Baltimore Book Festival

On Friday, I joined some of the other MSAC Individual Artist Poetry winners at the Creative Cafe tent to read for 10 minutes. I included two new pieces from this semester's experimental poetry workshop (the undisputed highlight of my time in the program to date), and felt quite good about my time at the lectern. I ended up reading just a bit earlier than my allotted time slot, so a couple of friends missed my performance, including Mr. Close Encounters, who ambled up right when I should have gone on.

No matter, C and I had a lovely (albeit quick) talk with him before the two of us went back to our apartment for an onset fall meal of slow-cooked chili and cornbread. Catchka and my youngest sister joined us. Mr. CE had other plans and ambled off to those, presumably.

Saturday, my big day to explore with Caryl while Crystal got in some overtime hours at the office, was productive. We got there just as the festival was getting started for the day, and I immediately bought two t-shirts and some artisanal coffee--Honduran, in this case, from Bluebird Artisanal Coffee.

Wine and a robust all-beef hotdog later, we made our way over to the CityLit project tent where my former poetry professor Lizzie Skurnick and my current favourite writer and Baltimorean, Laura Lippman were paneling a discussion on Lizzie's Book, Shelf Discovery. I purchased "Shelf" at the fair and happen to be reading one of Laura's books now, so I got them to sign my copies (each of their own work). C and I headed off to meet up with Catchka just in time to eat another snack and quit the festivities to seek shelter from the rain, which became quite insistent on falling with some intention.

Once inside, I brewed some of the Honduran Bluebird and set about some homework--bookmaking homework--which Catchka graciously helped me with. Crystal vacuumed, then did homework of her own. Caryl took a nap. The day, grey at the outset, gave over fully to its melancholy bent.

Caryl had heard about a play at one of the city's many independent, small theatres. For want of anything else to do, we checked it out. One nice thing about the Single Carrot is that they give you at least one glass of beer or wine (or soda) gratis. The staging of Eurydice was thoughtful, I felt, and the acting of two of the characters in particular, was wonderfully effective.

Indian/Nepalese takeout rounded out our evening, and finally bed sometime after midnight.

you know you're wearing the right bra

when you don't give it a single thought all day long. how many hours have i lost pulling up cups, stuffing myself back in, and tightening and loosening straps? Weeks? Months if you laid each adjustment end to end?

Zen Breakfast

In Rehoboth this past weekend, I became preoccupied with the idea of purchasing music that exists solely to create a space for meditation and to be, generally, ambient.

Sarah and I popped into some new age-y spa type place where I grabbed a pack of eucalyptus patches for colds and coughs and some O.P.I. nail polish (give me moor!) that is the colour of an eggplant in its prime. I was torn, though, over their varied selection of CDs like "Zen Breakfast," and "Chillounge."

It being vacation, I was primed to spend money I would never spend in my own hometown (and tax free at that), but I still could not bring myself to shell out the better part of 20.00 for a compact disc. I don't buy physical music anymore. Why would I when iTunes has almost everything I'd want for somewhere between 10 and 15 (depending on the album type and release date?)? What I didn't know is whether or not iTunes would carry this kind of thing, but I took the chance and left with just my patches and polish.

On the second day of the weekend, I had a 30-minute "stress buster" massage. Essential oils, ethereal music, and mind clearing stillness reminded me. I needed to find a way to create this kind of vibe at home--turn my apartment into a place of supreme relaxation (hard to do with reality tv always on in the background).

When I got up from the massage table, I felt almost dizzy with calm. And my limbs were liquid.

Before we left this second spa (Sarah had gone the pedicure route), I also purchased some "Blue Oil,"which was demoed on me. It's a natural headache cure and sinus clearer. Much as I was tempted, though, I left the 50.00 Chakra mist behind.

I am listening to Zen Breakfast as we speak. 9.99 at iTunes. and what the heck, Chillounge, too, for good measure.

a new tack

I know it's fall because I have the incredible need to colour-coordinate my drawers, find places for errant pieces of paper, sign all documents, throw away summer's stragglers, work out regularly, drink green tea, and buy turtleneck sweaters.

This summer was mild and the crisp cool of these late September mornings has overtaken the docile heat easily. I have a simultaneous sense of hope and of despair. And in that despair there is the desire to grasp loose threads and make something of them, or to do away with them. So bring on the hearty bowls of oatmeal, and a non-negotiable 10 pm bedtime on school nights. I am preparing for a battle of epic proportions, and I'll need my strength.

Everything is fleeting and temporary and subject to gravity. I am no different.

Yesterday, I felt like the most simple, declarative sentences were punching me in the chest. And I felt afraid—wanted to run for cover—of everything. That is not love, not the disposition toward love. Perfect love does not have fear in it. Perfect love does not want to hide from true things.

I read once that whenever you are afraid, you need to change something. I am summer's straggler. I am my own loose end.

"well, it's not elegant..."

well, it's a cold, crampy morning at the baltimore chronicles and your heroine salimah perkins and her doppleganger, Kate Krupnik are both out of deoderant.

have been reading the first Tess Monaghan novel, Baltimore Blues, and am ever charmed. i wish i could fall headlong into a job where i solve people's subtle and not-so-subtle mysteries all day. my surly, jaded disposition would serve me well, i think.

on birthday parties and web sites

i was wearing something far more low-cut and clingy than i would normally dare--my frame definitely on the zaftig side of the spectrum these days--but felt i had the swagger that night to pull it off. i even wore open-toed shoes. another of my arbitrary fashion No-Nos. well, it's not really arbitrary. i don't like my feet much. but all the stars aligned and i somehow managed to go to three classes after work that week and squeeze in a hair appointment, shopping for the fete, and a pedicure.

i didn't do it alone--Crystal prepared the apartment and carted me around on errands. Sarah conceptualized the menu and came over after work on the 4th and made all the food. Meanwhile, Vanessa, graphics designer whiz kid was hard at work coding www.salimahjperkins.com in time for a b-day release.

as i predicted, i did feel lit from within, but there was a moment when i also felt like a deflated balloon. mr. close encounters left early, ostensibly to support a friend who was performing somewhere on charles street. a soloist. a woman. he said we should get together again to celebrate our (his was a mere two days after mine) and my sister's birthdays, but i wasn't sure if those were words parsed as an apology for having to leave before everyone else...

36

here we go...

when i was 35, it was a very good year...?

about this time last year, i began my second grad program, was planning a vacation with Sarah to the bonnie beaches of delaware, and michael jackson was still alive. i was significantly thinner and had salon nails on the regular because i made very decent money for someone my age who had no one but herself to worry about.

let's see. what are we looking at from here?

year 2 of the grad program. full-time this semester. full-time work too, thankfully, but of uncertain duration. way less money. salon nails proved to be my arch nemesis. there is another beach trip planned, in a couple of weeks, not to mention the charming trip i took with my sisters a couple of weeks back.

i've finally actualized my plans for a web site (finding a designer i could afford who is equal to the task was pretty much the hold up). www.salimahjperkins.com becomes something legitimate tomorrow.

it can all feel like so much circling and eddying, ebbing and flowing, but i guess i'm getting there. wherever that is.

The Art of War

In addition to running a few birthday-related errands yesterday, Sarah and I checked out Ukazoo, a used bookstore in Towson. It's the nicest, most spatially appealing of its kind. Best of all, they serve local coffee gratis, and provide liberal cushy seating. I didn't have a specific purchase in mind when we went. In fact, I didn't even know about the store before Sarah mentioned it. After ambling around aimlessly, I thought of a book that's always on the periphery of my list of those to read "sometime." I looked in what would seem to be the obvious places, but came up empty. The store's computer indicated they had it, but I found myself frustrated when I went to the places (more than one, yes) I should have been able to find at least one of a few versions of it.

In the middle of my search, Sarah called me over to where she was to have a consultation. After giving her my opinion on a few of her titles, I walked off, and tripped on an irregularity in the carpet. My coffee sloshed, and I lurched forward so that I was eye level with Sun Tzu's The Art of War.

I had also hoped to pick up some of the early Tess Monaghan novels, but there weren't any. There were hardbacks of a few of Laura Lippman's novels—some Tess and some stand alone--that I had already read, though. In addition to Sun Tzu, I left with Baltimore Noir (gritty, seamy underbelly stories that take place in the city of sometimes questionable charm), edited by Lippman, The Complete Kama Sutra, and a girl detective story, because I am a sucker for those.

Happy 51!

MJ Birthday Block Party!

one week, two years

one week from tonight, i will be 36. one week from tonight at this time, there will be a party well underway at my house. there may be games. there will certainly be cocktails. i will have had a hair appointment. i will be lit from within by my own sense of self-actualization. my aura will be amber. my energy, undeniable.

it's begun to occur to me that i want a child. two years from now, i'll be well into my plan to have a baby. i have no firm idea of how this will come together, but i know this baby's name.

one week from tonight, my website, www.salimahjperkins.com will be live. Two years from tonight, I will have a book.

post beach musings

my youngest sister turns 24 tomorrow. the three of us girls and the dog headed for the first state, home of tax-free shopping, to catch some waves over the weekend in celebration. i took off work today, and i'm not looking forward to playing catch up tomorrow, but the trip was worth it. i had 147 e-mail messages when i logged into my work account tonight. most of them were cc's, but still.

in other news, i have a meeting directly after work tomorrow regarding my Web site. can't wait till it's up and running.

my own birthday plans are starting to take shape. but first, i need to get through this week. going into the office tomorrow is likely going to be the equivalent of a splash of cold water in the face. but after that initial shock, i'll shake it off and plow ahead.

close encounters on the way home from the grocery store

i gave the bathroom a thorough cleaning, finished up the laundry, and then walked the dog. a fairly typical Sunday (a day for industry and efficiency), except that c has been out all day on a date with her "for the most part" guy.

she did some marketing yesterday while i was hanging out with Sarah, but i wanted to pick up a few more things for the week, and some green tea ice cream for the Mad Men premiere tonight. i also needed a new toothbrush, not to mention drano. i've been bearing with a clogged sink for more than two weeks now. it finally became unbearable.

ripped jeans, a cleanser-stained t-shirt, and a smudgy pink hoodie are my ensemble. nude lips. bare ears. completely unadorned and schmada as Sarah would say.

anyway, i was walking home, very mindful of my ice cream and the heat--still oppressive at this time of day. deep into the narrative of the audiobook i was listening to on my iPod, and pulling my grocery cart behind me at a good clip, i started to imagine the most seductive evening of television watching. ice cream, candlelight, and Don Draper in Baltimore circa 1964.

i saw him first. for a split second i hoped it wasn't him. not because i don't look great at the moment, but because seeing him now, weeks before i am supposed to see him, felt like a violation of something.

spontaneously, i invited him (via evite) to a small gathering at my house scheduled for early next month. i didn't take a moment to consider why i was doing it. per Malcolm Gladwell's Blink, these "in an instant" reactions and decisions are the ones to trust. Besides, an e-mail he'd sent early last month opened the door. i wasn't thinking of it as a "door" at the time, but clearly it was because i had chosen to reciprocate in some way, and this was it.

anyway, it was definitely him. things are rarely convenient. we stopped and talked. in typical fashion, i tried to walk away before the encounter was over to protect myself from wanting it to be anything in particular, but he kept talking. so i kept talking. and it got easier to stand there telling anecdotes, giving the condensed version of my life.

eventually, i made my back home, my ice cream melted in the warmth of the sun, the narrator of my book intoning her internal conflict over the one who got away...

two opportunities to read

Related to the Maryland State Arts Council grant I secured earlier this year, I am reading at the annual Book Festival in the city this year. Another event, this one on New Year's Day in 2010, will be in East Baltimore.

All I can say is that I'm glad I'll be taking a poetry workshop this semester. I haven't written a poem in more than 3 years now. One of those three years was a sabbatical post M.A. degree. The other two years have been about some combination of indifference and trying to break into a new genre: Creative Nonfiction.

I haven't missed school at all in the 3 + plus months of the summer hiatus. I'm wondering how it will be come fall in light of the demands of my full-time, but temporary contract position, to be a student again.

Next week, I'll be doing a 3-evening InDesign crash course in preparation for the Typography class that will occupy my Monday nights starting on August 31st.

what's very clear is that I am going to need to come up with a no-fail organization plan. In two short weeks, if every minute is not accounted for, there will be a cataclysmic back log.

Account Fraud: Why I Love Wachovia

I check my bank balance online every two days, at least, whether I think I need to or not. A few days ago, I noticed about 10 charges to various media outlets--small scale newspapers in a variety of cities--that were obviously fraudulent.

Fortunately, I bank with Wachovia, and they always have my back. Unlike other institutions I've been with in the past, they didn't put the burden of proof on me. They started issuing provisional credits right away and sent me an affidavit to sign so they can investigate in the background. Wachovia did not allow my money or my peace of mind to be hijacked by criminal activity.

What is more, they were immediately compliant with my request to have a new card overnighted to me since I'd been inconvenienced.

I still don't know what exactly happened, but because I'm OCD about wanting my online balance to match the one in my check register, I prevented my rent check from bouncing, all manner of NSF fees, and the continued reign of a thief's terror.

everything's back to normal now, and the temporary snafu probably actually saved me money. i didn't want to do any spending until all the credits were issued and I knew no more fraudulent charges were going to crop up.

it was one of those soul-defining moments

where i felt that my acceptance or rejection of a sub-par situation would be my message to myself and to the universe about my own worth. based on what i knew two days ago, i figured out what would be acceptable to me in a context where someone else was dictating what the parameters are.

i had to regain some of the power i'd lost by recasting the global decision for myself.

once i had decided, it was effortless and i was unconflicted when i articulated what i would be willing to offer and for how long. i was unapologetic when i framed it in the context of the premium i place on what i offer.

peace of mind is the result of my action, so i know it was the right one. i'm done with wearing myself out to achieve someone else's agenda.

my latest conversation with the DLLR began with

"I think this is a clerical error..."

And it was. it's a long story that isn't really worth telling. bureaucracy continues to be absurd. at least the arbiter of my case knew someone in his agency had neglected to do something, thus resulting in his need to telephone me at 10:30 on a Wednesday morning. i'm sure my hero kafka never dreamed the likes of that. or did he?

i am drinking a glass of Educated Guess, a 2006 Napa Valley Cabernet with a vanilla heart and a berry soul.

have not dreamed about michael in many days now, but the idea of him returned to me last night in R.E.M. sleep. It was something sensual and suggestive, I think. right before i went to bed, i followed a link to an audio youtube of recorded telephone conversations of his from 1992. they seemed authentic given the context and the pattern of dialogue. he was talking to a friend and so was completely candid about his desire to love and be loved--to have a real relationship with a woman. in the context of discussing his father, he dropped the *f bomb. that's pretty much where i fall in love if i'm going to.

God help me, but I love it when men say that word in just the right way...

understandably vague

i don't mean to create the illusion of drama when there is none. i'm accustomed to writing in couched terms because this blog was on the radar of a few people, at least at one time, that i worked with and discretion just made good sense.

so when i talk about being open to a change, wanting something different, and having a full heart, it's really just about vague yearnings and being tired from putting in a few long days last week. this is my blog, and i shouldn't self edit, but i'm hyper conscious of how i come across when i fixate on or revisit the same topics too many times.

i didn't want to write that mr. close encounters' book is being reviewed by a publisher and that he wrote to tell me how invaluable my contribution was to the process. he said more than that, but it all amounted to his gratitude for the work i put in. he has no guarantees at this point, but he's being given some real consideration. i've been impressed this whole time with his single-minded devotion to his work. he's more of a writer than i am.

i was too chicken to quit a job that wasn't working for me anymore, and now here i am again. working hard, making a contribution, but not one toward my own agenda. i am not jealous of mr. close encounters. i would want nothing less for him than for his book to be published. in truth, though, i felt something other than gladness for him, but i don't know how to say what that is. and i don't know if it's worth it. i don't know if it means anything--what i want or what i feel.

i am afraid because i need--really need--the job i have now. it is a lot of work and i don't know if the dividends will justify what it will take to do it well. i just hope that i have the courage to keep my ultimate goals at the forefront of my mind and keep fighting for them.

when i was editing Mr. Close Encounters' novel, I worked for hours, after clocking out for the day from my day job, to get it right. I wanted him to have something solid--a strong place to push toward. i'm not so pure of heart that i could completely divorce any hope i'd once had for being with him from that process, but i can say that the truth of what he wanted to convey would not allow that subplot to take over the main narrative.

i have had men tell me before how my invaluable my genius is to the foundation of what they want to do, and that has kept me hanging around longer than i should.

jobs. the hope of love in a hopeless situation. they're both crippling.

i saw myself already signing up to sell my soul to the company store (3 10-hour days last week) and felt my pulse threaten to quicken at the sight of a name in my inbox that i never see there telling me how crucial my efforts were.

and it just made me sad. because it doesn't change anything.

"have you ever wanted to dream about those things you've never known?"

my heart is very full tonight. it's been brimming with a lovely sadness and hope--with grief and with love. i had a spirited meal with friends, two of the funniest, most charming women i know, and i felt a lot like myself. each of us is very different from the others, but something magical happens when we all sit down to talk. we end up laughing hysterically, and something better about me emerges. someone funnier and more eager than i usually allow myself to be shows up.

i feel pretty overwhelmed at my job, and i'm compensating by showing up about 2 hours earlier than normal--just so i can address everything i need to with the benefit of no interruptions. i have every intention of doing well, but i feel crippled by the very real possibility of failure. it's a humbling situation. hard not to feel like i've gone backward. it's hard not to feel like some of my options have disappeared.

is this where i was supposed to be now? another birthday looms. i can see it from here, but what i don't see is how i'm supposed to get there.

why do i get myself all riled up with coffee and complex music before bedtime?

and why am i always just a little too far away from everything? it occurs to me that my days are the recurring dream of near misses and that my dreams must necessarily be my life. either way, a hot mess.