It's hard crawling out of the cave after the cold winter. It usually means looking at my skin in the sunlight and flinching at just how translucent the covering has become. It means stepping outside of my house tentatively in the morning, hoping the warmth won't be subverted by gusting winds or trampled by a late-day cold front. But Spring eventually passes through the party, and after her, that skanky cousin Summer. It's for that skanky friend Summer that I need to ramp up my efforts at, well, everything.
With Spring also returns my creativity. Perhaps it's the preservatives that nestle in Domino's pizzas that are so warm and such expert cuddlers during blizzards that have siphoned off the fancy turns of phrase and interesting choices in diction that I'm so used to.
In any case, I'm ready to write, again. I'm bursting forth from my fat cocoon an unwieldy butterfly. Oh! And thank God, this means I'm reading again! Some exciting books:
Flapper (I forget the rest of the title and the author).
A Member of the Wedding- Carson McCullers
Wide Sargasso Sea- Jean Rhys
The Book of Basketball- Bill Simmons
Of course the last one is carried on from last fall, but it's over 700 pages, with footnotes, and it's all about basketball. Of course it's going to take me longer to absorb! Wide Sargasso Sea is like a glass of cold water on a hot day- I can't seem to put it down. Member of the Wedding has reminded me of McCullers' genius. Next up are the poets and authors under Write Bloody's imprint and probably some more Stephen Adly Guirgis plays. I need to get his 3-title collection again. I gave it to a man once who asked for a good book recommendation and never saw it (or him) again. Lessons learned. I'll probably add a copy of The Last Days of Judas Iscariot to that order, as well.
I want a tattoo. Or two. Two tattoos. Before I'm 25 I'd like etched behind my left shoulder, in two perfect circles (one inside the other) "the sunrise is just over that hill" and "the worst is over." On my right wrist, the Virgo sign. I'd also like dark purple streaks through my black hair. And then, for the next couple of years at least, I should be less restless than I have been. Similar to spring cleaning one's home, I'm due for a changeup as this past winter was a particularly rough one; it gets quite exhausting trying to figure out why some people are brought into your life and why others continue to reappear. Perhaps this is one of those things that should be given up to God, but I dwell by nature so I can give it away all I want- I'm still going to work the idea like a Rubik's cube, or a piece of food stuck between two tight back bicuspids, until the most logical solution pops into my head one day. Meanwhile, I've got images in my head that refuse to vacate and which refuse to be evicted, but won't marry words so I'm left with snippets like the one below. As usual, feedback is always welcome. Hearts and puppies, loves. Enjoy.
My love, baby?
My love
is an earthquakeavalanchehurricane.
A soundtrack comprised
of artists you'd
never dream
could sound good together.
My love is heady
and nauseating
and
completely inescapable.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010
You're My...
He has been in Mexico for almost three weeks. The first week was the most difficult, as even through the most hellish times, he is here. Even if he doesn't come to bed, but stays up all night watching TV, or falls asleep on the couch, he's here. But for the last three weeks, he's been in Mexico. I haven't been fearful for him or anything like that, probably because there has been a dearth of bad news coming from south of the border for a short time now. There were a couple of people in his family who had encounters with less-than-savory characters, but on the whole there's not been a whole lot of worrisome activity.
It's just... we have some things in limbo. Well, we are in limbo. For him to have been gone this long puts major things in perspective, but it also puts them on hold. Limbo sucks; there's a reason Benedict did away with it. ... So the official Papal decree probably didn't say "nix Limbo because it sucks," but I'm sure that was the word Benny used and he just had his handlers clean up the language a bit.
At least I have new responsibilities and the promotion at work to help keep my wits about me; I can only fall apart after 6 pm and by that time I'm so tired, and so used to the quiet, that it doesn't make much sense anyway.
What's that new slogan that has been seeping through the cracks in my life? Right.
Keep calm and carry on.
It's just... we have some things in limbo. Well, we are in limbo. For him to have been gone this long puts major things in perspective, but it also puts them on hold. Limbo sucks; there's a reason Benedict did away with it. ... So the official Papal decree probably didn't say "nix Limbo because it sucks," but I'm sure that was the word Benny used and he just had his handlers clean up the language a bit.
At least I have new responsibilities and the promotion at work to help keep my wits about me; I can only fall apart after 6 pm and by that time I'm so tired, and so used to the quiet, that it doesn't make much sense anyway.
What's that new slogan that has been seeping through the cracks in my life? Right.
Keep calm and carry on.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
A Long, Long Time
January and February were exclusive hells unto their own, and that is all I have to say on that matter for the moment.
March has begun with some sun, and sun makes me optimistic! I like the outdoors, as long as I don't have to sleep in it, and sun is especially good for my brain function.
Which leads me to:
Something I've never been very good at is saying goodbye. To anything. Houses, friends, towns, exes, lovers, body fat... I get so comfortable with the special rhythm of "stability" I tend to create (or go along with) in situations I get into that I'm loathe to change them. That resistance to change is probably the only way in which I resemble a member of the GOP, come to think of it.
Anyway, saying goodbye. Even people who've passed on I keep in my head and speak to sometimes. I suppose at the end of the day it helps me to not feel so alone, which is a perpetual thing. Literally, bone-chillingly alone. To quote Sanchez "loneliness won't leave me alone."
So instead, these people are always with me. After we've left work for the night and are on our respective trains or in our respective houses, they're on my mind. I have conversations with them through email or text message and I craft further dialogue in my head revolving around situations we'd never find ourselves in. Perhaps loneliness is my greatest inspiration, because I have to create someone or something to stave off that hollow quiet that pervades every inch of the rooms I occupy.
I told a friend of mine about how I carry people with me inside my head, little miniatures of friends of mine (it was a coping mechanism I developed as an only child!) and he told me that sounded psychotic. Cool, but psychotic. Can't say I blame him. But if there was ever any reason I was a good writer, it's this ability I have to see and hear the people I know and love on this great stage in my brain and manipulate it to no end.
That stage is the vehicle by which I can say goodbye. The one place I can make a farewell fully on my terms, however symbolically those terms might occur. There are a ton of loose ends to tie up, and even if these stories never see the light of day, I'm suddenly inspired to knot them into little balls and be rid of them once and for all.
Today has been a good day and there are tons of ideas floating through my mind. I want to run and bake and do pilates and plan trips to everywhere. But most of all, most important of all, I want to write.
March has begun with some sun, and sun makes me optimistic! I like the outdoors, as long as I don't have to sleep in it, and sun is especially good for my brain function.
Which leads me to:
Something I've never been very good at is saying goodbye. To anything. Houses, friends, towns, exes, lovers, body fat... I get so comfortable with the special rhythm of "stability" I tend to create (or go along with) in situations I get into that I'm loathe to change them. That resistance to change is probably the only way in which I resemble a member of the GOP, come to think of it.
Anyway, saying goodbye. Even people who've passed on I keep in my head and speak to sometimes. I suppose at the end of the day it helps me to not feel so alone, which is a perpetual thing. Literally, bone-chillingly alone. To quote Sanchez "loneliness won't leave me alone."
So instead, these people are always with me. After we've left work for the night and are on our respective trains or in our respective houses, they're on my mind. I have conversations with them through email or text message and I craft further dialogue in my head revolving around situations we'd never find ourselves in. Perhaps loneliness is my greatest inspiration, because I have to create someone or something to stave off that hollow quiet that pervades every inch of the rooms I occupy.
I told a friend of mine about how I carry people with me inside my head, little miniatures of friends of mine (it was a coping mechanism I developed as an only child!) and he told me that sounded psychotic. Cool, but psychotic. Can't say I blame him. But if there was ever any reason I was a good writer, it's this ability I have to see and hear the people I know and love on this great stage in my brain and manipulate it to no end.
That stage is the vehicle by which I can say goodbye. The one place I can make a farewell fully on my terms, however symbolically those terms might occur. There are a ton of loose ends to tie up, and even if these stories never see the light of day, I'm suddenly inspired to knot them into little balls and be rid of them once and for all.
Today has been a good day and there are tons of ideas floating through my mind. I want to run and bake and do pilates and plan trips to everywhere. But most of all, most important of all, I want to write.
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