Tuesday, August 30, 2005

I'll Take It From Here.

Can't help noticing that so many things that really scare the shit out of me -- rape, abortion, childbirth, etc. -- are fears entirely dependent on being a girl. Makes me wonder what I would be afraid of if I were a boy. I came up with: sharks, heights, unwanted back hair. But surely those can't be right.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

Looking and Seeing

A few nights ago I was reading an astronomy website for kids which had a special section about studying the moon entitled, "The Difference Between Looking and Seeing." I'm thinking about this a lot now whenever I look out my window at night. It helps, too, that the earth is in its proper rotation for the fall, and now, the view isnt just tall buildings and bare night sky. Now, staring out at nothing and having it stare right back at me, like one of those awful prop windows on a set of Our Town, is the way its been. It's just as spooky with the lights off, I assure you, but also pretty nice, too. If you've looked moonward lately you probably know why: lying still and waiting for sleep while the light worms and wriggles across carpet.

Some other things of note:

A picture of a pretty nice pair of arms.

Tofu Omelettes are delicious. Especially from the Berkeley Farmer's Market.

From an online biography about D. Wordsworth: With her brother Dorothy occasionally played a curious game - they lay down next to each other outdoors, pretending to be in their graves.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

The Birds And The Bees

At nine am, more awake than could have been expected and listening to an archived radio show online about a man who performs what he calls interspecies duets with birds and a woman who fell in love with bees. The latter tells the host the sort of things that maybe only a person in love with bees would know, about how they were once used in warfare (hives hurled via catapults over castle walls) and how beekeepers eventually build up a resistence to bee venom. There's something I really like about the tone of her voice when she says that for right now the stings still hurt, that it will take time, but she's getting there.

After that, the walk to the bank seemed almost worth it.

I deposited my check and stepped into Ross (now, because of a lack of walking distance to others, my favorite store) and purchased a wire wisk, mixing bowl set complete with measuring cups and spoons, Soft Baked chocolate chip cookies for Adam, Milano double chocolate cookies for myself, and spiced Tofu Salad from the coffee shop down the street.

Today has so far been very productive. Without the ever so happenings of wailing my arms in the air and actually accomplishing Nothing.

Sunday, August 21, 2005

Box Of Moonlight

A few nights ago we saw the kind of movie that makes you feel guilty and grateful. Do you know what I mean? The sort that makes you (atleast momentarily) acknowledge that you are lucky, that things are good, or at least that you are not so terribly unlucky, and that things could certainly be a lot worse. My eyes left the screen with my head politely, shamefully bowed, and talked online about my plans to make amends, to be less whiney and more appreciative.

Hours or minutes later, though, and all of that business is right out the window, I'm right back to where I started, feeling sorry for myself about things that are probably not so bad, feeling inconsolable despite the fact that the most urgent of these issues have deadlines, and that they will consequently evaporate in a matter of weeks. Why is it so hard to hang onto that feeling of gratitude, anyway, I mean, why is it so necessary but exhausting to try to keep inside of you?

Once again I drift and melt back into the "I Need A Friend" fiasco of May, June, July, 2005.

Although, for the most part, I find myself walking around level headed and confident, without needing anybody to walk with.

I find myself enjoying my solitude. And so I guess I am maybe and possibly just used to wanting a friend, without actually wanting one.

Well, I'm glad I've solved that. On to the next:

Adam and I just made fries. I should have taken pictures of him peeling the potatoes and getting very in touch with his Irish heritage. Also, no matter how many times I've washed my hands, they still smell like Crisco, which I'm finding out is not such a terrible smell.

Thursday, August 18, 2005

My Night-Fancies.

I confess an occasional night-mare; but I do not, as in early youth, keep a stud of them. Fiendish faces, with the extinguished taper, will come and look at me; but I know them for mockeries, even while I cannot elude their presence, and I fight and grapple with them. For the credit of my imagination, I am almost ashamed to say how tame and prosaic my dreams are grown. They are never romantic, seldom even rural. They are of architecture and of buildings--cities abroad, which I have never seen, and hardly have hope to see.

Lately bushels of dreams, and so many of them seem the same. There's never any plot or point, they're background music, scenery being watched out a train window. Dreams about things that have already happened, things that will to continue to happen, nothing wonderful or calamitous, but predictable and small, inconsequential things I didn't even realize you could dream about, like eating breakfast or watching TV or making up the bed. Boring enough to make you fall asleep, if you weren't already. Is there maybe some late night snack that can be consumed to induce better dreams? I am open to suggestions.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Home, (Bitterly Smelling) Sweet Home

I've returned home to Berkeley and the first thing I thought to do was to Google "a sight for sore eyes" hoping to uncover the history of the phrase, and found a piece about how "sore" once meant something very different than you'd expect. In the afternoon I thought something about being very lucky and having good friends, but in the evening this thought has become hazier, I drove this thought around feeling like there is only so much I can control, and then embarrassedly realized how this sentiment relates to some earlier conversation about external or internal loci of control, and how for all the effort I had put forth to staying awake in AP psychology, I don't remember ever being told or finding out how to change from being a person who thinks the former to one who thinks the latter. I'm not really sure if it's possible to reprogram yourself in such a fundamental way, but I'm somehow convinced that it's a step in the right direction to try to convince myself that it is.

Its safe to say that I had spent too long of my summer break in San Diego. I'd seen everybody that I wanted to (or people that I was obligated to see) within the first week, and spent the lot of my days struggling to keep the heat off of me.

I brought home:
a DVD player with surround sound - mainly to upset the neighbors.
cooking spices
a small vacuum
a small but seductive lamp
two boxes filled with Angelina Jolie magazines. (yeah, I know.)
two Fresh Baked candles (Blueberry Muffin, and Oatmeal Raisin Cookie)
black shoes with pink elephants
Linus Larabee the hermit crab. And I hope he'll stay alive, dog knows I don't have very much luck with animals.

I don't think I spent enough time with my mother. But I'll just have to make it up to her next time.

Thursday, August 4, 2005

Zombies (in love!)

Well, today I lapsed into quite an impressive little stupor. Sitting or staring or laying down for seconds or minutes or hours, as if there was othing else to be done. Driving up to Berkeley Hills to pick up a rickety bookshelf (it was free) with Adam. Noticing that by the hour, the ends of my hair were in an attempt to flip outward. Wondering what it would be like to read an elderly copy of David Copperfield in a place that vaguely resembles Tomorrowland, and wether or not the place has that old book smell yet (it is awfully hard to imagine). Moving very slowly and not thinking but not really doing and well, truthfully, not thinking very much, anyway, and reading that once infamous but now mostly forgotten (or maybe entirely unkown, depending on your level of interest or age even) Sassy interview with Kurt and Courtney in which the former talks about how being in love is invigorating yet also sort of zombifying (in that you end up caring maybe less then you should about nearly everything else), how being in love is so exciting but also, quite frankly, somewhat embarrassing. Feeling like I agree entirely but uncertain as to why this would really have to be the case. Thinking it must have something to do with the same mixed feelings of desire ad ridiculousness that arise when wanting to sit on the same side of the booth at a restaurant (but not doing so for the obvious stupidity of it), and remembering my mother recently telling me that she is always outwardly embarrassed but inwardly charmed when this happens.

Not only am I moving in slow motion, but it seems like I must be feeling in slow motion, too, and I don't quite know what else to say about this past week but this: sometimes forgiving someone is less exhausting than staying mad, and sometimes being angry is less exhausting than all of the other emotions you might feel if given the chance.

This summer is nearly over, and it really only just began. But I promise I won't sulk too much because the weather is really beautiful and an awfully nice reminder that fall is edging closer and winter always follows. This year I want to see a star show at the planetarium, carve pumpkins, buy a bike, and find a roof to sit on.

Heck, I might even make a friend in the process.

My flight for San Diego leaves in 6 hours. I'll grab a window seat for you.

Wednesday, August 3, 2005

Lately, My Heartbeat Seems So Conspicuous.

I have been holding my breath all morning, trying to keep from writing here because if I had written something it would have been about how queasy I am about flying to San Diego tomorrow and how I've been contemplating the pros and cons of leaving Adam to embark on this new and more suitable feeling of visiting home. It's more than just a few blocks away, and I forget that sometimes.

But now it's over and it wasn't so bad, you know? So I am seriously going to just have fun while I am out there and take in as much as I can. Honest.

Also, one of my cousins found me online and wanted to know when I would come and visit her and the rest of my baby cousins. She asked if I could bring her a book that I reccommend.

How could I possibly say no to that?

Tuesday, August 2, 2005

Kick The Beckett

Lately I have been thinking that I would really like a tattoo of that Samuel Beckett line I can't go on, I'll go on. Preferably somewhere fairly accessible on the body, just in case I needed to refer to it in a moment of crisis.