masterfade and other musings

I shouldn't be blogging right now.
For one thing, I am at work.
But I am internalizing shit. I am transferring.
Fuck.

I saw you standing all alone in the electrostatic rain
I thought at last I'd found a situation you can't explain
with GPS you know it's all just a matter of degrees
your happiness won't find you underneath that canopy of trees
if the green grass is 6 the soybeans are 7
the junebugs are 8 the weeds and thistles are 11
and if the 1s just hold their place the 0s make a smiley face
when they come floating down from the heavens

you took my hand and led me down to watch a papillon parade
we let the kittens lick our hair and drank our chalky lemonade
you squeezed my hand and told me softly that I shouldn't be afraid
'cause all the while your finger's resting gently on the masterfade
the masterfade.

"Masterfade" -Andrew Bird


I wanted to make a few lists, since I don't have time to sort out what is going on inside right now.

Things I can do well without thinking about it:

1. Parallel Parking
2. Picking up songs on the guitar
3. Complimenting people
4. Gardening
5. Mixing strong drinks
6. Spending time with myself
7. Daydreaming
8. Loving unconditionally
9. Being funny

Things I cannot do well (even when thinking about it):

1. Confronting people who hurt me
2. Comprehending the words no or never
3. Hiding my feelings
4. Feeling at ease with others
5. Balancing my checkbook
6. Finding and keeping real friends
7. Relaxing
8. Anything that requires math or physics or laws of relationships
(1+1 =?)


Things that men just don't understand about me (and perhaps women in general):

1. That starting a conversation with "your boobs look nice today"
isn't going to score you any points.
2. I'm much more interested in your mind than your penis.
3. Playing hard to get is what I should be doing, not you.
4. Describing me as "nice" or "sweet" is unimpressive. Use your vocabulary.
5. At 35, calling me cute sounds the same as me calling you cute.
6. Don't just stand there. Do something.
7. Never never never touch me when you are angry.
8. I have high standards. And a long list of dealbreakers.
9. At my age, I can afford to be picky.


Lately I have been having trouble leaving (and picking up)my daughter with her daycare provider. When she knows that we are going her mood drastically changes. Byt hte time we arrive, she is in tears, and finally up to the house to drop her off, she is wailing. It takes everything I have to turn around and leave.

I know how she feels--like she will never see me again- such intense feelings of guilt, loss, abandonment, grief, loneiliness, sadness overcome me that I think my heart has stopped beating for several seconds.
And it happens every day. Over and over again.


G

When we two parted

WHEN WE TWO PARTED

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
****
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shrudder comes o'er me --
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee so well --
Long, long I shall rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

***
There is nothing so gut-wrenching
than to be stopped in your tracks
by the sight of an ex-love enraptured by his new-found joy.

I have had the fortunate occasion only a few times in my life,
but every time it seems to take just a little more of my heart from me.

Given plenty of time to prepare myself for the inevitable (he warned me that she would be staying at the house), I was surprised at myself when at the mere sight of her sporty car in my old driveway, I was uncomfortable. She had been living with him since Tuesday, and I guess in the back of my mind, I hoped she would be gone.

I was here only to pick up my child for our usual tradeoff. Sundays. My favorite day of the week(sarcasm).

It was no surprise when I entered my old house, it was a total disaster. But what made me so distraught were the danty ladies shoes, three pair, that were lined up at the doorway. Her clothes were hanging from a doorframe, newly washed. The upstairs shower, my bathroom--my shower, was running. She was taking a shower in my bathroom.

I did my best to avoid any sort of conversation with him, but as usual, he had not prepared my daughter's bag. I had to stand and wait for him to pack it.

It was absolutely the most humiliating feeling
to stand in my old house
waiting
while someone else moved into my place
with such ease.

My heart broke just a little more today.

In other news,
I read that Andrew Bird was coming to Second Story June 4.
I used to hate it that no one ever cared what I had to say about music and artists
but I have been talking about Andrew Bird for months
and now he is coming.
A professional whistler, violinist and interesting lyricist
I would recommend him to you if you are interested in seeing a really cool artist.
(and you can thank me later.)

solitude

weekend time

mariner's revenge and other tales

Ok, so I am finishing up a bowl of cereal-don't know the last time I actually ate a bowl of cereal--but who cares..

I have had a lot on my mind today.
The worst part about it is I have no one to talk through everything.
When I was married, my husband HATED when I would bring home my stuff and unpack it. And now, because I know this about people, I rarely talk.

I laughed to myself tonight-- not only because there was no one I knew next to me, but because during the Decemberists show we were asked to cry out to our mothers while in the bowels of an imaginary whale. I am usually really good at pretending--BUT The extension of reality was immediately broken for me- why? why in my right mind would I cry out for my mother? I cannot remember the last good conversation we had.
This got me tangenting off in other directions as the encore played on-not only about mothers and myself as a mother but who would I call on?
I left the show in my usual happy, hands in pockets state, whistling to myself. I was not tired. I was not ready to go home.

I was able to escape the bullshit of life and work for a short time. I guess, I don't know--that it would be nice to have someone else around-- well, at least to walk me to my car.

I dunno. I am a simple person with simple needs. None of which are currently being met.

But then there is the cereal....

Mixology 101

OK, I stole the title from my friend, Jim M. of WFHB but it fits my mood tonight. Have been devouring new music lately like the bibliophiles do their books. Trainings have been good and I sit in on his show tomorrow, hopefully soon--soon I will be spinning the discs on my own.

Here's what is playing at home and in the car:

broken social scene / you forgot it in people

lou barlow's EMOH

Andrew Bird and the Mysterious Production of Eggs

The Decemberists--Castaways and Cutouts & Picaresque (2 days til the show!)

Sadly, I don't have Beck's Guero yet(pale white guy in Spanish). I saw that Neko Case was coming to the Bird in June. Should be a good time. Who knows, maybe The Mountain Goats will be next...


other stuff:
If you have not heard the Boss' new album, you should.
Also, Petra Haden and Bill Fresell do an amazing duo on a title called the same.
and the new Ryan Adams---something to check out.
Literary movements--
Been moving through Nick Flynn's Bullshit Night in Suck City


Dreaming of lazy summer days at the park.... what about you?

It's late and I have stuff to do. Hope you are warm--and well. Ciao.

So I’m drinking, breathing, writing, singing
Everyday I'm on the clock
My mind races with all my longings
But cant keep up with what I got

****

So when you’re asked to fight a war that’s over nothing
It’s best to join the side that’s gonna win
And no one’s sure how all of this got started
But we’re gonna make them goddam certain how its gonna end

****

The sun came up with no conclusion
Flowers sleeping in their beds
This city's cemetery's humming
I’m wide-awake, it’s morning.
-Bright Eyes

The story of my life these days.

While at a stop-light tonight I watched a young couple—she was struggling to get down the steep stairway that was their front steps. Attentive to her needs, he took her hand and helped her down slowly, kissed her tenderly, his arm around her delicate waist. They walked through the grass, hand in hand and passed my car, so entranced with the other they would not have noticed a car moving toward them at rocket speed--horn blasting. It was then that I felt like an annoying splinter so embedded in my work and pointless life that there was no need to remove it.

I had spent the last two hours grading papers outside at a local watering hole—my only dialogue was to the skinny young waitress—or my comments to students on their papers. I knew I had to stop when I ended up writing over a page of notes—basically disagreeing with one young upstart's entire paper.

I sent out an email to the LA department relaying my usual accolades to the person or persons responsible for getting a student interested in a subject. At first, I was shocked that I received a response from someone, but not surprised, as X accepted the praise, of course. This XXXXX usually puts me down, ignores me, or embarrasses me publicly; X is never supportive--therefore, I never attend X's top-heavy and unorganized meetings.
I sat smiling to myself as I read X's typcial curt response--imagining X basking in a personal victory of this child’s understanding of world literature.


It’s laughable, really. Everything. I am running out of purpose and am finding myself at the end of a joke missing the obvious punchline. And--honestly-- missing you.

THE PRESENCE OF LOVE

And in Life's noisiest hour,
There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee,
The heart's Self-solace and soliloquy.
-S.T. Coleridge

An exhausting and duty-fulled weekend indeed.
Props to all the moms out there--
now that I am one I understand.

And kudos to my friend Ariel who is now called Dr. Balter.
Time sure does fly.

Now off to my cozy nest to watch Jim Carrey in
Lemony Snicket's A SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS
wish you were here...

I cry “sanctuary!”

“And I am nothing of a builder, but here I dreamt I was an architect and I built this balustrade to keep you home, to keep you safe from the outside world. But the angles and the corners (even though my work is unparalleled) never seemed to meet, the structure fell about our feet and we were free to go.”
- #2 from Castaways and Cutouts

It’s a funny thing-- I was a brilliant architect who designed cathedrals that were exquisite and controversial—structures in Spain that were beyond compare. And now, in this life I am trying to do the very same thing on a much smaller scale. Alas, the limitations destroy my infinite belief in possibility.

I hear the news about union actions, board meetings, my friends and colleagues losing their jobs; I see my own numbers down in arts classes and the bile in my gut begins to boil. The trite expressions of hands being tied, or it comes from the top have me wishing I fit into the mainstream somewhere. I despise the feeling of powerlessness on all fronts. What is happening to the world?

When asked to read an article by Margaret Wheatley entitled “Turning to one Another: Simple Conversations to restore hope to the future” I started to think about thinking.

So often I find myself putting off thinking because the issues are painful, complex, and often times unanswerable. So I do some trivial-frivolous activity, or mount the most time-consuming productions to avoid it all together. When idle time rears it’s ugly head, I ignore the much-needed time to reflect. I need to think. And I need to let you do the same.

My past (other lives included) dictate that I am a person of action—I am too impulsive, too spontaneous, too passionate. I frighten people off with my intensity and persistence. I have felt more impatient and unfulfilled than usual. I have not made time for activities essential to fostering peace in myself. I am not sure how to approach the people who mean the most to me—praying for him/her to take the reigns and get conversation started. It is such a wicked paradox.

These thought are scattered. I struggle daily with my feelings. I work to be more patient. I wait for the nod from you.

your shadow and my light

Hello. I am sipping dry champagne in bed. It's a nice way to end the day but I just wish I didn't have the chronic tireds. I am looking forward to working out late, sitting in the Y hot tub and tooling around town after school tomorrow. What will I do with the time?

It has been a long-- satisfying weekend. And Anton did get his Lavender rose. He had his beau's number written in ink on his hand. At least one of us got our wish.

Found another artist worth mentioning-- Lou Barlow.
His latest Emoh album deserves a listen. The tune "Puzzle" was playing on the radio while driving home in the pouring rain last week. I sat in the apartment parking lot sobbing until it finished.
I also heard a new Yo La Tengo release "Prisoners of Love." Gave me the chills. I don't know what is wrong with me these days...

Something's coming
I don't know
what it is
but it is
gonna be great.
Emoh

a step away from collapse

I fell on the playing field
the work of an errant heel
the din of the crowd and the loud commotion
went deafening silence and stopped emotion
the season was almost done
we managed it 12 to 1
so far I had known no humiliation
in front of my friends and close relations

There's my father looking on
and there's my girlfriend arm in arm
with the captain of the other team
and all of this is clear to me
they condescend and fix on me a frown
how they love the sporting life

And father had had such hopes
for a son who would take the ropes
and fulfill all his old athletic aspirations
but apparently now there's some complications
but while I am lying here
trying to fight the tears
I'll prove to the crowd that I come out stronger
though I think I might lie here a little longer

There's my coach he's looking down
the disappointment in his knitted brow
I should've known
he thinks again
I never should have put him in
he turns and loads the lemonade away
and breathes in deep
the sporting life
the sporting life
the sporting life
how he loves...

While battling the maddening rush on Second Street early afternoon on a Monday, I turned on the radio in my rental car. Decemberists' "Sporting Life" came on. Usually I am perturbed by the people driving on the roads, keeping me from reaching my appointed destination (usually to pick up Lilly) on time. But the song pacified like nicotine does a smoker, and I sat at the stoplights (all 6 of them) without blood pressure rising. The only thing missing was a companion to sing with me.

Later I drove home from rehersal and the lights were in the process of changing over to stop and yield. I moved leisurely through the same strip of road at my own pace, exhausted. The whispering and sighing of my tires in the rain was soothing and I took my time getting back to the darkened apartment. Times like these I always wish there was someone to come home to. Sat in the tub with epsom salts and waited for sleep to approach.

Today's fatigue resembles that of a hangover from a really terrible party which, if it were better I wouldn't have had to drink so much in the first place. I stumble from place to place in a sort of haze, always running into the right people at the wrong time.

I don't understand what this means but wish I did.

no peace until the weekend

I should not be posting right now.
I am exhausted and pissed off and the mind is going in so many directions that I have to carry a notepad constantly just in case I lose something important.

But last night I had a sleep over with my daughter. She was restless as I stroked her hair and sang softly to her; I observed the progression of her body surrendering to sleep, the twitching and changes in her breathing until she successfully passed over into dreamland. Her chubby hand was clinging on to my arm, mouth open with "bah-bah" resting on her bottom lip. I held her close, trying to remember what it felt like to be held by someone, taking in her scent and her beautiful form.
The windchime outside my window was banging against itself. Fearing it would wake my girl, I was tempted to shush it--or just tape the damn thing together for the night. My thoughts went back to work and the steep grade up ahead--that is next week and opening night. I have so far yet to go.

There is a line in the show that reads 'no peace unto the wicked'. I was making the picket signs in my room and held this particular sign up to my class. One student squinted from his seat and said, "no peace until the weekend?"
I laughed and said, "Actually, no peace until May 7."

Hope you can see what I have spent the last four months of my life doing.
And then maybe Decemberists on the 17th.

"touch me with your love"

I left the theatre tonight after 10pm. My musical director's last words were, "Well, thank God we don't have social lives. They would just get in the way."
I agreed, but as I extinguished the house to black, I ruminated on the idea. Maybe this was what I was supposed to be doing right now. I left the apartment this morning at 6:15 a.m.

Between building sets and full rehearsal tonight I sat with a student we and talked about our 'dream reality'. He spoke of being prom king, escorted by his beautiful male friend; an IU student from South Bend.
"You look beautiful, by the way," he said to me.
"Well thanks. Unfortunately the right person never seems to notice," I am never good at accepting such compliments.

'Wouldn't it be fantastic if he came to a show and actually walked up to me, wildflowers in tow and said, 'Congratulations. Your show was amazing. You are amazing,'" I said-- stooped over-- gluing the palm tree silouette to its white background.

He looked at me funny--I must have been acting out the scene like some cheesy scene from The Love Boat and he said,
"Why wouldn't he? What man in his right mind wouldn't say that to you."

"I don't know Anton. I don't know."

TOUCH ME WITH YOUR LOVE -Beth Orton

I dreamed of you last night
You had a different face
Or maybe just a hair color
You're older and wiser
Yet more like a child
I was amazed to find you still there in the back of my mind
This dream was short
This dream was happy
This dream was short
This dream was happy

Perch your lover on a slow burner
If you wanna keep your loving woman
Perch your lover on a slow simmer
If it helps keep the love from growing dimmer
Now hold on hold out
You're still thrown against a wall
Never looking to be picked up or left alone to fall

Can you touch me with your love?
Would I feel it if I trust enough?
Could it almost be a lust for life?
Would I feel it if I don't know if I sighed?

You could put it on a cold burner...
Deception never kept you any warmer
Truth is cooking on a slow simmer
The light's still strong even when it's dimmer
Yeah hold on hold out
You got thrown against a wall
Never wanted to be picked up or left alone to fall

Can you touch me with your love?

'night.

the challenge is you

"AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM LOW?"


And wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so --
I would not give that bosom pain.

My heart is sad, my hopes are gone,
My blood runs coldly through my breast;
And when I perish, thou alone
Wilt sigh above my place of rest.

And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace
Doth through my cloud of anguish shine:
And for a while my sorrows cease,
To know thy heart hath felt for mine.

Oh lady! blessd be that tear --
It falls for one who cannot weep;
Such precious drops are doubly dear
To those whose eyes no tear may steep.

Sweet lady! once my heart was warm
With every feeling soft as thine;
But Beauty's self hath ceased to charm
A wretch created to repine.

Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so ---
I would not give that bosom pain.


***
Have you ever rolled down a hill with a 2-year old child, laughing all the way, only to get to the bottom to hear her say, "again"
Ever made someone laugh by swatting (and missing) a fly?
Can you dance around like a fool to "walking on sunshine" with someone and still be their hero?
Do you have someone who wants you to read books to them?

I have a daughter who turned 2 today
and she loves me more than anyone
and it feels terrific to finally connect with someone.


Finally) saw Hotel Rwanda
Ate Mexican at the old Princess Theatre but was haunted by icky feelings and memories of inadequacy.

April is, indeed, the hardest month.
Happy Birthday, my little miracle.