Wednesday, July 21, 2004
My favorite greeting so far today: "It's her royal ravishness!"
That cute boy I danced with a little while ago has been avoiding me like the - well, not the plague exactly, but like the flu at least. I told Mark the story and he thinks that D is avoiding me because he liked me. He's back with his girlfriend and Mark thinks he has a guilty conscience. Which I simply can't help but be flattered by.
I have been having nightmares about moving lately. Nightmares about burning Scott's clothes.
Before Mark and I got together, I had beautiful dreams about him - planting morning glory seeds and watching the plants grow before my eyes, talking all afternoon in a cafe, taking naps in a hammock, and so on.
But with Scott, I only have nightmares - him sleeping with another woman in front of me, him telling me he's going back to Nerve personals to look for another girl, him being smirkingly cold and amused by my sadness. I have these fears when he's gone, but the minute I'm in his presence, everything feels suddenly okay. When he holds my hand in hsi big warm hand, everything is suddenly right in the world.
I keep thinking that if I'm meant to move to Queens it will happen relatively smoothly. If I'm not supposed to, something will happen to prevent it. I will meet someone up here who I'm suddenly smitten with. I'll get a job offer I can't refuse. My parents will need me to come home. I don't know what I'm doing.
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That cute boy I danced with a little while ago has been avoiding me like the - well, not the plague exactly, but like the flu at least. I told Mark the story and he thinks that D is avoiding me because he liked me. He's back with his girlfriend and Mark thinks he has a guilty conscience. Which I simply can't help but be flattered by.
I have been having nightmares about moving lately. Nightmares about burning Scott's clothes.
Before Mark and I got together, I had beautiful dreams about him - planting morning glory seeds and watching the plants grow before my eyes, talking all afternoon in a cafe, taking naps in a hammock, and so on.
But with Scott, I only have nightmares - him sleeping with another woman in front of me, him telling me he's going back to Nerve personals to look for another girl, him being smirkingly cold and amused by my sadness. I have these fears when he's gone, but the minute I'm in his presence, everything feels suddenly okay. When he holds my hand in hsi big warm hand, everything is suddenly right in the world.
I keep thinking that if I'm meant to move to Queens it will happen relatively smoothly. If I'm not supposed to, something will happen to prevent it. I will meet someone up here who I'm suddenly smitten with. I'll get a job offer I can't refuse. My parents will need me to come home. I don't know what I'm doing.
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Wednesday, July 14, 2004
How I started blogging
A year or so ago, my boyfriend S and I were in dire straits. One day, bored and lonely, I was cleaning up my bookmark file, and ran across his best friend's blog url. Click! A little trip down nostalgia lane. His friends blogs were linked by initials - and I thought - how funny! He's got one with S's initials!
Click.
I was suddenly reading my sort-of boyfriend's blog. How many beers he actually drank every evening. How he wished I would break up with him because it would be easier. How he thought buying a $50 toaster could save us. How hard it would be to lose me because I have the best-smelling hair he'd ever smelled.
My heart went cold. He'd never mentioned a blog to me. I called him that moment, and explained what had happened. He said "Now it's ruined!" meaning his blog experience, not the relationship. He said those were thoughts he was trying to work out, that he had been posturing a little for his male friends - his only readers.
After a few days of sorting my feelings, I decided I believed him. He hadn't meant to hurt me - he only wanted a private space to write his thoughts, searchable only to millions of internet readers.
So I got my own blog. It was private at first. I tested its privacy by searching on yahoo and google. At first it was difficult to decide what to write and what not to write. My blog was simply a diary at first, a place I could write my thoughts down from (ahem) work.
I slowly began to realize that blogging was more than being a secret web diarist - it could be a way to connect with others, to share experiences and form blogging communities. I found the blog of my good college friend. I got comments. I started leaving comments on sites I liked, no longer worrying that my boyfriend would find the links and trace it back to me.
My boyfriend knows about my blog now. I've never given him the link, but I've sent him excerpts. And now there's talk afoot of an all-girl cosmo-sipping gossip, lipgloss and cupcake party. And I can't wait! Peeling away the seven veils of blogdom has never seemed so appealing.
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A year or so ago, my boyfriend S and I were in dire straits. One day, bored and lonely, I was cleaning up my bookmark file, and ran across his best friend's blog url. Click! A little trip down nostalgia lane. His friends blogs were linked by initials - and I thought - how funny! He's got one with S's initials!
Click.
I was suddenly reading my sort-of boyfriend's blog. How many beers he actually drank every evening. How he wished I would break up with him because it would be easier. How he thought buying a $50 toaster could save us. How hard it would be to lose me because I have the best-smelling hair he'd ever smelled.
My heart went cold. He'd never mentioned a blog to me. I called him that moment, and explained what had happened. He said "Now it's ruined!" meaning his blog experience, not the relationship. He said those were thoughts he was trying to work out, that he had been posturing a little for his male friends - his only readers.
After a few days of sorting my feelings, I decided I believed him. He hadn't meant to hurt me - he only wanted a private space to write his thoughts, searchable only to millions of internet readers.
So I got my own blog. It was private at first. I tested its privacy by searching on yahoo and google. At first it was difficult to decide what to write and what not to write. My blog was simply a diary at first, a place I could write my thoughts down from (ahem) work.
I slowly began to realize that blogging was more than being a secret web diarist - it could be a way to connect with others, to share experiences and form blogging communities. I found the blog of my good college friend. I got comments. I started leaving comments on sites I liked, no longer worrying that my boyfriend would find the links and trace it back to me.
My boyfriend knows about my blog now. I've never given him the link, but I've sent him excerpts. And now there's talk afoot of an all-girl cosmo-sipping gossip, lipgloss and cupcake party. And I can't wait! Peeling away the seven veils of blogdom has never seemed so appealing.
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Monday, July 12, 2004
In one hour
Yesterday I missed my train coming home from the city. It's only happened twice - maybe - in the past two years. For some reason I was really mad about it, and since I had an hour to kill before the next train I left Grand Central to walk off some steam.
First I stopped at the J. Chuckles store on the corner, which sells inexpensively made teeny-bopper fashion. One of Scott's gamer friends was behind the shoe counter - we had heard he'd just gotten a job at a Strawberries, but I guess it was J. Chuckles. (All the gamer guys think it's really funny that he works in a women's clothing store. I bet he gets dates before they do!)
I was flustered, still steamed, so I jumped on the escalator to the lower floor. I looked around for a minute, but nothing seemed imaginative enough to spend money on. I went back upstairs and said hi to Dale.
Scott and I had just come from a friend's baby shower. Dale asked if it was really fun or only kind of fun. I said "I think for people who already have babies it was more fun."
I left and walked toward Bryant Park. I wandered in and around, checking out all these city people sitting on chairs in a park. Everyone was reading and drinking iced coffee. I walked toward the sound of drumming, and found a circle of people dancing in a traditional Japanese style. There was a smaller circle of women in the middle, wearing Japanese clothing. A tiny elderly Japanese woman with her hair in a white bun led them.
I watched for a while, looking at the people dancing. A few middle-aged hippie women wearing fanny packs and Birkenstocks. A tall black man with red hair and long sparkly earrings. A few tiny Japanese girls in flowered silks. I looked at the crowd, too. An incredibly attractive blonde man walked beside a chubby frumpy woman in sneakers. Three blonde kids trailed behind. I guessed they were from the midwest.
I left the park and got a smoothie. The orders were put in by our first names, and when I went to collect my protein berry, there was a mix-up with a man named Gerald. Apparently certain accents make Gerald and Joelle sound the same.
I walked back to the train station in the hot sun and sipped and sipped my cold smoothie. I walked slowly for once, I still had time to kill. I looked at all the people rushing around me. I looked up at the ski-jump Grace building.
Against my better judgment, when I got to the station I bought myself a cookie for the trip. "Chocolate chip cookie, please." The man next to me said "Are you from down south?" True to my impassive city persona, I muttered "no" quickly, shaking my head.
You gotta teach these country people how to act here.
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Yesterday I missed my train coming home from the city. It's only happened twice - maybe - in the past two years. For some reason I was really mad about it, and since I had an hour to kill before the next train I left Grand Central to walk off some steam.
First I stopped at the J. Chuckles store on the corner, which sells inexpensively made teeny-bopper fashion. One of Scott's gamer friends was behind the shoe counter - we had heard he'd just gotten a job at a Strawberries, but I guess it was J. Chuckles. (All the gamer guys think it's really funny that he works in a women's clothing store. I bet he gets dates before they do!)
I was flustered, still steamed, so I jumped on the escalator to the lower floor. I looked around for a minute, but nothing seemed imaginative enough to spend money on. I went back upstairs and said hi to Dale.
Scott and I had just come from a friend's baby shower. Dale asked if it was really fun or only kind of fun. I said "I think for people who already have babies it was more fun."
I left and walked toward Bryant Park. I wandered in and around, checking out all these city people sitting on chairs in a park. Everyone was reading and drinking iced coffee. I walked toward the sound of drumming, and found a circle of people dancing in a traditional Japanese style. There was a smaller circle of women in the middle, wearing Japanese clothing. A tiny elderly Japanese woman with her hair in a white bun led them.
I watched for a while, looking at the people dancing. A few middle-aged hippie women wearing fanny packs and Birkenstocks. A tall black man with red hair and long sparkly earrings. A few tiny Japanese girls in flowered silks. I looked at the crowd, too. An incredibly attractive blonde man walked beside a chubby frumpy woman in sneakers. Three blonde kids trailed behind. I guessed they were from the midwest.
I left the park and got a smoothie. The orders were put in by our first names, and when I went to collect my protein berry, there was a mix-up with a man named Gerald. Apparently certain accents make Gerald and Joelle sound the same.
I walked back to the train station in the hot sun and sipped and sipped my cold smoothie. I walked slowly for once, I still had time to kill. I looked at all the people rushing around me. I looked up at the ski-jump Grace building.
Against my better judgment, when I got to the station I bought myself a cookie for the trip. "Chocolate chip cookie, please." The man next to me said "Are you from down south?" True to my impassive city persona, I muttered "no" quickly, shaking my head.
You gotta teach these country people how to act here.
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Sunday, July 11, 2004
Will
I'd know the tilt of his head anywhere. Even in the far-away snapshots on the website, I can pick him out instantly - even in the thumbnails. I can imagine the next words coming out of his mouth. He's unpredictable - I can see the gleam in his eye, guess if he will be serious or seriously funny.
I haven't seen him in ten years.
I was wondering last night as I was falling asleep what he would think of my situation now. What he would think of me. I had an imaginary conversation with him and tried to find out if he thought my tail feathers were nailed to the floor - as he once thought.
He was a very important person in my young life. He introduced me to Rainer Maria Rilke, Langston Hughes, Cream's In the Sunshine of your Love. David Wilcox. He helped arrange how my mind and psyche would grow, he showed me new light to reach toward - a bigger world of light. "All emotions are pure which gather you and lift you up..."
So I didn't find out much in my imaginary conversation last night. I kept putting words in his mouth. He kept saying things I didn't want to hear, voicing my own worries.
We keep in touch sporadically over email - every few years we check in with each other. He has a girlfriend, lives in San Francisco - and I, of course, always have a boyfriend. We haven't had room in our lives for each other since I was 17 - when I was much too young for anything serious. We had the weird idea that we would marry in our 40s. When I was 17 I thought he was my soul mate.
Maybe I should send him an email.
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I'd know the tilt of his head anywhere. Even in the far-away snapshots on the website, I can pick him out instantly - even in the thumbnails. I can imagine the next words coming out of his mouth. He's unpredictable - I can see the gleam in his eye, guess if he will be serious or seriously funny.
I haven't seen him in ten years.
I was wondering last night as I was falling asleep what he would think of my situation now. What he would think of me. I had an imaginary conversation with him and tried to find out if he thought my tail feathers were nailed to the floor - as he once thought.
He was a very important person in my young life. He introduced me to Rainer Maria Rilke, Langston Hughes, Cream's In the Sunshine of your Love. David Wilcox. He helped arrange how my mind and psyche would grow, he showed me new light to reach toward - a bigger world of light. "All emotions are pure which gather you and lift you up..."
So I didn't find out much in my imaginary conversation last night. I kept putting words in his mouth. He kept saying things I didn't want to hear, voicing my own worries.
We keep in touch sporadically over email - every few years we check in with each other. He has a girlfriend, lives in San Francisco - and I, of course, always have a boyfriend. We haven't had room in our lives for each other since I was 17 - when I was much too young for anything serious. We had the weird idea that we would marry in our 40s. When I was 17 I thought he was my soul mate.
Maybe I should send him an email.
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Wednesday, July 07, 2004
I have just landed back on the flat green earth, fresh from the flowered slopes of Mount Helicon.
Yep, that's the home of the muses. Last week was my final course in the first certificate program of the Isadora Duncan International Institute.
Those words all seem so flat: what really happened was that I danced with 20 beautiful women and girls every day, all day. We were nymphs in a forest pond. Our silk tunics in flower colors blossomed around us in the water as we danced. Our pale and tanned arms arched over our heads, beckoning to each other. On dry land, we danced across the floor, drifting, leaping, jumping like fawns or gentle breezes. The music inhabited us and we answered its call.
We performed together in a joyful festival. Folk contra dances, made graceful by Isadora, swinging our partner around in a half circle, prancing and laughing. A slow cantata, where by some random trick of spacing I was the center angel in a gentle cloud of angels, sent to comfort sad human souls. We wrestled and leaped and shot mythical javelins in the Olympiad dance, which was truly an olympian feat of strength and endurance.
I performed a solo, one I had made mostly for myself: I danced the dance of Eurydice coming from the deep of Hades, pleading in an unheard voice for Orpheus to go on, go on, never look back, and in the end, disappearing.
The last night of the course, our fearless leader Jeanne took us into an immense limestone cave, water dripping from the ceiling, nothing green growing inside. At the sloped bottom of the cave there was a body of water, an underground lake. We held candles as we wound our way in, and there we danced the dance of our hidden places, the places that are blocked and dark inside of us. As I danced in the darkness, a white swan glided by, over the dark inner lake, reminding me of magical things I had read as a child. It suddenly came to me how many things I had lost since my wild, protected childhood. I wanted them back.
When we emerged from the cave into the firefly- and starlit night, sobered and clearer, I promised myself I would create the life I imagined I would have as a child, now that I have the power of an adult woman.
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Yep, that's the home of the muses. Last week was my final course in the first certificate program of the Isadora Duncan International Institute.
Those words all seem so flat: what really happened was that I danced with 20 beautiful women and girls every day, all day. We were nymphs in a forest pond. Our silk tunics in flower colors blossomed around us in the water as we danced. Our pale and tanned arms arched over our heads, beckoning to each other. On dry land, we danced across the floor, drifting, leaping, jumping like fawns or gentle breezes. The music inhabited us and we answered its call.
We performed together in a joyful festival. Folk contra dances, made graceful by Isadora, swinging our partner around in a half circle, prancing and laughing. A slow cantata, where by some random trick of spacing I was the center angel in a gentle cloud of angels, sent to comfort sad human souls. We wrestled and leaped and shot mythical javelins in the Olympiad dance, which was truly an olympian feat of strength and endurance.
I performed a solo, one I had made mostly for myself: I danced the dance of Eurydice coming from the deep of Hades, pleading in an unheard voice for Orpheus to go on, go on, never look back, and in the end, disappearing.
The last night of the course, our fearless leader Jeanne took us into an immense limestone cave, water dripping from the ceiling, nothing green growing inside. At the sloped bottom of the cave there was a body of water, an underground lake. We held candles as we wound our way in, and there we danced the dance of our hidden places, the places that are blocked and dark inside of us. As I danced in the darkness, a white swan glided by, over the dark inner lake, reminding me of magical things I had read as a child. It suddenly came to me how many things I had lost since my wild, protected childhood. I wanted them back.
When we emerged from the cave into the firefly- and starlit night, sobered and clearer, I promised myself I would create the life I imagined I would have as a child, now that I have the power of an adult woman.
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