Earthquakes, tornados, and inner turmoil

The weeks are going faster now. Suddenly it's all real, and I'm realizing it's close. My mood is slowly lowering, surely to be lifted in a few hours. Apartments are shifting into shape, and the pressing issue is pressing closer. I need to go faster, I know I do. But there are things holding me back. Even now, I'm hiding from something, even though I know I shouldn't be. How much do I pay to go here? I try to go to all of them, everyday, but so far, this week, I'm down three for the count. And I don't care.
Too bad. Let's wait for the stasis that next week will bring.

$20

We went to the beach and played frisbee. Weekend was good, weird, all of that lovely stuff.

$780 per month. One bedroom.
I'm going to break this housing contract, whether Loyola likes it or not. Deal with it

An American Haunting

She haunts your waking moments, your dreams, your nightmares. You wish she was there to soothe them, even though it's her face you see in your eyes as you are thrown awake by the cold sweat dripping off your face, down your neck, pooling somewhere beneath you. You see her in every woman you pass on the train. Her hair, shining just down the platform; her legs, walking briskly, dancing through the streets; her eyes, behind you in the mirror. Her back, so lovely, in line at the deli. She is the ghost of everything you every wanted in life. She is perfection.

Now if only you could get her, keep her and make her yours. You see her, wearing one of those pretty sundresses, standing at a front door, watching the children play in the yard. You see her cooking, your hands sliding around her waist by way of greeting. You see her pretty, pregnant with your child and glowing. You watch your lives meld together, backward, from growing old to growing close. You watch from the steps of the nursing home, as she is wheeled toward you, arms outstretched. You watch as you sit uncomfortably on a picnic blanket in the middle of that park she loves because you've let her rest her head in your lap for a sunny afternoon nap. As you imagine, you hear her laugh, and it brings you back. Instead you see her every now and then, and pray she glances your way. You wish so desperately to hold her, to have her next to you, but instead she's always too far away. She's laughing, you know, becuase you're watching. Her head is thrown back and her eyes are closed, her mouth open in a wide smile.

You hate her for being so damn happy, don't you?You've never said anything, have you?You sit and wait, debating what words should pass through your lips and become sweet music in the air before they hit her hears and astound her. You practice, you have done it a million times, you have the witty banter planned out in your head.But she walks past, her concentration buried somewhere else, and you've lost your chance.Now what?

One day it's too late. Your eyes are gleaming with gentle anticipation, your mind fresh with imagined conversation. You smell good, you know it. You look good, you hope. You match, at least. And as she walks her normal route, suddenly she does not walk alone. Her fingers are twisted with another's. She's laughing, having the conversation you wish you'd have started months ago. She's smiling; her head is thrown back in delight. She sees you, finally, catches your eye, and smiles.

And that's all you get. Somehow, it's enough to keep her alive in your mind.



****
Apartment hunting began today. We will be able to get a two bedroom (possibly with utilities included for less than $1000 per month.) I have a friend who lives in Wrigleyville, and he pays $755 for a studio no bigger than my dorm room now. Three friends who live in Andersonville pay $750 per person per month to live in an awesome three bedroom, but we wouldn't expect anything that nice. Rogers Park is a relatively lower-priced area.
Lord & Taylor is closing on Michigan Ave. I got a velvet dress, and a cotton one for $20 total. (They were 80% off the lowest ticketed price.) And...we bought a giant Armani ad and a Polo ad for $10 each to put in our apartment/dorm/living space next year.

Heritage

I have two very important announcements to make.
#1. My hair is black again. And it's lovely.

#2. I am German and Danish, predominantly, with some Irish thrown in. I may be a tad bit Native American, but that might just be a rumor. (Lise's great grandmother was Buffalo Bill's sister.....) My father may have been English. But I can tell you with great certainty that I am not African-American.

and thirdly, housing for next year completely screwed us over. Emily and I are living downtown, a half hour commute from the Lake Shore Campus. This, of course, will cost me an extra $2,500 per year. Great....As of today, I am determined to break the housing contract and get an apartment nearer to campus and at a lesser price.

St. Patrick's Day Weekend.

The evening wore on,
after a day of frenzied cleaning,
games, movies, conversation,
drifted on and on.
A knock at the door,
people coming in.
Shaking hands, smiling.
Taking slow sips of drinks we'd conjured
out of freezers and imaginations,
we slowly moved toward madness,
the kind of fire and spirit.
Bottles of all sorts cluttered around
the deck of cards spread out on the table,
and I reached for something,
knocking liquid onto them.
"That's the end of the game,"
the soggy cards cried.
We chatted, chatted, shared, compared, our own lives,
and the states we live in.
They share a different perspective.
Art school.
We smile; we shook hands.
We watched the movie we chose for a game.
Blood, swords, a fierce heroine
seeking revenge.
After a long walk, they left,
and I reached for my phone to call for company.
I drifted off to sleep,
wishing for the sound of his voice,
knowing it couldn't happen.
I woke as the covers were lifted
off of my tired body,
and his voice was suddenly in my ear,
his hands pushed my body
over to the other side.
Nestled into a place neither of us belonged,
I opened my eyes, finally realizing it was him,
after moments of confusion.
He smiled, and I shook myself awake.
I ran out with a question, shaking her awake.
Explicit moments later,
I awoke, as light begged entrace
to our cave.
The cat was curled up at my side,
snuggled into me, as I was him.
We made quite a scene, I thought,
as my body begged
my brain for water and relief.
I realized he had drifted off,
with my blankets over his tired body.
I pulled, waking him,
and he pulled me back toward him.
He tasted of the morning,
but soon of me,
and my own morning
breath drawn in sharply,
my eyes closed for a moment,
feeling softness, warmth, comforted.
I was elected to run
out for breakfast,
bringing food back into the house
that keeps us willing prisoners
day after day.
Movies flashed on the screen,
I slept alone that afternoon,
tired and thinking,
half watching the bowling
championships on tv.
It was comfortable
time spent wasted.
Drawn out were the hours
that seemed as though they had
or could
become days.
But they won't. Shame.

Prose Practice: "Suicide Short"

She lays on the couch in an apartment that doesn't belong to her, and she wonders what she'll do. She left her own a week ago, disillusioned by high hopes of living alone in the city, she's decided to pay a friend to sublet a couch for awhile.
She slides out the front door before anyone is awake; she doesn't want to disturb any sleep with her senseless leaving. The sky is gray, overcast with the threat of rain, yet she walks wearing only her pale sundress and sandals. She shivers, feeling rain hit her hair and shoulders. Her hair hangs down her back, stringy and dull, and as she walks she pushes it back with her hand.
A dog sits in the yard that she left, puzzled by her sudden exit, but all too soon he has forgotten her for the scent of another.
Her walk seems endless; how far was it again? she wonders, picking up the pace. There is a time limit to these things. The day is slipping from her already, the sun threatening to peek out from behind buildings and skyscrapers any minute now.
Back in the darkened apartment, the shades are thrust open and the day is welcomed. The inhabitants move about their routines as if they knew nothing else but the motions. Their eyes are dull.
She noticed that last night, as they were sitting around. Coffee cups lay scattered on the coffee table, among packs of cigarettes and an ashtray or two. Her eyes never left his face, but he didn't notice. He watched the girl in the corner; he watched her every move. And she noticed, feeling her heart fill up with tears that would never come. They sipped hot drinks and made cool conversation, the motions of any social gathering set. As night drifted off, the guests made their exit. They were the last to go. He slipped his hand up to hold her back, finding the natural curve and moving in. She felt her spirit crack, then, and she busied herself in the clean up that she did not want to do.
She lay there, tucked away for the night, and imagined his face. And hers was suddenly wet with hot tears, blown cool by the air. She saw the girl: blond hair falling on a perfect pink cheek, blue eyes bright with laughter, small hands clasping the coffee cups and cookies. She swore she saw the girl's finger extended in some sort of class-traversing motion. She thought of the girl's sweet nature, the way the girl had told her it was "nice to meet you" before stealing him away out the door, the way the girl had thanked her for a lovely evening.
She lay there and she cried until she was clean enough to take the world again, and then she left.
They found the note later, too late, as it always goes. It was written hastily, a scribble on the back of a paper for an old college class.
And as they are reading it, clutching the note in their worried hands, she is running toward her goal. She vaults off the rocks beautifully, opening her arms to her fate. The cold spray hits her face, stinging her eyes, but she keeps them open, watching the gulls and the fish twist together as the waves overtake her fragile body. She floats as though sleeping on air, hair out behind her, dress billowing in the water. They never figured out why, nor how, she did it. They never found her. Still, she floats like the fish she always wanted to be, swimming aimlessly from place to place in her own little sea.

Long awaited update.....

Record setting temperatures. 73 degrees on Tuesday. We spent the day at the beach, walking and sitting on the pier-ish thing that leads to the small lighthouse-esque place. I got my midterms back: 96 in Sociology, 94 in Poetry, 95 in Women in Religion. The only test I may have possibly bombed was Communication Processes, so we'll see. I have a paper due for Communication Practices in a little under two hours, and I'm about two paragraphs in.
We went shopping yesterday. I tried to get a giant pot to cook corned beef and cabbage in, but I was unsuccessful. I bought a pair of pink pumps for $8. They're used and dirty, but they're gorgeous. Emily and I had dinner at Clarke's on Belmont and then took a cab (due to sudden onset of illness) to Ryan's house, where we watched a movie and spent the night. Again. Three in a row, which is fine with me. A little after one, I heard Becky's voice calling down the hall. There was a giant bug in her room, which I proceeded to smash with a Kleenex box while screaming. Since we were both perched on the edge of the bed, it tipped up, sending us sliding down toward the floor (and the bug) and once it was over, we laughed as we found a scratch on the wall from the bed tipping up toward heaven.
This morning, since I am CTA pass-less, I tried to get through the train station with cards that probably have no money on them. The station man heard us talking about Honors Biology, so when I couldn't get through, he held them up and told me we were going to have check them. He peppered his language with made up biology terms, and he absolutely made my day. He found the problem: it was the calcination of the magnetic strip. Ha. And then he let me through.
Settling back into routine. I don't want it to snow, which it will Thursday.

Colorado: Sunday on the way to the Airport

Sunny day in Chicago 3-13-07

There's nothing to say, not right now.

Things are falling apart,

while others are coming together.

Who knows what this year will bring?

I don't.

They all love another,

instead of the one they should.

Colorado

Midnight Escape

By night the city

is a stranger,

so quiet

the windchimes dare not speak

for fear of waking the creatures.

I am one of them,

walking slowly,

slipping out from the shadows

and sliding through the light.

I stop, then,

and wait.

Machines rumble around me.

They turn,

churning closer

and closer

and closer

until I can feel

the tingle of excitement

growing somewhere beneath my feet

and moving across the steel.

I sat and watched the silence,

I sat and heard the dark,

but nowhere in their

melodies

did I find you,

not even after letting

precious time slip through

my cold fingers,

so, burning with anger

I ran back to the light and the noise

and fell asleep

holding onto the soft comforts

of another creature,

cradled in the arms of the growing day

On sunrises

I woke from a deep and untroubled sleep induced by pills to find this outside my window. And then I realized that for any shift of place, there must also be a sort of shift of time. In Colorado, I find that the sunsets arouse in me the love for the place I'll always call home, but here, I find that the sunrises bring me that same simple joy. And so, to my second home, I am finally welcoming you into my heart and mind, and letting you run away with my spirit.

The weather has been warm of late. It's taunting me, daring me to shed my layers and run to the beach, but I fear that if I do, I will only find ice and wind. Instead, cautiously, I tiptoe from my building and let the cool breeze graze my skin and pull my hair back. And I smile but say nothing because I do not wish the warmth to disintegrate. The heat in my room has mysteriously stopped working. I have taken the lid off the thermostat and fiddled with it, so that I might be able to magically make it work again, but to no avail. All of the blankets will be coming in handy soon, or perhaps my blood will have to thicken.

Good news arrived after a rather childish attempt on my part. Since the tattered remains of Alex and my relationship have been blown away by our own actions, I have been slowly reawakening to the thought of someone. And suddenly, here I am, giddy again with delightful thoughts. So with good intentions I am going, and I know he has good intentions, so we shall see where all of this leads. Hopefully...cross my fingers...good luck dance....please. Let me find something worth finding, please.

Room reapplications are out. I got #598, which is way better than Emily's 1092, or something. So we are currently in the process of deciding where we will live next year and how that will happen. Cross you fingers again there as well. I will be needing $200 by next Monday. I know, short notice. Go beg the lenders and pry open your pocketbooks, the housing deposit is due!

Career Day

I still have a job when I come home, hopefully with a raise included. The only downside to this is that I am being transplanted from Colorado Blvd to the store in Highland's Ranch. But, I'll be second in command behind Heidi at that store.
Ah, summer work. I will be able to get 30-4o hours per week, and if I'm making nine or ten dollars, I may end up with a nice amount of money for school next year.

Jerry Springer

I fell asleep to the sound of silence; the smoke detector quiet after twenty minutes of playing around with it. We slept in our clothes, in a borrowed bed, in a house that was not remotely ours, and we slept apart. My foot touched his leg before the sleep set in, and he kicked my legs away and grabbed my waist and told me I was icy and he wasn't sure he could spend the next few hours next to me. I laughed slightly, but not before I realized what I really want. Him.
We went to Jerry Springer this afternoon. We sat in the second row, and I shook Jerry Springer's hand. I'll have to describe it later; it was insane and exhausting. Smutty, a lovely afternoon break from everything.
Afterward, we took a cab from the studio and went out for soup at Chicago's best soup bar. I had Mexican tortilla soup. And I loved it.
And now, with a headache, I am feeling worse for the wear and desperately in need of sleep.

Smut

We have made plans to attend a live taping of the Jerry Springer Show, famous for showcasing the strange on television for millions of viewers. I read a whole article about how daytime television pretends to shelter, but only ends up exploiting the "guests." As of Monday, February 19th at 5:15 pm, I will have been a part of the talk show phenomenon that has left millions of people with lower IQs and expectations.
I'll post pictures soon of the snow. Only a few inches fell, but the lake was beautiful. Still, though, it has not risen above freezing in weeks, and I feel as though when spring comes, my body will need to thaw for days before I reach normal temperature. I've been keeping my room at an unnaturally warm temperature, upwards of 75, and I love it.
I took a study break on Tuesday night and went over to sleep on the couch again with the cat. There's something wonderful about the city of Chicago in the morning, something I have never really appreciated since I do everything in my power to avoid seeing light before noon. Walking back to the train, we pass a busy street. From the relative quiet of the neighborhood, with it's crunching snow and silent houses, to Argyle, with chickens hanging from hooks and the thick smell of Vietnamese food in the air is quite the contradiction, and while waiting for the train, there are times when strains of Mexican music floats up to the tracks. I wish I had words to describe the differences between the definition of "urban" as I know it in Denver and the one that I am experiencing here. The train sways back and forth and comes routinely. The people do too. Cars stop, go, stop, go and honk.
I know nothing about the streets here, so watching the cars is an odd experience for me. On the rare occasion that I am in a car, I find myself in awe of the movement that it has. Funny, because that's one of the things I definitely take for granted at home. Here, however, it is all walking or public transportation, which in itself is an adventure.
I should be reading about the Hindu religion for my next class.

Science of Sleep

With the Super Bowl rapidly approaching, the excitement around Chicago is climbing. That is not true of the temperature, which keeps falling. The high tomorrow is supposed to be 2 degrees, which does not bode well for my walk home. I am currently situated somewhere north of downtown and south of school, off the Argyle stop on the train. After that, it is a ten minute walk to the house that houses the couch I have been calling home for the past couple of nights. I have slept on it no less than three times since meeting its owners a few weeks ago. Emily spends a lot of time here, since two of the three inhabitants are from St. Louis.
I am cold. Today, adventure by car to Chinatown, further south than I had been previously. And then to another apartment, in an unfriendly neighborhood, although it was filled with welcoming individuals.
I am also tired and unsure as to the sudden onset of exhaustion.
Perhaps sleep will come tonight, perhaps I shall have to wait until tomorrow. Ha, no, the big game. Go Bears!

Weekend

As darkness crept toward morning, he asked me what my favorite band was. I smiled, and told him Smashing Pumpkins, and the sound echoed around the quiet room.
I woke up with the impression of my necklace on my arm and the sunlight pounding through the curtains. I turned around, finding the clock on the windowsill, and realized that I hadn't been asleep for nearly long enough.
She came to visit me from Indiana. We had lunch, watched movies, and took a nap before running all over the city once again. She left the next morning, I took her down to the Blue line and to the bus station. Once she was safely gone, I crawled home again.
The wind has been bitter here lately. It's been snowing off and on for a few days now, and it's getting more and more uncomfortable to leave the building. The grocery store calls, though.
I am still tired.

Summer arrangements

Steve raised an interesting question today.
Perhaps I will stay at Loyola for a short summer session, lasting until the end of June, and move in with him for the two months that I will be attending extra classes. That way, he'll have someone to live with for the first part of the summer, and so will I.
I am thinking about doing that, even though it means not spending the entire summer in Denver. I'll get a jump start of classes, because I'll have extra credit hours, and I'll be able to live with him (because I won't be able to next year).
It has been a good week. I'm getting settled into my classes; still buying books and such, but for the most part, keeping busy. I spent the weekend with my friend Emily and her friends, at an apartment not far from campus. We watched movies and ate, but it was comfortable. It snowed.

Oasis

Oasis
in the middle of the hustle
I breathe in,
letting air into my lungs.
And hold it,
while I look around.
There are moving people
swarming back and forth,
to the places
they need to go.
Sky gray and cloudy,
I slide my hand into my pocket
and finding comfort and warmth there,
I leave it
as I walk away.
Going anywhere.
As darkness falls,
I find myself
traversing home
alone.
Surrounded by silence
and neon lights
in the city
where quiet is a rare find.
The train slides by me,
and suddenly I am home.
Again.

poem

"The City"

You said: "I'll go to another country, go to another shore,
find another city better than this one.
Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong
and my heart-like something dead- lies buried.
How long can I let my mind moulder in this place?
Wherever I turn, wherever I look,
I see the black ruins of my life, here,
where I've spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally."

You won't find a new country, won't find another shore.
This city will always pursure you.
You'll walk the same streets, grow old
in the same neighborhoods, turn gray in these same houses.
You'll always end up in this city. Don't hope for things elsewhere:
there's no ship for you, there's no road.
Now that you've wasted your life here, in this small corner,
you've destroyed it everywhere in the world.

-C.P. Cavafy, translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard

Solitude, at last.
It seems that there is much to be done, yet at the moment I cannot bring myself to do any of it. I hope tomorrow brings some other sort of hope and drive to accomplish.