Sophiastry

The Return

2004-08-24T21:56:00.000-07:00

I've opened and re-opened blogger.com about a million times since my last entry to create a new one. And without fail, every time, I've gotten through one or two sentences and then freaked the fuck out and frantically exited the window. I'm not exactly sure why this has been happening, but I think there's something about blog-writing that I haven't grown entirely comfortable with yet. And for some reason I feel guilty for not updating constantly. Anyway, trying to get over the weirdness, and hopefully this will make it onto my site.

Blah blah. Enough of that jabber.

It's been a weird month. I went to New York with my family for the Bangladeshi Medical Association Convention. It was actually a good time. I met some cool people and went out one night with my old friend Vini. One thing I realized about New Yorkers: no one stays home. Ever. As a sporadic fan of the bar scene, I asked a couple people that I met if they ever got tired of going out constantly. I was greeted with strange and surprised looks. It makes sense: the apartments are so tiny, that most socialization occurs at bars. It's common practice to meet friends and colleageus for drinks. One person replied that there were so many bars, it never got old. I don't know about you, but while I've been to some great bars, it's pretty much the same thing over and over, and there's only so much I can take without getting annoyed at the constant loop of screaming pleasantries over loud music and getting drunk to the point that said pleasantries cease to be pleasant.

We were in Manhattan for two nights. Oh oh, and I finally got to sample a cupcake from the famous Magnolia Bakery . It was, as promised, phenomenal. A must for any sweet tooth connoisseur.

Anyway, we went to Long Island to see relatives for the remainder of the trip. It was pretty boring, but it was nice to have some quiet reading time. Not to mention that I had my own room and didn't have to sleep in the same room with my parents anymore.

Our trip ended badly because my father woke up and couldn't move much due to previously existing (for like the past 25 freaking years) back problems. They made it back to Midland somehow with the assistance of wheelchairs and very slow walking. The next week, I went to Dallas for his very overdue and very required surgery.

Hospitals are not fun. I got so tired of eating a steady diet of vending machine. However, it meant the world to my parents that I was there, and I was able to see some old family friends and relatives. I wish that I had been able to see them under happier circumstances, but their presence made a difficult time much easier. An official thanks for all of you who e-mailed or called with concern.

Other than that, I've been working on applications for grad school. It so has not been long enough since I've had to write a personal statement. Those things suck. I end up hyper-aware of being either too self-aggrandizing or too self-deprecating, and consequently forfeit my natural writing style. While I understand its importance, I wish someone would just write the damned thing for me so I could be done with it.

I really like organizing my M&M's by color and then eating them from the color which has the most to the color which has the least. I'm not OCD, I promise!

The Return

2004-08-24T19:04:00.001-07:00

The Return

2004-08-24T19:04:00.000-07:00

2004-08-24T18:30:00.002-07:00

2004-08-24T18:30:00.001-07:00

2004-08-24T18:30:00.000-07:00

Another Car Incident, Children, and a Poem

2004-07-20T12:13:00.001-07:00

So it turns out that karma hasn't finished with me yet. Today after leaving work, I was about to turn right on a GREEN LIGHT, when a biker chick came out of nowhere and I hit her, not being able to brake quickly enough. Let me tell you, it was one of the most terrifying things I've ever seen. Her mouth an O of shock. Then her body falling out of my line of vision. Thankfully, she was okay except for a bruised wrist, a wounded ego, and a messed up bike tire.

I gotta say though, to all of you bikers out there: WEAR A FUCKING HELMET. There is no reason not to. It is distinctly uncool to not wear a helmet, I don't care if it ruins the way your hair looks floating past you or doesn't go exactly with your messenger bag. It might sound, at the moment, like I have something against bikers. I don't, really, the whole incident just really upset me and reminded me of how much I hate the fact that most bikers in Austin don't wear helmets when riding on busy streets.

At any rate, all's well that ends well. I'm glad she's okay. I am too, despite crying all the way home.

I went home this past weekend. Surprisingly, I actually wanted to. Sometimes you just need your mommy. I got home, changed into my suit, and went swimming with my 7-year old brother. At some point we were looking at clouds, and I said, hey, doesn't that look like a dinosaur? And he replied, "NO! It's a galactic spaceship threatening to destroy humanity!"

Um. I apparently am out of my league with kids these days. Although both he and I have a mutually healthy appreciation for the animated stylings of Samurai Jack and my mother's cooking.

Speaking of parenthood, everyone should check out Dooce's site if you haven't ever. She's fabulous, funny, smart, and a new mother who's not afraid to be honest about her recent difficulties with depression following the birth of her adorable daughter, Leta.

And now, a poem that I love that seems appropriate for parts of this entry:

Those Winter Sundays

by Robert Hayden

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?

Fun at Work

2004-07-12T08:29:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the lack of communication...I've been, umm, focusing on other things. But here's a snippet from a conversation Amanda and I had this morning:

amanda says:
blah

amanda says:
BLAH!!!

sophia says (simultaneously):
HUGNRY!

amanda says:
awesome.

sophia says:
dammit.

sophia says:
it makes me so angry that it's misspelled and that i can't take it back

amanda says:
i figured

sophia says:
now you're in my head screaming blah

amanda says:
it's easier to take back things not in caps lock

sophia says:
thanks for pointing that out. it makes me feel so much better.

amanda says:
np

sophia says:
wow. it's sad, there's this hysterical laughter buggling in me as a result of seeing BLAH!!!

amanda says:
buggling?

amanda says:
is that in ender's game or something?

sophia says:
oh this is going to be a bad day

amanda says:
hahaha

sophia says:
bubbling

amanda says:
i figured

sophia says:
dammit.

amanda says:
but now i never know after that last word

amanda says:
what was it? the one from the book that some guy made up?

sophia says:
what last word

amanda says:
someone you've been reading recently that didnt sound like a real word at all

sophia says:
grok

amanda says:
yep that's the one

amanda says:
i can never assume anymore that something you write isnt a real word

amanda says:
life just isnt the same after grok

2004-06-29T09:05:00.000-07:00

I had a really good weekend. I spent time with friends I don't see often, and I went to a movie premiere for Before Sunset , the sequel to Richard Linklater's Before Sunrise , one of my favorite movies ever. It reminded me of how much my life is enriched by good conversations with people that I care about.

In other news, in order to hopefully jumpstart this poem that I'm working on, I've been reading a lot of poetry. One of my favorites, that I always forget that I love, by Goethe:

The Holy Longing

Tell a wise person, or else keep silent,
because the mass man will mock it right away.
I praise what is truly alive,
what longs to be burned to death.

In the calm water of the love-nights,
where you were begotten, where you have begotten,
a strange feeling comes over you,
when you see the silent candle burning.

Now you are no longer caught in the obsession with darkness,
and a desire for higher love-making sweeps you upward.

Distance does not make you falter.
Now, arriving in magic, flying,
and finally, insane for the light,
you are the butterfly and you are gone.
And so long as you haven't experienced this: to die and so to grow,
you are only a troubled guest on the dark earth.

The darkness of the poem comforts me. I love "I praise what is truly alive/what longs to be burned to death."

I'm also re-reading Robert A. Heinlein's Stranger in a Strange Land , which is one of my favorite science fiction books. Not to mention that it's written by my favorite sci-fi author. Heinlein is incredible...what's so interesting to me about his work is that, though it's science fiction, it's difficult to contextualize him temporally. His books are chock full of wise-isms (witticisms too) and socio-political commentary, not to mention religious symbolism and mockery. He's definitely not for the morally inflexible.

There is one slice of ice cream cake left. But I'm afraid that I am no longer enticed by it, and might be forced to throw it away so I don't eat it just to avoid feeling badly about not wanting it anymore.

Ennui

2004-06-24T15:27:00.000-07:00

I started to do this last night in my glass and a half of wine stupor, but I’m continuing it at work since I have 41 minutes left to be here and I’m done with all the work I need to. Courtesy of friend Dorothy’s blog:

1: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4. Write down what it says:
"And when I've pulled down the metal blind, the street will just stay dark, and that's that."

2: Stretch your left arm out as far as you can. What do you touch first?
Small table with my phone, half-full ashtray, glass of water

3: What is the last thing you watched on TV?:
an episode of Felicity on DVD

4: WITHOUT LOOKING, guess what the time is:
11:11

5: Now look at the clock, what is the actual time?:
11:18

6: With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?
the hum of crickets and cicadas, and the distance yet still annoying sounds of a couple arguing

7: When did you last step outside? what were you doing?
i am outside....but when I was inside, I was searching frantically for a lighter

8: Before you came to this website, what did you look at?
Drudge Report

9: What are you wearing?
flip flops, BCBG track pants, a faded old navy t-shit, chipped nail polish called "frolick"

10: Did you dream last night?
Yes, about paper shredders and comedians.

11: When did you last laugh?
A few minutes ago outside with co-worker Ayesha at human’s bodily processes

12: What is on the walls of the room you are in?
Bulletin boards, window shades, various pictures and postcards

13: Seen anything weird lately?
A co-worker guiltily playing hopscotch

14: is a dumb question; hereby deleted -

15: What is the last film you saw?
Shrek 2 (everyone must see it; Antonio Banderas – puss in boots – priceless)

16: If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy first?
An amazing meal, and then lots of books.

17: Tell me something about you that I don't know.
When I was 12 I shaved my head.

19: Do you like to dance?
Yes, especially to un-copyrighted Indian pop remixes

20: George Bush: is he a power-crazy nutcase or some one who is finally doing something that has needed to be done for years?
bush. bad. fade away.

22: Would you ever consider living abroad?
Indeed – france or italy or tropics, and soonish, I hope.

When it rains...

2004-06-22T17:52:00.000-07:00

I'm on my way to one of TWO BASKIN ROBBINS LEFT IN AUSTIN to get myself an ice cream birthday cake (oh god, the frosting alone is worth the drive). I've just gotten off the phone with my mom who actually asked me if I was going to eat the whole thing by myself. And then this guy in front of me decisively pulls into a turning lane and then changes his mind and just as decisively pulls back in front of me, thereby causing me to narrowly avoid hitting him by swerving slightly to the right. Which would have been fine if Mr. Fancy Shmancy Corporate Shithead BMW SUV in the lane to my right hadn't come speeding past, causing me to swipe him (although I'm holding fast to the belief that he swiped himself on my car).

Great.

So while I'm trying to get the license plate of the stupidhead who caused all this, the jerkoff in the BMW is gesticulating wildly and yelling, "You hit me!" all while we're on the feeder road to Loop 1. So I pull over while the first guy speeds off, and I'm left to deal with the second who gets out of his car along with two of his hoochies, who are teetering on their heels while artfully tossing their hair. He shakes his head angrily and looks at me as if I've cut off his dick and left it for the dogs and says, again, as if I didn't hear him yelling that shit earlier, "You hit me!" Despite the fact that I don't think it's really my fault, I graciously apologize and explain what happened. This polo-shirt-tucked-into-his-carefully-pressed-black-pants-Oakley-sunglass-wearing fuckhead gives me the biggest shit-eating grin and says, "Oh I know, I saw what happened," even though he's acting like my car should have either grown wings or levitated rather than hit him in his dumb shiny car. Then he and his hoochies search the side of the car that suffered the apparent impact, although there is no visible evidence of it. Finally, one of his hoochies gasps, "Oh look, there it is!" and points excitedly at a tiny, barely visible spot on the car.

Thank God I had Tool's Lateralus in my car.

Did I mention that I got my period ? At work?

I Can't Think of a Witty Title

2004-06-22T11:00:00.000-07:00

I am. Obliteratingly. Exhausted. But I'm at work, my "big people job," and just had a lovely lunch with friends and co-workers Amanda and Dorothy. So things are not as dreadful as they might seem, though my naturally curly (aka frizzy) hair is sticking up in fuzzy gobs all over my head and i can feel the grossness of traveling soaking into the clothes I've been wearing since 4 AM this morning. I guess this requires back story. I went to see a friend and I was supposed to be back by last night, but my flight got cancelled and rescheduled for early this morning. Hurrah. Two things that, in my delirious state of exhaustion, annoyed the shit out of me more so than they usually might:

1) The woman on the plane who immediately whipped out her cell as soon as we landed but were still taxi-ing (spelling? and apparently this sort of phone usage is okay now) and started calling friends and colleagues and saying vociferously and repeatedly, "I LI-terally JUST landed." That grating excuse for a woman said it at least 7 times while we were still waiting to park at the gate. And as we were walking out of the plane. And down the escalator to baggage claim. And at baggage claim.

2) What the fuck is going on with propietarily standing around the baggage claim carousel? Everyone is like, oh oh, if I don't stand so close to the goddamned thing that I can TASTE the dirty luggage and slowly rotating metal slats then I won't get my bags!

Sigh. Back to work now.

Self-Imposed Birthday Wishes

2004-06-21T07:57:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday to me! I am officially 24. Birthdays are so unexciting these days. But, a list of people whose birthdays are the same day as mine:

N.B: So fucking weird that Meredith Baxter and Michael Gross, who played opposite each other in Family Ties , have the exact same birthday, down to the year.

1982 Prince William (Prince of Wales)
1973 Juliette Lewis (actress)
1947 Meredith Baxter Birney (actress)
1947 Michael Gross (actor)
1944 Ray Davies (singer, songwriter, guitarist)
1933 Bernie Kopell (actor)
1932 O.C. (Ocie Lee) Smith (singer)
1927 Carl Stokes (TV commentator)
1925 Maureen Stapleton (actress)
1921 Judy Holliday (Tuvin) (actress)
1921 Jane Russell (actress)
1905 Jean-Paul Sartre (philosopher and writer)
1905 Randy Moore (baseball)
1903 Al Hirschfeld (artist)
1731 Martha Washington (Dandridge Custis) (first First Lady of the US)

Check out which famous people were born on your birthday here .

Tralala

2004-06-17T12:25:00.001-07:00

Yawn. Things are slow here in Sophia-Land, not that that's any excuse for not keeping my blog updated. This past Sunday, after my mom called me 4 times in one hour "just to say hi," I finally realized that something had to be done. Or in this case, said. I tactfully and calmly told my mom that she needed to back off because she was driving me absolutely nuts by bringing up the same crap in every conversation. I also told her that I thought she needed a therapist. And lo and behold, she actually admitted, "Maybe I have been overdoing it." Will wonders never cease? And so far, she's been pretty good about it. Not that I'm holding my breath or anything.

Corporate America Gives Way to Creative Inspiration

2004-06-07T09:34:00.000-07:00

So this morning, I couldn't log on to any of the computers. Because this office is useless without its tech guy, who was coming late, my supervisor told me to just do some "personal work." And here are the results:

Love Poem in Fragments and Streams

While rain laps at windows,
alone in bed, I sway and listen
to the neighbor’s windchimes
tickle the air, stifled by heavy
sheets of rain, black stains
drowning ivory lines. His
throat, words laced-up, indelible.
Confusion of sound – rain,
chimes, his voice. Then,
unbidden, a language I’m
desperate to dream in – forse,
luce. His spine, wishful curve,
blanket-nudged, a path as complete
as belief. Age 7 – my small hands afraid
to pull a shapla flower from its
green-blue home. Water-dweller,
piranha-bloom. I knew a girl named
Shapla, wanted her name, her
witch’s hat. His hair, prickly
pillow, reassuring crown. Night
fading in and out of these showers.
Age 10 – long stretch of sticky summer,
went swimming every day, but refused
to shower. Wet is wet. Five days later,
she bent over to brush my hair back,
its brittle, chlorinated strands. Finally,
now, my hands beneath the cool pillow.
The washed away world. His fingers,
quiet behind my ear.

Harpy Rotter

2004-06-06T17:50:00.000-07:00

I actually got off my ass and did something with myself today. Sunday afternoons usually becomes dark abysses of nothingness....one second I'm reading, the next second I'm asleep, and then 3 hours later, it's dark and I think, "Dammit! Where the hell did my day go?"

Granted, all I really did was clean and finally restock my groceries. However, given that these are two things that I've put off for about two weeks now, I was pretty proud of myself. Now if I could just get around to becoming a Pulitzer Prize-winning writer...

In other news, I went and saw Harry Potter, which was great. I found myself idly thinking that the actor who plays Harry Potter is going to be extremely attractive in the near future...ahem, anyway, I munched on "Shrek-sized" M&M's and stole a few sips of a rather frighteningly massive diet coke, courtesy of my friend Dorothy. Harry Potter is really a movie that calls for overpriced sweet crunchy things. I finally caved and bought the first four books of the series a few minutes ago. Amazon.com is evil evil evil. But, I was able to justify my rather frivolous purchase by adding a GRE prep book to my order.

My new favorite word rearrangement, courtesy of Vanity Fair : bonsai into Bosnia.

A Perfectly Lit Table

2004-06-05T20:41:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting here at Bouldin Creek Coffeehouse , waiting for my salad while I drink raspberry tea that tastes alarmingly like a cinnamon Altoid . It's quiet and warm outside. This place is surrounded by darkness. For a brief moment, I feel as though I'm not in Austin, but in a covered porch in the South, listening for the electric crackle of bugs.

I've been thinking tonight about the process of growing up. My parents have always tried to coddle me, while insisting that act like an adult. I doubt that they themselves would realize the incongruity of that, even if I tried to point it out to them. My mom has asked me several times in the past week, as well as today, "What have you ever done for us?" I realize, every time she asks me, that I have no ready response. Given my mother's penchant for melodrama, it's surprising that I have been able to remain as calm and rational as I have. It's difficult to try to explain to her, without sounding presumptuous, that what I have done is tried to do right by them, academically and otherwise. I think that a child's responsibility to her parents lies in what she can do for herself. And what I am trying to do is let them go, and I wish that they could do the same for me. It's important for me to lead a life independent of them. Granted, it's always necessary to respect one's parents during this "letting go" process, but it's also necessary to understand the difference between being grateful to them and being indebted to them.

I don't want to owe my life to anyone. I think a reasonable answer to my mother's question, though I would never tell her this, is "I have become my own person. And later in life, when you need me, I will be able to be there for you because I am my own person." I can't take all the credit for my recent perspective on growing up; a lot of it has been cultivated as a result of discussions with friends such as Robyn, Amanda , and JB. I hope that in time my mother will realize that she cannot live her life through me or for me. She told me the other night that most parents live for their children. I don't think that's true, and I wish that that wasn't true in her case. While I have a choice in leading my own life and being my own person, my mother didn't. She was married at 17, and had me at 18. She never experienced the crucial and formative period from age 16-20-something, the period in which we really start to become comfortable in our own skins. I wish that she could have had that; perhaps she would be able to understand better why it took me awhile to figure out what I wanted.

At any rate, tonight I am sitting alone at a coffeeshop, savoring one of those rare and perfect moments in which it actually seems perfect plausible that everything will work itself out. While I am aware that this current battle with my parents is not the last one, for some reason I'm less afraid than I have been in a long, long time.

An excerpt from Vladimir Nabokov's memoir Speak, Memory :

To fix correctly, in terms of time, some of my childhood recollections, I have to go by comets and eclipses, as historians do when they tackle the fragments of a saga. But in other cases there is no dearth of data. I see myself, for instance, clambering over wet black rocks at the seaside while Miss Norcott, a languid and melancholy governess, who thinks I am following her, strolls away along the curved beach with Sergey, my younger brother. I am wearing a toy bracelet. As I crawl over those rocks, I keep repeating, in a kind of zestful, copious, and deeply gratifying incantation, the English word "childhood," which sounds mysterious and new, and becomes stranger and stranger as it gets mixed up in my small, overstocked, hectic mind, with Robin Hood and Little Red Riding Hood, and the brown hoods of old hunch-backed fairies. There are dimples in the rocks, full of tepid seawater, and my magic muttering accompanies certain spells I am weaving over the tiny sapphire pools.

Oops

2004-06-02T06:44:00.000-07:00

I forgot about the explanation of "sophiastry," as requested by particleman and others. Amanda has a poem written about me, but to protect the innocent, my name was changed to "sophia." "Sophiastry" is just a play on that plus sophistry. It's really not very exciting at all, I'm sorry to say. Wasn't the mystery so much more alluring?

Oh, and for your reading pleasure - what Amanda and I have done at work so far:

amanda says:
you know there are places that deliver breakfast danishes and stuff.

sophia says:
bad bad bad

amanda says:
not that i'm suggesting anything...

sophia says:
what were they thinking offering that kind of service?

amanda says:
they were thinking, "hey, dude, let's go make some hungry people fat."

amanda says:
"you are what you eat!" nudge nudge

sophia says:
i can't think of anything witty to say to that at all

amanda says:
you're a big ball of dough! and you're soulless! hahahaha

sophia says:
ah. but i'd be a big ball of dough deep fried and covered with glaze....

sophia says:
i would make people's fingers sticky with sugary goodness

amanda says:
if i could snort via IM i would do that now

sophia says:
thanks for that.

sophia says:
i had this moment where i had to think about what "snort" was

sophia says:
like,since we're talking about donuts

sophia says:
i thought, snort donuts?

sophia says:
and then i thought, ouch

amanda says:
mmm powdered donuts

David Lynch and an Explanation

2004-06-02T05:54:00.000-07:00

Last night, Amanda and I watched David Lynch's Mulholland Dr.. I didn't know anything about the movie except that it was probably going to be fucked up. And how. The few moments that I dared to glance at Amanda, I realized that we both had the same mouth agape, whatthefuck, please let this movie end soon because any longer and I will never come out of the rabbit hole, looks on our faces. I am a huge fan of movies that, to be trite, "make me think," but there is something to be said for the feeling of satisfaction one finds in resolve at the end of 1 1/2 to 2 hours of tension and confusion. A handful of movies it made me think of:

1) Dark City
2) Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
3) Vanilla Sky
4) Waking Life

At any rate, I would definitely recommend it (as surprising as that might seem), if for nothing else than to admire Lynch's cinematic achievements.

In other news, I'm looking for jobs elsewhere than Austin. If anyone has any recommendations for sites that contain useful job information, please let me know.

Leonard Cohen and Little Sisters

2004-05-30T22:28:00.000-07:00

I was lying in bed awhile ago, with my head turned towards the wall, where there is a picture of my sister and me on the wall. My sister died ten years ago in a car accident. I hardly remember her. What I do remember is a night we were sleeping in the basement, a tradition kept during summers because it was too hot to sleep in our rooms upstairs. I don't believe in ghosts, but I heard footsteps on the kitchen floor directly above, and knew it wasn't my parents because I had just seen them asleep in the other room in the basement. The footsteps continued all night, and I held her desperately, fit my hand in hers and closed my eyes and tried to ignore what I convinced myself was irrational.

When she died, we buried her with a small bottle of concentrated jasmine perfume. A few days later, our house smelled strongly of jasmine, for no reason. We turned the house upside down for an explanation, but never found one. Sometimes I still smell jasmine, unannounced. I still don't believe in ghosts, but I believe in her.

There are certain songs that stay with me, that make me ache. One such song is Leonard Cohen's "Famous Blue Raincoat," which has been running through my head all night:

It’s four in the morning, the end of December
I’m writing you now just to see if you’re better
New York is cold, but I like where I’m living
There’s music on clinton street all through the evening.

I hear that you’re building your little house deep in the desert
You’re living for nothing now, I hope you’re keeping some kind of record.

Yes, and Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear
Did you ever go clear?

Ah, the last time we saw you you looked so much older
Your famous blue raincoat was torn at the shoulder
You’d been to the station to meet every train
And you came home without Lili Marlene

And you treated my woman to a flake of your life
And when she came back she was nobody’s wife.

Well I see you there with the rose in your teeth
One more thin gypsy thief
Well I see Jane’s awake --

She sends her regards.
And what can I tell you my brother, my killer
What can I possibly say?
I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you
I’m glad you stood in my way.

If you ever come by here, for jane or for me
Your enemy is sleeping, and his woman is free.

Yes, and thanks, for the trouble you took from her eyes
I thought it was there for good so I never tried.

And Jane came by with a lock of your hair
She said that you gave it to her
That night that you planned to go clear

-- sincerely, L. Cohen

Late Nights and Sunday Mornings

2004-05-30T09:07:00.000-07:00

Last night, I talked to my "twin" Mike for the first time in a long time. Mike and I started calling each other twins when we discovered that we share the same birthday, a love of Neal Stephenson, and an uncanny ability to call the other on things we have no idea of knowing and predict each other's futures (he lives in Toronto, Canada, which makes this even weirder).

It's been a pretty good weekend so far. I've had some good food, spent time with good people, and laughed myself silly in the presence of poetic nerds.

Speaking of poetics, here's my new poem. It has the potential to be good, but it still needs a lot of time and effort. As always, please let me know what you think; objective criticism is truly appreciated:

Shoplifting

Afterwards, I lay curled
like a shell on the kitchen
floor, silent, pink, her arms
clasped around me, shuddering
like the sobs she pulled from
her as if through a sieve.

The metal flyswat lay discarded,
bent, like the pleas that fell
from my mouth, burdens that she
hurled back at me with curse
words from her own language,
appearing on my body in
twig-shaped lines.

As she lay on top of
me and shattered, I unfolded
and threw away each part of
myself I thought I knew.

I kept my favorite color
and sleeping on my stomach
and my finger's perfect fit
in the palm of my sister's hand.

I told myself, as I watched
the flowers on her skirt heave
and quiver,
I was born with teeth and a full head of hair
I was born with teeth and a full head of hair...

Real Estate is Fun!

2004-05-27T09:26:00.000-07:00

So today is my first day of work at a company that writes courses for professionals, such as real estate, which is my department. Good things about this job so far:

1) My best friend/roommate and I can make fun of people and exchange pointless wise-isms about relationships via MSN Messenger

2) There is a truck that comes with yummy taco's mid-morning. Mmm, tacos. Although this taco thing could start to be bad for my hips.

3) Everyone in my department has a sense of humor that I totally appreciate. Exhibit A: The coining of Amanda as Pituitary Glanda/Demanda.

I'm still trying to figure out what the tone of this blog is supposed to be. Be patient.

Tell Me Lies

2004-05-26T13:58:00.000-07:00

I've lied most of my life to my parents in order to do what I wanted to do. Whether it was drinking, smoking, sex, or academic choices, there never seemed to be an alternative. I was too terrified of confrontation and their disappointment. I still am. I've learned in the past five years or so that sometimes it is necessary to lie to your parents; we all do. But there's lying and there's lying.

I applied to law school because I thought I could be happy there, and happy afterwards. The superficial part of me loved the idea of myself in a suit with heels, working at a prestigious law firm, living in a glossy apartment. But I couldn't do it, in the end. I love writing too much. It turns out that I want to be a professor. But it took me almost two years to finally admit that to myself. And of course, the entire time, my parents believed that I was still going to law school. I've made so many mistakes with my parents. Putting off telling them about my decision not to go to law school has been the biggest.

Telling them elicited the usual whirlwind of awful things said out of anger and hurt. While I always expect it and can rationally tell myself not to take their words to heart, the child in me helplessly believed every word until the respect I have for myself and my life diminished into nothing more than a tiny point of light. I can't imagine, however, their pain. As a non-parent, that is beyond my scope of imagination. To know that your daughter has chosen to not share her true aims in life with you and has kept quiet about one of the biggest decisions in her life while carrying on with them normally on a day to day basis...how insulted and deeply hurt they must have felt.

Thankfully, we are working things through. I know that they won't ever be able to fully trust me, but I hope that in time they will accept the path that I've chosen with more feeling than just resignation.

I'm sitting at Flightpath, a coffeeshop, and jazz is playing. There are two beautiful, big dogs laying on the steps. People are reading and talking and laughing. As for me, I have a book of writing programs nearby that I can't wait to open, a new journal open to the first page, and a pen waiting to be uncapped.