me on a plane

so this is christmas

christmas eve finds me in the airport.  i remember my trip home a few years ago found me frantically trying to finish homemade-heartfelt christmas letters and gifts for everyone.  i'm not that girl anymore.  last year all i wanted to do was take pictures.  this year, my camera is here, but stowed away.  no compulsive urge.  this year, i don't really know who i am or what i'm about.

the airport begs for us to make snapshot judgments of others.  encounters are fleeting but revealing.  in a single visual or audio instant, i can whittle down a person's existence to a single word or defining feature.  

WEALTHY.  JET-SETTER.  GAY.  MOTHER.  CHRISTIAN.  BOHEMIAN.  SOUTHERN.  BOYFRIEND.   TECHIE.  STUDENT.  

the thing is, the observation game quickly kicks back and make me wonder about my own word- my own boiled down identity.  this year, i find myself lacking.  i'm a thirty something sitting cross legged on the airport floor.  i am a woman, but not overly feminine.  i am not a mother or a wife.  i am a white middle class existence wearing the same target cardigan as a million+ other white middle class women.  i am wearing tall boots and jeggings and i am no one at all.

and here usually begins the existential crisis that surrounds visits to michigan. 

but this year- what if i just don't?  what if i just don't bother about it.  what if i stop caring to define or understand myself.  instead of seeking that warm place on the border of some identifying word, what if i just allow myself to exist in between.  uncomfortable, but unanchored.  undefined.  

somewhere in the sky- in between fitful sleep- with thoughts fixed on nothing- moving freely

that's where i'll be.

on the cusp

1.  robots are more and more ubiquitous.  for the record, i'd like to state that i am pro-robot.  a healthy dose of caution, but pro for certain.

2.  we did not visit this time around.  maybe there wasn't a time around.  maybe next time.  next time, i hope.

3.  all those girls quoting joni mitchell around this time of the year.  all those girls in their beautiful existential existences.

4.  a person so small and a world so alive.  a single smile stretches on and on when you've only been alive for six days.  i love that little buddy.  i'm glad about life.  potential.

5.  nervous and unsure.

semantics aside

Chaos in the middle and the door locked tight.  The trash is full.  The weight is over the limit.  So tangible, it may as well be real.

It may as well be real.

Clinton those words.
A semantic slur of deceptive intent.

the letter, the spirit
and a troubled heart
on defense.

An outlaw, no doubt.

glorious absurd

tis the season to buy yourself hair extensions online in a moment of temporary insanity.  it's the most wonderful time of the year.

also:

scandalous

11:13
and i'd already brushed my teeth
but now i find myself eating whole pickles
in bed

kitty kitty

like a cat
like a cat

sudden bursts of wild energy and here's why:
fear and/or joy

staring at phantom walls where a mirror used to be
a whole world of similar molds
dangerous and close

and calling calling calling
attention, please

and then in it -under it-
back up and lean in
kneading
kneading

some warm crawl space to disappear to when i can't see through
fears and phantoms

find me there,
behind the clothes.
find me.

rep resent

oh, hello.
thanksgiving break allowed me to slow down my pace a little and actually think.  i miss thinking.  sunday morning, i watched a few too many biographical documentaries about artists and i ended up feeling a little loopy.  and then there was the 9/11 doc that left me with some capital S serious questions- but that's for another time.  hopefully soon, maybe never.

i'd like to articulate a brief quandary that just popped into my head JUST now.  which is no longer now.  you get it.

So one one hand, there's that cliche "to do the same thing over and over and expect a different result is the definition of insanity."  It's been attributed to pretty much everyone- from ol' Benny Franklin to Einstein and probably Betty White for good measure.  It creeps up as hard evidence any time anyone wants to judge others for some sort of stagnation or stubbornness.

but then there's that pesky other hand.

Isn't doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result the cornerstone of all kinds of wonderful and seemingly sane things?  something like lifting weights.  they call them "reps" because they are REPETITIONS of the same thing and expecting a different result doesn't indicate insanity, but the persistence and discipline to work toward a healthier body.

or how about when your mom used to have to call your name 5 times before you would really be cognizant of her voice trying to get your attention?  that's not insanity- it's just recognizing the need to give people a chance to adjust in order to get a response or reaction from them.  (i guess it might feel like insanity from the mom's perspective).

anyway, i could go on and on with everyday examples that seem to suggest that choosing to repeat behavior and expecting a different result can be a very logical and sane course of action.

didn't Jesus Christ himself SUGGEST this kind of persistent behavior?  isn't there a parable that says in essence that if you bug God enough and show enough persistence, He'll eventually pay attention to you?  Persistence even in the face of no seeming results seems to be a requirement of a good disciple.

and we all know how sane the good holy book is.  all truth all the time.  said jesus.  or dionysus.  or zoroaster.  someone important.  at some time.

fresh & easy

(We just finished reading Like Water for Chocolate and the girls do an assignment where they produce a food contribution, the recipe, and a write up that fleshes out some sort of symbolic value in the food they prepared.  Here was my contribution this year.)

Caesar Salad

Ingredients:

1 Vehicle or friend with a vehicle or mode of public transportation or working legs

1 Fresh & Easy Store

2 Bags of Salad

1 Bowl and Scooper Thing

Directions:

1.  Go to store.

2.  Purchase 2 bags of salad.

3.  Open all the little bags in the big bags.

4.  Dump all the things together.

5.  Mix the things all around.

                  When I was younger, I remember my dad telling me about the supreme intelligence and general awesomeness of Sherlock Holmes.  He’s a fan.  He told me at one point, “Sherlock Holmes says knowing everything isn’t important, the key is to know how to FIND OUT what you need to know. “

                  I didn’t like it.  I was the kind of kid who really LIKED memorizing a bunch of things and spitting them back out on tests.  I didn’t have the best mind for trivia sort of knowledge, but I really liked the process of sitting down to memorize something- and an important part of that was feeling like that skill was somehow going to be useful.   I had big dreams of memorizing all of the countries of the world.   And maybe I’d get wild and memorize their capitals too.  Sherlock Holmes seemed to be deflating those goals.

                  -Flash forward to 2013 (cue video of that endless rainbow kitty video)-

  OK, Sherlock.  OK, dad.  You were so right.  We live in a world where the rote memorization of facts is less and less meaningful.  Our reality is in a constant and increasingly rapid state of flux.  The world I knew as a teenager and the way we connected or learned is DRASTICALLY different than the world you encounter today.  It’s not just technology, either.  The way my generation approaches career options is so different than my parent’s generation.  We shift.  We jump from job to job.  We are transient.  The importance in being a viable candidate in the workforce is no longer really a particular skill set or knowing how to do one thing really well, but the ability to adapt quickly to a new environment using the variety of skill sets you’ve accumulated from your past experience.  (there’s a little nugget of advice in there- did you grab it?  EMBRACE EXPERIENCE.  All things teach. )  If you don’t’ know a word, it’s no longer necessary to drag out the ol’ 20 pound dictionary (I LOVED my beloved 20 pound dictionary.  LOVED.  Rest in peace, you big beautiful clunky tome).  Instead, click on it and your Kindle will tell you.  Or ask Siri. 

                  So my point is, change is happening at an infinity rate I say we all embrace it and make the best of this brave new world.  In a mindful sort of way, of course. 

                  For example, running short on time, I opted to go the Caesar salad in a bag route for my contribution today.  I was aware of my own time constraints, and I used knowledge of my present situation to best utilize my resources and to adapt.  Even if I don’t know or can’t make a salad “from scratch” (ok, it’s a little stretch), I KNOW WHERE TO FIND IT.  Fresh & Easy.  Emphasis on Easy, glad about the Fresh.  Sherlock would be doing little fictional cartwheels of joy if he could see me now, I just know it. 

                  But here’s where the mindful part comes in to play.  I knew how to solve my problem, but purchasing I’m also aware that my solution could have been more optional.  Purchasing the bag salads includes buying a bunch of plastic packaging, the excess of which is putting our environment in a terrible sort of condition.  My convenience comes at a cost.  Also, even though Caesar salads walk around like they’re all healthy and green and beautiful, the real part that ropes you in is the Caesar dressing, which is nutritionally void and the opposite of health.  Let’s not even get started on croutons.  So my simple solution bag salad is not without it’s pitfalls.  Like technology.  Like pretty much everything.

So here is my concise list of bag salad wisdom nuggets:

1.      Knowing how to find out what you need to know is more important than knowing it.

2.      Embrace experience.  A variety of life experience leads to improved adaptability.

3.      But don’t go ignoring the pitfalls.  There are always pitfalls.  Be aware.

                                                                                                            J Ms. Ingram

never forget

weeks ago debbie and i had dinner at gallagher's pub.  she ordered a cajun chicken salad that had some sort of grilled vegetable medley as a topper.  when the salad came out, the top of the salad was covered in sliced bananas.

bananas.

i was so thrown off i didn't even take a picture.  debbie immediately began eating all the bananas because, as she recalled later, she felt like they didn't belong there and she had to remove them as quickly as possible.

nothing was said by the waitress and, oddly enough, debbie and i remained so shocked and confused by the mysterious banana suprise that we didn't even inquire.  i thought for sure that some sort of confusion had taken place in the process of taking the order, but when the receipt came it revealed no strange add-ons. just cajun salad.

banana salad toppings on grilled vegetables.
that really happened.

growing pains

on the eve of my thirty-first year
freshly showered
sans makeup and bra
netflix
garlic breath
a calm night before a busy few days

also present:
3 fresh cat scratches,
2 brown bananas,
1 cup of coffee- brewing.

1.  the only thing i think i'm noticing about aging is the whole weird body thing.  my weird foot bump that surfaced a few years ago seemed to foreshadow the impending doom of the body-in-decay changes that start to happen after 30.  i feel like overnight, my metabolism screeched to a halt.  i had to stop wearing skinny jeans because my calves seem to have double in size.  what's with THAT?  and i'm starting to believe that those terrible rumors are true... once you're past 30 you just don't drop weight as easily.

2.  in most other ways- i feel no age at all, really.  things seem exciting and possible most days.

2.5.  OMG- my dear select readers.  do not share this with the outside world upon penalty of something grave and serious.  watch and you'll see why.  just.... enjoy.  and... you're welcome.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vHm7eTUOpPI


3.  yesterday i photographed my first wedding.  although i was unsure that i would enjoy wedding photography, i think i might have a heart for it afterall.  it was beautiful to share some of the behind the scenes excitement, and i get the pleasure of sharing the joy i captured with everyone once i finish editing.

4.  the wedding i photographed happened to be for 2 gay friends.  when i posted the teaser picture today, i noticed that i lost a "like" from my facebook business page soon after.  i expect that i will "lose" a few more in the next few days.

i just started up my business page two weeks ago.  i have nearly reached 200 likes (193 as of right now) and i feel really excited about using social media to reach more and more people.  some of my initial "likers" are people from the long ago christian past.  although i am still their facebook friends, i have hidden many of them from my newsfeed because of my irritation with the irrational and often offensive religious propaganda they fill their pages with.  many from that group are the type who would post "boycott starbucks because they donate money to planned parenthood" or whatever.  i wish it weren't so, but people really do sort of arrange themselves into "types"... and this type happens to be bigoted and closed minded.  because they've been out of sight and out of mind for so long, i've forgotten how extreme some of their views are.   i've become so comfortable and confident in my atheist skin, that i often forget that many people still don't know that aspect of my identity.  but thinking ahead, i had actually considered that posting a picture from a gay wedding might cause a little stir in that crowd.  it's not shocking when i think of it, but it is a little disappointing.  on one hand, that person is exercising the same right that i do when i hide people from my newsfeed.  we have every right to exercise an amount of control in what we expose ourselves to (my aunt kate situation, for example).  on the other hand, isolating ourselves from exposure to other ways of thinking is what LEADS to misunderstanding and the narrowmindedness that furthers hate and prejudice.  i hide that type of christian from my facebook feed because i've BEEN there and EXPERIENCED that world view, and i now understand it to be dangerous and problematic.  i'm nearly POSITIVE that the people i consider to be the most judgmental in that group do not even KNOW an outed gay person.  DO NOT EVEN KNOW ONE OPENLY GAY PERSON ON A PERSONAL LEVEL.  although the actions of the "unliker" and i are the same, i think that they come from a fundamentally different place.  i'm not really offended so much as sad.

5.  i have bunions.  and maybe arthritis.

5.5.  something witty!  something wonderful!

6.  having a lot of highs and lows with photography.  so pleased with some results.  so frustrated with myself for so many rookie mistakes.  i made the mistake (?) of looking at some of my earlier work the other day.  AHHHH- the lighting and color all wrong- just so much off.  it's good to see so much progress.  it's tough to know i still have a lot further to go.  i know i have the eye- but the eye isn't enough.   i feel like i would be growing so much more quickly if i more time to practice.  i should be shooting and studying tutorials every day.  it feels nearly impossible to carve out the time i'd like for it.  also, the more i make contacts, the more i'm realizing that there are handfuls upon handfuls of experienced and talented people in this area trying to do the same thing that i am.  that's a little intimidating.  i'm still trying to find my niche, but i find myself moving more and more toward Fine Art.  I love it, but the opportunities for profit are MUCH less open.  so i find myself in need of honing my skills in portrait settings to earn money to purchase equipment to do what i'd really like to do.

7.  MONEY IS TERRIBLE.  i keep thinking i'm getting ahead, and i find myself just scraping by.  forever.  how does anyone think of retirement or any of that shit?  feels impossible to save even the smallest amount a month, let alone huge chunks to live off from someday.

8.  typhoons.  tornadoes.  all that planning, all for naught.

9.

10.  i haven't read a book since Franny & Zooey a few months ago.  i HAVE watched all of Breaking Bad, 5 seasons of Mad Men and HUNDREDS of episodes of Cheers, among other things.  no regrets.  they stimulate my mind too.

11.  candy crush- level 66

12.  

it's true.

13.  people come and go.  sometimes stay.  

14.  we only get one.  we only get one.  it's both paralyzing and mobilizing.  violent swings between everything having such meaning and value  ----> everything being completely meaningless and having no value at all.  we can only be sure of our dying... so what are we to do with ourselves in the meantime?  i've been having fall time thoughts.

14.5.  sunday night dread in FULL effect.

15.  looking back- this was 30.

Brian

What about Brian?
Whose acne ridden face stared at me across the table in Religion class,
Whose incessant gum chewing did not mask his terrible, tinny breath,
One of few who wore cologne,
Who I always appreciated and never took seriously,
Who showed up at our five year with a blonde wife on his arm
Who came to visit at my dorm and sat around for an hour or more while I ignored him in favor of the Sims.
Who does not have Facebook
And may not even exist.

What about him?

weenie

today i opted to sleep that extra 20 seconds it would have taken to put a smidgen of effort into a costume.  instead, i threw on the blue renaissance faire shawl thing and called it a holiday.

walking onto campus is like walking into a Spirit Halloween store or something.  these people really go for it.  those little costumes that make you look like a little person riding an ostrich- nine piece ensembles- costumes that require very specific and strange hats... i wonder if these people have special rooms in their houses dedicated to storing these once a year outfits.

and then there was me.  i was rocking the space where people could tell i had put SOME kind of effort into my costume but obviously not enough to really BE anything.  this is the kind of special space where people don't really bother to ask "what are you?"

Except one.  One student asked.
"I'm comfortable,"  I said.

Later, M texts me.  She was working at the school when I rocked my other go-to costume, a paper weight (in which I stand on a piece of paper when asked).
M:  I heard you were tunic lady :)
me:  Bahaha!  Indeed.  Everyone was shocked and amazed.  They couldn't believe the innovation and vision.
M:  You would've won the costume contest... why didn't you compete?
me:  I'm already so popular, it hardly seemed fair to everyone else.

happy weenie.
another year.

but do not faint

"Run mad as often as you choose,
        but do not faint."
                -Jane Austen

if you don't know

Don Draper, you kill me.
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/15741

the hardest part

the so small sphere
the impossible distance from there to here
an intersection of opposing lines
that meet sometimes

sometimes

"sometimes i feel like i'll float away if Don isn't holding me down"
"the hardest part is realizing you're in charge" (2:10)

i can barely look at her
her face is haunted by the structure of another

but oh, her heart
how her heart and mine could talk

talk ourselves true


*disclaimer- I wrote this during Season 2 or something.  I haven't quite lost my mind like she does in later seasons.

up

my chin is UP
i am 6 feet tall
i am a juggernaut of optimism and possibility
i am twenty times alive and
surrounded by twenty doors
all wide open
and aglow

it is my reason
my grail
my gold medal
my framed picture on the mantle
my passion
my beatrice
my friday afternoon with the whole weekend ahead
my focus
my everything burrito

and it is all right on time

(to wake up and to BE alive)

tress

it's starting.
i can feel it.

i'm gonna chop my hair off any day now.

Words that I really dislike:
Hubby
Shall
Touche

one

i had three drinks
walked three blocks home
i am thirty
tipsy

and life

is so very singular

friendship

Everyone thinks they know what they value in other people.  Questions like, "what traits to you value most in a friend" always have smushygushy answers like "authenticity" or "honesty" or "humor" or whatever.  But really, how do you even measure any of those things?  How can you analyze a person's level of authenticity?  TRULY measure honesty?  Humor is subjective.  I mean, c'mon.

What we really mean is that we like people who are like us in ways that make us feel good about ourselves, or who are different from us in complimentary ways that also make us feel good about ourselves.

We like people that make us feel good about being their friends.

We like people we like.

The end.

so very

often, the remedy for anxiety or ennui or melancholy is as simple as a novel.
a disappearing act for which there are few substitutes

that thin asian man talking with earnestness and deliberation about the life-changing awakening he experienced through experimenting with psychedelic drugs.  he spans the whole chasm of topics,  talks about how unaware so many of us remain for our whole lives because we so easily buy in to what we are told or conditioned to believe.  the thing is, the guy sounds enlightened.  like, the whole "vibe" thing, he has it.  he has the "i am operating from a different plain than most" vibe that makes me so curious. it's like the religious cloud i used to walk on, but devoid of the religiousness.  just an... awareness.

that parking citation on the red car outside
and those people who do not pay:  are they outlaws?  idealists?
and those people who do pay:  upstanding citizens?  blind conformists?

existentialism & the part of me that understands the function and need for larger systems of order

& the other part of me that wants to challenge it all

tomorrow i have to call Lucy Lu's guardians and tell them that she is habitual cheater.  that i have to stand over her like a hawk.  that she is not only a cheater, but that she is a TERRIBLE cheater.  that if she insists on being a cheater, she must try harder at it.  she cannot fail at studying AND cheating- there are only so many levels of failure an ego can maintain.

it is far too easy to just do as we are told.  to laugh at things we are conditioned to identify as funny.  to buy things when they are packaged in certain ways that appeal to our age, race, class, and gender demographics.  all of it.  it is so easy to be a cog in the machine.  it takes no thought at all and there is so very little risk.

Ruth at the counter in a red knitted sweater.

twenty-five definitions of feminism.

they make spray called Poo-pouri to spray into the toilet pre-shit to eliminate any proof of your humanity.  we are so afraid of ourselves.

doing a jigsaw puzzle at midnight.  in some space.  talking little.  thinking if i died right then and there that would be ok.

harsh, birdlike.  aquiline, if you'd prefer.  i learned that word in the reader's digest vocabulary quiz a very long time ago.

another egg bids farewell.

we are so very fast asleep and so very very tired.

causes

 It seemed like the Michigan State campus was always full of chanting groups of people holding signs.  There were sorority shenanigans and whatnot- people with petitions to sign- and there was almost ALWAYS a group of people with signs protesting outside of the GAP.

On one particular morning was one of those particular moments when you are able to step outside of your current moment and view present self as a speck among many past and future specks.  On that particular morning, I remember feeling really young- like my whole life was ahead of me- life my mind was a just-opened jar of play-do that hadn't dried out from being left out or been mixed with other colors.  Just... fresh.  And on that freshest of mornings with my freshie fresh mind at work, I passed that group of protesters or supporters or what-have-you and I wondered to myself what MY cause would be.  It seemed like everyone at some point gravitated to a cause that they felt driven to center themselves around.  Government or religion or vegetarianism or quantum-physics or...  and endless endless list of sometimes competing and sometimes complimentary causes.

At 30, I can say that I still don't know what my cause is.  I mean, I certainly have a penchant for joining up with large groups or organizations.  NET, TFA... the whole first half of my 20s was spent sporting t-shirts for large collectives of the religious or education/political type.  Since then, I've wandered about as far away from both sets of "ideals" as possible.  Even though I was technically a part of those larger groups, I never had the sense of belonging that had me going back for more.  I was always very much ME within those larger labels... and when I left, the labels were just something on a resume.

I don't think I REALLY have the desire to be a banner holder.  I'm either disillusioned or realistic enough to think that holding a sign and wearing a promo t-shirt doesn't really affect much.  And, although I feel very passionately toward a number of subjects or issues, I am also acutely aware that that intensity can be very easily altered, or even reversed when new information or experience enters the picture.

I think it's OK and probably incredibly important to allow yourself  to gravitate toward subjects or causes that make you feel more deeply connected to yourself and a larger community.  Like, TREMENDOUSLY important.  Because really, we create our own sense of purpose and meaning in our little limited bubbles of existence.

But that really wonderful drive to belong or invest or experience passion becomes really dangerous when it's from the perspective of an "i'm right, you're wrong" perspective.  that's when the focus of belonging becomes the exclusion of others.  it's when investment becomes more about power and getting than giving.  and it's where passion becomes divorced from reason, often with devastating effects.


That's all.


My intention was to write about the other day when I drove right past a funeral I was supposed to attend and didn't even feel a little bit bad.  Maybe tomorrow.

and this too

let's live suddenly without thinking
e e cummings

matters

"I think people misunderstand, sometimes, the difference between “empathy” and “sympathy”, and this is getting us in trouble. Sympathy is closer to pity. Empathy, which is essential for being human, means that you can imagine yourself in some else’s situation, good or bad. And feeling *real* empathy, even empathy with “the enemy”, with the bottom of the barrel of humanity, with the suicide bombers, with the child molesters, with the Hitlers and the Osamas, is necessary. If you, as a human being, can’t stop and try to imagine what sort of pain and agony and darkness must have descended upon these people to twist them up so badly, you have no roadmap to untwist the circumstances under which they were created. There can be no limit to empathy. If you can’t go the final mile, you’re not there yet."

-Amanda Palmer

right

this week was a strange mesh of old and new discomforts

a familiar fall heaviness

old and new growth

hurts in unexpected places from unexpected sources

but at the end of it

on a sunday night,

i have a fancy cat by my feet

& m&ms in the freezer

so it can't be all that bad, right?

(right.)

that is all.

any other

listen,
colors up the back of sheep-
we all know who's the belle of the ball
i was thinking of you in england
i was barely there at all
staring out the window at hours of green
a pastoral haze of physical ache
for an absent limb.

phantom.
willed forgetting.
back in america and i find myself elsewhere, still
in some past.  some depth.  some nowhere.

the way we speak to each other
and are spoken to
i started listening
and all my words changed
an excess of darkness before some fall back
and i meant to write to you months ago.

sometimes it's hard to contain these screams
in little boxes
the windows are open
and everyone hears

they used to sit together and coo
like birds-

there is no natural state
this is all just the firing of synapses
subconscious lunges at those magic hormones
that tell us we are happy
chase that connection
call it out
by any other name

(the slight sagging around the earlobes.
before you can detect it in the voice, there's the sagging near the ears) That was all just necessary. Some release. Some getting out. Fall and the general, consistent desire to weep. Some nature. Some nurture. Some true thing in the mud.

That was all just necessary.
Some release.
Some getting out.

Fall and the general, consistent desire to weep.
We hear so little & understand even less.
Some nature. Some nurture.
Some true thing in the mud.

anomalies

after years of remaining completely off my radar, the song "Head Over Feet" by alanis morrisette made its way into my consciousness today.  i found myself humming, at first, and then singing it loudly (and with uncanny resemblance AM herself) on my drive home.  even when i had finished, one line stayed with me.

"you asked how my day was."
and then,
to emphasize the profundity, a repeated,

"you asked how my day was."

it's as though the idea that a person who asked with genuine interest about her day was such an anomaly in her life that she had no choice but to fall head over feet in love with this virtuoso in human connection.

at first i found the whole thing pathetic.  who are you, desperate 90's woman, who is so lonely in your angsty broken world that basic gestures of kind human interaction constitute reason to become utterly smitten?  do you think you deserve so little?  are you that dumbfounded that someone cares about your day that you had to repeat the words to yourself to be sure?  in ways, the whole song screams of desperation and self loathing.  the song's subject can do no wrong- they are the best listener she's ever met, they bring health and companionship and warm fuzzies to her life.  not to mention, they have manners.

She, on the other hand, will be the first to tell you how undeserving she is of anything so good.  she's a self-proclaimed mess who has never been treated well and has no qualms about sharing openly that she's not really sure she deserves said treatment.

HE HELD THE DOOR, FOR GODSAKE.  HE ASKED ABOUT YOUR DAY.  THAT DOES NOT MAKE HIM JESUS CHRIST COME BACK.  YOU CAN GET SUCH TREATMENT FROM THE DOORMAN AT WALMART.

so, there's that.

but you know, the more i thought about it... i kind of get it.  i can count on one hand the number of people in my life who express genuine interest in hearing how i'm doing without looking for the first breath to interject with their own lives or updates.  even with some of the people i value the most, i can tell it is a supreme STRUGGLE to give me (or anyone) any decent amount of undivided attention without steering the focus back to themselves.  and don't be misled, i have AMAZING people in my life.  INCREDIBLE people.  good, quality human beings.

i'm sure i dominate conversation or am self focused at times, too.  but i think more often i'm at the other end of it.  the pathetic alanis morrisette end.  the end where you walk away from a conversation and realize that you didn't really share anything about yourself at all, and that the other person didn't seem to care too much. over time, you start to curtail your sharing to bare basics... as though if you exceed a certain word count, the opposite party will have no choice but to lose interest.  you find yourself apologizing for rattling on if you find that you've been talking about yourself for more than a few minutes.  and that's just pathetic.  that's Giving Tree pathetic status.

these are sort of new thoughts.  not sure what to do with them.  just noticing that the world seems to be full of sharers and listeners... and i don't think that one role is necessarily better than another.  i'm drawn to people who know how to walk the balance between... who feel that what they have to share has worth and also has genuine interest in listening and learning from the sharing of others.

the rarity of those types of people is a tough pill to swallow.
jagged, even.

too much?

(never forget)

some

miserable people are miserable.
they eat little meals of misery
and they talk misery blah blah blah
and in between meals they
have little snacks of misery

and if you sit too near them,
the crunch will drive you nuts.

all

the morning announcements contained this long reflection about 9/11 and how Jesus was there every step of the way.  It was about how Jesus was there with the man on the 86th floor calling his wife to say he won't make it... and how he's also there with the wife at home with the kids yaddy yaddy.  It kept repeating "I was there," and the reflection included the statement, "You may not know why, but I do."

A familiar rant:
WTF IS THAT?  HOW IS "GOD'S PRESENCE"  DURING A TRAGEDY LIKE THAT SUPPOSED TO BRING COMFORT?  HE WAS THERE?  WHY DIDN'T HE DO SOMETHING?  HE KNOWS WHY?  WHY DOES YOU KEEP IT FROM PEOPLE WHO COULD REALLY EXPERIENCE HEALING AND CLOSURE?"

there is no goddamn why.  cruel to suggest.

I don't know how on earth people find comfort in such evident bullshit.
all bullshit.
all.

poignant

back to school night reminds me of why i love teaching every year.  what i do matters.
remind me in february- i love teaching and i'm damn good at it.

emails like this help too:
  
Hi Ms. Ingram! I hope this new school year is treating you well :) I just wanted to thank you for the random vocab dances you made us do. Today in my English 111 class my professor asked what "poignant" meant. Immediately I remembered the move and the definition from sophomore year. Other students threw out descriptions and gave example but the professor then asked for a straight definition. I raised my hand and said "emotional; deeply moving". He was so impressed with the accurate definition he gave me extra credit! I miss you're class but clearly it's still with me. So I just wanted to give you reassurance that you are a fabulous teacher :)

Best wishes,
Sarah 
Class of 2013

the horror! the horror!

be still my heart
some ancient yearning
be still my heart
a cruel need, a cruel beat
be still my heart
to a definitive halt
to a definite stop
a delay with no hope
an end
be still my heart

some backtracking
and the way it feels
to hug a new body for the first time

the way you feel new in your own skin too

(i barely remember-                  the distance
i barely remember-                 the intimacy).

bare
too bare
to bare
to bear

something always known
some thing to let go
when the instinct is to grasp
the habit says to hold
the early morning light says
merrily we dream

but night brings dark & a slow beating heart

we cling
-how cruel-
we cling

stomach this

walls walls walls
&
motions:  going through them

the incubation time for nonononononono virus is hours and hours and hours
and you will be contaminated forever without knowing

you will be infectious forever
silently and unintentionally
impacting just about anyone

wallswallswallswalls
wake up with that sour presence
and absence at once
it is not so dramatic
it is mostly calm
it is mostly hungry for regular food

but not ready
to process it yet.

some men

at an art show with my mom and she is looking at picnic baskets for sale and i am taking a picture of the flowered sunglasses she's holding in her hands when a man finds his way into conversation- attractive, older man who clearly has kept himself up- looks like a chiropractor or the kind of dentist that would be featured in advertisements with a teeth baring smile.

he talks, at first, about this neat photography exhibit that he and his wife (a bulldog face woman he keeps calling "honey" who is also looking at baskets) had seen in LA. he even includes her in the conversation, asking what museum it had been.  my mom and his wife step a little further away and then he is making sure to include that this exhibit was very sexual and risque- open legs- scandalous without being showy- and his words had this excitable, desperate sort of tone that confused me.  i thought we were talking about photography.  at some point i realize that he isn't really talking about photography at all.

a natural pause occurs and i start to move away, but a few minutes later he casually found his way back over and mentions in a jumbled mess that he noticed that i was a photographer and he noticed that my dress was stylish and sexy- he said sexy- and then his wife is asking about the picnic baskets from the other side of the booth and i wonder if she heard how he was speaking (she MUST have heard how he was speaking) and  i'm just confused as to why this man that i do not know at all is being so openly sexual with me with his pained face bulldog wife in tote and i still do not know why or who or what the fuck kind of world this is.

curiosity

Yesterday I brought the cats over to the new place.  Both were traumatized by the car ride.  Holly wailed non-stop the entire time.  Sherman sat down and was silent in the strange way that causes more concern than all the wailing in the world.  When I opened the door to the carrier, Holly bounded out - all confidence and curiosity.  She was purring within the hour.  

Sherman, however, did not fare so well.  He pressed himself as far back into the carrier as he could and did not emerge for three hours. 

it's a terrible feeling to watch a helpless creature suffer and to have no way to comfort it.  even though he was just laying there, i could see his heart pounding so quickly and his eyes were the saddest saucers i've ever seen.  there's just no way to explain change.  my heart broke and then broke some more.  

At one point, Sherman felt brave enough to try to step out.

But the feel of the carpet texture must have been too much.  He quickly drew his paw back and stayed inside for a while longer.

You might think I'm cruel for just snapping pictures of the poor thing while he sits there in agony.  The experts (websites), however, say to let the cats come out and explore on their own time, and to just behavie as normally as possible.  Trust me when I tell you that having a camera clicking in his face is very high on the normal scale.

eventually he explored a little.  cautiously.  belly to the ground.  

they were so different in their reactions to change.  i love them both for their own reactions in different ways.  

i think i am probably a little more like sherman.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>fast forward to the next morning

 When I woke up, Holly was bounding around like a pogo stick.  It took me a minute or two before I realized Sherman wasn't with her.  I searched all the hiding spots.  Twice.  No Sherman.

When I discovered the open screen on the front window was also loose on both sides of the bottom, it became clear to [6:45 a.m.] me that Sherman had pushed himself out of the screen and, unable to get back in, had gotten lost.  Or ran away to sniff his way back to Olive Ave.  I panicked.  Absolutely.

I was the crazy new woman in the neighborhood sobbing and calling her cat's name loudly at 6:45 a.m.

Wild thoughts ran through my mind.  I called J and cried into the phone.  I solicited the help of a woman walking her dog.  Neighbor lady Toni came out in her moo-moo and offered search around and keep an eye out.  I envisioned myself breaking down in the middle of teaching new students day 2, thinking of poor terrified Sherman alone in the world.  how could i do this?  why is the world so cruel and confusing?

I went back in to double check and retrace my steps like a goldfish around the bowl.  When I moved the bag of shoes under my bed slightly, the littlest freckled pink nose and the biggest saucer eyes I've ever seen appeared from the side.  

I cannot explain the relief.  I just don't know the words for that heart language. 

I've never lost a kid in a mall or anything, but I can maybe understand a little bit how those parents feel.

This is Sherman at 7:01 a.m., not only bewildered as to where and why of his current existence, but now wondering why his human friend is sitting against the wall, openly weeping.

but let's be honest, sherms.  that's nothing new.

looking at the coffin- terrified

The 5 Stages of Loss and Grief

By JULIE AXELROD

 1. Denial and Isolation                                                               X (& several circles back) 
The first reaction to learning of terminal illness or death of a cherished loved one is to deny the reality of the situation. It is a normal reaction to rationalize overwhelming emotions. It is a defense mechanism that buffers the immediate shock. We block out the words and hide from the facts. This is a temporary response that carries us through the first wave of pain.

 2. Anger                                                                                                     XXXXXXXXXXX

As the masking effects of denial and isolation begin to wear, reality and its pain re-emerge. We are not ready. The intense emotion is deflected from our vulnerable core, redirected and expressed instead as anger. The anger may be aimed at inanimate objects, complete strangers, friends or family. Anger may be directed at our dying or deceased loved one. Rationally, we know the person is not to be blamed. Emotionally, however, we may resent the person for causing us pain or for leaving us. We feel guilty for being angry, and this makes us more angry.

3. Bargaining                            X  (The last few weeks.  As soon as it starts to seem real).
The normal reaction to feelings of helplessness and vulnerability is often a need to regain control–

• If only we had sought medical attention sooner…
• If only we got a second opinion from another doctor…
• If only we had tried to be a better person toward them…

Secretly, we may make a deal with God or our higher power each other in an attempt to postpone the inevitable. This is a weaker line of defense to protect us from the painful reality.

4. Depression                                                                                               bracing myself
Two types of depression are associated with mourning. The first one is a reaction to practical implications relating to the loss. Sadness and regret predominate this type of depression. We worry about the costs and burial. We worry that, in our grief, we have spent less time with others that depend on us. This phase may be eased by simple clarification and reassurance. We may need a bit of helpful cooperation and a few kind words. The second type of depression is more subtle and, in a sense, perhaps more private. It is our quiet preparation to separate and to bid our loved one farewell. Sometimes all we really need is a hug.

5. Acceptance                                                                          little glimpses, hard to grasp
Reaching this stage of mourning is a gift not afforded to everyone. Death may be sudden and unexpected or we may never see beyond our anger or denial. It is not necessarily a mark of bravery to resist the inevitable and to deny ourselves the opportunity to make our peace. This phase is marked by withdrawal and calm. This is not a period of happiness and must be distinguished from depression.

Loved ones that are terminally ill or aging appear to go through a final period of withdrawal. This is by no means a suggestion that they are aware of their own impending death or such, only that physical decline may be sufficient to produce a similar response. Their behavior implies that it is natural to reach a stage at which social interaction is limited. The dignity and grace shown by our dying loved ones may well be their last gift to us.

Coping with loss is a ultimately a deeply personal and singular experience — nobody can help you go through it more easily or understand all the emotions that you’re going through. But others can be there for you and help comfort you through this process. The best thing you can do is to allow yourself to feel the grief as it comes over you. Resisting it only will prolong the natural process of healing.


http://psychcentral.com/lib/the-5-stages-of-loss-and-grief/000617

play goes on

we are scripted species
our little lives circling around the same talking points-
maybe altered slightly, depending on the mood.
revolutions sans evolution
(no one really listens to each other very well.)

it does not matter what IS real,
reality is created in the repetition and the dramatization of the repeated drama
memory is a fickle thing
(be careful!  she is not to be trusted!  she can be welcome company, but she tends to overstay her welcome.)

the powerful play goes on! and on! and on!
for weeks.

the center of some drama
the spotlight wavering

and shadows near the curtains
that do not quite exit
remain indiscernible
for lack of illumination.



and once in a generous while- a revelation
(but be careful!  they can cripple!  they can turn the world over!)

life with lenses: year 1

A little over a year ago (July 20), a few weeks after having purchased and fallen in love my first fancy camera, I posed these questions to my future self.  Here's the verdict-

Dear awesome and interesting and stable and overall contented future self:
1.  will i become more adept in focus and flash?
yep.  definitely with focus.  still need to dust off the expensive flash i bought and start experimenting, but yes.

2.  will i go semi-pro in the next year?  will i make some dollars to support this love?  $10?  $100?  $1,000? 
YES, and hope to further it even more this year.  i tried totaling it in my head the other day and came up with somewhere around $7,500.  A lot of that went toward equipment this year, but still.  i wouldn't have anticipated this for myself last year.  let's do that again... and then some.

3.  if i do move in the direction of for profit, will photography lose it's charm? 
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.  a RESOUNDING no.

4.  will i look back at the pictures i'm taking now and think they are amateurish or alright?  (i can already see a lot of little things i would adjust or fix... focus, lighting.... i just don't always know how)
yes, in some.  still can appreciate some of those first pictures as some of my favorite.... but i have learned a lot and can see that.

5. regarding the casual way i handle my gear:  will it lead to scratched lenses and broken somethings and expensive replacement fees or is my nonchalance just the mark of someone who feels really comfortable and natural in their photographer skin?
no broken equipment... it really does hold up.  probably too much dirt and sand in the cameras, but ah well.

6.  will getting more involved in photography communities make me more critical of myself?  more critical of others?  tired of the whole thing?  inspired about the whole thing?
all of the above- it the best ways.  365 has brought more joy than i could have anticipated, and the challenges have pushed me in ways i wouldn't have otherwise even known to pursue.  i hope to increase my activity this year... and to do some more deliberate self-teaching.

7.  where will my style go?  will i prefer photographing people or places or textures or nature or details or big  things? 
people and events remain my favorite things.  i prefer something that can tell a story... so that can really be anything.  maybe not so in love with big nature scapes... they're just whatever to me.

8.  once i learn more, will i get hungry for new lenses and new cameras and new everything?
increasing my equipment was a little intimidating at first.  i felt like i had to lug around all my options just to leave the house.  i've freed myself from that pressure.  it's mostly just my 50mm on my d800, though i might return to my d5100 during the school year.  i WOULD like some more lenses for my d800... the full lens is just SO good.

9.  will i  get the coveted "Press Pass" into an event?
SJ Press Pass to the basketball game... Architecture for Dogs event...

10.  will i keep up with my 365? even on busy days?  even on sad days?  even on inconvenient days?  even on uninspired days?
YES.  even on busy days, ESPECIALLY on sad days.  yes on inconvenient days, even if the shots weren't stellar.  haven't really encountered too many uninspired days.

there it is.  the state of the union.