stanley is a custodian here in the building where i work. he's a thin, relatively young man of some kind of russian descent. he's always happy.
stanley has the most ridiculous way of greeting everyone, radiating an almost obnoxious amount of joy and excitement. i think everyone's first inclination is to wonder what might be wrong with him. isn't that sad? and i think it's only obnoxious to the rest of us because of our inability to reciprocate. i actually saw one woman, a personal injury lawyer, turn around and take a detour in the middle of his overzealous greeting. he didn't flinch, only restarted his greeting on someone else.
me, i'm at least willing to fake it for him. sometimes i feel like it's a part of my job to be that way.
i'd like to see him upset or anxious. is it possible? is he capable of anything but pure, unadulterated bliss? and if it's true, how does he do it? i think he needs to spread the word. let his secret loose on the public. cheer us all up a little bit.
the city has made me anxious. riding the bus, paying twice as much for everything, braving the wind and the hoards of people barrelling along with their sunglasses and their clenched fists. everything is more difficult in such a busy place as chicago. even the most ordinary tasks become major endeavors. but i don't presume to think people outside of the city live perfect, tranquil lives. only that i've noticed a marked difference since i've moved here. it's relative, i guess.
that being said, with the stress of the city comes more opportunity, more diversity, and more things to do. that's the trade off.
i've started working out again, and i think that will help me chill out. it always does. especially if i spend some time on pilates breathing exercizes. besides, i need to lose weight. physically and figuratively.
20070424
20070420
the chicago river bridge on a friday morning
i used to lay out in my parents' backyard during the summer and soak in the sun until my skin was slick with sweat and the color of copper. i remember a friend would sometimes stop by and surprise me. i opened my eyes and looked up at his figure with the sun pouring over his silhouette. his features - all of the details on him - became this whitish gray wash. no match for the shards of sunshine coming from behind him.
that was how the buildings were this morning on my way to work. i was seated facing east out the side windows of the bus as the 22 cruised over the bridge downtown. i had the feeling once again of soaking in sunlight with shadows passing over me from the figures above. the skyscrapers tower over the river in bunches. gathered into cliques, like high school teens. their signature straight, decisive lines blurred by a gray wash, unable to stand up to a backful of sunlight any more than my friend's eyes and nose could. the scene is a softened, artful photograph, though it's never actually captured.
the sun feels so good. i've been in a good mood all day because of it.
we got a new orchid for my desk. mostly white, massive petals with a hint of pink in the center. gorgeous.
last night will and i had a very lengthy, deep conversation. we discussed life, death, religion and politics and it was amazing. our brains are the same. it's a night i won't forget. it was monumental, the way he and i felt the same way about such important things. a weight was lifted from my back, and blurred features were made totally clear and exquisitely beautiful.
love.
that was how the buildings were this morning on my way to work. i was seated facing east out the side windows of the bus as the 22 cruised over the bridge downtown. i had the feeling once again of soaking in sunlight with shadows passing over me from the figures above. the skyscrapers tower over the river in bunches. gathered into cliques, like high school teens. their signature straight, decisive lines blurred by a gray wash, unable to stand up to a backful of sunlight any more than my friend's eyes and nose could. the scene is a softened, artful photograph, though it's never actually captured.
the sun feels so good. i've been in a good mood all day because of it.
we got a new orchid for my desk. mostly white, massive petals with a hint of pink in the center. gorgeous.
last night will and i had a very lengthy, deep conversation. we discussed life, death, religion and politics and it was amazing. our brains are the same. it's a night i won't forget. it was monumental, the way he and i felt the same way about such important things. a weight was lifted from my back, and blurred features were made totally clear and exquisitely beautiful.
love.
20070419
cheers to debauchery (all you need is love)
everyone is blogging about virginia tech.
it's an awful thing that happened, but i enjoy hearing peoples uninsightful comments on the event as much as i enjoy eating stale, moldy bread. nothing new is being said anymore, which is why i've gone on hiatus from my usual online newspaper reading.
and forget the news channels on tv, striving to keep us riveted by way of fear and shock -- so dutifully carrying out the shooter's dying wish. i'm sure he's saying thank you from wherever he is. after all, he didn't send his pathetic, self-loathing footage to nbc to help psychologists learn more about school shooters. he meant to be a celebrity, and now he is one. his ugly face is everywhere, tattooed into our brains against our will, given more attention in the past couple of days than brangelina. you're welcome, says nbc.
the way our news and media functions in this country, it's like we live in a soap opera. we're an entire society of debbie downers, a great big cafeteria table filled with middle school girls. grow up. i beg you.
something we could focus on is the next one that will happen, rather than the last one. there have to be ways to make it more difficult, even unappealing, for the "troubled" young men of the world to do this.
first of all, it doesn't take a genius to decide it may have been a bad idea to sell a glock to a man with a stained mental health record, but only 17 states even include mental health status in the background information provided when selling firearms. as you can guess, virginia wasn't one of them.
of course, one might argue that a crazy korean man may need a glock for his weekends up north in the deerstand during hunting season.
secondly, a lockdown of the school after the first shooting would have prevented a majority of the deaths. bottom line. no arguments, no excuses.
i won't continue, considering i've both complained about hearing people's opinions and expressed my own. pretty hypocritical. i guess it's too tempting. maybe we're all just trying to reconcile this whole thing in our heads with explanations or solutions.
in the meantime, what that guy would not have wanted us to do is continue living our lives, loving the people around us and enjoying what we have -- being the privelaged snobs he thought us to be, with our smiles and our debauchery. so go on, drink your vodka. kiss, hug, pamper the people you care about, pamper yourself. show your teeth, intoxicate yourself and others with happiness. that seemed to be what pissed him off the most. so that's what i plan to do. live, love and be happy. cheers.
PEACE.
it's an awful thing that happened, but i enjoy hearing peoples uninsightful comments on the event as much as i enjoy eating stale, moldy bread. nothing new is being said anymore, which is why i've gone on hiatus from my usual online newspaper reading.
and forget the news channels on tv, striving to keep us riveted by way of fear and shock -- so dutifully carrying out the shooter's dying wish. i'm sure he's saying thank you from wherever he is. after all, he didn't send his pathetic, self-loathing footage to nbc to help psychologists learn more about school shooters. he meant to be a celebrity, and now he is one. his ugly face is everywhere, tattooed into our brains against our will, given more attention in the past couple of days than brangelina. you're welcome, says nbc.
the way our news and media functions in this country, it's like we live in a soap opera. we're an entire society of debbie downers, a great big cafeteria table filled with middle school girls. grow up. i beg you.
something we could focus on is the next one that will happen, rather than the last one. there have to be ways to make it more difficult, even unappealing, for the "troubled" young men of the world to do this.
first of all, it doesn't take a genius to decide it may have been a bad idea to sell a glock to a man with a stained mental health record, but only 17 states even include mental health status in the background information provided when selling firearms. as you can guess, virginia wasn't one of them.
of course, one might argue that a crazy korean man may need a glock for his weekends up north in the deerstand during hunting season.
secondly, a lockdown of the school after the first shooting would have prevented a majority of the deaths. bottom line. no arguments, no excuses.
i won't continue, considering i've both complained about hearing people's opinions and expressed my own. pretty hypocritical. i guess it's too tempting. maybe we're all just trying to reconcile this whole thing in our heads with explanations or solutions.
in the meantime, what that guy would not have wanted us to do is continue living our lives, loving the people around us and enjoying what we have -- being the privelaged snobs he thought us to be, with our smiles and our debauchery. so go on, drink your vodka. kiss, hug, pamper the people you care about, pamper yourself. show your teeth, intoxicate yourself and others with happiness. that seemed to be what pissed him off the most. so that's what i plan to do. live, love and be happy. cheers.
PEACE.
20070417
This is our receptionist, Pam. If you think she's cute now, you should have seen her a couple years ago.
i'm at my desk on my leash - a headset phone sitting around my neck connected to the computer system by a black, spiral chord. obligated to answer the phone every time it rings. sometimes i get up to refill my coffee or stuff mail into one of our million mail folders and realize i'm still attached, and with a jerk at the throat i'm suddenly a little dog who's misbehaving on her daily walk.
this job has made me resent the telephone altogether. and along with the cell phone came the expectation that we should be able to reach anyone at any time. sometimes i need a break. sometimes i watch my cell phone ring, moving slowly in circles as it vibrates on my coffee table, and i don't answer it. i'm tired or i'm not in the right state of mind to be on the phone, and that's reason enough. however, i inevitably feel a pang of guilt, as if i'm watching idly as someone drowns and cries for help. but it's just a cell phone, and most of my calls are just to talk.
when will calls, however, it usually means he wants to come over, or there's been a change of plans. like yesterday. he called while i was riding the 22 bus home for the day. i was dangling from the high horizontal bar like a monkey in a tree (there were no seats) when i felt a vibration in my right coat pocket. knowing i may have to skip buying a new cta pass and scramble to shower upon a change of plans, i answered quietly. will, of course. reheating the spaghetti sauce was off, and we were going to the cubs game. his boss had given him tickets.
the game was fun. they won by ten points. afterwards, sassed up by three beers and hungry, will and i walked down clark street to the golden nugget for burgers.
he makes me too happy, which dampens my inner starving artist. there's no ounce of despair or lonliness left, no dissatisfaction or hunger (for anything), and thus no art to purge. i don't want to become one of those girls who wears sweatshirts and and doesn't understand gus van zant or laugh at dark humor - and i'm sure i won't go that far. still, i find myself blogging about telephones and cubs games and wondering what happened. the best artists were all troubled - gay, poor, jewish, insane, incarcerated, the victims of unrequited love. they weren't happy, employed, thoroughly loved 23 year old girls. where's the need for creating art when it exists around you, when your life is already gushing with it without even trying?
i won't stop trying to create art in my life. i won't stop thinking and feeling, playing my violin and trying to write meaningful things. it's just that i feel very content and very full, and i'll have to find a different way to do it.
this job has made me resent the telephone altogether. and along with the cell phone came the expectation that we should be able to reach anyone at any time. sometimes i need a break. sometimes i watch my cell phone ring, moving slowly in circles as it vibrates on my coffee table, and i don't answer it. i'm tired or i'm not in the right state of mind to be on the phone, and that's reason enough. however, i inevitably feel a pang of guilt, as if i'm watching idly as someone drowns and cries for help. but it's just a cell phone, and most of my calls are just to talk.
when will calls, however, it usually means he wants to come over, or there's been a change of plans. like yesterday. he called while i was riding the 22 bus home for the day. i was dangling from the high horizontal bar like a monkey in a tree (there were no seats) when i felt a vibration in my right coat pocket. knowing i may have to skip buying a new cta pass and scramble to shower upon a change of plans, i answered quietly. will, of course. reheating the spaghetti sauce was off, and we were going to the cubs game. his boss had given him tickets.
the game was fun. they won by ten points. afterwards, sassed up by three beers and hungry, will and i walked down clark street to the golden nugget for burgers.
he makes me too happy, which dampens my inner starving artist. there's no ounce of despair or lonliness left, no dissatisfaction or hunger (for anything), and thus no art to purge. i don't want to become one of those girls who wears sweatshirts and and doesn't understand gus van zant or laugh at dark humor - and i'm sure i won't go that far. still, i find myself blogging about telephones and cubs games and wondering what happened. the best artists were all troubled - gay, poor, jewish, insane, incarcerated, the victims of unrequited love. they weren't happy, employed, thoroughly loved 23 year old girls. where's the need for creating art when it exists around you, when your life is already gushing with it without even trying?
i won't stop trying to create art in my life. i won't stop thinking and feeling, playing my violin and trying to write meaningful things. it's just that i feel very content and very full, and i'll have to find a different way to do it.
20070411
a post about the weather
chicago's a mess today. the stuff falling from the sky can't decide whether to be rain or snow, so it's settled on something in between, and now everything is covered in an ambiguous, gray slush. including the people. hood covered heads and umbrellas carry a blanket of the stuff, and there's nothing to do but submit to it. isn't it unfair? in the middle of april? easter has come and gone and winter is the abrasive guest who won't leave the party.
the weather has put me in a stupor. no, more like a post-stupor haze - a hangover with no cure to speak of. plans for tonight are to relax and do nothing. with will and i both having to get up early tomorrow morning, i'll have the apartment to myself, some vegetables to eat before they go bad, and some empty notebooks to fill. if the homeward commute doesn't squash my last drop of ambition i might paint my toenails.
where did the sun go, anyway? the city is flattened by a cold gray layer. reeling with melancholy and in denial like a depressed teenager too proud to ask for help. even the tribune's dry news voice cracked with aggravation and disappointment this morning in its articles about the weather, as if to say "this is personal."
someone needs to sing "tomorrow" to all of chicago. twenty years ago i would have been the girl for the job.
the weather has put me in a stupor. no, more like a post-stupor haze - a hangover with no cure to speak of. plans for tonight are to relax and do nothing. with will and i both having to get up early tomorrow morning, i'll have the apartment to myself, some vegetables to eat before they go bad, and some empty notebooks to fill. if the homeward commute doesn't squash my last drop of ambition i might paint my toenails.
where did the sun go, anyway? the city is flattened by a cold gray layer. reeling with melancholy and in denial like a depressed teenager too proud to ask for help. even the tribune's dry news voice cracked with aggravation and disappointment this morning in its articles about the weather, as if to say "this is personal."
someone needs to sing "tomorrow" to all of chicago. twenty years ago i would have been the girl for the job.
20070410
someday you will be loved
i rediscovered an old blog of mine from early summer 2005. it was composed two years ago, yet upon reading its entries while sitting at my desk yesterday it felt more like twenty.
i was in madison going to school and living on orchard street, and i was in intense recovery from a breakup. i remember creating the blog as a form of rehab. just trying to "open up some kind of parachute," i wrote. writing has always been therapeutic for me, especially while i'm doing it. i was able to take the mess i had in my head for 24 hours and turn it into a few organized paragraphs. i'm finding that reading it a few years later is helpful, too. i had forgotten how i felt at that time. mentally and physically immobilized, it seemed. stuck, but actively making plans on where to go, who to call, and what to think next. i was very troubled, but i knew what to do to help myself.
today my mind is clear, and i'm able to evaluate the situation better than before. i no longer believe i was heartbroken over love lost, because it wasn't love at all. it was fondness, and it was mutual respect. instead, i was mourning the loss of the daily companionship i had and beating myself up for not being what he wanted. of course, there are others who care for me and give me companionship, and becoming what he wanted would have meant being someone i'm not -- someone i wouldn't have even liked. even the minor adjustments i made to maintain the relationship for those few months were uncomfortable. i was a complete person then, just as i am now. someone would have to love me for what i was, no assembly required.
something i knew even then was that my grief would be temporary. just as the gash on my forehead that i used to hide with bangs healed to almost nothing, so did my emotional pain from that summer. add to that the fading memories of what was really a flawed relationship, meeting new people and moving onto new things and, two years later, i'm a new person. i'm truly grateful today that we went our separate ways that summer, or i wouldn't have been able to find will, and he's more special to me than anyone ever was. i was aware of this in my blog, saying that i was "one step closer to finding the person who couldn't imagine life without me." it made me proud of myself to read that.
i guess i originally was hesitant to return to that blog, afraid i would wind up reading about all this pain i'd felt, or insistence that we should have gotten back together. when i did finally read it yesterday i was happy to see that, even then, i was okay. i was strong.
i've listened to this death cab song thousands of times since their album came out in the summer of '05. sometimes i felt like it was written for me. it was a truth that i had to hear in order to move forward. but it made me wonder when i would reach the conclusion the song was pointing me to. when would someday be today? now, two years later, i've arrived.
death cab for cutie. someday you will be loved
i once knew a girl in the years of my youth
with eyes like the summer, all beauty and truth
in the morning i fled, left a note and it read:
someday you will be loved.
i cannot pretend that i felt any regret
'cause each broken heart will eventually mend
as the blood runs red down the needle and thread
someday you will be loved
you'll be loved, you'll be loved
like you never have known
and memories of me will seem more like bad dreams
just a series of blurs, like i never occurred
someday you will be loved
you may feel alone when you're falling asleep
and every time tears roll down your cheeks
but i know your heart belongs to someone you've yet to meet
someday you will be loved
i was in madison going to school and living on orchard street, and i was in intense recovery from a breakup. i remember creating the blog as a form of rehab. just trying to "open up some kind of parachute," i wrote. writing has always been therapeutic for me, especially while i'm doing it. i was able to take the mess i had in my head for 24 hours and turn it into a few organized paragraphs. i'm finding that reading it a few years later is helpful, too. i had forgotten how i felt at that time. mentally and physically immobilized, it seemed. stuck, but actively making plans on where to go, who to call, and what to think next. i was very troubled, but i knew what to do to help myself.
today my mind is clear, and i'm able to evaluate the situation better than before. i no longer believe i was heartbroken over love lost, because it wasn't love at all. it was fondness, and it was mutual respect. instead, i was mourning the loss of the daily companionship i had and beating myself up for not being what he wanted. of course, there are others who care for me and give me companionship, and becoming what he wanted would have meant being someone i'm not -- someone i wouldn't have even liked. even the minor adjustments i made to maintain the relationship for those few months were uncomfortable. i was a complete person then, just as i am now. someone would have to love me for what i was, no assembly required.
something i knew even then was that my grief would be temporary. just as the gash on my forehead that i used to hide with bangs healed to almost nothing, so did my emotional pain from that summer. add to that the fading memories of what was really a flawed relationship, meeting new people and moving onto new things and, two years later, i'm a new person. i'm truly grateful today that we went our separate ways that summer, or i wouldn't have been able to find will, and he's more special to me than anyone ever was. i was aware of this in my blog, saying that i was "one step closer to finding the person who couldn't imagine life without me." it made me proud of myself to read that.
i guess i originally was hesitant to return to that blog, afraid i would wind up reading about all this pain i'd felt, or insistence that we should have gotten back together. when i did finally read it yesterday i was happy to see that, even then, i was okay. i was strong.
i've listened to this death cab song thousands of times since their album came out in the summer of '05. sometimes i felt like it was written for me. it was a truth that i had to hear in order to move forward. but it made me wonder when i would reach the conclusion the song was pointing me to. when would someday be today? now, two years later, i've arrived.
death cab for cutie. someday you will be loved
i once knew a girl in the years of my youth
with eyes like the summer, all beauty and truth
in the morning i fled, left a note and it read:
someday you will be loved.
i cannot pretend that i felt any regret
'cause each broken heart will eventually mend
as the blood runs red down the needle and thread
someday you will be loved
you'll be loved, you'll be loved
like you never have known
and memories of me will seem more like bad dreams
just a series of blurs, like i never occurred
someday you will be loved
you may feel alone when you're falling asleep
and every time tears roll down your cheeks
but i know your heart belongs to someone you've yet to meet
someday you will be loved
20070405
meeting the fockers
i've got a lot to do tonight before the weekend comes and i have to meet will's family. i'm getting my haircut, doing laundry, and hopefully getting some good rest in between. i've been sick for the past few days with a stomach virus that left me sore and tired. but with my last post in mind i will also say i'm grateful that it's over and that i'm able to bounce back to my healthy self with the help of a little gatorade and sprite. (i'm sipping on a can of 7up at my desk right now.)
so with some freshly cut locks and clean duds i'll be off to michigan this weekend to meet will's dad, grandma, cousins, and friends. i'm not too worried about it. i can't imagine will's family to be unwelcoming or unkind. i also feel like i have the confidence and personality to be able to get along with new people. yet, first meetings with the parents of past boyfriends have run from one end of the spectrum to the other.
one boyfriend's parents were so unaccepting of people outside their culture he only ever drove me past their home. the next set of parents actually met me after their son and i had broken up, creating a very seinfeldesque situation where the two of us were pretending to be together. the final set of parents were very nice, and up until the time that i broke off the relationship i'm sure they thought i was great. i suppose less than perfect relationships make for less than perfect family meetings.
meeting someone's family is already a little nervewracking, but add to it the circumstances of being in a relationship with their beloved son and you're inevitably being critiqued. they want to know who you are, what you are, how you dress, how you speak, your religion, political stance (wait, maybe that's just me) and the list goes on. i'll have to go through my typical introduction, including an explanation for why i moved to chicago and why i'm not a teacher yet, which is always exhausting. but once that part is over i'm sure it'll be fine.
in the meantime i'll worry about what's happening today: my haircut and my laundry.
so with some freshly cut locks and clean duds i'll be off to michigan this weekend to meet will's dad, grandma, cousins, and friends. i'm not too worried about it. i can't imagine will's family to be unwelcoming or unkind. i also feel like i have the confidence and personality to be able to get along with new people. yet, first meetings with the parents of past boyfriends have run from one end of the spectrum to the other.
one boyfriend's parents were so unaccepting of people outside their culture he only ever drove me past their home. the next set of parents actually met me after their son and i had broken up, creating a very seinfeldesque situation where the two of us were pretending to be together. the final set of parents were very nice, and up until the time that i broke off the relationship i'm sure they thought i was great. i suppose less than perfect relationships make for less than perfect family meetings.
meeting someone's family is already a little nervewracking, but add to it the circumstances of being in a relationship with their beloved son and you're inevitably being critiqued. they want to know who you are, what you are, how you dress, how you speak, your religion, political stance (wait, maybe that's just me) and the list goes on. i'll have to go through my typical introduction, including an explanation for why i moved to chicago and why i'm not a teacher yet, which is always exhausting. but once that part is over i'm sure it'll be fine.
in the meantime i'll worry about what's happening today: my haircut and my laundry.
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