things i have learned because i ride the bus:

1. it is possible for me to be not only punctual, but early.

except for yesterday when i made the bus simply on merit of having ungodly long legs and a merciful bus driver who put his foot back on the brake and reopened the doors for me. he got a big smile and gracious thankyouthankyou. snooze buttons are always extra seductive monday mornings. particularly following a saturday night/sunday morning of good conversation and little sleep.

2. people (read: men) do need an excuse to talk to you, but only a little one. like knitting.

i participated in a bit of banter with several commuters last friday that i could tell started simply on merit of being female and being engaged in a less than ordinary activity. and then there was yesterday's entire bus ride long (45 minute?) conversation with the freelance writer/photographer who slid right up to me and boldly introduced me to his handmade knit scarf and hat. we spoke of politics, art, beauty, cameras, travel, plays, the pursuit of bizarre adventures, and his brief and unjustified jail time. i can picture his face and demeanor (including several small marks on his right cheek, peeking from beneath his hat). recall the faded black/grey of his skinny jeans and the shock of suddenly seeing his hair when he took off his knit hat rather late in the ride. but i never learned his name.

3. i should not sit anywhere near the mid point of the double buses {the ones that hinge}. blech.

my stomach is still a little jumbled from this morning. having my body experience one movement and my eyes sense another is really disorienting while trying to knit. still not sure why i didn't get up and switch seats.

4. this girl needs winter shoes.

ballet flats are stylish and tall girl friendly, but do not provide adequate coverage for anything longer than a quick walk to and from my car and certainly not for the walks to and from the bus stop. i get home and have to soak my feet until they revive from a state of being violently numb. thank goodness for the almost boiling hot water my building delivers.

currently listening to: ipod on shuffle - plasticities - andrew bird.

the last p{ie/ea}ce

it was the wee hours of sunday

and we were curled up on my bed

bodies sprawled and eyelids drooping

and i was telling our story to new ears

and listening as they might hear it

.

only to find that the obvious

has been staring me down

until i could meet its eyes.

.

i guess i was finally done

looking stubbornly in the other direction.

.

it happened when i came to the place

where things fell apart:

suddenly your lie came forward as a lie.

.

and i am ashamed to admit that i knew it even then.

as soon as it was said.

the proof in the drawn out pause

before your dishonest delivery of one little syllable.

no.

.

but i wanted you to be the truthful person i loved you to be.

the courageous one that believed in us

enough to face the consequences of actions.

especially honest miscommunications.

.

and the irony rests here:

in discovering the most acheful betrayal

i have also found the most peace.

in knowing what was going on for you,

even if it was guilt for a mistake

or maybe just regret for misleading me

down the path of commitment before you left

i could feel that i understood you once again.

.

so i may or may not send this email

but in the end the most imporant thing is that

i have empathy for you.

.

and for me.

.

because in order to make you honest i had to silence my own truth.

and i'm finally

done

living out your lie.

beauty/desire

two words.

i have been dancing a trio

with them

for years now,

and

have only become

awake

in the last few weeks.

desire:

your desire is your prayer. picture the fulfillment of your desire now and feel its reality and you will experience the joy of the answered prayer.

-dr. joseph murphy

beauty:

nothing so affects the soul, so transports it, as moment of beauty-in nature, a face, a song, an action or dream. and we feel that these moments are therapeutic in the truest sense: make us aware of the soul and make us care for its value...
...aphrodite, the golden one, the smiling one, whose smile made the world pleasurable and lovely. she was more than an aesthetic joy: she was an epistemological necessity, for without her, all the other gods would remain hidden, like the abstractions of mathematics and theology, but never palpable realities...owing to her, the divine could be seen and heard, smelled, tasted and touched.

-the practice of beauty

james hillman

and a third word suggests itself into this dialogue: deserve/ing.

currently listening to: la maison de mon reve - cocorosie

(no subject)

i got a poem from you.
a delightful return on a gift given freely.

we preservationists hold on
to things. to people. to memories. and hopes.

so those rare moments
when we genuinely watch a door open. and close.

without needing to control,
or force, or coerce. are golden. those relationships dear.

so in the end. there is no need for apologies. and yes, maybe it's time.

the bestest chocolate cake

so, i am pretty proud of my scones, my chocolate chip cookies {particularly with walnuts}, my banana bread and pumpkin spice bread and my blackberry pie {when i remember the correct magic recipe}, but i have never really considered myself a cake person.

until last friday.

it was my old housemate's birthday, and since her allergies require cakes to be made of spelt flour, i offered to do the honors.

pause. i should preface this story with the culinary epiphany i had earlier in the week. a friend made me brunch and added a few drops of orange oil to the french toast batter to make the most amazing french toast i have ever had. orange oil = fantastic.

anyway, i decided on an orange chocolate cake and since i was running massively late, and my housemate doesn't like icing anyway, i figured i could serve the cake warm and just put the icing on the side for people to dish out as they go along. enter, chocolate bailey's icing.

lemmie tell you, it was a killer combination. particularly the fact that i served the cake fresh out of the oven. everyone was gushing about the cake and demanding the recipe and i'm going to pass on false modesty and agree with them. i mean, even the guest who completed two culinary degrees from the seattle art institute was sincerely complimentary.

so, i thought i would pass on this lovely genius of a recipe since i just happened to be the one to stumble on it in the first place.

{i doubled the recipe to fill one 9 in springform pan.}

cake

----------
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup white sugar
1/4 cup cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup vegetable oil
1/4 teaspoon orange oil
1 teaspoon distilled white vinegar
1 cup water

preheat oven to 350 degrees f (175 degrees C). lightly grease one 9x5 inch loaf pan.
sift together the flour, sugar, cocoa, baking soda and salt. add the oil, vanilla, vinegar and water. mix together until smooth (careful not to overmix).
pour into prepared pan and bake at 350 degrees F (175 degrees C) for 45-60 minutes. remove from oven and allow to cool for a few minutes before serving.

icing

--------

1/2 cup butter (or earth balance)

4 tablespoon cocoa

4 tablespoons milk (or almond milk)

1-3 tablespoons baileys (or sub milk)

16 ounces of powdered sugar

(though i just started adding it until i had the right consistency)

melt the butter. add the cocoa and milk and baileys. remove and slowly add the powered sugar while beating the mixture.

enjoy!

hip bones

two long(ed for) crescents
swathed in a coating
of sugar plum dreams
as desire and grief were avoided

despite your hard edges
i hold you so softly
welcoming the return

failures schmailures

so.

i didn't tell anyone really, but i had my first audition ever last night. i lied to myself and said i didn't say anything because it was such a small thing, a twenty minute piece in the studio series at freehold this spring, but it was really because it was my first audition and i was terrified no matter what the circumstances.

and all the 'jonah day' sort of things that you could have imagined to happen did happen yesterday:

a problem at work arose just as i was leaving so i had to scramble to the bus thereby forgetting the resume i had carefully updated and printed earlier in the day for the audition.
i simply had to get it printed out again. rushed to nasrin's place where i wasn't even sure whether or not her printer had enough ink. got stuck at the ballard bridge and lost 7 minutes i didn't have. couldn't update my resume quickly enough {because i didn't listen to my intuition earlier in the day that said send yourself a copy of your updated resume} so i printed out an old version and raced to the audition place. couldn't find it right away when i showed up at the intersection and arrived (gasp) l a t e. but just by a minute or two. then, i misunderstood and flubbed up one huge part of it and spent the rest of the night trying to brush off my disappointment in myself.

and then, i had this really blah last class for meisner. and then i write about it trying not to mope and then i checked my email only to find that i got a part in this woman's piece.

yippee skippy.

and it should be quirky. and fun. and i'm not even sure where and how it will go, but go with it i will.

it's funny how lovely these little victories are.

meisner - day 21

one down. three to go.

it was that golden final day of the quarter where no matter how hard i tried, i thought {even if it's just that small naive part of my brain} that everything i've twisted my whole soul learning these past eleven weeks will miraculously show up with flashing lights. pretty colors. etc. etc.

and it didn't tonight. and it felt like i had to try. and even then it felt like it wasn't working. i checked impulses. i couldn't go to those daring places that so many other of the classmates found. i pounded on the gates but i didn't let myself in.

and.

and.

a
n
d.

i'm doing a fair job of keeping the self criticism at bay.

b
e
c
a
u
s
e

i know the glories of this quarter. i know them. the intense moments of breakthrough that happened with all the pomp and circumstance one could imagine, but never when one expected them. and i can trace them in patterns on my memory's skin. they have left their mark and
i can plot my growth on a graph.

landmark moments:
..............................................
sitting with jenn in one of the early weeks and repeating her reflection i am full of hope until i faced the hopelessness hibernating just beneath my skin.
...................................
sitting with another and sharing the biggest laughter i have seen or felt. laughter riding the crumbling edge of hysteria.
..............
the first walking exercise where robin pushed me to the point of rage. violent. destructive rage. and i stormed back and forth across the floor until my feet went numb.
.....................................................
letting go of results and really truly feeling the loss of my family's photo albums. and giving it to my partner. and the moment in the exercise where i suddenly started laughing.
..........................................................................................................
and the next class. same partner. sharing the gift of anger built up and given to another.
.............
and perhaps, most importantly, this steadily evolving sense of self awareness that i have never before experienced. an ability to hear my inner voice in a new way. the static on the line has dropped away. and my truths rest closer to my lips.


the entire ensemble is amazing.
robin is amazing.

i am looking forward to the break. to having all my evenings to my own bidding.

but i am also looking forward to next quarter with one part wonder + one part excitement + one part complete and utter terror. along with assigning us to read three plays during the break, we're supposed to ask ourselves what it is in ourselves that is hidden. what parts do we keep others from seeing.

i'm pretty sure i know:
my sensuality.
and my violence.

and i think the first scares me the most. violence, while it will be scary to find those places and explore them in class, is also something that no one will actually think i carry with me. will be at risk of letting out. will inhabit.

whereas, desire and sensuality? these are things that i secretly do want to own in myself and if they see these parts of me, they will also see {and judge} me for how little i deserve to be sensual or desire someone or something. how unfitting i am. unattractive. etc. etc. {insert further lies about self-image here.}




it's going to be an interesting semester.


but till then, a glorious break.




currently listening to: candyland - cocorosie

bit by bit

the unpacking progresses.

my amazingly comfortable bed arrived this weekend so now {thanks to my lovely friend, sheree} my bed frame is set up and no longer floating around my space always in the wrong place at the wrong time. my books are still spilled across my floor, patiently waiting for the color coding process but at least my dining room/corner is no longer filled with full {or empty flattened} boxes.

i hung my first decorative piece last night. a set of scales that used to belong to my grandfather.

executions.

[warning: there are spoilers here for the play the adding machine -running at the act theatre in seattle through this weekend- & dancer in the dark.]



ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo


the death penalty.
dancer in the dark.
and most recently the adding machine.

they evoke so much grief. always disproportionate to the circumstances. and i can't explain it.

i saw the adding machine this weekend and never expected the places it would take me. halfway through the main character is electrocuted. at the top of the scene, his wife of so many harsh words comes to say good bye with a plate of ham and eggs and the first and only tenderness we see from her.

and.

almost immediately i started crying. and crying. and crying. and the tears sped up and i had to hold my breath so the sobs couldn't escape. i didn't want my neighbors {or the actors} to hear my inexplicable monsoon.

the main character, mr. zero, was dead to her already and dead even to the sudden {and sometimes conflicting} gestures of softness she offered.
but the change in her was tragic.
the knowledge of his impending death so present.
her sharp edges blurred.
a few hits of color were added.
and even the conflict about another woman evaporated the moment the men came to take her husband and she fought all the fight in her to reach him.
everything in her hurled against the guard.
to stop them.
or to touch him.
last chance.


it's the final fight for the things we love above all others where our bodies take us places we can't anticipate and even in the face of certain death, failure is not considered and the efforts are never made with an awareness of futility.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

i just just re-watched this last clip of dancer in the dark. again it's these final moments that are about the most tragic thing that i can possibly imagine. i don't think there is any movie or even personal life experience that i have cried as hard for as this last scene.

her last song:

dear gene, of course you are here
and now there's nothing to fear
oooh, i should have known
oooh, i was never alone

this isn't the last song
there is no violin
the choir is so quiet
and no one takes a spin

this is the next-to-last song
and that's all, all
remember what i have said
remember, wrap up the bread
do this, do that, make your bed

this isn't the last song
there is no violin
the choir is quiet
and no-one takes a spin
this is the next-to-last song

and that's all ...





oooooooooooo

and on the other side of this theme, is my own experience from about seven or eight years ago. simultaneously limited and infinite by its location in the dream world.

my father was being killed {the first words i wrote were: put down} by lethal injection and they had already given him the first of the two shots.
i remember the way he was strapped down.
and the colors of the leather and the table and his insane asylum uniform.
and the way he had already begun to fade.
disappearing.
slipping away.
letting go.

the dream ended before he died, but the threat/certainty/despair was not an easy one to shake. nearing a decade later and the aftertaste still lingers.


oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooX....................................................

currently listening to: floating in the fourth - frightened rabbit

my neighbors - pt 1.

i have met one person in the building (aside from the lovely management trio - including the six year old they just adopted). she's on my floor and her name is lisa. i saw her enter earlier in the evening on saturday and then tapped on her door when i realized i do not have a can opener. the previous one i owned i had given to a roommate who annoyingly would always take the house's ONE canopener with her to work leaving the house (and the other four housemates) nothing. when new roommates came in (with their own canopeners) and she left, i sent it with her. anyway, lisa saved the coconut curry that sheree was making for us in my kitchen while i puttered around and unpacked a little before we went to the play that night {more on that play later}.

and i have met a few people on the streets and not just the {mom, close your eyes} slightly uncomfortable encounters with the addicts and transients of the neighborhood. i met mariko, a girl from my high school crew team, outside my building one night last week. and last night i met a good samaratin guy who helped me carry the table top of my dining room table into the building and next to the elevator. no, i didn't let him help me carry it to my door up five floors even though i could tell he was willing to help further and not a threat by any means. and the "unthreatening" assessment was made even before he assured me he wasn't trying to steal it. i quipped that if he could run faster than me carrying it by himself, he probably deserved it anyway.

have i mentioned this before? no? well then: i love my neighborhood.

currently listening to: 2+2=5 {live} - radiohead

seagulls, sahra and 10:15am

i have made some new friends recently via ten15am.com. this one is sahra zanetti. we've had a few email thread about objects suspended in space. and birds. and art. of course {and always} art. these are her saturday and sunday submissions to the site. and i'm honored to accept sunday's (top one) as being inspired by me and our conversations. actually, backing up a day or two, my red shoe photo shoot below was inspired by her. she has some great red shoes that are featured every so often in her 10:15am images.

zanetti - the seagull sees farthest who flies highest {french proverb}

zanetti - a squabble of seagulls

currently listening to: red red red - fiona apple

meisner - day 19 & 20

we're being asked to do scenes.

simple enough.

until you realize we're also being asked to rub our belly, pat our head, and sing our abc's backwards while hopping on one foot and carrying 15 umbrellas across a balance beam placed haphazardly on the floor.

it's hard. and we have one week to let it sink in before the final showing in class this tuesday. not the final showing of the scene that we'll do at the end. but it's final enough. and daunting.

12.04.08 - 10:15-10:16am PST

yesterday's ten15am.com photo shoot.

and the comment that was left on the site:

i really like these walkingpictures… you can tell a lot about a persons shoes : ) david bowie on the ipod?

-edwin

my response:

ha! is david bowie what you see? i haven’t gone out of my way to listen to him probably ever, but the goblin king in the labrynth was one of my early crushes as a little girl {sheepish smile}.

i wasn’t listening to music at the time, but i think i had a bit of a bounce in my step, so it probably would have been “float on” by modest mouse or “the reckoner” by radiohead. :}

..................................................

this was the other image i took but didn't make the cut:

currently listening to: analyse {from the basement} - thom yorke

i missed the bus to work today.

taking the bus to work will do wonders for my sense of punctuality because i can't just be on time for the bus, i have to be at least 4 minutes early in case she decides to pull away a minute or two early. again. my penance for being late was sitting on the freezing metal bench while waiting for the next one 36 minutes later. seriously, who puts metal heat-leaching seats at an outdoor bus stop?!?! this isn't hawaii, folks!

i did get my three pages of free association writing in for the day. that was something. and then i nodded off for the rest of the trip to work.



something i did run into this morning {further proof that the way we do the little things is the way we do the big things} was this reluctance to change course once i had missed the bus. i had decided to take the bus this morning and take it i would. even if it made more sense to walk back home and drive myself so that i could bring my sister this large plastic bin i don't need any more and maybe clear out some boxes to boot. i could have taken the bus tomorrow instead and been on time both days.

but.

i couldn't. i sat on the freezing cold bench in this state of perpetual indecision and finally realized i couldn't change my plan because that would have been admitting a failure. a failure for me getting up in time in the morning, a failure of setting boundaries the night before so i could get to bed on time {oh, i'll unpack just one more box of books...after this next one...}, and perhaps most of all, a failure of something i had already invested my time and interest in: taking bus this morning.

and that last bit really is the key. i don't like letting go of things where i have invested something. anything. because i want the investment to prove worthy. i want to have my input reciprocated. i want to see something come back to me forcing this other thing/person/event to be a mirror of myself, and if it reflects a failure then i'm a failure too.

i see this most often in relationships. things i should let die but can't because of what will that say about my ability to understand and empathize with others. i have left myself high and dry in some pretty destructive situations because i didn't want to break away from someone and forever be a terriblenogood sort of person. and even in the case of casual friends, i find myself maintaining several very...uninspiring "friendships" with people i don't connect with on a significant level out of some misplaced sense of obligation. not that everyone who i interact with has to be able to relate in these deep and meaningful ways, but merely that there needs to be some form of kinship and delight that i share with another person, even if it's just that this person has good taste in shoes, loves the red tree or possesses a quirky sense of humor.

so in a way, missing the bus provided an illuminating dilemma. my radar is now trained on these things in my life that have passed their pull date, even by a few seconds, so that i can begin to make some adjustments and let things go without threatening my sense of self worth. i've got a great sense of momentum on this task already since i just went through all my possessions while packing and let go of the things that no longer have significant meaning or potential. actually, i'm still going through things as i settle in to the new place. every thing i recyle or take to good will or trash takes a mountain off by back.

bit by bit i'm sloughing off this old skin.

what a glorious start on my 27th year. all because of a move i didn't want to make. funny that.

i rode the bus to work today.

and i'm pretty proud of myself.

6 arms

it's a local pub about two blocks away from my studio with zaney little details in their decor that make me happy.

they also let you substitute tatertots in the place of frenchfries when ordering fish and chips. yay for life's simple and fried pleasures.

spaces.

i don't have internet at home yet. before i sign up to pay comcast a lot of money to give me internet, i thought i would first try to go with one of my neighbors {either "alexsomethingorother" or "hair goddess"}. meanwhile, i don't really have internet access and it's frustrating. i can't write when i want {i think there is a way i can post via email, but i still have yet to figure it out}, can't browse, figure out the bus schedule, etc. i can check email thanks to my lovely phone, but i'm feeling limited by only having consistent access at work. i don't want to run my recent thoughts through the sterile and cubicle environment i sit in here.

so, a little bit of a space from this space while i organize my landing-place-space.

it has forced me to be good about writing in my journal and that three dimensional space is quite lovely too and has benefits of its own.

paper.
pens.
scribbles.
cursive.
leather.



currently listening to: ipod on shuffle - beth orton

radiohead {part 3,591 and a half}

yes. i know very few reading will not groan inwardly to see that nine letter word gracing the title of this email.

but.
i.
can't.
help.
it.

their music gives life to a part of me that i can't really fully explain. describe. articulate into english or any other language for that matter. even art. which hurts the most. i want to make art that speaks of how my self can be moved to these places. of what colors i sense when i am living in their songs. at the beauty and vibrancy i discover time and time again just by entering the doorway their music provides.

i want to create art that offers doorways like this to other people.

and in the meantime, i know i have been walking the yellow brick road of the recent radiohead tour hoping to find something/anything at the other end. an emerald city. a wizard. a magical spell to get back to my very own kansas. something. and it's been a journey i still have not found words to use to preserve it. i need to find an assemblage of verbal formaldehyde. something, anything to tether the entirety of my experience at the three shows this summer {and perhaps, more importantly, what i have left in my hands after the shows}.

and the driving desire to go back and rewrite (yes, i have several drafts) and reremember is still strong and i've been futilely struggling with something in me that is preventing me from going back to such a tender and charged place.

and.

it's coming back in bits and bobs with the approach of the spring '09 tour to central and south america.

it turns out that the brazil shows are happening before my class gets out and those are the ones i had my heart set on. i can make it to chile for two days at a festival, but i don't really want to wade through a whole festival to see them. and for some reason, chile doesn't have as much excitement for me as brazil does.

and rustling up from somewhere {or nowhere} are questions such as: why this driving need to see them? will you actually let yourself feel the show now {i failed three times in a row this summer}? is it really worth the time and money? sure if i had the latter growing on trees, but it would be a s t r e t c h for me to make it, so why am i willing to stretch so far to see them without first considering spending the money you really don't have anyway to see my father who is going blind from diabetes over in austria?

and a few answers surface as well: yes, i think i will let myself feel. i had a breakthrough in acting class that i think relates, of anticipating an emotional result and stopping myself from experiencing anything. it shouldn't be a problem. and yes, it would be worth the time and money. and of course you would rather go on an adventure down to a continent you haven't been to yet and see your favorite artist of all time. you know your trip with you dad will be hard for so many reasons.

i wish it weren't an either or. i wish i could do both. i wish i could just go and see. see. see. and live. and experience and get to go to these shows as much as i wanted. to drink in these moments of complete artistic inspiration. they are the best moments of life and so why does there have to be such a fight to have them?


currently listening to: radiohead on shuffle, but punchup at a wedding just finished and now a live version of idioteque is next in the queue which was replaced by scatterbrain.

i am a city girl

last week i walked ten minutes to cafe presse.
a french bit of loveliness.
on my way i passed a fabric store,
a grocery store,
banks,
cafes,
the old location of freehold {sniff sniff},
countless restaurants,
and more.


today i strolled cap hill for an hour or so and went into said fabric store which is positively delightful, and the art store and bead store too. my friend got coffee from b & o, a decadent dessert place just up the street, and now i've been perched upstairs in bauhaus for three hours writing {artist's way, journal, blog, emails} and savoring the flux of late night coffee goers.

i feel alive here. close to things and people. i feel like i finally live in a city.

perfectionism

from the words of julia cameron's the artist's way:

perfectionism has nothing to do with getting it right. it has nothing to do with fixing things. it has nothing to do with standards. perfectionism is a refusal to let yourself move ahead. it is a loop–an obsessive, debilitating closed system that causes you to get stuck in the details of what you are writing or painting or making and to lose sight of the whole. instead of creating freely and allowing errors to reveal themselves later as insights, we often get mired in getting the details right. we correct our originiality into a uniformity that lacks passion and spontaneity. "do not fear mistakes," miles davis told us. "there are none."

to the perfectionist, there is always room for improvement. the perfectionist calls this humility. in reality, it is egotism. it is pride that makes us want to write a perfect script, paint a perfect painting, perform a perfect audition monologue.

perfectionism is not a quest for the best. it is a pursuit of the worst in ourselves, the part that tells us that nothing we do will ever be good enough–that we should try again.

my reasons to give thanks.

{in no particular order}

1. meisner channeled through robin lynn smith who simultaneously supports and challenges me every single class.
2. my entire class {ditto on the note above}.
3. friends. friends who i can accept at face value. who tell me when they're disappointed in me or when i've hurt them. who aren't afraid of conflict. who tell me when they love me. who tell me when they have a crush on me {with no strings attached} or when they can't stand me at the moment. who share their delight of the universe. who surprise me and inspire me and call me forth to be a better person. who are honest. who walk their talk. you know who you are.
4. family. as daughter of two, the youngest of four and the eldest of two. and those who i wasn't born with but have chosen as parents or siblings. you know who you are.
5. my new home. all five flights leading up to it. the view from the window. the hard wood floors and a bathroom that is monochromatically gray/green. cap hill. the apartment managers dennis and yvonne. the red carpet in the hallways and the closet that holds more than one would imagine.
6. my art. the art i've made. the art that i will make. the people that are involved in the process. and the driving force behind it all that keeps me up at night and casts my world in shifting colors.
7. hope. {carefully excluding fantasies parading around in hope's clothing}
8. a broken heart. it burned like mad, but taught me more than i can fathom even now that i'm on the other side.
9. crushes. they burn like mad and reflect a less than flattering picture of myself which i must reconcile some day. certainly adds a spice to things.
10. best friends. perhaps this should have been at the top. yes, you know who you are. and you also know i have no words for you.
11. my magic. which i discovered i have again after my charmed apartment search.



currently listening to: matthew goode that is coming from my brother's computer.

meisner - day 18

we've been assigned scenes.
i am poor
i am french.
i am not as innocent as i am treated.
and i am blackmailing someone.

we did a "mechanical read" in class where you are not supposed to look at your partner. after the last line that i deliver with a little dig, my partner and i looked up at each other with quite a loaded look.

zap.

this is going to be a charged scene. i can tell already.

meisner - day 17 {hell hath no fury}

we were on fire. pretty literally.

every class we have two people working on each exercise. one person is inside the room doing a very physically difficult task that is motivated by circumstances that are life altering. these can be good life altering or bad life altering. the person coming into the room is also coming from circumstances that are life altering, but their circumstances are tied to the person in the room. somehow the person inside caused this thing to happen, and they will either want to blame them or feel thankful for them.

hopefully i'm not being too confusing.

so, last night, i was inside preparing the room for my little brother. he was returning from iraq paralyzed from the waist down. he had to move in with me rather than his parents because i lived closer to the medical facilities he would need.

i was going to set up the bed with my red comforter. and the couch would hold a diptych of a flock of birds i painted - set in front of the bed so he could always look at them. my computer would be set up on the bedside table that was a crate, just like i use in my spaces. dvds and books and my music collection would be put out in easy reach. i was going to change into my radiohead t-shirt i got down in santa barbara when he bought me my pit ticket. i had a beeswax candle and a paper weight with a dandelion in it for him. and lastly, i was going to install a string of lights above his bed in the shape of a tree {half the celtic tree of life which is tattooed on his calf}.

that was, until my partner came in and the argument started. from moment number one we were at odds. at each other's throats. and pretty quickly the yelling started. and i got more mad at someone i have ever been in my entire life. ever. and i didn't check it like i would in the real world.

and i think the moment that still haunts me a little is when i saw him stumble backward a bit and this look of anger and shock registering on his face and i realized my hands in between us were the ones that had pushed him of their own volition. the actor inserted asserted itself for a second to say don't hurt him and then the argument resumed.

i wasn't even thinking. i didn't have to. stuff flew out of my mouth as though it was true we've been together for 6 months and you don't even know what branch of the military my brother is in? and how can you compare a stupid ex girl friend to the loss of some one's limbs?!?!?!

i'm getting worked up again just thinking about it. i was on fire. swathed in this vibrant cloak of fury and it was probably the most real piece of acting i have ever done. ever. and i get now how just packing the circumstances with truths that are important to me or i can connect to will make me come alive in ways i don't even understand. that it frees me to accept things and live them truthfully {like the fact that this man was my boyfriend of six months and even the fact that my brother was so seriously injured} without having to think about them.

and he stormed out. and i let him go. and then went to the door and shouted something at his back - i don't even remember what. and robin let me return to my activity for quite a while. i tried unsuccessfully to untangle the lights so i could hang them, but i was shaking too much. threw them down. did a few other things. came back to the lights. i paused with the heaviness of it all then resumed my futile attempts. it felt like a long time of wrestling and seething. and then she let me finish.

i went out to get my partner to contact him (a theater technique of "exiting" the circumstances) and pretty much threw myself into his arms. and we just stood there. for a long while, as i shook and he gently patted the back of my head.

then we went inside to discuss it with the teacher. no notes of constructive criticism, just acknowledgment of breakthroughs. and it was almost comical how easily we could slip back into the space while discussing our individual circumstances. after i made you dinner and did all those nice things for you!?!?! then: wait, breathe. scootch and put an arm on him and remind yourself that wasn't real, nathania. then: i can't believe you were still thinking about her! the momentum was really powerful.

later, with cheeks still warm from the heat and body still a little jittery, i had to make sure he was okay for receiving that much anger, which, growing up, was reserved only for my father to express. and yes, of course, he was. and even hours later when i went to bed, my heart was still racing and my mind was playing through the argument like a loop and finding things i wish i had said, or points i wish i had made, which was curious, because it wasn't a real argument.

i couldn't even contemplate sleep because i was so antsy, so i pulled out my journal and began to write:

my heart is still racing from imaginary circumstances. my heart is still racing from imaginary circumstances. my heart is still racing from imaginary circumstances.

again and again until i found the big slice of truth i hadn't realized was staring me in the face. he had hit the jackpot with one of my biggest fears: there being another woman who means more. which, the ex of his circumstance obviously had. after six months of helping him through really tough times {he had lost his job, borrowed my car, stayed at my place, etc} he was still thinking of someone else.

and that, coupled with being completely present with me in our conflict, was a brilliant gift on his part.


i love being an actor.

move out/in - day one

i drove away from my ballard house this morning and almost got teary-eyed realizing this was the last time i would drive to work from this house. it's been a densely steeped ten months. and well worth the oftentimes bitter flavors.

as i shed this next layer of skin, i am in touch with sloughing off more than just disappointment, i am letting go of the illusions of perfection i have kept tightly bound to my memories of jaimini. even in the face of some cowardly and hugely insensitive decisions on his part, i kept him glued to the pedestal of all things wonderful. and that's not fair. to him or me. and somehow it's been within this process of moving that i've come to terms with a greater sense of truth and peace and forgiveness. for both of us.

it happened when taking down the hook i had specifically put up for his set of keys {a mere day or two before things started to unravel}. i found it in packing up the kitchen where we cooked a few meals during that last week. in leaving behind the bed we dreamt our converging dreams in. the rooms we painted.

all the hopes, no matter how temporary are tied to this space. as well as the fears and grief {though the worst of that was thankfully spent during the weeks of house sitting - a huge gift to be able to leave behind those spaces}.

and there is no regret in closing the door for the last time on these things.

and i have a softness for us. and most especially for myself. for letting myself be led down the path that evidently i needed to travel in order to reach these places that i have been able to go. it unhemmed me and revealed all this stitching gone awry and the last ten months have been a sacrifice for myself. to pick out/rip/tear each stitch. and yet i am more in touch with the fact that there are no mistakes here. no accidents. no user errors. just a path traversed and lessons learned.

and most importantly: i have finally come to terms with the fact that i needed a relationship as real and intense and serious as ours to take me to these places i needed to rework. nothing shy of meeting someone i felt i could marry would have forced me to where i have gone. and for that, i am grateful. forever and ever.



so, it's the next chapter. the next offering on the alter to myself and my connectivity to the people and spaces around me. it's to my growth as an actor. as a real city dweller. as an artist who emits her colors in the smallest of moments stolen between 10:15 & 10:16 each morning or in the grandest of schemes like a class that draws me irrevocably forward as a performer and as a human being.

so, to life and my new nest:

this kitchen isn't for shorties. notice how i'm standing on my toes to reach this shelf.

currently listening to: my belly gurgle it's appreciation of the lovely pho i fed it looong after it passsed the 'so hungry i could eat a horse' stage. contemplating the coconut milk ice cream downstairs. mmm...mint chocolate chip and a bath....{i got both the ice cream and that bath}

over the river and through the woods

[11.15.08 ten15am.com submission]

to grandmother's house i go. quite literally.

it's a lovely drive down interstate 5 through the nisqually region and willamette valley {my two favorite parts of the drive} and for the first time i was making it entirely alone. no mother. no siblings. just jasper {my car}, my music and myself.

the weekend was restful. it was grandma's 83rd birthday. we went out to dinner. we went to the trees. we stood by grandpa's grave {unfortunately the bench was too wet to use}. we bought some groceries. ate lamb chops for dinner. i finished my book astrid & veronika. took a nap. sudoku after dinner. early start the next day. silent drive home as i made some decisions about my meisner assignments for class.

music on the drive: horsefeathers. the village soundtrack. radiohead {at the very end}.

the view from grandpa's grave.

a typically wonky iphone photo, but good smiles.

the house is like a little museum of curiosities.
the objects and their implied stories have always fascinated me.
and i notice something new each time.

aaah. books.
this is where it comes from.

[11.16.08 ten15am.com submission]

currently listening to: mondo '77 - looper {the current play count after having it on repeat for the last hour or two: 53}

tonight:

i'm listening to looper.
specifically mondo '77 from geometrid.
i'm dancing around my room while i'm packing up my wardrobe.
i had two amazing girl friends over for an hour or two.
we planned a slosh and slumber party at my new place {soon! }.
and i'm going to find my way to brazil at the end of march i just know it.



and.
for tonight.
these things are enough and all is well with my world.

radiohead - spring 09 tour

they are starting to release the dates.
they are starting to sell tickets.
and i don't know how.
and i don't know when.
but i will see them play this spring in south america.






currently listening to: fog - radiohead

meisner - day 16

eight weeks of class. ateeightaye't.

and finally.

i can feel myself going somewhere again.

which shouldn't negate the movement i have made, just that it {perfectionistically} wasn't in this area where i felt way behind the rest of the class: in connecting to my circumstances. in feeling them emotionally. in putting that experience into the space between the two actors. so much juicy stuff has been happening with my fellow classmates and i've felt like a stale piece of bread shuffling around on stage.

until today.

i did my homework as well as i could.
with more focus than i have ever been able to give my task before.
and outside in my prep before entering, i went back to my visceral sense memory of my family photographs and just sat in the experience of looking through page after page of my family photographs.
my baby pictures.
photos of my parents as a young couple not knowing what they were getting themselves into. holding hands.
my sister on the cheerfully yellow slip and slide.
my siblings. my siblings. my siblings.
me in front of the deer cage at the stables.
my mom and me at the picnic table at presley lake.
my grandparents on both sides visiting us in alabama.
my dad in a blue shirt.
family photos.
top garden.
me in my swish holding momma cat.

a flood of images often interrupted by noises and sounds and thoughts about what i would do when i got inside the room or what it would look like working with will or what i should be feeling. and yet each time i caught myself then redirected with as little judgment as possible and slipped back into this wealth of images surfacing in my mind's eye.

and then i imagined them all burning in a fire.

i didn't start crying in the hallway. i didn't even have an identifiable emotional response, but the circumstances were alive in me. completely. my heart was racing and my body felt charged.

and that's all i carried with me to the door. i didn't know what i was feeling or how it would come out. it was this glorious surrendering of control and inside it took me to sobs it took me to shouting and it took me to laughter. exhausted. beaten. laughter.

so yesss. tonight was a victory.



currently listening to: fog - radiohead

++++++++++++++boundaries+++++++++++++

bound⋅a⋅ry

(boun'də-rē, -drē)

1. something that indicates bounds or limits; a limiting or bounding line.



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i am getting better about setting them........................................



but it's still hard.//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{it takes me a while to find my voice.}

particularly when it means someone else important is being hurt/disappointed/whathaveyou at the expense of my own safety and self care. i know i have left myself stranded in terrible relationships {of various shapes and sizes} because i haven't had the courage to speak the words that define where i end and you begin. or even simply lacking the guts to say this isn't a failure on either of our parts, but goodbye.



and conversely, i have regretted the loss of other relationships that i could have kept had i just spoken. up. sooner...............................................................................................................................



another definition which has interesting implications for relationships:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::



2. also called frontier. mathematics. the collection of all points of a given set having the property that every neighborhood of each point contains points in the set and in the complement of the set.


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my ipod is on shuffle and the currently offering is: grey - eden smith

currently listening to:

the boy with the thorn in his side & elusive by scott matthews. those are two separate songs.

i was listening to the national (and note: not horsefeathers posing as the national) and the pause before a song attacked me with a sudden craving for the boy with the thorn in his side. and predictably elusive followed.

i love the slow start and sigh before the start of elusive.



these two songs are heavy with memories and i wonder why i decided to relive them right now.

goodbye ballard

i have less than one week as a resident of this lovely neighborhood. it's been a blast.

thank you for the lovely walks/runs out to sunset park overlooking the sound and golden gardens and the mountaints.
thank you for ballard market with the best chocolate chips ever.
thank you for the sunsets.
thank you for the sky.
thank you for the neighbors and the convenience of sonic boom and folktown.
thank you for my lovely rooms that felt like they were in a treehouse.

thank you for a fantastic housemate. i can't image better for this time and these themes i lived.
and
thank you for housing me in this mourning period.
and thank you for shoving me out of the nest at precisely the right moment.

5 days left and counting.

currently listening to: super collider - radiohead

meisner - day 15

i have a hard time being vulnerable under imaginary circumstances. being present? check. spontaneous and in tune with my partner? check and check. but somehow as soon as i am having to rely on my dramatic imagination, criticism from my audience becomes a big. friggin. deal. and i freeze up.

and this is one of the things i will need to let go of in my acting.

robin gave one great note from the sidelines that had an immediate effect. take the lid off, guys. and suddenly i sake so much further into what i was doing: meticulously cutting out paper leaves to be painted red and inscribed with messages to my father. a last chance of inparting hope in such a hope/helpless life.

i keep catching myself holding back. but only after the fact. i know i freaked one scene partner out a tad and i can't even imagine what would have happened if i had exploded the way i know i could have.

aiflsmaiwfjsldcl......i'll get there. i just have to trust the process.

trust, nathania. seriously.

i'm listening to thom crackle through the live version of super collider. the life altering event i conjured for myself for today's class was that i had been invited into the studio for the making of radiohead's next album. i was going to be documenting the process with pin hole cameras, holgas (take that stupid security guards at the santa barbara bowl!), video, iphone camera, etc. just crazy wacky things. and i was going to watch their art unfold. sit down to tea with them. dance like a madwoman around the studio with thom. play a fruit shaped shaker. it was a glorious fantasy.

back to reality. and my seven hours of sleep are reduced to about 6 and a half, so i'm off.

madly yours,

n.

postcard mania

i'm sending a lot out today. i've written eleven already.





{and i finished the day writing 18}



currently listening to: a punk - vampire weekend

tactile.

recently i've found or been given several words in particular that define something very specific about myself. these parts have almost go unnoticed, and yet, are brought to sudden prominence in my understanding of myself in the simple process of being named.

resonance.
preservationist.


and just last night: tactile.

what a perfect little word for the way my fingers savor the texture of my scarf and explore the cropped ends of my hair. for the almost absentminded snagging of leaves from shrubs or trees as i go on walks. and then the methodical shredding of the fibers into little pieces that i finally breathe in their earthy fragrance before passing them on to the sidewalk. it's the desire that wants to touch someone when i'm connecting on a deeper level or even just reach out for and caress a colored object that catches my eye.

it's a driving motivation that informs so many moments of my life. the standard bearer for how i savor this world. and before yesterday, it was nameless. but, thanks to jesse, i have an articulated idea to tether this whole part of my self to. and it can be held. and owned. and preserved.

and that's important because i'm a preservationist....

currently listening to: milk thistle - conor oberst

shuffle hop step

{a simple tap exercise i remember from the days of kelly's dance academy. i can still feel the rail on my back and the expanse of mirrors showing us what we were doing - mostly wrong, but we were 4 and 5 after all.}

today's shuffle:

gay sons of lesbian mothers - kaki king
it's a fire - portishead
sunset soon forgotten - iron & wine
raining in athens - azure ray
cigarettes - hey marseilles
lyla - cocorosie
analyse (live from the basement) - thom yorke
lover, you should have come over - jeff buckly {and maybe i'm too young to keep good love from going wrong}
the great escape - patrick watson

meisner - day 14

was. rough. and i don't even see a light at the end of the tunnel. i just want to crawl into bed and stay there for a month or two.

i snagged robin for a few moments at the end and she looked me in the eye and said: you cannot be perfectionistic about this work. perfectionism will kill you.



full stop.

priorities

some things that are more important than getting 7 hours of sleep:

sitting in my car for an extra 10 minutes because i didn't want to carry all my shit in from the car.
going with my impulse to draw up a full bath for myself {lavender epsom salts and bubble bath included} instead of stopping at a foot soak to warm up my frigid feet.
reading that one extra section of my current book astrid & veronika while in aforementioned bath.
blogging about the process of taking care of myself at the end of a long day {details to follow}.



so far i've been doing well. this will be only the 2/11 nights i have been in bed for less than 7 hours. and, the above was a higher priority, so goals can be damned.

mulling spices of the thought variety

hope not grounded in reality is fantasy.

and conversely:

despair is not the loss itself, but the refusal to grieve the loss.

~michael hyder.

and.

i do both. and it's why i always seem to find myself spinning my wheels in the sand and trying to call it movement.

currently listening to: pretty voice - cloud cult {another recommendation from tom}

meisner - day 13.5 {revenge}

"life being what it is....we all dream of revenge."
-kaki king

.............................................................................................................

i think i'm beginning to get it. what it takes in terms of homework for class. robin encourages us to become obsessed with the things that really move us, and i have been sinking into who and what would drive me to revenge.

and i think i found it. at least one of the many its. and there is a spiciness and excitement to the homework and it's not even work.



actually, here are all the lyrics to "life being what it is" by kaki king:

he put a note in my pocket, said “be good to yourself” and that was all
life being what it is
we all dream of revenge
open your eyes for a second
just to roll them at me

i stared straight into the sun
something to concentrate on

oooo oooo

and if you turn it on you’d find
i’ve written you a thousand times
you would do anything
you’d give up everything for
god knows why

i just can’t stay till your gone
i won’t wish you well
i won’t see you off
i won’t try to call if i see you in my mind i'll say to you it’s not your fault

you said i’ll see you in september
but that’s not long enough for me
you put a note in my pocket
so it would take care of me
but that was all

currently listening to: carolyn's fingers - cocteau twins {via tom s.'s recommendation}

meisner - day 11, 12 & 13

at some point last week i realized i hadn't written about day 11 and 12.

and then i realized, there wasn't much to say.

11 was a breeze, it is easy for me to be present with a partner, and day 12 went in a billion directions, but the only pretty ones were the ones that were echoed by the cheers of all the different election parties that were happening around our space. the ugly ones were all tethered to disappointment in giving myself amazing circumstances but not allowing myself to really let what was going on for me take over. i was furious. i was grieved. i was a whole lot of other things besides. and i didn't let myself go there.

so i let myself down. big time.

and i let down the circumstances which were beautiful and tragic and something i wanted to explore anyway {more details on that to come when i have enough time to write that doesn't cut seriously into my sleep}.

and today. was just 3+ hours of watching other people. because my partner wasn't ready to go. so i just got to sit. and listen. and i learned a ton from feedback she gave others.

but i wanted to do. prove. move. put me in coach!

tuesday will come soon enough. i know. and i am shit scared of the place i've chosen to explore.


here be dragons!!!

and it involves:
a brother.
a red dress.
and revenge.

packing mania.

john is amazing.

full stop.

between the two of us, we packed all my books, 99% of my art supplies, all my boxes, most of my kitchen supplies, half my clothes and some other stuff to boot. all in less than 24 hours. and yes, we did sleep and eat.

and....

i love my wooden crates.

clothes.

it's hard to get rid of them. even the low self-esteem outfits. even the pieces you know you hate and have been cautiously avoiding for months {years?!}.

the jury is out on a few things that might come in handy at some point. if i just had the guts i would kick them out. but for some reason there is this doubt that new and better clothes will come in and fill the spaces. which is a load of hogwash. of course they will. of course they will.

thrift store shopping anyone?

and it's nice to see those iconic pieces that still look good. that still fit. and that will stay for another round.



currently listening to: eden's helpful and well timed bits of dis/encouragement.

wisdom.

elegant: http://www.wisdombook.org/

confirmed.

i just got the call. they've approved my application for my apt. it's officially mine!


yippee skippy!


currently listening to: an interview on npr with regina spektor

change.

this is a significant moment for me. moving out. getting my own place. choosing a gorgeous space that resonates the entirety of my self over a larger space that tried to seduce me with ample storage and a large bedroom.

but i didn't let myself make the wrong decision. i didn't let the whispering/whimpering advantages distract me, and in the end i know having to pare down my possessions {not my books} won't be a bad thing. i even have a creative idea or two on how to solve my space issues. it will require more old wooden crates, however, but half the fun of decorating with them is finding them. anyone up for antique mall shopping?

tonight, a mentor of mine allowed me to see this decision in a different light than the previous "this is way too expensive/unpractical/frivolous decision." instead he suggested that i am honoring myself in this space. i am honoring the part of me that resonates by choosing a landing-place that inherently awakens that part of me. so it doesn't matter for the moment that i won't be saving {as much} for travel, or the house i eventually want to own, or even the $400 boots that are still calling my name. because i have made the choice so that i can have the vibrancy and color these other things could bring to my life, but here. now. on a day to day basis. every time i walk through my door.

and he's right. and what a glorious step forward.

in the end, this part of me that sees some form of beauty and feels like a tuning fork has been struck somewhere in the vicinity of my ribcage, this part of me that is most alive. most myself. and the past year and a half of work i have done with this mentor has been about wending my way deeper and deeper into my self to understand this space and process of resonance. to see the reasons the system breaks down and putters to a halt and stand by and cheer while movement resumes.

thank you, robert. more than you will ever fathom.

my hair is short.
i own a deep pink leather jacket.
i still wriggle out of trying to really, truly trust it, but i can feel the column of strength and certainty running up my torso that is divinely me.
i am an artist with a glorious space.
i know this is a significant move. and it surprised me with the suddenness of the timing, but resolution has laid itself out with ease like a red carpet unfurling before me.
i don't even know what is over the next horizon, but like this country perched on the edge of change i know i have made the right choices and set myself up for success.

things i'm looking forward to in my new place:
steam heating and a toasty winter.
the challenges of organizing all my things into a new space.
buying quirky mismatched dishes at goodwill.
having a place all to myself.
creating a visual and colorful journey through the space from the moment i walk through the door all the way to the back of the kitchen.
looking out my window each morning.
southern facing windows.
the church outside my window.
living less than a block away from not one, but two coffee shops {victrola and bauhaus}.
living a mile away from my gym and whole foods.
swimming again at the y.
yoga.
my neighbors.
going up 5 flights of stairs when i'm feeling energetic.
riding up 5 floors in the elevator when i'm not.
conflating my art and living space.
taking the bus to work.
taking the bus to class.
taking the bus.
walking to the seattle art museum on a saturday morning.
high ceilings.


just to name a few.

currently listening to: untitled 8 - sigur rós
current favorite tea: tazo wild sweet orange.

my new perch

last night i was so restless. tossed and turned for quite a while. the whole world had come to moment of departure. of leaping. of flying. and it's no longer just my life hanging on to the edge before letting go, but suddenly i'm connected to so many other lives that are there too. a whole nation is here, poised with me in their 'singular stories with a shared destiny'. i'm stealing his words, but they were elegant and beautiful words. carefully selected to be absolutely perfect.

and the crazy thing is: i don't even know the full extent of the change i'm about to embark upon. but somehow we {eden articulated this exact same thought today} both feel its place in the capital-'S'-Significance of my life. moving out. getting my own place. choosing a beautiful space over a bigger space. all these things. and they feel right and good. and it will work.

and so i wrote my deposit check today for the first place i looked at and it was love at first sight. i knew. i knew. i knew when i stepped into it and felt my soul resonate with excitement to live in the space.

and after looking at a cheaper and bigger (muuuch bigger) place today, i went back to this first studio to compare, and before i even got to the door, my heart had quickened in excitement and i knew.

so. yes. i will be living on capitol hill come the beginning of december. in my very own little perch.

yippee!

a day of such magnitude

it started at the polls at 7am. the little old ladies had made all these homemade goodies. i got my ballot and before i could even fill in the bubble next to his name, i paused.

for a good second or two.

and held my breath at the importance of one little blackened oval.

then i filled it in with a smile and a quickened heart.

later in the afternoon i picked up a broken sand dollar that lives by my computer at work. turning it over i happened to look inside: tightly folded up, was a note in my best friend's handwriting. "today is the day" - eden. she had planted the little scrap of blue paper months ago so that i could find it at the perfect moment. and it gave me so much hope that today is that moment. THE DAY. as well as every subsequent day for eight years.

monday's shuffle

rebel - lauryn hill (the live version which is so raw from her being sick during this performance)

walk away - ben harper

dave moon man - looper (his accent....sooo charming. i'll marry you, love)

damnit. i just found out it's been confirmed. i have to move. damnit. damnit. damnit. at least the game of limbo is over, but it still doesn't make me happy. i. love. my. space.

ha, and then sir ipod gave me:

welcome to the cruel world - ben harper.

lovely sense of humor, buster!

roads - portishead

and it rained all night - thom yorke

candyland - cocorosie (which is interesting because this has been the song to carry so much loss for me this year. first jai departing, then jai suddenly/violently disassociating, then my grandfather dying)

cry baby cry - beatles (which is hilarious because i never knew that's what wash was quoting in firefly. yes, my beatles knowledge is pretty limited)

like spinning plates - radiohead

it's oh so quiet - björk

some people ride the wave - devendra banhart

look back in - moby

such great heights - iron & wine

no surprises - radiohead

close your eyes - jump little children (this song hits my gooey feminine side where i just melt at this thought of being cared for in that tender/gentle/intimate space of going to sleep)

to travels & trunks - hey marseilles

milk thistle - conor oberst (he's be neglected, not sure how he even snuck onto my ipod, but i think i should pay a little more attention)

november's goal:

to get at least seven {7} hours of sleep every night.

this means good boundaries. very good boundaries.

no, you cannot write that blog about meisner or your new favorite song or post those wonderful pictures from the weekend. no, you may not reply to that email. no, you may not pick up and put away the day's clothes or do an artist's way activity.

just go to bed.

seven. full. hours.

so far the track record is 2/2 with daylight savings giving me 10-11 hours last night. pretty blissful. much needed. hopefully the med-dark circles under my eyes will go away.

currently listening to: a sunday smile - beirut {which, coincidentally enough, was also on repeat at the beginning of the year when my life was going topsy turvy with jaimini and my last move. i guess i'm trying to recreate the excited and more hopeful outlook.}

the stone gods {fin.}

'loneliness isn't about being by yourself. that's fine, right and good, desirable
in many ways. loneliness is about finding a landing-place, or not, and
knowing that, whatever you do, you can go back there. the opposite of loneliness
isn't company, it's a return. a place to return.'


.......................................


'billie,' said spike, 'why are you crying?'
'because it's hopeless, because we're hopeless, the whole stupid fucking human race.'
'is that why you are crying?'
'and because i wish there was a landing-place that wasn't always being torn up.'
'is that why you are crying?'
'and because i feel inadequate.'
'there's a story about a princess whose tears turned to diamonds.'
'i'm not a princess and my tears are tears like everyone else's.'
'but they are not everyone else's, billie. they are your tears.'

i read the last third of the book tonight soaking in my tub and these were the two passages i drew my scribbly curlicues around. they stood out the most in my mind.

and this was a perfect night to be gifted such eloquence on these two topics as they are such loud and colorful themes for me right now. i thought i had been given my fair share of loss this year, but these things come in three, no? my game of housing limbo is not yet resolved and i'm simply trying to stave off any anxiety (hopefully throughout the whole process) and grief (at least until it's confirmed).

i love winterson's paradigm of loneliness/landing-place. it's a lovely yin and yang and something i felt last night in a houseparty with no room to move, much less breathe or converse with people. and in that mosh of bodies and costumes i felt really lonely and tired and all i wanted was to go home. to my perfectly arranged landing-place with quiet and a sense of purpose.

and the second quote sums up tonight just perfectly. i am finding that there are many layers to grief. and a few hours ago, parked outside a friend's house, i sat for the first time since radiohead in a tightly reined emotional state where i only let myself feel a specifically controlled amount of joy as a way to control how much disappointment i experience. they have a directly proportionate relationship, so if i keep one under wraps, the other will also stay quiet. the trouble is, i want to celebrate with her. i want to get all girly and excited for the direction her life is moving, but i can't go there without stirring the mulch underneath.

it was a futile effort to hold things in because even just acknowledging the battle of conflicting emotional desires was enough to blow the lid on the whole thing, and i sat in the dash light outside her house and gave voice to the last layer of demons i have been trying to sweep under the rug. but they have persisted till suddenly i am admitting that i don't know who i despise more, him for leading me there or myself for having the audacity to believe i deserved what he freely offered. how dare i believe the universe has manifested something that perfect and in such a magical way? how. dare. i.

and yes, they aren't diamonds or even anybody else's tears {most especially his} but they are mine, and they were held by my friend with a grace and gentleness i cannot entirely fathom.

currently listening to: nothing. turned my car off on the drive home from her house and find i still need to maintain the silence a little longer.

passages from the stone gods by jeanette winterson