This may be the last post for about a week...

Vacations are always a mixed bag for me. I enjoy being away, usually, but find that I also miss, sometimes dreadfully, the inanity of my routines. My favourite part of any trip, no matter how wonderful a time I have, is always the journey back home.

This time is a little different. The chief reason is that I have had it up to here with work. So I need to get away. I have never needed a vacation so much before.

But also, I am leaving my little sister in my apartment, to conduct the business of her life in that space while I am away. So, in addition to missing things like access to e-mail, this blog, other blogs, online banking, whatever... I will be worrying, to some degree, about things like her forgetting to turn out certain lights, or whether she is checking the mail at least every other day... wondering if she is lonely... if she is scared being there by herself...

Thank God for cell phones. I can talk to her; I can remind her about certain things; I can get information about relevant things that are happening... she can check my e-mail for me. But I know myself. Part of my mental energy will be spent on thinking about those things. I just can't help it. So I am torn between really needing to shut off my brain for a while and not having complete freedom to do that.

I have started reading chapters from the book of Proverbs as the centerpiece of my daily devotions, and it is having a calming effect--but this old dog can't really learn any new tricks. I will never be one of those people who can just turn it completely off and let go.

Here's what I'm hoping for:

A Happy Happy Birthday for Sarah (July 1st! tomorrow!)
no additional stress
time to revise several poems
good coffee
tremendous conversations
an epiphany
at least one really amazing sunset
smooth cocktails
time to read
time to think
the formulation of a game plan
for the tide to turn in my favor

My poetry reading partner, C, came over last night so we could iron out the details of our program (on July 11th). It was ultimately productive. We decided to try the tandem style of reading--switching off after a block of poems, instead of each of us reading 15 to 20 of our own poems, with no break. We think it'll stay fresh for us and the audience this way. We also determined "segue pieces" to begin and end our miniature "sets" so that there is a seamlessness to the program. I e-mailed our contact at the venue to make sure that's copacetic.

I'm headed to the library tonight. I hope to check out a mess of books for the trip.

I am nearly ready to send off my Independent Study proposal. I sent, on last Friday morning, a preliminary e-mail about it to the appropriate person, but what I learned from my exchange with him is that the process is a lot more formal than I realized. So, to that end, I've drawn up a document that provides some context,a scope, and talks about a concrete product/benefit of doing the IS. The initial contact did indicate his general support for the idea I presented to him and thinks it will get passed, so this is obviously good news.

Speaking of scoping things out, I'm getting together with one of the women from my poetry group to do a rough outline of our reading on July 11th. That event doesn't feel quite real to me yet since I will be away for an entire week before it happens.

I hope I get one or two good pieces out of the trip. I need some new material.

Last night these figured prominently:

Flower

To see colorful flowers in your dream, signifies kindness, compassion, gentleness, pleasure, beauty, and gain. It is also symbolic of perfection and spirituality. Your dream may be an expression of love, joy and happiness. Alternatively, flowers may denote a particular time or season. If the flowers are white, then it symbolizes sadness.

To see withered or dead flowers in your dream, denotes disappointments and gloomy situations. You may not be utilizing your full potential and talents.

To dream that you receive a bouquet of flowers, represents respect, approval, admiration, and rewards.

To see flowers blooming in barren soil, signifies that energy and cheerful nature will enable you to overcome your grievances. --online Dream Dictionary

Last night, I dreamt of these:

Cockroach

"To see a cockroach in your dream, signifies your need for renewal, rejuvenation and self-cleansing of your psychological, emotional, or spiritual being. You need to reevaluate major aspects of your life." --online Dream Dictionary

What a relief!

You Are 12% Sociopath

You're empathetic, loyal, and introspective. In other words, there's no way you're a sociopath... but you can spot one pretty easily!

Are You A Sociopath?

Puedo Escribir

A week from today I will be headed for Asheville (?), North Carolina. I will be spending a week benefitting from workless days in a lovely cabin rented by Sarah's parents with proximity to what I've heard is an absolutely charming town.

I'm hoping to doing a lot of revising [of my poetry], a lot of reading of poetry, and of course hanging out with the Sarah-one, having some inspiring conversations--the kind you can only have when you are not smack dab in the middle of your "real" life. Incidentally, I have decided that I reject the reality that is masquerading as my life!

On my way back from 7-11 this morning I saw a cat. A young cat--an adolescent, lying, the way cats do when they are contemplating the plight of cats, when they are being cattish. Its eyes were open. And I thought 'that's odd. I've never seen a cat lying like that on a sidewalk in the city.' There was no visible wound, you see, so it took me a moment.

I called 311 (the non-emergency number) and asked that someone be sent to get it. And then I told the cat not to worry. That someone would come to get him, that he wouldn't have to lie there much longer.

I did not grow up with animals. I did not love animals until well into my adulthood. But now that I do, it is particularly crushing to me when their dignity is compromised. I'm not trying to make it more than it is. I know animals die. I know that the life of a stray is a hard one. I do not think that cat heard me or anything like that. But it was important for me to remark upon its life. To take note. I read once that mere observation may well be the first point of generosity.

Cross-Pollination

So, I'm in this fiction workshop--this invitation-based summer workshop--even though I am a poet. I decided to participate in this workshop because it was an honour to be asked, but also because my advisor is the facilitator, and I respect his sensibilities tremendously. After thinking it through it (being in the workshop) actually started to seem crucial to my thesis preparation.

I've let the poets that my literary community has to offer take a crack at my work and while it has been helpful, to an extent, the experience always left me feeling like a crucial piece of the discussion hadn't been had. Well, last night the fiction types had their first go-round of workshopping poems--and the difference in the two approaches was inspiring. I realized that I really like discussing poetry in the same way I like discussing fiction--the implications, the psychology, the language, not just the structures. Which is not to say that there was no cognizance of the fact that poems are different from fiction, but the line between the two last night was pleasantly blurred.

On other fronts: not that you would know it based on the frequency with which I still blog, but I have been reticent lately. I start to say a million things, but think better of it. There's no intrigue, no big news, but I have still felt the need to self-censor, to train against certain kinds of disclosure. It's an odd sort of conversational lethargy... I don't quite understand the impulse, but I acknowledge that I'm doing more internalizing lately. Maybe there'll be some sort of explanation later. Maybe not.

Okay, I couldn't help it...

Finally, a comprehensive list of reasons why Keanu Reeves does NOT suck! Good for a laugh (definitely read the whole thing), but hey, also true.

To quickly answer a couple of readers' questions:

Alexis, the number 8 bus is overcrowded and the demographic, by and large, are a consistently uncouth lot. C and I rode this route home from the movies and the experience can only be described as miserable.

Baus, I do not think you have to worry about harming yourself. The Lake House will not be your cup of tea, I am almost certain. And as to you wondering "Can this movie be any good?" I would simply say: It is not a great movie. As I said in an earlier post, it's got pacing problems, some uneven, awkward places, but I still liked it. I was intrigued by the quantum physics considerations behind the idea of living a mere two years apart from the person you're supposed to be with (there's that blasted, archaic soul mates idea again!), and because Keanu will always be special to me, and because of the sweetness of his pairing(s) with Sandra Bullock, I enjoyed the movie. I took it on its own terms. You, I think, will think it's complete crap.

Sunday Dinner

My mom, the illustrious pseudo boyfriend, and the dog came over to break bread with me and C. Seeing Babygirl's adorable little face, her furry body a quiver of excitement when she first saw me, was the best part. She loved the apartment! So much room for her to roam around and explore!

It was swelteringly hot in the apartment, though, and that was miserable. I only have one a/c unit, still, and that is in the bedroom--the Cold Zone--and we were all in and out of there to get relief from time to time. We also watched "What the Bleep Do We Know?"-- a film I had seen before but enjoyed enough to see again.

C and I were able to give the apartment a fairly thorough cleaning before they arrived so I felt more centered while they were here. In some ways, I'm a lot like Monica Gellar from Friends--and I'm getting more that way the older I get. I have to face it. It irks me when things don't get put back exactly where they were or get damaged... good to know.

So you can imagine my horror when one of my coasters got ruined because my mom unknowingly put it in the kitchen sink (it stuck to the bottom of her glass, I guess).

Shake it off.

In other news, I have scheduled a follow up chat with my supervisor to talk with her more about the episode from Thursday; I regret that I didn't have better control over my response to that initial review score (which did get revised as she said it would). I think it's of paramount importance to stand up for myself and to open the lines of communication with her so she doesn't think that was some anomaly. I want her to know how her short-sighted, poorly informed decisions affect people in her charge.

I don't know yet how I'm going to frame my remarks, but I'm striving for something respectful, but not so diplomatic that it undercuts the strength of my comments.

There was a lot of back and forth about this weekend--my plans and what would I be doing.This is the one weekend for the next several that I knew my sister and I could spend time together. Between the two of us, we have more conflicting plans than a few, and even though we live together during the week, it's not the same. Monday morning through Friday afternoon is taken up with the emotional energy of going to work.

So we decided to see The Lake House together on Friday, June 16th. Then our mom asked C to come home for the weekend on this past Tuesday afternoon. She has been ill, and though she is now taking medicine and her condition is improving, she just really wanted company. The request wasn't entirely without legitimacy, but I'm glad things played out such that my sister and I got to do what we wanted instead.

The theatre goers last night were of the vexing variety. a lot of talking during the previews, which is never a good sign. It took several minutes into the movie before we reached an acceptable level of quiet.

As for the film itself, I'm glad I saw it. I really am. I think it had a few pacing problems, but I also understood that some of the more lengthy scenes were done this way intentionally. But pacing aside, I loved seeing Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock sharing the same screen space again (as I mentioned I would a week ago)--and I loved the tenderness of their performances, the kisses... I'm a sucker for that moment when the two would-be lovers finally get to kiss. It's nice to know that my overarching pragmatism hasn't sucked every romantic inclination from me.

I feel like I always have to be on guard against the silliness of yearning, the wan pathos of it, so it was actually a relief to be able to direct a focused desire for two other people--characters in a film--to really have what they want.

My desires these days are to be able to make and keep plans I want to have, to have enough food in the pantry, to make more money than I currently do, to perfect my thesis, and gear up to start PH. D. course work. I want things like cheap, utilitarian shelves and tables. This is the place I am in and I am trying, really trying to take this stage of my life at face value--not worry about what it implies about the trajectory of my future.

To take every experience at face value...

is one of the goals I've set for myself. The last two years of my life have brought much to me in the way of convictions, epiphanies, and the difficult lessons one can only learn by making a lot of gaffes.

I don't want this post to be full of strutting and fretting, just the the simple statement that I want to make it my business to enjoy what is available to me; to take everything and every one on their own terms, and not try to make everything that happens to me out to be more than what it is. How many times have I failed to enjoy something wonderful because I was trying to make it something more grand, more established, or because I wanted the assurance that it would "always be that way"? A lot.

So for 2006 (not resolutions, not at all, more like convictions I try to note as they come to me) I am practicing a greater degree of discretion than I have in the past; I am learning what I cannot control (namely relationships); I am practicing being intentional about being grateful; and I am letting things be what they are, mean what they mean.

It's been a rough day. I mean hard.

I had my annual performance review today and due to some lowball marks my supervisor gave me as part of a "conversation" about my annual performance I ended up crying. Crying. my number one pet peeve is letting the enemy see me cry. I was able to make some credible points, but my anger overwhelmed me. Unfortunately, when I'm mad but dealing with a superior in the workplace, I cry. In any case, the marks got changed but I resented having to defend myself.

"It's that little souvenir of a terrible year..." The Sundays

The Sundays' album reading, writing and arithmetic defined my freshman year of undergrad. As I listen to it this morning, 15 years away from that beautiful, miserable, terrible year, I can still remember the girl I was then. Barely 18. So young. The most painful moments of my life, by and large, still hadn't happened yet, but I understood the hopeful melancholy of Harriett Wheeler's voice. I knew what she meant when she sang out "you're not the only one that I know and I'm far too proud to talk to you anyway..." or when she described kicking a boy till he cried... "oh, I could have been wrong, but I don't think I was..."

As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool returns to his folly... or, something like that...

This is one of my favourite passages of scripture from one of my favourite books of the Bible--Proverbs (good stuff--very funny, actually) and God has used it as a sharp reminder to me about the necessity of letting some things and some people drift from my life.

I have often been guilty of wanting to keep the herd together, even when it's no longer organic to do so, just so I can congratulate myself on being one of those people who doesn't let her friendships lapse. That is to say, I held on to some individuals for a long, long time when I knew I needed to extract myself from his or her life. This is tough business--this process of letting lapses in e-mails morph into long periods of silence. Or, the more violent method--having no other option but to tell the person in no uncertain terms that you will not be in her life anymore.

Sometimes I am tempted to bridge the gap of communication (other times I have been so happy that a certain person is no longer a factor in my life that I can't stop celebrating his absence/removal), just to check up on the ones I let go--see how they are doing. Because it is often the case that I still really really care for the former friend; I certainly wish them well.

But you can't send someone, especially someone you've told outright 'don't ever call me; I won't be calling you. God Bless,' an e-mail asking her "what's up?" Besides, that scripture comes rushing up to meet me whenever I'm hit with that urge to "check on" people (pathological control issues, I've self-diagnosed). Why do I always want to nudge closed doors open...just a crack? If I barely escaped with my sanity from these dysfunctional friendships in the past, why on earth would I want to tempt fate the principles of good, common sense?

Anyway, I'm bringing all this up today because I was just sitting at my desk thanking God for all of the relationships He has removed from my life, for whatever reason, through whatever means, that were ultimately destructive--for me and the other person, in all likelihood. I realized something today. There is a lot happening in my life right now that couldn't be happening if I hadn't been willing to let go of what was no longer good--even if it had been at one time. And it's okay that I no longer miss these old friends--that I am glad things have moved forward, with no chance to look back.

I just have to trust that things are working out for them for the best, and that that couldn't be the case, if I were still in their lives. It is freeing to think of it this way. I think happiness is a direct result of autonomy and agency. Whatever undermines personal agency will eventually erode peace of mind...

I've been on a quest lately to do at least one interesting/daring thing a day (or a week, at least). Something outside the realm of what makes me comfortable. These are small things usually. Like maybe saying yes to an invitation I would normally refuse; applying for a job the thought of which both scares and invigorates me--anything, really, that says "hey, I'm here. I want to be marked present," metaphorically speaking.

The fiction workshop is one example, applying for the ghost writing position (that ultimately fell through), continuing to submit draft articles for other freelance posts, and even following an instinct to put myself forth as a potential reader at a local spot, are a handful of examples.
Sometimes this pays off by way of a specific result--like finding out today that I got said reading spot at said local place, but mostly it's just about the experience.

It is so freeing to "cast my bread upon the waters" without being tied to a specific outcome. I think that is the most precious lesson I've learned over the course of the last six years--that I can just try and if things don't pan out specifically as I hoped, I can shrug it off and move on to the next thing. There is so much freedom, so much power in that.

I have been waiting for this reunion since "Speed" in 1994.

Some of you know about my complicated feelings for Keanu Reeves--you know that despite some legitimate gripes about his acting ability (or lack, thereof) that I have always managed to appreciate him, his austere, sometimes brooding presence.

I actually wrote him a letter when I was in college, but only because Catchka "triple dog dared" me to...

I think I told him he should visit me or something...

In any case, I am so going to see this movie on opening night. I like him and Sandy Bullock together. She warms him up, makes him come out of himself, makes him less self-conscious. I've always thought it was too bad that their connection didn't make the leap into real life.

I was one of 30 people here at work whose names were drawn for a free 10-minute, seated massage. Today is our health fair and reps from a lot of wellness, fitness, and health institutions are coming to offer their wares. My massage time is at 1:40 and I cannot wait! I feel the ever-present tension in my shoulder blades and neck even more than usual because some degree of relief is imminent.

Tonight is the first meeting of my summertime fiction workshop. The facilitator was very convincing in his sell for me to join the group, so I decided to forego my "free" summer.

So I have a crush on one of the cashiers at 7-11... he's probably all of 20, it occurs to me now.
Everyone is suddenly in their 20s. Where are all the 30+ people? Oh, right. Home. Married.

Back to Your Corners!

I broke up a fight between school kids on the MTA this morning. Occasionally, if a child is out of line and I feel that, as an adult on the bus, I am within my jurisdiction to correct the behavior, then I do.

A little instigator (of which there are potentially many) boarded this morning and almost immediately provoked another kid in the back. Some verbal sparring ensued, and the next thing I knew, they were clinging to each other in that full-body contact way that boys tend to fight. Before I had time to think about what I was doing, I was up and making my way to them, commanding them to stop. I told the one I had seen as the pot-stirrer to move away from the other kid and indicated a seat that I wanted him to occupy instead of the one he'd chosen (still too close to the other child for my comfort).

He was dumbstruck. His main concern was whether or not he knew me (thereby calling into question by what rights I was correcting him).

"Who are you?"
"I'm the adult on this bus, that's who I am. Now, you come and sit in this seat."
"Do I know you?"
"No, you don't know me, but I know who you are. You're the troublemaker on this bus, now do what I say."

He didn't immediately comply so I walked to the front of the bus to report him to the driver as I told him I would.

And while all this was going on, I heard kids asking "Is that Lady crazy or something?"

I believe in picking my battles. As I said, I occasionally speak to a child that I think is out of line, but I'm no fool. If these kids had been older, harder, or the situation more serious at the outset, I would have done something different. I know when I'm out of my depth. I also know when a child or group of kids simply needs an adult to step in and say enough is enough.

I'm pretty no-nonsense. I mind my business, but I don't tolerate foolishness. Honestly, I was reminded of my grandmother in that instance.

What was going to be a rather manageable summer has just been kicked up a few notches. I am now participating in a fiction workshop. It starts this week and goes through most of August. Aside from this, my other big plan is to revise the poems that will be included in my thesis. It's clear that I need to create some sort of schedule for myself, because the thesis stuff is all a little too open-ended. I'm hoping that my participation in the workshop will help to create a structure for me and keep me in the groove of writing and assessing, so the poetry work will be relatively seamless.

I got my sister on a MARC train back to the DC area (she's gone for the weekend) at about 6 yesterday evening--Sarah was back at my apartment minding the maintenance man who was installing my a/c unit in the bedroom (and switching out my refrigerator for one that does not wobble). She ordered some sushi from XS; I put on some baby red potatoes to parboil, a steak in the oven, and some frozen succotash in a sauce pot for my dinner (I had no sushi money, and even though Sarah offered, I didn't want her having to buy me food also).

I've taken to taking a tepid shower at night, just before bed, to cool down a bit, and thus to help me sleep better. I did so last night, moved the bed closer to the window where the cooling unit is, and slept like a baby. I even got cold at one point--that right there is the definition of a successful summer evening's sleep. You have to wake up at least once and realize that you are freezing.

I just got back from 7-11 (the hottie was not there!) for the requisite joe, some bread, a muffin, and some tuna. Basic weekend rations.

Later, I'm doing the mother load of laundry at Sarah's... after I go with her to check out gyms!

i can't believe the weekend is here again. so fast.

anyway, there's a new man in my life. I call him 7-11 hottie. Let's just say, I'll be in there a lot this summer buying up various and sundry overpriced items. He can ring me up anytime.

Well, my record is ruined. Until this semester I'd gotten nothing less than an A- in any class. I got a B+ in the DC Poetry Workshop. So. lame.

After a delicious evening meal of roasted vegetable gazpacho, steak, and salad with vidalia onion dressing, C and I headed out to GiGi for coffee and dessert. It was her first time at the neighborhood spot. We were there for about an hour or so, then we headed back home to watch "So You Think You Can Dance?" (well, she watched; I half-heartedly watched while reading Miss Misery)

I finished listening to Anne Tyler's latest, Digging to America, yesterday. Very, very good. And of course, I enjoyed all the Baltimore references.