The Now and the Not Yet

Is this my writing manifesto?

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 13:00:00 +0000

A good quote that I am, for now on, going to keep in mind as I write to you.

Medieval writing desk

Writing can be therapeutic, but the reader is not your therapist. A therapist is someone you pay, whereas, in many ways, the reader pays you. They pay you with their attention and it's valuable and can't be taken for granted.

-- Stephen Elliott, author/director

I read that in the The Daily Rumpus, a newsletter or sorts by Elliott on what's going on The Rumpus website, but also with him. I like the ramblings, if I can focus on them.

So, as a clarification of why I write about therapy--which is now me talking about this quote in a meta sense--I write about that journey because a) yeah, there's not anyone really to talk about that stuff to and I want to keep a record of those a-ha moments, publicly (I guess), but more importantly b) hopefully as the reader, you do get something out of this, like you're not alone; that someone else has similar struggles; some laughter; a time to pause and think...something.

As much as it's fun to mentally masturbate in public, it can be lewd, and then it has nothing to do with the reader at all. Maybe another analogy is looking for something in the clothes hamper and just tossing dirty clothes all over the place--some of it falling on the reader in a mess.

But I do learn a lot from when I write things out, and sometimes that's the point of writing or blogging. But like I was saying a few posts ago, but I will say it differently--the point of writing is about connecting, meaning it is about you. So if you stop by and read this blog, it is a privilege and an honor--cuz you could be doing other stuff with your time--like reading someone else's work!

Also, the topic of mental health is such a huge part of my life, and it's just easier using myself as the conduit. But I still want the writing itself to be fine and finer still. And although this post is for Friday, February 24th, and I'm writing it on Monday, February 20th, and I'm very grateful for being so prolific lately...well, being prolific without changing how you write is like driving, but being a poor driver and not knowing where you are going. My job is to make sure I keep improving my skills. so I can get us from Point A to Point B more safely and more directly. It's tough, though, especially with non-fiction. I think non-fiction is in a lot of ways tougher than fiction, especially when it's memoir writing.

There's so much emotional heavy-lifting you have to do if you want to write about personal things. In order to tell the story well, you have to have some facts and truths on the table, and some aren't so easily accessible, because your ego is protecting yourself from your crazy id who wants to tell you everything. Yet I'd still rather write about my weird ass life than make one up.

But it's still art. So although I had been wrestling with the idea that this document of transition is for me, and it is for me, it's for you, too. It always will be if I'm posting stuff here publicly. So while I keep myself in mind, I will keep you in mind, as you kindly pay my words with attention and thought. Again, it is a privilege and an honor that I will no longer see as a right.

Which kinda makes even getting my writing to be seen as a privilege, too. So maybe I'll never be a famous writer, but I will have done what I feel like, at this time, I was supposed to do--lean towards what I'm good at and make a life out of it. I have way too many odds against me, but that won't stop me from trying.

So thanks for being a part of the journey and I hope you stick around for more.

When a beloved thing becomes a crutch.

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Thu, 23 Feb 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Two things...

1) So after months of not being in therapy, I realized that I left because I was in a lull, a plateau. That's not necessarily bad, but specifically, Tom (my last therapist), wasn't giving me the hope that I needed. He was there for me, a lot, but I felt like I was stuck in my life, and I know told him this--not that he wasn't holding out hope, but that I felt stuck. So I left because I didn't feel like I could grow any further with him.

Oprah says something similar about when she feels like she has to move on when there's no other growth that can happen in that certain situation. It's not like growth doesn't continue to happen, but I feel like with therapy, I haven't found a therapist I can grow long-term with--and that's OK. I'm (hopefully) about to leave Chicago and start over, and I might go back. I wouldn't be surprised if I did because a move is traumatic, even when it's for a good reason.

But post-Tom, I'm more social than I ever was. Not like I'm in my 20-something heyday, but it's so much better. And that was a big issue when I was in therapy with him. And, I'm more hopeful--mainly because I chose to be.

I don't want to just cope that my life will kinda just be shitty. I need people in my life to see beyond what I can see, especially if I'm paying you. And if not? Then if there are no further elucidations or revelations, then holding my hand while I'm all lonely makes me feel even less empowered to do something about it. Very counter-intuitive, to shake off the only consistent person holding your hand, but that's what had to happen.

2) The Twitter thing...I realize, too, that Twitter is ironically limiting me socially, mainly because I'm not meeting my Twitter friends outside of that space 95% of the time. I'm not sure how to, since most of them aren't in Chicago, but I think that's a huge part of my frustration, and it makes Twitter not seem like it's real life. It ends, and in a sense my online identity ends, when I turn off my computer. And that's because the relationships might not be growing.

Again, the article on loneliness that basically shamed me into moving out of this social media slump (which I'm sorry i didn't link to last time, because I didn't realize it'd be online), makes the case that social media is used as leverage for non-lonely people, and as a crutch for those who are lonely. For example, I should have gone to this writing group in my neighborhood, but I didn't because I didn't want to miss the State of the Union address with Twitter. And, since I don't necessarily want my life to be defined by Twitter, in retrospect, that's lame. I won't even remember those moments later. I could've read the speech or watched it online later and met real people offline!

So if that wasn't clear earlier, that Twitter was a crutch, I hope it's clearer now. I guess both of these conversations are about crutches. I hate that Tom became one, but I wasn't moving or getting better. Twitter--well, I'm going to have firmer boundaries about it, so I don't end up feeling like a shut-in.

For you, dear reader, if I can be all give you unsolicited advice--make sure your tools and supports haven't become crutches. Therapy and Twitter are things that I love, but if they get in the way of making my life better, I will ruthlessly cut them out. I think that's been a theme in my life. I'm not afraid to look crazy and cut out church, friendships, family or anything that stand in the way of me being a more whole, complete person.

Things change; people change; circumstances change. Keep your eyes and ears open to the changes happening within yourself, and it makes this whole life thing a lot easier.

From shock to um...oh...

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 17:56:00 +0000

I'm writing thus from my phone cuz I have to be on a call first thing today.

ho-hum (Photo credit: digitizedchaos)

As an INTJ, I'm not very good at sensing, feeling, or perceiving things. Yesterday, I knew that I should be excited about getting into a grad school, but part of me is an accountant, with the green visor and old timey calculator.

This also means that I'm not good at budgeting in the immediate which wrecks the future I want many times (like hanging out with friends, for example), but I usually can see issues or threats a long way off...

So what gave me insomnia and woke me up last night/this morning, was the fact that funding at this school, without being a TA, which it doesn't look like I'll be, looks a lot like a bunch of hobbling funds together. But getting into grad school that isn't law school or med school, or maybe getting a PsyD, should look like I am paid to be there, not like I am paying to be there. But honestly, I really can't tell.

So finances look like they have rained on my parade, or at least made it mostly cloudy, for now. I'm glad that I didn't do any excessive celebration! I will also say that I deeply respect and prefer schools that fund equally their grad students in order to not make this a competitive environment, and a lot of the schools I applied to have that philosophy. *crosses fingers*

I'm still happy I got in, but I need to wait to see what scholarships and free money I can get first. And I have time. I haven't received a financial aid package yet, so I just figured out how to fill out their form, and have done so, so we'll see. But it's just not as, um, alluring right now. And I'll never know the reason that I didn't get to be a TA was because I was a couple of hours later submitting my application on time OR if they just didn't want me. Ho hum.

It's interesting, too, that all these things that I hadn't really considered are coming up, like what is the infrastructure of the school? Is it large with a lot of resources or small? What would going to an art school be like? Does "diversity" include good amounts of brown people (black and Latino, and that actually has always been an issue)? What's transportation like? Can I get around campus without needing a car?

There's other stuff too, but my mind is a little shot. But that's OK. I think it's just food for thought right now, that being in Los Angeles might not only be my consideration. I will, as most grad students, follow the money. I will not be in six figure debt. I refuse.

And in terms of scholarships, this is where I can't be all modest. I have to be like--dammit, I'm talented, so give me money! That will not be included in my scholarship essay verbatim, but the funders will feel that way!

And now I'm tired. The work phone call wore me out plus the insomnia, plus the self-doubt of not maybe getting into other places. I think after my hard-fought battle to just get my BA, I know that getting into school is actually the easy part. Leaving with a degree that's paid for is the hard part, and I can't take for granted that "everything will work out." Maybe I should be more positive about it, but I'm just keepin' it real, as a mid-30s adult.

Alright, I'm starving, so I will go get lunch. I will probably blog about this whole process, because it's so weird and tumultuous, and people go through this every year. There are so many factors to weigh in and this is where who I am as a person gets so snowed under by the myriad of details and possibilities and choices...

toodles!

More church notes

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Image via Wikipedia

Happy Ash Wednesday for those who are starting their Lenten journey. I thought I'd continue my faith/church convo from yesterday. This might be an all week thing, because I have too much to say, again.

I just deleted most of the post I had here, cuz it was all over the place. So let's just start with last night. I had nightmares about former church friends. I obviously still can't let the idea sink in that these people treated me wrongly and just walk away. I'm still terribly concerned that I really was this self-absorbed loser. I was definitely a hurt individual, and then I think about being in yet another community where these other friends...there was this highly problematic woman that everyone just loved (may she rest in peace) and I felt like I could never fit in as much as she did. And we never got along, too...ugh.

Basically, I thought--why is this annoying mofo getting all this love and I'm super nice and a good listener and supportive, and I'm not as tight with them. I could repeat this story over and over. Permanently on the outside.

Anyway...what I need to accept is that race, specifically being in white, Evangelical churches, have fucked me up. Maybe I need just chant this everyday so I can come closer to acceptance. Or read Divided by Faith again and get so angry that I end up leaving church.

I think it's also that I really did care about these people. And to what end? I think sometimes I'm way too post-racial about American life, to the point I'm really naive about how white culture is like and how white culture sees me, and as if the Church isn't propagating this shit. I know if I was in another, better community, this wouldn't be as painful. I wouldn't be holding onto dead things. I'm not even to the anger portion of grief yet. I'm still trying to figure out what the fuck just happened, which is why I keep talking about it.

Basically, all of these blog posts about my church past are like, "Really? Really?!" How can I remain stunned for this long?

I think it's because I really expect way too much out of humanity, and especially Christians. I feel really dumb about peoples and cultures, expecting them to be really more than they can be. If anything, I think my new rubric will be all people who claim to be holy and good will remain suspect and embrace all atheists.

But still, especially as a teenager, I experienced a lot of wonderful spiritual experiences, corporately. So when I watched Whitney Houston's funeral, I really felt like I missed out on a deeper cultural connection that I could have been a part of. But now, it'd feel really weird to roll up in a Black church, because for 31 years, I was a minority at church, because that's what my parents implicitly taught me, and then that was my biggest social outlet.

Now all of that is gone. In a sense, I can do whatever I want spiritually, which is awesome. But I am a lot lost, not even a little lost, so any sense of community makes me just want to weep because I don't have it. BUT, I had to get rid of this unhealthy, hateful stuff parading as God out of my life.

So whatever church I end up being in, I have remind myself that if I leave my nerdy brain or my INTJ self out of it or my blackness isn't recognize, then that isn't the community I need.

But beyond that, I have major theological issues. More like I really can't be bothered with keeping up with all the cultural trappings of Christianity. I've said this before, but that stuff took up so much time. So right now, I'd rather deal with all this racial stuff (which, in a sense, I will always deal with it), but also just all the hurts. But that will involve replacing these memories with new ones, which will take bravery and courage to make them...and that involves time for healing. But it's a Rubik's cube of fuckery. For sure.

I'm obviously, or maybe not so obviously, saying this 100% for me, because identify shifts take so much time, and as much as I'm annoyed that I feel like I haven't moved from this spot, I know I have. I know more and I'm looking at this stuff differently than I did when I left my church on Easter Sunday three years ago. There's been so much growth that has happened and I celebrate and appreciate that, that I can look at those failed relationships in a bigger context of race and society, and also that really and truly, most of those people I had no business being friends with.

I do wish I could hurry up and be all healed up and wonderful and trust people again, but even after that handwriting analysis I received a couple of weeks ago--specifically the insight that I have lots of energy going out, but not a lot of returns--it's time to find where the energy hogs are, cut them off, and be around people where there are equal exchanges of energy.

But I still haven't figured out how to be friendly and outgoing when all I want to do is mourn and cry. I'm an either/or person, so I don't want to do both, even though life seems like it's passing me by. And even when I was more messed up emotionally, and probably more of a pill to be around, I had more of a community. I keep coming back around and around to the question "What's so different now?", and the answer is everything.

Back to those former friends that I had no business being around...besides that church creates this scarcity of choice in your mind (don't be unequally yoked!), I think that, again, I naively thought being open and honest with them was going to help me, them and help the community. But I wasn't really being wise or listening to my gut that said, "God, this woman is obnoxiously snotty," or "This sanguine nature is making me ill."

And instead of just beating myself up for being such an allegedly horrible friend--and not to say that I was perfect. I did, at the time, tended to go on and on about my life, but my life then was pretty shitty. But it wasn't anything that a wise re-direct couldn't fix--I could just see these as really tough lessons about boundaries, about who to let into your inner chambers.

Like what I said about what I learned in standing in a grilled cheese sandwich line with my friend L, not everyone is meant to be your soulmate, and as flattering as it sounds to treat everyone like that, these chicks should've been kept at an arm's length. They couldn't be in my life for the long haul. And most people won't be.

They themselves might've seen themselves as generous saints, but most of these chicks were divas. Divas for Jesus, I guess. The church is for the sick, but when they stay sick, that's where I have my problems. It's like being quarantined with all sorts of diseases and just getting secondary illnesses. Leaving the sanitarium for more open spaces is what has gotten me well, so the thought of returning, just for community, makes me ill.

But yet, I still can't say I'm not a Christian anymore, since a lot of this shit is very circumstantial. There have been so many people who have been beat up by their Christian brothers and sisters for various reasons, and I'm somewhat holding out for a church that talks about God like they would in a seminary and doesn't have to talk about keepin' it real. They just do.

All I'm left with is thinking about how to love my neighbor as myself--which seems so hard to do. The attention towards myself still feels foreign, especially for someone who is accused of being self-absorbed (I'm one of the accusers). I think this has a lot to do with my weaknesses as an INTJ, sensing and feeling don't come so easily. So I can intuit and think about it, but concretize what this all is, it takes so long. So if you're been a long time reader of this blog--thanks for your patience as I keep untangling the same ball of yarn. I bet we could both say that it slowly is untangling, but it's a messy process.

I could probably sum this all up and say that idealism can wreck you, especially if you throw it into a spiritual context. To be wise as a serpent but gentle as a dove...that duality is what I strive for. I'm actually glad that I'm not letting many people in my life anymore, and that I'm not chasing after old friends either. It does help with the healing process, even though getting friends that can help build my shaky friend confidence would be much better.

But, in time, this very painful and solitary period of my life will eventually end (And no, I don't mean my life off of Twitter, which I will talk about, again, tomorrow--briefly--because I have more to say on that. ;-)). Life is better because I'm not relying on anyone to get me or understand me. I need to understand, and love, myself first. There's a strength and beauty in that, things I can bring into my next friendships and relationships. I won't be relying on anyone to heal me.

I can and will heal myself.

LA Woman?

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 00:04:00 +0000

Yeah, that could be me.

Excited Elizabeth (Photo credit: Joe Plocki (turbojoe))

The best excited picture I could find on Zemanta. Sorry.

I just got my first acceptance letter, from USC. I have nine other schools to hear from. I wasn't expecting to hear from schools so early.

First, let me tell you...I felt that my mailbox was oddly full, and then I saw this huge envelope say "Welcome to USC" and I was like...what? No way. So then I opened it, before I made it upstairs, and I couldn't even finish reading the letter from admissions.

Excuse me while I do all of these tumblr gifs at once: http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/excited+gif

Actually, I'm kinda still in shock so...um...maybe you guys can be excited for me? You're so good at it.

Also? Laissez les bons temps rouler! I really coulda gone for a paczki but since I had Girl Scout cookies for lunch (Savannah Smiles are delicious), I'll have to wait until next year...or make my own!

I'll keep you kids posted on further acceptance and rejection letters...xoxo

Church notes (on a funeral)

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Watching the Whitney Houston funeral made me think and feel some things...

Image by Getty Images via @daylife

Flag at half-mast for Whitney Houston in Newark, NJ

As I said in my last post, I ugly cried throughout the almost four-hour service. I've always said that gospel music has a special hold on me, so when I was listening the choir, all clothed in white, singing songs of hope and faith, I was stirred. I cried. Was this God or my emotions or both? I don't know.

I don't even know why I was crying so much overall. I didn't cry this much over Michael Jackson, so that this is the third time I'm writing at length about a singer and entertainer is surprising me--a lot. But then again, I feel a little more American and human now, because before this, I really was never upset when musicians or famous people died.

But I digress. Backing it up a bit, I'm listening to the Blacking It Up podcast right now talking about this and I feel better about talking about this now. I didn't grow up in the Black church, but I grew up in church--Presbyterian at first, and then mostly white non-denominational churches. My Ghanaian parents started out in DC and I remember either my mom or dad remarking that the church services were too loud. Yeah, Presbyterians aren't really ebullient types. So beyond other random encounters--weddings and funerals--the Black church and I aren't that tight, but still...it was like being home.

Hearing people speak about Whitney's faith and draw on their faith, plus seeing the Winans family--BeBe and CeCe, Marvin Winans--who looks too much like Tyler Perry now, who was also there, so I can barely recognize him ~~(especially in a monsignor outfit?! Someone tell me why! Is he Catholic now?)~~ and all the others...I felt like I was 20 years younger and more innocent. I was churched and believing certain things. And that's when The Bodyguard came out, I believe. It was trippy--time-trippy.

I'm trying to find a way to say this that doesn't look so judgmental, but I'll just be honest and say that I found it really fascinating and surprising that a lot of the singers at the service are people that have had some major issues and allegations against them. I'm not sure why this surprised me, but it challenged my old thoughts about who the Church is and who is holy and being honest and contrite about your failings and well...it looks like it was a non-judgmental place to be. Plus, it wasn't about them--it was about Whitney.

So before I was connecting dots, I reflected on that I missed the community of worshipping corporately with folks--and I kinda understood singing to God again. Sort of. And that's why I really wanted to write this. I know that worship for me at previous churches had lost its...efficacy. I was just singing.

Yes, it's up to me to connect to God (blah blah blah white evangelical Western mindset). But it's a corporate affair, 95% of the time. Church tradition until recently made this very paramount. I hope in my heart that those folks in Whitney's home church really do rely on each other, know each other, consider each other family. But I was craving, and missing, that feeling of community. But I got a good dose of that today, even from TV. And listening to Blacking It Up today, apparently I wasn't alone in feeling like I was missing out on community.

I felt, too, that I was collectively mourning with a lot of folks around the country and around the world. I probably would've felt that more I know that I'm not mourning Whitney Houston the person, since I don't really know her. Those people in that church did. But I am mourning her gift and her beauty, and the loss of my childhood a bit, which I've already written about.

And also, on a human level, mourning that a mother and a daughter lost their daughter and mother a week ago. That was actually the worst part, imagining what it'd be like to bury my daughter or bury my mother at age 18. That could seriously try to end you. I hope for Cissy Houston and Bobbi Kristina, that isn't the case that the same community and family there can wrap them up in healing and care.

For those who did know her well, there was such good storytelling, too. I was floored by how intimately Kevin Costner knew Whitney Houston, through his stories. I learned a lot about him and about his good friend. Bebe Winans' story took the cake. I think all the stories showed a side of innocence and vulnerability that we the public didn't see. Those were the best parts, because then, I felt like I knew her a little more beyond her entertainer persona.

So, besides the eulogy that got a little sketchy and lost its emotional steam with Marvin Winans said something about how some folks say they hate the prosperity gospel and how he feels like there's no other gospel to preach (!!!)--actually, that, plus hearing the Bible referred to as a life manual--pushed me back out the church. I was just out on the curb. It reminded me why I left. The recessional made me weep and I'm tired crying on and off for four hours straight!

But boy...I'm grateful that I had a chance to watch this funeral. It was the right balance of having the world watch and having their own personal send-off It wasn't entertainment for me--it was a chance to say goodbye, thank you, Godspeed and happy homegoing.

I shouldn't be surprised that sitting in church conjured up all these feelings. But I'm still surprised at how moved I was all last week about Whitney Houston's untimely death. May she truly rest in peace.

But this spawned a whole conversation about how I feel about church--ugh, again--so you'll read that tomorrow (maybe). Until then...peace to you.

my 501st post: what is this for?

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 13:00:00 +0000

What does it all meeeeean?

Image via Wikipedia

A double rainbow, OMG...

So yesterday, I posted my 500th post, to very little fanfare, cuz I kinda wasn't paying attention. So let's celebrate the 501st! Hurrah!

Celebration (Photo credit: tetraconz)

Celebration of Light (Photo credit: kslavin)

Confetti Shower (Photo credit: Daniel Morris)

Welcome to the State of the Blog address.

I had been thinking about the use and usefulness of this blog. At first, I thought I was having a worldwide audience that was sorta OK, but I realized, sadly, that most of it is some odd sp@m, where they expect the blogger to click on the link shown as the referring site. I did this twice, because I didn't get it. So, probably to my benefit, I'm still in a dark corner of the blogoverse.

But it's not like I am wanting to be big and famous here, per se. I'm not doing enough of the marketing and networking that I need to do as a blogger, which requires me to have the time, but more the headspace to do that. It's a job in it of itself. I really only had two goals:

1) Have a document that would record the transition from wanting to be a child psychiatrist to a writer.
2) Improve my writing.

Both goals have been accomplished. I had been thinking about a pre-med classmate who did the opposite--went from being a theater major to being a first year med-student now. And she had more passion about medicine and, specifically, her pre-med classes than I did, and I know she was influential in my deciding not to pursue medicine anymore.

But still, do I really want to connect here? I'm not so sure anymore. I could, but a lot of my posts are closed ponderings, soliloquies or speeches, and really can't be commented on without it looking like you're advising me on what to do with my life. I'd totes hate that, so thanks for not doing it! The only reactions I'd really want my readers to have--look at me being controlling. OK: I hope that my readers can walk away thinking a little differently. That's about it. If we connect as humans, I'm assuming that you thinking differently is a part of that.

But writers always want to connect, be heard, and be understood. OK--most writers. But obviously, the way I write--ehhhhhh, not my ultimate goal here. My ultimate goal generally, though? Yes. I believe I was suffering from this confusion for a while. So now that we cleared that up...

There's tension with that--what the writer wants vs. what the reader needs. I honestly don't know what you need, especially since I thought most of you were humans, but were actually spammers. I basically think my audience are friends who care to read this as it tweeted on Twitter or is put in their inboxes--not that many. And that's OK. But I still wonder--comments? no comments?

My product is transitional identity making, and I bet I could help people navigate leaving Church or leaving the sciences, leaving home...leaving their old selves. But it's really hard to give any advice about that besides it's easier when you have allies, but if you're being all Abraham and leaving your homeland--just don't lie to the king and say your wife is your sister OR sleep with your maid.

Meaning? All I can say is don't do anything obviously stupid while you're in that time. Go slow. Give yourself as much time and space as you need. Let yourself break apart and cry. Piece yourself back together and find new allies. Allow the whole process to be messy. Give yourself years to do this. Pat yourself on the back when you have completed said transformation.

And, according to that handwriting analysis--I'm an expert of people. Mental health will always be important. I love writing about music and art, so yeah, I'll keep doing that, too. My Myers-Brigs personality is INTJ, which is super-rare and I think worth exploring more. So, you know, I gots some stuff. I'm just not, erm, organized, because details overwhelm me. But there's always so much to learn about things--which I enjoy sharing with you, whether it's deeply personal or just random.

Anyway, today I had been reading all the blog advice and just feeling a little overwhelmed and underachieving as to how I should be here: be niche!, they say. I'm only niche in my own life, and I dig so many different things...But the writing can always improve. The content will not drive people here unless I do get more niche. The humans that really are driven here are folks interested in giftedness. But, I don't want to write on just that.

Today, a lot of folks came to my blog because of my post on Whitney Houston and her effect on me. Her funeral was today (Saturday, February 18th), which I ugly cried through. Beautiful, moving service. But I, not even on purpose, had that post drop today. Timely. Lucky. But hey--no one is talking. So meh. It's traffic, but yeah, even though I don't really write like I want to connect--I do want people to connect with what I say and comment. Have a dialogue.

Although that isn't happening as much as it should, having conversations, the writing--writing here--is still important to me, and maybe a few other people. So thanks to you all who have been here since the beginning, and I welcome those who have been here for the first time. All I really want is to get into grad school and start the next phase of my life and have a new "now" and a new "not yet."

And I will probably blog about it!

Facebook and fake intimacy.

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Sun, 19 Feb 2012 17:00:00 +0000

Sorry I neglected you for two days...I was busy cleaning...

Image via Wikipedia

Ed. note: I published this on December 12th, 2011 but the formatting is way off with my relatively new blog theme, so I'm re-posting it as a bonus today. The article that inspired this rant was from the The New York Times: "The Facebook Resisters".

It's funny how social media can be a double-edged sword. Around three years ago, I decided to leave Facebook because I had a huge case of the jellies (jealousy). This year, in the past two days, I just de-friended a ton of people that were mainly people I played games with, but also people that I am no longer close to, nor should be close to. So almost 600 people later, out of almost 1400, where I also found three people who had died, I am freer. Granted almost 800 friends is ridiculous, but it's a lot more manageable. But here's what I learned or reaffirmed for myself.

1) Facebook should reflect reality of my relationships lived out in real life. I've always said that Facebook should be an extension of the real relationships one has. But I found myself feeling like a voyeur. It's one thing if Facebook can be a helpful shortcut to keep up with people who you really care about and also care about you, in the midst of busy lives.

But hell--if we're that busy, maybe we shouldn't be relying on Facebook to keep in touch. No one likes hearing or saying that, but it's true.

Also, I'm in the age group where lots people are getting married and having children. That's wonderful. But pre-web, the only way I could see those pics is if I went over your house to see the proofs. Now...it's just a little too easy ;to feel like I'm involved in your life. Being a singleton, notwithstanding, it ends up feeling alienating, because Facebook is the sanitized the version of life. So if we're not messaging or emailing or visiting or calling each other, and never have, but you want to show me pictures of your child...I just can't.

2) Facebook should not be about amassing people like Garbage Pail Kids cards. I felt so awful that I didn't know that three people I played with had died, fucking died. Heartbroken. I read one person's wall, and one of her sons wrote such loving things on her wall. She had died of breast cancer. She was a person. With a family that loved her. She just wasn't some random mafioso. She passed away this past March.

So when you have over 1400 people on your list, how can there be any quality? I went through each and every person, looking at their lives. There are some fascinating people that I was playing with. An arm wrestling champ? Someone who works with the Denver Broncos, I think? People from my hometown. People who live here in Chicago. Just such a varied group of people that I wouldn't have been able to meet otherwise. But even for those who are left, where I also see their kids and loved ones...it's just as weird and painful--yes, because I have no real immediate family anymore and also because I don't feel like I should be able to see these things, even though it makes them be more human. I wish there was some middle ground...

3) Facebook will not make me happy. This article is based on a study by a PhD student at Stanford. Basically, looking at the sanitized lives of my "friends" makes me do a horribly unfair compare/contrast. And, surprise, I end up feeling like shit. Especially for me, I tend to walk around with my guts out, and seeing everyone all tidied up wasn't reflecting reality. I don't see the bored times, the sad times, the frustrating times as much. And yeah, those aren't as fun to share. But that's reality, baby! But you can't see those times on Facebook anyway, because you have to actually hang out with people, even if it's online! It has to be consistent. As much as I wish I could just pick up I left it with people, it's not that easy. I'm happy and grateful I do have friends like that, but I need consistency. In the flesh.

4) Facebook will not change my current situation. It will only make sure it stays that way. So yeah, I realize that this persistent loneliness + aloneness I am living through will change--hopefully--but I feel like I do need to fear like it won't, because it sucks. Facebook fakes intimacy, and that can be so damaging, to someone who needs that desperately, to someone like me. And I don't like putting my thoughts and feelings out there to people who don't actively care. It's doubly insulting--to me, because I don't value myself enough and just in general to get the insult of silence. I honestly don't have a lot of influence or pull on FB, and it makes my pride just want to kick dirt all day.

But in a sense, it makes me feel like I'm in this inescapable feedback loop--no one commented or cares about what I just posted, because no one cares about me. Slippery slope there, d*. OK. So maybe that's true. If so, then hey--don't post your precious thoughts on FB. Right? Right. Like, I dunno, I should go read and better myself. Go have a life! (bah, that's so not happening, but I do feel like screaming that at myself...and then I remember that people are awful). Facebook can help with connecting--don't get me wrong, but one-on-one, in real time--heck, even on Skype, is way better than Facebook will ever be for pure human interaction.

All to say, either way, I have control. Mark Zuckerberg must be so happy that his little product is kind of trying to ruin my life, but I won't let it! Ha!

5) Letting go of dead things and their reminders is amazeballs. So besides just trying to control my friend list from all the ex-gamers, I wanted to just get rid of all dead friendships that aren't adding anything to my life. It's like hanging out in a cemetery. Oh yeah, we used to be friends and now we're not. Having these electronic reminders, lingering on my wall like graffiti. So I sandblasted the hell out of my wall. And the cool thing is, Facebook allows you to look at what you want to look at. So for most people, I'm only going to see what's important...I mean, whatever Facebook deems important.

6) Facebook knows all--including who you actually give a shit about. OK, let's get really petty, because Facebook can be petty. It's beyond frustrating to see two "friends" of yours talk about how much they miss each other, but not even notice your birthday or your fucking existence. This really ties back to church, again, but again--the type of relationships I formed there, most of them weren't long-lasting. Granted, in my mind, I'm thinking of one church that I really gelled with, right after I was exiled from college, and I still, after 11 fucking years, cannot get over the bonds that had been created that I'm no longer a part of, but still exist. I actually need to unsubscribe from one person...hold on...OK. Done. Phew. Basically, it's about what you want to concentrate on. And it's good that I don't ever have to see that person or the group that I was a part of, in my feed, ever again.

Even when I was more social, that really hurt me. So in a way, Facebook can flush out some realities that you didn't know were there. And, the net gain is the truth of where you stand, not having this collector's card relationship with someone, because that means it's really on its last legs. And I probably will start to cut more people out soon. It's a little addictive. Not to say that I can't deal with ambiguity, because there are some co-workers, for example, that I'm friends with on there, but they can't see anything of mine, mainly as a professional boundary. I also have some ex-cowkers I want to keep in touch with, although I might just say, hey, let's hook up on LinkedIn instead...ok, I had ambiguity. But seriously--when it comes to friendships, I'd rather be involved in a meaningful way or not at all. Half-assed friendships--life is too short to spend time on those, and I think Facebook just creates the atmosphere for such relationships. But I know that the gifted part of me always wants more, more intensely, more frequently, more more more. And even in a temperate mood, I'm not going to find a safe space to be myself on Facebook. Twitter? Definitely.

But basically, I now feel like I'm 12, not 33, like I just want to go write in my journal and cry, which is ultimately why I won't be on Facebook much anymore. An aside: thank you Jesus Facebook wasn't around when I was a teenager. Let me just leave it at that.

But anyway, all the stuff I post from Twitter, I'd rather post on a tumblr. And then I'll play games, check in periodically with my writing group, and...that's it. Oh, post pics if they are relevant to other folks, like Christmas pics for my friend.

*cleansing adult sigh* Because...it's just Facebook, and just because my friendships that I have left rattle around inside me like a penny in a tin can, it doesn't mean that how I feel is reality either. It just exacerbates this special place I'm in. I can put in as little or as much as I want, which is probably what you wanted to tell me anyway.

But fuck fake intimacy. True initimacy is where it's at. And I won't find it on Facebook.

Oh God, Excel hell is waiting for me at work tomorrow. Let me put some Visine in my purse...good night.

Social media--I actually could live without it

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Sun, 19 Feb 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Not all of it, though...just a lot of it.

Image via Wikipedia

It's been about three weeks since I've been active on Twitter and Facebook, and I'm alright...I could probably live without it without many repercussions. I would just have to recalibrate how I communicate with people, like by email, chat, or, gasp, the phone.

I do know that my Facebook footprint will become smaller. I've already vowed to look at it once a day, for sanity's sake. I won't be draconian in keeping that, but there's really nothing there for me since my friendship quotient is so low. Again, I will reiterate that Facebook should reflect the status of your relationships offline. If stink offline, I'm not going to be a lurker and look at the selected details of your life and infer anything other than--oh, this is what you want me to think about your life.

This article in the New York Times, "Don't Tell Me, I Don't Want to Know", again summarizes how I feel about social media in general. It's a good read. And thankfully, I'm not really privy to ex-friends and ex-lovers' lives online--as it should be. We should not have access to each others' lives once our relationship has ended.

As for Twitter, I do miss live-tweeting shows. I'm missed the Super Bowl, then the Grammys, and now the Oscars which are tonight--probably the Big Three TV events of the year. I have shitty timing to show resolve! But I do feel more balanced now, but not all the way there. I think I'm still tilting to what others are interested in, instead of what I'm interested. I know that's due to a lack of a real life for myself, outside of working on something--a job, my writing, my self-concept.

I have been continuing to consider what I enjoy doing outside of just sitting on my ass and quipping on all things pop culture. It's still art of all sorts, for sure. So, when I return, I want to focus on that more, although I tend to be all over the place. I really shouldn't be into something just so I can fit in--and that was really upsetting me when it came to Twitter. It was like high school all over again, in my head. Not to say that people were as evil or insecure as high schoolers, but the pressure to be about something, online, was entirely too large and heavy. It's actually stupid, too, because it's just Twitter. But then again, it's not. It's community.

But since my real-life community outside of the TweetDeck flagged, I just felt ashamed that most of my friends were online and I live in a metropolis. Even as an introvert, that's just not sane or healthy. So yeah, I have two friends now in Chicago that I can see on occasion (the alum I touched base with...I haven't heard from her). This is a 100% improvement! And you know, sometimes it's good to be shamed into better things, like being more social and working on that. It's slow progress, since a lot of it has to do with money (that I don't have). But when it's more of a part of your life, you save up for things and you look forward to doing things. New social scenes still fill me with dread, so I've been trying to focus on things I really want to do with a group. Do I need to see a movie with a group? Not really. But there really, technically, isn't an excuse to feel alone in Chicago--if you have a little bit of dough, of course. I should be fully recovered from paying grad school apps by next month, which is right around when I should be either cutting my losses or trying to figure out how to move across the country.

Anyway, so instead of making friends slowly, I've been getting the hang of tumblr, and without the distractions of the other two places, this made tumblr more navigable of a place. Tumblr is wild, with gifs just floating around, and all sort of thoughts. So many thoughts and images. I'm way too vague for that place, but I think I have a point of view that's quirky enough for a follow. It's a very image driven place, so that's really good for me, as a very word-driven person, to make my links more image-based. GIFs are what will set you for life, though. I wanted to maybe check out Pinterest, which is even more image driven of a place. I just requested an invite. I'm not as concerned about that place just yet. But tumblr replaced my need to post things on my Facebook wall, and since my tumblr has its own Facebook page, I kinda didn't leave Facebook. And because my tumblr posts on Twitter, I kinda didn't leave Twitter either. I'm just not engaging any further than that.

Honestly, though, I hope I have more of a life in the future that won't necessitate being on either Twitter or Facebook. The #1 thing I do miss is being instantly informed. I remember when Osama bin Laden was killed. I remember finding out about other notable events online, before most of my other offline friends knew. Tracking the GOP primary season without Twitter is almost pointless. It's definitely not as nuanced or enriched for me. Is the Maine primary or caucus still going on, for example? I won't have the memory of collectively finding out that Whitney Houston died. I found out about that after coming back from somewhere and reading my email from a Chicago Tribune alert. By myself. Without anyone to really react to...except on tumblr.

And even if I had more friends offline, would I just call or email my friend about Whitney Houston's death? Probably not--it feels silly. If I had a boyfriend, I'd wait to see him to talk to him about it. I'd only freak out in real time with my own family, in the same house. If I had a child, I wouldn't text them, "Oh Lawd, Whitney's gone! I just can't..." But to hop on Twitter and collectively be in shock and grief together? That means something, a whole lot of something--outside of my own loneliness, I can feel the resonance of an online community and the gaps it fills, gaps that we didn't really have before. So I miss that, too--the shared experience of world events.

But that's why leaving was so important. I didn't really have a broad enough scope to realize why I needed Facebook and Twitter in my life. They were just there, sucking up the copious amounts of time that I gave it, make me wonder what I should be doing AFK. But just like that article on loneliness stated--non-lonely folks use these tools as leverage. I was using it as a crutch. I think now I can use them as information sources, not as relationship fillers--and not to say that, again, I don't have good Twitter friends. It's just that most of the time, they aren't in my time zone. And I need the balance of worldwide online friends and hometown heroes, like everyone else.

Finally, I do like challenging myself to do things like this, out of curiosity and also just for the sake of self-denial. I don't even know how I will re-enter the Twitterverse or Facebookopolis, but I will be a little less fucking needy, a little more resolved, and a lot wiser for the time spent apart. I want to challenge myself, generally, to be doing more of what I want to do, outside of the court of friend approval and be OK with not having an amazing life as portrayed by Facebook.

This has been a definite reality check, too, in terms of the words that I use. So many idle tweets have been sent from my fingers, mainly as a chance to connect. And most of the time, I was just shootin' the shit with myself. Bor-ring. I'm sure I've typed a lot less. But I also co-opted being on Twitter with being on Get Glue and sharpening my wordsmithing, particularly my quippiness and humor. That has been fun, AND it hasn't been as intrusive as Twitter can be, specifically--tweets rolling by that you're supposed to pay attention to. So yes--more focus on what I say and how I say it has been another boon from abstained from teh Twitterz and le facebook.

I feel like I should be writing this on March 1st, that I've learned all that I have need in the past 18 days (writing this on Friday, February 17th). But I could do better. I'm still not reading as much as I should, nor am I working out as much as I should (read: barely). There's still a lot of offline room to be had. And maybe I just replaced Facebook and Twitter with tumblr and Get Glue--I can admit to that. But both of those have even less friends making potential than the other two. So maybe they were my nicotine patch--it's worked! And there's only so much you can do with both of those sites...

Anyway, I could go on and on about this, but I think taking a break from any task or activity that we do, once in a while, is good--whether it's from work or church or watching TV or whatever--it helps you rest and gain perspective. You come back refreshed with renewed vigor and vision and you keep going.

OK, ultimately, I was looking for true connections, which are harder to form online than offline. And I did, at least with one new person. This is good, because you need people who are there for you to pick you up from the hospital when you've been scoped both ways. It's nice to share a meal with someone, in person. But living on hors d'oeuvres and calling it a real meal (although I did that out of sheer laziness today) is not real food, real sustenance, real living. And we may get fooled into that sometimes, that these byte sized nibbles are enough for the human condition to thrive on. Maybe you already knew that it wasn't, but let me reiterate that it's not.

And honestly, who knows what will happen in the next few months? I might end up ditching all this altogether, like I did with stupid Mafia Wars. But I doubt it.

I'm still slightly addicted.

The Greatest Love of All--Thank you, Whitney

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Sat, 18 Feb 2012 13:00:00 +0000

With Whitney Houston's passing, I wanted to say a little something...

Image via Wikipedia

Whitney Houston performing "Greatest Love of All" during the HBO-televised concert "Welcome Home Heroes with Whitney Houston" honoring the troops, who took part in Operation Desert Storm, their families, and military and government dignitaries (March 1991)

First, people love to legislate grieving, especially of musical artists. What I wanted to say more broadly is that it's a false equivalency to compare Whitney Houston to starving children in Africa--children that aren't really thought about until a major celebrity dies--ironic when that's the point others have made about Whitney's death, as if she was my best friend and I just left her. She's a celebrity! But it's a false equivalency because each human life has equal worth--which is invaluable.

With Whitney Houston, she touched millions of lives with the gift of her voice. And yes, she wasn't a saint--she was human. So many of us have drug addictions and tumultuous relationships and personal issues that aren't being played out on a reality TV show or on a tabloid paper. And we're lucky for that!

Glass houses...stones...thrown...glass everywhere...hush and let people honor her and grieve her loss. And that goes for anyone who dies. It's hard for me to say when I think about some really evil people who have died recently--not any that I know personally, but...it's true, even for them.

So I can't say I'm a stan of Whitney Houston, but I grieve because a) I was rooting for her to get her shit together and shine again as she did before. I watched the Oprah interviews and her last interviews on Access Hollywood. It sounds like, toxicology reports notwithstanding, that she actually was on her way to doing just that. So I'm grateful. I also grieve because b) a great beauty has been snuffed out from us prematurely. But again, I'm grateful because we have her voice recorded, over and over--videos and movies and albums. She'll always still be with us. I'm also sad for her daughter especially, and I hope she is able to endure this very tough time. I wish the same for the rest of her family.

Personally speaking, as I had mentioned in an earlier post: in elementary school, I sang with my classmates, "Greatest Love of All." for some school assembly--maybe it was Valentine's Day, but I feel like it had to with us leaving elementary school. But when you're a kid, you have no earthly idea of what you're singing. You're just supposed to memorize these words and sing loudly.

But probably on Monday, I looked at the lyrics of the song. I didn't know that it was from her eponymous first album, nor that it had been recorded by two other artists prior. I remember us belting out, with great conviction, as Whitney did, the middle section that starts with "I decided long ago..."

I had no idea how important it would be, especially now. This song has such a great message, about loving yourself and passing on that message to younger generations. I think with all this sorting and re-sorting of my life, I'm glad that I actually looked at the lyrics and saw how apropos they were for this lonely place in my life (check out the last verses of this song). It's so perfect, and I can appreciate it a lot more now. Even back then, the song had become hyper-sentimentalized--even as a kid, I remembered how mushy the song was. Well, I welcome the mush today.

And I realize that some of my fave songs of Whitney's have to do with strength and endurance ("It's Not right, But It's Okay; "I Didn't Know My Own Strength"; "I Will Always Love You"), in ways that other folks are unable to convey. And that's the beauty of art, her art that is unique to just to her. You hear how young singers try to copy her melismas (definition here). And it's not quite right. She really can't be successfully imitated--although Amber Riley on Glee has an excellent version of "I Will Always Love You" (sadly coincidental to Whitney's death), and, in my opinion, it was way better than Jennifer Hudson's version on the Grammys, although mad props for her voice not breaking, not once.

And that's why I got choked up many times this week, because the songs are beautiful, and we won't be able to hear any new, beautiful songs...or hear her voice live, or see her beautiful face.

Like I had said yesterday about us being multi-faceted, for a lot of us around the world, there's a light that Whitney's voice could shine through us and make us feel especially happy, hopefully, resolved, strengthened, ready for a dance...and that light...maybe it'll never go out, but it has dimmed. This is why each human life is invaluable--because of the unique things we bring to, and leave on, earth.

So thank you, Whitney, for leaving me with this amazing song that I sang with all my little kid might over 20 years ago, and then, sadly, because you left so suddenly, I was reminded this song had been planted here in my heart all along,. Not only is it a lovely memory, it's what music does--your music does: strengthens, heals, and brings joy. And I'm not even a big, big fan, but I am so grateful to you for how you touched my life with your voice and your joy of singing. I might've finally accepted that you're gone, but you're definitely not forgotten. RIP.

"Greatest Love Of All"

I believe the children are our future
Teach them well and let them lead the way
Show them all the beauty they possess inside
Give them a sense of pride to make it easier
Let the children's laughter remind us how we used to be

Everybody's searching for a hero
People need someone to look up to
I never found anyone who fulfilled my needs
A lonely place to be
So I learned to depend on me

[Chorus:]
I decided long ago, never to walk in anyone's shadows
If I fail, if I succeed
At least I'll live as I believe
No matter what they take from me
They can't take away my dignity
Because the greatest love of all
Is happening to me
I found the greatest love of all
Inside of me
The greatest love of all
Is easy to achieve
Learning to love yourself
It is the greatest love of all

I believe the children are our future
Teach them well and let them lead the way
Show them all the beauty they possess inside
Give them a sense of pride to make it easier
Let the children's laughter remind us how we used to be

[Chorus]

And if, by chance, that special place
That you've been dreaming of
Leads you to a lonely place
Find your strength in love

the multi-faceted beauty of you and me

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Fri, 17 Feb 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Lessons learned while waiting for grilled cheese sandwiches.

Image via Wikipedia

Grilled cheese with Gouda, Hoisin sauce, and hot Asian mustard.

So this past Sunday, I went to Dose Market which is near work with a friend. It's like an urban market that convenes once a month. For 8-10 bucks, it's decent entertainment and people watching for a Sunday morning/afternoon. *waves hi to said friend who I hope is reading this* We walked around, looking at all sorts of food, fashions and art, admiring the jewelry especially. There were poets that were giving poems on demand for $5.

Sunday was a brilliantly sunny day, thankfully, and it raised our spirits (boy, I sound old there, like I'm 80 and I'm from some other literary era. But it did). And as I told my friend, I can never tell how grumpy I am until the sun comes out (which reminds me--I probably need to start using my lightbox...even though it's been so mild). We hung out for about two hours--felt longer than that as we waited in line for our free drink and wandered around at all the vendors.

And then, because we didn't find the deep dish pizza (that's next month, L!), we opted to have grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. I forgot the vendor, but then again, I should just invest in a grilling machine since I love me some grilled cheese. L got blueberries and Swiss cheese, instead of cream cheese. I got the Frenchie--Swiss cheese and caramelized onions. Both were delicious.

But while we waited, and I don't know how we got on this topic, but I basically expressed gratitude for having L in my life (bring out the weepy violins. No wait. Don't. Maybe plaintive pianos that would be played during a Summer's Eve commercial) and that I'm realizing that not every friendship would go deep quickly, that this was rare. I hate that I might be misremembering...anyway she replied that a professor in college said that not every friend was meant to be a soulmate--so simple, yet it clicked for me why a lot of my friendships went flop.

Not that it was all my fault, but it's easier to blame me...but I approach everyone as a potential best friend. One-size-fits-all. That's definitely too flattering and too, well, almost arrogant that I would interface with every person I meet and that we would mesh that well. But from standing in the long line for buttery, cheesy, ooey-gooey goodness, I resolved to be a lot more neutral when I meet people. Although I know I'm usually a quick but good judge of people, I think it's also another reminder that if I don't feel that great about someone's faults, it's for a reason--it's not a true match to bring someone in. Also someone's strengths could mismash with mine, too. Basically--just listen to how my emotions are responding and follow through from there,

But that wasn't all. I was reminded of a sermon--well, an example from a sermon--that mentioned C.S. Lewis and two of his best friends, Charles Williams and J.R.R. Tolkien. When Williams died, this is what C.S. Lewis had to say from his book.

"In each of my friends there is something that only some other friend can fully bring out. By myself I am not large enough to call the whole man into activity; I want other lights than my own to show all his facets. Now that Charles [ Williams ] is dead, I shall never again see Ronald's [ Tolkien's ] reaction to a specifically Charles joke. Far from having more of Ronald, having him "to myself" now that Charles is away, I have less of Ronald..."

It's very touching and also the most nuanced way of looking at friendship I've seen in a while. I brought up the quote to L because I remembered that not everyone was going to "get me" in the same way. Because we're all interface in different way, it's cool to see how each of us brings out different things from each other, and as an introvert, it's an alluring idea to have a broader group of friends. But I think it just makes me take a step back and look at who has been in my life and what lights they have shone through me and the unique array of facets that were seen because of them. And when they do die, like Charles did, some of that is gone. If we had another friend between us, I could say as Lewis, I'll miss how X did Y when Charles did Z. But still--the point is well-taken.

Oh yeah, the quote was more about how heaven is like, and I think the sermon was talking about how each of us in the Church bring out different facets of God--all pretty. But without the celestial/heavenward gaze, it's something I'm still meditating on, and something that you could also meditate on. For me, I'm going to try to not be as dismissive of people, but also make sure I really trust myself with my first impressions. But people can always prove me, who is never wrong about first impressions, wrong.

So yay for hanging out with someone who is a deep sea diver of life like me, especially since I tend to give everyone, all seven billion people in the world, the bends. But when a friend's light shines through one of those dusty facets, it's healing and beautiful. So thanks, L!

And I hope you all have people in your life, shining their lights through your life, and you appreciate the diversity of the prisms that appear. It's beauty that's unique and all your own...cherish it.

meanwhile, back in the waiting room...

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Oh yeah, so I applied to grad school...

Waiting room (Photo credit: KarlGartland)

...and I reminded that one school I applied to has most likely already made decisions about who they will nominate for a lectureship (meaning paid tuition). And I would've been notified by now. Oops? Well, technically, I didn't make the deadline, by a couple of hours, because I was broke. So technically, if it doesn't work out, it's OK. I'm definitely turning into one of those "I'm leaving it up to the universe" type of people, which is totally not like me to be. But it comes from the necessity to stay sane, to stay upright, to stay focused on what I have going on right now.

But hey, in two - four weeks, my life will change, regardless of whether I get into school or not. Things have got to change, career wise. Of course if I can afford to...but maybe I can't afford not to.

I don't think I've had this much to look forward to in years. There's just so much going on, and I'm glad I have a document to show where I've come from to get here. And man, it'd be so great if I could find a new way to say such trite things. But all to say, it's been a long haul! Thanks for bearing witness.

So, for now, I wait. And that's all I have to say.

writing with my left hand...

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Wed, 15 Feb 2012 13:00:00 +0000

...makes me incredibly cranky...

Image via Wikipedia

I don't know if explains my continued crankiness today, but I'm really embracing that I've been trying to write with my left hand, metaphorically speaking, in terms of my life's work. As someone who enjoys challenges...well, the thrill is gone. I can blame Ayn Rand for this, too.

So, my favorite book to date, still, is The Fountainhead, because it was fun to read in 11th grade, like it was a soap opera--not because I think objectivism works or that I'm some secret conservative. It's complete crap, and although we are selfish beings, we are social beings first. But one of the characters, dare I say one of the villains, is Ellsworth Toohey. I think he was an author and sort of guru who would guide people to do things that they were not good at (now I really want to read this again, for the third time). It was so everyone could be mediocre--his POV of altruism. So obviously, Rand hates this idea and regards this as the dangers of communism and socialism.

I know it's not that great of writing or literature. But it's totally one of those books that wormed its way in my heart. I wish I remembered The Stranger by Camus more.

But how I took it was just that I didn't want to do things that were obvious--I wanted to go 180 away from who I was, to balance myself, to be more well-rounded. I didn't want things to be too easy. So basically, I was trying to be ambidextrous with my life, instead of celebrating my strengths. This might be a gifted thing, but I really relish overcoming hard challenges--after they have been overcome, naturally.

Anyway, the whole "writing with your opposite hand" idea came from my monthly workshop, where we literally did that, to show that it's harder and a lot less legible writing with your opposite hard, and the same goes with your life's work, specifically what you're interested in and your personality type. So. true. I think, in the end, I would've been a decent doctor, and I would'v really tried hard, harder than most, to be decent. But what if that energy was directed to the other side, to things I'm more adept to? I might be better than decent. The return on this energy that I spend might be greater. More beneficial.

Last night, while reading Working Identity by Herminia Ibarra, I realized, again, how timely this workshop is in my life. I've been changing my identity over the past three years, and it's been costly and time-consuming. There's so much work that still needs to be done in this process, and the book lays out the processes at work. You basically scope out the new identity, straddle two identities, and then go into the new one. But again--it takes time getting un-used to your old self and getting used to your new self. I look forward to some comfort from the book, since it's pretty painful, dealing with this new emerging self.

Ironically, I wasn't trying to dampen my excellences on purpose, like Ellsworth Toohey would've wanted--I was trying to create more of them. And I went as far as I could go with that--which, indeed was pretty far. But the idea of staying at my job another year and not pursuing writing 24/7 is making me depressed. And that's a good thing. The misery is kicking out the ambivalence and reluctance to embrace my truer self. Does this mean I'll stop loving science? No, that is definitely a part of me, but probably more in a conceptual way than a data-driven way. I just like knowing what's at the core and what's the gist of things. How we get to that? I don't really care about that. Art is like that, too, but at least it involves creation. Those are details that I care about and am learning to care about.

It'll be weird to just be focused on writing with my right hand now, but I feel like once this gets righted, my life and what it's supposed to be doing (please God, let it be grad school), then all the other things that I worry about--love, "being social" *rolls eyes*, my place in the world--will fall into place. I can't really imagine sharing this maelstrom with anyone right now unless they were already there...

So instead I'll just use this as my theme song for now, and say that I am tying myself to the mast, waiting for the storm to end...and commit myself to "maybe."

"One Day" by The Verve
Written by: Richard Ashcroft

One day maybe we will dance again
Under fiery skies
One day maybe you will love again
Love that never dies

One day maybe you will see the land
Touch skin with sand
You've been swimming in the lonely sea
With no company

Oh, don't you want to find?
Can't you hear this beauty in life?
The roads, the highs, breaking up your life
Can't you hear this beauty in life?

One day maybe you will cry again
Just like a child
You've gotta tie yourself to the mast my friend
And the storm will end

Oh, don't you want to find?
Can't you hear this beauty in life?
The times, the highs, breaking up your mind
Can't you hear this beauty in life?

Oh, you're too afraid to touch
Too afraid you'll like it too much
The roads, the times, breaking up your mind
Can't you hear this beauty in life?

One day maybe I will dance again
One day maybe I will love again
One day maybe we will dance again
You know you've gotta
Tie yourself to the mast my friend
And the storm will end
One day maybe you will love again
You've gotta tie yourself to the mast my friend
And the storm will end

Feeling like a Monday morning

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Tue, 14 Feb 2012 13:00:00 +0000

What do your Monday mornings feel like?

Monday Monday (Photo credit: soonerpa)

I was watching WGN this morning and this guy who is or was a Google recruiter was talking about how to stand out in the job market, with his book called Purple Squirrel (and there actually are some purple squirrels in existence). In the beginning of the book, there's an inventory that you take about how you feel on Monday mornings re: your job. If you don't feel anything good about it, you should look for another job. I think it said, too, that if you've never felt good about it, then you should look for another career.

Yeah, Monday morning sucks for me. Another confirmation that I shouldn't be here, which I was more accounting for the work culture, not necessarily what I do. That part is kind of new to me, more globally speaking. I know I'm not a details sort of person--at least in terms of the details here--but just that being technical is holding me back...I can really feel that now.

And, on top of that, this month was going to go to this writers' conference and use money from my tax return for it, and it already sold out. It's going to be held here. I doubt I'm going to want to travel to Boston or wherever else they will have it next time. So, that is oddly bringing me to tears that I can't get some more instruction on how to write and possibly meet up with schools I applied to. But applying to school is what has left me penniless anyway, so it wasn't meant to happen. But I think it's just colliding with all this stuff saying that I don't belong here and I've wasted on this energy on things that haven't brought much return. So that's incredibly frustrating.

At least the past few days, I read another chapter of Writing as a Way of Healing by Louise DeSalvo. So I need to actually do some more writing. The next chapter I believe addresses writing a healing narrative, which involves being very specific about the pain and grief I've experienced, and not being vague. That will not be fun, but the end result should be liberating. Apparently, having fear and anxiety about writing such tough things is the fuel you use to write. Highly ironic indeed.

So, I need to somehow survive the rest of my Monday-Fridays here. If there's another year that I need to be here, I'll need to leave and find something more like me. So I brought one of the books I have to read for my monthly workshop on managing my career, called Working Identity: Unconventional Strategies for Reinventing Your Career by Herminia Ibarra. I have to find a way to be more myself here at work, get the work I was hired to do done--and nothing more--and yet somehow, try to stave off misery. It's a hat trick that I don't think I have the talent to do, but will have to do out of necessity. At least I'm here by myself today and can take this quiet time for reflection and some self-soothing, because I'm already super-irritable that things have already started to not go my way. I need to start a countdown clock for leaving here--this job and Chicago. Grrrr.

Well, even though it is now Tuesday, I do hope you think about how you wake up on Monday mornings. Maybe it's time for a change, because life is too short to dread waking up.

Just reach. And see...

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 13:00:00 +0000

Sometimes, you get a random email with a random link, and it's another encouraging word, another sustaining meal to fuel you on the journey.
I'm keeping this short because I don't know if I will have time tomorrow to write here. I'll be hanging out with a friend and cooking some monster mac and cheese and watching the Grammys. So I just wanted to share this link from The Rumpus:

DEAR SUGAR, The Rumpus Advice Column #44: How You Get Unstuck

It really speaks for itself, but it talks about enduring grief and suffering, specifically the loss of a child in utero, but how you need to reach out of that. It somewhat reminds me of Henri Nouwen's book Reaching Out. The advice columnist also talks about a period in her life and it reminded me of my time doing social work for one year. And this link from The Hairpin is oddly similar. I'm not sure how I've fallen upon two miscarriage/stillbirth articles in one day. I don't know what it means except maybe I hope someone needed to hear this.

But to turn away from that suffering place...

When I have two profound ideas spoken to me, back to back, I feel encouraged that I'm going the right way. Even with the IQ scores and the GRE scores...for someone who felt like she was pretty good at everything, it's a relief that I'm really good at something in particular--words!--and can just start truly leaning, heck trust falling, that way--because I'm hella skeptical, even when things feel natural and good.

But it's really hard for me to not be jealous of this dude: a trumpeting astrophysicist! Oh, and he's good looking, too. Triple-threat! But hey, he could be a complete asshole, who knows?! Anyway, I now realize that these people are rare and that's not me. I think that growing up with more sciencey-types--my parents--it was hard not to fall into that mode, which I love, still. But I have a little more letting go of my "artistic psychiatrist" idea...

Anyway, that was tangential, but it all belongs--really, it does! I just feel odd at how things are starting to solidify in a surprising but familiar way. I'm not some weird phony that wasn't trying to fit in with artsy people back in my dream church with my dream bf 12 years ago. I am artsy people. It was just hard to see back then, clothed in scrubs, a stethoscope, and a lab coat. And there was a lot of suffering under these other identities that almost fit.

And I come back to this song from my youth, from Jars of Clay's eponymous album (I wonder in my post-evangelical state, if I can still appreciate them, and specifically that album, as I did before). I didn't really get the whole God/Bible thing, that "see the art in me" is God saying that. I latched onto that lyric at age 17, and I think that was my plea. It just took 17 more years to understand what I meant, let alone what the song meant (looks like the song believes in pre-determination vs. self-will. Heh) which actually wasn't that hard to determine...except when you're mired in the culture. How in the heck does that work? Some way to get perspective...pretty much not the way I thought I should see things, permanently on the outside...

Anyway, pretty song. Enjoy it!

"Art in Me" by Jars of Clay
Images on the sidewalk speak of dream's decent
Washed away by storms to graves of cynical lament
Dirty canvases to call my own
Protest limericks carved by the old pay phone

In your picture book I'm trying hard to see
Turning endless pages of this tragedy
Sculpting every move you compose a symphony
You plead to everyone, "see the art in me"

Broken stained-glass windows, the fragments ramble on
Tales of broken souls, an eternity's been won
As critics scorn the thoughts and works of mortal man
My eyes are drawn to you in awe once again

In your picture book I'm trying hard to see
Turning endless pages of this tragedy
Sculpting every move you compose a symphony
You plead to everyone, "see the art in me"

taxed. solidly average. gutted.

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Sun, 12 Feb 2012 13:00:00 +0000

I did my taxes and the FAFSA. I'm solidly to highly average. And Whitney Houston is dead. *sigh*

Man, so much going on such a boring Saturday, so this will be a little disjointed.

I had a little bit of a health scare because I thought I had some internal bleeding from the scoping I had of my digestive system, but after talking to the on-call doctor, I am OK. Apparently, though--blood is an incredible laxative and will make your poop black and sticky like tar and cause diarrhea. But I'll try not to be scared of the solid, black poop.

So I dug into my taxes, which usually doesn't take long at all. I kinda figured out some ridiculous mess with tuition credits. I owe the state money. Boo. They will get that on April 17th--trust. Both tax returns were accepted. But if that ridiculous mess comes back to haunt me...I have a feeling it won't--I'm not hauling big pay. Social services, y'all. But I will get a little dough back, which will go towards getting the heck out of dodge and for hanging out with Julie when she comes to visit in April.

Image via Wikipedia
Also, the first year grad student who did my IQ test to help him learn how to administer the test, he told me my scores. "solidly average-highly average" came up a lot, but I'm "superior-very superior" with verbal comprehension, which is great--confirms the GRE scores. It just makes me wonder how I got into gifted programs with an IQ under 130 (and that's I'll say about my IQ ;-) ). Giftedness isn't just IQ anyway, but something I was planning to do/join based on these scores won't happen now, which kind of makes me sad, but I was only curious about this so I could expand my social circle. Maybe you're nerdy enough to read between the lines as to what I'm talking about.

Either way, I'll just have to be content with being solidly average to highly average. Am I shocked? No--cuz I was so awfully tired that day, but confidence intervals take that into account (something I will have to thank that grad student for because I never really understood them until now), but ho hum. Either I was super smart when I was a kid and have gotten dumber OR nothing has changed. It might be impolite to talk about this stuff, like talking about your paycheck (oh wait, I did that earlier), but I find it interesting, because, at least for this test, which isn't ever to be seen a complete test of intelligence, this sort of stuff is in a black box. So it's neat to look inside to see what you're working with. I'm still special, boy...don't you worry. So freaking weird and raw and wonderful. Nerd whining complete.

Whitney Houston
(Image via RottenTomatoes.com)

Anyway, Whitney Houston is gone. I'm sitting here in utter, numbed shock. I can't really believe it, just like when Michael Jackson died. His death took a time to accept, too. But in the same way, I'm just so sad. She, and him, was a part of my childhood. I'm gutted. I don't even have any emotions because I can't really access them. I'm looking at this picture of her right here, looking at her on MSNBC and CNN, singing, smiling, being beautiful, sharing her beauty. I feel so sad for her daughter, who is 18. I fear that drugs and alcohol took Whitney from us, but I can't say for certain (see the link below and check out the pics of her from last night). When I saw her interview on Access Hollywood with Shaun Robinson, I had hope that she had her shit together. But who knows?

In elementary school, maybe in 5th grade, we sang "The Greatest Love of All" at an assembly. I can only imagine all those kids voices singing that song. It was a nice moment.

I was just saying on tumblr during the Super Bowl, a week ago, that Kelly Clarkson couldn't best Whitney's Super Bowl national anthem. It was perfect, peerless, and... I don't really have any more adjectives because there aren't any really needed. I got chills last Sunday when I watched it. I have tears now. So I will leave you with this.

RIP, Whitney. I wish you could've stayed longer with us, so we could see you rise again, but what joy and beauty you left with us. You left us too soon, for sure. You were a living legend, I hope you knew that. And yes, this is cheesy, but we will always love you.

As it is written...

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Sat, 11 Feb 2012 13:00:00 +0000

I'm going to try not to be distracted by the weather nor by what I feel like is soreness in what is possibly my biopsy site in my duodenum and write about a part of my day.

I hope this is short, but I dunno...I won't promise you anything. Today, I had the second part of my career workshop and one part of it was having our handwriting examined by this executive coach. And I recorded it on my phone.

What's weird is that it reminded me of having someone prophesy over me, and I've rarely had those be off. And this was no different.

She said that I was optimistic by nature and that I do want things to work out for the best. I'm a people oriented person. I'm precise about details that are important to me (I said this earlier when talking in a group about how I see things). With loyalty--I expect it and give it. I rely on senses--my timing is what governs things (I have no idea what that means, in terms of the relying on senses. I rely on my brain, that's it!).

She mentions precision again, and then says that I don't like new people, but when I do, I like them to come in slowly. Then she said another weird thing, that I was interested in the future, but only in that perspective (I guess that it can come in slowly?). I have a good understanding of human beings. If I sit too long, I get frustrated (I think that's meant more metaphorically or figuratively than literally). After I told her what I'm doing now and what I want to do, she said that I do have writing ability. I'm putting out a lot of energy now, and not getting a return on it (mhmm, keep going). I have a good sense of responsibility. She said that she wanted me to think about "what if? maybe?" in terms of my career search. I should give myself a little leeway, because I'm skeptical right now. I give too much and I'm self-critical--reverse that! I should focus on myself and not worry about being too selfish. I don't like making mistakes. I can relate to children. Less is more...(what does that mean? She explains...) Slow down and cut myself some slack. I'm good at planning for other people: plan for yourself. My technical skills are holding me back, specifically that psychiatry is too rule-bound. I am both technical and creative, but I'm not doing more on the creative side. So again, she said that I should keep my eyes and ears open about what would be more of a creative role.

Ta-da! I agree with about 95% of that. I wrote two lines of manuscript and one line of cursive, and signed my name. This coach had a lot of other interesting things to say about life in general, about being more strengths-based (which coincides with my work). But yeah, I would say the past almost three years have been more me-based, and yet, she still sees all that other-orientedness. Boo. But one interesting thing she said was that people with impeccable handwriting, like my dad, are holding themselves back and things don't turn out well for them. I used to have really, really nice handwriting--my dad still has the best. But it's gotten sloppier just for the sake of time. But yeah--that is so true! I have no idea where my father is.

Anyway, that's it's for now. Now I have a tummyache and I'm not sure if I want to go out tonight to this non-fiction . I'm really considering just calling it a day and going home. This is why I hate planning things so far in advance if it's with a group of people. I end up bailing on them. Yeah, since I didn't RSVP, I'm gonna go home and rest (even though I slept for ages last night...I just...yeah, I'm kinda taxed from being around people for two hours straight at work for the workshop. The weather is just...not conducive to a good time, really.

OK, I made it home after an annoying commute, although the shuttle bus was pretty much empty because it was 20 minutes late. I went to the drugstore and picked up some things, and I forgot some stuff. Blah, I'll be out again on Sunday. Anyway, I'm home, my stomach isn't hurt, but my back is. Yay.

So, so much to think about from the handwriting analysis! But since there were so many statements, I think they just speak for themselves. What's most compelling is the part where she said, you're giving way too much to a group, to society--hot damn. All that stuff about taking care of myself and focusing on myself...it really resonates, and if anything, all that stuff really reaffirmed that I'm on the right track. And the creative stuff...I think hearing myself tell this woman, "I really am a creative"...it's like I almost believe it.

And it makes me wonder what am I putting energy towards and not getting much return (it's not writing, believe me). It could be my job. But I will have to think about it. It could be the past, but I think I'm more concerned about what others think about me sifting through my past, not what I think about it. Oh wait--that's the point--thinking about what others think. How about I don't do that as much anymore?

Like yesterday. I had this really weird experience, which I'm going to try to be vague about, but basically I was reminded that, once again, this friend of mine and I are never going to be close. But then I kinda collapsed it into no one will be close to me or really know me ever again, and I wept myself to sleep. But while I was doing that, I decided to really, audibly, let people go, from the first BFF from college to this friend of mine. I told some ex-friends to fuck off. And it was liberating! So now, I don't feel as upset. I decided I'd focus on the good friends I do have.

And...I'm starting to be more social. Monday, I might go to a meetup in the Loop. Tuesday, I'm going to the Poetry Foundation for lunch to listen to poetry. Thursday, I might go get some Mexican at another meetup. Yeah, but since I hate planning ahead for group outings, we shall see.

Anyway, I need to write write outside of here tomorrow. Chapter 4 in Writing as a Way of Healing by Louise DeSalvo is called "Writing Pain, Writing Loss" and I think I'm ready for that. Grief is such a stubborn...bitch, I can't really call it anything else. But I'm moving out of my...apartment! But the ups and downs of my already intense emotions (gifted life!) are very real.

I can't wait to balance the scales and really drown in oceans of self-care...and not care what others think. And with my career as a writer, we'll see, but I'd be open to doing something else that's creative. But as this oracle said, if you do what you're intended to do, opportunities will follow--not necessarily money. Following money won't work. Oh, and don't work more than what you were hired to do. If you're working 12 hour days (excluding that's your shift), you're a prime candidate for burnout and the company doesn't really value your work. And do what you're hired to do, and nothing more. You can make suggestions, though.

Ah, too much wisdom to repeat, but I can't believe that was all free! And it was such good timing to have someone speak truth about my life in a tangible way. Yet I believe in astrology more than handwriting analysis, and I'm still skeptical of both! That there are tangible things that I don't understand...I had more faith in supernatural things. I'm weird!

Alright, I need to gather my laundry for tomorrow and get my documents together to file my taxes. Saturday is going to be my "get stuff done" day.

Productivity. *phhhhhhbt*

Old school

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 19:00:00 +0000

Yesterday, I went back to where I started...

Image via Wikipedia

U of C from the Midway

...and things have changed.Well, mainly on the science side.

That place is the University of Chicago and I had a professional/alumni event there last night after work. I had taken a bus that I usually got off near my old apartment on the northeastern side of Hyde Park, but I just stayed on until I was near another old apartment (a sublet from hell with an evil roomie) on the southwestern side of the neighborhood, where the hospital is. I walked by Sammy's, a greasy spoon where I had eaten only once (I think). It was weird because I knew years ago, like nine years, that the old summer sublet building would be torn down because U of C owned the land. It was now covered with scaffolding. On the other side of the street was a research building, so all those apartments had been torn down. I could barely recognize the hospital, lots of steel and glass.

I got to the science section and there was the Gordon Center of Integrative Science--more steel and glass. I can't even remember what was there before. I walked near Crerar Library--the ghostly quiet science library where I looked up a lot of articles for faculty--and Kersten Physics Teaching Center, where I tried, and failed, to get into astrophysics. I cut through and crossed Ellis Ave to the quads, passed the Admin building where I feel I spent too much time dealing with trying to stay in the College, and then I was overwhelmed.

Image via Wikipedia

From L to R, facing 57th Street: Bartlett, which you can't see (which was, what, a gym?
Now it's got food...I did my acting class there, too), Reynolds Club (Student union),
Hutchinson (one of my fave place to eat), Zoology, and the Regenstein Library on the right.

Future-leaning, past-encumbered.

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 13:00:00 +0000

"You can't change your past. But you can let go and start your future."--Quinn Fabray of Glee, from the "Michael" episode.
Yeah, so I'll set up the context. Quinn is in the girls' bathroom, telling her former arch nemesis, Rachel, that her marrying Finn would be a bad move, because Rachel's future is practically too big for a high school romance (I'm paraphrasing). Quinn got early accepted to Yale, so she was feeling extra confident, and then sang the song "Never Can Say Goodbye" by the Jackson 5, singing to all her exes.

I'm not even sure why this show, that I love to tweet about, got to me today. It was before my medical procedures today, so I was rather fatigued, empty, and literally tired of giving multiple shits (laxatives for the colonoscopy).

And maybe it just has to do with this time period of waiting to hear back from grad schools, and finally being able to be excited about the process. I cried when Kurt Hummel got an acceptance letter to music school, with his dad being so proud and supportive, saying that all those hard times and haters, they can't take this away from you. And if you're not familiar with the show, Kurt is the snazzily dressed, high tenor, gay kid who was bullied with death threats and had to leave school, but came back later. That moment was very triumphant for him and for a lot of viewers, I'm sure.

And I want a moment like that for myself. The last time I sort of felt like that was when I graduated college, except I was more angry that it took eight years to get a freaking BA. And that it had nothing to do with me (yeah, that one isn't easily forgotten or forgiven, because it's like being Quinn, going to Yale, and having your dream deferred--twice).

I don't know if grad school is as loaded as leaving home for the first time, but it's definitely similar. I'm hoping that my hard work the past couple of years has paid off and that I can have a chance to leave here for good.

Lately, I keep having these hybrid dreams with current times and old places I used to be in, but with people who were my friends but ended up betraying me and would probably never speak to me again (and that this happened in high school too, and that I just made that connection, means I have shitty taste in friends...), I know it's a way to say, in a sense, that I can never say goodbye, but I feel like I'm trying to reconcile the books that are so in the red right now.

So all I want to do is succeed, but do it in a "holy shit, do you remember that loser?" type of success--mind-blowing success. I keep imagining book signings where people who have hurt me and let me down bounce up gaily and act as if nothing as happened, and I just coldly sign their books. My revenge fantasies are only fueled by my dreams of success.

And heck, what is success at this point? Literally, right now, would be leaving this dead corpse of a town and finding (a) new life. What saddens me is that I have wanted this for years, and the more I want it, the more I hate living here (and Chicago is a great city!!!).

So with all this waiting, I feel like I might not end up in Los Angeles and that those dreams are starting to feel stale. Maybe because I've held onto it for so long, I've started to feel like the mutual attraction has faded. So right now, I feel a weird pull to either San Francisco or Tallahassee--the latter only because of one prof whose poetry is so amazing and it still grips me (which is a very, very good reason to pick a grad school). The former is because it's an art school and I could do more than just write. All the other places right now kind of just have become quiet--and that's OK. As much as I think friendships are important when moving to a new city, as I've learned in this hermitage, they aren't everything. All I can hope is that, at this point, those two schools pick me and then I'll see what happens.

Back to success--I do think it would have to be super petty, in my mind, and I've have friends who weren't overwhelmed by me, who were good listeners, and didn't see me as a self-absorbed charity case, but saw me for me. And yeah, I want to say it'd be to have a great family, only because that seems, personally for me, impossible. Like going to medical school might be more possible. So that's a personal feat. *hums "To Dream the Impossible Dream"

So maybe I feel like I'm 17 again and I haven't accomplished what I've wanted to yet, like those kids on Glee--full of hope and possibility, but also full of some fear and dread. I wish I could say all these past years didn't count--they do. But maybe it's just all the warm-up for what I was actually set out to do--run unfettered into my dreams. If I actually got paid to do what I wanted to do...I'd probably lose my mind in utter joy. And maybe that's why the teenaged angst has never left...when things started really falling apart for my family before I was to leave for college the first time--and I've said this before--I died that day. I died again when I got kicked out of school, died when I gave up medicine, died when I left church... There were so many other little deaths, but that first death...I don't think I have ever recovered from, because an outside, uncontrollable force put my dreams--not only to go to college, but to leave a very emotionally abusive household and be my own person--were put on hold.

And even before that, I still felt like things were happening around me that I was excluded from, that I couldn't join...a lot of waiting...

Now, the only person standing in my way is me.

So. Besides that I feel like I might be tackling my past by trying to comprehend it in some grand way (it grandly sucked, and that's pretty much how I have summarized it), I do feel haunted, specifically hoping that I don't make the same mistakes with people that I did before (like, for example--the way my parents just blabbed on and on about their lives with me, without asking anything about me, I know I have been guilty of and accused of, plenty of times...but it makes sense that I had to learn the very hard, very long way to be a better friend--which still might be arguable if that was ever in question...). And I feel haunted by living here, like I overstayed my welcome by about 10 years. And I don't have that much to show for it.

So, as Quinn said, I can't really change all that. It sucked, and I was trying to be noble, and not wasteful, by trying to learn from it, and I did learn from it. Yay, go me, gold sticker, brownie, cookie, ice cream cone for me. But to be able to physically move away from a city that has broken my heart so many damned times...I need to embrace that chance with...glee. And not to say that I won't hate the next town. But it will have to take some time to do that. I am excited that finally, at age 34, I might actually do something, something worth something to me. And I have high expectations for myself, and thus, for the people around me. And we all failed here. Even if I end up staying here another year, and how devastating that will be for me, I'll totally give it another go to try to fly out of here, since all I see around me are ghosts...of friends who have left town, of failed relationships of all sorts, of struggle, of loss...

Just like those kids who want to get out of Lima, ~~Peru~~ Ohio so bad and have their new lives, I want that for myself. Chicago was good to me for a bit, but I really only wanted to stay here for undergrad and then go to New York City (SoHo to be specific--I was going to be a rich doctor after all) and live there forever. But dreams change, which is why I stayed here so long, trying to make the best of it. And for that, I'll be grateful to this place, that it was sorta kinda OK to try to figure out what to do after medicine while I was here.

But I know of now only two people who will miss me here in Chicago. That low number indicates that it's beyond time to go and find new people that I will matter to. And I can't wait, even though this anticipation is mixed with bitter(nes)s, exhaustion, rejection, and sadness. I have to keep my cool with waiting for grad school app decision letters because going to grad school isn't just going to school. It's a pursuit of the original dream I had, since I was a little girl. And I'm wise enough now to not pick hurtful people, and if I was a shitty friend before, I definitely am more sensitive now to hat. It's even bigger than pursuing the dream of writing--it's pursuing happiness, hopefully in a warmer place with new friends to make.

If I had to grade my time in Chicago, it'd come out to a C-, mainly because of all the highs, but so many lows. And, I'd probably have to sum up my time here as a lot of humiliation. Not a lot to be proud about. And yet, I will still miss it here.

OK, yes, so letting go to the future...I can't wait to do that, but as you've seen in my last posts, dealing with the past can be a treacherous task. How long is too long to deal with it? It took decades to create it, so it will take some more time, right?

Like with anything, it's easier to move on to something, or someone, if there is something or someone to move on to. And I don't have that yet. But eventually, all that past stuff will get me so angry--the wasted time and pining and self-flagellation for things that weren't my fault-- if I'm not there already, I will gladly blow past this shit past for what's ahead. And I can't wait! I hope that those applications to grad schools are my way of starting my future. I can't wait for all this horrible, horrible stuff that I've walked away from to fade into the oblivion it belongs.

And to factor in my giftedness for a second--yeah, this is all so intense because, well, that's how I experience it (lucky you if your emotions aren't in HD, surround sound). But if I started to list off all the stuff that happened to me, you'd ask for your smelling salts. I would, too. It's insane, unfair, unrelenting, ridiculous, petty...if it were a story, you'd wonder when the writer will give this heroine a bloody break to have something that's hers; maybe a little more fun; that growing up could be a little more fun than going to therapy and church (and some shows in between).

At least for now, I can see that the net gain, of overstaying in Chicago and being perpetually disappointed and let down, has been my strength--strength I didn't ask for, but strength I'm so proud of...strength that I can't wait to share.

Also, I'm shutting down comments until further notice, since this seems like it's just me, being all expository, and it's not an actual conversation--and that's partly my fault. Comments come from readers who feel engaged in what I'm saying, so if you don't...you stay silent. That's good pressure to come up with someone that would make you want to raise your voice. But obviously, I'm not in that season with you, fair reader, so I'm going to save myself the embarrassment of asking what you all think when I'm not even sure you made it to the end of the post (thank you for those who do). This blog was meant to be a document of a journey, not anything beyond that.

But I share like this because I know I'm not alone in feeling that life at many times has been a perpetual snowstorm that you walk through alone. I'm sure of it. So for those who do feel that way--know that I feel that along with you and am sending you good travel companion vibes.

Alright, I'm done bitching while reaching for the stars. I think this M83 song gets at the sort of emotions I feel. It's after 1am, and I actually need to get up earlier so I can leave work earlier for an alum event at work today. Good night and good morning.

And I'm back...

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 02:00:00 +0000

It wasn't so bad!

Before I make a celebratory waffle, I wanted to give you the post-procedure (upper endoscopy + colonoscopy) lowdown. So, thankfully, this was a speedy process, at least for me. I was a little tardy, thanks to one of my arch shuttle bus driver nemeses--the slow ass driver. He was late to pick us up and thus late in arrival. But the GI Lab ran efficiently. I met Chris, the tall, slow-moving like a lumbering giant nurse. I changed out of my clothes and had two attempts to find a good vein for my catheter.

Then I was ushered into the procedure room. My doctor was reviewing a coloonscopy as nurses put me in the gurney and pushed the sedative, which didn't really do that much. My doctor came over and explained what she was looking for, and I voiced my fears about cancer, and she said that was "looooow on the differential diagnosis" She explained that I was going to have a biopsy in my small intestine to check for Celiac disease, which honestly doesn't make sense to me--mainly because the disease makes you pretty thin because you're not absorbing food well. But a lot of the IBS symptoms I have--bloating and constipation--are in that disease. But she's the doctor! I'll get those results next week. I really don't want to give up gluten, but it'll probably mean I will just live Whole Foods.

Man, what a weird experience, but I'm so glad that I am healthy. I just need to get back into the groove of exercising and eating better. It is that easy. Unless I work out early tomorrow morning, I have to head to Hyde Park for an alum event on how to deal with my ick factor.

So all I remember about the endoscopy was coughing a lot, like it was really hard to breath. The nurses murmured, "You're doing alright, take a deep breath," as they held my back. And then the colonoscopy, I remember watching it...or I dreamed that I did. It was interesting...it's hard to say that I was really watching it, since I was in and out of it.

But afterwards, I do remember talking to the doctor about what she found--no polyps in the colon, and no ulcers in the esophagus. The only thing that's hurting right now is my throat and my very overly wiped behind.

Anyway, my friend came to get me and it was nice to see her afterwards. It wasn't a long drive, but it was good to catch up a little bit. I hope she's home already. I feel so grateful that she was able to do that for me.

So, thanks for those of you who were sending good vibes my way today. Tomorrow, I hope to talk about how the TV show Glee (yes, I'm as surprised as you are) gave me some hope about my life, mainly my future, today.

Until tomorrow, be good and do good.
d*

in and out

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 18:48:00 +0000

Boy, I wish I was talking about the burger chain, but no...

...I'm talking about my prep for my upper endoscopy and colonoscopy today (and, of course, Zemanta being reliably gross, showed me tons of pics of cancerous colons. Awesome). I'll be leaving here in a couple of hours to head downtown for it. I was freaking out Sunday night, mainly because this has been a solo affair, and I had to talk myself down from my fears. I would've preferred having someone else beside me to do that, but I'm not that lucky--not yet, anyway. Just cried, lost sleep, slept in, and then it was Monday.

Anyway, I wish I could've been told about the prep and how disgusting it is, so I'm going to tell you.

But first, usually you get your first colonoscopy at age 40 or 50. I'm 34, but I've had some (hold on...be right back...time to sit on the porcelain throne) good ole GERD (hence the upper endoscopy, which is basically a camera being shoved down your throat) and IBS (hence the colonoscopy). So yay, I get to do to this early.

:-/

So the prep. I got this big box containing two bottles of heavy duty laxative, plus a 16 oz cup. The diet I have been on has been a light breakfast yesterday, then clear liquids all the way until now. I've learned to enjoy coffee without creamer, miso soup (although I think it's always better in the restaurant), a whole 2 liter of ginger ale, and old Jell-o that I had been saving for some special occasion, that required me to use ginger ale. Hurrah! It sparkled and I had that for breakfast this morning--Sparkling Jell-O: the Champagne of Jell-O! I couldn't eat anything red or purple (which makes sense...it might be hard to tell what is blood or a wound from what was cranberry juice). I wish I had known that when I went to Whole Foods and had purchased blueberry pomegranate and cranberry pomegranate juice!

From that big box, I mixed up the laxative with water and realized I would never, ever do well at Fear Factor--although putting a time clock on drinking would help me. Anyway, the prep itself is atrocious. It tastes like...a lot of artificial sweetener, which actually gives it a good aftertaste. But the taste going down is just sour. Horribly sour. Then, I chased that with two 16 oz cups of water afterwards, since this laxative's job is to draw water to the colon and them, vamoosh!

Last night, I think I went to the bathroom at least 14 times in between 6pm and 11:30pm. I can't tell that that is the norm, but I bet it is. Anyway, the laxative was easier to drink this morning, and now I'm on my last legs of it. I know I'll be done when all that comes out is basically water.

So I will be there at around 2:30pm Central Time, and be done by 3:45pm. It shouldn't be hard, really--just that the anesthesia will make things interesting. My friend will come take me home and I will be bloated, because they will fill my colon up with air so they can have a good look around. I'm not sure what I'll be allowed to eat aftwards. I might just take it easy with soup tonight, but I noticed while watching TV the past few days--there are a LOT of commercials for food.

I hope nothing is wrong, though--that's the problem with these sorts of tests. You're just checking things out--but mainly for cancer. I hope being young helps, but I really wasn't expecting to use doctors that much this year (which is a typical thought of mine). All I can do is hope for the best and know that if there is something wrong, that I will be strong enough to handle it. A redux of last year. But this is so much better than finding out that I have some metastasized cancer growing silently. I'm glad that I have access to pretty top-notch health care and that I can, for the most part, afford it.

I already feel guilty that my eating has kinda gone to the shitter--pun intended--but I remember being on the shuttle bus going to work one morning, listening to this guy who looks like he was Indian, saying, "I don't understand why Americans are so obsessed with salad. It's so boring." YES, my brother, yes it is. And, well, Indian food is exciting. Even the food I grew up with, Ghanaian food, was more exciting than a sad old salad. There's a reason why people have to load salads down with junk like ranch dressing, bacon, ham, and cheese to make it somewhat appealing. I buy greens and they rot in the fridge--it's sad. So, with my colon guilt, I will need to commit to make salads a side dish, not the whole dish (although there are some salads that could be a whole dish...I just don't want to make them). Like this weekend, I plan on making a very yummy but probably not colon-friendly mac and cheese with smoked gouda. But I at least need to make a salad on the side. *grumbles* And I need to embrace Fiber One cereals again. Getting fiber down the colon actually isn't that hard.

What is also sad is that I only lost maybe a pound throughout this process. But hey--that might actually be good news, that I wasn't carrying like 10lbs of crap, like one guy who was talking on a Mens' Health message board (oh crap, brb...).

I will say it's kinda cool to be so empty. But the process to get there? I would compare to the Dumb and Dumber bathroom scene. But it's a sore, sore way of getting it. I really hope that in six or 16 years, when I hope will be the next time I have to do this, the prep laxative has improved in both taste and spew factor. My poor toilet is working overtime today! And it shows. Oh, and your stomach and bowels do a lot of talking to you, like whales and SONAR. It's actually quite ridiculous and laughable.

Despite the extreme discomfort this causes, it is temporary, and it's for a good cause (see the link below). It is better to know than to not know, but it's not very fun to feel so fallible and fragile--and I mean that more so with this being, more or less, screenings for cancer. Cancer seems to be a specter that hangs in the air, at least for me. Even though I know no one gets out of here alive, it's draining to think about the "what ifs?" or to try to put on a brave face. We can all hope that we die of old age, not heart disease or cancer. And a lot of this is preventable, but who knows?

Well, I need to go, again--I really hope this is the last time--and I'll be back with a post-procedure update.

Another productive Saturday...(ramblings)

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 13:00:00 +0000

...and what a failure that is for a Saturday.
I have just finished David Foster Wallace's "Shipping Out"--finally, after printing it out last year or the year before. It is a long essay about being on a luxury cruise for a week. It's awesome. Not sure I'll be jumping into Infinite Jest anytime soon, though. I have another book of essays of his so I'd rather hit that first. But it's good that I finished that.

I watched a movie called The Spook Who Sat by the Door, based on the novel on the same name, which feels quite appropriate for Black History Month and for living in Chicago. I won't go into it much except to say that it's changed how I see things, and see myself, as a black person. In very good ways.

I washed dishes for almost an hour. I hate doing that so much and the weekend is the only time I want to do them. And I washed myself--always an accomplishment during the weekend, and mine is stretching into Monday and Tuesday because of my colonoscopy prep that will leave me so cranky and empty.

I did Pilates for the first time, here at home. That was awesome, because it was hard, but I wasn't sweating. I think I will make Saturdays my Pilates day. My core is just a busted, bald tire, but hopefully it won't be for long. I felt encouraged that I could probably go back to the gym now since winter has kinda given up being a pestilence. I know that my body keeps waking up at 5am and 6am, and I might as well use it to sleepily take myself to gym. Even though I am not a morning person.

I ironed my super long, shiny curtains. they were so wrinkly. That took over an hour. I really need a larger ironing board, too (I have a tabletop one). Now that they have been rendered wrinkle-less, they have lost their character. Dammit.

Day 6 or is it 7 of not being on Twitter...I can already tell that it might feel awkward to come back, mainly because I hope I won't be using it as the crutch as it has been. I think that it was a useful one. Leaving an organization such as church without finding some sort of community after...well, Twitter was there as a stand-in. But I don't know if it's OK that I like to hide behind my words. It's not helping me to be a better social being--the bitter irony of social media. I can't wait until I'm using it as leverage. But unfortunately, since I am feeling much better about myself, I am going to have to attribute it to not trying to feed my craven nature online.

And this is how bad it is: I'm still rejoicing that I have another friend to hang out with, that wants to hang out with me. If I thought about it long enough, like maybe just one minute, I'd be in tears.This is such a nadir in my life, all I can say is that it's pitch black in Chicago, and there are two penlights on right now, and one blinks on and off. That's scary to me, even if it was necessary. But beyond the philosophical and psychological gravity of starting over, and finding people who aren't begrudging assholes, while waiting to hear if you're still going to live here another year, it's still just going to require me to go out a lot more than I do. But I've always said that. And I know it will happen.

What I had to do, though, was get comfortable with this post-evangelical self. I can't wait to date, because that part of my life is so mangled with hang-ups, praise Swedish Jesus. So beyond that part that will probably require therapy, again, I realize that the two friends I have here in Chicago now, it required me reaching out. And one thing that has been sticking in my head about women and friendships is from this Chicagoist interview. This quote from the author of MWF seeking BFF: My Yearlong Search for a New Best Friend, Rachel Bertsche, is pretty telling:

Everyone wants to be pursued, but not everyone is going to do that. Women, especially, seem to wait for people to pursue them. That’s what we do in dating, so we’re used to that. But someone has to do the work, and usually that person is you.

This is an an introvert's nightmare quote. I'm actually quite the opposite with dating, which only works short-term, it seems, but that's for a whole other therapist who will tell me there's nothing wrong with what I'm doing. Anyway, the point is, as Bertsche says, it's kind of up to luck, too. If I hadn't just struck up a convo with the students and colleagues down the hall about how grueling grad school apps had been, I would've never had my poetry portfolio read and critiqued, and then had this seemingly super easy, full of light friendship. It's all fucking random sometimes, which means, like Bertsche's book will probably be saying, that it's a numbers game. And I know this is true. It doesn't change how intense everything will feel or how personally I will take walking away empty from some bullshit event. Maybe it'll take the edge off, since I really won't be seriously trying to make everyone my BFF. Not everyone can be that, nor would I want that. That would be so overwhelming.

Even though this is a seriously draining endeavor for an introvert, what I can do when I go out is try to be as nice and warm as possible and just keep putting good karma out there. I'm not sure if it makes sense to do that while I have one foot in another state right now, but my inconvenient human needs for consistent human interactions are ever-present. And it's work. But it's OK if I'm still healing up from my seemingly bad choices. For example, I'm having some "in retrospect" conversations with myself about some people from college. It's quite enlightening and freeing to say, "In retrospect, she kinda wasn't that respectful of you, and although you said that horrible thing, and you apologized profusely twice about it--it obviously wasn't enough to sustain a real friendship. Let her go." And then you blow the feathers from your hand that were once fetters of grief and you move on.

But I feel like all my retreating will have to end soon. It's been long enough, although the damage sustained since I got to Chicago has been longer than just three years (or has it been four years since I left church? I think it's three years...) so I expect, in my new sunnier digs, I'll still be feeling a little sad about some aspects of my life, about the time lost pining over people who probably should've stayed acquaintances. Right now, it's a boulder of bitterness. If I could gif Homer saying "D'oh!" a googol of times...that's how I feel right now. It will soften, though...it is softening.

Enter Church Rant...
It has to do with being caught between so many worlds, and not fitting neatly with any of them, and then just retreating after your big bang or supernova, fitting into your own universe first before you explore other universes for other lifeforms who aren't hostile...for other worlds that habitable. And being ok with that whole process while people silently observe. Because this is your life. Even Jesus Christ can't come down, again, and live it for you. And you're going to have to be OK with meeting undercover assholes and meanies, maybe even being hurt or duped by them. But this time--you don't have to go to church with them and try your darnedest to love them with the love of God while they pummel you with their twisted truths (Blame Rufus Wainwright for this right now. I'm listening to a very bombastic song right now, "Go or Go Ahead"). You can just cross your arms, and the street, and throw up middle fingers like little missiles in your head, and then quickly forget about them, just like everyone else.

Oh yeah, the "feeling betrayed" phase feels infinite right now. And it's from betrayed by my own good sense but also by ideals that I believe in, ideals that I'm feeling are too big for earth and earthly institutions. I was laying in bed yesterday, wondering what Jesus would think about how institutionalized his Church has become. The gimmickry. The worship music that seems to never evolve in its sound or message. Would he dig megachurches? Would he get bored by worship services? I feel like I know this guy, truly, but he's an imaginary friend that no one would understand. He's been corralled and tamed and told like some pet of who he should be. I hope he's offended by all the fakery and fuckery done in his name. But knowing him, he can't be bothered. And I look back at what I left, and I don't think he could co-sign on it--well, most of it.

And one good friend from Twitter who is a flaming atheist, has been so kind to me, mainly in just great, meaningful conversation. He reminds me, in contrast, that Christians are so caught up with how fucked up they are, they seem to never move past nor do they actually deal with their fucked-upness. They are waiting on God to just clean them out like some enema, and God is like, you might want to eat your green leafy vegetables vis a vis loving your neighbor as yourself. I keep saying it over and over, because, like a stupid child, I believe that the world can change from true love and compassion, and you usually can't give it unless you've experienced it. And when you do--and I've only felt this a handful times in my life--you'll do almost anything to keep it around.

So, I might be stuck here for a while: spitting what feels like holy anger at these ruins until it's all cinder and dust. I'm OK with that, because it seems to be revealing more truths than I can type out. Like I keep meeting Jesus anyway, and, per usual--it's outside of the Church that he keeps tackling me, in the most unexpected people. I'm not sure if I'm still part of the Church, but since I haven't given up on the idea and personality of Jesus, and he seemingly hasn't given up on me, I think we have a sad but necessary understanding that I can't grow in there anymore. I've repotted myself outside.

Plus, I feel like my church doesn't exist, because the order of service wouldn't be welcome, songs, announcements, offerings, sermons, benediction. I don't even know what it would be. I think the service would be to others, not to ourselves, per se. Just get together and do good works. And heck, there are plenty of charities that already do that, but that's what I want/need. Maybe it does exist, but I bet I'm not ready for it, and it's not ready for me. Convention is chafing me like burlap. I don't want to meet in a building or have banners or a printed bulletin or groups or G-C-D-G chord patterns or anything that reeks of the bland, generic world I left behind. And even though I feel deeply betrayed, I don't regret any of the choices that I made, except the ones I made in ignorance, the ones that let real love slip from my hands because of religious difference. I know my life would've been made richer and I would've learned so much more. But then I wouldn't be sitting here. God only knows where I'd be. I actually don't want to think about it because I think I might've been happier, but I wouldn't be me.

Anyway, sorry for the tangent, and for the ruminating thoughts. I lug this shit around in my head, but I don't unpack it as much (as I should? I don't mind doing it in public, since this version of the Church story can be repeated millions of times over, sadly).

I guess these thoughts are like pillars in my life: Reading and writing is good. Loving is good. Being accepted for who you are is like some simile I haven't been able to come up with. Evangelicalism robbed me of myself. Jesus is most real in atheists, so, in essence, I regret not pulling them closer to me. Time in Chicago is probably, and hopefully, shortening; but if not, I know what to do to get back out there and find more than two people to call "friend." I'm still beat up, but not as much. I'm bitter, but softening up to sadness, and hopefully, release. I'm becoming more productive on my weekends. My body is requiring too much healthcare for non life-threatening issues. The should-haves need to become have-dones.

And back to Twitter (and more lamely, Facebook, where there will be more loosening of these so-called bonds of friendship soon...). Absence does make the heart grow fonder, and I hope to go back with laser-like focus on those who matter to me. God, the time I've wasted on some bullshit convos that don't really fit who I am, just so I could fit in and not feel alone. That abysmal ache cannot be filled by social media, but it sure as hell can make it more abysmal. The last high school bell rang for me in May 1996. It's time to toss my hat in the air, fast forward to 2012, and embrace being in my mid-30s and start appreciating that I can choose more wisely, and that I can heal, am healing, will continue to heal, on this mostly solo journey.

If only I could fast-forward to when things get significantly better...I could argue that it's already better since I'm back to my original recipe self, circa 1984. So at least I'm on my way. I'm definitely less miserable these days...

And tomorrow, Sunday, I will make sure to not be so productive in self-examination and cleanliness. I hope it involves more reading...

All this time...

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 18:00:00 +0000

...on my hands...what to do with it?

Day 5 of not being emeshed with social media and I think I'm not missing it anymore. I'm not even tempted. I do wonder if I'm sorely missed, though. But since my inbox isn't crammed with "please come back!" emails, I will have to tell my already deflated ego that the answer is no.

But that's the point. It's hard to miss pixels. It's easier to miss flesh. So I don't want to get too philosophical, but it makes me wonder how pixels can conjure up some humanness, some sense of personality and self that we can latch onto. It happens, but it's not normal, nor should it ever become the norm. I don't want to evolve into a lifeform that subsists on the bytes and crumbs of cyberspace.

So IRL world, life has slowed down. Information comes at my speed. I'm trying to read some information security statement for work. I'm waiting to hear back from a colleague. I'm wondering how I gained five lbs. This is probably going to be a slow day, and that's OK.

Yesterday, I had lunch with my new friend, and I am now realizing the grounding work that small talk does. And now I know how my friends might feel while talking to me--overwhelmed. I publicly apologize for all that deep sea diving into my mind and soul. Being on the receiving end of that, though, has been fascinating, and yesterday I learned that I am not paying enough attention to my everyday life as much as I could be. This chick has acquired a lot of wisdom that only comes from constant analysis and data mining one's life. Of course, whenever I'm in any relationship with anyone, I try to seek balance, so I sounded like my friends would, encouraging my friend to just enjoy the moment. It's just...odd to find someone who thinks like you do, and does it even better than you. It's like living in the world of thought. I guess God/fate/the universe is being kind to me since I've torched my former life and haven't really looked back, and has thrown me a bone. Thank you for that!

I'm not looking forward to starving for a long time next week before my medical procedures. Maybe I can lose five lbs from the "most unusual bowel movement of my life" as my supervisor calls it. I dunno. I'm kinda glad that I'll have a couple of days away from work, albeit I will be kind of a hungry, weak, nervous wreck.

Oh, and I'm still not thinking about grad school, on purpose. But I am thinking about how much it would cost to move and how much it would cost to get a new couch and bed, and fearing that no one will help me move (major setback of gutting your life of people). Being a working broke person sucks.

Um, alright, I'm boring myself, so...I'm gonna go read or something.

Happy Super Bowl Weekend! (I almost typed bowel).

Oh yeah, and by the way...

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 19:00:00 +0000

I'm totally going to hell for forgetting this...

I forgot to with you all a Happy Black History Month. My head is still in January, I swear. *shaking my head woefully at myself*

AND, because I'm not on teh twitterz, I had to look this up myself: Melissa Harris-Perry's new eponymous MSNBC show (I had been waiting on the title) is debuting on Saturday, February 18th.And that makes me a little sad that it's been pushed back two weeks, but anticipation is high. This show will rock. Hard.

And now I'm listening to This Week in Blackness and they just sad that Don Cornelius passed away by an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. And that's terribly sad. RIP...

Alright, so now that I've redeemed myself, I'll take my leave. *sigh*

Again: Happy Black History Month!

I miss you, Twitter! But not enough to come back yet!

noreply@blogger.com (d*) — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 16:14:00 +0000

Besides that I'm still feenin' for Twitter, I'm still getting a lot out of not being there. But I'm also missing out on a lot.

Image by Roberto Verzo via Flickr

February 2011

I can't believe it's February. The last of my grad school applications are due today. Doctoral interviews are happening around here today. It's that season! June-uary, as some Chicagoans have dubbed last month, was unsettling, but refreshing. I really am glad we have mild weather, especially since today is the one year anniversary of our two feet of snow blizzard. It's a marked contrast from today, where we will have partly cloudy skies and highs in the low to mid 40s. It's usually 32 degrees at this time of year. I will not complain about this!

Also, work isn't that busy anymore, although there is always something I can be working on, and will be working on. I hate to say that Twitter was draining me of my productivity--or more adroitly: that I allowed Twitter to distract me, but yeah, it did/does.

Last night, I caught up on some TV shows, and although I missed watching it in real time with friends online, I was able to catch up on shows that would've been pushed further into the weekend. So that's one bonus. Another boon was being able to dig out from hundreds of emails I haven't read. A lot of them are time sensitive--sales and such--but a lot of them were timely. 99% of these emails weren't from actually people, mind you--just emails I've subscribed to.

I don't know if not being online as much as contributed to me going to bed earlier, but I am. I think it's highly correlated, if not causative. So I've been getting to work earlier. Hmmm. I feel kind of sheepish to admit these things, but this is why I'm not around.

Random: I swear everytime the toaster is used in our office, it's used only to burn things. Blech!

Moving on--but here's where I feel like I picked a bad month to abstain from Twitter, despite that it makes me feel so craven and desperate for attention. Like I said last time, there are times when you want to exclaim something, in real time, and then if you can't tell someone, the moment is lost. And again, it's great for just real-time happenings, like presidential primaries or February sweeps on TV or the Super Bowl. Oh well, it's not like there's a wrong time to get myself right and more balanced, but yeah, this will be a test for sure. But my pride won't let me come back until March 1st, so that's just how it's going to be! I will definitely not be as informed or well-rounded, but that's OK, for now. I already know what Twitter should be used for and not used for.

It should not take the place of real-life friendships--it should only leverage them. I don't think that in a month's time I'll be able to create meaningful friendships with people, but I'll at least have the time and space to do so. If I'm bored or seeking knowledge, I should go elsewhere. Even now, I am reading stuff that I should've read years ago. Currently, I'm slowly getting through this David Foster Wallace article he wrote for Harper's Magazine, called "Shipping-Out"--it is hilarious, but it is long. So instead of trying to see what's going on in Twitterville on the way to work, I've been reading that until I got bored. I wouldn't've read that loneliness article, which convicted me of using social media as a crutch, if I didn't put down the damned crutches in the first place.

So, just going into day three of this, I feel like there's a net gain. I'm not even expecting to be missed that much, because again, although I do have some real friendships online, I don't feel like that's normal to be reliant on them as much as I am, AND I'm not really adding much to whatever community I'm in. I just tweet out into the universe, hoping for pingbacks everytime, which is ridiculous. I don't have time for that sort of skewed self-centeredness.

I'm sure by the end of this, I will have adapted to not being online as much, but at the same time, I can see myself getting back into the old habit of just camping out on Twitter. If I get into grad school, I don't think that will be possible at all. I will hopefully have a life, new friends, and a new world to explore.

And random healthcare stuff: so my OB/GYN wants me to get a bilateral mammogram and ultrasound within the next six months. *shrugs* I really can't wait to turn 40 so I don't have to deal with my boobs being so bothersome. Thank God for health insurance, and I hope I can do this sooner than later, to get it out of the way. And the endoscopy and colonoscopy are happening next Tuesday. I'm going to be one crabby camper by the end of that. So. hungry. already.

Well, I am going to get back on catching up with stuff in my life and being clueless about the world around me!

The Now and the Not Yet

Is this my writing manifesto?

Related articles

When a beloved thing becomes a crutch.

Related articles

From shock to um...oh...

Related articles

More church notes

Related articles

LA Woman?

Related articles

Church notes (on a funeral)

my 501st post: what is this for?

Related articles

Facebook and fake intimacy.

Social media--I actually could live without it

Related articles

The Greatest Love of All--Thank you, Whitney

Related articles

the multi-faceted beauty of you and me

Related articles

meanwhile, back in the waiting room...

Related articles

writing with my left hand...

Related articles

Feeling like a Monday morning

Related articles

Just reach. And see...

Related articles

taxed. solidly average. gutted.

Related articles

As it is written...

Related articles

Old school

Related articles

Future-leaning, past-encumbered.

Related articles

And I'm back...

in and out

Related articles

Another productive Saturday...(ramblings)

Related articles

All this time...

Oh yeah, and by the way...

Related articles

I miss you, Twitter! But not enough to come back yet!

Related articles