heading to the gym soon

the goal is to focus on lifting today with only intermittent cardio. blasts, i suppose. i've gained momentum in TBDF and will soon be ready to start reading ZZ Packer's Drinking Coffee Elsewhere and/or Karen Brichoux's Coffee and Kung Fu.

"even after all this time i can make no case for who we were or what happened."

some assembly required decoder ring that came with The Boy Detective Fails. The quote that functions as the title of this post is from one of the stories I wrote, though.

recap

my meeting this morning went well. the situation would be a good match for me in many ways, though this was only one step in the company's process. and there is one area where my skill set doesn't perfectly mesh with the position, so i'm prepared for the fact that other candidates may emerge who are a more ideal match and who would be more likely to garner second interviews. so, for the next two weeks, i'll be doing some combination of waiting and canvassing the greater baltimore area (gba) with my stats (resume) and hoping to create interest in my skill set in more places (playing the odds). 

as soon as i made it home (my feet pounding from walking in heels on the rain-sluiced concrete), i ate lunch and applied for another job that has potential to be a good fit. i think i'm learning a lot about how to keep moving, not letting my thoughts linger on anything too long...

The [Girl] Detective Fails

i've been reading Joe Meno's The Boy Detective Fails off and on (mostly off) for the last six months. i started it while on a beach holiday early last fall and then my semester dictated that i read and focus on assignments. once i had time again (over the winter break), my mind was on other things. Other books-for-leisure have come between me and "The boy detective," but now i'm giving this worthwhile, experimental, quasi-interactive work of fiction my attention. again, because i suspect that my days of unemployment are numbered (and i am so hoping and praying that this is the case), i need to get to the conclusion.

i need to know how and why he ultimately fails. it isn't for want of trying.

am in a contemplative, yet productive state tonight. it's a tea and honey and chet baker night.

Twitterpated

i've had a twitter account for a few months now, but i'm still woefully late to the party. i'd been thinking of it as facebook, but with only status updates (admittedly, the status updates are the best thing for me about fb), and that seemed like a duplication of efforts.

i wasn't really focusing enough on the constant barrage of sound bite updates element. for an information junkie like me (who hit refresh no fewer than 200 times tonight), well...

maybe it's just the novelty of having snapshots of the thoughts and interior lives of people i'll never meet for real (i only "follow" two people i actually know). that's a huge selling point for this medium and a point of divergence from fb. no pending approvals. just knowing the last thing larry king wanted to pass along, just like that.

i knew it was time to leave my home page when john mayer signed off 'cause that man is a tweeting fool. seriously. no one tweets more. i had this moment after he said he was signing off for the weekend where i felt panicked and a tiny bit bereft...

yeah. i can see that this is going to be a huge problem.

days of leisure

i cannot be certain, of course, but i feel these coming to an end. that is a good thing, really, because it's not true leisure if you can see an end to your money from the place you're standing. thankfully, a number of factors came together to keep me afloat. the DLLR, of course, was not one of these factors.

i've been to the gym every day this week, in fact i went twice on both monday and tuesday. my eating hasn't been as austere as it should be to accommodate true weightloss because i still have too many easter leftovers and holiday candy. but the fact is, i'm marshalling the inner troops.

i'm drinking more water, collecting new music, and pushing for the next thing.

summer, i hope, will be full of promise.

at the root

pharrell williams, half of the production duo Neptunes, producer in his own right, frontman of N.E.R.D, and solo artist is responsible for most of the addictive beats of the latter 20th century and early 21st century, is at the root of most of the music that makes sense to me. the music that i love. part empresario, part skater kid, his finger is on the pulse of what moves the lower and upper torso in rhythmic, synchopated jerks (aka dancing). i once wrote about rappers as feudal lords of the fifedom in this space. Pharrell is no rapper. Pharrell is no singer. He is the architect of any rock/punk/fusion beat sequence that has made you leap from your seat--calling forth ancestors you didn't know you had to make you move. to something. yet, when he sings and he raps, i give instant credibility to the efforts because only the one who understands music from its nascent moment can truly rap, can truly sing. what i mean to say is that he is not simply a singer. not simply a rapper. he is music. i don't know him and he doesn't know me. But I get it. I see the intention behind everything and I am in favour of it.

easter morning

i was at club charles the night before to tie one on with my good friend Cheryl in honour of her birthday, so i was sluggish and disoriented when i heard my text notification at 7:21 hailing the first and only "happy easter" blast of the day. actually, the word "easter" was never used.

the message was from my almost lover and it is much more his style to focus on the general philosophies of renewal and rejuvenation that belong to spring, which is just what he did.

i could barely focus at first. i thought i was dreaming, then i realized that if my almost lover texted me out of the blue in my dreams it wouldn't be with a message about embracing 'renewal.' no, that's not the message i'd have chosen after all this time.

i got up for real when i heard cabinet doors banging and smelled bleach. C was cleaning her bathroom, so i forced myself into a semi wakeful state. there were eggs to attend to...

deconstruction

to quote Cher Horowitz in 'Clueless' "...but this time I would make over my soul..."

good friday

it's friday morning at the baltimore chronicles and i'm feeling hopeful and contemplative. i dreamed i walked into a florist shop i'd assumed was closed down, and inside i found a woman who looked so like my grandmother lillian that i exclaimed aloud. as it turned out, this woman was her daughter--someone i didn't know existed. we agreed to meet up for drinks...

Annie Fogg

i was recently found by an elementary schoolmate on facebook. she happened to post a scan of our 4th grade class photo to her profile pictures last night. not only did i immediately zero in on my 9-year-old self (looking more like 7, really), but on another person. Annie Fogg was maligned by most of the kids in 4th grade, and certainly by many in Mrs. Johnson's class.

Annie's nails were bitten to the quick. Her short, stubby pencils (when she actually had a pencil, it was always a short cast-off) bore teeth marks. She smelled vaguely of urine and unwashed laundry. She was teased mercilessly. Annie was not, from what i remember, a good student.

Our school, like many, had a yearly event generically called "Field Day." Princeton Elementary's school colours were blue and gold, so we were divided up into teams. i believe i was on the blue team (if this is true, i would have been thrilled by my luck at the time--i hated "gold," which i knew was just a glorified yellow).

Annie and i were facing off for the 5-yard dash challenge. My team loudly and rudely encouraged me to leave her in a cloud of dust. Responding to that crowd mentality, that cruelty so often attributed to children, i remember scoffing "she's nothing to beat!"

unbeknownst to me, the gun had gone off while i was trash talking, and by the time i started running, Annie was half done with the dash. i lost shamefully to her.

i think about this several times a year. Not the losing, but how much was at stake for her in that race.

i do not remember myself as a mean child. but i remember being disgusted by Annie, by her smell, by her fingernails... i do not remember being proactively unkind, as a rule.

Annie was prone to getting into fights with boys (she had a brother, i recall, so maybe that felt normal to her) and was disruptive in class. i do remember feeling that because of these things, she brought her treatment onto herself. i felt that she could help it and chose not to. sometimes i felt bad for her. at other times, i thought she should simply change.

it occurs to me now that whether what i said aloud on that "Field Day" was anomalous or not, Annie surely felt my judgment, the silent cringing i did. and that is my shame and my share in this.

Looking at that class picture now, i remember something--if only a vague sense--about every kid in it. and we all look so small. Some of us look optimistic, expecting good things. Some of us appear to be bracing for the worst. Annie's chin is drawn tightly inward, as though someone said something hurtful to her right before the flash immortalized her this way.

i guess what i'm trying to say to anyone who's reading this, to Annie, really, is that i hope she lived past that year (those years?), and that maybe if/when she ever looks at that photo of all of us, that she is forgiving, or remembers it as something only vaguely unpleasant. i hope her life changed.

DLLR Hearing

As of this writing I remain unemployed. As of yesterday afternoon, the Department of Labor, Licensing and Regulation (Unemployment Insurance Division) has set an appeal hearing for May 26th, 2009. Per DLLR protocol, when you want to appeal an agency decision, you do so in writing, by way of postal mail. Apparently, the point of this is so that they can set a hearing date for you far into the future. There's no one there, it seems, who is empowered to read a letter and make a determination based upon the case stated.

I've written letters to Elijah Cummings, Martin O'Malley, Barbara Mikulski, and the Editor of the Baltimore Sun asking for an investigation into this agency and its wrongheaded, deliberately obtuse procedures.

This is such an obviously deliberate stalling tactic on this agency's part. Is there any reason on earth to give me a date two months (practically) from my appeal date and three months from the day of my original claim file other than trying to get out of paying me the benefits?

next stop? Local News.

rainy city

shrimp & guac

tonight after epub i took to the two avocados i bought earlier. i sauteed the small packet of shrimp, scooped the guac into "scoop" tortilla chips and set the shrimp on top of each makeshift bowl. i think i'll make this as an appetizer for my next fete... whenever that is

a wedding

this saturday night i attended the wedding of my mother's goddaughter, and though she is five years younger than i am (we met when i was six and she was just a year old), i was her "first friend." She and her mom moved into the apartment above where i lived with my mom and her boyfriend (who would later become my stepfather) back in 1979 (or late 78). My mom, being the gregarious sort, made fast friends with this young mom and her toddler, and we're still in each other's lives.

I remember carrying this kid around on my back and playing any number of convoluted child-inspired games. How can she be someone's wife? More than that, how is it that she now makes her living as a parole officer? (Frankly, I'd like to get in on that action. I think I'd be great at it...)

the ceremony took place outside, and i found that i was glad of my coat. it was chillier than was comfortable, but in April you take your chances. Seven p.m., I think, is the perfect time for a wedding. Fading daylight. Dusky. It's just inherently romantic. And if yours is a winter affair, then it's full-on nighttime, which holds its own obvious magic.

Between the open bar and the inherent nostalgia, I lost my self-consciousness enough to dance, and went home happy and if not hopeful, then at least not disconsolate.

raining & pouring

it's a rainy friday morning here at the baltimore chronicles, but everything else is the same. it's taking me longer than i'd like to make it through Julie & Julia, but i'm experiencing furious bouts of facebook creativity. life is a trade-off. opportunities are arising. whatever happens next, one thing is clear. i'm about to be really busy.

details shall pour forth as they make themselves known.

My inexplicable anger toward John Mayer

it has nothing to do with Jennifer Aniston, though when i probed my subconscious for an opinion, they seemed ill-fated to me from the jump. i think i've been perturbed because his musicanship is incongruous with his choice in women. i guess i expected something different--not this slew of pairings with women who are wildly inappropriate for him (see Jennifer Love Hewitt and Jessica Simpson).

but when i remember that his personal life, though put forward by the media (and by himself) for me to inspect, is none of my busines and just set my iPod to journey me through one of his albums (Continuum, in this case) i remember something else. the genius (and i don't use that word lightly in the post-millenial way) of the song 'gravity.'

this has been a demoralizing week. 'gravity, stay the hell away from me... gravity is working against me... gravity has taken better men than me...' get at my humiliation in a way that nothing else could.

if that's not enough, push fast forward to get to 'vultures' and think of it as a case study on bird dogging... the hunt. the kill.

'how did they find me here?
what do they want from me?
they've never gone this long without a kill before...'

and

'power is made by power being taken
so i keep on running to protect my situation...'

my inexplicable anger toward john mayer is outrun by my love for the aristry and the gravitas of his folk-funk lyricism.

is it wrong that i just want to tell him if he'd pick a woman on his plane, he wouldn't feel the need to cut and run every chance he gets?

Activism

I wrote to the Honorable Elijah Cummings to stump for unemployment insurance reform. I'm thinking of taking my case to O'Malley's door next. I probably should have begun with him. Perhaps a Letter to the Editor in the Sun?

I'll write to the congressman under separate cover to tell him about the poor organization of the Job fair his office sponsored. He got my vote, now he can read my input.

What a cold, bleak day this was. After an early morning errand, I came home to walk the dog, to follow up on some things, and to go to sleep. A long bus ride (that included a transfer) made me tired and disconsolate. The weather is the likely culprit.

Once C was in for the night, we ordered from Lumbini--the best Indian/Nepalese food in the city.

"china gets broken and it will never be the same..."

i've learned a valuable lesson this week, or relearned it, as the case may be. the specific object of the lesson doesn't matter, and won't be told in this space, in any case. the underlying point is that i should heed first warnings--my own and others'. my old, almost lover once told me that i seem like the kind of girl who would put her desires on hold for the good of others. you do that at your peril. it always backfires.

well, sometimes a good failure is just what the doctor ordered. and to be sure, something has failed. something is ruined.

Shiftless negroes* and the sons of field hands

The Office of Congressman Elijah Cummings organized a job fair that was held today at the Fifth Armory Regent in Baltimore city (near state government offices).

Former coworker The Encyclopedia Veronica and I met up this morning in a spirit of joint industry and purpose to go to this city-sponsored event to peddle our resumes and show off our respective "I'm incredibly employable" faces and can-do spirits. Per the suggestion of the Web notice, participants should "dress for success and bring plenty of resumes." Check. Check. And we were off…

I woke at just a few mintues before 8 and my first thought was to get the Eight O'Clock coffee brewing and the shower head pounding. I was aware of a slight pinching sensation in my shoulder. I must have slept in an awkward position. My sister had just left for work. I could hear the dog munching on her dry food pellets with impressive enthusiasm.

After showering and getting dressed, I took one last gulp of coffee and walked downstairs. I pushed open the gate that separates my apartment complex from the main arteries of the Mt. Vernon neighborhood and saw that the EV was already waiting. I knew the job fair was close, but was unsure of its exact location, so I thought we'd just cab it. EV did know where to find it and suggested we walk. It's a brisk day, but I found myself in immediate support of saving the money and hoofing it—Chunky Mary Jane heels and all.

Just as we passed the corner of Charles & Preston to head west, I saw, in the distance, a n'er do well tenant of my former building—a guy who asked to "hold 30 dollars" a scant week after I'd moved in. To hear the onsite property manager of that building tell it, he did not pay a lick of rent, but instead lived off the disabled woman with whom he was shacking up. Incidentally, he proved to the most vocal, demanding resident in the building. He'd gotten a haircut, I noticed, and was wearing dark sunglasses and a trench coat, like some sort of Inspector Gadget meets Shaft hybrid.

Once he got closer, he said "Are y'all going to the job fair?" We indicated that we were. "It's garbage!" he spat.

EV and I exchanged looks.

"What about us screams Job Fair?" we mused. "Yeah, I mean, what if we were just going to our places of business or somewhere else?"

I told her what a questionable character he was and we pushed on. I went on to conjecture that "garbage" to him probably meant he got kicked out for being inappropriately dressed or not being able to hold audience with potential employers because of his checkered and likely criminal past.

Once we reached the crosswalk to head into the Fifth Regent Armory where the fair was held, we saw the throng. Traffic cops had been employed to help mitigate the cluster fuck. People were detraining the light rail carrying their resumes in translucent portfolios. The EV and I exchanged glances. Apparently, the entire city is unemployed our look communicated.

Finally, the cop motioned for us to cross and we joined said throng. There were easily 500 people moving to get into the building meshing with those who were already leaving. The crowd was overwhelmingly African American and for every person whose attire at least approximated business casual, there were 50 people in do-rags, jeans, and stained t-shirts. Of the t-shirt contingent, there was one man whose shirt bore a slogan that went so beyond the outer boundary of appropriate, that I still cannot quite get over it. "Son of a field negro," it proclaimed.

Even though a dress code was suggested and a photo id required in order to gain entrance, no official was on hand to verify that participants were dressed appropriately or that anyone had any sort of identification.

Once inside (with at least 1200 other people), we started to scope out the booths. Plenty of city government representation. The Deparment of Labor, Licensing and Regulation was there. No, more accurately, there was a sign bearing the agency's name. The station was unmanned. There were no pamphlets, applications, or brochures for passersby to take. Every other company booth's line was at least 50 people deep, and if you chose to stand on those lines, then what?

I took what I thought was a conservative number of resumes with me. I expected to take a lot of business cards, if nothing else, and e-mail any prospective employers with whom I felt any type of professional simpatico. Instead, EV and I looked at each other. "Do you want to try to stand on some lines, or should we wait it out until things drop off a bit, or do you just want to leave and get on with your life?"

We left to get on with our lives.

On our way out, we saw people sitting on flat beds hastily filling out applications, or wandering aimlessly, hedging their chances of talking to someone against making the next light rail back home in time for lunch.

A man with a lisp (who had troubled to wear a suit, poor thing) complained bitterly that no company reps wanted to take the resumes he'd "made up." No one
took resumes at this job fair.

So, what are two ironically distanced unemployed girls to do? We headed to our neighborhood Bistro for an early lunch—The Disenfranchisement Special—and decided that this would make an excellent absurdist French film.

We parted ways at Mt. Vernon Square—EV home to her cat and a nap, and me to the dog.

Disclaimer: "shiftless negro" is an old expression that is particular to African American subculture. Literally, a negro without a shift. No job.

Denied

So, it's as i suspected. my notice from the DLLR came on saturday. due to my inability/unwillingness to work, i'm being denied funds. apparently, taking evening classes and working full-time prior to my lay off is tantamount to a "severe restriction upon [my] time."

i've already posted a written appeal, per the instructions, that clarifies (as I thought I did on the phone with the interviewer) that my course schedule is not prohibitive--that my classes are mostly in the evenings, that i won't have a course load this summer, etc.

i tried to substantiate my claim by mentioning that i already know my fall schedule (which i do), and that all of my courses take place after traditional working hours. i even let them know that my program was created with adults who work full-time in mind.

maybe it was heavy handed, but i stressed that my taxes, for the last 14 years, have gone into this very system, and now I'm in need of its assistance.

i spelled it out. i'm willing to work, and yes, if need be, i would interrupt my course of study, but that it isn't necessary, at this point.

beyond that, i'm trolling a job fair tomorrow, and i have a meeting on wednesday.

as for boxing class, it's out of my league. i need to lose weight and build up endurance in other ways, first. it took four days to recover from one hour of high impact exercise. that's a grim forecast, but it's important to be realistic.

Mint Tea & Honey (before Bed)

I've been on a cooking jag lately (drat! I should have taken and posted pictures!). Last night, I made guacamole and broiled steak (the instant mashed potatoes and broccoli don't count); today, redskinned potato salad and sauteed shrimp. Oh, and for breakfast this morning, I made chocolate chip muffins--albeit from a box. The point is, I've got time to do these things. Cooking for my sister and taking naps is oddly fulfilling.

after memoir workshop today, I had the occasion to talk to a classmate who's been laid off since november. she said she only wished that she'd not spent the time at the beginning being stressed out, that she'd just enjoyed it. Now, after months, she's understandably feeling the need to get herself a situation.

I have one lone iron in the fire, and I don't know if it will spark, or if it will be enough of a spark. I don't know what's best. I do know that I have actually been enjoying the time. I do know that it was best for me to be let go from my old position before I became a complete liability. Things come to the organic--to the right--conclusion. Sometimes we have the luxury of being able to see that in the moment.

This is not acceptable to say, I know, but I have yet to see any jobs that I actually want. Is that terrible? Am I prideful because even though I have just about a month's worth of my old salary to my name, I'm not willing to be an Administrative Assistant, let alone wash dishes or sweep floors somewhere?

Practically speaking, how much less my old salary should I take? At one point do I have to take what I can get, no matter what?

Most days I have the sense that things will be fine. I just don't know what fine will mean in a week. In a month. In a year. I've already given up hope of owning a home by this time in 2010, but maybe in the most crucial ways I haven't made all the necessary adjustments.

Unemployment is still a mystery.

The only thing to do right now is watch The Gilmore Girls Season 7 on DVD and drink peppermint tea w/honey. It goes down just a little easier that way.

Still sore

I don't know what I did in that boxing class on Monday, but the fatigue and soreness that resulted are positively flu-like. I don't know if there was a weird convergence of some actual malaise with exercise fall-out, but man! I just can't seem to get up and going in a real way.

I've been making liberal use of my heating pad and all the naps an unemployed grad student can take, but I'm still not rebounding. A herculean vacuuming effort aside (which may have made things worse), there's been little indication that I have any actual energy levels. Yoga Basics yesterday morning helped to offset the pain, some, but I knew that I needed to stay home and sleep as long as I needed to this morning.

Other than that, the "find a job" campaign is still in full swing. No word yet on the verdict re: my unemployment claim, but I'm still okay. Still making it.

Think I'll make some green tea.

punishing hour

i made it to boxing class. okay, so i knew i was out of shape. i knew that the efforts i began two years ago that led to me being svelte for a time were no longer in effect. i expected this class to be hard.

i didn't know i was so out of shape that i'd feel like i was going to throw up five minutes into the sprinting (up and back), push ups, foot shuffling, etc. "When do we get to the punching?" I wondered. Soon enough.

that wasn't too bad; i like the jab-punch-hook combo best, and found that it was equally easy with the left as it was the right (my dominant hand). i'm sure the punches didn't have as much power with the left, but it didn't feel awkward.

roundhouse kicks were awkward. i am, afterall, the most uncoordinated human being on the planet, but i managed to connect the side of my foot with the bag more than once.

i'd forgotten how pure exercise is, how single-minded it requires you to be when you're really in it. i had only two thoughts during the class: when is this over? and i don't think i can come back. Three thoughts if you count "i think i'm going to be sick."

a television pilot, my almost lover, and lunch at a french bistro

i've always said that mt. vernon is the closest thing baltimore has to new york. in fact, it's often new york's stunt double in films. as i was walking home from some light marketing this morning, i saw a few catering trucks, but didn't think much of it. it wasn't long ago that The Wire crew was in residence, so I took it all for granted. i reasoned that it might well be for some neighborhood to do. whatever.

i've been looking forward to seeing V all week and introducing her the quaint Marie Louise bistro where i find myself more and more these days (all efforts to think like a poor person aside). as we were walking there, i saw the back of his head.

he was far enough away that i had to trot--well, run--to catch up with him, but close enough that in two seconds i was standing in front of him. he was with a friend, a guy i met, briefly, a couple of years ago at a happy hour (the happy hour where my almost lover let me know that we were done, in so many words). after brief hellos there was the awkward standing around on a streetcorner small talk that i like to avoid if at all possible. i tried to hurry the moment along without being too brusque (something of which i am often guilty).

clearly, something in me still wants something from him, but the actuality of the situation is that we have nothing to actually communicate to each other. editing his book gave us a means and a reason for communication, but i can't get past meeting him two years ago, and the subsequent realization (on his part) that it just couldn't happen. it makes me reticent when i actually see him.

it wasn't terrible, the brief run-in. in fact, it was validating in a way. V had no proof that he existed outside my stories, and suddenly, as is always the case, there he was. he always appears out of nowhere, right in my path. she indicated she understood what all the fuss was about.

V and i went on from the corner of Charles and Read to Marie Louise and i tried to explain to her what it is i really want to do now that i am moorless and nothing is really panning out.

on the walk back to her car and my apartment, we noted the presence of a long line of taxis--all marked NYC cab co and scads of crew members and folks with clipboards and headsets. looks like we're standing in again.

when we asked what was being filmed, a dreaded guy in all black said simply "television pilot."

agencies

it's friday morning at the baltimore chronicles and i'm trying to keep the bitterness at bay.

a phone interview with the department of unemployment yesterday left me reeling and confused. because i indicated that i am unwilling to drop my master's program for the sake of full-time employment--with the qualifier that i worked full time up until two weeks ago with my current schedule. i also stressed that after the beginning of May the schedule won't be an issue again until the fall. Summer financial aid is not possible, so I'm free from like May 7 until the end of August to work full-time to their heart's content.

I'll likely be denied, though I hope not, because of a bureaucratic refusal to embrace nuance in interrogation. I can appeal, but I am absolutely frustrated that I have to prove my willingness to work when I've never NOT worked (from right out of college until two weeks ago), and I've paid into this sham of a system for 14 years.

to quote a loony bird of a former colleague: I feel like I'm trapped in something written by Kafka.

I'm starting to feel desperate. Nothing I'm doing is working. I know this is the world we live in now, but I have to figure something out soon.

on other fronts, I am seeing dear V for coffee and such at Marie Louise, the new(ish) French Bistro.

Me & The Dog

i think i know what she's thinking, and i know what she's hoping for. these languid days have afforded me something priceless.

just watching her sleep makes me a better, calmer person. her wants are simple, her striving based in the complete trust that someone--either my sister or me--will meet her needs. when she sleeps, it is artful sleeping. when she wants a game, she comes trotting up, growling in mock agression, batting at my shins. "Chase me! Chase me!" she's saying. she unhinges her jaw, grabs my hand in her mouth, or tugs on my sleeve--hard enough to let me feel the tiniest sliver of her power--never ever enough to hurt. if the game is getting too rough, she self corrects, and i know that her doggie spirit understands the frailty of human skin.

she is tolerant of all the kisses with which i dot her muzzle, all the pressing into her fur of my unadulterated longing to care for her. and she sleeps on while i run my fingers through her fur. she knows i'm there.

she does not have the detached majesty of a cat, but she can sit in perfection. just watching. the difference is that she wants, for the most part, to be near. if i go into a room, it is only a matter of time before she follows. sometimes, she sequesters herself without ceremony. her retreat says "it's nothing personal; i'm just tired."

of course i go in to kiss her, and my kisses say " i haven't forgotten you little girl." she expels a breath. a sigh, really, as if to say "if you must. if you must."

she sees the weakness in my insistence on such constant affection, but does not bedrudge me that need. with her, i am something i can never be with a human being. completely transparent. absolutely no artifice. the simple elegance of her being requires nothing less.

indicative

i had a dream last night that i was at work in some place that i don't recognize from the waking world. my colleagues in this place were weird amalgamations of people i know or have known, but a reigning ambiguity about who they were or what any of us did prevailed.

i do know this: everyone was up for a promotion and got one. except me. apparently, the committee had decided i just wasn't ready.

all quests for industry aside, i can see that i'm cast adrift and need some sort of mooring influence. not structure for structure's sake, but something i can commit to, emotionally, i suppose.

i've been reading an actual book--not listening to it--these days. and that feels surprisingly comforting. physically turning the pages, holding it by the crease. of course, i'm such a connoisseur of audio books now that i can so clearly "hear" it in my head and have opinions on which of my favourite narrators i'd like to have perform it.

C made this tremendous corned beef & cabbage (w/Irish soda bread on the side)for dinner last night. i realized that i have precious little green in the closet. my wardrobe has evolved away from that end of the spectrum, it seems.

Forgot to mention this...

A few weeks ago my youngest sister had a housewarming at her new place. Several of her friends, most of whom I had never met, were there. The mood was fun and festive; a great, young person's party vibe was in full effect.

Then something weird happened. One of her colleagues from the music school where she works said something. I hadn't been "working the room," or anything like that, but I grabbed a seat near this guy, and I must have engaged him in a superficial level of conversation.

Somehow Oprah came up.

For the sake of my story you need to know that this guy is white and that his girlfriend is Indian (not Native American). I believe that their relationship gave him some sense of entitlement where discussing matters of race with strangers is concerned, because he looked right at me and told me he thinks Oprah is a racist.

'Go to your diplomatic place. Don't just get up and walk away,' I coached myself inside my own head.

"Really? How so?"

He went on to explain that two adoptive families with strikingly similar situations were on the show. Apparently, the black family got a ton more air time than the white family. This, he proclaimed, was the one example he could think of, but there were others.

He went on to say that her school in South Africa was a great thing, but "why did she have to attach her name to it?"

So, let me get this straight.

Because she did not anonymously adopt a group of African children (yes, she did legally and fully adopt several), and because she did not anonymously build a school that may well have not gotten off the ground had her name not been attached to it, she's a villain?

Also, just to make sure I get this, I'll reiterate: in one instance, black people got more air time than some white people, so that belies a pointed, targeted socially exclusionary paradigm? Black people, who at one time would not have gotten any air time at all, were priveleged, time-wise, and this is our definition of reverse racism?

I was seething. This is the kind of racist ignorance that actually makes me want to clock someone.

I forced myself to ask him in a measured tone "You do understand that it is impossible for any person of colour in this country to be racist, don't you? 'Racism' implies institutional power, of which we have none, so while it is possible for a person of colour to be prejudiced, we don't have the leverage to be racist."

Let me just say for the record, white people, it is not reverse racism when black people finally get a piece of the damn pie, okay? It is not racism when something is not about you.

And please, as your black friend, let me tell you that 1)you need to make sure you really know the person you're talking to and that you have a real foundation of friendship before you go trying to have a candid talk about race--specifically about a black person or black people you think are racist--at someone's party, with someone who is not white.

2)Just because you are dating someone who is not white doesn't mean you're not ignorant.

3)Consider how you might be holding a black person, or other person of colour (in this case, Oprah) to a standard you wouldn't/don't hold white people on the same level to.

Cause the message I heard is "If you're black and have power, you need to demure and bow and scrape."

Um, somebody hand this moron the memo.

the old 1-2 punch

there's a boxing class at my gym. Crystal and i have talked about going to it, but it's at the brutal hour of 6 am on the most brutal of all days--Monday.

[i know i said i was quitting to save money, but because i missed the window to cancel for April, and paid the last month's fee when i joined, the membership is active through the end of May.]

anyway, of the two of us, Crystal's been way more excited than i have been, but i've still been intrigued. i knew my sister had her eye out to purchase her own boxing gloves (who'd want to wear the ones at the gym? bleah.), and the thought of that made me feel a little like buying my own pair, too.

completely unexpectedly, she surprised me with a pair today. so, unless my body betrays me, it's me and punching bag tomorrow at the crack of dawn.

Good Morning, Baltimore!

Day 2 of Having a Reason to Get Up in the Morning is going well. I'm awake, showered, though not quite completely ready to leave the house; and am excited to meet up with my long-time friend, L, in the Nation's Capital.

I passed through a barrier in my memoir workshop yesterday; I finally gave them what they wanted. A concrete story with no abstraction at all. I actually left there feeling happy.

As far as other good things on the horizon go, this summer is likely to see the return of PLM.

In Search of Industry

in an effort to stave off inertia, i've decided to wake up every morning and get dressed as though i have some place to be. while sleeping in and wearing your pajamas all day are benefits of being unemployed, it gets old fast.

i went to bed at midnight last night and didn't wake up until my sister called me at 8:45 this morning. i managed to get some coffee going and eat a bowl of cereal before falling back asleep on the couch until just before 11:30. I kept trying to wake up, but was so sleepy...

i've been on the grind, as they say, when it comes to looking for work, but i feel purposelessness creeping in. it's been a week and i am fully out of the routine of a working adult. when it's time to go back, whenever that is, the transition will be rough.

packing up the laptop and going to nearby cafes or to the library are one way to redeem the time. i've already planned to travel to dc on friday morning to hook up with an old friend. i'm trying to remind myself that there is ample opportunity in the midst of the uncertainty and stress.

Progress?

Filing for unemployment was a breeze. On Friday, Sarah and I headed to Blacksburg, Virginia to visit a long-time friend of Sarah's. The intention was to have a low key, cheap weekend somewhere other than home. Upon our late-afternoon arrival I saw the voicemail indicator on my phone.

I did not get the temp job because I have never edited marketing material; apparently, it is crucial to have done so in order to be interviewed for the position, so that put me squarely out of options. I had my laptop with me, so I bit the bullet. I don't mean to imply that I considered filing to be beneath me or anything like that; I just didn't want to start the process if there was any chance I would be starting work this month.

Because you have to apply for at least two positions per week and are encouraged to do so immediately, I submitted an application for a job that same night. Tonight, I applied for at least three others. Tomorrow, I'll work on a few others that require samples or mail-in submissions.

In other news, I am going to quit the gym I joined in late january and downgrade the cable (keeping the Internet and going to basic cable so we can at least watch network television, which means we likely won't watch tv at all anymore).

I'm also going to call the financial aid office at my school to inform them of the change in my work status so that my fall/spring aid can be calculated differently. I also want to let them know so that I can potentially get more aid for the summer. Depending on what's available, there may be some reprieve in the option of looking for work, but going to school full-time this summer.

the goal right now is to not have to move out of my apartment, which is conveniently located near my sister's job, my school, and is really the most ideal location for me given that I don't have a car.

starting again

I have joined the growing number of Americans who have lost their jobs due to some come combination of economic downturn and industry crises. i cannot say that it's a surprise that this issue has touched my life--why shouldn't it? why should I be exempt?

So, in lieu of something permanent, I'm going to try to embrace the world of the cobbled together income, for the foreseeable future. I signed up for a free trial with a freelance writers association, I've posted an ad on Craigslist, and I'm posting here. I'm a Writer/Editor for Hire. Tell all your friends.

There's also the possibility of a six-month gig that a recruiter turned me on to. And it would be nice to get that gig as I am not exactly holding any winning cards at the moment, but I am going to learn to think of myself as a grad student first and foremost, and I'm going to make any work I do for the next couple of years serve that priority.

I've always wanted to be one of those people who determines her own schedule, is free to meet people for breakfast on a weekday morning, and who ambles through museums on Tuesday afternoons for inspiration. I'm not there yet, but I'll work toward that accessible dream.

As my old, almost lover would say: What a gift. How awesome.

March 2

Working from home today, not so much because of what's on the ground, but because of what's on the ground, low temps, and the stuff that's still falling. my class will still meet tonight (and I definitely have to go since I skipped last week for a couple of reasons), but I can forego subjecting myself to the Light Rail and its inconsistencies and fragilities since I went to pick up my work laptop yesterday in anticipation of the weather.

it's 5.41 and I can't get back to sleep, so I'm going to power on the Mac, get some coffee going, and see what happens.

Catching Up With The Encyclopedia Veronica

tonight after work I met up with the EV at the Brewer's Art. She left me to pulverize the crab dip with pita points on my own because she'd had an intense medical procedure today that left her unwilling to eat. i had this weird feeling in the BA. I imagined us four, maybe five months down the road, in a full-fledged depression, the bar abandoned--maybe it'd become a location for a soup line instead of the neighborhood happy hour joint.

i've been on a debt reduction/expense cancelling mission of late. it's my way of battening down the hatches. whatever happens, the less i'm paying out a month, the better.

it was good to see my old pal for some solid catching up. i think the martini's going to help stave off the odd malaise i felt settling over me. a few people at the office have been sick and i don't want to be next.

Parallel Realities

Laura Lippman, Native Baltimorean and Baltimore Writer, has several Tess Monaghan novels as well as stand-alone offerings that take place on the very streets I walk, in the restaurants where I eat (or have passed on my walks), and in the places I frequent (Tess "belongs" to my gym, for example). I've listened to several of these via audiobook--and the plot construction keeps me right on the edge of my seat; keeps my breath baited. and Tess has become real to me. The other day when I was on the Arc Trainer, I thought 'Tess was just in here yesterday,' and I expected her to come through the door any minute.

on silver linings

i'd been feeling discouraged, lately, about my prospects for making it as a writer. today, i found out that i won a Maryland State Arts Council Individual Artist Grant in poetry. it was not the top prize, but i still placed, and given how close i was to throwing in the towel on all writerly pursuits, i can't help but see it as a grace from God--as the affirmation i most needed.

it's sunday night and i'm puttering, doing laundry, putting away groceries, and planning meals for the week ahead.

i'm gearing up to make progress in all areas of my life, as much as i can. i'm reducing debt, taking chances, and falling in love with the idea of buying a house by this time next year.

it's my hope to let go of some old ideas, too. i'm going to try harder to have the life i've always wanted. it feels like a good time to stick my neck out.

Moving Day

My youngest sister moved from my mom's place today into a tiny basement apartment (a glorified room for rent) with a friend of hers. it's conveniently situated near all kinds of public transportation, a bustling downtown area in a MD suburb (there's so much she can walk to, including tons of hotels--where I'll stay when I visit her!). The move went off without a hitch. She doesn't yet own enough of anything for a move to be difficult, but even still, it was incredibly smooth sailing. The weather was beyond cooperative. If you're in the dc/balto area, you know we were well above 60. Stellar.

Yesterday was somewhat seinfeldian. We waited (my youngest sister and I) at my stylist's salon because my christmas present to Caryl was highlights. Well, we waited for a while only to find that she'd too recently gotten another chemical treatment and that it wasn't advisable for her to have another so soon. We rescheduled for two weeks from now, left, and proceeded to take care of some other stuff related to moving, etc.

i even managed to get some homework done. i'll finish up some tonight, and then hopefully head to the gym.

Whole Wheat Peanutbutter & Jelly Wrap

I'm at the end of the grocery cycle, so I'm reduced to creative reinterpretations of classics. My coffee's gone tepid, but I'm nursing it dutifully, because that is just my way.

Working from home today to accommodate my 2 pm lecture, so I'm at the dining room table in my pajamas and listening to an audio book (my version of whistling while i work)about a happily married woman who runs into "the one who got a way" at a busy New York intersection.

I've made something of a decision.

I don't want to prolong my time in this master's program beyond the prescribed 3-year period. Taking 2 courses a term is going to add at least a year, so I'm taking one Independent Study this summer to help mitigate the issue. And next fall, I'm taking 3 courses, which will put me in the full-time bracket, regardless of whether I'm in a position to reduce my working hours or not.

I'm doing what I have to do so I can do what I want to do. I read that Denzel Washington and his family use that as their creed. He said something like "I'm not going to have anything to say to my kid about wanting to go to a movie if his homework is done. We do what we have to do so we can do what we want to do..."

Melting

The wonderfully With It Devika Keral breezed into town last night to stay with me because she had an exam to sit for in Baltimore. Being somewhat vapid lately, I didn't realize it was Restuarant Week, but we managed to be seated with no problem at Sascha's and benefitted from the fixed price menu.

Last night after Devika retired, I decided to tackle my taxes. I e-filed a little too quickly and didn't catch one major mistake (and forgot to claim the 32 dollars of interest from my ING direct account), so I went in and added the new information, but I was still showing a refund from the state (if you live in Maryland, you know this is not likely unless you fall below the poverty line). Fortunately, the Feds and the state took the revised information, even thought I couldn't e-file again.

So, even though my fed return is probably right now, another amended State return means that i know owe the state (much more realistic), but the thing is so gnarled that I have to wait until the refund my error yielded hits my account, and then I have to mail it back to them, plus what I actually owe them.

to be on the safe side i'm having a turbotax rep review my federal return to make sure I don't have to send another amended return to them. gah.

I got to bed after 1 (close to 2?), but woke up to have a leisurely breakfast and conversation with my guest before she had to head off to take her test.

She happened to have enough time for a quick bite with me before heading back to DC, and that was that. It was completely effortless to be around her (as always), and even babygirl warmed up to her fairly quickly (the odd growl notwithstanding).

i'm anxious to do my FAFSA for next year now, but I think I need to heed the lesson of being too fast with things. I'll wait to make sure my Federal info is kosher before I proceed.

Yesterday afternoon, I had my second first class of the semester. I've already started reading Autobiography of a Face by Lucy Grealy (our first book) and am looking forward to going back next week. a good sign.

the start of something

Electronic Publishing (the course) is right up my alley. The instructor is a young alum of the MFA program, is fun, accessible, and laid back. this is a very hands-on course, so we meet in a Mac lab. All the machines have names. My computer is MacLovin.

We all started blogs for class and our homework is assigned to us via the blog the instructor set up. I can't wait to go back. This was the perfect class to pair with my memoir workshop (first meeting is tomorrow). I can't wait to become a real epubber.

Spring Semester

starts tomorrow...

my class is from 5:30 to 8. and I'm having groceries delivered between 7 and 9 tomorrow night. oh, and i have to go pick up my crate & barrel delivery from my leasing office between 7:30 and 8 tomorrow morning. i'll check in after all this goes down to tell you how it went.

my obamicon

Shirking

I should have made plans to go to the Inauguration. I should have been at Barack Obama's speech in front of City Hall here in Baltimore on Saturday. I can't help but feel like watching the proceedings on CNN is a cop out and a failure to properly observe history. For the rest of my life, I'm going to be so jealous of people who can say "I was there." I never ever see the big picture.

It's not that it wouldn't have been a logistical nightmare. It would have been. I just can't help but think I should have braved all manner of cold and inconvenience for this moment.

Getting There

I've been home from my weekly sleepover at Sarah's since about 12:30 and am proud to say that a 5-pound loss (my new self-devised food plan is already working)and my new debt reduction plan have both inspired me to get myself in gear. I've snapped out of that insidious, overwhelming funk I was in.

It helped that my day planner and page-a-day calendars arrived late last week (I don't do well without physical calendars to write stuff in and that I have to turn with my own hands). It was powerfully inspiring.

what is more, come Thursday I'm going to finally go ahead and buy new dishes and flatware like I've been wanting to for more than a year now. I found the pieces I want at Crate & Barrel.

had my last in-person HHG meeting last Tuesday; Luke and i will maintain e-mail contact (at my request) for the next month and a half in lieu of meetings because I need to open up my life to accommodate the start of the semester next week.

what is more, Sarah and I planned a weekend away in St. Michael's for the first weekend in March. I was last there about 8 years ago and have really wanted to go back. It's my way of creating something to look forward to in Winter.

All this planning gives me a sense of control and helps me to feel more engaged with my life. It's done a world of good.

Feel like something of schlub for not braving the cold to see Obama in Charm City yesterday, but the crowd alone would have annoyed me. Once I factored in a 9 degree situation, I just couldn't bear the thought.

Instead of being a physical part of history, I chose to do all manner of practical things like go shopping for soap refills, Lysol wipes, V-day gift bags, and toiletries.

Tonight, after chatting with Devika Keral (per our pre-arranged phone date), I'm going to figure out lunches and dinners for the week.

The only night I don't have to worry about is Thursday. My dear E is leaving Baltimore for points south (awesome new job!), so we are going out to eat. I cannot believe a member of the inner circle is leaving. Guess I'll have to visit her. Not that I'm keen to fly after that Hudson River landing.

the goings on

i'm waiting for a grocery delivery (window is 7 to 9 tonight). there is nothing to eat in the house unless you count part of an onion and some cherry tomatoes (which I don't), and i'm starving. in an effort to get the bge bill down, i'm refraining from turning on the heat. i wonder how long this big show of fortitude will last. it is a fact about me that i don't believe i should have to be uncomfortable if it can be prevented at all. i would not have done well in a frontier scenario. nothing involving forging a trail. i can soldier through things--some things--well, not most things.

okay, so the heat's back on...

A Spike in the Numbers

Some months ago I checked my credit score online. It was pretty abysmal. I checked again tonight because I had a sneaking suspicion that it would be better and that confirming that improvement would raise my mood (which is not abysmal, per se, but I digress). It is approximately 60 points higher than it was before. I have moved from "poor" to "fair."

Then I faced the number I had more than a sneaking suspicion would be oh so much higher than before. I haven't weighed myself in months because I've been creeping up the scale. I knew that. I knew that. I'd been telling myself "I won't get on the scale until I've started to lose weight." It became clear, though, that not facing that number was enabling my denial.

my clothes are tight. i don't feel like doing my hair because my clothes are tight. i am heading back to the place i was before back when i didn't think i was worth much.

if you've seen this month's cover of O magazine, you know she's wondering how she could let herself gain the weight back after so many years of struggle and the ultimate triumph over her food issues. I know exactly how she feels.

i see a holistic health person. i had all these good intentions. i did so well for so long.

so that number, too, spiked. not quite 50 points up, but not that far off. i know what to do, but i don't know where to begin.

it would seem that life continues to be a tradeoff.

Happy New Year.

I'm working from home today due to the threat of a wintry mix. It's the sixth day of the new year and so far 2009 feels a little foreboding. it's too much to get into here, but i had a dream...

The holidays were wonderfully calm and full; I have no complaints. When I have downtime, I'm catching up on the entire history of the Gilmore Girls with Crystal, who owns all the seasons, save for the last (soon to be rectified). I did not watch this show when it was a current series and I'm glad about that. I love watching one episode right after the other and not having to wait an entire week for closure. right now we're in the thick of the Rory/Lorelai months-long standoff of Season 6. If you watched GG, you know what I'm talking about...

Right before the end of the year, I completed my second review of the novel. Mr. CE came over to get the manuscript on New Year's Eve afternoon. I made him some hazelnut hot chocolate (w/a hint of vanilla syrup). he watched a bit of a movie while i made a shrimp curry w/jasmine rice for the festivities i was attending later that day.

it's a good thing that classes don't start for another three weeks because i am so not ready to have assignments again. I had almost two weeks off starting December 23rd (through yesterday) and I have found, once again, that it is so easy to fill up one's day with many meaningful things that do not involve work for someone else.

ah, to be independently wealthy.

memoir

next semester, i'm taking a memoir workshop. i'm trying to come up with a good title for my collection of memories. oh, and i'm also trying to determine which period of my life to chronicle. i'm not being modest when i say that my life up to this point has been fairly unremarkable. i mean, the era of Professor Love Muffin was fun and all, but no one's going to want to read about that...

(Heroin) Lean

so, i was in fells today doing some specialty shop shopping. warnings of freezing rain this morning didn't really materialize. it's a balmy 40+ degrees, so i took to the streets (which means i got in a taxi) and hit Su Casa, Ten Thousand Villages, and Sound Garden for a few presents i knew i wouldn't find anywhere else.

in an effort to save some cost, i vowed to take the bus back home. after stopping off at teavolve for a 20 dollar bill breaking latte and mini scone, i headed to the no. 11 stop.

i saw him from a block ahead. from that distance, this man was apparently defacing the posted bus schedule. when i got closer, i saw that he was trying desperately to read it. as soon as i showed up, he asked for my help. once we assessed the current time, i was able to let him know that it would be a mere seven minutes before the next towson bound bus showed up.

on time for once, the 11 pulled up right at 2:23 and i boarded. what luck! the till was busted, so i was able to repocket my 1.60. my obviously high fellow stop waiter boarded after me. the driver had to tell him three times that he didn't need to pay.

then he sat down. it wasn't long before he was nodding off, nearly falling all the way to the floor several times--but he always managed to pull himself up before reaching the point of no return. i'd been making a game of guessing what drug he must be on up to that point.

the lean paved the way for my a ha! yes... the heroin lean.

it's christmastime in the city...

Christmas Time Is Here (Oh that we could always see such spirit through the year)

you cannot live outside of your truth

this sentiment has flown back to me like a prodigal pigeon in the last few days. the question is what is my truth? well, i have a few lower-case ones to consider, such as the fact that my hands are rejecting the powder gel nails i've been sporting since late july. in two weeks i've had as many near misses: the tip of the prosthetic has been clipped in both instances, but my own nail [bed] has been spared. this, i believe with all of my heart, is a warning--one i will heed. i have already made an appointment for tomorrow morning to have them removed.

sarah was not so lucky this week. In fact, when i heard about her misfortune it all became very clear. my soul raised up and said to me "oh, you are SO getting these taken off."

other truths... let's see. going to grad school part time and working full time, this time around, is not really manageable. i cannot stop working, yet at the same time, i am concerned that i need to start thinking, seriously, about what's going to be true for me at this time next year.

it is true that i want to teach at the college level; it is also true that i like my current salary.

here's an uncomfortable truth: my apartment is too small for my life. my sister is an ideal roommate, so there are no "personality problems," but it's impossible for my room to stay tidy. my closet? forget it. it's a mess b/c that's where i've stuffed the guts of my existence.

we had to buy a 2-foot christmas tree because there was no way to accommodate my artificial 7-footer. the upside? the little one is real and immaculate in her fullness. so lemonade from lemons and all that...

so, i need to not have nails; i need to decide to put my money where my mouth is with school and work and live out my articulated priorities; and i need a bigger place (my ability to procure this extra space may be largely determined by career choices and changes/reductions in salary).

in addition to these facts, though, is the one that i can do little about. i am feeling an urgency to get real about my romantic prospects, which are nil at the moment. i feel like i really need to enhance my life with a suitable partnership with the right guy. yet, i'm kinda apathetic about it, too. i guess the term for this is ambivalent...

it is my truth that all hopes aside, my book editing gig did not lead to a reconsideration of a past romantic one. Mr. CE was ultimately not interested. i didn't ask him, i just know. (these kinds of things are real obvious, especially if the guy's already rejected you once.)

now that aside, his book is quite good, and i'm anxious to give it another read once my semester ends (he sent along draft 3, at my request). but i know that there is no credible extension of the metaphor of his narrative to the narrative that was that anemic storyline between him and me.

i dream several nights a week about facing facts. and the thing is, i haven't even been aware of fighting them. but i guess i must be on some level.

finally, my pants are tight. it is an inconvenient truth that i've gained back the weight. demoralizing, but completely my fault.

these are the facts as i understand them.

Thanksgiving Dinner

Thanksgiving so far

6 for Joy (Tag! You're It)

Myndi passed the baton to me, so I am running with it.

The assignment? To:• List six things that I do for joy• Pass the award on to 6 more creative bloggers• Link back to the person who gave you the award• Link to the people you are passing it on to and leave them a comment to let them know...

Here are 6 things I do for joy:

1. make iTunes playlists. i love making soundtracks for novels i read. i love making soundtracks for life.

2. drink wine. it's soothing and sensual. such a simple way to unwind.

3. kiss the dog. she's so unbridled in her affection that i come unhinged with delight.

4. listen to audiobooks/podcasts. being an auditory learner and having a need for relentless stimulation by way of new information/something to react to means i subscribe to a lot of talk shows and check out a lot of books on disc from the library. leaving Enoch Pratt with a stack is good for a week's worth of happiness.

5. make my sister fancy dinners. cooking is one way i express my creativity, and my sister is such a willing, grateful [guinea] pig. ha!

6. go road tripping with Sarah. The Sarah-one is the queen of the long drive. And she understands, better than anyone, how to make the perfect road-trip music experience.

I hereby pass the baton to

Sarah of Always Greener
Veronica of The Encyclopedia Veronica
Catchka of the Indomitable Optimist
Kim of Jackson's Mom
Joyella of Snippets
Barefoot Puzzle of Living Life Barefoot (no link to protect her desired anonymity)

On Dayquil & Theraflu Cocktails

So, i emerged from my slumber fog at about 16 minutes to 10 this morning--far beyond the parameters of "sleeping in." I had been, as the title suggests, taking regular doses of dayquil and theraflu all day yesterday, but took Nyquil before bed last night. I knew that would mean a definite case of medicine head today.

Because the Maryland Transit Administration has proven itself to be unreliable once again, I have been working from home more often than usual. This bug has not been so debilitating that I cannot work, but bad enough that I absolutely cannot go out. My appetite is fine, but I have no taste for coffee (which is always how I know when I've got something).

I'm trying to pull together some threads of thought to make a real, final essay. I stupidly chose to tackle the intersection of race and gender in my own life.

meanwhile, my sister is in a budding romance with a sweet guy. it brings a very nice energy to the apartment, but of course makes my coupleless situation stand out in sharper relief.

Silent Churn

I know I've been MIA since the day after the election, but that's not because of election withdrawal. It's just that the election result coincided with an increase in school work. Being more than half way done with my current semester means I already have my eye on the spring. I've registered for two classes: a memoir workshop and electronic publishing. I also took the step to set up an Indedpendent study for the summer (with my personal essay/memoir workshop instructor).

More exciting, perhaps, is the fact that I've already started to think about my final program project (2 1/2 years before it's due). I'll talk about it here as it starts to take more shape.

An integral part of this mfa is bookmaking--meaning physically making the shape/skeleton of the thing that will house the pages of one's writing. Dogged by a lack of manual precision for the whole of my life, my most recent project in the Creativity: Ways of Seeing class had tried my patience. The books I made (we had to do two) stretch the definition of "book" significantly.

I have already asked about pursuing a digital presentation for the final program project.

In an effort to take some pressure off myself, I ordered my Thanksgiving dinner from Wegman's grocery store. I haven't told my mom because if she thought I didn't have time to do it, she'd insist on doing it all herself, and I want her to take it easy.

Wrung Out

Monday night was like Christmas Eve. I dreamed of nothing but Electoral College maps and Internet Headlines...

I was useless at work all day Tuesday. Like couldn't eat, couldn't focus kind of useless. should have taken the day off after I voted kind of useless. by the time i left my hhg appointment (where we practiced unconditional love qigong, and then he gave me a massage), i was centered and calm, because it's damn hard not to relax after someone attentively rubs almond oil into your skin and tells you "there's nothing you have to do, nowhere you have to be..."

E and Catchka-bell joined C and me for dinner/dessert (election cupcakes) and election coverage. I flipped between stations, but preferred CNN (ABC was a close second). The broadcast was crisp and vibrant. NBC and CBS have this weird matte look that I always forget I hate...

All day, long before there was news, I was frantically dogging all the well-worn Internet paths. I tried to work, but I was seized with the incongruity of my own unstoppable hope and the paralyzing fear that I was going to have to philosophize about the symbolism of Obama's candidacy, and comfort myself that we "came so close..." on November 5th.

E had gone and the three of us continued to watch. None of the Western states (or Hawaii) had come in. Barack was significantly ahead, but McCain was performing, too, so I couldn't get unagitated (I was way worked up again and that blasted number wasn't climbing to my satisfaction). Then the polls closed on the left coast. Wolf Blitzer was all "Obama won Virginia," then he went right into "Barack Obama is the President Elect." Catchka, C, and I just looked at each other. I proceeded to stammer some crazy weird utterances. I think I called/texted some people that I thought would actually be happy...

we took pictures, kissed the dog, and I made cocktails.

McCain's speech was gracious, Obama's speech was just so Obama... Jesse Jackson, someone who's made me a little bothered by some of his comments lately, cried. Seeing Jesse cry, well... Even my annoyance with and at him for some of his more thoughtless remarks melted away.

Car horns blared and honked in celebration as they whizzed down St. Paul Street. I changed my facebook status to tell the world how happy I am.

This campaign took a cynic and made her hope for something different. So, today's challenge is going to be not being useless at work for a whole different reason. If I can't cope, I might just have to cut myself some historical slack and go home.

Victory!

Cast!

Yes. We. Can.

Companion piece to yesterday's post

Swagger!

Open Letter to Barack Obama

Whatever this nation’s reality on November 5th, you have changed something for me. It’s a symbolic change, a socio-psycho-political change that did not begin with your landmark bid for America’s highest office, but that has been better fulfilled by it.

I was put off by you at first—not by you, personally, but like so many, by your youth and your oft-cited lack of experience. That I have pulled the lever or tapped the screen for as many republicans as I have for democrats also meant that my support of your endeavor wasn’t a given.

I am a black woman who has survived, largely, in spite of black men. I have had to define myself outside of the societal parameters that have been imposed on them and that they have imposed on themselves. No one has ever had any real hope for them, it seems. Least of all, me. When I’ve sought validation of my personal worth, I sought in academia, in Faith, in a strong group of women friends, and in myself, but some obscured part of me wasn’t buying it—couldn’t be fully persuaded until I made peace with my loathed counterpart.

Maybe, like me, you have had to deal with people outside of your family who have been surprised or threatened by your intellect, and didn’t want to allow you to think your success was eminent. Or, maybe you weren’t aware of that at all, because it never occurred to you that there was anything about your or your life that was prohibitive. Maybe that is what made you audacious enough to hope.

You represent a real chance, not just for this country in its entirety, to embrace that wonderful, inspiring audacity, but for me, specifically, Mr. Obama, to have my political and personal paradigms shifted.

The way you love the women in your life simultaneously breaks my heart and emboldens my expectations for what I can have. That you were raised and nurtured by white women—that these were the first women you loved back, but that this did not preclude you from loving and choosing a woman who looked nothing like them has healed me. That you picked someone to stand beside you who looks like so many women I grew up knowing and loving has made me believe for the first time that anything has something to do with me.

I have tried and failed numerous times to explain with any modicum of incisive eloquence why I am voting for you without reducing myself to a statistic—just one of the millions of black Americans who are making the same choice (some would presumptuously and wrongly say “thoughtlessly" making the choice). Here is my attempt: You have engaged me in this country’s political dialogue—something I’ve never actually been. Your ideas have forced me to examine and reexamine my own. You have helped me to determine a truth I suspected all along—that I’m neither a conservative nor a liberal, but a moderate. Our views on all the issues are not simpatico, but I’m looking at the bigger picture of who you are. Our views on this much line up: I am concerned about our fatally flawed economy and I am troubled by this war. The cornerstones of your platform at this cross-roads of history and current events have intersected with my deepest worries. I think your policies deserve to be tried and to fail or succeed on their own strength, but they must be given due diligence as much as has been extended to any other presidential hopeful who made the transition to the Oval Office—as I hope you will.

It has everything to do with the fact that you are black. How could it not? Of course this campaign is about race. How could it not be? It cannot only be about this, but the context of our country’s history is inextricably linked to all of the seemingly race-neutral topical points. Why wouldn’t we want to acknowledge that? If your counterpart, Hillary Clinton, had won the democratic nomination, the race would have to be, in part, about her being a woman. And women everywhere would have the inalienable right to count her victory as theirs to share. It is obvious that our nation was finally ready to consider one of these possibilities, or neither of you would have had a real chance. It’s dishonouring to everyone when pundits are either surprised that race is an issue or when they assert that it shouldn’t be. Why shouldn’t it be given a place of honour in our dialogue?

You would not have my vote if I didn’t think you could do it; however much your being a contender might mean to me, personally, I would not be reckless. But I’ve factored everything in, and I actually believe in your candidacy. That makes this election emotional for me.

It’s been hard for me when I’ve encountered those who have indicated that they are voting for you, but who imply that they are doing so grudgingly. I have had to make myself remember that your candidacy doesn’t have to mean to them what it means to me. They don’t have my experiences, haven’t inherited the same broken concepts I have; they don’t have my particular wounds, and you haven’t inspired them as you have me and so many others. For some people, it’s just politics. Had you not won the nomination, I’d be feeling pretty lukewarm about our prospects for governance, so I understand their position, intellectually, though it is counter-intuitive for me.

Whether you win or not, Mr. Obama, you have done more for black women who feel emotionally disenfranchised—for me—than perhaps you intended or will ever fully comprehend. It is not an articulated errand of your campaign to give us as a group a sense of worth, but that is what has happened. You’ve done this on the strength and authenticity of your emblematic life. You have brought dignity and presidential bearing to America’s image of black masculinity and have given me a reason to know that I’m not invisible—that someone like me can be adored from a pure place—that I am not dispensable—that my vote can mean something for the first time in my adult life.

You have not pushed yourself forward as a president only for Black America, only for the disenfranchised minority groups, or for the liberal contingent alone—but as The Person for the Job—who is the metaphorical trope for marrying seemingly opposing factions and producing one whole, integrated, cohesive sense of integrity.

Thank you for believing you had every right to put yourself forward as a worthy statesman—even when I doubted that you were.

close encounters in my pajamas

Crystal and i hosted a game night at our place this evening. about half of our invitees ended up canceling, but our small group still deserved the best hostessing we could provide, so we planned to go to the store for some last minute stuff...

we decided to take babygirl with us. there was no specific plan. after a morning of tidying up, puttering about, and watching Gilmore Girls, I decided it was time to head out. Once outside, we decided to walk up St. Paul and not cross immediately over to Charles. We took some time to discuss it before Settling on our route.

Before leaving, Crystal asked "aren't you going to change your pants?"

I was wearing hot pink, flannel pj bottoms with coffee cups and saucers all over them. On top, I had on a jersey grey long johns top and a bright red t-shirt over it. My jacket? tan corduroy. On my head? a slate grey bandana. In other words, I was not of a mind to put my best foot forward. Obviously, I didn't expect to need to care about my appearance.

There he was. On the corner of St. Paul and Read. I saw him a full block ahead and waved. It took him a second, but he saw me and waved back. He headed over to us.

Yesterday, we made plans via e-mail to get together on Wednesday. He couldn't make game night because of work...

When he got to where we were standing, I looked down at my pants and up at him and shrugged. I didn't look great but I didn't care.

Earlier this week, my hhg told me to invite him into what I want from him. I know that running into him today could be chalked up to probability. we live in the same neighborhood. though i've gone entire years never runnng into him, eventually, because of the few blocks that separate us, I did. I know that.

But I've also noticed that I run into him when something in me summons him up. When I pray to be open to whatever wants to happen...

Helvetica

There was a free showing of Helvetica at the Charles last night. This typeface is so much more fascinating that I ever knew...

Sometimes I don't know which is worse...

I know I told you "regular blogging" would return shortly. This is not it. If like many, you're sick of the election/debate stuff, be forewarned: this is about that.

But, I urge all of you to read and respond to this post. I am pasting two comments (one long one that was continued in a second) from NPR's Web site in response to its "Bradley Effect" item. It is a comment from a supposed Obama supporter, but that is not why I'm posting it. There's so much wrong with it, I'm not even sure where to begin. I'm not posting it because it's an example of ignorance (though in many ways it is). I'm posting it because it gets at the crux of the subversive text of our national conversation on race.

Actually, I don't care if you are sick of the election. You need to read this and get back to me. This is the very thing we should be talking about. You do not need to be an Obama supporter to care about this issue. And if you don't find anything amiss with the sentiments the comments contain, you, especially, should write to me.

Jeff Murphy's NPR comment (Part 1):

This is going to sound mean. For all you black folks out their giddy with the prospect of an Obama presidency, please remember a few things: One, Obama is whiter than most white people. He grew up in freakin’ Kansas with his white grandparents and white mother. Culturally speaking he is white. Two, he was educated in elite, predomninately white schools. Three, Obama’s quest to get in touch with his black side was a calculated step to the presidency, he moved to Chicago to legitimize his blackness, evident in the choice of his black wife, because he knew full well America would not elect a mixed race couple to the presidency. In college, Obama preferred white women but suppressed it. Four, Obama doesn’t give a crap about blacks as a group that need the protection of society. Deep down, Obama has contempt for many blacks who profit from a protest culture manifested in white guilt. He will govern by filtering out all the petty bickering between blacks and white, he will actually be less tolerant of ‘needy’ minority groups seeking special consideration, and only he can tell this groups to take a hike. Fifth, whites can vote for him and feel safe that they are, in fact, voting identity politics. Obama’s midwestern, white family, is the connection that makes whites feel safe in voting for him. And many whites believes Obama’s midwestern rearing has had more of an influence on him than his basic training in Chicago politics and his absentee father. Sixth, everything Obama has done to this point has been calculated and programmed to win the presidency, and he has avoided the Al Sharptons and Jesse Jacksons because he doesn’t like them, not because he’s scared of being labelled too black. Obama has racial bias against post reconstruction blacks they way many immigrant blacks do. Immigrant blacks have nothing but contempt for post reconstruction blacks and hold the view that homegrown blacks choose the excuse of racism to negate responsibility to their families and themselves. Obama’s symbolic carpet bagger status steals the thunder from race baitors who hoped the first black president would be a son of post reconstruction. Obama’s mother took the blue-light special to get Barack birthed on American soil. Obama is a son of the western united state, not the post reconstruction south. Seventh, Obama’s black identity left of a plane to Jakarta when he was a little boy, so his biggest connection to being black is manifested in abandonment. (Con't) [sic]

Jeff Murphy comment part 2:

Don’t be fooled by Obama’s black preacher and his brown skin, these were mere props in his journey that have brought him this far. He will most likely draw on his midwestern roots and identity when he becomes the 44th President of the United States. I, for one white person, am voting for Obama because he appears tired and drained from racial politics, I’m sure he hates it. This is what resonates with white people the most about Obama’s candidacy, we see his apathy about race and it is quite refreshing. He doesn’t give a crap, and this is what endears him to whites. Black pundits fail to understand this because they remain lost in the wilderness of the victim culture. Too many of us are sick and tired of the victim culture, white guilt, and endless racial politics, and this is what will piut Obama over the top to win the presidency. Vote Obama [sic]

Open Salon Article

I appreciated the observations in this piece.

(Regular blogging to return sometime in the near future.)

Green Baltimore

Eco Map

This Just In...

From the Baltimore Sun.

Op Ed piece calling out irresponsible campaigning.

Barack Obama for president, in spite of smear campaigns and lies

Friends, I have, for years, kept this blog from commenting, overtly, on much in the way of politics. It has become increasingly difficult for me to do that during this final stretch of the 2008 election. The video below is one that resonates with me on a number of levels for a number of reasons.

It is no surprise to any of you, by this time, that Barack Obama is my candidate of choice, though I am registered as a Republican. I have always considered my politics to be right-leaning moderate--though for the first 7 years of my voting life, I was a registered Dem. I have always believed that both parties have something to offer. This time around, I am invested in a new vision for this country. I am invested in the furious meeting of history with the future, and if Barack Obama gets elected, I will be able, finally, to fully embrace that dream that was launched on the Capitol steps.

More importantly, whatever happens in early November, I am not going to the back of the bus, either.