Six months ago I was here, inhabiting the same bone and body. I slinked onto wooden benches and straightened my spine upon seat.
Six months ago I was alone. Sort of. I walked into a cafe, not knowing any better, only knowing that I had to. Six months ago--was I happier?
You're so amicable. Sweet-natured, earnest. Earnest, that really is the word for you. You started a conversation and I--how many times can I rephrase and reword and relive those moments of savor? Do they echo for you? They mold for me and become malleable in my hands.
I can't change you and I can't pretend to stay happy. I can remember happiness and try and grasp at it, but it is not the same as yours, which is genuine. If I was half, you would be whole. I'm sure of it.
By default you make me feel that I dwell in unhappiness. It's not your fault, really. But by being the effing ray of sunshine you are, I am a huddled mask undercovers, whining and weeping. I realize I am no longer that stronghold I once was. Dare I become and utter the word "dependent." Oh you. How do I stay with you when my mind stretches to thoughts of ending? I can't stretch you thin without saying goodbye.
Do I want to end this? Am I sabotaging for greater good? For any good? Who am I saving? I deserve happiness. I want it, like everyone wants peace. But unsettled. How do I break this to you without breaking your heart? How do I do this without breaking my own? Is this not right or is this so right that I have no right to walk away from it?
I don't know. I just know that these oscillations are driving me crazy. I feel for you and I feel daunted and complicated. You say I am difficult and I must agree. How do I do this. How do I fix this. How do I not disappoint both me and you. How do I make this something not lost--by either being content or by losing it without remorse?
I don't know why this is occurring. I don't know how to make it stop. I hope it works for the best. I hope it quells. Really I do.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Chico.
I met you on a Monday morning but saw you on a Sunday. You, standing by the baggage carousel, with your puffy blue jacket, absurdly insulating your california-boy-heads-east exposure. I didn’t really take note of you (you know that), except to see you again at the rental car checkout and again at the hotel.
In a moment so long ago that I crutch on memories, I can no longer remember the details of your stories, the intricacy of your expressions. But I know they sparked mine and aligned so well that they impressed upon me something lasting. I like the way you smell. The way you crouch when you lean over your desk, to scribble something not to be forgotten. The times when we drove through the snow, you distracting my novice navigating skills with your goofy rap-alongs to 95.5 KIIS FM. When I told you something outlandish (word vomit, admittedly) and you smiled crookedly, saying you felt the same.
I have hopes and dreams like the rest of them. And I don’t know if this is one that wisps away with the wind or more realistically, with time. But. But I do know it meant something. And it doesn’t have to mean much more. Because there are realities. And distance. And time.
Maybe in this moment you can read this and know. Maybe realize, if you haven’t already. That--that I am calling to you, in my side-stepping, arm-around-self way, to say that I want a chance. It doesn’t have to be forever. And we don’t have to echo the tales of fairytale splendor or e-harmony commercials. But we can hang on to each other, just for a little bit.
In a moment so long ago that I crutch on memories, I can no longer remember the details of your stories, the intricacy of your expressions. But I know they sparked mine and aligned so well that they impressed upon me something lasting. I like the way you smell. The way you crouch when you lean over your desk, to scribble something not to be forgotten. The times when we drove through the snow, you distracting my novice navigating skills with your goofy rap-alongs to 95.5 KIIS FM. When I told you something outlandish (word vomit, admittedly) and you smiled crookedly, saying you felt the same.
I have hopes and dreams like the rest of them. And I don’t know if this is one that wisps away with the wind or more realistically, with time. But. But I do know it meant something. And it doesn’t have to mean much more. Because there are realities. And distance. And time.
Maybe in this moment you can read this and know. Maybe realize, if you haven’t already. That--that I am calling to you, in my side-stepping, arm-around-self way, to say that I want a chance. It doesn’t have to be forever. And we don’t have to echo the tales of fairytale splendor or e-harmony commercials. But we can hang on to each other, just for a little bit.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Jonsi on a Saturday
I think I’ve found my writing spot and it’s at my hand-me-down desk with my speakers on and legs half bent to my chest. I’ve been eyeing out the coffee shop a couple streets down, so maybe that too will be another writing haunt, at the price of a 4 dollar watery beverage (but exchangeable for Broadway Ave people watching).
This week was a whirlwind. Visitors came and went, work sick days were taken, and well, that’s really all that occurred, but it zapped the energy out of me. I familiarized myself with more of my current city, staking out spots at the boat dock (at the roots of bridges) and at peaks of latent volcanoes. I finally feel oriented in Portland. It’s a shame to leave it so soon, even though a return residency is inevitable.
Anyway. I’ve realized that in spite of my increased ease with solitude, I haven’t fully embraced the idea of being alone and being still. Still. When was the last time I sat and did absolutely nothing? I’ve been making an effort to meditate, even though my body and mind seem to plead for more exciting alternatives. I’ve been compromising by meditating for ten minutes at a time, with hope for lengthier sessions in the future. Here’s to hoping.
Agenda for today:
Listen to music.
Meditate.
Write.
Make headway in Guns, Germs, and Steel
Read a Lorrie Moore story
Work on my canvas of travel maps and ticket subs
Possibly possibly run (aka walk)
This week was a whirlwind. Visitors came and went, work sick days were taken, and well, that’s really all that occurred, but it zapped the energy out of me. I familiarized myself with more of my current city, staking out spots at the boat dock (at the roots of bridges) and at peaks of latent volcanoes. I finally feel oriented in Portland. It’s a shame to leave it so soon, even though a return residency is inevitable.
Anyway. I’ve realized that in spite of my increased ease with solitude, I haven’t fully embraced the idea of being alone and being still. Still. When was the last time I sat and did absolutely nothing? I’ve been making an effort to meditate, even though my body and mind seem to plead for more exciting alternatives. I’ve been compromising by meditating for ten minutes at a time, with hope for lengthier sessions in the future. Here’s to hoping.
Agenda for today:
Listen to music.
Meditate.
Write.
Make headway in Guns, Germs, and Steel
Read a Lorrie Moore story
Work on my canvas of travel maps and ticket subs
Possibly possibly run (aka walk)
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
We hungry like the wolves huntin' dinner, dinner
Kabam! Wapoowww!
I've been under the weather for the past two days, which involved moping in bed (to the tune of seven episodes of Will & Grace) with watery soup cans of mush.
But hey! I'm back! I mentioned feeling sick to my neighbor yesterday and he brought over six bottles of pills. Harmless pills, of the zinc and vitamin c variety, but MAGICAL ones. Or should I say, placebo ones. Anyway, I woke up today at 6 am, an hour before my usual death sentence, and actually did a fist pump because I was stoked that I had extra sleeping time.
My re-found health and energy was further propelled by the blasting of M.I.A. on my way to work. Because really, how can you drag your feet to someone chanting BAMBOO BANGA GET CRACKIN' GET GET CRACKIN'. You just get can't. And so I didn't. And the whole time I imagined she was my kickass personal trainer (except she was in that polka dot outfit from the Grammy's, see below), pushing me to only take one step in each cement square, rather than three miny ones.
I think I'm a weird kid.
I wrote this blog at work so if anyone passed by the comp, I suspect that they suspect that I'm one of those creepers with a thing for pregnant people.
I've been under the weather for the past two days, which involved moping in bed (to the tune of seven episodes of Will & Grace) with watery soup cans of mush.
But hey! I'm back! I mentioned feeling sick to my neighbor yesterday and he brought over six bottles of pills. Harmless pills, of the zinc and vitamin c variety, but MAGICAL ones. Or should I say, placebo ones. Anyway, I woke up today at 6 am, an hour before my usual death sentence, and actually did a fist pump because I was stoked that I had extra sleeping time.
My re-found health and energy was further propelled by the blasting of M.I.A. on my way to work. Because really, how can you drag your feet to someone chanting BAMBOO BANGA GET CRACKIN' GET GET CRACKIN'. You just get can't. And so I didn't. And the whole time I imagined she was my kickass personal trainer (except she was in that polka dot outfit from the Grammy's, see below), pushing me to only take one step in each cement square, rather than three miny ones.
I think I'm a weird kid.
I wrote this blog at work so if anyone passed by the comp, I suspect that they suspect that I'm one of those creepers with a thing for pregnant people.
Shoulda put a ring on it
Yesterday I spent my ten minute walk home listening to "Single Ladies" by my girl, Beyonce. And man, was I feeling it.
My recent move to a new city has involved a lot of new experiences:
People I've met from Craigslist and Match.com (ahhh the Internet) : 2
Plus there was a date with a stranger who solicited me for my e-mail in a park and then asked for my number.
I feel like there's more allowance for anonymity in this city, especially compared to my small college town. So, I take risks. I meet people because there's a lot more of them. I employ the internet if the person seems neat.
So far, it's been lukewarm. After I got back from Europe (almost two months ago) I decided to keep the momentum of people-meeting going by signing up for Match.com I figured it'd be a good way to meet some interesting people (which is equivalent to having funny stories that friends will howl over in the future).
Solicitor boy from the park was sweet. He was harmless, bubbly, and more extroverted than I could ever hope/want to be. Probably explains how he gets the balls to ask girls out in parks. But anyway. We went to a jazz club and off of a musical high, I deemed him dateworthy. There were a few hangups, like the part-time soliciation job, the lack of a college education at 26, and the heavy pot-smoking. But hey, I chalked these up to unnecessary societal expectations and and considered myself immune to them.
Long story short, we hung out a few times and in one instance, he came over and got super high with my neighbor. And then asked for food and then criticized my baking by saying the cupcakes were way too sweet. Occasional high as long as it doesn't impede on your life goals? I can handle that. Getting stoned off your ass to the point of stupidity? Not cool, dude. I spent the rest of the evening feeling like I was around a little kid. Oof.
Last night I finally met a guy from match, who happened to be the ex-boyfriend of my ex-boyfriend's sister. Huh. Anyway, he was nice. He was smart (has a MBA). And besides the occasional glimpse of attitude, he was polite. We ended up at a vegetarian-ish place by my work and lingered a while longer over ice cream. Overall, he was pleasant. He talked a lot about his family, which was endearing. And he's also passionate about coffee roasing, which was a topic I wouldn't normally bring up in conversation. But ah, passion. I learned a bit about coffee and had an ice cream flavor called chazlenut (chai and hazlenut) . He also pointed me in the direction of a grilled cheese restaurant (the idea is you try different cheeses and unique combos for sandwiches) made out of a school bus. So I'll be going there in the near future.
Overall, nice guy. We had a few quality laughs and he has similar interests. But, he freaked out when he heard I was having someone couchsurf, claiming it was just "way too weird" and I got the sense that he's really conservative with his life choices. And there was just no spark there. Sigh. So, good potential for friendship but for the longterm, I'm going to need someone more open-minded.
And so concludes my dating saga thus far. I'm happy that I tried it out and am still willing to keep trying, so that's a good sign. And most of all, I was pretty freaking stoked when "Single Ladies" came on. It reminded me that I'm not willing to settle, not now, not ever--I'm content being with me and just me. Phew!
My recent move to a new city has involved a lot of new experiences:
People I've met from Craigslist and Match.com (ahhh the Internet) : 2
Plus there was a date with a stranger who solicited me for my e-mail in a park and then asked for my number.
I feel like there's more allowance for anonymity in this city, especially compared to my small college town. So, I take risks. I meet people because there's a lot more of them. I employ the internet if the person seems neat.
So far, it's been lukewarm. After I got back from Europe (almost two months ago) I decided to keep the momentum of people-meeting going by signing up for Match.com I figured it'd be a good way to meet some interesting people (which is equivalent to having funny stories that friends will howl over in the future).
Solicitor boy from the park was sweet. He was harmless, bubbly, and more extroverted than I could ever hope/want to be. Probably explains how he gets the balls to ask girls out in parks. But anyway. We went to a jazz club and off of a musical high, I deemed him dateworthy. There were a few hangups, like the part-time soliciation job, the lack of a college education at 26, and the heavy pot-smoking. But hey, I chalked these up to unnecessary societal expectations and and considered myself immune to them.
Long story short, we hung out a few times and in one instance, he came over and got super high with my neighbor. And then asked for food and then criticized my baking by saying the cupcakes were way too sweet. Occasional high as long as it doesn't impede on your life goals? I can handle that. Getting stoned off your ass to the point of stupidity? Not cool, dude. I spent the rest of the evening feeling like I was around a little kid. Oof.
Last night I finally met a guy from match, who happened to be the ex-boyfriend of my ex-boyfriend's sister. Huh. Anyway, he was nice. He was smart (has a MBA). And besides the occasional glimpse of attitude, he was polite. We ended up at a vegetarian-ish place by my work and lingered a while longer over ice cream. Overall, he was pleasant. He talked a lot about his family, which was endearing. And he's also passionate about coffee roasing, which was a topic I wouldn't normally bring up in conversation. But ah, passion. I learned a bit about coffee and had an ice cream flavor called chazlenut (chai and hazlenut) . He also pointed me in the direction of a grilled cheese restaurant (the idea is you try different cheeses and unique combos for sandwiches) made out of a school bus. So I'll be going there in the near future.
Overall, nice guy. We had a few quality laughs and he has similar interests. But, he freaked out when he heard I was having someone couchsurf, claiming it was just "way too weird" and I got the sense that he's really conservative with his life choices. And there was just no spark there. Sigh. So, good potential for friendship but for the longterm, I'm going to need someone more open-minded.
And so concludes my dating saga thus far. I'm happy that I tried it out and am still willing to keep trying, so that's a good sign. And most of all, I was pretty freaking stoked when "Single Ladies" came on. It reminded me that I'm not willing to settle, not now, not ever--I'm content being with me and just me. Phew!
Inspiration
"I’m reading this book called The Craft of the Screenwriter where Paddy Chayefsky talks a lot about that. He says that you have to not think of it as art. You have to think of it as work and you have to go through the misery of it and go back and reread and change the words. He’d spend two years writing a script and then go back over it and make each part better to see if it’s working. It’s pure work. It has nothing to do with inspiration." Michael Cera in Interview magazine
It's 4:30pm n a Saturday and I have been sofa-locked for the past couple hours. Waiting for Godot? No, but close. Waiting for inspiration to strike.
I always thought inspiration was a fleeting, fickle thing, striking hard and fast and then dissipating into thin air. Hopefully, one takes full advantage of the muse and sets to work. On the days that inspiration doesn't come, one is left to go about life as usual and carry on.
Recently, I've been finding out this is not the case. I've been reading a lot of interviews from the Paris Review and a lot of the writers force themselves to sit down and put pen to paper. They force inspiration. They work at their trade.
So, I guess this is to say, that I'll be making a deliberate effort to write more frequently. Perhaps something will come of it--I may learn more about others and on the way, about myself.
It's 4:30pm n a Saturday and I have been sofa-locked for the past couple hours. Waiting for Godot? No, but close. Waiting for inspiration to strike.
I always thought inspiration was a fleeting, fickle thing, striking hard and fast and then dissipating into thin air. Hopefully, one takes full advantage of the muse and sets to work. On the days that inspiration doesn't come, one is left to go about life as usual and carry on.
Recently, I've been finding out this is not the case. I've been reading a lot of interviews from the Paris Review and a lot of the writers force themselves to sit down and put pen to paper. They force inspiration. They work at their trade.
So, I guess this is to say, that I'll be making a deliberate effort to write more frequently. Perhaps something will come of it--I may learn more about others and on the way, about myself.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
First Impressions
So here I am. I'm a freshly minted graduate wondering what exactly the "real world" is and when I'm going to be a part of it. I live in the city, I have a job, and I'm dating. Sort of. Have I reached adult status yet? While I grapple with these definitions (and with myself), here is what I know:
I like to bake from boxed mixes so I can spend more time on the good stuff (decorating with heaps of food-colored frosting).
Some of my favorite moments consist of watching someone else getting it. You know, those moments when you watch someone become completely engrossed in something they're passionate about -- it's inspiring and it's fitting. I love those.
I laugh the loudest with close friends and when I do, it's an awkward guffaw, which provokes disapproving looks from strangers.
I'm a pseudo-foodie. Basically, I like to mosey around interesting atmospheres and eat a lot of food.
My passions are not limited to live music, heart-splitting lyrics, writing, puns, and asking questions.
I'm a homebody at heart although my recent track record (running off to backpack in Europe and staying out late on weekdays) says differently.
There it is and here I am. In contrast to my other blogs I hope this one will be less about certain aspects and more a collective commentary on my life. I'm not that interesting, I admit, but it'll be good to sort it all out on paper....er, on....screen.
I like to bake from boxed mixes so I can spend more time on the good stuff (decorating with heaps of food-colored frosting).
Some of my favorite moments consist of watching someone else getting it. You know, those moments when you watch someone become completely engrossed in something they're passionate about -- it's inspiring and it's fitting. I love those.
I laugh the loudest with close friends and when I do, it's an awkward guffaw, which provokes disapproving looks from strangers.
I'm a pseudo-foodie. Basically, I like to mosey around interesting atmospheres and eat a lot of food.
My passions are not limited to live music, heart-splitting lyrics, writing, puns, and asking questions.
I'm a homebody at heart although my recent track record (running off to backpack in Europe and staying out late on weekdays) says differently.
There it is and here I am. In contrast to my other blogs I hope this one will be less about certain aspects and more a collective commentary on my life. I'm not that interesting, I admit, but it'll be good to sort it all out on paper....er, on....screen.
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