almost gone

i'm about to dismantle my computer so that i may put it in my parents' car--they will be arriving within an hour. i can't believe i'll be gone from home for so long--and gone from my precious kitty. i think my subletters seem really good with cats--and nice--so hopefully it will work out (and not be a repeat of other craigs list horror stories). i still have so much to do today--and can't even comprehend the fact that i'll be in a plane later today, aimed for places i have never been. i'm excited.

today is memorial day, but it's no longer a holiday for me. my life is a holiday. and it feels great. the sun is out, it is warm, and the sun will always shine on me the next several months. this breather from the working world--let's just say i hope to become independently wealthy so i can do this all the time.

well i'm going to dismantle my computer, get an iced chai, and transfer funds at my bank. next time i post, i'll be abroad.

see you in europe!

fiction: jaywalking and other such dangers

when we were fourteen, we crossed the street whenever we liked , because as floridian said (with traces of her thick puerto rican accent mocking up the suburban speech us all-americans know so well), "pedestrians always have the right of way." as soon as we'd leave the house, we'd crack gum, apply extra makeup at the bus stop (my mother only let me wear light pink lipstick) and push up our bras so it looked like we (sorta) had cleavage. the crossing the street at a brisk pace (never a run, floridina cautioned; we didn't want to look desperate) often made us readjust our chests.

one night, after leaving floridina's mother drinking rum with curlers in her hair, and mine sucking down cigarettes and anti-depressants like we sucked down coca-colas, we met our match. after crossing queens boulevard at a brisk pace, our high heels clacking, we heard the usual horn. we kept walking and he drove slowly down the narrow street. the guy pulled over and waited for us.

"hey, you need a ride?"

"hells, no!" i was taught to be rude when approached. floridina would flirt, and was constantly accepting rides from strangers that i would turn down. i told her coldly when she told me i was being a wussy, "if you want to risk death or rape or whatever, go ahead. i'm walking and taking the bus and taking the train." she shut up and listened to me after that. some girl our age who accepted a ride had her body found in a keyfood parking lot. just thinking about the description of her mutilated body--stab wounds and cigarette burns and god, what they did to her down there--well, i never even thought about taking a ride after that.

"but i'd like to give you a ride. c'mon honey." his teeth glinted gold. floridina looked like she was thinking about it.

"no! we're fine."

he smiled. "aight, well, i'll drive around for a while so i can see y'all run across the street. hey brunette, your titty's been shakin' like nobody's business."

and floridina, who sucked mike marskall off after he dared her to, finally spoke up. "i'm surprised you could see anything, what, with your head being up in your ass."

she turned and walked in the corner store; i followed. i tugged my shirt closer to my neckbone, and watched her buy a coke from the cooler, not even attempting to buy a pack of cigarettes. from my window viewpoint, i could see him staring at the corner store, and finally, pulling away, shaking his head.

after floridina got her soda, she told me, "girl, now you know that there are bigger dangers than crosswalking." and we jaywalked across austin boulevard, laughing hysterically the entire time, giving fingers to whoever honked us, and high-fiving each other when we made it to the other side.

this summer

fans,

throughout the summer, i'll be in europe, traveling and sipping fine wines (if others purchase them for me!). check this blog or eurail blog or you can email me to automatically receive this blog. i'm so psyched!

good quote

my coworker amy gave me this good quote on my bon voyage card:

"travel only with thy equals or they betters; if there are none, travel alone."
--the dhammapoda

work=help!

work has been so bad lately. perhaps it's kismet reminding me how

evil it is so that i will never want to return. i remember the last

day at the horrid bagel place i worked at i got the most tips--more

than double i had any other day. it made me leave with a smile, but

tugged at me to stay--i ran.

and so here, i am running, already.

i owe nothing to "the firm." nothing. they owed nothing to me--no

transitchecks (for free!), no tuition reimbursement, no health

insurance. being a temp assures they fuck you over as much as they

can.

i almost wish i had given less notice. the woman who is taking my

job is bizarre and annoying at best. r is being more annoying than

usual--is that possible? the new woman has an mls yet likes to work

as an admin of corporate libraries: "i like to be the power behind

the force." i guess she likes making labels and answering phones....

even my boss is at a loss because she has never done research. "she

can't even do your clips! she's going to be doing a lot more admin

work than you were." so at least my boss realizes my value, in some

miniscule way. i can tell the new woman is itching for me to leave

so she can take my desk and make it her own personal hell.

get me outta here!

i'm running, i'm running, i'm gone.

almost there

dying the bottom underside part of my blonde hair pink, waiting to go to the panty party at opaline (check yr pants at the door and get two for one drinks all night!), looking at my wreck of a house. my friends are here, and it's fab to see them; i do hate the mess that comes along. of course, there was a HUGE mess before they came, so i don't blame them at all... i'm trying to convince my feet that these awesome sneakers i got from zappos fit but they unfortunately do not..i will miss my life in nyc but i need a break, and i know things will be amazing, they truly will. i cannot wait for what's too come, but in the meantime, i'm enjoying every single moment that is here, even with my slightly chubalub cat. i love everything right now, as long as i'm not at the hell they dare call work.

last minute

i have way too much to do and one week left. i have to finish packing, figure out my long-sleeved shirts (do i really want to wear that librarian cardigan all summer?), book my icelandic hostel, figure out which one i'll stay in london, get more memory for my camera, put all my cds on my ipod (inc naming all the mix cds!), etc etc etc. it's just freaking me out almost.

and work is just annoying, stressful. i just want to escape into bed with a good book. say, ariel gore's atlas of the human heart. instead, i'm drinking vitamin water, cleaning my apartment, nibbling on chocolate. yum. even tho i'm gaining weight and my trousers can't close.

running

running through north brooklyn
you
rarely see others
the ones i see
ignore my smiles look away
i continue running

today
amid lazy gait and general lethargy
someone says hi
i'm trying to run faster, and so is she:
blonde ponytail, perkier than mine, big smile

and it keeps me going, even if just for a little bit.

suburbia: a study

i spent a day with my family, and thought a lot about suburbia. coming from the city, you sometimes forget the seasons--the temperature is the sole indicator. the color of trees, flowers, and greenery are often lacking; i often don't realize it is fall until visiting my family. when i arrived at their house for an early brunch (yawn; vitamin water replenishes hydration lost by too much rum) i spent time walking barefoot on their lawn. what a luxury this would be in the city; one would never do it in a city park.

my mother was helping me find a navy tank top; at the end of the day, unsuccessful at so many stores in the mall, we ordered one from ll bean (much easier!) i found a rich lightweight lilac skirt for my travels (the weight of the fabric being key at this shopping trip!) and my mother and i gossiped about family problems over smoothies, strolling through various stores, various levels. advertisements blared ahead, in store windows, and by vendors at booths. thinking about how unwholesome suburbia is: it's like white bread. everything pre-packaged, 12 year old girls with way too much makeup, makeup you know that they applied as soon as their mothers dropped them off in the nordstrom's bathroom. the way people carried themselves and their bags, you learned too much about themselves. large SUVs, toy dogs in louis vuitton bags. labels that only make the product cost more, not the quality increase; what kind of world are we living in?

i hate suburbs, yet i like the green grass it provides. i would like a greener city.

dancing in the streets: a party beyond words

complacent throws some really amazing parties, every few months. my first party of theirs was back in 2000 where we got tangled in an installation in some dirty williamsburg loft, where people smoked from hookahs in tiny little tented domey areas aspiring to be something out of turkey. other parties have included live art, movies, djs, ice sculptures, bands, political tabling, radical cheerleaders (yup, i'm included), dancing, cheap food, deep discussion, and way too much to even begin to talk about. parties will have multiple location, secret locations, available by invite only following questions that wean out the losers from the winners (yes i was selected). last night's party was amazing, and was a traveling party.

first warm night began in the lower east side, took over several train cars, and moved to a park in red hook. years ago, when coaching the alphabet city track club, i ran here with my girls. last night, fueled by confidence, freedom, and rum, i ran around the track in a sparkly black skirt, laughing all the way around. i'm still me, i still am me!

the party moved, led by a small car-like vehicle (not really a car; basically more like a bike rickshaw thing with a huge speaker in the back) and the hungry march band somewhere in the middle. wings were worn. candy was handed out, bubbles were blown. vodka was sipped from flasks and whiskey from crumpled paper bags. i complained of the pulpiness of my rum cocktail, swigged it anyway.

we were all going someplace beyond reality.

at some point, a pickup truck appeared. people piled on the back. djs on a precarious plywood surface, played old school beastie boys. "you gotta fight! for your right! to par-ty!" we were taking over the streets, yes we were, even though they were quiet, back streets where warehouses and abadoned warehouses slept on this saturday evening. twilight crept as "no sleep till brooklyn" rather ironically played--drunk, we shouted, unashamed at the cliches. we were the revolution we hoped to see!

i danced with a drunk girl, a boy, a whoever, a person, a real-live human being. a couple went past with an office chair with wheels. they pushed me on cobblestones for a bit, laughing. we swigged life.

we arrived at a pier in redhook. in the street, in front of a bus with SENIOR CITIZENS on it, the windows were removed and speakers blared drum n bass. i danced--no, we danced. we danced. we danced as one.

pushing through the pulsing crowds with heavy breath and sweat, i walked down the boardwalk. someone was juggling with fire. someone was blowing bubbles. someone was saying, "this is my dream." we were all thinking, this is OUR world.

at the end, a capoeria performance began. we gazed at the dance, marveled at the movements. when it was over, cards were passed, compliments given. i leaned over the railing, staring at the water. moved back to dancing.

met an adorably drunk girl, who told me how brilliant i was. she was hanging all over my neighbor's business partner's arm. she told me i'd love iceland, she had to see me before i left. i laughed hysterically at her drunkeness, becoming drunker soleley by osmosis. my rum cocktail was finished, its plastic bottle gently abandoned in the proper trash receptacle.

tried to meet up with friends; directions from the train, or even the earlier park, were futile. we are here, you will find us!

went on another long walk. dancing in the streets. people with boomboxes. dancing on sidewalks. friends arrived. body paint?

cops and firefighters came. using power, and sirens, demanded us off the streets. i spoke (cheered) back:
they are the c-o-p-s,
with the badge on their chest!
they want to oppress, the people with less!
they're armed in dangerous,
the big boys in blue!
put your hands where they can see them or they're gonna shoot you!
their excuse is protection, their tool is control!
the time to act is now, take the pigs off control.
just me and my big voice, and applause afterwards.

apparently, a whale (a blow up whale) as well as a person had gone for a swim in the east river. supposedly, the person couldn't get back onto land; thus the cops were called. those piers are mighty high.

twister was played. a giant bottle for spin the bottle was carried past. a mother-daughter fairy team ran past. "is this heaven or what?" someone asked.

the party ended at a bar. life stories exchanged, salivia exchanged among strangers who you swore were only introducing themselves earlier, yet you knew by the end of the year, an engagement between them would be announced. i spun around groups of people, speaking with friends, talking about where i grew up and my rapidly approaching trip to europe.

we were far from civilization; who even knew where the train was? met several different people; the ones i ended up walking to the train with were amazing. they tried to convince me to go with them to a weekly drum n bass party, and i almost did; a paper which i haven't started yet and an early brunch with family prevented me from going. we talked about growing up in the suburbs or the city, and about jobs that made us thrilled to get up in the morning (even though we were broke) and ones that made us want to crawl back under the covers (even though we were paid $70k) and ones that the work we did we couldn't even describe what we did since we didn't know what we did. the conversation flowed, from buddhist sculpture to the virtues of growing up in queens. i can't believe such people exist in my city and are not exalted every day.

on the train, we separate; me to the G, them to await the F. i think of how rich my night was, of the rum that did not increase the chances of anything, but merely there; of the fun to be had in the future.

go out. make art. make friends. take over the streets with a party of 800 people. you can do it. we did. and i only looked back to say, "wow, this is amazing. look how many cool people there are in this beautiful city!"

funny

funniest piece of spam:
remove your debt the christian way!

work is for losers

counting down the minutes. today is a beautiful day, although i'm
trapped at work, hearing sallie rant about death benefits (she's
doing an insurance request). i've pretty much given up on my food &
beverage industry request--not finding much, and the consultant
seems happy with all that i've sent him. okay. but i don't like this
lifestyle: living in a small little cube. well, i don't have a cube,
but my job is easily comparable to office space.

my body feels sore sitting here--and i did walk about a mile on my
lunch break, doing errands. i need to practice yoga....and run and
stretch.

but why do we do this? work just feels meaningless, the exchange of
labor for money. i'd rather volunteer, speak with people everywhere,
run, be.

later: i ran into libby by union square. she said my boss said i "had already checked out." um, that happened months ago. i hate how she talks shit behind my back; fucking passive aggressive librarians. grrrrr.

teeth

i went to the dentist yesterday, where the dental hygenist raped my
gums, or so it felt like. that scraper, ugh! i'm still recovering
and my gums are still sore. i guess i'm not the greatest flosser,
but i usually do it once a day. my dental hygenist lectured me the
entire time about my horrid flossing habits and i tried to think of
lovely things. i hate the dentist but i behaved very well.

you can be sure that a small container of floss is already in my
pack!

work is just work, just a job and not my life

although i have many piles of things to do on my work desk, i am content. i am content even though my boss is trying to hire this other woman as a slap in the face to me. i am delighted although i am still working in an insane asylum, and the fact that my boss keeps finding pointless work for me to do. i am happy because i am leaving.

the situation is far from perfect. for instance, i keep our annual report shelves stocked. when i ordered them, i had them sent to me. my boss said, "i noticed you had the annual reports sent to you. i told you to send EVERYTHING to my name." i explained they were being sent just this one time, everyone in the mail room knows me well, and i was sending many of the messages from my email. doesn't she know it can be demeaning to pretend i'm her? (in her case, yes!) she tells me, "well if they replace someone in the mail room they might not know you. i want you to call each of those companies you got annual reports from [at least 90 companies] and have them put me on their mailing list." why? so we can get more crap and more trees are killed? and it's not like she reads all the crap that comes in--she just tosses it (not recycles). no, because she's a power freak and feels like she lost control. i said i'd do it, but i won't. my coworker said, "don't. she's crazy."

we knew that.

i'm happy to be getting 5 more paychecks (i get paid every week and am still owed last week's paycheck) and happy i wasn't immediately dismissed--even though i was just asked to do something else pathetic. i'm going to drink my organic jasmine green tea (thanks venessa!) and breathe and be delighted about how few days i have left here. right now, i have 12 days.

i quit! and i already taste freedom!

so i gave my notice. in three weeks, no more regular paychecks, no
more corporate culture, freedom! three weeks from today i'll be
going to iceland, and from there, europe, and from there, the world,
and from there, the universe. i feel so free.
and all at once i am panicking: budget, cherie. i had no food for
lunch so i'm buying pricey lunch with jess. must buy bread: pbj is
never out of style (for yr budget, that is). need to get memory for
camera, cheap flash drive.
and the countdown begins: 21 days....

"advice"

i'm getting sick of the advice people keep giving me. random tidbits, mostly things i already know. i know they're trying to be helpful, but at this point, three weeks away, it's not helping. it's making me anxious. i bought three bathing suits at macy's, and a fashion show for mom and trev will determine which is best (i can't decide). bathing suits are too damn expensive--$50 for basically a pair of panties. grrrr.

back to my prepping oral report on tomie depaola. that man is a wonderful writer, wonderful.

someone is supposed to be coming over to look at my apt for subletting, and he's late. i wonder what will happen with the rent.

thoughts

i just told my coworker i know why people drink and do drugs: to
numb themselves of the unhappiness of their everyday experience. i
hate the financial district yet recognize it is central to the
modern american experience. i hate how corporations maniupulate and
mess with people, yet am not sure how to get rid of them. the
corporatespeak is disgusting and i am so ready to get out. don't
worry: i'm not drinking.

if you're unhappy and you know it, change yr life.

anxiety

i'm feeling super anxious abt everything right now but am trying to chill out. it will work out, it will work out. i'll take the plunge. i'm holding my nose!

most cats don't sit like it. we say she looks like an old man. notice her hand in her crotch! al bundy indeed! 

luna and dai chi, trevor's stuffed cat puppet that his roommate used to torture in college. luna loves to claw dai chi. i love my kitty. 

preparations

i'm starting to get really nervous. the lack of subletter thing is
making me panic--i'm having trouble breathing, feeling shaky. plus
i'm going to be all alone for so long...what good will seeing all
this art after a while do? there are major butterflies in my
stomach, and the indian food we've ordered for lunch will hardly
help me. (although i love indian food!) i want to travel, but is
this a phase? i've always said i'd want to travel, but not as a
tourist: as a person temporarily residing around the world

should you want to see my pack, check it out:
it's great, but i can't believe i'll be living out of it for 3 1/2
months!
and this here is my daypack:

augh!

slightly drunk but still kicking

i will give up everything i know that is familiar this summer. in france, i will buy french conditioner. i will listen to krs 1 in italy, where i know no italian. i will walk throughout cobblestone streets, missing my beautiful cat. i must be courageous; i posted on craig's list; i got my backpack; my supply list is being filled; it will be okay.

nerves

i leave in exactly four weeks. four weeks from now i will be on a plane to iceland, shaking with nerves and excitement. right now i just feel sick to my stomach (literally; i have a stomachache). i don't have a subletter and don't know how i'll be paying my rent if i don't get one, and laura's bad experiences with craigslist make me nervous, and i want someone discrete who will take care of luna. i don't have anyone and i'm getting really nervous.

where i find life

this morning, on my run through greenpoint and williamsburg, i ran into the bike new york race. awesome! i ran with them most of my run, and they were cheering me on almost as much as i was! "where's your bike?" 'run, run, run!" i mostly yelled, "woooooh! lookin' good!" and clapped. the energy was so amazing. it reminded me of the marathon, and the high, high energy that the audience spread to the runners. there weren't too many cheerers (actually, i was one of the only ones in my hood) but it was such a fun way to give energy to people.

since my trip to colorado, i've been breaking down the boundaries whereever i can--on line for security, i ended up in a bizarre joking conversation with some guy. the guy in the middle seat of my plane to denver was a chatter, and we ended up talking. (i fell asleep for 20 minutes, and woke up, thirsty. before i could go to sleep, he began talking, "so you slept." yup.) the streets of boulder are filled with friendly people--including old friends--so i could never walk far without a hello. it reminded me of how cold and selfish nyc is. i want to GIVE. i talk to old ladies in line at the grocery store, laugh at some guy as he tries to tell others we are on our first date at the bus stop when i don't even know him, bat my eyelashes at a neighborhood cat. i can't simply exist; i must give back.

where is my mind?

lately all i seem to do is run around doing stuff for my trip. i have this massive packing list on which i have way too many things i need to buy or get or put together. at the same time, i love my apt so much lately and don't want to leave all of its comforts (including my adorable cat, meow). i know i'm not ready to leave greenpoint or my apt or my cushy paychecks, yet in a matter of four weeks (!), i'll be in iceland before you can spell reyjkavik. i feel as i'm at some turning point in my life.

being in colorado has also made me re-examine nyc. and then i think there was some study showing how much pollution nyc had. how long do i see myself staying in nyc? till i get bored of it. i'd like to stay here another five years or so. then move to some chill town in california, like santa barbara where you can bike everywhere, have a garden, and i can work at an academic library and write, and watch luna chase butterflies (although luna will be 8 by that time, and probably even fatter and lazier).

i'm getting super nervous thinking about being alone, away from home for three and a half months, far from the comforts of home (if i get sick, i'll be in some place not home; if i miss my family or friends i'm screwed).

okay i'm going to go running and think about this while i let my feet carry me where my mind never can.

this is the reservoir in nederland. gorgeous. my view is of a yucky street. one day i'd like to have a view, but really, for starters, i'll take clean air. 

here's a photo of venessa at her picturesque bus stop. trevor says she looks like a hippie here (i think it's the glasses), but we both agree she's cute. great shirt. venessa was wonderful enough to invite me into her home, and remind me of how the chaos new yorkers invite into their lives isn't always healthy. 

me and anna in the allen ginsberg library. anna is also going to library school--she reminds me of the excitement i once had for library school. i hope one day to work in a creative institution like the allen ginsberg library. 

this is a photo of me and one of my naropa library patrons. my trip to colorado has reminded me of how nice things can be. i am never going to work in a corporate library again. 

it's time to leave

i know it's time to leave corporate america when i get mad looking
at magazines at work.

for example,

"David Boies takes on Eliot Spitzer in the Fight Over AIG" (Forbes,
May 9, 2005)
Um, as far as I know, AIG did many things wrong, and I think Spitzer
rocks b/c he is making corporate crooks pay...and I like that about
Spitzer.

"Why Google Scares Gates: It's Not Just Web Search. Google Attacks
Microsoft on its Own Turn: Your PC. How Gates is Fighting Back."
(Fortune May 2, 2005)
I don't like the monopoly that Google has on web searching, and I do
like vivisimo (www.vivisimo.com) but I HATE the monopoly Microsoft
has. Yes I have Windows, but I read a lot, abt what MS is saying abt
Linux (that Linux users and creators deny). Grrrrr. We the people
need more choices!

Information Week (April 25, 2005) also has Gates on the cover, as if
he doesn't get enough publicity. I do like that Gates has donated
many computers to various libraries around the country, including a
library I previously worked at!

what is important to me: my life, not my job

i was getting my new laptop at work when one of the IT people tried to
give me an instructional sheet on how to access the internet from
home. she said, "you probably don't use this too often," and i
said, "actually, as a junior librarian, i never work from home." she
said, "well take it anyway. keep it in the bottom of your computer
bag, and if anything ever happens again...then you'll have it." i
immediately think of sept 11th, and think, fuck work, like i would
stop to detach all the wires and shutdown my laptop, put it in the
bag, etc, if planes flew into my bldg. perhaps she noticed my
expression and said, "like if the building is closed for some
reason, you know." like what reason? that totally pissed me off. it's the idea
of business continuity and even if planes have been flown into
buildings and people have died, i should be sitting in my apartment,
not mourning, but doing research on my laptop in my living room.

fuck that.

colorado

i went to colorado for nearly a week and had a wonderful time. i felt so free. no work, no apt that needed to be swept, mopped, scrubbed, no dealing with annoying cell phone calls, with hating work and annoying commutes. instead i relaxed, saw friends, and stared at the beautiful views.

i feel so mellow, so chill still. the pace of life here in nyc is a bit too much at times, and i hate bullshit at work. taking off has helped me feel so relaxed. nothing like a little distance to put life into perspective. seeing old friends was wonderful, and i really missed colorado.

i feel it's hard for me to write abt this, so i'll include some stuff i wrote in my journal:

colorado is filled with a beauty and a cleanliness unlike new york. the people here allow less chaos into their lives. i feel since i left here i have tremendous growth--juggling a full-time corporate job with library school, seeing t leave, etc--it's been hard, but i've learned what's important to me--family, friends, writing, staying true to myself. this trip is heaven--i think of how nice it was to live in boulder, yet i call new york city home.
for the first time in a while, i feel at peace.
people are impressed at how i'll be getting my MLS, going to europe, being a professional librarian (yet i like to focus on my writing as who i am, not my work). it's wonderful to see the trails i used to run on, the mountains i used to gaze at, the friends who helped me with way too much. i feel more settled, more grownup, although the energetic cheryl is coming out.
v's life seems much calmer compared to mine, more relaxed. i envy the many elements of her life--such as growing her garden--and i delight in the beauty of nature that colorado and v share with me.
so many memories...so much love. i left too soon, even as i was here.
i can't believe how much i've missed colorado, and how much i will miss it: my true friends, the wonderful health food stories, pearl street (yes, even the wonderful restaurants and cute stores), gorgeous mountain views. i miss tea at the dushanbe-boulder tea house, naropa chai, knowing familiar faces everywhere i go. i love it in boulder. my insane schedule in nyc accomodates my job, not my life.
i can't believe the snow, the rain, and cold, but i can say i had a wonderful time. i feel so relaxed, so at ease, so completely comfortable in my skin.
i wonder why i was in such a rush to leave.

i'm finishing the marathon here! 

avoiding eye contact in the corporate world

an extension on that thought yesterday of the lack of friendliness in new york city....

while sometimes i feel like the whole world is rude, i think my job is filled with way more rude people. i will be washing my hands at the sink next to other people at my job and they will not look at me. in the bathroom, it's silent; everyone is pee shy, and they don't breathe while applying lipliner. people will go out of their way to use a sink where they don't have to make eye contact. if they are next to you, they're stare at their appearance in the mirror, ignoring any timid smile attempts i may make.

no one goes out of their way to look at others, smile, say hello. if i do research for someone for two days and talk with them, discussing their research needs, and see them a week later--they don't even make eye contact. i can't deal with this. "this is a voicemail company," my boss told me when i started. people will send you a voicemail instead of calling; direct interaction is too scary.

i want to work someplace where you say hi to everyone in the hallways, where laughing and smiling among
coworkers--even during small talk, is common.

i want to break into the rigid lines

in the summer of 2001, a group of activists (mostly radical cheerleaders) learned a dance, and performed it on the trains of new york city. we called ourselves the boxcutters (almost immediately, emailing each other on september 11th, knowing our name would be changed and forever feeling somewhat sick when hearing the very word, boxcutter) because we saw ourselves as cutting through the walls new yorkers put up around themselves and getting close to the real people and uniting us. (little did we know, a different set of boxcutters weeks later would transform new yorkers into what we were hoping art would do.) we would be standing on the train, reading ads, or sitting, bored, when the music would come on (a song called "hey lover") we'd get up, start snapping, and do our dance. we would sit when the song was done and talk to the riders about what they thought of our dance. we got some interesting responses.

i have been getting sick of these walls new yorkers erect; let the love in. i'm a hippie in the big city, but in no way am i gonna start living in a tent, wearing a fleece daily and never bathing. i just have a big heart. i hate standing next to people, stone silent, staring at nothing (even if they are staring at your ear, they don't absorb it, they just focus on where they're going next)--why don't we talk? i had a great conversation with a guy reading jorge luis borges on the train, when i was reading michael ondaatje. and then some guy had a huge suitcase with hair care products in it, and we just chatted.

why not lean over to the person next to you, comment on how nice their sweater is, what book they're reading, how wonderful/sucky the weather is, how tired you are, small talk. maybe you'll make a friend, enlighten someone, learn something, or just make your commute a little more pleasant.

the first days of sandals

i wore my black aldo fancy flip flops and though they are comfortable by the end of the summer, after i running around doing errands in soho and by union square, they are hurting. red marks overwhelm my feet. on line at h&m (for 20 minutes, for one skirt!), all of the women around me were taking off their shoes, gazing at their blistered, red, sore feet. we stretched our toes and rubbed our feet against our naked thighs, all aching, all cursing the start of the sandal season yet loving it. mini skirts, tshirts insisting others fuck off, beads made right here in soho, big sunglasses, tanned skin, ipods dangling...the women of new york city all are happy to wear sandals.

revelations at work

everyone at my job thinks i'm an optimist. an optimist or a hippie.
i'm neither, but compared to the all-black wearing look on the dark
side of things, stressing over every little email and memo--what's
the point? is this my life? no, it's merely a period of time where
i'm working at a job that isn't perfect. is there a perfect job?
probably not. even if i'm working at an academic library, chances
are i'll have a stalking patron or a psycho coworker or a long
commute or whatever--nothing is perfect, and bouncing around from
job to job won't solve that either. paychecks are a good thing,
though.

i have been thinking a lot about how our society exists--there's a
lot of anti-capitalism energy, yet i'm not sure what the solution
would be. is canada heaven? switzerland? where is the perfect
society? then you think about it, all that snow in canada, and in
switzerland those hidden explosives in the road creep me out. (do we
have those in the USA?)

i hate the point of view that if you're anti-bush or anti-bush
administration, you're unpatriotic. right now i am not a fan of the
USA at all, and would not call myself patriotic. i love many things
about new york city, and never want to leave. but the inequality of
the USA is disturbing. but is that everything? although, no matter
how poor you are, in canada or the uk, you can go to a doctor. i pay
my own health insurance, and truly value it. i'm glad, and i go to
the doctor when i'm sick or when i need to. i hope whatever job i
have next will offer me health insurance, and even then, i plan on
always looking on the bright side.

looking back

in high school, i used to be one of the arts students--i took tons of art classes, photography classes, was in the thespian guild (which many people called the lesbian guild), and every year, went to the olympics of visual arts in albany, new york, where schools from various parts of the country competed. our illustration group did not win, but all three years i performed in the performing arts category, we won. we wrote scripts, acted them out (whether we were characters in the painting or artists themselves), did research about the paintings, designed our sets, put together costumes. i just started thinking about that, and wow, i really had so many outlets to channel my creative energy.

as adults, to get involved in creative aspects of the world, you must seek it out; it does not come in the form of a flyer on a hallway in your high school or an ad in the school newspaper. you must conscientiously read the village voice and the l magazine, browse through craig's list, even post ads on craig's list. why is it so hard to be creative? if i want to play poker, or talk about football, or discuss the exciting world of hedge funds (what is a hedge fund, by the way? i only research it, but my disdain has prevented me from learning more about it. yuck, financial services industry.)--it's easy. being creative--that's hard.

so i'm glad i creative. i make presents for my family, fashion unusual cat toys for the laziest cat on the earth. i write stories, read novels, write notes to my friends. i make soaps, paint watercolors (even though i have crappy paint and crappy paper and crappy brushes), sketch when i'm bored during class. i think it's important to not forget my creative roots.

viva la creativity!

hungry and weary

i went to a police brutality protest and rally after work today. the energy level of the crowd was low at times, but the fact that there were a lot of youth (esp queer and trans youth) and emotional family members of people who had been shot made up for it. the speeches of the mothers of the shot people--so upsetting. people from copwatch were there, as well as many youth angered about the police brutality. the cops were there, doing nothing. no anger, no tension, just there. i want to make a difference, yet how can we against this police state?

constants in life

my mom says these are the constants in life:

t is asleep; luna is asleep and/or hungry; i am hungry.

i guess luna is what links t and i together.

heaven, new york

i'm somewhere between your arms and the pile of dirty laundry and messy papers in the place i call my apartment. my foot feels like someone ran it over, a 70 year old man has a crush on me and makes kissy lips, i have a tendency to fall for straight girls and gay men, and suddenly i'm wearing all black like any other new yorker. in the sticky summer heat, i'm sitting on your fire escape, drinking chocolate milk. you are watching tv inside, not picking up your telephone, and not answering my questions. i want to leave so badly, but for some reason, can't. i watch two teenagers down the block attempt to figure out how to open up the fire hydrant, and the tears on my face are mixing with sweat and dirt.

cat fur is sticking to my legs, and my skirt is too short and keeps riding up. "you wantin' people to look at you or something?" you asked me. "what, you don't care anyway," i said. you insisted upon a crucifix above your bed even as you engaged in premaritial sex and positions that could never have been condoned by the bible. you called it love and now you called it over.

i stare at the peeling paint on your fire escape, your one dead flowerpot that probably used to have marigolds in it, and two girls making out below me. if only i had it so easy.

when you're passed out and your apartment stinks like bad weed, i climb in the window and walk softly by you, hoping i won't wake you. you call my name as i approach the door, but my slam is the reply. i take the stairs two, three at a time, needing to get out of your house so fast. i know i don't belong.

not wanting to go home, but being too late to wander, i duck into a lounge on my way to the train. i order a martini, and wait for you to meet me. i know you won't; you'll just temporarily curse my absence. i drink two martinis unnoticed. no one talks to me, hits on me, bumps into me. save the bartender, no one knows i am there.

the train is empty. when i get to my stop, i stumbled on shadowy east village streets. streets are ghosts in early mornings. i remember how you kissed me, how you said you hated me.

in my apartment is my cat mewing for food, piles of dirt, sheets that have been on the bed longer than our relationship (and even they are dirty). unable to go in, i smoke cloves on my stoop, one after another, until i have convinced myself i am okay. in my apartment, there are no messages on my answering machine, and i fall asleep on the pile of laundry, cleaner than my sheets and cleaner than you.

being a cat lady

it's happening. i'm about ready to start looking for studio apartments (though i'm more thinking of bed-stuy instead of the bronx) where i can become a cat lady. i need about twelve more cats first.

today i took luna on a walk to emily's (around the block). she walked fine sometimes, other times stopped and tried to hard. i got in a conversation with several old polish people, and they though it was great i was walking my cat. some guy told me he saw a woman wheeling her cat in a cat carriage. i saw it in dr foster & smiths; i totally want it. at emily's, luna hid under the couch. now she's cleaning herself at my feet, so sweet and cute and warms my heart like nothing else. i'm on my way to being a crazy cat lady.

my first plan was love; as that's not working out, the cat lady approach seems more attractive than ever. i have a lot of furniture, but it was be crammed into my studio for my cats.

my cat lady idea is somewhat a joke, somewhat not. i don't want my apartment to smell like cat pee, but i really do want another cat. a furry little friend for luna.

i always said if things with t didnt work out, i'd get 15 cats and move to a studio apartment in the bronx (b/c how else could i afford to live if i'm feeding 15 cats?).

today, i'm thinking i'll probably stay in my greenpoint apartment with just one cat, but sometimes, it's nice to fantasize. wouldn't it be fun sleeping in a bed with 18 cats?

wine and whine

i had a meltdown on friday. i was hating my job more than ever all day at work, annoyed at every little thing my boss asked me to do, ready to quit. i took a mental health break around 230 and took a long walk. i spent time in borders looking at all the travel magazines, soothing myself. really, my ticket is bought, i'll be gone soon. this won't matter.

even better: i give my notice in three weeks!

i got the naropa magazine in the mail and i looked at it, what my former peers and classmates and library patrons were doing and i started crying. naked, in the fetal position of my futon. the corporate world is pointless, and i can't believe i went from snazzy cosmopolitan girl in the mountains to a corporate librarian...i'm too much of a hippie to work in the corporate world.

i'm stuck somewhere between a martini and a microbrew.

these day jobs just suck the energy out of us. my dream life would involve writing, running, yoga, doing creative crafty things. instead, i work at a job i hate, come home and seethe and eat chocolate to pep me up, and then feel too low to do much besides schoolwork. i want to be the creative person i was at naropa.

i had a pretty good weekend, except for the parts when i was thinking about, talking about, or doing schoolwork. train rides prove useful for the editing of papers. i'm almost done with a paper that focuses on how academic libraries changed with the popularization of the internet, now i just have to write 16 more analytical annotations for children's books. (so basically, i'm writing theoretical mini-essays on childrens' books, with more words in my essays than there are in the books!) this weekend i watched and the band played on, gave a radical cheerleading workshop, went to the donkey show, spent the rest of that random saturday night wandering around manhattan (high on life but yearning for a little bit of sangria to go along with it), took my cat on a walk (thus winning over the elderly polish population of greenpoint), prepared elaborate meals, ate cookies with emily...and here i am, sunday night, realizing i still have way too much work to do.

sometimes this schoolwork seem so pointless. like, yeah, it's great to know of the history of libraries and to know these things, but these analytical essays--i mean, i doubt this will make me a better childrens' librarian. it's busy work, like you did when you were in third grade and your teacher was sick.

dear reader

dear reader,

look at the person you are madly in love with. or look at a photo of them. or if you are not madly in love with someone, but are married (with or without children), or in a serious committed relationship, perhaps planning a wedding or talking about children's names (you argue: your partner thinks it should be duncan for the boy, while you prefer chaucer) or you live together, perhaps are pooling your funds together in a joint bank account or even that old cookie jar that is made up of mostly quarters. picture this person, your saturday night date, your bed hog, the person who buys you flowers on your birthday and feeds your cat cheez-whiz when you are not home, picture them not there.

hard to imagine?

picture them moving away, even disappearing. picture your love starting a separate life: picture them living alone, or with someone else. is this person sexier than you? what will their new apartment look like? will there be any photos of you kept? picture them dating, your old beau buying drinks for people at bars, doing things that were never done with you.

do you feel hurt? it's okay to feel hurt. jealous.

picture yourself moving on, though you could never imagine living without them. you'll cry for several months, bore your friends while your moan over their wonderful qualities, bitch about the problems--which is, of course, why you ended it. or maybe you didn't end it. maybe they disappeared.

everyone has problems. yours just led to the separation.

picture yourself fumbling along in life. you are glad you two broke up anyway; what did we really have going for us, you ask yourself, denying yourself memories of days spent in bed making love, sunday morning brunch, permanent friday night date, someone to laugh with, someone to come with you to a horrid wedding or a dreadful cocktail party. now you are alone, flossing your teeth before bed, staring at your pale face in the mirror, and you wonder about the point of it all.

meanwhile, you quit your job, or go back to graduate school, or have a baby, or get into credit card debt. you go to weddings and cry; at these weddings, you think of what could've happened.

your lives are totally different. you've completely moved on, perhaps are even living in a different country. you speak latin and icelandic now. you have two masters' degrees and a phd. you are well-respected, toil over articles about obscure issues, are happy even though you know you are underpaid and overworked. or you are a failure, still waiting tables with your unpublished poems and high dry cleaning bills. you stress over trinkets and furniture to fill your house, fill your heart.

it's ten years now, and you wonder what it was like to be in love. do people even really think like that? you wonder. you are buying cheese in a local store, and you see a couple--that could be you, and that could be them. they are handling different cheeses, walking too close, laughing softly. under the flourescent lights, you see yourself tilting up towards your old lover, letting them kiss you in the middle of the store. you are dreaming of babies, or of a lifetime of travel, or of goals--houses, loans paid off, seeing the taj mahal, a great job, multiple orgasms, seeing your partner get an advanced degree or a promotion or recognition of some sort.

suddenly the couple moves on, and you're left alone. alone, so very alone. you wonder what has happened; a decade of empty dates. you wonder if it was even right in the first place to have broken up; you remember endearing smiles and massages on greek islands; you can't remember why you stopped loving each other. or how. or if it was really love, or why, how, what.

you select your cheese. you want to leave immediately, but know you need food for supper. mechanically, bread, milk, chocolates, spinach, roma tomatoes. at the register, you are standing behind the couple, who are laughing as they place items on the conveyer belt. you think about how your life could have been. you move over to the next register, where there is no line. the cashier smiles at you and engages you in a conversation about the weather. you find yourself talking too much, and the cashier’s cheeks are pink, and the cashier tells you to come again soon. you think, yes, maybe you will.

in the parking lot, you watch the couple struggle with their bags, and you turn in the opposite direction. you know it’s the long way, but you don’t care. you have all the time in the world: to think, to live, to be.

i am a runner

last night as soon as i got home from class, i was shrugging off
corporate clothes for the clothes i feel most comfortable in:
running clothes. my orange saucony shorts, a white t-shirt from a
5miler i ran last october, a sports bra. sneakers, my brace, and
socks. puff albuterol (twice), foradil (once), flovent (once) and
intal (once). and i'm gone.

outside, the sun was slowly setting, and i appreciated daylight
savings time. i ran quickly, from franklin to bank and down wythe,
over to berry. i ran efficiently and happily, loving the spring
weather, the air on my bare legs and arms, running fast,
smiling. "everything is wonderful." i turned around on north 3rd,
then ran along the water on kent. i paused twice on kent, ostensibly
to stretch, but really, to gawk at the beautiful view. the sky was a
mess of blue and grey, swirls, like a painting. buildings were light
up in white, blue, pink, yellow. it was simply so beautiful. i
couldn't touch it--because i was part of it. it was so real and so
fresh and so wonderful. yes, i'm in dirty nyc, but this is a
wonderful place to live, my home, where i feel so right. and
running? why it's the only way that i can possibly explore the world.

one day i'd like to do a forrest gump. not the usa, maybe, but a
small country. or even--iceland! there are so many places in the
world that i can learn about by running. i know other travelers are
like, "i don't work out when i travel" but i insist upon my two
running outfits. i'm not just working out; i'm learning about the
culture and myself--and it is my practice.

i am a runner.

things to do with really, really ripe strawberries

• chopped them up. put them in a bowl with yogurt (i prefer brown cow's cream top vanilla), coarse brown sugar, and sliced almonds. stir and eat.
• throw them into a blender with ice, other fruits if you desire, juice, and yogurt. blend. drink.
• mash and spread onto thick slices of bread for a homemade jam.
• blend with ice and vodka in the blender.
• search on the internet for sangria recipes, and other fruity drinks like daiquiris.
• spread across your lover's body.
• feed them to your lover or self covered with a fine sprinkling of sugar.
• add to cereal.
• make strawberry walnut oatmeal. here's how: follow directions for old-fashioned quaker oats. when it's done, add walnuts, strawberries, brown sugar, and milk.
• add to a light mixed green salad.
• add to rice pudding.
• top plain brown rice with butter, a little sugar and salt, and strawberries.

i have some really, really ripe strawberries (which is why they were on sale). here are some of my ideas. enjoy!

some books you just need to read right now

i've been doing a ton of reading lately, and wanted to make some suggestions to ya'll. a lot of it is travel-related, surprise, surprise. right now i'm involved in the drama of the backpack, but here's some reading to keep you occupied.

• A Thousand Days in Venice: An Unexpected Romance by Marlene De Blasi. This book is fantastic. Marlena is "of a certain age" (I'm guessing in her late forties/early fifties) when she falls in love with a Venetian. She sells her home in the USA, and moves to Venice to consumate their affair. It is such a beautiful, sweet book. I was practically crying as I finished it, for reasons of happiness.
• Tales of a Female Nomad by Rita Golden Gelman. You can find more information about it on Rita's site, http://www.ritagoldengelman.com/book.html I found this book absolutely fascinating, and again, it dealt with an older woman traveling. She doesn't fall in love, but she has such a fantastic and wonderful life. It's truly a terrific memoir.
• Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami. I have read all of the Murakami books that are translated into English, and he is a fantastic Japanese writer. You may find yourself addicted to his writing style. His books are very unusual, and may seem to be science-fiction but I can't stop reading them! (This is why my huge paper has practically nothing on it, while I have finished that book!)
• Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer. This book is a fantastic retelling of a crisis on Mt. Everst that led to the death of many hikers. Krakauer was there, and you really feel like you are there. Yes, you may even cry.
• Without Reservations by Alice Steinbach. This is another tale of a forty-something woman who travels around the world. So inspirational.

What have I been listening to?

• The new Moby CD, Hotel
• http://www.kcrw.com/online/ My fave online radio station
• Judge Jules on the BBC (accessed through www.bbc.co.uk, click on radio, and it's under dance music)
• Some mix CDs Venessa made me
• My cat

happy hardcore has inspired me with its lyrics

think about what this means to you (from my old dj indecent tape):

"love, it's just a dream away"

that's all it is in my world, always a dream away, never quite in my grasp. once, years ago, i had it, but since then, it's only a dream away.

sometimes i really hate men

when i was younger, and was asked out on dates by patron who were at
least ten years older than i was (and possible 20 or 30 years
older), the director of the library suggest i dress "less
attractive." as it was summertime and we had crappy air
conditioning, i wore skirts and dresses daily (shorts were not
allowed). i took offense to that; i should not have to alter my
behavior because there are perverts who are into 16 year old girls.
THEY should be the ones doing the changing.

likewise, this is how i am feeling today. i LOVE summertime, and
yes, i LOVE short skirts. i love skirts of any kind, but especially
short ones, ones that are pleated or that flutter out as i spin.
today i was wearing a knee-length one that had a slit, and it has a
tendency to hike up around my waist so every so often i need to pull
it down. so i'm crossing broadway by city hall and this asshole
truck driver is like "nice skirt." i gave him the finger and told
him to go fuck himself.

it surprises when my strong, feminist friends are shy of telling
guys to get the hell away. i like to make them feel shitty--they are
making me feel shitty with each "compliment." it's not a compliment,
go away!

and i know i'm beautiful, i know i have great legs (which is why i
love to wear skirts), and i don't need reinforcement from some
disgusting men.

and as the cheer goes,
My body's nobody's body but mine,
You run your own body, let me run mine!

life after capitalism???

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.

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?

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"

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.