Thursday, September 29, 2005

Another Way To Tell

On TV, the host asks the winner (who's holding her hand just so toward the camera so the audience doesn't forget the gargantuan diamond engagement ring) to pinpoint the moment she knew she had fallen in love.

Is this how people think it really works, with a neat before and after, two precise halves, or is this just the made for TV version? Exact moments seem more appropriate for recording earthquakes and tornadoes and other natural disasters.

Thinking about this somehow prompts a delayed addendum to that whole "reading someone else's book recommendations secretly means you're madly in love" silliness. Another surefire (although somewhat precarious and not for the faint of heart) method of determining whether or not is it love:

Look at the old baby pictures, photographs from elementary school, and if you're feeling terribly brave, jr. high and high school. Look at the pictures from six months ago, a year or two years ago, before the weight was lost or the hipster cool image was fully formed, before the confident (or distant) expression had time to be perfected and donned as the favored suit of armor. Look at the mess of photographs and remember that it is not because of a pair of emo boy glasses or particularly nice pompadour (ahem) or outfit, and it is never just one exact moment.

If you will be wondering in 11 hours how the weather is in Long Beach, call me.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

I Miss You, Is What I Am Trying To Say.

Can I tell you a favorite memory? I promise I won't get too sentimental. Some Friday night when winter was still holding its breath, the trees had lost their leaves but we were wearing t-shirts, walking down University looking for a place to eat. We passed a thai restaurant and I got one of those grins on my face, tugged your hand and declared that we should get the biggest roast duck dish that money could buy. You shook your head in disapproval, said that I was very cruel to my vegan best friend. To you it must've seemed a harmless enough thing to say; you hadn't been warned, didn't know that people tended not to say things like that to me, and I wasn't sure whether you were very stupid or very brave. After all, there's a difference between having connections and having friends, and I wondered if you knew about it.

Today was empty and blue and the sun was bright as ever -- causing a slight discoloration in my hair; it's very orange and I'm not sure wether or not I like it, yet. Fall is fading fast but the winds are coming in. All I need is sugar and more tea to really fool myself into thinking that it is winter and that I'm perfectly on top of my life.

Tonight is a tiresome night and I am a tired, lonely girl. I only wish... well... I think I'll just leave it at that for now.

Good night, starshines.

Sunday, September 25, 2005

I Am In Desperate Need Of Company.

Lately, too much time spent wondering why I don't know anybody. I like to come up with all sorts of creative excuses, so tonight's involved my dislike of inconsiderateness and cacocraphy (seeing how so much of the world's population seems to fall victim to at least one if not both of these afflictions). I wonder how many people I've known who have claimed to have as few friends -- Hundreds? Thousands? Well, at least five. I'd always found out later that their concept of friendlessness was a bit more figurative than mine, and I couldn't help feeling tricked and hold it against them. It's only during the lulls that I manage to remind myself that life is not an unpopularity contest.

I read somewhere not too long ago that Samuel Beckett blamed his claustrophobia on having a painfully acute memory of his mother's womb.

Samuel Beckett always cheers me up.

Saturday, September 24, 2005

It Was An Interesting Day.

I found this little guy at Paper Heaven which is my absolute favorite place of commerce. Ever. Their entire second floor is replete with postcards!



Paper Heaven is located downstairs and around the corner from this little apartment here in Berkeley, Ca. I couldn't ask for a better location.

Thursday, September 22, 2005

South For The Winter

Funny to talk to somebody from my old home and learn about the things that have changed in the meantime. They've cleaned up The Triangle, replaced the warm thrift stores with icy boutiques and the Ethiopian place with a sandwich shop and the punk kids don't hang out in front of Vintage Vinyl anymore. When a group of people just disappears like that you can't help but feel a bit like Holden did about those ducks and wonder what happened and hope that they've simply gone somewhere else, because you're surprised to find that the possibility of them having grown up or stopped existing is just terribly depressing.

The mosquitos are thirsty and it's cold out tonight. I've shut the windows as tight as I could and I can still hear the night going by.

The noises outside my window depend so much on the weather. Winter is edging near and it has me thinking of a time when the ice cream man would return for his runs around the neighborhood and I could hear his music trying to lure the little children from the swings and slides to his truck with the help of Do Your Ears Hang Low?

Or perhaps it may be inaccurate to say ice cream man -- perhaps the ice cream man was a girl who wouldn't in the least approve of her gender being casually tossed about -- but what do you do in such situations? Ice cream person seems to suggest something entirely different from 'one who sells ice cream,' and besides, much like exchanging snowperson for snowman, it really kind of just takes all the fun out of living.

Ho Hum. Anyway.

The ice cream man came to my house on Diane St. an exact total of 4 times when I was younger. All of these times were quite by accident, I'm sure -- they had perhaps hoped to turn down our road and uncover a subdivision teaming with ice cream deprived kids, but instead found nothing more than a few lonely mismatched houses on a little rock road. And something tells me they didn't pull up directly into my driveway to sell me ice cream so much as they had come to the dead end and needed to turn around. Fortunately I was a very spry child and was always able to run outside and assault them before they had time to drive away!

I think my favorite was the ice cream shaped like a foot. Do they even have those anymore? There was something so disgusting about devouring a pasty gelatinous appendage (with bubble gum toenails!) that I couldn't resist.

Anyway, after the fourth time, they seemed to wise up, and never again returned (despite the fact that the last one vowed to come back and save me Disney popsicle). Sometimes when I was outside in the backyard, I could hear them drive by on the main road, the sound of The Entertainer quickly fading behind them. I don't remember being bothered by the lack of sidewalks or having to ride my bike on an unpaved road or the distance and time from our house to every other point on a map; I just remember vowing that when I grew up, I'd live somewhere the ice cream man could easily reach me.

Don't worry. I am not fully grown up.

Yet.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Have You Ever Held On?

I'm really beginning to wonder what's keeping everyone around here from killing themselves. Myself included, of course.

I'd like to ask, but I'm not quite sure how to work that into a conversation: The weather is so nice lately! I can't wait to go bowling. So are the unappreciative members of your lecture group making you want to gouge your eyeballs out of their sockets, too?

The really sad part being that I still have no idea how I am going to lead this lecture all on my own.

It's not even like it's a sense of unhappiness about being here in particular. I'm just not sure how to not feel hopelessly bored by everything, by being a grown up and going to a job where I'm supposed to copy boring things into a boring notebook and go without seeing Adam for what seems like days. Sometimes it seems that I'm so bored that I can't even tell how bored I am, that's just how bad it's gotten. I used to think that people went crazy from too much going on, but perhaps it's even easier to just lose your mind because there's simply nothing else to do, like the pioneer women who went mad living alone on the prairie with nothing else to do but listen to the wind.

But wait. That sounds kind of nice.

I think I'm just extra restless lately because it seems like everyone else in the universe is on break right now, taking road trips to Chicago or gallavanting through lava tubes or something. It's hard not to be jealous, and yet I feel very silly and immature. After all, no one else seems to want to run around their classrooms screaming simply because it's 11 a.m. and they're dressed in khakis.

I keep wondering what my problem is.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

Swans Sing And Dance And Play

I think, right now, it's better to feel nothing than to feel everything. Some people have tried to tell me that those aren't my only options, but they don't know me very well. And they most certainly don't know what's best for me.

Still and yet I feel like I am constantly working, moving, doing, and there is an endless list of things to do when I get everything else finally completed.

And at the same time I feel like I'm doing nothing, or maybe just nothing worthwhile.

This is not the verge of a breakdown. This is the edge of a breakthrough. This is not the verge of a breakdown. This is the edge of a breakthrough. This is not the verge of a breakdown. This is the edge of a breakthrough. This is not the verge of a breakdown. This is the edge of a breakthrough. This is not the verge of a breakdown. This is the edge of a breakthrough. This is not the verge of a breakdown. This is the edge of a breakthrough.

Friday, September 16, 2005

The Empty Promises Of Weathermen

It used to be that strewn about my bed, five or six different books, all of which I had started, but none of which I had gone farther than page 82. They'd lay open on their stomachs, pages hanging out like intestines, and every time I would look at them I would feel slightly guilty. I remember someone once chastising me for such unruly behavior, said that there is no faster way to to break a book's spine. I'd feel bad regardless, but something about the the idea of a book being a vertebrate makes it seem particularly awful.

The clouds have been changing from white to purple all week. A sky full of bruises everywhere you look! The silly weather people had said that it would rain, but apparently they were mistaken. I've been paying attention to the weather an awful lot lately, which for some reason always seemed to me something that only grown ups did, like drinking coffee or reading the paper.

I've coaxed the Windows Media Player on my computer into playing a continuous stream of Songs: Norah Jones, The Magnetic Fields. For some reason I have convinced myself that there's no better welcome for Fall than melancholic piano and banjo music.

Today's the kind of wonderfully dangerous day in which you could convince yourself to feel nostalgic about nearly anything.

Wednesday, September 7, 2005

You Called It Compulsion

Just heavy, tired, stressed, sad. Under the bell jar.

I had a slight case of panic when I realized how late in the year it actually is. And how little I have done in the way of trying to keep connections going. I think I knew it was the beginning of The End when I stopped counting the days until I got to see friends again. Then time just started to work its magic, and days blended together and eventually, it didn't matter if or when I ever saw anyone again. When I left, I thought my heart would burst, but it just kind of split a small seam. And it's healing. Slowly, but it is healing.

I'm sure that this is all just a case of the Morning Wednesday's, because I usually love and miss the few friends that I do actually still have.

Friday, September 2, 2005

Not Anymore.

How well do you have to know someone for them to be able to say something like this?

I can imagine you getting very heartbroken at the end of a relationship.

But then, perhaps it doesn't even matter much, as it was said just the same.