i got some email about a workshop on life after capitalism. and i wonder: are people really SO optimistic? i would LOVE a world where capitalism did not exist to oppress the poor and increase the wealth of the rich, where sexism was non-existent, where women and men truly were equal, where being gay was as ordinary as sun in colorado, where being transgendered was not a place for frowns and murmurs of, "oh, the confusion!" i would love these things to exist. yes, perhaps one day i shall to move to an all-womyn commune and organically grow all our food and write novels in my spare time, take yoga classes and play with kitties and read, but that won't happen for a while.
so am i striving for life after capitalism? perhaps i'm STRIVING for it, but i don't ever believe i'll reach that point. i think our society is too far gone. i am trying to do what i can in the space where i am in the time that i live to make the world a fairer, safer, and better place for all.
namaste.
31 March 2005
30 March 2005
the real sex in the city
i remember seeing ads for sex and the city back in 1999, i guess it was, thinking, "they should look at my life." i just watched 6 old episodes of sex and the city, realizing, "i definitely did not sleep with that many people." i just had that ego thing thinkin i was hot shit or something. and now i'm like carrie, but with much cheaper shoes and not as many men. and now here i am, rethinking and thinking everything, not really sure where i'm going. i'm feeding my cat and getting sick and wishing i had someone to care for me when i was sick and going to work and going to bed (with just luna) and running and writing and erecting barriers and researching everything too much and slacking on my homework...and i wonder, really, what is life all about?
28 March 2005
moby "hotel" on repeat
when i told jason i was listening to moby on repeat, he told me to take it off. i'm depressed right now, and it helps me to listen to sad music. when trevor moved out, venessa made me a sad cd. this is my new sad cd. i am realizing how unhappy i am, yet in love, and it's not going to work out. so i'm listening to moby, again, and again. it is so truly painful.
i went dancing with laura and her rad sister at avalon (the old limelight). i was molested by men all night long. i told several of them i was gay. rude hand gestures, body language and glares worked some of the time. i left laura for two seconds, and then i couldn't find her. i figured she left and all of the sudden i realize i'm standing next to her--only this guy is all over her. she's clearly unhappy so i told him we're both gay, and she's not into men. i had to be rude. men are freakin weird.
the funniest part of that night was--well, there were several points. i met these french canadian brothers and was chillin with them. i told them i had a boyfriend, and one of them had a girlfriend (but that didn't stop him from mac'n on the ladies), so we danced and chilled (friend-like). (still i had guys grabbing my ass. if that had been my boyfriend, i'd hope he would've kicked their asses.) anyway i was telling them bad words--they knew a lot of english, but weren't perfect. so i was like, "i'm going to tell you a really bad word. it means scum of the earth. if you use it, well, that's the worst. it's called--republican." they were totally laughing.
and this other guy was totally tripping and rubbing himself against those blocks you dance on, and really obnoxious and not aware--so sam and i imitated him, garnering high fives from some of the girls.
i have a headache from lack of sleep. i've been unable to sleep b/c i've been incredibly sad lately. i know this is a major turning point in my life, and i totally don't want to give up what is familiar and comfortable and nice to me. but i know i should, i should. i got a huge pep talk from my sister. it didn't really work. i still feel like shit inside. and the thing is, i know t is not even caring. he is in his world of drum n bass and smoking and worshipping work and putting our relationship LAST, and i am so freakin unhappy i don't know what to do. i want someone who will listen to me and not hang up on me. but i don't want someone else.
i don't even have my writing. i feel like it's shit, it's nothing. i can't get my book published, my stories. i give up. i can't cook (as evidenced by the rugalah disaster, although they were edible....), i hate corporate libraries, what can i do? be luna's mom? i just want to melt now, i want to be a bike-riding hippie. i am in love but i am in pain. tengo dolor.
i should stop whining. i hate people who keep whining about the same thing but hey, i know what you're going through. so i'm going to shut up. i'm going to brush my teeth and take luna to bed (she sleeps on the pillow, nothing sexual here, she's my freakin cat, but i realized it sounded like it could be sexual but it's not!), and try to sleep.
in the spirit of moby:
"Just dream about
Colour fills our song
Just dream about
How I will let go"
i went dancing with laura and her rad sister at avalon (the old limelight). i was molested by men all night long. i told several of them i was gay. rude hand gestures, body language and glares worked some of the time. i left laura for two seconds, and then i couldn't find her. i figured she left and all of the sudden i realize i'm standing next to her--only this guy is all over her. she's clearly unhappy so i told him we're both gay, and she's not into men. i had to be rude. men are freakin weird.
the funniest part of that night was--well, there were several points. i met these french canadian brothers and was chillin with them. i told them i had a boyfriend, and one of them had a girlfriend (but that didn't stop him from mac'n on the ladies), so we danced and chilled (friend-like). (still i had guys grabbing my ass. if that had been my boyfriend, i'd hope he would've kicked their asses.) anyway i was telling them bad words--they knew a lot of english, but weren't perfect. so i was like, "i'm going to tell you a really bad word. it means scum of the earth. if you use it, well, that's the worst. it's called--republican." they were totally laughing.
and this other guy was totally tripping and rubbing himself against those blocks you dance on, and really obnoxious and not aware--so sam and i imitated him, garnering high fives from some of the girls.
i have a headache from lack of sleep. i've been unable to sleep b/c i've been incredibly sad lately. i know this is a major turning point in my life, and i totally don't want to give up what is familiar and comfortable and nice to me. but i know i should, i should. i got a huge pep talk from my sister. it didn't really work. i still feel like shit inside. and the thing is, i know t is not even caring. he is in his world of drum n bass and smoking and worshipping work and putting our relationship LAST, and i am so freakin unhappy i don't know what to do. i want someone who will listen to me and not hang up on me. but i don't want someone else.
i don't even have my writing. i feel like it's shit, it's nothing. i can't get my book published, my stories. i give up. i can't cook (as evidenced by the rugalah disaster, although they were edible....), i hate corporate libraries, what can i do? be luna's mom? i just want to melt now, i want to be a bike-riding hippie. i am in love but i am in pain. tengo dolor.
i should stop whining. i hate people who keep whining about the same thing but hey, i know what you're going through. so i'm going to shut up. i'm going to brush my teeth and take luna to bed (she sleeps on the pillow, nothing sexual here, she's my freakin cat, but i realized it sounded like it could be sexual but it's not!), and try to sleep.
in the spirit of moby:
"Just dream about
Colour fills our song
Just dream about
How I will let go"
26 March 2005
running through northwest brooklyn
sometimes i yearn for the brownstones of brooklyn heights or the fantastic running of park slope, but really, i love northwest brooklyn. i've lived here on and off for three years, and it's fun. i went running for my first run since i got bronchitis and my foot injury. there was a hardcore show, and i looked at all the kids, people really, lined up, wearing tshirts and black hooded sweatshirts with india ink tattoos and i felt so far from them. i ran past graffiti: my favorites are "i spy," work by jb (the dolly girl) and neckface (if you live in nw bklyn you know what i mean). and running, i just felt so alive, so inspired by all the scrawls on concrete and warehouses, and i felt so free.
if only it was so everyday...
if only it was so everyday...
on the topic of day dreams
i'm dreaming of being completely alone, but not in solitude. being
in a foreign country where i am loved. perhaps i'd need to have luna
with me. no shitty relationships, no annoying job, school completed.
just me and my fluffy luna, on a leash. can't you picture it--her
hot pink harness on and flowered leash, me wearing a long flowy
dress, a picture of relaxation? no stress, no fake romance, no fake
anything. i can't deal with the beauracracy of everything from a
store to a relationship to a job.
but until i am sipping sangria at a table with strangers who
communicate with me just in spanish, laughing and talking but
knowing that i am always okay, especially with my little furball
luna on my lap.
in a foreign country where i am loved. perhaps i'd need to have luna
with me. no shitty relationships, no annoying job, school completed.
just me and my fluffy luna, on a leash. can't you picture it--her
hot pink harness on and flowered leash, me wearing a long flowy
dress, a picture of relaxation? no stress, no fake romance, no fake
anything. i can't deal with the beauracracy of everything from a
store to a relationship to a job.
but until i am sipping sangria at a table with strangers who
communicate with me just in spanish, laughing and talking but
knowing that i am always okay, especially with my little furball
luna on my lap.
late nights in the city
giddy with lack of sleep, we walk to the train, talking as fast as our mouths and minds will allow us. we laugh as we swipe metrocards too slow, stumbling down train steps, "this is the side towards manhattan." remembering a friend had sex in this train station, we laugh, unable to imagine anything more un-romantic.
our conversations take over the train car...sex and love and fucked up relationships and cheerleading and jobs that don't pay us enough but are satisfying or pay us too much are are so unsatisying and trips to europe and trips to inwoood and weirdos on the train and how much the government sucks. i can't imagine anything else i'd rather be doing.
slowly, we're emerging from the train at different stops. two of us wait for one train that takes forever, enter a car where an indie rock boy keeps staring at us, me. "what would it be like," i think, "if i said 'yes' to whatever he asked. who is he? why is he the way he is?" i wonder about people's secrets. i move my seat further from him, feeling like i'm nodding when she leaves the train.
at my stop, i dodge puddles of puke on the way up the stairs. behind me, "GROSS!" on the street, it's dark and quiet, save the occasional bus or cab or car. above, the few stars of new york city light the way to my home. a group of boys stand in front of the laundromat, smoking cigarettes, chewing gum, talking loudly. they tell me i look like sheryl crow. "rad, i have the same name as her." but i don't. we are different looking. my hair rustles in front of my face as i leave the boys, thinking, "god, if i had been 16 and growing up here, i probably would be dating him." but i'm not. i'm 25, locked into a relationship with someone who lives in another state and never gives me concrete answers...relationship?
my street seems darker, and i walk in the middle of the road to get home. i see a couple walking, swaying, further down my block. at my building, i nod to my neighbors standing in their doorway, talking, staring up at the few stars. in my building, i race up the stairs, already hearing the pathetic mews of my cat.
inside, i kick off my shoes--one in the kitchen, the other in the living room. i step out of my jeans in the kitchen, leaving the underwear inside them. my top is in the living room flor, bra on the bedroom floor, and i think i brushed my teeth.
when i collapse into bed, i fall into a dreamlike state immediately. i dream of a prison where it's not that bad and at least there's sex. not sure what else--oh yes, loft beds that are made of hay or straw or something.
waking up, the sun slowly peeks into my apartment, and i realize i will put this on repeat for tonight...except i will come home grimerier, with sweat covering my body and alcohol coarsing my veins and bitterness, of this "love," and probably, cigarettes from whoever was brave enough to smoke inside the clubs of new york city.
our conversations take over the train car...sex and love and fucked up relationships and cheerleading and jobs that don't pay us enough but are satisfying or pay us too much are are so unsatisying and trips to europe and trips to inwoood and weirdos on the train and how much the government sucks. i can't imagine anything else i'd rather be doing.
slowly, we're emerging from the train at different stops. two of us wait for one train that takes forever, enter a car where an indie rock boy keeps staring at us, me. "what would it be like," i think, "if i said 'yes' to whatever he asked. who is he? why is he the way he is?" i wonder about people's secrets. i move my seat further from him, feeling like i'm nodding when she leaves the train.
at my stop, i dodge puddles of puke on the way up the stairs. behind me, "GROSS!" on the street, it's dark and quiet, save the occasional bus or cab or car. above, the few stars of new york city light the way to my home. a group of boys stand in front of the laundromat, smoking cigarettes, chewing gum, talking loudly. they tell me i look like sheryl crow. "rad, i have the same name as her." but i don't. we are different looking. my hair rustles in front of my face as i leave the boys, thinking, "god, if i had been 16 and growing up here, i probably would be dating him." but i'm not. i'm 25, locked into a relationship with someone who lives in another state and never gives me concrete answers...relationship?
my street seems darker, and i walk in the middle of the road to get home. i see a couple walking, swaying, further down my block. at my building, i nod to my neighbors standing in their doorway, talking, staring up at the few stars. in my building, i race up the stairs, already hearing the pathetic mews of my cat.
inside, i kick off my shoes--one in the kitchen, the other in the living room. i step out of my jeans in the kitchen, leaving the underwear inside them. my top is in the living room flor, bra on the bedroom floor, and i think i brushed my teeth.
when i collapse into bed, i fall into a dreamlike state immediately. i dream of a prison where it's not that bad and at least there's sex. not sure what else--oh yes, loft beds that are made of hay or straw or something.
waking up, the sun slowly peeks into my apartment, and i realize i will put this on repeat for tonight...except i will come home grimerier, with sweat covering my body and alcohol coarsing my veins and bitterness, of this "love," and probably, cigarettes from whoever was brave enough to smoke inside the clubs of new york city.
23 March 2005
boys
sometimes i just don't understand heterosexual men. two women can sleep in a bed together, shower together, undress together, examine each other's bodies together, walk closely together (even if they are strangers), yet two men cannot go through the subway turnstile one after the other--they must let one empty space slide in between them.
i have never been as intimate with a man (with the exception of t) as i have been with women. i connect with women much more.
i have never been as intimate with a man (with the exception of t) as i have been with women. i connect with women much more.
21 March 2005
thoughts on how much i miss you
i've never missed someone like this before; they are in my thoughts, their very being is with me. it makes you wonder about love and the universe and life and death and birth--not the birth of a child, but when luna was born into my life, or the day our love totally overwhelmed us, wiped us out, made us completely doubt everything that ever existed, even our very way of doing things…and still, right now, i am not madly in love with you, i am, but that is not what is going through my head right now…i just keep thinking how badly i miss you.
in the meantime, i'll try to sleep, try to pet my cat, try to do my schoolwork, try to research video game companies at work (yeah!), try to eat sleep pee brush teeth take another bath take my medicine keep my house clean smile nod be appropriate wear suitable clothing carry myself with a purpose…but i know it will be too long before my lips touch yours, too long before love can once again inspire my life.
in the meantime, i'll try to sleep, try to pet my cat, try to do my schoolwork, try to research video game companies at work (yeah!), try to eat sleep pee brush teeth take another bath take my medicine keep my house clean smile nod be appropriate wear suitable clothing carry myself with a purpose…but i know it will be too long before my lips touch yours, too long before love can once again inspire my life.
19 March 2005
don't force your politics upon me
after the protest today, when e, j, and i were waiting for the train, this woman tried to hand us peta stuff on becoming a vegan. i say, "no i'm a vegetarian." she started screaming abt how i should give up dairy (i think j and e eat meat, though i'm not totally sure abt e...they were smart and just ignored her) and how it causes cancer and they give the cows hormones. and i was like "no, i drink organic milk," and she goes, "they still get hormones." i read the box of my organic valley milk and it says "no hormones," etc on there. she totally pissed me off.
after she was done harassing me for causing cows to suffer, she started harassing these fifty-something upper east side ladies (not women, but "ladies" with hats, the fancy schmancy type) to go vegan, and they're like "we're not interested" abt 10 times and she went on and on. i really don't think they're going to go vegan because some lunatic was screaming in their face.
i am vegetarian, but i NEVER force my politics upon someone else. honestly, t eating fish grosses me out, and i hate that he eats them. (for the stupidest reason: they aren't mammals, they can't feel pain...um, t, i think they know they're dead!) but this is b/c i hold t up to high standards, he is one of the most impt people in my life. but i'm not going to lecture him everytime he decides to eat a sea creature. he is not going to go vegan no matter what i say (though i joke with him about it).
many vegans look like shit. their skin, hair, eyes lack the luster. i think of myself as a fairly healthy vegetarian--i eat beans whenever i can, include protein whenever i can--adding nuts to a salad, snacking on an egg or walnuts, drinking milk at meals and breakfast...it's HARD to be a healthy vegetarian. i think back to how i ate in high school and shudder.
i wish everyone was a vegetarian, to save all those animal's lives. but you know what? i don't see that happening anytime soon. i advise people taking things step by step to reduce whatever sufering they can. like don't buy fur, don't buy a leather coat, opt for non-animal products whenever necessary, cut your red meat intake (which is the worst for the environment), discover the joys of soy. but i won't lecture you, i promise. that's for the crazies and the republicants.
after she was done harassing me for causing cows to suffer, she started harassing these fifty-something upper east side ladies (not women, but "ladies" with hats, the fancy schmancy type) to go vegan, and they're like "we're not interested" abt 10 times and she went on and on. i really don't think they're going to go vegan because some lunatic was screaming in their face.
i am vegetarian, but i NEVER force my politics upon someone else. honestly, t eating fish grosses me out, and i hate that he eats them. (for the stupidest reason: they aren't mammals, they can't feel pain...um, t, i think they know they're dead!) but this is b/c i hold t up to high standards, he is one of the most impt people in my life. but i'm not going to lecture him everytime he decides to eat a sea creature. he is not going to go vegan no matter what i say (though i joke with him about it).
many vegans look like shit. their skin, hair, eyes lack the luster. i think of myself as a fairly healthy vegetarian--i eat beans whenever i can, include protein whenever i can--adding nuts to a salad, snacking on an egg or walnuts, drinking milk at meals and breakfast...it's HARD to be a healthy vegetarian. i think back to how i ate in high school and shudder.
i wish everyone was a vegetarian, to save all those animal's lives. but you know what? i don't see that happening anytime soon. i advise people taking things step by step to reduce whatever sufering they can. like don't buy fur, don't buy a leather coat, opt for non-animal products whenever necessary, cut your red meat intake (which is the worst for the environment), discover the joys of soy. but i won't lecture you, i promise. that's for the crazies and the republicants.
the purpose of clothing
i was trying to get my pajama top (i'm feeling pretty crummy here, i'm already in my pjs on a saturday night at 730pm, something i usually put off till much later) from my drawer but my shirt drawer was so full i couldn't close it, thus open my pajama drawer (just above it). i threw some of the shirts on the drawer, got my pajama top, and proceeded to go through my entire tshirt drawer. i put four shirts in my give-away pile. i find it so difficult to part with clothing.
part of the problem is a lot of my clothes i LOVE but i just don't have the purposes for wearing them. if i was working at the allen ginsberg library, or as a bartender, i would fully utilize all my clothes. however, halter tops and sequined miniskirts are not appropriate for the lifestyle i currently lead.
when i quit my corporate job, i still will never lead the lifestyle i had at 20--clubs, going on dates with different people (wait, t and i started dating when i was 20 years old and four or five months, so let's say, 19), working ultra-casual jobs, trying on thousands of outfits before leaving the house. i still try on way too many clothes, but i have very little corporate clothing, making dressing for work somewhat of a nightmare. plus, my job has a messed up heating system, so i have to dress in layers lest it be 30 degrees in july or 80 in february--literally.
i feel like i'm so old already, but this 9to5 shit is killing me. it's not for me. this summer, i'll learn more abt what is for me. i LOVE libraries...i know i am meant to be a librarian. as a kid, i was always drawn to libraries and reading, finding myself in libraries way too much. the only library i don't particularly like spending time in is my school library, because i am never doing anything fun in there. did i ever mention how much i loathe, hate and despise library school?
so even if i get my dream job as an academic librarian, i still can't wear tube tops and sparkly tshirts proclaimingstar across my chest. it's just a little too unprofessional.
i need more vacation days so i can wear my fun clothes.
i'm too sexy for my shirt...
part of the problem is a lot of my clothes i LOVE but i just don't have the purposes for wearing them. if i was working at the allen ginsberg library, or as a bartender, i would fully utilize all my clothes. however, halter tops and sequined miniskirts are not appropriate for the lifestyle i currently lead.
when i quit my corporate job, i still will never lead the lifestyle i had at 20--clubs, going on dates with different people (wait, t and i started dating when i was 20 years old and four or five months, so let's say, 19), working ultra-casual jobs, trying on thousands of outfits before leaving the house. i still try on way too many clothes, but i have very little corporate clothing, making dressing for work somewhat of a nightmare. plus, my job has a messed up heating system, so i have to dress in layers lest it be 30 degrees in july or 80 in february--literally.
i feel like i'm so old already, but this 9to5 shit is killing me. it's not for me. this summer, i'll learn more abt what is for me. i LOVE libraries...i know i am meant to be a librarian. as a kid, i was always drawn to libraries and reading, finding myself in libraries way too much. the only library i don't particularly like spending time in is my school library, because i am never doing anything fun in there. did i ever mention how much i loathe, hate and despise library school?
so even if i get my dream job as an academic librarian, i still can't wear tube tops and sparkly tshirts proclaimingstar across my chest. it's just a little too unprofessional.
i need more vacation days so i can wear my fun clothes.
i'm too sexy for my shirt...
dissent is patriotic
it's the 2nd anniversary of the iraq war (actually, i think it might be the 20th of march...) and i went to a protest in the city. it was in central park, at 97th st, but the cops blocked off the park at 97th st, and we went in around 103rd st (making it a MUCH longer and more confusing walk, and mostly, for a power trip; they loved saying "park's closed, you have to enter at 103rd st"--and only there in the park to attend this poorly attended protest.). i have a horrid cold, and am having trouble breathing, with sucks with the large number of activist smokers (why, dont you realize how those corporate cigarette companies are fucking you? they dont care if you get cancer, they try to prevent people from saying it's true!), and my voice is somewhat gone (a bad thing for a radical cheerleader). the crowd was kind of lazy, lying around, most of the speakers were uninspiring (although howard zinn and patti smith were there). we cheered throughout the crowd. they LOVED "my bush is better" and "supersonic" always get a laugh when we say, "george bush, clap, stomp, clap, you motherfucker!" then we had a protest in the streets, marching around and it felt almost pointless. like fun but when we left, we were supposed to march to bloomberg's house and nothing happened when we passed the block. oh well.
i think this is also because i'm depressed. i am confused about what is my life..an opportunity for a fulbright fellowship came in my mailbox today...and i am thinking, thinking a lot about applying. i LOVE new york city, but then i feel so empty. my job is not my life; my job is not my career. i think is partially b/c t is away and it makes me question everything. and also because i'm sick, and i have a huge paper due in 2 wks that i haven't started yet on a difficult topic. ugh.
i'm going to make vegetarian meatballs and angel hair pasta and try to perk up. i'm so exhausted. my large cat is also tired, as she is sleeping, as usual. i think her and trevor were separated at birth.
i think this is also because i'm depressed. i am confused about what is my life..an opportunity for a fulbright fellowship came in my mailbox today...and i am thinking, thinking a lot about applying. i LOVE new york city, but then i feel so empty. my job is not my life; my job is not my career. i think is partially b/c t is away and it makes me question everything. and also because i'm sick, and i have a huge paper due in 2 wks that i haven't started yet on a difficult topic. ugh.
i'm going to make vegetarian meatballs and angel hair pasta and try to perk up. i'm so exhausted. my large cat is also tired, as she is sleeping, as usual. i think her and trevor were separated at birth.
17 March 2005
a dream; thoughts on death; for someone who once lived, who was my grandfather
i dreamt last night that i was with my grandfather in the hospital while he was dying. nevermind the last time i saw him he was hallucinating and then after that, he was unconscious for several months before he died. i miss my grandpa. i loved him.
in my dream, i climbed on his hospital bed and put my arms around him and hugged him. my family was all there, and he was dying, with us around him. i wish that was my goodbye.
he died march 8, 2003. i was buying a card table with my poor roommate (i was also broke; this is why we were buying a card table). my mother called as we were wandering around target, but i didn't hear her call. i remember calling her in my new bedroom (we had just moved) and falling on the ground, crying. i told her i was coming home. she told me don't be ridiculous. i went anyway.
i went downstairs to my old apartment (we moved one flight up) and fell on the floor again, crying. kika and marie were there. i felt so empty, so sad. i had always pictured my grandfather at my wedding, had hoped all of them will be alive. at the rate trevor's going, my parents will be dead, possibly even me. i am not counting on that boy for marriage; i can barely count on him to call me back.
my grandfather had a hearing problem, and had trouble hearing me. i loved him, though, i really did. i loved giving him hugs. he wasn't the greatest person--he didn't treat my daddy right, and never thanked my father for doing so much. but still, he was my grandpa and i loved him. i'm getting sad just writing this.
at the wake, i felt so horrible. i was the one who couldn't stop crying. i was in ny for two days; back in colorado, on my first day of work, i was crying, reading the sympathy card. i was a mess.
we hold onto people we love, and what happens when they go away. nobody lives forever. death is so scary for me. i dont believe in organized religion, and am spiritual, but have a problem with all of these life-after-death scenarios.
i have trouble letting go. relationships, even shitty ones where i was not being treated right, lasted b/c i was too weak to let them go. i miss so many people in my past, esp the ones who are no longer here. b/c what is that like? if you are dead, where are you? it freaks me out really bad to think about this.
rest in peace, grandpa, wherever you may be, if anywhere.
in my dream, i climbed on his hospital bed and put my arms around him and hugged him. my family was all there, and he was dying, with us around him. i wish that was my goodbye.
he died march 8, 2003. i was buying a card table with my poor roommate (i was also broke; this is why we were buying a card table). my mother called as we were wandering around target, but i didn't hear her call. i remember calling her in my new bedroom (we had just moved) and falling on the ground, crying. i told her i was coming home. she told me don't be ridiculous. i went anyway.
i went downstairs to my old apartment (we moved one flight up) and fell on the floor again, crying. kika and marie were there. i felt so empty, so sad. i had always pictured my grandfather at my wedding, had hoped all of them will be alive. at the rate trevor's going, my parents will be dead, possibly even me. i am not counting on that boy for marriage; i can barely count on him to call me back.
my grandfather had a hearing problem, and had trouble hearing me. i loved him, though, i really did. i loved giving him hugs. he wasn't the greatest person--he didn't treat my daddy right, and never thanked my father for doing so much. but still, he was my grandpa and i loved him. i'm getting sad just writing this.
at the wake, i felt so horrible. i was the one who couldn't stop crying. i was in ny for two days; back in colorado, on my first day of work, i was crying, reading the sympathy card. i was a mess.
we hold onto people we love, and what happens when they go away. nobody lives forever. death is so scary for me. i dont believe in organized religion, and am spiritual, but have a problem with all of these life-after-death scenarios.
i have trouble letting go. relationships, even shitty ones where i was not being treated right, lasted b/c i was too weak to let them go. i miss so many people in my past, esp the ones who are no longer here. b/c what is that like? if you are dead, where are you? it freaks me out really bad to think about this.
rest in peace, grandpa, wherever you may be, if anywhere.
the yoga sutras & how they apply to life
last night, my most excellent yoga teacher summer shared with us a
wonderful sutra:
By cultivating attitudes of friendliness towards the happy,
compassion for the unhappy, delight in the virtuous, and disregard
toward the wicked, the mind stuff retains its undisturbed calmness.
i was thinking of who the people are in my life that are happy,
unhappy, virtuous, and wicked, and realized some key wicked people--
not evil, but people who are constantly complaining, you offer them
advice, help pick them up, listen to them, offer more advice, listen
to them--yet they do not change. we cannot help everyone, and
therefore we must disregard them.
this has stuck with me since last night. i am thinking of the ways
in which i need to cultivate a peaceful life, and how important it
is to me.
namaste.
wonderful sutra:
By cultivating attitudes of friendliness towards the happy,
compassion for the unhappy, delight in the virtuous, and disregard
toward the wicked, the mind stuff retains its undisturbed calmness.
i was thinking of who the people are in my life that are happy,
unhappy, virtuous, and wicked, and realized some key wicked people--
not evil, but people who are constantly complaining, you offer them
advice, help pick them up, listen to them, offer more advice, listen
to them--yet they do not change. we cannot help everyone, and
therefore we must disregard them.
this has stuck with me since last night. i am thinking of the ways
in which i need to cultivate a peaceful life, and how important it
is to me.
namaste.
15 March 2005
my so-called life
i went to work today feeling somewhat cranky, even though i arrived only 10 minutes late (before l, r, and b). r kept asking me a million questions and i just wanted to listen to eggcarton zoo loud (a cover of "what i really need to do is find-a-brand-new-lover!" is my fave of jason and tom's tracks!) and be in my own world. i kept getting asked to do lame things and at one point, frustrated, i said, "someone put me out of my misery." b said, "i wish i could." i do miss l. she mellowed things out.
i went to school, said hello to karen in the office who said after i told her abt my trip, "don't tell me yr backpacking." she laughed. a perk of being a corporate worker. saw e in the lounge and she made me feel better; i swear if emily did not exist i would flip out totally in library school, more than i already do. she keeps me sane even though bpl is slowly driving her insane. class was the usual--drawn out everything, and presentations that were fine. we got out early and i went to the library to do research for paper for my online class--the librarian who thinks a beret is fashionable helped me (he's very nice) and i hate qc for not helping me research better. you suck, queens college!
in the basement, i was perusing the academic library journals, getting frustrated, and i just started crying. maybe it's b/c this injury is keeping me sidelined from running, and i have no place to get my emotions out. i'm so stressed by this unreasonable amount of homework given by my teachers. i put my hair framing my face and drip tears into the journal of academic libraries. get me out of here.
somehow i stop crying, find an article, (i gave up after finding one), copy it, find three books and get the hell out of there. the bus takes a while, the e train takes forever, and somehow, the g train is quickest of all. i take a pill for my migraine, read a book, cathedrals of the flesh by alexia brue (very good) while i eat a simple dinner of reheated brown rice and almond-lemon-butter string beans, and an egg scrambled with fresh chopped tomatoes in a tortilla. i'm making chai with venessa's ingredients (thanks girl!) and realizing i should be doing the bills, working on my paper due next week, working on my long paper (three books to read, help me!), entertaining my cat, studying my spanish, going over travel guides. f- it.
but i'm so filled with self-pity. shut up, cherie. i need to get up. i just needed to get that out. i'm listening to the scofflaws, "WORK! SUCKS!" heh heh. it seems to pointless. i can't do this corporate lifestyle. and c's fave: "taco bell." hahah!
what will i do when i'm done? after i'm traveling? i *hope* so badly to get a job as an academic librarian but it's crazy competitive in the city of FOUR MLS programs (in a country where there is only 53!) plus rutgers not too far away.
yoga tomorrow. deep breaths right now. i wish didn't need sleep so badly or i'd sip the entire batch of chai i just made. it will go in a tupperware container, along with my sadness. i am acknowledging it, but i can't let it bring me down. i will not worry or stress about mountains of schoolwork, the reading i am not doing, the $ i need to be saving, the writing i need to be doing, the book i need to be publishing, my non-relationship (i swear, i see the people at the garden more than i see my "boyfriend"--i don't even understand someone who never seems to want to live with me or has any future plans that include me...), my carpet which needs to be vacuum, the war in iraq, this f-d up administration, keeping up my relatives, and oh yeah i need to call carin and do this and that and i want to cry.
but i won't. i'll straighten up, play cat dancer with luna. i'll do what i can, no more. i will be a slacker at work, finishing my paper, remaining a ghost of the c-employee, but keeping true to my self. so hard, but i must do it.
i went to school, said hello to karen in the office who said after i told her abt my trip, "don't tell me yr backpacking." she laughed. a perk of being a corporate worker. saw e in the lounge and she made me feel better; i swear if emily did not exist i would flip out totally in library school, more than i already do. she keeps me sane even though bpl is slowly driving her insane. class was the usual--drawn out everything, and presentations that were fine. we got out early and i went to the library to do research for paper for my online class--the librarian who thinks a beret is fashionable helped me (he's very nice) and i hate qc for not helping me research better. you suck, queens college!
in the basement, i was perusing the academic library journals, getting frustrated, and i just started crying. maybe it's b/c this injury is keeping me sidelined from running, and i have no place to get my emotions out. i'm so stressed by this unreasonable amount of homework given by my teachers. i put my hair framing my face and drip tears into the journal of academic libraries. get me out of here.
somehow i stop crying, find an article, (i gave up after finding one), copy it, find three books and get the hell out of there. the bus takes a while, the e train takes forever, and somehow, the g train is quickest of all. i take a pill for my migraine, read a book, cathedrals of the flesh by alexia brue (very good) while i eat a simple dinner of reheated brown rice and almond-lemon-butter string beans, and an egg scrambled with fresh chopped tomatoes in a tortilla. i'm making chai with venessa's ingredients (thanks girl!) and realizing i should be doing the bills, working on my paper due next week, working on my long paper (three books to read, help me!), entertaining my cat, studying my spanish, going over travel guides. f- it.
but i'm so filled with self-pity. shut up, cherie. i need to get up. i just needed to get that out. i'm listening to the scofflaws, "WORK! SUCKS!" heh heh. it seems to pointless. i can't do this corporate lifestyle. and c's fave: "taco bell." hahah!
what will i do when i'm done? after i'm traveling? i *hope* so badly to get a job as an academic librarian but it's crazy competitive in the city of FOUR MLS programs (in a country where there is only 53!) plus rutgers not too far away.
yoga tomorrow. deep breaths right now. i wish didn't need sleep so badly or i'd sip the entire batch of chai i just made. it will go in a tupperware container, along with my sadness. i am acknowledging it, but i can't let it bring me down. i will not worry or stress about mountains of schoolwork, the reading i am not doing, the $ i need to be saving, the writing i need to be doing, the book i need to be publishing, my non-relationship (i swear, i see the people at the garden more than i see my "boyfriend"--i don't even understand someone who never seems to want to live with me or has any future plans that include me...), my carpet which needs to be vacuum, the war in iraq, this f-d up administration, keeping up my relatives, and oh yeah i need to call carin and do this and that and i want to cry.
but i won't. i'll straighten up, play cat dancer with luna. i'll do what i can, no more. i will be a slacker at work, finishing my paper, remaining a ghost of the c-employee, but keeping true to my self. so hard, but i must do it.
13 March 2005
i miss running in hills and forests by lakes and under trees--the smell of fresh evergreen
i love brooklyn. i love new york city. don't take me out of it. traveling, yes; but to live...shudder. i can't imagine how t can live in the middle of nowhere. i'd die without a plethora of museums and people and excitement and energy and vibrancy. i never want to leave...i can't imagine living in the middle of nowhere, wearing clothes from kmart (ugh, and walmart being the only place to shop! ugh!). i can't imagine in.
but i do miss those beautiful and utterly under-valued college years...running in the woods with crista, talking about sex with the boys who would constantly be grabbing each other's butts but claiming heterosexuality, watching corey eating oreos on the starting line and substiting a bottle of gatorade or water with mountain dew...crista and i were so close then, during our runs (esp ones where we got lost!)--we were cocaptains of the xc team--maybe track too, but honestly, i can't remember. i remember my coach being mad at crista for an injury--i know, what a bitch she was to get injured! (i'm being sarcastic here! my coaches were SO unreasonable.) i remember when i *quit*--i had sinusitis, and was so ill--i lost 10 lbs or something, b/c i could barely eat, i felt horrible, a 40 minute drain me for the rest of the day...and they were SO mad at me.
but i digress. c and i talked ourselves through shitty relationships, through illnesses and heartbreak, through fights and jealousies...i miss that. i miss waking at 630 am, doing my ab workout, going on a run, letting my life revolve around running. of course t saved me before i became a running zombie, but i miss running so much, in beautiful woods. i loved minnewaska, mohonk.
running in brooklyn, frankliy, sucks. i hate it. sure, summertime runs can rock when you're running at 1030pm and kids are licking icicles and you run through firehydrants, begging to be sprayed with a hose, feeding off of the energy that is new york city.
but i do miss those beautiful and utterly under-valued college years...running in the woods with crista, talking about sex with the boys who would constantly be grabbing each other's butts but claiming heterosexuality, watching corey eating oreos on the starting line and substiting a bottle of gatorade or water with mountain dew...crista and i were so close then, during our runs (esp ones where we got lost!)--we were cocaptains of the xc team--maybe track too, but honestly, i can't remember. i remember my coach being mad at crista for an injury--i know, what a bitch she was to get injured! (i'm being sarcastic here! my coaches were SO unreasonable.) i remember when i *quit*--i had sinusitis, and was so ill--i lost 10 lbs or something, b/c i could barely eat, i felt horrible, a 40 minute drain me for the rest of the day...and they were SO mad at me.
but i digress. c and i talked ourselves through shitty relationships, through illnesses and heartbreak, through fights and jealousies...i miss that. i miss waking at 630 am, doing my ab workout, going on a run, letting my life revolve around running. of course t saved me before i became a running zombie, but i miss running so much, in beautiful woods. i loved minnewaska, mohonk.
running in brooklyn, frankliy, sucks. i hate it. sure, summertime runs can rock when you're running at 1030pm and kids are licking icicles and you run through firehydrants, begging to be sprayed with a hose, feeding off of the energy that is new york city.
things
there's just a lot of things i like to think about. like, god, what happened to the cheryl who danced at raves? and what are the scofflaws doing--does glenn remember i asked him to my prom? and do you know how empty my apartment sometimes feels at night, with few lights on, luna sleeping on the bed in the other room? i wonder how it was i got from there to here. i think that must be the trippy thing about having kids: you get pregnant, have this beautiful baby, watch it cry, scream, revolt over the next twenty years, and suddenly, they're graduating college, and you look at yourself and realize you're not twenty, you're old, and look at what you CREATED, and it all breaks down. i think i'm just being too philosophical. i just read this story where the boyfriend leaves the girlfriend's window open, the cat leaves, gets hit by a car and dies, and she leaves him. what would you do had your boyfriend neglected your cat so? how do you live your life?
amarita: FICTION
note from cherie:
i know some might interpret this as anti-choice but it's not, not at all. it's a story abt a woman finally accepting something, about difficult decisions, about maturity. i'm totally pro-choice, and amarita and her daughter both are. amarita was forced into her situation, and finally, has decided to make the best of it. remember: acceptance.
Her daughter was approaching that age where if she didn’t like her mother’s rules, she was going to sneak out. Amarita pictured dancing with older men at clubs, drinking in friends’ basements, perhaps going all the way with boys.
Amarita looked at her daughter, the telltale smears on her face where mascara, eye shadow, and lip liner were earlier. The dinner table was quiet. Amarita was just too damn tired to say anything, and her daughter, well, Vi was a teenager.
Vi was pushing around her food, like Amarita did years ago. “Stop playing and start eating,” she said automatically.
Vi looked up. “I hate your cooking. Everything’s healthy. Why can’t you make french fries, or put butter on vegetables?” This was something she must have gotten from her best friend’s house. Vi had never complained before.
“I never wanted to have you,” Amarita wanted to say. Sixteen years earlier, she was on her way to get an abortion when her mother confronted her about the pregnancy test kit Amarita had thought she buried well in her older sister’s garbage pail. Amarita left the house anyway, determined to take care of it. She remembered running down 6th Street, her backpack bumping against her back, the labored breath, hating that thing inside her, wanting so badly to get it out.
Her mother yanked her off the bus as she was boarding, and took her home. The next seven months were the most miserable of Amarita’s life; her mother made her pray all day, and her pregnancy was not easy. Amarita left her mother’s house as soon as she found a job—conveniently located three states over. She had put little Vivian in the carseat, and drove for the next ten hours to the melodies of Vivian’s screams. She worked days at a law office as a secretary with an old friend (now a paralegal), and at nights, while Vivian had slept, Amarita worked phone sex hotlines. While raising her daughter alone, she put herself through school, and was working nine-to-five comfortably. Amarita was a teenager, with only her GED, and she remembered thinking, whenever Vivian wailed, “God, I wish Mami hadn’t pulled me off the bus.” Today, she thought she was past thinking this sort of thing, or so she thought.
“Vi, we’re eating healthy. You don’t want to have a heart attack when you’re old. And butter and deep frying makes you fat!” Vivian was underweight, if anything, yet still stared in the mirror for hours, pinching bits of imaginary fat, with her best friend Lea, who was pretty fat. Amarita knew the fat part would make her shut up and eat it.
They said nothing the entire dinner. Vi stopped playing with her food, and ate it uncomplainingly. She added a bit too much salt for what Amarita would have liked, but Amarita kept her mouth shut. After dinner, Vi loaded the dishwasher and Amarita scrubbed the pots. The phone rang as Amarita was rinsing suds off the steamer. She shut off the water. Vi and Amarita looked at the caller id to see who it was.
“Grandma.”
“We don’t want to talk to her,” Vi told her mother. She knew that Amarita was not on good terms with her mother. Amarita rarely saw her mother, and Vi hated going there so much—the force feedings (“Doesn’t your mother feed you? Eat, Vivian!”), the constant nagging, the overbearing nature of her mother being too much for Vi—that Amarita didn’t force her daughter to go there, although she knew she should.
Amarita turned on the water, and rinsed the steamer. She put it in the dish drain, and dried her hands on the towel.
“Ma?”
“What Vi?”
Vivian stood there, dumbly. Amarita noticed all of the color had drained from her daughter’s face. “What is it?”
“Mom, I haven’t got my period.”
Wasn’t she too young for this? True, Amarita had also been fifteen, but she was so stupid. She had taught her daughter about condoms and birth control and pregnancy prevention years ago (too early, some might say).
“Is there something you want to tell me?” Amarita guided her daughter by the elbows, and had both of them sitting down. Amarita had a date tonight, something she was altogether too tired to go on, but it was for tea at the small café at the end of their block. Amarita chose it for dates when she was too tired for anything formal, or wanted to watch over Vi—Vi would sit in the window seat and drink cocoa and work on her homework. Tonight Amarita was figuring she could leave Vi home, and she would just drink some mint tea with Jesse.
“Mom…Mom, I took these diet pills Kerry gave me. I think they stopped my period. I feel sick all the time…she tried to show me how to throw up. I just don’t want to be fat. Mom, I won’t take them again, I promise. I’m sorry.” Vi was crying, and Amarita was so shocked that her daughter wasn’t pregnant. Why had her daughter wanted butter if she was so obsessed with thinness?
“Is that all, sweetie?”
Vi looked up, puffy eyes. “What, should I have shot someone too?” Vi had inherited her mother’s sarcasm.
The doorbell rang, and Vi got up, started moving towards her room.
“No,” Amarita told her. “I’ll tell Jesse we’re off.”
“No, Mom. I’m fine.”
“No, this is something we need to talk about. I’m not mad at you. Go tell Jesse I’m not feeling well. Then come up here and we’ll talk.”
As her daughter went to the front door to tell a lie to the man Amarita was convinced she loved, she leaned out the window. She could hear Vi lying for her, something about a horrible stomach virus, embellishing a bit too much. She remembered those years ago, hating her mother as she felt her mother’s grip on her arms, “GET OFF THAT BUS.” She doesn’t think about what she could have done—a private college, a better career, vacationing in the Egyptian pyramids. Instead she realizes how lucky she is: a paralegal job, and Vi is such a good kid, really. Things are great.
When Vi comes back into the living room, Amarita is crying, something that she could never explain to her daughter, never.
i know some might interpret this as anti-choice but it's not, not at all. it's a story abt a woman finally accepting something, about difficult decisions, about maturity. i'm totally pro-choice, and amarita and her daughter both are. amarita was forced into her situation, and finally, has decided to make the best of it. remember: acceptance.
Her daughter was approaching that age where if she didn’t like her mother’s rules, she was going to sneak out. Amarita pictured dancing with older men at clubs, drinking in friends’ basements, perhaps going all the way with boys.
Amarita looked at her daughter, the telltale smears on her face where mascara, eye shadow, and lip liner were earlier. The dinner table was quiet. Amarita was just too damn tired to say anything, and her daughter, well, Vi was a teenager.
Vi was pushing around her food, like Amarita did years ago. “Stop playing and start eating,” she said automatically.
Vi looked up. “I hate your cooking. Everything’s healthy. Why can’t you make french fries, or put butter on vegetables?” This was something she must have gotten from her best friend’s house. Vi had never complained before.
“I never wanted to have you,” Amarita wanted to say. Sixteen years earlier, she was on her way to get an abortion when her mother confronted her about the pregnancy test kit Amarita had thought she buried well in her older sister’s garbage pail. Amarita left the house anyway, determined to take care of it. She remembered running down 6th Street, her backpack bumping against her back, the labored breath, hating that thing inside her, wanting so badly to get it out.
Her mother yanked her off the bus as she was boarding, and took her home. The next seven months were the most miserable of Amarita’s life; her mother made her pray all day, and her pregnancy was not easy. Amarita left her mother’s house as soon as she found a job—conveniently located three states over. She had put little Vivian in the carseat, and drove for the next ten hours to the melodies of Vivian’s screams. She worked days at a law office as a secretary with an old friend (now a paralegal), and at nights, while Vivian had slept, Amarita worked phone sex hotlines. While raising her daughter alone, she put herself through school, and was working nine-to-five comfortably. Amarita was a teenager, with only her GED, and she remembered thinking, whenever Vivian wailed, “God, I wish Mami hadn’t pulled me off the bus.” Today, she thought she was past thinking this sort of thing, or so she thought.
“Vi, we’re eating healthy. You don’t want to have a heart attack when you’re old. And butter and deep frying makes you fat!” Vivian was underweight, if anything, yet still stared in the mirror for hours, pinching bits of imaginary fat, with her best friend Lea, who was pretty fat. Amarita knew the fat part would make her shut up and eat it.
They said nothing the entire dinner. Vi stopped playing with her food, and ate it uncomplainingly. She added a bit too much salt for what Amarita would have liked, but Amarita kept her mouth shut. After dinner, Vi loaded the dishwasher and Amarita scrubbed the pots. The phone rang as Amarita was rinsing suds off the steamer. She shut off the water. Vi and Amarita looked at the caller id to see who it was.
“Grandma.”
“We don’t want to talk to her,” Vi told her mother. She knew that Amarita was not on good terms with her mother. Amarita rarely saw her mother, and Vi hated going there so much—the force feedings (“Doesn’t your mother feed you? Eat, Vivian!”), the constant nagging, the overbearing nature of her mother being too much for Vi—that Amarita didn’t force her daughter to go there, although she knew she should.
Amarita turned on the water, and rinsed the steamer. She put it in the dish drain, and dried her hands on the towel.
“Ma?”
“What Vi?”
Vivian stood there, dumbly. Amarita noticed all of the color had drained from her daughter’s face. “What is it?”
“Mom, I haven’t got my period.”
Wasn’t she too young for this? True, Amarita had also been fifteen, but she was so stupid. She had taught her daughter about condoms and birth control and pregnancy prevention years ago (too early, some might say).
“Is there something you want to tell me?” Amarita guided her daughter by the elbows, and had both of them sitting down. Amarita had a date tonight, something she was altogether too tired to go on, but it was for tea at the small café at the end of their block. Amarita chose it for dates when she was too tired for anything formal, or wanted to watch over Vi—Vi would sit in the window seat and drink cocoa and work on her homework. Tonight Amarita was figuring she could leave Vi home, and she would just drink some mint tea with Jesse.
“Mom…Mom, I took these diet pills Kerry gave me. I think they stopped my period. I feel sick all the time…she tried to show me how to throw up. I just don’t want to be fat. Mom, I won’t take them again, I promise. I’m sorry.” Vi was crying, and Amarita was so shocked that her daughter wasn’t pregnant. Why had her daughter wanted butter if she was so obsessed with thinness?
“Is that all, sweetie?”
Vi looked up, puffy eyes. “What, should I have shot someone too?” Vi had inherited her mother’s sarcasm.
The doorbell rang, and Vi got up, started moving towards her room.
“No,” Amarita told her. “I’ll tell Jesse we’re off.”
“No, Mom. I’m fine.”
“No, this is something we need to talk about. I’m not mad at you. Go tell Jesse I’m not feeling well. Then come up here and we’ll talk.”
As her daughter went to the front door to tell a lie to the man Amarita was convinced she loved, she leaned out the window. She could hear Vi lying for her, something about a horrible stomach virus, embellishing a bit too much. She remembered those years ago, hating her mother as she felt her mother’s grip on her arms, “GET OFF THAT BUS.” She doesn’t think about what she could have done—a private college, a better career, vacationing in the Egyptian pyramids. Instead she realizes how lucky she is: a paralegal job, and Vi is such a good kid, really. Things are great.
When Vi comes back into the living room, Amarita is crying, something that she could never explain to her daughter, never.
amarita: FICTION
note from cherie:
i know some might interpret this as anti-choice but it's not, not at all. it's a story abt a woman finally accepting something, about difficult decisions, about maturity. i'm totally pro-choice, and amarita and her daughter both are. amarita was forced into her situation, and finally, has decided to make the best of it. remember: acceptance.
Her daughter was approaching that age where if she didn’t like her mother’s rules, she was going to sneak out. Amarita pictured dancing with older men at clubs, drinking in friends’ basements, perhaps going all the way with boys.
Amarita looked at her daughter, the telltale smears on her face where mascara, eye shadow, and lip liner were earlier. The dinner table was quiet. Amarita was just too damn tired to say anything, and her daughter, well, Vi was a teenager.
Vi was pushing around her food, like Amarita did years ago. “Stop playing and start eating,” she said automatically.
Vi looked up. “I hate your cooking. Everything’s healthy. Why can’t you make french fries, or put butter on vegetables?” This was something she must have gotten from her best friend’s house. Vi had never complained before.
“I never wanted to have you,” Amarita wanted to say. Sixteen years earlier, she was on her way to get an abortion when her mother confronted her about the pregnancy test kit Amarita had thought she buried well in her older sister’s garbage pail. Amarita left the house anyway, determined to take care of it. She remembered running down 6th Street, her backpack bumping against her back, the labored breath, hating that thing inside her, wanting so badly to get it out.
Her mother yanked her off the bus as she was boarding, and took her home. The next seven months were the most miserable of Amarita’s life; her mother made her pray all day, and her pregnancy was not easy. Amarita left her mother’s house as soon as she found a job—conveniently located three states over. She had put little Vivian in the carseat, and drove for the next ten hours to the melodies of Vivian’s screams. She worked days at a law office as a secretary with an old friend (now a paralegal), and at nights, while Vivian had slept, Amarita worked phone sex hotlines. While raising her daughter alone, she put herself through school, and was working nine-to-five comfortably. Amarita was a teenager, with only her GED, and she remembered thinking, whenever Vivian wailed, “God, I wish Mami hadn’t pulled me off the bus.” Today, she thought she was past thinking this sort of thing, or so she thought.
“Vi, we’re eating healthy. You don’t want to have a heart attack when you’re old. And butter and deep frying makes you fat!” Vivian was underweight, if anything, yet still stared in the mirror for hours, pinching bits of imaginary fat, with her best friend Lea, who was pretty fat. Amarita knew the fat part would make her shut up and eat it.
They said nothing the entire dinner. Vi stopped playing with her food, and ate it uncomplainingly. She added a bit too much salt for what Amarita would have liked, but Amarita kept her mouth shut. After dinner, Vi loaded the dishwasher and Amarita scrubbed the pots. The phone rang as Amarita was rinsing suds off the steamer. She shut off the water. Vi and Amarita looked at the caller id to see who it was.
“Grandma.”
“We don’t want to talk to her,” Vi told her mother. She knew that Amarita was not on good terms with her mother. Amarita rarely saw her mother, and Vi hated going there so much—the force feedings (“Doesn’t your mother feed you? Eat, Vivian!”), the constant nagging, the overbearing nature of her mother being too much for Vi—that Amarita didn’t force her daughter to go there, although she knew she should.
Amarita turned on the water, and rinsed the steamer. She put it in the dish drain, and dried her hands on the towel.
“Ma?”
“What Vi?”
Vivian stood there, dumbly. Amarita noticed all of the color had drained from her daughter’s face. “What is it?”
“Mom, I haven’t got my period.”
Wasn’t she too young for this? True, Amarita had also been fifteen, but she was so stupid. She had taught her daughter about condoms and birth control and pregnancy prevention years ago (too early, some might say).
“Is there something you want to tell me?” Amarita guided her daughter by the elbows, and had both of them sitting down. Amarita had a date tonight, something she was altogether too tired to go on, but it was for tea at the small café at the end of their block. Amarita chose it for dates when she was too tired for anything formal, or wanted to watch over Vi—Vi would sit in the window seat and drink cocoa and work on her homework. Tonight Amarita was figuring she could leave Vi home, and she would just drink some mint tea with Jesse.
“Mom…Mom, I took these diet pills Kerry gave me. I think they stopped my period. I feel sick all the time…she tried to show me how to throw up. I just don’t want to be fat. Mom, I won’t take them again, I promise. I’m sorry.” Vi was crying, and Amarita was so shocked that her daughter wasn’t pregnant. Why had her daughter wanted butter if she was so obsessed with thinness?
“Is that all, sweetie?”
Vi looked up, puffy eyes. “What, should I have shot someone too?” Vi had inherited her mother’s sarcasm.
The doorbell rang, and Vi got up, started moving towards her room.
“No,” Amarita told her. “I’ll tell Jesse we’re off.”
“No, Mom. I’m fine.”
“No, this is something we need to talk about. I’m not mad at you. Go tell Jesse I’m not feeling well. Then come up here and we’ll talk.”
As her daughter went to the front door to tell a lie to the man Amarita was convinced she loved, she leaned out the window. She could hear Vi lying for her, something about a horrible stomach virus, embellishing a bit too much. She remembered those years ago, hating her mother as she felt her mother’s grip on her arms, “GET OFF THAT BUS.” She doesn’t think about what she could have done—a private college, a better career, vacationing in the Egyptian pyramids. Instead she realizes how lucky she is: a paralegal job, and Vi is such a good kid, really. Things are great.
When Vi comes back into the living room, Amarita is crying, something that she could never explain to her daughter, never.
i know some might interpret this as anti-choice but it's not, not at all. it's a story abt a woman finally accepting something, about difficult decisions, about maturity. i'm totally pro-choice, and amarita and her daughter both are. amarita was forced into her situation, and finally, has decided to make the best of it. remember: acceptance.
Her daughter was approaching that age where if she didn’t like her mother’s rules, she was going to sneak out. Amarita pictured dancing with older men at clubs, drinking in friends’ basements, perhaps going all the way with boys.
Amarita looked at her daughter, the telltale smears on her face where mascara, eye shadow, and lip liner were earlier. The dinner table was quiet. Amarita was just too damn tired to say anything, and her daughter, well, Vi was a teenager.
Vi was pushing around her food, like Amarita did years ago. “Stop playing and start eating,” she said automatically.
Vi looked up. “I hate your cooking. Everything’s healthy. Why can’t you make french fries, or put butter on vegetables?” This was something she must have gotten from her best friend’s house. Vi had never complained before.
“I never wanted to have you,” Amarita wanted to say. Sixteen years earlier, she was on her way to get an abortion when her mother confronted her about the pregnancy test kit Amarita had thought she buried well in her older sister’s garbage pail. Amarita left the house anyway, determined to take care of it. She remembered running down 6th Street, her backpack bumping against her back, the labored breath, hating that thing inside her, wanting so badly to get it out.
Her mother yanked her off the bus as she was boarding, and took her home. The next seven months were the most miserable of Amarita’s life; her mother made her pray all day, and her pregnancy was not easy. Amarita left her mother’s house as soon as she found a job—conveniently located three states over. She had put little Vivian in the carseat, and drove for the next ten hours to the melodies of Vivian’s screams. She worked days at a law office as a secretary with an old friend (now a paralegal), and at nights, while Vivian had slept, Amarita worked phone sex hotlines. While raising her daughter alone, she put herself through school, and was working nine-to-five comfortably. Amarita was a teenager, with only her GED, and she remembered thinking, whenever Vivian wailed, “God, I wish Mami hadn’t pulled me off the bus.” Today, she thought she was past thinking this sort of thing, or so she thought.
“Vi, we’re eating healthy. You don’t want to have a heart attack when you’re old. And butter and deep frying makes you fat!” Vivian was underweight, if anything, yet still stared in the mirror for hours, pinching bits of imaginary fat, with her best friend Lea, who was pretty fat. Amarita knew the fat part would make her shut up and eat it.
They said nothing the entire dinner. Vi stopped playing with her food, and ate it uncomplainingly. She added a bit too much salt for what Amarita would have liked, but Amarita kept her mouth shut. After dinner, Vi loaded the dishwasher and Amarita scrubbed the pots. The phone rang as Amarita was rinsing suds off the steamer. She shut off the water. Vi and Amarita looked at the caller id to see who it was.
“Grandma.”
“We don’t want to talk to her,” Vi told her mother. She knew that Amarita was not on good terms with her mother. Amarita rarely saw her mother, and Vi hated going there so much—the force feedings (“Doesn’t your mother feed you? Eat, Vivian!”), the constant nagging, the overbearing nature of her mother being too much for Vi—that Amarita didn’t force her daughter to go there, although she knew she should.
Amarita turned on the water, and rinsed the steamer. She put it in the dish drain, and dried her hands on the towel.
“Ma?”
“What Vi?”
Vivian stood there, dumbly. Amarita noticed all of the color had drained from her daughter’s face. “What is it?”
“Mom, I haven’t got my period.”
Wasn’t she too young for this? True, Amarita had also been fifteen, but she was so stupid. She had taught her daughter about condoms and birth control and pregnancy prevention years ago (too early, some might say).
“Is there something you want to tell me?” Amarita guided her daughter by the elbows, and had both of them sitting down. Amarita had a date tonight, something she was altogether too tired to go on, but it was for tea at the small café at the end of their block. Amarita chose it for dates when she was too tired for anything formal, or wanted to watch over Vi—Vi would sit in the window seat and drink cocoa and work on her homework. Tonight Amarita was figuring she could leave Vi home, and she would just drink some mint tea with Jesse.
“Mom…Mom, I took these diet pills Kerry gave me. I think they stopped my period. I feel sick all the time…she tried to show me how to throw up. I just don’t want to be fat. Mom, I won’t take them again, I promise. I’m sorry.” Vi was crying, and Amarita was so shocked that her daughter wasn’t pregnant. Why had her daughter wanted butter if she was so obsessed with thinness?
“Is that all, sweetie?”
Vi looked up, puffy eyes. “What, should I have shot someone too?” Vi had inherited her mother’s sarcasm.
The doorbell rang, and Vi got up, started moving towards her room.
“No,” Amarita told her. “I’ll tell Jesse we’re off.”
“No, Mom. I’m fine.”
“No, this is something we need to talk about. I’m not mad at you. Go tell Jesse I’m not feeling well. Then come up here and we’ll talk.”
As her daughter went to the front door to tell a lie to the man Amarita was convinced she loved, she leaned out the window. She could hear Vi lying for her, something about a horrible stomach virus, embellishing a bit too much. She remembered those years ago, hating her mother as she felt her mother’s grip on her arms, “GET OFF THAT BUS.” She doesn’t think about what she could have done—a private college, a better career, vacationing in the Egyptian pyramids. Instead she realizes how lucky she is: a paralegal job, and Vi is such a good kid, really. Things are great.
When Vi comes back into the living room, Amarita is crying, something that she could never explain to her daughter, never.
12 March 2005
i'm really not sexy when i run
today i was running with a pretty scary outfit on: blue speckled ear warmer, orange vest, green long sleeved tee shirt, purple pants, green gloves, and red socks. this guy is backing into a parking spot when he sees me. he stops and watches me run past. um, i'm dressed really scary (he WAS a hipster!). he couldn't really see much of me. that pisses me off. don't stare at me when i run! i'm doing it for ME not you!
11 March 2005
untitled prose
She’s waiting for the last train out, but no one has told
her there was a problem with the train and it isn’t running. Still,
she waits for three hours, not looking impatient the entire time,
complacently sitting on a wooden bench, her large bag on the
concrete in front of her.
Perhaps it’s because it is she has no place else to go, but
she spends the night on the bench. She does not lie down, does not
even move (except to go to the bathroom in the waiting room at half-
past eleven) but sleeps in her seat. In the morning, as the sun is
rising, she is aware that she looks like a mess—yesterday’s makeup
is still on her face, her hair is windblown, and her neat navy dress
wrinkled—she is glad she has stayed. The first train comes promptly,
and she is one of the three people to board the train. Unsure of
what is to come, she sits in a soft seat, settling into the seat,
feeling the cushiness. She knows whatever will come, it will come;
there is no reason to worry about it, no reason to apprehend it—she
must approach everything, yes, even the future, with open arms.
her there was a problem with the train and it isn’t running. Still,
she waits for three hours, not looking impatient the entire time,
complacently sitting on a wooden bench, her large bag on the
concrete in front of her.
Perhaps it’s because it is she has no place else to go, but
she spends the night on the bench. She does not lie down, does not
even move (except to go to the bathroom in the waiting room at half-
past eleven) but sleeps in her seat. In the morning, as the sun is
rising, she is aware that she looks like a mess—yesterday’s makeup
is still on her face, her hair is windblown, and her neat navy dress
wrinkled—she is glad she has stayed. The first train comes promptly,
and she is one of the three people to board the train. Unsure of
what is to come, she sits in a soft seat, settling into the seat,
feeling the cushiness. She knows whatever will come, it will come;
there is no reason to worry about it, no reason to apprehend it—she
must approach everything, yes, even the future, with open arms.
i'm really gonna go! i got the tickets...
i've been thinking a lot, and overwhelmed with school work, work,
planning. it's official: the tickets are bought, passport secured,
the money is slowly piling up in the bank. once-treasured
possessions are being sold on the internet to add to the trip funds.
yes, i will be gone.
i will miss so much--i will miss my beautiful cat, my family, my
friends, my apt, t (not like i see him much anyway!), the comforts
of home--hot bath/shower, great bed, a fridge full of food. but
away, i shall learn--other cultures, other people, the art i shall
see! i look forward to it, with open arms and big eyes. i am ready
for whatever is to come. but i cannot help but look forward to this
exciting opportunity.
and what's after that? settling back to the grind, i suppose, but
why think about that now? i can skip ahead to a tour of the southern
half of this hemisphere. much as i hate the cold, i'd love to go to
tibet--oooh to climb mt. everst (i am too much of a wuss to do it!).
or to go to anartica.
there's opportunities everywhere, you must open strange doors and
approach with a helpful happy heart.
planning. it's official: the tickets are bought, passport secured,
the money is slowly piling up in the bank. once-treasured
possessions are being sold on the internet to add to the trip funds.
yes, i will be gone.
i will miss so much--i will miss my beautiful cat, my family, my
friends, my apt, t (not like i see him much anyway!), the comforts
of home--hot bath/shower, great bed, a fridge full of food. but
away, i shall learn--other cultures, other people, the art i shall
see! i look forward to it, with open arms and big eyes. i am ready
for whatever is to come. but i cannot help but look forward to this
exciting opportunity.
and what's after that? settling back to the grind, i suppose, but
why think about that now? i can skip ahead to a tour of the southern
half of this hemisphere. much as i hate the cold, i'd love to go to
tibet--oooh to climb mt. everst (i am too much of a wuss to do it!).
or to go to anartica.
there's opportunities everywhere, you must open strange doors and
approach with a helpful happy heart.
09 March 2005
i'm going! over three months in europe...
i bought my tickets last night! i'm really going! i felt sick with nerves as soon as i bought them: is this for real? is this the right decision? will i have enough money? i'll be so homesick, i know--but i will have an amazing time! drinking sangria in a bar where i'm the only person who speaks english. gazing at the beautiful tuscany countryside. sunning myself on a greek beach. inhaling all of the beautiful art of italy. engaging people in conversations.
i can't wait to go! i'm so nervous!
i can't wait to go! i'm so nervous!
06 March 2005
i can't stand the corporatization of america!
i hate the feeling of everything being one big monopoly. my friend josh drove me home from my race this am, pointing out it was "morgan stanely hospital (something else)"--great, put yr brand name on a hospital. i hope their dollars are helping people but most of the time, it's not.
supposedly, all these monopoly laws are being violated right now. i need to research this, and you should too. good ol' dubya, helping his rich friends out. grrrrr.
for instance, remember when you went to yr local bank and they knew yr name? or went to a local department store? remember alexander's, remember williamsburg saving bank, remember stores that came in "ones"--i.e., NOT a freakin chain store!
my mom is depressed because her fave chain store--lord and taylor, which do sell fur :( but have great bargains and she gets insane deals--my formal gown for my cousin's wedding was $4. yup! anyway, it was bought by the parent company of macy's, and my mom was reminiscing for a&s, sterns, all those stores. and it's like, now there's no choice. buy our chain crap or go naked. i do like macy's, though. but i hate this acquisition.
m&a sucks.
i need to tell that to the need person that comes to my library with a research request on that.
my job deals with research for and on banks. (note: this is my job, not my career!) so i am learning about how more and more banks are being taken over, and they're building tons of chains, laying off people, etc. saying it's for the good of the customers, but really, they care abt profit, their pockets and the shareholders (even if the top layer is skimmed off for the good of the rich stealing bankers). it annoys me. i hate the williamsburg savings bank, then it was taken over by republic, now it's hsbc. i still haven't forgiven hsbc for giving me ugly blue checks when i had nice checks. and i didn't have $$$ to get nice ones again.
and greenpoint (my other bank acct; my first one is the trip $$$ (i've always kept it for long-term savings), and the greenpoint one is the one i use to pay my bills with) was just acquired by northfork. booo. they changed my online banking, and they just suck.
i'm totally negative to this walmartization of america.
that's why i try to shop in independent stores when possible, buying my organic yogurt from the garden as opposed to chain stores c town or keyfood. and the employees at the latter two stores are friendly--at the garden, they smile hello at me, if they see me in the neighborhood or in the store. it's a community.
and frankly, chain stores, you aren't forming community!
supposedly, all these monopoly laws are being violated right now. i need to research this, and you should too. good ol' dubya, helping his rich friends out. grrrrr.
for instance, remember when you went to yr local bank and they knew yr name? or went to a local department store? remember alexander's, remember williamsburg saving bank, remember stores that came in "ones"--i.e., NOT a freakin chain store!
my mom is depressed because her fave chain store--lord and taylor, which do sell fur :( but have great bargains and she gets insane deals--my formal gown for my cousin's wedding was $4. yup! anyway, it was bought by the parent company of macy's, and my mom was reminiscing for a&s, sterns, all those stores. and it's like, now there's no choice. buy our chain crap or go naked. i do like macy's, though. but i hate this acquisition.
m&a sucks.
i need to tell that to the need person that comes to my library with a research request on that.
my job deals with research for and on banks. (note: this is my job, not my career!) so i am learning about how more and more banks are being taken over, and they're building tons of chains, laying off people, etc. saying it's for the good of the customers, but really, they care abt profit, their pockets and the shareholders (even if the top layer is skimmed off for the good of the rich stealing bankers). it annoys me. i hate the williamsburg savings bank, then it was taken over by republic, now it's hsbc. i still haven't forgiven hsbc for giving me ugly blue checks when i had nice checks. and i didn't have $$$ to get nice ones again.
and greenpoint (my other bank acct; my first one is the trip $$$ (i've always kept it for long-term savings), and the greenpoint one is the one i use to pay my bills with) was just acquired by northfork. booo. they changed my online banking, and they just suck.
i'm totally negative to this walmartization of america.
that's why i try to shop in independent stores when possible, buying my organic yogurt from the garden as opposed to chain stores c town or keyfood. and the employees at the latter two stores are friendly--at the garden, they smile hello at me, if they see me in the neighborhood or in the store. it's a community.
and frankly, chain stores, you aren't forming community!
03 March 2005
affirmative action needs to step up
you know what i think? i think that every corporation that has never
had a ceo of color, or a female ceo, should be forced to recruit and
hire a competent woman or person of color--it shouldn't be hard,
there are people out there, they just aren't given a chance.
and what i really dream of: is the same applying to our country's
government! imagine having a female president (a female president of
color!) with a vice-president who might be a male, but is not white!
wouldn't that be wonderful?
don't you question it--why don't we see the faces of our community
in the government that rules us?
venessa, you've asked me if peaceful revolution is possible--
remember gandhi. one day, i would like to see some colorful faces in
our government--the white out of our government and corporations is
a disgusting disgrace.
had a ceo of color, or a female ceo, should be forced to recruit and
hire a competent woman or person of color--it shouldn't be hard,
there are people out there, they just aren't given a chance.
and what i really dream of: is the same applying to our country's
government! imagine having a female president (a female president of
color!) with a vice-president who might be a male, but is not white!
wouldn't that be wonderful?
don't you question it--why don't we see the faces of our community
in the government that rules us?
venessa, you've asked me if peaceful revolution is possible--
remember gandhi. one day, i would like to see some colorful faces in
our government--the white out of our government and corporations is
a disgusting disgrace.
01 March 2005
thinking back
i'm just remember my youth as i listen to this judge jules show on the radio. not like i'm old, but when i was 18, 19, 20, wow. thinking of all the parties--driving to toronto!, or driving to dc like it was nothing (well, it was ed, but i prob did some of the driving!). we went everywhere to dance to the beats, to shake it up and out.
memories like...
which outfit? jenny, should i wear my track flats with this skirt or that one? this vibe is just incredible! collecting phone numbers of friends. flyers. black with dirt and smoke and god knows what afterwards.
and i miss it. i think about how i would change things if i went back--hmmm not much, just enjoy it more. maybe give trevor my heart a bit earlier...
want to go dancing at avalon to see judge jules?
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