The New Up

Out to lunch (a pun)

2011-07-22T10:54:00.003-04:00

For all the times when I let my concerns about others' perceptions of me inhibit my activities, a remarkable event occurred on Sunday afternoon when the bf and I were out to lunch at TGI Friday's. We'd gone out early because I had little errands to run before travelling next week, but we'd apparently left the house before many stores were even open. Instead of going back home, we opted to have an early lunch and then try to resume shopping. At Friday's, we were one of maybe four parties seated at tables. In a line of four booths, the furthest two were occupied, and we were placed in the first empty one. The fourth booth, which was at my back, was also empty.

We absentmindedly toyed with the scrap of straw wrapper from our beverages; he balled his up and flicked it at me, hitting me squarely in the sternum. In retaliation, I flicked my wrapper back at him.

But I missed.

It went over his left shoulder and landed on the table of the party of two older women sitting behind him. I immediately flushed red and was absolutely shocked at what I'd done. It hadn't even occurred to me that I might miss. It didn't cross my mind that there were other people in the restaurant; people who might not think it funny if a wad of paper should land on their table. He was, of course, grinning back at my dumbfoundedness with a smug flavor of disbelief.

The woman closest to us momentarily turned around and sneered, but I feigned innocence and disinterest, trying as best I could to maintain a normal, unaffected conversation with my boyfriend (who was absolutely no help at this point). While I was focused on my own monologue, I couldn't hear the women's conversation, but I was told later on that they were talking about spitballs and disrespectful kids and so forth. In a crowded restaurant, that explanation might fly; but I kid you not -- the place was practically empty. They had to know it was me. I mean, good grief. So embarrassing.

After they paid their bill (hastily, I might add) and stood up to leave, I fully expected them to say something to me. I was already mapping my alibi and response in my head. Luckily, it didn't come to that.

I suppose I should be pleased that I'm not so tightly-wound anymore; on the other hand, it occurred to me briefly that this could be a sign of crazier times to come. I have no doubt that I will be lunatic in old age. This may just have been an appetizer.

Jiminy!

2011-07-17T20:53:00.000-04:00

This morning's discovery: six young weakling grasshoppers that had apparently been born inside my window. In the very small space beneath the weatherstripping in the window sill, there they were. Translucent bodies, red eyes. Unfortunately, they were not alive, but the sticky pads on their feet gave them the illusion of animacy. Morbid or not, I couldn't help taking photographs.

Sun of a beach!

2011-07-15T23:25:00.000-04:00

Today's road adventures included Tifft Nature Preserve in downtown Buffalo, Bennett Beach on the shores of Lake Erie, and Our Lady of Victory Basilica in Lackawanna, NY.

Boardwalk at Tifft Nature Preserve

Tifft Nature Preserve

Bennett Beach is on the southeastern coast of Lake Erie. The water is fresh, since Lake Erie is a glacial lake. The beach is pretty clean, and the water's edge has smooth, tiny rocks. It was un-freaking-believably hot out, and it un-freaking-real that, half an hour outside Buffalo, we arrived at a cute sandy beach.

Bennett Beach

On the way back to Buffalo, we passed through Lackawanna (a town I only encounter when I'm not sure where I'm going) and spotted this beautiful structure. A woman inside (who immediately pegged us as "visitors") said that this Basilica was the first stateside basilica to be built, in the 1920s. Also, at the time it was erected, the free-standing dome was second only to the dome at the White House. ...What! It's Lackawanna!

Our Lady of Victory Basilica

The red and yellow umbrella in the lower right is a canopeum, which indicates that the shrine is a basilica.

Our Lady of Victory Basilica

The pedal-paddle of little feet.

2011-07-09T19:12:00.092-04:00

Pedaling around Hoyt Lake

On a really super hot sticky humid oppressive Saturday, we decided it would be an awesome idea to grab our books, pedal to the middle of Hoyt Lake in Delaware Park, and read.

Here's what really happened: he read; I pedaled.

Still, Hoyt Lake is really pretty, from both the interior and the perimeter. I spotted a large wading bird I didn't recognize, and the amateur birdwatcher in me compulsively pedaled the boat in circles past the bird until I could get a good photo. Thanks to the Google, I can say with confidence that the bird was a Black-Crowned Night Heron. Scientific name: Nycticorax nycticorax. It sounds very Seussian, right? Cool looking bird: red eyes, yellow legs, and a funny white rattail off the back of its neck. If you ask nicely, the Google can help you learn anything!

We took a walk around downtown Buffalo, which we don't usually do; the Taste of Buffalo food festival was going on, so there were lots of people around. The prices were exorbitant so we didn't partake of any yummy foodstuffs, but we did get some interesting perspectives on the downtown area.

Louis Sullivan's Guaranty Building

Here is a very typical shot of crazy Buffalo. In the left foreground, the Hogwarts-looking structure is the Erie County Courthouse; in the center of the background is the Ghostbusters-esque art deco City Hall; to the right of that, further away, is the in-progress Federal Courthouse, a modern green-glass structure; and in the right foreground, a corner of the monolithic concrete Erie County Parks Office.

Buffalo's architectural mayhem

As often as we try to get out of the house, downtown is never the first destination on our list; it's a perfectly nice area but unfortunately not well-suited for pedestrian tourism. Still, the history and strangeness of the buildings make it a worthwhile trip.

Butter-- dragon-- damselfly.

2011-06-30T23:23:00.001-04:00

Ebony jewelwing damselfly

Summertime means, amongst many other things, a marked increase in beautiful bugs. My favorites, of course, tend to be the pretty things -- and especially the pretty unusual things. Most recently, I encountered a small swarm of ebony jewelwing damselflies at Glen Park. I really can't recall having ever seen this particular species before, though I could be wrong.

Giant unidentified crazy moth

Last week, we spotted this large furry moth on a brick wall. I have no clue what kind of moth this is, but it seemed like one of the giant moths that lives three of four fornication-filled days and then falls to the Earth dead. Hope you had fun, my little mariposa.

Tomorrow I step gleefully off the grid for a few days. We're taking a mini-vacation to DC for the long weekend. Lovely!

Late Bloomer

2011-06-19T22:14:00.008-04:00

It's occurred to me recently that I've finally learned to relax. I'm not sure when it happened, but it's been really wonderful.

Since early May, I've held a job working twenty hours a week at a software engineering firm as a Marketing intern, updating old software support manuals and building video tutorials for beta licensees. It's a cake job that happens to be exceptionally interesting and apropos for my fields of interest, considering the software is built to deal with text analytics and information extraction via linguistic lexicons and grammars and all that jazz.

Still, every week, I have a four day weekend, and at just about any time in my life prior to right now, an empty agenda would have surely made my blood boil.

Of course, I wasn't planning on having this much free time. The department offered me a teaching assignment this summer, but unfortunately the course didn't run, due to insufficient enrollment. I would have loved to teach, and I was particularly delighted that I was extended the offer, and of course an additional paycheck would have been lovely -- but I'm rather enjoying my fancy-free summer.

Because the bf is very busy with tasks that are actually important, many days I'm left to amuse myself. I've bought a bike (which, by the by, has catapulted me psychologically back to the mid-90s, when in the summer, I would leave my mom's house at 9 AM with nothing but my sneakers and maybe a few dollars cash (ahhh, the luxury and freedom of independence before cellphone technology), and I would ride that bike everywhere: to friends' houses, the Corner Ice Cream shop, Tawasentha Park... the destination never mattered, really; it was fun and free and active, and somehow we'd find a clock or a phone and I'd find out what time my mom wanted me home, and everything just WAS), and a few books, and I've been working on a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle of Klimt's The Tree of Life, and I've been reorganizing closets and trying out new recipes and going to yoga classes.

When we do have time to spend together, we've done a bang-up job of making it count. We've done a ton of local tourism, visiting the Naval Park, Chestnut Ridge Park, Lockport Caves, and attending the Williamsville Memorial Day Parade. Outside of our little suburban radius, we also ventured to Letchworth State Park for some unparalleled hiking and vistas, and we went out to Rochester for a fun planetarium show, some Dinosaur BBQ, and WWE Raw at Blue Cross Arena. In a couple weeks, we're visiting both of my siblings and their significant others in Washington, DC, and a couple of weeks beyond that, we're headed across the pond for a few weeks in southern Europe.

Today, for instance, we grabbed our books, got some coffee, and read while sitting by Glen Falls; then we had a quick lunch at The Irishman, where the waitresses know us as semi-regulars, and then we headed downtown to Delaware Park, where we flew kites by the rose garden and finally enjoyed a stroll around Hoyt Lake.

I am literally the happiest I have ever been, and it's not a constructed happiness, where I look around and say, "Someone loves me; this must be happiness!" I am genuinely content. While looking through some old posts, I stumbled across a question I posed to myself, a year and a half ago: Sometimes I wonder what I'll have to think about once these rites of passage are behind me.

My current self knows the answer that my former self never would have guessed. The answer is: Nothing. You can just relax.

Rekindling, Part I

2011-03-22T22:22:00.003-04:00

Tonight a friend mentioned in passing that he used to love reading my blog, if only for my writing style. I realized that, in nearly a year, I've said nothing new, and as there seems to be this general rekindling of bloggers lately, I've decided to devote some effort to doing the same.

But of course, I can't just pick back up at this very moment. Should the blogosphere land some willing reader here by mere chance, I can't just excuse a 10-month gap with a shrug and a smirk. So, I'll spend (precious little) time brings things up to date.

Part I: Me & Mine

I'm 31, as of this past Saturday. Holy goddamn motherfucking shitsauce. It's bewildering because to be this age was never something I contemplated - at all - ever. In some ways, it's older than I was really able to conceptualize, at least back when I was a Young Thing of seventeen or eighteen. In other ways, I feel mislabeled, since 31 is positively not old at all, and my parents are in their sixties and many of my students were born the year that Guns N' Roses "November Rain" came out and so certainly there was some cosmic rift somewhere along the way that's jostled the gravity inside this space-time continuum. But being what it is, I don't care that I'm 31. I've got all the time in the world.

I'm still a Doctoral student in the Linguistics program at the University at Buffalo. I still love it, but I've had some moments of turmoil and apprehension in the past couple of semesters. I get nervous because of my relative infancy in the field, and by the experience and contributions that my colleagues can boast, where I can't. Knowing I can't rewind the path I took to get here means I just can't be concerned with that. I'm here, and motivated, and I know without a doubt that I have what it takes to make it through a doctoral program. Spilt milk, unhatched eggs, so on so on so on. I'm starting to consider topics for my qualifying paper(s), and I've begun exploring my options for a graduate advisor. I feel somehow that my choice will be a reflection on me as a student even before I've done any work, so I have to weigh my decision carefully.

Last summer, o meu namorado and I spent time in London, Paris, Lisbon, and southern Portugal over the course of 35 days in July and August. It was heaven and hell. I try to be a good traveler, but the heat can really kick my ass when it becomes oppressive, and at the time we were in Paris, there was an interminable heat wave that threatened to knock me out entirely. However, overall, we enjoyed beaches, landmarks, history, le Louvre, castles, museums, amazing food, and stunning scenery. Looking forward, we're headed back to Portugal this summer, but only for three weeks. Now that I have a better idea of what to expect, I'm actually really excited about going back.

Outdoor Social Coordinator.

2010-05-31T20:55:00.006-04:00

It's no secret that I like to be outside. I want to be walking, hiking, climbing on rocks, covered in mud, with sweat on my brow and fire in my calf muscles. As a lifelong resident of upstate New York, with no shortage of natural spaces, environmental preserves and state/city/town/municipal parks at every bend, I've been lucky enough to have the opportunity to frequently indulge myself. At a recent get-together with friends, I was selected the Outdoor Social Coordinator; that is, with my academic-née-dayhiker approach to non-urban exploration, it was decided that I should organize outings for friends who want to discover the topography of the area.

I try to visit green spaces multiple times per week. To be fair, I'm quite content to sit in Glen Park for hours at a clip -- but, being tasked as I have been, I volunteered my boyfriend to be my companion at two new spots: the Great Baehre Swamp in Williamsville, and Akron Falls State Park in Newstead. In the picture above, a well-maintained plank boardwalk suspends the visitor over the Great Baehre Swamp, which is teeming with fish, bullfrogs, geese, muskrats, dragonflies, butterflies, robins, and red-winged blackbirds. There are ferns and skunk cabbage in abundance, providing a lush, dense carpet in a swampy forest.

In the town of Newstead, just past Clarence, is the impressive Akron Falls State Park. With athletics fields, 26 cobblestone pavilions, beautiful Murder Creek, two waterfalls, a sculpted rock garden, miles of paved trails, and over two miles of natural hiking trails, this park was my kind of paradise. The wildlife was surprisingly scant, but it also happened to be a federal holiday, so the park was swarming with families and friends and the smells of smoldering charcoal -- it is my belief that the animals knew better than to go anywhere near the small children with rocks and fishing rods.

I hope to organize an actual trip to an out-of-town park or nature preserve in the next few weeks, but pleasantly, this summer has been so busy, that I don't know when a trip will happen. I begin my new job tomorrow, and in only four and a half weeks, I depart for the other side of the pond. In terms of fun, summers seem to be either feast or famine -- and this year, I am bloated from bliss.

Trust issues.

2010-05-27T22:08:00.007-04:00

When you live in Western New York -- a mere seven hours from the nearest ocean -- it's not uncommon to become slightly weary of local seafood. However, I've adjusted, and I know the ins and outs: 9 times out of 10, the salmon from Wegmans is delicious; sea scallops seem to be tasty just about everywhere; escolar from Shango is delectable, and the mahi mahi from Rue Franklin is too overpriced to be palatable. Until recently, we hadn't found good mussels, which was a shame since shellfish are so slurpy and good, but after a dinner at JoJo Bistro & Wine Bar in Williamsville, I'm convinced that there's hope. The mussels were steamed with a hazelnut pesto, and were really, really good.

With respect to other walks of life that have zero trust issues, I present the numerous families of Canadian geese living on Walton Pond, which we encountered on a recent excursion. For one, the goslings were so stinking cute that I could hardly contain myself. They're so fuzzy and curious, and the way they just run all over the place, stretching their gossamer wings and blinking like mad -- goodness! It was like kindergarten and fingerpainting and puffy stickers and social workers, all rolled into one. Anyway, I was captivated by the fearlessness of both the parents and the offspring. It was a refreshing experience.

Post-Commencement

2010-05-15T14:13:00.001-04:00

Hard to believe it's been two weeks since commencement already! The ceremony was actually not bad, albeit long, and it was nice to have my mother and the prof in attendance. The weather unfortunately did not much cooperate, inasmuch as it was actually snowing on the morning of commencement, and though the precipitation ceased, there was a chill for the entirety of the weekend. Instead, my mom and I did two jigsaw puzzles, drank wine, and hung around. I felt guilty for not having more exciting items in the itinerary, but I was exhausted even from what little entertaining I was doing. It was heartwarming to receive such words of congratulations from family members, via cards, email, and telephone calls. It's exciting knowing that I'm moving in the right direction. It's the path of least resistance, which boggles the mind.

In other academically-related news, I've been offered a graduate assistantship, working with an Academic Director in a shared-interest undergraduate enrichment academy on campus, helping to pioneer special-interest seminars and extracurricular events. Most likable about this opportunity is that accompanying tuition waiver and 12-month stipend: both of these elements are hugely charitable, on behalf of the University. I'm so grateful for the opportunity and support.

And finally... this turned out to be another 4.00 GPA semester, bringing my undergraduate GPA at Buffalo to a 3.926, and my overall undergraduate GPA to 3.896 (one sloppy semester at St. Rose has stalked me for nine years). I'd be crazy not to be happy about those numbers! Yay!

Recreating recreation.

2010-04-29T13:58:00.004-04:00

With the recent turn toward sunny weather, we've had plenty of opportunity to check out the parks and green spaces in the area. About a month ago, we headed downtown to the Bird Island Pier, which is a concrete walkway built about 300 yards from shore. It wasn't the prettiest, since no greenery had poked through the surface yet but we saw our fair share of fun graffiti, dead bass, and errant gulls.

Last weekend, we walked to Island Park, a small park on an island (shocking!) behind the library. It's apparently very old, appearing on aerial maps dating back to at least the 1920s.

Another place we've been a few times is to Glen Park, and Glen Falls, which is a quaint park between Main St and Glen Ave, complete with a waterfall that formerly powered the Williamsville Water Mill. This weekend, weather permitting, I hope to visit Garrison Park, another green space in the vicinity of Main St and Cayuga Ave.

Next weekend, my mother will be visiting (and staying as a guest) for graduation. I've been honored with an award that allows (requires? forces?) me to participate in the ceremony that I had hoped to be able to skip. Anyway, while I'm sure she'll get on my nerves, I suppose I probably won't have another chance this year to see her, what with the summer travelling, so I should just shut up and enjoy our time together.

I've also been looking for jobs, which is a strange and slow process: one with which I've become happily disassociated in the last calendar year. However, I recently paid for exorbitant repairs on my silly car, and have ongoing expenses to attend, so it's time I gather some of my own income. As for other areas of life, I am 10 days away from no longer being an undergraduate student; I am about 60 days away from leaving for mon bon été; and so forth.

We have disclosed our tryst to People Who Need To Know, and those people alone. For now. :D

The right moves.

2010-03-28T13:35:00.000-04:00

I'm mostly settled into the apartment now. Even though I threw away so many old, dirty, and broken things, I still feel like I brought too much with me. The guest room is where I'm currently storing piles of miscellaneous items, and I've somehow squeezed dozens of knickknacks into the kitchen. I only brought four pieces of furniture: the piano, the chest of sheet music, the kitchen table, and a small couch. Everything fits, but I catch myself longing for the more sparse version of the apartment, like when none of my crap was there yet.

The semester is wrapping up, or winding down, or however else it can be said. I'm in good position to finish all my projects, but I'm paying a price for my diligence: I can't sleep. I get up, go to school, go home, work work work, watch junk on Hulu, and go to bed. Physically, I'm not tired, even though my mind is. My sleep is not deep and I wake up at every sound, which is not usually the case. I don't feel particularly stressed, but there is something that's bothering me and it's not the first time I've had this complaint.

In the last three years, I've done everything right. I've gone back to school, I've focused, I've quit smoking, I've pared down my lifestyle, I'm careful with money. I'm clean, I'm responsible, I'm resourceful, I'm helpful and studious and friendly and caring. I eat well, with more fruits and vegetables than ever before in my life. I have the best boyfriend ever, who makes me laugh uncontrollably and is just as ridiculous as I am. I found a loving home for my cats and, in effect, cut my monthly costs by 30% simply because I no longer have pets. I literally have never been happier. So, what's the problem? My waistline.

It would seem to me that if everything else is going so well, I should naturally begin to shed some pounds. My weight has always been a problem (read: I've never felt good about it), but frankly, it's been a side effect of everything else that has always been wrong. Why now, with my ducks in a row, is this still taunting me? I've never been trained, formally, on how to take care of myself in that way. When I go to the gym, all I want to do is mess around with weights. That's what I know. I have a secret desire to be a runner but with thighs this thick, running isn't practical.

Occasionally I'll pull up pictures of Skinny Me. I pretend that I never want to be that skinny again, but between you and me, that's not the case. I want to be healthy. I want to lay on my side and not use my gut for leverage. I want to lean back and stretch in the morning and not feel the creases around my ribs. If I were to start losing weight, my arms and legs would follow suit, I'm sure -- but it's really my mid-section that is so out of proportion. I'd like to be able to go shopping for jeans and not have to choose between buying jeans that fit my legs versus jeans that fit my ass.

How do I jumpstart this? How can I tackle this one remaining hurdle in my life? Where do I go for guidance, and how do I make myself believe I can actually do it? I'm balanced precariously on the edge: if I fall in one direction, I'll be thick for the rest of my life; if I fall in the other, I can find the motivation and support that I need to make a change. I'm hoping for the latter.

Gli animali domestici.

2010-03-15T09:25:00.007-04:00

In life, there have been a few strange labels I've been able to use in order to define myself. I was the pianist; the teenager in the SCA, from whence I derived my ubiquitous internet alias "vox nives", meaning roughly 'voice of the snows'; and for the last seven years, I've been the girl with four cats.

I made the decision to find them new homes. My income, which is null, will likely stay that way for the next ~~couple~~ ~~few~~ several years, and I simply don't have the funds to continue to care for them. Food and litter aside, if one of them should get sick, it would bankrupt me. However, they're still young, and can enjoy another owner before they're old and clumsy. I found a woman who wants to take all four -- and it makes me feel so relieved that they're going to be able to stay together. It would've broken my heart to see them split up. Anyway, in my final hours as their mom, I wanted to recount some of the most memorable moments I had with them...

I never intended to get cats at all, actually. I had spent the afternoon at my mother's house one day in May 2003, and she was trying to convince me to take Stella, her adult cat who was very nervous and timid around everyone but me. I finally agreed, and she sent me out to the pet store to get a cat carrier and litter box so I could take Stella home that day. Instead, while at the pet store, I was sucked in by two adorable orange and white tigers that were hosted by Whiskers Benevolent Society. They were the cutest freaking kittens I'd ever seen, and instead of taking Stella from my mom, I brought the two kittens home with me. Their "given names" were Paddington and Pikachu (ew!) but I renamed them Oliver and Puck. Within about two months of having the kittens, Oliver managed to pull a stereo speaker down on top of his paw, and effectively broke three of his toes. I was devastated! His entire leg was put into a splint and cast for six weeks, and he proceeded to run around the house like a pirate with a peg leg. I could hear him wherever he went - *clink*... *clink*... *clink*. It was pitiful and hilarious.

In 2005, Puck (which became Puckers, then Puckerdoodles, then ultimately just Doodles) became extremely sick when a crystalline mass formed in his bladder and he was unable to urinate. Apparently the food I was giving them was high in ash, which was preventing him from breaking down uric acid into urine, and the acid crystallized, blocking his urethra. He had to be catheterized and held over 4th of July weekend in the animal hospital. He had a cone around his head to prevent him from trying to lick himself, and it was so heartbreaking that I could barely stand it. I visited him as much as the vet would let me, and whenever he saw me, he would just purr and purr. All the women who worked there loved him and said he was the most adorable cat they'd seen. The whole thing cost me about $750, which sounds completely insane, but at the time, I was not prepared to deal with the loss of a cat -- ANY cat. I tried to reason it away, positing that if I had children, and a child got sick, I wouldn't have the option of putting it to sleep; I'd do whatever I'd need to do! At the time, I needed those cats. I did whatever I needed to do to remedy the situation.

And then there's Little Misters, who is one of the funniest cats I've encountered: totally neurotic, needy, standoffish, macho, and yet submissive. At first, I wasn't sure if I could love him, simply because of how strange he is, but once I learned his mannerisms, I realized that he might be one of my favorite pets I've ever had. What made him especially difficult to handle was that I didn't have him neutered in time, and in 2005, he began to "spray" all over my apartment. It was nauseating and I essentially had to throw away many of my belongings because there was no way to eradicate the stench. Since that time, he's never truly lost his "alpha"-ness, but has calmed significantly.

Finally, there's Jones. I feel sorry for Jones, in a way; he was a pretty ugly kitten, with a small head, huge ears and a gigantic gorilla nose. He was the last to join my clan and I think that because of that, he was immediately thrust to the bottom of the hierarchy for the first few months of his life: he had to eat last, use the litter box last, and if he tried to curl up with another kitty, they would often get up and walk away. Soon enough, Doodles took pity on him and acted very maternally towards Jones, washing him and letting him (attempt to) suckle. Luckily, he grew into his head and is now a stunningly beautiful cat. He hardly ever meows, and instead shows his affection by headbutting the other cats and me. He loves small spaces, like under the bed or behind the toilet. When something makes him sneeze, he'll sneeze ten times in a row, in what looks like massive convulsions. He is too smart to chase a flashlight beam, and he recognizes himself in mirrors, often looking "through" the mirror back at me.

Now, for balance? The things I *won't* miss:

Cleaning the litter box and a surrounding 4' radius: Why do male cats KICK so much?!
Hairballs.
Vacuuming every 48 hours.
Lint brushes.
Claws.
Vomit, and the occasional poop trauma.
Everything covered in fur.
Various cat smells.
Scratches on furniture.
Not being able to spontaneously travel, or be away from home for more than 24 hours at a time.

I love them all, and I always will. I hope their new mom loves them, too, though I'm sure she will. As for me, I don't know if I'll ever be willing to have pets again. As fun as it is, it's unbelievably draining, in more ways than one. I'm thankful that I had the opportunity to know them, and also that I've found someone who is willing to take it from here.

Buffalo eats.

2010-02-15T09:14:00.008-05:00

I can't believe it's been almost two years since I moved here, and while I still seem to think I haven't really gone out and explored, I'm realizing that I've done plenty of fun things and have met gaggles of interesting people. Not surprisingly (given my penchant for eatingeatingeating), many of the most memorable times have involved Buffalo restaurants.

Last year on Mardi Gras, I tried Louisiana creole cuisine at Shango, on Main Street in Buffalo. I tasted escolar for the first time, and luckily didn't even experience any of the noted side effects. I also waited in line with other excited patrons for the re-opening of Pano's, though I'd never been there before, so the whole thing was new to me. Their stuffed banana peppers were amazing.

There are tons of fun coffeehouses in the area, and I've so far visited SPoT Coffee on Elmwood and in Williamsville; Coffee Culture in Williamsville, Buffalo, and Tonawanda.

I've enjoyed tapas at Toro, Greek breakfast at Kosta's, shawarma at the Falafel Bar, Irish spring rolls at The Irishman, calamari at Trattoria Aroma Downtown, Tuscan garlic bread at Pizza Plant, and the most amazing sweet potato tempura sushi at Wasabi.

Most recently, I've enjoyed a couple of delectably romantic dinners at Siena, which is a completely unassuming restaurant set back from the road on Main Street in Amherst. With the parking lot primarily in front of the building, I realized I must have driven past it hundreds of times without giving it a second glance. The ambience is perfect, with a dimly- but appropriately-lit dining room, set up in such a way that gives the illusion of there being giant wall mirrors, rather than a posterior dining room. The staff is very pleasant, and the Argentinian Malbec is smooth and lovely. While it is slightly on the pricy side, it seems to depend primarily on what you order. During our first visit, we both ordered a pizza and a glass of wine, and the bill, with tip, came to $47.00, which is more than reasonable, considering the beauty and coziness of the place.

The Graduation Cylinder

2010-02-10T18:19:00.001-05:00

Tuesday afternoon, I was sitting in my last class of the day. Normally many of my friends are there too, but on this particular day, they almost all chose to skip class. About halfway through the lecture, I had a `new mail' notification, and to my delight, it was the email I'd been anxiously awaiting:

"I am pleased to inform you that you qualify for admission to our Ph.D. program for Fall 2010. The admissions committee is impressed with your credentials and feels strongly that our program is well suited to your interests."

I felt very strange just then, as psychosomatic weights lifted off my shoulders. I didn't know how to react, really; I was primarily so relieved that opportunities in higher education were going to carry me through the next four (to seven!) years. Lately, I'd been growing increasingly concerned with the potential vacuity of my future, should an acceptance letter not find its way to my door.

Soon, I emailed my family with the news, and let my bf know, too. There quickly began a stream of messages and outpourings of support, and while it's really very nice to hear my mom and dad say it, it was most electrifying when my bf said he was proud of me. I've developed such strong feelings in this relationship, and I, for the first time, don't see that as a weakness. We are very good together, and though I know I made his life a little difficult for the last few weeks while I was waiting for an answer, I feel completely renewed and focused again. He is patient and brilliant, funny and honest, and doesn't let me get away with anything. It feels so good to genuinely like, respect, and adore someone, and to want nothing more than to keep him close, especially as I embark on an especially intense phase of life.

This has truly been an amazing, tranquil couple of days...

Windows and doors.

2010-01-15T09:29:00.006-05:00

This past week was a benchmark: the last first week of classes as an undergraduate college student. I'm so pleased with the progress I've made in Buffalo, educationally, socially, and otherwise. I'd set some expectations way too high, and others way too low, but my life has settled beautifully into a comfortable balance, dually perpetuated and supported by its parts. The relationship I'm in is in its relative infancy, and while the magnetism of it is often breathtaking, I'm trying my best not to be scared by it or the emotions it instills in me.

To commemorate the semester, and to lend assistance to my ailing back muscles, I purchased a new backpack! I'm preparing for this to be the best semester at UB. I've officially eliminated my minor designation, so I'm enrolled in five major courses and an elective, and I'm in heaven. The textbooks smell like highliters and green tea, and the notebooks of dust and cardboard. In the midst of courses getting underway, I'm waiting with bated breath for graduate admissions decisions.

Applications are funny rites of passage. Two years ago, I had to apply to UB to get in. Now, I have to apply to get out - but only temporarily, since I also had to apply again just to stay. I applied for a passport, which was foreign (pun intended!) and strangely liberating. Now, or supposedly by the third week of February, I'll be able to visit Toronto, and of course, the IKEA that is just over the border; but more importantly, it was time for a passport because this summer, my bf and I will be spending a month in Europe, with a conference in Paris, followed by gallivanting in Lisbon and London for a few weeks. I am beyond excited, since in these thirty years, I've never left the continent; save a few excursions to Montréal and one to Toronto, I've never even been outside the country.

The past 100 days may have included the end of a year, but it was vastly outweighed by the beginnings therein. It was being with someone special downtown, outside in the night air, his arms wrapped around me as the clock symbolically ticked away the remains of the year that let me know nothing was ending at all, but rather, things I hadn't imagined were just beginning.

Branching.

2009-12-21T15:17:00.004-05:00

Today, it feels as though I've spent more time in my apartment than I have all month. While I'm here for awhile each day, I haven't actually been here all that much. That being said, I've enjoyed an afternoon of Aimee Mann and Rosi Golan, a tasty lunch and cleaning house, clipping kitty fingernails, and burning CDs for my mother. I'm encouraging her eclectic musical tastes by gifting her with some Imogen Heap, Greg Laswell, the new Norah Jones, and about eleven others.

The semester is totally done. My final paper turned out to be 32 pages, which sounds impressive, but only 14 pages were analysis, and the other 18 were data. In boo-hoo news, my final grade was B+ in one of my classes, which bums me out, but much less than I'd anticipated it would. So what! It's a B+! It's not the end of the world, yeah? I doubt it's enough to keep me out of graduate school.

As for this week, tomorrow I'm having lunch with my favorite girls, and then on Thursday, I (and aforementioned companion!) head to Albany for Christmas. Strangely, though, this might not even be a white Christmas. Snow dumped on Washington, DC, where my sister now lives, and surprisingly, I felt a little jealous while looking at the photos. I'm sure that in a few weeks I'll be rescinding this sentiment adamantly, but I'm a little upset we've had no significant snowfall yet.

I've entered the time that is to be known as The Waiting. Graduate school acceptance, fellowships, assistantships, financial aid, graduation, living arrangements. I'm stuck in limbo for a few months. Come onnnnn, 2010...

Imposter Syndrome

2009-12-17T11:43:00.006-05:00

This is, by name only, a new concept to me; I've been symptomatic for a good many years now --

(a good many years? good as an adverbial degree specifier?! or is it just behaving like an adjective??)

(I clearly should be studying and/or writing term papers, but this is so much more intriguing. It's no longer about getting the right answer, but rather that I'm considering the alternatives at all.)

So! 3 of 4 final exams: done! The first one was... well, I either really thought too much on the topics, or I have very little grasp of the material :) Tough call, frankly. The second exam was very, very long but entirely manageable in terms of content. The third exam was this morning at 8:00 AM. I was in fact so worried about this exam that I couldn't sleep last night. I tossed and turned, plagued by thoughts of perlocution, conversational implicature, non-referring names and negative existentials... Phew. Yet, lo and behold, I emerged from the exam fairly certain I'd performed better on it as compared to the others. My fourth exam is in a few hours! Two term papers are due tomorrow (see above, on how I manage to accomplish innumerable insignificant tasks in lieu of important, required tasks). I'm well on my way to earning a degree in shirking...

Next week (a week from today, actually) I'm going home for Christmas! Family + Love + Cookies + Wine + Obscenities = Holiday Time. Then it's countdown to the Spring semester, aka my last effing undergraduate semester, effers! aka holy crap, what do I do next?!

That's where the imposter syndrome comes in. Have you read about this? It's really, really interesting. And sad, actually. And relieving. You're not alone in thinking you suck! Wait... that's not what I meant at all. You're great. You're amazing. You and you and you. And me.

Happy Holiday Time.

Breathe and just let go.

2009-12-14T11:57:00.000-05:00

"The things we want the most

Fetch not a penny nor a pound

And all it takes to find your feet

Is just to stand your ground."

-The Audreys, Small Things

Really Exciting Things I've Been Doing Recently

* Successfully driving in the wind and snow in Buffalo.

* Applying for a US Passport.

* Sharing a couple of awesome dinners with my dad.

* Eating ungodly amounts of chickpeas.

* SLEEPING.

* Enjoying really good wine.

* Eating ungodly amounts of Brie cheese (sorry, sis!).

* Rekindling my romance with higher education.

* Dispensing with my summer hair. Winter looks sexy on brunettes - what can I say?

Fun has found me, it seems. This is the time of year when everything puts a smile on my face. I'm really looking forward to seeing my family for Christmas, especially since only a couple of months ago, I thought it would be just me that would be home; however, it turns out that both my brother and sister can make it home, too. I haven't thought much about New Year's Eve, but I'm guessing there are all sorts of things to do if I just look for them. 2010 feels like a big year for me: I'll be turning 30, and I'll be graduating from college.

(Sometimes I wonder what I'll have to think about once these rites of passage are behind me.)

Today I'm submitting my application to the Ph.D. program at UB. (Nail-biting ensues.) This is indeed the year for new experiences. Força aí na maionese!

Readin', writin', arrhythmia.

2009-12-12T16:33:00.007-05:00

Fall 2009: the semester that just wouldn't quit. I've sailed through all my semesters so far with a relatively jaunty disposition, but this semester threatened to extinguish the flame of my exuberance. At the start, I was enrolled in six courses, which I knew was haughty: four for my major, and two for my minor. Within only a few weeks of classes, I'd dropped two courses, registered for two more, then dropped another. I couldn't get into the right rhythm of things. I was particularly frustrated this time around with the professors, who can often make or break the success of a student, independently of course content.

(The whole fiasco was vaguely reminiscent of when I took an English 101 class at Saint Rose about 8 years ago. I objected to the professor's pedagogy so adamantly that I took to waging my own silly war [instead of just dropping the class] and consequently, I got an F in the course. HA! So, while I hate resignations appearing on my transcript, I realized I'm too mature now to try to mess with the system. And of course, "R" is better than "F". Of course.)

I read more this semester than ever before; I spent more contiguous hours on homework and papers and logic proofs than ever before. While I maintained a borderline-psychotic enjoyment of schoolwork, my workload prevented me from keeping a job, so the harder I worked, the less likely it became that I'd be able to secure any income. It was disconcerting: calculating my bills, groceries, and expenses down to the penny, and going out of my way to keep everything as inexpensive as possible, and knowing that despite my efforts, I would eventually go completely broke.

Luckily, being a college student is defined by more than a featherweight bank account. And fortunately, once I settled into everything, I enjoyed my classes very much. Friendships that budded in previous semesters matured very nicely, and I had many opportunities to kick around campus with some fun girls.

I now get a few weeks off before my final undergraduate semester begins. I never truly believed I would make it this far; however, on the other hand, maybe I believed in it so much that I only tricked myself into thinking it might fail. A little homemade reverse psychology, I suppose. But it feels so good to have made it to this point. I still tend to freak myself out over things unnecessarily, and it's difficult to be self-congratulatory when I'm still operating under the assumption that I'll never catch up. However, day by day, those lingering doubts are dissipating. There's hope for me yet.

Cajun Kale, Chorizo, and Rice

2009-10-25T13:27:00.023-04:00

I make this dish every couple of months, and it never fails to satisfy. Before this recipe, I never experimented much with chorizo or kale, but they blend perfectly in this dish, and I thought I'd share it so everyone else could have a taste.

Cajun Kale, Chorizo, and Rice

Ingredients:
1/2 lb chorizo (about 4 six-inch links), cut into 1/4" pcs
2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1 white onion, diced
1 red bell pepper, seeded, chopped
2 stalks celery, diced
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 C long grain rice
2 1/2 C water
1 can (14 oz.) diced tomatoes with green chiles
1 tbsp fresh thyme (or 1 tsp dried)
1/2 tsp salt
1 bunch kale, stalks removed, washed, cut/ripped into 1/2" pcs

Preparation:

1. In a soup pot, brown the chorizo over medium heat, about 3 to 4 minutes. Remove chorizo and store on paper towels.

2. Add olive oil to pot. Sauté onion, celery, red pepper, and garlic until soft or slightly translucent.

3. Add water, tomatoes, thyme, and salt. Stir all together.

4. Place kale on top of mixture. Do not mix it in! Cover pot and bring to a boil. Boil for 2 minutes, then reduce heat to low. Simmer 20 minutes until rice is done.

5. Add cooked chorizo, and stir all together. Serve immediately.

Lies awake.

2009-06-18T21:41:00.010-04:00

"It feels so damn good to write off the rules, but when a new day breaks, I'm left the fool... I'm such a fool." -Erin McCarley

Last Fall, as a result of a personal ad I'd posted on Yahoo, I met a guy who I thought was very nice, however he was absolutely not interested in me at all, which made for a uniquely awkward experience. It catapulted my psyche back to my last relationship, in the sense that I couldn't understand why someone would agree to meet me if there was no foundational attraction. Having dealt with that, it was a series of ongoing introspective monologues that prompted me to try again.

The focus of these conscious debates is that I'm definitely not comfortable with this profound loneliness; a biological boredom, a physiological torpor. I may not have been able to infer exactly what I expected, but at the simplest, I was certain that I was looking for a diversion: an engaging distraction, a comfortable friend. However, I should have acknowledged that I've not quite broken free of all my skeletons yet. And I'm just so tired of carrying around all this baggage. I don't want to do it anymore.

You know who you are: No matter what you say, I am a beautiful woman. I have a strong mind, and a strong body. You made me compromise in almost every way imaginable, but I forgive you for dragging me down. The truth is that people who see things the way you do will never have the pleasure of knowing happiness, and secretly, that's consolation enough for me. I forgive your contagious misery.

You know who you are: Honestly, I resent that you refer to me as your ex-fiance. If it weren't for the fact that I'd gotten pregnant, and was already out of my mind in lugubrious fear and bewilderment, I never ever would have considered marrying you. I forgive you for your physical and violent anger, though I'm embarrassed that you made me a statistic. I forgive your mother for making a bad situation worse. Regardless, I'm glad to see that I've changed. It doesn't seem to be the case for you.

You know who you are: "Who else do I think will love me?" Someone better. I forgive you for your hurtful closed-mindedness.

You know who you are: I forgive you for taking advantage of me, and I forgive you for not knowing the truth from fiction. I forgive you for absconding with my formative years.

I've met someone. For now, he's just a someone, as I'd imagine I am to him. I know that before I can let him in, I have to let the others out. So be gone, all of you. You're no longer welcome here.

Luck and love.

2009-05-17T18:05:00.008-04:00

Last weekend, my adorable little sister graduated with her Masters Degree in Rehabilitation Science. In a few weeks she'll take her certification exams to become a registered and licensed Occupational Therapist. There was a ceremony on Friday night, at which she received numerous awards, and because she was valedictorian, she also delivered an amazing and sweet valedictory speech. Sometimes I have difficulty separating blood from emotion, but I'm quite sure I'd love her to pieces even if she weren't my sister.

Years ago, back when "Aussie T" was a store in Crossgates Mall, I bought her a shirt that said "Sisters by chance, friends by choice." As prefab as it seemed, to this day, that sentiment is the paragon of how I feel about her. I'm one of the lucky ones who shares this type of relationship with a sibling. In terms of sisterhood in particular, I know Nicole and her sister Katie, and Kristin and her sister Alyson, and Michele and her sister Morgan, as well as others of which I might not be aware know what I'm talking about here. It should be no surprise that these women are all some of the most amazing I know. I think there's something to be said for sibling closeness, and of course I'm limited to my own gender experiences, but I'd put money on the solacing healing powers of sisters as being unparalleled.

I sort of missed the boat on a supporting network of female friends, so in a way, she's all I have. She listens, and judges when I need her to, makes faces on command, and laughs with me at inside jokes, the points of which we've both long forgotten. I am as much a part of her conscience as she is mine. I am so proud of her, and awed by the person she is, and humbled by the unconditionality of her loving smile.

Mine mommy.

2009-05-08T10:37:00.002-04:00

My mom is on her way to Buffalo! Sure, it's not specifically to see me (though I'll continue to pretend it is), since my sister's graduation is this weekend. I've been cleaning like I've never cleaned before, which embarrasses me to admit. Luckily, I'm in a fantastic mood, no doubt a spillover from yesterday, which was a fantastic day. I had my final two final exams for the semester, and though the first one was a little hairy, they were both much better than I'd anticipated. It'll be another week before final grades are posted, so no sense in stressing over what's already set in stone. As my favorite professor says: "Professors don't give grades; they record them."

Afterwards, a group of classmates and I went out for drinks and snacks. We played darts and talked... it was, in fact, the first time all semester that I was really happy to be here. They're a fun and diverse group of people, and I was pleased to be a part of it.

I don't want to wish the summer away, but I'm already really looking forward to the Fall semester.

Cats and tangents.

2009-05-06T21:37:00.003-04:00

Three weeks ago, Doodles got sick again. At first, I just noticed increased lethargy, and within a day, I noticed panic in his face whenever he went to the litter box. He just... couldn't go. Nothing was happening. I don't have children, so I can't compare this really to anything recognizable, but holy cow, it is terrifying when you know something is wrong, don't know what, don't know how serious (read: expensive), don't know how long it's been that something's been wrong and you hadn't noticed and how on earth you'd become such an oblivious mother to the only things in your life that matter--

Well, you get the point.

My neighbor happened to be home that day (unbelievable luck, if you ask me) and she took me and the kitty to the vet. They decided he was constipated, and he was the lucky recipient of two (not one!) kitty enemas. Who knew such a product existed? They sent me home feeling relieved. But within 48 hours, I noticed a bigger problem: blood in his urine.

I'd surmise that blood in anything is not a good sign.

Back to the vet we went, and he had a crystalline blockage in his bladder, just like four years ago. This time, however, I was able to liquify the crystals with antibiotics instead of putting him through the sad, undignified catheterization again, and for that, we were both very, very pleased. He's since been feeling much better, and is more vocal and playful than I can remember him being in recent past.

Of course it's common for people to love their pets like family, so I don't feel odd about how affectionate I am towards all four of the cats, foibles and messes and all. But generally, their main role is to fill the companionship void that exists in my everyday life. I'm stuck in a strange place, and I've been rather homesick lately, especially since the weather has smartened. There's an underlying fear that my competitive independence will repel people who actually want to be let in, and that is such an aspirational backfire. In bettering myself, I'm closing myself off, and I'm not too proud too admit it: I'm lonely! :)

Weights and Measures

2009-05-06T11:18:00.003-04:00

The more I overwhelm myself with grad school research, the more I'm realizing that I have almost no concrete basis for comparison. What do I know about grad schools? What impact should I feel from emeritus faculty or famous alumni/ae or departmental inception? How can I possibly create a worthy contrastive foundation?

So, I'm thinking now that instead of looking at academic probity, I'll implement my own experiential comparisons. For instance: are there plentiful ethnic restaurants? does the city host multiple parades throughout the year? how accessible are public spaces? which college is located closest to an IKEA? are there any cute professors? single men?

Just kidding. But seriously, maybe temporarily, I'll redirect my research from graduate programs to local facts and figures.

The University at Buffalo is a cultural collaboration and amalgamation, a glass-walled oasis, sheltering 18,000 students from the outside world. Many times while on campus, I've been surprisingly aware of how few white kids there are, and it excites me. Many friends I've made are from different cultures than my own, and I relish the fresh perspectives they bring to the table. But the reason I mention my own "white"-ness is because, in general, I wish I'd known how closed-minded and racist the local residents of Buffalo are before I moved here. Perhaps it's only in my corner of the woods, but on a daily basis at work I hear direct ("n"-word, "fag", etc.) and indirect ("...called such-and-such company and you just know they're not even in America and you can't understand a word of what those towelheads are saying...") racist and ethnically- or sexual-orientationally-discriminating statements, and I've no real prior experience with it. I don't even know how to react appropriately. Everyone throws around terms and slanderous remarks like it's nothing, and even worse, since I'm white, they think I must feel the same way, right?

So in my quest for the perfect graduate program, I understand the importance of the town's visions gelling with the college's vision. Because of this, it's very discouraging when simple search results produce blogs with entries that discuss topics like how a town is nice because it has so many white people that even white people hold jobs that white people normally don't. It just made my heart sink reading that entry because the author's irresponsible absurdity is probably enough to deter me from attending that school. There is no way I want to live somewhere again where that level of tunnel vision is acceptable and promoted.

Therefore, crossed off the list: Indiana University at Bloomington. One down.

Futuramalama.

2009-05-06T01:04:00.005-04:00

I love college. I love professors, and other students, and I just love the whole experience. I love hosting study groups, and meetings with other students to help them understand concepts and applications. I've made some really good friends in these last two semesters in Buffalo, but I'm already looking ahead. A year from now, I will graduate with my Bachelors degree, but there's no way I'm stopping there. I've waited so long to be back in the fold of higher education, and I'm certainly not ready to leave.

So far, my focus has been on theoretical linguistics, cognitive science, and philosophical logic. On paper, it sounds like an odd combination, but to me, it makes perfect sense. What interests me specifically is how speakers of various languages approach concepts of logic, based on the limitations of their language(s), and how those limitations shape their cognitive processing of logical truths. For instance, spatial topology terms (mostly represented by words like "on", "in", etc.) indicate so many different things; how does the speaker and/or the receiver interpret these terms, and furthermore, how do the presence of these terms (as opposed to others) in our linguistic awareness shape how we process various concepts?

An example might be how, in English, the word "on" applies to all of these things, yet spatially, they are quite different: a handle on a cupboard door; a bowl on a table; a ring on a finger. Other languages present different terms for each type (or subtype) of spatial relationship. At this point, I'm not entirely certain how to realize this focus, but I can't wait to begin thesis development, and for that, I need to be in a graduate program.

I'm so excited for grad school. I'm looking forward to a more formal environment. I've been reviewing (have I mentioned how much I love research?) graduate programs, and so far, I've narrowed it down to UMass Amherst, UNC Chapel Hill, and Indiana University at Bloomington. UMass Amherst sounds like an absolutely mouth-watering program, however, there is no terminal Masters program, so if I attend, it's straight through to a Ph.D. It's not that I'm planning on stopping at the Masters degree, but somehow the time commitment there scares me a little. Next up, UNC Chapel Hill: sunny, green, beautiful, prestigious. UNC has separate Masters and Ph.D. programs, which I find appealing. Finally, Indiana University... I've never been to Indiana. I really don't know a thing about it, except that when I was 12 years old on vacation in Hawai'i, I met a kid from Indianapolis who was staying at the same hotel as my family. That's my entire exposure to Indiana and Hoosiers, yet this school is at the top of my list.

Plenty of time, right?

It'll always be greener.

2009-05-05T23:23:00.000-04:00

I can't believe it's May already. My baby sister (ok, she's two weeks shy of being 25 years old, but still) is graduating from college with her Masters degree this weekend, and I'm so proud of her. It's also cementing how "far behind" I am, though it's no longer a traumatic issue, since I've completed two solid years of college since 2007 and have earned my Associate's Degree, Dean's List mention, a University Writing Award and am carrying a 4.0 GPA. ...Am I tooting my own horn? Sure, sort of. Always trying to validate myself, I guess.

My mother left her job. Yes, you read that correctly. She wasn't laid off. She voluntarily (albeit spontanteously and impulsively) left her job, and her back-up plan fell through to boot. I've been trying to see it through her eyes: why did she leave? Why now? I haven't been able to come up with anything.

Mom made a comment to me not long ago about how nothing's turned out the way she thought, at least with her children. My brother and my sister have both always been so consistent, so stable. I was the impulsive one: quitting jobs, starting jobs, moving from apartment to apartment, boyfriend to boyfriend. Now, when everyone else is experiencing some level of turmoil, I'm the rock, according to my mother. Chaos ruled my life for a really long time, and sometimes the chaos was interesting and fun, but it was never very fulfilling. When I decided to go back to school and get my degree, I dispensed with every ounce of chaos I could. If I'm stable now, it's out of necessity more than anything else. But I'm certainly driven, competitive, and focused, and I'll admit that it's perhaps the first time I've been able to say that. So thanks, Mom, for the roundabout compliment, and I'm sorry that it comes only in the wake of other people's challenges.

The countdown begins.

2008-12-21T23:51:00.008-05:00

Snow, snow, snow. Everyone's talking about it, so I will, too. Snow everywhere. The wind, whipping it all up into some transcendental heavenly tornado. Hopefully I'm leaving for Albany tomorrow, but the weathermakers (not to be confused with the weakerthans) seem intent on making that difficult for me. I'm not one for prayer, so if you all could play this little game here, I'll take that as secular intercession.

Light Logic [via LazyLaces]

Squinting all day at the insane brightness of the snow, even against a gray sky, has given me a splitting headache. I'm off to sleep. Heeeeeere comes Monday.

Pine cones and holly berries.

2008-12-20T22:43:00.003-05:00

For the first time in years, I've put up holiday decorations in my apartment, and not just paper cutouts of hexagonally symmetrical snowflakes, either! I have baskets, platters, little wire trees, strings of lights, and characters with embroidered eyes. I mean, I even hung garland and a wreath. But also for the first time in years, I've participated in exactly zero holiday festivities, which has left me feeling surprisingly empty. I really miss the lights in Albany, and the silent cozy chill in the air around Lark Street. I miss getting all bundled up, crunching snow beneath our boots, laughing through clouds of winter exhalation, the first sip from the first pint of the night.

Of course, winter always invokes specific fond memories. It is the company of very specific groups of people that I mourn the most. Not too many years ago, we'd never have let seasons pass without seeing each other. Now, we're scattered across the land, reliant upon holidays (periodic) and weddings (increasing with shocking frequency) as backstops to our friendships.

Buffalo is likeable, considering I've seen very little of it. In light of what an urban nomad I've been in the past, I'm rather embarrassed that I've covered so little ground in the seven months I've lived here. To my defense, being without a vehicle inhibited me more than I thought it would, not because I am helpless without a car, but because there was an adjustment period to living à pied. All summer long, I bussed back and forth from Amherst to Cheektowaga, five days a week, spending the equivalent of two hours pay on weekly transportation. At the end of August, I began the daily trek to South Campus, catching the free intercampus shuttle up to North Campus, and on Tuesdays and Fridays, taking a second shuttle to my Anthropology class in the Ellicott Complex.

I carry canvas bags with me at all times, in case I'm ever in the vicinity of the grocery store and feel the need to pick up a few items. It no longer makes sense to save all my grocery shopping for one day: I can walk home with about forty pounds of groceries, but any more than that threatens to stress my spine. As a result, my upper body strength has vastly improved, however, I have knots in my shoulders the size of clementines. I fantasize about deep-tissue massages and hot revitalizing baths.

Now that winter is here -- since that is where this tangent began -- I'm doing even less with my free time. I leave my warm Christmasy haven at a quarter after six, every Saturday and Sunday morning. I walk the three blocks to work, with my head down and shoulders hunched. I've lost all remaining self-consciousness surrounding winter fashion, as I bundle up in hats, gloves, and a scarf wrapped around my head as though I've just had a facelift. Remarkably, I'm able to stay pretty comfortable, if not for the recent failure of my waterproof boots to live up to expectation.

I'm thankful for the opportunities I've had to explore Western New York since moving here. Over the summer, I camped in Allegeny State Park in Salamanca, NY. I attended the Farmers' Markets on Bidwell Parkway, Main Street, and UB North Campus. I spent time at Albright-Knox Art Gallery, and walked miles of paths through and around Delaware Park. In the saddest development of the year, my camera has passed on, and so very little of my time here has been documented, which sort of makes it feel superficial. But it's real. I'm real.

I've been out to dinner a few times: On Elmwood, I've been to Toro, Bel Cibo, and Cole's. I've eaten at the Cheesecake Factory in the Galleria (hey! I had to use up my giftcard!), as well as Anchor Bar, DiBella's, Sterling Place, and a handful of pizza places. Admittedly, I enjoy shopping for and cooking my own food than I do patronizing restaurants, but I try to support local business when I can.

New Year's Resolutions are superstitious and stifling, but I'd like to burst into 2009 with a strengthened sense of resolve. While I made great new friends at UB this semester, I want to foster those friendships and build a comfortable social network. Nearly everything about the move to Buffalo involved intense transitions, and to some extent, I blame my relative misuse of summer on the fact that I didn't feel settled. In 2009, I want to firmly take hold of the beautiful weather, scenery, history, and culture. Zoar Valley, Griffis Sculpture Park, Frank Lloyd Wright, Buffalo Wing Fest...

Things are really going pretty well. I like it here, and I know I'd love it if I'd give myself the chance. For now, candlelit nights with my four boys, blankets and oversized mugs of tea are more than enough to satisfy my curious aching.

Prix fixe.

2008-09-09T14:03:00.002-04:00

It grows increasingly difficult to focus on anything except how I'm not able to get by.

There was a family war in the past over financial support, the results of which were a near eighteen months of no communication between me and my father. This past Spring, we conceded to put the past behind us and move forward. He seemed pleased to discover I was in college again and that I planned to continue for my Bachelor's. I was too proud to ask for any financial help in the wake of the earlier situation, and he was too smug to offer. Recently, the list of things going unpaid and unpurchased (such as a bookbag, for instance) has been growing. I've received much more assistance from my mother, which is further contradictory because she's in no position to be doling out cash. I've been composing and compiling a letter to my father, asking formally for assistance, which I planned on sending later this week. Today, I learned that another family riot broke out last night, and my father, again, in his infinite wisdom, has pulled all assistance from everyone.

Most people are familiar with the "...village to raise a child" proverb. My village is burning down. I don't even recognize my surroundings. The smoke from the flames is choking me. I parted with everything I could: I sold my car, I quit my job. Everything changed so that I could try again to succeed. I was ready to let my village raise me. I placed a good deal of trust in the people who would support me and promote my triumphs.

There wasn't anything I wanted as much as this: the opportunity to prove my worth, my merits, to redeem my choices and neutralize my regrets. Abstractly, I wanted this chance to renew my faith in my family. It's obvious now that I'll need to return to my isolationist roots to have any hope of follow-through.

But I can't do this. It doesn't make sense to me. It's not going as planned, and I'm out of ideas. So who do I turn to? Where can I go?

I've already withdrawn from college once. I've been paying back that heavy, emotional debt for ten years. Why did I think now would be a good time to try again? What made me think I'd have a chance? I don't have financiers. I don't have networks. It's just me. It's always been just me. It will always be just me, and it's ludicrous to expect anything otherwise. The line in the sand dividing the young from the old, the privileged from the worthy, the deserving from the deserved is now lined with a wall of cinder blocks so high that it blocks out the sun.

I sincerely resent my family's unhappiness. I suppose I didn't think much of it when I was younger, but it really upsets me how dysfunctional the whole thing is. When there's no one else to wrap arms around you, your family should be there, holding on tighter and longer than anyone else would or could. Perhaps I shouldn't be taking it so personally, but I'm just wondering when it's going to be MY time. When will I have successes? When will I know satisfaction?

My mother didn't come to my college graduation. She apologized to me, in part because I was so rude to her about it, but that one indiscretion hurt me so much more than she could know. She had been my driving force, my safety, my band-aid, my support, and she believed in what I was doing nearly more than I did.

For better or for worse, when I return home every day, I'm reminded of one of the great simple joys of life: my cats don't care at all if I succeed. They don't even mind if I fail. They just know they love me, and that I love them in return. And if I sob pathetically for hours, they rest their heads in my lap, looking up at me with understanding eyes. I covet that peace of mind.

And in the midst of my misery, others who were once close to me are profiting left and right, reclining gaudily on mounds of security and carelessness. I count pennies for bus fare while they stock up on new technology. I ration food more stringently than before while nightly, they patronize restaurants and pubs and the like. I walk eight blocks every morning just to catch the free shuttle while they take weekly road trips and vacations. I decline invitations to coffee because my wallet won't allow it.

I don't think I'm better than anyone else, but what burns me is how opportunities keep detonating. I wish I had the means to stand defiant, determined to stay in school no matter what opposition faced me, but I don't have that luxury. The whole system is based on a game that I am not equipped to play without the support of others.

I just wish I could go home. I really sort of wish that none of this ever happened. How the other half lives, right? Everyone pays a price eventually... but I can't cover this one. I can't even come close.

How should I stay calm
When panic lies just ahead
Everyone can see my youth
Hanging by a thread

No subtle men
Came to my town
No subtle men
Begging for my hand

Who would take my word
On anything these days
I failed so many times
Saying I'm gonna change

-No Subtle Men, Anna Ternheim

Friction.

2008-08-24T21:13:00.002-04:00

"I think that it's brainless to assume that making changes to your window's view will give a new perspective." -DCFC

I've been transplanted. I arrived with such conviction and determination, ready to be overwhelmed with awe and happiness. Instead, I feel ashamed for not loving my life. I'm so tired of being alone. Loneliness finds me, no matter where I lay my head. I can't escape it.

Tomorrow, school starts. I'm excited, in the sense that it'll provide new faces and experiences, but I'm only taking four classes. The scheduling is such that Monday will be busy, but Tuesday through Friday, I have one class each day. One class? An hour per day may fall rather short of the sense of inclusion I was anticipating.

The backdrop for this wallowing is the tried-and-true PMS. Sometimes I think it acts like truth serum.

Other people's bliss stresses me out. I'm so genuinely happy for them all, with their engagements and marriages and photostreams and European vacations, but sometimes it leaves such a sour taste in my mouth.

Last month I went on a couple dates with someone new, but really, I'm a shitty date with no idea how to assert myself. Lo and behold, it ended before it began.

Today, I never even set foot outside. I made myself a bowl of mashed potatoes for lunch.

It's shitty, realizing the problem is... well, me.

In situ.

2008-07-31T22:38:00.001-04:00

An interesting revelation materialized today as I sat at the piano, deep in the throes of a new composition. It was one year ago that I returned to the uneasy comfort of the recording studio, to record my second CD of piano compositions. I remember practicing for weeks leading up to the session, mystified that my own pieces could give me so much trouble. I hastily finished two pieces I'd started months earlier, with the intent to include them in the recording. I sat in a sea of manuscript paper, a pencil between my teeth as I blurted out polyphonies and secondary sequences, manipulating meter and dorian scales.

I recall the session vividly. Most predominantly, I recall my horror at the timbre and action of the studio piano; so different from my own instrument, I thought. I immediately panicked, anxious about how it would react beneath my command.

Within a week of recording the CD, I embarked on a crusade in pursuit of education, self-awareness, and growth. At the time, I was hosting a deluge of parasitic entities, and in the last twelve months, I've broken free of the fetters.

Is it brash to suggest that conquering the unexpected timbre of the antique Steinway was a foretaste of other conquests?

No matter. It's all a little lofty, I know. I simply enjoy the processes of analysis, inference, and extrapolation. Seemed too easy to just admit I'm happy. :)

Energy.

2008-07-28T22:33:00.002-04:00

I miss being a part of something. Isolation is only revitalizing for so long. I've had ample time to reflect and repair, externalize and examine.

Today I received the quintessential piece of closure I'd been seeking. Sure, it arrived in an unassuming package, wrapped in the fringe of understanding, but the contents succeeded in arresting me nonetheless.

I'm frustrated that my plan to be dishonest with myself for so long was so effective. Rationalizations are the lies we tell ourselves to apply logic to the illogical, plausibility to the implausible. I am confident that I'm not actually the monster I'd purported to be; I am confident that I merit delight and diversion.

I am the strongest I've ever been, and I know this to be true. I refuse to fail, and the persistent desire to progress has been the rationalization for my most extraordinary decisions. There's a feeling I'm seeking; I hope I possess the presence of mind to recognize once it is in view.

It seems desperate to speak of happiness this way: an objectification of intangibility. I certainly don't feel desperate. In fact, I feel calm and serene, as though I'd awoken still inside a dream, only to realize the dream was still in progress.

Surreal though it is, now I am awake.

The next big thing.

2008-06-28T12:20:00.001-04:00

As anti-electronic-keyboard as I am, I think I've figured out the next much-needed invention in the hybrid world of electronics and music. I've been looking around for a suitable storage solution for all my sheet music, and it just seems ridiculous to lug this much paper around with me every time I move. I think there should be some sort of Kindle-type device that displays sheet music digitally, and - get this - can scroll along while I play.

Document scanning definitely isn't a new concept. If I scanned all my piano music, and had a device I could attach to my piano that displayed sequential pages, playing multi-page pieces would become infinitely easier. The display lip on my piano can hold between four and five physical pages, if I have loose sheet music, and that's only if I set them up in such a way that each page holds the other in place. Playing from a collection book is even worse: thick bindings often cause the book to fall off the lip entirely. But there are many pieces that are much longer than five pages, and it becomes a meticulously-planned battle to play such pieces continuously, what with stopping to remove finished pages and arranging new ones.

So, programmers of the world, please come to my aid. Furthermore, a "pedal" could be attached, or connected via some silly cable, that would react to a foot tap, thereby advancing to the next page(s) of the music. As most pianists would tell you, the left foot remains mostly stagnant while playing, and my feeling is that it wouldn't take much additional coordination to interact with a mouse-like device to trigger page advancement.

The major benefit here, of course, is the universality of the thing. The interface wouldn't be limited to pianists. Instrumentalists of all kinds would be able to use the device in the same way.

Is this practical? I certainly think so.

The winds of change.

2008-06-17T16:06:00.002-04:00

As far back as I can remember, I've wanted to get out of my hometown. There's a safe familiarity about living in the same place for so many years; a sort of comfort borne of the regional encumbrance. My father joked that everywhere I went, I'd run into someone I knew, and for the most part, that was true just by virtue of the landscape. My grade schools, high school, community college, and places of employment were all within fifteen miles of each other. Seven of my apartments were within a two square mile area.

Essentially, I was living a very sheltered life.

Last summer, when I plunged back into higher education, I accepted that enormous changes were on the horizon. As I closed in on my Associates Degree, and began planning the next step the process, I was somewhat apprehensive. For all my years of talk about leaving the area and getting on with my life, it was quickly becoming a reality that, while exciting, terrified me.

The choice to attend University at Buffalo was in some ways difficult, and in other ways, the obvious choice. It was difficult because of the sheer distance between Buffalo and the place I'd always called home. It was the obvious choice, however, because of its size, its astounding resources, the prevalence of opportunity, and its intense cultural and academic diversity.

In the past, I made the mistake of attending a college for all the wrong reasons, and I was wary of making the same mistake again. I had my pick of which school to attend, and while some of my choices would have been safe, I couldn't help thinking they wouldn't be right. I'm already plagued that I'm so far behind in the game; it was imperative that I thoroughly analyzed my opportunities before making a decision.

Once I'd confirmed my enrollment, a laundry list of Things To Do stared me squarely in the face. Where am I going to live? Where am I going to work? How am I going to get around? How am I going to buy textbooks, and groceries? The inevitability of my lease termination stamped a definitive deadline on these seemingly insurmountable tasks. I had no place to go but forward. Rather than lose myself to the stress of the situation, I just began plugging through the questions, one by one.

First, I obtained an apartment. It was the funniest, most uncomplicated piece to the puzzle. I had a good feeling about the arrangement right from the very first phone call, and the ease and simplicity of it did wonders for assuaging my anxiety. Next came employment: an opportunity was basically handed to me. Through networking of sorts, I had a job waiting for me in Buffalo. With each hurdle that I effortlessly cleared, I felt more relaxed. A roof over my head and a fixed income were paramount to succeeding in my relocation, and in a matter of weeks, I'd obtained both.

But every time I crossed items off my mental list, I was adding more lines. How am I going to move the piano? How am I going to move the cats almost three hundred miles and simultaneously retain my sanity? And again, I tended to these questions as best I could. In the end, my planning and diligence paid off. Without nearly a hitch, I arrived in Buffalo, safe, alert, and sane. My subconscious obstacle course hadn't bested me. The only hiccups were that my box spring would not fit up the stairs (as if I haven't had to deal with that before), and the piano was definitely not going anywhere until I was ready to pay someone to do it. So the piano and the box spring went in the garage temporarily.

I already had greeting cards waiting for me from my mother, in which she expressed how proud she was of me for taking such bold leaps. It was emotional for me, once all was settled, to truly recognize what a giant endeavor I'd just undertaken. Generally, it doesn't occur to me that failure is an option, in any aspect of my life. I'm not wired that way. At the same time, the gravity of my actions are often lost on me, and it felt good that she was so proud of what I'd accomplished.

I moved to Buffalo on a Friday. Sunday morning, I met with my new boss for coffee, to break the ice before starting work on Monday. He expressed to me that, because he knew I'd just moved and probably couldn't wait three weeks for a paycheck, he would put me down for a week's pay before I'd even technically worked it so that I'd receive a check that week. Awestruck, I thanked him for doing so, and couldn't even accurately convey my appreciation. By Sunday evening, most everything was unpacked, primitively arranged around the apartment in basic domestic semblance. My landlord and downstairs neighbor, Angie, generously offered to cart me all over the area, pointing out grocery stores, drugstores, laundromats, the office where I would be working, and so forth. She and her fiancé invited me to a homemade dinner, and I could feel the anxiety washing away.

Monday morning, I started my job. Angie drove me part of the way, and I caught a bus for the remainder. On my first day, after I left to go home, my boss called me to make sure I'd arrived home safely (the funny part is that I nearly didn't make it - I miscalculated the bus route and got off in the East Side, and then walked nearly three miles home, stopping three times to ask total strangers which way I should be going - only later did I realize I was lucky to have made it home at all). On my second day, my boss called again, this time to see if I'd like a ride to work three days per week, since one of the women in my office lives about three blocks away from me. The genuine generosity of every single person I've encountered hit me like a wall of bricks. This is the way things should be. This is how people are supposed to interact.

Now, I've been here almost three weeks already. The cats are as happy as can be. They're thoroughly enjoying their second-floor vantage point on the street below, ogling the neighborhood animals. I've joined my neighbors a handful of times for outdoor dinners, cookouts, and backyard games. I enjoy walking to the grocery store, the bank, and the drugstore. I've borrowed Angie's bicycle a couple of times, to visit my sister's boyfriend Josh, or to pick up subs at the sub shop down the street. The mailman knows me by name, and if we pass each other as I'm walking home from work, he yells to me, "Hello Jillian!" There's a very neighborly feel to the area, and while it sometimes still feels alien to me, I'm really warming up to it.

There's so much more I still have to say, but I fear it would be more of the same. I'm amassing quite a library of "good neighbor" anecdotes, because they just never fail to surprise me. The most interesting part is that I feel it rubbing off on me, and its contagiousness is refreshing.

Quandary...

2008-05-11T09:10:00.002-04:00

I've developed an interminable passion for linguistic syntax. I'm pulled in multiple directions by it; on the one hand, I abhor the English language as the symbol of American ignorance. The broad majority of English-speaking Americans feel the entire world should learn and master English to simplify cross-cultural communications. Why should Americans learn foreign languages? Why on earth would we want to put down our Big Macs long enough to learn another tongue? It's because we just can't be bothered, and the whole world knows it. Isn't that embarrassing? Never mind if I get someone on the phone who doesn't speak English as coherently as I. I can't be bothered to have to listen to your dialectic inflection long enough to decipher what you're saying. Sorry, not my problem! I'm hoping my sarcasm is showing through. People like this are the up-and-comers in this godforsaken "culture". America is disgusting.

On the other hand, I should add, I'm a maniac when it comes to language. Idioms and phraseologies... it's like some tantalizing cryptographic code to be deciphered. I swallow grammar whole and roll punctuation around on my tongue for hours. I just love it all. While I've already begun learning foreign languages, such as French, Italian, and Latin, I know that my current strengths are in English. American culture is devastatingly logocentric, and to speakers of other languages, interpreting and comprehending the sinewy American messages could stand to be a nightmare.

I say all this because I'm having an about-face type of dilemma. While I've no experience in the field at all, I'm seriously considering an alternate path for my life and/or career, from music to linguistics. I don't know much about the specific career opportunities, but in the race for intelligible international communication, I am somehow convinced that I've something to offer. I've no passion for music such as this. Isn't that what matters?

Illiteracy.

2008-05-11T09:06:00.001-04:00

The bond of Illiteracy and poverty, it seems, have become not unlike the problem concerning the chicken and the egg. Which one truly came first? How can the two move away from each other? Poverty and a poor socioeconomic background can keep children out of the education system, whether it be due to the cost of supplies, transportation, enrollment, or other associated fees. Even though it seems ludicrous, this seemingly small financial obstruction can inhibit a child from earning a decent education. As a result, the child may remain outside of an educational environment, where he or she may not receive further instruction on reading and writing. From a logical perspective, the child's poverty promoted his or her illiteracy. It also threatens to inhibit social and financial growth and success, which will almost certainly limit potential wage income, thereby perpetuating the cycle of poverty.

As startled as it made me when I first read it, I agree with the concept that "the better you are at reading, writing, and thinking, the better off you are in life." Literacy extends further than being able to read words on a page or sign your name. Literacy allows the thinker to reflect introspectively, to analyze effectively, and to apply reason with more efficacy than a low-literate or illiterate person.

One of my job responsibilities with my last employer was to screen incoming applications and resumes. I was often embarrassed for the people who had submitted documents to me. Emphasis on spelling, grammar, and overall contextual correctness has weakened dramatically, even in the last fifteen years, and some very educated people get away with writing and communicating at a junior high level. Unfortunately, this realization serves only to worsen the problem. Who are the truly literate? Sometimes I feel it's a very elite group of logophiles [words] and bibliophiles [reading/books], who spend most of their time correcting others' errors, and guffawing at grammatical impudence.

...Sounds like my mother :)

Fortuity and circumstance.

2008-04-04T12:41:00.004-04:00

Holy mother, it's been more than two weeks since my birthday already. I narrowly survived Spring Break, a mechanism directed towards the young and lively, and definitely not towards someone like me. While others were boozing in the sunshine, I played 90s' video games like I was on the payroll. I think I only left my house three times in those two weeks. Details aside, I can't wait for next year's Spring Break because this year was a bust. A freaking bust.

...Not that I wish to belittle my astounding high scores in Xargon, Jill of the Jungle, Secret Agent Man, Crystal Caves, and the Commander Keen series.

Since school's started back up, things have been pretty awesome. Almost by accident, I found an affordable apartment in Buffalo, and it sounds like it's going to be perfect. The owners of the house are adorable, and they're excited to have cook-outs, group trips to the grocery store (since I won't have a car), and they're more than okay with the cats and the piano. Of course, I haven't seen it in person, but that's the risk I have to take, being 300 miles away. I doubt I'll be disappointed, though. It seems to be the ideal fit.

Only five weeks left until the end of semester. Six weeks from today I'll be a graduate, for the first time since 1998. Surprising even to me, I'm running straight A's again in all my classes. I'll be graduating "with honors"! I wonder if I get those silly colored ropes to wear with my robe. I certainly hope so. I'm keen on adornments.

Yesterday, an old boss of mine called me up to see if I'm looking for any part-time work. I swear, these things just fall into my lap. Of course, I'm only available to work through May 31st, so he said he'd think about whether a two-month run would be worth it. Still, I'm using these events as an indicator of where the karmic spokes might come to rest this year. There's something sweet in the air and its succulence has me feeling lighthearted and buoyant.

Now if the outside weather would just catch up with the beams of light inside...

(I'm kinda corny when I'm happy, eh?)

Everyone you know someday will die.

2008-03-19T10:13:00.003-04:00

It's here: the dreaded/anticipated/lamented/smoldering birthday. Isn't that how it is for everyone? At first, I don't care that it's approaching. But then, a little excitement creeps in. Next, I mull over the age progression aspect. Finally, when I've received birthdays cards from only my mother and sister, and my own boyfriend doesn't extend his wishes... well, then, I'm just sad.

What did I expect? A surprise party? No. I've never had one - why start now? Who on Earth would think to throw me one? Who on Earth would be invited?!

I received one birthday phone call last night, shortly after midnight, and due to unforeseen circumstances, I couldn't vocally express my appreciation for it... but thank you. Trite though it may seem, I truly mean it.

Buffalo is processing. It's public information now. I've done everything I can to expedite the process, so now I wait, for mailers, ID cards, special numbers, etc. I'm hunting for apartments, in cahoots with my sister's boyfriend, who has graciously agreed to scout potential apartments. My biggest concern is the transportation. Without having seen it firsthand, I'm leery of its efficiency, but without my own car, I don't really have any other choice. It's not the commute to school that concerns me, but everyday things, such as grocery shopping. It's difficult to lug twenty-eight pounds of cat litter even five feet, much less all the way home. And that's not indolence: it's the truth.

I'm five days in to Spring Break, and I hate it. My whole semester has seemed like a vacation. Am I even doing any work? I don't want a break. I want to keep going, and passing the time, and I want to finish. I've basically been sitting on the couch since Thursday afternoon. The mornings are the worst. I do the same thing every day... get up around 8:00 AM and feed the cats, bring my laptop to the kitchen, and surf for hours. Finally, around 1:00 PM (no, really), when I can't TAKE IT ANYMORE, I'll try to rouse Chad, disillusioned that if he's awake, too, then maybe we'll do something fun. Surprise, I'm wrong. When he gets up (usually around 2:00 PM), he'll station himself on the couch and finally, surrendering, I'll join him and we'll fuck around online until easily 7:00 PM.

It's ridiculous.

If I can just get through the next eight weeks, the tides will change and I'll be thrust into avenues so fresh and new that I'll hardly starve for activity. If I catch my breath at all, it'll be a miracle.

But for now, I'm barely breathing.

Round and round, round and round.

2008-03-01T09:23:00.001-05:00

Oh my gosh, it's the weekend already. I'm slightly perturbed that's it's snowing again, but I have a really exciting day planned, and I will not be deterred!

The only item on my list today is to go to Target. See... I wish that packed more of a punch. Here's the backstory: I used to be a Target junkie. There was one within half a mile of my last job, and even at my job before that, there was a Target nearby. I was one of those people that, on my lunch break, would just go wander the store, ogling the housewares and personal effects and giant storage containers. They carry clothes' hangers in a multitude of styles and colors... but I digress. I haven't been there in a very long time and I'm looking forward to my expedition today just as a child prepares for a day of sledding. I can't contain myself!

I started cleaning out the apartment yesterday. Going through piles, boxes, closets. Throwing out things-I've-amassed-but-have-no-interest-in and things-I've-had-for-so-long-that-I'd-forgotten-I-had-them. Why do we keep so much stuff? Every year or so, I pare down my material possessions, and every year, I find I've gathered more crap. I have no idea where I'll be three months from now, which is rather daunting. In fact, thirteen weekends from now, I'll be moving into my new place. I'll have already forwarded the mail, my magazine subscriptions, my cellphone, my credit cards; I'll have set up new bank accounts, gone searching for grocery stores, laundromats, pizza joints.

I'm so excited I can barely stand it. On the one hand, three months seems like forever. Once I realize all the things I have left to do before then (like, picking a school, for starters), I start to freak out.

Currently, I'm leaning towards New Paltz, but Buffalo just offered me a pretty sweet financial aid package. New Paltz is a much smaller school (8,000 students enrolled) versus Buffalo, which must have at least 20,000; but I'm afraid I'd be making the same mistake twice if I go to Buffalo. In 1998, as I graduating high school, I'd only seriously applied to two schools: University of the Arts, in Philadelphia, and Westminster Choir College in Princeton, NJ. UArts was swank, modern, trendy and in the heart of Center City. WCC was in a rather rural, backwoods area of Princeton, not far from the Ivy League. It was an adorable little town, but I was 18. I didn't want a little town. Even though WCC trumped UArts a billion fold on the quality of the music program, I picked UArts, and inevitably, disliked the music program, and ultimately withdrew.

Buffalo is a larger area, larger school, and my sister is there. New Paltz is sooo tiny - but maybe I need to perceive tiny as "specialized" and "focused" instead of "inhibiting" and "inescapable". Heh. All I know is that within the next ten days, I have to make my decision. I can't put it off any longer because I have to set the wheels in motion.

Funtime weekendtime.

2008-02-25T18:47:00.003-05:00

A week ago I was bitching about everything under the sun, and I suppose I haven't graduated from that tier just yet; however, I had a fantastic weekend, and now the week has started off well. I'd feel like a scrounger if I continued my circumlocutory bitchfest.

Friday night, Patrick and Nicole were supposed to be coming into town, but due to a rather invasive snowstorm, they delayed their trip by a day. I understood their decision, but I was a little disappointed that my plans had been postponed. I made other plans, on the fly, with another friend of mine, and we went into the wild world of Watervliet, where we proceeded to drink beers, laugh, and play Millionaire on TV. I had a really good time, and was so happy I'd had the chance to get out of the house.

Saturday afternoon, I was dying for some Japanese food. I splurged hardcore on tempura udon and agedashi tofu. It was fantastic. I napped until the food coma subsided, then cleaned up and went out with Patrick and Nicole. Again, I had a great time. I hadn't seen them in quite awhile, and they have so much going on... I'm so happy for them both! We stayed out really late, and tackled topics ranging from wedding cake transportation woes to functional illiteracy!

Sunday was rather uneventful, since I spent most of the day trying to catch up on sleep and hydrating fluids. Monday, Chad pretty much stayed in bed all day, since he's sick as a dog with a 102°F fever that just won't quit. I also received an acceptance letter in the mail from SUNY Buffalo! I'm thrilled. Of course, I'm also beside myself with fear because, sooner than later, I"m going to need to pick a school and start getting things in motion. My lease is up at the end of May, so I have to hustle. I haven't heard anything from SUNY Albany yet, and I'll probably wait until I do before I weigh the options.

And here we are. Tuesday. On the cusp of another bizarrely spontaneous snowstorm. I have a First Aid exam today which is paralyzing me. I doubt if, faced with an emergency situation, I'd be much help at all. I can't keep this shit straight! It's not the end of the world if I don't qualify for the actual certification, but if I get anything less than an A in the class, I will be beyond upset... and I can't have one without the other.

Io devo studiare! Adesso, cominciano la classe d'italiano. Ciao!

Make-believe.

2008-02-19T11:31:00.000-05:00

Seventeen hours per week, I'm on campus. Fifteen of those hours, I am in class. I have two one-hour breaks on Tuesdays, and for the first few weeks of the semester, I was spending one of those with Chad. Now, since he's made a new friend, he goes off gallivanting during our break, leaving me to entertain myself.

I can't shake the feeling that I'm the only one doing any work this semester. He's taking four classes (one online, one night class, and two day classes), as compared to my eight (two online, one night class, five days classes). Granted, he only needed these four classes to make his Associates Degree requirements; I needed a full course load to make mine... so why does it bother me so much that he abandons me during the day?

I've got to get over myself. I've been talking with a number of old friends online recently, and I'm going to make concerted efforts to actually get together with them, for dinner, or drinks, or whatever. It's ridiculous that I feel like I can't make time for people who used to be my very good friends. Naively, I wonder, "What changed?" But the answer is simple: me.

I often blame my relationship, but in reality, the blame is simply my own. I am the one who has accepted this confinement; it is self-imposed and self-maintained. Of course... hanging out with friends would be infinitely easier if someone would stop gambling away all of our money. But, I suppose that's neither here nor there. I certainly could have gotten a job, if I really wanted to.

I've been introduced to the concept of intrinsic and extrinsic loci of control. If you need an explanation, check out this page. I find the psychology and gender-specific statistics fascinating. I'm also beginning to understand myself a little bit better: when not in a relationship, my locus is undoubtedly internal, but when I am involved with someone, I let his presence exert sovereignty over me, even when it is unwarranted, thereby rendering my locus totally extrinsic. I am convinced, when in a relationship, that I have no command over my own actions.

It's so asinine and childish. Why do I submit so haphazardly? This balance that I crave: is it mythical?

Flock.

2008-02-17T16:49:00.005-05:00

I've been Flocking all day. I'm fascinated by photo streams and media updates and everyone gathered all in one place! Well, that is, except for myspace. Funny, I don't really mind...

I made some killer lemon squares today. I've finally perfected the recipe, and ohmygod, they're fantastic. The recipe can be found at Alpineberry. I've only modified it slightly: I use regular generic lemons instead of Meyer lemons.

Undulating.

2008-02-16T23:48:00.002-05:00

I woke up this morning around 8:30 AM, after only having slept about four hours. The cats were antsy and overbearing, and my pajamas were twisted around my leg. I knew I wouldn't be getting back to sleep. The sun was pouring in through the windows in the kitchen. I haven't seen it that bright in months. I opened all the blinds and curtains and let the drafts, the dust, and the sunshine in.

My sister sent me a Valentine's Day card. She's unbelievable in how sweet and compassionate she is. Her card is adorable and sincere. She wrote that she's excited to be home [local] in a couple months so that she and I can pal around and eat Indian food. I look forward to it - but I also wonder if it will really happen. When she's home, she tends to buddy up with her old friends quite a bit, and of course I'll be busy, too; I should know by then which college I'll be attending, and the moving process will be underway, never mind my current semester's work. I would like nothing better than to just spend time with my sister: days, weeks, and more. Sometimes I miss her so much, and I'm so sad and excited to see how grown up she is. It doesn't feel like she's my little sister anymore. I look to her for advice. I look to her for inspiration. I look to her for relief.

Villanelle.

2008-02-15T20:32:00.002-05:00

(An English assignment, and coincidentally, my very first attempt at a villanelle - tricky rhythms!)

Hamlet's Hawk

Along the quay, alone I walk
Hours until I am homebound
Seductive waves coo 'neath the dock

Miles away, the bell tower clock
Threatens with alarming sound
Along the quay, alone I walk

Above me, flies a murderous flock
Shrieking; all other noise is drowned
Seductive waves coo 'neath the dock

Amongst the birds, one sordid hawk
The antagonist, he was most surely crowned
Along the quay, alone I walk

Splash and spray engulf the rocks
Battering the ground
Seductive waves coo 'neath the dock

I'm paralyzed when my eyes lock
On an Ophelia floating by, a lifeless mound
Along the quay, alone I walk
Seductive waves coo 'neath the dock

Well-received.

2008-02-15T15:23:00.003-05:00

My first college acceptance letter arrived today, from SUNY New Paltz. It says, "Congratulations!" (ORIGIN mid 16th cent.: from Latin congratulati, from con- 'with' + gratulari 'show joy' [from gratus 'pleasing']).

I can barely clear my head long enough to muddle through the mess, but I know that change is on its way. And I'm panicky with exhilaration.

Cons of perpetuity.

2008-02-15T10:04:00.007-05:00

My Italian teacher has suggested I begin keeping a journal in Italian, and it appeals to me for two reasons: one, as a private way to convey my thoughts, and two, to strengthen my Italian syntax. [A somewhat redeeming feature of Microsoft Word is the language feature, allowing me to write in a number of languages, and it auto-corrects accent errors, checks my spelling, and even questions my grammar (although the errors read in Italian, too).] From time to time, I may post an Italian entry. If I do, paste it here for deciphering.

*`':.,

Last night was really difficult. I made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for us both (a bittersweet gesture: we're out of everything else, and making those sandwiches, two at a time, catapulted me back to 2003, when I was dating Nathaniel. I'd just endured some physical trauma of my own, and neither of us were working, we didn't have a car [or rather, we did, but due to a lapse in car insurance, we were forced to keep it off the road for almost three months], and every day I was so stressed out that I would cry myself to sleep. I recall those days like a gloomy vignette.) and had somehow managed to get about half a dozen cat hairs in his sandwich. At first I thought it was funny but then I just fell apart, and I was choking sobs through my sandwich. Every time I get worked up, I can't hold it together. I just lose it, again and again. I don't know what's happening.

*`':.,

One barometer of a healthy lifestyle is the manner and frequency with which you wish to capture its moments. I've been in this relationship since August 2006. On Flickr, I posted 88 photos from 2007. Only 28 of my 970 photos are of Chad. Of those, 23 were from 2006, and in 2007, there were only five. The other 83 photos I posted in 2007 were of myself (self-taken - he has never taken a photo of me, unless I've asked him to), the cats, and my family. I spent Christmas without him. I spent Thanksgiving without him. Makes sense there would be no more than five photos in a year, right? I only chose to capture moments for one percent of the year. Very telling.

*`':.,

Recently, I emailed back and forth with an old friend from high school. We were close, or as close as two people could be, who had very little in common other than music. We were from different social groups, and outside of the arts, probably would never have crossed paths. Anyway, he revealed to me that there was a day, a very specific occasion, where he'd felt compelled to kiss me, but he didn't do it. And he told me why: he didn't know what other people would think [of him]. Such is the story of my life.

*`':.,

Then, I receive unsolicited comments from various men with whom I'm slightly acquainted, making claims as to how pretty I am, or - in the words of one particularly flattering source - gorgeous. I think there used to be a time where compliments like these would induce a smile and perhaps some blushing. Now I just feel ashamed. It feels so trivial. I've been tricked into thinking I am so undesirable that I can't see anything else. Why are they lying to me? Why would I want someone who finds *me* attractive when I am obviously not? Where are his standards?

And where are mine?

*`':.,

Ogni giorno, penso che sono solo, e io sono lontano. Presto, non riconoscerò mi.

Ballooning.

2008-02-14T20:34:00.003-05:00

My anxiety is getting worse. Most days, I haven't been able to bear leaving the bed. If I did, it was to feed the cats, but now I'm out of cat food. Why get up? I have nothing to give them now but love. They're better off burrowed in the blankets with me. They'll be fine.

I'm out of water, milk, coffee, and meat. I'm out of just about everything else, too. Luckily, I still have a good deal of bulk grains and my beloved soy sauce. Tea and rice for the next week. I've had the same headache for a two weeks: it starts on the top of my skull, on the same plane as my right eye socket. It stretches from my ear, around the curve of my skull, and down to my shoulder blade. I've been trying not to take anything for it, but I've surrendered to a few ibuprofen just to ease the discomfort.

I'm having trouble at school. Academically I'm doing fine, but socially, I'm so uncomfortable. Strangers talk to me in the halls, making comments like, "It's okay to smile," or "It can't be that bad." And so on. I try to step back, or step down, and let people in. It's in vain. I walk the halls alone.

. . .

2008-02-06T22:58:00.000-05:00

I just wish someone would do something nice for me.

Colonel Panic

2008-01-17T21:08:00.003-05:00

Today is January 17th. Incidentally, today is my brother's birthday. Man he's getting old! No, I'm kidding. It's just that his age is a reflection of my own. NOT good.

Anyway, I digress: today is the 17th. In two weeks, I have a music audition with a university music department. I have not been practicing as diligently as I should. To put it lightly, I AM TERRIFIED. I mean, who am I up against, here? Probably slews of do-gooders who have been freshly plucked from high school, with no interruptions in their academic or musical training. Fuck! I'm an avocational piano player, at best!

Do you know what it's like to have to re-learn HANON EXERCISES?! They're the most tedious, mind-numbing, elbow-cramping, spine-crunching series of practices EVER DEVISED! It's like Chinese Water Torture for your digits. God, I get anxious just talking about them.

I guess my biggest question is what the jurors are jurying. I'm not applying to be a performance major, so I don't expect that the meticulousness of my technique is up for debate; is it basal? Am I being measured on my application of basic fundamentals? Sight-reading, musicianship, and so on? Do-ta-da-ta-dee-ta and whatnot?

I never wear shoes when I'm playing piano. I use my three middle toes on my right foot to depress the pedals. I'm concerned because I'll most likely need to have footwear at this audition. Using a consistent sole to depress the pedal requires completely different focus than shoeless toes. If I'm not careful, I start pumping that thing like a 1934 Singer treadle sewing machine: not the desired effect. I'd imagine my crazy knee smashing into the underside of the keyboard is an action that is frowned upon by the scholarly types who are likely to be trapped in that room with me.

Either way, I'm freaked. I have the next four days (Sorry, sweetheart!) to pound on these keys until the trills and harmonic minor scales pour themselves effortlessly from my sternum to my fingertips. Expect some new (and indubitably exciting!) piano videos this weekend.

You know, on a side note, in case anyone cares, I deleted my musical alter ego, The Upright's Tune. I'm a shitty self-promoter and it just seemed like an uncultivated side project, so I removed the profile. Sorry to all you friends-counters out there :) If you're like me, you can't stand it when your number of friends mysteriously decreases. I just spend hours wondering, "Which stupid B*TCH deleted me?!" Ok. Again. Kidding. ...Not hours.

I'm in rare form tonight. Sorry. Back to the wine....

Petulent.

2008-01-14T18:36:00.000-05:00

All day, I've been trying to surpress my excitement. Why? It's the first day of classes! Of course, my schedule is packed like a tin of sardines this semester (because I'm insane, and registered the very day Spring registration opened - it was back in October, I think), with one night class on Monday, then five classes back-to-back on both Tuesdays and Thursdays. I also have two online classes. Do the math: that's eight classes this semester. A little ambitious, yeah?

At any rate, I was pretty jazzed about my night class: Biology of Nutrition. My textbook is rad, and the pictures are in full color. We got to campus right on time, and I booked from the car before Chad had even parked, since my class was across campus. I walked up the Lang building stairs and noticed... nothing. The class was CANCELLED. What! Why is class cancelled on the very first night?! We already lose class next Monday due to a holiday, so basically, this class will meet for the first time on January 28th?! Pardon me if I find that a little frustrating.

I suppose it wouldn't be as big of a deal if I had my own car, or if I had at least come here alone, but Chad and I carpool, since we both have our night classes on Mondays (again, who do you think is responsible for THAT one? Haha), so I'm stuck on campus now until 9 PM. All I know is that tomorrow better be effing better than today because I'm already starting off the semester a little peeved.

I know. No one else cares. What can I say. :)

I can't have.

2008-01-11T14:20:00.000-05:00

The hardest part isn't admitting that we've let each other down; the hardest part is that he refuses to let me end it. Why hang on to something that ruins both of us?

I just want to feel like me again. I want to wake up in the morning and feel something other than indifference. I could try to excuse everything, for both of us, but it's only to save face. Neither of us are the people we want to be, nor are we the partners we want to be.

I can't deny the progress and successes that have been made as a result of this relationship. I'm so grateful for all of it, and will forever attribute them to our time together, but in the end, the voids that have developed remain barren.

Someday soon, I will be myself again. I will do this with or without you. I know that I can not lean on you for support. I know that I can not look to you for reassurance. I know that I am mostly alone, merely a placeholder. The more I become me, hopefully the less you will be you. Maybe harmony will arise from it; if not, I'll brace for the discord.

Personal statement

2008-01-11T13:03:00.000-05:00

I'm so aggravated with the college application process right now. What's up with these "personal statement" requirements? They used to be called essays, right? Please, give me a topic. Give me some guidance! How am I supposed to answer a question like, "How will getting into this school assist you in obtaining your educational goals?"

Here's the short answer: BECAUSE YOU'RE A UNIVERSITY. THAT'S WHAT YOU GUYS DO.

Signed and dated.

I hate this shit. Can't I send them photos or something? A fruitcake? Anything but this?!

Laughter before bed

2008-01-07T01:57:00.001-05:00

(Found via Mimi Smartypants)

"On our bag of Science Diet-brand "Adult Indoor Cat Food" (I love that they couldn't be arsed to come up with a flavor name) is a little bubble with the words, "GUARANTEED LESS STOOL ODOR." I would like to know the terms of this "guarantee." Does the stool-odor measurement have to be proven in any way? Do I send samples? Do they just take your word for it, because paying that much attention to scientific comparisons of cat stool odor means you probably deserve your money back, as reparations for your mental illness?"

Oh, good times. I've oft wondered the same. Buona sera!

Che bel giorno!

2007-12-20T11:27:00.001-05:00

Overheard in The Broken Mold Studio, Troy, NY:
Bianca (to someone coming in): Stanley! Comng in through the FRONT door, eh?
Stanley: Yeah, I was at the grand opening of Le Marche Vert. I just ruined my appetite on free samples of paella.
Bianca: Oh, I *wish* I could ruin my appetite before going to work!
Stanley: You have to go to work after this? Gross.

What a great day I've had. I woke up in good spirits. My lovely sister, who is in town for the holidays, gave me a call and we agreed to spend the afternoon together. She'd been kicked out of my mother's house for a few hours so my mom would have time to wrap gifts in private. So the two of us went to Shalimar for an Indian buffet (Veggie korma and molagootal.. drool..), and then windowshopped for two hours owntown. We looked at art installations at the Arts Center. We played dress-up in some boutiques, and we tried on frilly, froufy coats and big crazy necklaces and wool jumpers and everything else we could find. We had tea and chai and good conversation at the Daily Grind. We stopped in to CVS and met a woman, who is a store clerk by day and a paranormal investigator by night, who told us she thinks the cash registers are possessed (!) but alas, her manager won't allow an exorcism. We talked to strangers all day, and sang Christmas songs along with the store clerks... It was fantastic.

While we drank tea, she made the comment that I look so healthy, and happy, and pretty. She said I look so totally different that it's almost creepy.

:) I couldn't have been happier.

Just desserts.

2007-12-18T02:31:00.000-05:00

My voice is trapped. There is so much I want to say and so much I need to talk about and there is no one that can hear me. Even when they listen, they don't hear a word I say.

I can't be the only one in this boat, right? Where are the others that have walked in my shoes? Maybe what I'm saying isn't worth hearing, and maybe I'm just supposed to muddle through this, like I know what I'm doing, or where I'm going, or how to go about becoming something I've never been before.

What you may not realize is that it's not as if I didn't realize I wasn't top-notch; rather, I've been painfully aware of it since adolescence. I've tried to compensate with various ridiculous things, but it has never left my mind that there's "them" and there's "me", and the separation between us is well-defined.

I'm eroding. Weak as it may be, I need help. You're crazy if you think I can do this alone, and without support. Why is that so unreasonable? Have I demanded so much of you that a little extra support is out of the question? I have lost the shreds of confidence I had left. I'm terrified that no amount of calorie-burning or hair-highlighting is going to give me that back. I see the way you look at me. Rather, I see the way you look away from me, and it needs to end. You're killing me.

Of course, you see that as a weakness: sure, go ahead, don't try, don't take the initiative, avoid the challenge. It's not like that, though. I need you to be there for me. It takes time to see results, and that's a very discouraging thing! I need you to at least pretend to be proud of the progress I make, because right now everything is a fantastic failure. I know where you're coming from, but I can't help feeling like I don't deserve this. You've got to help me get to where we both want me to be.

Homage to Hannah Höch: Cut with the kitchen knife.

2007-12-14T14:13:00.000-05:00

The plan was to make chili. I've made it dozens of times before; I don't even need to consult the recipe anymore. My first mistake was dropping the chicken breast into the hot oil. The oil splashed and sprayed me, on my face and neck. It was immensely unpleasant, but I washed my face and went back to slicing onions and peppers. My second mistake was rushing through the bell peppers: with one slice, I practically removed the knuckle from my left thumb. Instant mess: tears, blood, and so on.

Thankfully, someone who cares for my digital well-being (read: doesn't want blood in his chili) is continuing the cooking. I've been relegated to the couch, bandaged with paper towels and masking tape, typing with my only good hand. Hell of a Friday night.

Affairs to remember.

2007-12-06T13:00:00.000-05:00

This Sunday will mean it's been three months since I stopped smoking. I feel fantastic. My hair has gotten really long, and I honestly believe it's because I quit, almost as if the daily poison I was ingesting was inhibiting hair growth. Luckily (for everyone else, anyway), I haven't become one of those obnoxious ex-smokers that picks out the smoker across the parking lot just to complain about the smell. In fact, the smell doesn't bother me, any more than it would the average person, I suppose. It just no longer invokes a craving. At Thanksgiving, for instance, 3 of the 5 people there were heavy smokers, and it didn't even phase me.

I've nearly stopped drinking, too. I was never a heavy drinker anyway, but now, I just don't want the extra calories (oh god, I *am* obnoxious!). I've been able to maintain my weight now for about a month, so I'm getting geared up to get to the next level. I have another five pounds to lose by the end of the month, and then another five in January and February each. I'm doing it slowly so that it's more likely to stay off. My body's been shifting around and it's been pretty cool to witness.

Two weeks from today I will be DONE with my first college semester in six years. This has been one of the best experiences I've ever had, which I know sounds cheesy, but it's true. With the help of others, I've been able to prove so many things to myself this year that have truly changed my outlook on life. I feel renewed. I feel accomplished. So what if it's core curriculum at a community college: I did it.

Most importantly, I feel relaxed. I've had no income in four months, so when the financial aid runs low, I sell stuff on eBay to pay the bills. No sense in stressing about money I don't have. I stay up late, I sleep in, I eat meals instead of snacks, I shower every couple of days... this is the life. It's unreal. I feel so good.

If I only had a thermostat.

2007-11-29T11:47:00.001-05:00

i like slippers. fuzzy things. raisin bran. music. coasters. shoes. shampoo. ice blue. animals. frisbee. canvas. piano duets. eggs. larry david. textbooks. vacuum cleaners. charcoal grills. mushy pillows. thick socks. grapefruit. gift wrap. warm peanut butter. photographs. silver jewelry. grammar. the color orange. water. sheet music. earthenware. floss. canasta. fleece. broccoli. spiral-bound notebooks. t-shirt sheets. fireplaces. naps.

i don't like drafty windows or credit cards.

Pushing the (character) limits.

2007-11-18T11:14:00.001-05:00

I remember, when I first moved into my last apartment, I thought it was haunted. Jones would run through the apartment, staring at the ceiling. I would lay in bed with the TV on, paralyzed by the reflections in Jones' eyes. I remember feeling so alone; so utterly estranged.

The future always reminds me of the past. It's hard to think of the future as forthcoming: does it occupy space in time before its time has come? It's difficult to know for sure. I've been browsing through my old writing, consisting of short fiction and poetry since 1994, and journal entries, which I've catalogued meticulously since April 2002. The parallelism of the events of the last five years is staggering. There are recurring themes and passages. I think I've read somewhere that the stocks repeat in such an abstract way that when figures repeat, it seems more like a dismissible déjà vu than a calculable repetition.

Here's what I was writing five years ago:
I was awakened around midnight by the heat of you against my side. It caused a strange imbalance of body heat that forced me to remember you were there. The blue blanket had fallen off the bed as we slept, and just beyond the comforter, I could see your toes peeking out. There were no longer enough blankets to cover us both. You slept, uninterrupted, while I slid out from underneath the comforter to retrieve that blanket. It was bunched up on the floor, and I cringed at how much the bed creaked as a result of my trying to spread it out and re-cover your toes, which were undoubtedly freezing. You still did not move. I perched my chin in my hand, content to watch you sleep. You stirred slightly and raised your hand to tend to an itch on your collar bone. I laid down again, immediately aware of the heat emanating from you, and without really meaning to, I reached out and placed my hand on your chest. My fingers warmed instantly, causing goosebumps to form on my neck, much the same way a scalding hot shower initially shocks the cold out of my skin. To my surprise, your hand moved to cover mine, holding it to your chest. I looked to your closed eyelids for an explanation, and the slightest hint of a smile glimmered across your face. ...Then I woke up. Sigh.

Four years ago, I was aborting.

Three years ago, I had just broken out of a tumultuous relationship, and was distraught over having to live alone with myself in a new apartment. I spent most of my time writing, and deliberating my thoughts. I finally wrote down, as objectively as I could, a colossal summary of points that had led me to that place. Here's one priceless snippet:

My self-image is totally fucked up. I'm not sure what it should be, but I know it's not right the way it is now. You know how you always have this idea of what you look like to other people? If I saw myself on the street and had to make a split-second judgement against me based on my looks (I know that self-image is more than the blatant aesthetic, but this idea plagues me), I would surmise that I am: 1) unhappy 2) stressed out 3) in my thirties 4) married or.. 5) a lesbian. The point of this exercise? I have lost a lot of my femininity. I look very tired lately. The reason I say "married" is because I think I look as though I've started to "let myself go", as they say. It's unfortunate because not too far beneath the surface is a pretty cool girl (with a nice ass!). But that girl has put on some layers of Life and now the padding is adhering to her persona... Blah. On the other end of the scale, I think I look like I could be gay. Kind of tomboy-ish. Cute-going-on-butch. In the end, I have my sad-workaholic-thirtysomething-wife image dueling it out with my skinny-minny-glowing-smiling-youthful-chickie image from just a few years ago. Of the two, I am rooting for the latter. Sometimes I think I'm so obsessed with it, in fact, that it actually inhibits my ability to let her win. But I know I have to keep trying. I was so happy being her. It was like finally finding the right skin. But why am I so unhappy being me? What if this is me, the way I am now? Then what? And why does it matter to me so much? -Dec. 12, 2004

It makes me a little sad to read that because this is a theme that has followed me my entire life. We are nothing if not for the judgments of others, right?

Once upon a time, I had conviction. I had poise, and humor, and abounding personality. I had a style all my own, that wasn't as material as the color of my shoes or the cut of my hair. In relationships, I was a carnivorous wolf. If he managed to crawl away with any ligaments intact, it was a lucky break. I chewed people up, manipulated the fuck out of them and walked away, unscathed and indifferent. I was aware of the detestable manner in which I proceeded with people, and made a desperate attempt to change my ways. I did, quite successfully, and in exchange, sacrificed the essence of my being. I blew right by the balance I sought. This is something I lament nearly every day. Now, I am complacent and mostly dormant. We work through problems. I may cry a little, but I don't mind being yelled at. Sometimes I deserve it - I know. I wash dishes and clean the litter box without too much complaining. When we go out, I beg his advice on my outfit. "Whatever will embarrass you the least," I think. I'm quiet, polite, and submissive. I'm boring. I'm so fucking boring.

My current relationship swallows up all of my time. Not that it demands my time; but it prevents me from feeling as though I need to supplement with other people or other activities. The irony is that my relationship would likely improve exponentially if I engaged in society and opened up to people. From the outside, though, I can't figure out how to get back in. My only friends for the last three years were people from work, but I don't work anymore, and I've never managed friendships well. It's no coincidence that most of the people still in my life are ex-boyfriends, because they understand firsthand how well-intentioned I am with friendships, regardless of how mismanaged. It's sort of pathetic to admit, but most of my ex's were intended to be friendships - I just didn't know how to approach them appropriately.

"You've got such a pretty smile. It's a shame the things you hide behind it. Let it go now, give it up for awhile. Let them free and we will both go find it. I know there is nowhere you can hide it. I know the feeling of alone. I know that you do not feel invited. But come back, come back in from the cold." -I Know, Jude

Some days, I love every minute of this blasted life. Other days, I'm counting the seconds between hours, miserable. Many of the "exterior" aspects of my life are actually really awesome. I mean, I'm in school. After years and years of journal entries, I've done it. I found one entry, from May 2003 where I was planning to go back to school. I actually wrote down, "Nothing wrong with a 23-year-old sophomore, right...?" Oh, silly me. If I thought 23 was bad, fuck 27. I owe the school thing to Chad. He took classes over the summer, and it was my insanely infuriating jealousy that pushed me over the edge. It doesn't matter now, but oh my god, I was livid. The nerve of him to just start taking classes, like it was nothing, when it had been the bane of my existence for more than half a decade. And now, here I am, less than four weeks left in the semester, and I had straight A's for my mid-term grades... it's worth it. It really is.

Ah, Chad. I love him and hate him at the very same time. No, that's not right. I guess I mean.. I love him and hate me. Self-loathing, in a way. He really challenges me... if I were the 22-year-old version of myself, I would have already relentlessly antagonized him until he either gave in or gave up. But when I was 22, I thought I was always right. America taught me to think that way. I'm female. I run everything, purely based on my gender, and I can expect everyone to love and adore me the way I am without having to put forth any effort. Chad has taught me that, well, looks matter. It's not even the looks so much as it's the effort and maintenance. Obesity - of course - is a huge issue. And there is an entire culture of women out there who feel it's okay to buy small clothes and let their parts hang out. (By 'parts', I don't mean boobs. If you want to show your boobs, I'm all for it. Just put your gut away.) I see this a lot at school. These girls carry all their extra weight in their bellies, and for the most part, it just oozes: out of pants, shirts, whatever. For god's sake, tuck it in. You're nineteen. You should have a handle on puberty by now. I have no interest in seeing your stretch marks during class.

Does everyone have to look the same? No. I don't promote that at all. But it's this total disregard for "upkeep". You may have a cute face or nice tits, but there's more to it than that. You have to put some effort into it, sweetheart. Furthermore, don't be surprised when men aren't falling at your feet. Why should you expect to attract the people you want when you put no effort into your own attractiveness? The Brazilian just isn't always going to save you! ;)

Tangent. Sorry.

The fact of the matter is that I'm not the 22-year-old version of myself. I'm the display model. We have a lot of fun. It's fun that can't really be explained; it's fun in the form of closeness, that stays within these walls and represents the truest, purest quirks in both of us. It's been almost a year and a half already. Most days, I'm comfortable with our arrangement. But I feel that I haven't really introduced the best possible manifestation of myself to this relationship, and I owe that to both Chad and myself. It doesn't seem like I'm making progress, but I am. I don't smoke anymore. That's huge. Smoking, like defeat, has been plaguing me for a decade. I've thrown off the shrouds, and lived to tell the tales.

Nothing is 'all good', and inversely, nothing is 'all bad'. What I have is a pretty good balance, and as I move to continue balancing myself, I think other things will follow suit.

Dry.

2007-11-14T12:52:00.000-05:00

I think I've snapped.

Autumn anoxia.

2007-11-14T00:14:00.000-05:00

September and October occupy the most recent of our memories. In the throes of Autumn, November's needle quickly approaches half-empty. The air is different now than it was just a few months ago. Some days it feels thick and blustery, and other days it's impossibly sparse, assaulting my lungs with pinpointed accuracy. It's a perfect day for combustion, they say. Cars bounce along the highways, gleeful, humming and barely touching the roadway. Even though the sky is charcoal gray, the sun shines brighter than it has all year. In a hat and gloves, eyes squinting, I catch my breath.

Dichotic neurotics.

2007-11-01T04:03:00.001-04:00

gamos, Greek, "to marry", such as in monogamy, homogamy, etc. What strikes me is its similarity to the common English word "game", though "game" is derived from the German gamenian, meaning to amuse oneself. Great.

I lead two lives.

In one, I am at the zenith of my own existence. Everything I do is for my own betterment and advancement. I am flanked by those who aspire to be like me. I am strong-willed, quick-witted, sharp-minded, and considered desirable or favorable by others. My extroversion is prevalent, fun, and comfortable. However, this life is fleeting and disjointed; it's seasonal, at best. The bits of this life, salvaged primarily from the cutting-room floor, exist only to asphyxiate the Me Who Lives The Other Life.

The Me Who Lives The Other Life is mute, introverted, suspicious, passive, subservient, and anonymous. I am no better, no worse, and no different from anyone else. I am unable to transcend my own caste because I can't imagine existence outside of its confines.

Most people I know endure this ridiculous circumnavigation. Self-doubt is yin to the yang of self-confidence: they are necessary, complementary concepts that oppose and enable each other.

But recently I've been running in both circles. I feel just as self-deprecating as I do self-substantive. I hunt voraciously for approval and assurance because I need them to survive. The only barometer I have, of my own self-worth, is the readings I receive from others.

It sounds severe. Aren't we all this way?

Somehow that doesn't assuage the gravity of the plight.

Real people.

2007-10-11T04:34:00.001-04:00

We have to assume our partners have been lovers before us, and they they will most certainly be lovers after us. If a true connection of the heart exists between two people, do matters of the flesh have any bearing on their romantic union?

I am anxious about indiscretion. I worry that my lover will fall for another if he is given the opportunity and permission to play outside our confines. I dread the politics - disease, pregnancy, and so on. I have taken meticulous care of my sexual health, and could not afford it compromised due to pure acts of desire which have overshadowed common sense.

I worry that if the doors of exclusivity are thrown open, he may very well find someone who is a better fit: a more complete answer to the question he's never truly known how to pose. I worry that, with nothing left to fulfill, I will be immaterial, and redefined as not much more than a housemaid, a roommate, or a sidekick.

Even scarier is that I would also have the opportunity to wander from the homestead. Would I? Should I? How does one decide? And if I chose to make the move, what's to say I don't fall prey to the same circumstances which distress me?

There are scenes of infidelity in the movie The Sheltering Sky, a heart-wrenching, sensual film with John Malkovich and Debra Winger from the 1980s. The love between the two main characters is undeniable. Their sexual relationship with each other is frequently on display, however, throughout the film, John's character patronizes prostitutes, both have secret trysts with mutual friends, and Debra's character seduces an Egyptian foreigner, who speaks no English. Even though they can not communicate verbally, they can communicate sexually. Furthermore, these sexual affairs never once degrade or decrease the emphatic love the main characters held for each other.

I watched Frida the other night, by myself. While I am aware the primary storylines were supposed to be her artistry, injury, and lifelong physical pain, the only premise I could glean was that of her husband's infidelity. He slept around almost constantly, and she knew this. She was able to separate infidelity from disloyalty, and claimed that as long as he remained loyal, she could see past it. She was able to converse openly with his past wife about his unfaithful ways, and both women agreed that this was just the way he was. It occurred to me that in Mexican culture, this may be something that is accepted. In American culture, women are so thin-skinned and easily offended and crushed (myself included, as much as I try to be removed from it). Infidelity is the ultimate dishonor. In ancient Greek culture, prostitutes were revered. Sex was as common as wine, whether it was with your wife, or your friend's wife, or your wife's friend. How did we become so closed-minded about it? Were we ever really open-minded?? Have we just stopped masking our pain?

I couldn't help wondering if Frida honestly resolved her husband's unfaithfulness with herself, or if, to save face, she plodded through the shame and humiliation. What is love without sex? What is sex without love? Do they mutually amplify? Of course - however, they can and do exist independently. What is love with another if there is sex with many, and vice versa? Is a line ever drawn? Is there any distinction?

How can you tell me that I am what you want, and still not fulfill you? I can't help but wonder, and I wonder if Frida felt it, too. I can appreciate the gravity of your plight. I just don't know where I fit into it. Let me know where to begin.

Where I stand.

2007-10-09T11:33:00.001-04:00

I sold my car. (..Moment of silence) There just didn't seem to be any reason to keep it, given our current schedules. It's such a new car that the payments were astronomical, much less the cost of the full insurance coverage. So, now I just wait for the lien release. And then it's gone.

We're doing some cool things, like going to galleries in Beacon and shows at the Egg. We got a BJ's Membership (snicker..) and now we buy 8 lbs of chicken breast at a time... just because we can!

Unemployment, I dare say, is a rather amenable situation. I'm thinking I may look for something part-time in January or February, but I'm in no rush. I've been working my ass off for ten years - I'm enjoying the break. Finances be damned!

The cats are ecstatic that we've been home so much. At first, the extra affection was cute. Now it's borderline... well, OBNOXIOUS. Everywhere I go, there's a cat. I can't even pee in privacy. When I take a shower, Puck waits for me on the floor. Misters sits on the couch with us while we do homework. Jones hangs out with me while I eat breakfast. And Oliver? Well, he's everywhere. All the time.

I need a haircut. I need to get some Fall clothes. I need to defrost the freezer, and vacuum the office, and get started on my Philosophy paper. My assignment is to go to church. And so it goes.

Right now I have an A average in all of my six classes. I'm seven weeks into the semester. Next week will be the halfway mark. Sexy! :)

The Status Woe.

2007-10-08T08:08:00.001-04:00

What I've learned so far at college:

1) Attendance is kind of important. In most of my courses, each subsequent class sees a significant drop in participants. What are these kids thinking? I feel like taking them and choking them with their fucking iPod earbuds and screaming, "What the fuck! Don't you realize you're ruining your future, all because you couldn't get your nasty ass out of bed for this fifty-minute class?!" Ok, to be fair, I have missed two classes. I will adhere to my own reasoning that I was legitimately preoccupied; however, the question remains: does anyone care? Why explain it? A zero is still a zero, even with an excuse. A decision was made; two options were weighed, and your education - for which you are PAYING - drew the short straw. So be it.

1a) While I'm at it: show up on TIME. Oh, is this a new schedule for you?

2) I must have attended the last educational institution on Earth where skills such as rhetoric, grammar, punctuation, and narrative voice were incorporated into the curriculum. Since when is a comma a suitable conjunction of two sentences? Since when have pronoun contractions dispensed with the punctuation requirement? Since when is TXT language suitable for a college-level English Composition essay?! Im not sure what youre writing cuz I cant read a word of it. ::slaps hand against forehead::

3) Contrary to popular belief, people are inherently cooler when they can walk, smoke, talk on the phone, listen to MP3s, and drag their feet: all at the same time!

4) I am one of those crazy... laughing-at-the-teacher, listening-attentively, class-participation, turning-papers-in-early, glaring-at-the-johnny-come-latelys.... needless to say, I don't exactly make friends. I probably used to babysit for these kids. Most days, focusing on my instructors, I'm not too aware of the age gap - until one of them speaks, and I am blown away by the inanity. It's... agonizing. Parents? Do your kids a favor: if they do not possess basic communication skills, DO NOT PASS GO. Don't let public education intimidate you into pushing your child through the system. It's embarrassing for them, it's painful for everyone else, and, truth be told, people will laugh at and criticize them behind their backs for the rest of their lives. Someday, they'll enter corporate middle management, and that quiet guy behind the ficus, looking to boost his own self-esteem, will hoard your child's misspelled memos and unclear e-mails, hanging them on his cubicle wall, with highlighted corrections, for all to see. It's spiteful, but it's true... and it's just not worth it. Repeating the fifth grade could prevent decades of imminent disgrace.

5) I am looking forward to being a career student. I finally made it back in. Why leave now? This shit's priceless.

Poison summer

2007-09-06T09:49:00.001-04:00

It's beautiful outside. This is the type of night where, had I a deck with artsy ambient lighting, I would bring my MacBook out with a flavored decaf coffee and enjoy the night air.

Life has been crazy. Am I student now? I suppose. I go to school. I fight for parking spots with 12,000 other attendees on a daily basis. I participate in class - not too much, but just enough. I haven't quite figured out whether my goal is to blend in or stand out, but for now there are heavier matters with which to concern myself.

Where it's due.

2007-08-28T21:56:00.001-04:00

I don't think I was giving quite enough credit to the college scene -- no, a better word would be initiative. Yesterday I was at school from 9:00am until 5:00pm. Five classes back to back, one hour break in the morning, and that was it. I was exhausted last night. Totally comatose. New classes, new teachers, new classmates; the jokesters, the oblivious, the half-naked. Sweltering heat; non-functional air conditioners; attendance policies, grading policies, research papers, class participation.

It's going to take a few weeks to get accustomed to this. Every night when I go to bed, I think, for a split second, that I have to get up for work in the morning. But I don't.

At the moment, I'm unemployed. No verifiable income. I'm expecting my 401(k) payout fairly soon, and we're selling Chad's old laptop, and I'm still trying to sell my car. In October, financial aid will kick in and the surplus refund will help us out. But for the next four weeks, I don't really know how it's all going to work out. We both intend to seek employment, but right now I need my sole focus to be school.

I'm so excited to be back in college. It's a blip on the radar, as far as my aspirations go. There are so many steps to be taken after this place. I'm obsessed by the notion that succeeding here is paramount to my future successes. I've done the required research; I will be on the President's List every semester I'm here. I won't accept anything less. Frankly, no one should.

I thought my "life experience" would help propel me forward. I am starting to see that I have no innate advantage over anyone else, which I suppose is the better way. I'm fighting for survival right alongside those who wish to fight. The fight is for recognition, and some semblance of personal victory while time passes on and on. This is a diary of waiting.

Pros and cons.

2007-08-23T11:14:00.001-04:00

Today is my first anniversary with Chad. We've been together a year already.

Tomorrow is my last day of work. Twenty months of experience comes to a close.

Monday is my first day of classes: the first link in a forthcoming chain of classes, semesters, colleges, universities, and degrees.

And the momentum builds.

Work vs. Working

2007-08-08T08:00:00.001-04:00

Two steps forward, seventeen steps back. My impulse is my greatest asset and my greatest fault. Maybe I'm going about this too hastily. Am I really prepared to leave this type of income in the blink of an eye? I owe so much money... it sickens me. I long for the old days, of $400 in bills per month; my bartending gig bringing in double my debt per month. That's definitely not the case now.

Now I'm trying to juggle all of these different things: How do I cut my debts? Who is going to replace me? How do I get everything done before my last day at my job? And of course - the most important - when will I be able to REGISTER?!

I had some appalling interactions with my first choice college; sure, they processed my application timely, but now have me in a holding pattern for the next three weeks while I wait to complete my music audition. Chad and I have already discussed where we'll be going for our Bachelors degrees, so today I got to thinking: Why stress over an Associates of Music when I can get core curriculum out of the way now and focus on program requirements at a 4-year school?

So, I called around to another school in the area. Explained my situation and found out I still have time to apply, be accepted, and register for the Fall semester. Done. I'm on it.

..I literally feel as though I've become so entrenched in this process that I'm not taking time to focus on anything else. I know that to do it any other way would mean that I wouldn't get it done in time.

It may all be hasty. It may be a royal pain in the ass; it may break me, emotionally and otherwise. More than a few times already, I've stopped myself and thought, this is nuts. I should just stay where I am, plan a little better, and go to school when I have the means to do so.

But isn't that why I'm in this situation in the first place? Isn't that what I've been doing for the last ten years? My ten year high school reunion will be next year. I abhor the notion that I may have nothing more than 29 college credits under my belt when others could be so far ahead. This is what it takes to put me on par, or at least closer to where I should be.

I don't regret my time in corporate America. Instead, I appreciate the opportunities I've had and I know that they've contributed to my current mindset and drive for dedication. However, the most significant takeaway is that I know that's not where I belong. It's not the right fit for me.

Next time you see me, I'll be that much closer to becoming complete. No more fragments of being; no more censorship of personality. I had to dig deep, but I've found her.

Song of the Plains.

2007-07-15T13:08:00.001-04:00

Friday's experience in the recording studio was favorable. The engineer was very nice, and not too uppity or uncomfortably quintessential. I had thirteen tracks I wanted to record. I made it through the first four with minimal problems, but then I became very nervous and continually made egregious errors, many times just coming to complete halt and, out of despair, threw my hands in the air and proclaimed I'd need to move on to the next track. After more screw-ups, I took a short break and came back to record another eight tracks with satisfactory results. After three hours, I'd only abandoned one track. It's a bizarre and humbling realization that tracks I'd written myself only six years ago have become too complex for my current level of attack and technique. I just couldn't make it through the piece.

The sound quality of the recording eclipses my last effort. Because all of the tracks still need to be mixed and equalized, I won't have a copy of it until Tuesday, just in time for my mother's birthday on Wednesday. As she'd been one of the biggest supporters of my getting back into playing piano, I'd decided to have the recording done by her birthday so that I could give it to her as a gift. Again - a strange feeling: Happy Birthday, Mom! Here's a CD that's all about ME! ...But I know she won't see it that way. She'll be ecstatic, I'm sure.

Saturday I went to my mother's, to spend some time with her, and of course, to do laundry, an age-old pastime. My mother would not stop exclaiming about how skinny I looked and how much weight I'd lost. Currently, I'm down exactly 20 pounds from my heaviest weight back in March. It was very complimentary, but to the extreme, it began to irritate me because, although I have improved my image quite significantly, I've still a long way to go, and hearing her say how "skinny" I was sort of pissed me off - I'm not skinny yet. I'm skinnier, but that's about it.

The other reason I went to my mom's was to be there when my sister arrived home from college. The gaps of time between our visits now are sometimes in excess of six months. There's so much of her life that I only hear about secondhand. I miss not being a more integral part of it. Our reunions are emotive, and often we feel a need to catch each other up to date as quickly as possible, rather than spreading it out over the duration of her visit. Consequently, ten hour conversations ensue.

Today, despite still having been awake after 2:30am last night, I woke up early and was unable to fall back asleep. The weather has been crazy, with freak thunderstorms and flash flooding, so I've just been cleaning and listening to nostalgic music. I'm trying to pare down my material belongings again. I'm feeling crowded but not fulfilled. Clothes, a mountain bike, a stereo from 1994 (!!!) and so on. Time to go.

Thank god.

2007-07-13T18:22:00.000-04:00

"The Czech Republic, along with Estonia, has one of the most non-religious populations in the European Union. According to the 2001 census, 59% of the country is agnostic, atheist, non-believer or non-organized believer." [courtesy of Wikipedia]

Am I Who?

2007-07-12T21:35:00.001-04:00

Tomorrow is a big day for me. I'm going into a recording studio to record the last twelve years of piano compositions. I haven't had a formal recording since 2001, when I was attending the College of Saint Rose and, as a music student, I was entitled to a session in the campus recording studio. I continue to listen fondly to that recording, but with student engineers and college equipment, the overall quality has never lived up to my high expectations and standards. The pieces I'd recorded in that session were diverse: some old, some new (relatively to the time), and some lacked the finesse I desired. It was not a fluid compilation. For tomorrow, I've selected only the compositions that I feel represent my art form, so although it will not be the full repertoire, it's the most personally demonstrative.

I'm actually very nervous. I'm actually even a little bit sad somehow. It saddens me that I've deviated so far from what once defined me.

What defines me now?

Slacks and sliders. Business casual. Spreadsheets and monthly production reports. Middle management. Litter boxes. Heavy duty vacuums. Laundromats. Treadmills and high gas prices. Leather seats and wireless internet.

My loss of personality enables both my hesitance to be social and my reluctance to do what is just. I had music in my life, pumping through my veins. When I stepped away from it, I abandoned my drive for progress. Instead I settled on a new route, the American-made corporate career path, where every day I embrace irrelevant busywork and dispense with more of my natural-born intellect. None of it matters.

What does?

Something to it.

2007-07-07T20:51:00.000-04:00

Chad often speaks of expatriation, and usually I dismiss it as idle defeatist ramblings; yes, of course we realize country is a sham and yes, of course we are aware of how the rest of the world despises us. Last night, he came across a book entitled, Getting Out by Mark Ehrman. Today we went to Borders and bought it.

Chad thumbed through it before he left for work tonight, and I've been absorbed in it ever since he left. Apparently the expat experience is an unbelievably expanding phenomenon. This generation is emigrating in droves, and not since the 1920s has it been this well documented and recognized. Hollywood has long led the pack in the movement away from America. "This group included people such as Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, T. S. Eliot, Ezra Pound, and Gertrude Stein. [...] Some notable African-American expatriates from the 1920s onward included Josephine Baker, Langston Hughes, Richard Wright, James Baldwin, Miles Davis, and Charlie Parker." [courtesy of Wikipedia]

So I kept researching. Throw the term "expat" into Google and the abundance of resources is staggering. There are expat networks. Forums. Experience blogs. Warnings and advisories. Coaching. Support groups. I am tantalized.

The most edifying angle is that these emigrants are not all retired citizens or those looking to marry or study abroad. They're a young demographic: males, females, twenty- and thirtysomethings. They're going to Australia. Germany. Italy. The Caribbean.

To me, Switzerland seems the most appealing. From culture to bureaucracy, from history to modernism, natural geography to architecture. Zurich, about which I was able to find handfuls of blogs, is where I'd like to go. It's all a matter of time.

Expat Forum
Expat Exchange
Expat-Blog Community
This Non-American Life - Expat Blogger in Zurich, Switzerland

I am totally fascinated by all of this. I think I'm changing my outlook to Expat in Training. Chew on it.

The limits.

2007-07-06T20:52:00.000-04:00

Last year my average weight was about 165 lbs. Late summer and into the Fall, I began to gain more weight. By March of this year, I was up to about 173 lbs, which, by my standards, and according to my frame, is much too much. We quit smoking in March, and I lost a few pounds, but then we picked up the habit again, and the weight went back to where it was.

We drastically changed our eating habits, and most recently, joined a gym. Surprisingly, I've actually been going. I typically go around 7:00 pm, when all the after-work-gung-ho people have gone home to their dinners and prime time television. I know best practice states you should stick to specific muscle groups per workout, but I can't help going through the whole circuit. When I leave, everything from my shoulders down to my ankles are feeling the burn.

I'm down to 150 lbs.

I went clothes shopping on Wednesday morning and bought pants a size smaller than what I've been able to wear for the last year and a half. I bought a top that was medium. It stands alone in my closet full of tags with big depressing "L"s on them.

I'm feeling really good.

I've gained some new vocabulary, like hip abduction and pectoral fly. I've learned the difference between neutral and barbell grips. I own a dozen pairs of no-show athletic socks, and two sports bras, and running shoes.

I've never really given this girl a chance before, but I plan to get to know her better.

Breaking points.

2007-06-15T15:56:00.000-04:00

Breaking the pattern:
Last night Chad and I went back to the [dreaded] mexican restaurant from whence the horrible pregnancy debacle arose a few weeks back. We quietly noticed that our original waitress was nowhere to be found - we surmised she may have had a few other unfortunate run-ins with unsuspecting patrons and was terminated. We could only hope. We had a great dinner of enchiladas and tamales in corn husks.

Breaking the rules:
I woke up this morning very aware of the prior night's dinner, if I could be so eloquent... My insides were revolting against me with a vengeance. I called in to work and at the time, figured I'd just be in a little late. As the morning went on, my nausea cleared but my mind did not. I found myself uninspired to go in, so I remained home for the day.

Breaking the bond:
It has come to my attention that in my enchanting boyfriend's quest to determine if the Perfect Woman does truly exist, he's taken to posting profiles on various online personals websites. The snoop that I am, I try my damnedest to head these types of things off at the pass, by searching around from time to time. Just over a month ago, I'd found one profile and confronted him about it. He promptly took it down, to which I can attest, because I've continued to stalk the site.

However, tonight I came across another one. This one was actually a contact e-mail he'd sent to another user of the same site. This one actually included a line to the tune of, "Don't let the fact that I'm seeing someone deter you from returning my contact..." Yeah. I only *wish* I could make this stuff up. Seems I don't have to. There's another e-mail dated June 13th, to this same person.

June 13th? Why, that's just two days ago. TWO FUCKING DAYS AGO.

You may ask - why is she snooping around like this? Well, friends, it's because frankly, I don't trust him.

You may ask - why is she continuing to tolerate this behavior? And to that I answer you through lowered lashes: No more. I suppressed my initial instinct to break into tears and shatter glasses against the walls. I immediately got into my car and went to buy a pack of cigarettes and a modest bottle of wine. I've spent the last two hours packing up all of his things in neat little packages, stacked politely in the office, off to one side, all while diligently inebriating myself. He's at work, mind you, so unfortunately for him he has no idea any of this has transpired.

Still, there is a part of me that thinks: Wait. What am I doing? We can work through this. It's not the end of the world. It's not as though he's actually cheated on me, in the flesh. It's nothing but virtual petting. Idle ramblings.

...Or is it? Don't I *feel* cheated on? What is the internet generation's definition of infidelity? Why do I pressure myself to apply logic? In the end, I just don't care to hear his version of the truth anymore.

I feel kind of sorry for those I've dated in the past. I was a miserable girlfriend, full of disgust and too easily annoyed. In the last two years or so, my relationship stylings have changed drastically. Unfortunately karma appeared just in time to smack me across the face. I become a model girlfriend and I end up involved with partners who don't deserve an iota of my devotion or support.

A popular topic in society is how women always end up with the bad guys, the deadbeats, the violent. The theme travels in all directions. When I was a huge pain in the ass, the passive men were sooo in to me and I couldn't stand it. Now that I'm placid and loyal, I get trampled. There is no answer. No quadratic formula for finding happiness. We're just x and y, constantly moving further away from one another until the distance between us becomes infinity.

Another reason to roll my eyes.

2007-05-26T15:11:00.000-04:00

We were sitting at the table, marveling at the good food, the nice atmosphere, the great beer, the reasonable prices. Everything from the lighting to the salsa roja was noteworthy. Our waitress comes over to clear away Chad's plate. She says to me, "Do you want the rest of his guacamole?" I thought it was a strange question. Guac isn't the best condiment with my burrito espinaca con championes. "No, thanks," I say.

She looks me right in the eye and smiles. "When I was pregnant, I couldn't get enough guacamole!"

What did she just say? I laugh nervously and return my eyes to my plate. I can feel the anger welling up in Chad, next to me. The waitress turns and walks away.

"That was so wrong of her," he says.
"It's just my shirt," I offer. "Don't worry about it."
"No," he returns. "You ordered a beer. What does she think?"

He's right, I think to myself. Regardless of what she thought, pregnancy is a topic that instantly becomes an elephant in the room. Was she just offering an anecdote she thought was humorous? Was she making an assumption based on my appearance? I tried desperately to recall her inflection: had she said, "When _I_ was pregnant..." or had she said, "When I was _pregnant_..."? It didn't matter much. The damage was done.

Chad is pretty heated and barely able to contain himself the next time she comes to the table, but I plead with him not to say anything. It was so unfortunate... our otherwise outstanding restaurant experience resulted in nothing more than a disgusted taste in my mouth.

It all started with a rib.

2007-05-14T01:32:00.000-04:00

It's not as bad as it seems. It's not fair to fault people for having distinct preferences and opinions. And nobody, myself included, likes to feel excluded. But the truth in all of this is that women, in general, "let themselves go" - and thus begins this cyclical trauma of women with adverse body images and men having to compromise their true desires in a mate and the resentment shared by all parties involved.

Sounds a little anti-feminist, doesn't it? Well, it is. It's the truth. Why, at my age, should I be out of shape? I haven't had children. I'm not a couch potato. I'm not depressed (well... that one's up for discussion, but still). Why aren't females taught, at a younger age, that physique is integral not only to her health but ultimately her self-image and confidence? I don't feel as though it was ever impressed upon me as a child and/or young adult. I suppose we all like to use puberty as an excuse, since our hormones are thrown out of whack - but what better way to combat those effects than working out and eating right? Just because I have cramps means it's okay for me to eat pizza and french fries for five to seven days straight a month?? No. It's a shitty excuse.

We were talking today about what happens as women age. I feel there's an extraordinary pressure to get married and "settle down" and start the baby factory. Really, that's just one more way we edge out of having to give attention to a man. Oh, a baby? Sorry honey, you're going on the back-burner. After the experiences I've had, the last thing I'd want is to be shackled to someone for the rest of my life. There are too many variables and incidentals. What if we made the wrong choice? Picked the wrong person? What ever happened to common law marriage and civil unions and whatnot? Do they still exist?

There's a pressure, as I was saying, to get married, at which point, yes, again, we can let our physical conditions slide a little. On the other hand, those who resist marriage are still haggled and tagged "Old Maids", a term thought to be antiquated but still rears its ugly head from time to time. What is there for a woman to do if she's not married? Well, she could be consumed with her work. Her career. Her bevy of stray cats. It doesn't matter. A workaholic single woman over the age of thirty starts to seem suspicious, and although men swear they don't see it that way, it's obvious they do. Maybe by then, the men have exhausted all their other options, and at least a lay's a lay... But no one - the man or the woman, desires to be in that situation. That thirty-something convenience fuck.

Reflecting on my previous post, I think my main source of anger stems from the fact that the woman he's looking for is a woman I've never been. I was never the sexy hardbody adolescent. My frump has followed me around like a shadow my entire life. Sure, I like to think my intellect and good company have gotten me great things; but I'm also fairly convinced that, had I the stereotypical "good looks", I'd have gone further. It's reality.

These days, women are perpetuating madness. We parade around for each other, peacocks putting on a show. The answer is simple: regression. Feminism has catapulted women to a point we never wanted to reach. We begged and pleaded and withheld sex in order to get ahead, to even the playing field a little, and sure, we earned some great privileges. But at what expense? What on earth is it like to be a man these days? We're trying too hard to take over the world but truth be told, we'd have no idea what to do with the power. It's a two-way street and bit by bit we're forcing men off the road. It's impossible to compete. I'd say I'm glad not to be one of them; but I'm even sicker to be one of us.

Serrated glory.

2007-05-12T14:12:00.000-04:00

He just doesn't see it; how his diatribes about women impact me. He sometimes seems surprised that I take his rants personally. I've lost count of how many times I've heard him say that I'd be so perfect for him if I just weren't, you know, me. By that he means I'm not young enough. Fit enough. Stylish enough. I feel somehow that I must have falsely marketed myself - because what he was really looking for was someone twenty years old, five foot four, a hundred pounds, perfect tanned skin, naive, complacent, obedient, fashionable, oblivious to the world around her.

Sorry.

I'm 27. I'm 5'6", with a meaty athletic build. I have four tattoos and innumerable freckles. I have dry skin and tiny ears. I'm a Pisces, so right there, the psychotic dichotomy between intellect and emotion reveals itself. I strive for happiness but often find I'm only furthering my definition of it in reverse, through the process of elimination. I'm opinionated and stubborn. I'm a starving perfectionist. I have a superior self-awareness but a miserable self-image.

But let it be known: I am not a flake. You can't anonymously berate me and expect I won't hear the messages in your words. I provide for you more than I provide for myself and in the end, all I have is vacancy. Perhaps it's the comfortability I'm creating that enables you to open up like this. Well, doesn't that just cut both ways?

Sometimes I think to myself that years from now, you're going to wish you had someone like me, when you realize your doll party no longer satisfies intellectual conversation. Sometimes I wish I could be swept away by someone just like you, just not, you know, you.

Of the 11th Hour is Borne the 11th Day

2007-05-10T11:54:00.000-04:00

The humidity is fervent and my skin smooth. Summer brings with it a particular breed of evening.

Today becomes tomorrow. And tomorrow is becoming.

Turn back time.

2007-05-05T01:33:00.000-04:00

Two kind-of-amazing things have happened so far today:

1) I finally broke through my weight barrier. No matter what I was doing/eating, I couldn't seem to get any less than 158. This morning I tipped the scale at 156.5 lbs. Awesome. Finally effecting a change.

2) I just ran a 9:05 mile. I haven't run a nine-minute mile since I was fourteen years old. As I ran, I was talking out loud to myself, giving myself pep talks as I wiped sweat out of my eyes and ears. I just don't find it satisfying to jog - as the run progressed, I found I needed to increase the speed a few times on the treadmill, maxing out at 7.1 mph. I *love* the feeling of running. Even now as I'm sitting here, still tingling and perspiring, I know I want to get back on. Run some more.

Wouldn't it be a bitch if, after all these years, I figure out I was supposed to be a runner? With those sexy runner legs and shoulders? Cosmic.

Day 3

2007-05-04T12:48:00.000-04:00

I ran again last night before I went to bed. The pounding of my blood in my ears actually helped lull me to sleep, but just after 5 AM, I was awake again, the circuits in my feet and ankles urging me to run again. So I did. At 6, I made breakfast, and eventually got ready for work, but it's as though a switch has been flipped: I'm fiending for a run.

Anyway, it was a lousy day at work. Busy, crazy, off the beaten path. Now I'm home, and it's Friday night, and I'm full of energy but uninspired. Don't I know anyone in the area anymore? Have I really alienated everyone I know?

I contemplated heading to Albany, out to the bars, and Lark Street, but I don't drink. What do people do when they don't drink? Go to well-lit, quiet cafes? Please.

I'm trying diligently to take a lot of photos while Chad is away this week. It's giving me something to do, and it helps that my subjects crack me up. I'm posting them all on Flickr. Check them out. Have fun. Somebody ought to.

Day 2

2007-05-03T12:48:00.000-04:00

do i try to read between the lines or
listen between your breaths
?
is there something i'm missing; something i should be translating interpreting decoding?
living in the moment, you say
i didn't know we had a choice
in my moment i'm aware of the silence, lingering
i can't hear you
i'm uneasy. you're reading me the last page of the book and
i just haven't gotten that far yet
don't ruin it for me

Day 1

2007-05-02T14:23:00.000-04:00

Ok, a little weird coming home from work to an empty house. Empty, of course, except for the cats, who were OUT OF THEIR BLOODY MINDS. They haven't been totally alone all day like this for quite a while. It was as if they'd spent weeks in a box truck parked in the brush by the border. I secretly enjoy their neediness, though; makes me feel maternal and integral.

Had dinner with my mom. It was decidedly brief as she was craving her smokes within an hour, and I just wanted to go home. I hadn't seen her in over a month so we had plenty to discuss, and that was definitely nice. When we go through phases of constant communication, the regurgitation of anecdotes wears on me a little.

Tonight at 9:00pm, I hopped on the treadmill. Started at 3 mph (I know, not much) and increased the speed by 0.1 mph every 6 minutes, so that by the end of an hour I'd be at 4 mph. Well, lo and behold, it was a fabulous experiment because it coincidentally equated with 300 calories (313 to be exact) burned and a distance of just over 3.5 mi. I found that, if I just turn on the closed-captioning, then I don't have to turn the volume way up, and I can still enjoy TV while working out and I don't even realize how long I've been run-walking!

The downside? None, so far. Interesting... maybe I should quit my bitching and just do this EVERY DAY. Time to let the skinny girl out.

Anyway, I'm delaying going to sleep because it's not that fun to have to put myself to bed. I, uh, kind of miss my boyfriend a little. Yeah, I said it.

The getaway at home.

2007-05-01T12:59:00.001-04:00

For the first time in nine months, my apartment is my apartment. Chad has gone to Georgia for a week and a half. Am I excited for my alone time? You bet. Am I already bored? You bet.

I rearranged some furniture. Cleaned. Cleaned out. Sometimes the mess gets so big, it's as if I'm garbage-picking in reverse. It's impossible to imagine that I keep this much stuff around instead of throw it out. I came across my old SAT scores, and it so happens that I took them exactly ten years ago. Scored a 1270... Not bad for a 17-year-old, right? Or is it..? I'm so far removed.

I've been travelling a lot lately, but not by choice. Meetings and training courses, mainly. I love hotels. I love the smelly starchiness of the sheets, the upper-crust bathroom fixtures, the hairdryers permanently affixed to the walls. If you forgot your shampoo, call the front desk. If you need toothpaste, call the front desk. I wonder if people just show up with a bag of clothes and raid the front desk of their complimentary toiletries - "Silly me, I left my other bag on my kitchen counter!"

Work... sigh. I'm so weary of writing about work here, but as it's where I spend most of my waking time, I have so much to say. The vanilla veneer is that yes, I'm still working. That's all I can say.

Tomorrow I'm meeting my mother for dinner. She'll share her horror stories, and I'll share mine. Too bad for her, I don't smoke or drink anymore. She'd better talk quick.

Next weekend is Tulip Fest (YAY!) and then I leave for another week's worth of training (BOO!) out of town. I'm hoping the weather is good because even now, after all these years and with no real incentive left, I look forward to the Tulip Fest with a fervor that is somewhat unique. I suppose it's difficult to let that last flame die out.

Off to some more cleaning. Cleansing. Whatever.

The sound of gravel.

2007-04-24T12:59:00.000-04:00

I love being outside. Walking. Running. Wind. Weather.
I hate Troy. Upstate New York. Dormancy. Complacency. Incompetency.
Right now, I'm loving Boston. 94°F here yesterday.
Right now, I'm looking forward. Contemplating the future.
I'm missing my boyfriend, even though just a few days ago he was a pain in the neck.
I'm missing my cats, even though it's unlikely they even realize I'm gone.
I'm healthy. I don't smoke. I don't drink.
My mind is clear. Clarity.
Sentience.

Daisy, daisy.

2007-04-22T00:37:00.001-04:00

My boyfriend despises me; partially because I'm me, but mostly because I'm female (read: evil, conniving, manipulative, stoic). This is a bit of a wall to be up against. Not much chance of prevailing here. Even though I am his sole supporter, with everything from food to entertainment to fitness and, of course, my stellar conversation, I'm still just a smudge on the floor; something to scrape off a shoe, callously.

I just can't win. When I was younger, if someone couldn't get themselves together, I'd actively show my disdain and the end would be in sight. As I've aged, I've learned to empathize with those in need of assistance, and have made strides to provide support rather than condescension at all costs. Frankly, when I was in a position of need, I would have truly appreciated someone being there to help instead of my only option being to cave in and resort to pleading with parents, etc. I suppose it just doesn't work that way for everyone. Some are unable to see the forest for the trees, you know?

Beyond all else, I suppose I'm less than surprised that I again find myself in a "situation", one which, to my memory, I haven't encountered before. I've been with heavy drinkers, drug-users, social misfits, guys with horrible temper tantrums; guys who can't bear to be without their mommies, obsessed with family, tennis, sweaters, cars, hair gel... I've never actually dated someone who hates women. No no - on second thought, I suppose the better emotion would be resents. He resents women, since we squash everyone's will to live and take scholarships and jobs we don't really want and we're not really qualified for but feel we deserve, and how everything (ha ha) is handed to us on silver platters, free for the taking because we don't have extra meat between our legs.

"Female cockroaches prefer males at the bottom of the social pecking order, and dominant males try and stop them from having their way. But when females do get the low-ranking man of their dreams, they produce fewer sons, apparently in an effort to avoid passing on his wimpishness." - Nature Science Update

Has anyone noticed that Joan Jett & the Blackhearts are on the bill for Tulip Fest? Does anyone else find that to be a tad humorous? How is she going to dress, since she'll be outside in the heat all day long? Black on black on black is probably not going to work.

Livable life.

2007-03-26T12:33:00.001-04:00

We both quit smoking. We both successfully quit our pack a day, ten year habit. It's strange to think we both started up around the same time; I picture him in a seedy locale with a chipped parlor floor and bad overhead lighting, someone pushing cigarettes on him and he says yes, much like I did, because, hell, we were young and had nothing else to do but try shit out.

Next on the checklist is achieving overall health. Even at my unhealthiest, I've never been sickly or afflicted. I'm hardly ever stricken with typical maladies: the common cold, flu, strep throat, sinus infection, etc. I did develop a dust allergy but even that is fairly seasonal and easily assuaged with over the counter medications. To date, I've never broken a bone; which brings me to my next point: perhaps my bones aren't breaking because I'm wrapped in so much padding. I have now officially exceeded The Heaviest I Have Ever Been, which incidentally is not really where I'd like to be... so I'm waging this little (rather, tremendous) war with myself to lose about forty pounds and get to what would be a normal/healthy weight for my frame; I know forty sounds like a lot but I've done it before and when I got there, I knew that was where I should be.

He's obviously very supportive, since all I do is complain about the weight I've gained. It's win-win for him, but also for me, which is even more important. I've been suffering a severe self-crisis lately, not knowing who I am and where I fit, and what I do, and where I'm going... Incrementally, I'm being defined. Ultimately, the definition is mine but it's easy to be affected by others' perspectives as well. What I know so far is that we belong together; we're non-smokers; we love tea and music and the notion that intelligence is more valuable than compromise.

Beauty.

2007-02-19T22:43:00.001-05:00

Fourtet, "Rounds". It's been awhile since I've heard an album that literally raises the hairs on my neck. I know it's an older album, but I'm sodden with its density. It translates easily into a neo-noir life soundtrack, smoke and mirrors, tapered jeans and messy hair, lots of walking, car horns.

I wake up each morning, bifurcated and uneasy. What is going on? What am I doing? I keep dreaming, of music and of administration. How do I dovetail the two? He says it to me all the time - that I'll be with this company forever. Will I? Do I want to be? Do I not want to be? Where would I rather be laying my head?

Perhaps my perception of how others perceive me is askew. Won't I always be "the kid"? I feel like I'm a freshman in high school, awestruck by the sheer size and gravity of the seniors - but when I was a senior, I couldn't have felt further from the image I'd construed. Relativity. Quantum physics. Does time really ever stop? Immeasurable.

We're looking for apartments again. I feel as though I might as well be a drugged-out baby factory, the way people respond to me. Four cats? Pianist? Oh, uh, no, sorry, we have other promising leads, sorry, sorry, thanks for your time, sorry. Yeah, so am I. I can only imagine the mental dioramas they're constructing: Flight of the Bumblebee at 2 o'clock in the morning, feline defecation everywhere, the place stinking of ammonia and oxidizing soundboards. Give me a fucking break.

What if I had kids? What if I had children instead of cats? Is there really a difference?! If I dressed the cats in diapers, would their fears be assuaged? It's insane. A few months ago I'd contemplated getting rid of the cats, for ease of living, but I can't do it.

..Have I mentioned this album is amazing? I'm fervent.

As dynamic as everything is, my mental complacency is accomplishing nothing but fueling a fire, riddled with dissatisfaction and unrest. I don't know where I am. I'm not taking pictures anymore. My Flickr account hasn't had a new hit since Christmas. I don't go out. I don't hike, or run, or create. Is this what settling down is? God, I missed my chance, then. I never took the opportunity to do anything crazy, and the worst part is that even now, if I were afforded the chance, I don't know where I'd start. I've lost the inclination for impulse. I'm crotchety and routine.

On the phone with another potential landlord last night, he said to me, "So, you're an adult, then?"

Yeah, I guess so. What a fucking pleasure to be here.

Alien Nation.

2006-12-04T14:08:00.001-05:00

Well then. Another 30 days gone by.

So, an insurmountable drama has unfolded within the confines of my immediate gene pool; resulting from a summertime faux pas on behalf of my sister, in the presence of my father, and so on, and so on. At the very root of it, my father's bizarrely passionate contempt for my sister's boyfriend. Beyond that, however, there is no hint of logic.

My father despises my sister's boyfriend. He has told her, likely verbatim, to dump this guy and find someone else. It was not a request, or a suggestion, or merely the expression of opinion. He had even threatened to rescind all financial support of her college education. The basis for this move: the boyfriend.

My sister is an occupational therapy major, taking terribly intense gross anatomy and neuroscience classes, and excelling at them to boot. My father seems, at this point in his perpetuated delusion, to be unable to see past the boyfriend issue and appreciate her grades. In fact, where pride should be, there is nothing but emotional torture and torment. If my sister were a drug-using, lazy kid who skipped class and partied all the time, and had no sense of responsibility or ethic or dedication, that would be one thing. But that's not the case. She works fifteen to twenty hours a week on top of her full courseload; she holds an officer position in the OT department; she works her ass off and earns the grades to prove it.

Over Thanksgiving while my sister was home, the situation came to a head and my father officially declared his recession from educational assistance. He threw figures at her, saying he's paid for this and that, mentioning everything from groceries to birthday gifts, and estimated that he's directed at least $40K her way since she's been in school. [As an aside, my brother was an aeronautical engineering major at a school that probably cost about that much per year, much less over the course of four years. And now my brother's not interested in that field anymore. Is he going to receive a bill from my father?] Then my father mentioned he's getting ready to retire, and just can't continue to fund her schooling when she's making "bad lifestyle decisions". A little self-important, if you ask me. All that 'retirement' money is going right to his wife, I guarantee it. That's right - his other family. What's the point of existence if not to shop and show your worth through material things? God forbid we educate ourselves and use our powers for good. Un-fucking-real.

In response to my father's paltry attempt at explanation, my sister offered up a tasty morsel of information, revealing to my father that his three kids loathe his wife, and always have. I believe phrases like "self-absorbed, controlling, money-hungry, selfish, upper-crust snob" may have dotted the conversation, but I can't be certain. It's all heresay. Within context, my sister wanted my father to know how much we all can't stand his wife and how, respectfully, we kept our opinions to ourselves - and why can't my father do the same thing?

While my sister appears to now be relieved, that the tumultuous situation is over (as well as my father's relationship with any of his kids, in my opinion), I'm madder than hell at the whole escapade. Since my father and his wife have been together, my father has become someone entirely different from the person I used to know. I've never had a marvelous, in-touch relationship with him, but we never fought, and rarely argued, and had some level of understanding between us. Now he jumps when she tells him to; hurts his children when she tells him to. She's never had kids herself, and I feel as though she couldn't possibly comprehend the scope of damage she's causing by encouraging my father to wage this war.

Honestly, I do not believe that everyone should have children. There are plenty of people who would quickly prove to be horrible parents. At the same time, I suppose I find it strange, and unsettling, and somehow indicative of character, when someone refuses to have children because parenting would tie up the social calendar and diffuse attention normally directed at them. I understand it's a double-standard, even within my own mind. But she personifies the self-important idiocy pandemic of this country, and it's mortifying to be around her.

I understand that, mainly, this was my sister's battle. I also understand that she wants us (me and my brother) to stay out of it as best we can. I would like to oblige her, but what she doesn't realize is that this stupid dissolution affects everyone involved. What my father doesn't realize is that in a matter of a few months, he's managed to push away one daughter completely, effectively alienate all of his children, and mar relationships that were already unsteady. No amount of discussion with him is going to repair the ties. The worst part of it, from what I can see, is that he truly feels what he's doing is righteous; that he has the inate right to try to control my sister's actions by withdrawing his support. He doesn't see that he's created a problem...

...which means he'll also probably never see that it needs fixing. So be it.

Holy Christmas, Batman!

2006-11-04T14:26:00.001-05:00

I have no idea why, each year, I'm so compelled to be finished with my Christmas shopping by Halloween. But lo and behold, I've done it again. Sure, now I'm piss broke until I get paid. However - it's nice to know that everything I make between now and the holidays is mine, for whatever I need, blah blah blah. I even wrapped some things tonight. What is it about Christmas wrapping paper? It makes me giddy. I have a sickness. I know. I blame my mother.

Things are going, uh, so well. I've been kind of hesitant to say it, really, since I'm still sort of worried something will go wrong. Chad is really good at putting up with me when I'm being ridiculous, and I totally have to give him credit. Mostly, I'm just thankful that he's around. He has a very comfortable way about him. It's kind of strange to think how at the beginning of the year, I was in such a miserable place, so totally aware of myself and every fucking passing second. Now time seems to move too quickly.

I do find it pretty significant that my entire family - even my father's wife - likes Chad. Not that I doubt Chad's character; but my family has very different opinions often on the same person, and I suppose I just wouldn't have been surprised if someone hadn't liked him. It's occurred to me that I haven't really liked the last couple of guys I've dated, and often subjected them to my family just to further cement my own true feelings. Somehow there's nothing more reassuring than my mom saying, "Are you nuts? He's a moron." Yes, I realize it means that not only am I making dumb decisions, but other people are noticing. Heh.. either way.

Last night we were watching some late-night TV and a commercial came on for a local diamond jeweler. During the commercial, he nonchalantly asked me something non-descript about jewelry. I truly have no idea what he was really asking, but I instantly became nervous, convinced there was something heavier at hand. What's more, I think I even replied with something stupid like, "I don't like jewelry very much." What?! My own idiocy precedes me. I think one thing and say another. Ridiculous.

We're about to have a very 7th Heaven holiday season, since my mom's boyfriend just moved in with her last week, and my brother and sister-in-law will be in town, and then also me and Chad. I'm not sure if my sister's boyfriend will be coming or not, but still, I envision everyone sitting around the tree with glasses of wine and stupid embroidered holiday sweaters.

If you know my family, you know that what will actually take place is lots of drinking and board games. And probably a lot of sex talk, perpetuated by my mother. Oh, mom. You crazy bird.

I fucking love Christmas.

Send packing.

2006-10-15T22:38:00.001-04:00

Tomorrow morning Chad and I are leaving for Philadelphia to see DJ Shadow at the Theatre of Living Arts. We're staying at Society Hill Hotel, a little bed & breakfast in the heart of the Society Hill district, about a dozen blocks east of Center City, where, years ago, I went to school.

On the one hand, I'm pretty excited to be going back to Philadelphia. The time that I did spend there in 1998 was amazing, and even to this day I have fond memories of the city itself.

On the other hand, I also somewhat equate my experience in that city as the beginning of the end, in the sense that if I had been more level-headed and broad-minded, I would've stayed in school, at least long enough to come up with a suitable and intelligent back-up plan. Instead, I moved home at the end of my first semester. And from there began that proverbial downward spiral that has landed me where I am today.

Do I feel like a failure? No, not entirely. For what it's worth, I support myself; I've always tried to remain progressive, even when my circumstances tempt me otherwise; I have a good job, with above-average salary... but when it comes right down to it, I couldn't be further away from where I wanted to be.

Occasionally when I get to reminiscing on the past, I feel like a relic. An anachronistic storyteller, weaving tales of hopes and dreams. Aren't I too young to feel this old? In six months, I'll be 27 years old. If I went back to college right now, I wouldn't graduate until my thirties. Is that too late? Or doesn't it matter anymore?

For every person I know who begins life early, there is another someone who waits. Plenty of my friends are already married, or even divorced, and have children as old as seven or eight. But the other half are waiting; waiting until they've finished the things they want to do, until they've seen the places they want to see. I'm kind of in the middle. I don't really think I'm doing the things I want to do, but I'm also not yet settled. Positive and negative.

Chad seems to be excited about Philly, too. He's never been there, and I think he'll have a great time. It will be a whirlwind of a trip, as we're leaving Monday morning and we'll be back home Tuesday night. Still, that leaves us a good solid amount of time to experience, as long as we're diligent.

We carved pumpkins this week. I've posted photos on Flickr. Enjoy.

Perfecting the continuum.

2006-09-30T15:36:00.001-04:00

I have a tendency to finely detail the sequences of events that fill the spaces in between entries. I'm suppressing that urge. Fast-forward from the end of August until now, and the most concise sentiment I could express is that I've been turned around; the secretly dismal perspective I'd been wearing has been dismantled, and rebuilt with unexpected fervor.

There is someone old but new, a someone only my subconscious can recall with any accuracy. There is someone new, to me, to the me now. And an even newer me is becoming.

It's amazing to be with someone who not only recognizes my neuroses, but also accepts them lightheartedly. I'm excited to see him again, every day. I look forward to talking with him. We call each other whenever one of us is at work. He holds my hand everywhere we go. We're equally as happy to watch a movie at home as we are to go grab a drink and play darts, barely noticing the other patrons. He loves the cats. The cats love him. Et cetera.

The way he looks at me makes me catch my breath.

The more I try to remember him from my youth, the less I can remember. Time and space play imperative roles in the realization of fate, and I know for certain that if this had unfolded at any other place in the continuum, for either of us, it wouldn't be as it is now.

I'm sorry it took so long. But I'm glad it did.

Cropcircles in the Carpet.

2006-08-31T10:14:00.001-04:00

Everything is moving, undulating and perpetual. Inside and out, the changes are latent but visible to the ego, who stubbornly refuses to acknowledge the most basic of these truths. A culpable naivete has brought me here, through the strangest of detours. It's time again, for something new, and big, and grounding.

And with that, she said, we're off; into uncharted territory, a place with invisible boundaries and a limitless perimeter. It's been awhile, she whispered, wishing that if she just said it enough, it would be true.

It was the hands she noticed first; noting, mainly, that they were no longer the hands of a child; disrupting recollection and consequently, infiltrating her perception of the past with doubt. Next it was the eyes, deeper and bluer and more intense, with less persistence but more desire, mottled and undeniably focused.

She has always suffered beneath the gravity of self; feeling it perfectly natural to wonder why, and why me, and why now. As to be expected, these weights are now bearing her down again. Most things do not make sense; the things that do are clear only out of mental concession; the surrender to tumult. It may never add up.

It's been awhile, she whispers, barely audible. Inside, the narrative is different. Here we go again, she quietly concedes. Doubt and hope are perched recklessly upon these shoulders.

Don't give away what you can't live without.

2006-06-10T13:51:00.001-04:00

"The only thing she wants to know is how and why and when and where to go, how and why and when and where to follow." - b&s

Things have been a little boring lately, in that I haven't really been inspired. I've been trying to write new music, but the operative word - "trying" - is inhibiting me, in and of itself. Sometimes I just hit a wall, unable to go further. I usually find a melody, or a main harmony, that I like, and try to use that as a foundation. Most times, when I feel I've "finished" a piece, my original riff is buried, or transformed, or has been completely eliminated in the revision process. One of my saddest realizations is that I feel with each new composition, I'm improving. What that means to me is that at some point, I'm going to stop being impressed with myself. It's somewhat difficult to explain, being that it's not a conceited type of feeling - it's a satisfaction borne of creativity and if anything, I'm really only impressed with my having the know-how to achieve the end result. It's like knowing how to cook from reading cookbooks, but trying something new, with no recipe to follow, and realizing you've created a masterpiece, partly by accident, partly by luck.

"Love is on the hillside, blooming crazy. Crickets talking back and forth in rhyme. Blue river running slow and lazy, oh, I could stay with you forever and never realize the time." - M Peyroux

Sometimes it's difficult not to be a little upset, at things that happen that should be within control but occasionally slip away. It's difficult when these slights of hand threaten to result in a change of plans, a change of attitude. But life and shit happen, and everything in between, and, pragmatic analyst that I am, I really do understand.

"There's no higher ground, there's too much trouble here. I wish these days would leave this town. And I have brittle bones, I wear my shallow grin, and I spread my wickedness around." - sodastream

Rain, rain, rain. I know, everyone's talking about it. It's interfering with everything, from Art on Lark to LobsterFest, the Freihofer's Run to the Great Escape, gardening to BBQs. Why is this happening? Isn't this week three now of the nearly-constant rain? To my recollection, there has been one day where it didn't rain - it only stands out because that was the only night I've been able to go walking. And boy, did I walk. I left my house and just kept going. It's surreal how much more of the surroundings are noticeable by foot. There are some gorgeous houses and gardens and footpaths around here. I walked through people's yards, and behind retail stores, and everywhere I could to get nearer to the river, to watch the ducks and fish and little snakes in the grass. I had a brief conversation with a stranger who was photographing goslings, about how regal Canadian geese seem. But... aside from that one night, there has been no relief. Since I bought my new car in early May, I haven't been able to wash it. Or, rather, there hasn't been a chance to. Now it's just covered in mud and dirt.

"You are a radio, you are an open door. I am a faulty string of blue christmas lights. You swim through frequencies, you let that stranger in, as I'm blinking off and on, and off again." - the weakerthans

My heart has been bothering me. My literal, biological heart. I notice palpitations every now and then, but the "nows" and "thens" are more frequently recently. I've cut down on my smoking considerably, and (again, back to the weather) I would love to be staying more active. I worry about what's going on, because obviously, well, it's a pretty integral muscle. Sometimes I think about how sad it is, that in our lifetimes, almost everyone we know will suffer from some sort of cancer, whether it goes into remission or not. The most depressing aspect of it is that cancer is entirely non-discriminating - healthy or sick people, genetic or spontaneous. I normally don't discuss anything that's actually important, but more and more it creeps into my thoughts. My mother, if she doesn't have it already, will most likely die of lung and/or breast cancer. My father seems like the kind of guy who will end up with colon cancer. But breast cancer runs in my family, and I'm a high risk for cervical cancer because of my also-hereditary polycystic ovaries. Granted, I'm also a smoker, so that opens up the possibilities of lung, mouth, or throat cancer. How about skin cancer? Well, fuck, we've all got skin. It just seems that cancer is that shitty page you pick by mistake in the Choose Your Own Adventure story, and you wanted the story to go on, but it can't. It's premeditated. It's been selected for you. Fini.

"Don't cut me off, don't cut it out. Don't give away what you can't live without. Don't let it sit, just spit it out. Don't hide yourself where no one can find you. Don't hesitate, just let me know. Don't keep it all to yourself, I'll try to understand you." - ida

I suppose this has sort of a melancholy tone to it. And maybe that's a pretty accurate representation of how I've been feeling. The irony in these entries is that I always feel so wordy, like someone who never shuts up. But the truth is, I'm not a talker. I've become very internalized when it comes to anything worth deliberating. It's unequivocably more satisfying to notate my thoughts than it is to voice them.

"Someone I can talk to, someone I don't have to talk to. Someone who would give me time and give me space and take it all away." - built to spill

To liquidation and beyond!

2006-06-05T15:47:00.001-04:00

My newest roommate, a giant house centipede, has proven to be steadfast in eradicating my insect problem. It's a problem, you see, because insects should be living outdoors, and instead they're sunning themselves on my coffeetable. My fearless furry henchmen, whom I hired specifically to man the ramparts and defend the homestead, have been performing sub-par. To their credit, I should offer up that without them, I would not have noticed the centipede; they certainly pointed me in the right direction, and in a startling -

[NOTE: The word "startling" is the answer to that bulletin that's been going around about the word with nine letters that remains a word each time you take one letter away: startling, starting, staring, string, sting, sing, sin, in, i. Can we be done with this now? Thanks.]

- moment of reverence, I came upon not one, not two, but all fifteen pairs of legs with a just a slight pang of fright comingled with awe. I can recall finding centipedes all throughout my youth, and I also remember someone erroneously edifying me in that they are called "silverfish", however I've come to find that silverfish are arthropods of a different ilk. I am forever enamored with bugs so riddled with appendages. The complex muscular system in something so relatively small baffles me.

I apologize for tonight's verbosity; I've already tried twice to go to bed, and just as the hem of the sheets grazes my face, like buttercups beneath a chin, I'm compelled to devour some other mundane and mostly unnecessary task. Both times now I've risen ("je me leve") back out of bed, and set forth dutifully upon my bizarre compulsions. I've found that when I'm having trouble growing mentally tired, and consequently can not obtain sleep, if I channel my efforts into conveying less with more, I usually can wear myself out fairly expeditiously, just by the pure ridiculous nature of it all.

The same story: Tonight I have assayed for hibernation; and in my deficiency, conceded to compassing dispensable and nonessential tribulations as means to exhaust all vigor.

::sigh:: Sanctimonious pragmatism. Works every time. I usually keep this silliness to myself.

Maelstrom.

2006-05-25T12:53:00.001-04:00

This morning at about 3:30am I woke up, terrified, from a bizarrely surreal nightmare. In it, I had dreamt that my sister and I were outside somewhere on a stone porch, each with our own little stone pedestal-like tables in front of us. On the tables, we were dissecting frogs, but the frogs were huge and lanky, looking more like Kermit the Frog than a normal animal. They were sprawled out on their backs. We had cut open their chests and had just finished cutting open the rib cages, snapping each rib with normal household scissors, big orange handles and all. When we were finished, my frog was no longer a frog, but instead it was Puck, one of my cats. He rolled over and jumped off the table, but his severed ribs caused his skin and back to droop due to the lack of support. He collapsed into a puddle that was on the ground, and water was seeping into the incision in his stomach. I remember thinking, "Oh my god, his entire body is going to implode!", and he laid there, looking up at me blankly, his fur soaked and his body all lumpy with his internal organs. It was so graphic, and horrifying, and totally disturbing.

Maybe tonight I shouldn't smoke as much crack before bed, you know? Damn.

Same as the first.

2006-05-21T17:11:00.001-04:00

The rain is really starting to create a Groundhog Day effect. What day is today? Where are we? Am I repeating myself?

I only had a couple things on the agenda. Wash the dishes, do my laundry, vacuum the living room. Weather-permitting (and obviously we know that it wasn't), I had plans to do something - ANYTHING - outside, whether it was walking, biking, hiking, making whistles out of blades of grass. Not a very indomitable list, but then I found myself engrossed.

Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides. A gift I'd given to my mother for Christmas. One of the four books I'd given to her, semi-selfishly, in an attempt to reify my own literary repertoire. Of course I couldn't justify the expenditure for my own sole enjoyment, but as a gift? Well, now, it's floating about. Now it's borrowed entertainment, an assumptive privilege. A very non-committal way to devote myself.

I brought it home with me after leaving my mom's house on Friday evening. It was a last-minute decision, to even ask about it. Honestly, it hadn't entered by consciousness more than a handful of times since the holidays, but all of a sudden, I saw the spine of it, on the shelf, behind the glass. With my exciting itinerary of weekend plans, it didn't occur to me that it would end up superceding all other tasks I had tentatively planned for myself.

Yesterday was a wasted day, napping, watching TV movies, playing piano. It wasn't until about 9:30pm that I even, again, remembered I had the book. I, much like most, I'd assume, knew only the barebones of the outline: hermaphrodite, suburbia. That's all. At 9:30pm, my energy changed. I was sucked into this story the way one is drawn into a mystery, except it wasn't really a mystery, just a compelling narrative through time and geneaology. At 11:30pm, against my own preference, I succumbed to the hour and had to go to bed.

This morning, I was awake at 7:00. I showered, made coffee, opened all the blinds and broke out the essentials: phone, beverage, ashtray. I parked myself on the couch by 9:00 and remained there until the story was finished. Multiple bathroom breaks and muscular alleviations notwithstanding, I barely noticed the time was passing.

I'm a speed-reader. I always have been. I read very, very quickly. I am aware that I do this, and sometimes catch my eyes trying to beat my sensory perceptors to the finish line, and I realize, startled, that I didn't register the last few sentences. I can recite the words right back, but the comprehension of them was lost. I try to slow myself down, to make sure I am truly inhaling the story, but in this case, I had a tough time. I found I wanted to get to the next page, the next anecdote, the next chapter. I was compelled to be propelled.

It's not a short book; it's almost 550 pages of a fairly standard font size, with non-invasive margins. It took me a good deal of the day to complete it, but I knew I couldn't accomplish a single other thing until I had. I give this story an A+, and while it may not appeal to everyone, there is an unmistakeable thread that promises to tug at everyone who has the pleasure of reading it.

Surrounded by sound.

2006-05-14T01:05:00.001-04:00

My new, awesome, kickass car. Granted, that picture is actually stock photography I found, thanks to Google Images, but it's damn near close to what I've got. The only visual difference is the rims (I have rims, the picture doesn't). Yeah, basically, Tuesday I went to my first dealership to look at cars. Prior, I had been driving around, mostly looking for the abandoned cars with "FOR SALE" signs in the dusty windows. I took two friends with me, and at the third dealership, just about when I was ready to throw in the towel for the night (mainly because I had to be home by 8:00pm for American Idle-- oops, Idol), I found the Jetta. It's perfect. I was able to get the price down $3K, which is damn good if you ask me... I went back the following night to pick up the car. Voila. I love it. The specs? 2002 VW Jetta GLS 5-speed 1.8Turbo, Silver, power-everything, auto-everything. Black leather interior (sexy!), Monsoon factory CD stereo, power seats, heated seats, side mirror defrosters. There are buttons on the dash with little abbreviations, and I have no idea what they all do. I have the cool VW key that folds into itself, and remote keyless entry, an anti-theft system, and daytime running lights.. I would make sweet love to this car if I could.

And there you are: all since January 1st? New job, new apartment, new car, new ...head? from the surgery? Not sure how to phrase that one. New future, all of it out there, on the line, up for grabs. I think this is the turn-around point, where finally things begin to become wholly better than they were before. I'm making smart decisions, ones that make me happy and hopeful. I'm becoming a better person and friend, sister and daughter. It's time for me... that's just how it feels. Of course, the sunroof helps.