things i have been doing in portland

-creating and maintaining a spread sheet to keep track of my grocery shopping
-researching the psychology of nature and the history of house plants
-buying absurd things online for use in art pieces
-waiting a long time for these items to arrive
-searching for and obtaining housing
-searching for my perfect/affordable bicycle
-reading art theory/criticism
-going surfing in the pacific ocean in november
-riding a bicycle in the rain quite often, but also in the sun
-collecting a vast verbal library of stories from riding the city bus
-eating pumpkin pie waffles
-drinking a lot of coffee
-only drinking a little alcohol
-meticulously obsessing over every decision i must make but eventually making one
-meeting with a whole slew of people to talk to about my art
-working at a portland-based online baby clothes company
-learning how to silk screen
-keeping a pretty ridiculous moleskine journal
-going over my alotted cell phone minutes every month
-barely getting to see my little sister since she moved here, but being SO happy that she's here
-badgering her about quitting smoking
-playing with my housemate's dog
-occasionally babysitting little kids who can speak italian
-drinking a lot of water
-writing letters and postcards
-receiving letters and postcards so enthusiastically
-not eating enough
-showering daily
-gazing

blindsided

all bundled up, riding home from a night of just a few beers with very good company.
i got a little buzzed and talked ramblingly about september 11th, and other epic tragedies of our lifetime. only worrying that i had talked too much as i was washing my hands in the bathroom after last call.

i put my headphones on and rode home to music. i could just barely see my breath, and when i breathed in, i tasted the cold and the alcohol. like candy. when i arrived at the intersection where i should have turned left to go home, i kept going straight so i could finish the song. the streets in portland are so poorly lit at night, but as i rolled into a rare circle of light from a street lamp, i saw a form in the road. as i passed, i saw a small but vibrant pool of red. i saw the fresh blood across it's face. i circled back around, and it was only that very moment in that very song that it could have been possible for the squeaky brakes on my borrowed 1970s road bike to fit into any song in the way that they did. i got off the bike and walked to the center of the road. it was a small possum, and it couldn't have been dead longer than 5 minutes from the look of it. it still looked whole, and i looked closely to see if there was a raise in it's side from any fleeting breaths. there were not, and i snapped a picture of it with my cell phone.

i got back on my bike and rode another few blocks past home. i thought about the physical traumas i have been through. i remembered, just for a split second but very vividly, the feeling of being in a car slamming into a tree. it sounds melodramatic, but really i just felt hyper aware of being alive.

a memory made in oregon

i rode my borrowed orange bicycle downtown for the first time,
which is quite a ways from here.
i took all these small quiet roads to get to the bridge, and they were so dark...it was as if there were only street lights every 5 blocks, and most streets dodged the moonlight with their canopies of trees over head.
i crossed over the burnside bridge, and it was crazy and the cars were fast but there was a bike lane. i was separated from the traffic by a thin white line.
crossing over into downtown, i was met by sparking lights, and the huge glowing "made in oregon" sign with a leaping deer greeted me.


i arrived downtown, and found a block party, and there was yacht performing.
i watched quietly while everyone danced outside.
the show was over and i wandered around a bit, wishing i wasn't alone.
wishing i had the guts to talk to a stranger.
the more i walked, the sadder i became that i was failing.

i finally went back to where my bike was locked and hopped onto it in tears.
and started to ride home. i decided to try out the hawthorn bridge for the way back.
there were water taxis moving through the river below me.
it was very nice out. a perfect bridge breeze.

half way across the bridge, there was a boy sitting on the sidewalk
writing in a notebook.
no shoes.
at first i thought it was a sad sight
but as i pedaled past him, he looked up and me with a very big smile.
and i didn't really feel much better for it, but i stopped crying.
which was all i could ask for, really.

i moved 2,500 miles away

sometimes i am lonely, but sometimes i am okay with having no friends.

she woke me up to tell me the taco bell dog had died.

bill

today a man named bill came into the scooter shop.

he was standing at the counter, and i was in the office...i can see the counter from where i sit.

we had some goggles on the counter...they are for dogs. they are literally called doggles. yup. for dogs that go on scooters.

bill was out there by himself, trying on said goggles.

he did not know they were for dogs.
he was not catching on that his eyes are not basically on opposite sides of his head.
he is an awkward lanky man who over articulates, and uses someones name every time he addresses them. and they are often named karen or regina.

he was mumbing to himself "oooh..THEESE are nice goggles.."

25, whales, the wake

"Methinks we have hugely mistaken this matter of Life and Death. Methinks that what they call my shadow here on earth is my true substance. Methinks that in looking at things spiritual, we are too much like oysters observing the sun through the water, and thinking that thick water the thinnest of air. Methinks my body is but the lees of my better being. In fact take my body who will, take it I say, it is not me. And therefore three cheers for Nantucket; and come a stove boat and stove body when they will, for stave my soul, Jove himself cannot".

basically

[clarification: mostly i just think this is hilarious. i only partially posted because it is only partially true. if we can't laugh at ourselves, then what, right?]

sunday morning winter oasis

a very nice sunday morning in an otherwise impenetrably difficult february. open door, sunlight, fresh air, and a high chair.

coffee, orange juice, hash browns, pesto on freshly baked whole wheat bread, and pesto scrambled eggs [for her]

breakfast nestled on the couch, however improper.

relaxing cats.

her hair could be a cozy nest.


the morning after valentine's day.

go for a run, take a shower, eat something

check.

check.

...working on it.

but this tangible breathing feels good. my breaths have weight to them today, and it makes my breathing feel all the more productive.

i aspire to be more like dale, jr.

take a shower, make coffee, eat something

i keep accusing myself of not considering your pain, on the universe's behalf. the universe we are in, where it happened this way, and not another.


the truth is, perhaps i've given it more thought than i am capable of giving without digesting my own organs. extracting one's own essential components.



is my right ankle caught in wormhole? is that where this sharp pain under my pelvis is coming from?


i am made of tin and there are bullets bouncing around inside of me, clanking and showing no signs of slowing. how they got there, i do not know. but i am so sorry that they are making so much noise.

January 20, 2009

I always meant to record my memory of November 4th, 2008 but I didn't get around to it, and then my hard drive decimated itself. Now that my computer is fixed, and we have made it all the way to Inauguration Day, I suppose now it as good a time as any to back track a little bit. 

For the four days leading up to Election Day, Faith and I were in Washington, D.C. Our five year anniversary was November 3rd, and she took me as a surprise gift because we love the city immensely. It was just icing on the cake that we were there to experience the pre-election buzz that was just electrifying the place. 

We found out while we were down there that there would be a rally in Virginia that Obama would be speaking at on the night before the election. My trusty ol' pal Erin was willing to make the drive, and so we decided, what better way to celebrate our anniversary than with one hundred thousand people? 

The rally was ridiculous. It was at a fair grounds, and it was filled to capacity. Barack was but a tiny speck beyond a sea of screaming people. He was tired, and that was clear - but he also seemed to be more relaxed. Maybe even deflated, but somehow it came out in humor and casual anecdotes. I didn't see how he wouldn't take Virginia the next day given such a crowd. 

On election day, Faith and I boarded a train and came back home to vote. That evening we went to Real Art Ways to watch the results come in among friends. Something about this warranted company...this was not an election to watch from the couch. As things continued to stay positive, some of us felt compelled to run out into the night and freak out a little bit. We heard about the party the CT Dems were having downtown and thought that sounded like a good place to be if Barry were to win that night. 

Union Station was pretty crowded, and there was a great energy. I knew almost no one there besides the people I went with, which was great in that...I feel encouraged when I see lots of people with like-minded ideals outside of just the company I keep. Bad sentence...but you get the idea. There was a huge projection of a new news stations, keeping track as various states reported. Time and time again, they came in for Obama. It was SUCH a positive feeling in that room...I did all I could not to jump out of my own skin. Congressman John Larson was there (he won re-election that night, as well), and as it started to become pretty clear who was going to be the next president, he and some others would occasionally speak to the crowd, and people were going nuts. 

Even as the numbers and projections were showing Obama as the inevitable winner, I couldn't relax until I saw it for real. When I looked up and saw that Virgina came in blue, I lost my breath. I KNEW then. I knew it and I couldn't fucking believe it. Moments later, every station was projecting Obama as the clear winner. It was declared. Everything went really fast after Virginia, the way I remember it. I started crying in one of the most bizarrely involuntary ways I have ever cried. I couldn't form words, or barely even form thoughts. I started getting texts from everyone I had ever known. Everyone was screaming and jumping up and down and grabbing onto each other! Balloons, CONFETTI! EVERYTHING! John Larson walked through the crowd and as he passed me, I shook his hand and said congratulations. He leaned over to me and said "Never forget this moment". Maybe he was hitting on me...but my bets are placed on the incredible relief, joy, and the fucking history that was taking place in that room and in every room in the country. A black man. A black man with a funny name. Is the new president? America did this?? Really, guys?? Apparently! 

And it felt so good, and still feels so good...not only because of this inspirational person persevering and winning and making promises and giving so much inspiration. But because we DID this...and I felt redeemed. 

So today, Barack was sworn in. I wasn't able to be there this time, and that smarts. However, I could still feel it from here. And I don't think he is infallible, and I don't expect him to turn dirty water into wine...but I am so proud, and so excited and hopeful. I feel so lucky to be alive for this. So lucky for what I have been witness to so far, and will continue to see from here. I have been in the thick of it, and I have gone out of my way to do so. I don't see why I should stop now. 

so you want me to blog about your departure, eh?

THERE.


[wah]

driving a squishy car through a squishy world

i accidentally lost 10 pounds in the last 10 months or so. 

i was forced into a clean slate so i have no images to share of my own. here is one that might be mine someday soon. 

this is currently the only photograph on my entire hard drive. 

things i am exasperated with right now

money and cats and applications and drugs and cars and hard drives and illness and recessions and pastors and "partial unemployment"...

morse code

a 2:59 of much too much importance

i really didn't feel like i could get to sleep, but then i looked at a photograph of you as a little girl and i immediately need to grab onto you and hold tight.

i belong to the "fresh-air school"

whole lot of eggs in this roost.

a hen house on wheels. with window boxes. drag and drop in a field.

the weathered wood from your old hen house will make a perfect home.

what i'd like to know now is...what ever happened to all of those old drawings i did?

________________________________

a lot of my things are dying. my immune system, my car, my computer's hard drive..
the economy is bad and i only work 3 days a week and i don't make any money.
but we still went on that trip, and i still want to go out to dinner with you, and when they bring us a warm wash cloth before we eat, maybe they are trying to help us to forget. when they bring us a dish of pineapple before we head back out to your winter car [the one littered with gloves and old coffee cups], maybe they are trying to warm us until the next day when they know it will be unseasonably mild.

well, they were right! today my scooter turned on, and i wheeled it out of the back yard and onto the roads, and never before have i had so many strangers smile and wave at me.

________________________________

they are building chicken coops on rooftops in the city.

like ripping off a really good band-aid

Two gnats have died in my coffee this morning. When the third one hits, I will take the cue to get something done.

Other than that, I've been working on keeping the noise up so that the creaking of the attic doesn't sound through [we don't have an attic].

Coffee can be like leaving or it can spill onto your keyboard and fry the whole thing to shit. I don't deserve the things I am working toward. Here is a photograph of a coffee cup on a river bank that I love. I took more care not to spill that coffee into the mill stream than I have any where else, ever before.


Just please be kind and don't scroll down to see that I already posted this photograph last winter. If you do, say not a word about it.

useless sick wah baby

now i have been sick for 8 days, and this, day 8, shows no sign of diminishing.

in the month of november so far, i have been to work 1.5 days, which includes yesterday's sad attempt.

in all that time off, i have accomplished nearly nothing. nearly nothing! i need to heal. so i can write about the good things that happened before this.

doctor patient candor

tonight i got to witness the brilliance of a doctor and a patient sitting side by side, giving insight into the others' experience that neither seemed to expect.

i watched the face of the patient as the doctor delved into how she felt intruding on the physical bodies and the emotional bodies of her patients. of her cases. of her subjects. of the skin with a light coating of hair. the patient smiled, and took deep breaths, and seemed to sink into her chair occasionally. something hit her.

i watched the doctor lean in as the patient discussed so poetically, and humorously, how she felt for 9 years barely moving. watching dirty dancing. the irony of high school pep rallies. her dirty blood.

i felt incredible to witness what they seemed to do for each other, despite the intended audience being us.

i was certainly more of a witness than an audience tonight and it felt brilliant.

furry happy monsters

yup.

Almost frighteningly subconsciously.

The past few days have had very cool mornings. I've been all zipped up on my rides into work.
Yesterday I even layered!

Without warning, each time I select a song to listen to, an album, I realize as it starts to play that it is exactly what I was listening to at this point last year. And not much since.

The cool mornings are waking up my autumn subconscious.

It makes me think about rental cars, and parkways. Parking lots and hotels.

I wonder what a free autumn will feel like?



It is REALLY vivid. This song reminds me of a red Chevy Aveo, somewhere in western Connecticut. I am having a physical reaction.

sixty to one hundred percent

Friday night, laying in bed next to Faith, I went over all the reasons I should not attempt to ride my scooter 250 miles the next morning. Forecasts called for severe thunderstorms, from Hartford, CT to Bennington, VT and everywhere in between. I had no experience riding in the rain. Hell, I had only around 215 miles of riding, period. I was nervous. I set my alarm anyways, and said I would decide how I felt in the morning. I really wanted to go on this trip...I was so excited at the prospect! Just a healthy dose of fear mixed in.

I woke up at 7:15am. Checked the weather again. Sixty percent chances, basically all day. Faith encouraged me some more. I read a text message around 7:30am that said "be brave", and believe it or not, coupled with Faith's encouragement, that is what did the trick. Although I immediately felt like throwing up. Rushed around, got ready in 5 minutes, and jumped on my scooter to ride to the shop.



About 17 people came to ride. I was surprised...with such forecasts, I expected a smaller turn out. I tried to drink some coffee. Couldn't. Filled up my gas tank (came to around $3) and we set off. It was great riding in a group like that. Less fear of the cars and trucks on the road, more camaraderie. The looks we got from the people we passed were priceless. Lots of encouraging honks and waves. We made quite a scene, actually.

We took all back roads and smaller routes - this is the way to travel. Highways are useless if you want to actually see any of the places you are flying past. We rode through a state forest, small towns, roads where all you could see on either side were towering green trees. Open roads, too...no traffic, no congestion. Faster that I had ever rode before, but after awhile, it felt great. I stopped looking at the speedometer. I know we went over 60 at many points.

The rain didn't come until Massachusetts. As soon as the first few drops collected on my helmet's face shield, I knew what was coming. I was the only person in the group without proper rain gear. It wasn't as though I was caught by surprise - I just had never got around to preparing better. I focused on the tire paths in front of me, trying to ride in them. I reminded myself that if the scooters in front of me could take that turn without wiping out, there is no reason I shouldn't be able to as well. As long as I ride smart. If I had been on my own, I would have taken a lot of those turns more slowly, but I was with people more experienced and comfortable, and I wanted to keep up. I was wearing 2 shirts and a riding jacket, but after awhile I could feel every drop of rain hitting the skin of my chest like nails. My jeans were completely soaked through. I could feel puddles washing around in my sneakers. Nothing more to lose, I guess you could say.

It started pouring hard enough that we pulled over at a gas station and took shelter for maybe 10 minutes. Other riders took pity on me and I was given extra layers, and the assurance that Vermont had places I could buy rain gear. Back on the road! It died down to a drizzle after awhile. I was freezing cold, but I guess the euphoria of the ride was counterbalancing how physically uncomfortable I was.

The rain may have caused a lot of the places we passed to look even more beautiful. It left behind low hanging clouds and ghost-like fog that collected in pools between mountains. It swirled around as mists over sprawling marshes. The road cut through these places almost unnoticed it seemed. Everything was much bigger than us. I couldn't see a man-made structure in any direction other than the road before me, at many occasions. And, as I almost always do when I ride my scooter, I saw rabbits.



When we arrived in Bennington, parking our scooters in rows along the street, taking up almost a whole block, it was a nice relief. I immediately ducked into the Northface store, purchased dry socks and a new pair of rain pants, and changed into them and out of my sopping wet jeans. Found a laundromat a few blocks down, and threw my pants and jacket in to dry while we ate at a brew pub nearby. Our group took up the entire upstairs area. Despite the less than pleasant weather, spirits were high. When I was able to change back into dry, warm jeans, rain pants over them, I didn't feel the hesitation anymore that I felt before the first leg of the trip.





We set back out on a different route home. Stopping for gas again, we could actually see more storm clouds approaching. It was then that we decided to race them home. If we left now, we could stay ahead of it. It we waited even 5 minutes, we would be in the storm the whole way back. No time to lose! Each gas stop was like we were part of a pit crew, moving as quickly as possible to get back on the road. It was a lot of fun, although it might sound stressful. It was a challenge.

Subsequently, we seemed to ride even faster on the way home. Down Route 7. Only slowing when we had to, as the route passed through small towns before opening back up to open roads. At this point, the sky was a beautiful combination of pre and post storm. We were somewhere in between. The roads started looking more familiar, and I saw my odometer pass the 500 mile mark before rolling back into town.



After some bbq and sharing of experiences, I rode home in the dark, on my own. It was almost midnight, and I was the only thing on the road for most of the time. I had a new confidence. I left my face shield up, risking bugs in the face for the trade-off of the night air. Nothing is better than night air during the summer. When all was said and done, and I rolled into my backyard, the day had totaled around 290 miles.

birds birds birds...all i talk about are birds

I had a dream last night that the trees around my home were filled with colorful birds that were diving at my head. FILLED. 

It was getting dark, and the music was loud. It was beautiful and it gave me a strange feeling. It wasn't fear, or even sadness. But I was crying. 

It was crying akin to that which I experienced in a dark theater close to home. 

Akin to that which I experience when I am watching a bird by a reservoir 200 miles from my father watching a bird from the porch he built where I grew up. 

The bird I keep on my arm knows exactly what I am talking about. 

introducing sophia

proper photo shoot to come.

hang-over musings on a friday morning

i shouldn't be seeing deer in suburban backyards. 

but i do. 

i shouldn't have to doubt the honesty of a crying man on the street who tells me his mother died 2 hours ago. 

but i do. 

the summer when i was 24

the elvis of birds

yesterday at the reservoir while "consummating a friendship" i spotted two extremely large woodpeckers. i had never seen anything like it before.  looking through the bird book later to identify what i saw, i was torn between the pileated woodpecker, or the ivory-beaked woodpecker. upon closer reading, i learned that an ivory-beaked woodpecker has not been officially spotted since before the 1950s. this does not completely dissuade me from believing that perhaps i found the elusive birds, that they are not extinct, that i trudged down that path for good reason when i spotted that blazing red tuft of feathers on it's head. 

i am desperate to go back and find them again. did i spot the avian holy grail? i have never been very good at estimating anything numerical, so i would not be able to confidently say how tall i think the bird was. the pileated woodpecker is about 16 inches, while the ivory-beaked is closer to 20. i can tell you that the two i saw were larger than crows. i can also tell you that these birds had distinct white markings, and in most images i am finding, the pileated is mostly black on it's body. 

at the time i had no idea. i knew nothing about either bird. i didn't know what markings i should have been looking for, or that the elvis of birds could have been flying right above me. when they flew from tree to tree, their wings seemed to cast shadows over the entire forest. 

[in cases such as these, i allow my memories to carry themselves away]

however unlikely this all is, it is beautiful to believe. there are many things i cannot verbalize, and i think the idea of having seen an extinct bird is a very suitable analogy for them all. 

to set something in motion

this is what i look like on my last day of work. appropriately puerile. regressing?

i have worked in this office in one capacity or another...for 6 years. and now it is over. 

i could try to write what i really feel about all this, but i won't bother. in short, it is bittersweet. 

but it is time for something new. 

fox

last night i took a walk 

and chased a fox. 

everyones' middle name should be fenton

i still have the memory of gin in my mouth and the trees in my nose.

i still have dirt on my ankles i am very unlikely to wash it off for at least another day.

       the way that people drive fast on the roads where they are from.

       the way that people who grow up in the woods speak louder in the woods than those who did not grow up. in the woods.

       us outsiders, us wannabes, speak in hushed tones.

[i feel like i have to] 

we should be allowed a day in the life of each others' childhood. we may be many decades old now, but i want to know each of you for at least a day while still in the single digits.

I almost cried in Willimantic yesterday.

wednesday soup

i went through my period of mourning. i am coming to terms with where i am and where i will be, because of where i know i am going. because of who i know i am with.

i am surrounded by little song birds and they land on my shoulder and whisper in my ear that i am just as capable as they are...of perching in the very tops of trees.



i am just starting to believe them. although i won't lie...it has happened more than once; i have been in bad music videos.
you know the ones...gazing through a window pane, an even coating of rain water in constant motion on one side, my sad eyes on the other. oh yes, i will admit to that.

[when i was little, i would constantly pretend i was in a sad scene of a movie, or a music video, when i felt really down. it helped me snap out of it sometimes, and other times it gave me just the right level of wallowing that i was looking for.]

[cue sad music]

sometimes it is warmer when you lay on the ground. it's about sky versus earth.



and on wednesdays, soup.
on wednesdays you eat soup because her eyes are like pond water.

songs of dooryard, field and forest

I went to another city to try to decide what to do next. When I was there, I bought 3 records of bird songs. On the back of one record was the story of the husband and wife, Jerry and Norma Stillwell, who made all the field recordings. They quit their jobs, sold their home, purchased a trailer, and invested thousands in audio equipment. 

Started each morning with 6 cups of coffee. 

Were fed berries and cream by a farmer's wife. 

Waited 3 weeks at a time for 9 seconds worth of a certain bird's song containing 165 individual notes.

Thwarted a rattlesnake.

All of this and more, written on the back of an album sleeve which I read in a city that I went to for the purpose of deciding what to do next. 

i can't believe i've only fallen out once, or, talking in trees

the majority of our most vital roots are most likely only as deep as 18 inches below the surface of this dirt.

but that is enough space to believe the system could be shared, regardless of where we emerged from.

i realized how lovely it sounds when you recall that i told you a story while we were in a tree.

i want to make portraits of all the trees i have been in with my friends. i want to make a map and give guided tours of all these trees. even if some of them are as far as two hours from the next closest tree on said map.

i am happy to say there are too many of these trees for me to honestly remember, although this will render my map useless.

thunder eases my heart

Things that have happened...

I wear the same sweater every day.I am part of an art show that had a nice opening.





I had a very beautiful birthday in which my friends and I ate exquisite cuisine and people gave me really thoughtful gifts..I mean, wow. Seriously, thank you.

I teach high school kids about "nontraditional drawing" which turns into a class full of kids chewing gum and sticking it onto a piece of cardboard in the shape of Marilyn Monroe.

I cut my hair off-ish.

I have been served delicious meals by various friends which is a beautiful thing.

I have been biting my tongue.

I just heard thunder and I couldn't be happier about that.

And last but not least, I was given a decades old dead sea horse.
I am not much for words lately.

bathroom window as bird mansion

The bird queen on her hands and knees
Has found herself wandering
Through the back yards of mansions

Her ears at a salute for the smallest sound
Nestled between mansions with a view of the ghetto
She lays down by the morning dove, mourning dove

Things that Strike me Today

el fin.

nice to meet you

I said this, to a song:

I'd like to introduce you to a lunar eclipse.
To the snow collecting in the arch of my foot.
To all of my friends.
I'd like to introduce you to my eyelashes on wood.




I'd like to take you for a walk and show you an abandoned outdoor public pool this winter.

blogs as marketing for self

Okay so. My work is framed up. The frames are gorgeous...the consensus on the work itself is still in deliberations. I'm not historically one to vomit before big events, but that may all change because I am really nervous about this work for some reason. It's the first work I've done "on my own", also known as "out of school", also known as "I do what I want", and what if it crashes and/or burns? I feel like I had a baby and now I am entering it into a baby beauty pageant. Don't hate my baby. Why would you hate a baby?

I'm entirely overreacting.

Anyways...if anyone is out there in the abyss that my blog falls into...I'm going to be in a show. Here is some information about said show:

Admire / Inspire / Aspire

Invitational Show
Paper/New England
56 Arbor St, Hartford, CT
March 8 - May 10
Reception: March 20th, 7-9pm

Come and say hi. To my work.

My Olfactory Sense Gets Me Into Trouble Yet Again!

I have a really gaudy ring that I love a lot. It is also very fake, and has a habit of turning my finger green, which I'm not all that into, so I barely ever wear it. But every time I catch a glimpse of it in my jewelery box I am hit with a wave of lamentation.

I was told that coating the inside of the metal with clear nail polish can help avoid this most unfortunate effect. This morning I tried it and so far it's working, but I was just wondering if the nail polish itself had any kind of adverse effect...most obvious possibility being an olfactory effect. So I took my ring off to smell my finger, and very quickly realized that I am a very lucky girl for not having done that in front of anyone. I didn't think quickly enough, but in retrospect, I realize there is no situation in which smelling your finger is NOT horrifyingly creepy.

what i remember of eighth grade history class

When I was in junior high, I had a strange correspondence with the boy who sat in the same desk as I did, but at another part of the day. It started out when I responded to something he had written on the desk itself. When I returned to class the next day, I saw that he had responded to my response. 

So it began.

It continued down the entire left side of the desk. Our tiny little scrawled notes back and forth. Once or twice some other history student from another class would try to interject but we would ignore them, or erase them altogether. 

Eventually we ran out of desk, and one of us directed the other to a stray book on the counter to the right of the desk. Inside there was a small ripped out piece of notebook paper where our correspondence could continue. I found out that he was a grade older than me. He had a girlfriend. This didn't matter, as none of our scrawling was romantic or flirtatious in any way. It was a way to pass the time during our respective history classes, and eventually became some sort of bizarre anonymous friendship. 

Each of us had no idea who the other was. 

I spent one day at school walking past my history class every period, glancing in to see who sat at my desk. I tried to narrow down which person in which period was writing to me. I figured it out pretty easily when finally I saw a boy taking my note out. The other desk inhabitants had no idea we had moved our correspondence into the book on the counter. We had erased that part. 

He was nothing like me. We were the most unlikely of pen pals. He was sort of a tough guy. He did poorly in school, intimidated most people he encountered, and smoked cigarettes among other things. He was, however, very genuine and open in our notes. I would take them once the paper filled up, and replace it with a new piece, and I never let him figure out who I was. He was also okay with not knowing. 

I have no idea what made me just remember all of this as I was lying on my couch trying to fall asleep. I also have no almost memory of anything we wrote about.

jump ship

Here are some things I need to get out of my system:

-I feel my throat close up when I see middle aged women in liquor stores by themselves. I want to hug them and cry on them. 

-Why do I need to reassure strangers? I can't explain it but I fear that if I think about it for too long I will figure out the answer. 

-I want to bring a small group of people into a small room with me and listen to "Scenic World" by Beirut at a deafening volume while we all hug. [Oh god...let the crazy flow right out, Jillian]

-I love my cats so much that it convinces me I will be a good mother. 

-I've been making copies of the same painting for a couple of years now. I even want to make it again. I also am unsure of what this means, but I suppose it is telling that I've named it "Wanderlust". 

In closing, I really feel like I am about to jump ship. And by ship I mean my own skin. 

faulty television reception

in the winter we wear clothes.

lay in a sleeping bag on the floor of our living room. listen to records, 

which are more hearty like a winter soup.

our clothes are ghosts. all except for my broken mitten. 

the passenger seat of my car up until recently, held my history dating way back to october. you emptied it for me and discarded those roads, which were littered with the road kill whispering along with the ghosts of our clothes. 

Don't wear fear or nobody will know you're there

This isn't my own photograph, or my own experience, unfortunately. But I can't help but share it. A friend of Faith's family took this photo. It is pure gold. Honestly, as geeky as it makes me, this photograph is a perfect example of what can make me so completely happy!

That, and what I received in the mail today. Oh boy, is it ever solid gold. Limited edition vinyl, only 2500 copies pressed. Only 250 of those are the brown, blue, red, and black splatter vinyl. Beautiful. Twelve beautiful tracks. A bonus 7 inch with 2 additional, previously unreleased versions. Forty page booklet containing images from shooting, and an oral history of the making of the film. Other treasures include a copy of the original hand written lyrics to "Don't Be Shy". Two very large posters, one a preproduction of a promotional poster for the film, and the other a very large line drawing of Cat Stevens himself.

What is this that I am going on and on about?

The soundtrack for Harold and Maude. My favorite film, quite likely. A soundtrack that is exclusively Cat Stevens. And this is the only way you can get it in any authentic format. I am overjoyed! This just pushed it's way to the top of the list of things I would make sure to grab in a fire, after of course my boo and my cats. It is such a treasure.

This morning when I woke up, my head was slicing and dicing itself, and my chest felt like it was vibrating. But now I can turn this record up loud and sit on the floor in front of it and watch it spin and read the booklet and I feel a lot better.

Don't be shy just let your feelings roll on by 

Don't wear fear or nobody will know you're there 

Just lift your head, and let your feelings out instead 

And don't be shy, just let your feeling roll on by 

On by 

You know love is better than a song 

Love is where all of us belong 

So don't be shy just let your feelings roll on by 

Don't wear fear or nobody will know you're there 

You're there 

Don't be shy just let your feelings roll on by 

Don't wear fear or nobody will know you're there 

Just lift your head, and let your feelings out instead 

And don't be shy, just let your feeling roll on by 

On by, on by, on by, on by

pretty baby

The Temptations spinning, my hands as cold as ice, and dads on the loose.

We are all in winter comas, but we are fighting so hard to win. Wine, puppy piles, velour iron-on letters. This winter sure is bipolar. It has had me walking through the sunny streets with barely a care, and it has also had me driving to work in the morning with a blanket over me. In the car. You heard me right.

Photographs have been taking me back to warmer times. I lay in a giant pile of them and they cover my arms between bursts of heat.





The people around me now also do the trick.

turtles on my feet

Sometimes I fantasize about the South.
Being a wonderful and charming place to live.
Austin?
One of the Carolinas?

More often, I fantasize about throwing away almost everything in my apartment.

Tonight I can't sleep. I haven't stayed up all night in a long time. I don't really want to do that tonight, but I feel strange...in an old state of mind. I don't know how I want my life to be.

Today I read something that I thought was beautiful. But no one that I showed it to had quite the same response. Was I really that off in thinking everyone else would respond the way I did? Apparently so. This is what it said:

"on december 10th, 1998 my pet turtle died and i put cigarettes out on my hands, feet, neck, and tailbone. to mark each of the places a turtle can retreat into it's shell".

I'm living in an age who's name I don't know

I was looking at this photo a few weeks ago and after a quick glance, Faith asked if that girl was me. I've never been told that I look like my mother, so this first time of her image being mistaken for me was a bit jarring. Not necessarily in a positive or negative way. More like...significant. It just felt significant and a little disarming.

I can't say for sure how old she was when this picture was taken. I would wager no older than 25. I'm already forgetting how old I am. If I were transplanted into the moment this photograph was taken, my mother and I would be peers, at least. I find that thinking of things in this way is somehow helpful to me. It's extremely difficult for me to wrap my mind around...putting myself in her situations, imagining her in mine. Looking at photographs of my parents, raising these little kids, who happen to me my sister and I...and knowing that if the present-me were put into the situation, my parents and I would be on a very similar level, in similar parts of our lives chronologically speaking.

Growing up through all kinds of issues and problems and difficulties, still doesn't change the fact that I can imagine being best friends with these two people if we had existed together in a more relatable way. They raised me to be their best friend in another time and I wonder if they are at all aware of having done this.

photo-graphic memory

This was a family tradition for years. Every summer we would make the trip up to Lake Winnipesaukee, and every summer we would stand in a line by age, and take a photo in front of the water. I remember upon seeing this photograph how unhappy I was about it. I hated how I looked, I thought the scrunched up face I was making because of the sun being in my eyes made me look stupid. As young as I was, it's a shame I was thinking about things like that.

The next summer we went to the lake again. When the time came for us to be beckoned to the edge of the water and arrange ourselves by age for that year's photo, I refused. I couldn't stop thinking about how stupid I looked in the previous year's photo and I didn't want to relive that. I was a stubborn little kid, and nothing anyone could say could make me stand in that row and be in another picture. Everyone got really mad at me and told me I was ruining a tradition for everyone. I was being selfish. Of course, I ran into the woods and cried. I felt terrible, and I didn't want to ruin something for everyone, but I had made my decision, and to change my mind now would somehow be even more embarassing. Someone came after me, I can't remember who. Tried to calmly talk me into coming back. I wasn't budging.

Inspired by Ms. Dahn's secrets

I was just glancing through my email and was reminded of the fact that as of last week, I have an online account with a pizza place called Manny & Olga's in Bethesda, MD because sometimes I actually have THAT much phone anxiety.

File this one in Things-I-Would-Almost-Never-Admit-To-If-Not-For-The-Sake-of-Humor.