Saturday, May 26, 2007
Back to work....
Ah, the joys of the 40 hour work week. I have one day off a week, usually Wednesday, and I have been closing most nights. The store out in Highlands Ranch is busier than the one on Colorado Blvd, and the people there are much ruder and expectant than the ones I'm used to. The other employees are not quite what I expected, and I am unsure that I will ever fit in with them. I'm way too much of a free spirit for that. I answer to Heidi, she's the manager there now, and she took me from Colorado Blvd with her. They do everything backward, and it annoys me. The assistant manager has a giant ass (I had to say it...it's true. HUGE) and complains when the store gets busy. It's Dairy Queen, of course it's going to get busy. You have to learn to love the rush, the adrenaline pumping through your veins, the quick pace. It's what it's all about. She doesn't do anything. I am 19 and doing all of the work. I took three orders to her one, and was making things cleaner than she was. That's weird, because my nickname is the Tornado and I am still managing to be cleaner than her. Ahhhh....I get called in early, and then I have to stay late. I stayed there until 12:30 tonight. Ridiculous.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Wow, it's been a crazy couple of weeks. Mom keeps bugging me to blog, so I guess I'll tell you about the drive out of Chicago to St. Louis. That was fun. It's a relatively short drive; we stopped a couple of times to just mess around and get snacks. Five hours. All of my stuff fit, even though I did have to ditch some non-essentials. St. Louis is nice. Emily lives in a suburb called Chesterfield. I met all of her friends and hung out with them.
Now I'm back here, hanging out. Saw the girls last night.
Today I am nineteen.
I'll edit this later.
Now I'm back here, hanging out. Saw the girls last night.
Today I am nineteen.
I'll edit this later.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Argyle
It's a full house, here. Two people on the couch, two in one of the bedrooms, and one in each of the other two. There are computers littered throughout the living room, laptops on tables, a desktop on the coffee table. Blankets and pillows create carpet, perfect for tripping on. The hookahs (both of them) sit on the coffee table between the still full cups of rum and dr. pepper that lay forgotten because of a midnight power outtage. DVDs, cameras, spoons, a bottle of perfume...all of these have made their way into the setting that is this house. The girls have moved in now, their stuff lines the narrow hallway, pours out of an alcove, crowds the bathtub and the sinks. He has a little closet, for his one bag, while they take up half the house with theirs. The doors are always opening and shutting, dishes are piling up in the sink. Macaroni and chicken noodle soup are the meals of choice here, washed down with potent beverages served in dirty mugs or plastic cups. We're living at the edge of humanity at the moment. An impromptu gathering last night led to most of this commotion. People in and out, in and out, talking, laughing. It was awkward. His ex-girlfriend was there. I played nice and did a very good job. He woke up on the other side of the floor this morning, and kissed me on the cheek when getting out of bed this morning, a nice way to start the day. I haven't cleaned. I know I should have. Instead, I stood on the porch in last night's shirt and a pair of boxers, hair wild and tangled, makeup smeared, and inhaled the fresh air while swallowing Excedrin and a glass of water. Tuna fish sandwhiches are horrible hangover food. I don't know whose idea that was. The amount of chaos creates a fun atmosphere, last night I spilled coffee into the stove and had to clean it up with a bath towel that we found under the kitchen table. The hamper sits next to the kitchen chairs, the table piled with a tv, some empty packs, soda, a bottle or two, coffee cups, mail. No one sits there. That's just the way it is.
I have been driving Becky's car through Chicago. It's a wonderful feeling, driving around, knowing where I am, driving down Lake Shore Drive taking the boys to class and then driving back up to Loyola to pick up Emily. I love it here, and I am dreading my birthday. I don't want this little episode to end. Next year, everything will be different, and for now, I am completely comfortable. Why does it have to end in a few days? The boys leave Friday, and so does Emily. Becky and I leave Sunday.
I still don't know how I'm going to get my stuff home. Stressssss.......but it's already alright, I have a steady remedy; we're doing the same exact thing tonight.
I have been driving Becky's car through Chicago. It's a wonderful feeling, driving around, knowing where I am, driving down Lake Shore Drive taking the boys to class and then driving back up to Loyola to pick up Emily. I love it here, and I am dreading my birthday. I don't want this little episode to end. Next year, everything will be different, and for now, I am completely comfortable. Why does it have to end in a few days? The boys leave Friday, and so does Emily. Becky and I leave Sunday.
I still don't know how I'm going to get my stuff home. Stressssss.......but it's already alright, I have a steady remedy; we're doing the same exact thing tonight.
Friday, May 04, 2007
plans
For Mom, who counts the days until I come home:
Leaving Chicago the 13th with Becky.
We are going to try and fit all of my stuff into Emily's friend's car, who is coming to pick Emily up a couple of days before. In the mean time, I will ship as much stuff as I can home.
From Chicago, we are driving to St. Louis, and I will remain there with Emily until the afternoon of the 17th when I will fly home to Denver.
I start work the 19th.
And suddenly, summer is over.
Leaving Chicago the 13th with Becky.
We are going to try and fit all of my stuff into Emily's friend's car, who is coming to pick Emily up a couple of days before. In the mean time, I will ship as much stuff as I can home.
From Chicago, we are driving to St. Louis, and I will remain there with Emily until the afternoon of the 17th when I will fly home to Denver.
I start work the 19th.
And suddenly, summer is over.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Act Two, Scene Saturday
The lights go down, the audience hushes singularly, as though their murmurs were a group effort and not individual conversation. Soft music pipes from somewhere behind, some sort of jazz, fast paced yet slow enough to keep the moment. The lucky patrons in the front row can smell the faintest hint of cigarette smoke floating behind the curtain. It opens, then, when no one is expecting it, flung back with a great flourish. The light comes from somewhere above the stage, no shadows, only the four players gathered around the little coffee table and on it, the board.
One of them rolls, haphazardly, her eyes twinkling mischievious as she stares in his direction. The hotels are upset by her dice, flying everywhere, causing the blond one to yell in frustration. It's girls against boys, and the tension in the room is obvious. Back and forth, the money changes hands, back and forth. They roll, move their little pieces down the allotted number of spaces, letting fate choose for them. He's unlucky, they've decided, every roll of his brings the impending disaster of financial ruin closer and closer to their team. Blue eyes find his brown, and she giggles, knowing he knows there's no way out. She shifts, the floor suddenly too uncomfortable for her, sliding her foot under his leg and letting it rest there, as if she doesn't feel his weight on it. She waits, taking a sip of her poison while the brunette rolls. His hand finds her ankle, then slides up, silent acknowledgement of her move. There is more than one game going on at this little table, and they are lucky players, testing strategy versus fate. This continues for some time, the rolling, the yells, the agony, the joy as the girls finally begin to take the upper hand. Their properties are all bedecked with hotels, while the unlucky boys have been forced to mortgage most of theirs. When they concede, the girls high five and hug, pulling their piled money closer to them to take the final count. There is no uneasy silence, only the soft moans of defeat and the ecstatic squealing of girls who came back to take it. She's lucky, and she knows it, sitting there, slididng her foot up his leg.
The fan is on, the windows open, so the three of them, two pretty girls and the unlucky man, find themselves sitting out in the perfect city night. There are no stars, obviously, city living takes the wonderful away, but the sounds of distant sirens and cars bring another feeling to the situation. They are comfortable, surrounded by darkness on their well-lit porch. They wait, and then throw the remains as far over the fence as they can, hoping they'll land in the street and be forgotten until morning. The brunette with the brown eyes makes her excuses, blaming the need for sleep, and goes inside. The two of them, both dark haired, somewhere between black and brown, sit there a minute longer, lingering over nothing.
She takes her spot, perching on the couch under piles of blankets and stacks of pillows. He joins her, unexpectedly, but to her delight and hopefully his. They put in the movie they fell asleep to the night before, and wait as the blond one checks his email and goes to sleep. They lay there, on the couch, under the blankets, and let their hands find each other. He puts his hand on her shoulder, rubbing gently, as she puts hers on his stomach, unmoving but comfortable. And when he is finally gone, and they hear the door down the hall close, he leans in toward her face and kisses her. Her eyes close, and for the next few minutes, or hours, they make the soft advances they are allowed. Just kissing, only eyes and ears and lips and necks, hands find backs and shoulders and arms and finally other hands, and she opens her eyes and stares into his. They laugh, there's something funny now, a giggle here, a whispered word in his ear.
And they fall asleep content.
As his slow snore fills the little liviing room, the jazz music that had faded after the Monopoly game slowly starts to overtake their breathing, and the curtain drops.
One of them rolls, haphazardly, her eyes twinkling mischievious as she stares in his direction. The hotels are upset by her dice, flying everywhere, causing the blond one to yell in frustration. It's girls against boys, and the tension in the room is obvious. Back and forth, the money changes hands, back and forth. They roll, move their little pieces down the allotted number of spaces, letting fate choose for them. He's unlucky, they've decided, every roll of his brings the impending disaster of financial ruin closer and closer to their team. Blue eyes find his brown, and she giggles, knowing he knows there's no way out. She shifts, the floor suddenly too uncomfortable for her, sliding her foot under his leg and letting it rest there, as if she doesn't feel his weight on it. She waits, taking a sip of her poison while the brunette rolls. His hand finds her ankle, then slides up, silent acknowledgement of her move. There is more than one game going on at this little table, and they are lucky players, testing strategy versus fate. This continues for some time, the rolling, the yells, the agony, the joy as the girls finally begin to take the upper hand. Their properties are all bedecked with hotels, while the unlucky boys have been forced to mortgage most of theirs. When they concede, the girls high five and hug, pulling their piled money closer to them to take the final count. There is no uneasy silence, only the soft moans of defeat and the ecstatic squealing of girls who came back to take it. She's lucky, and she knows it, sitting there, slididng her foot up his leg.
The fan is on, the windows open, so the three of them, two pretty girls and the unlucky man, find themselves sitting out in the perfect city night. There are no stars, obviously, city living takes the wonderful away, but the sounds of distant sirens and cars bring another feeling to the situation. They are comfortable, surrounded by darkness on their well-lit porch. They wait, and then throw the remains as far over the fence as they can, hoping they'll land in the street and be forgotten until morning. The brunette with the brown eyes makes her excuses, blaming the need for sleep, and goes inside. The two of them, both dark haired, somewhere between black and brown, sit there a minute longer, lingering over nothing.
She takes her spot, perching on the couch under piles of blankets and stacks of pillows. He joins her, unexpectedly, but to her delight and hopefully his. They put in the movie they fell asleep to the night before, and wait as the blond one checks his email and goes to sleep. They lay there, on the couch, under the blankets, and let their hands find each other. He puts his hand on her shoulder, rubbing gently, as she puts hers on his stomach, unmoving but comfortable. And when he is finally gone, and they hear the door down the hall close, he leans in toward her face and kisses her. Her eyes close, and for the next few minutes, or hours, they make the soft advances they are allowed. Just kissing, only eyes and ears and lips and necks, hands find backs and shoulders and arms and finally other hands, and she opens her eyes and stares into his. They laugh, there's something funny now, a giggle here, a whispered word in his ear.
And they fall asleep content.
As his slow snore fills the little liviing room, the jazz music that had faded after the Monopoly game slowly starts to overtake their breathing, and the curtain drops.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Friday.
We were sitting in the bathroom, I perched on the bathtub and him on the sink when he told me and I felt my heart sink. News like this shouldn't ever be spoken aloud. We walked around the rest of day, not altogether separate, with it hanging over us. Our minds clouded, we left for different places with the same thoughts, and as the night passed, it grew and grew until it lurked behind me whenever I moved. I slept soundly, under the blanket of a familiar stranger, his pillow holding my head as I slept. I didn't think to wonder why I could turn over and not feel constricted, but instead I wondered if he missed his pillow or would mind that I had taken that spot.
I woke, folded things, arranged them as they were before the board games had progressed, and rushed back to school, to shower, to train. Backward, music drifting through my ears, I sat as the metal cage pulled me toward the city. It wasn't even noon, yet my day had ended long before it began. It ended yesterday, in that little bathroom in that little room in that building. I waited, noting that the drizzle was perfect atmosphere for a somber day such as this. I waited, watching faces. Sometimes, they'd turn back, letting their eyes hold my glance as they walked away, but I did not smile, I did not break the eye contact. I did not care.
He came through the ominous turnstiles, the long walk began. I followed behind, no idea where we were going. Street, street, light, left, right, straight. Walk. Walk. Walk. Finally, I saw it and he explained. We went into the elevator, silent, not daring to say what both of us were thinking.
I sat in a chair, reading shallow fashion magazines, while I waited, and when he came out, I looked up, expecting tears and defeat but seeing instead only past him as he pulled my hand and told me we were getting lunch.
The minute the door closed behind us, we hugged, the kind of hug you see in movies. He picked me up off my feet and we walked like that, embracing, back to the elevator. His smile told me everything, and suddenly the weight was gone. I held him down the elevator, in the street. And we smiled and laughed, and joy was back again.
He bought me lunch, at the favorite diner, under an el station. I had a whole grain waffle and some fresh fruit.
I made it back in time for class.
Here I am, carrying things out.
Today was the last lecture of my freshman year of college. Mom cried when I texted her from class. She's been missing me lately for some reason. It's probably because this is the point where I realize that I'm yearning to stay away. Not, of course, because I don't want to go home, but because I'm finally happy, comfortable, enjoying this city for what it is, and suddenly I'm going to have to go back to rules. I'm used to coming and going as I please, whenever, no matter the time. I'm used to the lifestyle that goes along with this place.
I miss you too Mom. Don't worry. I talk about you all the time and Emily can't wait to me you. Steve thinks he'll be able to stop into Denver, and maybe you can meet him then. I miss our house and all the noise, even though there's plenty of noise in the apartment for Mike and I put together and more. I miss the chaos, the clutter (even though it's actually way worse at the apartment....), and the fact that no one else has what we have. So don't think I've forgotten anything. I miss the smell of our house, my bathtub, my big bed, my green bean, the bright yellow kitchen table, searching for food in cupboards (although I do that here an awful lot too), you and me time. Blah blah blah. Sentimental crap, I know. But I'm trying to make you feel better, because today is going to be a good day and an even better night!!!!!
I'm 1/4 of the way through college! (undergrad, at least!) and i'm going to celebrate. hard.
I woke, folded things, arranged them as they were before the board games had progressed, and rushed back to school, to shower, to train. Backward, music drifting through my ears, I sat as the metal cage pulled me toward the city. It wasn't even noon, yet my day had ended long before it began. It ended yesterday, in that little bathroom in that little room in that building. I waited, noting that the drizzle was perfect atmosphere for a somber day such as this. I waited, watching faces. Sometimes, they'd turn back, letting their eyes hold my glance as they walked away, but I did not smile, I did not break the eye contact. I did not care.
He came through the ominous turnstiles, the long walk began. I followed behind, no idea where we were going. Street, street, light, left, right, straight. Walk. Walk. Walk. Finally, I saw it and he explained. We went into the elevator, silent, not daring to say what both of us were thinking.
I sat in a chair, reading shallow fashion magazines, while I waited, and when he came out, I looked up, expecting tears and defeat but seeing instead only past him as he pulled my hand and told me we were getting lunch.
The minute the door closed behind us, we hugged, the kind of hug you see in movies. He picked me up off my feet and we walked like that, embracing, back to the elevator. His smile told me everything, and suddenly the weight was gone. I held him down the elevator, in the street. And we smiled and laughed, and joy was back again.
He bought me lunch, at the favorite diner, under an el station. I had a whole grain waffle and some fresh fruit.
I made it back in time for class.
Here I am, carrying things out.
Today was the last lecture of my freshman year of college. Mom cried when I texted her from class. She's been missing me lately for some reason. It's probably because this is the point where I realize that I'm yearning to stay away. Not, of course, because I don't want to go home, but because I'm finally happy, comfortable, enjoying this city for what it is, and suddenly I'm going to have to go back to rules. I'm used to coming and going as I please, whenever, no matter the time. I'm used to the lifestyle that goes along with this place.
I miss you too Mom. Don't worry. I talk about you all the time and Emily can't wait to me you. Steve thinks he'll be able to stop into Denver, and maybe you can meet him then. I miss our house and all the noise, even though there's plenty of noise in the apartment for Mike and I put together and more. I miss the chaos, the clutter (even though it's actually way worse at the apartment....), and the fact that no one else has what we have. So don't think I've forgotten anything. I miss the smell of our house, my bathtub, my big bed, my green bean, the bright yellow kitchen table, searching for food in cupboards (although I do that here an awful lot too), you and me time. Blah blah blah. Sentimental crap, I know. But I'm trying to make you feel better, because today is going to be a good day and an even better night!!!!!
I'm 1/4 of the way through college! (undergrad, at least!) and i'm going to celebrate. hard.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Futuresque
I have a plan:
Double majoring in English with a concentration on creative writing and Journalism.
Minoring in Political Science, Communications, and Women's studies.
The Communications minor could be dropped.
Total, however, it's only 105 hours which means it's doable.
I am beginning to slowly bring things from my room back to the apartment. The great move has begun.
Double majoring in English with a concentration on creative writing and Journalism.
Minoring in Political Science, Communications, and Women's studies.
The Communications minor could be dropped.
Total, however, it's only 105 hours which means it's doable.
I am beginning to slowly bring things from my room back to the apartment. The great move has begun.
Monday, April 23, 2007
The plan.
Finally, a feasible plan.
This week is my last week of classes. Finals start tuesday, and I am done a week early, on May 3rd. At that point, I will begin moving my stuff to Ryan and Becky's house where it (and I) will stay until May 13th. From there, Becky and I are driving to St. Louis (where my stuff will be for the time being) and spend a few days hanging out. I will fly home the 17th because Mom is stressing that I be home for my birthday.
The only problem is that Ryan and Becky's house is going to be a zoo for the next couple of weeks. Ryan's friend is sleeping in my spot on the couch, but has been nice enough to sleep on the floor so I could have it. I had a nightmare though on Friday, and ended up on the floor too. So that's one sleeping space gone, not to mention more stuff than there already is in that house. The showings start this friday, so we all have to clean this week. Becky has a friend coming over (who will sleep in her room) the weekend that I need to move in.
We officially have to be out of the dorms 24 hours after our final, which is in less than two weeks for me, but the final deadline is May 9th at noon. I am going to do laundry today and sort stuff and then send home a box full of clothes. This should eliminate some of the problems of getting my clothes and such home for the summer.
I'll be selling all my books back, so I'll only have the novels that are currently gracing my bookshelves. As for bags, I am not sure, because I am only traveling home with one suitcase. I also have to figure out what to do with the tv, the iPod player, printer, etc. I have the costume basket as well.
I am thinking that another trip to St. Louis halfway through summer might be in order, if only to relieve Emily's family of all my stuff.
I'm looking at a C and four As, which puts my GPA this semester at a 3.6 which isn't bad. Even if I get a C, two Bs and two As, I'll still have a 3.2, which isn't horrible.
The room here is suffocating me. It is so messy and no one can clean it right now. It finally warmed up this weekend, and I didn't have to wear a coat or a sweater.
Sarah's baby shower was on Sunday. It was beautiful. She got some books and practical things and baby outfits.
I woke up early today. I'm not sure why. Wednesday night on the couch, and Thursday and Friday on the floor definitely meant that I got very little sleep. I ended up talking to the houseguest for a couple of hours and then falling asleep curled up with him. He kissed me goodnight on Thursday, sweetly, and then when we woke up he walked me all the way back to the train for no apparent reason. Very nice. Too bad Ryan has to go to Mizzou next year, or I'd get to hang out with his friends more.
I'm taking down the pictures, and the Christmas lights fell, so that works. The Armani man will have to make a train ride to Ryan and Becky's, there's no way he'll fit into a car. My neighbors are playing really loud music and I am annoyed. I'm already up at ten o'clock, and I dont want to be, but I seem to have lost my phone during the night, and I really can't sleep without it. They always come into our room to tell us to be quiet (even though it's usually just the tv and not our fault that the walls are thing) yet we never say anything to them.
The appeal for the housing contract was denied as well. He offered us a freshman dorm with no AC, no cable, and no kitchens. He told Emily's mom that he was unsure of why we were even trying to get of our housing contract because we chose to live there. Oh, really, so choosing between freshman dorms and that, is he saying that he wouldn't have chosen that? Grrr....I guess I just don't understand Loyola's reasoning. I don't want to be 20 years old and living in freshman dorms. They keep saying they want to foster independence, but what they really want is to foster our dependence on them and in turn they on our checkbooks. It's been a constant buzz on campus. The resentment is still there, even if the anger has subsided. We've all accepted that we have horrible housing next year, and thats that.
Cat is a different story. Is there anyone reading this who'd be willing to take Chase for a year? Emily and I will take him for our junior year when we are finally released from the hell that is Loyola housing. Ryan is moving to Missouri, Becky is going into Columbia's dorms, and Joel doesn't want to keep a cat. He's three years old, very snuggly, not aggressive. He enjoys catnip and turkey. He also likes to eat houseplants and play with bouncy balls. He likes to spoon. Mom hates cats, so that's out. He's so sweet, though, and none of us want to lose him.
I'm still tired. I was going to go to a Jewish art show last night, but Becky and I got lost going, so we tried to go to Starbucks. We saw a spot on the other side of the street, so I jumped out and went and stood in it. A man came by and tried to park there, so I waved him off. He told me to move and I told him it was my spot. He said he didn't care, so I told him that he'd have to hit me first. He proceeded to back up, waiting for me to move, but I didn't. He stopped less than a foot from me and began yelling at me. The woman in his passenger seat told me that they were here first. I told them obviously not because I was the one standing in the spot and that my friend was driving around the block. It continued for some time until I got frustrated at them and as I walked away, (keep in mind this is a crowded, urban street at dinner time. think outdoor cafes, etc.) I screamed an obscenity so loud it probably made their ears bleed. (sarcasm). Becky had seen the whole thing from her car and told me that she had never seen me mad, but that if that was it, she never wanted to. People in Chicago really are the most rude people you've ever met.
Now I'm tired again.
This week is my last week of classes. Finals start tuesday, and I am done a week early, on May 3rd. At that point, I will begin moving my stuff to Ryan and Becky's house where it (and I) will stay until May 13th. From there, Becky and I are driving to St. Louis (where my stuff will be for the time being) and spend a few days hanging out. I will fly home the 17th because Mom is stressing that I be home for my birthday.
The only problem is that Ryan and Becky's house is going to be a zoo for the next couple of weeks. Ryan's friend is sleeping in my spot on the couch, but has been nice enough to sleep on the floor so I could have it. I had a nightmare though on Friday, and ended up on the floor too. So that's one sleeping space gone, not to mention more stuff than there already is in that house. The showings start this friday, so we all have to clean this week. Becky has a friend coming over (who will sleep in her room) the weekend that I need to move in.
We officially have to be out of the dorms 24 hours after our final, which is in less than two weeks for me, but the final deadline is May 9th at noon. I am going to do laundry today and sort stuff and then send home a box full of clothes. This should eliminate some of the problems of getting my clothes and such home for the summer.
I'll be selling all my books back, so I'll only have the novels that are currently gracing my bookshelves. As for bags, I am not sure, because I am only traveling home with one suitcase. I also have to figure out what to do with the tv, the iPod player, printer, etc. I have the costume basket as well.
I am thinking that another trip to St. Louis halfway through summer might be in order, if only to relieve Emily's family of all my stuff.
I'm looking at a C and four As, which puts my GPA this semester at a 3.6 which isn't bad. Even if I get a C, two Bs and two As, I'll still have a 3.2, which isn't horrible.
The room here is suffocating me. It is so messy and no one can clean it right now. It finally warmed up this weekend, and I didn't have to wear a coat or a sweater.
Sarah's baby shower was on Sunday. It was beautiful. She got some books and practical things and baby outfits.
I woke up early today. I'm not sure why. Wednesday night on the couch, and Thursday and Friday on the floor definitely meant that I got very little sleep. I ended up talking to the houseguest for a couple of hours and then falling asleep curled up with him. He kissed me goodnight on Thursday, sweetly, and then when we woke up he walked me all the way back to the train for no apparent reason. Very nice. Too bad Ryan has to go to Mizzou next year, or I'd get to hang out with his friends more.
I'm taking down the pictures, and the Christmas lights fell, so that works. The Armani man will have to make a train ride to Ryan and Becky's, there's no way he'll fit into a car. My neighbors are playing really loud music and I am annoyed. I'm already up at ten o'clock, and I dont want to be, but I seem to have lost my phone during the night, and I really can't sleep without it. They always come into our room to tell us to be quiet (even though it's usually just the tv and not our fault that the walls are thing) yet we never say anything to them.
The appeal for the housing contract was denied as well. He offered us a freshman dorm with no AC, no cable, and no kitchens. He told Emily's mom that he was unsure of why we were even trying to get of our housing contract because we chose to live there. Oh, really, so choosing between freshman dorms and that, is he saying that he wouldn't have chosen that? Grrr....I guess I just don't understand Loyola's reasoning. I don't want to be 20 years old and living in freshman dorms. They keep saying they want to foster independence, but what they really want is to foster our dependence on them and in turn they on our checkbooks. It's been a constant buzz on campus. The resentment is still there, even if the anger has subsided. We've all accepted that we have horrible housing next year, and thats that.
Cat is a different story. Is there anyone reading this who'd be willing to take Chase for a year? Emily and I will take him for our junior year when we are finally released from the hell that is Loyola housing. Ryan is moving to Missouri, Becky is going into Columbia's dorms, and Joel doesn't want to keep a cat. He's three years old, very snuggly, not aggressive. He enjoys catnip and turkey. He also likes to eat houseplants and play with bouncy balls. He likes to spoon. Mom hates cats, so that's out. He's so sweet, though, and none of us want to lose him.
I'm still tired. I was going to go to a Jewish art show last night, but Becky and I got lost going, so we tried to go to Starbucks. We saw a spot on the other side of the street, so I jumped out and went and stood in it. A man came by and tried to park there, so I waved him off. He told me to move and I told him it was my spot. He said he didn't care, so I told him that he'd have to hit me first. He proceeded to back up, waiting for me to move, but I didn't. He stopped less than a foot from me and began yelling at me. The woman in his passenger seat told me that they were here first. I told them obviously not because I was the one standing in the spot and that my friend was driving around the block. It continued for some time until I got frustrated at them and as I walked away, (keep in mind this is a crowded, urban street at dinner time. think outdoor cafes, etc.) I screamed an obscenity so loud it probably made their ears bleed. (sarcasm). Becky had seen the whole thing from her car and told me that she had never seen me mad, but that if that was it, she never wanted to. People in Chicago really are the most rude people you've ever met.
Now I'm tired again.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Bleh
Stress.
Registered for classes. 18 hours spread between Water Tower Campus and Lake Shore Campus. One day has four classes over eleven hours with travel time in between.
Communications, communications, english, english, theater, and philosophy.
8 page paper due tomorrow in Communication. Haven't started yet. Am probably going to fail, but if I at least get a C, I'll be satisfied. Isn't that sad? Happy to see a C. I know.
But I did the math, and if I get As in all my other classes (which might happen) I'll get a 3.6 this semester, which is better than last and certainly not horrible.
And if I get two Bs, a C, and two As then I'll have a 3.2, unless my calculations, hastily scribbled on a Chipotle receipt are off. Which they might be. I'm currently in Hinduism, my head cocked to one side, pretending to listen.
Jazz concert at Columbia tonight.
New tenant on the couch at Ryan's. My spot is gone, but he let me have it last night, and he slept on the floor. How very nice of him, really.
Off to watch Good Will Hunting and analyze every little bit of it.
Still no word on getting home. No apartment. Dreams are crushed. Really, does it matter? We should just box my stuff up and leave it on the street and hope it's still there after summer. Who cares?
Registered for classes. 18 hours spread between Water Tower Campus and Lake Shore Campus. One day has four classes over eleven hours with travel time in between.
Communications, communications, english, english, theater, and philosophy.
8 page paper due tomorrow in Communication. Haven't started yet. Am probably going to fail, but if I at least get a C, I'll be satisfied. Isn't that sad? Happy to see a C. I know.
But I did the math, and if I get As in all my other classes (which might happen) I'll get a 3.6 this semester, which is better than last and certainly not horrible.
And if I get two Bs, a C, and two As then I'll have a 3.2, unless my calculations, hastily scribbled on a Chipotle receipt are off. Which they might be. I'm currently in Hinduism, my head cocked to one side, pretending to listen.
Jazz concert at Columbia tonight.
New tenant on the couch at Ryan's. My spot is gone, but he let me have it last night, and he slept on the floor. How very nice of him, really.
Off to watch Good Will Hunting and analyze every little bit of it.
Still no word on getting home. No apartment. Dreams are crushed. Really, does it matter? We should just box my stuff up and leave it on the street and hope it's still there after summer. Who cares?
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Friday, April 13, 2007
Apartment Hunting, Plays, and War
Last night, I went to see "The Diary of Anne Frank" at the Steppenwolf Theater. It was well staged, although the acting was lacking. Altogether, it was a nicely done play. I found myself face to face with the director of Columbia's Hillel group, who had me read at the Shabbat dinner just before Passover. I'm learning the Hebrew alphabet from Becky, but so far I only have a few letters down from a practice session over ice cream. We got the $28 tickets for free from a family that is generous enough to help support Coloumbia's program. I'd forgotten how terrible it is to look down from a safe balcony and see people acting out the miseries of others. I truly love the theater because the emotions that run through it are intense. In the end, when the Nazis come to take them, the actors came up from a trapdoor in the stage, silently, to surprise the family eating the first strawberries they'd had in two years. The feeling ran through the audience, shared emotions, one for all. I had expected banging, clattering, noise when they arrived, warning the family, a little, at least. Shockingly well done, the end was. Mr. Frank, the only survivor, walks back onstage and begins a monologue of what happened to all the rest of the little company that had huddled in that building for two years.
Oddly enough, that was not the only violence I would conceive in my mind yesterday. I am currently engrossed in "Middlesex" by Jeffery Eugenides, the author of "The Virgin Suicides." I am only 75 pages in, having started it yesterday morning during the sociology lecture about urban studies in Chicago. It tells of a massacre of Greeks in the early 1920s, particularly a family. The details were horrific, of course, as massacres always are, and I began to resent anyone who could kill another human being.
Coming off the train this morning back to Loyola, I grab the RedEye. It's a free edition of the Chicago Tribune, and I attempt to get it whenever I can. The crosswords in it are wonderful. But, climbing back into bed to open it, I stare at the second page. The words "suicide bombing" jump right out at me. Here we are, living in what we believe to be an advanced society, yet we can't stop killing each other. It's disgusting and pathetic, and anyone who believes that any good will come from any unprovoked military action needs to be examined. It's fine for them to quote their Bibles and hate homosexuals, and it's also perfectly fine for them to condone sex and drugs, yet they rush at the chance to "do good" and bring their western culture to places that don't want it, can't use, don't need it. We rush at the chance to kill the infidels, to spread democracy. What is our democracy really? We're doing no good. We haven't been now for four years, even longer. There is no way out, and no one sees that. There is no end to this war, there's no end to the suffering. How long before we attempt to take on another project we'll never be able to win? How long before the bombings start happening in our cities, killing our children? Will they stop then?
I saw "The Machinal" last month at Columbia College, and that's where I am headed again tonight to see "Paradise Lost." "Cinderella" opens this weekend at Loyola, so of course I'll be seeing that. The last play they had was "The Visit," translated out of the German and wonderfully done. I got in for free, because apparently Loyola has some thing where as a student, you get to see your first play for free. Granted, it saved me about five dollars, but that comes in handy sometimes.
The man who sells me alcohol was in a delightful mood last night. As we walked into the little store, he greeted us warmly as he always does, telling us his night was better now that we were there. He was sad, however, because his plants were dying from the cold. We spoke of talking to plants, encouraging them to grow. He told me that I needed to bring all of my plants inside (as if I had any...) and that he couldn't wait for his tomato plants to bloom in the summer so he could tend them in his garden. I can see him now, smoking the cigarette he always smokes, bending over in the garden to whisper greetings to a small tomato tendril. As I type this, I am staring at my sad little bamboo plant, lonely on the heater, reaching for the light next to it. We get the morning sunlight in the room here, which is lovely if you sleep with the windows open. Sometimes I wake up to the sunrise, and am always amazed.
I'm crossing my fingers for the apartment. We went, in the rain, to look at it again on Wednesday. We saw the two bedroom for the first time. It's lovely. It has a front door, giant living room with windows that open to look down at the street (it's right above a grocery store). Right off of the living room is a small sun room, with french doors that could even be a small third bedroom if necessary, but with the rent at what it is, we'd hardly need a third roommate. There is a little tiny hallway that has a bathroom separating two small bedrooms. They each have nice closets similar to the one I have at home. The bathroom has a bathtub and vanity and a toilet, obviously. The kitchen isn't as lovely as the first one we looked at, but the man assured us they were taking extra steps to clean it up. The previous tenants were evicted for not taking care of the place, and it's wonderful to think that it would be even nicer once we move in. The rent is down to $995 per month, which, given the space, is ridiculously low. The building has an iron gate and fence that one must be buzzed into, which gives way to a tiny little courtyard with plants on the sides. The foyer of the building, if it could be called that, it a giant mass of space with a solitary stone table sitting in the middle. Then, you turn left down a hallway, and up a ramp. There is a flight of little stairs, and then (hopefully) our apartment. It's a couple blocks to the train, or 8 to walk back to school, but the apartment literally looks onto Sheridan, which is the same street Loyola is on. We plan on getting window boxes, and candles, and all the random furniture we can find. Emily will sew on slipcovers, and we'll live comfortably.
I wonder if dad would be willing to let me have my futon or my bowl chair. They are both mine, and would make lovely additions to the apartment. My purple rug that Grandma and Grandpa got me for Christmas one year would look nice in my tiny little bedroom, and Mom has a twin bed frame in the basement. That, with possibly the loveseat from the basement, or the recliner, would make excellent living. There is even space for a little table. It's all hardwood, there is no carpet, which would make cleaning easy. There is enough space for closet storage, and if it comes through, I won't have to worry about where to keep my stuff for the summer because I'll have my own apartment.
We'll post it on craigslist, of course, and sublet it if we can, because if not, we're throwing away money. The only problem, however, is that this rent price is too amazing to pass up. The $995 includes heat, gas and water. I can't even talk about it, it's bad luck to get your hopes up.
I shoud be hearing back in the next ten days whether or not we're released. Now, more than ever, is time to pray to whatever god or being you believe in. Please, let fate be on our side.
Oddly enough, that was not the only violence I would conceive in my mind yesterday. I am currently engrossed in "Middlesex" by Jeffery Eugenides, the author of "The Virgin Suicides." I am only 75 pages in, having started it yesterday morning during the sociology lecture about urban studies in Chicago. It tells of a massacre of Greeks in the early 1920s, particularly a family. The details were horrific, of course, as massacres always are, and I began to resent anyone who could kill another human being.
Coming off the train this morning back to Loyola, I grab the RedEye. It's a free edition of the Chicago Tribune, and I attempt to get it whenever I can. The crosswords in it are wonderful. But, climbing back into bed to open it, I stare at the second page. The words "suicide bombing" jump right out at me. Here we are, living in what we believe to be an advanced society, yet we can't stop killing each other. It's disgusting and pathetic, and anyone who believes that any good will come from any unprovoked military action needs to be examined. It's fine for them to quote their Bibles and hate homosexuals, and it's also perfectly fine for them to condone sex and drugs, yet they rush at the chance to "do good" and bring their western culture to places that don't want it, can't use, don't need it. We rush at the chance to kill the infidels, to spread democracy. What is our democracy really? We're doing no good. We haven't been now for four years, even longer. There is no way out, and no one sees that. There is no end to this war, there's no end to the suffering. How long before we attempt to take on another project we'll never be able to win? How long before the bombings start happening in our cities, killing our children? Will they stop then?
I saw "The Machinal" last month at Columbia College, and that's where I am headed again tonight to see "Paradise Lost." "Cinderella" opens this weekend at Loyola, so of course I'll be seeing that. The last play they had was "The Visit," translated out of the German and wonderfully done. I got in for free, because apparently Loyola has some thing where as a student, you get to see your first play for free. Granted, it saved me about five dollars, but that comes in handy sometimes.
The man who sells me alcohol was in a delightful mood last night. As we walked into the little store, he greeted us warmly as he always does, telling us his night was better now that we were there. He was sad, however, because his plants were dying from the cold. We spoke of talking to plants, encouraging them to grow. He told me that I needed to bring all of my plants inside (as if I had any...) and that he couldn't wait for his tomato plants to bloom in the summer so he could tend them in his garden. I can see him now, smoking the cigarette he always smokes, bending over in the garden to whisper greetings to a small tomato tendril. As I type this, I am staring at my sad little bamboo plant, lonely on the heater, reaching for the light next to it. We get the morning sunlight in the room here, which is lovely if you sleep with the windows open. Sometimes I wake up to the sunrise, and am always amazed.
I'm crossing my fingers for the apartment. We went, in the rain, to look at it again on Wednesday. We saw the two bedroom for the first time. It's lovely. It has a front door, giant living room with windows that open to look down at the street (it's right above a grocery store). Right off of the living room is a small sun room, with french doors that could even be a small third bedroom if necessary, but with the rent at what it is, we'd hardly need a third roommate. There is a little tiny hallway that has a bathroom separating two small bedrooms. They each have nice closets similar to the one I have at home. The bathroom has a bathtub and vanity and a toilet, obviously. The kitchen isn't as lovely as the first one we looked at, but the man assured us they were taking extra steps to clean it up. The previous tenants were evicted for not taking care of the place, and it's wonderful to think that it would be even nicer once we move in. The rent is down to $995 per month, which, given the space, is ridiculously low. The building has an iron gate and fence that one must be buzzed into, which gives way to a tiny little courtyard with plants on the sides. The foyer of the building, if it could be called that, it a giant mass of space with a solitary stone table sitting in the middle. Then, you turn left down a hallway, and up a ramp. There is a flight of little stairs, and then (hopefully) our apartment. It's a couple blocks to the train, or 8 to walk back to school, but the apartment literally looks onto Sheridan, which is the same street Loyola is on. We plan on getting window boxes, and candles, and all the random furniture we can find. Emily will sew on slipcovers, and we'll live comfortably.
I wonder if dad would be willing to let me have my futon or my bowl chair. They are both mine, and would make lovely additions to the apartment. My purple rug that Grandma and Grandpa got me for Christmas one year would look nice in my tiny little bedroom, and Mom has a twin bed frame in the basement. That, with possibly the loveseat from the basement, or the recliner, would make excellent living. There is even space for a little table. It's all hardwood, there is no carpet, which would make cleaning easy. There is enough space for closet storage, and if it comes through, I won't have to worry about where to keep my stuff for the summer because I'll have my own apartment.
We'll post it on craigslist, of course, and sublet it if we can, because if not, we're throwing away money. The only problem, however, is that this rent price is too amazing to pass up. The $995 includes heat, gas and water. I can't even talk about it, it's bad luck to get your hopes up.
I shoud be hearing back in the next ten days whether or not we're released. Now, more than ever, is time to pray to whatever god or being you believe in. Please, let fate be on our side.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
We're going now
We're going now,
he said to me,
the spirit in my dreams.
We're going now, aren't you ready yet?
Impatient little man.
He whisked me away
carried me as if by magic,
or by dreams.
We're going now,
but which way?
We left myself at home
behind, instead choosing
to take flight
out of the window
in the middle of the night.
I felt the rush of air
against my cheek,
my legs dangled
but I did not fall
to the ground.
I begged him to tell me
where we were going
and what we were going to see.
But we're going now,
was all he said to me.
We landed over water,
somehow, on some lake,
and stayed there watching
sunrise until it was too late.
I saw the sun begin to peek
and then he pulled me home.
And when I awoke
inside my bed
I knew then what he had known.
We're going now, I whispered
and suddenly it was so.
I was gone
and back again.
Suddenly too much to take,
I shut my eyes again.
he said to me,
the spirit in my dreams.
We're going now, aren't you ready yet?
Impatient little man.
He whisked me away
carried me as if by magic,
or by dreams.
We're going now,
but which way?
We left myself at home
behind, instead choosing
to take flight
out of the window
in the middle of the night.
I felt the rush of air
against my cheek,
my legs dangled
but I did not fall
to the ground.
I begged him to tell me
where we were going
and what we were going to see.
But we're going now,
was all he said to me.
We landed over water,
somehow, on some lake,
and stayed there watching
sunrise until it was too late.
I saw the sun begin to peek
and then he pulled me home.
And when I awoke
inside my bed
I knew then what he had known.
We're going now, I whispered
and suddenly it was so.
I was gone
and back again.
Suddenly too much to take,
I shut my eyes again.
Ignition
"Ignition"
By Laurie Lico Albanese, from her book blue suburbia
I was fifteen
when I felt myself
ignite--
it wasn't one thing
like the back of a boy's neck
or my breasts waiting under wool
for sweaty palms to awaken their nipples
it wasn't the way I could buy a beer in Rudy's bar,
get behind the wheel of a car
and feel the gears shaking in my hands.
No. I ignited that spring
when I walked up and down the turnpike
looking for a job
hands folded behind my back,
fingers rubbing at the spark
each time someone said sorry
and I could hear my mother sneer.
I flew across the road heading west,
ribbon ripped from my hair
by the spray of oncoming trucks,
footprints dimming in dirt
until that boy on the Harley Davidson
put one dark boot in my path,
gunning his motor for me to alight
I slipped my legs around his hips,
dumping everything out of my handbag
right there
in front of the old Dairy Queen
I burst into flames
when I felt how fast
I could move away from home.
By Laurie Lico Albanese, from her book blue suburbia
I was fifteen
when I felt myself
ignite--
it wasn't one thing
like the back of a boy's neck
or my breasts waiting under wool
for sweaty palms to awaken their nipples
it wasn't the way I could buy a beer in Rudy's bar,
get behind the wheel of a car
and feel the gears shaking in my hands.
No. I ignited that spring
when I walked up and down the turnpike
looking for a job
hands folded behind my back,
fingers rubbing at the spark
each time someone said sorry
and I could hear my mother sneer.
I flew across the road heading west,
ribbon ripped from my hair
by the spray of oncoming trucks,
footprints dimming in dirt
until that boy on the Harley Davidson
put one dark boot in my path,
gunning his motor for me to alight
I slipped my legs around his hips,
dumping everything out of my handbag
right there
in front of the old Dairy Queen
I burst into flames
when I felt how fast
I could move away from home.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
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.
Too bad. Let's wait for the stasis that next week will bring.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
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.
#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.
Monday, March 19, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, March 16, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
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.
Sunny day in Chicago 3-13-07
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
Monday, March 12, 2007
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
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
Thursday, February 22, 2007
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!
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, February 19, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
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!
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!
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, January 22, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, January 19, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, January 15, 2007
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
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
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