Why do boys make me stupid? Or feel stupid? Or feel like I act stupid? Or something. Dog wanted to go out. I figured I should stop by Neighbor Guy's place to make sure he's still alive and see how school's been going. His lights were all on and his dog was there but he didn't answer the door, so I started to give up and leave when I hear his voice behind me. He's walking with Possible Boy, who as of this morning hadn't seen him in a week, either. And I'm in sweats. First thing Possible Boy says is "Your hair looks really cute like that."
My dumbass reply: "I think I had it like this this morning."
UGH. Punch self in face.
And he really wants to be friends with my dog. My dog. He's so patient. He doesn't get annoyed, and it's not even the humoring me because he wants in my pants or sufficiently cares about me for other reasons. He actually wants my dog, who barks at him without pause and tried to bite his elbow as he crouched down to appear less threatening, to like him.
Right now, he's at the bar. I know this because he said that's where he was going. They've got live Irish music tonight.
Thing that would've been good to say: "Maybe I'll go drop the dog at home and join you in a little while."
Thing I said instead: "I'm going home to read more of my book."
Hide behind the pages of Love in the Time of Cholera. Live vicareously through Fermina Daza instead of creating my own story.
Sometimes it's fun to be ridiculous.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Children's Stories
Talking to my mom on Friday about my "picking" business stuff felt a little like defending a thesis. At least I know it's not just me. Both of my parents put people on the defensive a lot, like you have to justify your life because they know better unless you can prove otherwise. I fear I do that to people, too. My mom had my cousin feeling like a charity case a few weeks back when we all went out to lunch.
I see more and more the disparity in general outlook between my parents, who have more money than anybody needs but will argue over a $5 mistake in their bills for hours on end, and much of the rest of humanity, who would never even notice a $20 service charge on their credit card bills. It's largely how my parents got to the point they are, but now that they're there, it seems completely distasteful when they argue to keep their every dollar because my mom "should" get her bangs fixed for free if she didn't like the way they were cut after a week.
What's the line from Streetcar Named Desire about "you just begged me to rip you down from those marble pillars" or something? Now I have to look it up...
Found it:
You showed me a snapshot of the place with them columns, and I pulled you down off them columns, and you loved it, having them colored lights goin'. And wasn't we happy together?
Sometimes my brain spits out elaborate stories for other people's lives based in very little. Overhearing a woman's monologue to what appeared to be a very young couple on the bus last week, I filled in her role as step-mom and their relationships and backgrounds and general life stories. Sometimes a bit in the news will have me convinced of a secondary back-story. Then one of my friends gave me a juicy morsel of gossip about himself without any further information, so when a seemingly random photo popped up in my Facebook feed I came up with an entire plot involving their grandchildren. Until three minutes later when I realized I had the timeframe messed up and the picture and the gossip didn't coincide, but I was still amused and convinced he should hunt her down and name grandkids. The next time we spoke I had to tell him, and it turns out, I was right. Well, not about making babies or anything, but all my stories in my head were kind of the ideas he had in his head and I am clearly the smartest person in the whole entire universe and I get at least their second born child as a prize. It's such a cute hypothetical story, too, since he had a crush on her sister but they were really just friends and then she's way more his usual "type" so it's perfect (this is why I came up with the story in the first place).
Soundtrack in my head right now: Fleetwood Mack's Landslide, as sung by the PS22 Chorus
I see more and more the disparity in general outlook between my parents, who have more money than anybody needs but will argue over a $5 mistake in their bills for hours on end, and much of the rest of humanity, who would never even notice a $20 service charge on their credit card bills. It's largely how my parents got to the point they are, but now that they're there, it seems completely distasteful when they argue to keep their every dollar because my mom "should" get her bangs fixed for free if she didn't like the way they were cut after a week.
What's the line from Streetcar Named Desire about "you just begged me to rip you down from those marble pillars" or something? Now I have to look it up...
Found it:
You showed me a snapshot of the place with them columns, and I pulled you down off them columns, and you loved it, having them colored lights goin'. And wasn't we happy together?
Sometimes my brain spits out elaborate stories for other people's lives based in very little. Overhearing a woman's monologue to what appeared to be a very young couple on the bus last week, I filled in her role as step-mom and their relationships and backgrounds and general life stories. Sometimes a bit in the news will have me convinced of a secondary back-story. Then one of my friends gave me a juicy morsel of gossip about himself without any further information, so when a seemingly random photo popped up in my Facebook feed I came up with an entire plot involving their grandchildren. Until three minutes later when I realized I had the timeframe messed up and the picture and the gossip didn't coincide, but I was still amused and convinced he should hunt her down and name grandkids. The next time we spoke I had to tell him, and it turns out, I was right. Well, not about making babies or anything, but all my stories in my head were kind of the ideas he had in his head and I am clearly the smartest person in the whole entire universe and I get at least their second born child as a prize. It's such a cute hypothetical story, too, since he had a crush on her sister but they were really just friends and then she's way more his usual "type" so it's perfect (this is why I came up with the story in the first place).
Soundtrack in my head right now: Fleetwood Mack's Landslide, as sung by the PS22 Chorus
swoon
Last night after blogging I crawled into bed and read and texted Possible Boy about the fact that I just wanted to stay in and read under the covers and then I fell asleep really early.
This morning my dog was desperate to go out at 7:30 and I was taking pictures of estate sale finds by 8:30 and at my computer when Possible Boy texted me to see if I wanted to join him at the coffee shop across the street before 9. This is the first time he has contacted me unprovoked and asked me to do something. We had a lovely morning talking, walking around, enjoying the perfect weather. Lovely lovely lovely. He has to help his friend move now and I have to eat something and read more and swoon a lot. And it's not even noon. WTF.
This morning my dog was desperate to go out at 7:30 and I was taking pictures of estate sale finds by 8:30 and at my computer when Possible Boy texted me to see if I wanted to join him at the coffee shop across the street before 9. This is the first time he has contacted me unprovoked and asked me to do something. We had a lovely morning talking, walking around, enjoying the perfect weather. Lovely lovely lovely. He has to help his friend move now and I have to eat something and read more and swoon a lot. And it's not even noon. WTF.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
glurp
I want to stay hidden inside and read and sleep today. Yesterday I went to four estate sales and spent a lot of time with my mom and had dinner at my parents' house with both of my parents and it was all very nice as visits go. But I'm farty and reading Love in the Time of Cholera and even though I came up with cute outfit despite the cooling temperatures, I want to chew on cold steak and read in bed and do things to make myself seem more wretched than I am. I haven't talked to Possible Boy since our extended text chat on Wednesday and haven't seen or heard from Neighbor Guy since last Saturday. Somehow, hiding in a warm cave of book seems the best solution. Way better than attempting to contact another human being. My dog doesn't even want to go out. He hides when I get his leash or open the door or do any of the things that normally get him running toward the door when he wants to go out.
Soundtrack in my head right now: The Freshman by The Verve Pipe
Soundtrack in my head right now: The Freshman by The Verve Pipe
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Raggedy Annabell
I ran myself ragged yesterday.
Biofeedback was much more successful. We played with my posture and the muscle under my back right pointy wing bone is much tenser than its left side counterpart. Finally got my jaw and temples relaxed, too.
Then I drove to a contemporary art gallery in the west loop to find out if my Miró lithograph was real or not. The gallery had a note on the door saying it was closed for the rest of August, but I called the phone number listed "in case you need to get a hold of anyone" and it turned out the owner was there and happy to help. He taught me all sorts of wonderful things about looking for dots in the printing and other useful tips as we ripped off the back of the frame and discovered my print is quite definitely out of a book. Considering I paid $10 for it, you can't get something framed that nicely for$10. Still, it would have been nice to have found a gazillion dollar treasure. I could use a jackpot. Get rich quick. The education is infinitely valuable. Next estate sale I'm buying myself a magnifying glass and a small flashlight.
I wasn't far from Jan's Antiques and I'm still missing a bobeche to complete my chandelier, so I figured I'd stop by and look again. I'm starting to give up on finding a single one to match and now looking for five of about the right size and style. I hadn't eaten all day so I got a salad from the coffee shop next door, then made my way to Jan's. Closed. Poop. Hungry and feeling my head, I wandered back towards my car to eat my salad when suddenly my steps felt funny. I looked down at my feet to see I'd just walked through fresh cement. Three sunken footprints nearly ruining a day's work. The street worker was very nice about it and managed to smooth things out again while I stood there apologizing over and over. There's a lot of galleries in that neighborhood, but all I could think was that the man fixing the cement was the real artist as my feet disappeared.
There's a Salvation Army I'd never been to on Union right in that area, too. So I went. Turns out it has an entire "antique boutique" and much of it is laid out more like an antiques/salvage shop than the standard Salvation Army digging free-for-all. Good if you're looking to buy a specific piece for less. Bad if you're a treasure hunter hoping to find something worth a gazillion dollars mixed in with rest of the junk.
There was another antiques auction last night, but I decided I haven't sold enough stuff to go buy any more. No more buying until I've unloaded some of these pieces. So I drove to Jazzy Junque, which sells lots of cookie jars and such and my mom once actually bought a bunch of salt and pepper shakers much like the ones currently sitting in my car. Jazzy Junque had a "We're moving!" sign in the window with their new address on Lincoln. Fine. I drove to Lincoln. Clearly, they haven't moved in yet.
At this point I was exhausted and a few blocks from Trader Joe's. Time to spend all the money I hadn't made on food I can eat and enjoy. $50 later, my house is now full of delicious things that follow my annoying dietary restrictions. Two vats of rice milk so I can have cereal all the time without worrying about how friggin' expensive rice milk is at Dominicks. Dried fruit so I will have fruit even after the fresh stuff is gone because it never lasts that long in my house. Mango in frozen, dried, and fresh form. Avocados for my Mexicanish food because only at Trader Joes can I get avocados for less than a dollar each. Dynamo juice, whatever the hell is in that, because it is tasty and has lots of calcium now that I can't have milk. More yummy chicken sausage things because they are very easy to make and are delicious and I'm craving protein a lot.
I dealt with more of the bills that have been evil black clouds over my soul. They're in the mailbox. All that's left:
I had a brilliant idea last night involving knitting, coffee shops, and coffee sleeves. I want to just come up with ideas and help start them but then have other people be the ones to really run the day-to-day stuff and I can go on to my next idea.
My therapist wants me to come in today at 2:30 instead of 3:30. There's no real reason I can't, but I don't want to. I want to fuck around my house as long as possible. It's gloomy outside and I'm fussy.
Last night I fell asleep before 7 and woke up around 9 with a bad migraine. I'd say around a 7 in pain. I'd really wanted to go out and be social, but there was no way I could be around noise. Instead I had a whole long text message chat with Possible Boy, who was at home dog sitting Other Girl's Jack Russel/chihuahua. It was really nice. I'm much better at texting than talking with Possible Boy. It gives me time to edit. I still want to write letters or notes on paper. You can't give a box of text messages to your grandchildren. There's nothing permanent. I like ephemera, dammit.
Cereal sounds good. Dog should go out. I should make at least one of the easy phone calls before heading to therapy. Blerg.
Biofeedback was much more successful. We played with my posture and the muscle under my back right pointy wing bone is much tenser than its left side counterpart. Finally got my jaw and temples relaxed, too.
Then I drove to a contemporary art gallery in the west loop to find out if my Miró lithograph was real or not. The gallery had a note on the door saying it was closed for the rest of August, but I called the phone number listed "in case you need to get a hold of anyone" and it turned out the owner was there and happy to help. He taught me all sorts of wonderful things about looking for dots in the printing and other useful tips as we ripped off the back of the frame and discovered my print is quite definitely out of a book. Considering I paid $10 for it, you can't get something framed that nicely for$10. Still, it would have been nice to have found a gazillion dollar treasure. I could use a jackpot. Get rich quick. The education is infinitely valuable. Next estate sale I'm buying myself a magnifying glass and a small flashlight.
I wasn't far from Jan's Antiques and I'm still missing a bobeche to complete my chandelier, so I figured I'd stop by and look again. I'm starting to give up on finding a single one to match and now looking for five of about the right size and style. I hadn't eaten all day so I got a salad from the coffee shop next door, then made my way to Jan's. Closed. Poop. Hungry and feeling my head, I wandered back towards my car to eat my salad when suddenly my steps felt funny. I looked down at my feet to see I'd just walked through fresh cement. Three sunken footprints nearly ruining a day's work. The street worker was very nice about it and managed to smooth things out again while I stood there apologizing over and over. There's a lot of galleries in that neighborhood, but all I could think was that the man fixing the cement was the real artist as my feet disappeared.
There's a Salvation Army I'd never been to on Union right in that area, too. So I went. Turns out it has an entire "antique boutique" and much of it is laid out more like an antiques/salvage shop than the standard Salvation Army digging free-for-all. Good if you're looking to buy a specific piece for less. Bad if you're a treasure hunter hoping to find something worth a gazillion dollars mixed in with rest of the junk.
There was another antiques auction last night, but I decided I haven't sold enough stuff to go buy any more. No more buying until I've unloaded some of these pieces. So I drove to Jazzy Junque, which sells lots of cookie jars and such and my mom once actually bought a bunch of salt and pepper shakers much like the ones currently sitting in my car. Jazzy Junque had a "We're moving!" sign in the window with their new address on Lincoln. Fine. I drove to Lincoln. Clearly, they haven't moved in yet.
At this point I was exhausted and a few blocks from Trader Joe's. Time to spend all the money I hadn't made on food I can eat and enjoy. $50 later, my house is now full of delicious things that follow my annoying dietary restrictions. Two vats of rice milk so I can have cereal all the time without worrying about how friggin' expensive rice milk is at Dominicks. Dried fruit so I will have fruit even after the fresh stuff is gone because it never lasts that long in my house. Mango in frozen, dried, and fresh form. Avocados for my Mexicanish food because only at Trader Joes can I get avocados for less than a dollar each. Dynamo juice, whatever the hell is in that, because it is tasty and has lots of calcium now that I can't have milk. More yummy chicken sausage things because they are very easy to make and are delicious and I'm craving protein a lot.
I dealt with more of the bills that have been evil black clouds over my soul. They're in the mailbox. All that's left:
- a call to my neurologist's hospital to figure out how much I actually owe because they bill my parents and me for the same things and then send me refunds for payments made on some things while saying I owe money on others and are the most confusing billing people ever
- yelling at RCN for charging me a $75 early contract termination fee when I never terminated my contract (glad I caught it...I'm on automatic billing for them...WTF?)
- finishing the census survey I'm required to fill out BY LAW
- straightening crap out with People's Gas. Again.
I had a brilliant idea last night involving knitting, coffee shops, and coffee sleeves. I want to just come up with ideas and help start them but then have other people be the ones to really run the day-to-day stuff and I can go on to my next idea.
My therapist wants me to come in today at 2:30 instead of 3:30. There's no real reason I can't, but I don't want to. I want to fuck around my house as long as possible. It's gloomy outside and I'm fussy.
Last night I fell asleep before 7 and woke up around 9 with a bad migraine. I'd say around a 7 in pain. I'd really wanted to go out and be social, but there was no way I could be around noise. Instead I had a whole long text message chat with Possible Boy, who was at home dog sitting Other Girl's Jack Russel/chihuahua. It was really nice. I'm much better at texting than talking with Possible Boy. It gives me time to edit. I still want to write letters or notes on paper. You can't give a box of text messages to your grandchildren. There's nothing permanent. I like ephemera, dammit.
Cereal sounds good. Dog should go out. I should make at least one of the easy phone calls before heading to therapy. Blerg.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Night Babble
My head's been so much better lately that four sleepy headache days in a row seem bad. They're not even that terrible. These used to be considered my good days. I'm getting spoiled.
Walking dog at 12:30 AM on a Monday night/Tuesday morning, a police car turns the wrong way down my one-way street to park in front of the drug house. I wonder if it's official or unofficial business. A man dressed the way the preppy kids dressed in junior high (Adidas athletic pants, Abercrombiesque perfectly worn baseball hat) jogged down the street and I thought he looked a little off to be going for a run but you never know. Then he ran up to the police car and I thought, "In my neighborhood, black men run toward the police."
Birdie's going to be near Rockford in just over a week. I want to see her and want to make seeing her work.
I have every right to be annoyed by Neighbor Guy. I might do better in the future if I allow myself such annoyances as they come instead of thinking it's all in my head until they build and I want to strangle the person.
I like mangoes a lot.
I'm craving meat, but it seems a bit crazy to cook at 1 AM. Is there some wonderfully instant way to make bedtime ground beef munchies? All I wanted earlier was fruit, so I suppose my body is due for an actual meal...
Walking dog at 12:30 AM on a Monday night/Tuesday morning, a police car turns the wrong way down my one-way street to park in front of the drug house. I wonder if it's official or unofficial business. A man dressed the way the preppy kids dressed in junior high (Adidas athletic pants, Abercrombiesque perfectly worn baseball hat) jogged down the street and I thought he looked a little off to be going for a run but you never know. Then he ran up to the police car and I thought, "In my neighborhood, black men run toward the police."
Birdie's going to be near Rockford in just over a week. I want to see her and want to make seeing her work.
I have every right to be annoyed by Neighbor Guy. I might do better in the future if I allow myself such annoyances as they come instead of thinking it's all in my head until they build and I want to strangle the person.
I like mangoes a lot.
I'm craving meat, but it seems a bit crazy to cook at 1 AM. Is there some wonderfully instant way to make bedtime ground beef munchies? All I wanted earlier was fruit, so I suppose my body is due for an actual meal...
Monday, August 24, 2009
Noise
They've been resurfacing the street outside my window for over a week now. It makes my dog whiny and crazy. I'm having trouble staying awake again. It's that heavy need-to-sleep-now feeling I get sometimes and today is day four. The pain stopped being a problem after a day or so, but I'm just so sleepy. Hormonal, perhaps? No clue with this crazy progesterone added to my system.
I'm working my way through my pile of "ohmigawd I don't want to deal with this" bills and stuff today. No more letting it freak me out. I sorted it and put it in piles and it's not nearly as horrible as I thought. I even have two things ready to mail already, and a lot will be put to rest with one big phone call to my health insurance, assuming they can explain the many confusing and inconsistent things. If I get through to everybody I need to today, I will be free of this sort or worry by tomorrow. That would be swell. Maybe my eyes will magically change color.
I'm working my way through my pile of "ohmigawd I don't want to deal with this" bills and stuff today. No more letting it freak me out. I sorted it and put it in piles and it's not nearly as horrible as I thought. I even have two things ready to mail already, and a lot will be put to rest with one big phone call to my health insurance, assuming they can explain the many confusing and inconsistent things. If I get through to everybody I need to today, I will be free of this sort or worry by tomorrow. That would be swell. Maybe my eyes will magically change color.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Picky Picky
I can see things from lots of different points of view, and my surest belief is that anything entirely possible because we just don't know. Some things may be extremely unlikely, like a chance of one in infinity, but if the world/universe/existence is infinite, then somewhere sometime those things will happen.
When people are new to me, I'm so excited to see the world through a new set of eyes with a new set of stories. It's a puzzle to figure out. Then I start expecting things of the person, and if that person isn't what I want them to be, I get upset with myself for having the expectations, for not putting my own needs out in a clear and understandable manner, and for over-analyzing the situation. I get wrapped up in things and forget the essential piece: I'm human, the other person is human, we are what we are and it's not a contest to see who can suffer the most on another person's behalf. Being happy isn't a crime.
This is why I tend to have just a few close friends.
At biofeedback what I thought was "letting go" and not thinking about it turned out to be extremely tense. That's how I am in social situations, too. When there's a lot of people or if I just let my mouth run, I say stupid shit and do stupid shit because my "natural" or, more accurately, default state is on my guard and terrified. Spending time today with Possible Boy, who seems more and more to be just Friend Boy, I was so awkward. I couldn't relax or stop spewing aphorisms and I seemed so guarded and controlled. And he's so quiet, which is a lot of why I get in freak-out mode, because I don't know what he's thinking or feeling and there's so much being kept inside and I'm trying to keep things inside because I'm trying to be viewed as a girl, but I want to say something magic to make everything smooth and easy and instead all the wrong things fall out of my face.
Ooh, maybe I'll write him a "note." He's working at a school now, and I don't think he ever got notes passed to him back in the day. I'm better on paper. I like paper. And he wants to borrow A Confederacy of Dunces, which I hated but most people love. Maybe I can write him a "note" and fold it up all note-like and stick it in the book. Hmm...or would that freak him out? Don't want to freak him out...
Fuck this. I'm going to bed.
When people are new to me, I'm so excited to see the world through a new set of eyes with a new set of stories. It's a puzzle to figure out. Then I start expecting things of the person, and if that person isn't what I want them to be, I get upset with myself for having the expectations, for not putting my own needs out in a clear and understandable manner, and for over-analyzing the situation. I get wrapped up in things and forget the essential piece: I'm human, the other person is human, we are what we are and it's not a contest to see who can suffer the most on another person's behalf. Being happy isn't a crime.
This is why I tend to have just a few close friends.
At biofeedback what I thought was "letting go" and not thinking about it turned out to be extremely tense. That's how I am in social situations, too. When there's a lot of people or if I just let my mouth run, I say stupid shit and do stupid shit because my "natural" or, more accurately, default state is on my guard and terrified. Spending time today with Possible Boy, who seems more and more to be just Friend Boy, I was so awkward. I couldn't relax or stop spewing aphorisms and I seemed so guarded and controlled. And he's so quiet, which is a lot of why I get in freak-out mode, because I don't know what he's thinking or feeling and there's so much being kept inside and I'm trying to keep things inside because I'm trying to be viewed as a girl, but I want to say something magic to make everything smooth and easy and instead all the wrong things fall out of my face.
Ooh, maybe I'll write him a "note." He's working at a school now, and I don't think he ever got notes passed to him back in the day. I'm better on paper. I like paper. And he wants to borrow A Confederacy of Dunces, which I hated but most people love. Maybe I can write him a "note" and fold it up all note-like and stick it in the book. Hmm...or would that freak him out? Don't want to freak him out...
Fuck this. I'm going to bed.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Space Invaders
I try to be too many different things to different people. Shiny Happy Annabell is still new to me. When I am tired and hungry, I am easily overwhelmed. Yesterday was full of wonderful things, like the Asian grocery store and playing the violin for the first time in forever. Yesterday also seems to have required all of today to decompress, and I'm still having trouble. Neighbor Guy is exhausting. He survived genocide, child abuse and foster care by the time he was 10, but his greatest personal tragedy was when his husband left him six years ago. He's fun and bright and full of energy and makes me do things outside of my comfort zone. He also does something I do and now I see how it can be not so good; he gets ideas for elaborate projects or adventures and then drags you through them bleary-eyed just as much and as far as he feels like going no matter how you feel about it. Pro: experiencing the adventure. Con: as the dragee, your feelings get ignored. I understand that he wants to share things he loves with people he cares about, but it would be good to check in with the passengers and make sure they're still alive.
Sorry to everyone I've ever dragged, ignored or invaded.
Bioré strips are awesome.
Sorry to everyone I've ever dragged, ignored or invaded.
Bioré strips are awesome.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
The Artist Formerly Unknown As...
I'm antsy. Possible Boy wasn't out tonight, Neighbor Guy's lights were all out at 10:15, I went to the bar to see if anybody knew anything about art. Neighbor Guy's friend who seems gay but isn't popped his head in and asked if Neighbor Guy was around. I said "No and his lights are out. Any chance you have an art history background?"
"I've been an artist since I could fingerpaint. Why?"
"I have $4 in my pocket. Can I buy you a drink and pick your brain? It has to be a $4 or less drink, though."
"Sure. Can I finish my cigarette first?"
At today's estate sale, I got a framed signed Miró lithograph for $10. I don't know shit about art authenticity, but the ink of the print looked like it was on top of the paper and there were numbers in addition to the signature so I figured I hit the jackpot. Then I found out Miró is one of the most forged artists out there. Then I started looking online and found out that BAT above the signature stands for "bon à tirer" and the 10 x /73 that I didn't quite understand as an edition number is actually 10/x/73 as in the date. What's all that crap mean? That if this is not a forgery, it is the last artist's proof before printing an edition. I'm hoping it's worth a bazillion dollars.
I yapped at my new artist friend about all the things I've been trying to keep in and know better than to tell people if I want to be a shiny sparkly person. Our shoulder chips ground around and gnarled and gnashed. I felt very honest and grubby because he was being honest and grubby so that gave me permission.
I mirror personality traits a lot. Speech patterns, too. It's my natural reaction to mirror and often try to make the other person comfortable.
I fascinate me. I could spend my entire life analyzing myself and be quite content. That's fucked up.
"I've been an artist since I could fingerpaint. Why?"
"I have $4 in my pocket. Can I buy you a drink and pick your brain? It has to be a $4 or less drink, though."
"Sure. Can I finish my cigarette first?"
At today's estate sale, I got a framed signed Miró lithograph for $10. I don't know shit about art authenticity, but the ink of the print looked like it was on top of the paper and there were numbers in addition to the signature so I figured I hit the jackpot. Then I found out Miró is one of the most forged artists out there. Then I started looking online and found out that BAT above the signature stands for "bon à tirer" and the 10 x /73 that I didn't quite understand as an edition number is actually 10/x/73 as in the date. What's all that crap mean? That if this is not a forgery, it is the last artist's proof before printing an edition. I'm hoping it's worth a bazillion dollars.I yapped at my new artist friend about all the things I've been trying to keep in and know better than to tell people if I want to be a shiny sparkly person. Our shoulder chips ground around and gnarled and gnashed. I felt very honest and grubby because he was being honest and grubby so that gave me permission.
I mirror personality traits a lot. Speech patterns, too. It's my natural reaction to mirror and often try to make the other person comfortable.
I fascinate me. I could spend my entire life analyzing myself and be quite content. That's fucked up.
Grave Robbing
At an estate sale, I sift behind Death's recent visit, life's recent departure. A calendar with a meeting marked on August 17th that wasn't attended. Crutches and walkers in a corner, adult diapers- things that herald the end of life. And then, nothing. No more use for all the things accumulated over a lifetime. Things things so many things. Why do we make more things when so many already exist? Humanity will never run out of things. I swoop in and buy things that people forgot they had long before they died. I sell them to other people who will forget them, but I also fill my house to make it pretty and warm and feel like something I made. A nest of things, a living space work of art that should somehow express oneself, welcome others, aggrandize, and still be a comforting home.
A man in the bookstore said he'd seen me three times today. Apparently he was at the antique store, too. I hadn't noticed him.
A man in the bookstore said he'd seen me three times today. Apparently he was at the antique store, too. I hadn't noticed him.
Thoughts I'm still capable of having
Really really really like Possible Boy. No clue how to proceed. No clue no clue no clue. Talked a bunch at the bar. He's even sharper and thinkier than I realized. So what the hell happens next? I enjoy this part, but I don't want to screw up and ruin whatever is supposed to come next. I've never done things in the right order or in any sort of healthy way. I don't think he has either. Are there directions somewhere? An instructional video, perhaps? This part of squishy boy-girl (or boy-boy or girl-girl or microwave-toaster) stuff is much less troublesome in movies and books because you generally know what's going to happen. Smash head into things.
Went to a few antique shops today. Sold nothing. Estate sale tomorrow morning at what appears to be a pack-rat house. I want to get there early. Then I have therapy in the afternoon. Maybe my therapist can teach me how to make Possible Boy Actual Boy. Today felt like a day of wandering. Many of my days feel like that. At least I cleaned my house some. That felt productive. Got my lazy butt on the treadmill by 8:30 AM. Need to keep that up. Remind my heart that I'm 27 and not dead yet. Biofeedback taught me that the way I naturally hold my jaw keeps a huge amount of tension in my temples. Could be a major factor in my migraines. Now I'm stretching out my jaw like a weirdo every time I think about it.
I made myself the best lunch today. Chicken breast covered in chile ancho, cumin, and a bit of cayenne then grilled on the George Foreman and served with tomatoes and avocados on corn tortillas. Extremely tasty. I'm begining to accept rice milk as a suitable liquid for cereal. It's better than getting migraines and not bad as a food substance. I still don't drink what's left in the bowl once the cereal is gone.
My memory is getting worse. I have trouble remembering what floor my biofeedback is on (nine) even though I go every week, and I ran into an Etsy friend yesterday and couldn't remember her name.
Time to be asleep.
Went to a few antique shops today. Sold nothing. Estate sale tomorrow morning at what appears to be a pack-rat house. I want to get there early. Then I have therapy in the afternoon. Maybe my therapist can teach me how to make Possible Boy Actual Boy. Today felt like a day of wandering. Many of my days feel like that. At least I cleaned my house some. That felt productive. Got my lazy butt on the treadmill by 8:30 AM. Need to keep that up. Remind my heart that I'm 27 and not dead yet. Biofeedback taught me that the way I naturally hold my jaw keeps a huge amount of tension in my temples. Could be a major factor in my migraines. Now I'm stretching out my jaw like a weirdo every time I think about it.
I made myself the best lunch today. Chicken breast covered in chile ancho, cumin, and a bit of cayenne then grilled on the George Foreman and served with tomatoes and avocados on corn tortillas. Extremely tasty. I'm begining to accept rice milk as a suitable liquid for cereal. It's better than getting migraines and not bad as a food substance. I still don't drink what's left in the bowl once the cereal is gone.
My memory is getting worse. I have trouble remembering what floor my biofeedback is on (nine) even though I go every week, and I ran into an Etsy friend yesterday and couldn't remember her name.
Time to be asleep.
Monday, August 17, 2009
no news is?
I spent many many hours in a row with Neighbor Guy yesterday. His life story is amazing. Maybe he'll let me write it for him someday. By the end of the day my brain was getting fussy and I was getting fussy. Then today I was a zombie until I ran out of my house screaming* after 3. I'm feeling very stagnant and unproductive when I'm home. I'm also getting spoiled by feeling better so I now expect to feel better and get annoyed when I feel crappy again. The past few days it rains and stops in unexpected bursts. Walking to my car: sunny and then pouring in half a block. My head does this, too, but with a little more foreboding and then I have to sleep or feed it drugs and POOF!
I'm fine again. Can't concentrate on anything up close and immediate, like reading more than a few pages or doing anything particularly contemplative on the computer. It puts me in a trance, feels like I'm being hypnotized. Right now I don't mind being hypnotized because I took a nap from 8-9:30 PM and I'm never falling asleep again ever. And my tongue tastes like corn tortilla even though I last ate corn tortilla at 2 this afternoon and chile ancho and cumin are the pervasive smells lingering around my condo.
I never showered today. Eeeeew. I'm gross.
*(minus the running or screaming)
I'm fine again. Can't concentrate on anything up close and immediate, like reading more than a few pages or doing anything particularly contemplative on the computer. It puts me in a trance, feels like I'm being hypnotized. Right now I don't mind being hypnotized because I took a nap from 8-9:30 PM and I'm never falling asleep again ever. And my tongue tastes like corn tortilla even though I last ate corn tortilla at 2 this afternoon and chile ancho and cumin are the pervasive smells lingering around my condo.
I never showered today. Eeeeew. I'm gross.
*(minus the running or screaming)
Saturday, August 15, 2009
I was too frustrated/befuddled/tired last night to write. Neighbor Guy is being all depressed and dumb about it. He's so emotionally stunted I want to shake him and slap him a lot, but I can't do the work for him or say magic words to fix him and that frustrates me. Possible Boy and I went over to see what was going on with Neighbor Guy and I realized I couldn't just say whatever I thought Neighbor Guy needed to hear but I also had to tailor it so it was Possible Boy acceptable, too. Neighbor Guy wouldn't cry with Possible Boy there, and I wouldn't do nearly as much bitchy tough love. But it was good, too, because I was more aware of how narcissistic and monologuey I get when trying to help.
I'm fuzzy this morning. I was feeling good when I went to walk my dog, but computer makes me fuzzy. I cleaned out my hall closet. Something smells like poop and I can't figure out what. It may be one of my estate sale items.
Still like Possible Boy. He's still spending lots of time with Other Girl, but I know from comments he's made they're not getting it on. She's not thrilled at my existence. She reminds me a lot of myself.
Did I mention I'm fuzzy? Writing is hard today. Can't focus. Stopping now.
I'm fuzzy this morning. I was feeling good when I went to walk my dog, but computer makes me fuzzy. I cleaned out my hall closet. Something smells like poop and I can't figure out what. It may be one of my estate sale items.
Still like Possible Boy. He's still spending lots of time with Other Girl, but I know from comments he's made they're not getting it on. She's not thrilled at my existence. She reminds me a lot of myself.
Did I mention I'm fuzzy? Writing is hard today. Can't focus. Stopping now.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Store(age)
I've been feeling so much better. I think it's the stupid diet. Taking out milk was the real kicker. Today I'm eating tons of eggs to see if it's milk AND eggs. Eggs eggs eggs (in addition to other food, too) over the next few days and we'll see what happens.
I'm already legitimately exhausted from a morning of two estate sales (one sucked, one was an $11.50 goldmine) and one antique store (they didn't want to buy what I had, but I know what that particular store sells now).
Then I went to the grocery store and demonstrated to myself that I'm not all hunky-dory regular person.
I signed up for my own Fresh Values Card. I've been using my mother's forever and keep forgetting to sign myself up so I can reap the occasional benefits. Today, I had time and remembered. But as I filled out the form, my hands were shaking. They do that, sometimes worse than others. They have since high school. As I wrote my name, the shaking was bad enough that you could barely read the first letters and it wasn't the fault of my crummy to begin with handwriting. I don't think I've ever been that shaky before, or at least not when I've done something noticeable.
I contemplated the 20 cent difference between regular and organic limes (organic won) and the $3 difference between regular and organic eggs (regular) and went up and down almost every aisle so I wouldn't forget anything. I didn't trust myself to remember or make decisions without going through the logic very consciously. Pondering the expense of my favorite gluten-free but over-priced cereals, a man I knew I recognized said "Hello!"
I drew a total blank. Did I know him from high school? Familiar, but no clue.
He was the groom at the wedding when I was the makeshift photographer. He had to remind me. I stared at this man through a camera for countless hours, and then again on my computer as I cropped and adjusted picture after picture. Then we met up again to upload everything onto their USB drive. None of that stuck in my head. It's all part of the blurry squish of the past two years. He was totally nice and friendly about it and we talked for a few minutes before I was back to judging milk substitutes.
But AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH! I know it's not my fault. It just frustrates the hell out of me when I go into my brain to find something and it's not where it's supposed to be. Memories used to go in and stay in. Now, it's more like trying to lodge pencils in a classroom ceiling or juggling one more item than you comfortably can handle while wearing baseball gloves. It's that much more frustrating because you can do some of it or a version of it, but under current circumstances, there will be misses. I get fussy when I miss. Fuss fuss fuss.
I want to go crash so maybe I'll feel good tonight and go out. Possible Boy makes me smile. I don't know what's going on, but he's swell and I'll keep being dopey on his behalf for the time being.
I'm already legitimately exhausted from a morning of two estate sales (one sucked, one was an $11.50 goldmine) and one antique store (they didn't want to buy what I had, but I know what that particular store sells now).
Then I went to the grocery store and demonstrated to myself that I'm not all hunky-dory regular person.
I signed up for my own Fresh Values Card. I've been using my mother's forever and keep forgetting to sign myself up so I can reap the occasional benefits. Today, I had time and remembered. But as I filled out the form, my hands were shaking. They do that, sometimes worse than others. They have since high school. As I wrote my name, the shaking was bad enough that you could barely read the first letters and it wasn't the fault of my crummy to begin with handwriting. I don't think I've ever been that shaky before, or at least not when I've done something noticeable.
I contemplated the 20 cent difference between regular and organic limes (organic won) and the $3 difference between regular and organic eggs (regular) and went up and down almost every aisle so I wouldn't forget anything. I didn't trust myself to remember or make decisions without going through the logic very consciously. Pondering the expense of my favorite gluten-free but over-priced cereals, a man I knew I recognized said "Hello!"
I drew a total blank. Did I know him from high school? Familiar, but no clue.
He was the groom at the wedding when I was the makeshift photographer. He had to remind me. I stared at this man through a camera for countless hours, and then again on my computer as I cropped and adjusted picture after picture. Then we met up again to upload everything onto their USB drive. None of that stuck in my head. It's all part of the blurry squish of the past two years. He was totally nice and friendly about it and we talked for a few minutes before I was back to judging milk substitutes.
But AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH! I know it's not my fault. It just frustrates the hell out of me when I go into my brain to find something and it's not where it's supposed to be. Memories used to go in and stay in. Now, it's more like trying to lodge pencils in a classroom ceiling or juggling one more item than you comfortably can handle while wearing baseball gloves. It's that much more frustrating because you can do some of it or a version of it, but under current circumstances, there will be misses. I get fussy when I miss. Fuss fuss fuss.
I want to go crash so maybe I'll feel good tonight and go out. Possible Boy makes me smile. I don't know what's going on, but he's swell and I'll keep being dopey on his behalf for the time being.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
I was fussy. Neighbor Guy was getting on my nerves; we'd spent too much time together. But today I sold the chandelier for $400 and spent some quality time with Possible Boy. Now I feel shiny again.
When I got to the bar tonight, I sat and talked to the cute Iraqi. At least, we tried to talk. He's been here for all of seven months and while his English may be better than my Arabic, I'm very much a words person so it's hard for me to connect with a person without language. At one point he tried to tell me that I reminded him of Barbarella, but I don't know the movie and he was saying it oddly so I had no clue what he was talking about. Then Possible Boy showed up with Other Girl. I really like Possible Boy. Earlier today he said he wanted to keep a journal but didn't and instead had random bits of receipts and cocktail napkins with things written on them. So tonight I brought with me one of the small blank journals I had in my house (I tend to accumulate and fill blank books in waves). I've never seen someone so genuinely grateful and happy. I'm tired and can't find a more eloquent way to say it right now, but he was just so happy. Not pushing out the smile for show happy, but trying to hold in so he wouldn't look silly for bursting over something that wasn't a big deal. It was the best reaction ever. Flatterers are nice, but I'd trade a million cute Iraqis I barely know for one connected boy who gets giddy over small gestures.
When I got to the bar tonight, I sat and talked to the cute Iraqi. At least, we tried to talk. He's been here for all of seven months and while his English may be better than my Arabic, I'm very much a words person so it's hard for me to connect with a person without language. At one point he tried to tell me that I reminded him of Barbarella, but I don't know the movie and he was saying it oddly so I had no clue what he was talking about. Then Possible Boy showed up with Other Girl. I really like Possible Boy. Earlier today he said he wanted to keep a journal but didn't and instead had random bits of receipts and cocktail napkins with things written on them. So tonight I brought with me one of the small blank journals I had in my house (I tend to accumulate and fill blank books in waves). I've never seen someone so genuinely grateful and happy. I'm tired and can't find a more eloquent way to say it right now, but he was just so happy. Not pushing out the smile for show happy, but trying to hold in so he wouldn't look silly for bursting over something that wasn't a big deal. It was the best reaction ever. Flatterers are nice, but I'd trade a million cute Iraqis I barely know for one connected boy who gets giddy over small gestures.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Water Signs
I just had a very content wonderful day.
I woke up and felt ok, even after going to the theater with my family and then Indian food with my siblings late last night. I decided I'd work out in my building's exercise room, so I put on shorts, my sports bra, and a t-shirt and took Freud for a walk. We went past Neighbor Guy's new apartment and I figured I should stop by and say hi and see if he wanted to come with me later when I went on my antique boutique selling mission.
Thirteen hours later, Neighbor Guy and I parted ways while Possible Boy stuck around for another hour.
Possible Boy just happened to drop by Neighbor Guy's apartment soon after I arrived. My dog was totally well behaved at Neighbor Guy's place and only got growly when Neighbor Guy's dog tried to sniff him. The three humans sat on NG's floor and talked for hours. Then we decided we should go swimming at the beach, so Possible Boy ran home to get his trunks while NG and I walked to my condo and cooked. NG made some pasta thing that I couldn't eat because it was pasta, but I had the noodles in my cupboard and it got them fed. I fried up the shmancy no-nitrate uncured bacon my mom bought me at Whole Foods and made my brown sugar, cinnamon and butter goop for rice cakes and with apple sauce on the side I was a well-fed camper, too.
By the time we went to the beach, thunder and lightning and lifeguards chased everybody away. It poured for half of the two block walk back to my condo and we swam in the rain instead.
I keep saying that Neighbor Guy is like Dori the fish in Finding Nemo, so Neighbor Guy decided we had to watch Finding Nemo. Halfway through the movie, the rain stopped so we headed back to the beach and had a lovely time in the freezing cold water. Possible Boy didn't want to go all the way under because it was too cold. It took me forever, edging deeper and deeper, before I dunked myself completely. Lake Michigan. Ice cold. Very very cold. But fun. Neighbor Guy went right in. No second thought, just dove. Possible Boy wouldn't go much past his waist. Then as we were getting ready to go and Possible Boy was fully clothed, he went to put his shoes back on in the water so his feet wouldn't be all sandy. He laughed as he struggled to keep his balance on the first shoe, then promptly fell backwards completely in the water, shirt and towel and everything. He was amused and NG and I were cracking up and the whole thing was perfect and fabulous.
A huge fog cloud rolled in over everything as we left. It was beautiful. Neighbor Guy told a little girl to look out for the monsters that come out of the fog.
Back at my house we filled the jacuzzi tub and moved Finding Nemo to my laptop so we could watch it from the tub. Wet clothes and towels all went into the dryer, except Possible Boy and my bathing suits as we plunked down sideways in the jacuzzi. I'm 4'11", so I can comfortably fit my whole body across just the width of the tub. Possible Boy is 5'11", so his legs hung over the side. Neighbor Guy wasn't invited to be in the tub because he'd put everything in the dryer and was wandering around in a towel and naked Neighbor Guy would have been awkward in this situation.
After Nemo I went to put on dry clothes and Neighbor Guy had Les Miserables started back in the living room before I had a chance to clasp my bra. Possible Boy went home because he is not the youngest of a gazillion (I think the real number is like 17) children and values time spent alone. Neighbor Guy, not so much. But I wasn't going to kick him out because I know it's good for me now and again and I'd already shot the day for productivity. By the time the French Revolution began, Possible Boy texted me that he was back out and at the bar if we felt like coming out. I didn't feel like watching the movie in the first place and spent most of it eating and then playing with makeup and dolling myself up in my cherry dress and being ridiculous. The movie ended and we went to the bar. I drank water. Other Girl was there. Possible Boy still clearly likes Other Girl, but according to Neighbor Guy, that's over and didn't work out, whatever that means and assuming he has any idea what he's talking about. But Other Girl left and then Neighbor Guy left and I got to talk to Possible Boy alone for a bit until we decided to call it a night and went our separate ways and now I'm in a bit of a mental and emotional frenzy.
Possible Boy is fabulous human being. I definitely like him as a person. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about him beyond that. Sometimes I get tingly. Sometimes it's totally non-tingly. Most of the time I'm stupid around him and fighting my head and the crazy and reality and shoulds and shouldn'ts and not knowing what I feel because I'm so stuck in what makes sense and doesn't and I don't know what I want or really want or something. Maybe all the drugs I'm on have my feelings muted so I can't hear my heart to know what to follow. Or maybe I'm freezing up at the signs of a real possibility. Whatever the reason, we're totally socially awkward with one another and act like sixth graders when anything even remotely boy-girl related comes up: our forcefields go up, we stare at the floor, we act like two people who don't know what sex is for the sake of innocence and terror. How do I get over that? I need a sign that he's really truly interested. I need a sense that I'm really truly interested. And then I need to stop being a chickenshit but not scare him either. How do I do that? Hellllllllllllllp!
I woke up and felt ok, even after going to the theater with my family and then Indian food with my siblings late last night. I decided I'd work out in my building's exercise room, so I put on shorts, my sports bra, and a t-shirt and took Freud for a walk. We went past Neighbor Guy's new apartment and I figured I should stop by and say hi and see if he wanted to come with me later when I went on my antique boutique selling mission.
Thirteen hours later, Neighbor Guy and I parted ways while Possible Boy stuck around for another hour.
Possible Boy just happened to drop by Neighbor Guy's apartment soon after I arrived. My dog was totally well behaved at Neighbor Guy's place and only got growly when Neighbor Guy's dog tried to sniff him. The three humans sat on NG's floor and talked for hours. Then we decided we should go swimming at the beach, so Possible Boy ran home to get his trunks while NG and I walked to my condo and cooked. NG made some pasta thing that I couldn't eat because it was pasta, but I had the noodles in my cupboard and it got them fed. I fried up the shmancy no-nitrate uncured bacon my mom bought me at Whole Foods and made my brown sugar, cinnamon and butter goop for rice cakes and with apple sauce on the side I was a well-fed camper, too.
By the time we went to the beach, thunder and lightning and lifeguards chased everybody away. It poured for half of the two block walk back to my condo and we swam in the rain instead.
I keep saying that Neighbor Guy is like Dori the fish in Finding Nemo, so Neighbor Guy decided we had to watch Finding Nemo. Halfway through the movie, the rain stopped so we headed back to the beach and had a lovely time in the freezing cold water. Possible Boy didn't want to go all the way under because it was too cold. It took me forever, edging deeper and deeper, before I dunked myself completely. Lake Michigan. Ice cold. Very very cold. But fun. Neighbor Guy went right in. No second thought, just dove. Possible Boy wouldn't go much past his waist. Then as we were getting ready to go and Possible Boy was fully clothed, he went to put his shoes back on in the water so his feet wouldn't be all sandy. He laughed as he struggled to keep his balance on the first shoe, then promptly fell backwards completely in the water, shirt and towel and everything. He was amused and NG and I were cracking up and the whole thing was perfect and fabulous.
A huge fog cloud rolled in over everything as we left. It was beautiful. Neighbor Guy told a little girl to look out for the monsters that come out of the fog.
Back at my house we filled the jacuzzi tub and moved Finding Nemo to my laptop so we could watch it from the tub. Wet clothes and towels all went into the dryer, except Possible Boy and my bathing suits as we plunked down sideways in the jacuzzi. I'm 4'11", so I can comfortably fit my whole body across just the width of the tub. Possible Boy is 5'11", so his legs hung over the side. Neighbor Guy wasn't invited to be in the tub because he'd put everything in the dryer and was wandering around in a towel and naked Neighbor Guy would have been awkward in this situation.
After Nemo I went to put on dry clothes and Neighbor Guy had Les Miserables started back in the living room before I had a chance to clasp my bra. Possible Boy went home because he is not the youngest of a gazillion (I think the real number is like 17) children and values time spent alone. Neighbor Guy, not so much. But I wasn't going to kick him out because I know it's good for me now and again and I'd already shot the day for productivity. By the time the French Revolution began, Possible Boy texted me that he was back out and at the bar if we felt like coming out. I didn't feel like watching the movie in the first place and spent most of it eating and then playing with makeup and dolling myself up in my cherry dress and being ridiculous. The movie ended and we went to the bar. I drank water. Other Girl was there. Possible Boy still clearly likes Other Girl, but according to Neighbor Guy, that's over and didn't work out, whatever that means and assuming he has any idea what he's talking about. But Other Girl left and then Neighbor Guy left and I got to talk to Possible Boy alone for a bit until we decided to call it a night and went our separate ways and now I'm in a bit of a mental and emotional frenzy.
Possible Boy is fabulous human being. I definitely like him as a person. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about him beyond that. Sometimes I get tingly. Sometimes it's totally non-tingly. Most of the time I'm stupid around him and fighting my head and the crazy and reality and shoulds and shouldn'ts and not knowing what I feel because I'm so stuck in what makes sense and doesn't and I don't know what I want or really want or something. Maybe all the drugs I'm on have my feelings muted so I can't hear my heart to know what to follow. Or maybe I'm freezing up at the signs of a real possibility. Whatever the reason, we're totally socially awkward with one another and act like sixth graders when anything even remotely boy-girl related comes up: our forcefields go up, we stare at the floor, we act like two people who don't know what sex is for the sake of innocence and terror. How do I get over that? I need a sign that he's really truly interested. I need a sense that I'm really truly interested. And then I need to stop being a chickenshit but not scare him either. How do I do that? Hellllllllllllllp!
Saturday, August 08, 2009
Out of this World
I adore the dramatics of Love. The concept. The silliness. Acting out all the bits and pieces. So is it the concept or the person? How can I tell? Am I just giving myself more excuses to run away from any possibility of something real with a real person? Anything that happens in reality doesn't measure up to that weird ethereal dream mush. I keep it that way on purpose, not consciously, but definitely on purpose. The Greatest Loves live in stories and in my head and in their struggle to survive, struggle to maintain. I've trained myself to think that longing and yearning is love, so Boys have to be unattainable to be lovable. The struggle is where love builds. That's what made a certain past Boy so perfect for me: we went through years of not actually being together but fooling around on and off through our melodramatic friendship. That was passion. Until I stopped pining over him and fooling around turned into physical recreation without the big sparklies in my soul.New goal: associate Love with contentment and Happiness. Love should go along with those moments when everything in the world is just so completely beautiful and awesome I want to take a bite out of it and explode. Those moments have always been very solitary for me, even if I'm surrounded by people. If I can find someone who really sees it and feels it and shares it, that would trump all my whiny piny love.
Ugh. Still setting Love in the ethereal. Still running around on Mars and Venus.Reality: Flirt with Boys. Talk to Boys. Enjoy spending time with Boys. Find favorite Boy. Smooch Boy.
That's how things are done down here on earth. Just choose a partner and go dancing. Doesn't need to be so cosmic or complicated.
But it still does for me. There's magic and serendipity when I close my eyes and listen. I've spent most of my life trying to fit into LogicLand. Things seem to work out better for me when I tell Logic and Should to go fuck themselves. Something about Rogers Park reminds me of my music camp. It's the feeling and the people and walking by the lake all the time. The feeling. A sense of freedom from my parents and who I try to be at "home." At camp, I never worried about that. I worked on the things I cared about and let things that didn't matter to me slide. I spent every minute possible with people I adored because I could. There wasn't the pressure to have to explain myself and my actions and justify my decisions. I still worried and overthought and freaked out about Boys and did all sorts of typical me things and typical teenager things, but it was a different mold than usual and I liked it.
My parents are the source of much of my anxiety. I think even more than I realized, which was already a terrifying lot. It's not their fault, the same way it's not the fault of the spider when the arachnophobe panics, but they are my spider.
Ohmigawd. Fear Factor needs to start locking people up with their parents.
I think I'm showing up at an estate sale in six hours?
Friday, August 07, 2009
Racism: 0, Demeanorism: 1
Racism just lost another point in the Great Internal Battle Created By A Life In America No Matter How Absurd I Know It Is Or PC The Community That Raised Me Considers Itself To Be.
There was a man sitting in a car on my corner.
There are frequently people sitting in cars on my corner, and thanks to the building across the street from me, these car sitters usually have something to do with the drug-dealing and generally terrible management of that building across the street from me. Some days I imagine the people are police or otherwise government-affiliated and watching the building for evidence. Some days I imagine they are involved in the dealing of drugs (how often does one family do its laundry? it's a big family and the kids come, but two days in a row seems more hassle than would make sense and they spend a lot of time in the car...). At least one registered sex offender (victim under the age of 10) lives in the building. I want to kidnap all the children living there.
And tonight, as I walked my dog, there was a man sitting in a car on the corner. My first instinct was that he was waiting for someone in my building. I thought about asking him if he wanted me to buzz somebody for him. Then I stopped and thought, ack! I can't do that! What if he's waiting for the drug building!
Moments later my neighbor from my building walked out and got into the man's car as my dog and I went back through our gate. I felt infinitely smart and instinctual.
Punchline, ladies and gentlemen: the man in the car tonight was (and probably still is) black. But he looked like he was supposed to be there, no sketchiness attached. After 27 years of the United States of Quietly Cultivated Racism, it's at least one point for Good that I could see a black man doing something usually associated with sketchiness and follow his demeanor instead of his skin tone when making my snap judgments.
There was a man sitting in a car on my corner.
There are frequently people sitting in cars on my corner, and thanks to the building across the street from me, these car sitters usually have something to do with the drug-dealing and generally terrible management of that building across the street from me. Some days I imagine the people are police or otherwise government-affiliated and watching the building for evidence. Some days I imagine they are involved in the dealing of drugs (how often does one family do its laundry? it's a big family and the kids come, but two days in a row seems more hassle than would make sense and they spend a lot of time in the car...). At least one registered sex offender (victim under the age of 10) lives in the building. I want to kidnap all the children living there.
And tonight, as I walked my dog, there was a man sitting in a car on the corner. My first instinct was that he was waiting for someone in my building. I thought about asking him if he wanted me to buzz somebody for him. Then I stopped and thought, ack! I can't do that! What if he's waiting for the drug building!
Moments later my neighbor from my building walked out and got into the man's car as my dog and I went back through our gate. I felt infinitely smart and instinctual.
Punchline, ladies and gentlemen: the man in the car tonight was (and probably still is) black. But he looked like he was supposed to be there, no sketchiness attached. After 27 years of the United States of Quietly Cultivated Racism, it's at least one point for Good that I could see a black man doing something usually associated with sketchiness and follow his demeanor instead of his skin tone when making my snap judgments.
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Four Chord Progression
At my parents' house in the room that was my sister's growing up. My mom's birthday is tomorrow and my sister is coming in from Portland (Oregon) to surprise her. I'm here on the pretense that it just worked out and this way I can spend as much of my mom's birthday with her as possible. Birthdays and Mother's Day are very important to my mother. The world centers around you on your special day. She and my father both made sure to change the planets gravitational rotation for us growing up, and I see now how much she expects the same in return. So long as it stays fun and not obligatory...
I told my parents about my possible temporary career as an antiques buyer. I was more emotionally ready than I thought to deal with the responses I knew they'd have: trying to be encouraging but wary as always and full of the advice that they clearly know best not just generally about the universe but the specifics of things with which they have no experience. I feel like a total know-it-all ass when I'm with my friends, but then I get back with my family and see how far I've come and my outlook is much more hopeful.
I have trouble not sounding/being bitter when I'm with my family. I've gotten a million times better about a million things, resent the world so much less, finally don't expect perfection or see things so good and bad, black and white...but that gnarled knotty beast of misery and unhappiness still wisps up when I'm around them. It used to be one giant solid tangled mess from my stomach up through my skull, but I've worked through a lot of it. Maybe even most of it. Then I'm back here and I feel the coils. I can't apply everything I'm becoming without wanting to punch one parent or the other. Progress is progress..
Dog is whining because I won't go with him to sniff every corner of the house. Sorry dog.
I told my parents about my possible temporary career as an antiques buyer. I was more emotionally ready than I thought to deal with the responses I knew they'd have: trying to be encouraging but wary as always and full of the advice that they clearly know best not just generally about the universe but the specifics of things with which they have no experience. I feel like a total know-it-all ass when I'm with my friends, but then I get back with my family and see how far I've come and my outlook is much more hopeful.
I have trouble not sounding/being bitter when I'm with my family. I've gotten a million times better about a million things, resent the world so much less, finally don't expect perfection or see things so good and bad, black and white...but that gnarled knotty beast of misery and unhappiness still wisps up when I'm around them. It used to be one giant solid tangled mess from my stomach up through my skull, but I've worked through a lot of it. Maybe even most of it. Then I'm back here and I feel the coils. I can't apply everything I'm becoming without wanting to punch one parent or the other. Progress is progress..
Dog is whining because I won't go with him to sniff every corner of the house. Sorry dog.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Oh I Believe In Yesterday
Yesterday, I was going to try to sell these chandeliers I got at an auction. $50 for one, $15 for the other. The $50 one is apparently worth at least $300 if I can sell it to a dealer, who will turn around and sell it for double that retail. The other one I like more though it's worth less, maybe just a hundred or two. If someone wants it for enough I will sell it, but I'm really tempted to keep it and put my shiny crystal chandelier in my front entranceway and this new big brass number in the dining room because it goes really well in there...
Yesterday, I only made it to one antique dealer and made zero phone calls. She didn't buy it but I didn't expect her to. I didn't have a migraine until very late in the day. I had Neighbor Guy.
There's an old Sesame Street bit with Itzhak Perlman. A little girl goes running up some stairs and plops down in her chair with a violin. Then Itzhak Perlman (who had polio as a child and walks with crutches) struggles his way up the same stairs, sits down and says "Some things that are easy for you are hard for me." He then picks up his violin and runs scales, arpegios and noodles all over the fingerboard. Then the girl says, "Yeah, but some things are easy for you that are hard for me" and plays a Suzuki Book 3 Bach piece.
I see people's feelings like they're spelled out on "Hello My Name Is" tags. I'm not always right, but I am more often than not. It's why I used to think I was psychic, and I still have trouble reminding myself that other people won't immediately catch on to the little signs and signals I think I'm sending out as obvious announcements of my feelings. I attribute it to being a writer; it's the insight of a therapist with the hubris of assuming I'm right and then sharing it with the world. Think Dr. Phil and first-person journalism.
My dog and I were drinking water and smoothie respectively on the coffee shop patio when Neighbor Guy came walking past with his dog. Last time I saw NG he was drunk and depressed. Now he was clearly sober and depressed but kept insisting he was fine. I asked him what he was doing, he said nothing, so I scrapped my always-changable plans for the day and asked if he wanted to hang out. So we did.
Either I'm naturally drawn to depressed people or everybody on earth is actually depressed once you get to know them.
Apparently Possible Boy thinks I'm a possibly perfect Possible Girl, but he already had things getting started with Other Girl before he even met me (he was talking to Neighbor Guy about her the day we met) and he's never been in a real long-term relationship and doesn't want to do anything to mess up the possibility of Other Girl. I'm not getting any of this from any kind of frank discussion with Possible Boy, but between Saturday night as a bit of a third wheel and then asking Neighbor Guy like the big fat jerkface I am, I'm pretty sure this is the "true" story. What ever happened to the grand institution of Dating? I don't know Possible Boy well enough for him to feel like a great loss, but I'm sad to put the possibility on ice.
Yesterday, Neighbor Guy and I contemplated an upsidedown tomato garden on the ledge of a window down the street. A man walked out of a building and Neighbor Guy immediately engaged him in conversation, except in "conversation" NG was doing all the talking. As we started walking in the same direction, NG invited this new person to come hang out at the bar and I tried interjecting as much as I could to smooth a path between NG and propriety as he continued to point out where he lived down to his dog in the window. Our mostly dumbstruck companion managed to pointedly mention his girlfriend early on, shattering NG's dreams of settling down with an upsidedown tomato garden of their own, but that didn't stop NG from sighing as he mentioned his imagined love's eyes or checking by the bar repeatedly later in the day.
This sort of crush is quite foreign to me. I need some sort of words or personality bit to spark me. Neighbor Guy just needed blue eyes and thin lips (WTF? thin lips? what is wrong with you, NG?) That's part of my dilemma with Possible Boy. I know very little of him. I mostly like what I know, but it's so clearly just this tiny little surface sliver, I don't feel like I want to fight for him since it might turn out I don't like him after all and he'd be much better off with Other Girl. I just want a friggin' chance to get to know him to figure out just what kind of Possibility he is. Why are boys so frustrating? Why aren't these things nice and logical? Never mind. They would be totally sucky boring if they were logical. They just make me want to throw things the way they are.
Yesterday, I only made it to one antique dealer and made zero phone calls. She didn't buy it but I didn't expect her to. I didn't have a migraine until very late in the day. I had Neighbor Guy.
There's an old Sesame Street bit with Itzhak Perlman. A little girl goes running up some stairs and plops down in her chair with a violin. Then Itzhak Perlman (who had polio as a child and walks with crutches) struggles his way up the same stairs, sits down and says "Some things that are easy for you are hard for me." He then picks up his violin and runs scales, arpegios and noodles all over the fingerboard. Then the girl says, "Yeah, but some things are easy for you that are hard for me" and plays a Suzuki Book 3 Bach piece.
I see people's feelings like they're spelled out on "Hello My Name Is" tags. I'm not always right, but I am more often than not. It's why I used to think I was psychic, and I still have trouble reminding myself that other people won't immediately catch on to the little signs and signals I think I'm sending out as obvious announcements of my feelings. I attribute it to being a writer; it's the insight of a therapist with the hubris of assuming I'm right and then sharing it with the world. Think Dr. Phil and first-person journalism.
My dog and I were drinking water and smoothie respectively on the coffee shop patio when Neighbor Guy came walking past with his dog. Last time I saw NG he was drunk and depressed. Now he was clearly sober and depressed but kept insisting he was fine. I asked him what he was doing, he said nothing, so I scrapped my always-changable plans for the day and asked if he wanted to hang out. So we did.
Either I'm naturally drawn to depressed people or everybody on earth is actually depressed once you get to know them.
Apparently Possible Boy thinks I'm a possibly perfect Possible Girl, but he already had things getting started with Other Girl before he even met me (he was talking to Neighbor Guy about her the day we met) and he's never been in a real long-term relationship and doesn't want to do anything to mess up the possibility of Other Girl. I'm not getting any of this from any kind of frank discussion with Possible Boy, but between Saturday night as a bit of a third wheel and then asking Neighbor Guy like the big fat jerkface I am, I'm pretty sure this is the "true" story. What ever happened to the grand institution of Dating? I don't know Possible Boy well enough for him to feel like a great loss, but I'm sad to put the possibility on ice.
Yesterday, Neighbor Guy and I contemplated an upsidedown tomato garden on the ledge of a window down the street. A man walked out of a building and Neighbor Guy immediately engaged him in conversation, except in "conversation" NG was doing all the talking. As we started walking in the same direction, NG invited this new person to come hang out at the bar and I tried interjecting as much as I could to smooth a path between NG and propriety as he continued to point out where he lived down to his dog in the window. Our mostly dumbstruck companion managed to pointedly mention his girlfriend early on, shattering NG's dreams of settling down with an upsidedown tomato garden of their own, but that didn't stop NG from sighing as he mentioned his imagined love's eyes or checking by the bar repeatedly later in the day.
This sort of crush is quite foreign to me. I need some sort of words or personality bit to spark me. Neighbor Guy just needed blue eyes and thin lips (WTF? thin lips? what is wrong with you, NG?) That's part of my dilemma with Possible Boy. I know very little of him. I mostly like what I know, but it's so clearly just this tiny little surface sliver, I don't feel like I want to fight for him since it might turn out I don't like him after all and he'd be much better off with Other Girl. I just want a friggin' chance to get to know him to figure out just what kind of Possibility he is. Why are boys so frustrating? Why aren't these things nice and logical? Never mind. They would be totally sucky boring if they were logical. They just make me want to throw things the way they are.
Sunday, August 02, 2009
My Dog Must Live Forever
Possible Boy seems to be dating Other Girl.
I may have found something I can do for money.
Neighbor Guy is in a state of depressed hiding and his cell phone got disconnected because he couldn't pay the bill and now he's extremely hard to find.
I spent 28 hours with one of my best friends from junior high and high school who I hadn't seen in almost ten years. We've had completely different lives from day one and yet we're still very similar people. I think we're made out of the same flavor goop.
As my dog barked and snarled at another dog on the beach, I grabbed him by his neck scruff as usual to try to calm him down. The other dog kept coming closer and closer and my dog kept freaking out more and more until he was on his side and barking and swallowing sand and then he stopped moving and stopped breathing and I was shaking him and yelling and thinking he was choking on the sand and he couldn't die there like that and then it was clear he was conscious again but he still wasn't breathing and I kept shaking him and the owner of the other dog asked if she should call somebody and I said yes and she called 311 and I kept shaking my dog and patting him on the sides until he started breathing again, a little at first, and by the time the woman got the animal ER people on the phone my dog was breathing and conscious and not totally fine but certainly not at death's door. The ER people said to bring him in, so we walked back to my condo and grabbed my purse and headed to the doggy ER.
He's fine. He seems to have the beginnings of congestive heart disease, but catching it early means beta blockers or something of the sort like people take. Still not entirely sure why he passed out the way he did, but the vet seemed satisfied with her list of entirely probably explanations. Monday we need to get an appointment to see a doggy cardiologist for a full workup and to figure out where to go from here. He's watching me write this with his big pleading eyes and I just want to hold him all the time.
My migraines have been much better the past few days. I've taken milk out of my diet. I'm worried that's why I've been better. It's wonderful if I found a cause and can stop the madness just by changing my diet, but I really like milk. Yes, I'm being a brat.
Karaoke at my local bar was amazing tonight. Even if I went knowing full well I'd be in not the best friend-surrounded environment, I wanted to go. I wanted to sing and show off my new Target clearance dress and milk my being awake and alert and not in pain for every possible minute. I sang "Part of Your World" from The Little Mermaid and one random woman was convinced I was in musical theater. Boggled my mind a bit and flattered me beyond anything I've heard in ages. My brief stint trying out for musicals in junior high and high school and finally resigning myself to the pit orchestra after total and complete rejection one too many times.
The world and my life amaze me to no end these days. They're like painfully rich chocolate cake--you can only take a few bites at a time or it overwhelms te senses. It's wonderful, but just so overwhelming. Like trying to say the entire alphabet at once. All the letters on top of one another, tapped out by a single tongue in a single mouth in a single single syllable's space.
So exhausted. All of the sudden. Sleep time.
I may have found something I can do for money.
Neighbor Guy is in a state of depressed hiding and his cell phone got disconnected because he couldn't pay the bill and now he's extremely hard to find.
I spent 28 hours with one of my best friends from junior high and high school who I hadn't seen in almost ten years. We've had completely different lives from day one and yet we're still very similar people. I think we're made out of the same flavor goop.
As my dog barked and snarled at another dog on the beach, I grabbed him by his neck scruff as usual to try to calm him down. The other dog kept coming closer and closer and my dog kept freaking out more and more until he was on his side and barking and swallowing sand and then he stopped moving and stopped breathing and I was shaking him and yelling and thinking he was choking on the sand and he couldn't die there like that and then it was clear he was conscious again but he still wasn't breathing and I kept shaking him and the owner of the other dog asked if she should call somebody and I said yes and she called 311 and I kept shaking my dog and patting him on the sides until he started breathing again, a little at first, and by the time the woman got the animal ER people on the phone my dog was breathing and conscious and not totally fine but certainly not at death's door. The ER people said to bring him in, so we walked back to my condo and grabbed my purse and headed to the doggy ER.
He's fine. He seems to have the beginnings of congestive heart disease, but catching it early means beta blockers or something of the sort like people take. Still not entirely sure why he passed out the way he did, but the vet seemed satisfied with her list of entirely probably explanations. Monday we need to get an appointment to see a doggy cardiologist for a full workup and to figure out where to go from here. He's watching me write this with his big pleading eyes and I just want to hold him all the time.
My migraines have been much better the past few days. I've taken milk out of my diet. I'm worried that's why I've been better. It's wonderful if I found a cause and can stop the madness just by changing my diet, but I really like milk. Yes, I'm being a brat.
Karaoke at my local bar was amazing tonight. Even if I went knowing full well I'd be in not the best friend-surrounded environment, I wanted to go. I wanted to sing and show off my new Target clearance dress and milk my being awake and alert and not in pain for every possible minute. I sang "Part of Your World" from The Little Mermaid and one random woman was convinced I was in musical theater. Boggled my mind a bit and flattered me beyond anything I've heard in ages. My brief stint trying out for musicals in junior high and high school and finally resigning myself to the pit orchestra after total and complete rejection one too many times.
The world and my life amaze me to no end these days. They're like painfully rich chocolate cake--you can only take a few bites at a time or it overwhelms te senses. It's wonderful, but just so overwhelming. Like trying to say the entire alphabet at once. All the letters on top of one another, tapped out by a single tongue in a single mouth in a single single syllable's space.
So exhausted. All of the sudden. Sleep time.
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