how many years luck

April 22, 2011

My knuckles say I have been in a fight and that is partially true. While I was packing to move the mirrored closet doors fell off their rails and smashed on my body, cutting my person. My hands got sliced up when I tried to grab the door before it hit the floor. “OH FUCK!” in slow motion just like when I was 17 years old  jumping on Donella’s old trampoline. She was in her room, in the dark, with some guitar playing boys. I had tried to get them to come out for a 2 am jump and when no one would escort me, I went alone. She still tells this story every chance she gets.  It is better in person than reading it here.

JUMP JUMP JUMP long pause THUD and the “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH FUCK” of me hitting the ground when I missed the trampoline, rolling on my side and groaning in pain.

That’s what it was like when the mirror hit me.

It is true that lately I have been having about a million and a half freak outs. Most are in service to some sweet times to come. If people can handle it they will stick around, and if not, it appears I don’t need them.

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and when she says to me  i wish i knew how to support you

i say i wish i knew how to let you support me

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not fair not fair

April 19, 2011

damn

there is nothing i want to do more than pull yr hair

he was just another john.

written in pencil

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when you speak i stare at your hands because they are reclusive spiders

this is the kind of shit i would write in nbv #20-25. groantastic!

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it is strange to me that, despite being a student of history i am not good at dealing with the past. while i can intellectualize events of the past to explain historical context as well as present and projected future impacts, i am not one who learns from the past. on the other hand. i feel like i can live in the moment, unfortunately with blind eyes for the consequences.

this was a response to a letter i got because there is a post script about the stationary used in the original message.

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this morning i threw one of my vital organs out of my bedroom window. it was making an annoying high pitched nose that was keeping me awake. a neighbors dog then proceeded to tear it apart.

for lunch i consumed some high caloric pizza covered in semi-precious mushrooms.

on opposing side. crossed out with one big X

this morning i threw one of my vital organs out my bedroom window and proceeded to listen to a neighbors dog chew it apart

this is awful, but in my defense i was writing about my insulin pump not, you know, my heart.

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this is my favorite rothko simply because it incorporates my favorite colors.

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These are unsent letters I found while cleaning out some folders. I am notorious for keeping such things. As a child, the entire bottom drawer of my dresser was filled with every card, letter, and note that was ever mailed, handed, or slipped to me. I finally got rid of them during an early Litterbox purge at age 24. I remember using some of my unsent letters to Celeste and Scott circa 8th grade  for the “Middle School Diary” reading at Trumbullplex that year. I tore down the house with my manipulative “I swear on all my Cure tapes I will not egg your house” letter that was full of the type of fifty cent words I now try to avoid.

I was encouraged to throw the above letters away.

They are now in the trash.

We were having this kind of conversation

when Andrea pointed on the ground and said, “look at that bird,” and because I am reactionary, I immediately lower my gaze. A woodpecker, fat and hot in the first sun of the year has it’s eye sockets already scavenged and cleaned by bugs. A shudder, a shudder. “Cool,” my instant response. A shudder a shudder, “but I have found dead birds to be a bad omen.”

“Oh no!” Andrea looks on in sympathy.

“For you. You saw it first. I just looked cuz you told me to,”

like when someone insists “This tastes bad. Try it!”

Either way I shook someone’s day old newspaper out of its blue plastic bag onto the ground. I scooped the black and white crested sleeper into my palm. Birds are filthy. Dead birds even more so. I have seen all manner of things crawl out to greet the day from a dead bird’s belly.  When picking up dead birds

use a barrier method.

April 9, 2011

I’ll show you how you’re doing it wrong.

self-care vs selfish

April 4, 2011

I have been talking to everybody about How to Say NO: The “B” side to self care since Julie mentioned the article to me a week ago. While there are points I would tweak a bit (for example, “1.   Always say “no” first.  Do not allow “yes” to be your default answer.  It is easier to go back later and say yes, than it is to go back later and say no.” I would change this to “Always say maybe” I find that after I say “no” it is difficult to go back on) This article has been a good jumping off point when discussing making myself a priority, both emotionally and concerning time commitments.

I mostly have these discussions concerning business and the article focuses more on saying “no” to project/business commitments, but I think it lends a possible framework for interpersonal relationships as well.

addendum

April 1, 2011

Dave and I were at the Art Institute’s free Thursday.  We saw an exhibit known as “The Sausage Photos” or some such thing which depicted, what Dave called “a sausage city.”  Dave commented that if he went over to his friends house and saw sausage townscape tableaus he would be concerned. The type of concern I would call “take-your-friend-aside-and-ask-if-he-needs-to-get-out-more” concern. Then again Dave kept asking why the pieces in various exhibits are considered art and not necessarily in a snobby “I could make this” type way.  But to be fair, he tried to claim he has not published a book. This was something I razzed him about endlessly throughout the night.

We were wandering around, when a man approached to tell me he loved my style. He had these fabulous eyebrows that met in a deep V somewhere near the bridge of his nose. I wanted to tell him, but was worried it would be taken the wrong way.

Lately I have been trying so hard, so much, so often that yes, you are right, I am.

yes.

The old rules were:

  1. always wait for the person to get inside safe before leaving/driving off
  2. let the passenger pick the radio station
  3. do not date your friend’s exes. even if they say it is okay. it is never okay.
  4. be direct. if you don’t like someone or something they did, tell them as soon as possible.

But it’s been almost ten years:

  1. do not have expectations. enjoy the other person’s company. who knows where this is going.
  2. it doesn’t need to go anywhere. (can’t be friends with everybody. can’t even be “cool” with everybody, unfortunately)
  3. ask questions, but not too many. stop interrupting.
  4. when shaking someone’s hand/being introduced, repeat the  person’s name.
  5. tell everyone how much they mean to you. all the time. whenever possible. always.
  6. acknowledge other’s experiences.  remember not everyone is looking for a solution.
  7. communicate. communicate even your impossibilities and limitations. saying no is better than saying nothing.

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rules for being a good friend,

be still

March 31, 2011

I am still trying to actualize the act of building as opposed to the actuality of destruction and the act of destroying.

still

still

still

Back in the days of E and A and I would testify to not believing in regret, the bullshit of i’m sorrys, the futility of guilt. H at H would shake his head and say “Little sis nothing says stability like a tattoo that says apathy” which was, of course, his dry wit and sarcasm on the Philadelphia streets of brotherly love.

MK calls me on my shit by talking of my days in a four by four cell of DENIAL. She couldn’t believe what a closet case I was with her hand up inside me. Sorry sorry sorry do you still not believe in regrets she says as i apologize profusely.

You are allowed two words per hour

This sucks

Those were your two words.

and i still say “never be someone’s first because they will fall in love with you and then whatcha gonna do?”

I took MK out for tacos and told her to stop.

Stop coming back to this dry well

I have got dry wells of my own these days. Licking a sore till it cracks open, licking my lips and asking for more. Some girl who doesn’t know me from a hole in the wall said I must like a certain type of rejection.

The only rejection I have liked was the one I got from Brown University, the one I flaunt. you know me. Not tellin you who wanted me

girl your alma matter

money in the bag

money in a bag

 

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shadowing

March 30, 2011

Today I did my second day of training for my new job. This included looking up how to switch an operating system from English to Spanish and listening to my co-navigator work through her current relationship woes.  She made this poem of notes from things I said:

honeymoon’s over

you have too many walls up

compartmentalize

She said I am good at this kind of stuff. I told her I am good at this for everyone apart from myself. She asked how I know so much and I said,

“I have experience with unavailable people, both dating and being one.”

Next week I start working alone.

Hopefully I don’t fuck up.

Marrie Stacranski is my least grateful friend

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