The goddess Electra

I know I'm staying up too late, but I wanted to get this down a bit while the dreams still on my mind. It made such an impression on me. She started out as this ordinary woman, bound and about to be tortured by a woman who thought she was more powerful. She was tricked into putting her hand into this cage that restrained it and it was designed so that once you had started it had a magnetic hold over you and you would actually voluntarily put your other hand in a restraint. These cages were so intriguing, similar to a muzzle for a dog, shaped like a hand and extending down the arm about half way. Once both arms were bound the restraints pulled her backwards against a door where her legs were pulled into restraints. She was prostrate and frightened. The woman behind it was tall, beautiful with long black hair and tribal clothes and tools. She laughed and stood high, proud and pleased with herself. But something she did, something intended to hurt the bound woman awoke the power in her. Awoke who she was, the goddess Electra. And everything about her was electric blue, her eyes and her blood. Every move the oppressor made merely brought out Electra's power more, she could not be hurt. The last thing I remember is the woman, the goddess Electra saying to the other one "You're not really black, either." Because of her hair, it wasn't the right texture. And she screamed and raged in fury.

Other people

How complicated are people? Do I make them more complicated in my own mind? Do I fabricate qualities, judgments for them they don't have? How often do I read more drama into their simple words and actions than is ever there? How complicated am I? Do I make up things for myself to believe and feel that aren't really there, like a light spill, it doesn't permeate past the surface. Can I learn to let people be simpler? To find out who they really are, to find out that maybe they are mostly harmless? Maybe like dogs we go around doing a lot of posturing trying to fool each other into seeing more to us than is there, puffing out our chests, or making loud noises. How much of us is just show? What does it take to see through it? See the man behind Oz? I'm trying to do both at the moment, start seeing through me and everyone around me. Find that little puppy beneath the dog. And to not judge who is really there. To not judge the posturing anymore either. After all, it's an inheritance of sorts. It's a fine line to walk, recognizing a persons qualities and flaws without evaluating them in the process. Learning to know, but not trying to own. A judgement is a sort of ownership. But the currency is power, but adding someone up you gain power in your own mind over them. But then each posturing shifts that constantly. As we continuously reevaluate each other. A silly game that makes and breaks how we feel about ourselves and others. I want to climb above it, step out, leave the game. (The ultimate power move, ironically.) But it's about holding onto my power and not using it against other people or myself. It's about finding peace with life.

It's been coming on slowly for a few weeks or more. It's one person who has made me so aware of it. Not the posturing, but judging. To really see how much I do that to myself. But today I am sad. And I think to some degree it's because I am reading more into words and actions than is there. But I don't really know. It's okay to be sad. It's a vast improvement from neurotic. The week was flawed, the things that happened between us were flawed and it's extending into a weekend that's shaping up to be flawed. The drama I'm reading into words and actions is that under what has been said, under what has been done- he doesn't want to see me? And I am sad because I want to be captivating. I was, very, but did that die? Or was it injured? The kicker is, it wasn't my fault. I haven't done anything wrong. I have listened to myself so carefully, and made my choices. He did something wrong and I feel to some degree the consequences have fizzled him a bit.

I have a feeling it's going to be a long day...

Bad day

I just feel like it needs to be recorded for posterity. No, really because it was momentous. It all began with one bad decision. Didn't I mention determinism in my last blog? It's becoming my theme... I had all the warning signs with Pip, I knew he was a difficult dog, it's just that he's so sweet to me... Made me think he'd be fine in the shop as long as no one else brought in their dogs. Plus I was being a little lazy, hey- why not combine walking the dog with going to work? He'll be happy to be around me for six hours instead of alone in the apartment, right? It's a flawless scenario. And it was fine until our first customer then I instantly discovered I'd made a huge mistake. He treated everyone who came through the door like an intruder and he was a guard dog. A tiny, fat guard dog. Don't turn your back on a dog, god knows what they get up to when you aren't looking, but it always sucks to find out. He went charging _at_ the first people to walk in. Not the excited tail waggle kind of charging, not the exuberant oh-my-god-I'm-so-happy-to-see-you kind of charging either, the viciously barking, a little bit snarly kind of charging. I couldn't help thinking everyone who came in must be wondering how insane I was to have an unfriendly dog in a shop. I'm not a dog owner, and I know so little of the dynamics or responsibilities of being one, down to simple facts. Another reason I recognized in hind sight why me bringing this dog into the shop was stupid. I thought about isolating him in the bathroom, but it isn't fair to punish him for my mistake, plus he'd bark like a little maniac at the bottom of the door, and how much better is that? I leashed him for a bit behind the cash rap with me. The leash was a bit short for something like that. I just kept him on my lap anyway, putting the alternating leg to sleep. Then I caught him weeing on the floor, it's impressive that a dog can stop mid wee when you freak out. I wish he could talk to me in those moments, say "Sarah, can you let me out so I can pee, I really, really need to go. I'm on the verge of doing it here on the floor." You see, I knew that was a danger too, and forgot about it. Everyday I clean his wee and poop off the apartment floor. Maybe he has a problem? Maybe it's a small dog thing. Big dogs seem to be able to hold it for days. So I was very attentive after that. Periodically popping on the leash and taking him out for a pee. Especially when his body language started to look like he was searching for a good place to go. So I take him out for that wee and I see this girl on a bike running her dog on a leash beside her, a bigger dog, and I freeze. I have him on a leash, it's just a matter of waiting for them to pass and letting him have his reaction then moving on. But suddenly the dog is making a bee-line for Pip and as if this isn't a preview I'm not actually sure what will happen. The pit bull attacks and I yank up on the leash then think about Pips throat and put him down, then all of a sudden the other girl is in their on top of these dogs fighting and pulling hers off. It would be amazing to just react in moments like that and not have to process what's going on. After I get the picture, understand what she's doing I reach in and remove Pip. She desperately asks if he is okay and apologizes. He was okay, thank god, because all I could think of was Ramy and how devastated she would have been. I took him inside and had a good look just to be sure, He was acting alright, no blood, no visible injuries, just a massive wet zone on his head where the pit bulls mouth had been. What a reminder that they are animals, that there is still wild in them, and that they are dangerous. Not Pip so much, he tries. I apologized to Pip. Because all of these problems were, in a sense, a chain reaction set in motion by one bad decision, my bad decision. I wanted to be angry at Scotti for not coming through for me when I asked him to come get Pip, but it wasn't Scotti's fault. It would have been a nice favor, it would have saved me in some sense. Maybe I'm a little angry about that... That's the first time, though. I guess this request was just past unreasonable for him. And so life reminds me it's complicated.

Someday I should talk about wabi-sabi, Epicurous, the art taking pleasure in little things, and the avoidance of suffering. But for now I will rest.

So angry about something so stupid

Really, I am. Every time I think about it I growl inside. I have a friend in MD and we occasionally send each other music links to share what we're listening to. It was something he exposed about himself that I can't get over, but still why? It's like it injures me some how, but does it? Apparently one of the songs I sent involved synthetic instruments, or whatever, I couldn't even tell. And he confessed that he essentially on principle hates synthetic music. I can't get over it, I really can't. I want to write to him and reem him out about being such an ass, but I know that isn't right and it is possible to confront something I have a reaction to with out exploding on a person. It's pretentious, disliking something on principle. "I'm better than synthetic music." Or assuming that it is inherently bad. I keep thinking about instruments that are standard in pop, rock, and indie music- the electric guitar and electric piano. Those are pretty synthetic, but so pervasive they are accepted without reflection. Why am I so deeply offended? Because I think he's a fucking idiot right now, a clueless one to boot. I think it's a building problem too, he has a bad case of cluelessness, it seems to be part of what defines his personality and I'm having a hard time forgiving him for it. Which probably ties into something much more important in my life that I can't seem to address directly so he gets the brunt of all my feelings. Poor guy, just a good guy who means nobody no harm.

I'm having issues owning my time. I'm giving it away, giving myself away in the process and I'm very upset about that, but more despondent than angry, more like a sad little dog that wants to be loved so desperately she lets herself be trampled underfoot. I know what I need to do, I even see moments when I need to say something and that little dog comes up to the surface so intensely she chokes the words in my throat and I deflate overwhelmed by futility. I hate how soppy-dramatic that sounds, but how do I capture the feeling that takes over in that moment? I feel a tad deterministic about this at the moment, but it's not permanent, nothing is.

I feel like all this impetus rests on me to come through, to be reliable- but that someone in particular doesn't have to be reliable or come through ever. I want to fucking cry because it's a massive wall that won't break down. I think my only option is to start saying no a lot and building a stockade of disappointment. And that option makes me want to cry too, the fact that I'm put in this position at all makes me so upset. I ask so little and he never hesitates to ask so much of me.

random thoughts, really

The water heater's being fickle again. It always starts the same way. Whenever there's a relatively large group here someone feels compelled to close that door (the one the water heater is behind) and we don't notice until the water doesn't get hot. I need to make a fucking sign. I meant to do that after work, but I forgot and became hell bent in other directions. Mainly making my grandma's recipe for rice crispy bars, which involves peanut butter, chocolate and butterscotch. Yum! Plus I had the apartment to myself til after ten which meant I got a couple days worth of playing in. I worked on some new stuff, further into Pier Gynt and a book of popular classics with some really stunning Waltzes by Shubert. Edward Greig is interesting, his style is unlike anyone else, it is quiet, slow and at times escalating to supreme intensity, but mostly slow, and paced. But the melody is so unusual, mostly mournful, but with these peculiar arrangements that become beautiful as a whole, so beautiful, haunting.

I watched Dummy again. I think it's about all these people that live so small and make these tiny steps that feel momentous. I guess I relate to that. Someone who lives small and revels in tiny steps. I always end that movie feeling so proud of Fanny's character in particular.

I often wake up in the night and have some skewed sense about where I am, something dreamlike I guess. And the attributes of my room that constantly surround me suddenly seem foreign and indescribable, like they come from someplace I've never been and evoke mysteries I've never captured. A necklace dangling beside my bed, the wooden vines above my head covered in icicle lights. One time in particular I reached out to touch that necklace and I kept running my hands over it because I was convinced it was this incredible treasure with all these unique characteristics like something found in a dream that finally came back with me, and so I ran my hands over it, believing, until it's reality came through to me, until I truly recognized exactly what I was touching, and it was familiar, not new, not special... The high ceilings put me in an odd head space, a bit like being warped. Especially lying on my back. I think the small space of my room adds to the odd feeling, after all my room is taller than it is deep or wide. The largest area of my room is above my head, like I'm sitting in a deep box. Half expecting a large hand to reach in and pull me out. It screws with my perception in a couple ways, the positive one being the room seems more spacious because of the high ceilings, hurrah for that.

Jonus has a very warm smile, like he is deeply pleased to see who ever he's smiling at. And he is very generous with his smile.

Time for bed, after all, I probably have a cold. Sigh.

Been a while

I've felt different this weekend from perhaps every other since I moved here (or at least since I started working for Jonus). I went to the Roebling tea room tonight to read and eat and just be out of the apartment for a while. I wasn't sure if they'd be open late, but what i didn't anticipate was they were geared towards dinner which means low lighting, very low lighting. I pushed two little candles up against my book and that was good enough. Despite the dark atmosphere no one is actually quiet. Which I would expect darkness to inspire. Never does. But I enjoyed it all, the noise, the darkness, the presence of so many people. I just needed that tonight. I spent my whole day on the couch making a painting. I feel like I did something else too, but I can't think of anything. My first foray from the apartment was a simple escape onto the roof. I kind of hoped it would be raining, I love rainy weather and I felt like I'd holed myself up in the apartment away from it all today and I wanted to be in it, around it, something. I had a rather nice interaction with my next door neighbor (on the left). Scott. We talked about compost, pests that destroy vegetable plants and the state of the economy. God, it's nice to have real conversations. I was crushing a little bit this weekend. Weird situation. John's friend Reny has been in and out of town over the last two or three weeks and when he is here, staying in our apartment, this guy Chris ends up being around a lot. It's intriguing and flattering to have someone react with interest the moment they meet you and make no bones about showing that interest. Disarming indeed. Chris did that the first time he met me. I can't say I was interested at first, just intrigued and curious. But his pointed attention each time I continued to see him did disarm me and attract me. Maybe there is something in the idea that woman want to be desired? Not that it works in all cases. But we had a very stimulating discussion about religion, belief and what he describes as anti-theism which I think is an excellent way of stating atheism. The funny thing is how long it took John to notice. Maybe what it took was seeing me respond to Chris, because some guy paying attention to me is insignificant until I pay attention to him. Day after day Chris spent his time in the apartment beside me, paying attention to me instead of any of his friends. When it finally stood out to John he looked at me and repeatedly said "No" and that was all. "Not that one." "I know him and I know you and it's No." Chris didn't fail to clearly impress upon me his character. I knew with out deliberation he was not the kind of guy I could date. I think I just wanted to have that fuzzy feeling and entertain the idea of kissing someone. What gets me is how I could go from feeling no form of desire for what seemed like a month to suddenly being full of it. I did suspect the absence had something to do with mild depression. I don't know, I don't know if I'm not depressed now or what, but I can't look at a guy right now without thinking "could I?" "is he sexy? kissable?" I just kind of wish there were some feasible guys around me. There's always something that makes the prospect a bad idea, neighbor, coworker, questionable friend on John. John told me there is only one friend of his I would be allowed to date. One is a bad ratio, a poor reflection on the relational quality of John's guy friends.

My compost bin is totally waterlogged from all the rain and I have no drainage holes in it. Composting on a roof presents many challenges. I was thoroughly frustrated that I couldn't play piano today. It was one of those days when i really needed it. It just worked out that some wasted person was always sleeping here. They take it in fucking shifts. One wakes up in leaves just as another shows up to crash. Maybe I should have a totally fuck-you attitude and play anyway... But I can't. It just feels good to think about it. God damnit!

I found flowers on the street. A whole bouquet just sitting on the sidewalk, on my block, when I was returning from the tea room. Still good. Sitting in the misty rain. Not sure what that was about, but I brought them up to our apartment and put them on the new table that John bought from the people on the second floor who are moving out. Gorgeous table. I should go to bed. I stayed up late all weekend, because it was in me to do it, but now I need to transition back into early nights. It's better.

stuff

So I think I've become obsessed with Rushmore, which is a brilliant movie. I noticed something about the plot that wasn't quite right. Thanks to my time at a library I know that info like who checked out a book isn't available once the books been returned. Which is the pretext that enables Max Fisher to meet Rosemary Cross. And one other thing, when he's getting his hair cut by his dad he asks to see the back and we see it. It was a shot choice, he isn't facing a mirror so he won't see the back. "You just made my list of things to do today" best line in the movie. Great music too.

I realized that if I want to have a clean tub, sink, floor, etc I should do those things now while I don't have work. Because once I start working full time I won't have the energy for any of that stuff I'm betting. I'm not making great progress on the brick wall. I did a bit today, but didn't amount to doodle squat. I think I'll biff up the ladder and do some more peeling before bed. Tough call because it means nasty fingers and I'll have to wash them and I'm lazy.

I saw the end of The Heathers today. Made me think of Barry, since that was one of his favorite movies. The ending's pretty cool. Wynona Ryder standing on the steps, blood and dirt on her face and in her clothes and he asks her what's the last thing she's gonna do before she dies and she pulls a cigarette out of her pocket and shows it to him. Plus walking down the school hall after the explosion looking totally piss take and snatching the red bow out of Heather's hair. Fuck yeah.

feeling off

I went up on the roof today, brought my computer thinking I'd do some blogging, but I didn't have any reception. So instead I read a Kipling short story about a croc called mugger who eats people. I was already feeling a tad queezy from watching the South Park movie Imagination land and that did not help. I feel poopy. In part because John invited me to go to the park with him and _Rick_ and when we got down stairs a whole host of other boys showed up on bikes, including Eddie who is very bosy in my not so humble opinion and he decided he would rather bike around. Which ended up meaning biking into the city. Which I am not about to put myself through, these are a bunch of big boys and I haven't been back on my bike long. I wouldn't be able to keep up. So I feel baited and ditched. :( I know that is how things go with John. I just have to find my own friends and accept that nothing, nothing, is a guarantee with my brother. I'm also irritated because I hauled my fucking bike down three flights. He threw out the potential of park later, in reality I'll just be trucking it back down to haul my bike up again. (don't worry, mom, it's locked to a post. I think I'll do some grocery shopping and then take myself to the park. Screw the boys.)

I've encountered a complication with peeling the paint off the brick. There is a section that seems normal, all I have to do is get my fingers under a bit of the latex, which has separated from the brick, and pull and it comes off in long strips. Being the odd person that I am I do in fact enjoy this. But my finger tips are extremely sore. The complication is there is suddenly this nice straight line going top to bottom where the paint just stops peeling off. I think something must have been applied to the brick in that section that causes the stripper to be less effective. If I feel like it I can scrape that whole section. But I don't, that is hard, slow, ungratifying work (and it's labor intensive). Must find other way...I still have stripper left, I'm going to test out a section by a second generous application. See how that goes. Fingers crossed it works.

I changed out the brita filter, and also hand washed the water pitcher. My guess is it doesn't get washed, and I know that water on plastic creates bacteria and that is nasty. Why totally defeat the point of the filter by not having a clean container? It sucks that I am in fact washing everything with cold water. Gives me a dubious sense of hygiene.

I think I'll go make that grocery run now.

closing thoughts

I spent part of my evening at a bar called the Levee. Which was opened by a couple apparently from Texas. It has interesting things like bologna sandwiches and cheese buff bowls and pbj's. It's like a bar for kids at heart. Then they have this game called buck hunter (well it's the safari version) which I thought sounded fun in concept but it is kind of sad to see all these safari animals crumbling after being shot, even if they are digital. I ate so many cheese puffs tonight. John was incredulous that I was determined to leave at eleven. Since the bars are open til 4. Him and Scotti were up til 6 in the morning yesterday (or is it more accurate to say today?) Maybe they're going for that again? I can't get away with that anymore. Body hates me passionately if I stay up between 3 and later. I get a sleep deprivation hang over.

Some unknown neighbors are having a roof top bbq and I want so badly to mingle. But I wouldn't know the strangers from the people who live here, plus I'm totally shy. Even with a buzz. So I think I'll go to bed instead and just wake up and start stripping paint off brick in the morning again.

oh illusive work! I need you...

I have probably applied to eight plus places today. It's a little maddening. I rode out to the really cute art supply store in my neighborhood and handed over my resume and then pretty much bolted. Not the right move, bugger. I'm maybe a tad on the shy side, just a little. Arg, would have been better if the girl I'd talked to the last time had been there. They all seem super friendly, though. They're the kind of people I want to work with.

This is just going to be quick because I really just wanted to send off into cyber space the fact that in one day I had applied to so many places. Tops the record really. Had a few epiphanies, like, hell, I'd love to work for a museum! Rather a lot. I need to do something else for a while. Veg? John's dvd player either needs a good clean or to be tossed. It skips no matter what disk is in. I don't think his dvd habits help. Stacks of them outside their cases just getting all scratched and gunked up so they can screw up the player too.

I'm also a tad embarrassed right now by how I'm totally obsessed with two shows, Vicar and Black Adder. I only ever want to watch the two of them, and at that over and over again. I need to expand my library...

Finding Home

I feel so proud of myself! All the things that I've been doing, being independent and taking care of myself. Waiting in the longest lines I've ever seen in my life. But they mean business in Manhattan and those lines move! So it may rap the full length around Whole Foods, but don't get cozy and set your basket down because the line doesn't sit still. They've got something like thirty plus checkouts just for express and everyone of those registers is manned. What a difference from Maryland. I washed my laundry for the first time, in the building. Those are some hardcore machines down there. I was worried the dryer would be some dinky wimpy thing that I'd have to pay for two cycles to get my stuff dried. Everything came out toasty hot and super dry. Two bucks for a full load, washed and dried, isn't bad, and those machines can handle more. I could get two loads in the dryer, but not the washer. Oh well, I only really produce the one load. I also washed dishes yesterday, cold wash unfortunately because we still have a broken water heater. I need to ask John to call Soto as soon as he's up. He wants hot water too. My room is nearly done, all the yellow has been painted. I've got pretty much everything in here now and I've hung all my art on the walls, including the three mirrors I own. I really didn't set out to have so many, I just kept falling in love with all these pretty little mirrors. They're all hung so high I can't really look in them anyway. The one official mirror I wanted hasn't been made yet, I've got the mirror glass in my closet and the frame hanging empty on the wall. I kind of like it like that. The trouble is I also created a painting for that frame, and still don't know what will win... Ooh, I just had an idea, I have another fun, empty frame that I want to make a portrait for. But that frame needs to be stripped or repainted or something. The colors are appalling. I have a rather incredible resource only two blocks away, a place called Junk. They have this entire section that is all empty old frames. I can make a whole slew of pieces designed for special frames.

So the other thing I'm totally excited about is I have an interview today. I just hope they pay between $11 and $13 an hour, because I've worked out I can survive on that amount, but anything less would mean staying in perpetual debt. At 11 an hour after tax and rent I'd have about 600 to go to other expenses. It's 80 for the unlimited pass for a month, then groceries, and initially I'll be putting what ever I can towards my credit card to knock out that debt. The place is American Apparel on Housten st, which is a pretty cool location and not too complicated to get to via subway. I do have to transfer once.

I biked over the Williamsburg Bridge yesterday which was more of a work out than I've had in a very very long time, but it was great! The view was, is there anything like it? amazing. They have special completely separated lanes for bikers and pedestrians which made my day. Man that bridge arches high, I had the bike on the easiest gear by the time I got to the top and just took my time getting there. Pretty much as soon as the incline began John was out of sight. He is significantly stronger than me to begin with and he's been doing this for a couple years. He was sweet, though, before we reached the bridge he would periodically look behind and ask if I was doing okay. Also ate at Momofuku (which for some inexplicable reason is pronounced momofuko) for the first time. The food is more than a bit weird, but good. It has a heavy Korean influence which covers all the weirdness on the menu. Kimchi, sweat meats, and things like little octopus salad. I liked everything but the octopus. Which kind of surprised me. Usually like that sort of thing.

My room is nearly complete, and that feels so good! Next goal is to get the rest of the apartment looking livable. And a piano... I ache for a piano. I am also looking forward to getting my jewelry out of a box. I miss it. The last stuff to be unpacked is all my decorative room junk. I haven't done it yet because all of the surfaces that that stuff belongs on are currently covered in things like tools and lights that haven't been hung. The lights are because I really don't know what to do about them. After all I have ceilings that are at _least_ twelve feet tall. There are a couple pipes and wood beams that I can drape them through, but just not settled in my own mind how I want to handle them.

Let me just add as my closer that dragging my bike back up three flights of stairs blows. The down bit, not so bad, up is awkward and hard.

NYC

I've now been living in NY for 6 days. My feelings have been all over the place and right now I'm feeling lost and lonely. Certain things just shouldn't be thought about. I don't have a job yet, though I continue to apply to places, and will not stop until I do. But that is why I feel lost. I still have plenty to do get ready, but then what? I'm a bit intimidated by the prospect of finishing everything I _wanted_ to do in the apartment and then not knowing what to do with myself. (There is no end of things to do here, I'm in NYC!) It's more about having purpose and I'm scared of coming to the end of that. Getting my room ready, cleaning up, that's all purpose. But if I'm not working when those things are completed, I'll feel like I've extended beyond purpose into uselessness.

Some fun facts, the most significant one is the water heater is broken, which makes me feel like I'm camping in my own apt. Cold showers and hand washing dishes in cold water. I have only taken one cold shower and that was before the air conditioning units were up and running and it couldn't of gotten much hotter in the apt, the cold shower bordered on being refreshing. I'm thinking I'm going to moxy up the courage to take a real shower today. After all, the bathroom stays hotter than every other room in this place. It's the furthest from the air conditioners. Another fun fact is we have no silver ware. Well, there seem to be a total of three forks and two spoons. So I've been hand washing the same damn fork every time I eat. John is waiting til his budget improves then plans on buying silver ware. For the time being I bought us plastic stuff.

I woke up around five in the morning (after going to bed at two, that was when I finally decided to quit painting) and I felt unrealistically hot and spent the next thirty minutes convinced I was going to throw up. I really felt like it, but nothing happened, aside from the most burping I've ever done in the night, that was weird and unpleasant. I think my body was just remarkably upset because I pushed myself so very hard yesterday and in general I've been going like a battery. There is a zone on my right arm, just below my wrist traveling in a straight line down the side that has been radiating pain since I began painting. It's the tension point when I hold the brush and the roller. Closing my hand activates the pain. I almost finished. The last wall just needs one more rolled coat. The trim is done. I worked so hard to prepare that wall, it was the worst one, and they've all been bad. Dirty, covered in black dings, smudgy hand prints, oddly enough rouge marks here and there too. The worst wall had two oddly placed shelves (that may have been here before John and Mike first moved in, who knows) and one of the shelves had been sealed against the wall and I'd just like to know what line of thinking was going through the fuckers head who decided to do that. I man handled it off the wall, but only thought to score the area after I'd begun pulling the top layer off the dry wall. Found out from Scotti that I could use something called painters compound to fill in the missing areas. I fell in love with the stuff, it's great! I didn't do a perfect job, but it looks pretty darn good. Compared to how it looked before. I'm not crazy about the curtains that came with the room, but the size format of the window isn't the easiest (or perhaps cheapest either) to replace. Oh, the dust in this room, One of the draw backs of 12 foot ceilings. Maybe they're higher? I realized last night that I really should have been wearing a mask for most of this process. Oy.

I watched the 4th of July from the roof, like everyone else in the building. It was lightly raining, not enough to need an umbrella, but a lot of people were using them anyway. I'd been watching 27 dresses when I started to register this repetitive booming and it dawned on me that the noise was fireworks and I was being a doofus and sitting in front of the tube. It was kind of lonely watching them by myself. For some reason I've gotten it into my head (because of new years) that all fireworks take place at midnight which was part of the shocker of recognizing them at 8ish. (Probably in conjunction with sunset.) I've got some really goofy presets. So on a smaller but higher building just ahead of my Roebling apt a lady had perched herself on the edge legs dangling off to watch. This attracted a lot of attention from the people on our roof and a muttering of marvel periodically traveled around as new people noticed her. Some wanker from our building apparently thought it would be funny to yell "at least take your hat off you look ridiculous" after other idiots had yelled things like "don't fall" or "jump". Mister ridiculous got a good snicker out of the crowd and I had two conflicting reactions, first it didn't seem funny and the people in my building may be idiots, and second that maybe it was funny and something was askew in me? I thought he deserved a punch in the face. That's the kind of shit high school and college jocks say to impress people when it just underscores exactly what they are, vacant assholes.

There may be some one sleeping on our couch... I don't know, but I want to have breakfast.

Short thoughts

I spent the weekend camping, and aside from getting rained out one night it was lovely. (Even sleeping in the car). But something happened Sunday night when I got home and woke up at three in the morning (thanks to Kub who has this need, apparently, to barf just outside my door. What is honestly totally cute is he wants to cuddle afterwards. Maybe he just needs to be comforted?) That something was I had a panic attack about moving, the reality of it all suddenly hit hard and I realized I was leaving my refuge and I was afraid. Leaving my blue room with its quiet, happy yellow stars and soft white curtains, my gentle fairy lights that float along the walls, leaving the home that I have been safe in for five straight years now... Leaving. The funny thing is I just needed to panic, to feel it, to know, and to get it out of my system. (Until I need to have another little panic.) Because after I spent maybe a good thirty minutes feeling afraid, almost terribly afraid, I felt fine, peaceful and sleepy, I fell back asleep and I haven't felt that panic since. But the other reality, that I have a massive amount of packing to do in about two weeks is making me anxious. I think most of me is ready to go, most. But there is a little bit that hangs back and doubts and worries and hurts.

That's it, all I needed to say.

core goodness

There is this essence I have been trying to capture for a while, just what it is beyond a nebulous feeling. It is that special quality that we associate with children and call innocence. We see it in animals too, mainly our pets. It is part of why we love them so desperately. They posses this quality that we think we have lost. That almost all adults have lost- except perhaps the mentally retarded (they never lose that child-like quality). We think that it is killed by growing up, by seeing what life is really like, by being worked on by all the worlds rough and ugly edges until we are hard and unkind like it. And so we cling to little children and animals and prize that illusive quality that they manage to posses and we managed to lose. I think it comes down to something my mother has said and been saying, what children posses is a core goodness. Innocence is a poor word, it fails to capture what it really is that is in a child and rather communicates that what we really think we had and lost was our naivety. That we went from a state of not-knowing to knowing. That belief steals from children what makes that quality in them truly precious. I guess it is the reenactment in every individual of the adam and eve story. For each of us we have absorbed and believe that we start out a certain way- innocent, and that we come upon this tree of knowledge and eat and know- and knowing is our sin; we should have chosen to remain ignorant. But the myth is wrong, it wasn't knowledge that took away our innocence. It was an inherent core goodness that we began with that was gradually damaged until we thought it was gone. Until little events in our adult life bring up that goodness in us and surprise us because we find it's still there, dormant. I can't think of a new myth to replace it. The story of a child being inundated by a world of damaged people and joining them. So we mistake core goodness for innocence because we think it is a quality specific to children rather than our innate inheritance that is stripped from us over time. We think it is a small quality, fragile and vulnerable... And maybe it is, but maybe not as delicate as we believe? Because it keeps popping up in us as we go about our lives and reminding us of who we used to be, who we desperately miss and worst of all who we believe we are responsible for killing.

A text at six in the morning about a dream woke me up and kept me awake with these thoughts so I wanted to write them down.

white reflections

So it's kind of true that I blog when I'm bummed. It's like a word teddy bear, something to sooth the sad. I'm not sure I trust my compulsions right now, because they seem to be causing me pain. But I believe in obeying them... I should explain compulsion, it's more this deep, maybe innate feeling. Like when you know that you can't do something because the voice inside you says "No". Same thing with "Yes", too. That part of me, the part I think is the innate me, can't email Andy tonight. And that scares me...

Anyway, I plowed through most of the crap I store in the closet in the basement. Each time I purge more. It's kind of funny how it just takes time to let go of things, the last time I went in I purged then too, but still couldn't let go of certain things. So it goes, each time there are things that I hold and hesitate over. Hesitation generally leads to holding on a while longer. But it also probably means eventually that thing will go, just not yet. I shouldn't call it crap, granted a lot of it would accurately be called crap by most sane people. But I've made peace with the fact that I'm not. A fair amount of what is in there is my history, too. My past. It doesn't go back to the beginning, but it goes back to when I was cognizant enough to start saving. There's always a few "why the fuck's" in the closet, as in why the fuck have I been saving this for so long?

There is a radar on in me of late, it's big and it ceaselessly scans for an answer, my answer... Because I don't feel I know myself right now, which makes it impossible to know what I want or need... Or to trust what presents as a want or a need. I keep consuming things, like an insatiable beast, for some sense of peace and conclusion. I don't know what to make of it. What is wrong with me? Is my judgement merely clouded? Happens easily enough. I half believe it is. I'm not trusting right now, and I really need to. I need that optimism to press on...

Something that is intriguing me is I have found myself sleeping on my stomach a lot. It is a sign to me that I am seeking comfort (I think of a very specific nature- which I haven't worked out what that is.) Balled up on your side, legs tucked into your chest is the most common position people get into to feel better, the womb position. But me, it's lying on my belly. I think I have an inkling. I think it's a letting go thing. On your back is stiff, holding on, either side too, a sort of holding on, but prostrate on the tummy is the ultimate release. And man do I sleep well like that. Kills my neck, unfortunately, otherwise I'd sleep like that all the time. When I sleep on my back I feel like a good puritan, totally self contained and well behaved. I hate that feeling.

Will I be able to get a job in NY? I'm a bit depressed over that. It's a bit early to be so morose about it. But I can't seem to stop thinking that. I'm gonna check craigslist...

not too much to say...

It almost wasn't pub night tonight, very close call. When I got there Kurt was outside smoking a cigarette and showed me a text he was just about to send me saying Joe had showed up uninvited. I was bummed because that meant I was just going to turn around and drive home. While standing outside with Kurt Joe emerged and announced he was heading home. I had this brief fear that he planned to stand outside with us. I surprised myself, I was cold, ice cold bitch Sarah. Usually a sense of guilt and pity outweighs any personal distain I may have for someone. There was a twinge, but no more. He was perhaps the recipient of all my pent up anger and grumpiness from the week. Not that me in that state is so very intense.

I think the salt stuff we have to put in our water is hard on my hair, it feels coarse and dry which is hugely unusual. I can't imagine the stuff is good for our bodies in general, and especially for ingestion. It's like slime, the texture feels like I still have soap on me or shampoo, like it will never rinse out.

I had an interesting experience with a guy that came in to the library today (experience is too strong a word). We just watched each other the whole time from a distance, it was kind of fun. He looked like a built Toby Maguire. The last time we saw each other was passing on the stairs at closing, and again we just looked.

Going to bed with beer and onion rings in my stomach probably isn't the healthiest thing, but that is generally the case on Wednesday nights. (Usually fries, though.) I suddenly feel very sleepy...

food in blue

Blue is at present the best color to describe me. I am very fond of it; blue is soft and calming and has been the most beautiful color to me for many years. It is seductive, charming and hard to let go of, but I feel I really need to. I need to shift into a happier color, a happier place. (I know just the color too, it's been runner up for a little over a year now, that faithful best friend sitting on the sidelines of my life) Yellow. Because yellow is intensely alive, friendly, but at the same time can still have that aura of peace and comfort. I think, as a dose of self-therapy, the next room I paint should be yellow. It will be hard, because I know in my heart I am still faithful to blue. Instead of creating the living environment of numbing emotions into a state of total rest maybe I can jump start some life into my everyday. Good morning yellow! Rise and shine, really. I keep thinking of this really adorable young man that helped me and my mom with our paint a month or so ago. We got to talking about colors and our favorites and how they reflected personality. He was very alive, chipper, upbeat and he said his favorite color was yellow "zing". Said like a caffeine jolt.

So frustration still reigns. I'm doing this on-a-day-to-day-basis thing with feelings right now and it's hard. But I can do it, there is resolution in that at any rate. But it doesn't mean pain is extricated from my circumstances or outlook. It is very much there, pain, pain, pain. That makes it sound like it's really intense and it isn't. More what I mean is I have resigned myself to the certainty of pain. To the reality of its presence in life, even everyday life at times. For the most part pain has become a very bearable part of my life but I'm still not excited about going through it. I think pain is the result of turmoil, a state in which something desired can not be experienced. And the absence of resolution as an option. I thought about giving examples, but I really don't feel like it. Right now what I desire is to go to NY under a certain condition, under certain circumstances, in leu of certain things having happened and I am experiencing pain right now because I don't see that as happening and I'm anticipating some anxiety in the transition phase. Me getting used to my new life. Because that is what it will be. I think to some degree I'm thinking about what it will be like too much and causing myself unnecessary pain in that respect. (done that many times before, cast many a long shadow over a future that should have been completely open in my mind. But there I was dooming it.) Not that I'm dooming my future in new york, but some of my thoughts are pretty pathetic, like- I won't be in the sort of circumstances to make my own friends, all I will have will be John's which means I'll end up being this sad loner who sits in her apartment doing art all day or reading books (Not that that is such a bad prospect, I, in fact, love both of those things.) But I want to have a community, my own community where I at least marginally fit in and find satisfaction in my friendships and interactions. I rather hope for some romantic relationships too, they don't have to be perfect or _the_ one of all ones, but I think a change from five years of single status would be more than welcome. (okay, there have been three brief semi-romantic experiences in those five years.) But it's been a big draught!

I was satisfactorily productive today, I finally dismantled the remainder of fence pieces. Which, in all honesty, are pretty disgusting and involve some of the more repulsive attributes of nature, like rot, unidentifiable insect nests or formations with gooey residue, suspicious colors, dead things... Oh, and of course, a plethora of rusted out nails that make me hope, hope, hope that my tetanus shot is, in fact, up to date. I also finally conquered a pile of newspapers that had mounted in a corner of my room for what has been pretty nearly a year now. The oldest one I found was from August, heh. I did not tell my grandparents on the phone tonight that I will be moving to NY next month. I just really didn't want to. I think on some level I expected it to be trouble, but in reality how much trouble could it really be? They don't actually have any power or influence over what I do. And that is the first time I've reflected on that truth and recognized it. It's almost sad, like they are excluded from any true importance in my life. Man, now I'm just making myself sad. Oh god, relationships can have so many depressing aspects.

Is there anything else I wanted to process? Of course part of that unspoken desire-of-certain-circumstances is him. I realize I have specific wants that aren't likely to get met. And the ultimate question is how do I actually want to handle my side of things. And here enters the working on feeling out moment by moment, being patient and actually waiting to hear from myself. In time I generally do, maybe not as soon as I expected or was hoping, but I hear. I think what is in the way is the pain right now, grief. I think that has to run its course and then the next phase will present itself. Which I have some suspicion about, but don't think my radar is right. That would line up more with ideal me than actual me. Ideally I wanted to see him each weekend up til my last. That would have been the heart of on-my-terms. But instead it seems completely up in the air, maybe I won't see him again, maybe I won't even tell him about leaving, not because I choose not to, to just abandon him, but rather because it becomes moot and there is no point in sharing because I don't see him again.

He is too old, not physically but mentally, culturally. There is a huge gap between our lives and I feel like I have fallen into it, my own rabbit hole. It's amazing to see how some one can use something so simple as language to communicate, indirectly of course, disapproval or approval. Down to a greeting, the difference between a Hi- and a Hey you-. One instantly is formal, distancing and businesslike, the other personal, expressing a sense of intimacy between writer and reader, affectionate. Like trying to train a dog, your behavior is meant to be the indicator for what is acceptable in their own and what isn't. He is attempting to train me. Sigh. This dog is reflective and thinking. There is the double layer of my own agenda, in so far as the concessions I make are to serve my own interests or purposes... In the end I choose autonomy too. As deeply as it is possible for me to go. He is another last minute man, which is an indication to me that the prospect of being with me isn't hugely important, it is put off, no pressure. I have played that game with other men too and I don't like it. It is time for it to end, which probably means not being in relationships with those kinds of men anymore.

I haven't had dinner, I should eat.

intoxication of rain

I have a migraine and I've been exhausted for days (it doesn't help that I've been going to bed pretty late and waking up early.) But I feel really excited about tomorrow. I'm going to meet with a professional illustrator who has an agent, show him my work and learn about the business. Hopefully this will get me started on a path to professional illustrating, god that would be amazing! It's interesting how much I have to prod myself. The whole object at rest thing. I get into this groove that is familiar and each time some new factor is introduced I have to work to integrate it, really work. I knew I had to go for this, and it's funny how much I just wanted to shy away and not do anything. How resistant I was inside. I also new I had to do it promptly, not wait. I did it! I just made the weirdest connection in my mind, between body image and art image. The feeling that I am really proud of my work and I think it's really good, but I know it isn't perfect and there is a slight hesitation when showing it to new people, how will they react? Will it pass? I guess I do that with my body too... But underneath the concern I know that I approve of it, no matter what anyone else thinks. (My body, too.)

I really want to be productive, start getting ready for the move, but I want to take it easy with myself since I'm not feeling stellar. (Plus I've never bled so heavily in my life and every period takes its toll.) All these transitions at once, it's a little overwhelming. But I'm not scared, I was last time- in October. I guess I realized that I can get sick, or crash from time to time and that's okay, I'll be okay, I'll get through it, it will pass. Always does. I just need to take care of myself through each step.

I want the sun to come back. But something funny I realized today at work is the only time I go to the windows to look out is when it rains. There is some special quality about the sound of heavy rain all over the building but also just pounding the grass, making all the new green growth look even lusher and casting this warm yellow tint over everything. It's so peaceful, meditative. I gravitate towards those large windows over looking the woods on most sides. Even past the parking lot, the whole place is surrounded by trees. I love the green roofs too, full of small sedum plants. It's funny how along the entire stretch of overhang the sedum's don't grow, I guess they don't like cover. It makes the plants look like they are all huddling together towards the open air and the outer edges of the roof. Hut, hut, hut, hut. (or is it hup?) Or clustering together for warmth and comfort, sad little plants! The computer room window shades were drawn today, the first time I've _ever_ seen them drawn. As soon as I rounded the corner from the stairs it was the first thing I noticed and I gasped. It was beautiful, finally the whole library extended out on all sides. A panorama of new green, just full from corner to corner with leaves.

I gave notice! May is it, no more paging. It's sad because I loved paging before I came back. I don't love it anymore. Maybe that's a good thing, I got to close that door all the way! I won't go off to other things thinking, I miss paging, too bad it pays so poorly.

That's it, I feel revived, I'm off to be productive.

Unfiltered body talk

Well, he doesn't want to see me this weekend. He hasn't been getting stuff accomplished on the weekend. I guess I should have seen it coming because he brings it up every time. Ouch. "I hope you understand." You know what I realized, I'm sick of understanding, fuck understanding. It's my turn to be imposing, to impose me and if things go to pot, I don't give a fuck! What ever, I'm planning on leaving anyway. Maybe the whole point is to make it easier, because right now it sure as hell is. Don't weedle your way into my heart, Andy, by any means, don't do that. That's so catty. But this blog is just an extension of thinking out loud (with the added horror of committing thoughts to eternity to potentially haunt me in the future.) Still don't care. My life is about me, isn't it? It's about time the focus of my life started being me. After all, the focus of his life is him. I'm like a hobby, and one that gets in the way apparently. Fuck.

I feel like I've put myself through hell (mostly my body, actually) for this experiment. With my, I'll give it a shot, attitude. And what a lousy ass pay-off this week has been. I've passed three blood clots today and that has been psychologically trying. Even if it is normal or safe, having something like that happen for the first time in (how may years?) of periods, thirteen or more...is rattling. God damn it! My body is not an experimenting ground and that's what birth control is beginning to feel like. How is it that something like that only becomes a reality when I use it and at a distance seems so normal, easy and harmless. So many factors! The reality of changing my body, pushing it even. Considerations as common as how throwing up can hinder its effectiveness. Or even Diarrhea. Wow. I feel like I'm not going to stop bleeding, either, until I start the active pills again. God, the cramps have been awful! How long does it take for all those positive aspects to kick in? I felt so happy at first because everything started out so smoothly.

I'll play the piano tomorrow, I think I've got the passion to pound out that third movement. I hate having to get kicked in the ass to be stimulated to start looking after myself...

The story

I'm pretty sure I shouldn't post this but I think I need to send it out into the eternity of electronic space. I can't think of a man more perfect than Alan and someday I want my own Alan. But I don't know if there is another Alan out there, one for me.

pouting

It looks like I missed all of March, and nearly April. That isn't true, I guess it's just past the middle of the month. My blog is my friend tonight, I need someone to confide in, even quietly. Perhaps a journal would be more suitable... I'll start with all the meaningless rambling. I painted the shed door today, erasure pink, I love that name. It really captures the color. Took a rather fretful walk around the neighborhood feeling like I really wanted to be doing something more substantial (running, in fact) but I can't run because I always get a cramp not even a minute in. I want to be a runner. I jogged a bit sporadically to help alleviate the desire to run and that seemed to satiate me. I also planted a rather dinky hibiscus. Supposedly it will spread.

I just finished watching the Masterpiece theater production of Sense and Sensibility, it totaled around three hours or a bit more. It was remarkably dramatic and I confess I enjoyed it very much. Even when it strayed from the original story quite irreligiously. I really should have put water in the bird bath today and filled the feeders, but I didn't. Maybe tomorrow.

So what's really on my mind is relationships and how very very bad I am at them. I really don't know how to do them right. I haven't done a single one right in the past (or I might still be in one of them... Not that I really want that. Which is something worth chewing on...) But I'd like to do at least a bit better over time, better now than then. It's not helping me to think that it really takes two people to make a relationship work... I think because I've been so unsatisfied with my side. I feel somewhat torn between two conflicting feelings, one is the recognition that being single can be quite lonely (as I recently was) and then the rather unhelpful realization that I do rather well on my own as far as meeting most of my needs. Companionship involves change, and often being put out in very specific areas. (I always sleep better alone... but it's lonely) I like being in a relationship, especially once I get past the first week (which for me invariably involves feeling like I want to run away and then is gone). I've learned I have to coast through the first week and try not to be too rash because I usually feel very differently. If after that I still want to run away, well, different matter. In so many ways I still feel like I don't know myself, I am this blank mystery.

My little painting didn't sell at MAP. Bugger. I was kind of hoping it would be a one way trip. drop it off and don't come back. No one wanted to spend a hundred bucks on it, I understand, if not for the 50% the gallery takes it would have been 50. (My cat is almost snoring, she just climbed into that chair and is already out. Even my cats fall asleep faster than I do...WTF?)

I feel like I need an outlet for my feelings. In the sense that they need to be gotten out. Like I'm holding a charge or something. I don't know, I don't know... I really wish I could see Perri and Alan this weekend, but I couldn't pluck up the moxy to ask. Plus I think rockband would be an excellent outlet, really excellent. If I could afford such an elaborate game system I would in fact want it.

Lets see the authors name was P something, Paulson! Gary Paulson and the book was something about birds, playing off of our familiarity with the birds and the bees but more clever and subtle, about puberty. I should have picked it up, so what if I'm in the middle of five different books? I liked the little bit I read in the library.

I'm going to New York on monday, til thursday. I plan to spend much much less than usual and be surprisingly disciplined. (More than likely I won't pull it off, when do I ever? But I am determined to try diligently and prove myself very wrong.) Online blog what is the right way to go about a relationship? I am an even mix of hesitance and over eagerness, simultaneously ready to share every thing but also reserved and distant. And I flip flop between the two because I can't fucking regulate myself! What is that about? Neither is very winning and what an appalling combination... "I never know what you're thinking" and "too much information", that's me. I have successfully tamed the inclination to share too much so far, but that is almost a daily battle. My preferred methods being email and text... Both of which he uses quite sparingly. He likes his space, when I am in my rational mind I do too, but now, in the beginning of something new, that all goes to pot and I long to be needed. When you doll out time together and find the tally is around one day together a week, (perhaps one and a half) a few months could theoretically pass and you really haven't seen each other that much. Weighing out a relationship in those terms it seems it would be a little too easy to stretch it out. And the question is, what does it mean? We are very different people, and that is still eating at me, in the sense of how do we come together and relate? Flesh out our time together... Talking hasn't been a problem in general, at moments yes. And I often slip into feeling reserved. It takes me so long to become comfortable, I can't say I've had many relationships that have lasted long enough for me to actually get comfortable. (the bit I hate to admit is I know ultimately that takes a lifetime...)

So I'm really enjoying the piano these days. I am actually exercising a fair amount of discipline there that I can't say I ever have before. Correcting lazy playing (like the in the songs that I've played and known forever where there are bits and stretches I've formed the habit of playing incorrectly and never corrected) now I'm retraining myself to do the songs right and it's really gratifying. I'm turning into a decent pianist. after all these years... Well, I want to go to bed.

"Starving Daughters"

A starving daughter lies at the center of each perfect girl. The face we show to the world is one of beauty, maturity, determination, strength, willpower, and ultimately, accomplishment. But beneath the facade is a daughter--starving for attention and recognition, starving to justify her own existence.

The starving daughter within annoys us, slows us down, embarrasses us. She is the one who doubts our ability to handle a full-time job and full-time school. She gets scared, lonely, homesick. She drinks too much, cries too loud, is nostalgic and sappy. When neglected, she seeks comfort in cookies, coffee ice cream, warm bread--transgressions that make the perfect girl in us angry.

The starving daughter emerges in midnight confessions, a best friend's sudden tears, a suitemate buried in mountains of covers, shades drawn, eating ice cream in the middle of the day, and watching Buffy reruns in the dark.

Starving daughters are full of self-doubt. We don't want to worry so much about making other people happy but feel like we can never say thank you enough times, never show enough humility, never help enough, never feel enough shame. We feel guilty. We fear conflict. We are dramatic, sensitive, injured easily. We are clinging to all kinds of attachments that, in our minds, we know we should let go of, but in our bodies, we feel incapable of relinquishing. We feel self-pitying, sad, even depressed.

We are tired of trying so hard all the time. We feel like giving up. We feel hopeless. We want love, acceptance, happy endings, and rest. We wish that we had faith, that we weren't ruled by our heads and could live in our hearts more often. We want to have daughters--little girls who will love us unconditionally. We steal small things, such as candy bars and bras--that make us feel special for just a moment. We try to fill the black holes inside of us with forbidden foods. We never feel full. We always feel cold. We starve for a god.

We don't like to talk about this part of ourselves. Our whole lives, we have received so much affirmation for the perfect part that the starving-daughter part feels like and evil twin. Sometimes we can even convince ourselves that the sadness, self-doubts, and hunger don't exist, that we like to be this busy, that we like to eat small, unfulfilling portions or work out constantly.

For a while . . . but then the phone doesn't ring when we want it to or we get passed over for a job or a fellowship. Then the starving daughter makes herself known like an explosion. We collapse from exhaustion, or pick a fight with our boyfriends or families, or sob in the locked bathroom stall. Some girls experience their deep sadness in going on binges (food or alcohol), sleeping all day, sleeping around, buying lots of clothes they don't need, ignoring professional or relational opportunities, dropping out of the race altogether. Some of my best friends have retreated inside themselves in this way, refused help, wasted away, or cloaked themselves in excess weight. We get mono and can't move for weeks. We hate losing control. We hate being "wimps". We fight these breakdowns, but the starving daughter emerges, young and scared and sick of our shit.

Young woman struggle with this duality. The perfect girl in each drives forward, the starving daughter digs in her heels. The perfect girl wants excellence, the starving daughter calm and nurturance. The perfect girl takes on the world, the starving daughter shrinks from it. It is a power struggle between two forces, and at the center, almost every time, is an innocent body.

Courtney E. Martin "Perfect Girls, Starving Daughters"

night thoughts

I'm not sure if I actually have much to say tonight, but I feel like writing. Not sure if I wrote about this before but I've been painting my door and just finished it tonight. Something about being done feels very good. And having everything tidied and complete looking. It's utterly girly, but quite beautiful to me. I've been surprising myself because I seem to keep getting girlier. (either I just made up my own word or I just don't know how to spell it.) I've enjoyed painting that door more than any of my illustrations. In part because it simply isn't the same level of work and in one sense it is strictly to amuse myself and have fun.

I've been working on a commissioned illustration this week and enjoying it very much too, come to think of it. Especially the frog bit. I think I need some real watercolor brushes. The one that came with my pocket sized watercolor set is amazing to use for fine lines and details, like using a pencil. I can't do that with any of the other brushes I own. It's kind of goofy taking out a pint sized travel brush that works like a travel tooth brush (in two parts) and doing a serious illustration with it. Works though, I guess that's really all that matters. I was prematurely given a check for the work, which ultimately was the stimulus to resume work on it, but I've misplaced the damn thing in my room. I can't remember at all where I put it and it will probably turn out to be someplace quite logical when it turns up.

I wish I had a digital camera. I'd put more pictures on my blog. I've been learning more about my laptop tonight, a mix of reading the manuel (that turns out to be _on_ my computer) and exploring the different applications. I set up a screen saver, at least I hope I did. It's rather exciting, I want to let my computer sit for a while just so I can see it. The cosmos, I've got a thing lately for space and the galaxy and stars and nebulas and all the rest. So beautiful. (The time on my computer doesn't seem to correspond with google time.)

I wonder if I'll ever have clear skin again? I feel like I'm going to have acne for the rest of my life. (well at least until menopause when my hormones dry up. But how much does that suck?) I wis I had beautiful skin now, I wish for all the years of my twenties I had nice skin. I'm sick of my acne. I can't seem to find just the right song and dance to get rid of it. The one thing I don't think I can do is change my diet enough to help my face. Too hard. I love sugar, and bread...

I hope I dream about nice things tonight. And not old stick shift cars that are hard to shift into gears or people from the past I don't want to see at night.

good night...

stars

Something I've always wanted in the back ground of my blog is a body of stars. Not like you see in photographs from space but something that does exhibit the magnificence of clusters, and clouds of billions of tiny bodies of light penetrating a dark body of space.

To become finite

I think I'm generally starting to get sick of typing with my computer at my side. But that's where the reception is. Although when I blog I don't need reception... (until I post)

I'm feeling pretty down, mainly because I just watched a show on the universe that ended with the theory of the eventual destruction of everything as we currently know it... What doesn't seem to be enough to keep me feeling fine is the fact that these things will not happen in my life time or even anywhere remotely near it. What gets me is the ultimate implication that what I know is finite. Not eternal. I want what I know to be eternal... Even the physical world, it's hard for me to imagine a spiritual realm that isn't "bound" to the physical. I can't help but think of them both as coexisting, that in some sense the spiritual does occupy the physical. Maybe it doesn't but that is how it seems in me. All these feelings, in their present strength will pass, and I won't be upset about it for very long. But the right now part isn't so great.

I've been reading a book titled Starving Daughters Perfect Girls with a great subtitle, something like the new (something) of hating our bodies. Normalcy? bloody hell I'll go grab the book. I was close, the frightening new normalcy of hating your body. The title is in the opposite order of what I wrote. Important because the one leads to the other. It caught my attention when I was shelving at the library, hard title to pass up, especially when the title eerily reflects back to me a short, sweet, concise appraisal of my own life. (I still do have more of a tendency to starve than I would like.) But it is kind of vindicating in a lot of ways too. One is realizing that in a big sense my generation and those immediately around me are driven by the circumstances of our lives to be this way and it's incredibly wrong and I'm incredibly angry. Mostly at men at the moment. Because starting from the earliest days those voices around me influenced how I saw myself and my value it was boys and men who were speaking. Who were piece by piece pulling me apart and trying to reconstruct me as it suited their desires, without shame. I want to scream for all the damage I let them do, for the intense voice of self hate that I so early on adopted and that has damaged me so horrifically over my short life. I want to scream because I also know I'm not free yet, so much closer, but still those voices have power over me and my self-image, my value. In a sense I feel like a sell out, and like I've been a sell out since I was quite a young girl. I have a hard time believing I'll ever be truly free, that I will always on some level believe that my value comes from how beautiful and desirable I am. And that it's my fault if I don't do the work to be that perfect. There is a quote from the author Anna Quindlen that I'm going to include in this blog (To immortalize for myself):

"Someday, sometime, you will be sitting somewhere. A berm over looking a pond in Vermont. The lip of the Grand Canyon at sunset. A seat on the subway. And something bad will have happened: You will have lost someone you loved, or failed at something at which you badly wanted to succeed. And sitting there, you will fall into the center of yourself. YOu will look for some core to sustain you. And if you have been perfect all you life and have managed to met all the expectations of your family, your friends, your community, your society, chances are excellent that there will be a black hole where that core ought to be."

What is so significant to me about that quote is that I want all the young men out there who have written most of the girls and women they have known off as deranged, crazy, prudish, what ever cruel and judgemental verdict that have not hesitated to brand her with to read those words and have some window in to the torture that this world unflinchingly applies to women. I want all those boys and men who have never had the maddening expectations of being perfect held over them constantly, relentlessly, with out pity, or love to wake up and feel like the wretches that most of them have been in their relationships. I apologize right of the bat to the few men that do occasionally subject themselves to my blog, these words in no way reflect you. It sounds like a harsh generalization because it is difficult to make such statements and carefully exclude the people that don't apply. I have known many men who are not at all like this. But I think that they have not enjoyed the luxury of being regarded as perfect without trying or earning it. They have suffered too. In my early years I did not enjoy the benefits of knowing such men. That might have salvaged a good deal of my self-esteem if I had.

The first time I was truly aware of a deep void in my core was at the age of seventeen. It was a god awful year and it led to many subsequent years of quiet despair. I don't think it's a black hole anymore, I've gained a lot of me to fill that massive, seemingly bottomless void. There is still a twinge of empty. But it's so mild, like an occasional prick. An old injury that reminds you there is still a sensitive scar, even if it has healed. The body never fully recovers, the nerves are forever gone where the scar is. But for the most part we've gotten used to it's presence, like a feature in our identity.

I feel better. Did some emotional purging.

Uncertain as usual

For the first time since starting my blog I missed an entire month... Not that it actually matters, but it's kind of a little girl incantation with no ultimate goal. Like carefully avoiding cracks when you skip the sidewalk... (The H on my keyboard is cracked! I wonder if it's possible to replace a single key?) So what was it about tonight that got me to blog? I feel reminiscent tonight, sentimental? nostalgic? My hands smell like puppy. It's a clean smell, not like dog. Girly even.

My mother sometimes tells me I'm in love with love, and I know it's true, but I don't know what to do about it. I want to be in love. I wish I'd had that first love experience as a girl, pure and safe, reciprocal... But I didn't.

I feel regret, but over strange things, possibilities that were never explored, things that never began even... Things that I suspect weren't even right for me. I feel that these doors closed on things that weren't meant to be, but what I regret is I closed them for the wrong reasons, or I didn't explore them for the wrong reasons. Instead of wisdom or seeing what was good for me, I stayed away because of self-doubt or fear. I didn't believe in myself, I didn't want to embarrass myself. What a stupid thing now!

I struggle with feeling ugly when I haven't washed my hair and it's pulled back in a sloppy pony tail or when I have a lot of acne. I go around projecting ugly out no matter what other people might see. But I think I finally realized today that I'm not ugly to other people because of that. Guys still want to see me smile at them or talk to me, not avoid me... It's hard to feel beautiful and valuable when I'm flawed. I have this harsh internal voice that has demanded nothing short of perfection to be worth anything, to be loved... I've started walking away from that as an artist. God that voice is gone now, it's totally opposite has taken it's place. I paint and make mistakes and the voice I hear now just says over and over "it's okay, it doesn't have to be perfect, it looks good enough and it will get better." I almost feel guilty like I'm turning into a slacker and I'm not at all!

I've been using youtube a lot recently and it's wonderful. It has brought a new level of joy to my life. So I've been checking out the songs and videos of musicians I want to learn more about and I like to read the comments of the people that visit. Generally the comments are positive, effusive, and innocuous. But I discovered today that the band Beirut brings out some divisive feelings in people. The only thing that barred me from responding was that I'd have to create an account with them and I really don't want to. (mainly due to laziness.) But I wanted to react and confront some of the attitudes flying about that seemed irrational, small minded and extreme. But then I have to step back and remember that it doesn't really matter. It's petty of me to get worked up over these opinions and I'm making them important when they aren't.

Beirut as a band is glorious, the music evokes a sort of euphoria, a filling. Inside I soar, and for the most part the other people who listen and respond seem to soar too. They do things musically that I haven't seen before, and it's beautiful and expanding. what ever...

What I really wanted to say tonight was that Alex has been on my mind a lot and it kind of hurts. I can't seem to shake my own regret and sense of inadequacy. My brain says one thing and my heart another. I can't get them to understand each other and I want to change and still haven't. I'm going to be thirty in just over two years and I still feel and see myself as a child. In my mind I will always be in my twenties. Because that is when I gained a sense of myself, an identity. I'm scared to grow up. I don't feel ready at all. Despite my choices I don't want to be alone as I age, but I can't settle, that's even more unbearable. I know Alex isn't my soul mate, I know we have so little in common, and that I can't make him happy nor him me, but still I can't shake the pain and the memory. I want to meet a man like me, in all ways, a man that thinks like me, lives like me, looks like me. I don't mean my twin, but I guess someone I recognize. Slight, a little taller than me, middle class educated artist with a bohemian bent... (loves cats.) Drinks wine, likes coffee and tea, will smoke an occasional cigarette. Intelligent and kind, talks about life, beliefs, philosophy and meaning, reads fiction and classics, believes dreams are meaningful, has a soul... Is it true? The only way to get a Mr Darcy is to make him up? I hope not...

good bye