April was the month that I hardly wrote anything at all. The one blog post I seriously considered was negged by Marido as an over-share (sorry!) and the fact that I am counting a blog post as writing at all just goes to prove my theory that April Is The Most Unproductive Month. Period.
More than once, I sat down to clear my head by writing and what poured out of me was hauntingly dull and familiar, bitchings about my lack of employment, the feeling that my life is getting away from me, watching everyone around me couple off, get serious, make plans that increasingly don't involve me. I didn't even have to think about what I was writing, because it's a script that has played out what seems like every other year. But I don't stop and think about these things as much anymore because they're boring, and I know they will pass. This week I received one baby shower and three wedding invitations in the mail, and last week two of my good friends got engaged. I wonder what goes through your head when actually sit down and commit yourself to something, to someone, and then I realize that it's not one moment, it's a series of moments, the way I commit myself to writing a novel, as crappy as it might turn out. It's not like one day you say, "I'm going to write a novel." It's a decision you make every day, and some days are better than others.
Today Marido and I are celebrating 11 months to the day we met. 11 months! That's not even a year, pssh. It is so unbelievable to me that I just have to think about it all the time. It's wonderful to be in such a great relationship with a man who encourages me and believes in me and who doesn't doubt that we can do anything together. Anything.
It's funny to feel like I have things in working order in a relationship, where we can talk through things and feel, in the end, that we are in it for the long haul. I suppose that is what marriage feels like, and instead of thinking every time we have a fight "This is it, he's done with me," or, conversely, "This is it, I can't take it anymore," you just say to yourself, "Let's get through this." I think we are playing more of the latter than the former lately, and it feels good. We still fight and get our feelings hurt just because we are such different people, but after all this time we are still trying, and that's how we got here. I am really amazed by it all. If we are writing a story together, it has been pretty interesting thus far. I like the character development and suspense: what will they do next? Lately we are thinking of starting a photography business together.
It's been almost three years since I've had a salary now. I am used to the dejection now, and am just seeing that yes, it really is harder to get a job the longer you've been unemployed--and the older you get. Most agencies don't really see "writer" as a job at all, and so it is becoming even more important that I succeed as one. I think novelists have to nurture a kind of tenacity that is cyclical and long-term. Last year, in April, I was having my typical Most Unproductive Month, so I went to Singapore to watch my grandmother die and then spent a week in Chicago meditating on the fact that I would not allow myself to be a failure. When I returned to Buenos Aires in May, I tumbled into the most explosive month: I finished my novel, sold my first "big" story in months, and then a few weeks later I met Marido.
Well, now it's May again, and I am so primed for amazing things to happen. I am writing again, my tomato plants are growing growing growing before my eyes, and in a few weeks Marido and I are going to bliss out on the beaches of Baja. Get ready! I'm ready.
Showing posts with label so excited and i just can't hide it. Show all posts
Showing posts with label so excited and i just can't hide it. Show all posts
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Thursday, December 16, 2010
xxxmas
Did you know that the one movie that ALWAYS makes me cry is Elf with Will Ferrell? It's true. I have this incredibly soft spot for Christmas, and it sort of embarrasses me but I am trying to embrace it.
Every year, when December rolls around, I sort of think to myself, "I'm not going to do Christmas this year. Just not going to." And then, inevitably, at the very last minute I decide to bake a thousand cookies, send out cards, and knit scarves. It is this weird defect that I have. Like I want to resist the pull of Christmas, but I just can't.
Last weekend when Marido and I were driving on Highway 1, I saw a sign for Xmas Trees and for some reason, it looked pornographic and I wondered why we replace "Christ" for "X." If Christ=X, then shouldn't X-rated be Jesus-like? And shouldn't XXX be like TRIPLE CHRIST?
These are the things I think about at night.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
tunnel vision
Last weekend I told someone I was moving back to San Francisco. She said, "That's so cool!"
I said, "Yeah!"
And then she said, "Did you get a job there?"
And I said, "....no...." in this dull, heavy voice that made it sound as though I had never thought about what it meant to move to one of the most expensive cities in America without a job. For a moment I felt like a jackalope, but it didn't last very long, because whoever heard of a lovesick jackalope?
I identify with the jackalope. It is mythical but it sort of exists just because we think of it. It seems fierce with those outrageous antlers and its serious look, but then you realize it is just a bunny. A bunny! His neck probably hurts from holding up those antlers. Picture it trying to gore something! Ridiculous. It would probably feel like a tickle-massage And then you think, "Why am I wondering about the goring capabilities of a creature that doesn't even exist?
Anyhow, I often feel like a creature that people find mythically interesting until they discover I am just a bunny with fake antlers. Sometimes people seem impressed with what they perceive as bravery in me, but then they realize that my bravery is actually composed of delusions (50%), ignorance (30%), and stubborn hope (5%) than actual courage (15%).
Depending on what the situation is, the delusions can turn out to be very true (e.g., moving to a Spanish-speaking country will be good for the linguistic center of my brain) or false (e.g., freelancing will force me to be more disciplined).
The ignorance part is actually very closely related to the delusions and stubborn hope, because I am usually ill-prepared for most things, which allows me to think that everything will be great (e.g., a Master's degree will save me from a future of mind-numbing office work!)
This life move feels different from all the other ones, which did require some courage. This move isn't an escape, or career-related, or because I was done with one place or wanted to see another. This move is because I am in love. And after the initial courage required to fall in love, moving to be with someone you love is like eating when you're hungry.
Yet, just because this is predicated on love doesn't mean it is still not based mostly on delusion (50%). I have complete Tunnel-o-Love-o-Vision at the moment, but what will materialize at the end of the tunnel? I'm moving in with this darling man I met four months ago today. How could that possibly be a bad idea?
I think the rest of the thrust here goes straight to stubborn hope (30%), life experience (15%) and instinct (5%). I strangely enough have almost no anxieties about this move; I am just excited to see Marido. Well, with modern technology I have been seeing him almost every day. So I must be excited about something else...
I said, "Yeah!"
And then she said, "Did you get a job there?"
And I said, "....no...." in this dull, heavy voice that made it sound as though I had never thought about what it meant to move to one of the most expensive cities in America without a job. For a moment I felt like a jackalope, but it didn't last very long, because whoever heard of a lovesick jackalope?
I identify with the jackalope. It is mythical but it sort of exists just because we think of it. It seems fierce with those outrageous antlers and its serious look, but then you realize it is just a bunny. A bunny! His neck probably hurts from holding up those antlers. Picture it trying to gore something! Ridiculous. It would probably feel like a tickle-massage And then you think, "Why am I wondering about the goring capabilities of a creature that doesn't even exist?
Anyhow, I often feel like a creature that people find mythically interesting until they discover I am just a bunny with fake antlers. Sometimes people seem impressed with what they perceive as bravery in me, but then they realize that my bravery is actually composed of delusions (50%), ignorance (30%), and stubborn hope (5%) than actual courage (15%).
Depending on what the situation is, the delusions can turn out to be very true (e.g., moving to a Spanish-speaking country will be good for the linguistic center of my brain) or false (e.g., freelancing will force me to be more disciplined).
The ignorance part is actually very closely related to the delusions and stubborn hope, because I am usually ill-prepared for most things, which allows me to think that everything will be great (e.g., a Master's degree will save me from a future of mind-numbing office work!)
This life move feels different from all the other ones, which did require some courage. This move isn't an escape, or career-related, or because I was done with one place or wanted to see another. This move is because I am in love. And after the initial courage required to fall in love, moving to be with someone you love is like eating when you're hungry.
Yet, just because this is predicated on love doesn't mean it is still not based mostly on delusion (50%). I have complete Tunnel-o-Love-o-Vision at the moment, but what will materialize at the end of the tunnel? I'm moving in with this darling man I met four months ago today. How could that possibly be a bad idea?
I think the rest of the thrust here goes straight to stubborn hope (30%), life experience (15%) and instinct (5%). I strangely enough have almost no anxieties about this move; I am just excited to see Marido. Well, with modern technology I have been seeing him almost every day. So I must be excited about something else...
Thursday, August 5, 2010
double re-entry
It has been an uneventful week at my parents' house. In-between napping and eating, I occasionally reflected upon this seemingly hapless string of wanderings that I currently call my life. Buenos Aires seems like a dream to me, although every time it starts to rain I have a compulsion to run to the terrace to take down my laundry.
If someone had told me fifteen years ago, when I was learning to drive, that in another fifteen years time I would be unemployed, unmarried, and spending large segments of time in the same bedroom I was in then, I probably would have killed myself. But I think I failed to see the possibilities in this arrangement. It just takes a lot more self-motivation to get things done. Or to get dressed in the morning.
Tomorrow I am going to San Francisco, and of course I couldn't be happier. I am excited to see my friends, to hug them and hear their voices and to walk with them on the sidewalks, sit with them in the parks, to have the long silences of observation and nothingness that aren't so doable over our dozen forms of digital communication. I want to shower them with endless love and hear their stories and thoughts on what has changed since I last saw them. I'm excited to tell them what I have learned about time and people and to learn from them about how they are balancing their lives and growing and changing within San Francisco, something I never quite learned how to do.
I also know that this trip will different than other returns, because on Friday I will be reunited with Marido, a long-awaited reunion after almost three weeks apart since our honeymoon in Spain. With all of the intense (yet measured) emails, video talks, and even (*gasp!*) phone calls, we have a lot of hopes riding on the next few weeks--not just in terms of fun, but also in deciding our next steps in remaining in each others' lives beyond this second honeymoon.
It is a lot of pressure, but it is also very exciting.
If someone had told me fifteen years ago, when I was learning to drive, that in another fifteen years time I would be unemployed, unmarried, and spending large segments of time in the same bedroom I was in then, I probably would have killed myself. But I think I failed to see the possibilities in this arrangement. It just takes a lot more self-motivation to get things done. Or to get dressed in the morning.
Tomorrow I am going to San Francisco, and of course I couldn't be happier. I am excited to see my friends, to hug them and hear their voices and to walk with them on the sidewalks, sit with them in the parks, to have the long silences of observation and nothingness that aren't so doable over our dozen forms of digital communication. I want to shower them with endless love and hear their stories and thoughts on what has changed since I last saw them. I'm excited to tell them what I have learned about time and people and to learn from them about how they are balancing their lives and growing and changing within San Francisco, something I never quite learned how to do.
I also know that this trip will different than other returns, because on Friday I will be reunited with Marido, a long-awaited reunion after almost three weeks apart since our honeymoon in Spain. With all of the intense (yet measured) emails, video talks, and even (*gasp!*) phone calls, we have a lot of hopes riding on the next few weeks--not just in terms of fun, but also in deciding our next steps in remaining in each others' lives beyond this second honeymoon.
It is a lot of pressure, but it is also very exciting.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
loving it
I'm back home in Buenos Aires but leaving Saturday for Madrid, where I will meet Marido at the airport.
I totally freaked out yesterday. I was tired but bursting with anticipation and I couldn't do anything but flail around in the whirlpool of anxiety and excitement. I just know that I am going to fall in love. I am like 85 percent there already. For some reason this made me very upset. I cried a few times this week when I thought about it. I don't know why, but I am terrified.
I sent an email to my girl, the bride-to-be, seeking some words of wisdom and she really came through for me. I was all upset and unsure and feeling sick. In addition to the teary eyes, I have had trouble eating this week. ME--the girl who wakes up in the middle of the night, hungry. But I was just sick at the thought that I might fall in love--for real in love, and that Marido could be the last man I love--either because I will love him forever, or he will hurt me really badly and I will never love again. But bride-to-be had some great words for me, about trusting your body and yourself. And she said: it's not your job to know what will happen, or to control what will happen.
It's not? Somehow, I thought it was. Really. But she's absolutely right. All the craziness has been me trying to anticipate what will happen and be ready for it. But that is not love, and that is not life. I need to love in the same way that I live...with gusto, and with the knowledge that I can handle anything that comes my way.
And now I am just giddy!
I totally freaked out yesterday. I was tired but bursting with anticipation and I couldn't do anything but flail around in the whirlpool of anxiety and excitement. I just know that I am going to fall in love. I am like 85 percent there already. For some reason this made me very upset. I cried a few times this week when I thought about it. I don't know why, but I am terrified.
I sent an email to my girl, the bride-to-be, seeking some words of wisdom and she really came through for me. I was all upset and unsure and feeling sick. In addition to the teary eyes, I have had trouble eating this week. ME--the girl who wakes up in the middle of the night, hungry. But I was just sick at the thought that I might fall in love--for real in love, and that Marido could be the last man I love--either because I will love him forever, or he will hurt me really badly and I will never love again. But bride-to-be had some great words for me, about trusting your body and yourself. And she said: it's not your job to know what will happen, or to control what will happen.
It's not? Somehow, I thought it was. Really. But she's absolutely right. All the craziness has been me trying to anticipate what will happen and be ready for it. But that is not love, and that is not life. I need to love in the same way that I live...with gusto, and with the knowledge that I can handle anything that comes my way.
And now I am just giddy!
Friday, May 21, 2010
hypermanic post numero tres
I am absolutely crazy right now and I love it. I had another I LOVE BUENOS AIRES day, all sappy and beautiful in the taxi on my way downtown to help out my roommate. But I tell you: shit is coming together, and I am just high on possibility and excitement.
I sold a story yesterday. A story with photos! It's nothing earth-shattering, but it will be a nice spread in a glossy magazine--fingers crossed that the same thing doesn't go down as last time, where I wrote this huge story and then the editor disappeared. (Still trying to resolve that one, yuck.)
And I am still in love! My roommates are cracking me up. All they have to do is say the word DIMPLES and I go fucking berserker. It is just love itself that gets me. That feeling! Who knows if I'll actually see this boy again. I wonder how long this feeling can sustain itself. You'd think I'd know by now.
But the *best* part is that I have really been kicking it into gear with Secret Plan 437b, and it is coming together in such a haphazard, mystical way that I wonder if I'm being delusional. When I get like this, I just have to go with it, work with it. Because in a week, when the Dimples high wears off, and I start to get all salty and cynical about this supposed progress I've been making, it will be an entirely different story. And maybe that's my grandest hope--that it will be a different story soon. Something amazing. Working works! It actually does!
I think I learned a long time ago that happiness isn't having everything you want. And now I'm seeing that it isn't even knowing what you want. It's more like a combination of the two--plus seeing things you want that you didn't even know existed (but secretly hoped for).
Love from Buenos Aires
seriously.
I sold a story yesterday. A story with photos! It's nothing earth-shattering, but it will be a nice spread in a glossy magazine--fingers crossed that the same thing doesn't go down as last time, where I wrote this huge story and then the editor disappeared. (Still trying to resolve that one, yuck.)
And I am still in love! My roommates are cracking me up. All they have to do is say the word DIMPLES and I go fucking berserker. It is just love itself that gets me. That feeling! Who knows if I'll actually see this boy again. I wonder how long this feeling can sustain itself. You'd think I'd know by now.
But the *best* part is that I have really been kicking it into gear with Secret Plan 437b, and it is coming together in such a haphazard, mystical way that I wonder if I'm being delusional. When I get like this, I just have to go with it, work with it. Because in a week, when the Dimples high wears off, and I start to get all salty and cynical about this supposed progress I've been making, it will be an entirely different story. And maybe that's my grandest hope--that it will be a different story soon. Something amazing. Working works! It actually does!
I think I learned a long time ago that happiness isn't having everything you want. And now I'm seeing that it isn't even knowing what you want. It's more like a combination of the two--plus seeing things you want that you didn't even know existed (but secretly hoped for).
Love from Buenos Aires
seriously.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
being single means falling in love a lot
YES it is my second post in two days, but I treat you to so much doom and gloom that I thought I might share my latest ascension into manic excitement.
WELCOME!
I went out with the most fucking adorable, dimpled Berkeley boy yesterday. Where do I find these boys? Well, he found me on the interwebz several weeks ago, hit me with the disclaimer "I'm not looking for a best friend or a girlfriend, but..." and then a chain of emails ensued. He is 25 years old.
We went out for lunch and chatted for three hours. I wore a new dress that made me feel pretty and he maintained this beautiful smile the entire time, but also was unable to really maintain eye contact with me, which could mean either "I'm not into you" or "you make me incredibly nervous," something that I can still never tell on a first date. Of course I always think it's the former, because I just don't think I'm very intimidating.
When we parted ways, I...almost...skipped. I know it seems like I fall in love every other week, but I think the last time I felt this way about a boy was with that Guy With Girlfriend in New York, well over a year ago. I certainly don't feel this way about my new 24-year-old lover. I really felt aglow and high and I wanted nothing but to smile at everyone, the same way he had smiled his way through lunch. That kind of happiness both puzzles and infects me.
I am fully aware of how fucking ridiculous I am, but I just.can't.help.falling.in.love. The flipside, of course, is that horrible feeling that you were just completely bowled over by someone who could give a shit about you, and that after three days of hoping to hear back from him, you will just be left with the sad thought that no one you like will ever like you back, because what is life if it is not unrequited love? And even after that vitriolic post yesterday about being single, the pursuit of love is really the biggest thrill of all, even if it is not, I repeat NOT, the gateway to the only known means of happiness. It just happens to be the most addictive.
I just want to see him again. Well, see him again, coerce him into falling in love with me, move back to SF together, and live happily ever after on Ocean Beach. Done.and.done.
WELCOME!
I went out with the most fucking adorable, dimpled Berkeley boy yesterday. Where do I find these boys? Well, he found me on the interwebz several weeks ago, hit me with the disclaimer "I'm not looking for a best friend or a girlfriend, but..." and then a chain of emails ensued. He is 25 years old.
We went out for lunch and chatted for three hours. I wore a new dress that made me feel pretty and he maintained this beautiful smile the entire time, but also was unable to really maintain eye contact with me, which could mean either "I'm not into you" or "you make me incredibly nervous," something that I can still never tell on a first date. Of course I always think it's the former, because I just don't think I'm very intimidating.
When we parted ways, I...almost...skipped. I know it seems like I fall in love every other week, but I think the last time I felt this way about a boy was with that Guy With Girlfriend in New York, well over a year ago. I certainly don't feel this way about my new 24-year-old lover. I really felt aglow and high and I wanted nothing but to smile at everyone, the same way he had smiled his way through lunch. That kind of happiness both puzzles and infects me.
I am fully aware of how fucking ridiculous I am, but I just.can't.help.falling.in.love. The flipside, of course, is that horrible feeling that you were just completely bowled over by someone who could give a shit about you, and that after three days of hoping to hear back from him, you will just be left with the sad thought that no one you like will ever like you back, because what is life if it is not unrequited love? And even after that vitriolic post yesterday about being single, the pursuit of love is really the biggest thrill of all, even if it is not, I repeat NOT, the gateway to the only known means of happiness. It just happens to be the most addictive.
I just want to see him again. Well, see him again, coerce him into falling in love with me, move back to SF together, and live happily ever after on Ocean Beach. Done.and.done.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
la vida riquissima
Yesterday I fell in love with Buenos Aires. I spent the morning writing, then went off to a Spanish lesson (after four months, I finally decided I needed a boost) and had a 4 pm lunch at this old-school restaurant filled with men of all ages in uniforms that made them look more like mechanics than restauranteurs. I enjoyed a large mug of café con leche and then went off to play piano at the cultural center where my roommate works, and ended up playing for almost two hours on this gritty old grand piano overlooking Avenida Callao, a bustling avenue. When I came out it was dark.
There is something about playing the piano that is extremely good for me. It makes me focus and listen and work. I found this great music store that sells their own crappy copies of classical sheet music--you know, with terrible page breaks and strange key signatures, but if you know the piece, it's okay. I start off by playing something new and easy, and then work into something harder. I have been trying to learn Beethoven's Pathétique and Chopin's Fantasie-Impromptu forever. The second is very difficult. But here is a 7-year-old playing it:
Sigh. I have been intermittently trying to play this piece (and the Beethoven) since high school. Anyhow, I came out of the cultural center feeling a million fucking bucks and then returned home to celebrate my (new) roommate's birthday. And as I was seeking a bottle of champagne, I fell in love with life, with the city, and with everyone in it.
Hello, fall! It is a transitional period right now, to be sure. My handful of friends who were just here for the summer have left or are leaving soon, and it is the start of a new phase, I think. You know, the part where I suddenly start speaking fluent Spanish, fall in love with an Argentine, finish my novel (in English), and then of course leave it all and go back to the States.
Because, folks, that's (my) life. Although when I woke up this morning, this strange thought entered my head: I want a family and kids.
Whoa...wtf?!
There is something about playing the piano that is extremely good for me. It makes me focus and listen and work. I found this great music store that sells their own crappy copies of classical sheet music--you know, with terrible page breaks and strange key signatures, but if you know the piece, it's okay. I start off by playing something new and easy, and then work into something harder. I have been trying to learn Beethoven's Pathétique and Chopin's Fantasie-Impromptu forever. The second is very difficult. But here is a 7-year-old playing it:
Sigh. I have been intermittently trying to play this piece (and the Beethoven) since high school. Anyhow, I came out of the cultural center feeling a million fucking bucks and then returned home to celebrate my (new) roommate's birthday. And as I was seeking a bottle of champagne, I fell in love with life, with the city, and with everyone in it.
Hello, fall! It is a transitional period right now, to be sure. My handful of friends who were just here for the summer have left or are leaving soon, and it is the start of a new phase, I think. You know, the part where I suddenly start speaking fluent Spanish, fall in love with an Argentine, finish my novel (in English), and then of course leave it all and go back to the States.
Because, folks, that's (my) life. Although when I woke up this morning, this strange thought entered my head: I want a family and kids.
Whoa...wtf?!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
big deal
I'm on the Internet!
I have big news everyones, which is that I have my first assignment. Last week I pitched a story idea to a magazine and they accepted it, and today we worked out the details. It's a small assignment but I'm as excited as can be. Considering I've sent out less than 5 pitches in my entire magazine-writing career, this is very encouraging. I've been taking this great class that is encouraging me to tackle these kinds of things while teaching me the business side of the industry, which is exactly what I need.
In other news, I am going on my fifth date of the week tonight. Yeah, I know. What the fuck am I doing dating when I'm about to leave town? I'll tell you what I'm doing: looking for the last great love affair to define my two-year stint in New York. I've also started drinking again, after a brief digression back into Moderationland. I love Detox Doc, because he basically called AA and NA people the extremists of the recovery world. Drinking is good for me, I just have to keep one hand on the wagon, two feet on the ground.
So far, so good. Whiskey is just as pleasant as I remember it.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
thank god for mountain time
I meant to write when I was in San Francisco, to keep on top of things, and now I have to write this bumbling post that will take us through the past into plans for the future. San Francisco was a marvelous time. The weather was amazing, very un-SF. Definitely my favorite part was just doing very low-key things with good friends, tooling around town, gorging on things, and talking about life. I also caught up with past lovers--Ex, Love Affair, My New Best Friend, and even Joe showed up in town unannounced, though I couldn't really say I was surprised. I "celebrated" six months of sobriety in San Francisco. I ate many great meals, went for long walks on the beach, and remembered how and why I love San Francisco so much. Strangely enough, I also do not feel compelled to move back there at all--at least for the moment--I think mostly because it is so loving and familiar. The two weeks lolling about SF only reminded me that I have a tendency to lapse into hedonistic complacency in such circumstances. Right now, though, I am looking for some slightly masochistic adventure.
I think I've mentioned before that I hate my psychiatrist, but when I went to get a refill on my shhh-don't-drink-just-sleep pills before taking off for the west coast, she casually asked about my post-graduation plans. Because I don't take her very seriously, I just-as-casually responded that I had a crazy plan to travel around the world and do whatever the fuck I pleased, but it probably wasn't going to happen and would secretly drive me insane. It's something I've never mentioned to my detox doc/therapist, the one I love, because I do take him seriously, and I don't like to waste our time with my fanciful notions (of which there are many). But the funniest thing happened, which is that she said "Seriously, I'm a psychiatrist--and I don't give advice--but I want to say that your plan doesn't sound crazy." And we talked it through and she convinced me that it was worth pursuing, and that I should talk it through with other doc. After hearing her so unequivocally merit my plan not crazy, I pretty much decided that I was going to do it, though of course I've been secretly thinking of it all along.
I spent a lot of time talking through these new post-graduation plans in San Francisco, which are to spend an indefinite amount of time traveling and writing and shooting photos, and to do so ostensibly under the cover of research. More to come on this later, but every night now I have been falling asleep thinking of this, and it frightens me and excitens me so of course I know I have to do it, and I plan to leave in September. There is so much to plan and to worry about obsessively that it is almost enough to distract me from the overarching question of "is this really going to happen?"
Because it is. I stopped looking for jobs and decided, fuck, I'm going to employ myself this next year to do whatever it is I want to do, and I'm going to do a great fucking job at it. Also, I will hate myself forever if I back out of it now, and so this is why I've told everyone about it, including my family (and weren't they excited about it...).
The first person I called (and saw) when I came back was My Friend, whom I missed while I was away. I actually talked to him several times because we were finishing up a project together, and had to go over some stuff. I'd gotten him a graduation gift in SF and wanted to give it to him right away, so I scooted over to his place and we went for a walk. We talked about shit, plans, jobs, and as I sat there with him I felt both relieved and incredibly anxious. I wasn't sure what the feeling meant, maybe just relieved that I had made a decision of what to do and glad that we would have the whole summer ahead of us to fuck around, but anxious that I hadn't actually made any concrete plans. Then I wondered if the feeling had more to do with him and New York, because I'm not ready to say goodbye to New York just yet, or the people contained in it.
The next day we graduated. I hated graduation, but Mom came in to attend, so I had to go. My Friend and I were the only ones in our department who didn't buy graduation regalia; I appreciated his solidarity. Afterwards, Mom and I had dinner with My Friend, his roommate, and our families. It was cute. When dinner was winding down, My Friend squeezed himself between Mom and me and we chatted and I felt good until that weird feeling returned, the feeling of relief and anxiety, and I attributed it to having just graduated and being around proud parents and declining prosecco with a forced smile, and I tried to relax, but something was weird. Then our friend left, and I realized what was weird did in fact have more to do with my friend than the overall situation. The relief, I realized, was like this calmness I get from being around him, and the anxiety is the feeling I get that he is about to leave. It is like...being in love...why I hate being in love...why I have been quoted as saying "When I think I feel myself falling in love, my first impulse is to get into a car and drive as far away from the source as possible." The love-feeling is weird when it involves a friend, particularly when it comes at a moment when you are with your parents and theirs, and you could be getting married or something. Oof. The thought made me blush deeply. And then, in that moment, everything about our relationship flashed before my eyes and came into scrutiny.
Everyone knows I had a crush on My Friend way back when we'd first met, but then our relationship became completely desexualized because I never felt like the feeling was mutual at all, and I am pretty good at changing course. We are so safely couched in platonic-ville that it really can't go back there. But sometimes I feel so fucking attached to him that I wonder. Even more so than Joe, My Friend has been there for me this year. It's actually quite remarkable that we've not gone..there...because I do love the shit out of him. But rather than wanting to go there, I balk, because it's a desire that's completely asexual and I'm really not used to it. Because now it's just in a weird place of wanting to be a marriage without ever having been a romance.
After dinner, as Mom and I were walking home from the subway, I said, "I think I'm in love with My Friend." She just laughed. And that night, I did the typical girl thing of attributing every weird interaction between us to him being in love with me while simultaneously recalling every conversation in which we had specifically talked about various incompatibilities. I stayed up very late that night. The funny thing is that I actually thought everything through to a logical solution, which is to do nothing different and just to love on him the way I do. I love the way our relationship is now. Raising the stakes when I'm about to leave has always been my modus operandus, but I think that has changed. I really don't want to lose him as a friend, and will continue to get my kicks elsewhere if that's what it means. It's going to definitely be on my mind every fucking time I hang out with him now, which is weird, but I have owned this decision not to act on it.
I am now in the Catskills with Mom and Dad, staying at a hotel owned by the B-52s. It pretty much rules. There is no cell phone service up here, but of course there is wireless Internet. Tomorrow I am coming back to New York and I will have two guests waiting for me, kids I met in Bolivia who have been traveling through South America all this while. I have no idea how long they're staying with me.
I've just been bumbling around for a little while now, and I have work to do. I guess I better get used to all this motion and lack of structure.
I think I've mentioned before that I hate my psychiatrist, but when I went to get a refill on my shhh-don't-drink-just-sleep pills before taking off for the west coast, she casually asked about my post-graduation plans. Because I don't take her very seriously, I just-as-casually responded that I had a crazy plan to travel around the world and do whatever the fuck I pleased, but it probably wasn't going to happen and would secretly drive me insane. It's something I've never mentioned to my detox doc/therapist, the one I love, because I do take him seriously, and I don't like to waste our time with my fanciful notions (of which there are many). But the funniest thing happened, which is that she said "Seriously, I'm a psychiatrist--and I don't give advice--but I want to say that your plan doesn't sound crazy." And we talked it through and she convinced me that it was worth pursuing, and that I should talk it through with other doc. After hearing her so unequivocally merit my plan not crazy, I pretty much decided that I was going to do it, though of course I've been secretly thinking of it all along.
I spent a lot of time talking through these new post-graduation plans in San Francisco, which are to spend an indefinite amount of time traveling and writing and shooting photos, and to do so ostensibly under the cover of research. More to come on this later, but every night now I have been falling asleep thinking of this, and it frightens me and excitens me so of course I know I have to do it, and I plan to leave in September. There is so much to plan and to worry about obsessively that it is almost enough to distract me from the overarching question of "is this really going to happen?"
Because it is. I stopped looking for jobs and decided, fuck, I'm going to employ myself this next year to do whatever it is I want to do, and I'm going to do a great fucking job at it. Also, I will hate myself forever if I back out of it now, and so this is why I've told everyone about it, including my family (and weren't they excited about it...).
The first person I called (and saw) when I came back was My Friend, whom I missed while I was away. I actually talked to him several times because we were finishing up a project together, and had to go over some stuff. I'd gotten him a graduation gift in SF and wanted to give it to him right away, so I scooted over to his place and we went for a walk. We talked about shit, plans, jobs, and as I sat there with him I felt both relieved and incredibly anxious. I wasn't sure what the feeling meant, maybe just relieved that I had made a decision of what to do and glad that we would have the whole summer ahead of us to fuck around, but anxious that I hadn't actually made any concrete plans. Then I wondered if the feeling had more to do with him and New York, because I'm not ready to say goodbye to New York just yet, or the people contained in it.
The next day we graduated. I hated graduation, but Mom came in to attend, so I had to go. My Friend and I were the only ones in our department who didn't buy graduation regalia; I appreciated his solidarity. Afterwards, Mom and I had dinner with My Friend, his roommate, and our families. It was cute. When dinner was winding down, My Friend squeezed himself between Mom and me and we chatted and I felt good until that weird feeling returned, the feeling of relief and anxiety, and I attributed it to having just graduated and being around proud parents and declining prosecco with a forced smile, and I tried to relax, but something was weird. Then our friend left, and I realized what was weird did in fact have more to do with my friend than the overall situation. The relief, I realized, was like this calmness I get from being around him, and the anxiety is the feeling I get that he is about to leave. It is like...being in love...why I hate being in love...why I have been quoted as saying "When I think I feel myself falling in love, my first impulse is to get into a car and drive as far away from the source as possible." The love-feeling is weird when it involves a friend, particularly when it comes at a moment when you are with your parents and theirs, and you could be getting married or something. Oof. The thought made me blush deeply. And then, in that moment, everything about our relationship flashed before my eyes and came into scrutiny.
Everyone knows I had a crush on My Friend way back when we'd first met, but then our relationship became completely desexualized because I never felt like the feeling was mutual at all, and I am pretty good at changing course. We are so safely couched in platonic-ville that it really can't go back there. But sometimes I feel so fucking attached to him that I wonder. Even more so than Joe, My Friend has been there for me this year. It's actually quite remarkable that we've not gone..there...because I do love the shit out of him. But rather than wanting to go there, I balk, because it's a desire that's completely asexual and I'm really not used to it. Because now it's just in a weird place of wanting to be a marriage without ever having been a romance.
After dinner, as Mom and I were walking home from the subway, I said, "I think I'm in love with My Friend." She just laughed. And that night, I did the typical girl thing of attributing every weird interaction between us to him being in love with me while simultaneously recalling every conversation in which we had specifically talked about various incompatibilities. I stayed up very late that night. The funny thing is that I actually thought everything through to a logical solution, which is to do nothing different and just to love on him the way I do. I love the way our relationship is now. Raising the stakes when I'm about to leave has always been my modus operandus, but I think that has changed. I really don't want to lose him as a friend, and will continue to get my kicks elsewhere if that's what it means. It's going to definitely be on my mind every fucking time I hang out with him now, which is weird, but I have owned this decision not to act on it.
I am now in the Catskills with Mom and Dad, staying at a hotel owned by the B-52s. It pretty much rules. There is no cell phone service up here, but of course there is wireless Internet. Tomorrow I am coming back to New York and I will have two guests waiting for me, kids I met in Bolivia who have been traveling through South America all this while. I have no idea how long they're staying with me.
I've just been bumbling around for a little while now, and I have work to do. I guess I better get used to all this motion and lack of structure.
Monday, February 23, 2009
...and unhealthy obsessions
Yesterday I spent a significant amount of time ducking people in uniforms, jumping fences, and getting snagged on razor wire for some photos and adrenaline. It started last week and has just escalated where all I look forward to is being places where I shouldn't be, all alone. I don't know how I went from shooting pictures of trees and rocks to shooting abandoned construction sites, but...there it is.
Oh wait, yes, I do know: Roosevelt Island.
I allowed Joe to come over so I could say goodbye to him (in theory) but instead he spent the night and went with me to Roosevelt Island at 5 a.m. the next day. On the southern end of the island there is an abandoned hospital that takes some...maneuvering...to get to. Let's just say that you have to be somewhat desperate to get there, and I had to return Saturday morning to get the photos I needed without being arrested. This is the view of the south-facing facade. It's like a magical fairy tale, with the Queensboro bridge in the background, and this grassy expanse of uninhabited island, all alone, but sandwiched between the UN and Long Island City. The sensation of that, the serenity and beauty and history and triumph of not dying and being caught...yes, I acknowledge that it's completely juvenile and it's something I did back in San Francisco when I was craving attention from boys and all souped up on drugs and booze, and it's something I am doing now when I am completely by myself and sober. But I told you!!!! I can get addicted to just about anything. Fucken try me.
Yesterday after doing sunrise and sunset shoots, I got a surprise meetup call from My New Best Friend, the guy I was desperately in love with back in San Franny, only he had a girlfriend, so I tried to just be friends with him...right. I haven't seen him or spoken to him since leaving SF, though I have gotten some random texts and emails from him. It was crazy to see him. What was even crazier was how amazingly attracted I still was to him. I think it was because of some comment he made about something dark I had once said to him that he still remembered. That always gets to me, when men think that my dark side is somehow attractive and/or tolerable. I began to overheat immediately so I continued my sneaking around trend and led us to smoke a cigarette in the bowels of the club and I thought I was going to lose my mind so I did the thing where I just talked really fast and hoped that I didn't accidentally have sex with him. It was lovely yet horrible. What was even worse was that as soon as I realized how badly I wanted him, I decided to leave and then he asked me very nicely if I wanted to hang out later this week because he's in town until Sunday, which is, incidentally, the day that Joe leaves for San Diego.
I longed for his cocktail more than anything else.
Oh wait, yes, I do know: Roosevelt Island.
I allowed Joe to come over so I could say goodbye to him (in theory) but instead he spent the night and went with me to Roosevelt Island at 5 a.m. the next day. On the southern end of the island there is an abandoned hospital that takes some...maneuvering...to get to. Let's just say that you have to be somewhat desperate to get there, and I had to return Saturday morning to get the photos I needed without being arrested. This is the view of the south-facing facade. It's like a magical fairy tale, with the Queensboro bridge in the background, and this grassy expanse of uninhabited island, all alone, but sandwiched between the UN and Long Island City. The sensation of that, the serenity and beauty and history and triumph of not dying and being caught...yes, I acknowledge that it's completely juvenile and it's something I did back in San Francisco when I was craving attention from boys and all souped up on drugs and booze, and it's something I am doing now when I am completely by myself and sober. But I told you!!!! I can get addicted to just about anything. Fucken try me.
Yesterday after doing sunrise and sunset shoots, I got a surprise meetup call from My New Best Friend, the guy I was desperately in love with back in San Franny, only he had a girlfriend, so I tried to just be friends with him...right. I haven't seen him or spoken to him since leaving SF, though I have gotten some random texts and emails from him. It was crazy to see him. What was even crazier was how amazingly attracted I still was to him. I think it was because of some comment he made about something dark I had once said to him that he still remembered. That always gets to me, when men think that my dark side is somehow attractive and/or tolerable. I began to overheat immediately so I continued my sneaking around trend and led us to smoke a cigarette in the bowels of the club and I thought I was going to lose my mind so I did the thing where I just talked really fast and hoped that I didn't accidentally have sex with him. It was lovely yet horrible. What was even worse was that as soon as I realized how badly I wanted him, I decided to leave and then he asked me very nicely if I wanted to hang out later this week because he's in town until Sunday, which is, incidentally, the day that Joe leaves for San Diego.
I longed for his cocktail more than anything else.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
healthy obsessions
I guess photography can be considered one of my more healthy obsessions. It has me on a super wicked schedule, although if I'm not careful it could get to be more expensive than cocaine, knitting, and boozing combined. I'd like to say it's keeping me out of trouble, but I spent the majority of the Saturday trespassing and while for the most part of it I felt very peaceful and happy, there were a few moments of panic were I thought I was about to get murdered, run over by a train, and/or arrested. Obsessions help me to stay sane, in a way, in the absence of nightly diversions. Last night I had my first boozing-dream, only it was a sad, whoops-I'm-drinking-High-Life-at-a-shitty-party-dream. Gross.
Nevertheless, check out some of my work if you have a minute. I'm shooting a nature in New York series about the resilience/dominance of nature over the built environment. It's kind of turned into a hunt for serenity in New York City. And if you have recommendations on where to shoot, I'd love to hear that, too. Any ideas on where to shoot crumbling buildings where nature has taken over...you know, that kind of thing. I didn't want to embed the gallery here. You know how I feel about the internets. I have this little used flickr account and I'm considering migrating a large account somewhere to have it all centralized with some of my best shots elsewhere...I kind of hate the flickr interface...but I don't know. Suggestions? Picasa scares me. But I kind of like to have little bits and pieces of me scattered everywhere.
All right, anyhow, apologies if I have not been in touch lately. I miss you and love you.
Nevertheless, check out some of my work if you have a minute. I'm shooting a nature in New York series about the resilience/dominance of nature over the built environment. It's kind of turned into a hunt for serenity in New York City. And if you have recommendations on where to shoot, I'd love to hear that, too. Any ideas on where to shoot crumbling buildings where nature has taken over...you know, that kind of thing. I didn't want to embed the gallery here. You know how I feel about the internets. I have this little used flickr account and I'm considering migrating a large account somewhere to have it all centralized with some of my best shots elsewhere...I kind of hate the flickr interface...but I don't know. Suggestions? Picasa scares me. But I kind of like to have little bits and pieces of me scattered everywhere.
All right, anyhow, apologies if I have not been in touch lately. I miss you and love you.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Preview: Summer of Love 2008
It is so beautiful outside that I can't stand it. Literally. My spring-induced mania is pretty out of control, so I have locked myself indoors and am cooking up magical warm-weather food for tonight's par-tay.
It has been a blur since getting on the train at 10 p.m. Thursday night in Chicago. I got crazy bruised celebrating Cian's birthday hours after getting off Amtrak. For some reason The Booze gives me The Violence Against Men, and unfortunately for me, I was with boys that hit back that night. I also like to wake up in the morning and send people photos of my injuries, asking for explanations.
Joe had texted and called me while I'd been in The Chi, so we met up for a sleepover party. Although I can't take him seriously, his sweetness is pretty endearing. So are his friends. Saturday I went to Coney Island with him and his buddies and I had a fantastic time being by the ocean, playing frisbee in the sand, and drinking the strongest bloody marys known to man. It was fun being with Joe and having someone to love on, and I'm hoping we can keep it fun and casual for the Summer of Love 2008, and I don't think it'll be too hard since we'll both be traveling around at opposing times. At the same time, I feel so awesome when I'm around him, like a little kid, just goofy and beautiful and happy. There's something right with that, and I don't want to fuck with it. I know that if I let myself, I will just fall crazy in love with him, and that is something, for some reason, that I am trying to avoid.
With the help of my buddy Eric, I had decided not to invite Joe to tonight's party because I think he might be a little clingy and I have other irons in the fire. And----yaaay! Tyler is coming tonight, and I haven't seen him in about a month, so I'm excited. This kid makes me want to slap him more than anyone else; that is another one of my infatuation tells.
Anyhow, I'm so excited and so drunk on life, and I love the summer and I love you.
It has been a blur since getting on the train at 10 p.m. Thursday night in Chicago. I got crazy bruised celebrating Cian's birthday hours after getting off Amtrak. For some reason The Booze gives me The Violence Against Men, and unfortunately for me, I was with boys that hit back that night. I also like to wake up in the morning and send people photos of my injuries, asking for explanations.
Joe had texted and called me while I'd been in The Chi, so we met up for a sleepover party. Although I can't take him seriously, his sweetness is pretty endearing. So are his friends. Saturday I went to Coney Island with him and his buddies and I had a fantastic time being by the ocean, playing frisbee in the sand, and drinking the strongest bloody marys known to man. It was fun being with Joe and having someone to love on, and I'm hoping we can keep it fun and casual for the Summer of Love 2008, and I don't think it'll be too hard since we'll both be traveling around at opposing times. At the same time, I feel so awesome when I'm around him, like a little kid, just goofy and beautiful and happy. There's something right with that, and I don't want to fuck with it. I know that if I let myself, I will just fall crazy in love with him, and that is something, for some reason, that I am trying to avoid.
With the help of my buddy Eric, I had decided not to invite Joe to tonight's party because I think he might be a little clingy and I have other irons in the fire. And----yaaay! Tyler is coming tonight, and I haven't seen him in about a month, so I'm excited. This kid makes me want to slap him more than anyone else; that is another one of my infatuation tells.
Anyhow, I'm so excited and so drunk on life, and I love the summer and I love you.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Sausage Fest!
My excitement level for tomorrow's birthday party has reached junior high social dance proportions. It's great! My biggest concern is that I won't be able to sleep tonight. This also goes hand-in-hand with springtime MANIA SEASON! Woohoo!
And, at the eleventh hour, I am suspiciously close to meeting my quota of having 5 crushes attend the festivities. I hadn't realized I'd given my number to the boy I met while I was raving drunkenly at Soiree in Chicago, and supposedly he's going to show up. Then tonight I created a mini-spectacle of myself by purchasing an obscene amount of Rice Krispies for the centerpiece, thus attracting the attention of a man with a beautiful smile, to whom I also extended an invitation. I wonder if he'll come. Love Affair RSVPd today as well, for himself and two of his high school buddies (no woman with him, good job Love Affair). And, happily, My Friend will be in attendance as well.
The big question for the evening will be PhD crush, the most intense target of my affections. Discouragingly, when I ran into PhD crush today (first time in two weeks) he handed me the 'no' of the new millenium: I'll try to stop by later. So I'm not planning on seeing him, although, dear friends, that would really make my fucken night! So cross your fingers twelve-year-old girl style and hope hope hope with me! Don't y'all want to meet him?
I love parties! I hope that it won't be too much of a sausage fest, as Karim points out some of my parties tend to be. Man, if only Girlfriend and Sleepwalker could be here, I know they would totally clean up with me. I'm so appreciative of my New York family and I can't wait for us all to party together tomorrow night, but oh San Francisco, I'm going to miss you hard. I just know it.
Countdown to party time! Luis, Papagayo, Muffin, (keetens wish you could come!!), Wandering, get ready to raaaage! In a mere 20 hours from now I will be giddy and golden and glamorously 28 years old. I'm the luckiest girl in the world.
Kisses,
seriously
And, at the eleventh hour, I am suspiciously close to meeting my quota of having 5 crushes attend the festivities. I hadn't realized I'd given my number to the boy I met while I was raving drunkenly at Soiree in Chicago, and supposedly he's going to show up. Then tonight I created a mini-spectacle of myself by purchasing an obscene amount of Rice Krispies for the centerpiece, thus attracting the attention of a man with a beautiful smile, to whom I also extended an invitation. I wonder if he'll come. Love Affair RSVPd today as well, for himself and two of his high school buddies (no woman with him, good job Love Affair). And, happily, My Friend will be in attendance as well.
The big question for the evening will be PhD crush, the most intense target of my affections. Discouragingly, when I ran into PhD crush today (first time in two weeks) he handed me the 'no' of the new millenium: I'll try to stop by later. So I'm not planning on seeing him, although, dear friends, that would really make my fucken night! So cross your fingers twelve-year-old girl style and hope hope hope with me! Don't y'all want to meet him?
I love parties! I hope that it won't be too much of a sausage fest, as Karim points out some of my parties tend to be. Man, if only Girlfriend and Sleepwalker could be here, I know they would totally clean up with me. I'm so appreciative of my New York family and I can't wait for us all to party together tomorrow night, but oh San Francisco, I'm going to miss you hard. I just know it.
Countdown to party time! Luis, Papagayo, Muffin, (keetens wish you could come!!), Wandering, get ready to raaaage! In a mere 20 hours from now I will be giddy and golden and glamorously 28 years old. I'm the luckiest girl in the world.
Kisses,
seriously
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