How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love The Blog..

Memory:

I have just returned from a visit to Maine, staying in the saddest house I've ever been in, visiting my brothers, saying goodbye. My friend will not live much longer, and after seeing her I can only be thankful that this is the case. A nightmarish bit of poor planning, directly following my visit left me in an unexpected hostess-with-the-mostess position for a bunch of people and their screaming children. The school owner and I are still having communication problems, and I am barely there, approaching an emotional wasteland. She passed a week later, I was unprepared for how much I was moved, am still moved by this. We clear the parking lot on our way to lunch and he puts his arm around my shoulders. "It will be alright," he says, with a smile in his voice.

I believe him.

fun laughs good time.

I often wonder how it is that I know so many beautiful people.

They seem uncommonly frequent in my image bank of friendly memoirs.

I also wonder quite frequently how it is that I know so many superbly impressive people. Impressive people that are also beautiful.

There's an exotic scientist, a dashing physician, a beautiful painter, a brazen physical trainer, a dapper illustrator, a gorgeous ballerina, a striking artisan, an attractive baker, a lovely metaphysical advisor, a supercute graphic designer, a handsome engineer/musician, a charming philosopher.. the list goes on.. and on as I meet more of these gemlike specimens. All the fixings for a hyper-diverse soap opera.

I've been thinking a lot about what love actually is and I think it might tie in with what beauty is. Love is everywhere when everything is beautiful, usually. Someone who sees beauty everywhere is perhaps much more likely to love many things, or one thing quite intensely. I'm thinking of the world here, snow on a branch, sun on a telephone pole, the clouds and stars at night. These are your typical inanimate stargazer wonders of the world-- the way the subway bricks blur by on the train, the folds of a carelessly placed blanket. It's possible to see god in there sometimes.

Then there are the people. These sentient moving shapes and colors that talk to each other and accomplish great deeds.

You know how there are sounds that you feel more than hear? I learned the other day that there are also things you feel more than see. I may have always known that, but have most recently come up with an accurate sentence to describe the idea.

I'm a bumpkin, really, lucky enough to be pleased by many simple things. I grew up in a place where the door of local mom & pops shop was rigged to a full 2 liter on a pulley in order to get it to close all the way. There was a small arcade in the back room, featuring hot titles like "Street Fighter 2" and "Final Fight" and probably "Pac-Man" or one other having the word "fight" in the title. I daydreamed once of asking my dad to go there and hang out with me. In my imagination it seemed like a good idea- we would play these games, you see. It would have been a wonderful bonding experience, rife with high fives and fist pumps. There would have been a music montage. What actually happened, I think, was he fell asleep reading a book and I probably walked the dog or made a castle out of cards.

I used to make a lot of castles out of cards. I recall making one of particular size and majesty which took me all morning- it had gates and a couple different levels. This particular morning, my mother had got up on my bed to change a lightbulb, and the action of her getting down from her perch caused just the right amount of floor disturbance to collapse the thing. She felt so bad. I felt bad that she felt so bad.

I still feel bad that she felt so bad.

Bad probably isn't the right word. One of those things.

Also on being a bumpkin: I went to New York to visit a friend a few years ago and couldn't help but look up at all the tall buildings. Peter Parker was awfully lucky to have lived in New York instead of say.. Portland. Swinging from the Key Bank to the Time and Temp building would have gotten old fast. So I do the thing where I look up while I'm walking, and turn around sometimes when I go to these kinds of places. Having a spidey sense of my own, I tend not to run into people, so I think it's a fine practice (being at the perfect height to be elbowed in the boob or handbagged in the face will develop these things). I find I do that even in places that don't have tall buildings- one of the advantages of being short I suppose, you always look up. Me and Kurosawa, we look at the sky.

"I realized I was deliberately avoiding the eyes of those who were with me in the room, deliberately refraining from being too much aware of them. One was my wife, the other a man I respected and greatly liked; but both belonged to the world from which, for the moment, mescalin had delivered me-- the world of selves, of time, of moral judgements and utilitarian considerations, the world (and it was this aspect of human life which I wished, above all else, to forget) of self-assertion, of cocksureness, of overvalued words and idolatrously worshipped notions. " - Aldous Huxley, The Doors of Perception

2010: Not at all like Arthur imagined.

I used to ask people if they could shoot something out of their hands what it would be. Like one thing out of one hand and something else out of the other. I got a lot of fun and interesting answers. I found that most of the manager/boss figures of this stage in my life would say something like "lightening" which seemed fitting- likening many of them, not unfairly, to Emperor Palpatine. My last manager, I don't think I asked this question to, I don't think she would have said lightening, though. I'm sure my current manager would say something different. I have decided that he's alright in my book- and later on I may tell you why.

I haven't asked anyone this question in a while, instead eventually inquiring of only my closest acquaintances what superhero power they would have if they were allowed to choose one. Any superhero power. Many people say flight or invisibility. Some vie for the domestic tasks made so simple in many of the Harry Potter books; "Ahlah-kah-make-dinner!!"

I'd probably want to fly.

I'd want to fly or be able to summon, as the magnificent Wile E. Coyote (Genius) is able, signs of varying size and content.

I can tell something weird is up at work when my manager uses my real name. I have earned the nickname (I would say "at no fault of my own" but I can't..) "crazy hands". I am also called, no more frequently, "ninja," both of these by my manager, who, it turns out, doesn't actually suck. Weird. This first name, I'm certain, comes from my herding dog tendencies of getting myself into trouble if I'm not given enough to do. Anyone who has worked with me/spent enough time with me will tend to agree.

Examples:

An envelope full of haikus about unpacking the shipping, poetry made by pocket charms with one or two words on them, drawings of dinosaurs done with my left hand secreted away at my previous job.

Man, made out of small pieces of meat and toothpicks at different previous job.

Pillow, dressed up as my friend Dantarr and left to sit on his couch to greet him when I woke up early to go home after staying the night during a snow storm.

To scale model of the Sphinx made out of sugar cubes at another previous job.

Finally, sometimes, when walking down the street with friends I like to play this game where I kick the persons feet in mid step so they walk funny. Dantarr thwarts these atempts by just slowing his gait and stopping when he suspects this is about to happen. This can be just as fun. Not Shawn gets around it by trying to aggressively step on my feet when I do it, I don't enjoy this. I lost myself once and almost tried it when walking down the street with Mr. F.. seeing my life flash before me, I opted not to.

..I realize that I am not a shining example of maturity.

The second name, "ninja" I'm guessing is because I fancy myself a martial artist sometimes. I'm also pretty good at hide and seek, which he has no real way of knowing. Also, once I made a dashing escape from my fathers basement using their laundry chute (I accidentally locked myself down there in a snow storm with no one home.. ).

So. "Crazy Hands" or "Ninja" is what I answer to at work. Sometimes its the "Crafty Ninja," but not always (it's a craft store, get it? hyuck hyuck.. ).

I heard my name from around the corner one day. My real name.

Squinty eyes.

"Mmmmyess..?"

"If we are still friends? Next Halloween?" he is speaking like a very excited child, "Can we go as Ren? and Stimpy?"

I give him a nod I reserve for "special" occasions.

This job is the "normal person" part of my day.

But what's normal?

Goodness me, could this be Industrial Disease..?

This story is called "How To Turn Forty Five Minutes Into An Eternity" or "How I Got My Ass Handed To Me By A Bunch Of Four Year Olds"

I don't really like using obvious names/activities in this here blog. I find that those about whom I write generally know who they are- sometimes other people know who the third parties are etc.. I feel comfortable using my ex-dogs name I suppose (Lucy).. she's dead.. and she never learned to read so I'm safe there.. either way..

Dramatis Personae:

1: Able: Is able to behave when he wants to.

2: Noise: Appears to enjoy negative attention.

3: Quiet: Usually fairly quiet, well behaved.

4: Games: Plays games- not the good, fun kind.

5: Normal: Well behaved, follows directions, good.

6: Dinosaur: Dinosaur.

Also: "dots" are things which designate the space any single child is supposed to take up. They stand on them. The world without "dots" is a much darker place. I don't like to think about it.

I'm pretty sure this class started with us reaching up and reaching down and counting to some arbitrary number as we did so. I often use this to see what kind of day it's going to be- if they will all count together, if the counting will involve screaming, weird numbers, or strange noises. Noise does this thing where he will continuously count to the wrong number on purpose requiring us to start over - today is no exception. I make him sit out when he does this, because I know he's trying to be an issue- problem is, today Games picked up on it and did the same thing, to cause problems-- so I made him sit out too, then Quiet chimed in, which was strange cause he's usually pretty well behaved.. Dinosaur got all frigged up because now he's confused about the number.. we started over with everyone together, eventually we got there.

Noise has also begun this game where he yells random stuff during the time reserved for yelling "keeyup." This time I told him to stop in a fun way, reminding him what to yell instead of whatever it is he's been saying.. he kept doing it, I told him to sit down, after a while when he was allowed to stand up he was at it again, I told him to sit out in the waiting room he gave me this hurt-puppy look and didn't move, I gestured with enthusiasm towards the exit of the classroom, he eventually went out there to sit for a while before I brought him back in and asked him if he felt as though he was capable of being a part of the class without disrupting it. This cycle was repeated twice, during which time Games had decided he could do the same thing and blame it on Noise, Dinosaur was doing it because he thought that's what he was supposed to do, Quiet had also begun this practice because apparently today he had decided to reflect bad behavior, Normal hadn't said anything at all, and Able wouldn't touch that stuff with a nine foot pole. Able and Noise are buddies, Able knows what Noise is up to, and knows that I know what he's up to. Able knows better.

Able was not without fault, though as it was Ables job to be the leader in the classroom. Except today he had decided to wave his arms around, make weird faces in the mirror, create random noises, and make my life difficult. I reminded him he was supposed to be setting a good example, and he pulled it together for about three seconds.

Noise declared he must use the bathroom. Dinosaur said he did too. Games said he did too. Quiet said he did too. I had them all sit down on their dots, to quietly consider their breathing and sent Noise to the bathroom. He was over there long enough to turn on the light and open the door before coming back to his place, disrupting the barely-there silence of the room using his mouth and lungs. I looked at him, amazed at his ability to entirely destroy my classroom with his false bathroom claim. I took a few risks. Past experience has told me never to ignore a five year old who says they must use the bathroom, but I ignored Games and Quiet, letting Dinosaur go because, though he is a little odd, he has never asked to go during the class, and I don't think he picks up on enough socials cues to actually intend to be a pain in the ass. Games asks to go to the bathroom almost every class though I remind him to go before each time. Quiet has, at this point, proved to me that he was not thinking for himself so I chose not to believe him.

My hold on the class at this point was tenuous at best. Noise was more or less a constant project and I ended up sending him into the waiting room again while I tried to salvage Games, who was running around doing weird things, not paying attention, or being blatantly defiant. Able was still winding his arms around and bending his back to see his face upside down in the mirrors. So much for that good example. Dinosaur was enthusiastic and random, but mostly on the ball, Normal was doing just fine and I could kiss him for it, Quiet was pointing at Games doing weird stuff, Games was pointing back at Quiet saying that he was the one doing weird things. I glanced out to the waiting room to see that Noises parents have his jacket on and are planning on taking him home. I went out to ask him a final time if he is able to join us, if its alright with his parents that he join us, if he can please please just pull it together for 10 more minutes so we can try to end this thing on an upswing and send everyone home happy and nobody drops.

Noise was in the classroom for approximately one minute before he ran full on into Quiet who began to cry. Short of launching over half of these children into the sun, I could see no real solution to the day. I had them sit back down on their dots and the game was now to stay seated and quiet for one minute, every time I had to give any verbal reminders or corrections we had to start over. Games decided to use this as the perfect time to start laughing as though he just couldn't contain himself- I could tell he was play acting. Noise used this as an excuse to make noise and did the same thing. I sent Games out to stop Noise, Noise eventually got it and was quiet, I invited Games back in to finish the class.

Just for funsies I asked down the line what anyone learned today. I got to Noise and I led him through about how he learned not to run around and not pay attention because he could hurt people, I asked Games what he learned and he didn't say anything, I asked Quiet and he shrugged. I began a small speech that I really felt was getting somewhere, hitting home, salvaging something so I could a at least feel like the day wasn't a complete wash. I would have called it "If you guys don't behave I can't teach you anything and it isn't fun for anyone" had I been able to finish it-- but right then a black uniform came out of the office clapping its hands and giving directions.

Around here is when I totally gave up.

It's getting pretty dry around here these days.

goody goody gunships!!

Ima stick with the memories. They are fun, they keep me out of trouble. Sort of.

Next set, in no particular order:

He is giving a lecture in the beginning of the year to the entire freshman class. It is about what he calls "homobovinus." Cow people. I fall in love with his smile, his wisdom, and his wit. I am sitting next to someone I know but I don't talk to anymore. I write these words on the top of my notes: "I could look at his smile all day."

I am sitting among friends in the cafe at the dorms. One of the more serious of our number is probably talking about something to do with russians, vodka, or Quentin Tarantino- he always was at that point. He is probably wearing a Hawaiian shirt. Expressionless, unannounced, I put my knife in his cup of milk.

It is the middle of the night and I am sitting on the hood of his car while he goes to relieve himself on a nearby building. We have had a few drinks and are in problem solving mode: who is spending the night where, for how long and with who. I have written a text message to my good friend Ms. Moonshine much earlier in the evening during the actual 'evening' part of the evening. I consider the reality, which is that we have not spoken in nearly five years, he lives very far away, and last I knew he was a mortician who shaved his eyebrows. As he approaches from afar my phone tweedles.

The message I sent: "Dude."

The message I get back: "Dude, seriously."

The power has been out for two days- my father, my mother and my sister have all been sleeping in the living-room because we have limited candles and flashlights, and limited ways to heat the rest of the house. My father is reading by the light of a large candle, this song and others like it are playing from a small, battery operated, yellow, plastic tape player/radio.

I spend every day after school in my room, drawing the faces of musicians I like.

I am running over the top of a snowbank in the early evening. It is still snowing, and many places closed early in anticipation of the storm. It is only a mile from where I live, but it is dark with low visibility, and there are those monstrous ploughs out- I try to make the trip quick to diminish possibility of tragedy. I compound the risk by, of course, having all black winter wear- the flashiest thing about me at this point is that I haven't been falling through the top crust of the banks. There is only one student in, as he lives closer to the school than I do, I expect this. I don't recall the lesson, only the eerie quiet beauty of the commute.

There is a kid at the day care center I go to who always gives me a hug when I get there. I always try to avoid him, thinking this naked emotional display of his joy over my arrival is a little too intense. There is also a girl there who finds pleasure in slapping me in the face on a pretty routine basis- she is an older sister of a friend of mine so I see her regularly. I don't recall why, but I do remember asking the lady who ran the place (I'm sure it was her house, actually) to tie a bandanna, kamikaze style, around my head sometimes.

I am in front of a small group wearing white uniforms- I am also wearing a white uniform. There are a number of men sitting at a table wearing black uniforms facing us. I am speaking with a peer, but we are pretending to have just met each other. She is displaying to the table full of black uniforms what she knows about "information". I am her dummy "information". I have been told by one of the black uniforms to pretend to be looking for something to relieve stress, but something more interesting than a gym. She asks me what I do for work. In the real world I have just lost my job.

"I'm a.. radio.. personality."

"Oh-ho really? And what are you looking for here?"

"Just something different you know? I don't get to move around a lot at work.. and it can be pretty stressful with the.. sound effects.. "

End set.

So. Been visiting Mr. Blog a lot lately I guess.. .. it's a good way to escape without completely mentally checking out I suppose, but then so is qi gong.

This is a song about Alice.. remember Alice?

We had a conversation the other night about masculine and feminine traits. I told him what I 'like' what I 'look for'. He never really got back to me about his side of things-- but I think he was planning on graphing it. At any rate, at one point I told him it was more important that he is what he is instead of what I 'like' or I 'look for'-- works out fine because he falls primarily in both categories as he is. He asks me what if one day I wake up next to him and he's turned into a turtle, then what would happen? Then he could say "I told you so." Or, he reminds, more like "IIIIII tooooold yoooouuuu soooooooo."

A set of memories, in no particular order:

I am very young, sitting on the right side of the last third of a yellow bus that is waiting to pull away from the school. I am looking out the window, and for some reason I have to constantly remind myself that I am a young girl, sitting on the right side of a school bus, looking out the window. "I am me." I repeat to myself, "I am me."

It is Tuesday. My dad is fixing dinner and I am reading a trashy vampire book. We are listening to Jonatha Brooke Live. We later talk about an old radio drama he has been listening to on the quiet nights in his apartment called Moon Over Morocco. We talk about love, people, relationships, cholesterol, and movies.

My father and I are walking the dog out in the woods near our house has has picked up a branch to use as a walking stick, I am slightly behind them, watching them crest a hill. I don't recall why I wanted to remember this moment, but I do remember telling myself never to forget it- so far I haven't.

I remember this song.

I am looking out the window of what would become my room. The walls are pink and there are taxidermied animal heads on the floor near the wall as you come in. I can hear my mothers voice through the door as she talks to the realtor. She enters and asks me what I think of the place, I point out the window to a tree that sits in the middle of the yard- I indicate to her that I like it. I would later take a year to strip the wallpaper using vinegar and hot water, line the room with blue Christmas lights, and occasionally leave the window open so I could sit in it and watch the snow fall in front of that tree.

My parents used to send my sister and I to bed when they would watch "grown up" movies. I had come downstairs to get a drink of water and seized the opportunity to lurk a tad and possibly catch a glimpse of what the big friggin' deal was. They were watching what I would later learn was Conan the Barbarian, and were at a part that involved a vat of water and some snakes. Forgetting myself I ask, to no one in particular, "Why don't they just step on them?" Cover blown, I am escorted back to bed. My mother related this tale to me not too long ago from her own point of view (seems that it stayed with both of us), explained that what I had read as incandescent rage on their part was actually that I had, unwittingly, scared the ever loving christ out of them. I suppose I can see that, small, groggy, fuzzy-headed-but-practical-girl in nightgown, backlit by dim-kitchen-light asking unexpected questions. Terrifying. Sure.

We are driving around the back roads of Winterport, the three of us, after watching Wayne's World at a friends party, after playing hide and seek until the small hours. The hours are getting slightly larger, I have to get to Bangor to meet my grandparents for breakfast. We are listening to this song, very loud. As much as I like Rage, I think of it ironically at the time. I think they would too.

I have made an elaborate robot out of legos. I bring it upstairs for reasons unknown, I drop it before reaching the top, it flies apart on the way down and I yell "Shit!". Upset not only about my destroyed masterpiece, but also about how angry my mother is about hearing me swear passionately at volume at such a young age, I become inconsolable.

It is springtime and I am sitting on the concrete steps at my grandparents house with my sister. We are playing with a neighbors cat. We have named it 'Tiger'.

I am sitting on a concrete wall under a bus stop on Mass. Ave, waiting for the 77. It is early afternoon and I have a long black bag leaned up against the wall next to me, it is full of weapons I may be tested on later that evening. This is playing in my headphones as I have just arranged all of my 90s Billboard hits into something that qualifies as listenable and nostalgic. One of my managers at the paper store is standing, looking at me, and probably has been for a few minutes-- I had been lost in the light and the music. We exchange greetings, she leaves and I continue to wait for the bus.

End set.

One holiday comes and goes. I wonder if my increased moodiness has to do with the season, or the circumstances. I only hope that something remains stable enough for me to cross it off the list of probable culprits. Maybe by springtime I'll have a clearer picture. Maybe not.

I ask him if he thinks I'm thinking about this too much.. he gives me a hug and tells me she needs someone to think of her.

kung fu is difficult.. but it isn't hard..

Dennis, my old manager, used to ask me what I wanted to do during the day when given a list of things that needed to get done. Sometimes the synapses wouldn't fire correctly and I'd take a little too long to answer her. She would ask me at that point if I wanted an easier question. I miss that.

When I answer the phone at work I usually have to take a few moments to make sure the right thing will come out of my mouth. This is about as close as I can come to describing about how tricky it is to tell exactly what I'm doing these days. Sometimes I'm kind of like that guy in that movie who doesn't have any short term memory.. except I don't have "find him and kill him" tattooed on my chest.

Sometimes I like to think I'm good at things that I'm really not. Mostly I find I'm a pretty honest-with-myself type gal. For example I've never once told myself I'm good at tennis, I cannot, no matter how hard I've tried, learn how to play poker, and I would never subject anyone to really having to listen to me sing. Sometimes I think I'm good at things that I'm not, like picking out movies that my sister likes, grocery shopping, and writing e-mails.

For example I sent out a distress-beacon of a one liner a week or two ago that completely backfired. Backfired, sideways fired, up fired, down fired.. fire all over the place.

And still I charge forward.

Sent out another one the other day, in fact.. not as bad, the results, but still lives as evidence of my foolishness.

Though heres the thing:

The person reading the e-mail can really put whatever spin they want on the thing, depending on the mood they're in, what they expect from the situation, or who they know the person writing it to be.

For example the e-mail in question could read:

"Hello. How are you? I noticed it was raining outside, did you get the umbrella I dropped off yesterday? X Smooches!"

Consider it could be an exchange between people who like each other a lot. People concerned for the others state of dryness and comfort. People who would say things like "smooches" to one another.

Now consider it is an exchange between people who can't stand each other- people who would leave an umbrella covered in dog pooh on the others doorstep after the recent passing of their family dog, Smooches.

I'm bad at e-mail. I get it.

My friend Mr. Toast said that e-mail and other forms of electrical communication were so easy because usually when writing them, you are entirely alone. I can appreciate that, the security that comes with that is appealing, for sure. That and for a long time I was filled with a debilitating anxiety when faced with the task of calling certain someones-- e-mail doesn't usually have that effect. These days I simply find myself in a position where I can't get many words in. It's tricky to interrupt an e-mail. Though it is possible to combat the entire thing and just not read it.

That's just not playing fair, says I.

I think sometimes that I may be witnessing what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. This usually only when things are sensitive, which they have been for a few days (weeks?) now.. one thing after another, and I own it just as much as anyone.

Speaking of things I'm bad at, I went grocery shopping today. I remember once, looking down into the basket some years ago and seeing the following items: carrots, peanut butter, jell-o, frozen peas, seaweed and muffin mix.

... I think I might still have the muffin mix.. somewhere..

I just deleted a big long thing about groceries, what I buy mostly, and what I do or do not do at the grocery store. Possibly that I even deleted that small tirade should tell me I have nothing to say and I should go away.. and I probably will..

I had a conversation the other day that completely blew my mind. Like, blew it. All over the place. Like one of those sneezes that renders the blower temporarily useless 'cause they have to run and find a tissue. Blown.