Think Again

I just finished reading "The Dance of the Dissident Daughter" today. It was written by Sue Monk Kidd, the author of "The Secret Life of Bees" and "The Mermaid Chair." I read "The Secret Life of Bees" last April, and it was through reading and enjoying that book that I found "The Dance." But I wasn't ready to read it until now.

It was love as first read with me when I discovered the book. I would hang out at Barnes and Noble and read it for days. I couldn't believe how so much of what she said was what I felt and had asked myself for so long. But, I was not yet bold enough to consider the questions raised. They frightened me and my "religious" views. I got up to page 100 and something and then discarded it. I always told myself, though, that one day I would buy it and read it.

I bought it in August and started from the beginning, but my interest waned again.

I have finally finished. It was remarkable. There were some parts that dragged for me, but overall it was quite an experience. I cannot even quote lines that I loved because this was a book situation in which I had to stop myself from underlining every line in the whole damn book (because that defeats the purpose of underlining!).

She wrote about having been a Christian writer and "a good daughter of patriarchy," but then over the course of several events, realizing how harmful it is to only represent God in a male fashion. Not only how harmful it is for women, but for society at large. How harmful it is to live and die by a book that commands women to be silent. She goes on a journey that includes many different experiences that bring her closer to the Divine Feminine, or Goddess.

See? This is what I mean. I got so freaked reading the word "Goddess" when I first picked up the book. But, if God has no sex, or encompasses both, as many Christians claim, then "Goddess" is just a way to refer to the feminine side.

Anyway, this is one of the parts that really, really struck me:

"Early that autumn, my husband and I traveled to New York, where we visited an exhibition of Magritte's paintings. In one painting an ordinary-looking man in a suit was holding a brush and painting an actual woman into existence in his living room. It was as if he were God and she were Eve at the moment of creation. Almost completed, she stood there waiting for the next stroke of creation.

"Wait a minute, I thought. Just how is Everywoman's life created? How much of my life did I allow to be painted into existence by church, culture, and male attitudes? Down deep, was my life as a woman self-conceived and self-created as an original and unfolding work from my own hands, or was it contrived according to hidden blueprints?" (43).

Lament

I have wanted to write about something for nearly a week, but I hesitated. First, I decided not to mention it at all in order to protect Boyfriend's privacy. Then, several days ago, he brought up some points surrounding what had occurred, and told me with a smile that he expected me to address these issues in my blog. (Cutie.) I still waited, however, because this has been a painful thing for me as well as for him (though not nearly in the same way), and I didn't feel ready to write about it yet.

Boyfriend's Uncle passed away last week. This was the reason for our earlier trip. Boyfriend's Uncle lives in the same city that I do, and if it weren't for Boyfriend staying at his house and interning at the company he works at last summer, the two of us might never have met. His passing was sudden and shocked Boyfriend's entire family.

When we found out, I didn't know what to do. I wanted to weep for this man even though I never met him. I had seen pictures and heard stories and been in his home. I thought about his wife and two daughters and what a good person he was (from the stories I had heard) and I just couldn't take it. But I decided that I needed to be strong for Boyfriend, so I tried to keep these things in as much as I could.

He was telling me the other night that members of his family noted that in the past year, his uncle had gotten to do a lot of things he had wanted to do. They seemed to view that as the culmination of his life, and then decided that God had taken him for greater work now. Boyfriend asked, "Greater work? He has a wife and two kids." He also said that of all the people he knew, his uncle was always helping anyone he could, and there was just no reason why he would deserve to be taken so soon. Which made me think about God and life and death, naturally.

What do I think about what he said, what his family said? I'm not entirely sure, to tell you the truth. I'm not positive that I have a belief in an involved, personal God anymore. When I think about the concept, I am neither convinced of Its existence nor Its absence. I just don't know. If there is a God and I could ask It some questions, I would want to know why we are put on this earth, without asking to be, and then have to suffer so much, and are completely vulnerable to fate, nature, other people, and our own bodies. Then I would ask just how I am supposed to believe It cares for us when It allows this to go on. Boyfriend speculated that if there is a God, It is most likely incapable of multitasking, and it lets people slip through the cracks without noticing.

People Are Strange

I live in a crazy ass house. Seriously, folks. I think I have been laughing nonstop for two days.

*My family is not Catholic. Our parents used to be, but us kids don't know the first thing about it. Sister's Boyfriend is Catholic. Today he was telling us that his mother wants him to go to church with her on Wednesday because it's Ash Wednesday. He said he wasn't sure he was going to get his ashes, and Sister exclaimed, with all sincerity, "Why would you? You're not Jewish." I nearly fell off the couch.

*My cat is a little pervert, and he has the hots for me. My family recently discovered that he has a bra fetish. If I leave one lying around in my room in the basement, he drags it up to the first floor in between his teeth. If one is on the first floor in a pile of laundry or something, he drags it up to the second floor. We thought he was just into bras, regardless of who they belong to, but we conducted an experiment the other day. Mother wanted to see what he would do with a pile of bras. Would he start convulsing? Jump out the window? She put a large heap on the living room floor (none were mine) and he sniffed them each and walked away. Later that day he dragged one of mine up again. What the hell?

*Kid Sister #1 has a major crush on Sister's Boyfriend. This is fairly new, but is quickly developing into something that alarms the rest of us. She keeps saying that when she gets bigger, she will be his girlfriend. During a car ride, she calmly stated that she was going to throw Sister out onto the expressway.

Up and Down

Okay, I feel better now. It's always up and down with me, which is really frustrating. I think the person who suffers the most (aside from me) is Boyfriend. I'm totally emotionally unstable, and why anyone would voluntarily live with me is a complete mystery. He assures me that it's not a big deal, but the fact of the matter is the man has so much patience. Seriously. A week ago he asked me to clean up my clothes in his closet, and I started crying. (When I told Cynic about it, he said, "So what? Closet cleaning sucks. Justified," which made me laugh hysterically for quite some time.)

I was on line at the supermarket today, and there was a couple in front of me. They looked like they were in their late 40's. The man began flirting with the cashier in the next line, who was 18. He said, "You're pretty cute." She informed him that the cashier working his line was her boyfriend, but he tried to compete by talking about all the money he makes and the cars he drives. His wife was looking at the groceries but clearly listening to it all. She had a look on her face that said, "Why does he pull this shit?" I wanted to hit him with my soy milk. After they left, the cashier laughed and recounted the story to another cashier. She said that she lied about having a boyfriend because "some 50 year old guy was hitting on me... ewwwww!" Maybe if he knew he was being laughed at behind his back, he would stop disrespecting his wife in public. Prick.

Back Home

I'm home already. Boyfriend had family business to take care of here, so we flew up together yesterday. I haven't even been home for 24 hours yet. The weird (and sad) thing is, I feel miserable.

I feel really guilty saying that, and perhaps I'm exaggerating. Okay, so I'm not ripping my hair out of my head. But I did find myself wondering where I could go today - a restaurant, a library, a Starbucks - to get the fuck out of my house. I have also debated the merits of remaining here for two weeks so that I can attend Kid Sisters' birthday party, even though that shouldn't be an issue because I already promised I'd stay for it. I'm a terrible daughter and sister who ought to be turned out of the house in her petticoats.

Ironically, if anyone in my family read my blog, or knew I felt this way, they would be puzzled as to why. I am also puzzled as to why. Sure, there's usually a mess (Mother works full-time, there are three children under the age of five, and Sister doesn't believe in cleaning. Oh, and I fled the state.), and whether people are fighting or getting along swimmingly there is still a commotion, simply because of the number of people here. Maybe I have a patience problem, but I feel so utterly depressed when I am in this house. I loved seeing everyone when we arrived yesterday, but I am just dying to go back. It's not like the South is some kind of utopia, but it's just far enough and quiet enough to appear that way to me.

I love everyone in this house dearly, but... pray for me.

Blue Jay Way

Happy HNT. I love these blue slippers Mother bought me.

It Was A Very Good Year

Wishing Andi a Happy Blogaversary caused me to look back to my first entry, and lo and behold... it's my blogaversary too. Thanks readers for a great year :)

I'm Every Woman

I am an avid Sex and the City fan. I heart that show more than any other in the history of television. Boyfriend, knowing that I am a feminist, doesn't understand this ostensible paradox. "This show doesn't focus on Miranda enough [predictably, my favorite character] to make it worth watching for you. What else do you like about it? Do you see your life as like that? Do you wish your life was like that?" His questions stopped me cold. I couldn't answer, and told him I needed to think about it. I didn't need to think about why I adore the show - I know why - but I wanted to articulate it perfectly because it's something I have thought about a lot and means something to me. (I remember his sister, upon finding out that I love the show, asking how old I was. I responded, "21," and she said, "That explains it. When you get to be my age [28], you'll see how stupid it is to watch women obsess over getting married.")

Okay, so Miranda is a lawyer with a sharp wit and a smart mouth, a single mother raising her child while being extremely successful in the professional world. At times, she fears being alone, but she rarely lets her fears paralyze her. The perfect feminist character on the show. But then there is Samantha, the sex kitten, Charlotte, the 'good' one who espouses traditional gender rules and screams Jackie O, and Carrie, a woman who is obsessed with fashion and shoes and can't get over a man who treats her badly. Why should any self-respecting woman love these characters?

I'll tell you why.

The first thing to think of, when juxtaposing these characters, is that they represent different types of women. But the more I thought about it, the more I began to think that maybe they represent different aspects of all of us. Perhaps some of us lean more towards Miranda, or Charlotte, or whichever, in our personalities and every day lives. For example, I was talking about the show with two of the other fellows once. One of them, who is very similar to me, said she loves Miranda, and the other, who loves to party and date without committing, said she loves Samantha. Big surprise there. But don't we all have a little Samantha in us, no matter how Charlotte-y we seem? Why are feminists not allowed to want to get married, or enjoy shoe shopping, without it seeming like a compromise of wanting equal treatment in the workplace or equal standing in our relationships? What does one even have to do with the other?

As a feminist, I constantly find myself putting limits on what I can/can't do because of my feminism. I don't wear makeup because I'm a feminist. I don't wear dresses often because I'm a feminist. I am angry at the media because I am a feminist. When in reality, it is more like: I don't wear makeup because I personally don't like to, and also because I'm quite lazy. I don't wear dresses often because pants are more comfortable to me. I'm angry at the media because I think they set unhealthy goals for women and then make us feel ugly and fat when we don't reach those goals.

My feminism makes me want women to make the same amount of money as men for the same amount of work. (The average 25-year-old working woman will lose more than $523,000 to unequal pay during her working life.) My feminism makes me want to do something about issues that destroy women such as domestic violence and sexual abuse. My feminism makes me want to have a great career and a great kid, and not feel guilty about either. But my feminism doesn't stop me from lighting scented candles, admiring pretty jewelry, or owning way more handbags than I need. And it doesn't prevent me from watching, relating to, and absolutely adoring Sex and the City.

If Samantha wants to have sex without relationships, who cares? As long as she doesn't hurt anyone, she has that right, just as men do. If Charlotte wants the perfect proposal and the perfect wedding and the perfect husband and the perfect child, she's entitled to that as well. And if Carrie wants to obsess over Mr. Big, come on girls... we've all been there.

Besides, each woman supports herself and has a career. So there. Don't hate.

Talk

Buon giorno!



I had the wake-up call of my life yesterday. I went to my first meeting with that Italian prof and her students. They were all advanced students who were fairly fluent. They told me that they usually have students of all levels, but the less advanced ones taper off as the semester goes on. I met a lot of new people (there were 12 total, plus the professor) and they were very nice. They discussed everything from religion to museums, all in Italian. I had quite a few conversations, mainly about myself, where I'm from, what I study, what I'm doing here (when they found out that I'm not a student here, they kept asking me, "Che cosa fai?" - "What do you do?" I don't know the translation for "I'm just lazing around for a while, making nothing of my life," so I tried to explain about taking a semester off without getting into the personal reasons why). I am looking forward to going each week, but geez... I felt so stupid around those people. I may have done well in my Italian classes but if you don't practice conversing, it's worthless. The most conversing I have ever done was responding to a question from the professor or taking an oral quiz where I answered one-line questions. That's it. This should really help me a lot. Devo praticare molto!

Close to You

I cannot believe they make Peanut Butter Cookie Crisp cereal. If I didn't have a reason to believe in God before...

Boyfriend mentioned to me the other day that in the past six months or so, my blog has become less and less about my philosophies on life and more and more about me personally. Although there have been several posts in which I rant about this, that, and the other thing, this is generally true. I grew tired of tackling grandiose questions on subjects like religion. Part of me is fascinated by it and lives for the search, while the rest of me (the part that has taken over recently) is simply tired of looking, especially when there's a good chance that I will never find what I'm looking for.

I passed a church the other day. Even in my heretical state, I simply love churches. I looked at it and thought, "It's so beautiful. Too bad it's empty." I didn't mean empty of people, I meant empty as in not holding anything I can use. I feel like churches are full of ideas, nothing more. (Sure, a sense of community and service too, but I mean in the sense of trying to relate to God.) Now, I am a huge fan of ideas; if I wasn't, I wouldn't read as much as I do. But I think that where Christianity failed me - aside from offending me with its scriptures and tenets - is in the whole relationship to God aspect. Yes, you're supposed to make all these sacrifices for your faith, but in turn, you are supposed to get closer to God. Become more fulfilled. Have a purpose in life.

I see now that I was seeking a transcendental experience. I read Thoreau and Emerson and Whitman and thought, If this exists, I want this! But they weren't even talking about my faith, so I don't know why I expected the kind of connection they wrote so passionately about.

Now, you can argue that if I wasn't/am not close to God, that the fault lies with me and not the religion. I suppose that's a fair point for an observer to make, but it's not a valid point if only for the fact that I tried. I really did. For years and years. And if I failed, it was not for lack of trying. Perhaps it was for lack of perfection and divinity. Why should it be our fault that it is so hard to reach God when our humanity forbids the very idea of it?

Kiss From A Rose

Happy HNT with a rose up my nose.

Man, Future Priest is right. I am pasty.

A Place For My Head

I'm sitting on Boyfriend's deck in shorts. It was 82 today. The sun is setting and I hear birds chirping. Birds. Chirping. It's like the most relaxing thing I've ever experienced.

I've decided that I'm not the type of person who should live in a cold place. I mean, when I left home, my hands were bleeding because I didn't put my gloves on fast enough!

Aside from the weather, it is crazy here. The fact that it's so not crazy is crazy. When I was home, I had exciting things going on, but I was too overwhelmed to be excited about them. Thinking about doing something new and stimulating only made me tired. But here, there is nothing to stress me out, so I can enjoy things again. Simple things. It's great, I tell you.

I know that I have to start hauling ass on the whole find-a-local- counselor thing but honestly, I don't even want to think about problems right now. Who wants to talk about car accidents and confusing family setups? I sure as hell don't. But, I know it's the right thing to do, so I'll do it. I guess.

This is the good life: Reading. Undergoing training for volunteer work. E-mailing updates to professors and friends. Speaking to myself in Italian. Eating Boyfriend's cooking. Taking pictures of everything. Blogging. Talking to friends and family on the phone. Sleeping. Knowing that I don't have to do anything if I don't want to, and consequently, wanting to. Taking walks. Going to a gigunda library. Eating better (Valentine's chocolates aside). Writing.

I think this was a very good idea.

Stupidly Happy

Man, I am in suchhhhh a good mood right now. Three happy things have happened between yesterday and today:

1) Boyfriend came home while I was blogging yesterday. He told me he had stopped at the store and bought me some different kinds of cheese (when you're a vegetarian, this is as exciting as food shopping gets for you). He told me they were in the kitchen; would I go look and see if they were the kinds that I liked? "Okay, in a minute." A minute or so later he is anxious. "Babe, can you just go check the cheese real quick?" "I will, I'm just blogging. I'm in the writing zone, I can't just stop in the middle." He's silent for a bit, then again: "Check... the... cheese." I should have caught on by now, but of course I didn't. I was just thinking, Why is he so hung up on this cheese?

So I go into the kitchen and look around, wondering where he left it. It's not on the counter. It's not on the stove. I look over at the table and I see two dozen roses, a heart-shaped box of chocolates, a heart-shaped box of chocolate-covered strawberries, and a box of cookies.

2) Fellow #3 e-mailed me about the Venice job. I knew that she had gotten it as well, but I didn't know if she was taking it because she was applying for other jobs in addition to this one. Well, she is going for sure, meaning we are going together, meaning I won't be in a strange country all alone, meaning I have a roommate who is an English major and who I discuss literature with every time I see her, meaning... yipee!

3) Boyfriend found out about some informal weekly meetings between an Italian professor and some students that are held for the purpose of practicing conversational Italian. I e-mailed the professor, asking if I could attend as well, and she said she would love it. Thank God. This Italian thing is haunting me. I am starting to speak it in my dreams. Seriously.

All You Need Is Love

Valentine's Day is the holiday that single people love to hate. Well, not all single people, but many of them. This is the first Valentine's Day I'm celebrating as a non-single person, and every year prior to this one, I was convinced that the whole purpose of Valentine's Day was to make single people feel like shit.

When I was a freshman in high school, Childhood Friend and I were both single. (Fourteen years old and single. *Gasp* It was embarrassing!) We spent Valentine's Day together. We rented Psycho and watched it in order to reinforce our belief that love sucked.

The year after, High School Friend got in on the fun. The two of them decided on a real horror movie, and I told them to go for it (despite the fact that those things still give me nightmares) because I wouldn't be able to join them. You see, my very close, platonic male friend (whom I was infatuated with) had casually asked me what I was doing on Valentine's Day, and then suggested that we "have dinner or something." I was ecstatic. (I didn't know at the time that he was a total asshole. In fact, now that I think of it, Boyfriend is probably the only decent human being I have ever been attracted to in my life.) At the last minute, however, he got sick, and I wound up spending V-Day alone.

After that, I pretty much stopped acknowledging the holiday because it was "stupid." My parents always gave Sister and I gifts (chocolates and such), but the holiday irked me. Especially after my single girlfriend V-Day ritual fizzled out.

I will admit that this year, it is nice to not only be in a relationship, but to physically be with my S.O. (considering we don't always have that luxury). But this morning, I still found myself reminiscing about watching Psycho with Childhood Friend. I also thought about last V-Day, when Fellow Seeker called me up and said, "I was thinking that Valentine's Day is about people you love, and I love you, so I called to say Happy Valentine's Day!" Those things are precious too.

So if you are single, or taken, or whatever you are, Happy Valentine's Day. I leave you with these words of wisdom from my Inner Bitch desk calendar:

Inside me lives a skinny woman crying to get out. But I can usually shut her up with chocolate!

Wishful Beginnings

Today is Day 3 of my trip. I have not done much here so far except for reading and food shopping, and I am adjusting to not having 50,000 demands on me each day. Obviously this is not a way to live one's life; it is more like an extended vacation so I can get everything together. I still have pressing things to take care of - getting my passport, working on my Italian - but days seem to be filled with possibility rather than the certainty of spreading myself too thin and being perpetually stressed out.

I have decided not to begin working for the time being because I need to go home from around March 2nd or 3rd until the 13th, and I don't think it would be wise to begin a job for a couple of weeks and then skip out. I feel that I have time for that; I can work for two months when I return in March, and I will be working all summer. I don't want to begin committing myself to responsibilities simply because I feel better after two days here. I need to make the most of this time personally and really make it restful as well as productive, because once I jump back into internships and school, I won't be able to simply retreat from them again like I am doing now.

I did, however, find an organization (quite by accident) that is very similar to the one I volunteer for at home. I contacted them and will probably do some sporadic volunteer work there. I haven't done volunteer work in a long time; it is hard to find the time (sorry excuse, I know). So this will be very nice for me.

Arrival

Hello everyone! I made it here safely - woohoo. I'm glad I got over the fear of flying; in fact, I'm starting to enjoy it. (This time I had cable TV, a chocolate chip cookie, and a cheap ass fare. I heart Jet Blue.)

I packed my bags so full (with, um, books) that I pulled a muscle (or ten) in my shoulders from lifting them. Still in pain. The sacrifices we make for knowledge (and neuroses).

(Gosh I seem to have a thing for parentheses lately. Has anyone noticed?)

Hello Goodbye

I have been having some crazy good times with my friends this week. I wanted to see them all before I leave for Texas because even though I'll visit each month, I may not get the chance to see them much, what with fellowship responsibilities and spending time with my family.

Let's see. On Tuesday, Best Friend came over. It was the first time I was seeing her since she got back from Argentina. She brought me the cutest mug and bookmark from there. She got to see my new sister (the baby straight from heaven that never, ever cries), and then we drove to our old neighborhood to have some not-so-great Indian food. At one point during the day, I told her that I have been on a tofu kick recently. She laughed and said, "Wow, I don't think I've ever heard you say that before. Can I get that in writing?" Best Friend has been a vegetarian for at least ten years, and I had been making fun of her for it since we were kids. Shocked the hell out of her when I became one.

Wednesday I stopped by the campus for some appointments and ran into Future Priest. He lamented the fact that he didn't know I was coming and didn't have a going away present, but then he rummaged around in his bag, saying, "Wait a minute, let me see what's in here..." I laughed and said, "What is that, the magic Catholic bag?" And, surprise surprise, he pulled out something. It was a cross keychain and an angel pin, both very medieval-looking and cute.

That night I went back to the old neighborhood to meet Childhood Friend and High School Friend for coffee. H.S.F. showed up first, and gave me a going away present - a beautiful journal. Man, I could have twenty blank journals and still get excited when someone gives me one, I love them so much. Then C.F. came, and C.F.'s ex, who is a very fun and likable guy that I haven't seen in a very long time. We laughed and laughed, and here are some of the memorable quotes of the evening:

"I love to pee!"

"For the moments when you want to smell like a whore."

"You can't prove how stupid you are until you open your mouth."

"Madonna's thighs are like rocks."

(Perhaps you had to be there.)

Before the night was over, C.F. gave me a cutesy poem on a small plaque to take with me. She also gave me one of those greeting cards with a black and white photo of childhood friends on it, which was adorable and touching. I have known C.F. since I was six years old.

(Oh yes, and Wednesday afternoon I found out that I did, indeed, get the job in Venice for this summer. Aaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!)

Yesterday I saw "The New World" with Veteran Seeker. I can see why people called it boring. I didn't find it boring, per se, but I did find myself drifting off and thinking about other things. The thing is, I think Terrence Malick wanted viewers to feel the story more than hear it, and to that end, there was little dialogue and much Pocahontas frolicking in the woods to the musical score. And when I say much, I mean much. But overall, I'm glad I saw it. I did enjoy it. And seeing Christian Bale in a movie brought back high school memories of being madly in love with him and ditching school to see him when he was in town. (Alas, long, disappointing story.)

Afterwards, V.S. had to go to work and I met up with Fellow Seeker, who was just getting out of work. We had dinner at our fave veggie restaurant and then went to our cafe, where V.S. met us after he finished at his job. We had a really fun night. At one point, F.S. referenced some pretty blasphemous sketches we (read: he) drew on napkins that night that we were in the mood to draw on napkins, and he said I should put them on my blog. I said, "No, because that could be held against me on Judgment Day. As it stands I can just deny it. "Did you draw those pictures?" "Who, me? No." But if God has a printout from the website, that will screw me over. I will have to be like, "Let me speak to the Goddess!"

Speaking of the Goddess, you might want to send a shout-out to Her for me because I fly tomorrow and it is supposed to snow. I am not too freaked out because I figure that if it's bad they'll just put me on the next available flight (and I won't lose my moneyyyy) but Mother is.

Reading "The Color Purple," almost done. It kicks ass.

Surprise, Surprise

Veteran Seeker and I saw Jason Bateman in Starbucks yesterday. As a child of the '80s, this was soooo exciting! :)

Don't Bother Me

*Note: I wrote this when I was angry, then deleted it when I wasn't anymore. But I am striving to not censor myself and I think this is one of my favorite pieces, hee hee. So it's back. For good.

I am going to impart a little man-hating wisdom, so if you have a penis, you might want to avert your eyes from the screen for a moment.

Being friends with an ex is a terrible, terrible idea. Most women I have spoken to about this agree with me. Men don't seem to have a problem with it because they have no souls.

Tonight was the last straw for me and I finally had to tell Ex that I have no desire whatsoever to continue speaking to him. It was difficult, because I always feel that I have to be nice (ugh, nauseating). I even told him in a nice way. I didn't tell him to fuck off, as Cynic and others have suggested I do. I even complimented him while I did it. There is something seriously wrong with me.

Okay, I'm done venting. Male readers come back, I won't attack you anymore, I promise.

Was There A Girl On Your Boys' Night Out?

Yesterday was a lovely day. I took my sisters to school, which is always fun. They line up outside and when the teacher comes to get them and they start marching off into the building, all the kids wave and yell goodbye to their parents. My sisters always scan the crowd for the member of their family that brought them that day. They look and look and when their eyes find me they light up and wave furiously. It's adorable.

Afterwards, I traveled to my old college to see Mentor (a former professor of mine). He wanted to see me before I go to Texas. We went to Starbucks and talked for about an hour. We got into this great conversation about creative nonfiction (he asked what my future plans are, I told him of my interest in that field, then he asked if I had seen "Capote" and the conversation just exploded). It was nice.

I then went to Barnes and met up with Veteran Seeker. We stood in the aisle that juxtaposes Women's Studies with Gay and Lesbian and chattered on and on for a long time. I love having friends like the ones I have. We always have such engaging conversations that there are no pauses at all. We discussed Shakespeare and religion and British colonialism and just didn't miss a beat. It was so nice.

Fellow Seeker showed up afterwards and brought his new boyfriend so I could meet him. When we were introduced, he took my hand and kissed it. It was so medieval, hehe. F.S. gave his standard introduction for me: "Your life is not complete until you've met her! She's the female Jesus." If it was anyone but F.S. saying that, I would have been terribly frightened, but he is just like that. I remember going to his old job and being introduced to his coworkers as "the coolest person you'll ever meet in your life!!" He has this mixture of enthusiasm and delusion that is so endearing.

As the night went on, the four of us had dinner and then went to our favorite cafe for coffee. I really liked his boyfriend; he was funny and great for conversation. I had a lovely time. Hopefully I will see those guys again this week before I leave. V.S. and I want to see a few movies together, so we will see.

In My Dreams

I was about to write about how I was standing the kitchen, leaning against the counter, licking raw cookie dough off a spoon while reading the container, and Mother was with me, on the phone with her friend, and as I licked the dough I read aloud, "Bake Dough Before Consuming," and Mother nearly fell over with laughter... and that was when I realized that I have nothing to write about.

This blog is getting sad. Just sad. I don't have anything intelligent to say, and if I do, it's too personal to say here. I don't even write in my journal anymore, though; if I do, it's a few sentences a day because I can't work up the energy for any more. Sometimes I think I should stop writing here but God do I love this thing even if it is pure drivel.

Do you know what I did today? I laid in bed all day. Sure, I emerged from my basement abode to shower and eat, but I just laid around all day watching movies and reading "Mrs. Shakespeare" (promising, but at 80 pages in I can safely say that it's dragging and the italicized font is killing my eyes).

I watched "Big Fish" (excellent), "Sleepers" from my Woody Allen collection (cute), and began watching Sister's birthday present to me - the deluxe edition of "Stand By Me" (whatever that means), when I realized how sad my life has become and came upstairs to blog. About cookie dough.

The thing that had me so down and out today was the fact that for the past week, I have been having nightmares every night. I always wake up at 5:30 a.m. in a state of anxiety before going back to sleep. Sometimes the dreams involve traumatic events, like my father's accident, and sometimes they don't have anything realistic in them at all. For example, I remember vaguely from last night's dream that there was some kind of female devil (like the White Witch in Narnia), and she was commissioning me to do some kind of spy work to find out who started World War I (it's my subconscious inner self-chastisement for not knowing global history better, I'll bet). Some other weird ass things happened in the dream - like Leonardo DiCaprio and I were building something (a tower? a wall? a fallout shelter?) but someone shot down something huge from a far-off mountain and knocked it to pieces. (This is what I get for watching "William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet" before going to bed. Who the hell dreams about Leonardo DiCaprio besides 12-year-old girls, like, when I was 12?) There was just this terrible sense of foreboding in the dream; none of it made any sense. At one point my sisters were playing outside and I kept yelling for them to come in because I felt that something was about to come and get them. I woke up totally upset, even though it was completely irrational. But this dream was the most lovely thing ever compared to the bloody, tear-filled dreams about my father. I don't even want to go to sleep anymore.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go peel the half-baked, half-raw chocolate chip cookies off the tin foil and break my diet. Yesssssss.

P.S. Mother found my old glasses dangling from a wire next to the computer. You couldn't make this stuff up, I swear.

Raise Your Glasses

I lost my glasses last night. Those of you who wear glasses will realize what a travesty this is.

My prescription isn't even that strong compared to others but I was so lost without them. I was supposed to get stronger ones two months ago, but because of a mistake with my insurance, I couldn't get them until 2006 came along. So, lately, I had been getting headaches from the strain on my eyes, and I had been taking my glasses off often (I don't usually take them off ever). Well, I took them off and put them somewhere but I still can't find them.

I couldn't watch TV, I couldn't go online, and... I couldn't read! It was terrible. I went to bed at 9:30 just so I wouldn't have to think about it.

This morning I was forced to skip a fellowship seminar in order to run straight to the eye doctor. Fortunately, I was able to get my new glasses TODAY and I have been so happy that I have been reading practically all day. I began Big Fish - a 21st birthday gift from the Traveler that I still hadn't gotten to yet! - and finished it tonight. I haven't read an entire book in one day in a long time. Granted, it's not all that long, but still. It was very good, too. I can't wait to watch the movie (I own it but haven't watched it because I was instructed to read the book first. Do you see what influence Trav has over me?).

I also watched Shakespeare in Love for the first time, and I may be a sucker for historical cheese, factual or not, but I fell in love with this movie. *Sighs*

Remember When

My memories are inextricably linked with books. Because I read so often, any and everywhere, I cannot separate places and times from what I was reading when I was there. (For example, I will never cease to associate my favorite neighborhood Starbucks with all those dwarves turning up at Bilbo's house in The Hobbit.)

Tonight I went out for a walk because it is warmer than usual. The street that I live on leads into a gargantuan field, complete with a roadway, parking lots, several grass sports fields, a playground, basketball courts, etc. It is rare that you see a car driving on the road, and because of this, it is where my mother took me to teach me how to drive. Anyway, I walked through the field and couldn't help but recall a day when I walked through that field in the dead of winter. I was 18, and as I walked, I read about the fiery torment of souls in Dante's Inferno while shivering and climbing over chunks of ice and snow. I looked up and saw Sister and her then-boyfriend standing there, cutting class and eating donuts. It just made me laugh.

I walked straight through the field and onto the boardwalk at the beach it leads to. I walked along the boardwalk for a while and as I glanced at the benches, I had another thought, this time about Uncle Tom's Cabin. Unfortunately, I couldn't stop this thought from entering my mind: "When I read Uncle Tom's Cabin, Dad could walk."

I think that a change of landscape is a good idea, and I am very excited about it, but at the same time, it frightens me a bit. I know how much I'll miss my family, especially the kids. I also worry that if I find a job there, I won't be able to visit home for a week at a time like I thought I would. All in all though, it should be beneficial. I guess we shall wait and see.

Lucky Lips

Happy HNT. Mwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

I may be seeing Boyfriend soon, but I miss him already. Knowing he's so far away makes me feel like a piece of me is missing.

Friends O' Mine

The other day, I had to travel to the Fellowship headquarters in order to discuss my recent decision with Director. (I had already discussed the possibility with her, and she said that she would support me in whatever I chose to do.) Boyfriend accompanied me, but then killed time in a sports store while I had my meeting.

Director was helpful and supportive as always. She said to me, "You are a brave woman!" which I hadn't expected her, or anyone, to say. I don't consider this move to be brave. Scary? Yes. Brave? Not really. It's not like I'm going into a strange city not knowing anyone. This is actually the cowardly move, if you think about it. Running from problems when they're too hard to face. But I think that distance will help me face them. It's not like I'm going to get down there and try not to think about them. I am going to think about them, but in a freer, more relaxed environment than my home has provided of late. *Shrugs* Whatever. I don't have the energy to go over this decision again; it took enough to make it in the first place.

My meeting was quick and I was back with Boyfriend again. Later on, we split up, he to meet one of his friends, me to meet Fellow Seeker and Veteran Seeker. F.S., V.S. and I had so much fun, sipping hot chocolates and diet soda in our favorite gay cafe (oh my gosh... I am a fag hag) and then trotting off to the bookstore. We spent most of our time in - surprise, surprise - the religion section. I picked up an astrology book and read off everyone's supposed personalities and styles. When I was reading about F.S.'s sign, I played a great trick on the two of them. I read, "When you fail, you tend to blame God." Both of their mouths dropped, and a collective gasp could be heard between them. I burst into laughter and revealed that I had made up that last part. (It really said something like, "When you fail, you become bitter and cynical.") We all had a good laugh over that one. (Okay, maybe you had to be there.)

They got me back as we were leaving the store, though. I was in a trance by a table full of books on writing/publishing when I heard F.S. call me and ask, "Do you think this guy is cute?" I turned around and he began walking me towards the front of the store. "What guy? Where?" I asked, not seeing who he could possibly be referring to. He turned me towards a pillar, and I saw the black-coated arm of someone as he began walking out from behind it. F.S. asked again, quite loudly, "Do you think this guy is cute?" I thought to myself, What are you doing? He can hear you! The guy stepped out from behind the pillar... and it was Boyfriend. I was so startled. He was supposed to have called me when he was on his way to meet us, but he hadn't yet, and I had assumed he was at least thirty blocks away. Hee hee.

I have to drive Boyfriend to the airport later today, but I'm not feeling too upset because I will see him in just over a week.