birthday coincidences

This seems especially apropos after my drinks date last night:

I think that there is a place where she [Scarlet] realizes that people come in and out of your life. Sometimes for a day, sometimes for longer. And all of them make you what you are. You can't separate these people out of you. They form who you are. Even the ones that you kind of say well... you know, I don't know if I wanna be formed by them anymore.(laughs) But you are in some way. You are. That's why, maybe, you don't have to look at them so harshly because they have affected you. At the end, though, you know... it's us as individuals with our... mm... with our love for the land. For something intangible, that when soulmates come and go, you're never alone even when you're standing just you in your shoes, because you carry them with you.
-Tori Amos, Scarlet Stories, re: "A Sorta Fairytale"

Happy 50th, Tori Amos. Oof, I feel old.

A letter I can't or won't actually send.

Mama,

When I told you I was engaged, you rolled your eyes. Literally, you rolled your eyes. This was a better outcome than what I expected, which is shocking to most everyone to whom I've told that story. 

Usually my response is to just say something along the lines of, "That's just my mom. She gets stressed out easily. She's still happy for me." The thing is, I believe that. I do think you're happy for me, or maybe I just need to believe that you are. But your happiness for me is blurred by a lens that has only gotten more opaque as the years have passed.

I wonder a lot lately when was the last time you were happy. I realize I can't remember anything in the past decade or so, so I wonder if you do. Was it when Paw Paw was still alive? I can think of times when you've had fun, but I don't remember the last time that you were deeply, joyously happy about something. That is a surprisingly difficult thing to admit. 

It has taken me many years to come to terms with your unhappiness. I'm probably still not there, but at least I have the perception and the toolkit to explain some of it and rationalize it to myself. I'm not quite sure WHY it's there, but based on things you've told me here and there, I have a feeling it began with a string of loves in your teenage years and really took root when you decided that you'd thrown away a lot of opportunities by marrying Daddy. You've told me countless times what you might have been if you'd gone to school--an art teacher, an architect. Even after going into the medical field, a kid at home and a drunk husband made you feel like you needed to be at home after work, instead of going to school for nursing. But even in my childhood years, I feel like you were happy sometimes. I remember dancing with you in the living room and I feel like that was happy. I want to know what broke and why it can't or won't be fixed. 

We've been fighting a lot about the wedding and it occurred to me that I'm a disappointment to you. You'd balk to hear this. You'd tell me how proud of me you are and how much you love me. I don't doubt those things, but I have to reconcile them with your disappointment. I am not who you want me to be. You rolled your eyes at my news because you imagined differently for me. Someone who could "take care of me," to use your words, someone with money who might support me while I got that Ph.D that you're still on me about. To you, my marriage means the end of my possibility too, means getting stuck in a rut that I will spend a lifetime sitting in, a rut so deep that it's not even worth it to expend energy to get out of. Is that how you feel? It's the closest I can imagine. 

You told me once that you wanted me to get my Ph.D because you knew, when I was a baby, that I would go on to do great things. You don't want to hear that people can do great things without a Ph.D, or that a Ph.D in my field would be useless to me, monetarily. You don't really even have a defined vision of "great," beyond "better off than me." You are not great, except through my achievements. I need to be great to somehow be worth all those lost opportunities. I don't think I'm capable of being that great. 

In a way, I think you think my marriage will make me sink lower than you, because I will still be worse off financially than you are. I think your desire to dictate every aspect of this wedding comes from the idea that you can at least make it what you want to see. Maybe that will be enough to make up for that potential greatness I'm flushing down the toilet. You are upset with me that I won't wear your wedding dress. I couldn't think up a better metaphor if I tried. Somewhere along the way (or maybe from the moment I was born), I turned into a vessel for all your lost hopes. I'm not the only person this has happened to--at this point it's a cliche. But it doesn't hurt any less to be held to a standard that judges me as unworthy for not meeting standards I've never been invested in. I quite honestly feel as though you love me less for not being good enough. It doesn't hurt me to not be good enough--I think (with the help of years of therapy, a lot of love, and the power of literature) that I'm just fine. But it hurts to think that you feel that way, that I have somehow thrown away the key that could even possibly unlock your door to happiness. 

Even before I could put those thoughts into words, I knew them on an instinctual level. It took me years to tell you I was going to therapy, because I knew you'd be disappointed in me for being so flawed and for thinking I was flawed. For not just getting over it. It is sickeningly ironic that you live in the kind of unhappiness you do without any help, just so as not to have to admit that you actually are unhappy. 

Years ago, you used to joke that you would never ask your patients, "How are you?" because it would turn into them rattling off their various ailments and complaints. I don't know how to tell you that you've turned into those people, without meaning to, without being old enough to be that damn miserable with life. 

I've had a buzzing tension headache for two weeks now. I suspect it has a lot to do with trying to shove down this rush of emotions and words that have come out of wounds long scarred, now ripped open. These are words I don't want to say to you, because I know you would only see them as a further burden, without ever acknowledging their meaning. I know you would cry and maybe you'd yell. I don't want to hurt you. I love you so much. I just wish that I could make you see. To see that your life is so rich, so full of love. To see that all I want from you at my wedding is to see you happy, for you to celebrate without barriers of anger, fear, and disappointment. You talk a lot of making the most of life, because you never know when you'll die. I don't understand how you can believe that, but treat every day like another step to the grave.

If anything, you've taught me that lesson. I don't always achieve it, but I try not to live in misery, because I don't want to bring down that burden on those who love me. I try to celebrate, to love, to experience, to be my very best, to see the best in people and in life. And I will always try, however useless it may be at this point, to make you see it too.

Love, me

all the news, period.

You know how I keep hinting at big news? Most of my readers probably already know, but since more things keep happening, I'm just going to give you a blunt post and hopefully something later with details!

I got a new job. I'm now working for the Greater New Orleans Foundation and I love love love my job. I love working for a nonprofit. I love constantly learning. I love the people I work with.

I got engaged. I kind of can't believe it either. We used my great-grandmother's ring and everyone is happy and I'm currently drinking prosecco in my bed, because that's what fancy engaged ladies do, right?

Richie's going back to school. A gout flare up (yes, my fiance (AHHH) has gout and is clearly EIGHTY) convinced us that he's not going to be able to do manual labor forever, so it's time to move on up in the world. We'll see what construction management is like.

I got some sweet new sheets. Yeah!

discourse

I am not the man of mere "acting out" -- my madness is tempered, it is not seen; it is right away that I fear consequences, any consequence: it is my fear -- my deliberation -- which is "spontaneous.
Barthes, A Lover's Discourse

I really do know better than to stay up reading late into the night. It's because at some point, I will realize how late it is and immediately shut the book, turn out the lights, and try to fall asleep, only to be met with my head still whirling from another reality I've been immersed in. This is especially true for books I find engrossing, but even those that I don't. I'll stay awake, plodding through plots and characters, trying to figure out what it is I don't like and if it's just that I don't understand.

Currently, I'm (finally) reading The Marriage Plot and while I know better than to stay up late and read, tonight also happens to be the night where I have been quarantined to the bedroom; Richie nobly sleeping on the couch and allowing me the bed, as it seems I probably have the flu. 

Have you read the book? The book (so far as I've gotten into it) is all about the end of college and deconstruction and existentialism and love, the deconstruction of love, the deconstruction of the deconstruction, the question of love and reason, in short, all the things I spent two years thinking about while in grad school/breakup recovery/The Great Finding of Myself (as I have currently come to recognize it) and it perfectly dovetails with not only this evening of loneliness, but with a more general headspace I've been in as of late, thinking about what have become very real questions of potential marriage and the having or not having of children and what this means for The Self (as I have currently come to recognize it).

And so, I've been lying here, reminiscing about all my single nights during that time, comparing my life during grad school with that of Madeline's in the book, my lovers with hers (obviously, the match isn't a perfect one) and indulging in some faux-nostalgia for those single nights (the single signifying its own possibilities). And while I'm glad the nostalgia for lovers is a faux one, I'm almost sad to look back on that very short period and feel like I boxed it up without even realizing I'd done so; I wasn't quite ready to put it away. This is a place in my mind that I referred to as being stagnant when I was with Ravi. It's not stagnation now, but it's too much comfort, too much laziness. Not to say that I need to be struggling and alone to think and grow, but I haven't been challenged and I've been relying too much on my own sense of happiness as a means of coasting along into some fraught sense of meaning, only to once again (always) realize that it's never going to be there (or just there). 

All this to say, I feel myself at a crossroads right now and while the choices this time don't feel as perilous or as lonely as they did three years ago (ONLY that long ago!), I find comfort in thinking the things I might have thought at that time as a means of maybe helping me through this one. 

feed your head

Awhile back, I mentioned that I'd been trying to write a post, but was having trouble with it. The problem with writing that post was that I was trying to address two loaded topics and I wasn't sure how to write about either one. I tried to work on that post a few times and it turned into a muddled mess, so I took a break from it and here for awhile. I couldn't really write here until I got past that post and I needed to figure out how.

The two issues I was trying to address in that post were the presence I want to have online and my ongoing issues with eating/dieting/exercise. The two are intertwined, because the way I talk about the latter influences the former.

For a long time, I've walked a fine line between being very open about my history of disordered eating and being very uncomfortable talking about my present diet and weight. This is largely because people tend to react in one or more of the following ways: 1) discouraging me from dieting because they're worried about me binging/purging (and saying things like "You aren't even fat!"), 2) acting as though I couldn't possibly know anything about healthy dieting because I have a history of disordered eating, 3) telling me that their way is the only way that works, even when I suggest that this wouldn't work for me because of other issues, 4) re-routing the conversation to tell me how fat they are, even though they are skinnier than I am, thus making me really feel like shit.

I've gotten to the point where there are certain people in my life (most of them) that I refuse to talk about this with because, despite their good intentions, they make me feel awful about myself. This refusal is a personal one--in most cases, I haven't explicitly told anyone that these topics are off-limits because I don't want to argue about it. I just shut down. Part of that shutting down is not blogging about these things, because I don't want concerned messages or advice that I am very sure will not work for me or a subtle undermining of anything I propose, as though I lack the intelligence to thoughtfully investigate what I will and won't do to my body.

If this sounds cold or...removed, that's the point. That other entry got to the point where I was so angry and upset, that I could no longer rationally talk about the subject. That's not a place I want to be in, especially in a blog I created in part to help me be a better person.

When I started this blog, I was in the midst of a massive upheaval of my life. Ravi and I were moving toward our planned breakup, I was moving to a new city, I was starting graduate school, and my best friend, my non-blood sister, was moving a thousand miles away. Swirled in with that, I felt directionless, lacking in purpose, in a place where I was coming to realize life wasn't going to play out as I had envisioned it and still coming to terms with being okay with that. This blog has always had a small audience, but it started out as a deeply personal space where I could anchor my thoughts, write down my goals, track my own mental progress. The name of the blog comes from this quote from Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury:

When the shadow of the sash appeared on the curtains it was between seven and eight o' clock and then I was in time again, hearing the watch. It was Grandfather's and when Father gave it to me he said I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire; it's rather excruciating-ly apt that you will use it to gain the reducto absurdum of all human experience which can fit your individual needs no better than it fitted his or his father's. I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools.

I like the idea that hope and desire are the the reducto absurdum of the human experience. I like the idea of living in Faulkner's idea of the absurd, though Jason Compson would certainly think me a fool (and I think him a cynic). At the same time, those hopes and desires were fragmented and the blog reflected that, especially in the earliest posts. It was, and remains, an attempt at quantifying, shaping, and discussing my hopes and desires. I used it to give me some of my feelings of self-worth back, to hold me accountable to my goals, to try and articulate what it might be that I wanted from my life, even if that was a goal as small as flying a kite.

But, as willing as I have been to write about some topics (sometimes artlessly or thoughtlessly, as some paramours might attest), weight has been an iffy one for me. Out of the 246 posts on this blog, 16 talk about weight, and only about 10 do so with any real thought going into the subject. Those are the posts that get the most page views and the most comments, on and off the blog itself, which just makes me more uncomfortable. I really want to be able to talk about my weight, my health, what I'm doing, with the same freeness that I discuss my other goals and pitfalls, but I haven't because I don't want to deal with the aforementioned issues. I don't want to be shamed, and very often that's the emotion that comes out when talking about this stuff. Let me be clear--I have enough self-shame to last a lifetime. It is my daily struggle not to shame myself about my body. Feeling as though I'm unable to write about these struggles in my blog is its own kind of shame, a sort of projected shame.

After AWP, I thought hard about going "public" with the blog in a way that it's not currently. I even registered a domain name and I looked into registering with places like BlogHer and  running ads and things of that nature. But, I felt in doing that, I would need to delete some of the more personal entries here, make the whole blog more public-friendly. In doing so, I felt I would need to censor myself in a way I wasn't ready to do, and give up the kind of scrapbook-y format that I enjoy about this blog (bits of poems, random conversations, occasional photos, etc.). I also knew I still wasn't ready to talk about some issues in a more public forum, and that includes weight. I'm still not. I don't want to give the idea that I'm working up to some great climax, wherein I overcome this barrier, then go wide open with the blog. Instead, I just want to build on what this blog always has been. But, I'm asking that you, my very small readership, allow me to do this in a way that is comfortable for me. I ask that you not send me concerned messages or dieting advice or really even bring up the topic. In time, I may get to the point where I want to talk about these things with some people, but right now, for the most part, I don't. I just want to be able to write about them in my blog, for myself (and maybe for you too, if you find it helpful or a cautionary tale)

All that said, I've decided to do a cleanse. Not an all juice thing or drinking cayenne-laced maple syrup, but something involving real food. It's called the Whole Living Action Plan, and it can be found here. I'm starting it on January 1, not as a New Year's resolution, but just because I know I'll be drinking on NYE and this is the most convenient time for me to begin. I'm actually very excited. I want to know how my body feels when I cut out sugar, dairy, gluten, alcohol, and meat. It's about weight loss, but it's also about re-evaluating my relationship to what I eat, which has become, over the past 6 months especially, very unhealthy. I've gotten back to a point where I'm not happy with my body and it's not happy with me. I ache, my head hurts, I feel sluggish, and my clothes fit badly.

I want to keep a journal of the cleanse here. I want to write every day about how I feel, what I ate, what I did. I want to do this because at the moment, I prefer writing here to writing in a food diary. It's easier to reference, to compare, and to do (since I'm usually online at some point during the day anyway). This is something I need to do for myself, both the cleanse and the writing about it, and for the same reasons--to prove to myself that I can. Eventually, I will (I hope) be okay with talking about these things outside the very small group I have discussed it with. That is my goal right now: To lose weight and be healthy and to be okay with talking about those things. Both are a process, and I really would like to go about both at my own pace.

If you've read this far, thank you. I hope I haven't alienated you or bored you (a futile hope), and I hope you know I appreciate all of you.

controlled love

"Which brings us to love. According to Sean Penn, he is a victim of love:

'There is no shame in my saying that we all want to be loved by someone. As I look back over my life in romance, I don't feel I've ever had that. I have been the only one that was unaware of the fraud in a few of these circumstances blindly. When you get divorced, all the truths that come out, you sit there and you go, What the fuck was I doing? What was I doing believing that this person was invested in this way? Which is a fantastically strong humiliation in the best sense. It can make somebody very bitter and very hard and closed off, but I find it does the opposite to me.'

He is presumably referring to Robin Wright. And if you take him at his word, he was deceived into believing that she truly loved him, that she was fully engaged in their relationship. Evidently, according to his version of events, he was there, he was in it, he was the fool, he fell for her “fraud”, and in the end, he was blindsided by her general, overall lacking (noun). In the end, he finds her to have been lacking in love.

Replace Robin Wright with Katie Holmes and Sean Penn with Tom Cruise and it’s the same situation: megalomania.

Isn’t it always the ultimate narcissistic who believes that he did all the giving and was never properly compensated? And the one who holds you emotionally hostage during the relationship with all of his needing to be loved? If you’ve ever been in this position, you know, it’s intensely manipulative, and sometimes frighteningly so. This is a form of control under the guise of need. He uses his need as power; his need makes him RIGHT, and therefore the person who’s depriving him is WRONG, and he’ll f-cking lord that over her for as long as possible."
 (from this Lainey Gossip piece)

Here are two old post from abusive ex:
"At the beginning of my emotional valley, you counselled others to leave me alone, even though I obviously wanted human interaction. I find it hard to believe that you thought I wanted solitude, when almost the entire union of our existences had been about sharing space with others. But I gave you the benefit of the doubt, thinking that you must have had my interests at heart, though you were misguided.

Toward the depths of that valley, I reached out to you. Much like I did the day in my youth when I nearly drowned at the water park. A hand, outstretched, grasping at anything to help keep me afloat. But the outcomes were totally different. On that summer day my hand found a raft, steered there by an unknown kid I will forever be grateful to. When I reached out to you, you told me a raft was coming... but none materialized. For two weeks, I waited expectantly for any signs, and found none.

I didn't think it was that big of a request... a couple of hours once a week. Something to break up the monotony of living alone, being alone. I have pretty much reconciled myself to never finding out what happened and why. Two weeks later, when you approached me as though nothing had happened, I was dumbstruck. I really couldn't believe that you would ignore me, ignore my plea, ignore your agreement, but then act as though nothing had happened. I will admit that I did not handle that night very well... Then again, there have been entire years you have ignored me, since.

A number of months later, I saw you reach out. You were in a similar situation, or at least you seemed to be reaching from the same place I reached. So I imagine that you know how I felt. I sincerely hope that the respondents to your call did not ignore you.

It is a terrible feeling.

I have been counselled to forgive you, but I cannot let this go yet. Not without an apology and some acknowledgement. And maybe some time on top of that. This cut too deep."

"I have some pretty high standards when it comes to those around me. Part of that comes from how selfless I can be, myself. So when someone I respect violates those standards, I feel hurt. My natural reaction is to remove that person from the position where they could hurt me. So I shove away many people because of mistakes, oversights, or just plain not caring about me as much as I'd hope they would.

This leads to a lonely existence, but one where the few interactions I have are rich and full. However, it cannot lead to a sense of camaraderie which, almost by definition, includes many others."

Ugh, I need a shower.

better late than never

Shortly after I posted my last post, my laptop charger broke. Between that, lots of stuff going on at work, and a pile of reading I wanted to catch up on, I've neglected the blog.

At this point, I think writing an exhaustive breakdown of the Chicago trip probably isn't worth it. So, the short version is this:
The Amtrak ride up to Chicago was great and really comfortable. I did a lot of reading and writing. AWP was amazing and inspirational (more on that in a second) and seeing Margaret Atwood was totally worth the trip by itself. I bought lots of records and books and my checked luggage was 49 pounds. Erin, Mike, and I ate a lot of amazing food (pastries, popcorn, hot dogs, tacos, Ethiopian, waffles, cheese, sausage, quince jelly) and I drank a magnum of pink moscato champagne over the course of three evenings, because I'm classy. I thanked God every day for Chicago's freakishly warm winter that ensured I did not have to deal with anything except the smallest of snow flurries during my visit. I do not deal well with extreme cold. It was a pretty perfect trip, getting to see two of my best friends (twice in one year!) and visiting one of my favorite cities.

Posing with a festive cow in my cat dress

Margaret Atwood!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Giant stack of lit mags I hauled home

Hot dogs! Chili cheese (T) and Chicago-style (B)

Friends :)

Onto the inspirational part of AWP. Two of the goals on my 101 in 1001 list are to submit seven poems for publication and write two non-fiction pieces. I wrote those goals and then avoided them. Mostly because I just didn't feel like a writer anymore. Writing without a goal felt pointless and the goal of publication felt...silly. Calling myself a writer just because I have a BA in creative writing felt overblown to me. Egotistical. Obviously, this is partly an issue of semantics, but there it is.

AWP inspired me to write again. Being around other writers, talking to them, reading them, talking to people who run lit mags...all of it reminded me of how happy writing creatively makes me. I miss crafting poems, connecting moments for non-fiction pieces, writing in a non-academic way. I went around talking to a number of lit mag representatives and found that a lot of them are looking to publish more non-fiction. I got copies of journals and I've been reading them. Last night, I finally had a break in my mental block and I wrote for almost two straight hours. At the end, I had two non-fiction pieces and two poems. All in need of editing, but that's more creative writing than I've done in the past four years.

I made some decisions while I was at AWP. Or, if you prefer, confirmations. I'm going to keep reading and writing non-fiction pieces. I am going to send them to various outlets and try to get published. I want to eventually get good enough and have enough of a reputation to put together a small collection, to be published by a small publishing house. I would also like to publish another (non-creative writing) book, but that's a topic I'm a little too nervous to talk about just yet. :) I want to start writing more, creatively and for hire. To that end, I've emailed my editor at GoodNola and ended my self-imposed hiatus. I've put out feelers (and gotten some responses) about doing paid freelancing.

And, I am revamping this blog. I've already purchased a domain name and I'm in the process of moving the blog to Wordpress. Not all of the entries here will be moved there--some are much too personal for the more public face I want for the new blog. I want to start updating at least twice a week and, ideally, daily. I need to be writing more in general if I want to write more creatively. Right now, my words still feel hampered. I have difficulty expressing my more abstract thoughts sometimes and I fall back on words like "kind of" and "just" that really don't express anything. Writing more helps refine that sort of thing. I also want my name out there in a more public way so I have a public face to point to if I pursue publishing.

All of this is a little scary. I've mentioned here before that I hadn't really considered a life outside of academia. That's always been my goal. That goal has to be reconsidered now, not just because of Ph.D programs, not just because of the terrible economy for academics, but because it has slowly dawned on me that teaching English may not be what I want to do with the rest of my life. It isn't what I want to do anymore. There's no set path ahead anymore. So, for now, I'm going to pursue those things that make me happy and see where that takes me.

anticipated pride

Ross: what are you up to tonight?
Me: thesising
Ross: word
how's that going?
Me: ha
I have a stack of shaky research and nothing incredibly solid just yet. but getting there. slowly slowly
the proposal that is. but so much of the proposal is actually the research that must be done for the thesis itself
it has a title now, and chapter descriptions!
I have a feeling finishing this will be the proudest I've ever been of myself. which is a strange thing, anticipated pride. but a good one.

simply perfect

Today, I woke up curled up with Richie on Christie's couch. I spent the next hour alternately reading and napping until Josh woke up and made us coffee in a measuring cup. Christie came home and we all ate eggs and spinach and yogurt and cold leftover veggie stew. Richie commented that my shirt was completely see-through, to which I replied, "Everyone here has seen my tits anyway."

Christie left, I dropped Richie off to do some gathering up at his old house and Josh and I had coffee at Highland. We had a really great talk while I painted my fingernails mustard colored.

Josh left, I picked up Richie, got my car washed, then we went to the Baton Rouge Gallery and browsed the Surrealist art show. I found an artist I was interested in. The guy at the desk told me her work was on Etsy for a quarter of the price being charged in the gallery.

Richie and I took a long stroll around City Park, stopping to climb in old oak trees and take photos of ducks. Right now, we're at Garden District Coffee where I'm drinking Earl Grey and he's napping on a jacket. We're killing time until we go watch the Saints game with friends.

Sometimes, there are days that are so perfect in their simplicity.

twenty-twelve

So this is the new year
And I have no resolutions
For self assigned penance
For problems with easy solutions

At the beginning of 2011, I made a list of all the things that had happened in the previous year. I don't feel such a need to reflect on 2011. It, in the end, wasn't really the happiest year of my life. It was a tough year where I lost people, both to death and irreconcilable differences. I can't even work up the vigor to be pissed off at 2011...I'm just tired and I don't want to think about it. But, with the new year, I did think back to this time last year.

New Year's Eve 2010 was documented here. A person who believes in Fate might find that kind of ushering in to be rather foreboding. I was incredibly sad that night, sadder than I cared to admit or, really, even recognize. I later tried to blame that sadness on someone else, but really, it wasn't anyone's fault. 2010 had been a weird, weird year and I think that the end of that year was too much to deal with at the time.

This NYE was vastly different. I party hopped with friends and Richie, toasted to the New Year at Snake and Jake's, kissed my boyfriend, then went neighborhood wandering. A group of us ended up back at my house, listening to records, talking, cuddling on my couch and enjoying our friendships. It was, in the end, a night of friends and gratitude and delight, a night so full that it lasted until 5:30am. We napped, then Richie and I got up and made gumbo and cookies and French press coffee and everyone gathered in my dining room and ate. I spent the rest of the evening wrapped up with Richie, watching movies.

When part of our group returned to my house at around 4am on NYE night, they asked what we'd been up to and Christie said, "Well, we walked around and then...we stopped." I said, "We stopped. That was our night." Annie stated, "2012: We Stopped." It's been our joking slogan, fitting in so many ways (the end is nigh, friends!), but I also like "2012: We're Full."

One reflection on 2011 that I think is fitting is this one:
I don't really do the whole New Year resolutions thing, because my resolution is always to try and be a better person, but I think part of that is taking care of myself and not getting so lost in other people and what I think they think of me. Not going crazy and losing my shit. Not trying to perpetuate relationships with people who could not give a fuck less.
2010 was a year of massive emotional upheaval. 2011 was about fine tuning my responses to that, about cleaning up my life a little. In that sense, I think I achieved my resolution. I've made some really wonderful connections in 2011, I've filtered out people that don't matter or who don't care, and I've tried to be kind in my interactions with both. I'd argue that sometimes kindness is sternness or knowing when to walk away. I've dealt with some incredibly difficult situations this year and every time, I was surrounded by people who genuinely cared about my well-being. I hope I've been that person to them as well.

So, in that spirit, I don't have a staunch 2012 resolution. The year promises to be a rather drastic one--I'll graduate from Tulane, I'll know whether or not I got into a Ph.D program (and if I did, I may have to move, which will come with it's own set of issues), I have two trips planned for this year (Chicago and San Francisco). I will continue to work, really work, toward being the best friend, daughter, sister, girlfriend, person I can be, for everyone else and for myself. I will try and better myself, try and push myself a little more and not get mired down in the idea that I can't do it, I will make time for fun, and try to sleep more, and love fully. It isn't a penance, it's just the right thing to do.

strive to be happy

I have a quote on my fridge from Max Ehrmann that says:

Be gentle with yourself. 

You are a child of the universe 

no less than the trees and the stars. 

In the noisy confusion of life, 

keep peace in your soul

It's actually a carved up bit from a larger poem, Desiderata. The whole poem is pretty wonderful.

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly, and listen to others,
even to the dull and ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter;
for always there will be
greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career
however humble;
it is a real possession in the
changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you
to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit
to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore, be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.
With all its sham,
drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Break (v.)- separate or cause to separate into pieces as a result of a blow, shock, or strain

Sometimes I forget how it feels to feel broken. The kind of intensity about it that it brings to even the smallest tasks, because there is a simultaneous attempt to escape it and and resoluteness to bear it out by way of completing these simple missions. Turning the shower on to exactly the right heat. Watching a tea bag slowly seep into water. Minute details become exquisitely important, as you try to will your entire self into them to blur the pounding temples, the rising nausea. Everything must be quiet, quiet so your mind will be quiet too, so it will stand very very still, so those shattered pieces won't fall out of the frame.

juxtaposition

I had a really really bad day yesterday.
I went to the funeral on about 4 hours of sleep. I spent most of the time beforehand talking to my cousin Joe, the one who recently lost his wife to cancer. The funeral itself was very very hard, made more so by the preacher who spent the entire time trying to convert people to Christianity and making comments like, "I've never had anyone I know die in...this manner but..." I wanted to stand up and shout, "NO ONE GIVES A FUCK ABOUT YOUR LIFE, YOU SMUG FUCK."
One bright spot was hanging out with my 8 year old cousin, who regaled me with tales of how his sister loves cookies, how he loves cookies, how he does a great dog impression, how the Tigers are going to go all the way unless they lose to Arkansas. At one point, he solemnly looked at me and said, "Mandi, you sure did grow a lot since I saw you." I replied, "Well, no. I'm just wearing heels." I took them off and he said, sagely, "I thought so. You're pretty short. I'm almost as tall as you."
On the way back to New Orleans, the front tire on the truck blew and there wasn't a jack in the truck, so my mom and little brother had to come out and Alex changed the tire. Then the spare was flat. So we filled it but it's leaking air.
I finally make it to Richie's and he went to Bayona to pick up his paycheck so we could go out that night for dinner. But his check was postdated, so no one would cash it and I ended up just giving him the cash to pay. Both of us were so frustrated by that point, that we almost skipped dinner and stayed home drinking.

Instead, we ended up having a really fantastic night. We went to Cochon (Richie's birthday present to me) and I had some prosecco while we waited for a table. The food was absolutely incredible--we split the boucherie plate (cured ham, salami, prosciutto, pate, hogshead cheese, crutons, bread and butter pickles, pickled tomatillos with dijon mustard), followed by a amuse bouche of grilled oysters and a bowl of seafood gumbo Richie ordered. For dinner, I got a seared pork belly on a bed of mashed turnips and garlic green beans, while Richie got the cochon with braised cabbage and turnips and topped with cracklins. We split a dessert of a chocolate ice cream "sandwich' filled with caramel ice cream and topped with chocolate strudel and peanut brittle. I seriously almost cried, the food was so good. Hands down the best meal I've ever eaten.
Afterward, we met up with a couple of friends and had a little coffee and a few beers at Avenue Pub.So, a really wonderful way to end an incredibly shitty day.

Unfortunately, I forgot my camera last night, but here are some pics from birthday celebrating:
Ladies at my Fancy Pants Party
lady p-i-m-p
Jason and me...I'm drinking from a "woozie"--a wine glass with a coozie--and he's drinking from a wine glass made from a Mason Jar
Nancy and I posing with Margaret Atwood books. Nancy is so gorgeous.
Richie and me, wherein I look exceptionally drunk
Nano and me, after lunch with the family. I am hungover.

nourishment

I'm so grateful that Ravi and I had the breakup that we did and that he's still in my life and willing to listen to me lose my fucking mind and be kind to me about it.

Me: I learned something about myself today!
not a good something
Ravi: ?
Me: I think I have a problem of getting incredibly attached to people in part a a way of not having to deal with my own life
Richie and I got in a rather big fight last night (it's too much to explain really but he broke plans with me to go drinking with his coworkers)
and he said to me "you're NOT the center of my life" and I said "I don't want to be" but I think I have a problem with making my loved ones, friends and boyfriends, as a kind of main focus because it distracts me from how stressed and worried I am about my own life
I started crying in the middle of it about not having any idea what was going to happen if I didn't get into a doctoral program or even what would happen if I DID and he was like "wait, where did this come from"
I think that's why I had such an existential crisis when you and I broke up. not just because the break up itself but because I had to deal with that stuff head on
Ravi: makes sense
Me: still really fucking depressed 
I don't know how to have a...casual relationship.
I know how to have a sex only thing. and I know how to have super serious "we're living together" relationship
I'm not good at regular dating. 
I also think I'm a difficult person to date
Ravi: I'm not good at dating in general ;)
i wouldn't say you're difficult to date
Me: no?
Ravi: I mean, you have your moments.  everyone does
but in general no
Me: thanks 
I just feel like I'm a total emotional wreck
I've also been throwing up my food again 
I think I'm going to try and see a counselor
Ravi: on purpose?
Me: yes
Ravi: :/
yea, you probably should
Me: I know
I just....it's just a fucked up way of enacting control on my life, you know?
and also just because I've felt so ugly and awful lately
Ravi: you aren't ugly!
Me: thanks
I just feel like it lately
this is what happens when I get stressed/depressed
I eat like shit, then I start feeling super fat and ugly
then I start vomiting up my food
Ravi: you are beautiful
Me: thank you
AND NOW I'M CRYING
ahahaha
srsly
Ravi: freak :)

shame

I was painting my nails (this color) and it reminded me of a time with the abusive ex.

I must have been about 19, so he would have been 25. We were in the Quarter and browsing a little gothy shop. We went to check out and I picked up a bottle of burgundy nail polish that was in a basket on the counter. He grabbed it from me and said, "That'll look good for when you have your hand wrapped around my dick" as he handed it to the salesguy with a wink.

I still remember how hard I cringed, how embarrassed I was, how fucking ashamed I was. The guy gave me this incredulous look and all I could do was look at the floor.

I think about that moment from time to time when I paint my nails to get dolled up. I stopped wearing "sexy" colors for awhile after that, started to wear matte blacks and grays and greens. Any time I do a conventionally sexy color, I think about that piece of shit and I still feel ashamed, just a little bit. I really hate to say I hate people but I'm as close as I can be to hate with him.

And for the record, I never wore that fucking polish for him or anyone. When Ravi and I were moving out, I found it in my basket of polishes and summarily threw it in the trash.

quarter life crisis (and other dumb catch phrases that are sometimes embarrassingly accurate)

me: my doctor fussed at me today
telling me that I was staying sick like this because I was taking on too much
but I mean...:/
don't have much of a choice
Eric: and he was correct in that fussing
me: she
and I know
but I have a GRE to take, a thesis to write
Eric: whatever
everybody knows that all doctors are male
me: ahhahahaa
right
I'll call you when I get that ph.d
if I don't get into a program after this shit, I'm running away
gonna go live in a field and get high 24/7
Eric:i was about to say you gotta get accepted first
me: actually, I'm full of shit
yeah
I'd probably just stay here and try to find a job I like more
and rethink my entire life. which may not be the worst idea
Eric: im pretty sure that you're going to be accepted to a good program
me:I don't know
people keep saying that
but the thing is...look, I know I'm smart. my professors know I'm smart
I know my subject. but on paper, I don't look that great
Eric: how so?
me: 2.9 undergrad gpa. 3.0 in my last 60 hours. 3.6 in english classes. a masters in a program that a lot of people don't respect and a 3.9 in that, with my only B+ being in an english class.
a probably 1100ish on the GRE
I look solidly average on paper.
even though my professors fucking love me. to the point where I've had them ask me to take their classes
my thesis won't be defended by the time I apply, so I'll be able to say I'm writing it but I don't have it as an example
Eric: nobody expects a masters level thesis in the application for a masters or phd program
my indiana conversation told me that the ideal writing example (of course not for an english related field) was 10 pages long
and that is exactly how long my writing example is!
me: mine is 20
I know no one expects a thesis
I just want to have something that puts me head and shoulders above
Eric: yeah I know that feeling
thus my desire to improve my GRE score
me: yeah
I don't want to take that fucking test again
unless I absolutely have to
Eric: it just sucks that the GRE is the smallest part of my application and but what will take the most time and effort
me: yup
same here. I was reading something where this professor at columbia said he barely looks at GRE scores
and I was like *headdesk*
it pisses me off so fucking badly that LSU wants this stupid english GRE
because the questions are motherfucking useless
Eric:is that the only school your doing the English GRE for?
me: well. yes and no.
in my top 5 list of schools, they are the only one that requires it. so in that sense, yes
but, stanford also requires it and I might apply there just for fun. since I'm already taking it
and another professor, one from LSU, told me that it certainly wouldn't hurt me to submit those scores to other programs if I did okay
Eric: word.
me:I don't know. I'm still questioning this whole fucking decision
a big part of me feels like I'm doing this out of some sense of inertia
like, it's just the next logical going forward step
at least a small part of it is because my parents really want me to do it
a part of it is that I've put in this much time and I want that fucking degree
Eric: yeah I know what you're saying
me: yeah
but, you know, there's this other part of me that realizes how happy I am when I'm learning and pushing myself
I want to do that research and learn and write and do something useful but sometimes I have trouble reconciling the idea that my degree might be useful
to anyone except me
Eric: yeah
me: sorry. didn't mean to go all existential conflict on you
Eric: well i have the same issue
i could go through get a phd in a tiny and shrinking field
or just do the other idea and try to start a private music school in new orleans
me: right
yeah, I mean part of the reason I talk to you about this is because we're in a similar boat
Eric: yeah
i think its worth it to try
if we get into good programs then do it
if not fuck it
me: yeah
you're right
I just keep doing that whole "the money. I like this city. oh look, a boyfriend" thing
Eric: well boyfriend should be the last thing you think of
and shouldn't even be a part of the thought process
me: oh it is
believe me
it is something I isolate to the periphery
I just think, in a larger sense, am I making sacrifices that I will regret in the long run?
will I regret giving up a potentially good relationship? will I regret that 5 years of my life? etc.
Eric: yes but if you don't make the sacrifices you'll regret something that could lead to something even bigger
me: when it was Ravi and me, I was very certain about what I wanted to do. I was sad, but I didn't experience much regret and what regret there was was tempered with that certainty
that is...not present here
Eric: its definitely worth the attempt
me:yeah
that is the stronger pull. I KNOW I'd regret if I didn't apply.

Eric: unrelated funny story. i went to the story last night to buy batteries. Left with $20 of beer.

i know more than i knew before

Today I had a full blown anxiety attack about the GRE and doctoral programs...mostly along the lines of "I haven't studied enough I'm going to blow it and not get into grad school AND THEN MY LIFE WILL BE RUINED OH MY GOD."

But this weekend, I got to (unexpectedly) see a fair amount of friends. I cooked delicious Indian food and baked brownies. I got a TON of reading done. I got to help three friends out in major ways. I had a mini dance party in my kitchen. I got a foot rub. I took naps while it rained. Someone told me I was beautiful. Three different people made an effort to calm me down when I lost my shit. Someone told me they missed me. I helped someone make a big decision. I met a dude from L.A. I ate an amazing homemade breakfast that I didn't cook. I took a long walk after the storm.

Not getting into a Ph.D program can't even touch that.

P.S. Who can be sad with this in their life?:

faux bohemian

me: I'm in a weird spot right now
I keep trying to write about it but I don't think it's there yet
so here are my fragmented thoughts on it (some of which you've already heard)
academia is becoming less and less of an option. a ph.d is becoming less and less appealing. my life plans are up in the air, which is really weird for me because my plan has been my plan for a very long time.
so I've been thinking, kind of abstractly, "what are things I want out of my life?"
the concrete ideas I've come up with are: I want to do work that helps people. whether that manifests as non profit or continued volunteering or teaching...I want to do something that gives to the community.
I want to be as self sufficient as possible. grow my own food. can stuff. make clothes.
I want to have a kid. I don't know if I want to marry. I think I do, but maybe not. I want to write a book
so I'm trying to figure out how to do that, in the long term
christie: you'll get what you want, as long as you know those things are in the picture
there are a million ways to get there
the freedom in that, is one of the greatest feelings i've ever known
me: that's the part I'm trying to figure out
christie: just find something you want to get good at.
get good at it, don't marry it
keep learning stuff. the more self-sufficient as you are, the more you'll find time to learn to do what you love
the less money you need
it's possible
me: yeah
I just want to set down roots
and I think I want to set them down here
I really really want to be in new orleans
I am willing to work with new orleans to get what I want
christie: :)
it sounds beautiful.
me: :)
i hope so
I'm not good at perspective sometimes
I'm trying to be
christie: just keep the picture in your mind and believe in it
it becomes real
and then other people will start to see it
me: yeah. it's the logistics that worry me, you know?
christie: ah, fuck logistics. what logistics!
me: hahaha
christie: while practical, plans don't work out most of the time
that shit shouldn't worry you more than 20%, hehe
yeah, freak out when it gets critical, but there's always a way

me: I think I just need to push myself more than I do
I realized the other day that I don't really have a talent
I'm not a wonderful writer. I can't play an instrument. I can cook okay, but nothing spectacular
and a big part of that is because I convince myself that I can't learn how to do something. even though I can. and I have. and doing so brings me satisfaction.
for someone who is always claiming to hate being stagnant, that's a pretty hypocritical attitude for me to have :)
christie: it goes back to physics, no one is free from gravity, or the laws of motion.
objects at rest tend to stay at rest
it's a constant struggle
to not stay in one place, sitting in old bathwater
me: yeah
christie: cause it's so easy
me: I just fucking hate failing
and it's why I throw myself into grad school with a kind of anxious fervor
part of it "I'M GOING TO DO THIS" and the other part is "I can't take it if I don't"

christie: i think what you want looks pretty damn good
and hey, if you don't get married, we can be two straight women raising a kid and growing a garden
me: hahaah sweet
christie: IM SO DOWN

then they just put down their hands and moved into the sky

and we had barely said hello and it was time/to say goodbye

In two days, it will be my one year anniversary here in New Orleans. I'm lying in bed, wine drunk and sweaty from a combined bike ride and lack of great AC, singing sultry Ani DiFranco songs into the dark and I realized this felt familiar.

I'm still sweaty, tired, happy, and sad.

It still feels right.

full of love.

I've been listening to Fleetwood Mac's "Silver Springs" all day today. It's been a harrowing day. Blair and I broke up. And while I know it's for the best, it's still shitty and sad and I feel guilty and awful about it.

But, after it happened, I took a 9 mile bike ride, circling twice through Audubon park while listening to some Broken Social Scene, which did a lot to put me in a better frame of mind. Speaking of, I got a new bike (did I mention my old one was stolen? Yeah. I hope I have better luck with this one.):

Her name is Heloise :)










So, other than that, it's been an interesting month. I've been drinking far far too much--I threw back a bottle of wine just last night and that's probably the 5th one in a week and a half period, in addition to numerous other drinks. I flew to Chicago to ride with Erin to Mike's wedding in Columbus. The wedding ceremony was absolutely beautiful, a perfect celebration of Mike and Jarod's love and commitment to one another, as well as their quirkiness. There was a blessing by their parents, someone read a Neil Gaiman poem, a gay mens' choir sang and the entire thing was held on a farm. I cried throughout, partly from the beauty and partly from a deep sense of sadness that there are still so many fucking people out there who want to legislate who we're allowed to love and spend the rest of our lives with, who hate people like my beautiful amazing friends purely because of the love they share between one another.

But much as I loved seeing Mike, I have to admit that it was seeing Erin that was really the highlight of my trip. There are some people that you just fall in with, like you never left, no matter how long its been. Erin and I have that kind of friendship. We were driving back to Chicago from Columbus and I mentioned that to her and she said, "You know, I was thinking that too. Like, when Mike told me he was getting married, there was no question that I'd be there. It'd be the same for you. It's just that kind of friendship." On the way back, we detoured into Michigan, because Indiana is the most boring drive ever (except for Missouri) and we ate at a Buffalo Wild Wings, because we have an infatuation with this news story. We hung out late into the night, drinking honey bourbon on her balcony and catching up and just being with her made me feel right minded again. Maybe I just needed a change of scenery or maybe I needed her advice, but I felt so much clearer after we talked.

Female relationships are so strange to me. I get along really well with guys and, for a long time, they were the ones I made lasting friendships with. But I have these really intense female relationships with Erin and Christie and Alyson and it's almost a feeling that goes beyond any definition of friendship, any verbalizing of "best friends". I feel like those two people can see straight through me sometimes, that they can read my mind. And reminding myself of those connections is almost overwhelming. I mostly come away feeling gratitude to have people like them in my life.

Erin and I, pre-rehearsal dinner.

Me, Mike and Erin at the rehearsal dinner.

Me, sloshed after the dinner. Yay, wine.

My favorite image from the wedding.

Obligatory kiss photo!

Mike and me dancing :)