why I am who I am

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I want to do to you what springtime does to the cherry blossoms -PN

me.
I teach.
high school.
We started the new term today. I am exhausted--completely spent. Yet, I am way behind in grading and planning. Auditions are tomorrow-- I shouldn't be writing now.
But honestly after my first day of grammar and comp., emphasizing the importance of writing, I have to take pause and exhail.

People who don't work in the field of education don't have a clue as to what we do.
I find it frustrating that the general public is oblivious to the workload, the insane amount of energy and skill it takes to successfully teach teenagers and the pride we take in our life's work.

I suppose I should join the ranks of the mediocre; those who don't put heart into their work. After all, I am JUST a high school teacher. Grrr...
You try connecting to kids; giving them purpose, knowledge, modeling, a safe place to take risks, freedom to dream, to trust, to love something bigger than themselves.


OK, done with that. Now, on to kaisen...

Stuff I am currently listening to:
M. Ward 2003 Transfiguration of Vincent
Kaki King 2004 Legs to make us longer
Shins wincing the night away
Dean and Britta back numbers

new stuff soon to pick up:
Andrew Bird
Wilco
Arcade Fire

Reading:
The Diviners, Jim Leonard, Jr.
Picasso at the Lapin Agile, Steve Martin

Spring is rapidly approaching and I am terrified.

OK, back to werk.

SOMA, according to urban dictionary

1. soma
90 up, 22 down


A drug used in Huxley's futuristic utopian novel "Brave New World." The substance is supposed to have the affect of modern drugs, yet no side-effects. Could describe bliss, oblivion, pure love, or pure utopia.

Peace is my soma.

I have been thinking about the place I call SOMA lately. It's the place we all meet to commune, to partake. And when we are all gathered, I have this overwhelming sense of togetherness. I say, "we've all come home for Christmas,"
or "who let that guy into my kitchen?'

Soma is the place that starts my day. And it's not about the coffee.
It's the people. Thanks SOMA. You do in a small way offer me bliss, pure love and pure utopia.

Undertaker and other thoughts

Oh, love is so good when you're treated like you should be
The sky goes on forever in a symphony of song
And how water can flow like it's streaming out of fountains
And all you gotta do is find a sword and a stone

And how it takes on the night like birds of paradise
Like way down in pollyanna where the race runs wild

Oh, but if you're gonna leave, better call the undertaker
Take me under, undertaker
Take me home

Oh, just place me in a box and fasten all the locks
and with a one-two throw me over the bay side bridge


And so it goes.... and now mine:

I saw newly paved streets of deep, perfect black outlined with white on all sides,
the houses neatly framed in brick,
pristine in line and form.
I thought that
for an instant they had been designed
for the blizzard
the newly fallen snow.

It is always nice to leave your usual place to see something that changes your perspective on things.


This was one of those weekends for me.



Take back the lack of depth,

immerse oneself in the waters of snow or baptism

I'm glad to be alone.

I wrap the down blanket around my shoulders

and smile myself to sleep.


Monday morning.
My back aches from the constant lifting and moving
she kills me and doesn't know it.
I woke with black clouds and they linger at the temples and between my eyebrows.

It was the weekend that did it to me. Again, trying to play a role set out at birth--this girl, this woman, this daughter, this mother, this sister, this lover, this friend.. this person isn't me.

Not sure if it is the rejection, or the constant unablilty to match up with the expectations. I overheard my father boast about the couples getaway, talking in twos to married members. I, to the Catholic others--even my MS Lutheran parents, am cast out. I see them judging me--their eyes booring through me.

Our conversations are so banal. Nothing is ever said that means anything.
How I long for a real conversation. Ho I long to meet a real person that isn't hiding something or judging or has a hidden agenda. I stare blankly as the hours pass. Waiting for escape.
How freeing it would be to explore the depths of someone, to be vulnerable with another knowing they wouldn't disappear. But they always do.
Go back to that place again and again.
And every time it is the same. I hate myself for going back.

I visualize
myself in a pool of water flowing
a shallow ceiling allows for the echos and sounds of splashing in distant corners

the water is soothing and warm
like blood flowing

I close my eyes and inhail
the murky smells
slip under the water
my hair standing out around my face

slipping further under
I am free

St. Valentine's Freeze

room with a view...outside my back deck: the computer does NO justice to the photos.















Wish I could capture these better.

Hope you are warm and happy today. Dodge the arrow!

And some other thoughts a day later...
The halls are quieting still. A few linger, shuffling scraps of debris underfoot-- their voices taper as they pass through the cavernous hallway. Within minutes there is silence.

I sit alone. Still.
The hours of night stretch before me like a vast, open road-- an eternity to me.
Tonight it is not about counting hours until the dawn, but living moment to moment contented to accept whatever may occur.

I marvel at the simple joys of life:

The peace of sleep that passes over me,
The beauty of night and trees,
of tight harmony in song,
the passion of words spoken truthfully,
the pleasure-pain of physical exertion,
the profundity of love staring you directly in the face,
and the weightlessness of water….

And although nothing is certain
Nothing is known for sure,
I am here and so are you.
That’s all.
That’s all I need.

saturday

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L322i7aMF_4

You'll Do

Of all the intersecting lines in the sand
I routed a labyrinth to your lap.
I never used a map sliding off the land
On an incidental tide,
And along the way you know, they try
They try.
Shins "sea legs"

He looked just like you.
Same build, same quiet charm,
same coloring, same hands, same facial hair even.

I couldn't believe it--as I stood in the shoe repair store
gaping at this man.
He must have thought I had a problem.

"last days of disco"

Saw you at a party
You asked me to dance
Said music was great for dancing
I don't really dance much
But this time I did
And I was glad that I did this time

And the song said "Let's be happy"
I was happy
It never made me happy before
And the song said "Don't be lonely"
It makes me lonely
I hear it and I'm lonely more and more

Where I belong, where I belong

I wasn't dressed right, I rarely am
You told me that you didn't care
I laughed as you wobbled in your platform shoes
You laughed when I called Andrea true Anita Ward

And the song said "Let's be happy"
I was happy
It never made me happy before
And the song said "Don't be lonely"
It makes me lonely
I hear it and I'm lonely more and more

Where I belong, where I belong

And the song said "Let's be happy"
I was happy
It never made me happy before
It asked "Do you remember?"
And I remember, remember like it wasn't long ago
And the song said "Don't be lonely"
It makes me lonely
I hear it and I'm lonely more and more

Where I belong, where I belong

I told you so

My mom used to say that to me all the time.

Ever have one of those days/weeks/months where you feel you are running yourself into the ground? I usually need someone to lean on during those times. But being single-y solo and pretty much solo on all fronts, I never know where to turn. So here I am again.

Putting a show together in less than 2 months is crazy. Throw in a birthday nightmare and the holidays for good measure and you have a nervous breakdown waiting to happen. I should know better. Sometimes I think I make my goals almost impossible just to prove to myself I can do it.

But when you add in the intolerable cruelty of others and the insensitive acts of so-called friends, well, that's where I have to stop and write about it.

So what do I expect? Well,
Notice me.
Compliment me.
Share honestly with me.
Be with me.
Hold my hand when I am sad.
Acknowledge what I do.
Be proud of what I do and why I am doing it.
Let me tell you my secrets, knowing you won't tell anyone else--and you won't laugh.

It is true, I am terrible at knowing how to choose friends or even possible boyfriends. I choose people who think only of themselves. I am usually devoted to a fault, loyal to the death and will stand up for a friend even if I disagree with what they believe is true.

I would like to know what your definition of friend is.

get happy

When I passed El Alambre de Oro
I glanced at myself in the lighted windows,
and I didn’t look the way I felt but older,
dressed in shabbier clothes…
fm. Memories of My Melancholy Whores --.G. Marquez

Recycling. Check.
SOMA. Check.
Meeting. Check.
Workout. Check.
Dry-cleaning. Check.
Laundry. ..pending Check.

The usual Saturday life-maintenance day.
I did get a few new cds to review from the station. Clint would like this one I am currently listening to: Dean and Britta (a.k.a. LUNA) Back Numbers. It is all pretty mellow and laid back.
The other is more of an EP for Camera Obscura’s new If Looks Could Kill album. Only has 3 songs and one is from Let’s Get Out of This Country.
Back to my thoughts today.

I decided to disrupt the list to write. And to eat. I keep forgetting to do that lately. Plain yogurt with mixed nuts. If you gotta eat, might as well eat good stuff, right?

I recently finished a book called Long Way Down , a book about 5 people who met on Topper’s Roof New Year’s Eve to kill themselves. They don’t succeed, but instead become a sort of therapy group/support system for the others. There were some profound things that the author mentioned as the book neared the end that stuck. In one of the narratives, the character…probably J.J. said something about how none of them actually wanted to kill themselves because they hated life. In fact, they loved life so much that they couldn’t continue living…I am messing up the point. Still it got me thinking of its profundity (Is that even a word?).

Then today I was skimming a recent copy of O Magazine where I read an article about a woman describing her current job as “soul-filling and her life blood” and she could never leave it, yet the company couldn’t pay her enough to survive, so how could that job really make her happy--fully. Wow. Got me thinking.

Am I happy with my life? Am I being compensated and supported at work?
While driving home, I considered the number of years I have poured into my job--with very little to show.
What parts of my life, if any, give me the most pleasure?

I decided to stop with the chores and start embracing the things that give me pleasure. Too bad, as had I figured it out sooner, I could be living fully.

I gaze at myself in the mirror, and although I am not 90 (like the character in the book I quoted) I feel like that much of the time. Sounds like it is time for a change.


What about you?

uh oh

ok, this isn't gonna work. This is my private blog.
Gotta change that..

cabin fever and bragging rights

it's the boots..



I spent NYE in bed listening to Tall Steve's top 30 albums of WFHB. And actually, it was ok. No pressure. No driving home. No cold weather. No hangover.

BUT NY's resolution: Next year I will not be alone for New Year's Eve. Breaking a 3 year trend....

ha ha...could it be true?

You Have Your PhD in Men

You understand men almost better than anyone. You accept that guys are very different, and you read signals well. Work what you know about men, and your relationships will be blissful.

How Well Do You Understand Men?

twiggy's "Pretty good year"

because it couldn't get any worse....
"Pretty Good Year" and all you optimists: fuck you.

Tears on the sleeve of a man
Don't wanna be a boy today
Heard the eternal footman
Bought himself a bike to race
And Greg he writes letters
And burns his CDs
They say you were something in those formative years
Hold onto nothing
As fast as you can
Well still pretty good year

Maybe a bright sandy beach
Is going to bring you back
May not so now you're off
You're gonna see America
Well let me tell you something about america
Pretty good year
Some things are melting now
Well what's it gonna take
Till my baby's alright

And Greg he writes letters with his birthday pen
Sometimes he's aware that they're drawing him in
Lucy was pretty
Your best friend agreed
Still Pretty good year