life is humbling underneath us

44/365: be safe, be seen by GraceAdams

Back to basics, back to school. I was talking to a bar patron the other night and he says, September is still my favourite month because it still feels like I’m going back to school – there is still that initial unconscious link to fresh starts. This is my favourite and simultaneously least-favourite time of the year. The anticipation of school, only to be faced with the let down of work. Job-hunting as exciting, job-getting as depressing. I need another source of income and yet I scurry from the opportunity. I am tired of working but I am eager to pay my way forward. I guess I am just bored of the retail-restaurant-customer service jumble.

I miss reading poetry, jotting down those poems that I find inspiring in my book. I am not a novel person, although I love reading them. I don’t think I would be fantastic at writing them – yet. My bubba finally came back and yet I said, “it felt like you never left at all” – except that it did, falling asleep those nights without his voice to wish me a good sleep. I felt his lack of presence strongly, like an anvil at the bottom of the ocean while I was gasping for breath up at the top. And still it was like he never left – it was 4 weeks, that is a month, that is not a short time, but it is in the scheme of a year, even. It is a short time, and a long time all at once.

He tells me that the people he met there told him to live more in the present and less in the past or future. Goals are exciting and memories are helpful but breathing in and out and looking at your feet so you know exactly where you stand at this moment, it’s like a 360° spot check all of the time.

Where am I? What do I want? Which way do I go from this point, exactly? In what do I invest myself?

I need to write more lists so I don’t forget myself at this moment. It’s almost an obsession. That’s what so much of this blog is about, truly. I try to write so I don’t forget who I was, and even as I look back on old entries it seems like sometimes I am a completely different person, like I couldn’t possibly have written what I see in front of my eyes, signed by my own name. I don’t remember writing certain things, and I remember writing in that trance, “in that moment between dusk and dawn,” where the words are just on the tops of my nerves and I move my fingers to shake them free and set them off on their journey.

I need to be getting ready for work now, but it seems a bit inconsequential today. If I could have anything right now, it is the opportunity to love what I do in the years to come. I am building that opportunity meticulously and also haphazardly, like “I think this is the step that would lead there, but this other one that just appeared might be better, so let me try that.”

Life isn’t a culmination of things, it is a constant striving upward.

-A

1:34 am, wednesday, may 18th, 2011

Lightning by Pete Hunt

“You have been cheating on me” is an impossible situation in a very possible world. You are never who the other person thinks you are. You think from this inside out, not from the outside in.

sickle:
hammer and
cell disease
wheat
hook

you are a connotation
interpretation
assumption
dissertation

french erotica and anxiety

That’s it chicklets! The deed is done! 3rd year is at its bitter end. The universe rises up in hushed sarcastic applause. I have thrown another 7 grand at a mass corporation mainly involved with mind-rot and ambition-stifling. Oh, it’s university all-right.

Speaking of important things like higher education, who saw the vengeful return of 90210 this week? Me?

She looks like she can bite your face off.

Oh, JUST me. Well, DANG girl, I didn’t know Adrianna had it in her! Ok, that’s a lie. That girl is a psychopath and I knew it from the very beginning – why? Why, because I have a keen and practised eye for the seeking-out of crazies. I attract them like fruit flies to vinegar.

Look at that stare! That is not a happy camper.

Anywhoozers, now that I’m more or less “free” to rot my teeth, puke out all my alcohol-inhibitors and party like it’s 1999 (and let’s be honest, with my recent Dawson’s Creek obsession, partying in 1999 seems pretty. fucking. cool.) – I’m just.. reading? Madame Bovary, to be precise. I realize this puts me somewhere between “Wow. You’re retarded.” and “Complete Social Outcast” but I kind of like this middle ground that I’m inhabiting. It’s weird and comforting and I barely even have to interact with real people anymore, what with my tv shows and my books. My macbook Sebastian is all I need. (Sadly, Seb, this naming was not a coincidence, not just so I could cuddle up to your name as I fall asleep.)

But, I mean, if you feel the strong desire to read old literature at the end of a gruelling year of reading old literature, why not read old French erotica? That was my reasoning, at least. And the fact that I’ve picked up (and put down) this book at least 7 times in the past 4 years because I am a lazy, irresponsible reader and I should not be lucky enough to be blessed with so many wonderful books when all I do is forget about them, then their plots, then reading in general, as I slowly dissolve into a sloth orbiting my kitchen and my bathroom, in turn.

“Eat, then sleep. Wake up, then eat.” – Russian Proverb

FUN FACT: What I’m mainly focused on every moment of my waking life is planning it out in as much detail as possible.

Now, this tends to make me quite anxious when things like MY TWENTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY creep up, and thus leads to nervousness and over-thinking and messaging everyone in the “event,” oh… 17 times to make sure they’re all “really” coming – no, REALLY coming – not like

“Oh, I’m coming but I might bitch out at the last-minute so the people at the restaurant will look down on you all sad and pitying because the promised amount of guests didn’t show up and you are a big fat loser who doesn’t even know how to make friends and oh shit they’re also angry because they could have given that table to somebody else and made money instead of standing there with that pitying look on their face.”

That happens, you know. But it never used to, before Facebook. See, it’s all a matter of leading problems back to their source. In the modern world I’ve found that Facebook is basically the cause of all problems.

• Unemployment? Facebook is too distracting.
• Bad grades? Farmville (on Facebook) is too distracting.
• Acne? Playing Farmville on Facebook is too addictive, thus leading you to stay at your computer and forget to shower for 3 days, ergo causing pimples.
• Relationship problems? Your status on Facebook.
• The meaning of life? Facebook has the answer but won’t give it to you unless you win Farmville. (How do you win Farmville? POINT = MADE.)

Anyway, the point is here – and everywhere – that I woke up at 6 a.m. this morning and my sister is currently celebrating the fact that she has a cast on her arm. Well congratu-fucking-lations, kid. You broke your fucking arm. A+ to you.

Tomorrow: adventures in trying to look for jobs whilst still being committed to several hundred morally right and soulfully healthy responsibilities.

Stay tuned!

A.

there’s no straight path to awesomeness

Happy Monday! You know why? Because the sun decided to bless us with its oh-so-elusive presence today. Because that makes me anti-depressed. Because that means that skirts are almost here. However, this, along with the wonderful hour that we lost in sleep on Saturday night makes me feel like at 6 pm when the sun should be going to bed and I should be relaxing, I am just beginning my work.

Skirts. Shoes. Toes! At least spring is crawling back to me, even if my time orientation is skewed.

I’ve been thinking lately about sadness, about encouragement, about being told over and over again that we’re privileged, spoiled and self-absorbed. As wonderful Miranda Ward puts it,

Because, you know, I’ve been sitting here on the edge of my seat, thinking, gee whiz, it’s been, like, TWO DAYS since someone last wrote an article slamming my generation, and, well, who knows what sort of amazing new insight we’re gonna get this time.

That girl really knows how to stitch a word or two together, not to mention that I adore her blog title – A Literal Girl.  Literally.

*ba-dum-PSHHH*

Well, the point here is that Miranda’s kind of right. “You can be anything” followed up by “you’re so entitled” doesn’t really scream “balanced and realistic encouragement for the creation of normal and successful individuals” does it? It doesn’t.

I thought I could be a painter when I was in high school, only to be told repeatedly by my well-intentioned parents that being a painter is not a viable life choice and that I needed to set my sights on something more realistic. Clearly, choosing writing was like flipping them the bird, but they’ve (thankfully) gotten over that bit now. Maybe they just haven’t read about the demise of print culture/magazines/the publishing industry/the written word like I have and therefore don’t see what kind of suicidal move it really is. Or maybe I am great at bullshitting and subtly segueing the conversation into something like delicious Thai food. I love segueing into food, by the way.

But that has nothing to do with what I wanted to say, which is well.. in this day all you have to be is creative to get to where you want to be. Don’t think that a job will bring meaning to your life – just do what you are ready for and expect your desires, your life course, your personality to CHANGE. Possibly constantly and forever. In fact, evolution is probably the best life (not to mention biological) skill that you can gift yourself. Because going with the flow is the best option in a world where a university degree WON’T guarantee you a job, and studying hard WON’T provide you with an instant income (see: Student Voice via TalentEgg!)

You have to be a multi-talented workaholic chameleon and stunningly devoted to every mundane task thrown at you. It’s all about paying your dues if sticking in one industry is something you’re passionate about. That’s something that I’ve found travel writers (who I read constantly) know quite a bit about. Especially Kristin Luna of Camels and Chocolate – she has this great post on her site titled, “So You Wanna Be a Travel Writer?” which basically turned into an “if you can hack it – try it, but don’t think it’s easy” sort of moratorium on my travel writing dreams.

I mean, I don’t really like change. I’ll admit it. Change is hard to deal with, but I’m learning that sometimes it’s not the worst thing in the world. In fact, it makes you look harder, work smarter, procrastinate less than you did when you were comfortable. In the end, I think you end up with better-suited opportunities. So even being laid off from work is a great opportunity, if you make it one (side note: everyone should go and read Candice Walsh’s blog. Cause I said so. And cause she know how to down a good pint.)

It’s all about how you’re willing to adapt to life, which can be as unpredictable as an earthquake (see: Japan). We’re well aware of how much natural disasters change things, and it’s unlikely that they change them for the better. Life is like that too, but sometimes you have to build what you can out of the remains; you concoct strategies to deal with future disasters; you become stronger and more resistant and better able to cope. You become passionate about the evolution of your life as a thing easily swayed. And while sticking with decisions is still an admirable trait, it’s only great if you’re moving towards a better life, and if you’re not then maybe it’s time for a change.

I gave up a lot of my responsibilities in February, and for a while that made me nervous. But now I see it was the most exciting thing I could have done for myself. I like being on the lookout, I like finding opportunities for myself, and I like always pushing myself to get more and more experiences that will open my mind. I like having time to write and to nurse my mother back to health and spend time with my bratty sister (all in the hope that her attitude won’t get any worse than it is at 9 years old…. but who am I kidding?)

I like being free to meet my friends for a drink and really think about things again. Like my essays, which I’m about to go write.

I know that spring is coming, and that means it’s time to try new things again and get out of my funk.

A

thoughts

 

i’ve reserved a space for you at the bend of my neck
it’s kind of bony – your hands oppose my bones,
your hands instil in me a quiet
beyond sound
your hands your voice
there is your hair in my eyes,
looks like my eyes are seeing branch shadows
when my lids shut, it’s like i’m in elle
woods’ wet dream,
pink and patterned

fingers press down on each of my vertebrae
your nails carve a trail from the back of my hairline to
where my back gets convex, re trace it backwards
back up to my hair, return to hair, move hair
stroke pulse
i think i’m getting a headache that’s already dissolved
your fingers are like electric balls
my head has never felt touch
it’s like the greatest organ
and no one cares about orgasms

today yesterday hysterectomies
surgeries – extricating from organs -
gallbladder bladder heart
bleed purple, bleed like a half-breath
when you breathe in leave your thoughts
in your bladder, oxygenate your piss
leave it out in the front yard
to evaporate

faces have organs too all over the world
there are little face organs peeing breathing
feeling someone’s hands on the backs of their necks
feeling the dead trail of someone missing down their backs
scares them like they were touching a gravestone
they were
their feet were on concrete dirt gravel or carpet
their mangled toes, dirt under the nails – dug in to the black sand
tar, like a swamp of boiling suck
up to the ankles
the shins
their fat hips
their too thin thighs
their angular chins

their sighs.