Unexpectedly, I am home today. I am waiting for a package of incredible importance, and my rental office is not open on Wednesdays (UPS would normally leave parcels with the leasing agent). I'll end up making up the hours since I am taking an unscheduled day. Tomorrow and Friday were planned vacation days, so with Monday the 5th off in addition, I will not be returning to work till just shy of a week from now.

I had a great conversation with Gordon yesterday. When I got in from work, I had a very uncomplicated, but pronounced desire to talk to him, so I called him with no agenda except to hear his voice. He was on his way to church, so we talked for the length of his drive. I enjoyed hearing his obvious pleasure when I said "I just had the urge to talk to you..." I told him about the macked out present I'm getting Sarah (which is the package I'm waiting for), we chatted about him going up to Boston to maybe do a cityscape for Catchka. I joked that I am essentially his art dealer and that I have gigs planned for him that he didn't even know about. It was nice to be the voice in his ear, knowing I was having that moment with him, without physically being there.

I know you're thinking "Jeez. It was a phone call. What's the big deal?" The thing is that G and I don't really have a phone relationship. We primarily do e-mail and face to face visits, so oddly enough, a call is a real treat. Honestly, i felt so content afterward, that I sipped honey right from the plastic container. Access to him is much easier than I make it a lot of the time. I realize that if I want this man's heart, I can't see it as an elusive thing. Gordon is very uncomplicated in some ways. I mean, he has funks that he slips into, but he prizes the presumption of other people. It makes him feel loved when he is called out of himself into another place.

We are both instinctively internally focused, so it will take effort to make the leap. I'm not saying I plan to be the only one making this effort, but I can and should sometimes. Little moments of courage, like ringing him up out of the blue. A needless boundary erased.

Potential Money Maker

Hmm... I regret to admit that I went through a phase in my mid teens where I read a Harlequin Romance novel a day. This could be easy money.

I probably won’t get a chance to write again for a couple of days, so I’ll let this be my last hurrah before going into the weekend of Sarah’s birthday party. Her actual b-day is July 1, but the party is tomorrow evening. I am so psyched about the gift(s) I’m getting her, but at her insistence will be saving them until next Thursday when we celebrate on a smaller scale the fact that she’s turning 29.

Tonight we have a lot of shopping, cleaning, and rearranging of furniture to do. Tomorrow will be all about prep work and cooking. I’m tired now, but I know that there is no rest for the weary until at least 10 o’clock tomorrow night.

As it usually does toward the end of the workday, the temperature in here plummets to what feels like 50 degrees. It’s about 4:30, and right on schedule, I have an air conditioner headache.

It’s raining and grey, heavy like soup outside. The tea I made earlier is cooled, but still pleasant. I’ve thrown out some papers that I no longer need and I am trying to get my arms around all the different projects at work. The summer will be hectic. Add to this mania the fact that I need to find a new job by November, and what I have myself here is a real adventure.

Things are wrapping up for my manager. I hear her emptying files and throwing things away in the cubicle next to mine. It is such an interesting process—divesting one’s self of things that are no longer relevant, yet that for so long, were the very lifeblood of one’s work identity. Whenever I leave a job there is a little melancholy mixed in with the happiness that accompanies starting a new chapter. I have always liked the end of things better than the beginning.

What In The World is Wrong with the One World Café?

The One World Café first came to the corner of Canterbury and West University Parkway in the late 90s, or perhaps as late as 2000. Before that, it had a more southern city locale, and was touted by most as an innovative organic option amidst a sea of other coffee houses in Baltimore. I was doubtful, being a carnivore’s carnivore. However, I figured that as long as they offered half & half for the coffee, I could deal.

Before an ill-thought move away from Charm City in May of 1999, I had only been to the One World in Fells point (I believe that was the original location, but I wouldn’t swear by it), but one weekend in 2000 I was visiting a friend who’d just moved to the fringe Roland Park neighborhood in which the One World now resided. She was delighted to have this treasure within walking distance of her new apartment.

The food was good, the coffee was brewed to perfection, and I’d never had a mixed berry smoothie so delicious.

Fast forward to the summer of 2004. In an interesting twist of fate, I now reside in this same fringe Roland Park neighborhood, and can spit at the One World from my apartment.

But these days, you enter the front door, sit down, and your table may or may not have been wiped. The cream will separate in your coffee if you don’t drink it inside of 2 minutes (because it’s so tepid), or, it tastes as though it has been brewed with cigarette ashes. The thick white mugs (which should be excellent at retaining heat but aren’t) are scuffed and scraped, and feel dirty in your hands, even though you assume they’ve been washed.

Which leads me to the hot pink lipstick my friend found on his water glass the other night… he only saw this after he’d had a few sips. I ordered French fries and a grilled cheese sandwich. The fries were cold when they came out. Cold and stale. So cold and so stale that the ketchup I used congealed on them in mere minutes. Between my friend and I, we ate a total of about 7 of them. When the waitress, who, like so many of the servers there, had a sanctimonious and superior air, finally troubled herself to return to our table, there sat the enormous plate of papas fritas, bearing more resemblance to little tomb stones than anything else.

It was a personal test for me to see if she would remove them from the check, or even ask if there had been a problem with the uneaten food. No dice. I guess after cornering the market, literally, on coffee shops that neighborhood residents can walk to, the folks at the One World don’t really have anything to reach for anymore.

And I guess this is working for them for now…since they’re always busy enough, but as for me, I’m willing to walk a little farther for cleanliness and hot food.

Putting the Cart Before the Horse

I've been out of step with God lately. It was not three months ago that I told him in a prayer that I would rather have intimacy with Him than anything else. This is before I had moved, gotten new couches, and when I was still pretty much on hiatus from a lot of my social interactions with friends.

During this time of consecration last winter I had recommitted to tithing, I was more prayerful, and I had a lot of focus at work, I just knew that I was really in fellowship with the Lord.

I've gotten lazy in light of God's blessings, and I've started putting a greater premium on things. Is it any wonder that I've lost my focus, my motivation, and that my finances are again out of whack, because I've been on a tithing break, no longer seek God with my heart every day? The Bible says that where a man's treasure is, there will his heart be also. It also says that seeking God's kindgom first ensures that the Lord will take care of every other need that I have.

I know this works. I am a witness to the faithfulness of God. So, why then do I grasp? Why then am I even tempted to make everything and everyone else more of a priority? In addition to catching up on some rest today, I am also reorienting myself to the Spirit of God.

I know that intimacy with Him is sweeter than anything else I crave, and actually facilitates enjoying every other relationship, and every other blessing so much more.

I can't sleep. I feel anxious about a great many things at the moment, and rest is elusive. It's been an interesting day. Essentially, I seethed over feeling unimportant to G from last night until about 5 p.m. this evening, and felt justified in stewing until it dawned on me that I'd handled the situation with him very passive-aggressively. I did a bit of soul searching and came to the conclusion that I needed to apologize to him for employing "conversational parlour tricks" (i.e., sarcasm as a smoke screen for hurt feelings) instead of asking him if he would have rather ended early and tried to get together another time... or, at least letting him know how bad I felt that he was so distracted. Honesty is disarming. Instead, by joking about it, I allowed him to not have to really address the issue, and it did us both a disservice.

He's replied, essentially saying that it [my infraction] was no big deal, and apologizing for being so tired. He vowed to have a double espresso next time so he'd be ready to talk. Why don't I feel better?

What I neglected to mention about our evening is a lot. There were several nice elements...encouraging sentiments, and at the end of all of it, I did enjoy seeing him. I think I just put way too much pressure on myself to have every interaction with him be great. I need to step back from that mindset, because it's preventing me from letting things come as they will.

I think that my completely out of synch sleep schedule has compromised my perspective on this and other matters, so I am going to take a mental health day to recover some lost ground. It's just shy of 3 a.m., and I'm not in bed, so going in to work tomorrow would not be pretty.

On other fronts, I'm noticing that my manager is still ruling with an iron fist, even though her days at the company are rapidly dwindling (3 left). I guess it's hard to let go.

CATS was wonderful, by the way. I am not usually a fan of musical theatre, but this was an engaging show. I especially appreciated how much care the actors took to really emulate the movements and behaviors of felines. Really a very credible presentation, especially for regional dinner theatre, which I've found to be lacking in other instances.

I could have had a V8!

My outing was lacking... first of all, I was awfully tired all day today. So tired in fact, that for the first time ever it occurred to me to postpone plans with Gordon, but since I am going to be busy for the forseeable future, I downed some strong coffee and ate a Snickers bar. In essence, I rallied.

He, on the other hand, was so tired he could have taken a nap right at our table, and nearly did. He was sleepy to the point of distraction... he kept staring down at his feet, or up at the ceiling, so at one point, I said very plaintively "Do you intend to look at me at all during this converstaion?" He told me he was thinking, then made it a point to stare at me in this exaggerated way for the next 30 seconds.

Oddly enough, I would say that our conversation was fine, for what it was. Him kvetching and me being mildly amused by it. I wore a smirk on my face for the duration of our sub par experience. It's not that I had a bad time as much as it is that I could have been doing something different and had just as good of a time. I could have contemplated my navel and felt better about it than I did this outing.

My mistake was in thinking that his seeming insistence about getting together meant that it was a priority... forget about my romantic delusions for a moment, and let's just put this where it belongs. Squarely in the friend zone. I was an afterthought. One more unremarkable thing he did today.

And he, sadly, was more unremarkable experience among the many I had today as well.

It's so funny; he looked especially nice tonight, and in some ways, between yawns, he was especially funny and charming. But it wasn't enough.

I'm going to bed.

It's been a wonderful weekend... and it's stil going. Yesterday, Sarah and I hooked up with our pal Naomi who left the area in January to head back to New Mexico. She has been on the east coast for about a month for an extended visit, and so we drove down to Montgomery county where she is based until Thursday. The rapport we have with her is easy, and the laughs were abundant. Sarah and I each have a great friendship with her, independent of each other, of course, but it's even more fun when we're all together.

My mom and co are arriving at about 4 to spirit me away to CATS, but in the meantime I'm nursing some Eight O'Clock Coffee from a favourite mug, and I'm waiting for my groceries to arrive. I've decided that I'm wearing grey slacks, a crisp white blouse, and black pumps to the show. I'll have my black cardigan along in case I get chilly at any point, besides it dresses up the casual of the white button down shirt a bit more.

I've received some happy news. My former company is going to distribute my stock earnings to me by way of a check in about a month or so. It's not what I would call a lot of money, comparitively speaking, but it's not chump change either. It will help with grad school expenses, certainly. I may be able to buy a really nice laptop at minimal additional cost to myself. We'll see.

Well, I guess I'll go peruse my new "Entertainment Weekly." It seems that Christian Bale is slated to be the new Batman. I think he's so "very very."

I laughed! I cried! It was better than CATS!

My mother called me at work this morning to offer me a free ticket to CATS... a dinner theatre version. Of course I'm going! I love spontaneous social outings. I'm going to go with her, Jim, and my sister Caryl. So, in short, I'm getting some free entertainment, however sub par it might be, a meal, and the chance to see my mom and my sister twice in the space of one week.

I'm loving the thought of Sunday so far. I'm going to church for the first time in months; I'm having groceries delivered to me on Sunday afternoon, and then a night out. All of this excitement leading into Monday, which is the start of my manager's last week, and drinks with Gordon. All very promising stuff.

Let's not even talk about the fact that I am spending tonight and tomorrow night at Sarah's, and that we will be making lemon squares!

On a less joyous note, we found out yesterday that our office may be moving as early as January to a location close to BWI. That will make it officially inconvenient for me, considering the flexibility I'll need to have in order to accommodate my new grad school schedule. It looks as though I'll need to be looking for something else, personnel shifts or not.

Also, found out that bonuses don't come till the end of July. Something of a bummer, but I'll live. Have an awesome weekend, everyone.

And Devika, if you remember your dream, please tell me about it!

Facing Myself

I had a disturbing dream. In this dream, I was at a function with several friends, including Gordon. At the end of the function (not sure what was being celebrated, or if there was a specific occasion), I was offered a ride home by my good friend,Victoria. Sarah and Gordon were also in the car. Just as we were about to pull off, another girl who is a friend of Gordon's and Victoria's in "real life" asked if she could also get a ride. Everyone waited for me to give the okay. I understood that this girl did not have to ride with us, that she had other options, but I still didn't feel that I could be presumptuous enough to say no. So, I acquiesced, and felt usurped by her presence.

After we were dropped off at my apartment building Sarah asked me when I was going to exercise my right to say no to some requests. She told me that I had the right to tell that girl she couldn't ride with us. Essentially, in this case, I did not have to let someone else come between me and Gordon.

The dream took a turn when I saw Gordon talking to another girl (a blonde)in the lobby of my building. I understood that she was an ex-girlfriend, but that they had an active connection, emotionally. I heard him ask her why she was not wearing anything personal of his. The moment was tense between them, but I could also feel their history palpably, and took it as a sign that I needed to pack in any hopes of being with him.

I went up to my apartment and planned to get very drunk. There was a knock at my door, and I knew it would be the girlfriend from the lobby. She was accompanied by two large men who were there to protect her (should things get ugly with me, I suppose). I had a very large bottle of alcohol in my hand, and she said something to the effect of:

"Yeah, getting drunk is probably a good idea for you..."

She proceeded to tell me off in no uncertain terms, and to let me know that she and Gordon were very much apart of each other's present. I am under the impression that I attempted to downplay my interest in him in the dream, and so her attack became personal. She went away and then came back again, and this time she said:

"Look at you! You are so sloppy and fat... and by the way, Gordon is really disappointed in your body..."

Her tone was vicious, and I was yelling something in defense of myself, but I don't remember what I was saying.

I woke up feeling so disturbed, because it was clear that this girl that was talking to me was my own interior monologue.

Newly Shorn

I haven't had a proper hair cut in several months, so I made a salon appointment, took the day off work, and invited my sister up from the DC area to hang out with me.

I feel significantly less rag-tag with my locks chopped and coiffed, but it was so expensive (as it usually is). I'm essentially out of money again after having paid all my bills, done laundry, and giving Gordon the balance of what I owe him for the painting.

As it turns out, my sister is staying with me an extra night. She'll ride the bus with me in the morning, and get off at the train station, and I'll continue on to my connecting bus, and proceed to work as usual.

I've decided that Wednesday is really a great day to be out of the office. It breaks up the week so nicely. But, honestly, I'm loving every day now that I now my boss's days are numbered.

Other things to look forward to:

1. Bonus
2. Going to church on Sunday
3. Drinks with Gordon on Monday

I had way too much time on my hands this weekend. I self-introspected myself into a low-grade frenzy yesterday. I just sat around mulling over how I’m in a holding pattern, financially and relationally. If my sister hadn’t called and rescued me from myself, I probably would have lit my couches on fire just to have something to do. I was so motivated for action, I created a budget projection sheet in Excel. If you know me, you can appreciate the state of mind I had to be in in order for that to even seem like a remotely appealing idea. Now, I have nothing against Excel sheets; I just don’t make them, because I think in Word, not Spreadsheet. Desperate times, people. Desperate times.

I would be lying if I said it didn’t thrill me to bits when Gordon wrote me again yesterday evening and basically said, “Are you coming to Sarah’s on Thursday or not? If not, then we will have to go out for a drink sometime…” I love this “If you want me girl, let me know” vibe he’s pulling right now.

Even if it isn’t as serious as all that, at least he’s being intentional, and that can only lead to great things. If that boy plays his cards right, we might get this thing airborne by summer’s end.

Right now I’m editing a company manual. B-O-R-I-N-G.

A House is a House For Me

I've recently turned my attention to home ownership. I'm not in process, but I've started thinking about where I'd want to own when the time comes.

My bus route in the morning travels south on St. Paul Street, and on the way home in the evenings, north on Calvert Street. Between the 2700 and 3100 blocks of these streets are the best houses in Historic Charles Village. Built at the turn of the last century, or in the late 1800s, they are true treasures. Many of them have been converted into apartment homes, and rented to students and other transient types. However, some of them are still perfectly intact inside, structurally speaking. I have decided that I want to buy and live in one of these homes. Very Old World Baltimore.

Lists

I am almost completely out of food. I've been concentrating on making strategic meals for the last couple of days, using up the last vestiges of things from the last shop, so I'll have room for new stuff when I bring in new market wares on Tuesday (my next pay day). I wrote an extensive grocery list yesterday.

My clothing situation is just as bad, but it's not just the case that I need to do laundry (and believe me, I do), it's that I also need my wardrobe replenished and revamped. A lot of my pants are wearing out in the seat, and I need more variety. It's time for a reinvention anyway. I have not made a list pertaining to this because it would be inexhaustible. I wish I had a 1,000 dollars up front that I could just spend on new stuff. I need so many things, it would take at least that to get me started.

Peeved

My hairstylist has yet to tell me what time my appointment is on Wednesday. I swear, if she didn't know how to cut my hair just right, I would go to someone else.

Resolution...Kind of...

Heard back from Gordon. He told me that if I wanted to mail him the money, that's fine... and added that he guessed he would maybe see me on Thursday. Que?

Close to The Chest

I have never negotiated relationships with men very well. This sad truth is not limited to romantic dalliances, but extends to boss to employee, friend to friend, and certainly father to daughter constructs, as well.

When it comes to love I am usually guilty of not having a poker face; even when I try to hide what I'm thinking, men can usually see right through to my deepest insecurities.

I bring this up today because my relationshp with Gordon seems to be waxing gibbous, and I suddenly feel a peculiar need to be guarded. Let me be clear, this is not about playing games, but more about not taking anything for granted.

Long story short, he and Sarah are getting together next Thursday to discuss a painting she wants to commission him to do for her. She offered to let me be part of this discussion, but I opted out, preferring to refrain from glomming myself on to their arrangement (I wouldn't have batted an eyelash at joining them in the past).

But, over the course of the last two days and a few e-mail exchanges with him, he's asked if I will be there (I said I wouldn't), suggested I come there (when I told him I was ready to give him the next installment of what I owe him for the painting I purchased a month ago), and expressed his hope that he would, indeed, see me there (in a separate e-mail about other matters).

I questioned my staunch position on not being there, but I decided that I did not want to be tacked onto someone else's agenda. I want him to make time to see me separately... but is this the point? I actually have no idea if I'm focusing on the wrong element of all this or not.

Anyway, what I've done is tell him that in an effort to get him the check sooner, I'd mail it. I assured him that we didn't need to get together in person for me to get him the money. I can't tell if he was simply trying to kill two birds with one stone, or if he actually just wants a reason to see me.

I fear that I am like Charlie Brown, turning everything into an existential crisis. I don't mean to, but at the same time, I don't trust my ability to read this landscape. I know my own heart; I know where I stand. I know what I have wanted this man to want from me for 5 years. I have wanted it so much, I let myself believe, on several occasions, that he was someplace, emotionally, that he just wasn't.

Here's the thing:

I don't want to be too quickly won, yet I don't want to discourage him, either. If I knew where he stood I wouldn't make this unduly difficult for him. By the same token, the one gesture I need Gordon to make is to demonstrate a real effort to be with me. No man has ever done that, and I think I need to know he'd go to great lengths to win my heart.

On a different, less confusing front, I'm happy the week is nearly over. My annual review went well; I've taken on some new responsibilities in light of the changing dynamic at the office, and now I'm just looking forward to the financial compensation that will come. I'll be doing the very grown up thing and using my bonus money to pay off some debt.

The First Saturday in June

Roughly one year ago today (taking the leap year factor into account)I was in Washington, DC with Gordon. We took a trip to the National Gallery, and it was pouring. I now refer to this day as our "soggy adventure." I was moneyless, without a functioning umbrella, and my shoes squeaked all throughout the museum.

I awoke this morning to the sound of rain batting the window panes in my apartment. I'd been dreaming of wretched interlopers of various types, all making clicking sounds. As soon as I'd rid myself of one, there was a new one with which to contend. My mother wove through these nocturnal images like a bright, but frayed thread.

As soon as I was conscious enough to consider extracting myself from the covers, I thought of last night's dishes. And then my bathroom, overdue for it's semi-weekly cleaning. I decided coffee would be my reward for knocking these two tasks out first thing instead of the prerequisite.

I've made a list of personal goals to accomplish during the summer months, one of which is to paint my apartment (the foyer and the living room). I just have to be careful to do one thing at a time so I don't get overwhelmed and bag the whole list. I do that to myself a lot.

I've also decided that I'm going to try going to the church I attended in Baltimore city from 1995 to 1998; it's time to go back. I was lying on my couch the other night, and I just realized it. simple as that.

My boss announced her impending departure at our team meeting yesterday morning. Incidentally, that afternoon we all went out to lunch to celebrate meeting our print deadline. Things have been fine for me at work for the better part of a month and a half (after a significantly rough patch between me and my soon-to-be-leaving manager), but I am still relieved. She is returning to her hometown because her spouse's job is relocating them there.

You just never know how things are going to work themselves out.

Because I had yet to hear anything from the financial aid office at my school, or from the FAFSA people, I called to check on my application last night. It's a good thing I did. Not only did I need to update my home address, but I needed to indicate that I had filed my taxes, because my app still showed the "will file" option. This was holding up progress, and I didn't even know it.

Supposedly I was informed of this via e-mail, but I'm telling you that I wasn't.

Well, I have a few assignments on my desk, so I need to put my editing cap back on :)

I spend a lot of time thinking about the kind of wife I never want to be. I have my parents' trouble-filled union to thank, in part, for this preoccupation, but I also see and hear a lot of women making a lot of mistakes that alienate the men they love.

It's been said that every man has both a king and a fool inside him, and that the one you talk to is the one who will respond. Most people respond to praise more than to negative criticism, and I'm not suggesting that one should not address areas that need improvement, but the way these things get addressed and with whom [outside the marriage] is where things can go awry.

1. I never want to be the kind of wife who belittles her husband in conversations with other women, family members, coworkers, to his own face, etc.

I have heard women "jokingly" undermine their husbands via discussions of his domestic bumbling or ineptitude in some other area, such as handywork or the ever-emphasized department of "romance," as in he's not romantic enough.

[Sidebar: Ladies, if you are with a man who has never been romantic, then please don't bemoan the fact that he isn't after you are seriously dating or married to him, okay?]

Essentially, a lot of man-bashing goes on under the guise of teasing, and of course I have participated in this socially acceptable brand of belittling in the past. There was a very timely article in "Glamour" magazine last month which posits that male-bashing accomplishes three things:

a) it actually enables less than glowing male behavior
b) it furthers the very helplessness in emotional and relational landscapes that women are trying to better negotiate with the men in their lives, and
c) just makes women who do it more bitter and less attractive to really excellent men

2. I never want to be the kind of wife who nags.

The Bible says that it is better to live on the corner or a roof than with a contentious wife, that a nagging wife is like a constant dripping.

I have heard women, in an effort to make a point, maybe even a legitimate point, berate a man within an inch of his dignity and his sanity. Nagging may produce a short-term result, but at the cost of intimacy.

It's an easy habit to slip into. No one aspires to be a nag; most nags probably don't hold their behavior against the stark light of truth. Nagging kills the spirit.

3. I never want to be the kind of wife who makes herself an obstacle to her husband's pursuit of passions and hobbies that do not include her.

If you've ever caught an episode of MTV's "Newlyweds" with Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey, you know what I'm talking about. It is a pet peeve of mine when women turn their lovers into their sons by intimating that permission is necessary for him to go off and do something with friends. It is a hallmark of insecurity to begrudge your spouse time to himself. I especially hate it when wives insinuate themselves in a man's sacred territory... be that his home office, or his outings with pals, or into the metaphysical sanctum of his solitude.

The German Imagist Rilke posited that the greatest benefit of marriage is that it provides one with a guardian of one's interior life. A spouse should demand that his or her other has room to think, breathe, and be...

Finally, I never want to be the kind of wife who does any of the following:

4. Makes my spouse responsible for my happiness (requiring him to be everything to me)
5. Fails to celebrate his idiosynchrasies and complexities
6. Does not know what he needs from me
7. Fails to call him on something that might threaten his integrity, our marriage, or other principal concerns.

Kamikaze Cicada

One of these benign, but no less annoying, pests is fluttering crazily outside my window. You get the impression he knows he’s got a shelf life of about a week, and is desperate to mate, because if it doesn’t happen now, then he’s screwed, in a manner of speaking.

This is reminding me of something Gordon said last Friday night. “If you see two of them mating, you can pull them apart.” I’m remembering how easily he picked one up, by its paper thin wings, and then gently set him back down again. Taking note of this simple indication of manual dexterity, I realized he would be a very good kisser. I imagine that his mouth would feel, at first, like papery wings and then become firmer and fuller, but still a little tentative. The beginning of a new kind of dialogue would be born between us.

I regret that I didn’t have the guts to pick up one of these uncoordinated insects last Friday night. It reminded me of being on the playground in sixth grade when the boy I like asked me to pick up a worm, and I was too squeamish. I had failed his little test of “how fun are you?” And I felt similarly that I’d passed up a chance to show Gordon the little daredevil I still have inside. Somehow, though, I don’t think it’s too late to feel a cicada’s wing.

Confessions of a Former English Major

There are a few books, canonical, that I have never managed to read or complete reading.
Wuthering Heights. I did not give a rip about Heathcliff and Catherine’s relationship and the tumultuous moors, which symbolized their torrid attempts at love. Much more compelling was Jane Eyre’s heady, nuance-driven passion toward Mr. Rochester.

The Iliad and the Odyssey. Or Homer’s Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee of Greek literature, given far too much credence as god-like renderings of a mythological war, and the stupid decisions that ensued after a hothead got the hots for a woman whose face could launch a thousand ships, supposedly. What the Iliad has given birth to is one very useful adage. Don’t look a gifthorse in the mouth. Thank you, Homer, exit stage right.

For years, I beat myself up for not loving the classics; I believed there must be a deficit in me that I should be far more moved by the contemporary than the antiquated. Then, I realized that there is a system in place that is responsible for this complex I carried. It's the same system that dictates to me what beauty is by way of magazine ads and billboards.

Okay, so now I proudly say that I despise the Romantic Period of lit and poetry. Screw Keats, Shelly, and that other guy, too. No, I don’t like Wordsworth and Longfellow—and all that pastoral imagery that makes me want to run for the hills. I can tolerate Tennyson, whose "Lady of Shallott" is a timeless masterpiece, intricately and intimately detailing the isolation of the feminine psyche. Masterfully crafted phrases. Stunningly deft and piercing language. I don’t even care that it rhymes. It’s genius.

And before you think otherwise, let me disavow you of the belief that I am simply despising form for the sake of doing so. Ezra Pound drives me insane—a textbook case of the “Emporer’s New Clothes” alive and well. I challenge anyone to show me a Pound poem that isn’t utter inanity. I shouldn’t be too judgmental. I guess it’s the equivalent of a single dot of paint on a canvas that goes for millions, and has to be roped off in prestigious museum. Ah, yes, I guess I’m missing the point. No pun intended.