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| Enough |
| 11.27.04 (5:53 pm) [edit] |
So I'm really over this depressing blog thing. I don't know about the rest of you. A really good blog is supposed to have its own personality, its own tone. I'm not sure I found that yet. I'm over completely spilling my guts here, though, or just da da da, writing what I did in a day. So many of you don't know me, and even if you do, it's not the place to really find out what you're missing. This blog from now on is going to be less about me and more about people and stories in general.
You'll see...
soon.
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| Fragments |
| 11.22.04 (1:29 pm) [edit] |
There's something about Christmas time in the city that makes me re-live the abandon of broken relationships. For each glowing ball hanging from the trees in the Square I think of how many times I've worn my heart on my sleeve.
How many times I've been rejected because of such a brazing act.
How many times words were mistaken as actions and assumptions led to words.
How I urge to reach out again, but am afraid to get burned by that beautiful fire--or worse, not have it flicker at me at all.
How many times I've not said what I meant, but instead meant what I wrote.
How so many times I damper anger and truth--and when I don't...when I finally say what I mean and mean what I write: abandon.
Carol of the Bells. A Circle. This endless reverberation.
I miss you and I don't know how to tell you that I'm sorry.
I want to Wish You a Merry Christmas from the bottom of my heart and tell you that peppermint tea is so delightful by the fire.
But the fire is slowly dying. My fear is still good-bye-in'.
Let it snow...let it snow...
Where are you Christmas?
Why can't I find you?
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| Dream Weaver #2 |
| 11.20.04 (6:41 am) [edit] |
The night before my Magic Girl dream, I also woke up with this short story haunting me:
Nicole Kidman came to visit me with her family in this glorious mansion which housed numersous young people by the beach. The scene took on muted tones, gray ones of misery and dread. There was this very dramatic scene where N. sobbed about something to me on the beach. Once again, there was this connection I can't quite describe. However throughout this story, I was about 10 and my fictional brother around 8. At the end, me and my bro were swimming in the ocean and there was a gate instead where you would find buoys to say "This is as far as you should go". Beyond the gate, though, we see red flags (our ultimate destination) and the ocean engulfs us and sends us over the gate.
N. searches for us from the beach. Abandoned.
This just proves one point: no matter how much we try to describe our dreams to people, they never make as much sense to us as they do when we're dreaming them.
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| Dream Weaver |
| 11.20.04 (6:22 am) [edit] |
She appeared in my dream last night--the Magic One from first year at college.
It was night time in NEPA and somewhere between confusion and chaos, we were together. I ran my fingers through her hair and she had pieces of leaves tangled there. Then she continued to comb her fingers through my hair, and it was the moment I realized I'd missed her so much.
When I woke up I had the sense of crackling nailpolish--she has a boyfriend.
and tonight i have a date with jeff.
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| Mary... |
| 11.13.04 (4:36 am) [edit] |
...did you know?
It's official--they have managed to finally start the Christmas season before November 15th. Turn on your radio. I remember back in the day when the festivities began with Santa at the end of the Thanksgiving Day parade. Whatever happened to that? They have to pay him over-time now!
Soon, instead of just getting candy at Halloween, people will be like,
"Here you go honey. Have a Hershey Bar and some jingle bells."
I guess 12 days of Christmas isn't enough for some people.
PS. I'm secretly loving it. :)
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| Elements |
| 11.09.04 (3:37 pm) [edit] |
Since my date on Sunday night, I've been extremely conscious of the elements. E. told me stories from when he raced in Alaska on his mountain bike. 10 days in an extreme solitary journey versus the elements and the self. He painted me pictures of sunsets unimaginable and temperatures barely livable.
So when I ran tonight and thought I sensed the crisp smell of winter in the air, I brushed it off. And when I couldn't see the stars because of the city lights, I thought--
how unfortunate and cold.
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| Clarity |
| 11.06.04 (6:04 am) [edit] |
Imagine me and you, tea time at 12. Here were the highlights.
Faith:
I can't even pray clearly these days. And you'd think if you were trying to get your point across to God, you'd make the best sense ever. Instead, at night when the silence hits, and I aim for that enlightening connection--I fall asleep. Maybe She's trying to tell me something, like "Bless your heart, honey, you need me, but right now you need sleep more."
Touch:
An article I read once said that everyone should be touched at least twice a day and hugged at least once.
Living alone now doesn't offer me that privelage. So when I went to the doctors the other day (and normally I HATE the doctors), her warm touch was like Zen Mom, and it secretly filled that void I've felt for a long time now.
Autumn:
Since the leaves have cascaded to their death, I swoosh through them everyday while walking through the city. It makes me long for the days when we'd rake up the crispy leaves into piles and jump in them. I wish I can roll on a leaf-filled lawn now and get leaves stuck in my hair.
Connections:
Magically somehow, I met a guy who's taking me out tomorrow night--for chai and a walk in the park to enjoy autumn while it lasts. Can you imagine? Me. A guy. A guy who spoke to my heart as soon as he said chai and park and "I love fall" and "Let's go out and play."
Who knows, we may see fireworks.
If anything, I'll have another story for tea time.
Holidays:
'Tis the season to be jolly. Maybe it's my urge to start Christmas shopping, or all of these new movies coming out like The Polar Express. I'm craving holiday music and shiny wrapping paper and bows and a pine scented tree. Drop the cynicism and stress, and "I don't know what to buy people anymore". Think happy thoughts of a big guy in a velvet red suit with little pointy-eared folk--make something, give joy, box your love...sing.
Over the river and through the woods...
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| Ghouls, Gals, and Goodies |
| 10.31.04 (5:40 am) [edit] |
So after slightly leaning on staying home last night, watching "Return to Oz" and carving my pumpkin, I decided to go to my friend's party in the 'burbs afterall. I threw together a costume that crossed between Pippi Longstocking and Punky Brewster. One of these years I'm going to get Halloween right and slut it up like every other girl on the planet--that's what Costume parties were made for, right? For those of you who have seen the movie "Mean Girls" know exactly what I mean.
Young adults at Halloween parties make up the funniest scenarios. What other time of year can you say something like "Did you see that guy dressed as a Pink Lady? Isn't he hot in that skirt?" Or when you're trying to talk about someone without them knowing..."yeah, did you see Ghost Buster Girl? Totally hitting on my boyfriend. No not Elivis, the buff Hooters Girl over there."
Call this a digression to high school, whatever you want, but i think it's hilarious...
...and i got me-self a 'smore bar. :-p
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| cheers! |
| 10.29.04 (5:56 pm) [edit] |
happy halloween.
be safe. be cheery. be someone you're not normally.
love and lots of daffodils.
me.
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| Starting Over |
| 10.29.04 (5:51 pm) [edit] |
I've become addicted to the show Starting Over, where a housefull of women work towards their goals and "issues" with the support of life coaches and housemates. By seeing other people discover major insight on a daily basis, it's helped me keep a positive attitude this week about a lot of things. I tend to be a hoarder and then purger of emotions, I admit that (I may never LOOK stressed or upset, but it all collects inside until I turn into an overflowing hot cup of coffee).
What I love the most about the show, though, is how they learn to re-build their relationships with people, or learn where the connection went wrong (not necessarily placing the blame, just identifying). In my art and often in my writing that has been a continuous theme--connections with people (and the stories behind them). If we could just identify all of the crud we keep pent up, letting it all out: anger, sadness, happiness, disgust, fear...
Sometimes I think if I can just go somewhere to scream where noone can hear me I'd feel so much lighter. Like, "Forces of Nature" with Sandra Bullock and Ben Affleck. You know the scene? They stand on top of the stalled train on a bridge overlooking a lake, and she just bellows like Tarzan. Of course Ben's character is like 'what the-f- are doing?' But eventually he let's go.
I think we all need a little letting go.
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| On the Verge Part 2 |
| 10.23.04 (1:23 pm) [edit] |
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It's a perfect day for walking with Stephanie Dosen in my ears, scarf around my neck, warm toasted marshmallow hot chocolate in my hands, and sun on my face. Just by myself. Little nuggets of prime time to listen, to see, to smell, to reinvent.
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| too much and not enough |
| 10.16.04 (4:28 pm) [edit] |
sometimes there is just too much to write about i don't know where to start. i don't want to give you my best candy because it's such an unfair trade, you know? if i give you my big box of junior mints from the mansion on the hill, you can't give me anything as good in return. or if you can...you don't. now when i say "you" i mean, like, everyone out there. now if i was seven and you were my older brother, i'd probably kick your a$$ into next Thursday unless you traded me for something good.
the worst is when you try to trade smarties or tootsie rolls--that's like playing pennies in poker(not like i know what poker's all about, but a good analogy nonetheless).
So i'll settle for something inbetween. here's a pack of twizzlers:
i've stooped to online dating.
*eeep!*
now give me a damn Reeses and we'll call it even.
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| matter |
| 10.13.04 (7:06 pm) [edit] |
Matter
When she looked into her eyes
she could tell what really mattered.
Underneith the idle chatter,
the "don't be ashamed" and the "But you're the one to blame"
This ain't no name game
of trying to be the same.
It's the matter of the hour,
the tiny tip of the tower
that speaks to a bohemian life
where wife meets wife.
It's a complex situation where
Martha meets vixen
and both are fixin' to make the most of matter.
This ain't no game of
trying to "be"
again.
This complex situation is just awaitin'
for the arrival of their tea
and a little bit of
harmony.
Then they will both be of equal matter
and swallow their chatter until
empty cups lead to bump de bump bumps.
And once again Martha meets vixen
in a
complex situation
where the tip of the tower is
"Honey, what's the matter?"
She turns away in the
amber glow of day
with thoughts of
"Husband, wife" and
"No, that's not my life!"
In a situation where love is no longer
chatter,
the truth of the matter
beats
going
home.
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| before i die |
| 10.10.04 (10:46 am) [edit] |
today is a no caps day...
things to experience before i die:
*a snowy beach in winter*
*the day of the dead in mexico*
*the west coast*
*italy (not in summer!)*
*someone reading my book in a bookstore*
*a family reunion*
*birth--or giving another life a home*
*the cafe JK Rowling began Harry Potter in*
*New England in fall*
*talking in italian over coffee in an authentic italian cafe*
*being in love (and maybe not necessarily with a partner**see "birth"**)*
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| Double dutch |
| 10.05.04 (5:48 pm) [edit] |
Did you ever have one of those days where you feel like you're jumping double dutch?
Back in middle school it was the thing for girls to do--jump rope--to be accepted, to have fun, to prove yourself.
The girls twirling the ropes usually had evil grins, fast hands, and mad reputations. They knew you were their prey. You either jumped to the challenge or tripped and sat on the curb, waiting to try to prove yourself again.
There was the other group of girls who just jumped one rope and varied the speed and type of way they swung it. In the end though, they would always try to play their "nice" version of double dutch.
I never got the jist of it. Nice, or not-nice version.
I was never very good at double dutch.
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| Horizons |
| 10.03.04 (1:47 pm) [edit] |
In time she didn't see the skyline like a praire view.
It didn't offer waves of grain.
From her 10th floor loft, nothing but obstructed connect the dots: bridges. dash-dash. condo. dash. billboard. freeway.
Free. Way.
She remembered a time when purple met blue
in a never ending view
of free-dom.
A kingdom of peace
with every escape from noise and village voice.
With every escape from doom and
vrrooom, vvrrrooom.
What ever happened to ever waves of grain?
Of the sane?
Of the never being blamed
for pollution and no solutions.
Passive agressive, pc, easy, lazy,
To be OCD-zy in a world of clutter.
She shifts and shuffles among her loft rubble,
discovering tranquility now in "Timeless escape".
A breathe easy view at time and all its nuances.
Disturbances of tick-tick and "What time is it?"
She knew it, blew it,
Threw it
Out the window
Until the pages escaped into white dove's
flight.
Across the horizon,
where time flew and she knew
that sky never really meets
ground.
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| Thinking...orange. |
| 10.01.04 (6:55 pm) [edit] |
I would make some exclamation here about how I can't believe it's October already if I weren't so preoccupied with the thought that it's a Friday night and I'm not out. In some ways I think it's worse than when you have uneventful weekends in high school.
Without trying to sound redundant, we all make social choices...and tonight I choose to stay in...plus there's a rapist on the loose in the city, which majorly freaks me out, but even so...
there's so much I want to say here and yet I can't find the words right now. They're like a half baked cake.
Hmm, maybe I'll make cookies tonight...
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| autumn not in NY |
| 09.30.04 (6:35 pm) [edit] |
In honor of autumn, I've changed my blog colors. Hope you like, k.!
I've been in a better mood lately and I think it has to do with walking more in the cool weather. This morning I actually had time to get a chai. It's the small things like the barista's smile in the morning that sets the day off right.
I want to be all philosophical right now and talk deep surrounded by coffee house aromas, but I guess a good walk with Frou Frou will have to do--and Will & Grace when I get home.
Maybe when I get back, I'll have a story for you. In the meantime, be well and smack your lips for the love of life.
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| On the verge |
| 09.21.04 (4:09 pm) [edit] |
I saw an interview yesterday morning. Diane Swoyer with Bette Midler, the Divine Miss M. herself. Diane said to her, "You said once that something about you is always on the verge of tears." Bette said, "I think anyone who's experienced loss and tragedy is like that." It's part of humanity. One of the qualities she admires most in her college daughter, Sophie, is her optomism of the world. The hard part is how to maintain that hope in the world, in people--to try and keep seeing the good.
My strong center has been hit by an earthquake. My windows shattered, iron beams mangled like twisted pipecleaners, broken foreign objects ejected by the unseen force. At times like these it's a challenge to see the beauty of a salmon streaked sunset when all you can concentrate on is your broken shoelace among the rubble.
I want autumn in the country. Wearing sweaters and watching the scenery zoom by with the windows down.
I want to connect--and not with any screen offering me a person on the other side.
I want coffee chats, tea by a river or in a car...and not alone.
For once I want to not feel excluded as a new comer, a distant friend, a niece, daughter, cousin, sister who lives in Philly or the States.
I want to share life and smiles and hugs and sympathy for all its worth.
I want to hear the birds again and church bells in the valley instead of city sounds assaulting my ears.
Take me away from here.
On the verge...
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| Love all around |
| 09.17.04 (4:41 pm) [edit] |
Just as a disclaimer (is that even the right word?):
I didn't mean for it to sound like my new work peeps are soooo unlike my other friends. I've just never worked a job where I'm in the same environment with people around my own age. So just know that i love all of you just as you are, just that i don't see you, like, everyday like i do them. It really makes working tons better.
What a horrible english/grammar week. I talk like I'm twelve. If only I were Judy Blume.
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| Looking up |
| 09.17.04 (1:15 pm) [edit] |
It looks like the sky is going to pee at any moment. Recently I've been questioning why I'm keeping this blog. If it's for me, or more so, if it's to let other people in on what I'm thinking about, what's going on. I guess it's a mixture. I don't want it to turn into one of those "This is What I DID today" journals because my new job is like I sold my soul to Disney, so if I told you anything of my day I'd probably have to send the Italian mafia after you. I wouldn't be surprised if they owned every word I'm writing here, every idea I present, every--single--letter.
Corporations these days. Thank goodness for my awesome office buddies. finally peeps who speak my lingo, laugh, and still take their job seriously. hell, if I'm going to be a work-a-holic 7 days a week damn straight I better be in good company.
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| Extrovert |
| 09.14.04 (11:56 am) [edit] |
I feel like I've been through hell and back. My laptop got infected again with a gazillion viruses and bugs, making my internet ridiculously non-existant. I experienced numerous frustrating days of seeming to jam squares into circles and tried to convince myself just because I didn't hear back from my job interviews doesn't mean I SUCK. In the meantime, I met a lot of great people while working the box office of a Fringe show in the city here. Like in high school when we did shows, it's like you never want it to end--everyone has so much energy and good times--but inevitably, people move on. I arrived to my internship on Monday and just as I was about to go out for my "good-bye" lunch, Ellen grabbed me to talk--to say they'd love to have me, if I accept. I ACCEPT! I ACCEPT! yay...no longer jobless. That same day, I got my computer cleaned up and my internet finally running flawlessly.
I've met so many wonderfully talented and energetic people within the past few days: a singer who performed in Baz Luhrman's La Boheme (sp?), the musician who created the music for "Pete & Pete" (any of you twenty-something's remember that show from Nickelodeon?), so many wonderful artists and musicians, singers, three business women who despite their motherly appearances and sagging chins, have more connections in the entertainment business industry than an LA phone book and can drive a deal with their tongue in cheak better than Oprah.
I still have so much to learn. Oh yeah, and that lunch? We made it into a celebratory one. Chinese food. My fortune?
"Depart not from the path which fate has you assigned."
No. I'm not joking.
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| the art of living your life |
| 09.04.04 (10:19 am) [edit] |
"what happens after age nine?
because of fear we don't trust our life,
our story, or our magic...
...keep out of your own way."
-neruda
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| Messy, thrilling life |
| 09.04.04 (6:45 am) [edit] |
It's been too long, I know. I want to be poetic and happy, but right now I can use some tea time, a good bawl over chai.
I moved into my new studio apt. last week and can safely say now that I'm officially settled. Adjusted? no. No one is around anymore. Everyone is so far away. My inner voice is driving me crazy with doubt about everything from recent job interviews to friendships to the lack of my own artwork/writing. I've watched the whole 1st season of Six Feet Under and too much tv just to hear other people's voices and not have to listen to my own. oh gosh, this is sounding really pathetic isn't it.
...time to change...
so after reading Sabrina Ward Harrison's new book "Messy, Thrilling Life" I've realized so many things.
Like her, I get very anxious when I don't feel my life going anywhere. It takes motivation and bravery to leap rocks in rivers, even if they're little streams. If I never take first steps, I'll never know what's on the other side. And when I reach a point where the distance between rocks is too long--I can always build a bridge and get over myself.
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| I'm back |
| 08.22.04 (5:23 pm) [edit] |
It's been a while, I know. I'm not going to explain where I've been or what I've been feeling because nothing is ever the same as when I first experienced it. This is all sounding very vague and criptic--i'm sorry.
Sylvia Plath put it the best way:
"Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go to write it down, and either you overdramatize it or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want to."
So i'm sorry for the loss of words and everything else that goes along with them. Until next time...
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