The tragedy continues - II

This is the part where I realize how unfair I am being to everyone around me.

These freak-outs are certainly not helping me appreciate what I do have in my life. I spend my brain energy wishing, imagining, longing, distancing myself from the good. It just needs to stop, somehow. Now that I've calmed down a bit and have some of my wild emotions under control, I can take a breath and move forward. Hopefully.

New solution:
1. Stop being a f'ing asshole and take in all the love I am given. Seriously. It is really not fair of me to be so ungrateful. I have to stop trying to change what simply is, and just see it for all its wonderfulness. Yes, that will make for much better relationships and mental health.
2. Rather than waiting for emotional openness to come my way, maybe I could try taking things into my own hands a little. I suppose I haven't been the bestest friend either. Have I wondered about his life, opinions, and reactions? It totally sucks and feels like I am prying, but maybe it will ultimately bring about more comfort? Maybe it'll cause cracks in this dense wall of ours? Bring about some heart-felt vulnerability? Sigh, we have to start somewhere. This will be my only attempt to change the situation, and even that will come from changing me and my interactions, rather than expecting change to happen where I am powerless. It's all I can do, really, so let's hope for the best.

Maybe it's a sign little D is growing up?

I am really only praying that
The words you'll soon be saying
Might betray
The way you feel about me

The tragedy continues

"We know of an ancient radiation
That haunts dismembered constellations
A faintly glimmering radio station"

[I would just like to note that it is April twenty-ninth in the year two thousand and eight and I am still the hugest tool ever. Stay tuned for ACT II of this ridiculous drawn-out charade, and many more to follow.]

He asks my thoughts (thoughts, mind you, not feelings) on a provoking article, and I stay up late reading Betty Friedan's Feminine Mystique. The next day, I write down two single-spaced pages worth of contemplations on feminism. My heart is racing and my brain is on fire. I feel strangely stimulated and connected. It's not a big deal to anyone else except me.

All this excitement though is just an illusion, as always. Afterall, I get no congratulations, no hint of missing the good times or curiousity about that which is me. All of me--my opinions, anxieties, joys, desires, reflections. I get no gentle vulnerabilities that friends share. Our relationship remains objective, and my forehead is starting to hurt from this thick stoic wall.

And worst of all? I keep falling for this emotional unavailability and setting myself up for heart-wreckage. Will I really never stop?

Cake says it better:

"To me,
Coming from you,
Friend is a four letter word

End is the only part of the word
That I heard,
Call me morbid or absurd,
But

To me,
Coming from you,
Friend is a four letter word"

Happy Earth Day!

We've come a long long way together,
Through the hard times and the good,
I have to celebrate you baby,
I have to praise you like I should


A whole day for our wonderful, life-giving, air-circulating, nutriens-providing, beautiful beautiful planet. Go Earth!

In her honor, I decided to put together some resources. Just some things (mostly for me) to keep in mind, in order to help keep Mother Earth healthy and well.

Here's to you, sista!

Green cleaning: I've always been uncomfortable slathering chemicals all over every surface of the house, where we eat, where we sleep, where we breathe. Turns out, you don't need any of those poisons, because the answer to killing bacteria the natural way is so simple: vinegar! Dilute some in a spray bottle and disinfect without destroying everything around you. And you know what else? Turns out, Tom's of Maine is a great company to support for your toiletry supplies. They use wind energy in the factories, their containers are recyclable, and they support environmental projects. What a perfect way to blow our dear planet some kisses!

Green eating: For all those also concerned with the ways in which we poison Mother Earth's crop-gifts to us. It is really a shame and makes no nutritional sense, so please support your local markets and organically produced items. Apparently, there are even ways to do this economically.

Green dressing: Partly a problem with what we do to our dear planet, and partly what we do to ourselves. All the clothes we have in the countless shops, stores, malls are using up precious recourses. And I think, if we only recycled some of those materials, it might be like a tiny bandaid on M.E.'s wound. I also always feel uneasy seeing that all clothing are made abroad, so I'd like to come up with some way to alleviate this situation and help local craftsmen (making quality attire was once a craft. go figure). There is one store, Ten Thousand Villages, I found here in New Haven that provides fair trade opportunities to artisans in developing countries. I hope things like this will only continue to prosper and hopefully warm Her weeping heart (but not enough to melt the polar bears).

Afterall,
Good planets, as they say, are hard to find.

Elsie

Last night, J and I figured out part of the mystery that is Elsie.

In the last few months, my car has been lovingly christened Elsie, after the jumpy cow-character in Maureen's song from the musical Rent. My car too has had this jumpiness problem ('maybe it's a female thing?'). Every time I pushed the gas pedal, Elsie would hesitate for a few seconds roaring, then leap forward unexpectedly. It had been this annoying thing for a while, but not severe enough to seek help. Lately though, the unexpected jumps escalated to the point of spilling drinks in the cup holder and scattering tape cases from underneath the radio. I complained to J and asked him to just please! check Elsie out. Turns out? she, like Elsie-the-cow, was parched. All I had to do was top off the oil, and she is running as smooth as butta.

Now Elsie is all lubed up and ready to jump over the moooooooo-ooon.

Four

A haiku for April:

the guests invited
rings bought, symbols of our vows
here we go, my love

[With two more months to go, things are starting to fit together. It's crazy, nerve-wracking and exciting. I am already starting to feel overwhelmed by the emotional implications the day will bring.]

Three

I am copping out at 3 stanzas on this sestina instead of six. Maybe I should even call this a tritina? You have to be proud of all this iambic pentameter though, no?

Anyway, sestinas were invented by Provençal troubadours, and considering my proclivity toward both Southern France and folk art, I thought this would be fitting and fun to try. So here is my stub of a poem:

March:

I leave the rainy clouds and see the sun,
The rays reflecting bright on the Pacific.
The sparkles shine and play and bring me hope
That once I take this step I will show love
And my commitment spanning coast to coast,
A start of something new in grace and peace.

Eyes closed, the focus on our future peace,
I trade the subway stops for constant sun,
The chilly crowds for surfers of the coast
And walks along the shores of the Pacific
Where we can bask in our undying love
Where we can whisper to each other hope.

It's something to hold on to, this new hope.
It's something that at night will brings me peace
And further strengthen both my choice and love
For this new life under the western sun,
For these new salty waves of the Pacific,
Where we will be together on the coast.

Therapeutic

The worst part about my Yoga class is how ashamed I feel when my legs go up to the ceiling in some fancy posture, but the pantlegs go down down down, revealing my winter-hairy legs. In those instances, I generally plop out of the aforementioned fancy posture, pulling those pantlegs back over my symbols of deep inner shame, preferably even tucking them into my socks. Which, who wears socks to Yoga, seriously? [Note here that having to do this still has not established for me a routine of winter shaving. Logic?]

This is all so disappointing though. Where is my feminist pride? Where are my ideals? I am totally giving in to the mass movement of turning women into unnaturally bare little things, and I am being such a chicken about speaking up. I so wish I had the courage for social change in this area, and I secretly admire women who do. Plus, think of how much they save on razors, shaving cream, body lotion, and water!

And now, I feel like a huge tool, having this multi-part extravaganza of shaving at midnight for my gynecologist appointment tomorrow.

Realization

I woke up from my mid-afternoon nap sweaty and disoriented. The sadness from the lingering dream, or rather a nightmare, was heavy in my chest, and suddenly it hit me: I am leaving. Once again, I am leaving for good.

In a few short months, I will no longer see the Atlantic Ocean every morning. I will no longer have fun roommates or the chance to catch up with friends in New England pubs. And I will no longer be able to hop in my car and end up in Boston two hours later. That one hurts the most, its implications hardest to grasp. We can promise and pledge constant contact all we want, but the reality, of course, seems grimmer. Our lifestyles are too different even now to allow a quick face-to-face, and I just know the coastal distance will not help.

So here I go again, packing up my life and wishing you too would feel this urgency.

some sort of rebellion

Yes, I take the full hour for lunch, so sue me. I am entitled to it and I will use it to its last minute of freedom. Pardon me if I don't eat at my desk, crumbs falling between keyboard keys, while editing all those prosody responses. I dutifully give you eight of the 15 hours I am awake, work. The least you can do is allow me this one hour to meet with friends, to see the sunshine, to try different foods. To live just a little bit in my mundane computer screen staring work day. Because, before we know it, we will all end up in a project like this. We will end up with a terminal disease before the chance to enjoy our retirement or self-sacrificing to take care of a child with disabilities, longing for our careless youth. So, please, work, let me carpe diem while I can still afford the luxury.

I am not lazy, but I don't think I'll ever be a workaholic. I guess that's the European in me.

Chicks before

Променяли меня. И всего-навсего на a big, fat, red one.

But. Life goes on.

Like the fact that March is out like the proverbial lamb and we are into April. Already!? This year's lamb resembled more a stray dog. The tail end of March was anxious, skiddish, and angry. The wind chills brought the temperature down below comfort level and the skies could not make up their minds: were they scolding, were they crying? April hasn't been much better so far, but at least I am hoping for those May flowers.

Today, Jeremy and I bought our tickets to my homeland. For two weeks, in July. I am trying not to focus on the fact that this is the last time I will be able to afford to go until I am done with grad school, at least. So I keep feeding myself Snickers minibars from Easter.

And no, he may not be taking adult education lessons to learn Russian. That is what I call, keeping his and my identities as separate entities. He is sufficiently interested in and involved with my family and culture, and I appreciate that. I like that he is open-minded and curious, and I like that he leaves my sphere for me, to some extent. I think it yields a committed and stable relationship. At least until I see him haphazardly stick those stamps on the invitations. Without eye-balling the top and right margins to make sure they match!

I guess I'll let him make it up to me by taking me to see baby harbor seals. Playing with baby beluga whales.