SheSoldier Fights!

2009-02-01T17:38:00.000-08:00

The Blood Returns

I don't really have the energy to do all of the usual blog format stuff.

It's been a whirlwind and I feel strung out. The job pace has hit a rhythm, which is good, but on top of that I am trying to wrap up the book proposal AND all of a sudden getting edits on freelance stories I filed weeks, if not months, ago. All at once. Have been waking up before work to work. Am working at nights, when I have my wits about me, but usually I don't. I have no idea how to get it all done because quite frankly I feel fried. And I am getting my period in a few days, rendering me even more useless...

I have reconnected with my 8th grade boyfriend. Whatever it is we feel is amazing and palpable but he is bipolar and on lithium and well, dude, that's that. I am already getting the idea of what his mood swings are like, and I can't have my own moods resting on his happiness. It's a lot. In general, too much. I think I need to step away, even if our nights together are amazing, full of laughter and soul searching and fun. Because I would like, just once, to have a stable guy. Who will maybe take care of me.

Which somehow transitions to The Bloody Baron, pictured above. He is back in my care now that the second floor people have moved out. His tail is still on the short end; I think he will always bite it. That's that. Today, as I have struggled to meet even one deadline, I spent a lot of time watching him, getting to know him all over again. I practiced the macro function on my camera and took those pics of him.

I've had him for two years now. I got him when he was at least one because he was already huge. Which makes him three. This is nearly the end. Four years is a long time for a betta. And he's pushing it. He's slowed down a bit in his older age. He sits on the bottom of his bowl for long stretches at a time. He doesn't dash around showing off nearly as much. Of all of my fish, I have always found him the most expressive. He is always scowling, in a way I find very Japanese. I have always kind of thought of him as Japanese. When he chews, his entire heads moves upwards. Up, up, up, as if he were trying to bounce a ball on the tip of his nose.

He is going flare crazy right now because the position of the light is causing him to see his own reflection in the glass. And he is BUGGING. Heh.

I love The Baron and weirdly, though I have not thought too much about the fish in general, at all, I am very glad he's back home. Today I was thinking about burying Joan II and David II at Yoga Mountain and I started thinking about whatever burial I would give The Baron when It's Time. I think I would like to bury him under the Uncle Pepe bush, the one I planted after Uncle Pepe died. God. That bush really struggled last year, I have to say. Which has me sort of worried for it. I hope it makes it this year. I feel guilty because I never had the mourning for Uncle Pepe that I wanted to have. And then I just let it all go and forgot. I didn't take care of the bush. Ugh. Ugh!

I don't know. I have so much writing to do right now and I am totally fried. But I wanted to mention that I am connecting today with the Baron, in part because I haven't said too much at all of late, and also because hey. He's a good fish.

2009-01-10T13:32:00.000-08:00

"IS THIS THE END?"

TIME: 4:33 pm

RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 roast pork bun, 1 mug genmai cha, 1 glass organic lemonade, half organic sandwich of turkey, cheese and egg, half of a plate of organic beef stew, salad, cookie with dulce de leche

MORALE: ok, though all caught up in a tizzy.

FIELD NOTES: Have been playing New Edition's "Is This The End" on Youtube. It came up in a conversation last week with The Screenwriter, the new man in my life who is not my man, and in fact reeling from a break up. Shortly after referencing this song, which he amazingly knew the words to and sang, if not in falsetto, entirely on key with me, on a walk after our dinner at The Palm (hahaha), he grabbed me on a street corner and kissed me.

The kiss had been premeditated on both of our parts. We met last weekend. The context of the meeting was not a kissy one, in fact I butted into a conversation he was having about an apartment he might be moving to, and one part of the conversation led to another and then he was telling me about his hurt/lostness/mortification of losing his lady of three years. Being no stranger to the range of lunacy that follows heartache, I was a good listener.

Still, the conversation was great. Then came facebook, then came email addresses, then phone numbers, then this dinner randomly at The Palm less than a week later. We had already had a conversation in which he subtly bemoaned a need for a reboundy make out and I solicitously jumped on the implications.

Then we went out. Then we kissed. His first kiss with a new woman in three years.

I am skating a fine line. Unlike 28, The Asian or the Financier, I like The Screenwriter. I mean, I really like him. I want to talk to him all night long. At "Slumdog Millionaire" last night I just wanted him next to me so that I could look at him and squeeze his arm when the film made my heart swell. I think about him. A lot. He is smart and thinks like me and perhaps because I suspect he is something of a therapy junkie, he is very comfortable with his emotional process. At least he acknowledges that he must have one.

So I don't know. In between trying to get this new site off the ground, the job which now entirely occupies my consciousness entirely, unfortunately, I spend what little left there is of me thinking curious thoughts about him.

That he is reeling from his break up is good because it keeps me mindful and self protecting.

But I liked kissing him.

2008-12-28T08:09:00.000-08:00

BEDRIDDEN.

TIME: 11:10 am

RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 bowl of taiwanese noodle soup. 1 mug OJ. should probably make some tea.

MORALE: decent though limbo-ish due to being in sickly stupor for several days. what a waste of a 5 day weekend.

FIELD NOTES: Yes. You inferred correctly from the morale note. A five day weekend, which means, yes, I am employed. Have been in the office lately, and it has been good. A relief to have young, fun co-workers vs. raisins like at the NYDN. Not that the raisins weren't wise and fun and full of other things to offer. But anyway. Work is good.

What has not been so good has been having a cold. Perhaps gotten from day of skiing last weekend (super fun)? I thought have had decent mind/body connection but maybe not. So what was to be a super productive weekend has been a lot of watching of TV. Like, days and days of TV which is no good. And now I am behind and unmotivated. What I should do is drag my ass to paragraph to work on my chapter for Sarah. Having a job totally interferes with personal plans of kick-assery. So does having a cold.

This is a lame post but I feel lame and unmotivated. I can only do a little bit of something at a time, like cleaning out 1 pair of shoes at a time from my closet. That is barely cleaning at all. OK. Now I am just bullshitting. So I will go.

2008-12-08T09:33:00.000-08:00

TRYING TO MAKE BREAD

TIME: 12:36 pm

RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 choco-coffee-milk thing, 1 mug awake tea, 1 pork bun from Fay Da which I have been loving

MORALE: both Zen and on Edge, waiting for Official employment, as in verbal offer Limbo.

FIELD NOTES: Those are my baguettes. They toast up amazingly well. And geddit? I am trying to make bread. As in a living.

On Friday they made an offer to me. I didn't know it would be the case but during my grueling edit test I sort of fell for the gig. Look at that. The girl caught feelings. And it seems there was mutual love, as they extended an offer on Friday. I was like ooh la la who me YES! But now I await the Official Official Paper Signing and Such. And I sort of fear that until that goes through, anything can still happen, some sleeper cell can awake and blow my shiz up.

Speaking of Shiz, I just finished reading Wicked, which was on the shelves here at Paragraph. It was...almost really good. I wanted more. But she attended a school in the area of Shiz and I kept thinking Shit, Shit, Shit. I liked the activist green misunderstood witch. There was just too much damn dialogue and too many time jumps that sounded way too interesting to skip over.

Anyways. There is that. There is the fact that Politico is back in town and invited me for drinks and mentioned he may be buying the firm because his partner/boss is now in the Bobama freaking White House. What am I supposed to do with that? I'll tell you what. Hang out with my cute-yet-uptight-28-year old who is suddenly obsessively emailing me, my 32 year old toilet-breaking-fling who is slowly redeeming self through charm and purchases of organic lunches and pending dinners, and perhaps even boinking Sexy Beast (though maybe not as he gets around).

I woke up at 2:30 in the morning. Went back to sleep at 6 am. Messed up my writing plans for today. But sigh. I am trying to be on them. Yet. Why. Am. I. Blogging. Here.

??????

2008-12-03T03:13:00.000-08:00

very early in the morning

time: 6:14 am
rations consumed: about to have a hot chocolate/coffee concoction, currently steeping in coffee press
morale: it is kind of low, and trying to stick to mind knowledge that perhaps am premenstrual but still must live through heart knowledge of feeling like crap

field notes: well. it's been a bit of a breakneck pace. i have had a total of six interviews for that women's website job and i should be hearing today i think whether or not i get it. being in limbo has me completely unable to work at all; i spent all of yesterday on the couch watching reruns of CSI. i want the job and i don't want the job, the latter just being fear of failure and change. we'll see. i believe in destiny.

as usual i love my worms. they have been doing well, i feel the bins have finally achieved a certain amount of equilibrium. granted, they are much slower since it's colder now and the main hallway downstairs is drafty. but god. if i could escape to a giant world of vermicomposting and on-line texas holdem, wouldn't that be wonderful?

instead, i must deal with my realities. my friends are increasingly unreliable and caught up in their own messes. while i drop all to assist in their pains and struggles, no one is doing much pulling for me. i am trying to figure out how to make new friends but it's difficult. sure, in this city one can make lots of acquaintences. but it's not the same.

sigh. everyone is retarded. boys are retarded. a recent one who was good at sex broke a toilet seat and nearly broke my router and wasn't man or adult enough to realize he should be paying to fix them. it's too bad because i actually liked this guy, from my writing space. but whatever. and still my dreams are haunted, last night by the 28 ur old who i did truly like, with whom i made out on a park bench after drinks and snacks and dessert, but since i have not heard much from. true, there was thanksgiving and then i believe he is in guatemala now. but still. :(

retards. all i have is work. so i guess though it is only 6:30 i will get dressed and go to it and may as well make all of that crap come true.

2008-11-19T08:13:00.000-08:00

jobs.

time: 11:13 am

rations consumed: 1 mug of ginger green tea, the butt end of one of the baguettes i made, toasted.

morale: still sort of low and crabby; maybe a cold is coming on. i don' t know. it is appropriate to listen to radiohead right now. so it's a little depressing yah.

field notes: i have been supremely flaked on by several friends this week which i find really abhorrent and wack. i am sick of all of my friends and i need new ones. i am trying to make some new ones. it's hard.

had a mtg yesterday re: this eco website i was pitching self to. while there the recruiters went all gaga and want me to pitch self for this woman's website thing. ugh. it's a lot of pressure and not really what i wanted to do but we are in a recession and so i have got to plan ahead. yet i am being passive aggressive. they wanted something last night and i am only starting to put it together now. ugh. whatever. if they want me that badly...

every night i dream i am in love and having lovely intimacy with various guys. two nights ago it was seth rogen, and then my 8th grade boyfriend, and my freshman year in college flirtation. last night it was the guy i met in the BVI, and then some other dude, who weirdly also resembled seth rogen, who i never think about in waking life. it is nice to be loved, at least while i dream.

well, isn't that depressing. i have all sorts of weird stupid things going on with boys right now and too much to do workwise, all work that may amount to nothing. which is pathetic and sad. sigh.

plus the stock market is TRULY terrifying. as is my ira. and 401k. and all of that shit. so i really must work.

2008-11-14T23:17:00.000-08:00

fred

time: 2:17 am

rations consumed: oh jeez a lot. i can't even get into the weird sad menu of today. but in brief most importantly got sushi with steve and lonely pizza for dinner before kirtan at which i cried but not in a good way

morale: ugh my period is OVER i should not feel this way. full moon bullshit???

field notes: i wanted to write about fred. he was a guy i knew in college. i thought of him recently because i read my old journal. the depeche mode guy. he was tall and had a big nose and a pointy head and smallish eyes. reminiscent i suppose of patrick stewart, if i had to pick someone, but not. fred knew a lot about art cinema and opera and landscaping. i knew he was smarter than me, i sensed that he understood more of something on some level i didn't even know. i guess in some ways then he scared me a little. we met freshman year and sometimes he would come to my room and cuddle with me and we'd kiss and maybe he'd bite my nose. he had a nasal voice but in a gentle way. it is very strange that the word that keeps coming to me to describe him is gentle but it is. he wore jeans and a grey tee shirt.

i am sort of overwhelmed with emotion today. i went to kirtan at which ethan ditched, long story, but it is useless to hang out with married people, especially curmudgeons like him. it was a bad kirtan, this west african lady with no musicians and hard melodies and lyrics. i sat in the back and eventually i just cried.

i could have hung out with my potentially new boy. but i found out today via random details and a brilliant brain wave that he used to date a casual friend of mine. that sort of changes it all for me, in part because i have no more discovery. i just have leftovers. and i need to feel discovery now. i want to feel alive and real.

had two MORE weird conversations today that i can't even get into. one with The Mogul and one with Trapeze guy. the former makes me a little sad, and the latter would make me mad if i cared any more. but i don't. not about him.

everything is empty. and i don't even get much writing in. not as much as i should. what the fuck am i doing?!?! jesus. i suck.

2008-11-13T11:00:00.000-08:00

sad kitty (that photo is from paris, the local graffiti)

time: 2:03 pm

rations consumed: two slices rye raisin bread frozen then thawed leftover from election night potluckish party i threw, a plate of sauteed broccoli, some tea, some mango passion juice

morale: not low but wow feeling weepy.

field notes: re-reading journals from college as research for my next chapter. and jesus freaking christ. this is the loneliest thing in the whole damn world. i am sitting here reading about one late night with a boy named Fred, clutching each other as Depeche Mode album after album played, the saddest and most lonely thing in the world that i have ever read.

are things lonely? i just got back from a press trip to the British Virgin Islands. the baths on virgin island gorda are beautiful, so is the joy of jumping off of your private catamaran into the clear warm waters whenever one is inspired. there was only one other journalist on the trip and he happened to be in my age group and we cuddled and even kissed and snuggled on the airplane home. since then, he has emailed and everything has been all work work work. chatty yes, especially as his whole company basically just got fired and his own salary reduced by half. but it seems that that's it. no follow up to weird island intimacy, which despite his initially resembling a young republican, i actually felt drawn to. go figure. i never feel that. not in a long, long time.

so instead i am busying self with busying things. last night was game night at Austin's and i threw down another bingo in Scrabble -- Pariahs, with the P a blank, the S a hook on Hole and a total point score of 73. it was pretty sweet and Sexy Beast was there to witness it. we are still in vague attraction but with no urgency at all, nothing like before. on election night we had quick obligatory not so hot at all sex.

go obama.

makes me think of Politico. he's back in new york i am nearly sure. and what?

one good thing about Yoga Lover. i could just be held and cry all day long and not have to explain a single thing. that is the kind of afternoon i crave today, when it is all rainy and cold and i am setting adrift on all of this memory non-bliss. it would be nice to cry and be held and comforted. not that i am discomfited. but there is no one to lie around listening to depeche mode with any more.

2008-10-31T09:55:00.000-07:00

pilgrim age

time: 12:55 pm

rations consumed: a chunk of toasty yummy perfect baguette which i baked this morning, after jetlaggedly waking at 5 am, readying vegetables for lunch cooking, and still not being able to sleep; 1 egg, 1 slice wheat toast; a small pot of green tea; 2 Bit O Honey (by the time this post is finished)

morale: it's fine, if not a little unfocused today. i read some Pema Chodron with breakfast, and she said something about Zen masters likening meditation to dying each time, losing the old self. i think i like that idea. not that i am meditating.

field notes: I have been to Spain and France and now I am back. I can't really begin to get into the enormity of the trip, traveling with 46 senior citizens and a condescending French tour guide to Catholic sites and ancient churches. It is so much: the architecture, the history, the humanity, the humor, the horror, all of it.

in a way just going to Lourdes would have been enough. i would have been satisfied if that had been the only stop. both emotionally and spiritually virile. i wept a lot there, but not in a bad way.

but before any of the anecdotes can trickle forth, i can only be in this moment, which is one filled with a little halloween apprehension (i loathe this holiday and am scheduled to appear at a party tomorrow), a little spacey tiredness (per "rations consumed"), and an unfocus that i need to overcome so that i can get some work done now that i have trekked myself to my writing space.

i feel like i was cooking and cleaning all morning. i even did some necessary worm work this morning. the baguettes really are fantastic. and i assume my vegetables are going to be as well. i would maybe like to crawl back under the covers around now.

but i have been gone for weeks. i have got to focus. ok then.

2008-10-07T05:36:00.000-07:00

COCK ROCK

TIME: 8:38 am

RATIONS CONSUMED: starting with mug of green tea

MORALE: too early to tell but i've got too much work to do.

FIELD NOTES: We called that thing Cock Rock when we came across it at Tent Rocks in New Mexico. There were other names in the mix, Bone Stone, etc. It was a good laugh.

Just got back from a gorgeous, perfect weekend in the Catskills with Sexy Beast. Every single element was perfect: from the house with the mountain view, to the sex, the food, the fire, the Blueberry Kush, scoring THREE bingos in Scrabble. We were beautiful in a beautiful setting. It was great.

Then I come home to feelings of...letdown? I don't know. I feel there is a Buddhist lesson tucked in here somewhere. I lived and loved in the moment. And so what if I realize now there is nothing greater than he and I being in those moments, an "us" so to speak? It's weird to have a perfect couples weekend and not be in love. It can't help but remind me of one of the greatest perks of coupledom is: getaways. Then again, I got away...

It's confusing. I don't actually want to be with Sexy Beast. But since we are old friends we get along so well, sort of coupley.

Whatever. Maybe I will just go to Europe next week and end up converted. I am going on this weird church trip through Spain and France with my mother. Some Southern Church group. Oy!

I have a shitload to do. Really. I do. So I better get on it.

2008-09-26T06:48:00.000-07:00

HOT AIR DAYS

TIME: 9:50 am

RATIONS CONSUMED: just starting on a mug of chamomile tea with honey

MORALE: s'okay, but the rain pounding down all night kept waking me up.

FIELD NOTES: That's the view from the ground prior to balloon liftoff in NM two weeks ago. The inflation of the balloons was perhaps the most gorgeous part of the day because actually flying took us over the city of Albuquerque, a sprawling, subdivisioned flatland. It was serene between blasts of the propane tank. We landed, crouched down in our basket with barely a thud.

The return home has been an excessively social and busy one. Last night was really my first night in. There have been dinners, breakfasts, lunches, random drop bys with friends. Not nearly enough work getting done. I worked hard on a sample chapter for my proposal only to learn I was going in the wrong direction with it. It's fine, now I know, and I can easily do what is needed. Still, what lingers is the fact that I have been hedging about this proposal for years; I am just not sure I am comfortable doing this book.

But I don't want to be a dorkus freelanicus any longer either.

I spoke last night with Yoga Lover for the first time in a long time. I can barely tap into what I was attracted to. It's like nothing. Because he is lame. I think of Yoga Mountain as a place you stop by at en route to becoming the next you, but then I hear that Bob, who I really liked, still works in the mailroom, that Shanno, despite getting fired from there returned for a training and another job. These are cool individuals who could be more than all of this. As for Yoga Lover though, he is who he is. It's so lame.

They are all lame. My Sexy Beast is still and is not still in the mix right now. We are supposed to go away next weekend; he sent the check for the house in the Catskills. He is present yet a little distant with occasional rallies of seduction and affection. I can read into little things he lets slip, but I don't even care.

And I am glad I am so not caring too much about boys. Because they are a pain.

2008-09-14T12:09:00.000-07:00

NUYORMEXICAN

TIME: 5:34 central time

RATIONS CONSUMED: eggs, bacon, biscuit with gravy, some cornflake and granola, some strawberry Yam Yam, half a can of Pepsi, considering getting a bowl of udon in the airport, but really, what i crave is the bowls of elaborate ramen sold in Tokyo airport.

MORALE: high

FIELD NOTES: Why yes, that IS me on a horse named Stewboy (or something) in the middle of the New Mexican Rio Grande!

It's true. I write this from the Minneapolis airport en route back from a press trip to Albuquerque. On this particular ride, via the Tamaya Hyatt in New Mexico, based on the Santa Ana Pueblo, my horse took a small face plant into the water, but I stayed on board. Similar to when he decided to take a path less traveled up a small hill. I am not surprised (but the other journalists were) to learn that I am a natural horsewoman. (Minus my sore groin.) Visiting the Santa Ana Pueblo was a relief; many of the sites, even those as wild and primal as the Petroglyph museum, were weirdly surrounded by strip malls or housing developments. The Pueblo was pure New Mexico as I had imagined it...desert, mountains, wild.

An editor I met while on a Montreal press trip is an editor for About.com and she assigned me this trip. It was the largest one I have ever been on, with over 15 journalists, but the number worked well for a very mixy-matchy itinerary. I actually found some of the older journos more interesting, wanting to hear about their lives training as spiritual healers around the world or else bushwacking through Nicaragua. There were some younger women on the tour who were fun, but I didn't want to listen to catty one-liners all the time. And god help me, I didn't want to hear a particularly white lady from Australia via Astoria comment on race.

It was a good trip, which I will include more on soon. Now I am ready to be home and to get back to WORK. Prior to my 5-day excursion, my Sexy Friend Lover Beast, or whatever I am calling him, and I had a crazy date. A screening of Lifetime's "Coco Chanel" (with an AMAZING talk beforehand with Shirley MacLain) led to lite fare at Nougatine, making out on Central Park South, and drinks at Whiskey Park or some such. Weak (in the knees) we returned to my place, and he cut work the next day, and stayed another night...until I boarded my flight to NM and he took off in a cab for home. Thirty-six hours of sweetness and intimacy I'd rather not reflect too much on.

Which means I haven't gotten shit done in ages. So I am about to kick major ass starting, well, right now. I used the first leg of my flight to read a book my Penguin friend has been pushing me to read. I am thinking about writing, planning the next couple of days, perhaps will be able to tap some out while en route to LGA.

That's it for now. Not quite the juiciness. But that's not a bad thing. Life has been a relief since being freed of too many close connections. I feel very pleased just being me for now.

2008-09-04T16:40:00.000-07:00

SEXY BEAST

TIME: 7:41 pm

RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese, 1 hearty portion of 8-grain rice w brocco, beef, eggplant and squash

MORALE: pretty freakin good, minus feeling not nearly productive enough...

FIELD NOTES: That creature is the infamous Black Squirrel of Elmhurst. Everyone in my neighborhood knows the Black Squirrel because he is so freaking noticeable in his Blackness. In real life he looks even MORE black than that. I was glad to get a shot of him. Hurray for my new camera!

The other rare beast in my life is my Sexy Lover, who I would not have really called such only I get many sexual and sentimental messages from him as well an entreaties to hang out. And hang out we have. About a week after the beach, after he returned from a trade show in Vegas, we went to a screening of a triptych called "Tokyo!" He wore his custom seersucker jacket and vest. I too looked fly in a small white linen jacket, a flowy lavender tank top blouse. Drinks at Cellar Bar and then dinner at Perilla. We were so damn handsome in our circular booth, that couple that is a cliche, sophisticated, sexy, downing a formidable bottle of champagne and locking lips still greasy with the exquisite pork belly appetizer at 10 pm, perhaps bordering on inappropriate, but I like to think of as simply an intoxicating aphrodisiac to view. Then we went to the river and like all the defiant gay youths of color, made out against the city skyline.

Emails, IMs, txt messages later and it's the weekend and deeds are done, culminating in a pepperoni pizza in bed and dvds of some British chef who went to live in the country and cook what he kills and grows.

I am trying to not think about this, the abundance of affection flooding from him. I am also not getting sprung, nor catching a feeling. At least, not catching one I haven't nursed for him all these years. It's funny, that this has been on the back burner for like 13 years, our little joke. It fits just fine right now. So that's that. Though he got tested per my request. Does this mean we are entering some sort of monogamous sex? Hm.

In other news, my rash is better. It had consumed me in a new form, upper arm and torso, subject to thick welts if scratched - and that shiz was ITCHY. However, I sort of made a deal with my body this morning. Hopefully this will subside. At the moment, the worst manifestation of whatever this allergic reaction may be, after all these weeks, is chapped ears. Very weird, I know. I hope full healing is around the corner. And that my CSA vegetables are not to blame.

Currently, I have MAD tomatoes stewing up in the crock pot en route to becoming a hearty sauce. I plan to feed my family this weekend with my CSA vegetables, since I have so much and am a little wary of eating them all myself re: allergies. Thick fresh tomato sauce with onions and peppers and fresh basil when I finally cook it up. Eggplant and squash sauteed on top. Then they can order other food to go with it if they want. I guess I could in theory roast a chicken too. Hm. But I would only do that in my own oven. It's such an oily mess.

Ok. That's that. At the Quill right now, my Paragraph membership pending. Harry, who runs the Quill says I can stay here for the rest of the month at no extra charge. Sweet. I will have two writing homes. AND DAMMIT I NEED TO WRITE MORE WHILE IN THEM!

2008-08-26T07:52:00.000-07:00

hate to admit it

but all of this freaking news about the convention has me thinking about Politico, who is no doubt working his ass off right now, gathering all sorts of accolades and making freaking history. i have never been with anyone that powerful or successful. not that it should matter. but in a way it does. and i kinda miss, as we came to such an abrupt end.

2008-08-21T08:15:00.000-07:00

BOOKER

TIME: 11:15 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 mug earl grey de la creme tea, 1/2 everything with cream cheese
MORALE: good but would be great if freaking skin plague would go away!

FIELD NOTES: I should take some time to introduce Booker, the newest edition to my family of fish. Unlike Jack and Marla (and the Bloody Baron who continues to live downstairs), Booker is not a betta. He is a feeder goldfish, a tiny one at that.

The boys at Petland gave me Booker for free last week on a day that I walked the shelter German Shepherd over in Rego Park. He is an inch long goldie, with the black from his tail already fading. He tends to stop and start in place, sort of jerking back and forth. He eats one flake at a time and is otherwise lively. I forgot how big goldfish eyes are compared to those of bettas. I retrieved him from an otherwise empty tank, save four giant prawn things. He seems lively and well and I don't overfeed. I scoop out his poop, the human filter, every or every other day.

Why did I get a feeder? God, who knows. It's not like I craved another mouth to feed, though obviously I do have all of the food and bowls and such needed to sustain him (though real estate on my desk is running out). Sarah, the woman I know at Penguin, hollered at me to get my ass moving on my fish book and finally I relented. I wrote her an intro, and yesterday emailed her a rough chapter outline. This is all about to go into drafts and drafts, but this proposal is on the move, thank god. It's the next big thing. It's my next only thing, my escape route from celebrity profiles and fashion features.

As an aside, I think when The Time Comes, I will set up my tank and put Marla and Booker in it. Then maybe I will get some neons or gouramis or other friendly fish to care for. There are these amazing automatic feeder things that you can set up for when you go on vacation.

Amazing no, the idea of setting up a tank??? I think it would make Marla happy. I have no impression of Booker yet either way.

2008-08-20T12:23:00.000-07:00

RASH BEHAVIOR

TIME: 3:23 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1/2 sesame bagel with smart balance, 1 adobo chicken leg, 8-grain rice, and yellow beets, lots of tea...and i think i am going to eat some waffles YUM
MORALE: in sort of a crappy mood

FIELD NOTES: I have a rash all over my arms and legs. It grows steadily each day. It sort of resembles razor burn. I went to the doctor yesterday, who informed me I have folliculitis. I am on antibiotics. It's been 24 hours and it has yet to kick in.

I feel sort of plague stricken, which is too bad, because otherwise I feel vital and good. Had awesome weekend, and crazy sensual romps with a very hot friend at the beach. Been a long time, really since That Sham, that I have been attracted to anyone like that. Been sort of going through the motions. But not with this hottie. Daaaang.

Otherwise, sort of overwhelmed right now. There is so much crap to maintain and clean and keep neat and take care of. I don't know why I don't get to the things on my list, that shouldn't be so hard to get around to yet are.

Ugh. Rash behavior.

2008-08-16T07:05:00.000-07:00

HARVEST TIME

TIME: 10:15 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1/2 cin raisin bagel with smart balance from The Bagel Club in Bayside, now that the Franny Lou spot has closed; crysanthemum tea with buckwheat honey, the latter of which resembles molasses, which is not so awesome
MORALE: good considering the insiduous blood is expected next week, but not so good considering i have dash of pms blues

FIELD NOTES: Lo! The 2008 Tomato Harvest begins! The pics to come will be better now that I have begun to decipher the varying functions of my new camera. But here are the first tomatos picked and eaten out of my parents' back yard. A buncha the fam was over that night, so we split the two cherry tomatos six ways; the romas were left to ripen further. My dad has become obsessed with picking totally green, unripe tomatos, not wanting the birds to get them. I am like, um, dad. I'd rather sacrifice a couple to nature to get ones we can actually eat.

Life has been both stagnant and busy. Work wise, made a lot of progress this week on a non fiction book proposal that this woman at Penguin is pushing me to do. It has to do with fish, and essentially is a huge elaboration of some of the adventures in this very blog (and it's boo hoo sad predecessor). Haven't been super social this week (though made a lot of origami at a potluck last night. Like, a LOT). Haven't been to the quill. The thunderstorms have been discouraging. Have cleaned parts of the apartment. Have also finally sampled my Earl Grey de Creme tea which is freaking delectable. I have two assignments that I need to get to, but I have been stalling.

But today is sunny and beautiful and perfect. A long Saturday stretches in front of me like the wily hook of a question mark. What to do? What I really want to do is like, smoke a bunch of cigarettes and am considering, quite seriously, forking over 10 bucks or however much they cost right now to get some. But thrift and health are always the watchwords...sadly in that order.

Speaking of thrift, the Old Man keeps calling me to hang. He is the one who is a flakey music producer who actually has a great bod and is one of the rare guys I am physcially attracted to. Only his personality is so wack. And he is SO cheap. And ALWAYS talking about how broke he is. Which is not hot when you're in your freaking 40s. It would be one thing if he were a wiry skinny 22 year old; then I'd hang, and then I'd do him. But this package deal is not hot. I mean stealing your neighbor's wireless internet? Asking girls on dates but making sure to tell them how much the event costs first? Totally tacky.

And speaking of tacky, maybe this wasn't quite the move but I let The Financier know (over email) that I am not looking for anything physical (I didn't specify that I meant with just him). We had a great dinner/pool/ping pong date the nite the Olympics started and it was sort of ruined by the fact that I had to kiss him at the end. GROSS. Just not feeling it. Like kissing the Mogul all over again, except worse. And I wanted to make it clear, because even though I love hanging out with him, he needs to know it can only happen from now if we do not touch. We'll see if I hear from him any more.

So as my dating life careens into hellaciousness, I am reminded that I must focus on work because that's all there is. Sigh.

Perhaps I will bike over to PS 1 as I have been wondering about that farm they have growing over there. Or walk some dogs, as I did the other day (a too big German Shepherd who I could barely control).

Or perhaps I will just lock self up in here and play Fable all day, now that I got my friend's Xbox.

2008-08-01T14:31:00.000-07:00

JACK BE NIMBLE, JACK BE QUICK

TIME: 5:35 PM

RATIONS CONSUMED: leftover pancakes and corn beef hash from diner last night after yawning me'shell ndegwhatever concert (commitment to leftovers is strong), weird fried rice i made out of more leftovers, as parents gave me curry cauliflower and i had a roasted chicken leg, added corn and salt and 8-grain rice, 1 green tea mochi with red bean paste, lots of iced tea (genmaicha and blood orange)

MORALE: if i could get through this sleepy heat haze and annoying edit angst, i'd tell you

FIELD NOTES: First and foremost, I must apologize for not taking pictures in too many months. I recently got a new camera. That will hopefully help.

I lead with the lack of images because Jack, like the Bloody Baron before him, has eaten off his tail. Remember Jack, my betta gone by? The blue halfmoon warrior who journeyed with me to Kentucky last fall? For months he has had tail problems, little red bloody splotches I assumed were tail rot. I had him on meds for weeks, Jungle Fungus, even Maracyn 1. I added aquarium salt, I had frequent water changes. It didn't help.

Then one morning it all disappeared. Along with most of Jack's tail. He had eaten himself. I watched him, like a puppy chasing his behind, swimming in circles, trying to get more. What once was two and a half inches of glorious plumage was reduced to a ragged stumpy centimeter at best. Yet Jack was happy. He was blowing bubble nests. And most interestingly, and quite effectively, his infection was gone.

Let's flip back a year or so, to the Bloody Baron, who also ate off his tail. I would first like to point out that I don't know of many Betta owners who have had tail biters at all. (And I have had two. Is it me? Is it a cruel metaphor? That I drive male fish to self-mutilation?) The Baron, however, did not have infection at the time. He was just a spiteful old jerk who only stopped biting his tail once he moved downstairs to the frat boy arena of my cousin's apartment, where there are usually several people milling about and a TV running. (The Baron is still alive, and well.)

Jack, though, seems to have eaten himself out of self preservation. He took a hit now to save himself later, chomped all that infection off that I couldn't help despite how hard I was trying.

Ok, wait for it. If we are going to play metaphorical poker, and Jack is Politico, I can't help the MFer, no matter what salves I put on his (pathetic) wounds. He's gotta go for it, take the hurt of confronting himself immediately, so that he can heal and be well.

And blow a bubble nest. For me.

Ah! Well! There we go.

Since Politico I have been searingly asexual. Been on dates, in particular with The Financier, who does and says everything perfectly, is very funny and cute, and towards whom I feel something like goodbuddyishness, much like The Mogul of last year. We saw "Batman" together this week (LOVED IT OMG), and chatting about the plot and quickly hopping off the train at my stop marked a perfect end to a perfectly platonic (to me) evening. The Old Guy is back and called me and I am attracted to his dope body, but not enough to actually spend time with him.

Instead, a lot of my love is oddly displaced on fictional characters. Bale as Batman. Heath Ledger. Henry from "Ugly Betty" (which I have been watching for a story), my Hedge Fund friend (who is hot and an old buddy but fictional to me in that he is married). Any other handsome, swarthy, heroic, or innocent type.

And I guess that's fine with me. Because you get the benefit of feeling it without the tragedy of actually living through it. Right now, the fantasy is a lot more palatable than any reality. Opiate this subsection of the masses. It's fine with me.

2008-07-22T02:33:00.000-07:00

sleepless

time: 5:33 am
rations consumed: none, though had restaurant week dinner at perry street last night with mother and cousin.
morale: ok, but why can't i sleep?

field notes: it's the week before my period, and instead of being completely zonked out for 12 hours a day asleep, i have been listless and uncomfortable at night. it's odd for me; i am usually a good sleeper. i am usually a great sleeper. and now i am not much of a sleeper at all.

several factors may be contributing. it's been hot lately; too hot; air conditioner at night hot, which i am not a big fan of doing. i am relatively done with work deadlines (though big magazine edit supposedly coming into today and i dread it, i truly do, lord universe in all your greatness please let kindness decend upon that piece/edit). i have been practicing genderlessness. i have been writing a lot of fiction. and...i haven't been sleeping much...

so what is going on with me?

another thing...anxiety about money has been weaving in and out of my thoughts. i have got to "make it" or else i have got to get a job and "make it," "it" being money of course. i guess part of this is motivating me to keep nose to the grindstone. then again, i have only been deadlineless, what? a week? so why am i freaking out? why can't i give myself a chance to do other things?

ugh. so that's where i am at at this crazy hour, with the sun just barely starting to come up.

for the record, this super early gorgeous time of day is usually my favorite. it's peaceful. the day hasn't had a chance to be ruined yet.

it smells good outside.

2008-07-18T09:21:00.000-07:00

A PIECE OF THE PIE

TIME: 12:23 PM

RATIONS CONSUMED: my first bite of lunch hauled in from Queens to the Village quill: rice, sauteed CSA veggies (garlic scapes, swiss chard and mustard greens), steak slices from last night dinner at parentals, a glass of mango passion juice, and the beginnings of iced green blood orange tea

MORALE: pretty decent. and feeling oddly alert!

FIELD NOTES: That is a photo of half of the rhubarb (from CSA!) and strawberry pie i made a couple of weeks ago. What's missing is the lattice crust I eventually built on top. I didn't take a photo of the finish, in part because I had to run to the BBQ it was for, but also because that fruity sugary filling bubbled up through the lattice and blackened. It was not gorgeous, but I scraped off those parts. The pie itself was DELISH.

At the start of this week I finished some big deadlines that were looming over my head. Since then, I have been trying to work hard on my literary pursuits. Ideally I'd be turning out a draft a day, all revisions, nothing fresh at the moment. I have managed to do this the past two days which is awesome. Almost like the pace when I was in residency in Kentucky. I don't mind reworking the old stuff because it needs to get good enough to either send out (in the case of stories/essays) or get to the next part (in terms of the novel).

I have also been practicing emotional genderlessness. I don't want to be as repressed and fearful as a man, yet I do not want to be as emotionally endowed as a woman. So far it is working. I don't let myself think too hard or long about the things that I know bring me sadness. Plus I have intense work focus and determination to Make It. Lord, if i put the focus into my writing that I have on dumb boys.

Speaking of boys, the finance dude has been doing everything perfectly, down to taking me out for dinner and a bottle of bubbly to celebrate the close of my deadlines. We get along great, have lots of laughs. And true to my emotional genderlessness, I can't feel a thing. It works for me, yet he sent me a sweet message the other day that in another realm is exactly what one wants post date...and it sort of made me cringe. I fucked-up-ed-ly have not even written him back or acknowledged it. UGH. But this is what it must be like to be someone like Politico. And look how successful HE is! That will be MEEEEE.

Other than that. I had dinner at my parents' last night. I feel bad because I was in generally a little snippy with them, esp when I was helping my mother with her piano lessons. She is doing really well at the instrument, her growth has been amazing. Usually when I help her out it's a lot of fun. But last night I was a little scoldy because when she gets frustrated with a piece, she'll start guessing the notes instead of just like, reading them, which she can do. "That is an A? G? B?" "Why don't you tell me? Which is it, mom?!"

I feel bad because they are being loving and supportive, especially lately. And I was being a crabby scoldmonster.

Lastly, some a-hole stole a plant out of my yard. Literally dug up one of my perennials, a beautiful yellow flowering thing. I hated humanity for a couple of days. Now I am kind of over it.

2008-07-08T06:26:00.000-07:00

literary domination, ho!

time: 9:27 am
rations consumed: 1 cup of not really chilled enough vanilla chai tea
morale: when i stop waking up with feelings of dread i will let you know

field notes: well hurrah and huzzah! yesterday i got word a short story of mine was accepted for publication in Alimentum, a journal of literary food writing! the piece was a riff on my time in the jungle, on that long-ass walk up to the eating platform, the blood-lust the vegan farm spawned for chicken meat. it's short, a tiny thing, inspired by a different contest that had that theme "are we there yet?" it is very exciting. very very very! now if only i could place "homesick..."

the news was auspicious as i had spent the day working only on fiction (even though i have a work deadline that is late). it seems to be a sign that the career-not-boys route is the way to go this summer, and i am diving in.

as an aside, i got two new lucrative journo assignments. last night i weeded outside to honor the universe and its blessings.

that's about it. no more moaning and groaning and whining here. that is the former version of self. this new writing powerhouse does not indulge in the blather. anyway, i think it all got cried out.

now if only this loud-ass truck outside would shut up its noise and let me get to work...

2008-07-07T06:06:00.001-07:00

bell jarring

time:9:06 am
rations consumed: a glass of juice; much CSA vegetables eventually for lunch
morale: who knows.

field notes: What a weekend. Went to a farm with friends, had a great time until I started crying on top of a huge, field. Triggered, of course, by nothing, but further fueling my theory that I am losing my mind. Drove home in the middle of the night. Slept most of yesterday. Cried more too. Hopefully all that shit is done. I do not want to lose my mind. I want to emerge unscathed.

I am trying to focus on my creative writing now. I need something to project me forward and that's the only thing that I can see doing that. Gawd, I have so much work to do as far as all of that is concerned. But I guess I have to get through it, one draft at a time.

2008-06-27T06:44:00.000-07:00

wordless.

time: 9:45 am
rations consumed: glass of pomegranite cran juice
morale: fine, relatively without distinction

field notes: i haven't had much to say though a lot has happened.

my godfather, uncle peppe, died. he was a big part of our family and he built the house that i live in. nothing sank in, of course, until i went to the wake on friday. we only stayed for like 5 minutes. it was full of strangers, the family of his that never cared for him. there was a reason that for years he spent every day at my parents house. because none of those people cared. i cried the second i walked in the door, saw the little memory card they made of him with a picture from when he was young. i stopped the moment corrine, his pathetic step-daughter, had the gall to thank my father for helping peppe look so good, because after all, it was my dad who went there and bathed him and shaved him and cut his nails, NOT anyone actually blood related to him. that she dared go there just appalled me. instead, i planted a hydrangea in my front yard to honor him.

the weekend was ugh, because post wake i overheard some ignorant bitch say something racist outside my house, not to me, but to her friend. so i looked and her and she said something ignorant to me. this was in my yard as i was standing there, literally holding the hydrangea, still in the somber clothes from the wake. so i cried cried cried all night, because everything was sad and everyone was an asshole.

cancelled a saturday nite date, took a sunday one. it was fine, he's actually really cool and nice and cute, if a little broke. we made out some and his body was amazing, it felt good to be mashed up against him. yet i don't know. i can't really summon it up. i just can't feel much of anything.

which leads me to where i am right now. after that sort of exhausting weekend, i can't feel all that much. this week has been busy with filing stories (this vibe one is killing me but i know the end is near) and hanging out with friends. a friend is in town to promote his book and it's been two dinners out, the first of which i left quite drunk, only to run into Jeff on the train platform. we came back here and danced around the living room.

so that's the update. it's a lame one. there are no groceries in the fridge and i could use some food. i don't know if i should go into my tribeca office, which i am starting to think i don't get much done at, or stay here. it closes tonight at six, which is lame. that place in general is lame. there is no fridge. or lockers. or nights on the weekends.

2008-06-14T12:45:00.000-07:00

HOMEFRIED

TIME: 3:45 PM
RATIONS CONSUMED: two portions of penne with meat sauce (the latter defrosted from crock pot freezery, one portion for breakfast one for lunch), half a cup iced coffee this morning, lots of juice and water, another ice coffee from up the street which may scarily have an espresso shot in it that i didn't ask for. however, i am trying to go off of my friend kate's theory that "coffee makes you feel happy."
MORALE: not that i am particularly unhappy...

FIELD NOTES: Here i am, in the tribeca office space. I just walked down Canal to get to Pearl Paint. Picked up some pens for Deanna; her birthday party is tonight, she just got a book deal, and the pens are for her eventual book signing. Since when the booths on Canal are filled with Caribbean dudes who say things like "HEY SEXY I WILL BREAK YOUR BACK," I do not know. That was a particularly strange thing for a guy to say. Back breaking is not hot.

Speaking though, of hot, it is sweltering outside. I thought the heatwave ended while I was in St. Maarten but no. I was so sad to come home and find most of my herbs totally roasted. The Rosemary was just starting to root in the shot glasses too, but they got totally scorched. I should have brought them all down to the basement. Well. At least I know for the future...

The evil, ugly stain of my press trip to St. Maarten is slowly wearing off. I can't believe how negative that experience made me feel each and every moment. I am slowly exfoliating it from my corpus. Detoxing with very positive home things. Took care of some worm feedings. Weeded this morning (so much crap to haul to LES Ecology Center Compost booth...ugh!). Even mopped the kitchen floor and came across a tiny mouse who was caught in a glue trap under the stove for who knows how long. That last part was not so great; then again, at least it's not under there any more.

But I feel relatively good. After home stuff, sloughed into the office, where apparently I am the only writer with no life who must devote a sultry Saturday afternoon to working. Got in a phoner for a feature I am working on and he said everything I needed him to. I now have to transcribe it. I am cool with that.

I feel my focus coming around and it is a great feeling. I feel some real creative peaks are manifesting.

And speaking of peaks, I am finally paying attention to my stock portfolio again. Thank goodness. I have sold some deadweight (which should have, sadly, been sold long ago when it had doubled) and am filling in with all sorts of goodness. See? I am totally investing in my future.

Crackle boom! The thunderstorm is starting!!!

2008-06-10T15:43:00.000-07:00

ST. MAARTEN SUCKS

I am in St. Maarten on the worst press trip ever. I am in a bad mood. These trips should make us happy, not miserable. I am aware that I am lonely and alone. Politico is a moron, a true disappointment. I have so much work to do and I have to do it here, which I can't, because I am too tired and exhausted not from having fun but from how horrible it has been so far. I am stressed, I am tired, and I am alone. Very much so. There is no one in my corner.

2008-06-04T10:14:00.000-07:00

OFFICE SPACE

TIME: 1:15 PM
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 mug iced coffee, brewed last night and left in fridge, 1 yogurt cup i made with papaya, blueberries and strawberry preserves
MORALE: i don't know. kinda sad. kinda trying to get over it.

FIELD NOTES: I finally got office space at The Village Quill. Tribeca, a neighborhood that I have always loved, does have its limitations: lack of affordable snacks for one. Still, I packed a little bag that will get me through my day here, which hopefully will be filled with all sorts of writerly domination. Eating my yogurt treat right now. I have chicken and collards. A piece of a blueberry muffin. Frozen alfalfa tea mixed with cran-pomegranate juice that will melt into cold yumness.

Now that The Politico and I are over (and I hate that I can't be happy about Obama; this is indirectly his fault), I must really focus on my writing. I think that's part of the message from the universe. This isn't time to be messed up over some man. That energy needs to go into the work. The Work. So I am going to sit here. And I am going to Work. I will say this though. That I coulda loved that geeky man.

A note on worms. Yesterday this chick was giving away her worm bin on craigslist. I picked it up. I am grateful. She completely cleaned it out and just left the worms inside with a handful of dirt. All of the mites, flies and etc swept away. I am so excited to start anew with a clean bin. My old bin is overwhelmed with a universe of critters that I am just not into. But hm. I do want the two bins to eat through the weeds and such that I have composting in my tumbler. Perhaps I will make them work through as much of that as they can. And then, towards the fall, I will let them rest. And then I will clean out both bins totally. and let the compost sit all winter in the garage, getting ready for spring. Hm. Yes. This is a better plan.

I guess I have nothing else to say. I am procrastinating before getting to The Work. So I am going to Work now.

2008-06-01T08:36:00.000-07:00

FREAK GROWTH

TIME: 11:38 AM
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 apricot, 1 cup iced coffee yum
MORALE: eh

FIELD NOTES: That is supposed to be a purple cabbage. I planted it last summer when it didn't grow. It lived all winter as a four leafed sprout and this spring shot up to be full of flowers and over 2.5 feet tall. Since this photo was taken, the yellow flowers have dropped and now there are all of these weird little purple looking string beans on the plant. I suppose they might be edible? I should check on a garden forum and find out...

I am trying to find a metaphor in this freak plant and apply it to my life, which of late has been teetering on the verge of various breakdowns. The Politico has moved back to Chicago and acknowledges sending me mixed messages from his strategy room on the mountaintop. It is over. But there are still feelings. I sent him a Zen, Pema-inspired email this morning, full of compassion and an acceptance of change.

I am trying to throw myself into my work but sometimes being at home is stifling. I signed up for some office space in Union Square, available 24-7, imagining me plugging away to literary greatness in the cubicle next to my hunky husband to be. Both my friends Mac and Deanna worked at this place and both ended up with very awesome and amazing book deals. Is it an evil sign that I am not destined for amazing book deals because these asswipes are not calling me back? Oh Jesus, I hope not.

Last night I met a French actuary who was actuary (hahah chinese accent...i can say that...as I am...) less lame than I thought he would be on first glance. He's funny and smart and a slick gentleman. We were introduced by our mutual Mandarin tutor/friend, as the three of us went to this artists' showcase in Soho and a snack in Chinatown. He called me this morning and invited me to dinner before he leaves the country tonight. Then he sent me garbled txt from international phone so I can be in touch with him. Just txted him back. I wonder if it went through. I am down for an early supper and a funny, smart man asking me on a date.

Did some yard work this morning, so much more to go. Haven't really been dealing with the worms but I got to get back on that. Okay. I will. Now.

2008-05-23T07:20:00.000-07:00

COME SAIL AWAY

time: 10:29 am
rations consumed: a taste of the bland simmered down meat that cooked all night in crock pot to produce meat stock, a glass of mango passion juice, 1 Wal-itin, which is the decent Walgreens substitute for Claritin for the financially challenged
morale: better than it has been, i'll give you that.

field notes: That's a shot from the sailboat race at the California Yacht Club last week. The boat I was on won second place in our division. It was majestic and beautiful and very sea faring to see legions and legions of boats without motors navigating the waves. Triangles are a rare shape in architecture; seeing so many on an empty horizon made me feel suspended in time.

Well. First off, I am premenstrual. Let it be known, let it resonate off the hills valleys and high rises. This week has been a little tough. It coincides with a mini nervous breakdown on the part of the Politico, which has fueled my own insecurities and deep fear. I wept once, on Broadway down near City Hall. I have moaned to more than several friends about how I feel isolated and alone.

However, there is solace in certain things. I did two crockpot projects this week. The first is a thick tomato meat sauce, which I have frozen some of for a rainy, hungry day. I like that there are no preservatives or anything funky in that sauce, barely even any salt. (As an aside I must say that I do not love whole wheat pasta. I will eat it, because I bought it in bulk from the bulk store, but it is just not that yummy.) The beef stock project included leftover raw bones from the great short rib brunch I held for my family in March. I figure, if I am going to make a carbon imprint by eating beef, my one guilty eco-damaging pleasure, then I'll use as much of that beef as I can. In fact, I may attend a BBQ at my brother's this weekend and I think that I will save what steak bones I can. I hear cooked bones are fine to use too. The stewed vegetables will go to the worms. Reduce, reuse, recycle!

Yesterday I took my mom to 11 Madison Park for their Gourmond lunch. It was my mother's day gift, though tee hee. I forgot my wallet and have to pay her back today with a check. Lame, I know. She enjoyed, which is important, though I have to admit a lot of these delicious tastings are all melting into each other, flavor wise, for me. That sounds awful, but it's true.

Me and moms talked about all sorts of things. She told me that while my dad was stationed in Japan, he would lie with his head in her lap and she would tweeze out his beard. She told me that her one great love regret is not losing the Iranian Dr. P, but actually her Chinese Filipino love Henry, whom she rejected once she learned he courted a friend before he knew her. In this case Sade is wrong, Pride is stronger than Love. I bet she is saying Henry was the bummer one to get away because he was a better "fit." But, I still believe Dr. P was the love of her life.

Anyway. I've got to start my day. Not sure just yet what I intend to do with it. But it's time to get started.

2008-05-18T21:14:00.000-07:00

OFFICE POLITICS

TIME: 12:15 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: greek yogurt with honey, green tea, 1 eggncheese on an english muff, portions of panfried shrimp noodles, fried rice, beef, snowpeas with unidentified seafood at parents house for dinner with sis, bro in law, and niece
MORALE: see the following

FIELD NOTES: I haven't done this in months, logged on to NBC online, and watched several episodes of the office. Yes, a comedy, but really always makes me sad. Or, it enhances me already feeling sad, or lonely, or longing, or whatever.

Just got off a wild week. Went to LA on assignment for 5 days. Really, only worked one day and then it was back to back to back socializing with my left coast friends. Went sailing, dipped my toes in the rooftop pool at the standard, played with a baby and pug, bought wonderful shoes, did yoga on the beach, had Bloody Marys for breakfast, spent too much time in a car. I will post pictures soon.

Came home to a roast made for me by Politico, which then devolved into a "talk" at an electronica bar, and me going home in the middle of the night because I just didn't want to stay. It is all too boring to get into here, but we're each triggering each other's neurosis and baggage and the worst part of it is that we have never, ever been better. Despite that, I feel that slightly disgusted hallowness that is the cynical (realistic?) residue that has sullied me like ring around the collar ever since That Sham.

I don't have it in me to fight particularly hard, to assume people will live up to their potential, to put myself on the line. I can go above but not beyond.

As an aside, tonight I received generations of gold. I am not particularly a jewelry buyer, wearer, hoarder, collector. But while at my parents' house, my mother whipped out her jewelry and started passing it off to me and my sister. I got the gold ball earrings I remember hanging from my mother's lobes when I was little. Also, the gold heart bracelet that she was given when she graduated from medical school, which still has the stamp of the date in the gold. She also gave me a gold ring given to her by her mother, my Amah, which has two Chinese characters stamped into the gold, which translate to: "Manifest your dreams."

I'm wearing the ring now. Maybe I will never take it off.

When I look into my future I don't think I see that life partner. I wish I could, but I don't. All I see is me writing, surrounded by love, lovers, friends, family. It's a rich life, no matter what. Still, it would be nice to have faith in another person, and to have that person have faith in me, and for both enough to have faith in whatever it is that manifests between us, like some vivid, vibrant dream.

2008-05-08T10:13:00.000-07:00

IT WORMS MY HEART

TIME: 1:13 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1.5 mugs of vanilla chai tea, 1 homemade english muffin (not great, have fingers crossed for next batch)
MORALE: decent

FIELD NOTES: As usual everything green has got me all mushy. Went to the farmer's market yesterday to drop off pounds of veggie scraps at the Lower East Side Ecology Center booth. My parents and sister have gotten into saving me veg scraps, but it's way too much for my own bin to manage. Yes, I suppose I should start another bin. But that's another story.

So I ambled around the market on a gorgeous New York Spring Day, everyone with their shirtsleeves rolled up or their sundresses on. I got all teary watching people buying things that are good for them, and good for this earth. I enjoyed the feeling of community, however vague, I felt at being there.

Then I went to yoga for the first time in two months. Two things have kept me away. 1. A minor back pain from playing with my niece and 2. an onslaught of work. Both have subsided and so I went. It was a great class, though at times I felt borderline narcoleptic, ready to collapse. Interestingly, all of my balance poses were awesome, even after 2 months of not being in the yoga game. I guess that means...I'm balanced!

So that's basically it to report from here. I believe the Politico comes home tonight, a minor break from all of this Primary action. I hope I get to see him.

2008-04-27T10:44:00.000-07:00

COOKIE MONSTER!

TIME: 1:48 PM
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 egg n cheese on whole wheat toast, 2 mugs earl grey tea (steeped the bag twice to excellent results), 1 small bowl chicken stew that I froze for rainy day after making crapload in crock pot, orange
MORALE: high!

FIELD NOTES: That's the batter for the choco chip cookies I made for my family yesterday. Too bad everyone is like, on a diet, so the mega batch I made sort of fell on deaf tongues. I also have quite a few here for me to munch. I wonder if one can freeze cookies.

It's been a good weekend. On Friday night, after long story and deep realization, I was able to write, finally, again. Shoved all those other responsibilities aside, and returned to The Stoop, and continued to write a Rachel chapter. Wrote more today and will write still more. I feel more focused than I have in a long time. And tomorrow is Monday. I will work then.

Also accomplished much worm work. Gave some worm compost to my sister and made another bunch that I will scoop into the holes I am about to dig for the summer bulbs. The purple cabbage I planted last fall is blooming but weirdly, growing tall rather than fat. Am I supposed to harvest it and eat it? I dunno. It seems weird. Also, I have pulled a few seed sprouts out of my worm bin. My hope is they are fertile, and I can rear them and plant them in the dirt. I think they are from peppers. I have posted on my friendly local worm forum to find out for sure. That would be incredible. To be able to grow my own seedlings from total scratch. Total agrarian independence!

Speaking of which, I starting watching "The Real Dirt On Farmer John" yesterday. A documentary about this eccentric dude involved with CSAs. It's inspiring me. Not only am excited for my own CSA participation this summer (that's community supported agriculture, urbanites ordering from local farms), but I am looking forward to my own grow. I am going to totally take over my parents' back yard. The plan is tomatoes and swiss chard.

I need more hours in my day. I could also do with a little more focus.

Here's what the cookies looked like when I was done:

2008-04-21T05:46:00.000-07:00

THE CLOSER

TIME: 8:48 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: having chilled vanilla chai tea, it is yum. want crunch berries for bfast, which i bought on sale....but that is bad for me. will make fat. should eat smoothie. what to do???
MORALE: high

FIELD NOTES: Politico just left in a car service. He seems to be growing out his facial hair, which I really like on him. He came over late last night after some event he went to in midtown. Random surprise. Fun in front of my hallway mirror. Really close cuddling. Last night, with a middle of the night wakfulness, I held him closer than I have ever held him before.

I feel good and happy about where that is all going. Hubris? I hope not. There have been a couple of minor bumps and we have gracefully moved through them like adults. I am certainly taking my time and acting more mature with him. And though we are not officially together, I recently bumped off another suitor. Yet still, last night after close cuddling, I had a dream that he was totally out. "I don't want this. Sorry. Bye." Ugh.

Today I have to file my travel column. Haven't started yet but feeling confident. Last week I was totally out of it and not writing nearly as well nor as quick as I should be. Feel like life is constant state of catch up. I have only barely started cleaning my apartment. I have only gotten one reply to the things that I put on craigslist. No one wants free Shaun White for Target tee shirts? No one wants to buy cheap, new rollerblades? Must clear out the house!!!

Okay. That's it for now. Enjoy spring!

2008-04-13T18:03:00.000-07:00

WEEKENDERS; A RETURN TO THE BOWL

TIME: 9:04 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: too many after decadent weekend in Montreal. sweet expense accounts. it was endless, epic 3 hour meals with wine pairings and blah blah blah. i am going to have to seriously begin work out this week. i can't even get into it, but highlights: mushroom ravioli in cream and pecorino sauce, smoked meat at shwartz's.
MORALE: i think good, but a sadness pecking at edges from only 14 hours sleep in 3 days. not enough.

FIELD NOTES: I have been traveling a lot. Was gone this weekend to Montreal for a press trip. Thankfully an awesome crew, and danced the night away with a guy from the Atlanta something something. I haven't done the club crawl since...never? We closed it out, along with a publicist, at 3:30 in the morning today.

I made it back to Stratton too, and skied rather than rode. It was the perfect weekend. 7 inches or so of powder. Bright sun. Politico in romantic mode. An amazing condo. I still intend to snowboard next winter. But it was a perfect end to season, right down to apres ski on a sun drenched deck.

But really, what I wanted to write about, after not writing for so many weeks (bad bad bad), is my fish. This blog most likely barely remembers them, but it's time to check in. They were, after all, the original inspiration for shesoldier. And I'd like to get back to remembering their adventures.

Marla and Jack. Rather than dumping them off at my cousin's downstairs, I have left them at home alone the weekends I have been away. The two I spent skiing were intended to be two nights away, but in each case, decadent times with Politico kept me away an extra night. The first weekend they were fine, if famished. The second weekend I went away, Marla was wholely bizarre upon my return.

I should note that Marla, in the year and two months (!) I have owned her, has never, ever been sick. While the boys always break down, their tails rotting, their self-mutilation, their fungusy faces, Marla has always been in prime health. Sweet, lovely, girl.

However, upon my return that second weekend, me and Politico deciding on a third night in Vermont, she was a zombie. She barely moved in her bowl, she listlessly ignored food. I worried that perhaps I had starved her too long, though any fish expert would say that they can go up to a week (worst case scenario) without food.

I thought I had killed her. That she continued to fast was so unlike her kind. I changed her water. I gave her some salt. I even gave her some jungle fungus medicine, even though she was not showing signs of any ailment.

Long story short, she got better. I still don't know what harmed her. Maybe there was something in the water. Maybe she just missed me. In any case, I got to thinking about the nature of my neglect of late. Cavalier. I never used to leave them alone. Now I have started to. She never got sick/weird before. Now she has.

I feel like I am in a weird place. Some of my zen from earlier posting is ebbing as 1. i am swamped with money work, thus losing entire sight of creative work and 2. questions of my liason with Politico begin to ebb at the corner of my mind as I socialize and circulate, mix metaphors with many potential men, clear with their affections and intentions.

I dunno. Really, I'd like to explore it all more but my mind has become clogged with fat and alcohol and cannot process anything lest aneurism or some such ensues. My bike (wow i can't believe i have not updated with The Bike Story) is at Politico's apartment and he has been out of town doing politics. I need to get it as the weather is supposed to be perfect this week. Hm. Ok. Another thing on the list to do. Because once I start riding it around and going to yoga and freaking living better, then I will be able to think and blog more clearly.

2008-03-25T06:46:00.000-07:00

SPRING FLINGS

TIME: 9: 47 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 eng muff, 1 mug "wood" tea swiped from Exhale Day Spa
MORALE: good

FIELD NOTES: Spent the weekend at the Burton US Open of Snowboarding, where I began to learn to ride. Of all the muscles in my body I am somewhat surprised to learn that it is my triceps that ache, from pushing my ass up from the ground to get moving. I believe that I will eventually totally rule at the sport of snowboarding, but will I become one of those riding assholes who is like, always saying how much skiing sucks? No. Because I believe I will still like skiing better.

Life continues on. Yesterday I planted garlic cloves that had sprouted in the front yard. I used some of the worm compost that came out of my worm bin. I am already out, and must hustle to "harvest" more. It will be easier when it is warmer I think. Only...I need the black gold NOW!

Not too much to report. Things with Politico remain awesome. He is finally in New York, for how long no one is sure, but after my weekend in VT I came home to a dinner he cooked, 2 bottles of wine, dancing in the living room and realizing: Jeez. I really like this guy. I feel very free in liking him. I don't feel mired. I don't feel clingy. I feel like, well, we're enjoying each other. Really enjoying each other. It would be nice if it lasts, but I know it may not. So for now, I am zen.

I will be even more zen if i can manage to swing a return to the mountain this weekend. I can't wait. Am trying to hustle with the flack to get a weekend in a condo. That would be beyond sweet. Because then I can ride a little with Politico, who said he will come, and also hit the high slopes with my skis. Best of both worlds.

Dunno if this is a lame update. Been feeling a little further away from the blog this year. Not in a bad way. I think my life has just flatlined. No huge ups and downs. And I like it.

2008-03-15T22:38:00.000-07:00

PARALYTIC OVERWHELMEDNESS

TIME: 1:38 AM

RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 slice whole wheat toast, 1 egg, 1 mug tea, 1/4 cig, 2 thin crust pizza slices, 5 hors devours, kalbi, vegetables, little korean appetizer plate things

MORALE: low, stressy, non sleeping, considering financial woe.

FIELD NOTES: What a day. Had to go to the circus in Long Island with niece and sister because of protracted feuding between sister and parents, who were the original invites. It was fun, but cut up my day in a way I'd rather it didn't. Was in long island forever. Had friend with boyfriend crisis so came back to Queens by 8 only to rush out and meet her for dinner in the city. Dinner good, but i took the train, thinking would save on gas and toll money. Only my ride home is trapped behind broken train. I take evasive train maneuvers only to be trapped underground longer exactly where I started. End up taking a 10 minute and 30 dollar cab ride home, after waiting in subway for 1.45 hours.

So I get home. And there is a baby roach walking around on the counter. I haven't seen roaches in here in ages. It makes me feel disgusting and unprofessional and like I can't even manage my house. Now tomorrow, prior to obligatory chinatown spring banquet thing, I must spend the hours i would have spent hard working frantically cleaning and restoring the sanctity of my home space.

I am completely overwhelmed. This was a stressy work week, deadlines and interviews. Very little personal work getting done. Not even enough professional work getting done really. Not to mention emotional blow this week of That Sham's confirmation of official coupledom with that girl he was banging. I cut him off as a friend. What do i get out of being friends with him? Nothing.

Ugh. I feel so lost and behind and playing a game of catch up that is just not going to really happen. I need to get my shit together, why can't I? WHY? Tomorrow, really, today, I am going to be busting my ass so hard to get things done. Ugh. Groan. Horror.

I feel rather alone and isolated and failing at what lame responsibilities I do have.

2008-03-03T17:05:00.000-08:00

SOMEONE TO COME HOME TO

TIME: 8:05 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 fried egg and buttered english muff, 1 black tea with milk and sugar, 1 iced green tea and prosciutto/artechoke/goat cheese panini, 1 pc. curry chicken and a couple of potatos, 1/2 bowl mac and cheese
MORALE: complicated by work stress and pending onset of period, if not pregs from wild sex weekend

FIELD NOTES: Well. In brief, I had a great time in Chicago. The Politico flew me out, we went to a benefit, we took many cabs, ate many meals, and had lots of time between the sheets. I am wrangling with feelings of actually connecting with someone and enjoying them, rather than calculating how long before I can be blessedly alone again.

The Politico has grown in certain ways, becoming kissy and affectionate and even, today, signing off on an email with "xoxoxo." WHAT? Very different from the man I used to know. It was fun to be whisked around and pampered, not worrying about expense or money per That Sham Brokeass era. But more than that, it was a relief to truly appreciate and crave the person in the room with me. It was amazing to want to be held and then reached for in bed. It was great to talk about work and life and be interested and involved in someone's well being, taking pride in the other's achievement, concerned about their pains.

Which gets to the title of this post. I had a productive day, but one that leaves me feeling sort of crabby and exhausted and a dash beaten down. And, spoiled by this weekend, I feel kinda like it would be nice to have a partner to sort of brush the dirt of the day away with, pouring a glass of wine and curling up in front of a dvd and eventually going to sleep, legs tangled in funny knots that must be rearraged upon waking cramped or sweaty-legged.

His tenure in Chicago remains uncertain, despite the fact that he wants desperately to come home. It all depends on how these primaries go, and what happens with his candidate.

Hm. Hm. Hm.

2008-02-23T14:52:00.001-08:00

SATURDAY THOUGHTS

TIME: 5:52 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 bowl of mac and cheese with chicken, some cadbury mini choco easter egg things
MORALE: it's decent.

FIELD NOTES: Hm. Well. My mother apparantly has some weird variation on bird flu or TB that she picked up while in the Philippines. It is all very unclear about how we all need to proceed. Per usual, she informed me in sort of a terse phone conversation that was really about something else, the delivery of a new washer/dryer tomorrow. I have no idea what treatment involves, but I do know she is not really in the mood to deal with treatment, whatever THAT means. I think it's just her morbidity and obsession with death kicking in. We'll see.

So there's that, and the fact that I am trying to write up a storm. I feel like I live in my study with these two ikea lamps on and the perpetual mess of paper. I should clean off my desk. I write so much better when it's clear.

Also, The Politico offered to fly me out to Chicago next weekend to keep him company. Very interesting. And I don't really know what any of it means. I am also not really asking. I think I will take him up on that offer if work and family life permits. When we were dating he flew me down to NC for 4th of July when he was working on the Edwards' campaign. I went Edwards' home, but I didn't meet the dude. I think he was in another wing. Hmmm. I wonder if this means we are dating. I know Politico, and like me, he's not really one to sleep around toooo casually. Anyways, I hear there's lots of great food in Chicago.

Write write write. I am a writing machine. Like Laverne and Shirley, I'm gonna make my dreams come true. Right?!

Currently, am poaching pears to bring to Mom. She likes them. Is the least I can do.

2008-02-20T10:40:00.000-08:00

BE KIND REWIND

TIME: 1:41 PM
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 frozen waffle, 1 cup jasmin tea, 1 portion leftover chicken pad thai
MORALE: it's pretty good, leaning towards great focus

FIELD NOTES: So the birthday passed. Weird singles Anti-V-Day party at the Helmsley and then kareoke in KTown. Both with Jeff, lots of fun.

The work tip has been picking up for me. I attribute it all to some Lunar New Year advice I took from someone, which was to put money in pockets on the Eve so that I would go into the New Year full of cash. A bunch of stories have strangely come in since then, so I need not worry too much about financials. I also found a Hong Bao in my yard with 200 bucks.

I need to focus on the literary version of myself. I just do. I am sort of content to be work focused at the moment, not even feeling that lonely. On Monday, I ended up spending the night with Politico, an ex of mine who is quite smart and fun. I left him years ago for That Sham. Anyways. One thing led to another...and I dunno. He's vaguely on the brain, but really, I am just amazed that I enjoyed being around someone and didn't really want to leave (I did eventually, but about 24 hours later). The dates that I have of late, the men who have been in my life, I have just felt absolutely ambivalent. Maybe it helps that I love his apartment, which he owns. It was nice to just be in that space writing during the afternoon.

Ok. That's the update. I am gonna get back to work.

2008-02-12T19:50:00.000-08:00

SIRIUSLY, DOG DAYS

TIME: 11:04 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: bagel w cream cheese, pasta with sauteed veggies, brie and crackers, tea
MORALE: in the iso-chamber, i am not sure there is morale

FIELD NOTES: That is Chi-Chi, whom I like to think of as Cheech. He's the dog that I picked up last week at the shelter. I went in to just be a volunteer dog walker. I came out with that dude. I am only supposed to be his occasional weekend home, like the Fresh Air Fund. But I seem to have become attached. He occasionally pees in my house, and I haven't had a good night's sleep since he's been here, waking at all hours to walk him and from his late night barks. Still, he remains. He's pretty chill otherwise, sleeping for most of the day. I sort of want my freedom back. But I feel so bad bringing him back...

Conversely, I have easily let go of other men in my life. Trapeze called me last night to find out "where this is going." It ended up an epic and too long conversation that positioned me as the ambivalent boy and him the needy girl. We've only been on like 5 dates, at the most. It was all too much. I don't care if he leaves my life and my indifference is a little saddening. Only because it would be nice to care if someone's not around to hang out with.

I do miss my surf lover. I certainly didn't get enough of him.

The other cord I'm in the process of cutting is that of Yoga Guy's. He has been clamoring to hang with me for two months while he's been studying tantra in Thailand (YAWN). He's finally back and wants to see me next week. I asked him what he wants from me and it's more of the same. Love and affection and desire and appreciation yet an unwillingness to think in more than the moment. So he says. HE'S the one who has been trying to get this date together for months from abroad, HE'S the one talking about travelling in March and then in April together. It's all so BORING and I wrote him to tell him so. We've just been on this road way too many times.

So I am paring down my life. This is the time to write, to really get to the core of what I want to do. Tomorrow, MY BIRTHDAY, I will bring the dog back to the shelter. I will celebrate a little and focus on me a lot. No distractions. I really am okay being alone, aside from the gnawing conviction that love doesn't really exist.

I keep dreaming about Costa Rica, about surfing. Now my Recurring Tsunami Wave Dream, in which I am positioned somewhere staring at a giant wall of water about to crush us all, has a surfing variant. The other night I dreamt about that big wave. And instead of being paralyzed on shore, or fleeing on land by legs or bus, I lay flat on my board and paddled out into it. I just stared straight into that wave and paddled, paddled out...

I wonder what that means.

I think it's obvious what that means.

2008-02-05T12:39:00.000-08:00

TURN OF THE TIDE

TIME: 3:41 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 2 scrambled eggs with basil and cheese, 1 wheat toast, brocco/asparagus/rice, 1 eng muff with butter and jam, 1 cup coffee, 2 cups rooibos tea
MORALE: unfocused, weirdly longing, but okay. i guess?

FIELD NOTES: I dream about Costa Rica every night. One way or another. It's a little creepy. Like I should still be there. Like part of me is still there. I guess it is.

That's me with the surf instructors at the ******* Surf Camp. The one with the flame shorts was my honey for two nights. No sex, just cuddles and smooches, but in retrospect, what was I thinking? I shoulda hit that!!! That is one of the few regrets in my life.

In CR everything seemed new. At home, it is same old, same old. Where do I meet all of the young, hot adventurers that this body needs to be with? Where do I meet the new souls who will inspire and push me to be more? To exercise mental, emotional, and physical parts of me that I didn't even know I had? Why can't I focus better on my fiction writing? Why are certain beats I am listening to making me nostalgic for That Sham?

Because here is a truth: hooking up with Surfy was passionate and en fuego. I haven't felt that drawn to a man since That Sham. And maybe having that energy running through me is putting me in rewind. Wack.

My article on Costa Rica will be in the Spring issue of Missbehave, which is why I am not going out of my way to write about it. I feel I already have. Ugh. Maybe my morale is lower than I thought.

Gimmie the jungle, the surf, the life.

2008-01-30T18:07:00.001-08:00

COSTA RICA SUAVE

TIME: 9:10 pm

RATIONS CONSUMED: English muffin with smart balance and natural peanut butter, spicy ramen with broccoli, some tea

MORALE: high, yet contemplative

FIELD NOTES: That's me tearing up the dance floor at Jungle in Jaco, Costa Rica. It's early, like 8 pm or something, which is why there is no one there. I went to the hotspot with a bunch of folks from the Vis*a Gua*a Surf camp where I was staying, because Zach, a 13 year old, had never been to a club or bar. Later that night I hooked up with my hottie surf instructor on the beach, just kissing and cuddling and other niceties. It was good.

So I am back from my three week jungle/yoga/surf adventure. There is so much to report, but I must focus on doing so in a professional way, as I must file a story on my trip. In short, it was amazing, eye-opening, humbling, exhillarating and primal. I think I want to go and live down there for a month or two and really learn how to surf.

Coming home is returning to all of the angst and anxiety and confusion and worry. There is also sadness; spent a while talking to an editor/writer friend whose brother died of cancer. He is dealing with the crushing pain in part by remembering to live. Also, one of my exes emailed me to report that his dad has cancer too.

Life is short. I'm trying to live it. I was starting to awaken to my possibility while in CR, realizing it doesn't always have to be this version of life, this New York world.

I will reflect more on that and get back to you. Details of the trip to come soon.

2008-01-07T07:59:00.000-08:00

HAPPY NEW JEER!

TIME: 11 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: 2 toasted waffles, mug kukicha tea
MORALE: good!

FIELD NOTES: Well, it's that time of year. The new time! The passage was mild and uneventful. Rang it in at a small fondue fete at my brother's new apt. Funny, I tend to loathe his role in the family, but I always enjoy hanging out. It would be so much better if we were cousins or friends.

It's possible I could have hung with Trapeze lover, but to be honest, I didn't want to be bothered with any of that. I like the dude, in fact we went on a lovely date the other night. He carried me around the city piggyback and expertly parallel parked my car by the Battery Park movie theater. He held my hand in two of his during "Juno" and was indignant that I paid for the movie. Haha. The good thing is that now I will rarely, if never, offer to pay for anything again! (Damaged ranting result of cash-flow-challenged years with That Sham)

Still, the New Year was quiet which suited me fine. I have been very homey and centered, not preoccupied with wack boys. Have had dinner here twice, once with Kate and once with Kate L. Above is a photo of dessert at the latter meal, poached cherries with ice cream. Yum! Together we made roast cornish hen, garlic sweet potato mash with bacon, and blackened stringbeans. When Kate (WHO GOT ENGAGED) came over, I made "Korean Style" ribs in the crock pot, brown rice, and string beans.

That was actually the meal I was supposed to make for The Mogul for the longest, but I kept putting it off. I just didn't want to do it. A telltale sign. He and I have gone our separate ways, him out of no where sending me an email saying he could accept just my friendship. It's much better. It had gotten too tense for me. All of the good things that we shared were eclipsed by the feelings of pressure and obligation on my end.

And now. I am free. I am trying to get ready now to head out. I leave for Costa Rica for three weeks very early on Wednesday morning. I am charging this Universal Laptop Battery I got to demo while I am gone, but it is making a lot of scary noise at the moment and I am not sure if it is really safe. Oy!

And that's about it. Great yoga class yesterday. Dropped two big bags of veg scraps (rescued from my sister's house) at the Lower East Side Ecology Center place. And I am marching into the new year with an excellent focus: not on a broken heart, not on work stress, not on trifling boys, but on me me me!

2007-12-30T00:46:00.000-08:00

S(H)WING!

It's 3:45 in the morning and I just got back from evening at Trapeze Guy's apartment. It was 1. a beautiful apartment, even if small with a lofted bed 2. super fun cozy good making out 3. aerodynamic, in that he has a trapeze and a hammock and I swung around in both 4. rub-a-riffic as I got two very good footrubs, sort of more than I got with Yoga Lover, who was a freaking massage teacher!

It was really great to have a make out buzz with someone, so unlike certain making out that I have done recently with the certain someone who I wanted to be attracted to that I was not.

It was all very comfortable and cozy and fun. Interesting. We watched part of a football game and ate sushi and chinese take out and the house smelled like lavender oils, which he was burning. Interesting interesting.

Ok i gotta go to bed.

2007-12-27T21:13:00.000-08:00

DOG DAYS OF WINTER

TIME: 12:17 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: 2 over easy eggs, 1 slice wheat toast, salad and chicken cutlet, a couple kitkat bars, steak/salad/mushrooms/mashed potato dinner, chococake, apple cobbler, cookies, wine, chese and drunken goat cheese.
MORALE: good, but i must now admit to self that i am really gaining weight. insane fitness regime begins TOMORROW. FOR REAL.

FIELD NOTES: That animal is Flag, the dog I sat for this weekend. That is also my living room, with the sun coming in during a rare hour of the early morning.

Sitting for Flag was fun but draining. Serena suggests that I am possibly anthropomorphizing. Yet I felt keenly aware of Flag's loneliness, boredom and depression. He followed me from room to room. Lay in front of the doors I closed waiting for me to eventually open them again. Acted like it was Christmas (well, actually it was) when I walked through the door.

It all made me feel very guilty and sad, like his life sucked and I should do more for him to make him happy. Even though he's a rescue who undoubtedly had it epically worse before he came to his present home.

I dunno. Pets are stressful I think. This is why I stick to fish and worms. The intimacy level is not so much.

And btw, Jack's tail isn't exactly getting better. WHY? WHY???

2007-12-22T18:34:00.000-08:00

THOREAU-ING IN THE TOWEL

TIME: 9:39 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: soup dumplings, turnip buns, lamb skewer, egg in pancake thing (all from a Taiwanese breakfast which caused me to pass out sleepy in the middle of the day), some greek yogurt with honey and strawberries
MORALE: good and peaceful

FIELD NOTES: Like my man Thoreau said, "I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life."

This week I spent two nights at a rental in Phoenicia, photographed above. I knocked out a crazy amount of writing. I stood on the deck and looked at the snow. I went to yoga and ate alone at the dope pizza spot Brios, where I read a copy of the NYT Magazine. The house was impeccably furnished, down to the HDTV and gas fireplace.

I lived deliberately, I lived deep, I sucked the marrow out of life. I never felt lonely, even those moments I forced myself to think about what it would be like to have a partner there with me. Sure, fun, in its own way. But the joy was realizing how fun it was to be there on my own.

And since I am alone, I may as well spend that time wisely. I am trying to really FOCUS on personal writing, getting myself to the next level. Since I have this gift of time, why squander it? I have no real desire to be out there excessively, rubbing elbows at parties, even dining with friends. I am going to get myself to the new literary place that I need to be.

As an aside, I am dogsitting for my friends. Flag. He is a big doggie and very mellow and sweet. Right now I am playing Buddhist chanting for him and he is sleeping on the small fur rug I have in the middle of my living room.

2007-12-15T07:38:00.001-08:00

A CITY HOME COMPANION

TIME: 10:42 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: half a cin/raisin bagel, mug of chai tea
MORALE: it's okay though been waking to intensely vivid dreams, perhaps due to too many episodes watched of "24?"

FIELD NOTES: That's the vintage green chair in my living room, shot from the vintage green two seater that matches it. They are utterly fabulous and from my parents' medical office from back in the day.

The reason I am posting a chair is that it's a pretty accurate view of my life these days. Something shifted in me, and I haven't left the house much to do more than errands in like 2 weeks. I think I hung out with friends like, twice, family twice. There are four parties that I am supposed to go to this weekend and part of me wants to go to...none. It is a weird, isolating, lonely yet strangely satisfying life.

Admittedly, for the first chunk of the two weeks, I was on serious deadline. I filed a lot of stories and made a lot of money. I also had the pre-period fatigue so was drinking coffee, which I never do. Then I started to get into a comfortable home-based pattern, loving my bed, my couch, variations on pajamas all day long.

Now, it occurs to me that the holidays have arrived and I must do things for other people. I must buy gifts, for starters. And while I like the idea of getting perfect and wonderful gifts for people, I realize I have left it all til the last minute because I have been in my little bubble.

At the very least, I have begun preparing fresh worm compost for everyone. I spent a satisfying hour yesterday picking the eggs out of the stuff from the new bin. It is fluffy, as many of the worm sites have described, nothing like that gross, stinky mess from The Sour Crop disaster.

Really, I am still in that creepy frame of mind where I prefer playing with my worms to dealing with real people. It is a little troublesome. Then again, my horoscope this month said that in the next year, I will be doing the best work of my life in solitude.

Well, I've got the solitude part down.

2007-12-08T13:58:00.000-08:00

VACANCY

TIME: 5pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 small bowl frosted Trader Joe's Os, a lot of brown rice with string beans, brocco, and smoked turkey,1 bite sized snickers
MORALE: eh.

FIELD NOTES: Finally got Lupe Fiasco on the phone. Gawd, it has been a long time since I had a celebrity crush but this dude is brilliant and talented and funny and cute. Got him just when he woke up and realized I missed that early morning dude voice in my ear.

Stopped smoking. Have urges to puff. House still messy. Must wander to mall to get ironic hipster kind of present for my friend, who's birthday is tonight. Will it all be couples? Have I entered that phase of life where everyone is couples?

I have nothing good to say.

2007-12-06T09:14:00.001-08:00

MARLA'S MASSIVE TURD AND OTHER CRAP

TIME: 12:28 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: an english muffin, gen mai cha, coffee, the final bowl of leftover spaghetti and meat sauce, result of bulk cooking and consumption of meals for one
MORALE: high, low, who can tell? my period is coming next week so i suspect this desire to scream or cry has something to do with that.

FIELD NOTES: Well. Ask the universe and thou shalt receive.

You may recall my lament that I have no pictures of Marla on this blog. Well. I walk into my study yesterday to spot this utterly insane moment. That is Marla pooping. Yes, it is a turd to eclipse all turds. I was wondering how these gigantor excretions appear at the bottom of the bowl; does her poop shoot really stretch wider than her head? Like an unhinged snake's mouth except the other end? And now I know. The poops at the bottom of the bowl are actually a poop coil, shaped into a circular vessel, much like a potter working his clay at the wheel. Amazing. Truly, truly amazing.

Other than that I am...in hiding. I haven't socialized since Saturday. Have barely left my house save errands in the nabe. Today I have to go into the city to listen to Lupe Fiasco's new album. I am not sure I could care less, but I am stocking up on assignments since I will be in Costa Rica for three weeks in January. I got to make serious cash before then. So I am in psycho productive mode. Alternated with moment of sheer zombie couch potato-ing.

At least I dropped my car at the mechanic today, a much needed task since the horrible Kentucky Walmart Fiasco has left the Beemer quite compromised. Please let it not cost too much to fix. PLEASE. Augh.

Okay. Off to my day.

2007-11-28T14:19:00.000-08:00

ANIMALIA

TIME: 5:19 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 mug jasmin tea, some juice, 2 frozen waffles, small piece of a digiorno's frozen pizza. hm. a lot of freezer food. but i am making a smoothie for dinner.
MORALE: high

FIELD NOTES: Just a quick update on the critters. Men first. Got "I Love You" email from Yoga Lover, who just emerged from a 10-day silent meditation in Thailand. During that time, he faced his feelings for me. Similarly (though vastly differently), The Mogul sent me a freaking out emotional email today, a follow up to the freak-out semi-argument we had the other night. It's all about curbing his expectations and enjoying what we have, and not harping on what we don't. Lastly, despite my request for distance, That Sham sent me a tgiving email expressing his gratitude for all that we've shared. Whatever.

Now! The other animals!

The Bloody Baron fares well. I spent Saturday night at a Tgiving party in the cousin's apartment, playing Rock Band, some aweome video game, til like 1:30 in the morning. I can rock those virtual drums, yo. The Baron sits on the table by the TV, which I think he enjoys. His tail is growing back, of course. His toy was really dirty so I cleaned it out.

Jack. He has some tail rot. I don't know what's up with that. It's red and being eaten away. He is currently sitting in a bath of Jungle Fungus stuff, tinting the water all blue. If he's not better after a week on these meds, I'll have to switch it up. Why is he so freaking delicate? Something is always going on with his tail. His tail was severely damaged when I bought him.

Marla. There is never anything to say about Marla because she is such a chill fish. Beautiful little chill thing! Females are always better!!! I need to take more good pictures of her. I don't think I have any.

The worms. Wow. They are doing GREAT. For once I can relate to what other worm people describe as "fluffy" castings on the worm websites, because that is exactly what my current herd is producing! They are ravenous, it's a little scary. I need to get through the old castings that are sitting in tupperwares in my living room. They are soppy and gross still. I must pick out the cocoons, and then start harvesting the NEW bin. Yay! Love worms! Healthy, happy, garbage eating worms! Not dead worms!

And that is my update on all of the animals!

2007-11-26T12:44:00.000-08:00

BOOKISH

TIME: 3:45 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 big strawberry/mini banana/persimmon smoothie, end of tgiving leftovers, 1 portion seafood pan fried noodles from awesome and affordable peking duck place in Flushing (i am going to attempt to skip dinner, which may be hard, per social engagement tonight)
MORALE: what would the buddha say? i feel this and that and it shifts every minute. i don't feel bad. so i guess that's good enough for me.

FIELD NOTES: I feel like I have eaten several dinners a day of late; that's what girth-engorging Tgiving does to you. I have not gone to yoga in over a week. There has also been a brie influx, as my grocery store, the Food Bazaar that I griped about earlier in this blog, now has a nice cheese selection.

There are so many stories to catch up on: the trapeze artist, the Mogul, the holidaze, the pies, the work, and yadda yadda. But. I would like to take this opportunity to shout out a little bit of literature I have been reading, courtesy of the best place ever, The Queens Public Library.

1. "for one more day," by Mitch Albom, the "Tuesdays with Morrie" dude. A suicidal man spends a day with the ghost of his mother. Heartbreak and nostalgia ensue. I finished this book on Sunday afternoon, sitting on the red chair in my living room, occasionally looking out of the window to still the tears brimming in my eyes. He's a very simple and straightfoward writer. This book made me think about all of the choices we make and don't make. It reminded me to cherish my family and be grateful for them and the lives they have chosen to make mine possible. More anecdotes on family bonding to come in later posts. Suffice to say, I cried at the end. It was an appropriate compliment to me crying eyes out over sushi with Deb on Friday, remembering how David sees Keith when he dies in the finale of "Six Feet Under."

2. "Buddha," by Deepak Chopra. This was a slow burn for me; picked it up weeks ago. Am just getting into the thick of it now. I was never into Hesse's Sidhartha in high school, mainly because all of the white boys from the Upper West Side clutched it close to their bosoms along with "On The Road." Gag. Anyways, after a tumultuous last night, again to be discussed in later posts, I read some and went to sleep. Woke at 3:30 am, read until 6, with the above mentioned pan fried noodles as a snack. I have never knew the story of the Buddha. Good to know. This book makes me long to be in the trees, away from it all.

I have a lot of freaking stories to bang out for money. It's a good thing to be busy. But on top of that I am socially busy as well. And on top of THAT, I have been family busy. No work on the novel. But all in good time. I could beat myself up for it, but since nothing else can be done, why bother?

Tomorrow I am going to work very very very hard. That will in part make up for waking up at 11:30 this morning.

2007-11-24T16:08:00.000-08:00

TWISTED UP IN KNOTS (originally posted 11/17)

TIME: 1:48 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 2 slices turkey bacon, 2 eggs minus one yolk, toast, kukicha tea, 7-up,
MORALE: eh

FIELD NOTES: That's what happens to a worm dying of sourcrop/overfeeding. See how it looks like a beaded necklace or something gross like that? I have no idea how or why it gets all segmented but it is nasty. That was what my worm bin was at like its absolute worst.

As for getting twisty, I feel in a bit of a minor twist myself. That Man/Sham and I immed and talked on the phone on Monday. Maybe I tipped my hand a little, saying that a part of me will always love him. I haven't heard from him since. No more IMs, txts, invitations to hang. We talked about a lot, for hours, like old times. He said his own share of things, albeit a spare, tiny share, that I don't need to get into here. Suffice to say: silence.

Once again, I find myslef preoccupied with him. My mental and emotional energy redirected to blah blah blah. Maybe he is busy, pulling away, awash in passion for me, awash in passion for some strange chick, reading this blog (which he promised not to do long ago, so it is wack if he is). But what difference does it make WHAT he's doing?

My thoughts and emotions deserve new ground. I need to be the focal point of that ground. Love is my weakness...it gets me in a twist. Love less. Loveless. It's maybe the same.

I met a trapeze artist at the farmer's market yesterday. He asked me out for a slice of pie, as that is what I was purchasing when we met.

We'll see.

2007-11-20T08:13:00.000-08:00

THE TRUTH

I cut him off. We ended up discussing it. We did it in person. We were physical. I love him. And he is emotionally closed off, though still feels that special thing. I can't have him in my life. So now, I have really let him go. It is kind of like mourning all over again though not as dramatic. Because I have gotten used to a life where I mourn the loss of him again and again.

2007-11-15T07:51:00.000-08:00

CRASH AND BOOM

TIME: 10:53 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 bowl of leftover macncheese with brocco, 1 mug weird Yogi Tea
MORALE: can't tell yet, lonely rainy cold morning, trynna jump start the day.

FIELD NOTES: I felt lonely so I decided to blog. Have already read all of the worm forums, have been IMming to excess with random friends, there are no emails to answer. So I blog.

I don't know if it was my yoga/kirtan Friday, but I've been able to pray and meditate more recently. I feel gratitude, in general, and the universe smiles back at me. A bunch of freelance work came to me this week, which I needed, both for financial and self-esteem related issues. I feel blessed, I really do. They are all stories that I am kinda into. Also, looks like I am the new travel columnist for Miss Behave. Woosh!

Residual love things still haunt me, but they are not my focus right now. Thank God. Though of course there is a longing to wake up next to someone, to be cuddled while watching the season premiere of Project Runway (loved!). The Mogul will be back from LA soon, and maybe he and I can happily indulge in some of that. I do feel as though he is my soul mate. And now that he's dropped a couple of pounds, he's looking cute.

Okay. Lemme start this freaking day.

2007-11-11T05:00:00.001-08:00

WORM BRAIN AND I WAS A LESBIAN

TIME: 8:02 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 mug kukicha tea. love it.
MORALE: stupid yoga dude email preoccupies me. aside from that, okay.

FIELD NOTES: Those are the worms that I purchased at the Union Square Farmer's Market ($18) from the Lower East Side Ecology Center. It's supposed to be a pound, but it looked like more than the supposed thousand, more like a million, trillion worms. A worm brain. Or pile of spaghetti. They landed in my bin with a resounding thunk, as if perhaps a brain or plate of spaghetti were dropped in. Jesus, I hope that I don't kill this batch. I have to "harvest" the old castings. It's a painstaking process because the compost is wet. I pick through it ALL, inch by inch with a stick to get the cocoons out. Three full tupperwares await my efforts. Ugh. Epic labors to save this earth.

The farmer's market got me all teary. It was gray, cold, and raining. I felt moved by people promoting plants and organic foods and meats, even in the most wretched of fall weather. I then went to an Ishta Yoga class, a relaxing level one class that reminded me a lot of Yoga Mountain yoga. I met a friend who was at a cafe for an hour, then journeyed onto a kirtan (a Hindu/Sikh singing tradition) at a glossy midtown yoga studio. It was weird, a really rocked out singer who at times seemed to mistake himself for Jim Morrison. There wasn't as much chanting as I would have liked because a party was going on and people were eating, getting henna-ed, socializing. It was a lot of distraction. Still. Govinda, jai, jai. Ram, sita ram. Kirtan is the only spiritual music that has ever made me cry.

After my friend Kate and I were elaborately mistaken for a lesbian couple at a Forest Hills restaurant last night, I came home to an email from Yoga Lover. As usual it says nothing, but he "misses me" and that makes him "sad." WTF. For all of his desire for distance and crap, it seems when he is farthest, he is the closest. That is so boring.

Speaking of boring, That Man/Sham is also tripping. He texts me or IMs me nearly every day. Keeps asking me to hang. Sure, maybe he just wants to seal the deal and have sex. But it's weird, to say he has spidey sense in the middle of the night and worries if I am okay (I am, I assure him). Can't he just admit that he f-ed up and still loves me? That's what I'm in this for. Not to get back together. Just to hear that.

Maybe that is wack of me.

A man is laughing his head off outside, even at this early hour. That's a pretty beautiful thing, I think. Unless he is mean and laughing for mean reasons. In which case, karmicly speaking, I hope he has a bad day.

Ok. A couple drags on a cig, and then onto some short story revisions.

2007-11-04T20:14:00.000-08:00

THE SEA INSIDE

TIME: 11:14 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1/2 box of trader joe's organic mac and cheese, 1 bowl salad, 1 bowl wonton soup, 3/5 of a wedge of brie with crackers, 1 bowl cereal, tea and such
MORALE: quiet, contemplative, fraught with emotion but in a peaceful ramon sampedro kind of way

FIELD NOTES: Finally watched "The Sea Inside," about quadriplegic Ramon Sampedro who fights a legal battle for euthenasia. Javier Bardem is in it, and he smolders. He is so tangible to watch. I interviewed him a few years ago, perhaps for "Mondays In The Sun," another fucking beautiful film. Can't remember. It was probably actually for something more retarded than that. But he was so cool. And hot. I love him.

Anyway. I sobbed for about half an hour. People haven't been eager to watch this film with me. "Yeah, it's Spanish, about some quadriplegic who wants to die." I suppose I can see the turn off. But this is the kind of movie I embrace. I want to be twisted into knots because of its heart. Yesterday, "Sweet Home Alabama," which I watched with Jeff, made me teary for exactly the opposite reasons. There is nothing real, or authentic, or true in that senseless movie. I got teary with frustration at the lame excuse for a fantasy it force feeds us, for thinking we, as audiences, can be so simple and shallow. (But, we are. That movie was a freaking hit.)

This was a very me-weekend. Yesterday biked to decadent lunch at Ihawan with friends....course after course...crispy pata, kare kare, halo halo, bihon, chicharones, lumpiang...you get it. Then biked home. Jeff and I blazed, watched that movie, watched "Space Balls" then went to a party. This morning, woke up too late (thank daylight savings for sparing me mortification). Spent most of the day in bed reading back sections of the Times. Watched an episode of the tragic reality show "Intervention." Read more, slept, woke, watched the movie.

I thought that right about now, saturated in art and emotion, I might have the urge to do some fiction, which I have been sadly remiss from these past few days (though I read and took notes on a divorce book, which has launched me into one of my character's next sections).

Please me, don't fail me now. Love is not in the cards at the moment. So please please please let it be art. Why does that painfully evoke melancholy from The Smiths? Please, please, please let me get what I want.

This is a non sequitur, which seems Freudian but is not. A fear I have is that I will never feel what That Sham makes me feel - the good stuff anyway - again. I am at peace with knowing that for some time he will be a part of me, like my thumb, or duh, of course, my heart. But it is probably a good thing that I am not indulging the raw emotion of the original shesoldier days.

I'm not feeling raw about it. Like I think I said before, it isn't raw. It's lukewarm leftovers, picking at because am a little hungrry, and because everyone needs food.

2007-11-01T15:54:00.001-07:00

MAKING THE BREAK

TIME: 6:54 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 2 frozen waffles, 1 shrimp tempura roll, 1 spicy tuna roll from Sato (thanks mom), 1 miso soup, various teas, 1 bad ice cream cone from depths of freezer
MORALE: i don't feel like judging at the moment

FIELD NOTES: Before I get into my lip- and limb-locked escapade with That Man/Sham, sigh and moan about my financial and insurance woes, I must admit I did something dumb to Jack the Fish and he looks all sorts of bad right now. I fed him this crawly tiny maggoty looking thing out of the worm compost I am trying to dry out and "harvest" so I can clear out and make better the nasty, mucky bin. I fed it to him because I fed him and Marla some little maggoty things the other night and they seemed fine, as Bettas are carnivorous. But, uh, Jack is all clamped-finny and distressed looking at the moment. Jesus. I just wanted him to live more freely, as he was meant to in the wild. eating the occasional bug. I wish he could just puke it up, bulemia style. He is alternating between hovering at the surface, fins clamped and panicked, to these wild frantic swims around the bowl, like's he's being chased by a demon. Poor Jack. Exorcise your demon! I'll only feed you pellets from now on!

Actually, in other fish news, freaking Bloody Baron is tail bitey and I finally sucked it up and asked my cousin if he could take the Baron in for a little while, work some of that Second Floor magic on him and get him to stop biting the tail. Haven't heard back yet, but I'm sure that he'll take the fish.

So. My wack (s)(ex)capade. Blah blah he came over, we talked, he started kissing me, awesome, blah blah, pizza, movie, more making out, less clothes, blah blah finish the movie, make out, go to bed, make out, wake up, talk for 2 hours, get up, smoothie, make out, he leaves. No intercourse but he explored SheSoldier's foxhole in all sorts of interesting ways. He's freaking sexy and that's that.

Who cares how I feel now? I know he's currently emotionally plotzed, if one can be such a thing. And I know the answer isn't with him. Nor is it with The Mogul. As wonderful as he is, I had to get high the other night just to make out with him and when near him I STILL, despite desperate efforts, have no desire to, like, touch him. (Whereas with The Sham, for lame instance, I'm a freaking fly on shit.) (That was a depressing way to phrase it, but evocative, no?)

Anyways, I have got to have a perspective shift and be grateful that my life is full of sexy sex, not rancid reheatings of spoiled romances.

See? It's all in the spin!

2007-10-25T12:13:00.000-07:00

FOOD BAZAAR HEINOSITY

TIME: 3:14 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 banana/rasp/plum/yogurt/juice smoothie, 1 portion rice with leftover lamb chunks and half a chicken leg, 1 organic rootbeer thing
MORALE: decent except for following news

FIELD NOTES: WTF? The Met Foods by my apartment has turned into a Food Bazaar. Met Foods was evolving in the most awesome way, tons of organic and green products stocking the shelves. I was so happy to have that, right next to the PJs, real nutritional and lifestyle options. Now: there is more soda than I have ever seen. Mountains of sugary snacks. No organics, minus the obvious (eggs, yogurt, milk, thank god for small favors). It's ironic; now for organics I must drive to the Queens Health Emporium, which is not very eco-sound at all. Or else lug shit back on the train from Manhattan after going to Whole Foods. Imagine carrying 2 packs of soda, a bag of flour, and more home on the train?!

So that's depressing.

In addition, The Bloody Baron has begun biting off his tail again. It's freaking horrible. He was excellent for a week, chilling on the dining room table, swimming around as is his way, the plumage billowing and regrown, at last. Then. Perhaps I shouldn't have put Marla's bowl next to him for a visit. Augh, I don't know. She was with him for about 36 hours, and I looked inside, and CHOMP, he has eaten his tail off again.

I think he hates me. He must hate me. Or perhaps he hates female energy. He really thrives when he stays downstairs with my cousin and his frat-like Chinese roomies. He gets the same food, the same water from them. But once he is in my presence, once Marla has edged up against his bowl, he becomes a freaking psychopath. What is that ABOUT!?

At the very least, it seems that the worms are doing better. I dreamt about them last night. I checked in on them today. The bin is less stinky, per removal of tons of food. In the last week and a half, after pulling out the old feedstock, I have put in 1 apple core and 2 dixie cups worth of food scraps, a mere fraction of what they're used to. The latter I froze and unfroze and drained for several days, so it will be less wet in the bin.

At least there is that. I am not going to even get into the holy trinity of boys. It's all lame.

2007-10-24T19:42:00.000-07:00

WORDS WORDS WORDS...

TIME: 10:42 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: leftover turkish lamb kabob and rice, slice of pumpkin pie, a chicken leg, a little bok choy, some paella, a thing of corn, chai tea, can of diet pepsi, juice (which i need to get more of)
MORALE: it's getting better, but usual destructive throwaway comment from mom got me shook for a while

FIELD NOTES: I am writing writing writing away. Today I revised a new chapter, first revision. Now, I am writing a whole new section. By the end of the night I'll have squeezed out more than 3000 words today. It's a good feeling. Really, it's all I've got. The cool thing is that after I write this new section, I already know what it is I want to write next. It's a revision on a short story that I have potential to love SO MUCH it's not even funny. Three Asian chicks in Sunset Park, chilling on a stoop.

I have no choice but to keep sitting here and writing this stuff. But I am also cool with that. I don't mean to sound all DIRE about it. Because really, it's all good. I am enjoying the writing. I just hope someone with a big check ultimately does too...

I am a little freaked out because I sent it out to Sarah, who works at Penguin, and who has always been really supportive and cool about my work. I sent her Chapter One. And like, I never heard back. Does she hate it? Does she hate me? Is she just busy? She loved the Cora dinner chapter sooo much. I dunno. Ugh! Argh! Augh!

But in the end, whatever. I've just got to keep on writing. I hope that some of the things that I have sent my writing to see the value. See the potential of the completed project. Jesus. Oy! Goodvibesgoodvibesgoodvibesgoodvibes!!!!!!

2007-10-22T20:45:00.000-07:00

FEELING THE BURN

TIME: 11:46 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 banana/pear/plum/raspberry smoothie, 1 bowl 8-grain rice with string beans and yellow pepper, 1.5 portions of apple bread pudding that jeff made, 1 omaha steak burger with cheese.
MORALE: quiet, if that can be considered a "morale."

FIELD NOTES: Somebody say "Owww!" Today I biked to yoga in Brooklyn and biked back. My quads are feeling it. They are really, truly, completely feeling it. However, it is autumn, and gorgeous out, and this is exactly what I vowed to do upon my return. I didn't wear a helmet (bad) but it felt so good to be cruising around, a tank top on, the temp just right in the 60s, my tight braids flapping in the wind. I also love my bike, a Free Spirit Brittany, cherry red, basket in the back to hold the yoga mat and the bananas. I must photograph my steed, as Jeff calls it, for the blog. I sit high on it, excellent posture, smooth ride. Minus my not-great back break.

Hahaha. I just smoked some POT.

It would be amazing if I developed enough stamina to like, bike into the city before it got cold. Hmmmm. I would make so many fresh stops.

Anyways, just a quick check in. My novel is moving along at a worm's pace. (Hm...though they're pretty fast down in that dirt!) By Wednesday I will have revised one of the new chapters, and hopefully will have written another new section! I actually did write a new section the other day but soon realized that it didn't further the plot one bit. So it's scrapped. Such is the sad truth of the craft.

Oy. After that hit, I no longer know what the F I wanted to blog about. HAHAHAHA. oh well.

Bye!

2007-10-19T09:25:00.000-07:00

DECOMPOSURE

TIME: 12:27 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 bowl oatmeal with jam swirled in
MORALE: melancholy, perhaps due to oversleep, perhaps due to general emotional default setting

FIELD NOTES: That's a pic of the worm bin upon my return from Kentucky. The dark circle in the middle is coffee grounds, the round thing is a nectarine that was in my freezer. My cousin Sean threw in both before I got home to give 'em a little snacky if they needed it.

Since then, I have pulled all that black stuff to one side and filled the empty side with fresh bedding and new food. Grosser than gross, there is now a fruit fly infestation in there. When I open the lid and dig in the new section, they swarm up into my face. They're not bad for the bin, they actually help with various decompositions, but like, ew. Who wants them joints up in their face? Yesterday I did a worm bin dance as I checked in on the crew, jiggling around, hoping against hope no flies had gone up my pant legs as I peered in on the progress.

I have come to understand and accept that my default emotional setting is slightly sad when I am on my own. If there is someone I love beside me, then I feel better. Yoga Lover came and went, his stop in NYC before 4 months abroad. He pulled a few typically wack moves, among them his parting and rarely uttered words: I LOVE YOU. Whatever. He can love me now because he is leaving. So really, while I felt briefly better, afterwards I felt significantly worse. That is samsara I think. Now my emotions are neutralizing.

And with this neutralization comes a bit of drive to work, to knock it out. Nothing is gonna happen for me unless I make it happen so I need to write much much much much more. The trouble, and really, it is a problem that I am actually quite grateful for, is that I have been too social. Every night, out. It's got me going to sleep in the middle of the night, waking later than 10 or 11, which just doesn't really work for me. Then it's a semi mad rush for nothing, because just as I get momentum on work I have to go out again.

I gotta treat this novel like a freaking job. And stop wavering on kind of hating it. Ugh. Which I am at this moment - bad bad bad!

Perhaps though, that is just displaced emotion. Because what do I really feel bad about? Catching feelings for that freaking Yoga Dork.

2007-10-14T22:36:00.000-07:00

MOON ROCKS (ME)

I should remember when my period is coming. Then, I will not take bouts of sadness or lonliness so seriously.

Then, I will enjoy simple things, like the fact that I went to a sausage-themed potluck last night (I brought a three-chinese-sausage fried rice, but really, I didn't put the third sausage in there cuz it was too meaty...instead was two sausages and the requisite spam). And that even though he is far from perfect, I will consume - with giddiness, not judgement - Yoga Lover for a couple more days (he now says all of the things I wanted to hear before, stupid jerk, too late dumbface weirdo alien robodork emotional fuckwittage per Bridget Jones, yet is still also emotionally aloof, wack boring tired played retarded).

Plus, I will also plan my new "worm annex." Yes. Since you have been dying to know, the worm bin is getting way moist. I blame the amount of "feedstock" I put in there. It's producing mad water. I need another place to put the stock. Luckily, I found a bucket in the garage. It needs to be cleaned. Then, I will move some (very wet) worm-ridden compost into the bucket, fill with shredded newspaper and some new stock. I will make a lid by cutting out a circle that will fit within the bucket, glue plastic to one side, cut a finger hole and perhaps punch additional holes throughout the top, and place in bucket plastic side down to catch the condensation. I am brilliant.

This is very exciting for me! THIS is what life is about!

Also, I have just learned about the CSAs in my area. Community Supported Agriculture. I can't wait for the 2008 season!!!! Yeah!!!!!

2007-10-11T12:00:00.000-07:00

AND THE GANG'S ALL HERE

TIME: 3:02 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 bowl oatmeal made with milk with swirl of jam, 1 bowl rice w/ beef and tofu (thanks dad), black tea
MORALE: it's pretty good, i love the rain, i love feeling productive and good. :)

FIELD NOTES: Back in New York. Got here two nights ago. It was lonely and distressing to come home to the messy apartment, all of the unpacking and cleaning and reorganizing. Everything had a fine layer of citydust on it, because I left the windows ajar. So gross. To get through it, I smoked pot and tuned into Top Chef reruns, cleaning and organizing only during the commercials. I cried when that arrogant dude won, because he was all emotional and like, Immigrant's Dreamy about it.

The fish were returned to me yesterday. Marla has become absolutely obese. She has a swim bladder issue now, her bouyancy altered by the utter fatness of her frame. I almost thought she had the fatal bloat of dropsy when I first looked at her. But I have concluded that she is just fat. The tough-love starvation diet begins NOW. Though HMMM. Maybe she is just swollen with eggs?

Interestingly, The Bloody Baron's tail and fins have grown back. Not all the way, but a lot. Remember his self-mutilating/cannibalizing tendencies? Well, it seems that he took a hiatus when I left. I wonder what that is about. Maybe he just hates me and consumes himself to spite me. Or maybe he loves me and my leaving made him want to lure me back with restored plumage. Maybe he is manic depressive and in the mood that does not lead to the fish equivalent of cutting. Maybe he likes swimming around in a filthy bowl, which is basically what he seems to have been living in...

And the worms. The worms! They are doing FANTASTICALLY. They seem to have consumed everything in the bin. I have begun the process of raking the finished compost over to one side. That turns it, so any remaining chunks can be exposed and further broken down. Also, it makes room for fresh bedding, where I can deposit new food scraps. Eventually, the wormies will migrate to where the new food is. Then I will "harvest" the old side, which is all black and earthy looking. It boggles me that they are just eating my freaking trash and making amazing, organically revolutionary castings out of it.

And that's basically that. Yoga Man is coming over tonight, which should be fine. I hung out with The Mogul last night and we are going to be more than fine, I think. (We returned to Tournesol in Long Island City, the French restaurant of our very first date.) And otherwise, I am just me, plowing through my reentry, trying to clean, organize and maintain. That Man/Sham txted me the other day but that's about it. I don't really care one way or another at this point. I have plenty enough to think about otherwise.

2007-10-08T17:28:00.001-07:00

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

TIME: 8:30 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: bowl cereal and beef stew in indiana, cheesesteak/hashbowns from waffle house in ohio, some water.
MORALE: fine but muddied by too much NPR and driving

FIELD NOTES: New Stanton, PA - At the Days Inn, and my eyes are red, my back feels itchy. Just got here, so perhaps ailments due to staring through windshield for seven hours and chafing of exposed back skin on car seat.

By tomorrow, I will be at home. Left Kentucky on Saturday morning and shot over to Columbus, IN to see my friend Emily. I hate to phrase this as such, but Emily is My College Friend Who Got M.S. I have managed to see her every year for the last 3 yrs or so. Once she was diagnosed, she deteriorated pretty quickly. She has trouble with her hands, can't eat or write or do many things without assistance, her "tremor" is that bad. Her brain has slowed a little, and she has a limp. She also tires quickly. Emily is sort of a whole post in herself, and one I have yet to sort of process myself, having just left her this morning.

So then, after two days of chatting and eating and chatting, which is all we did, I packed it back up and got on the road. Driving was pretty easy today; no angst, a bare awareness of manipulating the vehicle, sort of like I was high but I wasn't. Funny how the country just repeats itself. In the country it was farm after farm, silo after silo, broken down barn after porch after barn after porch.
Once we got to the major roads, it was gas station after McDonalds after hotel chain after KFC. That's how I find myself here in this desolate who-knows-where. There are many competing chains here. I got a coupon from a tourism booklet. There is a McDonalds. There is a KFC.

Above is a photo of one of the manuscripts I was working on while in Kentucky. I like having a few days off from writing. I was so maxed out by the end of being there. Seriously. When I get home, I will take care of home things, like cleaning, and worms and weeding. Then I will launch into catching-up-with-work, i.e. wrangling some "assignments." Then I will socialize a little, check in with the fam, and by next week, return to writing. Interestingly, I don't think it will be immediately into the novel, as there is a short story that is half finished that I REALLY want to get to. Which is kind of exciting.

There is stupid/trivial/potentially amusing and/or fun boy stuff awaiting me at home, but you know what? I don't really freaking care. It's all getting so old and lame to think about. I am more interested in cooking up some chinese broccoli and brown rice, tending to my worm bin which I miss DESPERATELY, and swiffering my apartment than I am in dealing with a bunch of tired boys and the subsequent lameness that ensues.

Oooh the worm bin. I think about it constantly. I really am going to launch my gardening revolution in the next few months. I will make things living, I will increase my self-sustainability. It will be green joy.

Oh. Speaking of that. I applied for a job in the composting project at the Queens Botanical Garden and they never called me. WFT????

2007-09-28T12:00:00.000-07:00

AFTER THE RAIN

Finally it rained in Kentucky, after a long ass drought. That's the sunset on the first day after it rained.

Too much. Too little. All this stuff going on. Trying to fight back urge to wallow, feel sad, overthink, all those traps etc. That Man has resurfaced and wants to have sex, lots of dirty emails and instant messages. Not a move to get back together. We discussed that. It's not that I want to get back together, or that I don't want to have sex with him (he is sexy as hell). It just seems empty now. Like there was so much depth and meaning in it before, and now...it's hollow, going through routine flirtation, the same references to the things our genitals can do, blah blah blah.

Yoga Lover wants to convene with my body too. Yes, I am grateful that my body is appreciated. But that special thing that I had with him, if not love, then...openness, gratitude is now gone.

There was once possibility, now all I feel in both cases is retread. It's a lot less interesting without the love.

At least the writing is going well. I am in somewhat of a zone, with the minor blip of yesterday, which was horrific because of a Walmart-related disaster waged upon my car after what should have been a routine oil change.

Ugh. I must snap out of this mindset. It is wack.

2007-09-20T20:24:00.000-07:00

GOT THEIR GOATS

TIME: 11:31 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: meat and potatos in many forms, chard that i cooked up from the garden, total raisin bran...probably more. getting fatter? ugh.
MORALE: cool, yeah?

FIELD NOTES: This morning, the goats got out of their pen. Heard some rustling outside my window and, knowing that it's my day alone on the farm, was like, huh? Looked outside and there they were, eating the wisteria off of the Barker's cottage. Sent some emails, made some calls. Eventually got Robert on the phone who instructed me to lure Shirley (pictured above) and the Dude Goat with their feed bucket. Hilarity ensued but I got them back in there, savvy city slicker style.

Father and son team Charlie and Charlie still pulled up in their truck though. They are neighbors that Maureen called to come and help me out just in case. Dad Charlie is 70 and a great grand dad, white haired, pot bellied, bright blue eyed. Son Charlie is in his 40s with a grandkid and short term memory problems after a bad car crash. He asked me several times if I liked living in New York, the idea of the city sticking but not necessarily my replies about it. They were both really nice, really salt of the earth. They told me about their attempt at breeding ostriches, about all the drugs ruining the towns (including Son Charlie's 23 year old son), about how the war sucks and how I should get married, a pretty girl like me.

Then it was back to writing, which in its own way is going very well. I am about to kick of a new chapter versus all of the rewriting I have been doing. It's a little horrifying, and I suspect that I am blogging to keep from that very event.

In boy-world, well. I feel completely over Yoga Lover, very suddenly, seeing it in what I think is a very true light. The Mogul continues to love me like I have always wanted to be loved, even from afar. And strangely, That Sham, who I will now resume calling That Man in all fairness, That Man has resurfaced. There is a minute possibility that he will road trip home with me from Indiana, after I visit Emily. I am sure there will be plenty to post about either way. The important thing to note is that I am not in love with him any more. It's been a month or two that the very last dregs of it were washed outta me. Amazo.

I am starting to feel really good out here, really centered and pure. It's interesting, I noticed that I don't tend to miss much when I go places. This happened when I was travelling in China, while I was at Yoga Mountain. I just am. I am me. It's like, I could never go home again. Not that I wouldn't. It's just a feeling.

And that is that.

2007-09-15T18:30:00.000-07:00

COUNTRYTIME LEMONS INTO LEMONADE

TIME: 9:34 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: piece of leftover fritatta with potato/tomato/cheese, half turkey sandwich with cheese and baby carrots, turkey loaf, potatoes and spinach salad, some donut holes, tea, and half of a kit kat. oh yeah, and a glass of wine.
MORALE: oh who freaking knows. pretty decent in the sense that i am getting period next week.

FIELD NOTES: There's Jack the Ripper chilling in his bowl on my desk. The other day I fed him a fly I killed with a dishtowel. He was a terror. The fly's ass barely fit in his mouth. But he ate it (the ass). There is now a black speck in the poop he made to prove it.

The farmhouse is nice enough but flies certainly do get in here. I bought some flypaper at Walmart because I don't like them buzzing around my head when I am trying to write. They particularly like this room, perhaps because it's so sunny. Ugh. Fly paper is no joke. The flies get caught on it but are still alive. They buzz and buzz trying to pry themselves off of it. Today, some fly it caught yesterday was still feebly wiggling around on his paper, leaning far to one side, then the other, with whatever half-starved energy he had left. I don't know what's worse, the idea of them slowly dying there or else flying so hard that they rip their limbs off. The moral of this story: don't come in the fu*kin' house, flies.

I am trying to make the most of my country experience here...in a way. True, I am not wandering the expansive 400 acres of this land, contemplating Walden. I often get into my car and drive someplace, namely yoga in Lexington which is a freaking hour away. Apparently "Paris," two towns over, has free yoga on M/W/F, so I may check that out. But whatever. Yoga. Who freaking cares.

It's weird to be here with the couple who run this place. They end up being the only people I have a conversation with. That can't be good. Though today, I met the gnarled old man who drives water up the farm in a rusty truck. He collects tractors and has about 60 of them. He invited me to come see them, which I will. Especially now that Robert, the dude who runs this place, would like me to write an "appreciation" of the water dude, part of his general idea to build community.

Man, it's sort of hard for me to conceive of "community" when people are miles apart from each other, where no one walks the town streets after 5 pm, where you don't see kids playing, totally bizarre, like where the hell are all of them? Hiding in the corn?

I am making a sort of shift in my work here. Serena (bless her) read the chapter I have been revising and had really supportive and helpful comments. I don't know how much "new" I will write here, but I seem to be getting a lot of revising done. It's what it is. I had no expectations. But it would be great to shift into psycho productive gear, which I think begins tomorrow.

Otherwise: is my heart still achey? A little bit. So ironic because I ditched the guy. It helps that per usual, The Mogul has arrived saying all of the perfect things, always. Yesterday, he told me that I don't need to get a job, that he'll support me while I finish the book. We talk about getting a dog. Are we bullshitting ourselves? What is this narrative we're creating? And duh, I think he's still with his white girl. I ditched my white boy. We're still not really in the clear. But for all of these months though, about a year, we have been working on our fantasy of ourselves. I think we're getting closer to that time.

Here is a moment of zen. This is my view from the kind of porch swing thing outside. I sit here at least once a day. I like how it feels to rock slowly back and forth. I will tell The Mogul he must build a swing onto the porch of his country house. Once he redoes the porch.

2007-09-09T05:16:00.000-07:00

UNWANTED KIDS

This morning I woke early to the bleating of a female goat. She has been going nuts since Thursday, when her kids were taken away from her. The owners of this farm don't want to care for that many goats, so a former-nun-turned-dairy-goater came and took a bunch of the kids away. It was a violent process, with the kids being dragged up a ramp into a truck by their horns or their front legs. And the mother goat keeps bleating and bleating. They're not coming back.

I am putting Penny the fish up for adoption. She's the fish Yoga Lover brought me. During our break up emails, when I said I was through with this version of love, I told him to find somewhere to put her because she's with him now. He was, in my best wishes, supposed to say that he chose a different version of love that I offered, that Penny was our baby and that we would grow old with her. But, um, that didn't happen.

So I am giving her up and away. That is so crazy to me. My first fish with a man, come and gone.

I can't help but feel a little thrown away myself. He totally accepted my position. No fight. No urgent enough desire to pull me into his life. His can go on fine with out me. Not like he's supposed to shrivel up and die...but he's supposed to shrivel up and die. How can he tell me that I am the most X,Y,Z he has ever felt or known and then let that slip away?

Ugh. Now this morning we need to go to some farm around the way for some writers group thing. I like to write in the mornings, not talk to farmers and such.

The Mogul is repping really hard right now, even though he has some girl. We are writing these long emails. He says, "I would be so good to you." The intensity of his emails have made me cry.

Am I ready for that? Am I ready for him? I like to think I am, as he always says and does everything right and perfect. But. My body has created a physical sense memory of being with Yoga Lover. That is who it craves.

2007-09-06T20:30:00.000-07:00

THANKFULLOFIT

TIME: 11:32 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: um, toast, a burger and fries, slice of cheese with bread. not so nutritious today
MORALE: kinda low because of silence of Yoga Lover, which i am trying not to let affect me, because what are we if all of our well being depends on the re-enforcement of others?

FIELD NOTES: Spent the day in Lexington because co-artist here had a recital, mixing composition, paintings and poems. It was nice to be at the U of K, surrounded by the youths, the smell of musty books, the privacy of study rooms, etc etc etc.

Afterwards, got stuck in random traffic on the way to one of the handful of yoga studios here. I missed the class I intended on going to, so I stopped in at Walmart for a couple of supplies. Made the class afterwards, a beginners class but still a good practice. I plan to go into town at least once a week for class. Stretching out my chakras, releasing the deep memories in my flesh...I felt a little sad after class. But I didn't cry.

Instead, on the drive home I reconnected with Mary J Blige, the No More Drama album, a pivotal disc at varying stages in my life. I sang out loud as my car careened over the dark Kentucky roads, the wind whipping through my hair, bugs splattering on the windshield. I played many songs twice.

This is all a prelude to say that instead of being sad because boo hoo the boy I like doesn't pay enough attention to me when he is working three jobs at Yoga Mountain on top of the fact that I more or less split with him anyway last week, I am going to be grateful for things in my life, because yeah, for real, I am still blessed.

Practicing gratitude is one thing that I took away from Yoga Lover, so that is the first thing that I will be grateful for.

The second is the chance I have to be in Kentucky, writing. Sugarbread humbled me a few weeks ago when we were chatting. It was a throwaway line but she said, get out there and write for the both of us! She is saddled with a new baby and a family to support and doesn't have time to do all of the writing she wants to. I am so fortunate that I can take this time, no strings attached anywhere (BECAUSE NO ONE WANTS TO MAKE A FAMILY WITH ME...um...ha?) and do this. I really am grateful. So I am going to write as much as I can, really focus and take advantage of this rare gift. Hopefully I will honor it with great work, and put that work into the universe...

I am grateful for so much more, like my family for instance. But if I get started on that this post will never end. I wrote about being grateful for them in my journal today. I think that will suffice for now.

As a post script, I would like to take a second to honor the little bugs that smashed against my windshield as I drove. I wish that we could all live in harmony, not treading on each other's ground, wounding each other carelessly as we go through our day. But. We can't. So I will take a moment to remember them and hope that at the very least, they got a short cut to their next reincarnation of life.

2007-09-05T14:43:00.000-07:00

A ROOM OF ONE'S OWN

TIME: 5:46 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 blueberry muffin leftover from West Virginia Ramada Inn buffet breakfast, 1 bowl pasta with fresh tomato sauce from garden, 1 hunk leftover brisket beef, 1 slice bread with 1 slice cheese, some not-great lemonade i tried to make from water, lemon juice and sugar
MORALE: i am me, at the very least, i think...

SUNFLOWER FIELD NOTES: Above is a shot from the window of my writing studio here at Artcroft, where I am a writer in residency. This is a big ol' farm with a lot-o-land. There are goats who I have yet to meet. I have been picking lots of grape tomatoes. I made above sauce with them yesterday.

There are many things that I've noticed on my drive back to Kentucky. The sattlelite dish with Jesus on it is still in West Virginia. I called Mason, my road trip buddy from last summer, to tell him. Also, it must be butterfly season. Because the bird-like bugs flutter by, straight into the windshield when you're driving. It's very jarring, because they are so massive you can see them coming. Also, it's very Daily News hysteria, like: oh no! something beautiful (versus ugly bug/nameless black person/illegal immigrant) has perished!

So far, in the 1.5 days I have been here, I have done a lot of writing. I think the mornings are really my time, because my head gets cloudy in the afternoons. That's why I am blogging right now. I will save the afternoon for things like applying to residencies, blogging, and bullshitting on the internet.

One other artist is here. John. He is an old dude, like gray and gristled. He composes music, makes a painting and joins it with poetry. We have already had a handful of expansive talks that have been valuable, about life and art and etc. It seems the 18 year marriage he had was a lot like me and Yoga Lover. They lived as opposites for all that time, and when they were done growing together they divorced peacefully. He made a composition and painting and presented it to her during their divorce party. What a nice idea.

Hm. It seems the couple who run this joint are home now, which means she is going to make dinner, which we all share together.

Perhaps I ought to get going. There's so much more to share, inner growth beginning, outer growth, etc. But I gotta make the salad!

2007-09-02T05:11:00.000-07:00

ON THE ROAD

TIME: 8:17 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: none, i don't really eat during times of loss and grief
MORALE: despite feelings of loss and grief, struggling to find positivity

FIELD NOTES: I slept with my crystal DJ in my hand last night. Remember that quartz? I bought it at Yoga Mountain and named it after my two dead fish David and Joan. Actually, strange. At the beginning of my relationship with Yoga Lover, we spent a lot of time sharing that crystal. It was the foundation stone of our house...hm. I think my thought was for it to give me some peace and clarity, but I woke up more sad today. My hope is I am letting all the sadness out first to feel uncomplicated joy later?

He has gone back to Yoga Mountain and today I pack it all up and go to Kentucky for my residency. Well, I go to West Virginia, where I have booked a room somewhere to sleep. I can't quite put a finger on how we ended things. We had a breakthrough conversation, about how relationships put mirrors to yourself in your life. You can't avoid your shit cuz someone is calling you out on it, etc. Got to the heart of his thing, which is...it's not that he's all serene because he's truly achieved Zen. He just doesn't at all deal with anything that hurts or affects him. I said that peace is supposed to come, per Pema, with really knowing your suffering and being able to still find peace in that, not skipping the suffering and pretending it's all okay. He said he's not sure if he can make that choice.

But still. Then we were intimate again, and cuddling again, and most insanely - and I stayed away from this one - he was talking about buying the house again, the very same issue that kicked off all of this week's insanity.

I don't know. I really hope to be able to free myself and my heart from some of this confusion and pain. I am bringing Pema to Kentucky. As much as he needs to pay attention to some of his hurts, I need to learn how to let some of mine go. I hold too much pain, he holds too little. But then again, where is that judgement from? We hold what we hold, and that is how we live. I don't know. Who is to say what is too much and too little? And why worry about him taking care of himself, when I need to take care of me?

A good friend of mine is working on a book with a very famous rapper. The friend came home and told me about how much sadness this rapper has. His best friend was killed, it was all over the news, people in his family have committed suicide. He hovers in this strange place of constant sorrow, holed up in his house taking care of his daughter, doing strange obsessive-compulsive kind of things and ordering his life like Rainman, hovering on the brink of sanity, trying desperately to just get through each day.

This happens to be one of my favorite rappers, whose rhymes to me were always so startlingly honest and raw and so inspired, so creative.

I return to this again and again, but I think us creative types are destined towards sorrow, because we see the world in all shades of color and then we make art with that spectrum. But still. I would like to feel more joy. I feel comfortable when I have sorrow, it doesn't freak me out the way it freaks out Yoga Lover. I accept it as part of life, as he struggles not to. The destiny is we can end up together in a way, or we cannot. But I can't anticipate a destiny one way or another. I spend too much time beating myself up about failing in a future that hasn't happened yet, messing up my present in turn.

Ugh. Enough typing already. Enough...

2007-08-31T04:59:00.000-07:00

LIFE...AND AFTERLIFE

TIME: 9:18 am

RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 glass iced kukicha tea

MORALE: "it's just rain, i smile, wiping the tears away..." - cure

FIELD NOTES: These are mushrooms from the side of the road by Daisy and Karl's house, the old couple I met on craigslist who I sometimes drive to their Catskills refuge near Ellenville. I went there last week with Yoga Lover, and took these pictures before and after our hike.

What the F. Those shrooms totally died. So much can happen in a day. For example. Yoga Lover and I just returned from a day of looking at houses for him to buy, near Yoga Mountain. We didn't intend to, but we found one, ridiculously affordable, beautiful, complete with indoor and outdoor fishpond, mission furniture, two bedrooms, beautifully landscaped yard. He spun out a dream, us living bi-stately, me writing in the back sunroom, him coming to New York to see his massage clients. He made a bid, counter offers flew, and we got a final offer that was solid.

Then, things fell apart.

One, we had some middle of the night tension when he made an idiotic comment about my body. I know he loves my body, and that he was trying to make a joke, but not being a skilled verbal warrior, it came out all wrong and happened to tap into one of my deep insecurities. Two, though he can afford to pull off the house himself, he was on some level expecting some help from his parents, who are loaded but have a long complicated history with him and are tightfisted on top of that.

They didn't give him money. We had the tiff. Suddenly the whole shining world that he had spun, the polar opposite to the unstable, flit around the world scenario that we now have, love every now and then, and this love from a man who admits he can't laugh or cry, that world fell apart. It was hard for me, led to all sorts of realizations, chiefly: I can keep doing this with him, but I don't think that's the move. He is open to loving me as he knows how, with loyalty and devotion, no cheating, etc. But how he loves is not how I love. I want my partner to be family. Coming from the situation he does, he doesn't even know what family means. He has never had it. Again, he can't laugh. He can't cry.

Funny. It's been a year, to the date, that me and That Sham fell apart. Happy Anniversary. Should I send him an ecard? Again, it's another strange shift in the guards. I haven't decided anything yet where Yoga Lover is concerned, and he says he is available to me, open to me as he has been, if I choose to accept his version of love.

So much can change in a day, just like those live-to-dead mushrooms. I am packing up in a day or so to go to Kentucky for a writing residency. He is packing up to go to Yoga Mountain to work for a month or so. For once, I don't want to look into our future and see what it holds, for us, for me.

Which is another change that has taken place in the last day or so.

2007-08-21T13:18:00.000-07:00

BOWLING FOR FISH

TIME: 4:18 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: prix fixe lunch at cafe boulud: duck terrine (eh), hanger steak (yum), strawberries mascarpone (yum), lots of old upper east side white people (yuck)
MORALE: quiet, solitary, not thrilled that Yoga Lover is coming home tonight

FIELD NOTES: Had lunch with the brother of a mainstream underground rapper, a friend of mine from high school. Then walked from 76th and Madison up to 97th and Lex, stopping at two Starbucks on the way to get free used coffee grounds to feed my worms and my plants. It was actually a beautiful walk in the drizzle/light rain; I wore my hardcore swamp boots and the little black leather jacket I was too fat to fit into while dating That Sham. The weather has been cool-to-cold, which reminds me of the gorgeousness of autumn. It seemed appropriate that on my subway ride home I read the Sunday City Section of the Times. Four pages about freaking walking in the city.

My destination today was right around the block from the jr/high school I attended for 6 years. A chick on craigslist was giving away a bunch of fish bowls; one of her bettas died, she was upgrading two to tanks. She was young and seemed cool enough but her apartment was disgusting, she pointed out the tiny smear of dog poop on the floor, there were piles of junk on the one table I could see. My bowls are now in the stairwell. Post bedbug scare, I am hoping they are not bugged out.

So now I have a bunch of new homes for my babies. Really, the only fish who may move are the girls, upgrading to bigger spaces. Jack had a bacterial situation a couple of days ago, a red splotch in his tail because I don't think I have been changing his water enough per relationship and bedbug crisis of last week. Did a water change and gave him some Jungle Fungus meds, which also fight bacteria. He's doing great.

Ugh. I feel so flat and monotone. Something about all of that drama last week, which culminated in a short stay at my sister's house, meeting The Mogul's mother at midnite, and many nights of paltry sleep, many social outings, has left me feeling hollow. I don't know if the union with Yoga Lover is right. Maybe the point is he has now found the courage to make it right and real. I don't know.

My worm bin has way taken over my fish concern of late. I read worm forums constantly. I think about feeding the worms constantly. I want to poke around in the bin to make sure they are not dead constantly, but I refrain from doing that because it is a little gross. I think I need to get some rubber gloves so I can be really hands on.

I guess that's all I have to say for now. Even this post feels flat.

Sorry.

2007-08-15T04:30:00.000-07:00

BED BUGGIN' OUT

TIME: 7:31 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: starting a glass of raspberry lemonade
MORALE: low, also have not slept more than 3 hours a nite in ages, if that

FIELD NOTES: There was a bedbug scare that I believe may have passed. I hope it has. The first night it occurred to me that the welts on my body might be BBBites I stayed up, ended up in a phone fight with Yoga Lover, who is across the country. In the worn emotional wreckage following that, I had some realizations about feeling low in my life right now. I thought he and I ended okay, we talked on the phone again and then exchanged a couple of messages. Then I get an email from him about how his last relationship caused the depression he's been in and how he can't have fights any more blah blah blah, the path to unconditional love comes with upliftment and brings freedom, not heartache blah blah blah.

Of course. Duh. Who WANTS difficult discussions and hurt feelings and so forth? He's coming at me with this commitment fear thing which has him bouncing around the country all of the time. And I react to that. Call me weak for allowing myself to feel scared and vulnerable and then acting out on it in the middle of the night when I'm already drowning in fear and isolation heightened by the perceived bug attack. On top of professional and financial anxiety as well. There was also lots of slightly painful subtext that I don't even want to get into surrounding his trip.

But I don't know. Whatever. I am just so raw and tired and everything. I don't really know what anything is for. I wrote him back a long, compassionate and thoughtful response (jesus, i hope so). We'll see if we bounce back or if we kick it. He is so haunted and paralyzed by whatever was hurtful in his last relationship. More so than me. And...what else can I do?

I must preserve me. But how do I do that?

2007-08-09T00:18:00.001-07:00

NO SLEEP TIL...

TIME: 3:18 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: suckling pig, pomme frittes, bruschetta with egg and pesto and sardines, a lot of dessert, a few glasses of sancerre, all at EU which was okay but not amazing despite drooling praise of snooty doctor types i found myself dining with
MORALE: fine, minus insomnia, as i really really want to go to sleep like NOW.

FIELD NOTES: The Portland ex stayed out later than me so I woke up to let him in the house when he returned. I have been awake ever since. That is wack. Read some George Saunders, tried breathing slowly, rolled back and forth in varying comfortable positions. Now I am writing.

Haven't updated on the fish much, so here is something. When I put females next to the Baron, they become very very jumpy. Literally. Like, are flying out of their bowls. Luckily, no one has jumped to her death as that can happen. But it is when they are next to him that they are the most aggressive. Penny has always been very attacky, going for the fingertips at mealtimes. But Marla? Mellow Marla? She too was aggressive beside the Baron. What is up with that? He is a bad influence. I hope they do not start biting their tails.

It is possible that I am totally over my taste for too expensive food. Is it because it is summer time, and I am not that hungry anyway? Possibly. Is it because I am poor now? Probably. I just can't get into dropping a couple hundred bucks on dinner, even if someone else is paying. It just seems retarded to me. Maybe this all goes back to my waste post below.

I dunno. That's about all I have to say at 3:30 in the morning. Other than that I hope I fall asleep soon. In addition, I don't really like having house guests. They get in the way.

2007-08-08T10:55:00.000-07:00

WORMS CRAWL IN, WORMS CRAWL OUT

TIME: 2:02 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 eng muff with smart balance and homemade apricot jam
MORALE: good, though melty per hot hot hot day

FIELD NOTES: This is my new worm bin! Bought it online, wet and shredded paper, dumped in worms, and since have put in about 3 lbs of garbage. The idea is that the worms eat all of the paper, as well as the garbage, and in about 6 months or so I have a beautiful bin of worm castings which is great for gardens and house plants.

Already, my eco-obsessiveness is generating a plan to build a worm empire, rescuing all of the garbage available to me, breeding generations of worms, making worm bin after worm bin, selling or giving away my amazing compost, rescuing vegetable scraps from chinese restaurants and the like, becoming an urban hero (and freezing a few worms for the fish to eat to boot).

I think about the worms a lot. The obsessiveness borders on early fish obsessiveness. Looking in forums, reading websites, seeing all the things around me as possible food for my worms. It's so much better than the compost tumbler, which is so much freaking work! I checked in on that today, and while the compost in there is looking composty, I feel it will never turn into the rich soil I want it to be. I am trying to tumble it at least once a day. I am not adding anything new to it. Rise, rich compost, rise!!!

I feel the earth is falling apart and I am so bored of the needlessness of waste. I feel like my efforts are so miniscule. I get depressed thinking about the office buildings filled with waste waste waste and my little worm army defying them one banana peel at at time. The people on this planet need a new consciousness. We're all killing ourselves and our world.

I feel very connected to the earth. I feel drawn to its suffering which seems, in most of the settings I have lived in, to be the predominate mode. I think the suffering of the planet is reflected in all of the suffering of the people on this planet. Everyone is miserable, from the starving HIV baby in some African hut to the commuters on the R train. Everyone is so overwhelmed by stress and sorrow. At the same time, I am aware of the steps towards change. Towards creating and healing and giving back, rather than taking and wasting and the resulting wretchedness.

I am so far from being a perfect or poised or even at-peace person. But I feel sort of spiritual about this burgeoning outlook. I am so much further along than I used to be, trying to live mindfully, not wasting or taking anything for granted. At least, I try.

2007-08-05T06:15:00.001-07:00

BIENVENIDOS A MIAMI

TIME: 9:16 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 keylime lara bar, 1 minipot rooibos tea: both snagged from the daily complimentary fruit/food bar on the first floor of the ultra luxe condo building i am living in for the weekend
MORALE: high (on high life life), tan, and executing a vision

FIELD NOTES: Turnberry Ocean Colony, Sunny Isle Beach, FL. My friend comes from a moneyed Russian Jewish family, and we're crashing in their beach front paradise that just opened this March.

Everything here is shiny and marbled. A sexy Latino from NYC brings us beach chairs and towels and water on the sand. While we frolic in the waves they refold our towels and reposition our flip flops. Each morning a light buffet of sundries sits on the downstairs bar. Getting it? The wrap around deck shows offers stunning views of the ocean. A little key buzzes you into everything.
This is what it is like to be rich, something I know little about. We are here on a writing/beach retreat and thus far the days have been spent going from the computer to the sand to the water. The water is SO warm.

Yesterday we took a walk (I am one of those rare ones who actually abhors taking walks on the beach) and came to the Gay Nude Beach. Surprise. Most were clothed but there were plenty of Gay Nudes, their sausages roasting in the sun. Saw a young one with a perfectly waxed Area, family jewels shiny and hairless, and was like hm. That was one of the nicer things about Alex going through Chemo.

Conveniently had on street clothes and not bathing suit so I stripped down and ran into the waves. Swimming naked is the only way to go. But then, noticed that there were some shifty looking characters in the H2O, wondered if really I was swimming around in the oceanic residue of their orgies, if I was to be impregnated by the sea-borne sperms of the Gay Nudes Ejaculating Underwater. It was definitely a new take on the revelry of swimming without clothes, so I got out of the water, put my clothes back on and we walked home.

Then it was back to the computers. I knocked it out. Finished a rewrite on a chapter which I know I will have to rewrite again, but hey. I do feel it is getting closer each time, that I am sooner to getting these semi-polished so I can move on to new chapters. During my residency in Kentucky I will reach all new heights.

Yoga Lover is away again, spending three weeks in Colorado. I have reconnected with the Mogul, not in a sexual way, but in the intensity of our connection way. He is inspiring me in the best possible of professional ways. Randomly, The Doctor, the ex I visited in Portland, is spending part of next week with me. There will be no cheating, but as he is an epicure of sorts, there will be fine eating.

That's a good part of it for me. When I get home, I plan to clean that joint OUT. It's chaotic and I need ORDER.

2007-07-15T22:15:00.000-07:00

NO MORE GAME

TIME: 1:17 am

RATIONS CONSUMED: many many types of steak at Jeff's BBQ, supplemental booze and smoke complements, turkey burger, fruit smoothie for breakfast

MORALE: stupid glorious murakami book opened my heart to much reality and sorrow, thus crying all day but i guess it wasn't really a bad day or anything.

BASEBALL FIELD NOTES: Rah rah. I went to Staten Island to see the SI Yankees play. They lost something pathetic like 11-4, to the Aurburn Doubledays. Auburn where, I am not so sure. I had a front row seat. Very white, very weird, super fun. Fireworks at the end of all of it. The ferry was fun, at least on the way out there. The terminal downtown is strange, tall letters, moving signs, vaulted ceilings.

Nothing feels exactly right. My knees feel swollen from the humidity. My heart feels raw, because of the book, which I read in a marathon of four days. It made me do raw things like be in contact with That Sham, which can never end in solace. I feel too full to eat. Even though it was righteous at Jeff's down to dancing and rhyming and mouthful after mouthful of sizzling meat, biking home, I feel sort of lost and stagnant. It's humid. I wish the sky would just open up already. I was already open enough.

Have been listening to bhajans all day. Guru dev. Namo. Shanti. Something something. I don't think they are helping me find more peace. This week without Yoga Lover was so freaking intense. Purely me. Reading that incredible book, languishing in sloth, taking my work to Jones Beach where I got glorious and tan and made some good headway on a section of the book which is very exciting. But then I stagnanted on that. I didn't get my weekly goals done. Utter sloth, it's embarassing. I don't know what is happening to me. I am going to have to gear up because I have an edit coming back to me, and I have an interview with another rapper this week. I am so sick of interviews with rappers, of everything.

Spent a lot of time with friends this week who are all passionate and focused and brilliant. Some of us feel very alone, some of us feel very in love, some of us...oh I don't know.

I am ready for him to come home. I think being held, maybe being distracted, helps from getting to deeply entrenched in myself. In all of the deep richness. Serena said on the phone, sort of wryly, Um, maybe you shouldn't read any more glorious literature.

I need to really clean up this joint. I made a lot of headway on the office today.

Will my book have that influence? Will my book come to exist?

I feel sad. That would have been a more succinct thing to put in the Morale section. Maybe not sad. I just feel utterly wrung out and barely hung to dry. I already smoked enough pot today. I don't think that another toke will help.

Hare krishna, krishna, krishna.

As an aside, the fish are all relatively fine. Though I have taken to sort of not paying too close attention to how much I feed them on any given day. Hm.

Are Yoga Lover and I going to end? Since everything, everything ends? We are steeped in transitions? Because Pema said that's how it goes?

2007-07-08T13:48:00.000-07:00

FREE

TIME: 4:48 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 smoothie, 1 bowl of leftovers fried rice (crab fried rice + honey duck + indian spinach thing + chicken), 1/4 piece garlic nan, 1 vanilla scoop in oreo cone
MORALE: decent, and feeling cool in chilly breeze of strange portable air conditioner thing

FIELD NOTES: Yoga Lover drove up to yoga mountain this afternoon for a week long program he gets to attend for free, one of his staff benefits. Hurray! While I enjoy Yoga Lover and it is quite delectable to sleep with him each night, it is also nice to have the place to myself. I feel more myself, I can get more of ME done, in MY way. That means Harry Potter breaks, fiction, slow home cleaning, taking care of each cluttered square foot at a time...

It's strange when you live with someone. Sex is still exciting but since you basically know you can get it whenever you want it, it's easy to take it for granted, or to get kind of sick of it. Not sick of it per se. That sounds ungrateful. But the urge that drives the best kind of sex isn't as strong, because in general the urge is sated. It doesn't help that it's hot too. The heat makes touching someone seem utterly horrible.

I don't have too much to say other than that I am very excited to get a little bit of fiction writing done right now before I head out to meet a friend for dinner.

That's it. Like, Bye!

2007-07-05T19:40:00.000-07:00

WANNA BE WANNA BE

TIME:10:44 pm

RATIONS CONSUMED: banana cream pie crepes with an apricot/pecan/strawberry/butter/brown sugar compote, ham and provelone crepe, minibites of key lime pie, 3 pieces each of spicy tuna roll, eel avocado roll, shrimp tempura roll, steak, rice and spinach.

MORALE: hahaha pretty good considering i ate all that

FIELD NOTES: That's my feet, sand sitting, Long Beach. That's what my freelance lifestyle looks like. Yeah, I filed that morning. Then we got in the van and went to Long Beach. We ate a big bbq sandwich, then lox cream cheese, both on bagels. Then we pulled out our bikes, went down the boardwalk, discovered a lovely bar at the end of it, drank a beer and checked the stocks on the Treo.

This life!

But really, there's so much I want to be. Sometimes I drown in my yearning to be more, self flaggelate over all opportunities passed up, momentum squandered, sluggishness allowed.

I want to be in better shape. I have actually kept off the insiduous flab accumulated while with That Sham, returning me to my normal and awesome weight of about 111, about as much as when I graduated college. That part is great. However, I don't work out. I haven't been to yoga in over a week. I would like to eat more vegetables.

I want to keep a cleaner house. Where does all of this insanity come from? Little dust devils firing the powdery venom out of their horns? Does my head really hold that much hair? Because really, I swear, I could weave an Alaskan village quilts for a winter with the amount of hair that accumulates on my floor. It is insane. And the clothes. The enlivened clothes! Sucking my life force out with each wearing: Why do you insist on creeping onto my chair and my bed and my floor? Why do you refused to stay closeted and drawered, lint and wrinkle free, pretty and dustless?

I want to be a more prolific journalist. This is a double edged sword. I actually have been busy lately, to a point of exhaustion and crabbiness. I guess I just want to feel wanted. I know the editors I write for respect me and give me work. But I guess I just wish I was the go to girl for more than a tiny handful of people. I don't know if that's greedy, because I am fortunate to be able to be supporting myself. I just sometimes feel there is a very in circle of cool kids who are the it-writer blah blahs who all stroke each other's genitals and make each other rich and famous and well, I would like to have that too. Minus the genitals, unless of course, the person was very cute.

I want to be a more focused and disciplined fiction writer. I just need to sit down and focus more. I get too distracted by life, by playing with Yoga Lover, by writing freelance articles, by washing dishes, by blathering around doing who knows what.

I guess that is the most of what I want to bes. In a lot of ways I am becoming the person I want to be in a relationship, minus being deliriously and stupidly in love. Though maybe that person I want to be doesn't get that idiotly and dizzily in love, because she knows that it is not really real.

Really?

2007-07-01T08:50:00.000-07:00

JAMMIN' ON THE ONES

TIME: 11:50 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 slightly stale-ish everything bagel with smart balance, 1 cup black iced tea with lemon and sugar, many finger tastings of the apricot jam i just made
MORALE: pretty optimistic, bathed in cool breeze

FIELD NOTES: This morning Yoga Lover left the house to see some clients up in the Bronx. Hurray! Solitude! Not that I don't enjoy having him around, but I also do like the quiet that settles around my head like a cold blast of A/C in the middle of a humid day when I have the place to myself. It reminds me that everything is relative, to really appreciate the blessing that is this time, to not take it for granted which I might if I were alone and languishing around the apartment like a slug rereading Harry Potter, watching reality tv on Bravo, or else staring at the wall wondering what next to do.

With what feels like a whole universe of time, I began the day making apricot jam. Yesterday Yoga Lover, who maybe I may start to call Live-In Lover because really, he hasn't done yoga in ages, and I took a walk to the grocery store. On the way there was a Fruit Vendor Dude, one of many around the city who set up produce stands overflowing with bounty at sick prices. For 2 bucks we bought 2 lbs. of apricots, 3 bucks a gigantic plastic of strawberries, and 1 buck five big, plump tomatoes. We took our bounty home and made gazpacho (too much left over!), froze some strawberries (smoothie staple!) and tasted the apricots (only so-so!).

Thus enters culinary magic. So-so apricots still equal amazing preserves. Any fruit that simmers heartily with sugar cannot go wrong. So that's what I did. Sugar, water, lemon juice. I actually know a crazy recipe for strawberry jam which involves balsamic vinegar and cracked peppercorns, but it didn't seem like the right formula for something as tart as apricots. Since it was my first time working with them, I just took a straightforward route. Perhaps in the future I will add some red pepper flakes for a little bit of spice.

Now I have two jars of jam, and enough fresh apricots left to make two jars more. I plan to perhaps give the jam away as gifts, like for example to my brother whose birthday is this month and whom in general I am loathe to purchase things for because he is a selfish jerkbag. I also plan to use the jam to make some variant of cookies with dabs of jam in the middle. What utter fun!!!

I really like making food when I can. It seems so obvious and easy.

Now, to order more canning jars. Hurray! I am having such a nice day!

2007-06-20T10:52:00.000-07:00

URBAN CAMOUFLAGE

TIME: 2:51 PM
RATIONS CONSUMED: none yet. got dental work done this morning (too expensive!) and still numb. turkey BLT sandwich is staring at me waiting for cheek to allow motor control from brain
MORALE: weird, though the blood is pending.

FIELD NOTES: That's a night out, high in doorstep on seventh avenue, chilling with my friend Wilson and watching the cars go by. Been in a mini love affair with the city lately. Last night the richyrich owner of a jazz label showcased a band in his west village town house, catered by Daniel Boulud. We listened to music and then ate and drank and ate and ate and ate. The little ravioli that I swore were made out of ground up baby angels, but were really Agnolotti of sweet pea and morels with spring onion Soubise and Savory, were transcendant.

Yoga Man came with me and we continue to struggle to find ways to fill the cultural chasm that separates us. It should be easier. The other night, after a really great week and a half between us, we had another random emotional alien invasion in the middle of the night. That shit is the worst and a totally awful pattern. We want to do this, but there are still so many questions about what "this" is. Plus there are other things. He bought some clothes to fit into New York better. He looked great last night at the event. He had a good time. But after the fact he mentioned how it was not his element. Comments like that jar me, they make me feel like New York and my life here is going to scare him away. They also make me realize that I don't know if I want to be away from this world for too long at a time. It reminds me that I don't know how much I want to get whisked away to his worlds, in Colorado, in Thailand, in India. How do we blend into each other's worlds?

I am sort of sick of thinking about the relationship. I went to the dentist then to yoga and now am chilling at a cafe and writing. He's with a client right now, but it's good to get some time apart. He's not sure this day trading system he has been practicing this month is going to work for him as his "side career." The development of a side career is what is going to keep him in my life, not running around all over the world. I don't know.

I am fighting the sadness that is the biological burden of being female. The period is due momentarily and I bought these sort of eco-tampons to try. I saw a screening of the Leo DiCaprio environmental documentary. Not exceptional but the information is always fascinating and depressing. It made me feel as good as I can about my current lifestyle. I have green power in the apartment, I never use the dryer (hang dry all clothes), recycle, and have the compost bin, which I sort of hate but still maintain. I slipped a little the other day and bought some cute really cheap sale underwear the other day and a jacket from the mall after not purchasing clothes in something like 5 or six months. I am trying to not buy more clothes because I really do have plenty. I guess I was jonesing for a purchase because we have been shopping so much for Yoga Lover.

I am trying to live the best I can on this earth, but sometimes things like that documentary and being with Yoga Lover (who has questions and reservations about city life) makes me feel like I am not good or pure enough.

It sucks.

2007-06-20T09:06:00.000-07:00

PENNY IS A LESBO WANNA-BE SINGLE MOM

TIME: 12:07 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: Heavenly whole grain bagel from Long Beach jerky bagel store with smart balance buttery spread, one mango, strawberry, blueberry smoothie
MORALE: It is pretty good, though adjusting to in-your-face presence of Yoga Lover.

FIELD NOTES: That is a picture of Penny, the fish Yoga Lover brought me when he began his "I Love New York In June" adventure. For a long time I just thought Penny was fat, admonishing Yoga Lover for pumping her full of too many Betta Bite pellets. But, after biking the boardwalk at Long Beach the other day, I came home to find Penny swollen and dripping tiny white eggs. Further more, she had blown a bubble nest and was carefully placing eggs she picked up from her mouth into the nest.

Why is this bizarro? First, what stimulated Penny to get flush with eggs? Currently, she lives on the dining room table with Marla. Yes, the two girls flash at each other from bowl to bowl, occasionally flaring. But there is no male in sight save the little faux terra cotta soldier I have watching over them that I purchased from a bootleg street hawker in Xian, China. He is not a fish. Thus, I have concluded that maybe Penny is a lesbian, having been stimulated to egg-baring ripeness watching little white Marla flick her cute blue and pink tail, shaking what her momma gave her, blinking those big, black gorgeous eyes of hers.

Secondly. Only male fish make bubble nests. Only male fish scoop up the eggs and blow them into the nest. Does this mean that Penny is butch? Or is Penny perhaps transgendered, like the lead singer of this band The Cliks that I am currently writing about, identifying male? While this would be very hip and forward thinking of her, it would also be kind of lonely I think.

My biggest worry, the thing that got me emotional watching the eggs pour from her little ovipositor: maybe she is desperate to reproduce and without a partner she is trying to do it herself. The sad fact is that she really needs sperm to do this. It doesn't matter if she has achieved some degree of ambisextrous skills: make the eggs, make the bubble nest, tend to the eggs in the bubble nest. It's not enough. Some dude needs to come along and squirt his sperm, make a sturdy bubble nest (hers was weak), and tend to those little things as she recouperates from squeezing them out.

Penny can be a lesbo, but to be a single mom she needs the male DNA to make the babies.

I remain personally ambivalent about having children, even though of late I have been finding Asian babies - and ONLY Asian babies - ludicrously cute. I have always said that I would never have one alone, that I would want the emotional, physical, and financial support of having a partner. But I remain skeptical about the whole partner ideal. I really can't see one lasting for most of my life, for longer than a couple of years. Yoga Lover is nice and we have certain things in common, but on the one hand I still want a baller with big bucks and on the other I still want to have someone a little rough around the edges, some one with a bit of street smarts, tall dark and handsome, not waify and hippie like and flower powering.

I don't know. You just can't win. You can only settle.

I will say two other things though, just to update on the other fish. Jack's tail has mostly grown in and he is an amazing half moon who is gorgeous. When I am ready to breed the fish I will breed him with Penny, who has shown reproductive intiative. Also, the Bloody Baron remains utterly insane, biting his tail off. I am working on a non-fiction essay about the Baron's issues. Perhaps I will post it here when I am done.

That's it. Otherwise, I am grateful that Yoga Lover had lunch plans with a friend today. It is quite nice to have the apartment to one's self every now and then.

2007-06-04T11:42:00.000-07:00

HIDEY-HOLE

TIME: 2:45 pm

RATIONS CONSUMED: 2.5 mini heart shaped banana muffins, made by me, 1 eggncheese made perfectly by Yoga Lover, so that the egg and the cheese reach the exact edge of the muffin, the ultimate ratio

MORALE: Good yet nagging heart stuff.

FIELD NOTES: That is a picture of the Bloody Baron hovering inside the new hidey-hole I bought him, a plastic tube intended for hamsters. He has been going a bit insane since the tail-biting fiasco, continuing to take little nips out of his tail. One message board that I really like, just for Betta owners, suggested getting him a space that he can feel safe in. That is what you see in the picture. No sharp edges, nothing to further hurt his tail on. I have only seen him in there twice since I dropped it in about a half hour ago. He'll get used to it and feel reassured and stop biting himself, I hope.

I bought the hidey-hole at the PetCo at Union Square. I was waiting for the transgendered lead singer of a band to show up for an interview. For some reason the flack picked that as the meeting place. They were running late, so I got some shopping done. I am becoming a great fan of PetCo, because their Bettas never look totally F-ed up and it is in general clean, unlike Petland Discounts. Cleanliness. If only I could achieve it in totality in my apartment.

Assuming he takes to the new toy, the Baron totally has the right idea. Find someplace safe. Chill in that safe space. That is a place that resonates for me and Yoga Lover, who has been living here for about a week now. There have been serious bumps, though we have communicated excellently through them. It's astounding really. The feelings are flowing, the sex is great, the gooeyness ensues.

The question that hangs in the air now is what happens after the end of the month. It's interesting. Back in Nov. I posted about a possible future we saw for ourselves even back then. It has, for the most part, entirely come true. Back to Yoga Mountain in February. Time share travel. A summer together, one way or another. However, I/we have been tentative about looking past the end of this month, our make it or break it kind of era. There have been no utterances about beautiful things we'd like to do (though there have been vague suggestions of the purchase of real estate, surfing on a tropical island). But no plan.

Part of the conversation has been about falling in love and all of the fear that surrounds that. He says he feels things in him he hasn't ever felt, that scare him, that suggest to him he's headed for utter "devastation." I don't know how to or if I can even reassure him that he is safe, because who knows what will happen in love. But he squashes down those feelings because he doesn't want to be hurt. And if he squashes his feelings down...I do the same to mine...which I do believe could flourish (can it really be?) if allowed to.

So that is that. We are in our own emotional hidey holes. We watch 24 at night on DVD. We hold and touch each other all day long. I like living with him, especially now that he has gotten busy with clients and I have some time to myself in my apartment. It's good. So what's to be scared of? I guess that strange time when it gets bad.

But what if that doesn't happen this time?

2007-05-20T09:32:00.000-07:00

JACK THE FISH AND CRYSTAL MEDS

TIME: 12:38 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: waffles and green tea
MORALE: it's okay.

FIELD NOTES: I got a new fish. I didn't mean to, though Yoga Man and I are in the market because we are considering breeding them. Yesterday was a long and spacey day marked by the haze of post-brunch drunkenness. I had to pick up a prescription from mom, so I wandered over and then kept walking to the fish store. I thought I'd look around and get some aquarium zen (they really do have amazing fish). I thought I'd also ask them what was up with the self-cannibalizing Bloody Baron.

Surprise, surprise, they had no idea what the F was wrong with him. They had never heard of such a thing. I did, however, post about it late last night on some Yahoo betta forum and someone mentioned that red bettas tend to have an affinity for biting themselves. Bizarro. Toro, toro. Anyway, I of course looked at the Bettas and saw one little guy with massive tail rot. He looked like a cross between the gorgeous half moon that Yoga Man intended to get for me up in MA (bringing home Penny instead) and the crowntail I looked at for too long while stalling before my crap meeting with a Wack Magazine this week. He called to me, more so than the other two, and I walked up to the counter and struck a deal. Discount, I said, because he has such bad tail rot. I got a buck off and took Jack (I am watching too many 24 dvds) home for two dollars.

He's in a bowl right now with a bit of Jungle Fungus medicine (though fyi, fin rot is not a fungus; the meds just treat a bunch of things). He's small enough to mate with Penny or Marla should we choose to do that. I just hope his little nasty, ragged tail heals. Then he'll be gorgeous.

As for the psycho-Baron, who we can liken to angsty teenage girls who cut themselves, he pooped out a piece of his tail today. I know this, cuz I just changed his water. And lo, this morning there is a little bright-red flesh colored poop pellet in there. I put DJ-the-crystal (remember this crystal from Yoga Mountain lore?) next to his bowl to perhaps give him some inner peace and balance so he stops eating himself. The closest I can get to a fish whisperer. The funny thing is that the Baron keeps gravitating to the crystal, which is quartz and supposed to give off its own heart beat. That's why they stick it in clocks. Anyway, he keeps pulling up to the part of the glass where the crystal is and lying against it. This is not the Baron's usual spot on the bottom of the bowl. Strange, mystical fish. He is rarely this still, sitting on the bottom. So there he is, getting hippie power from DJ. I hope it helps him. It's so freaking strange.

I just remembered that DJ is named after David and Joan, the goldfish who died in Yoga Mountain. Wow. I loved them. RIP, David and Joan the goldfish.

2007-05-19T05:56:00.000-07:00

SELF CANNIBALIZING BARON

TIME: 9:00 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: none yet
MORALE: low re: subject and also suffering general quiet sadness

FIELD NOTES: Something is up with the Bloody Baron. This morning I fed him, then did some computer stuff, and then I looked over at him and A CHUNK OF HIS TAIL WAS MISSING. My fear is that he bit it off and ate it, as there is no finnage on the bottom of his tank. And this is no small chunk I'm talking about. It's like, a square inch of tail, everything tht has been growing back since he first started getting fin rot in March. It was long and flowing and beautiful. Now this!

I took all the plants, java moss and plastic, out of his bowl a week ago, when I noticed some strange tears on his lower fin. I thought the delicate, clear regrowth on his fin just got caught in the plant, which he loved to swim through so much. So he is in a naked bowl. I am positive he did this to himself. He looks a mess all over again. What is going on? What??

I posted about it in aquariacentral, a new online forum that is my new fish read. I have basically read everything there is to read on bettatalk and nippyfish, so I have moved on. I wonder if the Baron is going crazy, if he wants his plant back, if something else is up. Lately he has been much more aggressive towards me, leaping out of the bowl when I go in to feed him trying to attack me. He used to only try to attack when I hovered my finger over him for several seconds. Now, as soon as my hand approaches, he goes for it.

I don't know what it is. Last week I fed him some freeze dried bloodworms. Their poop, btw, is disgusting on the bottom of the bowl. Also, he has been living with Marla's bowl next to him. Could this have something to do with it? Could these factors have increased his aggression? I am also not sure I have been feeding him as much as I used to be, maybe a pellet or two less because I have been running around the past few days. Is he just hungry?

This is distressing me because he had just gotten healthy again. I wonder if this parallels in some way with my own weight. I have hit about 110, 8 lbs down from when I was with That Sham, with whom I had an unhealthy lifestyle eating pizza late at night because that was the only food in the neighborhood. Now I don't generally eat that much at all. Not out of anorexic like tendencies, but because I don't stuff my face for the hell of it. Plus I have been doing lots of yoga (including my first forearm stand this week!). I don't know. Perhaps I just felt like mentioning that on this blog. It might not be related at all.

But seriously. What is up with my freaking fish? Is he depressed? Angry? Bored? Self loathing? Acting out? Lonely?

I am going to put his plant back in there. After all, it can't possibly rip MORE of his tail off.

Ugh.

2007-05-13T12:13:00.000-07:00

OF MICE AND MEN

TIME: 3:13 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 engmuff with butter and peanut butter, 3 freshly baked oatmeal/date/raisin/coconut cookies (i am amazing; back to baking after long kitchen haitus)
MORALE: hmm.

FIELD NOTES: This morning I found a dead mouse in my living room. It was just lying there, not near food, not near the wall, not stuck to a trap. Just dead, like it had a heart attack or gotten run over by a car. Roadkill in the middle of my living room.

I haven't seen a mouse in this joint for some time. True, during the winter, I'd hear their greusome little nails scraping along my ceiling as they ran about in the walls. And yes, there were a few weeks where they had left droppings behind by the kitchen sink and I was perplexed and pissed. But no physical manifestations, not since the Nasty Mouse Summer of about seven years ago, in which about 10 or 11 mice kicked it in various traps in my apartment. That was back when we had roaches too, back when a woman named Juliet and her three sons lived below me. They were the nasty pest makers for real.

I can be a bit of a cliche sometimes, and so I saw the thing lying there and screamed. I ran downstairs where my cousin lives with a couple of friends and had one of said friends come upstairs and get rid of it. It is really nice to have boys around.

Yoga Lover left yesterday to begin the trek to visit his moms for mother's day. He was here about four days. It is a dangerous space I am in, one filled with longing and fear and joy and peace and contentment. But is this just samsara, the Buddhist idea of mistaking what will ultimately bring you suffering for what brings you happiness? Hmm.

Lots of drama has been popping off, including correspondence with That Sham, subsequent bad dreams, and a work-related bullshitathon that leaves me frustrated and untrusting of people I should not feel that way towards. I am too young for nostalgia, but I already long for the days gone with stand up editors and positive writing experiences and integrity and goodness and professionalism.

Ugh.

I think I want to lie down as I inhale the scent of baked cookies for mother's day.

2007-05-08T19:55:00.000-07:00

HE CAME BEARING FISH

TIME: 10:55 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: too much to recount. this part of the blog is perhaps overwhelming me
MORALE: good yet tinged with uncertainty

FIELD NOTES: Today, Yoga Lover arrived bearing a fish. It is a female betta which we both magically wanted to call Penelope, or Penny for short. He thought he was getting the fish that we saw together last week at Petco by Yoga Mountain, a majestic male that was brown and grey with a half moon tail and long pointy fins. I had never seen a betta that looked like that before. I guess I will never see him again.

It is a really cute and sweet and kind gesture to bring me a little baby. I definitely don't mind that it's the wrong fish. Now we have a little girl to take of. He is very attached to her in the way one is when they buy a betta. It's a little cute to witness his concern.

We walked all over queens today, through Elmhurst and Rego Park. We carried some meat-filled dinner around from the Colombian chicken joint. Then we came home as he acclimated and made love.

I don't know if this will necessarily work here. He is, pardon the pun, a fish out of water. I don't know if we will get into a good groove together, if this world makes sense to him, if it will be joyful or fufilling to have him in my space. I guess the point is we are about to find out. At the moment, even after this afternoon and evening with him, I am not sure. He feels good and the sex was nice but I don't know if we have connected here yet. I will give him a few days, because I know he's coming off of a crazy week.

I haven't had a chance to write about the crazy emotional and passionate night we had when I visited Yoga Mountain last week. Hm. Perhaps it factors in. We'll see. He's gotta get acclimated. Just like Penny, in her new little hex tank. Funny, but it's a small home, not ideal for her. Both Marla and the Bloody Baron are in respectively bigger jars. But for some reason it makes sense for this little itty bitty teeny tiny girl fish baby to be living in this small home with a lid. Yoga Lover bought a whole pet store set up for her. It's really too cute, with food and with water conditioner and gravel. Is there a metaphor in all of this?

He mentioned a friendly argument that he had with the petstore lady, who insisted the Bettas preferred teeny little tanks. He said it wasn't true, and was accused of anthropomorphizing it and its needs. Well, the bottom line is that the petstore lady was wrong. They do better in big space even though they can live comfortably enough in small space. My point is, if there is a metaphor in all of this, is Yoga Lover in a hex tank, trying to make it work? Am I??

I am just babbling. It's late. I think we'll be good, even though his moods tend to be muted and I am vibrant vibrant vibrant here...

We'll see...

2007-04-27T08:47:00.000-07:00

(BUBBLE) NESTING

TIME: 11:48 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 eggncheese on eng muff, lots of kukicha tea, a few grapefruit wedges
MORALE: "it's just rain i smile, wiping the tears away..." - cure. hahah no, it's actually just raining.

FIELD NOTES: That is a picture of me about to be a surf princess in Luquillo, PR. It has nothing to do with the rest of this post but I thought I could use some art on this page.

This week, the Bloody Baron made his first bubble nest. In Betta culture - much more evolved than humans despite being lower on the food chain - the males do all the work in preparing for and rearing the fry (baby fishicles). Before they wrap themselves around the female to help squeeze out her eggs, they blow a giant, mucousy bubble nest in which said eggs are placed. After she squeezes 'em out, the female is removed from the breeding process. If the eggs, via gravity etc, fall from the bubble nest, the male swims down, sucks the egg up in his mouth, and blows it back into the nest. He waits for the kiddies to hatch, continues to protect them in the nest until they finish consuming their yolk sac and are big enough to swim away and find food on their own.

The Bloody Baron is a pretty old fish. From what I can judge from his size, he's probably like a year old. That's nearing middle age. In the months that I've had him, he's never blown a nest. Is it cuz the weather is warmer? Is it cuz it's pouring rain (they're supposed to blow em before a rain storm)? I don't know. But it's funny, because it seems like everyone is nesting.

For example, Yoga Lover is going to come and live with me. Just for some of May and June. That's all we've discussed so far. But that's the trail run for...what? Funny, but when I was with That Sham, even though I loved him desperately, I had no desire to live with him. I wouldn't want his studio in my home because the music is deafening. And he'd have to live by his studio, or else come home at all hours, disturbing my sleep. I assumed we'd still be broke, per the financial situation, so he'd have to take the train or take my car when he was tired. Also not ideal. Plus, the fun of living with someone is that they are THERE, and I imagined he would always be hunched over his console somewhere eating a disgusting Domino's pizza rather than having fun with me. Totally absentee. So why move in, if he wasn't going to be around anyway?

But Yoga Lover is moving in. And one of my best friends Kate is having her man move in with her come June. This from a militant feminist who never wanted to get married, let alone live with a dude. The other day Bob said: Wow, you're all nesting. Are we? What does that mean?

I don't know. Or maybe I do know. Some nagging suspicions that I guess I don't feel like getting into here.

I guess it would be poignant to add that sometimes female Bettas die after spawning. It can be a very violent process, the reason why the fish are better known as Siamese Fighting Fish. Hm.

2007-04-26T17:48:00.000-07:00

THE FLASH

TIME: 8:49 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 banana/strawberry yogurt smoothie per blender, 1 toasted eng muffin with cheese, 1/2 turkey bLt, 1 egg custard tart, later on - a grapefruit (yum!)
MORALE: pretty good

FIELD NOTES: Today, on the V train from Soho to Queens, some dude flashed me. It's funny, because he gets on the train after me, a big hulking white-ish dude with big baggy jeans, a tee shirt and baggy jacket or sweatshirt, a baseball cap. Could have been anyone a club or a concert or bar. He sits across from me and I see him grabbing his crotch through his jeans and I roll my eyes to myself thinking: it is so boring the way guys adjust themselves all the time.

Except then, homie went for the major adjustment. We pull into a stop and I glance up. THERE IT IS. Only semi-erect, purplish (rather than pink), flopping out. I tried to play it cool. We were the only people in our section of the train. I scanned the platform for a cop, and did so again at the next stop. I have no idea if it was still hanging out, if he was slapping his shlong, or what. I didn't want to encourage him by staring, or even looking. That would probably arouse him more. I had this lovely vision of seriously busting him, summoning a cop to the train car and then saying loud enough for everyone to hear: "Attention everyone! This pervert is exposing his genitals!" And then seeing him get carted away. (I did that one morning, to the Car Perv of my neighborhood. He would sit around in this tiny turqoise Barbie looking car jerking off. He once pulled up to me just to do it as I walked home. One morning I saw him and saw a cop car coming my way. Of course he was manhandling himself. I walked up to the cop car and told them to talk to the guy. Then I went to work.)

But there were no cops. And I didn't want to stay there too long. A friend of mine once had a man masturbate at her on the train. The guy then threw a handful of semen at her. So after three stops, I moved cars. There was no triumph, no justice served, no good out of this situation.

AND OH DAMN. I just realized. I should have taken a freaking camera phone picture of him and showed it to the police. Some chick did that on the train last year and busted a flasher perv who turned out to be the owner of some vegan or macrobiotic restaurant. DAMN! DAMN DAMN!

SO: let SheSoldier's failed skirmish today be a lesson to you. If you see a perv, don't wait for the cops since they are never around. Take a camera phone picture of him and BUST HIS FUCKING ASS!!!!!!

Oh well. At least I have a plan for next time.

2007-04-22T19:52:00.000-07:00

REVELATION

It doesn't make me happy to do dumbass articles, just so I have money. These articles take up my time and make me stressed. I feel great joy when I do my personal writing but I never do it. Do I have the strength to not take any more assignments so I can focus on where my heart and creativity lies? I like money. I like being able to get a drink or a meal with friends if I want to. I don't want to be one of those people who begin a sentence: I can't afford...

Ugh. I am going to work on the book right now.

2007-04-20T18:20:00.000-07:00

HOME AGAIN, HOME AGAIN, JIGGEDY JIGGA
(PHOTOS TO COME)

TIME: 9:21 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: one bowl organic fake Crispix things, 1 taco supreme and chicken soft taco supreme from TB, 1 small portion skirt steak, rice n beans, maduro from Tropic Pollo (not to be confused with Pollo Tropical, the it-fast food joint of Puerto Rico)
MORALE: A lil low due to stress and minor cold

FIELD NOTES: I survived the trip to China as well as my epic flight home, the latter of which included a coup with United. They needed volunteers to bump off the flight from San Fran to NYC and I did so in exchange for a free ticket. There ended up being room on my plane anyway, so I got my original flight AND a got the free voucher. That somewhat softens the blow of the business class upgrade I paid for so mommy, daddy and I could ride comfortably from the ancestral continent. My gift to them as dutiful daughter.

After sleeping for 11 hours, I awoke to a New York life unchanged. The apartment is still messy, the interviews for the story assignments I have are still flaking, there is never really anything resembling cooked food here so I have to order in or go out. Somehow all of this brings me down, the fact that I can't even keep up with my own life, clean things out, get organized, meet deadlines with ease. This one idiotic sneaker story is just about killing me, wrapping its thorny laces around my neck. I feel idiotic even admitting that I am writing a "sneaker story," as I could not care less about "cool kicks."

At least I am reuninted with my lovely Bloody Baron, who thrived in his visit with my cousin downstairs. I missed the fish a lot while I was in China. I had trouble responding to the various goldfish I saw swimming in various Chinese ponds. I looked in the tiny view frame of my digital camera at the one shot of the BB that I have actually posted on my blog. I also looked at my niece Sophie, and even at Yoga Lover. I missed them all in that order.

I have to go to a birthday party tonight which I am not really in the mood for as I have a slight cold. Why have I been sick SO often this winter? Deepak Chopra would suggest, per a book Yoga Lover read, that it has to do with my inner self being reflected on my physical self. WTF??? I thought I was getting happier! Or, maybe it is all of this unproductive shame weighing in. Am feeling a bit of self loathing for bouncing around the globe and not getting any of my personal writing done. I mean duh, the sooner my shit is finished the sooner I can get to the next place in my life, professionally, financially, etc etc etc. So what the F am I waiting for????

With that said, I am going to continue transferring the research from my infertility book to my research notebook now. I got some great ideas/character revelations while reading it so I am glad. Then perhaps I will put away the laundry. And then I will go to party. Sigh.

2007-04-14T13:19:00.000-07:00

WO XI HUAN XIAN! (I LIKE XIAN!)

TIME: 4:20 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: in the last few hours, 2 tiny satay like sticks from Muslim Street (1 beef, 1 lamb), pringles, a granola bar, 1 biaxin
MORALE: high, minus body's recovery efforts from grippe

FIELD NOTES: Well thank god for Xian, the first city in China that has not depressed or overwhelmed me. The air here is clear enough to see around us, the people here are bizarrely well dressed, there are many hip youths, and my walk around "Muslim Street" (yes, that's the name) last night, with all of its vendors and food stands and people and good humor, was invigorating. It helped that I was off the beaten path of the tour group, braving the night with my two buddies Bill and Mike, seen respectively at skewer stand below. We are the ones who ended up hugging the bar on the cruise ship while all of the Olds who are touring with us were in bed or counting out their pills for the next day.

The cruise was interesting and depressing. First off, I was asleep for much of the actual boat cruising, as after a day visiting the Lesser Three Gorges I came down with horrible illness that left me fevery, thin, unconscious for 36 hours. I missed the walk in the jade cave and some sort of show by the cruise staff and all of the lovely scenery that we passed.

But let's discuss the the Lesser Three Gorges. They are beautiful waterways with towering hills in the Wushan county in the southwest of China, sort of near Chongqing, on the Yangtze river. Once the highly controversial Three Gorges Dam is complete, the beautful lesser gorges will be flooded, going as deep as 175 meters. They currently stand at roughly 30 meters. And all of the farm people will get, in theory, relocated to the cities that are being built for them, but perhaps they will actually get washed away. So that their intentions are not misunderstood, the Chinese government has placed these signs all along the waterway, this one on one of the very houses that it will flood:

Um yeah. Depressing. It's hard to tell from this pic, but the terraced land between the water and the house is where the vegetables all grow, that which feeds the inhabitant. So now, these people are going to be relocated to a big city where there is no where to farm. What are they going to do there? What jobs are they going to get?

There is a creepy party line that the tour guides are feeding us. Verbatim, two local guides bragged about how before they had houses that were 30 sq. meters, but were relocated to houses that were 100 sq. meters. Very suspicious, very on script, very drubbed into our heads to reassure the Westerners.

That's all I have to say about China for now, as I am a little depressed thinking about it all and anyway, I have to go back to sleep. On a lighter note, here is a 6 month old baby panda from the Chongqing Zoo.

2007-04-08T05:20:00.000-07:00

CHINA TOWN

TIME: 20:28 (according to Shanghai clock)
RATIONS CONSUMED: 2 grapefruits, 2 airplane meals not worth describing, 1/2 bowl tempura udon, many pistachios, some desserty things
MORALE: decent, but nagging feelings may be exhaustion or else fear

FIELD NOTES: I'M IN SHANGHAI. I know, I've barely reported on my time in Puerto Rico and already I am on a whole other continent. It's unsettling for me too, trust me. (no pics yet as camera is currently charging)

I was concerned that it would be tense because of recent mother estrangement, but all goes well so far. I was able to be asleep for most of the 19 or so hours I was in the air. Otherwise we are all getting along well. My parents take turns doing and saying old-people type things at the top of their lungs and I interject with a quietly hissed "MOM" or "DAD" depending on the perpetrator. My mother has already purchased a pair of Coach sunglasses.

Since I have been in this city before and the tour group seems to be full of white devils (hen lao) I am not so super amazed to be here. That's actually a good thing. I can, for example, catch up with myself, which is what I did on the plane by writing in my journal and working on some fiction. Hurrah!

We are at the St. Regis, a freaking BEAUTIFUL hotel. There are few things I love more than the elegance of a nice hotel room, with beautiful sheets and puffy white comforters, deep soaking tubs and separate standing showers.

Re: my morale. I am tired as have been trekking all day. Also uninspired by email I received from Yoga Lover, who is supposedly going to try living with me in New York for a bit come May/June. He's back at Yoga Mountain, and I can sense the distance. I think it's more that he's in business mode while he's there, but still. I sent him a very affectionate email before I left and I get this sort of newsy one in return. Obviously I longed for effusium.

Coupling Pema Chodron with Byron Katie, I am just going to see this for what it is: fear that nothing works out. Then I am going to sit with that fear and acknowledge my primal worry that no one can really love me for any extended time, as "proven" to me by That Sham. Then I am going to contemplate how the nature of life is change and unpredictability. And supposedly I will be left feeling grateful and accepting of Yoga Man's affection, not project my fears onto his behavior as he is in his own context right now, and surge forward with a heart open to both love and also life's many surprises.

That is the plan at least.

In other completely alien news, I am considering doing freaking yoga to a podcast in my room. I am scared I am turning into a Yoga Person, which might be cheesy. Which I guess is a very un-Buddhist, full of judgement thought.

But...I gave up a fabulous life with The Mogul and switched it up for uncertainty and definitely un-fabulousness with the hippie Yoga Jew. This is a serious move. And I think it indicates Something About Where I Am At.

I don't really want to look into that Something right now...

2007-04-04T20:10:00.000-07:00

BEACHY KEEN

TIME: 11:15 pm

RATIONS CONSUMED: baconeggchese on toast, roast chicken leftovers with yellow rice, redbeans, fries, a rib and some rice

MORALE: saddened by dinner with parents, but otherwise okay.

FIELD NOTES: That's me, sand yoga princess on Playa Santiago on the eastern coast of Puerto Rico. I have spared you the entire sequence, but that's what the kids call a "flipped over dog:" down dog into a full wheel into collapsed girl.

It was an amazing trip with highlights that included surfy, beachy, eaty, sexy, swimmy, drivey, reggaetony fun. I was on the beach nearly every day, save the two I stomped around in El Yunque, the rain forest. I have video of me surfing in Luquillo which I must figure out how to upload. There is so much to say.

But. I have been home for two days. I have been knocking out all sorts of work and obligation. I visited my parents tonight and my mother, long time depressed and bitter and often cruel, was continuing the attitude she turned on me after my idiot fool cousin let spill I was going to PR with a man. I am so tired of my whole life trying to please her, and her attempts to hurt me with her exaggerated indifference. My interaction with her, and the pending China trip full of small talk and her own Great Wall, has left me feeling truly exhausted, sapped of the energy to anecdote about my trip.

So I guess I will leave you with this picture of this fiddler crab - as I feel crabby - I took on the beach at Punta Tuna, just off route 901 in the SE corner of PR. Funny, after taking this shot, we saw a TV reference to said crab which, en mass with its buddies, is capable of devouring a seagull.

2007-03-23T20:37:00.001-07:00

BOUGIE RESTAURANTS ARE BEET (SORBET)

TIME: 1:04 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 eggncheese on engmuff
MORALE: Decent, as I leave for PR tomorrow and will get down with Yoga Man in bed!

FIELD NOTES: This week, a friend took me to dinner at Bouley. The tribeca tour de food has a foyer filled with apples. We got the tasting menu, which opened with a beet sorbet, which oddly they served as an accompaniment to the red velvet cake at Craftsteak (do I smell a Dining Out trend story?). A yummy lobster thing, some lamb, a tuna thing, a chocolate thing, a pineapple thing, a fishy thing, a beef thing. It ended with a curry sorbet that I didn't want to try, not wanting to conclude on savory. Wilson also ordered a bottle of champagne. The tab, with tip, came to about $450. Wil threw down the plastic and we topped it off with more champagne at the Bubble Lounge up the street ($50, my treat).

Something began and ended with me the night at Bouley. Was it in part because per usual, I was attracted to Wil, with whom I have a now decade long fliration with? Funny, I had on a grey dress and my pink Louis Vuitton scarf and he wore a custom grey suit and a pink shirt! But no, that was not it. Instead, I am not sure I can do these bougie meals too often, even on someone else's tab. I don't know if it's because the flavors all begin to run together, the service, the crusty breads. Or if it just, at some point, is ridiculous to spend that much money on food.

Perhaps I need to get rich. Money is much on the mind lately because it is tax time, and in general, because I am not making tons of it. Why don't I work on my fiction more? Why do I sit around reading other people's websites about fish? It's wholly pathetic, and I am the only one stopping myself from my fortune. I am both self flaggelating and completely lazy.

Maybe, rather than the morale I listed, I feel quite crab about myself. Ugh. I guess I will stick a frozen pizza in the oven and get to it then...Ugh.

2007-03-18T05:18:00.000-07:00

IT'S LIKE BETTER

TIME: 8-20 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: none yet, and it's not looking promising
MORALE: on the up as white blood cells finally overcome daunting foe

FIELD NOTES: The grippe has finally unleashed its grip on me after six long-ass days in a fevery, cough-shaken stupor. Yesterday was the first day I had a proper meal; I got menus from the boys downstairs and ordered Chinese. Friday had been the ultimate low and most triumphant comeback, when I actually prepared for myself a can of corn out of the cupboard. How depressing is that? I was so freaking hungry but supplies were so low and the iciest, ugliest snowstorm had hit New York. However, the corn can did reveal a little inspiration. Near it was a more delicious can of low-fat corned beef hash which I cooked up with toast. Thank freaking God.

At some point this morning, after some toast with Smart Balance, I will drag myself to the supermarket to restock on supplies. It was my mom and sister's birthdays on Thursday and Friday respectively. I feel I ought to make some sort of cake like thing for them for dinner tonight. Ugh. It's a bit of a chore, and I don't feel like doing it. I haven't left my house in a week. I really don't feel like cooking and cleaning up. I also have no idea what to prepare.

I am scared of paying my taxes. Since last year was mostly freelance, I am going to get slammed. Scary. Reminder: this is one reason why I really ought to buy a freaking house somewhere. Reminder: that's why I've got to make more money.

Money is in a vague way becoming more of a thing again. Yoga Lover talks about it a lot, being really just a Jewish boy from Long Island. He is always entrepreneuring about something, talking about wanting to buy property, etc. However, I am unsure exactly how much he really has. He is certainly not used to a New York-style life with fabulous dinners etc. While it is not exactly repeating the world of That Sham, it's not living the life with the Mogul, who is in his own cautious way has reared his head again in my life. I love the Mogul, talking to him, the lifestyle I have with him. Why am I just not attracted to him? I think of my friend's sister who married some doting older Jewish dude. The sister gets to ski the Alps, and travel the world and have everything in life she wants. However, she says that when the dude touches her she "cringes." Every time. My situation is definitely not that bad, but it is not the ebullient lovemaking of my life with Yoga Lover.

Jesus. I just need to keep freaking working on the stupid book and just get a paycheck or fucking something. Suddenly I am now depressed.

2007-03-14T11:41:00.000-07:00

SICK

TIME: 2:52 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 eggncheese on grainy toast, 1 bowl of wonton soup (thanks parentals), some tea
MORALE: Lowish, only because lazy with body rot.

FIELD NOTES: I blame the Kundalini rising. I went to a yoga class on Sunday and breathed and huffed and puffed and moved my arms this way and that way, squatting then kneeling then cross legged. I got so much prana moving that I felt my crown chakra really busting open, I could see with my eyes closed, it was like some next level experience that confirms that maybe yoga is real.

Then, after midday drinks with my political ex John, I came home and then basically collaposed. High fever, chills, coughing, aches and pains. This hell stupor lasted for two fulls days of delirium, malnutrition, and utter discomfort. That is why I posted this pic of me from Yoga Mountain taken with no flash, holding a skeleton hand, I feel the blurriness captures the fading-away-ness of me in post-yoga cleansing sickness purge.

So no more cigarettes for me, that's for sure. That would be welcome news to the Mogul who hates smoking...but oh, wait, that's right. The Mogul doesn't really talk to me much any more. I think after taking me out for my birthday and me returning to Yoga Mountain he just put his defenses up. He's no dummy I guess. And I'd feel like a bit of a jerk reaching out to him too much now, even though I called him last week to see how his sister was (she's sick) and tried to be attentive on that end. After all, I am going to PR with Yoga Lover in about a week (YAY) so what am I supposed to say to the Mogul about that?

Who cares? Boys are ignorami. Had a minor scare with Baron. He was over Maracyned i think, he got all pale and his fins became see-through and he was lying on the bottom of his bowl not eating a thing. I switched him into a fresh tank of water and he rebounded in a day. He's particularly frisky and flarey and it's very cute. Perhaps he was having sympathy illness to parallel with me?

The parentals were very nice and brought me some food today, though why amid the food they included a slice of Napoleon and some fruit tart thing is beyond me. Utterly delicious yes, but good for ailing daughter? Absolutely not. Egad.

I am totally procrastinating because I should be writing a story but really I am writing here in my bed with laptop and instant messaging with friends. I suck.

2007-03-10T17:21:00.000-08:00

FAITH NO MORE?

TIME: 8:24 pm
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 egg n cheese on whole wheat, 1 bowl chinese brocco with duck, 1 chocobun from Craftsteak, 2 mochi things with red bean, a sliver of sapin sapin
MORALE: Lowish, I hate to say.

FIELD NOTES: That's me walking into the snowy abyss on Yoga Mountain. What's interesting is that I am actually on a frozen lake, daring the ice to crack under my feet. It was snowing so hard that day that it's near impossible to see the horizon. It's the first time in my life I've ever been on a frozen lake. There were footprints everywhere, that's how I knew I was safe.

On Wednesday I returned home. New York is as vibrant and fabulous as ever. I feel very connected to my friends. Last night Kate took me to Craftsteak for my birthday. An exhorbitant meal, the next level porterhouse, oysters to start, petitfours to close. Lugers/Ben & Jacks have been upped to the next level shit. The meat was tender and lightly seasoned. We delighted in the subtlety of their airy Bernaise sauce.

I am in strange mood today, thanks new relationship! Essentially I am having trouble feeling him here, since he is still there on Yoga Mountain. I don't want to feel doubt or skepticism, I want to feel all of the goodness and hope. I don't want to feel self doubt or pending doom, thanks That Sham! I don't want to feel self loathing for occasionally succumbing to my emotions as after all, I am a human and not a psychotic or sociopath.

We leave for Puerto Rico in two weeks. This should be cause for celebration. On one level it is, on the heinous secret level it isn't. I am fraught with anxiety that everything is always one millimeter away from being over. I guess this is what they call Baggage. I would like it to get left in a foreign country when I am changing planes. It is horrific when having Baggage makes the idea of going on a trip bad. I want to feel good.

I changed the water in The Baron's bowl yesterday and added some different medicine, Maracyn, because I couldn't find the Jungle brand I was using before. I believe that this stuff, which I had since the days of Freedom/Destiny/Hope (see shesoldier.blogspot.com, "Fin Rot" 4/30/06), cured the weird whitishness around The Baron's mouth. Possibly a fungus. It also looks like most of his torn fins are growing back. I blame still the Java Moss for all that went wrong.

I haven't taken much time to talk about Marla, the precious white and turquoise trimmed female I purchased at PetCo. She's fabulous, with big black eyes and awesome attitude. I got her the day before my birthday with Adriana who loves her with a passion that only I can understand. I left Marla with Adriana, who will be at Yoga Mountain for another couple of months. The plan is to get her back once Adriana is done volunteering.

I don't miss Marla. It isn't time for her to be in New York. It's nice here with the Baron, who sits on my desk, who I look at when I write. Just me and my fish and my Baggage. Oh yeah, and a package of mochi things. That's my life now. Welcome home.

2007-03-02T18:45:00.000-08:00

ROT AND ROLL

TIME: 9:42 PM
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 bowl apricot crisp with whole milk, 1 hard and 1 soft taco with ground turkey and trimmings, 1 bowl salad, 1/2 cookie thing, 1 bowl brown rice with chicken and creamy mushroom sauce
MORALE: Hectic, slightly off, but definitely not bad

FIELD NOTES: Writing from the production office, where I am the last one on shift, done at 10 pm. Was a hectic day as I am "evening liason."

There is a lot to discuss but I must focus, especially since i must maneuver this ergonomic keyboard that i don't understand. The Bloody Baron has fin rot, he's had it for weeks. I think it's because his flowing tail gets caught in the stupid Java Moss. Had mini heart attack the other day; i had to move fish out of dorm room into Yoga Lover's room because there were doing a bed bug check. I was also in the process of doing a water change for the Baron, so i put him in a small tupperware to completely clean out his bowl. I put the moss there, and eventually, after morning love making with Yoga Lover, found the Baron's tail impaled. I literally reached into the water and pried it loose, along with little red bits of him. So traumatizing, and frustrating that it was part of the tail that had just grown back.

He remains spritely but he is still rotting in some parts. Ugh. Stressing me out. Hard core.

Other quick bullets before I lock up this office:

1. Have had juicy sexual acts in Gondola at Killington and while hiking in the snow the other day. Can't believe I forgot to mention that.
2. Things are cool with Yoga Lover after i took a day to deal with my shit feelings in isolation. We had a great date on Wednesday. I imagine being open to love. He compares me to Sidhartha's lover lady who makes him a great lover and they have joy for years and then he never loves again...

SHIFT OVER...BYEEEEE

2007-02-28T05:08:00.000-08:00

BEGINNING IS END

TIME: 8:09 am
RATIONS CONSUMED: 1 bowl apple pear compote with granola and rice milk, 1 piece egg fritatta with asparagus and cheese, 1 slice toast, 1 kukicha tea
MORALE: Pain Body overtaking Pleasure Body, per Eckhart Tolle

FIELD NOTES: This is a two part post. The first half will be an homage to the major pow I have shred. The second half is a moaning lament of how I am psyching myself out of what could be the best thing in my life. Proceed.

On Monday I went skiing with workmate Pierre, a mohawked New Orleansean bent on mastering terrain parks. We went to Cattamount, a local peak, a thumbnail of the mastery of Killington last week. However a fresh 3 inches and the fact you could leave your stuff lying all over the lodge made up for the short runs and closed bar. This day was big for me because I tried the terrain park for the first time, fell on my face TWICE trying to do the flat metal rail (mad slippery) and began taking jumps. On the blacks we bounced around in some mini and mega moguls. I suck less at them but at least they no longer terrify me. Lastly, there was Catapult, the double black diamond that I was convinced we could do, that we tried, that I got frozen on in the middle but eventually made it down. Yes, I rocked a double black diamond.

So that is my skiing news. As a post script to my Killington entry, the most gorgeous and triumphant run was by far Wildfire, another black on Bear Mountain which I could not get enough of. It was beautiful to watch Yoga Man carve his turns. It was grace.

Which leads to a conversation about grace, my current lack of it. In short, upon my return from Killington, I felt clear and emotionally open. I allowed myself to be so, in late night ramblings, in hopeful imaginings of one possible future. My logic is that both Yoga Man and I are burned, jaded and wrangling with our own insecurities so one of us has to be open, stoke the fire as we toasted to again and again by our fireplace, lest we both circumvent the worst by letting it all go. So I was open, in some ways. And the result of that is the most violent counter attack by my heart that I have ever known.

Just a day or so after the Great Clear Heart Opening, I was suffused with insecurity and heartache and cynicism and anxiety. Of course I spent one night up late crying, saying a bunch of things that were the opposite of opening to him. What works with Yoga Man is that basically he saw through all of my blathering and was his usual calm, kind and compassionate self. So it ended up fine, but since THEN I have been closed. I didn't even go to his room last night and didn't tell him that I wasn't coming. Perhaps this was a response to a great Secret moment of opening that I had, in which I watched him leading a centering in his program room with his staff, and he looked so peaceful and beautiful so I made him a card. I never left it for him, talking myself out of being open again like that. I can't help but feel I am not spiritual enough for him. That he will ultimately go as even That Man let go. But then in the middle of one of my breakdowns, Yoga Man said in his quiet way, "It's the same for me, you love them and they always leave..." I am not the only one who feels this fear.

So what am I to do now, with my days here dwindling. It is a waste of time to not be curled up in bed with him practicing tantra etc. I have got to get over this. I have got to restore myself. I have got to not submit to entities/pain bodies/negative thinking per various presenters here.

Okay.

In last news, me and 4 of my dormmates played the Go Goddess game the other day, some leftover touchy feely swag from my days at vibe. We actually had a beautiful time, revealing many things spurred by cliched questions, loving each other. We danced it out to ipod speakers per Linsey, who at the beginning of the game said in utter pain "I have problems dancing and that's why I have sexual problems." She used to have an eating disorder. She overcame her fear and unleashed her dance goddess and all in all it was a beautiful night.