Devika and her El Mono were all over my dreams last night. They were coming to visit me, but were delayed. Devika called my cell, and I knew it was her because of this sonorous jazz ring tone I'd attributed to her number in my phone's directory. The apartment in the dream was the one that Sarah and I lived in, in Mt. Vernon, but I was giving Devika directions as though I lived in Montgomery County. I kept referencing roads and metro stations that are located there. The second time she called me in this dream it was to say that they were lost. I think I said something like "can't you just get on the beltway?" after trying to give her several other points of reference that weren't sounding familiar to her. She said something like "Um, Is that the only way...?"

By the time they arrived, I lived alone in my current apartment, but my mother and Jim had traded out my furniture for a white wicker set up! I was totally put upon, but did like this one corner of the room my mom had decorated. There was a desk, positioned catty corner; it was dark wood, in the same style of the accompanying pieces I have now. Seeing something that was so close to my own taste placated me, and I decided not to raise a fuss about the wicker, but I did wonder where my sage green couches had gone...

Suddenly, Devika, El Mono, two children (including one very plump baby girl)and a Russian friend of theirs, and me were in this car together. We were setting off on some kind of day trip,but El Mono missed the turn out of the Shady Grove Metro parking lot, so we were waylaid. Devika had let her hair grow insanely long and was carrying some type of hair product with her to help her manage it.

Then... back at my apartment, sans children. The three of us (Devika, El Mono, and Me) crashed a dog obedience training at a local french-style cafe. The dogs were all these scruffy looking mutt types. They were learning to say "thank you" by putting on certain facial expressions and certain gestures. They were really dirty.

The rest is a blur... oh, I do recall that I was in a scene with some Smallville characters in which I was trying out a new technique of recording songs just using water from a cooler.

***********************************************

It is so bleah out today. Why is it that no matter what time I go to bed, I wake up feeling exhausted? Anybody got any helpful hints for waking up with energy?

The Best of Chet Baker Sings...

Am listening to the singing trumpeter while drinking my morning coffee (the taste of which is best described as being "amiss"). Well, everything can't be perfect. This much I know.

Okay, so I still have not watched "Cold Mountain." Due to my busy weekend and class schedule I just haven't popped it in. It's also 2.5 hours long, which is a commitment on a weeknight. So I am bound and determined that Friday night after my outing is over, I am coming home, making some coffee, turning off the lights, snuggling on my couch while I relish watching this thing all alone in my place. Gosh, but I do like being alone. It is underrated. It is heaven to me... provided I can have limited contact with others when I'm in the mood to do so.

I read an article recently about couple, recently married (it was the 2nd marriage for both of them), and they mutually agreed to keep their individual residences. Several things about their situation made this a practical choice. It gave me hope, honestly. I have always thought that having a lair of your own to which you can retreat when you just need a break would be great.

As a writer, I find that having space of my own is crucial to the pouring forth of ideas. Living with someone stunts that process for me. I can't really open up to the page (or anything else) until I am all alone. A true introvert, others do not usually inspire me. I have to get all nice and insular before I know how I feel about anything. Maybe it's a problem? I just find that I'm much more likely to want to be with someone else if I know that I can be alone whenever I want to be.

Thanksgiving will be just my sister Caryl and me in my apartment. I am so excited. I've never made my own Thanksgiving meal before. I'm thinking short ribs or pork loin instead of fowl for the center piece.

Chai and Banana Bread for Breakfast

27 degrees out!

I received some relatively big news about an estranged friend last night, and feel that I want to acknowledge it. I will send her a card/write a letter to her at some point next week. I need some time to think through what I want to say.

Far less significant than the news I heard about my friend, Gordon cancelled plans to come over tonight. I got some e-mail from him yesterday morning saying he needed a raincheck, asking "maybe we can reschedule?" I debated not answering the note, because I wasn't sure that it needed a reply. But, as is always the case with me, I can't not follow up, so I sent him a basic response to it, acknowledging that I received word of the change.

So, I'll just snuggle deeply on my couch tonight, and watch a young Supeman make it through another hour of teen angst. That's good tv!

Keep warm, everybody!

Jam Packed

My weekend has been so satisfyingly full. This weeked was Family Weekend on campus, and even though I am not an undergrad, my mom and her beau did some research and found out about some free (or inexpensive) campus events for us to go to... they were so intentional about wanting to spend time with me, and that was awesome. They even brought me "happy Family Weekend" presents. What I realized is that there are so many things happening on campus that I can be taking advantage of on a regular basis. I was in this mindset of just going to my classes. No wonder I don't really feel connected to the community. Must rectify this bad paradigm post haste!

After church this morning, I hooked up with them again and we went to Cafe Hon for brunch, then went antiquing and window shopping in Hampden. There are so many awesome shops I've passed by a million times, but had never visited. I am so going Christmas shopping on "The Avenue," Hon!

After going to view the spaghetti suspension bridges that Hopkins Engineering students built, we went to my place to chill and watch a movie while waiting for the concert at a church in Towson where Gordon's art is showing. Minor snafu. We went out to the car at 3:15 and found that Jim (mom's friend) had left his lights on for the two hours we'd been inside. Needless to say the car would not start. I started mentally preparing myself for the fact that we just might not make it, but we gave it about 15 minutes, and finally we did get going. Arriving right at 4 p.m., we slid in right behind G and his family (His mom, dad, uncle, niece, nephew, and sister). I have never met anyone in his family, so I was a little nervous sitting behind them, but also excited.

During the intermission he took my hand to greet me and we exchanged a very nice hug. My mom hugged and kissed him, too, and they chatted for a bit. After the concert, I did walk around with him chatting with various people, and then he introduced me to his family (unfortunately his sister and her kids left before intermission so he lamented not getting to introduce me to them). When my mom and Jim were ready to go, I went to say goodbye to him. We hugged again and he confirmed that he will see me on Wednesday for Smallville.

From there, the three of us headed up to the Towson Diner, then back to my place for coffee. They just left, so I'm unwinding. I think I'll try to finish watching "The Importance of Being Earnest." I love weekends like this. No time to muddle about just thinking the same old tired thoughts.

I just finished watching "Sylvia," which featured Gwyneth Paltrow as the doomed poetess, Sylvia Plath [Hughes]. What is it about women poets before the 1970s and suicide?

For men, being a poet was currency (and still is), like being a drummer in a rock band (as put forth by a Washington Post film reviewer in one of his articles). Even though no famous women poets have committed suicide (not that was publicized, in any case) lately, it is not the same for us. Gaggles of admiring males don't bum rush the podium after readings to twitter and giggle, or to posture and preen like little sick animals.

I have known of two men that my work touched deeply, even somewhat romantically...but universal appeal of a woman poet? Not so much.

I am not suggesting that this lack of the celebrity factor is why Plath and Sexton did themselves in (or that it accounts for Millay's self-destructive behavior that led to death)...but something about the proclivity toward poetry in a woman has its root in a particular kind of sadness, or so it would seem.

Recap

I began my week by getting together with an old, albeit peripheral friend that I know from my Intervarsity Christian Fellowship days. We had the chance to hook up earlier this summer when he introduced the new SMCM IV staff person to myself and other alum. It's a long story that really doesn't need to be told in order for me to convey the gist.

Due to some perception/insecurity issues of mine from that era of my life, there were some things that I needed to discuss with him. Some small-scale tension was apparent (on my end) this summer during our get together, and he asked if I needed to process anything with him. His schedule finally allowed him a free evening to come to Baltimore to have that discussion. It was very beneficial for me in that I felt that I was heard and acknowledged. No major drama, but important for clearing the air nonetheless.

On Tuesday night I went to my 20th Century World Literature course where I feasted on the fare of some jocular banter with my instructor. I like him more and more, and feel that he looks forward to my weekly contributions to the class discussions. That's a nice feeling. It's nice to see him smile when he sees me. A smile is a powerful thing. It's acknowledgment, It's favour. Know that feeling you get when you know someone likes you? It's special, if I might use such a sentimental term.

I was making an effort to explain to Sarah that I find this man so...intriguing... It's so odd. I would be happy if this man just smiled, discussed books with me over coffee,while he smoked a cigarette, (wearing a turtleneck sweater and faded levis) and verbally riffed off my brilliance. Very different than what The Artiste calls forth...

with G, well it's all emotional and yearning. That's fine. It hasn't proved helpful to deconstruct my devotion to him. It is what it is.

Today, I, along with the rest of the world am trying to figure out where I go from here. What comes next... all the questions that we're all asking ourselves.

I am looking forward to having some quality time with my mom this weekend. Amongst other things we've planned, we're going to G's art opening at a church gallery on Sunday. But before the fun, another lackluster day at the office.

And Never the Twain Shall Meet?

It was unavoidable. I went into rabid partisan archetype mode when my mother and I were on the phone tonight. She did not call me to be contentious. She was looking forward to shooting the breeze... catching up... that sort of thing. I actually introduced the subject of the election this time, because when you're talking with family, it's safe for the talk to get vicious from time to time, because in the end you know no one's disowning anyone else. Blood is thicker than political affiliation--even if it makes you the black sheep republican in a family of die-hard, civil rights-era african american democrats.

I was a democrat for years.

I voted for Clinton in both of his election years. I voted for democrats on some levels of government yesterday (I think they are the most useful at the municipal level), but I officially changed my party affiliation in 2002.

I still hang on to the concept of myself as a moderate, but the issues that mean the most to me belong less and less to the sphere of the democratic party. It has been a natural evolution. I suspected that I was a republican, really, as early as age15, but my parents told me that was ridiculous. I am black, they pointed out, therefore, that was not really possible. I believe I got a tongue lashing and icy stares for the better part of a day... this was yet another way their daughter was "forgetting" who she was. Well, at that point, it was just a notion. In every way that mattered at that time, my sensibilities were more on the liberal end of the spectrum. I see in hindsight's perfect 20/20 mirror that what I was then was moderate.

Just two years before my 30th birthday, I came into my own as a true conservative.

In the wake of the election results the polarization of the country is obvious. Now there is the predictable rhetoric about working together... but isn't that just a bit ludicrous? Convictions won't really allow for tolerance in most areas, not as anything more than a nice idea, any way.
I see this in both subtle and glaring ways.

Something I've noticed is that most people (who don't know me) talk to me assuming that I am a democrat. I am young, black, female, I frequent academic and cultural events. I have some bohemian types as friends. There is the accepted idea that I am at least somewhat intelligent. And when people take these things together, they feel safe saying to me "Can you believe what that moron of a president has done to this country?"

I wonder if I should "out" myself as a republican in moments like that, or let them go on and on. I find that usually the people who make this assumption don't really want me to say anything anyway. They just want to voice an opinion. And because I know who I am and why I've made the choices I've made, I don't feel that my security or sense of identity is riding on correcting the misconception--all the time. I really try to pick my partisan battles. There is a time and a place for everything.

Can either party, if they are being true to their ideals, compromise on the big ticket issues?

Lincoln is credited with saying "unity cannot be created, it can only be kept." He launched a war that bore the appearance of divisiveness, and it did rip this country's heart out. He knew he had to demolish an old ideal, because in order for things to one day be right, we had to start all over again. He couldn't make nice with the south. He couldn't "work together" with them, being "unified" under false pretenses.

And what I'm getting at here is that sometimes a bridge cannot be built. The wounds are so deep, and if you're not going to punk and pimp yourself, you have to just stand right where you are....

I know there are wounds any time a man cannot win an election, twice, and not have it be suggested that something is "amiss." Even the way the pundits and news anchors frame their discussion of the outcome is telling. Phrases like "What did Kerry do wrong?" and "What happened?" demonstrate bias. It is unthinkable to many that these results could really be a reflection of what American citizens really wanted to happen.

Somehow I suspect that if things had gone the other way, no one would even think to ask if the election was stolen, to wonder if it needed to be investigated. Even television shows on the WB are blatantly endorsing the democratic party. And the message is that unless there is something wrong with you, you will too. I have heard it stated through the mouths of at least two different characters on these fringe networks that "they stole [steal] the election [elections]."

This too, is divisive, but you get the sneaking feeling that it is acceptable. This is not considered bad form or inappropriate by sponsors or the writers of these programs.

The decision seems to have been made that war is the ultimate evil. And yet the very right that you and I have to be as partisan as we want to be was won on a number of blood deep battlegrounds. The very right to put political smears in a fictional character's mouth is possible because of war.

The chasms between us in this country represent a new kind of civil war, and while a house that is divided against itself cannot stand, I don't know how either side can give in and not be crushed in the process.

Within me there has lived both a democrat and a republican, and I could not bring them together. One of them had to win.

I was a bit late to work...had to vote first thing since I have class this evening, and it would be too close for comfort to try to stand up and be counted after office hours. Fortuitously, because my last name begins with the right letter, and I live in a certain precinct, I was in a group that got pulled from the line ahead of others to vote first. Once the line (I have never stood in one so long) started moving, it wasn't bad at all--to be so close to the front--and then to be pushed even further up due to a "luck of the draw" phenomenon, I was done by 7:15. I predict utter bedlam this evening. I know so many don't have the luxury of morning voting.

I just ate a packet of cinnamon roll flavoured oatmeal. Now I'm off to make coffee. Let the games begin!

Falling Back

We missed Rita's. When we pulled up to the storefront, there were no long lines, no happy loiterers spooning gelatti into their mouths, no uniformed workers working the custard machines, but instead... a sign that read:

Thanks for a great season... See you in March :)!

I assumed that "open through the last weekend in October," meant the entire last weekend in October. I don't know if we missed that last gelatti by hours or an entire day. We ended up going to an ice cream shoppe of no repute (though it was good) for the last frozen supper. In a way it was more romantic to me that we did not get to have Rita's. It makes me feel grateful that I really savored it all summer. Now I can think of it as an impermanent joy, but imminently returning. There's such hopefulness in that.

After my groceries were delivered this afternoon I opened up the pumpkin quickbread mix and prepared it. Then I started work on my first ever macaroni and cheese casserole. Between my mother and Sarah, I have plenty of opportunities to enjoy it done up right, but I tried my hand at it this time. Not too bad. I have a way to go, but it wasn't horrible.

I am now half-heartedly watching "Adaptation," reading The Quest for Christa T., and blogging (obviously).

Upon reviewing my archives for the month of October, I see that on 10/1 I proclaimed that it was a shame that I had not purchased the coveted coat... that it was too late. Funny. On the last day of the month, I have it. I guess no one can presume to know when "too late" is.

How to Boil Coffee

My favourite method of reheating coffee is to boil it in a sauce pan. Last winter when my microwave blew I had to go back to the old ways--reheating leftovers on the stove top or in the oven. I discovered that things taste so much better that way! Who knew, but I love boiled coffee! The microwave is the metaphor for instant gratification. You may get it fast and it may be convenient, but at the expense of the superior element.

Today was a great food day. For lunch (skipped the most important meal of the day this morning) I had creamy portabella soup, crab salad (sour cream, mayo, dijon mustard, salt, pepper, lemon juice (a hint), scallions, and Old Bay, of course) and garlic and cheese drop biscuits. This delectable meal was my reward for getting that eyesore of an A/C unit out of sight and safely hidden in my closet, paying my rent and mailing off bills, and for tidying up the kitchen.

After that I attempted to watch "The Philadelphia Story," but got interrupted by a phone call--I lost my steam, temporarily, for cinematic pursuits, so I went on a long leaf walk. I collected some real beauties to decorate the foyer table.

I did finally finish the film, and have to say that I am loving these 40s era screwball romances. Hello Cary Grant! Now I undertand what all the fuss was about.

Michael and Sarah are on their way--We're going to Rita's for one last gelatti. This is the last weekend they're open until the late spring. Seasonal delight! How fitting to have a final taste on the night we all fall back...

Say one nice thing about the opposing political party and mean it.

In the most recent issue of Baltimore Magazine there is a featurette on a documentary of sorts in which an organization for political change attended both the DNC and the RNC and filmed several hundred people (some more famous--in the political sense--than others)saying "one nice thing" about the "other" party and meaning it, supposedly.

Just now, I am reminded of that couple, both political pundits, whose names I can never recall. One of them is a rabid democrat, the other a rabid republican--and they are in love. I think that is beautiful, but I wonder how it works...either way, more power to them!

With the country's most important election mere days away, I just want to acknowledge that among my set of friends there are many differences in political opinion, some of them overarching in theme, some of them granular and hair splitting(for the record, I love all of you the same).

Because I don't want my blog to be used for partisan politicking of any sort, I will say something good about both Democrats and Republicans. I appreciate and respect the "pick yourself up by the bootstraps, with hard work and determination you can do anything, everyone deserves a leg up" mentality of Democrats. I support the party's commitment to the arts, social programs, and their legacy of caring about the comman man. I respect the Republicans' historical commitment to putting action behind words--Lincoln led this country in an unpopular war, freed slaves, and aged the psychological equivalent of 20 years in the space of 4, only to die just when he might have enjoyed coming out on the other side of the horrors of war. I also respect the idea that the government should not be involved to a ridiculous degree in every element of citizens'lives.

As for the Libertarian, Green, Populist, and Constitution parties. I salute your efforts to buck the two-party system, emphasize change outside of the box. We need you, whether or not we know we do.

One final note... VOTE!

My COAT ARRIVED!!! (that would be the replacement, overnighted coat. the original one has vanished without a trace.)

His Girl Friday

I have several classic films in my Netflix queue, one of which was Cary Grant's and Rosalind Russell's "His Girl Friday," made in 1940. I watched it last night (sandwiching "Smallville" in between viewings)and was very impressed with the comedic depth, timing, and substance of the film. I also received "The Philadelphia Story," which I believe I will save for Saturday morning (some movies are Saturday morning movies, have you noticed that?) and "Lost in Translation," which I will watch tonight.

I have been pushing the echinacea hard for the last couple of days. I feel my immune system wanting to cave due to the stress I've been under and the lack of a good night's sleep. Last week's ailment was neck tension. Now, in the course of the last day, I've developed a painful sore on the back of my gum, which usually happens when I'm sleep or vitamin c deprived.

Well I'm off to read the news. There was a deadly shooting along my bus route yesterday. By the time I left work it was over and done with, but my bus driver had to detour a bit because a solid block was taped off, reporters and cops scurrying about...

After giving it "serious thought" the artiste has decided to accompany me to a poetry reading in early December. It's a student reading given by those who are at the thesis stage of the program I'm currently in. The idea to ask him to come along to something like this first dawned on me months ago--I was thinking of the various museum jaunts that he invited me to come to--and how much I appreciated participating in those outings with him. It seemed to be a great way to reciprocate and share something that is important to me, with him.

Upon the initial broaching he was less than enthusiastic--not caring much for poetry in general, having made an exception for my work. We had a frank discussion in which he asked me why he would want to go to such a thing, and I told him that from my perspective it had nothing to do with his interest in it, primarily, but had more to do with how important it was to me. I assured him that it was okay if he didn't want to go, but that in that case, he should just say no, not simply ignore the question. This was a very good-natured exchange in which I tried to make it clear that I was trying to include him, but did not want him to acquiesce if he was not inclined to do so. He said he would e-mail me.

I heard nothing from him for about a week. I almost e-mailed him to let him know that I was removing the pressure by rescinding the invitation, but I didn't. I think it's important for people to have to account for themselves, to have to say yes or no to direct questions...I didn't want to preempt my right to hear his response.

In any case, he called me about another matter yesterday, and in the course of that conversation he relayed that he has decided ("after giving it a lot of thought") that he would attend--provided the invitation was still open. So, we are going... but I hold to these questions. Just what was there to think about? Where is the gray area in "do you want to go to a poetry reading?" I guess it's just foreign to me when people have to weigh things like that, because I know immediately if I want to/will do something or if I won't/am not interested. His deliberation gave the whole situation such an odd weight.

Ah well. Just another chapter in the very weird book of this friendship.

I turned in my paper on The Woman in the Dunes during the class break, and for the first time, I had to go right up to the instructor and speak to him about a practical matter... a new, relative intimacy, however academic, given that up to that point our entire relationship consisted of the comments I've made to the class as a whole.

I said nothing during the discussion tonight, not having finished the book (because I didn't connect with it very much). I missed some hand outs last week, so the instructor gave me his books to read between tonight and next week.

The Haves and the Have Nots

The Writing Seminars Students at Hopkins (the full-time, extremely competitive counterpart to my part-time M.A. in Writing program, program) give weekly readings on Monday evenings. Last night's was the first I attended with my Poetry Workshop class. The reading was held just two floors up from where my PW and Lit classes usually meet, and it was readily apparent upon entering what the other difference is between the two degree tracks. Being a full-time grad student means sitting in oak-paneled rooms that have paintings on the walls. It means sitting in comfortable chairs. Downstairs in the dungeon of the majestic hall where my lit and poetry classes are held it looks like something out of "Welcome Back, Kotter!" or any other generic high school sit com.

My PW instructor actually brought this up. She is a former Writing Sems student, and also taught in the program after she graduated, so her comment was not coming from a bitterness at being left out. And I bring it up here, not so much because the difference bothers me, personally (at least I don't think it does), but because it says so much about how the University feels.

Maybe it's okay to differentiate between those who are paying thousands more a year, who made the cut into one of 5 slots that are available per year (Fall admission only), as opposed to those admitted via rolling admission, into a significantly less competitive program. You get what you pay for, I suppose.

Some things happen on schedule, thank God. I came home to find that my windows had,indeed, been replaced. The old, jerky vintage ones replaced with well-sealed, fluidly opening and closing ones. It was probably 10 degrees warmer inside when I came in than it would normally be these days. Last night, it was downright frigid. Additionally, I had both of the ac units removed, so that will also cut down on the draft.

I put everything back in order after I got in from class tonight, and feel more centered now that the paintings are back on the walls, the couches uncovered, and the curtains rehung.

In another stroke of good fortune, the elevator in my building was also fixed--so I didn't have to schlep my self and my belongings up 4 flights of stairs as I have for the last couple of days.

I am presently calling up the vendor daily to ask them where exactly my coat is. I set it up so that it would be sent to me at my job, figuring UPS would be the courier, and knowing the delivery would be impossible to miss that way. Well, this company uses an ineffective 2-party system. The postal service via DHL. Clearly, someone's cousin works in somebody's office, and that's how they got harangued into going with that outfit. I paid about 15 dollars for shipping on a coat that supposedly got delivered via DHL to the post office 5 days ago. It has yet to make it to me. I called the post office this morning and was told that I should call back tomorrow if I still don't have it. I tried to stress to this person with whom I spoke that an unreasonable amount of lag time had already passed.

The reps at the vendor's headquarters are making an effort at being helpful, but it is clear to me that it has not yet dawned on them that they are culpable since they have a significant amount of my money, and I do not have their product. The whole thing has been stressing me out. If I don't have what I ordered by Wednesday, I will be asking them to send me another one, free of charge, overnight.

Dismantling

The management company who owns the apartment building I live in is replacing the windows. Translation? Move everything you care about, even remotely, as far away from your windows as possible. Essentially, I have stripped my living room down to bare bones, have filled my "foyer" with G's paintings, my end table, photos, curtains, curtain rods, etc. I have pushed my couch and love seat as far away from the two window units as possible, covered them with sheets, etc.

As for the bedroom, I have similarly rearranged things, shifting all the furniture to one side of the room. The small bookshelf that holds all my cds is now in the hallway between the bedroom and the foyer. It looks like I've just moved in, or that I am preparing to move out...

What this inconvenience (for the sake of progress) has shown me is that I have come a long way. As I was forced to remove the layers of personal touches I've added to this space, I see just how much of my own vision I have brought to the picture--this apartment is really infused with my personality. So many little things I'd lost sight of...things I collected out of context, not knowing just how well they would all come together to form the picture I'd had in my mind, but could not previously articulate.

I hope that by this time tomorrow I will have been able to start putting it all to rights again. Due to a scheduling glitch, my poetry workshop is meeting tomorrow instead of on Thursday (my class is going to go to a reading that is being held on campus). I will miss my beloved UPN line up and the time I could have invested in tidying up my place, but it will be nice to shake things up a bit. I'm getting too used to my schedule... too stuck in my rut of routine events.

Maybe my coat will finally show up. I can't wait to wear it with Catherine's scarf.

You are Inspiration Soup!! You live to Inspire
those around you with your green beany, white
chunky, red soupy goodness. Many have come and
lit candles in your honor. You've inspired
them to become better people. Thank you,
Inspiration Soup... thank you.


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An Understanding

A man pulled up to the corner of the street where I wait for my connection bus. He was poised to make a right hand turn, but was forced to wait for a stopping point in the flow of traffic. His little girl, with skin the colour of cinnamon, bright, clear eyes, and such an open face, made eye contact with me. I smiled at her, remembering how much it meant to me as a kid when I could get an adult I didn't know to smile--as though we shared some kind of secret. I know that many children have been trained not to engage strangers in conversation or eye contact, but when I waved to her, she waved back. We smiled at each other for nearly the entire duration of that red light that kept her father waiting.

Skipped

I had planned to bail on lit class tonight so that I could work on my novel. I know that sounds irresponsible, but the way I figured it, I'm in a writing program. I didn't have the heart to even think about venturing out in that cold, spitting rain to discuss a book I didn't even finish (Season of the Migration to the North). Well, in an ironic plot twist, I didn't go to class tonight, but not for the reason I laid out earlier. Toward the end of my work day I started experiencing muscle twitches at the base of my neck. There was no way I was going to class or working on my novel. Basically, I slept on my love seat for a couple of hours after taking a medicinal coke and vanilla vodka. A few hours later I took some ibuprofen, and now I'm on my second cup of tension tamer tea. Am finally fanning up a bit.

Today was a lousy hair day for me. I managed to get to work on time (yesterday I overslept), but was miserable for most of the morning--just too tired to think. I'm going to bed in about 15 minutes--a momentum of soothing beverages, over the counter tablets, and sleep are the only things that keep my tension at bay.

Oh, and new coats.

You are chill!


What kind of techno music are you?
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Super Size Me

I finally saw this docu today--twice--once with Sarah this morning and again this evening with G, who also wanted to see it. I'm by no means a fast food junkie, but I have always loved McDonald's...and I wasn't under the impression for a minute that it was a good choice, nutrition wise, but after seeing this film, it just made me feel that having even a bite of the fare will send me to my grave. I'm not saying I'll never partake again, but it grossed me out, like, totally.

I watched Mystic River on Saturday morning. Sean Penn's public politicking I sometimes find vexing, but I respect him as an actor very much. Even the usually forgettable Tim Robbins gave a credible turn in his role, and I was pleased that he (and Penn) garnered an Oscar for the performance.

At Target on Saturday afternoon procuring Michael's present (his b-day was friday; his party on Saturday evening), I also ended up scoring a new wallet and a beautiful velvet pillow and throw blanket with tassels on clearance. Today I went grocery shopping and I am so happy to have a stocked fridge and cabinets again with things like scallions, leeks, cheddar cheese, double spiced black chai, black beans, and garlic and cheese drop biscuit mix.

Now when my coat comes, it'll be nothing but bliss for at least a week. When I told G that I got it, he said 'oh, this is the coat you've been pining for...' and I was all like 'yeah, worse than if it were a man....'

I'm balls out for the balance of 2004.

All in Good Time

I bought it!

Time: After Poetry Workshop
Place: The boudoir
Lighting: Overhead/Bright
Listening to: "What a Good Boy" (Barenaked Ladies)
Avoiding: Writing out checks for bills

Well I seem to be out of the phase in which I need to watch "Down With Love" every day after work. Sometimes I go through phases where obsessive repetition comforts me. For me, that movie represented putting the 9 to 5 behind me and believing in a glossy, happy ending for an hour and a half. My love for this anachronistic film is by no means gone, but I don't need to pop it into the DVD player for a while yet.

Setting up Netflix threw my bank account into temporary peril. As is sometimes the case, when you sign up for a free trial, but need to use your credit card (or check card, as was the case for me this time), the funds are not actually removed, but they are held in abeyance for a period of time until the merchant releases them (they do this to ensure that you can actually afford what the service will eventually cost). Well, I don't technically start paying Netflix for 2 more weeks, but the "holding" of the funds meant my bank account was reading negative 9 dollars for the last 5 days! This doesn't always happen, and I didn't think of it until too late. Anyway, the money was "put back" today and I was back "in the black." I'm so glad tomorrow is pay day.

Mostly I can't wait to grocery shop. I've been existing on peanutbutter and other "desperate times call for desperate measures" fare. I ran out anything that might constitute a viable, filling meal on Tuesay. If it hadn't been for Gordon's willingness to share his dinner with me last night, I would have gone hungry. I hung out at his place watching TV (syndicated sit coms in the early evening) then we went to his art studio so I could check out something he wanted me to look at, and then back to his place for Smallville. I am such a martyr... If he hadn't asked if I was sure I didn't want anything twice I would have just waited till I got home at 9:15 to eat something meager.

Tonight, I chopped up a zucchini, sauteed it in olive oil, salted and peppered the discs, then put them into a pot of butternut squash soup with melted cheese. Delish!

Reaction to my poem I workshopped tonight was helpful, constructive. And to think, I didn't really feel like going.

You are purple. What a romantic person you are.
You're sentimental and forward-looking (those
are opposites.). You're a sophisticated and
refined--with a refined taste for chocolates and
wine (yum...). Tempermental and moody, you let
people know when you're angry. But other
times, you just sit and sulk. Alone. When
around people, you're a generous person, with
insatiable needs. You're a starving artist,
basically. You're enjoy getting into debates
over politics and religion with people of the
same intelligence as you. But you know they
can never convince you otherwise, you stubborn
person, you. As a unique person you are (not
to mention just a tad bit eccentric...)
well-liked by either a few people, or too many
people...


What color are you? (Amazingly detailed & accurate--with pics!)
brought to you by Quizilla

This morning I read a story about James Earl Jones's commemoration of his silent years. Apparently, he did not speak for 8 years in his youth due to a marked stuttering pathology. Yet another indication of adversity paving the way for an even greater gift. I am also reminded of Maya Angelou who did not speak for nearly 6 years (I believe) in her youth due to extreme grief over the fact that she was sexually abused, and she has become a prolific writer and poet,possessing a rich, distinctive voice, one that has been heard by presidents and common men alike. Toni Morrison's voice is one of my favourites to hear--crushed velvet, jazz, not raspy, but textured and deep.

Civic Responsibility

My name has been drawn for jury duty several times, but in every instance, until now I've been ineligible due to having moved from the province in which I was being summonded. In truth, I was always relieved. I saw the idea of serving on a jury as a burden, a complete interruption of my own routine, etc. My name has been drawn once more, and this time, there is nothing to prevent me from answering the call. I mailed in the jury participant questionnaire this morning, and will now wait for the city of Charm to let me know when to report for duty. I'm actually looking forward to it, and have no plans, as I had in the past, to get myself excused by coming off very judgmental and biased against whatever crime for which the suspect was being tried.

Today I signed up for free Netflix trial.

Disappointment

I had hoped to travel to Upstate New York to visit my sister--the other sister--the one barely mentioned on my blog because geography and a chasm of different experiences separate us. She invited me, along with my mother and a family friend, to come up to visit her in her apartment in NY next weekend, and it was really important to me to go. But, financial and time limitations make the trip impractical at best and irresponsible at worst. So, I had to call up my sister and break the news--over voicemail.

She called me back tonight to express her disappointment and to ask me why I can't make it. I just feel like I am destined to let that girl down in one way or another. She said she understood, and I believe that she does, but I don't know if she understands how much having a relationship with her is a priority to me. You wouldn't exactly know it by my actions, or the lack thereof.

I feel out of joint in general. My day of working at home was productive, and class tonight was fine (though a class member did get a bit testy during the critique of her poem), but I feel as though I'm at odds with my desires.

I talked to g yesterday--I called him just to check in, and it was the conversational equivalent of what I imagine awkward, rote sex would be like. You hit the mark, sort of, but at the end no one is particularly satisfied and you end wondering what the heck it was supposed to be about. Would it have been just as well to do a crossword or unclog the gutters?

He was somewhat distracted because he was trying to parallel park just when I rang him up, and I do give him credit for calling me back later when he wasn't in the middle of something to finish our conversation--but I realized (again) that we may have hit our ceiling here--or rather, I have hit mine. At the risk of being too predictable in my assessment, how different is this from Kafka's nightmare? Or, the "song that never ends"?

I'm not saying I don't want him in my life, but to what end is he there? I am somewhat relieved that I currently feel an active attraction to another man, but simultaneously defeated to think of it being just as unlikely to come to fruition as the one with the artiste (as he shall henceforth be known). Somebody stop this crazy thing!

I guess I just have to hurl myself off and hope for a not too harsh landing.

Category XI - The
Quidnunc

Though you don't fit in, and your social graces are
sometimes lacking, people like you because you
have all the information. Now, who won the
Nobel Peace Prize in 1952?


What Type of Social Entity are You?
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I'm boring


why is YOUR livejournal annoying?
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You are Schroeder!


Which Peanuts Character are You?
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A long time lover of personality quizzes, and inspired by a friend who was doing the same, I took the EHarmony Peronality Profile this morning. It is free,and is to be primarily used to find "love matches." Of course there are ways to avoid that element, and I have. I tagged my profile as "do not share," so it will not be shared with anyone that I did not personally e-mail my results. Of course I sent a couple of girlfriends the skinny, which was impressively accurate (I thought).

I did find it a bit offputting that they ask you to assess whether or not you are sexy. Of course I said "not at all," because I don't think of myself as "sexy." I think of myself as being intelligent, witty, artistic, etc. Anyway, I also showed a marked lack of interest in physical fitness, so I can imagine now the men they think would be a "good" match for me. Maybe it's a problem that I am always attracted to men, physically speaking, that are out of my league.

I'm looking forward to working from home tomorrow. I have a lot of content changes to make,and that kind of work is best done uninterrupted by ambient office blather and theatre of the absurd antics. Since Thursday is a class night, I'll be extra relaxed having benefitted from ambling about in my own surroundings all day. Dinner and evening prep will be very unhurried.

And tonight... I'm excited about tonight... Smallville will be on, which is now a weekly staple. What's more, I've discovered that by leaving work a scant 10 minutes earlier, I catch an earlier bus to my connection stop, which gets me home about 35 minutes sooner than usual! You can't beat that with a stick!

The Wonder of Tofu

Due to some budgetary snags I've had to do some economizing recently. Yesterday, before leaving work, I did some grocery shopping at Whole Foods--I was in "tide me over" mode--being low on supplies and not having lots of extra cash. In any event, I suddenly remembered tofu! Last night I pan fried seasoned tofu with baby bella mushrooms in butter and then tossed the mixture into some pine nut couscous. It was delicious. As most of you know, I love meat, and about this I am unapologetic, but I didn't miss it last night.

Am making satisfactory headway with The Woman in the Dunes by Kobo Abe--the next existential crisis on the syllabus for 20th Century World lit. These books have all been excellent so far, but I am so tired of the theme of [hu]man's powerlessness against an unseen, indecipherable beauracracy!

Monday night is a prime television watching night for me, and none of my shows disappointed...something else I'm unapologetic about? My love of a good situational comedy. I want to explore the theme of "The Modern Day Sit Com as a Kafkaesque Convention." Yes, Franz is still on my mind. Clearly, he's my conceptual lover this fall. Kafka, everyone. Everyone,Kafka.

Because I love this movie...

See new link to the right.

Morale Booster

(Hey, quizilla would not lie!)

Definitely! Someones gotta crush on you! It's
Obvious that this guy likes you, so stop
doubting it! If hes a little shy and hasnt said
anything, maybe you should be the one to make
the first move (If you feel the same way of
course). If you dont feel the same way, and he
has already told you that he likes you, tell
him how you feel in the nicest way possible,
after all he was brave enough to tell you.


Does He Like You?
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Now on to more serious matters....


You are the most important person in his life. He
would do anything to see you smile. Actually,
he would be the PERFECT boyfriend. Always
getting lost in your eyes, always treating you
like a princes and always saying a joke to make
you laugh your head off while he smiles at your
hysteric laughter. Yup, he is the person you
were destined to fall in love with.


What kind of boyfriend would you have?(with pics and obviously for girls^^)
brought to you by Quizilla

Okay, now really...

(I mostly liked the graphic for this one, though I don't think my result is accurate, per se)


You represent... apathy.
You don't really show any emotion. You can be
considered cruel and cold, but you just don't
really care about anything. This is just the
way you are... you're quite a challenge to get
close to, and others may perceive you as
boring.


What feeling do you represent?
brought to you by Quizilla

It only took 5 months...

From the time I inherited Sarah's old DVD player till now for it to be working along with my vcr, without the aid of router I bought. I have had two others attempt this feat, and the deduction was always that I needed some other cable or chord. I was ready to just buy a DVD-VCR combination (because I have enough films on VHS to merit the presence of a vcr for a while yet). I was convinced that there was something fundamentally peculiar about my television (which is definitely new enough to be dvd-compatible), et al. that made getting these three machines to work in tandem impossible.

No, not so. Sarah came over and inside of 10 minutes gave me the ability to watch a dvd in my livingroom on a normal sized screen while sitting on my couch. Don't get me wrong; it's nice that my computer can play digital video discs, but it was lame to have to watch one with a friend on my 15-inch computer screen a few weeks back.

So, once again, Sarah has done what no one else could with about a third less effort. She is now, and shall forever be, my sensei of all things electronic, financial, structural, etc.

In other news, woke up to go to church, but ATM snafu meant that I could not withdraw cash from either the corner cafe or the corner deli. Since I take cabs to my place of worship, I need actual money on Sunday mornings. I have never had the great misfortune of both of these unreliable ATMs being out at the same time. So, I just came back home and put in my last load of laundry (that I didn't have the energy to do last night). I am feeling out of sorts because I have lost a favorite article of clothing. I probably left it in St. Mary's City at the hotel a couple of weeks ago...

Grey Turtleneck

It is definitely cold this morning. I am wishing I had just bought that leather coat now, but it really is too late. Other things came up, the two and three times over that I could have bought that coat, and the moment has passed. So, today, I am wearing the grey turtleneck that is my favourite underneath my basic black cardigan with khaki pants and comfortable brown, slip on shoes.

I boiled the leftover coffee in the karafe (from what I made before leaving for class last night) and drank it over the course of my bus commute, slowly, the way I best like to drink coffee--and listened to Jill Scott wrap her voice around the topics of sex, old boyfriends, problematic relatives at a family reunion, and politics.

Now I hear the consistent ringing of a hammer on steel as construction workers pound a new structure into place about a block away. What will this day be like? I wonder...

Picking a Winner

PW was much better tonight (for me, personally). I'm having a love-hate relationship with the class, but am trying to consider the weaknesses in my poetry that it's forcing me to face instead of feeling superior to my classmates for what I have dubbed their "preoccupation with linear progression."

I picked a poem to workshop tonight that was very simple, difficult to misconstrue--so that the critique could focus on the language and the structure of the language.
I got my professor's comments back on the quatrain I submitted last week. She felt that it was a good start, but noted several weaknesses. I couldn't have agreed more. It was forced and wobbly, but that's to be expected. Writing in form (at first) is like learning to write in cursive. Your first attempt is definitely something, but it looks like crap.

Is it time for the weekend already?

I am much better rested after taking a mental health day yesterday. In so doing, I missed some fun office hijinx (morale-improvement exercises), but I'm not upset. Being in my own space yesterday did me a world of good. And all my water-damaged goods are dry and in fairly usable condition again--even that book for my class. I was going to just buy a new one,but the one I have currently is still readable. I cannot afford to shell out 12 dollars for something I just spent 12 dollars to buy.

Speaking of money, I need to go and mail my bills.

In other news, the romance novel is coming along. My characters have "done it!"

Water Logged

The rain went from nuisance to nasty bastard as the day wore on. By the time I got home (another late bus in the afternoon), I discovered that the Appelfeld novel that we will be reading and discussing next in 20th Century World Literature was completely soaked. Apparently, I had not zipped my tote bag soon enough, and a significant amount of water had gotten in, even under my umbrella (maybe from my umbrella, who knows?) The two cds that Gordon gave me for my past two birthdays were in that bag, and their inserts are also swollen with rain, not to mention my leather butterfly purse, which is water stained. I just spent some time blow drying the book. It seems to have helped some, but the damage is done. I don't even know if all of the pages will separate once it dries. I'm tempted to feel pissed, but I know it was my own carelessness that is the culprit. Items that were in zipped compartments stayed dry, and are in perfect condition.

About four people were missing from class tonight--it was truly despicable weather in which to be traveling. The only way not to get soaked is to stay inside. The discussion was okay, but I felt out of sorts. I contributed to the conversation, but didn't feel as much "on fire" as I did last week.

I thought I detected some low grade flirtation between the prof and a woman in the class--definitely on her end anyway, just before we got started. I felt a twinge of something. Perhaps low grade jealousy to correspond to their mild, but palpable attraction. Now that I am writing this out, I see that my reaction had to do with the fact that I felt very validated by his affirmations of my points last week and to see him nonverbally validating another woman made me feel that my experience was undermined somehow. It's textbook...

London Fog

What a wonky morning! My first bus was late (you knew this story would involve a late bus, didn't you?) so I missed my connection, which costed me 15 minutes of just standing around waiting in humid, foggy, rainy weather on the corner of St. Paul and Biddle for the next one. All told, not so bad, I was a mere 15 minutes late to work... but, I get to work, and there is no creamer for the coffee, which means no coffee for Kate. Arrgh! If I want coffee (and who are we kidding? I do want coffee) I will have to leave my cool, dry office to go and get a cup from Whole Foods.

I am not looking forward to having to be out in these miserable conditions tonight, but there may be something romantic about discussing the Kafka finale on a rainy night... or, it could just be annoying. Either way, I am making a vow that I will not leave my umbrella in class tonight like I did before. I left behind my really awesome one, that someone made off with directly, of course. Well this one is a London Fog, and I'd rather get to class sopping wet because I left it at home than lose it.

In other news, I am eating a pumpkin bagel and it's delicious.

I got together with a friend and former roommate yesterday that I probably shouldn't have. She is one of those people who belongs in the category of those with whom it is not easy to interact for long periods of time. It was not particularly organic to schedule this time. This was at least our third attempt to get together this summer, and while on some level, I very much wanted to see her, I anticipated not having the patience for the encounter once it was underway. I should have left well enough alone.

She is a well-meaning person, but there is an old imbalance in our friendship from earlier days in which she was mentally tortured and confused about her life, and I acted as something of a sage to her perpetual apprentice. Not because I am a sage, but more just someone who gave her advice based on very common sense. Nevertheless, this is the structure we have in place, and I don't like spending time with anyone anymore if there isn't a balanced dymanic, where it's not a mutually beneficial exchange. It's exhausting. When I said I needed to wrap up, she was concerned that we had spent the time talking primarily about her. I assured her that I had shared with her everything I needed to share, and that I did not feel disappointed. I didn't feel disappointed, because my expectations were lined up with what actually came to pass. And if I thought it might have been different, I knew the moment she asked me about grad school and my classes, and then cut across me to ask if I'd seen her old boyfriend, that things were going to be par for the course.

Victoria and Michael and I were discussing this issue just on Saturday. There are those that you really want to let drift quietly to the outer edges of your life--not out of malice, but out of deference to the natural ebbs and flows of human interaction.

I am trying to be much more discriminating about how I plan my time these days. For years, I kept people in my life when I knew that the relationship had run its course, but I was propelled by some maladjusted guilt to keep drowning associations afloat. In any case, what I've taken from last night is that it's okay, even right, for me to guard my time better.

Rrrring Rrrring...

For the last 24 hours, in between visits with friends and doing chores, I've been busy attributing specialized rings to some friends' and family's phone numbers in my cell phone directory. I've been trying to pick ones that fit the individual's personality, or that somehow create an auditory association with the person. As Sarah put it, I'm getting "way too deep with all this," but what can I say? I'm a goober that way. I love my Jazzy default ring so much, though, that if someone is not a frequent caller, I just left his or her setting on that one, since I'll never tire of hearing it.

Speaking of friends, I hung out with Victoria and her husband yesterday afternoon. We went to dinner at the One World (which was yummy; I may have to remove the strikethrough from the link!) in honour of my birthday. We weren't able to get together sooner because they were in Paris on my birthday proper. Just looking at their photos made me want to see that city. Unlike many people I know, I don't have wanderlust, or a desire to see many places in the world, but Paris, I yearn for without question. They both agreed that I would love it.

Among the three very thoughtful presents Vic and Michael brought me, coasters with vintage French ads on them, was one. They so nicely complemented the equally French and classy Champagne label coasters Sarah gave me just yesterday! Anyone who has visited me in my apartment knows that I was lacking these, and it was something of a minor irritation to me that I had to place dishtowels under people's cups and glasses to protect my coffee table. Also, it just didn't look very sophisticated.

I am just finishing up toast with pumpkin butter and a mug of creamy, sweet coffee. Another old friend is visiting today from Philadelphia, and I have some things I need to accomplish, like showering and reading and tidying before I welcome her.

Autumn Weekend

After procuring a new phone, Sarah and I went back to her place, got some Chinese food delivered, and watched "A Mighty Wind." This morning, we woke up, dealt with some boxes she needed to empty of packing peanuts (thousands of them) and break down for disposal, then we got a little breakfast. We picked up Michael and went to Webber's Farmer's Market in Parkville. I got a couple of miniature pumpkins.

Since I've been home I devoted some much needed attention to my desk unit drawers, which were crammed with crap and unhappy to be in this state. I think I'll have a bit of coffee soon. I had a subpar cup earlier that staved off the deprivation headache, but did not satisfy the craving.

I'll sip happily, and do the reading that's been assigned for Poetry Workshop. I've given myself some assignments. Since imitation is touted as a technique for growth, I'm going to begin with Millay and Sexton. I've already started a notebook of samples. I will attempt one imitation a week, at least.

Maybe I'll get one worked in while waiting for Victoria and her Michael to come take me out for a belated birthday dinner.

New Cell Phone and Other Goodies

The one I have currently has been acting up and acting out its belabored death scene for about a month and a half now. I am so relieved that I'll be getting a cuter, sleeker model in a matter of hours.

I'm listening to Jill Scott's "Beautifully Human: Words and Sounds, Volume 2." I decided to order it after listening to a coworker's copy. I bought Volume 1 a couple of years ago, and found it to be a great vehicle for tapping into the connectivity between poetry and jazz.

I plan to buy a macked out Christmas tree this year. I like tall, full trees, but getting live ones into apartment buildings is a pain, not to mention something of a mess. I know exactly where I'll put it... in my foyer.

Catchka sent me a lovely, luxurious crimson scarf that she knit for me. It is regal and sensual,and I can't wait until it is cold enough to wear it.

Reluctant Superman

The Smallville premiere "party" was more like three people hanging out watching tv, which was fine with me. One of the people Gordon invited had to work that night, and Victoria and her husband begged off at the last minute, having just moved and being exhausted from that experience. So it was just us and one other guy friend of Gordon's.

I did make the banana bread with the eggs G brought over. I asked him for just a couple, which he carefully wrapped in blue, plastic grocery bags. I thought I'd never get to them, there were so many layers. He explained: "I wrapped them really tight because I brought them over on my motorcycle." That struck me as being so poetic, such an interesting visual--to take such care to transport something so fragile via such a speedy, somewhat precarious means of travel.

He arrived first and talked to me animatedly about what a productive day he'd had--he devoted his time solely to his art, and had the epiphany that he really wants to spend himself in that direction only. He thinks he wants to get a house because his priestly efforts will take a couple of years yet. I encouraged him to get a house, because I think that will help his self-esteem,and will give him roots. I was somewhat distracted while we talked because I was trying to mix the ingredients and pour them into my loaf pan without making a mess.

The show, itself, was good. It's going to be a very intriguing season. Now that the Lois Lane character has been introduced, Clark may be able to forget Lana. Part of me doesn't want him to, because I am a sucker for things "working out," between star crossed lovers... but I know that according to Superman Lore, not even Lois and Clark ever really get to have each other. Being so special is his curse, damn it all!

G's friend left soon after the show was over, but he stayed about an hour more, telling me more stories--the anecdote-trading which so characterizes our interactions. At one point he was relaying a story about a friend of his who never acknowledges personal space, and stands too close to people, and hugs for almost too long. He had me stand up so that he could fully demonstrate this principle. Being that close to him that suddenly was weird-- we were so close to each other that we just started laughing. After we stopped hugging, he was trying to mimick some other thing that involved standing too close that this guy had said, and he couldn't even make it through the reenactment. I started laughing too, just because it was all so odd... and I couldn't tell if this was an incredible farce, or if he was just truly that tickled about someone who's main problem seemed to be a lack of depth perception! I'm not saying I didn't like it, but it was low grade surreal. Under normal circumstances, I think I would have felt more "there," but because everything was couched in these minor theatrics, I was trying to take things for what they were.
We were close enough to turn that into so much more, and for a split second I wondered if he would try.

Something about him is so much more open when I'm around him now. I see that intellectually, but I don't know how to respond to that emotionally. I normally feel that we are both on guard--my discomfort with myself is painfully apparent to me when I'm around him. His rejection from years ago is not the proverbial elephant in the room, but I interpret everything involving him through that lens--as though it were a literary construct. I think he and I have such similar wounds. Maybe he wasn't trying to close a gap between us, maybe he was... Maybe there is nothing metaphorical to find here, just the literal action. I am so well practiced at demanding nothing from him, that if he were to offer himself, I don't know if I could receive it.

My groceries were delivered at about 20 minutes before 10 last night (my delivery window was 7-10). I was a bit disappointed that the scallops I ordered were out of stock, but it knocked about 10 dollars off my bill, which I can actually use.

I have been experimenting with writing poetry in form, which I've avoided up to now.
I wrote a piece today entitled "A Quatrain Study." It's wobbly, as though I wrote it with my left hand, metaphorically speaking.(Sidebar: I thought this was apparent, but just to be sure, the poem I posted yesterday was my way of being facetious. That is not a serious effort. I was still a bit miffed by the inane comments of my workshop, but I see now that if I'm to have a productive experience for the rest of the semester, I have to shake it off.)

I am thinking of making banana bread for tomorrow night's Smallville premiere party. Even though I am doing this for Gordon, it seems gauche not to make some offering for people to enjoy. I'll offer coffee and tea, too, obviously. I would love to do more, but ye olde pocketbook won't allow it. Besides, I totally go over board with things like this. If I don't reign myself in, I try to buy things like Seafood Newburg and Lump Crab in Filo dough. Way too much. I get that from my mother--that need to be generous, and also to win love by being lavish. Not to reduce this tendency totally to negative pathology. I like to see people enjoying themselves and having the very best. Some of that desire to go all out has its root there.

Still living and breathing Kafka, and think that I will do one of the three papers I have to write this semester on The Trial.

Poem Without Title, Not "Untitled" As Per Convention

For My Workshop, who would understand this poem

Stop saying the train is a metaphor!
It's real, damnit.
I was on it; it was going somewhere actual.
I really disembarked--
people saw me return.

It is symbolic.
Perhaps that's what you were meaning?
But, it is not the idea of distance.
I rode for miles and miles encased
in steel, hearing the wheels scrape against
the tracks, and true sparks flew.

And when I leaned back I dreamt
the way one can only dream on a locomotive--
lulled, conveyed to destinations where
I was fully expected to show up for real.

[Soggy]Family Weekend

Hurricane systems Ivan and Jeanne created a lot of ambient weather conditions up here in the mid Atlantic region--namely rain, gusty wind, tropical humidity, and tornadoes. My hair did not fare well. I got a fresh cut and style before heading down to DC to rendezvous with my mom, a family friend, and my middle sister, Crystal. Crystal, the dog, and I went down separately to settle into our hotel room--then we made our way to campus to eat dinner with Caryl and her friends.

The rest of the weekend proved to be excellent in terms of bonding, but so many of the campus activities, like the cardboard boat races, were rendered about as appealing as wet sand in one's underwear because of the icky conditions. So, as it turned out, we took a lot of our meals at the campus dining hall, but did our bonding in our respective hotel rooms (Mom and family friend stayed at a different one from the girls and I), and about Lexington Park (the "town" just before you get to the college).

It was a pretty emotionally charged time since one of the subplots of the visit was that Crystal was coming to take her dog home with her to upstate New York. The dog has lived with my mom and Caryl for about three years now. Needless to say, they are quite attached to her. But, this was always the plan. Now that Crystal has her own place, it's time for her dog to resume its occupancy where she is.

Because Crystal is so much farther away than the rest of us are from each other, I struggle to feel connected to her in the same way...and emotionally she has created distance, I believe, as a means of escaping the confines of our family dynamic. She stands in sharp contrast to Caryl and myself... in terms of her choices, her independence, all of it. She's much more easy going in temprament, than either of us, and I see that she is better for it. I've always admired her, but in some ways, she is alien to me. It is one of my priorities this year to make myself more accessible to her. To that end, I am going to go and visit her in mid October in her apartment. I just really want to make that connection before it's too late.

Poetry Workshop was frustrating last night. The first week I felt content to let them pull my offering apart, because I felt that they were doing so with some degree of integrity, and that they did so in the spirit of actually understanding what the overarching point of my poem was. Last night, I did not feel that same acknowledgment of the spirit of the piece--they were just as kind and gentle in wording, but completely daft in their comments. It is workshop protocol for the author not to speak during the critique of her work, and I see the value in that, but during class last night, I wanted to shout "you are totally missing the point! You don't understand my work at all..." If you've ever seen "Annie Hall," there's a scene in which Alvy and Annie are at the movies and some pretentious fool is waxing on about the work of the director of the film. In an Allenesque moment, the director, long dead in actuality, is standing behind this fool and eventually says to him "you know nothing of my work..."

I have noticed that my fellow work shoppees very often misinterpret what I consider to be very basic details. They are so literal minded, especially about the presence of passing time, or the way it passes in a poem. Last night, with the exception of one person, they were stopped by the lack of a title on my poem. Hey, look, I studied under Lucille Clifton, who does not always title her work. It's called innovation, punks! Sometimes the poem does not want a title!

I can understand why my other prof (20th Century World Lit) is so anti-workshop. It's kind of interesting to be taking these two classes at the same time. I typically love the workshop premise, but I did feel for about five minutes last night that it had outlived its usefulness.

The chocolate chip scone I'm eating as I write this is delicious...

I'm trying something new tonight. I am not going to go home before class. I normally allow myself the luxury of spending about 25 minutes at home before I head out. It is during this time that I wolf down something that passes as dinner, freshen up or change clothes totally, and get the stuff that I need for class. Today, I brought what I'll need for class with me, I have nothing at home to eat for dinner, so I'll have to grab it out, and since I am usually a bit dishevled after a vigorous walk across campus, any change of clothes or hair restyling efforts are for naught by the time I take my seat in the circle anyway. I'll see if this works any better. I assumed that going home first would help me to feel an obvious shift or break in my day--and to refuel. But maybe if I just keep the continuum going, it'll work just as well.

I did a mother lode of laundry last night, no pun intended. I am relieved, but it exhausted me. I think I'm just tired from not resting well any night this week, in spite of going to bed significantly earlier than usual.

Deconstructing Josef K.

20th Century World Literature has begun, and with feeling! Lively discussion all around; I talked a lot. Feel that I am once again in my element discussing the impact of the world's shifting paradigm on literature, or vice versa. Simply superb.

I went to bed last night at about 10:30, but still feel that I could have slept for several more hours. I had odd, Kafka-inspired dreams. Once I feel that he and I have an understanding, he pulls some more of his hocus pocus. Once I arrived at work, I realized I was craving a hot breakfast again, so I went over to Whole Foods and got bacon and potatoes, coffee, and Nantucket Nectars's Orange Mango juice.

Laundry will be so much more than a notion tonight. I am almost completely out of clean clothes, I'm going away for the weekend, and I have class on Thursday, so it has to happen.

I continue to be invigorated by the Poetry Workshop. Now everyone's work has been critiqued by the group except one person, but I have high hopes for her work based on the comments she offered up during last night's meeting. Because the Instructor had a scheduling glitch last Thursday, we made up that class yesterday evening, and will meet again on Thursday for our regularly scheduled session. I'm excited to have my work critiqued again--and unless I change my mind, I've already picked a piece to share at the roundtable.

I have finished the assigned section of the Kafka novel, and am armed with a "problem" I want to address in the text--that of societal and relational emasculation and powerlessness.

On an entirely separate note, I woke up so thirsty this morning. I normally don't drink anything until I get to the office, but I woke up craving orange juice. After an unprecedented two glasses, I had a glass and a half of water. I haven't even started the industrial coffee yet...went to the water cooler for a nice tall one.

I'm going over to WholeFoods in a bit for a nice cuppa, and maybe a little hot breakfast too..

Belated Birthday Magic

My time with Gordon yesterday was worth the wait. He got me the most thoughtful gifts--an Aaron Neville standards album, featuring songs like "Nature Boy," which I have always loved--a replica of a French icon cross, and one of his water colours.

After dinner we watched the recent Tom Hanks remake of "Ladykillers." He made an effort to hook up my adapter so that my dvd and vcr can both work through the tv in my living room, but since I was missing a crucial cable, we watched it in my bedroom, on my computer. We both agreed that it was just okay. I liked being with him most of all. We drank Red Stripe lager, which I'd never heard of before. Holy Frijoles is "dry" on Sundays and we couldn't get beer there, so I bought us some from the deli around the corner from my apartment. G chose this because of the "red kick" I'm on a la kitchen appliances, and because he liked the shape of the bottle. This is life with an artist. Selections get made for interesting reasons. It was good though, so no complaints from me.

I have agreed to let him and some friends of his come over on the Wednesday after next for the Smallville season premiere--a show I now watch because of a recommendation from him. I nearly offered him my place a couple of weeks ago when he first told me he wanted to do something like that because I know that space where he lives is limited... but I assumed he would say no. Needless to say, I'm looking forward to it.

He asked me thoughtful questions about my classes, and I was unabashed in my pleasure at being with him. Shortly after he first arrived at my place, I just looked at him and said "I'm so happy to see you." He gave that candor right back to me, and told me that he was happy to see me too. I realized just how much I had missed him lately. I was wearing one of my new shirts, which he expressed an immediate appreciation for. I chose it because I thought he might like it. It is pale blue, with a hint of a green tint, making it a softer version of turquoise. I wore tan, flare-legged corduroy's with it.

There was a point after the movie when I told him about my misadventure with a defunct taxi about 3 weeks ago. One Sunday after church I hailed a cab--a beat up looking one, but bearing the taxi roof fixture, and it stopped. I know that some people drive cars that once functioned as taxis, but if they are not service vehicles any longer, they don't stop. Anyway, this guy did, so I got in. I assessed fairly quickly that I was not in a legitimate taxi,and started to feel ill at ease. I also assessed that this person was not likely to hurt me, so I had him let me out close to my apartment, but not at it, and paid him roughly what it usually costs to go that distance. He had no meter, which was one of many clues that his decision to stop was capricious. In any event, I said to Gordon "I could have been killed; who would peddle your art?" To which he replied "Who would stroke my ego? I would be so lost...but I'm sure the Lord would have protected you and not let anything like that happen..."

So, now he is heading to Florida for a meeting...on the brink of Ivan, and I am hoping that no harm comes to a single hair on his lovely head.

Getting ready to leave for church. I haven't been in about 3 weeks for one reason or another, and am relieved that because I decided not to go away this weekend, I can. There are two services again (during the summer only one at 9:30); one at 8 and one at 11. I was all ambitious about getting to the 8 a.m., but when my alarm went off at 6:30, I shut it off. I was mindful of what I was doing. Why torture myself, I thought? I'll see what the 11 is like, and aim for the 8 another time. In any case, when I get home I need to do some tidying. I'm having company tonight and I wouldn't want my place to be as shabby-not-so-chic as it is now when he comes.

I had weird dreams last night which I'm certain involved an N'Sync concert, taking the metro to my undergrad Alma Mater, and apartment shopping for a new place to live with Sarah. The rent was dirt cheap, but one of the two bedrooms had all the ammenities, and so it wasn't ideal.

Flaked out on Dr. Kafka yesterday afternoon and turned my attention back to the novel I'm writing. Things are heating up.

Today is my middle sister's 21st birthday, and I don't have a valid phone number for her...

That girl changes cell phone companies like some people change underwear. It's bumming me out that she is so unreachable, globally... I will see her next week, but that isn't good enough for me. I can't bear the thought of today passing and her not hearing from me at all.

I just finished writing out checks for all my mid-month bills. I need stamps now, but I can pick some up tomorrow, perhaps. I received my loan reimbursement from Hopkins, so I can pay my credit card company for all the school stuff I bought on my visa. I still have a couple of books to buy for the Poetry Workshop class--but the delay is not my fault. The order was never placed by the campus store, and I didn't know that in time to buy them from someplace else. Good thing that this is not really a reading-intensive class, and that the instructor knows it was a gaffe, so there'll be leniency as communicated in her e-mail to us all.

I've been thinking about the job interview I had on Thursday. I left it with mixed feelings; I don't know if my potential supervisor is someone I can work with or not. I know that an interview is not really representative (for better or worse), but I have learned to pay attention to the subtle vibes that people emit. I'm praying through it. It's not that I've been offered the position, but if I were I'm not certain what I'd say...

I've been watching episodes of 'Curb Your Enthusiasm' and laughing hysterically. What is it about white male angst (Male, Jewish, New Yorker angst to be more specific) that so resonates with me?

Loving the Kafka, which reminds me of an episode of the aforementioned program, or Seinfeld, for which Larry David was partially responsible. Kafka's Trial is seemingly the book about nothing. And it is fabulous.

Kafkaesque

The instructor has given us a lens through which to view,analyze, and decode other 20th century writers he has chosen. We will filter everything through Kafka's Trial. The first 87 pages are to be read by next Tuesday. I don't have my books yet, and have a busy weekend ahead. I am also waiting for the balance of my loan disbursement. I may just have to get this one book for now to ensure I'm prepared with my question/problem to submit for the next class.

I don't have poetry workshop on Thursday, so if I can get this book, it would be an ideal time to get some reading for 20th century done. I do, however, have a job interview that afternoon, and while I'm concerned with doing well, I don't yet feel nervous. Maybe I won't. As I've gotten older, I find that scenarios like that unnerve me less and less.

To go back, briefly, to my instructor. I don't have him pegged (and that's a good thing, since I only have 2 and a half hours' worth of experience with him), but he strikes me as being accessible and open to engaging his students beyond the confines of the classroom. Off to a good start.

Restless

I know I will be miserable when my alarm goes off at 6 a.m., but for now sleep is elusive, and I thought it made more sense to blog than to lie in bed waiting...

I am so keyed up. I received a message from a recruiter at an institution to which I applied; she wants to set up an interview. I called her back and left a voicemail message, but have not yet heard back. So, even though this is great news, and it makes me very happy, the loop is not yet closed, and that makes me feel anxious.

I'm also anxious because I go to my Tuesday night class for the first time tomorrow night... but first I have a day of meetings to make it through, one of which I am responsible to lead.

In an effort to reacclimate to being at home for the last hours of my long weeknd, I made a prototype of volume ii of my autumn mix, but after listening to it all the way through I realize that I have a few kinks to work out. During this process I drank way too much coffee or something, because I am just not tired! And of course, I feel unsettled about that, too. I hate it when things aren't finalized. So close, but so far away.

At least I have a retreat to look forward to this coming weekend, and then getting together with G for a belated b-day celebration on sunday late afternoon/evening.
I know this week is going to be okay once it starts, it just can't start soon enough for me...

A picture's worth a thousand words....

Birthday Bonanza

My morning began quietly, with me alone in my little city apartment just as I envisioned. I woke up at about 8 to hear "My One and Only Love" from "The Gentle Side of John Coltrane" album streaming from my computer speakers. I immediately padded to the kitchen and made tropical vanilla coffee, then went to turn on the shower, letting it run for a while to make sure it got nice and hot.

I put on my favourite outfit--very worn, somewhat torn, flare-legged jeans, my white button down shirt, my big, thin hoop earrings, and my red velvet newsboy cap. I added mascara and shadow to my eyes,finishing with a vanilla flavoured gloss coat over my medium brown lipstick. Then, because it had to be done, I blasted Chaka Khan's "I'm Every Woman," which is the anthem of my 30s, I've decided. At about 11, Sarah and Michael showed up....

I will be posting pictures soon, but I can tell you that I was the recipient of some pretty marvelous presents from Sarah and Michael (not linked is the red currant scented pillar candle and two cool sets of notecards), not to mention these from Catchka.

After opening presents, we headed here for a delectable lunch (I had the shrimp tetrazini).

It's only about ten minutes passed 6 now. I still have six hours left. Who knows what can still happen....

On the Eve of 31

One thing I forgot to mention... there are no men in my poetry workshop class, which is not totally unexpected, but is something of a bummer. A low grade one. Here's to hoping that there are at least a few in my 20th Century World Literature course, which due to the truncated first week of classes, I have yet to attend.

I just gave the Spider Mums some more food; I hope they make it through the holiday weekend. I am dreading coming in on Tuesday morning having to confront their death scene.

As things have turned out, I have no plans tonight, and while I was disappointed by that initially, I can see that it actually gives me an opportunity to clean up the apartment, work on my novel, to nurture myself on my last night as a 30 year old.
I am going to be actively grateful for the fact that I reached most of my goals from last year, and start thinking up new ones. See post from 9/16/03 below:

The Long-Awaited List of Goals (that everyone must formulate shortly after his or her 30th birthday)

I. By this time next year to have my comparably paltry debt [mostly]obliterated.

a. must accomplish this by completely revamping spending habits.
1. must accomplish this by starting a savings account.
2. must support savings account by putting in all money I would otherwise frivolously spend on items with no long-term value.

II. By this time next year to have new furniture that I actually like.

a. new spending habits may or may not facilitate this goal.

III. By this time next year to have settled church membership issues.

a. must accomplish this goal by continuing to pray and visit as many places as possible.

IV. By this time next year to have worked hard enough to get a raise.

a. must accomplish this goal by continuing to work tirelessly at job, being of the mindset that integrity and a solid work ethic are integral to character development.

V. By this time next year to have enrolled in grad program, pursuing an MFA or MA in English Literature/Creative Writing.

a. must accomplish this goal by researching entry requirements and by saving money (see goal I).

Poem as Metaphor

They might as well have been talking about my relationship with Gordon.

The piece of mine that was workshopped tonight was written well over a year ago, and is (was) based on all of the unsettled elements of my relationship with G, the overarching,thematic ones, which are still in place.

The first comment that was made was "something about this poem is so tragic, but I can't put my finger on exactly what it is..." Other comments suggested an inherent formlessness in the piece, saying that it is "hinting at something, but stopping short of saying it outright."

Oddly enough, the class assumed that the author of the poem and her man were lovers, and there was even a place in the language that they collectively took at face value as an indication of us sharing a bed.

By the time all was said and done, there was one part of the poem everyone agreed was the place the poem "happened"; they preferred the concrete ideas from actual memory to the unclear, imagistic ramblings of the speaker, because that is where the man became clear to them... it is a brief section where G's art is alluded to. It makes sense that they saw him unobstructed through the mention of his art. That is where he is clearest to me, and it has always been through our respective art that we understand each other best.

Workshopping always amazes me. How people who know nothing of the facts still get at the truth, because the life of the poem is telling a story... the connotative facts, the subtext.

I took several notes on the piece and have a lot of material to help with revising; I learned what this amorphous friendship looks like to outsiders. Tragic. The poem, the relationship. I'm not sure I know which is which.

I bought some beautiful Spider Mums from Whole Foods yesterday afternoon. I wasn't thinking about them, I guess, because when I walked into my cubicle this morning, I was delighted to find them brightening up my area--as though they were a surprise gift from someone. Sometimes, you just have to make your own joy, and fresh flowers are a wonderful way to do that.

I slept to the backdrop of "The Gentle Side of John Coltrane," The CD Gordon gave me for my birthday last year. It is so soothing, and the the titles of the songs seem to tell a story. "Soul Eyes," "Nancy with the Laughing Face," and "My One and Only Love."

While I worked on the Novel (before bed, obviously) I listened to Ella's "Like Someone In Love," which is the album I gave G for his 29th birthday, which is soothing, but in a different way. These two discs are actually very compatible. I do love Jazz.

My hair is looking good; I asked my stylist to give me a "glorified trim." I needed a cut as my hair was growing out of its shape, but I wanted the full, "moppish" look. The result? Well the men of Baltimore city are in a tizzy. Actually, just the three I saw this morning who gave me appreciative looks. I'm not going to lie. It feels good to know you can turn a man's head at 6:50 a.m.

"I believe in the power of Echinacea to stop a cold in its tracks." Catchka

I went to WholeFoods yesterday, late morning, and bought a box of Echinacea Complete Care tea bags. I felt remarkably better as I drank a cup of it. I had another cup at home last night, and am steeping a cup now. I will drink it before any coffee enters my system this morning.

My stomach was also unsettled last night, to the point that I wondered if I was really coming down with something more than a stuffy head. So far so good. Staved off illness for now.

My mood drastically improved as the day wore on and was made even better by the e-mail I received from the Poetry Workshop Instructor. If her e-mail list is all inclusive, it seems that there are only about 5 people in the class. We each have to bring seven copies of a poem we want to workshop on Thursday. My goodness! It's actually beginning...

I also received a stellar letter from my friend Holly,who sent me part of a promotional advertisement which captured the sentiment of a father's love for his young daughter. She wanted me to know that that is how God feels about me. It was unexpected and delightful. Thanks Holly!

At this point, I'll be enjoying my birthday come what may.

Caught a little of the Republican convention (I don't usually like dog and pony shows, even when it's my party)and was actually riveted by Arnold S's (not even going to pretend I can spell his last name on the fly, first thing in the morning)sentiments. How often can one say that?