Study Break

In the midst of writing about the difference between injunctions and specific performance remedies, I was struck by "Stay (Just a Little Bit More)" by The Dø. Word.

Becoming Myself

I have my books. Someone is waiting to hear what I have to say- waiting to grade my efforts. The expectation and pressure feels so good.

I really can't believe how great my life is right now. I'm involved in an academic program that is positioning me to spring into a fulfilling career. I have such a good feeling about this venture. I'll likely sleep with my text books for the next year...well, at least on the nights that I- doesn't stay over.

I'm dating a man who proves to be more caring, positive, supportive, attentive, and fun with each passing day. Whenever we spend time together, my face invariably develops a lingering burn due to prolonged fits of laughter. His humor is smart and goofy. Smart... sigh, sigh, sigh...he is so smart. And, he appreciates my nerdy-ness.

We weren't able to meet for dinner tonight because he had class so we opted for a Skype session. Toward the end, I pulled out my Gollum voice and enacted a Gollum-esque performance. He loved it. It's nice to know that I can be a dork one minute with I- and have a serious conversation about education, art or social issues the next.

I feel like the timing of this relationship was perfect. We've been dating for quite a while, but it's not as rushed as past relationships have been for me. I feel so fortunate to have this man in my life.

As far as my home situation goes: I don't live in the safest place, but it's empowering to live in a home that belongs to me and only me. I control the cleanliness, company, and noise (well, unless my fuck-face neighbors are being loud cuntbuckets- sorry, my profane fingers got carried away). It's great to know that I can support myself in a home of my own. It's a place where I will be studying and preparing for my future and one in which I'll be cultivating a significant relationship. I have a feeling that this year will be one of the best.

When Yer Twenty...Six

I tend to forget about this blog when I'm happy. That's not to say that I'm not happy right now. On the contrary, I am really stinking happy. I wish I were more inclined to write regardless of my circumstances. I suppose that if feels like I'm bragging, in a way, when I celebrate my life in this context. Why does it feel more acceptable or less obnoxious to write something moody and depressed? (More acceptable to whom?) Why does happiness so often come across as less genuine, less interesting than despondency? Is this musing a symptom of being an English major?

I'm really happy right now and I choose to admit my contentedness (mixed with a healthy dose of anxiety and excitement). I am going to be a student again. I will have a pile of demanding books (I'm salivating at the thought- seriously). The keyboard will be the crack to my fingertips, and my dark circles will claim more territory. I need this. I was more uncertain that I'd be accepted into this program than I was when I applied to my undergraduate institution. The fact that I'm changing the trajectory of my life is difficult to grasp, but then again, what of the future isn't?

To Be Alone With...Me

1. Wake up. The banality of such an effort affords it no mention in this blog. Erase it from your memory.

2. Cuddle with my love. "Hello, hello," I whisper. "Qu'est-ce que c'est? Quieres comida?" We're a bilingual household.

3. Read for longer than I anticipate. Pull/peel myself away.

4. "The Beatles Yesterday and Today" on vinyl while scrubbing dishes. (I find this oddly fulfilling and fun).

5. Return to book.

6. Skype with the love of my life. How refreshing it was to be in the presence of one who fully knows and understands me, even if it relied upon signals, satellites and wires. Lately, I have been bumping up against the fact that I am difficult to read. It was nice to not have to worry about that today. Effortless. Home.

7. Go for my longest run thus far atop layers of crisp autumn leaves and under a lovely grey sky.

8. High from a run, I produce my best "entrance letter" yet. It should be complete by tomorrow.

9. Read, again. It's soooo good! Thanks for lending it to me, I-!

10. Work on Halloween crafts. Paint, glitter, glue, what fun!!!

11. Home-made onion rings. What? I ran today and my pants are falling off of me, anyway. Don't judge.

12. Watch documentary about crows. Do it.

13. You guessed it. Read.

Living alone, if one knows how to do it properly, is not a bad thing. I happen to love it.

No More Ms. Nice Gal

I've have found myself in a place, again, where I'm thinking I'm far too passive to be "successful." About a year ago, I was at a barbecue which was actually a reunion for men and women who had attended Evergreen twenty years ago. I was a crasher. I was talking to a drunk and possibly stoned attorney and when I mentioned that I was thinking of going to law school, he said, "You're not enough of a bitch to be a lawyer. You're way too nice." At the time, I was disappointed and slightly annoyed, but I decided that he was right. I like to argue, but only under a very secure safety canopy with intimate company (or perhaps with fellow drunkards, but who wants to admit that...?). Conditions must be perfect. Further, I hate being the center of attention. Being an attorney isn't the proper platform for me. Then, someone suggested that I look into becoming a paralegal.

For the past year, I've been saying that "I'm thinking of going to school to earn a paralegal certificate." It's been churning for far too long and I'm tired of lazily entertaining the idea. I'm ready to actually do it. I am trying to dismiss my deep-rotted tendencies to doubt and discourage myself. Part of me thinks this flaw of mine is genetic and if I were to take on the right attitude that I could trump it. Consciousness/will versus DNA. Another part of me thinks that I, as a mostly passive and empathetic person, don't really fit into a work world where power and aplomb are essentially required. Passivity is not an attribute that I value, but empathy is. I hope that there is a way I can reconcile my empathetic nature with a career that demands I have tough skin.

While at dinner last night, I- and I were talking about this and he was telling me that he recently heard a piece about the idea of "stepping over/on people to get ahead." He said something along the lines of, you're always going to have to take from someone else or step over someone to get what you want and be successful. "But why? That's depressing," I responded. "What do you mean 'Why?' That's just how it has to work. Here's twenty dollars. Either you get it or someone else does." "Why can't I split it?" "Because you can't. That's not an option. It's either you or someone else walks away with the twenty bucks." So now I'm left to wonder, which person am I/do I want to be and is there a respectful and kind way to be the one to walk away with the twenty dollars?

Despite my ethical ruminations, I called UW today and am on the road to a new career. I am hoping that I'll find answers along the way. That's usually how it works.

Aye me!

Goodness me! Where did this come from? I didn't want this, but now I'm in. Way in. My head and heart are driving me nuts. There she goes again, diving in head first. Deep, deep, deep. I'm pretty sure I know how this ends. Fatalistic much? Stop thinking, stop thinking! How? Whiskey? Gym? Other men? French films? None of it works.

You and your Seinfeld impressions, poetry, and stupid wonderful brilliant brain are more than I can take. It's making a mess of me.

So much sighing...

Temper that Temper!

Yesterday, I woke up early as I usually do these days. I was feeling accomplished and relieved that all of my duties as an event organizer were complete. Sure, things could have been done different, better, but I knew that I had worked really hard on a project that meant a lot to me and I had done the best job I could with the tools and time I had been given. My day was structured around pulling the final strings together: go into the office for data entry training and to organize all materials; pick up the P.A. system; set up at the venue; hold the event. At 8:00 A.M., K- (who has been pretty much hands off of this project) texted me that he thought we should call the whole thing off. Poof! Say good-bye to everything you poured yourself into for the past month. I was furious, boiling. Muscles, blood, skin, mind- all of it became tense, angry, PISSED. Fortunately, S- stayed the night and I was able to vent for a while, but it wasn't enough to extinguish the anger I was feeling.

For the first time in a while, I needed to go to the gym. I needed to punch something, throw something other than my phone which didn't do anything wrong, poor thing. After S- left, I received a call from a friend who invited me over to walk the lake. We walked, I fumed and complained and as the morning gloom burned off, so did a bit of my steam. Afterward, I felt better and we sat on the porch, drank coffee, snacked and enjoyed the summer breeze and the comfort of safe company. As our time together was winding down, E- called and asked if I wanted to play tennis.

Universe? You must be listening.

We played for a couple of hours and my remaining frustrations dissipated. Not to brag...okay, I'm going to brag... We played thirteen games and I won ten. E- wouldn't admit that I'm better than him. He's an ass, really, but I am pretty proud that I kicked his. Winning is something I am a pretty big fan of, but more than that, playing tennis- hitting the shit out of those balls- was quality therapy. I took a few overzealous plows at the ball, losing one to Cherry, but my word did it feel good!

The connection between my mind and body was extreme and indisputable yesterday. The anger was both mental and physical. Of course it was, but when it's as apparent as it was yesterday, I find the connection so interesting. Part of me wanted to stay home, feel sorry for myself and complain to the empty spaces. But no, four miles and an hour and a half of tennis later, my body and mind were able to let go. I'm still angry, but I was able to take control of my emotions, or rather the way in which I was internalizing them. I was able to channel my negative energy and grievances into healthy activities that remedied the situation far better than any amount of wallowing would have.

I was at a bookstore several years ago and happened upon one of the most dismal children's books in existence. The final page said something along the lines of "...and some days end the same way they started." The illustration showed a slight, emo-looking child, shoulders slumped, forehead parallel to the moldy, dusty floorboards, looking empty and depressed to the 100th degree. I could have stayed home yesterday and festered in my fury. If I had, I would have ended the day just as I had started it. I'm lucky to have people in my life who don't allow me to do that.