So um, hmm. I’m annihiliated with myself. Is that the right word? I mean I was having wine with my best-friend and cooing over her baby in my mini-skirt dress and I had to have just one more drink before she went. You know- just in case. Just in case that hot guy who was looking at me from across the far table, came over and got the guts to start a conversation. But…well that’s where the fun ends. So the drink tasted too strong- too much lemon and not enough…No. Too much Cognac and not enough hmmm. Well I can’t remember what the drink was called anyway. That’s a testament to my will. I give it up for something I don’t know anything about…

Anyhow, I was listening to my headphones and walking around the park in my boots and I was walking across the community gardens. I took a few shots of the vertical set up they have out there in Roosevelet Park- by the school out in Hampden. My back was turned to the skateboarders, who I knew were there all along. It’s why I came. So I walked up to where they were sliding across cement, really sliding! They looked like they were on a slip-and-slide chute at Wet N’Wild. It was easy watching them. I had the background playing of some Seattle song and I felt larger than life. And I looked up at the sky like I cared about nature and deep thoughts or something, and so I was quite taken with myself. And I felt this way through the entire way back to my car. There was a nice looking man walking his…hmm, Irish Settter? It looked like that. I could have started up a conversation with him. Maybe commented on his dog. But did I do that? No sireee. No, my ego was too busy chattering away for me to stop and get a sense of things. Anyhow, that’s why I’m writing this. It’s sort of a diatribe, a funeral of sorts to egos. I want to put them to rest, pile a hunk of dirt on them, and forget about them. Except, I won’t mark the spot or anything and the idea is not to come back and visit. The date will be etched in sand, “the last time I took myself so seriously”, but it will be more of a fabrication of something to celebrate. Have you ever been to a happy funeral? When you put something distracting to you, to rest? This is a whole new flower business for me. I’m going to start flowers on our farm for just this thing. Funerals are depressing. So much work goes into pulling them off. But if …well.

I’ll end there.

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Fields of Stupid Gold

It’s Easter. I’m sitting in my bed knowing what I already know- that if I text John, he’ll just tell me that he’s dating someone new.

And now I’m running, after that, and I’m thinking of this sticky hot holiday- how it was in Florida anyhow during this time of year, because I can see all these people dressed up in hot, wool, expensive blue suits. And it seems inappropriate to be dressed like that during a hot day when you’re muddling through a lawn that’s next to another lawn where the owner is mowing and you can hear that large humming sound. It’s the same sound I used to hear on Sundays, at about 2pm, while the football game was on in the living room.

So I’m running up this street- I think it’s called Lavendar or something near that, and I see this big party with groups of kids and a woman about my age with a dog (thank god she’s not carrying a baby), and I try to run past them acting like I don’t notice them. So it’s sort of hard because they are all standing out front of this brick split-level with a yard that’s sloping down and the guests in front of it are kind of sloping too. It’s impossible to run “through” them on the sidewalk because they all try to be polite, but it’s awkward.

So I finish my run, and I finish two more runs within two weeks after that Easter one, and I’m blank on John. I remember fishing out his phone number after I deleted it and texting him about tennis and “Do you know any famous players?”, “Tell me something about scoring. I need to know about that. Max is really into tennis. Did I tell you that? He’s a hitting partner for Josh Groth. Can you believe?”

And then nothing. He’s still dating his stupid agent or dietician or diabetic weirdo and I move forward. It’s just that I do sort of start to believe myself. Max is afterall gorgeous-probably the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever dated. He looks like Jared Leto. And he wants to sleep with me all the time, except that I’m tired at night and I whine and say “let’s do it tomorrow morning”. But then I sleep in past the time I’m supposed to get up and he stares at me when I come back to my room in my green skirt, eating a bowl of milk and granola and I make sure to take a bite of it so that when he asks “So how about now?” (you know, about the sex), I say something inaudible that sounds crunchy.

I keep thinking how when I have a glass of wine or two it makes me more inclined to get flirty. And then when someone is over and it’s late, well, I can’t stand tight things around my waist. And I don’t’ love pants. So I put on some PJ flannel shirt and they take it as a come-on! But it’s not! I just want to be comfortable. Although, I would be hurt if they weren’t attracted to me. It’s just guys can be so pushy. I’d like to have people/guys over to my house- for just a glass of wine and dinner. But it leads to sex! I have this limit, this rule. NO. NO. NO. No sex until after I’ve known you for a month. I waited three years before having sex with my former boyfriend, Yair. And he begged! He is very good looking and a millionaire to boot and he’s two years younger than me. But I knew he was off having fling after fling and so I was careful!

What’s happened to me now? Where’s that little voice in my head that use to caution the same thing? Anyhow, it’s Sunday and it’s time for my run. 5 miles. It’s out there waiting for me to traverse it. And then John calls. Stupid, stupid John. After I don’t feel anything for him anymore. After he soured or- ? Poisoned the well. And he’s drumming on about Easter and about how I called, and why won’t I hang out? And I say, “No”. I want Max now. We’re free-spirits and I like our dynamic.

So, off to traverse the fields of windy gold!

P.S. To whomever may read this and I’m sure it will be <1, I apologize for that diabetic comment. I didn’t really mean it that way…I have lots of people close to me that have it. I’m sure to wake up tomorrow and have it too! And I love sugar, and it will be so terrible to have to eat fake sweetners. So…I just meant– well this girl is a hypochondriac (the one I mentioned and…well, you know.)

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i kind of want to remember this day, and not…i could forget it…but things keep popping up from 8:30 and 9:00 and when we went to bed. and this morning. i wanted to leave-at 8:30, but i fell back to sleep. i did that three more times. i went through intervals (with him) that seemed to run like sentences…there was no stopping. and the curtains were all closed — because of the rain and the curtain was covering the front door, which was all glass. it looked like evening.

i’m watching prelude to a kiss and wondering if i’d get along as well in jamaica without a mai tai- …maybe if i kissed an old man i’d feel the same way she did– like dressing up in a cabana sweater and picking bouganvillas for everything else including my hair.

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i’m using this as a platform to vent:

i’ve been overally thanking people and petting my cats and putting back the cat hair that falls off, back on them so that it doesn’t get on my floor.

i keep reading the second mystery and then i read the first one next so i can guess who the killer is by page 135.

there’s this fly stuck on my wall poster of a big forest. should i help it?

i like bob dylan’s name (oh God, don’t kill) just not his music.

i like taking cooler walks in summer at nighttime.

i think about folks who lose their temper.i try to go through what process they might. then i explode and i learn my lesson later.

i like to walk at night on the streets that are hidden— the ones by the damp street lights.

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One minute my kittens are trying to nurse my male cat and the next minute they’re trying to —him.

I’m trying to keep my mind off anti-depressants, “testosterone tablets”- and since, it’s been an estrogen sprinkler show in my body, and water works on my outside. Starting two months ago, I weened myself off of them by 25 mg then 25 mg more then 25 mg more and then 25 mg more. To keep my mind off it, I’m marking down pages in Kim Gordon’s autobiography by bulleting special lines I like, the one for example that mentions how that TV show with bland oh land Claire Danes, My So Called Life, was filmed at Kim’s old high school. Maybe it’s good that I didn’t move to L.A.. I would have just wound up turning into a name-dropper like the rest of them, like I wouldn’t be able to stay tight-lipped about sitting across a coffee table apart from Dr. Phill’s son and not telling anyone about it.

I’m naming the title of this, “I AM HERE” because I want to be able to find it. In my computer there’s folders upon yellow folders where I save the draw-ups or design concepts of ideas or sketches, and hit click and they go out into SPACE. It reminds my mind that I’m not an engineer when I try to look for them like, “If you were only organized like such and such, like he’d be able to sift through tons of organizers. You should do that.”

Back when I was trying not to go mental, I’d read for hours and hours on the back porch railway that accounted for the 700 square foot of apartment space that I rented from this dusty building. That spot kept me sane. I’d sit out on some couchy outdoor wicker that I got for nothing off e-bay and I’d read by the lamplight and this moth family would swim into the lightbulb and keep me company. If my cats stuck their heads out the railing, then I’d put them inside and if they whined I’d go back inside with them. To trade off for entertainment, I’d put out almonds in a candle cup lid and we’d wait for Chippy the chipmunk to crawl up the four-story  cement wall, to eat them. He became a happy neighbor and he crawled up sometimes 3-4 times a day, and if there weren’t almonds then he’d start at the stuffing off the couchy wicker pad and eat it like puffed rice.

I’m trying to let me just do things I’ve done for years, like talking while driving and talking with my hands while I do it, and sitting down to read and getting up to do ten different projects that I start but do not finish. If I finish one project that I start, one that requires more work then I realized, then I won’t want to ever start something like that again. So instead, I just wait a few days until its Friday and until I have zippo money left over from the middle of the week. Then I start the hardware stuff which is HARDWEAR. I try not to spend money on take-out meals or on buying books by staying inside after work and by taking a nice walk between 6 and 7 pm. But this Tuesday was different because I talked over the phone to the underwriter or whomever for Atomic Books who asked me to stop by. I was going in to see if I could sell my book “Indexing” on consignment, and ask if there were any forms I could fill out, and or if so, which ones. I had to close my eyes when I got there though, so that I wouldn’t look around at any of the independently published gems staring out at me from the white square Just-In tables. So I bypassed the brand-new’s, thick and full of reveling rock lore, and staved off spending to $4: A Comic Adaptation of the Song by Bruce Springsteen, Dancing in the Dark.

I am giving William a map of Pennsylvania and my IMAX DVD, Space Station Earth, for his wedding. I’ve been weeding out  furniture and things I don’t need, to make room for 7 cats. I pushed the coffee table into the center of the room, got rid of my great-aunt’s desk that had white paw prints accidentally painted over its surface, and made a square dance floor out of the space that was left. Now they can dance and run and triple over on their backs, on the carpet, and I won’t get on them for doing it.

 

I know this piece isn’t going to make it into the contest, or even probably be considered for it. But I “labor” over how to deal with still-times in thinking by creating busy ways to keep sanity chugging along. No one can see the meditations I make up in my head so that I don’t have to drift back into the vague cloud that’s my brain.

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it’s 5 am. i wish i could sleep. maybe i’ll get up and get an early start into work. i slept-in this weekend, playing hard to get with my boyfriend, catching up on design tutorials. I designed, revamped, and polished over the college’s literary magazine. I rehabbed its website, and I called Gary to get the go-ahead.

my boyfriend called (i don’t know when, maybe 2 am because he was out. by phone he gave me the address of where he wanted me to come.) i didn’t get the message till the day after.

we were supposed to go to boston together, but i got sick, so i didn’t drive up. he’s going to austin tomorrow. i like thinking of him staying in a western state, and, i like it when he’s here and at home in baltimore. we’re good when we have alone time- working, going out to eat, making dinner.

i went to planned parenthood to get birth control. they are $3 a pack. i was going to get a pack of 5 (so i wouldn’t have to keep coming and going). it’s funny because the lady that did my intake in the first place did my intake this time. i’ll have to wait nine months now. i forgot to take the pill that monday.

today was an ordinary tuesday. i wrote for 6 hours straight- it’s this grant i networked the hell out of. i chatted with abbi from the chesapeake bay trust and i’m working with will rhodes to come up with a watershed angle. i know we’re gonna get it. it’s like for $50000 which will cover overhead costs for at least 3 months.

p.s if babies have something as cute as a cat’s tail, then i might stomach this morning sickness

today i will….

to-do list

start

  1. walk past the boats in the Potomac that gurgle water when they float
  2. through word of mouth, ask people in suits (with briefcases), the places where senators might hang out.
  3. make a list
  4. write down each place, restaurant, pool hall, wherever. look up congressional hearings online for help. see if i can make matches
  5. role-play: imagine identifying a senator and walking up- talk! tell them i work at TALMAR Gardens, that we’re going under and ask how i can lobby to save it
  6. sit by the Smithsonian Natural History Museum. measure the miles from the National Portrait Gallery, to the first place, and walk in
  7. .to begin, listen to the first song on The Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story and walk by the 193 flags of the United Nations
  1. climb up steep steps to Lounge 201. leave when the host tells me the restaurant is reserved for a private birthday
  2. damn it.
  3. the next two bars have mostly all American University students. the redskins game is on. the only senator i think i see, says he wants a tattoo too someday
  4. parking-lot this idea. save it for a weekday because on second thought, why would a senator need a drink after work on a Saturday?
  5. go to the Sonoma Wine Bar kitty-corner to the last one. drink, and make a 2nd list. i have a fiction piece coming up and i could use some material
  6. write down three estate sales and mapquest the first one through Red Fin

14.park on a busy side street and walk to 3816 Harper Lane. play with bowls for sale on its country kitchen counters

15.draw a check + next to this home on my 2nd list because… i see a scene: eating with 5 people- March- the night   Daylight Saving’s begins

  1. sit on the front stoop as people hurry down the steps where i’m writing. draw directions for the second estate sale
  2. sit on a wicker chair in 11308 Shore Road’s purple room. write a check + next to this house on the 2nd list- through its window i picture a girl bunching cedarwood at/on Halloween, The Future
  3. circle the last estate sale on the 2nd list
  4. drive up to the choppy layout at 4356 Bright Soul Way
  5. walk up then down its split-level and turn on its downstair’s faucet. wash my face with cold water and turn it off when I hear the estate agent coming
  6. check off this house with a +. write down what i see: me and my college friend/roommate/transient, defrosting frozen peas from an outside fridge
  7. who knew?

done