Had fun this weekend. To show for it I have an ionic hair dryer, a new pantsuit, a shirt in a perfect blue to complement my fair skin and blue eyes, and a hangover. Fun, not necessarily because anything was so special, but because I wanted to do all of the things I did. It was my agenda. There was even some unexpexted flirting with an old friend at a party I went to last night. Strange when you see someone you've always known and out of nowhere your dynamic has changed. I couldn't quite put my finger on it but it was there nonetheless and it was fun.
On Friday I went to see my therapist for the first time in a few weeks. He was on vacation for a while and then I was. I told him the story of the 'gay handshake' and he almost pissed his pants. Honestly, if I could just find a guy who thinks I'm as funny as he does, without an hourly rate, I'd be set.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Saturday, September 16, 2006
dry eyed and satisfied
Just went to see The Last Kiss. Alison picked me up outside of my therapist's office and we drove to my place. We killed some time writing songs on garage band and then met Shoshana for dinner. We haven't spent an evening with Shoshana that hasn't been wedding-related in almost a year so it was refreshing.
As the credits rolled I looked over at the girls and they were both crying. All I could think was, did I miss something? I checked my pulse - could I have blacked out at some key moment? It was sweet and sad and pathetic and funny and I thoroughly enjoyed it, so for a girl who cries at her desk almost daily over nothing in particular, it was a bit weird that I was dry-eyed. Is my heart turning to stone, I worried? Am I growing bitter?
We walked toward the parking lot.
"I didn't even cry at my wedding and I can't seem to stop crying now", Shoshana said, wiping the tears from her eyes.
"I know. I could cry myself to sleep", Alison added.
"Oh come on. Get a hold of yourselves!"
They both looked at me surprised. I shrugged.
They turned back to each other.
"It does seem impossible that people could be together for 30 years, happy", Shoshana sighed.
"I know, but it happens. It happens all the time". She seemed to be trying to convince herself more than anything.
And then it made sense. I thought of the time I flew home to visit my parents. I drove with them to visit my grandmother on the southern tip of the province. On the road, everything my stepfather did made my mother angry. They argued so much my chest was permanently tight. We stopped at this beatuiful white sand beach on the way home. My stepfather sat on a bench outside the snack bar while my mother and I took off our shoes and walked along the waters edge. The salt air and the sound of the waves were no match for the animosity in that car. I wanted things to be happy for once. I wanted to convince my mother not to hate him - to dig deep and find some love in her heart. I confronted her, I scolded her for her lack of patience. I pushed and prodded. Once the tears trickled down her cheeks I knew I had gone too far.
"You don't want to know, so don't ask", she told me. I remember she looked so old at that moment.
So I know that things can be bad and I know why people pretend not to see it. People fall apart. People fall out of love. People might stay together, but 'happy' is relative. I know no other way, but they don't understand. Either their parents were good liars, they're good pretenders, or they're the exception to the rule.
Even though I worry I'm losing my innocence, I couldn't help but feel a little proud.
Look at me, I thought. Dry-eyed and for the moment, [relatively] satisfied.
As the credits rolled I looked over at the girls and they were both crying. All I could think was, did I miss something? I checked my pulse - could I have blacked out at some key moment? It was sweet and sad and pathetic and funny and I thoroughly enjoyed it, so for a girl who cries at her desk almost daily over nothing in particular, it was a bit weird that I was dry-eyed. Is my heart turning to stone, I worried? Am I growing bitter?
We walked toward the parking lot.
"I didn't even cry at my wedding and I can't seem to stop crying now", Shoshana said, wiping the tears from her eyes.
"I know. I could cry myself to sleep", Alison added.
"Oh come on. Get a hold of yourselves!"
They both looked at me surprised. I shrugged.
They turned back to each other.
"It does seem impossible that people could be together for 30 years, happy", Shoshana sighed.
"I know, but it happens. It happens all the time". She seemed to be trying to convince herself more than anything.
And then it made sense. I thought of the time I flew home to visit my parents. I drove with them to visit my grandmother on the southern tip of the province. On the road, everything my stepfather did made my mother angry. They argued so much my chest was permanently tight. We stopped at this beatuiful white sand beach on the way home. My stepfather sat on a bench outside the snack bar while my mother and I took off our shoes and walked along the waters edge. The salt air and the sound of the waves were no match for the animosity in that car. I wanted things to be happy for once. I wanted to convince my mother not to hate him - to dig deep and find some love in her heart. I confronted her, I scolded her for her lack of patience. I pushed and prodded. Once the tears trickled down her cheeks I knew I had gone too far.
"You don't want to know, so don't ask", she told me. I remember she looked so old at that moment.
So I know that things can be bad and I know why people pretend not to see it. People fall apart. People fall out of love. People might stay together, but 'happy' is relative. I know no other way, but they don't understand. Either their parents were good liars, they're good pretenders, or they're the exception to the rule.
Even though I worry I'm losing my innocence, I couldn't help but feel a little proud.
Look at me, I thought. Dry-eyed and for the moment, [relatively] satisfied.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
stuck on obstetrics
I'd been studying for the US nursing board exams and I was doing so well keeping up with it...until lately. I stopped partway through obstetrics. I guess I got busy with the weddings and my own personal misery. I'm just plain stuck in general, but lately everything seems to hinge on obstetrics. I was on my way to Costco with Lana, one of my three pregnant friends, and I told her about my dream.
"Last night I dreamt I was pregnant".
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, although I wasn't showing much yet. It was like I was as far along as you are, but somehow it was time to have the baby, so I ran a warm bath and I got in. It was like a big bathtub - jacuzzi-sized."
"You were going to have an under-water birth?", Lana asked laughing.
She changed lanes, cutting off a a range rover. They honked at her but she didn't seem to notice.
"I don't know. I guess", I continued. "You were there and Shoshi. There were a few other people too but I don't think I could see their faces. Anyway, you guys were all sitting around the edge of the tub. There were no contractions, at least none that I could feel so I was confused. I asked you guys, 'Do I just try and push or do I wait until I feel like it?' No one could answer my questions. I started to worry that, what if it wasn't my time and I had brought you guys all there for nothing. I didn't know what to do. Should I play along? Push even though I wasn't really in labour? I thought maybe if I push hard enough, it would start."
"What happened?"
"I don't know - I guess I woke up."
"Too funny. I had a dream last night about my old Uncle Leo. He was outside my house, sitting in the drivers seat of a school bus. Everyone was coming up to me and saying, 'Do something! You gotta get your Uncle Leo off the bus.' He's been dead for years - I barely even knew him. I wonder why I'd be dreaming about him?"
It was my turn to laugh. "Poor Uncle Leo."
***
When I was eight or nine, reading 'Are You There G-d it's Me Margaret' for the fifth time, I dreamt I jumped up and down really hard and I got my period. It was so real and I wanted my period so badly that when I woke up, I decided to try it. With my eyes barely open and a bad case of bed head, I stood in the center of my bedroom, between the twin beds. I jumped, but even before I started, I knew it wasn't going to work. For a moment or two I pretended not to know, but I knew.
"Whats going on up there?!?!" My Mother yelled from the kitchen.
"Nothing! I tripped, that's all."
"Well cut it out!"
"Last night I dreamt I was pregnant".
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, although I wasn't showing much yet. It was like I was as far along as you are, but somehow it was time to have the baby, so I ran a warm bath and I got in. It was like a big bathtub - jacuzzi-sized."
"You were going to have an under-water birth?", Lana asked laughing.
She changed lanes, cutting off a a range rover. They honked at her but she didn't seem to notice.
"I don't know. I guess", I continued. "You were there and Shoshi. There were a few other people too but I don't think I could see their faces. Anyway, you guys were all sitting around the edge of the tub. There were no contractions, at least none that I could feel so I was confused. I asked you guys, 'Do I just try and push or do I wait until I feel like it?' No one could answer my questions. I started to worry that, what if it wasn't my time and I had brought you guys all there for nothing. I didn't know what to do. Should I play along? Push even though I wasn't really in labour? I thought maybe if I push hard enough, it would start."
"What happened?"
"I don't know - I guess I woke up."
"Too funny. I had a dream last night about my old Uncle Leo. He was outside my house, sitting in the drivers seat of a school bus. Everyone was coming up to me and saying, 'Do something! You gotta get your Uncle Leo off the bus.' He's been dead for years - I barely even knew him. I wonder why I'd be dreaming about him?"
It was my turn to laugh. "Poor Uncle Leo."
***
When I was eight or nine, reading 'Are You There G-d it's Me Margaret' for the fifth time, I dreamt I jumped up and down really hard and I got my period. It was so real and I wanted my period so badly that when I woke up, I decided to try it. With my eyes barely open and a bad case of bed head, I stood in the center of my bedroom, between the twin beds. I jumped, but even before I started, I knew it wasn't going to work. For a moment or two I pretended not to know, but I knew.
"Whats going on up there?!?!" My Mother yelled from the kitchen.
"Nothing! I tripped, that's all."
"Well cut it out!"
Monday, September 11, 2006
in memory
Before September 11, 2001, I'd never even heard of Al Qaeda. Now it's a household word. Five years later fear still abounds. Today I road my bike to work to avoid the subway. I knew nothing was going to happen, but still...
911 was not what taught me fear. I grew up to it, like music. It was passed down to me. Even though on the surface my family never talked about fear and they did everything they could to give me the life they didn't have, somehow it came through implicitly. For example, I knew that being Jewish meant that there are always going to be people who wish you didn't exist, just as I knew that being vulnerable in any way meant someone, somewhere would find a way to take advantage of you. These people don't care about the quality of your personality, the size of your heart, or any of the good things you do.
Even though I know this to be true, whenever I think back to 911, the raw shock and horror washes back with an intensity that always surprises me. No matter how much I was constructed on a foundation that expects this kind of hate, I think the innocence of the subjects, the almost 3000 people who died that day, trumps everything else I understand.
May this kind of abject hate never happen again.
911 was not what taught me fear. I grew up to it, like music. It was passed down to me. Even though on the surface my family never talked about fear and they did everything they could to give me the life they didn't have, somehow it came through implicitly. For example, I knew that being Jewish meant that there are always going to be people who wish you didn't exist, just as I knew that being vulnerable in any way meant someone, somewhere would find a way to take advantage of you. These people don't care about the quality of your personality, the size of your heart, or any of the good things you do.
Even though I know this to be true, whenever I think back to 911, the raw shock and horror washes back with an intensity that always surprises me. No matter how much I was constructed on a foundation that expects this kind of hate, I think the innocence of the subjects, the almost 3000 people who died that day, trumps everything else I understand.
May this kind of abject hate never happen again.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
ikea unit
This is hysterical. My friend pointed this out to me yesterday on the first page of the ikea catalogue. Check out the dog's unit. That doesn't even LOOK like a dog unit. Whatever it is, it certainly left Ikea Canada scrambling to come up with an explanation.
a joke
I’m tired.
Last night I couldn’t sleep
Restless
Hot and then cold.
When the alarm sounded
It felt like a joke.
I’m full.
Pockets balloon out at the sides
But never too big.
Tie them off when they’re still small
Or I won’t find my way back
Unable to cover my tracks.
It is essential to keep up with the appearance
Of emptiness.
Last night I couldn’t sleep
Restless
Hot and then cold.
When the alarm sounded
It felt like a joke.
I’m full.
Pockets balloon out at the sides
But never too big.
Tie them off when they’re still small
Or I won’t find my way back
Unable to cover my tracks.
It is essential to keep up with the appearance
Of emptiness.
Friday, September 08, 2006
reading in
The day started off on a bad note. I didn't fall asleep the night before until 4AM and my alarm went off at 6AM. After getting in and out of bed, reading, watching tv, writing, reading, punching myself in the head, and watching more tv, I resorted to trying a variety of these annoying little exercises. The last thing I recall was wiggling my toes up and down, twelve times. I'll stop short of saying it did the trick, but coincidence or not, I slept.
My boss met me at my house in the morning to exchange paperwork - never something I look forward to in starting my day, but this one was particularly bad because she was on the warpath and I was conveniently located. The drama lasted through the day, involving myself and a couple of other colleagues and a series of crazy emails and phonecalls from the boss. When the day was finally over I left to go for dinner with a few friends from work. The four of us left the restaurant walking north. Two of the girls turned off at College and I walked the rest of the way toward Bloor Street with the other girl. We watched people as we debriefed.
"The thing is, she was just LOOKING for something today. I could see it coming from a- girl or guy?", I asked, just in time for her to catch a glimpse of a very tall person with a great body but a masculine face in a sexy dress and heals coming our way.
"Guy, for sure."
It's the adam's apple that always gives it away.
"Yeah, but implants or stuffing?"
"I don't know..."
"Hard to tell..."
"Anyway, I just knew it the second I saw her face this morning."
"Yeah."
"And I actually...Wow!"
"Is she wearing a plant green velour romper?"
"Yes. Yes she is."
This continued on for several blocks at which point my friend said goodbye and was waiting to cross the street. I stood with her and waited for a break in the traffic. We were facing the church of scientology, a building I've seen a million times, but until now had never actually looked beyond the sign at the building itself. It was quite tall. Many of the windows were cranked open, some with billowing dreary curtains, others bare. My friend crossed the street and I was about to continue on to the subway when I heard the voice of a man with a thick Indian accent."
"What is going on here?"
I turned around to find a small balding man, holding a tim horton's coffee cup, looking at me with pale green eyes. I looked back with a raised eyebrow, waiting.
"May I ask you, what exactly are you looking at?", he asked. Taking a step back and shading his eyes from the sun, he joined me in looking up."
"The building. I'm just noticing all the windows are open", I told him, trying to keep it short with the hopes he'd move on.
"No, no. It's not that. There are no coincidences. You must be looking at this building at this very moment for a reason."
My heart picked up for a split second, but then I figured there's probably just something wrong with him. Dementia? Mental illness? I exhaled and turned to leave.
"Ok, ok. Just wait a minute", the man pleaded one hand outstretched.
"Sorry, I have to go."
"No, no, just wait one minute please!", he pleaded. "Sometimes it is warm outside and people with no air conditiong need...what do you call this... air...air...?", he made a circular motion with his left hand.
"Exchange?"
"Yes! Air exchange. Come on - let's sit down and talk about this-" He gestured to a bench.
Now I was sure he was crazy, which was at once a relief and a dissapointment.
"I have to go. My boyfriend is waiting for me", I lied - not exactly sure why.
He became more insistent, emphasizing each syllable with a hand in the air, "No, no! Just a minute."
"Bye", I said turning and walking away.
"No! just a minute!", I heard him call after me.
A man walking in front of me stopped and turned back to see what was going on. I didn't look back. I just kept walking at an even pace.
When I got home I absently scanned through blogs the way I pick at my cuticles. I found a new one by following a comment on a site I read regularly. I looked through the profile and the photos, the order of which were all mixed up - tourist pics of hollywood interspersed with old childhood photos, pictures of a woman with staples in her skull, clearly recovering from some kind of brain surgery, more hollywood etc... It was too much. I bookmarked it so that I could give it a fair chance another day when I didn't feel so overstimulated, responsible, worn out. Besides, no matter how attentive I am, it's all going to come to an end, we're all going to die someday, and we're all going to be happy sometimes and sad others. Nothing I do or do not do will change any of these fundamental facts of life.
And that's just it - no hidden message is going to spare us, so why do I keep looking?
My boss met me at my house in the morning to exchange paperwork - never something I look forward to in starting my day, but this one was particularly bad because she was on the warpath and I was conveniently located. The drama lasted through the day, involving myself and a couple of other colleagues and a series of crazy emails and phonecalls from the boss. When the day was finally over I left to go for dinner with a few friends from work. The four of us left the restaurant walking north. Two of the girls turned off at College and I walked the rest of the way toward Bloor Street with the other girl. We watched people as we debriefed.
"The thing is, she was just LOOKING for something today. I could see it coming from a- girl or guy?", I asked, just in time for her to catch a glimpse of a very tall person with a great body but a masculine face in a sexy dress and heals coming our way.
"Guy, for sure."
It's the adam's apple that always gives it away.
"Yeah, but implants or stuffing?"
"I don't know..."
"Hard to tell..."
"Anyway, I just knew it the second I saw her face this morning."
"Yeah."
"And I actually...Wow!"
"Is she wearing a plant green velour romper?"
"Yes. Yes she is."
This continued on for several blocks at which point my friend said goodbye and was waiting to cross the street. I stood with her and waited for a break in the traffic. We were facing the church of scientology, a building I've seen a million times, but until now had never actually looked beyond the sign at the building itself. It was quite tall. Many of the windows were cranked open, some with billowing dreary curtains, others bare. My friend crossed the street and I was about to continue on to the subway when I heard the voice of a man with a thick Indian accent."
"What is going on here?"
I turned around to find a small balding man, holding a tim horton's coffee cup, looking at me with pale green eyes. I looked back with a raised eyebrow, waiting.
"May I ask you, what exactly are you looking at?", he asked. Taking a step back and shading his eyes from the sun, he joined me in looking up."
"The building. I'm just noticing all the windows are open", I told him, trying to keep it short with the hopes he'd move on.
"No, no. It's not that. There are no coincidences. You must be looking at this building at this very moment for a reason."
My heart picked up for a split second, but then I figured there's probably just something wrong with him. Dementia? Mental illness? I exhaled and turned to leave.
"Ok, ok. Just wait a minute", the man pleaded one hand outstretched.
"Sorry, I have to go."
"No, no, just wait one minute please!", he pleaded. "Sometimes it is warm outside and people with no air conditiong need...what do you call this... air...air...?", he made a circular motion with his left hand.
"Exchange?"
"Yes! Air exchange. Come on - let's sit down and talk about this-" He gestured to a bench.
Now I was sure he was crazy, which was at once a relief and a dissapointment.
"I have to go. My boyfriend is waiting for me", I lied - not exactly sure why.
He became more insistent, emphasizing each syllable with a hand in the air, "No, no! Just a minute."
"Bye", I said turning and walking away.
"No! just a minute!", I heard him call after me.
A man walking in front of me stopped and turned back to see what was going on. I didn't look back. I just kept walking at an even pace.
When I got home I absently scanned through blogs the way I pick at my cuticles. I found a new one by following a comment on a site I read regularly. I looked through the profile and the photos, the order of which were all mixed up - tourist pics of hollywood interspersed with old childhood photos, pictures of a woman with staples in her skull, clearly recovering from some kind of brain surgery, more hollywood etc... It was too much. I bookmarked it so that I could give it a fair chance another day when I didn't feel so overstimulated, responsible, worn out. Besides, no matter how attentive I am, it's all going to come to an end, we're all going to die someday, and we're all going to be happy sometimes and sad others. Nothing I do or do not do will change any of these fundamental facts of life.
And that's just it - no hidden message is going to spare us, so why do I keep looking?
Thursday, September 07, 2006
above the waist
He's kind of cute, but also looks a little like a younger Jewish Stephen Harper. He's smart, and he's also a gentlemen. He's definately a little nerdy, redeemed occasionally by something unexpected, leaving me thinking, 'Ok, maybe there is something to this guy.' But most of the time it was more like, 'maybe not.'
On our way to the restaurant he got pulled over for cutting off the po po. Seriously. He almost got in an accident with a police car. After the honking and slamming on of breaks, they turned on their lights, pulled alongside the car and told him how many things he did wrong and how much it could have cost him if they didn't let it go. They let it go. All this in the first 2 minutes. The rest of the night didn't come close.
On the way home, we were talking about his sister-in-law having a baby. He insinuated he thought the process was a little gross.
"Have you ever seen a delivery?" I asked.
"Yes", he answered. "I've delivered babies."
"Oh ok, then you know. Isn't it amazing?"
"Well, the first one was, but the second one was a little gross."
"How?"
"Well, let me put it this way - in med school, I made it a general rule to keep it above the waist."
"Oh really", I laughed."Keep it above the waist? How's that rule play out in your real life?"
***
Yeah....maybe not.
On our way to the restaurant he got pulled over for cutting off the po po. Seriously. He almost got in an accident with a police car. After the honking and slamming on of breaks, they turned on their lights, pulled alongside the car and told him how many things he did wrong and how much it could have cost him if they didn't let it go. They let it go. All this in the first 2 minutes. The rest of the night didn't come close.
On the way home, we were talking about his sister-in-law having a baby. He insinuated he thought the process was a little gross.
"Have you ever seen a delivery?" I asked.
"Yes", he answered. "I've delivered babies."
"Oh ok, then you know. Isn't it amazing?"
"Well, the first one was, but the second one was a little gross."
"How?"
"Well, let me put it this way - in med school, I made it a general rule to keep it above the waist."
"Oh really", I laughed."Keep it above the waist? How's that rule play out in your real life?"
***
Yeah....maybe not.
Monday, September 04, 2006
my bad
I can be pretty absent-minded at times. I find it difficult to remember names and details of acquaintance's lives. This weekend's been particularly bad in that regard. Maybe it's the double header wedding, maybe it's that I've been so blah lately, I don't know. What I do know is that I said something incredibly stupid and embarrassing. While there were a lot of near misses - situations where I said something mildly stupid, forgot something I should have been able to recall in a conversation, mixed up details, it got much much worse.
I saw someone I hadn't seen in a long time. We knew each other as kids and several years ago he came out that he was gay (which I heard through friends of friends). More recently I heard he's in a serious relationship and so I was debating whether and how I might ask him about it, just as I would ask any straight acquaintance about a new boyfriend/girlfriend. I was speaking with a common friend when he came over to say hi. It was one of those awkward moments where I was about to give him a hug and he reached his hand out to me. We had a rather weak half-handshake and before I even had a chance to think about it I said something to the effect of, "Enough with the gay handshake, give me a hug." As soon as it came out of my mouth, all I could think was what the fuck did I just say?
As a kid I can remember using 'gay' as an adjective to mean stupid or uncool, but back then I never really thought about what it meant. Now I never use that word in that way (or so I thought).
I could tell he'd heard what I'd said. I think I tried to reverse the damage with something along the lines of, 'It's so nice to see you that a handshake seems so impersonal." He said something to the effect of, 'don't worry, I know you meant it in the nicest possible way".
Horrible! We moved on, talking about jobs, travelling, etc... I thought if I could just keep the conversation flowing, my blunder might be washed away. Of course it wasn't - at least not in my mind.
At first I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd said and how he probably thinks I'm a bigot. By the next day I forced myself to let it go. While I won't pretend I'm perfect, I'm not a bad person either. It reminds me of when I was a nursing student and I had a patient with a glass eye. One day he couldn't find his watch. When I walked in I could see he'd removed his eye and he was holding it in one hand. He asked me to let him know if I found a watch and I said:
"No problem. I'll keep an eye out for it." I almost died.
But this most recent one was worse, even though I don't think it came from a very different place. What I said was stupid, plain and simple. I just hope that my brain sharpen's up a little, cause that really sucked.
I saw someone I hadn't seen in a long time. We knew each other as kids and several years ago he came out that he was gay (which I heard through friends of friends). More recently I heard he's in a serious relationship and so I was debating whether and how I might ask him about it, just as I would ask any straight acquaintance about a new boyfriend/girlfriend. I was speaking with a common friend when he came over to say hi. It was one of those awkward moments where I was about to give him a hug and he reached his hand out to me. We had a rather weak half-handshake and before I even had a chance to think about it I said something to the effect of, "Enough with the gay handshake, give me a hug." As soon as it came out of my mouth, all I could think was what the fuck did I just say?
As a kid I can remember using 'gay' as an adjective to mean stupid or uncool, but back then I never really thought about what it meant. Now I never use that word in that way (or so I thought).
I could tell he'd heard what I'd said. I think I tried to reverse the damage with something along the lines of, 'It's so nice to see you that a handshake seems so impersonal." He said something to the effect of, 'don't worry, I know you meant it in the nicest possible way".
Horrible! We moved on, talking about jobs, travelling, etc... I thought if I could just keep the conversation flowing, my blunder might be washed away. Of course it wasn't - at least not in my mind.
At first I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd said and how he probably thinks I'm a bigot. By the next day I forced myself to let it go. While I won't pretend I'm perfect, I'm not a bad person either. It reminds me of when I was a nursing student and I had a patient with a glass eye. One day he couldn't find his watch. When I walked in I could see he'd removed his eye and he was holding it in one hand. He asked me to let him know if I found a watch and I said:
"No problem. I'll keep an eye out for it." I almost died.
But this most recent one was worse, even though I don't think it came from a very different place. What I said was stupid, plain and simple. I just hope that my brain sharpen's up a little, cause that really sucked.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
everything's perfect from far away
I look down and smile.
Back to the prairies again and it feels comfortable
Like home.
I see perfect patches
Beiges
Browns
Greens
Yellows
Predictability.
I take it all in from the oval window
And it occurs to me that I’ve never actually set foot in the prairies
How perfect it is from here.
It seems to last forever
Yet I'm keenly aware that the rocky mountains will soon appear
Then the pacific
Then the ground.
The cars and houses will grow.
The trees will reach up and out.
My stomach lurches and I smile again
This time for love
For dreams
I’m ready.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
my summer of discontent
The summer of 2006
July 29th to be exact
One month before my thirty-second birthday.
I stood waiting
For the streetcar
Listening to two young girls
Talk about
What someone said
To someone
About something.
As I recall it was hot out that afternoon.
It felt like I was standing next to a bus
And I thought,
Shit
All year I’ve been waiting for the heat
Happiness resting just under the soil
Ready to come through with a little sun.
And to think
I've wasted the whole summer
Waiting for something to happen
For the weekends that would come up empty
For the next celebratory event
That had little to do with me.
Where I played the filler
With nothing in it
To fill me.
The remainder of the summer
Has plodded along.
Its' heaviness made changing course
Impossible
And I won't feel bad
That I have
Ruminated and
Lost sleep
While bad things are happening
Around the world,
Because if I have learned nothing else
I can at least tell you,
On the eve of my 32nd birthday,
That while I care about everything
I can not carry everything.
July 29th to be exact
One month before my thirty-second birthday.
I stood waiting
For the streetcar
Listening to two young girls
Talk about
What someone said
To someone
About something.
As I recall it was hot out that afternoon.
It felt like I was standing next to a bus
And I thought,
Shit
All year I’ve been waiting for the heat
Happiness resting just under the soil
Ready to come through with a little sun.
And to think
I've wasted the whole summer
Waiting for something to happen
For the weekends that would come up empty
For the next celebratory event
That had little to do with me.
Where I played the filler
With nothing in it
To fill me.
The remainder of the summer
Has plodded along.
Its' heaviness made changing course
Impossible
And I won't feel bad
That I have
Ruminated and
Lost sleep
While bad things are happening
Around the world,
Because if I have learned nothing else
I can at least tell you,
On the eve of my 32nd birthday,
That while I care about everything
I can not carry everything.
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