience?

Brave New World

2009-07-05T16:37:00.002-05:00

Bon jour mes amies. I'm sure if you didn't know before, you know by now: I have moved to Dahlonega, GA. I now live in a small town in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. I suppose I must have been here for a little over a month now. It's surprising. I have never pictured myself much of a small town girl, and I'm not sure I do now. I feel a little like a square peg trying to fit into a round hole, but it's not terrible. It's interesting, exciting even.

I have spent the past four weeks falling over myself to unpack, fighting off insects numbering close to the population of the citizens of greater Memphis, struggling to get out of bed, and eventually domesticating myself for the time being. I do have a job in which I work in an organic garden, but, as we are in the middle of the heat of the summer, the only work to be done is work that I am unable to do: drive a tractor. Don't get me wrong, I would KILL to be able to drive a tractor, but it's easier to get people with a great deal more experience than I to do it while I read books on companion planting, fighting off pests and disease, and what to plant when.

I made a quick trip to the mid-west to reconnect with some of my family and bid one member goodbye.

I rarely have to stop at stoplights on my journey's into town. There are very few in the city, and none outside of it, where I live in a little cabin on a creek, shaded by a cave of trees.

I have also been exploring the world of shade loving plants.

My cats are in love with this place. What is it inside of us that causes us to become so attached to our pets? I find myself so enamored with my pets that my heart floods with joy when I see them lounging in the sun, in their element, at peace with nature. Am I crazy? The only thing they don't like is when I cross the creek to the island on the other side. They refuse to brave the very shallow waters of the creek, and when I skip across on stones and climb up the bank to enjoy the small patch of blue sky that peeks through the ceiling of the woods, they sit on the opposite bank, crying for me to come back, confused.

I am sure that someday soon I will experience some sort of neurological damage from the amount of insect repellent that I blanket my skin with. Ticks make up the other half of the insect population that aren't moths. They are rude, blood-sucking, and hard to kill. I have only found three on myself, hopefully due to my wholeheartedly clinging to the "myth" that consuming large amounts of garlic will put the insects off.

As far as domestication goes, I have made this house somewhat of a home, with an inviting, huge back porch, complete with shade loving flowers, color-coded recycling bins, a number of chairs, a pre-existing hammock, and colorful Christmas lights. I have explored the world of "daylight" lightbulbs in order to beat the one tragic flaw in my house: very few windows allowing very little natural light in. It's okay. I should be outside anyway. I live in the country.

I Like It; Yes, I Do

2009-04-29T09:45:00.003-05:00

After years of telling students, "Don't use the semi-colon. You don't know how, and I don't think it's really that necessary," I have finally decided that I actually DO find a semi-colon, now and then, a little bit necessary. The thing is, I just didn't understand how to use them. That was an okay excuse for a while, but my students soon began to pester me. "Semi-colons are going out of style" simply wasn't enough to keep them from wanting to use them; thus, I had to learn the usage and merit of the semi-colon.

I had cleverly fashioned my policy regarding this mark of punctuation after taking a class with Dr. Nasheeb Shaheen, who said, more than once, "A semi-colon is a weak period," in his characteristic drone. That was enough for me to decide that, in addition to the fact that I didn't really know how to use one anyway, the semicolon needed to be absent from my writing life.

However, it kept coming back, poking its nose into my business, rearing its ugly head. Too often I marked in bright purple ink (I refuse to use red when grading papers) "DON'T USE SEMICOLONS," on a student's work; too often I repeated the narrative of my time with Dr. Shaheen to students that asked how to use a semi-colon. The Guardian even published an article on the fate of this grammatical tool: The End of the Line?

I finally had to relent; my clever avoidance of the issue was not sufficient. I have slowly begun to explore the world of the semi-colon. I have dipped my toes into the waters of punctuating creative expression. I have opened my heart to the frontier.

As some woman I read about said:

Sadly, anyone lazily looking for an excuse not to master the colon and semicolon can always locate a respectable reason, because so many are advanced. Here are some of the most common:

1. They are old-fashioned.

2. They are middle-class.

3. They are optional.

4. They are mysteriously connected to pausing.

5. They are dangerously addictive ...

6. The difference between them is too negligible to be grasped by the brain of man.

Lynne Truss

Hey lady: Don't use a comma with "because" unless the dependent clause comes at the beginning of the sentence. Gees.

Here is Something That I Have Been Thinking About

2009-04-19T16:52:00.004-05:00

I was on Central yesterday, stopped at a red light at East Parkway, and there were kids with orange warning cones, a white piece of poster board with "North Memphis Tigers Football" scribbled on it with a black marker, and just, you know, open hands, walking up to cars and asking for money for their team. I'm sorry, but when did pan-handling become okay for Jr. sports? When I played sports...er...I mean...when I participated in extracurricular activities (band, choir, academics), we sold things that were sponsored by fund raising companies. It was a business. People got good products and were able to give a little bit of money to our programs. It doesn't work for bums downtown, why should it work for kids on street corners? When did we decide that cutting out the middle-man and training kids to beg for money was a good idea? I don't know a lot about economics, okay, I don't know ANYTHING, but I know that this is kind of ridiculous. NO, not kind of, it is totally ridiculous. Now, homeless people have to compete with kids that want to play football for money at stoplights. Is there no justice in the world?

I have a problem with this.

I also have a problem with kids going into a grocery store, buying candy for fifty cents a pop, and then selling it to me for two dollars to help out their little league. Again, isn't that just like, I don't know, scalping tickets? Instead of encouraging kids to panhandle and/or scalp, why can't we encourage them to, I don't know, learn something useful? If I sell $50 of these special candy bars, I get $30 dollars donated to my cause, and I get a t-shirt, or something. I mean..isn't that like, retail experience? I'm trying to work this out in my head. Somebody help me out here.

Pop Up

2009-04-17T14:36:00.002-05:00

You know what I wish? I wish that adobe acrobat would leave me the hell alone. Honestly. I can't count how many times I try to do something on my computer while Adobe tries to get me to "make it better." I'd like to enjoy it the way it is, thank you very much.

Another thing that keeps popping up in my life, and in my mind, is this sinking feeling that I have no say in my future. I suppose that's a little fatalistic of me. I try to take control of situations, only to feel, invariably, that I have no say in what happens next. I'm becoming what Emerson became: a cynic. C'est la vie.

I can never pump myself enough to sit down and grade papers. I suppose I should find some way to enjoy this if I want to continue my career in this direction. I have to sift through a ginormous pile of papers for a pretty long time this weekend. I feel overworked and underappreciated. It is also magnificent outside. I'm rested, and the sun is shining, but instead of going on outings, I've got to sit in the back yard and grade papers. If only I could pay someone to do it for me...If only I had the clout of a true professor.

I'm currently waiting for the kitchen floor to dry. It might be almost there.

Three Weeks Left

2009-04-14T10:50:00.002-05:00

I have been teaching Developmental English at Southwest Tennessee Community College for twelve weeks now, and I have just recently discovered the key to getting the attention I have been battling for. As much as I hate lecturing and turning my back on my audience, I have started writing everything I say on the board, and the classroom has never been more quiet. Someone in their study skills class must be telling them the old truth that you should write down everything that the teacher puts on the board because it is probably important. Maybe I just didn't think that everything I had to say was important until now. They sit on the edge of their seats, their pens and pencils poised in their hands, with baited breath, awaiting the next nugget of priceless information about how to successfully conclude an essay.

Then, of course, their are those that are texting. Next semester, I'm going to be a hard ass about the phones. I'm pretty good at ignoring it, but there are some students that just get under my skin. I'm going to start taking their phones, just quietly walking up to them and taking their phones. I've spent too much time this semester getting my feelings hurt. It's difficult teaching a DIFFERENT class every damn semester. I never get a chance to improve my strategy. I figure out what works by the end of the semester, and I have to learn a new class. It makes me want to shave my head, set myself on fire, and run around laughing hysterically. Okay...maybe not. It pretty much just makes me want to drink a lot of whiskey. That's about it.

I have recently rid myself of an annoying skin problem. I feel like a new woman. I am now going to finish my coffee and look over my lesson for today. What's going on with you guys?

Once a month

2009-04-02T10:58:00.003-05:00

Have you ever stood at the edge of a cliff, or on the roof of a tall building and been terrified? I'm not afraid of heights, but I do, at least once during a visit to the top of a mountain or a rooftop, get a quick flash of terror as I contemplate my capabilities. It wouldn't take more than a slip of the foot, or leaning forward a little too far to send me tumbling to my death. This is what makes me tremble. This is what makes me catch my breath and take a step back. As much as I enjoy life, enjoy the rise and fall of the days, it doesn't take much to send me tumbling down the mountain, and it's rarely a slip of the foot. It's almost always a lean just a little too far. I arrive at the apex of a situation, lean forward because the view just isn't quite good enough, and I'm gone.

I feel fine. I am fine, but I feel like I'm tumbling down a mountainside. I don't feel so much as if I'm in a free fall, I just feel like I'm tumbling, bumping things, scraping myself up, praying that I don't hit my head. There's more time to think while tumbling, or maybe there's less time to think. Perhaps there is more time to think when in a free fall. I imagine myself holding my breath, thinking of all the ways I could have avoided leaning too far forward, looking back up at the roof-top, waiting to make contact with the earth. I say I'm tumbling because the fall may not be as hard. I am in contact with the earth as I fall, and I may find a small plateau to catch me before I do any more damage in tumbling, a precipice that will allow me to dust myself off and continue up the mountain. It's almost humorous in my mind, like Homer Simpson falling off a cliff and slamming into everything trying to find something to grab onto. I've done this, I've looked too far, and now, as I should have known, I'm tumbling.

I've been in a free fall before, I know what that feels like. I know that terror. This is less terrifying, and I don't know why.

We are all just one step away from tumbling down the mountain. We are all just one inch away from a free-fall. I guess that's what makes life so exciting. I guess that's why we climb mountains or visit the roof-tops of the tallest buildings. It gives us a clear picture of our capabilities.

Dude, do not slip.

While Day Workers Empty Out the House Across the Street That Burned Down

2009-03-06T16:58:00.001-06:00

My mother wants to move back to a place in Oklahoma in which she lived when she was a child. She remembers being happy there, I think. I don’t think about life this way. I don’t know if I will begin someday. I can’t imagine. At present, I don’t look back at the past and think about how much better it was. I don’t think it was better. I don’t think anything in my past has been better than what I have and where I am right now, and that’s not even perfect. My mother is so strong. My mother is so capable. I fear she thinks she has lost it, for herself, under all the…stuff…real and…metaphorical. But I think it’s still there. I think her strength and capability still exists. I wish for her to find it. I wish for her to embrace it.

In Korea, they believe that it is better to be old than to be young. A person’s 60th birthday is called “New Life,” for it is the point at which one begins to live again. I’m told it is a good time to start a new career. I don’t know why exactly. The Koreans that told me about it had a very limited English vocabulary. Perhaps this time, this idea, exists because, to reach the age of sixty, one must have learned a great many lessons. Perhaps it acknowledges the tumult and the confusion of growing up…getting old…living. When we reach sixty, perhaps we arrive. I suppose you could say that about any age. I hate the idea of some determined finale. Now we are such and such age and must begin getting ready for the finale. We are in the final act. If death is the finale, then, in reality, we are always…in so many ways, in the final act. No one is promised tomorrow. So, why this determined age of uselessness in our culture? Why not the new life? My mother is so capable. My mother is so strong. Her new life started a little over 2 years ago. I hope she grabs onto it. I hope it’s exhilarating. I hope it’s everything she deserves, which is so much.

I’ve been spending a lot of time alone lately, since this past weekend anyway. This past weekend came up and bit me on the ass. I wasn’t expecting it to tear me down, to stop me in my tracks the way that it did, but it did just that. I have been very confused. I have been lonely, despite a partner that has been very present. I have been trying to make sense of feelings that I haven’t experienced since I was probably in elementary school. I think I am going to be successful. I think spring is just around the corner.

Just Ridin' Around

2009-02-06T00:12:00.002-06:00

So, I didn't build a new bike for myself. I folded, and I bought a used bike at Peddler. It is a pink 1989 Schwinn Caliente. It is awesome. Tonight, after being on team awesome at Trivia, I rode it around listening to Beethoven. It was cold, clear, quiet, and gorgeous. I haven't had this much fun on a bike since my black and pink road bike that was stolen from me when I was 13 years old. It is fun. It is the fun.

Yesterday I rode it around in Overton park from about 4:45 until 5:45, and I discovered that there is a moment right when the sun sets in the coldest moments of winter, where the sky is a pale blueish pink color...almost a fleshy color. I know that doesn't make sense, but that's the best way I can think to describe it. It's quiet, and respectful, and understanding, and...perfect.

I thought about a lot of things. I thought about all the people that have crashed through my life. There was a time when I resented the losses I had experienced, but now, more often than not, I feel a deep sense of gratitude. Every one of the people that I have loved and lost has given me something, has left me as someone greater...fuller than I was before. I lean, and it's hard to let go when it ends because of this new part of me. I'm never sure if I'm capable of carrying it around as a part of me, but I am. I am more than capable. All the times I spend complaining or worrying that I am just a product of someone else's musing, I am amazed at how many risks I have allowed myself to take. And maybe I don't move forward. Maybe I end up at the very beginning every time, but inside, I'm miles ahead. Life keeps surprising me. Love keeps changing me. Time keeps guiding my footsteps.

I'll put a picture of my bike up as soon as I find a way to charge my camera battery ('cause my battery was stolen with my computer). =)

Going back to the Start

2009-01-29T23:02:00.004-06:00

I realize, before I say anything, that I am very well off, and lucky, and all that, but I might do a little bit of whining in this blog...but only a little bit.

SO. Everyone knows about my computer/makeup/bike mishaps. One week it was the car break-in, the next week it was the bike stealing, and this week it is my car breaking down on me. Tuesday night, on my way home from school, my car began kind of shuddering, skipping, and lurching a bit. My check engine light flashed at me as if to say, "Why are you making me do this? Can't you see, I'm sick?" I shifted very quickly into panic mode once I realized that I did not have my phone with me, and my panic turned to terror when the sky opened up and a bizarre torrent of rain exploded all around, mocking me. I made it home, and quickly relaxed, until Wednesday (when I SHOULD have gotten to stay home) when I drove to Southwest with the same horrifying shuddering and lurching. I almost lost my mind. I called my dad, in my disgruntledness, and blamed him for everything, said a lot of bad words, and then cried out loud while alone in my car after abruptly getting off the phone with him. MY DAD....who bought me a new computer when mine was stolen. I am horrible. He told me to shove the spark plugs into their, I don't know, spark plug holes, and the other end of the wires into, I guess, the wire box thingy. So...did that, and made it home without any flashing of the engine light, and lurching of the car. However, I am still afraid to drive it, worried that it will die, and I will never be able to revive it again.

All of this, bad luck (I suppose), has prompted me to think about ways to improve my way of life now that I don't have access to all the luxuries that I used to have access to. For instance, yesterday, I was staring at my horrendous hang nails, which I have been chewing on for pretty much most of my life, and I thought, "perhaps, now is the time to stop this nonsense. My fingers look terrifying." And they do. They are terrifying. Then I thought today, "but I've been doing it so long. What if I stop, and there's this giant hole in my life?" Smokers have a million options to help them quit smoking, but nobody thinks of those of us that are addicted to chewing on our hangnails. What do we get? Some bad tasting crap to paint on there? I've chewed threw that stuff before. I'm going to need something stronger.

Okay. I'm kind of kidding about improving my life through kicking my hangnail chewing habit. I'm also just a little bored because I'm ahead in my lesson planning, I don't have any papers to grade yet, and I don't have any money to run around spending.

Also, I was driving down Humphrey's Blvd today on my way to get my mom's car to her, and I noticed one of those giant, telephone(?), electric (?) poles that's made to look like a really big tree. Those are so weird. I mean...they kinda look like trees, but at the same time, they are just so totally not trees. It kind of freaks me out a little bit. I have trouble concentrating on driving when those things are around.

Seriously. I have NO conclusions.

2K9 From Behind

2009-01-12T23:44:00.003-06:00

SO. The new year has begun, and I am already getting my ass kicked. It started in the parking lot of a lovely little Italian restaurant in Dallas, Texas. NO. Not that. I came out to my car after some pasta and wine to find the window of my rental car broken in, my back pack dug out from under the pile of clothes I thought I had cleverly hidden it with and whisked away to, I don't know, Ebay or something. I lost my computer, my copy of Emerson's Nature and Other Writings, my phone charger, my camera battery charger, my house keys (along with my Kroger plus card), my favorite jeans, and ALL (yes) ALL of my makeup. Granted, I never had a lot of makeup, but I had enough, and now it's all gone. I know. I KNOW. It should never have been in my car, but it was, and I can't go back and change it. I can only learn and grow and be miserable about it.

And, as if that wasn't enough, I returned home to find that my bike has mysteriously disappeared from the LOCKED foyer of my duplex. Tell me, if there is no broken glass, how did someone get in to take my bike if they were not let in?

In any case. My new year's resolution to ride my bike more is down the drain. I feel violated...and not in a good way. I feel powerless. I pretty much feel like the only thing I can do is sit here and be a little pissed about it, not a lot pissed because what does that do for me? I had a big long sad day on Sunday, and now I'm just trying to make sure that I am teaching enough classes to pay my bills this spring. I sure wish I had a bike though. Man.

What about a computer? Well. I feel lame. I feel like a crappy 29 year old. But, I let my dad buy me a new one. I'd like to make payments to him to pay him back for it over the next few months. I bet I could probably do that. I had this moment this morning (and this "moment" becomes more and more frequent the older I get) where I just broke down into this pile of mess crying about how I'm twenty-nine and I'm struggling to take care of myself. My dad was sweet and tried to tell me that he remembers struggling to take care of me and my mom when I was just a baby. I made the point that I can't take care of MYSELF, much less a wife and child. My ability to pay my bills is more solid at this point than it was this morning, but still not entirely guaranteed. At times the starving "artist" (teaching literature is totally an art) is a real inspiration, but there are times when it's kind of ridiculous not being able to pay for things...ever.

I am going to build my new bike. I'm going to the Co-op, and I'm going to build a new bike. 2K9 is not the boss of me. It's not my real mom so it cannot tell me what to do.

Can I borrow some money?
Just kidding.

The Sun is Setting in the West

2009-01-08T14:44:00.004-06:00

Here I sit, at a coffee shop in Denton, Texas, the only place, so far, I can find with free wi-fi. What happened to the freedom of the American west? The great wide open spaces? I'll tell you what's happened: They've been filled with apartment complexes, highway interchanges, shopping malls, and chain restaurants. It's not all bad. I've managed to find (be introduced to) a number of bars sporting gigantic beer lists, and you can imagine how happy that made me. It's also like, 75 degrees with glorious sunshine.

What the hell are you doing sitting in a damn coffee shop?!?!! Satiating two addictions, my friends.

I drove to Texas in a Ford Focus that listens when I talk and obeys my commands. I also drove in the ice. It made this "error" sound when I asked it to make the ice go away. Technology can't fix everything.

It's funny being back here, and driving around old streets I used to drive down every day. It comes back to me gradually. I don't know the way when I leave so it's like playing the original mario brothers, the path becomes clear to you as you continue down it. Kinda like life. Blah blah. I've been taking a lot of pictures, trying to capture the essence of "my" Texas. I've taken entirely too many pictures. It's had a tiny mind clearing effect. That may be just the time away from Memphis.

Let's look at some pictures:
This is a minor monstrosity on one of the millions of different freeways that zig-zag through the city.

Here is the great western expanse: Filled with telephone poles, strip malls, and apartment complexes.

This, my friends, is the very first apartment that I lived in an paid for on my own. I was 22. I painted it green.

This is my good friend Isaiah amidst the glowing welcome of the Galeria Shopping center.

And here's the city as seen from White Rock Lake Park. Fitting for the title, eh?

Pod World

2008-12-20T14:01:00.004-06:00

I have...FINALLY...discovered the wonderful world of Podcasts. I had heard people speak of this world on many occasions, but I had never truly experienced it myself. I recently discovered that NPR.org has an extensive list of fantastic podcasts available to be devoured by my ipod. You can search by title or by subject. I know, I know, I am so behind the times. I get it. Remember, I just finished an entire semester of "Modern English Grammar." I'm way up on the grammar times. Which leads me to one of my most favorite findings this afternoon: A six minute weekly program from Minnesota public radio boasting to discuss all things grammar and the English language. It's called "Grammar Grater," and I think we are going to be really good friends. I am also subscribed to "Crash Course in Islam" because I feel like being able to understand things that I don't quite yet understand.

I'm serious. This might be one of the best things I have ever discovered on my own through many other people mentioning it to me as if I knew exactly what they were talking about. I only recently discovered that I could manually update my ipod. No more lost or triplicated music!

This is a good Christmas gift to myself. Free, too!

I'm not going to tell you exactly why, but sometimes, if you let things go and stop worrying about them (aka...money), they take care of themselves. SOMETIMES.

I think the sun'll come out tomorrow. Seriously.

Two Words with Different Meanings and a Quest for Holiday Pastries...aka...Spirit

2008-12-19T10:25:00.003-06:00

Why oh why can't the British think of a different name for their favorite holiday treat: the Mince Pie. I know what many of you are thinking. Mince pies? Beef pies? As a holiday...treat? But no. In this case, "mince" does not refer to ground meat. It refers to this really sweet cinnamon-y, nutmeg-y concoction that goes inside little pie pastries so everyone gets their own personal mince pie. The traditional recipe also calls for "suet" which is animal fat...which is, for all intents and purposes: Crisco. If there's one thing the British totally have a knack for, it's calling food items by horribly unappetizing names.

For example:
Bubble and Squeak: mashed potatoes and cabbage
Beans on Toast: beans on toast...but actually kind of good
Black Pudding: blood...basically
Spotted Dick: this one's a dessert
Clotted Cream
And, possibly the most well thought out name, almost as well thought out as naming your pet goldfish "vagina": The Faggot

Just to name a few.

So. I keep typing "mince pies" into my google recipe search, and I keep getting recipes for beef, lamb, and chicken pies. Sometimes I get a recipe for what I'm looking for, but I can never get a recipe for the actual mince. I'm hoping that Kroger or Schnucks will just happen to have it. I'd kind of like some mince pies...despite the name and the listed ingredient: suet. It honestly sounds like something you might feed a pig.

You know what there is much less of this year as well? Cookies. NO ONE has offered me a free Christmas cookie. I think other people have had them, or been offered them, but it has always been well out of my eye and ear-shot. Do they exist? Where did they go? Am I going to have to make ALL of my own Christmas goodies? (I do believe that my neighbors Amy and Jennifer are preparing cookies for my room mate and me, but I have nothing to tide me over until then).

I cleaned the kitchen yesterday. That's one goal accomplished.

Where are you Christmas? And by that I mean: where is the chocolate and where are the cookies?

The Down Time

2008-12-16T10:56:00.004-06:00

I put the lid on my work for last semester (hopefully) at about 5:30 p.m. yesterday. Fantastic. I'm currently sitting at my dining room table feeling the weight of absolutely nothing. The only thing that worries me is my desire to do too much, to set myself up for disappointment. So, I ask, should I make a list of goals to accomplish over the holidays? or should I avoid making any sort of plans and just enjoy the time? Or a mixture of both?

Today I am so excited about coffee that I think I may just sit here drinking it and thinking about how lovely it is. I cooked and listened to Fresh Air last night and learned about the culinary history of milk. It was phenomenal. You know what else is phenomenal? The prediction of a 100% chance of freezing precipitation last night that manifested itself in a few droplets of ice on my car this morning.

For anyone lucky enough to happen upon the back door to my apartment, the pile of rotting food is intentional. It's what some people like to call a compost heap. I am about to put my salad container from Whole Foods on top of it as well. That too will be intentional, as Whole Foods explained that the container will decompose in a compost heap within 90 days. Let's see....Also, Diana, I apologize that this often leads to a bowl full of moldy leftover veggies and tea bags in our kitchen. I'm trying to save the planet.

If you have yet to put a container of chocolate on your desk at work, may I suggest that you do so as soon as possible. I have had a very difficult time finding free, Christmas-y chocolate lying around as of late. I am very disappointed by this fact.

If you think it's too cold, try putting on a hat and a scarf. I find it to be more than bearable with those two essentials. Once you've done that, go for a walk.

And the Rains Came Down and the Floods Came Up

2008-12-09T14:51:00.002-06:00

I have been miss-stepping since I woke up this morning. It has been grand. I left my phone in Fargo's car last night, and had to use my actual alarm clock to wake up this morning, only I didn't hear it because I had my earplugs in and I was huddled on the far side of the bed. I woke up thirty minutes later thanks to Diana's alarm going off. It was raining when I woke up. I then promised to bring McDonald's to Fargo for holding onto my phone during her all-nighter in the Smith computer lab. But I missed breakfast. It was raining when I pulled angrily out of the drive through.

I picked up my phone and headed to the book store with the intention of reading the chapter I needed to in the book I've lost before doing the assignment that was due yesterday. However, the bookstore had blocked off the actual books section, and I could not read the book. I walked back to Patterson in the rain (I had an umbrella, but I was still wet when I got to my office).

I then began to look at the work I had cut out for me in this finals week. My students came in occasionally to turn in their final papers. They were all soaked from the rain. I began to feel a little hopeless about my assignments, but that hopelessness began to diminish when I began to slowly and methodically knock out small pieces of the work.

I then walked to my listening and speaking class in the rain. Talking to my international students was refreshing, and I'm very excited about their presentations on Thursday. I should have prepared them more for it, but I'm learning. I've got some fantastic ideas for a really unified curriculum for next session. I might work on it over the break. I'll probably work on it over the break.

It's still raining. I'm cutting deeper into my work, but that doesn't mean I still don't want to do it. I still don't want to do it. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of deadlines, but I guess I should get over that for, you know, life.

I cracked and bought some starbucks today. I now have the shakes. And it's still raining.

If Anyone Out There is Still Listening

2008-12-04T12:13:00.003-06:00

It's been a long time. Like a fool, I went and let the semester get the best of me. I buried myself under piles and piles of busy-ness and left no time for my soul, which requires a great deal of self reflection and friend time.

On the one hand, I have found a great outlet for service by focusing a good deal of my energy on trying to help my international students get acquainted with their new temporary "home." It comes from feeling so desperately alone in the middle of gigantic London. Not because Liam was an asshole,he wasn't, but because no one understood the cultural shock/stress I was experiencing. I have found great joy this semester in trying to introduce my students to different social aspects of Memphis. I got tired of hearing so many of them complaining about how boring it is. Yes, Memphis can be terribly boring, but it really just forces you to develop strong ties with friends and to lean on each other for entertainment. And if you don't have a car, it forces you to walk...a lot. Don't worry. I'm going to be hitting some of them up for payment soon...aka: teaching me a new language. I've already convinced a number of them to cook for me. WOO HOO!!

On the other hand, I have lost a great deal of the gravity that I was experiencing throughout the beginning of the semester. There have been moments where I've touched down and moments in which I have been floating aimlessly trying to grab onto what I thought I had figured out...make sense? I think teaching five classes and taking two online courses is a bit of an over-reach. I'm not sure what I was trying to prove at the beginning of the semester. I'm over that now.

Getting caught up in a new relationship has been challenging and enlightening. I find myself hyper aware of all the things I do...all the time...in every relationship to basically self-destruct what's happening. It's kind of fantastic. I get to catch myself early on and begin to explore ways around it. I have recently discovered my own horrific obsession with fatalism. I have this insane propensity to want to be miserable because it often makes more sense than being happy. I like to blame other people for that, but it's pretty much my problem. I gotta work on it. Luckily I'm hanging out with a pretty understanding guy. I feel a bit liberated from my past need to cling. I feel encouraged to let go.

Next semester I am only taking on what I know I can handle, and I am assigning fewer papers for my 1020 classes. I think I'm also going to have them submit the papers online from now on. I like commenting on the computer. It's not fair to make them keep trying to figure out my handwriting. Also, I keep losing my pens.

So. It's almost time for me to not get paid for a while, which means: 1. I will have a lot more time to ramble on and on about my thoughts and feelings on this blog. 2. I will have a lot more time to clean and, hopefully, find my lost text book. 3. I will have a lot less money. 4. Someone may have to buy my drinks when I go out. See you all soon. I'm excited

In Honor of our Newly Elected President

2008-11-10T15:54:00.002-06:00

I've been reading through some of Langston Hughes poetry to share with my writing workshop tonight, and I came across this one. It means a lot more now than it did when I read it for my Harlem Renaissance course a couple of years ago. It's also pretty appropriate for the times. I thought I'd share.

Let America Be America Again
by Langston Hughes

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay--
Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again--
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!

Birth

2008-10-12T14:57:00.002-05:00

Today is my birthday, and with it comes the usual strange longing for nostalgia and renewal. I woke up early today. It was pleasant. I had breakfast. I read the New York Times. I walked to Overton Park. I walked for an hour, and when the hour was over, I found that I was not tired. I sat in the grass. I spoke what I'd been thinking for a while. I made a decision. And now, I feel free. Regardless of the outcome of my decision. I feel like I have made it and shared it, and it is no longer up to me. It was a gift that I decided to give to myself. I like not knowing what tomorrow will bring. I am filled with an overwhelming sense of peace.

My mom gave me a zoo membership and book. I have been reading the book at random times (it's hard to find time to read anything I really want to read these days), and the more I read, the more it means so much to me. A simple book. Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard. She wrote it when she was 27. It's kind of a Walden Pond idea. She won the Pulitzer. The first chapter she begins walking and talking about the things she sees, and it felt like I was walking with her, crouching down to peer deeper into the mysterious, complicated and fantastic world that we live in. Her poetry is magnificent.

I am planning on having dinner with friends this evening. I am planning on relaxing and enjoying myself. I am not thinking about the future or what 29 will bring. I am thinking about right now, and I can do what I want...because it's my birthday.

Where am I?

2008-10-08T13:27:00.006-05:00

The first word I said this morning upon walking out the door was, "gross." The mist was coming down like...I don't know...my mom would say pea soup...but I don't know if that translates to me quite the same. It's not like it's raining...it's just...wetting. It's wetting. It's like England. It's just wet...wetness. It's wet so much in England that the world smells kind of mildewed sometimes. This morning reminded me of about 75% of the mornings I spent in London.

I walked from my house to the tube over this hill, and I would try to imagine myself geographically. I was not on a huge continent, but rather a small island. I imagined a cloud covering the entirety of the island...often it was a cloud of smog (but those were good because they trapped in the heat of the city..YES!). It was easier to imagine myself on an island when there were seagulls flying overhead. I pushed my hands into my pockets and tucked my nose under my scarf (eventually you give up on the umbrella and accept the fact that you will be getting wet). On heavy traffic days, I got to race the bus over the hill to the Tube bus stop. I would give everyone crammed into the double-decker bus a sly sideways glance as I used the gift of my legs to overtake them.

By the time I got to April, the street sweepers were out at the same time, desperately trying to dispell the "myth" that Haringey was the "dirtiest burough in England." Then, past the street sweepers and down the steps to the Underground I would go...

So, I say...What is this nonsense? My birthday's coming up. Let's get the sun back in here.

Too Strong

2008-10-06T14:08:00.002-05:00

Man. Starbucks is ridiculous. I didn't have time to make my own cup of coffee at home today so I bought a small (tall) cup of the coffee of the day at the starbucks kiosk in Patterson...and I feel like I took a large dose of an illegal drug. I didn't even finish the cup of coffee. I'm sitting in the library reading an incredibly boring chapter in a book I have to respond to, and I can hear my damn heart beating like it's going to shoot out of my chest. Nobody needs that mess. I like the pleasant buzz that I get from my normal cup of coffee. Seriously.

I suppose it doesn't help that it's Monday, and I feel like the sky is going to fall down on top of me. It doesn't matter what I do, I keep getting covered in avalanche upon avalanche of work. I'm to the point where all I want to do is sit still and stare off into space. That's ALL I want to do. I don't need a vacation. I don't need a night out. I need a good 48 hours sitting in an empty room and staring off into the distance...okay...with occasional conversation interspersed between long stretches of thick silence. It's the damn tipping point. If Monday doesn't get better, I'm going crazy (not "going to go" oh no....I've decided...it could be fun).

I told a student today that it doesn't get clearer or easier...it gets fuzzier and much more difficult...you just get used to it. It gets funnier. Although, Starbucks makes it slightly less funny. Get this stuff out of my blood!!!

What I'm Saying is...

2008-10-02T10:26:00.004-05:00

SO, I started with my idea...with the re-expression of my inspiration to be honest. Part of that need to be honest requires the need to be happy and the need to be sad without sparking any sort of concern from anyone. We are people pleasers...too often. There are so many instances that I can remember wanting to be honest about my feelings but worrying about how it would make other people feel. I was worried that I would worry someone. The truth is...the honest truth...is that sometimes life isn't pretty, and sometimes people aren't happy, and that doesn't mean we need concern or sympathy. I prefer the empathy approach. It requires common ground, rather than assumption and judgment. Empathy means: the intellectual identification with or vicarious experiencing of the feelings, thoughts, or attitudes of another. Rather than looking at my experiences and my expression of my feelings and feeling concern or some need to help me, I have more affinity towards those that are able to identify with me on an intellectual level, those that do not assume that I need help, but rather understand that we are all on a path towards greater self-awareness. My peace comes from lifting myself out of the holes that I happen to tumble down into. My peace also comes from the knowledge that my friends are always there, coaxing me along.

I have known powerful people. I have known beautiful men and women. I aspire to reach the same heights that they do. I do not ask for their sympathy. I ask for their inspiration.

If we are to be honest, we need to be able to do so without looking like a victim. I think there is often a guilty side of me that wishes to look like a victim, that longs for sympathy. However, when I finally rise up, out of the ashes of my defeat...or, rather, my side-step...with clenched fists, I want nothing more than to stand alone. To bask in the satisfaction of my success. There is peace in the knowledge that I have survived the storm. Diana and I spoke on the phone in May a few days after Liam and I broke up. We cried together, and Diana reminded me that the pain was good...that the pain was beautiful. And it is. It really is. We don't have to be victims.

Let's Start This Month!

2008-10-01T00:40:00.004-05:00

DUDE! (I have recently reincorporated that term into my vernacular. It is the mark of Americanism) It is October! The best month of the year.

Much has happened in 2008. I spent the first five months of it in another country. I spent the next three months in a bathing suit and/or shorts, skirts, layers upon layers of sunblock, and pigtails (in other words...in the Memphis Heat). I have spent the past couple of months running around (occasionally) like a chicken with my head cut off, but I'm getting my stride back. I can remember coming back from England and being so angry because I had a life before. I had a way of doing things, of being together and getting it done, but being in love and throwing caution to the wind had set me off my path. I have decided it is not such a bad thing, getting thrown off track. How do we live if not off the track?

I have made a few decisions about the future: I am responsible for the decisions that I make. I am also responsible for the feelings that I feel. It is such a weight off my back...to decide to take responsibility for my actions and feelings. I am no longer pointing my finger. I am learning to love myself. I am also learning to forgive. I hope it lasts.

Remember that blog I wrote back in March? About wanting to be really honest and up front about things? I have decided that I need to do something about that. I recently spoke with an old friend at my high school reunion about the struggles that we have had since we graduated, about the differences and similarities in our paths. It reminded me of the article I read in the Guardian that inspired the blog in March. If you are interested in reading it, and you SHOULD be, here is a link: Inspiration, for free!

In any case. My conversation, along with this article got me thinking that it's time to DO something. I mean, I've been pretty honest about my experience, and I've gotten a lot of encouragement on the way to continue to be really honest about my experiences, encouragement from people that felt connected to my pain. Well. I think, it's time for us to start sharing. I don't know how to do this, but I'd like to start some sort of forum for women...and men, and just people...to be honest about their experiences. Like...unabashedly, unashamedly...honest. What more can we offer each other than the truth? A safe place to tell the truth. This is my idea. A place to share...without fear...of any kind of judgment or ridicule. Read the article in the link. Tell me what you think...tell me what your reaction was, and if it was the same as mine...let's talk about starting a club...I'm down.

Passage

2008-09-21T23:22:00.003-05:00

Let me begin by apologizing for not blogging in like...a month. I've been really busy. I've inflicted too much work on myself. I'm working through it...one day at a time.

This weekend was a very important weekend for me. Some might say that attending your ten year high school reunion is a milestone. I say it's a right of passage. I spent weeks commenting, "My ten year high school reunion is in three weeks (two, one...day...)." By Friday I was a bit of a mess. I was wired, calling my friends and babbling about how I didn't know what I was going to wear. I got a hair cut. I went to target, was very unsatisfied, went to Old Navy, was even more unsatisfied, back to Target, EVEN MORE unsatisfied...AGAIN.

It's not what I expected. Going back to Harding was less of an anxiety than I had decided it would be. I don't know how to describe it really. I don't know how to make it make sense. I forgot how many people in High School loved me for being exactly the way I am. I think I felt so much in high school that no one understood me, and that's probably true (I still feel like no one understands me), but I had forgotten how many people were truly interested in and fascinated by the things that I did and thought. I had forgotten that, despite the regular nonsense that goes on in the private school bubble, we had all learned about love in the same way. We had all learned how to love each other.

I was amazed at the love that poured out of me this weekend. The love that stretched far beyond the pain and confusion that I have struggled with during my twenties. A love that recognized the same confusion and disillusion. I suppose there's a reason we have a ten year high school reunion rather than a five year reunion. Five years after high school, the realities of being in your twenties have just started to beat you down. Ten years down the line, you're not quite there yet, but you've gotten comfortable with the amount of strength it takes to get up in the morning. And it's finally okay to look back and have a little laugh at how young we were, and how big the world seemed. The distance between everyone you knew then grows over the years, but in the light of where you've all been, and where you're all trying to be, it's necessary to reach out and remember how easy it is to love.

I spent the end of the night at Chris Haley's birthday party. He gave a speech. He had a hard time trying to say it. But I knew...there is so much love. We have so much love to give. Even when we feel like there's nothing left...there's so much.

I'm trying this thing. I'm trying to share the love. I'm trying to decide to be happy. In 2006, I woke up every morning and tried to decide to forgive myself. This year, I will wake up in the morning and try to decide to be happy, and to love. Regardless of who loves me back. There's plenty.

Hi

2008-09-02T10:27:00.003-05:00

Yesterday I went for an hour long walk. It was fantastic. I've never enjoyed walking quickly as much as I do now that I've lived in London. One hour of walking=loads of head clearing. Lots of remembering. One day in the summer of 2005, I was in Italy, camping on a family campground in the countryside outside of Florence. I was on my own, save for the Kiwi couple I met at the train station with whom I played cards almost all night the night before. I was sitting alone in my "cabin," and it was terribly quiet except for the occasional German kid yelling at his sibling. I was crying. I cried out loud...to break the silence. I cried for myself, but not for my losses. I cried for the overwhelming sense of being totally and entirely alone in the world. My ideas about love and family had fallen apart after twenty-four years. It's hard to explain. I had no connections, nothing to hold me down, nothing to hold me close. So I cried because I didn't know who I was any more. Because I had forgotten.

Here is what I have remembered.

I am
Nancy Caroline Allen
Daughter of Martha Lois Nevills
and James Anthony Allen
Born in Hickory, North Carolina
Raised in Memphis, Tennessee
Grandchild of Minnie C and Ruth
Student of Music, Theatre, Literature, Language
Teacher of English, Writing
Resident of Abilene, Dallas, Shenandoah National Park, London, Pilsen
Citizen of United States of America
a child of God

I give thanks for those that have taught me how to see the world
how to laugh
for those that have challenged me
for those that have taught me sacrifice
those that have taught me perseverance
for those that have loved me
for those that have stretched my heart harder and further than I ever imagined possible
I am overwhelmed with the love that has been stuffed inside of me, all the way up to the top, pouring over...terrifying...satisfying...infinite.

I am grateful for the fear that life has instilled in me...and also for the fearlessness that living requires.

Yes, I believe we are shaped by our memories. My soul is covered in fingerprints, and as much as I would like to polish some of them away, they remain. The years behind me are imprinted from the inside out...the rings of a tree, immovable. I remember when the scariest thing in my life was trying to figure out how to light the gas heater upstairs at my grandmother's house. I didn't. Instead I found as many blankets as I could, and I buried myself beneath them. I have never been alone. I woke up hours later to the sound of the gas feeding the blue flames. The clocks ticking. Old pictures in old frames smiling down at me. Who does that make me? A piece of the bigger picture of my complex and fascinating family...unconventional...indescribable. And not just blood.

Yes. Pain gets deep down into the cracks and crevices, and sometimes I cry like a baby. Sometimes I sob. I am grateful for the pain.

Finally, I give thanks for words. There are too many and never enough.

The Abyss

2008-08-21T09:42:00.002-05:00

Last night I wrote a terribly sad blog, turned off my computer, and tucked myself into bed. Then I sat up, turned my computer on, and deleted said sad blog. I'm serious folks, it was a sad one, and although I'm not getting too many comments lately, I decided that raining on everyone's parade wasn't the best method for eking them out. I will say that the rain is tremendously depressing. I don't know if anyone else feels it. Probably not. I used to like rainy summer days. But it rained ALL DAY yesterday, and I got tired of hiking up my pants legs and trying to defrost my windshield.

Deleting my blog made we wonder for a moment what happens to things that we delete on the internet. Where do they go? Throwing away a piece of paper full of my deepest darkest secrets is not really like throwing it away at all. I mean, it still exists, somewhere. Those feelings, once written, are solid entities, and they live on like, I don't know, the Rosetta Stone (are the comma's excessive in this sentence?). Not to say that my writing is likely to change the face of historical research and translation. I'm not opening any doors to the once hidden past. But my piece of paper that I throw away doesn't disappear. It gets taken to some landfill somewhere, and sits there. How long will it take for the paper to break down? Weeks? Months? Years? This shows you how little I know of science. When I delete something on the internet, it's gone. I cannot retrieve it. There isn't this waiting period for it to disappear from existence.

So I wrote all these sad sad words on my blog, and then I deleted them, and I wished I could delete the feelings too. I'm having a difficult time right now. I'm sad, and I'm trying not to be sad. I'm starting to wonder if this is all there is: Trying to fill voids with love and companionship, trying to achieve my dreams, and being terribly disappointed in myself and feeling totally alone. I'm not who I thought I would be, but I guess no one is. On top of everything, I keep unintentionally adding reasons to be sad to my list of reasons to be sad, and I don't need any more reasons to be sad. I mean...it's supposed to rain the next five days. So, what do I do? I type a little note and send it out into the abyss of the internets. There, it can live for as long as I (or some webmaster) choose for it to live. And then one day, I might push a button, and it will go away. Or, I might not. Maybe I'll keep it around for me. As a reminder. If I ever get to that "other side" I keep thinking is coming.

The Morning After

2008-08-18T15:12:00.003-05:00

Diana and I threw the party of the year...in our minds...Saturday night. I had no idea we could fit that many people into our apartment. It's much bigger than I originally thought, which accounts for the large electric bill. Brushing past that many people that you know, meeting their friends, and subsequently adding more "friends" to your "list" is incredibly uplifting. There was remorse the next morning. I wondered if I'd spoken to all the people that I wanted to speak with. I wondered if I'd seemed flippant to anyone because of the the large volume of guests wanting to say hi and wanting to chat. I ran into many people that I'd like to be able to spend more time with, and hosting a party just doesn't allow for that kind of one on one action. I like being a guest because you can kind of pick your group of friends and hang out with them...and you don't have to clean up in the morning. To the guests of my party: I commend you for your recycling efforts. However, I might need a truck to get all of this to the recycling bins.

This past week has been strange. I have simultaneously had a desperate craving for human contact and fellowship and held on tightly to the rope of my own solitude. I find myself holding my breath trying not to make a million mistakes, trying to do the things that everyone says I should do, behave the way that everyone says I should behave. I've been terribly lonely, and overwhelmed with company, intimacy even. I'm probably entering the phase where it might be a good idea to get into therapy. I get lost in the loneliness. I miss Liam. I miss London. I ache even. I'm sick of trying to think of things as working or not working depending upon which way that you do them...or play them. My relationships with the people that I have loved passionately have begun in these spectacularly romantic ways and, subsequently, ended with my own terrifying revelation of insecurity, fear, and...hopelessness? The ends were never pretty. I wonder if that's possible. I also wonder if the big sweeping gestures that these guys made for me in the beginning were really worth it. They set my expectations in the stratosphere, and that's why it was so terrifying to lose them. Did they try to set my expectations so high because they had the same sort of expectations for me? There isn't enough organics in my relationships. I fall too fast, too far, drown too quickly. My heart begins to break the instant I realize I'm in love. Wish I could be cool. Wish I could have been cool.

What I'm trying to say is, what if I never figure that out? What if I never figure out how to be cool, how to be completely and utterly wrapped up in me. Whenever I asked what "cool" meant when I was a kid, I was always told that to be cool was to be myself. Which led me to ask the question, "when am I not myself?" And what if myself...is just incapable of being cool...or playing it cool. Different concepts, but very closely related. Also...what if no one ever figures that out. What if we're not supposed to. That's the other thing: thinking that things are supposed to be one way or another. Pretty sure that's not the way it is.

I can't reach

2008-08-13T15:12:00.002-05:00

Today, while my roomie was slathering aloe on my sunburn, she asked me what the point of spray on aloe gel was, and she had a point. It's not like it mists. It comes out in blobs of aloe gel. I got it because I was hoping it would just mist all over my back, and I wouldn't have to twist myself into a pretzel to rub it in. However, I did not figure into the equation the fact that I would still have to twist myself into a pretzel in order to point the spray top towards my back and aim it at my burned skin. I spent the better part of Sunday evening hunched over trying to get just ONE blob of aloe to land on the angry top layer of my epidermis. Hooray for living with someone. I don't know if she realizes how much I appreciate the two minutes she takes to rub aloe onto my back. It feels phenomenal.

Speaking of the sun: I was walking to the Barbecue Shop this afternoon, and I noticed the temp reading on the bank across from Huey's on Madison said that it was 93 degrees. I was thinking to myself, before this, that it felt absolutely wonderful outside. It was a little bright, but the humidity was low, and there was a nice little breeze. Does this mean I have become so acclimated to the weather here that I actually think 93 equals a "nice" day? Does this mean Memphis heat is so bad that 93 actually does equal a "nice" day?

I am currently sitting at home waiting for a cable guy to come and fix our cable so that it doesn't cut out and shut down every five minutes. I called yesterday to explain all of this to a woman who had me go through this whole unplugging my cable box and waiting five minutes for a reboot rigmarole. After which she told me, "and that's all you need to do when the cable cuts out." To which I replied, "you're not understanding me. It happens three or four times EVERY time I sit down to watch T.V. I'm not going to do that. I'm just not. I'd like to be able to watch an entire program without having to do cable box olympics every five minutes. I mean, that's kind of silly...right?" SO...some guy is coming between 3 and 6. I suppose I should feel lucky that it's not between Monday and Friday 9 and 5. It's a freaking blessing.

And with that. I will leave you. Quip away.

Angry

2008-08-12T09:42:00.002-05:00

I haven't blogged in over a week. How does this happen? It's not like I've been terribly busy. In fact, the opposite is true. Maybe that's why I'm not blogging. Nothing is happening.

But things are happening. Last weekend I went spelunking. I had a really good time. I got a really good sunburn on this one part of my back. Yes, Spelunking. I wasn't in the cave the whole time. Sometimes I was outside of the cave...swimming...hence the sunburn. It itches.

Then I got back from spelunking and decided to spend the next 36 hours in bed, being sad. Okay, I wasn't sad the whole time. Sometimes I was watching Gossip Girl on the internet, and I was incredibly happy. Well, not incredibly. I was moderately happy watching Gossip Girl. Then sometimes I was terribly sad. Lately I've been forgetting to remind myself every day that I don't need a man to be happy and to feel secure, and lately I've been thinking that I do. When this happens, I usually have to get out of the house and go for a very long walk. I walk until I don't feel like I need a man anymore. This often takes a very long time, but that's good because I need the activity.

I left my Master's Degree at Liam's in May because I didn't want to risk getting it wrinkled or bent in my suitcase. He sent it to me a few weeks after I left, and, apparently, the post office has been trying to get it to me, but I haven't been getting the messages. They've sent it back to sender. I don't know if that means Liam or The University of Memphis because he used the same packaging they sent it in with their address printed on it. This...is exhausting to me. I don't want to go chasing after this. I gave a good portion of my study time to Liam thinking he was like, my partner or something. I gave him my graduation because I wanted to be with him, and now it seems I have to toss out the Certificate because I wanted it to be sent to me at my new "home" in England. I cried for about two hours yesterday. It's not that having the certificate makes having the Master's real. I have the Master's. I don't know how to explain it really. Everything I did to be with Liam was very hard for me because being without Liam was very hard for me. Sometimes it seems like none of that meant anything to him. Moving to England, trying to fit in, trying to make friends, trying to adapt. It meant so little to him. It hurts. Sometimes life feels like this never ending road of struggle. Life seems like suffering. I hurt.

There's a monologue in "Angels In America" the second part, given by this animatronic mormon woman. She describes life in this way (and I would use the actual words, if I could find my copy, but, alas): God cuts us open at the middle, reaches in and tears out all of our insides. Then we have to put them back together, and that is life. Except, what I feel is that I have come before this person that I fell madly in love with, and I cut myself open, and I let all that stuff fall out onto the floor...like an idiot. And here I am, picking it all up and putting it back together again. Kinda gross, I know...but a way to describe the feeling at least.

Sometimes I think the only thing I learn from my relationships is how to build bigger and stronger walls. I tell myself, I won't do that again, and that probably cuts me off from experience, but it also cuts me off from having to get down on my hands and knees amongst all the blood and guts and stuff it all back inside...alone.

I am angry with Liam for pretending to be an adult for longer than he knew how to. I am angry with myself for forgetting that I AM an adult. I am angry with myself for thinking that it had to be that hard for me, for thinking that I didn't deserve better. For continuing to think that.

Another Saturday Night

2008-08-03T00:07:00.002-05:00

Today was an interesting day. In fact, I've had a couple of interesting days. I feel like many days are a spattering of boredom/reflection/enlightenment. Take for instance, yesterday: I tutored an older student, had lunch with an old friend, went to an art opening, ate Kimchi, and managed to keep most of my wits about me despite a "misunderstanding" that is too tiresome to go into at this point. Okay, so there is very little boredom in that list, but I did have about thirty minutes in which I ate some of the delicious Moussaka I made the night before and watched Rachel Ray cook a thirty minute version of "cassoulet." She told me she bought her baguette that morning at the market, but I knew that some intern for the show probably bought it while she was in make-up. Seriously. I digress. The lunch with an old friend inspired a great deal of reflection, while the art show/kimchi/long story inspired a great deal of enlightenment. All in all it was a full day.

Now back to my original statement of "Today was an interesting day." Perhaps not quite as interesting as yesterday, but thought provoking enough for me, to say the least. I started by showing up late to help a friend move, and, in the end, just took some of her clothes home with me. Chatted with the room mate, then went to meet my mom for a fabulously satisfying X-files movie. I mean...I liked it. Afterwards, I was in great spirits, and my mom and I went for one of our favorite past times: Bra shopping. Tax free weekend! AND, joy of joys, Macy's was having a sale on bras. I could get four for the price of two with no sales tax! The only problem was, I couldn't find the bras I wanted in my size. I can't really explain what happened to me over the course of the two hours I was trapped in the Macy's "intimates" department, but it was not pretty. As I began to realize the absence of any bra I wanted in my size, I imagined toppling racks, screaming at the sales clerks, foaming at the mouth. And when I asked if they could check on the availability of a particular bra at other stores and was told there wasn't one available in my size at any store in THE STATE, my wild imaginings nearly became a reality. It was like Jekyll and Hyde, only...without the hat...or the tweed (he wore tweed, right? I mean, probably). I don't know why I became so emotional. I reverted back to age six (as my mother so poignantly pointed out to me), and I felt it coming. I could have shaken it off, but I didn't. I felt trapped. I looked into my bra shopping future and saw only a bitter acceptance of the bras I am allowed rather the ones I really really want. I realize I am currently speaking about bras. I am aware of the absurdity of the situation. I am baffled by my emotional incompetence.

Perhaps this is all a manifestation of the idealistic child in me coming to begrudging terms with the embittered adult in me. Things are not the way I thought they would be. Things are not the way we thought they would be. I'm referring to the personal and the political. The looming recession is yanking petals off of my flower power. My glorious country is different from what I thought it was as a child. It is full of people that don't want change, and people that don't understand the realities of, I don't know, the rest of the world. I have always believed that the United States was built on the dream of progress, but progress is relative really...isn't it? The student that I tutor is an older gentleman from Venezuela. He said to me Friday that there is so much wrong with this country, the worst of it being its citizens' apathy. Why don't we speak out? Why don't we demand the government work for us? Instead, we demand the government let us keep more of our tax money so that they can do less, and we can buy more SUVs. Why don't we stand up and demand action against the rising oil prices? Why are we content to live in "blissful" ignorance? I had no answer for him. I honestly don't know.

I am frustrated by my inability to do anything but be angry about things. I am saddened by this looming sense of powerlessness, even though it doesn't necessarily permeate every aspect of my life. Mostly just lingerie related activities...well...shopping in general. However, none of this has anything to do with bras, and none of this excuses crying over the wrong bra size. It's just to say that I feel weakened by the state of my brain lately. I will leave out the story about leaving my keys in the kitchenware section of Target and having to go back after close. I will only ask this: Where is my mind?

Expectations

2008-07-29T18:30:00.003-05:00

I hate writing a new blog after a particularly well received blog post. I feel sometimes that I might crumble under the pressure. However, I was reminded yesterday, that some people are interested in keeping up with my moods. SO....here you go:

My first full day off work was a bust. I suppose. I sat on the couch in the living room for about five hours arranging my music library and watching Sportsnight. I also ate some soggy leftovers and a bag of microwave popcorn. Enough happened to make me realize that this sucks. I've got to get out. I know, I should volunteer! Or I might go to Chicago. ;)

Having nothing to do reminds me of all the crap still stuck in my brain. In other words: it depresses me. The silence...even the lack of silence...through the long hours of nothingness, screams in my ears, and all those memories and pictures of days past come flooding back. So, I did what any sane person would do. I stopped trying fight it, and I just looked at the pictures I had loaded on my computer. I wish I had taken more pictures. I mean, of the normal every day things. I wish I had more pictures of me on the tube, or just people on the tube. I wish I had taken more pictures of all the little English houses, carbon copies of each other, little chimneys sprouting out of the roofs, stretched out across the horizon. However, I spent most of the time with my gloved hands tucked deep into the pockets of my coat.

I am entering into a new phase of this whole business. The miserable ache is gone. I'm now left with a faint, very faint, hint of the pain that was drowning me. It doesn't feel final though. It feels in be-tween, however. I don't know why. Just...like a shifting...nothing final. I was thinking about the pain, you know, the blinding pain part, and I actually kind of missed it. It seemed to have a little more direction than this...a greater purpose. I'm sure there's purpose in the transitions. I'm positive. It's just not as much...fun.

The Spark

2008-07-23T23:52:00.005-05:00

On my way to my car this evening, before my night class, I had a strange experience. I was strolling to my car door, minding my own business, when I noticed a loud rustling in the grass. I looked up just in time to see one of the many stray cats that roam around behind my place grab a bird in its teeth. The bird struggled, cried, puffed it's feathers, but it couldn't get away, and I just watched. I was stunned. I had locked eyes with the cat, and my first reaction was to shout and wave my hands, but the cat just looked at me. It's eyes were cold, the bird in it's mouth, struggling...not wanting to give up, and it just stared at me, as if to say, "this is how it's supposed to be. This is life," and for a minute I believed it. I accepted that that was life.

I had been having this conversation in my head earlier in the day. Life is pain and struggling. That's just what it is. It's hard, and it's not fair, and there's not a whole lot we can do to change it. This bird, caught in the jaws of a slinky alley cat, began to accept this as well. He was a part of the circle of everything, and his time was up. His chest had stopped puffing, and his cries had subsided.

As I turned to my car door, my keys shaking in my hand, I couldn't get the image of the beautiful chest of this bird out of my head. It wasn't an ordinary bird. Its breast had flecks of red and gold mixed with black, and it's cries, while made in agony, were almost beautiful. In a split second I let out an emphatic, "no!" I turned, picked up the closest thing I could find (there was a brick and a stick, and I chose the stick because I imagined I could throw it further). I tossed the stick towards the cat, its eyes locked on mine...and it dropped the bird.

Without wasting a moment, the bird beat it's wings and flew away. The cat ran in the opposite direction. It was remarkable. I don't know if the bird made it very far. Perhaps it made it home to bleed to death, but I try to find comfort in the fact that it had those moments of freedom. That it got away instead of completely surrendering to the clenches of the cat's jaw.

I say it all the time: life is hard. That's just the way it is, and I feel a sense of satisfaction in my contentment with that fact. What surprised me about today, was the power behind that small part of me that refused to believe in that as the final answer. It was a spark of hope, not just for the bird that, like me, had begun to stop struggling against the fate of the drudgery of life. The instant the bird regained its freedom, it began to sing again. Sometimes the only thing we need is for someone to come along to throw a stick at the despair that is holding us tightly in its jaw. Sometimes we need to do the throwing. (However, I would definitely go with a stick rather than a brick. We don't want to risk killing the bird in the process of rescuing it)

Molting

2008-07-22T22:05:00.002-05:00

I pulled into my driveway late this morning on an unplanned trip back home to pick up some things for class. I was listening to a somewhat melancholy Death Cab song, against the recommendation of my good friend Vanessa Fargo ("Quit listening to that depressing shit."). I sat still for a few moments just staring off into the distance, listening to the music, and a little creature caught my eye. However, it wasn't actually a creature. It was the remnants of a creature, the skin of a Cicada, left behind on the railing along the steps to my back door. It wasn't entirely apparent that it was just the skin from my car, but upon closer inspection, I could see the split right down the back from whence the fresh, new Cicada had emerged. I wondered if it was painful. I imagine that it must be. I imagine that it must be incredibly uncomfortable flying around in an old dying layer of skin. It must also be a bit disarming when the suit begins to split and the insect inside has to peel it's new skin away from the old skin in order to climb out.

Perhaps that is what this stage I am in is all about. I'm draped in the hopes and dreams I built for two years of my adult life. Not only are they draped over me, but they are also sealed tightly to my skin. They are dying now. I say dying because they are not dead yet. The worst part of this entire process is having to live with the fact that I am still terribly in love with Liam. I am in hopeless love. I cannot turn it off. Therefore, as the skin of these past years begins to die and crack off of my skin, I experience excruciating pain. Sometimes I imagine these memories tearing away from my being in the most violent and bloody way possible. I picture my tissue and muscle ripping and bleeding. It's the only way I can explain the emotional pain because it doesn't feel emotional. It feels frighteningly physical. I wake up in the night drowning in this pain.

My only hope now is that one day, the rift that has begun down the back of this old skin will be wide enough for me to crawl out of it. I look forward to the day that I peel myself away from this moment in time, stretch my new skin, and leave behind the shell for someone to find, for someone to find hope.

I still cry. I'm still frightened of the days to come. I make terrible mistakes, and I feel the darkness growing around me, but I will not give up on the light...as easy to do as it may seem. The only way out is to keep walking. The darkness can't last forever.

so...second post for the day

2008-07-16T23:01:00.002-05:00

I've been in most of the day. I don't have all the money in world, so I can't go out all the time. I have also discovered that I have a job that requires me to put in time outside of the classroom. This leads to the topic of my blog: being lonely.

My last two breakups were very different from this breakup. Once I got through the miserable, I can't wake up without hurting parts, I was good to go. Enjoying life with my friends, having a grand old time. It's different now. I'm not waiting tables...which is good...grand even. I'm actually doing something I like...but when I was waiting tables, I was with my friends at night...working, and not working. Now I'm home...working (and making a lame job of it)...alone. Now I can't go out every night. Those days are pretty much over...and yeah, they had to end. A) it's not good for me, and B)it's expensive...and also C)I have actual responsibilities now. But, I'm LONELY. I just returned from a 6 month stint in another country...and yeah...sometimes I got lonely....but I was lonely less often than I wasn't lonely.

Now it feels like I have too much time to myself. I can't get the balance. I just think when I'm alone. I think, and I get sad...and I get scared...and I get frustrated. Is this my life? Is this the way my life will be? Will I have to come to terms with my loneliness? I suppose I will. I feel so hopeless sometimes. So....I don't know...destined for blahdom. I mean...not blah...success...but the kind of success and satisfaction that comes from being content with the pangs of things you lost along the way...forever. Kind of like how Jane Austen is depicted as feeling when reading one of her stories at the end of that Becoming Jane movie...which...wasn't fantastic...but it wasn't totally terrible. But, at the end...she and the guy both...had to give these silent shots in which they expressed acceptance of the lives they were forced into. God, will that be me? I mean...I know there's no answer...but it's terrifying. I NEVER wanted to go back to being single once I met Liam. I mean...I spent my single years not wanting to be single...I had fun...I had a lot of fun...but...okay, there were times when I was really happy. But there was always this hope, that just around the corner there was someone to share it all with. And well...I just don't think that's a given any more. Not everyone finds someone to share it with. Not everyone joins the world of couple-dom. I may not find anyone to share it with. It may just be me. The world made me think it was supposed to be a certain way...but it didn't make any promises. No one ever made me any promises.

I've realized that it's this fear that makes me bury myself in an almost entirely one-sided relationship. It's this fear that makes me sell all my stuff and move to England to be with a guy that could NEVER offer me the same level of sacrifice (granted...it was a huge level...but I felt like he was worth that...I just don't know if I felt that I was). And well...in the end...he just wasn't good enough. I asked a lot...yeah...and I don't think I'll ever be asking that much of myself or anyone else again...but he couldn't make ANY compromises. He didn't think he should have to. So. Maybe I don't know anything. Maybe I'm just flailing around trying to fit all the wrong puzzle pieces together...and all I get is a pile of sloppy puzzle pieces. I don't know where I'm trying to take that metaphor. Any ideas?

Give me something to look forward to

2008-07-16T17:16:00.004-05:00

Why is it that we live like that? from exciting moment to exciting moment? Since my breakup...I've felt trapped in a world without exciting moments. There was so much going on with Liam...either I was jetting off to London, or he was coming here...and I was going to get to show him around. We traveled so much. We traveled when I lived in London too...even if we didn't leave London. The city was infinitely fascinating. Every weekend, there was a different nook to be explored. An Underground trip to be mapped out. I spent about three hours sitting in one place Monday afternoon wondering what to do with myself...wondering how high my MLGW bill would be if I turned the air down just a little more to keep the sweat off the under side of my knees.

Then some days I get wrapped up in the daily tasks that make life livable. I get carried away in the kitchen, listening to NPR, cleaning up messes...yes...even cleaning out the litter box. Cleaning the shower this Sunday was fabulous...I listened to Showtunes on digital cable. It was so gay (not that there's anything wrong with being....into showtunes)....and by gay I mean...fabulous...FABULOUS. It's really the only way to clean...and listening to NPR is the only way to cook. I'm finally getting well. God, it feels good. I was sick for two freaking weeks. I almost had pinkeye at one point...it was INSANE.

What I'm saying is: It's not SO bad living...just living...and trying to figure out living. It's awesome having the opportunity to roam...and even awesomer having someone to roam with. But sometimes living requires cleaning...the little corners. Getting down on my hands and knees...finding joy in sucking up the ball of fur in the corner of the hallway.

Even though I'm looking forward to something...who knows what. Always....

Thoughts on...Things

2008-07-08T23:24:00.005-05:00

I've been sick for almost a week now, but luckily, I feel as if I'm coming out of it. Being sick really makes a person think...and usually in a more melancholy way...I'm also listening to some Patty Griffin...so I'm going to wax...sad....but also retrospective. (retrospective? is that the right word?)

A lot of people were concerned about Liam's visit to Memphis, and I won't lie, I was too...but I was adamant that I wanted him to come here. I described it as the wake for the funeral of our relationship. I figure, at the end of a relationship, everything...him and it...and you...has to kind of die...in order to be reincarnated into whatever it's all going to be in the future...or something. Anyway. He's been here for almost two weeks now, and he leaves on Friday evening. I've been sick for half of his visit...and that's been hard. Here's why: I feel like I should be savoring these moments with him...after I've had some distance...now that I see things more clearly...but I am unable to because of my illness...and when I start to regret that...I wonder to myself if it's really worth being sad about. I've learned some truths over the past two weeks. 1. Liam is over me, and...well...I'm actually kind of over him...meaning, I no longer want him back. and 2. Liam is immature and while he was a very attentive boyfriend, he never really loved me the way I loved him...and not that that's a bad thing...wait...well...I mean...there were things that I didn't like about the relationship, about him even, but I LOVED him, and that made it easy to overlook those things. But HE...he didn't overlook those things, I don't think. He decided he didn't really like me...and he doesn't really like me now...I mean, he does...just not all of me...and he lets that part affect his love for me...and well...I just don't think it's worth getting all sad about not being able to entertain someone that doesn't really like you. It's hard to be vulnerable. It's hard to show people who you are...in your darkest places...and when you get the courage to actually do that...it helps if they don't decide that the relationship isn't really worth it. I always felt like it was worth it, but I was the only one.

We always had these arguments in which I would point out things that I didn't like...things that he did that hurt me...always trying to acknowledge that the hurt was more than likely unintentional. And he would always get upset...and throw this brilliant argument back at me: "You make me feel like a terrible person, and I'm not a terrible person. I have a lot of friends and none of them think I'm a terrible person." Let's not completely dissect this...let's accept that we all realize that no one can make you feel anything...and let's focus on this "my friends don't think I'm terrible." We recently had an argument in which I just told him sometimes he was a real asshole...to which he argued, "none of my friends think I'm an asshole." Um...well done? I have loads of friends that think I can be a real bitch sometimes...but I'm pretty sure they still like me...and well, that's pretty much why they're my friends. That's the concept he doesn't get. That it is possible to be a jerk sometimes...to make big mistakes...to hurt people (accidentally)...and to still be loved. That's what love is...in a nutshell. Part of growing up for me was accepting that I can be a real bitch...wanting to change...and still loving myself in the process. And loving myself should always come first. So....what I'm saying is: I'm putting this regret nonsense behind my and I'm going to focus on that first part.

I'm also going to focus on loving my cats. They're freakin cute...and awesome. and also my family and friends...cause theys all I gots.

Muddled thoughts. I know...but I feel like I might be getting somewhere. Finally.

Death

2008-07-07T23:58:00.003-05:00

I've blogged about this exact thing before...but it was in a different setting.

A couple of years ago, I came across a dead squirrel outside my old apartment on Mclean. It was bizarre, surreal, and engrossing. I couldn't stop looking at it. Well, I've found a new squirrel. It's along the walk from that curve in Zach Curlin, right in front of the school...not the college...but the kids school...I think that's what it is. I see kids there all the time. Anyway...this dead squirrel has been there for weeks now. In fact, I think that if I walked by, and it was gone, I'd be a little sad. I know...insane...but it's interesting. Sometimes I walk by, and I just glance at it, and sometimes I walk by and have a little moment of silence. It looks different every time. I can run the respective pictures in my mind of the 'body' and it would be like watching a stop motion film of a decomposing dead thing. It fascinates me. It's there...but it's not there. It was living once, and now it's not, and no one seems to want to be the one to move it out of the way. I mean, I'm not going to. It almost, at this point, seems unnatural to...like it would break up the continuity of the landscape...of the natural-ness...of things. It's teeth were very prominent this evening. It's eyes have been gone for some time, but it's teeth, naturally, are hanging on for dear life(?).

I have a hard time imagining myself a few months ago...in London...taking the tube places...going about my daily routine. I have a hard time picturing that as me...doing those things...walking those paths. I found a great deal of joy in very small things. Or maybe they weren't small. I found this short-cut on my walk home from the overland train through this field/park surrounded by houses. The wind would always hit my face at an angle, and make my nose run and my eyes water...but I liked the feel of it in my hair. I can't decide if I was unhappy or happy. I remember myself as happy. Maybe that's just my remorse. I fell in love with walking all over the city one day after working at the charity for the dame. I didn't feel like going home, and the city seemed to be bustling. The tunes on my ipod were particularly agreeable, so I just kept walking...enjoying myself...enjoying the sights, the history, the busyness of everything. I ran into one of the guys from the office, and he looked confused, asked me if I was lost, and then told me a little about the history of the area. It was a lovely area. There were many lovely areas.

I can't stay here forever. Someone...probably me...is going to have to move me along. It seems natural at the moment...I'm a part of the landscape, but I can't be forever. I know this. I feel this. If I don't, I'm just decomposing...nourishing the soil, sure...but flat, and lifeless all the while. It's comfortable...but frightening....surreal.

Long Weekend

2008-07-06T11:21:00.005-05:00

Well, thank goodness for the long weekend, otherwise, I would have had to call in sick to work, and I hate doing that. Some sort of bug, I don't know what, has made it's way into my apartment, and is feeding on my well being. I slept all day Thursday, sadly missing the IEI picnic. I was supposed to bring buns for the hot dogs. I was really stressed out about whether or not they would have buns.

I forced myself out on Friday, the fabulous fourth, and went to bed grumpy. Saturday, I thought, surely all that sleep had done me some good, but by the end of the day, my throat was killing me. And when I woke up this morning, my throat felt like it had swollen to the size of my head. This is the exact series of 'events' that Diana suffered about two weeks ago. So...I know where I got it. She went to the doctor's office, and they couldn't find anything treatable wrong with her...so...I'm going to sit this one out. Advil really really helps. Also...sleeping helps. Cheese and crackers are good.

So...my first fourth of July stateside in about two years, has been....interesting. I feel like I haven't been off work at all. Crappy crap craps.

I did, despite the evil spirits in my blood stream, end up enjoying myself...for the most part, on the fourth. I ate a lovely American flag cupcake, and lounged in Melissa F's front yard, waving to all the people, and at the end of it all, I got to set off bottle rockets and wave sparklers around. I never realized the joy that setting off tiny explosives could bring me.

There is a pause in the Wimbledon Nadal/Federererererrr final right now. Because of rain. Apparently Wimbledon will be getting a roof over some of the courts....next year. Over 100 years of tournament, and England still refuses to admit that it RAINS EVERY DAY IN ENGLAND.
Serena Williams has nice boobs.....what?

Discovering Denial Deep Down

2008-06-29T21:24:00.003-05:00

I wrote a week or so ago about entering into the acceptance stage. I might have been wrong about that. Over the past few weeks...the 'no internet' weeks...I have been overcome with bouts of anger...yes acceptance...but more anger...and the arrival of said bane has forced me to realize the level of my denial while simultaneously perpetuating more anger.

I miss London. I miss the people. I miss the sky. I miss the walks. I miss the rides on the Tube.I miss the feeling of moving forward. The absence of this weird fear of a stymied existence. The feeling of power I got from figuring out the city...in a sense. I denied myself those feelings for a long time. Accepting them makes me angry. Accepting my being sent home makes me angry. What is there for me in London now? Nothing. There is no reason to go back...and I'm angry about that. Every Memphian fears that nothing will come along to help us break out. I love Memphis...but the big world is out there...begging me to join it...and without a reason...it seems a bit of a stretch to go dashing off my front porch for longer than a month. I miss London. I wanted to be there longer. I really really did.

Also...with the arrival of this person...I get to hear complaints of how much better London is than crappy, hot, have to drive everywhere Memphis. Which makes me angry...because I didn't ask to come back here. I was sent here.

Then I have these moments of believing for a split second that he's missed me desperately. That he regrets his decision every day...that he's miserable. But he isn't. He's fine. Peachy. Of course.

My internet is back up. Let's get down with the emotional updates.

Blank Screen

2008-06-23T20:05:00.004-05:00

I've been sitting here, looking at this blank screen for a few good long moments...also chewing on my hangnails...fervently. It really is easier to write in the morning or the evening...right after or just before bed. It will be a relief to have the internet at home very soon. It will also be a relief to get a paycheck on Friday. I don't like getting paid once a month. I don't like having to manage my money. I hold on too tight. 'Tis the norm for me...in everything.

I have been overwhelmed, as of late, with confusion, terror, loneliness, peace, productivity, and the occasional spark of power. I spent the weekend in the sun...in a hammock...at someone else's house in the faraway land of Collierville. I spent the weekend loving the people around me...but hiding away...deep inside of myself. And no...I'm not coming out.

I have these terrifying moments of desperation...of the inability to sit still and to let things sink in...to let the reality of what must be done affect me...instead, I'm looking for an out...a distraction in hopes that it might make things easier. I feel like I am not allowed to be myself...for the moment...even with myself. I am a sleepwalker in my own dreams. I am screaming inside...stupid ideas and stupid thoughts. The past two years seem surreal to me. I cannot imagine the future...I am torn between desperately wanting the old future and wondering every once in a while just what the new future might hold.

I do not feel very strong. There are times when I feel like I have a gaping, bleeding hole inside of me. The idea of letting go of...not just the past...but my unquenchable thirst for insights into the future...is exhausting.

The Absence of Blog

2008-06-20T23:26:00.002-05:00

SO....I betcher all wonderin....where the H-E-L-L has Caroline been all week. WELL...I do NOT have internet...so....it's not that I don't love you...it's that I don't have the means of communication.

Now. This week, I have moved into a new apartment. I have a new room mate. I have no pots or pans. I have no lamps. These are things I love...and I am, therefore, sad. For those of you that don't know me....I love lamp....s. Yes...it's true. I am a fan of the low lighting. I find overhead lights to be a bit too invasive...like they're questioning me...forcing me to see everything while allowing everyone to see all of me. Overhead lights = poo. Pots and pans...make it possible for me to feed myself. I have food...but no way to cook it...except a microwave. hooray.

This leads me to the sadness of the week...and I KNOW....why won't I just get over it? I mean...come ON. It's been over a month. I could tell you how many days....but I'd have to stop and count...which, I think, is an improvement. So...sadness...and I will try to be brief: Being surrounded by all this stuff....my old stuff...and the absence of stuff....stuff that I sold...reminds me of my former fervor...of how desperately and passionately I loved Liam...how much I wanted to be with him and to share my life with him. And now I'm back...with the stuff I left behind...and without the stuff I never thought I'd need again. And it makes me feel sad...and often lonely. There is much silence...and the occasional cry.

Enough.

I introduced Mr. Pants and Alexander to the new place today...and they promptly ran under my bed and hid for about an hour. Mr. Pants was the first to venture out...and he gradually began exploring, chatting with me all the while. When I left this evening...Alexander was still under the bed. So much for the old Alexander the Great "fortune favors the brave" nonsense. Kid needs to live up to his name.

I'm glad this week is over. Moving is hard. Moving actually kind of sucks...but getting settled can be really nice...I'm waiting for that part. My apartment is so lovely. You should come see me. Sit on my porch...have a beer. We'll talk. It'll be nice.

The In-Between Days

2008-06-14T21:59:00.003-05:00

This is going to sound really strange, but I have decided that....despite the fact that it will become progressively more miserable....the heat is quite cleansing. My professor, Dr. Scraba's wife, Mechelle, commented once that she felt like she was detoxing all the time during the summer in Memphis...and I have to agree with her. It is oppressive...and it does get insanely worse...but the sticky layer on top of my skin is kind of comforting. It reminds me to slow down and put my feet up, allows me to wear shorts and sandals, makes me want to go swimming, makes me feel alive...it's also kind of sexy...you know? maybe?

I've cooked for some lovely ladies both Thursday and Friday evening...and Friday evening Grace and I decided to start an underground dance movement in Memphis...so...even if it's just us doing it...we're totally dancing...once a week. bitches.

It's been really nice living with my cats again...they are incredibly lovable. The only issue I have is their intense need for me to play with them at five in the morning. Mr Pants actually dropped a hair tie on my face because I kept ignoring his invitation to play fetch with him on Thursday morning. I threw the hair tie out the door and slammed it shut. He still loves me though. His love is steadfast...as long as I feed him and clean out his litter box...which really isn't too much to ask. It's kind of a deal.

This has been an insanely boring blog...My apologies for that. I guess because I'm not feeling intense sorrow or overwhelming happiness. I still get sad...but I feel incredibly strong at the moment. It's this weird feeling...like...you know how you feel after a really good cry? Kind of relaxed and calm...and warm? There are moments of that...even when I haven't cried, and I still cry...I just don't document it so much any more. I feel empowered with the remarkable ability to rise up...out of the ashes.

hind sight

2008-06-10T23:30:00.004-05:00

I think the hardest thing to get past during this process of eliminating my sorrow/anger/confusion/disillusion would be waking up every morning. Every morning I wake up...and it's hard anyway...but the first thing I think...my waking thought is a reminder that I am no longer with Liam. I don't know why it was easier to get up in the morning when I knew I had him...when he was in my life...in a future kind of way.

I was so tired during class this morning. I had to apologize about a million times for yawning. At one point during a group activity, I drifted off and had this realization: From the moment I knew that Liam liked me...I immediately began to project all these...I don't know...hopes....for us. It wasn't as bad until after he told me he loved me...and then I just built this gigantic dream all around him and me...all around us, and I expected it to be that...I trusted it to be this thing I had created...or imagined it could and should be. I made him into this superhero....that was better than me....and I never felt like I could live up to it...be good enough for it...this image I had created. When I got lost, I think that's where I went. I suppose that's a lot of pressure to put on someone. I suppose it's a bit exhausting. It was exhausting for me too. I think if I apologize for anything...it's that. I'm sure it was a burden on the relationship. If I could go back and change something, I wouldn't need him so much....or think I needed him. I would have kept my head about me. I wish I could go back...right now...I wish I could do things differently...erase the bad and the difficult. But I can't. And that makes me sad. I teared up just a little in class...but I choked it back. And kept going. as tired as I was.

I would like to think that it wasn't my fault. I would like to think that I don't have the uncanny ability to destroy my relationships. It is too late to think of all I did wrong. I hope he knew, at least, how much I loved and appreciated him...all the time...even when I didn't show it.

Pre-Calculus Blows

2008-06-06T11:25:00.005-05:00

I believe, perhaps...more than likely...I have entered into the acceptance stage of my grief. I am no longer operating under the impression that this isn't actually happening to me...I am also no longer operating under the impression that this is the worst thing that has or will ever happen to me. I am trying...I am taking my life back because it is the only thing I can do...really.

Driving...despite being quite a pain...is easier now because, for some reason, I've stopped obsessing about the people that constantly tail gate me. I used to go crazy about that...now...I just ignore it...even though I'm probably being tailgated for driving like a grandma.

I am inundated...by myself...with books to read. I occasionally get hit on in bookstores by strange, reclusive guys hyped up on coffee at 9 p.m, and I try to hide my desperate search for an exit. I got chatted up in the reference section the other day at Border's. So ladies...GO!

Yesterday evening I was tooling around in Barnes and Noble when I came across this book called Lady In Waiting. I remember this book from college and Bible studies. I think it's no secret that I believe in God. I was raised in the church, but I do not, currently, find a connection within organized religion. Goodness knows there is a great deal being taught and thought that is as far from who God is as George Bush is from being someone that would be coming over to my place for dinner. Anyway..This book had a caption at the bottom below a picture of this girl that was, I guess, supposed to be...contemplating? Waiting?...anyway...it read, "Becoming God's best while waiting for Mr. Right."

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I'm pausing....for effect...................................................................
......................

............

Okay. I just want to focus on one part of this statement....and how reading it...suddenly made everything clear to me. "While waiting for Mr. Right..." As if life...LIFE...is waiting. This is the rhetoric that I used to cling to...it was a huge part of that idea of the way things are supposed to be...what my purpose in life is...the life formula in which the correct variables equal the way life is supposed to be. Except...the variables don't always work...in fact...life is rarely mathematical...and NEVER waiting. WAITING? It's a tough thing when you have to learn that life is not waiting, but instead...living. I lived under the pretense that I was being prepared for something...that I was preparing...for, I don't know...the big life math test? I know now, that I started living the moment I was born. All the falling down and messing up, that wasn't learning...that was living. LIVING. And the truth is...sometimes the living...is all we get.

Now let's talk about Mr Right.....and who might that be? What might that be...and why the hell should I be waiting for him? What will he do for me? Is he going to save me? Is he going to confirm my beliefs? Is he going to make me feel pretty? The more important question is...is he going to give me a job? Mr. Right is a figment of every girl's imagination. I doubt that, if I get married, I'll ever think of him as Mr. Right. The term implies that there is this one special person for everyone...a soul mate.......and that soul mate will be your partner....you know...for love and sex and babies and things....well....this is nonsense. bollocks. insanity. My soul mate is possibly my best friend...and I don't have sex with her (however, I do make jokes about having sex with her) (Also...Mr. Pants is my other soul mate...or he might as well be). Mr Right is another one of those variables that just doesn't fit into the reality equation.

Nobody teaches you when you're growing up that your life purpose is not to get married and have kids. Nobody teaches you that you might have to be able to take care of yourself. Nobody teaches you to make decisions based on what you need rather than what someone else needs. Nobody teaches you to make decisions. Become a better, holier person + Mr Right = you'll be the best wife ever = happiness. As a believer, I cannot believe in a god that didn't create me to be capable of making my own way in this world, in a god that narrowed life down to a simple equation. I think the writers of the aforementioned book have a different idea of God than I do.

Well...I'll never be the best wife ever. I probably won't even be a good one...if I am one. And with my own hands...I will never be holy. It's time to teach women to make decisions, to decide what they want to do with their lives, to use the tools they've been given to succeed and to stop trying to be...and preparing to be. It's time to teach women that they are. No more waiting. No more wishing. It's time for Deciding. Fighting. Believing in ourselves. It's time to be. Time for living....finally.

I have never been good at math.

When The Crying Stops

2008-06-02T17:11:00.003-05:00

So...it's been three days since I last cried. I bet you're wondering, "when you're not crying, what on EARTH do you do with your time?!" And the truth is, nothing much really. I take a while to get out of bed. I take a while to decide what to eat. I take a while to get dressed. I take a while to decide to do the next thing. Everything moves in slow motion, rather than being at a complete standstill. I sometimes wonder if I've found some way to suppress my true feelings and fool myself into being somewhat content. I don't know. I'm not destitute, by any means. I see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I'm confident that it will continue to get bigger, the closer I get to it.

I am haunted by the past...still. I have these moments of terrible sadness. Not violent, or dramatic, just very quiet, slow sadness. I still wish he would change his mind, and try to find a way back into my life, but I do not expect it...in any way. Life is rarely ever magical unless it's because of something I've worked for...and then it's not really magical...is it? I feel awkward in many social situations. I want to talk about it all the time, and then sometimes I never want to talk about it again. Today in the middle of my first class (which I TOTALLY improvised because I planned for the wrong class)...I wanted to talk all about it. It reminded me of how open I was with all my students in the fall about my future plans and my "boyfriend" and how I was so excited. They were excited for me. Luckily, the part of my brain that is managing to move forward through the mess held me back from teaching a terrible lesson about heartbreak, rather than writing in English.

I still believe, after everything...and it certainly wasn't as much as it could have been...in love. I know it is out there...probably in the very distant future...but it is out there again...waiting for me to be completely unprepared for it. It is also here...with me...beside me...and all around me. So...

Revisiting

2008-05-30T00:11:00.004-05:00

I googled 'the stages of grief' today...after spending the entire day in my underwear. I woke up at 8:30 and promptly went back to sleep until 10:30 and then i roamed around the house, cried, watched tv, cried, checked my email, cried, reset my preferences on my facebook, cried, and pretty much had a full day. I'm not quite sure if I'm in denial, anger, bargaining, depression, or acceptance...well...definitely not in acceptance stage. I got to the point today where I felt comfort feeling tears stream down the side of my face...it was like someone gently caressing my cheek. someone with a thin, warm, wet touch.

I often wonder if there is something terribly wrong with me.

I then...despite my better judgement (i've said that often lately, have i not?) began to reread emails between him and me (he and i?)....and emails between me and diana, and between me and the general public...before he and i were an item. we talked candidly, intelligently, openly, and honestly. It was ridiculous. Ridiculous how we started...how our conversations began...and how our connection looked in the end. I have always operated with the belief that most relationships are salvageable as long as both parties are willing to go back and revisit when and why they fell in love. It is so clear to me why that is...and it is so clear to me that we parted as completely different people. I came across in these emails as exactly how I've always wanted to come across to a guy...smart, well read, funny, adventurous, confident. He came across...surely as he wanted to...smart, funny, charming, strong, totally interested. WHERE DID THAT GO?! MY GOD?! I suppose we fell victim to our circumstances...and I fell victim to my own insecurities....he possibly did too...but neither of us recognized that...well...I think I did...and I tried to talk about it a lot...cause I think girls do stuff like that. I just wanted help, I guess...I recognized the weakness in me and I wanted him to help me up...but he didn't...maybe i didn't recognize the weakness in him...or maybe i did, and the weakness in me was just too weak to do anything about it.

WHERE DID THAT GIRL GO? the girl that made a decision and ran with it. the girl that tumbled into dark holes and crawled back out...saw the world by herself...was ready for anything. I am a twisted ball of disillusion. The shitty shitty part is that I actually have to wait before I can get back to that...I have to deal with this rebuilding before I can get back to that...and THAT...will eventually come upon me without my even realizing it. Hell, I can't even rebuild right now I'm so damn miserable. Next time I fall in love, I hope it's with someone that doesn't ever let me forget that girl. I hope it's also with someone that is in it like I'm in it. To work. The fruit of our labor will be glorious.

I referred to that summer as the best summer of my life. the summer I met him. I was open to any and all possibilities. I was brave. I was a kid in a freakin' candy store...yeah...I got down about having a hard time meeting the right guy...but I still had a hell of a lot of fun. And I had this correspondence with this guy that I knew was totally into me...but I didn't have to make any decisions about it...I just got to enjoy knowing that this guy...that was so super cool was totally into me. It was slow enough for me to show him who I wanted him to see...but it wasn't slow enough for him to see who I was all around....in and out...up and down...same for him. I eventually, as he did, found out things about him that I wasn't crazy about...things that irritated me...things that concerned me....BUT...at least I was strong enough to keep loving him, if not strong enough to let go when it was time to let go...at least I gave him what I promised...unconditional love. I don't know who comes out on top in this situation. I am still convinced that if he were really strong...he would want to go back WITH me and remember why we fell in love...and we could try to challenge each other to be the strong people we know we are. I just don't know who comes out on top in the reality of it all. No one? I mean...I can't even admit what he was able to admit, that he isn't ready. Because I would like to believe that I'm smart enough to not fall in love with a guy that isn't ready. because the guy that I saw that summer, in our correspondence, was totally ready...was looking for me, and I for him.

He told me he wanted things to be easy. I have given up on easy. I gave up on it a long time ago. Perhaps that puts me in the lead. The fact that I accept the reality of adulthood....except right now...when all I want to do is sit in bed and cry. which probably puts me a few points behind. not that this is actually a race...or a contest. not that it ever was.

Relativity

2008-05-29T11:02:00.004-05:00

So, I made it through a day without crying. Wednesday, 28 May 2008: I did not cry. The Events leading up to this day are as follows: Tuesday morning, I got up, lifted weights with some cheery girl on some DVD my mom has and then made myself a bowl of my favorite food: beans. I sat on the couch watching court television, eating my beans and drinking Dr. Pepper...doing fine. When I am texting people, and I don't receive answers in a manner that I deem timely (which...in my twisted reality at present...means like, two minutes), I get very sad. I start to think that maybe no one likes me and wants to meaninglessly banter with me via text messaging (I have unlimited text messaging on my phone plan). I was spooning beans into my mouth and watching this poor kid in a wheelchair argue about how it wasn't fair that he had to come all the way into the city to meet this guy for a job interview when the guy wasn't even taking it seriously. The judge ruled on the side of the jerk that didn't show up for the interview, and I cried my eyes out for the poor kid in the wheelchair. It was...almost...comical. I couldn't finish my food.

Then texting commenced, and the minutes flew by until it was time for me to go to trivia at the P and H. It was good to see people, and to share pitcher after pitcher of cheap beer. I even had some delicious Jalapeño poppers. I also got to share my knowledge of terrible 90s music as well as my extensive knowledge of television shows. If not for the tie-breaker question of "pick a number between 1 and 200" (WTF) we would have come into money. It was a robbing of sorts. My favorite moment...the question was something about who had a hit in some year in the 90s with 'That's the Way Love Goes.' Zack immediately began to sing the chorus and I chimed in with the spoken bit...and punctuated it with 'Janet Jackson,' which was right...and oh so wrong that Zack and I both not only know the artist but can perform the song. Oh FM 100...you have taught me well.

I stayed at the P and H talking with Jeff and his wife Michelle (Mechelle?) until about three in the morning...when Diana and I went to Krystal to indulge in some Krystal Chiks...because they're so good for you.

My day without tears was interesting. I ate at Fino's with Diana and we put in our applications for this apartment we are interested in. Then I met Tess and her two lovely daughters at the zoo. It was surprisingly lovely outside (cool and cloudy), but Saylah (?) still insisted that I needed to wear sandals. She kept grabbing my hand to drag me forward and warn me, 'wait til you see the polar bears!' Tess is infinitely patient with two girls. At one point Saylah ran up to her, grabbed her hands and said, 'I am so in love with Otters,' despite the fact that we were watching the sea lions.

By close to the end of the day I had bitterly reminded a young girl that is newly in love, that she is probably not in love and that she needs to wait and see and sat in grim silence for a time...and Tess still told me I was doing really well. She bought my Mango sorbet...for which I was grateful.

I ran into Chris and April at Target and we talked for a good long time about what have you...making each other laugh. It was nice. Then I bought "The Audacity of Hope" and a half gallon of Edy's Rocky Road ice cream. I went home...read...ate ice cream...and wanted to cry. Being in this place...it looks normal I suppose...but it doesn't really feel that way. I always feel kind of naked...and sore. My whole body feels sore. Sometimes...I think crying relieves a bit of that pain. But sometimes...there is not a catalyst...and I don't cry. I suppose thinking that it would be a good day when I didn't cry was a bit naive. I mean...I've had good days when I did cry...and not to say it wasn't a good day...because it was...but in and out, and up and down, I'm still in this naked painful place...and I suppose a good day is really just relative.

Craziness

2008-05-27T00:07:00.005-05:00

This morning i thought to myself that I might make it through the day without crying. I drove to midtown after a shower to remove the thick film of insect repellent from my skin, and I sang to some music in the car, and thought, "maybe I won't cry today." I spent the afternoon watching television with Diana, which, probably isn't that bad...but I've just moved to Memphis from London. I've moved from a place where something is constantly happening to a place where nothing is happening....except the humidity, and I feel like I'm practically dead. Sitting on my ass for four hours at a time makes me hate myself even more...hate my...I don't know. So, at the end of the day...I went home and I cried. I walked into my mom's place and I gave her this teary look and said, "can I cry a little?" So we went to her room and we climbed into bed, and she told me to just talk...so I did. I rambled on and on about how I don't feel like I have a place here any more. Every one is one place, and I'm over here...in this crappy place...and I don't feel like I fit...like I can contribute...I rambled about how I should just go somewhere else and start completely fresh...how I don't know what I should do, but I'm scared to marry myself to a decision right now. My mom told me to slow down and be here for a minute...she pretty much told me to do what I'd been planning to do...but she emphasized that I would be going somewhere else in the future...I just had to figure out where the best place to go would be. Sometimes I get scared that I'll get scared...that if I stay here too long...I'll get overly comfortable again...and not be able to venture out and meet my goals.

Before I met him, I always felt like I was looking for someone. And, after I met him, I felt like I didn't need to look anymore...I thought I'd never have to worry about having to look again (because I'm just that naive)...and it made me happy...it made me feel safe. I don't feel safe any more. I feel like my searching will take over again...and instead of finding myself, I'll continue looking for someone else, and I'll forget my dreams. Is there a remedy for the desperately seeking soul? Is there something to calm the fear that I will be alone for the rest of my life...long enough to allow me to see clearly down the path towards my future...so that I might be more open...more prepared...to find someone that won't ask me to give anything up....or to wait.

So...I did not make it through the day without crying. Day 26. Not enough days yet, I suppose. That's just how it goes.

I'm Sorry

2008-05-26T02:46:00.003-05:00

So...today was day 25 of being broken up with him, day 11 of actually being separated from him. I'm doing OKAY. I decided that I would do something nice for myself today and go out and buy some underwear that I really like...but I went to like....four different places, and no one had the exact type of underwear that I was looking for...so I didn't get any...because I'm sick of buying underwear that I hate because I can't find what I like. Thus...I did nothing for myself today. I cried a little, and thought...man...it's going to be a really good day when I get through it without crying.

I also got myself out of my bed, after my failed underwear adventure, and made it over to Grace's for a pre-memorial day cookout. I couldn't believe my ability to actually have conversations with people without breaking down and crying to them about how sad I am. I only broke once...technically. And let me just say this...I'm SORRY that I'm not happy enough to be cheerleader pumped about other people's fantastic relationship successes. I have to convince myself to stop thinking about the guy that broke up with me and how much I want him back...and I have to convince myself that I need to start coming to terms with the fact that I will never be able to have him back. This is the difficult journey in my head and heart. And so...for those of you that are experiencing relationship bliss...I am sorry...deep in the recesses of my heart, I am incredibly happy for you...there is a tiny version of me locked away somewhere behind all this baggage that is doing a little cheerleader toe touch for you..and flicking her pig tails. Which are cute. But the me outside, is stuck in a block of muck...trying to keep from crying at random times because the person she put stock in...gave up and sold out. Don't feel sorry for me. There is nothing to be sorry for...just understand my lack of enthusiasm...and take the minute expressions of happiness that I give as HUGE...perhaps even a high five...up high AND down low.

Puffy Eyes

2008-05-24T09:31:00.003-05:00

So...I thought I was doin real good. I was moving along, planning my next steps...carefully, mind you...one day at a time. And then..BAM..I cried for about two hours last night. I also used about 700 tissues. I forgot how magnificently lame heartbreak can be at times. How terribly uncompromising it can be. I forgot how quickly every ounce of strength and self assurance can drain from my conscience. For two to three hours last night, all I wanted, despite my better judgement, was to have things back the way they were. I wanted to be in England, wearing my coat and scarf and gloves, holding his hand and walking through park after park after park. I wanted to keep dreaming about where we would live in the future...what borough we would choose, and I wanted to imagine that someday...we might have children. I was sweaty from the Memphis heat, exhausted from the Memphis humidity/allergens, and angry from the driving.

I have always thought that if I loved passionately, despite my shortcomings, I would be loved in return. If I was willing to put the time, effort, and devotion into a relationship, I would be met with the same time, effort, and devotion. I have never understood, even though I have experienced it before, the concept of being rejected by someone I spent so much time loving. In the throws of my terrible sobbing, I often feel a bit too melodramatic...which makes me cry even more. It's horrific to come face to face with your weaknesses...and to succumb.

Despite what I told Diana last night, I do not buy into the sadness. It seems easier sometimes to let it become a part of you...a part of your shtick...but it isn't all that fun. Also...I look pretty horrendous this morning. I'm not sure how often that's going to go over well with me.

I am ready to not be stuffy any more. I am ready to be able to talk like myself...without this darn frog in my throat. Despite not being wild about the idea of, you know, getting a job and having a life...I suppose I am ready to inch my way into that as well.

Snippets

2008-05-23T01:16:00.003-05:00

I don't know if they have thunderstorms in England...I certainly haven't experienced one, and I've spent quite a bit of time there. I mean, it rains incessantly, but there's not really any thunder. Today, in Memphis, I woke up to a thunderstorm. It was dark and cool in my room (the perfect temperature), and the thunder was rumbling, a good bit away from my window. That is possibly one of the best things ever: waking up to a thunderstorm...when you can stay in bed and enjoy it. I snuggled up under the covers and breathed deep, trying to picture it far far away from ever being able to harm me, little me, safe in my bed. It rained like hell for a while, and then cleared up, but then, if you live here, you already know this.

Vanessa, I watched one of the Judge shows today...Judge Hatchett. She kept yelling at this guy to stop 'runnin' to [his] mamma!" I learned a great deal about responsibility. I also tried to wax my legs while watching...but the wax I was using was old and ineffective, and therefore...my legs are still...sparatically hairy...because of the inconsistency of the epilady. Stupid epilady.

Here is an article about me: Grammar, but only when I'm not writing my blog...I have my own brand of grammar when blogging.
In any case...it's from one of my favorite blogs, and it is an hilarious slap in the face.

I only cried twice today...they were little snippets of cries even...not full on crying, and I was with Diana...and she timed them...so it was good. I cried over Mexican food...and then made a little joke about it...so...it was one of those laughter through tears things. Surreal. Everything is surreal these days. I said I felt empty...but Diana told me that wasn't the case. I don't know if I'm full...yet...but I must not be empty.

Drivin Around Midtown

2008-05-22T03:02:00.005-05:00

In case you do not already know...Diana and I have decided to move in together. It's time to take our relationship to the next level. I mean...she is my ex/rebound. Because of this decision, we have done a lot of driving around midtown frantically calling numbers from little red signs stuck in random yards. We have realized this: people offering 'too good to be true' deals on really big duplexes with hardwood floors and all appliances...are usually trying to pawn off a duplex in an area of 'midtown' that is inhabited by dirty old men with beer cans in paper bags during the day and prostitutes during the evening. But hey...I do need a job. In any case...this is difficult. Not only because people are getting pretty proud of their midtown properties, but because I've got this notion in my head that I need to be inspired by the place. We've found a place that inspires me...but it's $150 a month more expensive than a smaller, less inspirational place...with a much smaller bathroom. Lemme ask you this: is $450 a month too much to pay for a big place? It's less than I was paying to live alone...so...I am therefore torn.

I do a lot of driving around midtown lately...and driving back and forth between Hickory freakin' Hill. At home this evening, my mom and I ate dinner while watching 'John and Kate Plus Eight' on TLC. It's this show about a couple that had twins and then decided to have another kid...and got sixtuplets or....whatever you call them. The mom's belly was ridiculous. So is actually watching hour after hour of the show. It's entertaining...don't get me wrong...and the kids are nuts...and it kinda makes me feel a little bit better about my life...cause I don't have 8 damn kids yelling in my ears all the time. The more I watched this show though, the more I kept picturing myself back in London...doing what I would have been doing at this time...instead of watching TLC. I might have been watching TV with....him.....or messing around on the internets, or cooking...I mean...nothing much more exciting...but I would be in London...and not Hickory Hill. Then I get sad. Sad for where my body used to be...and sad for where my heart used to be. There's so much more room in the States. Everything is much more closed in in London. I drive to and from Midtown and I picture myself on the tube...crammed in between two guys talking about football. I feel like there's so much room, gravity is pulling my body in a million different directions, and I might break apart into a million little pieces. But...in actuality...nothing that spectacular is happening...it's just another day...in my life...that will one day end...and I'm plodding on towards having a fulfilling routine...I am therefore forlorn.

I do not know what to do with my feelings. I want to cry, but there don't seem to be any tears left at the moment. I want to laugh, but I feel so rigid inside and out...uncomfortable in my skin. There are times when I don't think about the pain...or the confusion...or the past...or even the future for that matter. I can't tell you exactly when they've happened...but I know they've happened. It's like a glitch in the Universe...in my Universe...as it tries to repair itself, and prepare itself for what's next. I cannot imagine the future. I cannot imagine myself in another relationship. I cannot imagine myself wanting to love someone. What a pain it is to mourn.

I'm No Expert on Daytime Television

2008-05-20T12:43:00.005-05:00

But, by the time I get over this cold...I might accidentally be. I began my day yesterday by switching back and forth between Regis and Kelly and The View. THE VIEW for cryin out loud. There was a skinny blond bitch that pretty much argued against everyone...she sat in that seat where the young skinny ones usually sit...like Lisa Ling (so I've seen it BEFORE...gees...he who is without sin can totally cast the first stone). Whoopi Goldberg is on the show now...I think I had heard that, but I didn't actually really care. Their guest was....wait for it...Barbara Walters, the freakin' creator herself. It was like watching an old show...only the stupid one was blond instead of asian. I remember Lisa Ling, from Channel One fame, actually said once that she always talked to her psychic in the morning. REALLY? LISA? Come on! You went to Bosnia and places like that with the Channel One crew...you made us believe that it was incredibly dangerous with your 'whispering'....a psychic?

I cursed TLC for their non stop back to back showings of A Baby/Wedding Story. I'd like to produce a show for them called A Wedding because of a Baby Story. That would make for good daytime drama. I avoided watching soaps, or, some might call it self-flagellation, but I did watch a lot of cable access including someone from Memphis interviewing someone else from Memphis that was wearing a giant, yellow, foam cowboy hat with red sequins. It may have been the editor of Jabber Blabber...I was in and out.

Today I opened my day with a Don Johnson show that I thought was Miami Vice...he was in that, right?...but it turned out to be..Nash Bridges? Then I indulged in a little bit of Tyra. She was dealing with people with eating disorders...isn't that what all her shows are about? She had one girl that showed us all how to pump our own stomachs to keep from having to digest any of our food. Then there was this girl that ate baby powder to control her weight. Um...it didn't. When asked why someone might continue to do something this ridonculous without positive results (cause...you never know)...Tyra's eating disorder 'expert' responded, 'I have no idea.' Tyra then did her little concerned brow furrow 'mmmm' face. It was awesome.

Finally...and this is really the creme de la creme (cream of the cream)...Jerry Springer's show for today was called "Lesbians Attack." Now, I don't normally watch Springer, but...I couldn't resist...and I didn't really stay with it the whole time...but I know there was pillow fighting involved...some girl's muff popped out from beneath her extremely short dress...and at one point, a giant American flag was lowered on stage, and everyone stopped fighting to sing the National Anthem. It was in that moment, that I realized I was home. Home. The land of the free, and the home of the worst daytime television in the world...and by worst, I mean...the absolute most amazingly best. I'm hungry now...I'm going to go down some baby powder and get back in front of the boob tube. I think they might be showing back to back Matlock.

Angry Sad

2008-05-19T11:55:00.003-05:00

I've been spiraling into a gigantic hole of being sick since I stepped off the plane in Atlanta. That tickle in my throat started on Thursday morning, and has been teasing me ever since. I thought I'd stand up to it by going out Saturday night after loads of rest...but I did not triumph in the end. All day Sunday was spent coming to terms with the fact that I was getting sick, and there wasn't anything I could do about it but shut up and sit down. And by 'shut up' I actually mean that I cannot speak. I do not have a voice.

You know why this sucks? I mean, generally being sick sucks...but I've been stuck in this position of not being able to go forward for the past three weeks now. I've been crying for three weeks. I've cried a lot less recently, but I've still been crying for three weeks. Being sick does not make me more hopeful about the future. Being sick makes me miserable. I feel like I'm being kicked while I'm down.

I cried last night, uncontrollably...again. I want my life back, for God's sake. I mean...I gave it up for another...and I just want it back, but I can't just get it back. I have to rebuild it. I call these people that let me down the idiots...but maybe I'm the actual idiot. I mean...they don't give anything away, and I give it all away...so when things end...they've got nothing to rebuild, and I've got everything to rebuild. I don't have a job. I don't have my own place. I don't have my health. I want control of my life back. And really...I just want someone to actually fucking love me. I'm sick of being blind to the fact that I'm with someone that is afraid of taking it to the next level...afraid of taking a step out into the great unknown. Afraid of letting it be what it could be. Am I too much of an idealist? Is it too much to believe that some things are worth working for...some things are worth sacrificing for. When will I be worth sacrificing for? Or...am I wrong about all that?

In these times...when I finally stop crying...I don't feel better. The cries aren't those cries where it's really all you needed...they're just cries...and when they're over...I'm still in the same place. I stop crying because, if I didn't, I never would...and I would drown in my misery. I stop crying because some day it will get better. I was told by someone recently that I would be surprised at how quickly I would begin to feel better. I was told this by someone who has never actually suffered any real pain. Those that understand real...actual pain...tell me what I hate to hear, and what I know is true...that I have to be here. That it may seem like it's going to last forever...but it WILL end...and I WILL get through it. And I won't think to myself, in the end, "gee...I'm so surprised at how quick that happened." I imagine, and I know, that I'll be exhausted. That I'll be free...but I'll be exhausted from the journey. I'll be sore from the strain and bruised from the falls...What I KNOW that this person doesn't know...is that...when it ends...I'll be different. I'll be stronger. I'll be better. It doesn't happen fast. It never happens fast, but it happens. Trusting is the hardest part.

Strange New World

2008-05-17T14:58:00.003-05:00

I was sitting in front of the television watching 'What Not To Wear' when I suddenly realized, 'I don't care what this girls friends and family think of how she looks.' SO, I gathered myself up and walked back to the computer room to B-L-O-G.

Walked around Cooper Young yesterday saying hello to people and having random conversations. It's nice to be able to do that. No one really wants to talk to you in London...in England for that matter...ESPECIALLY if you're American. There appear to be a couple of new eating places that I will need to visit...and perhaps frequent...the Bakery by Burke's being the number one place on my list.

I chatted with the lady that owns Hi-Octane Vintage (with her husband)about this insanely cute yellow dress that she had. I asked the price and she told me, but she punctuated it by telling me the dress was an extra extra small. She did not do this in one of those voices that hints that there is no way in hell that I would be able to fit into it, but rather in a voice that implied that NO ONE would be able to fit into it, and isn't that a bitch? I agreed, made a joke about the size of my chest (and we all know it's phenomenal), and continued browsing. Everything was fabulous, and so moderately priced, I could see myself throwing loads of money away.

I've looked at two 'eh' apartments in Cooper/Young so far...both with carpet (in midtown? REALLY?) and both tiny and pricey. Ridiculous.

I'm keeping myself busy. I've discovered that keeping busy and being angry are the two best ways to keep from feeling sad. When I'm not angry, but rather, inundated with memories of sunny days in London, walking hand in hand with he who shall not be named for a little while...or just resting in that little nook of his arm...I ache with sadness. The world slows down a little, and I am paralyzed by hopelessness. Sometimes I think of myself...riding my bike around midtown...thinking of him...my heart belonging to him...and I'm sad too, but then I get angry...because I focused my heart on all that...and I was the only one...in retrospect.

Tonight I'm going to try to make it to the Hi Tone to see Al Kapone. I get real tired at around ten p.m. so...we'll see what happens. I fell asleep last night reading my beautifully bound Master's thesis. It's not bad...but it is terribly boring sometimes. I mean...Early American Transcendentalist Feminism...........................................WAKE UP! GA! Thanks a LOT!

Anywho...if you want to come out...and pretend like I never left...or smother me with kisses...I'll try to stay awake. Let's see what happens.

I'm On My Way

2008-05-16T07:25:00.003-05:00

Today I return to Memphis, TN: The home of Graceland, Stax, the Memphis Tigers, The Civil Rights Museum, Bar-B-Q, Justin Timberlake, Mr. Pants, Alexander, a good deal of you lovely readers, and...well...me.

I went to sleep last night at around 10:00 p.m. after watching the Office season finale, and feeling like I needed to go back and do a little catching up. I piddled with my new phone until my eyes were weary. I woke up this morning at around 6:30. I must not be very fun to sleep with because my dad's dog keeps trying to get away from me...when she normally LOVES it when I come to visit. I also might be coming down with a cold. damn...it.

Yesterday, it rained. RAINED...for the love of all that is holy. I had breakfast at IHOP and asked for an extra helping of bacon...surprisingly I did not have to specify that I wanted crispy delicious bacon instead of salty chewy back bacon. They brought me the tasty kind, and I drowned it in Maple Syrup...as I did my buttermilk pancakes. Sorry for those of you that don't eat meat...and are trying to avoid other things too. It was DELICIOUS. My dad helped me get set up with a new phone and new phone number. It was all too exciting. Then we watched Girl With The Pearl Earring. Charlotte Johansen literally says about three words in the whole film, which you would think would be easy...but it means she had to actually, you know, act without words...which can be much more difficult..and, well...she pretty much failed at that. I would say the only thing she was really good at was having pale skin and big lips. She was freakin awesome at that, but then, she always is. After the movie was over, I crawled into bed and cried. Sometimes I have to have a cry. The world feels so damn heavy right now. Every day, it's like I'm marching through a swamp. My dad was there to sit at the edge and hold me...and eventually Diana called me...so I had Diana in my ear talkin' sense, and my dad by my side rubbing my palm. If you have never had anyone rub your palm, you should try it...it's the most disarming thing in the world. Whenever I'm overly stressed, I like to have someone rub the palm of my hand. Also, if you have never had Diana talkin' sense in your ear...you should definitely try that too

Then, we got Mexican food. It was delicious. Within seconds of being led to our table, a little guy was there with a big basket of chips and a bowl of salsa. I ordered a Dr. Pepper, and was brought the biggest cup I had ever seen...full of ice..and the Docta. I ordered (you love this) the 'Mango Maya' which was beef cooked to a tender 'point' (?) with mango pico de gallo, regular pico, rice, beans, and tortillas. I ate all of the mango pico. It was GORGEOUS. Then I ate more chips...and cheese dip. yes.

This was the parade I was looking forward too. Mexican food....and also...I just watched the New Kids on the Block make their debut on the Today Show. Heads up: Little Joey Joe is married with a big fat ring on his finger, but he looked damn good in his little vest with pocket watch. The parade continues.

Jet Lag

2008-05-15T06:37:00.002-05:00

Good Morning America. My plane touched down at about five minutes past four p.m. eastern time. It is currently around 6:30 a.m. in the central United States, and I have been awake for about an hour. I slept with my dad's dog, and I woke up too early even for her. She keeps looking at me like I'm insane. Well, Gracie, you're not wrong.

Walking out of London was easier than I expected. With every step, I felt myself propelled forward into the next step. I thought I would cry, or throw up or something, but I didn't. I just kept walking. Turning my back on Liam was easier than I expected as well. I cried a little bit, but I kept walking, and, most importantly, I kept breathing. No more life support...just me.

I thought taking a Valium on the plane would make the time disappear, but it wasn't quite as dramatic as some people made it out to be. I downed a half, as I was told, before we took off...and luckily we taxied on the runway enough for it to kick in and relax me before getting into the air. I'm not afraid to fly, goodness knows, I do it all the time, but I'm not comfortable. Take off is the worst, and a muscle relaxer now and then helps a lot. However, while I was expecting to pass out and wake up at landing...I did not. I enjoyed the feeling of my relaxed muscles, ate a lovely meal, and watched Charlie Wilson's War before getting annoyed with the effects of the drugs and taking the other half. I then slept for about two hours...I think? I woke up in time to watch another full length movie...and to enjoy some good old fashioned turbulence. I almost threw up...and I never get that uncomfortable on a plane. I was lucky though...someone had some trouble that kept the flight attendants occupied for pretty much the rest of the flight. It also kept a poor doctor out of his posh first class reclining seat. When we did land, we had to wait for the paramedics to get this unfortunate guy/girl off the plane.

I cried when we landed. We circled Atlanta a few times, and I watched it on that screen that shows the plane creeping across the Atlantic, giving you minute to minute updates of miles left to travel. I was so engrossed by the screen that I didn't noticed the feeling I usually get when the plane is just about to touch ground. It was a bit of a jolt, but not too terrible. Some people clapped, I just cried.

Being home isn't the magical parade I imagined it would be. I suppose my heart is still in England, although I do have to say...well done Old Navy...the new dresses this season are phenomenal...and pretty much all $24.50. I slept on the drive back to Huntsville...waking up every half hour to ask my dad if he was okay in case I needed to drive...which would have been suicide because I was pretty much unconscious. Upon checking my email, I realized that the job I was counting on this summer is only going to pay me about $400 a month...which means I need to get another part time job. Any ideas? Maybe I should just try to get a job copy writing for some newspaper. How does one get a moderately lucrative job in Memphis? I've become a Monday to Friday girl and am not anxious to jump into waiting tables on the weekend.

I cried myself back to sleep in the end. I slid out of my pungent shoes and slid into bed with an eager to cuddle dog, and I cried a little cry. I suppose living is like riding a bike...you never really forget how to do it...even when you think you might have.

The Final Countdown

2008-05-12T16:40:00.001-05:00

I had a really good day today. it made me sad to leave london. I spent some time at work just talking with the women I work with...letting them teach me...letting them in. Then I went shopping and admired my new 'city' body...tried not to worry about losing it. roamed around listening to my favorite playlist....thought about all the changes i'd like to make in my life....thought about dinner parties i wanted to have with my girlfriends...thought about making vegan mussaka (spelling!) for vanessa....thought about having pimms with everyone and telling stories about londoners and their strange ways. Had dinner at this GORGEOUS thai restaurant hidden in the back of this pub called 'the churchill'. the pub part is covered in pictures of winston churchill, but the back bit...is an indoor garden...covered in flowers..with marble top tables and delicious, cheap, thai food. i went with a girl from work, her sister, and one of her only friends in london (she's very selective and hates living in a giant city)....we shared a pitcher of pimms and then went to another pub to have a pint. i finally figured this damn city out...and i'm leaving. ah well. i kept trying to think of it this way: i've lived HERE....now i can live anywhere i want. I can handle it. I really can. rather than thinking: woah is me....i'll never have another opportunity like this again. my mom gives me a hard time about not being ready to settle down....but i think that might come from an upbringing that demanded settling down. I don't know if that's in my immediate future...sometimes it feels like it would be nice...but then it feels like it would be nicer to keep growing and changing...and being changed by what the world has to offer me. the trick is...finding someone that wants that too. Surely they exist. surely there is some guy out there that isn't so imprisoned by subconscious patriarchy that he might find it exciting to follow me around to different places...and not even to follow me...but to go WITH me.

Finished

2008-05-11T06:47:00.002-05:00

I think I'm done with London for now. I still have two and a half days...but I'm done now. I'm an outsider...as much as I tried to be an insider...I was always living in someone else's house, using someone else's things, hanging out with someone else's friends.

Liam and I went to Brighton yesterday, and it was lovely. The best part about it was that it made me want to be back in Midtown more than anything. I KNOW I'm in England and doing all these things that a lot of people never get to do...and that's great, and I'm grateful, but it's been nearly six months...and, the truth is...England never really had that much faith in me. I've always been an American trying to fit into an English lifestyle. I've always been a bit of a sore thumb. I recall a moment a few weeks ago when I was joking with Liam's friends about someone commenting to me that I had to admit that America didn't have all that much culture. I recounted this moment in my 'isn't that crazy' voice, and I was met with blank stares. I was expecting similar 'that is ridiculous' laughs in response...but there was only silence and blank stares. I'm in a sea of smugness. I have never encountered more talk of 'openmindedness' without a single shred of action to match the words. Don't get me wrong...I know MANY Americans with this same 'i don't get your point' attitude, but people here pretend like those Americans are stupid...when really, they're all in the same damn club.

I opened my mind. I moved my body and my soul to this place. I tried to fit in. I'm not saying I was stellar at it. I wasn't. I complained a great deal, and my body struggled to adjust to its new mold. I ran into many walls and fell on my behind many times. I didn't wish any ill will on anyone in this...I've never felt like other countries were stupid and behind the times. But my mind is changing. People that sit in their own stymied pile of self-satisfaction are behind the times. I do it sometimes...and being snapped into reality can be very embarrassing, but I'm not saying I'm not open to it...or not aware of the fact that it needs to and will happen many times in my life.

Six months isn't really long enough to make a house a home. I feel like it was my trial period. I feel like that is what was expected of me. I sometimes feel like a failure until I remind myself that I was only here for six months. I lived in Memphis for over 18 years before I really felt like it was my true home. Life doesn't move as fast as some people would like it to. Love doesn't fit into the packaging that one might expect. I gave it. Perhaps my package was wrapped in old newspapers and filled with a lot of things he didn't want, but I gave it to him...and underneath it all there was love...and I ran out of time. I didn't move fast enough. I didn't fit into the mold right away. It was hard...but I always had faith. Oh ye of little faith. Little faith in me.

Random Fears

2008-05-09T18:26:00.002-05:00

So...I was thinking recently of nothing in particular...actually I was reading Vanessa's blog about her cough, and, for a moment, I had this fear of getting sick. It's so weird thinking about going home...and people being sick. I've managed to avoid being sick, since the debacle in January in which I was sick for like three weeks, by staying home from work and resting as soon as I began to feel ill...and no one at work ever questioned me. Working back home...if you call in sick...you better have a damn doctor's note when you come back...and who can afford to go to the doctor? Not me, certainly. So...I got scared of being sick...and I wanted to blame it on Liam...my getting sick...which has yet to happen...and I wanted to beg him to take me back...but only for a split second. No begging for boys that don't want you. Moments later I remembered that I'd been sick before I met Liam...many many times...and I always had my friends or my mom to whine to about how crappy it was. So...false alarm....I'll probably be fine.

Also...I giggled today. I grinned like a fool and I giggled at work while chatting with the girls about boys.

Hills and Valleys.

My newly epilated legs are covered in insect bites I cannot identify. No itching...just discomforting and unattractive.