15 Things

Because, well, I'm a sucker for the list format, because this sort of exercise seems like the ideal way to start a Friday morning, and because Marmoset, who is a dear friend of mine and often filled with good ideas, made me do it:

15 things you probably wish you didn't know about me

1. When I was young, I got several awards for being a nice kid, which makes my friends laugh now. My parents still have the trophies to prove it.


2. Sometimes I still dream about moving back to London, particularly when it's gray and dreary outside. But, I think that I would miss New York far too much.


3. I think that I look much, much better in my glasses. Yet, at formal occasions, I always wear my contacts.


4. My parents tricked me into going into the "friendly" haunted house at Disney World when I was 5. I hated every minute of it--especially since I didn't want to go in to it in the first place. I haven't gone into a haunted house since.


5. I love public speaking, in general, and giving wedding toasts in particular.


6. To this day, my school district requires that a sign reading "check for sleeping children" be placed in the back of each bus. I am largely responsible for this. Go on, ask me the story.


7. I eat based on texture. Anything too chewy or gelatinous is out. So, no puddings, jello, etc.


8. When it comes to relationships, I'm terrified of commitment. Ironically, every time I meet a man who I think might be worth committing to, he seems to have larger commitment issues than I do.


9. I like to pretend that I'm a big film geek. The truth is that there are shocking gaps in my cinematic knowledge. The same holds true when it comes to literature. In fact, I didn't read The Wasteland until I was in graduate school. I'm still not convinced that I missed out on anything.


10. In college, one of my friends told me that he referred to the way I spoke as "Jane Austen speak." Then, a few years ago, I started blogging for work. One of my colleagues said, "I was going to tell you to make the pieces more conversational, until I realized that was the way you spoke." I should be insulted. Instead, I like to think that I speak like someone who was properly educated. I do, however, worry that this makes me sound arrogant.


11. I didn't eat red meat for more than 12 years. When I started eating it again, I didn't eat anything else for a week straight. Clearly, I'm not good at moderation.


12. I'm afraid of falling from heights.


13. According to my sister, I get a certain look in my eyes when I'm about to say something exceptionally obnoxious or sarcastic.


14. I secretly want to be someone's one who got away. I secretly also want to be a socialite, so I'm not sure how seriously you should take this point.


15. I've been known to take 3 showers in one day when it's really, really hot out. In the winter, I'm all about taking baths.
    

Restlessness

It occurred to me yesterday that I haven't been able to get out of bed, without getting back in, that is, since at least the start of the year. This would be fine, except that I'm also not sleeping. And, cannot remember the last time that I didn't wake up at 4 am, after a few hours of restless sleep.

I spent the day fighting back tears. Especially worrying since I'm not much of a crier, really. I'm still feeling a little raw. And, by a little, I mean completely.

So, perhaps it's time to take the first step towards doing something: I'm not doing well, not sleeping well and am generally terrified of what's in store and of time frames.

That's it for the day. No musings about what it all means. Just an attempt to fill the void. And, a request: give me a wide berth. Clearly, I'm not myself these days.

Diminishing Returns

My sister and I, when we talk, talk in the language of loss, of things that haven't happened, choices that should have been made.

We don't mean to, really. It just kind of happens.

I suppose it's who we are.

Admittedly, we were raised better than this. Raised to know our intrinsic worth. Somehow that's fallen by the wayside these days. Then again, these days have been tough to say the least.

Tonight, she's talking careers. The gist is this: there was a contract, not signed for good reasons. Or, at least for good reasons when it was in the offing. You work with all of the information that you have at the time. What else can you do?

A year or so later, she's second guessing herself: What has she lost in the meantime? Was it worth it? Is it better to do without? To hope for the ideal situation, the one that may never come? Or, when it does, turn out to be a disappointment like all the rest?

Maybe the best thing is to take what you can get and work within those parameters. To compromise.

I see myself doing that very thing.

I'm making minor adjustments, but they still add up.

Perhaps it's an issue of too much change all at once. For now, I'm content to see how it all plays out.

Passive, yes. But, an option all the same.

On writing

Too good not to share:

"The writer finds himself in this more and more comical condition—of having nothing to write, of having no means of writing it, and of being forced by extreme necessity to keep writing it."


—Maurice Blanchot

words, words, words

Here's how it works:

You add up the words, string together some phrases. All in an attempt to create some coherence, a form of narrative, a why this has happened. The beginning and ending are firmly in place. But, it's the getting from one point to another that matters. We exist in our stories.

After particularly harrowing experiences, my mother used to tell me, "but, think of how you'll tell it."

Good advice, indeed.

I spoke to an editor with whom I work yesterday. She's editing a project that started out online but is now becoming a printed book. Apparently, one of the people featured within its pages decided to opt out of the latter version. The idea of appearing in print was too frightening for him, felt too permanent.

It was refreshing to realize that these things do matter, that there is still some power in the written word.

I say I do it for myself, but, really, this is why I write.

When I do so, that is.

I'm still working on the writing itself. It's something that comes with time and practice. A little like learning to drive, I suppose.

And, I remember those days all too well, perhaps because they went on far longer than was necessary (or not nearly long enough, depending on who you ask). Just me and my father in the empty parking lots of Long Island, all of them covered with a thin dust of snow. His mounting frustration as I drove through the spots, taking short cuts. The constant refrain being, "do you know how many parked cars you would've just hit?"

Yes, but there were none there.

It's hard to argue against emptiness.

So, I'd wait, still in the driver's seat, staring into the warning on the side view mirror —objects are closer than they appear —until he told me to switch seats so that he could drive back home, the car's tires making strange patterns in the powder, tracing our path back.

Fair Usage

I'm on a Bob Creeley kick.

Here's why:

The Sentence

There is that in love

which, by the syntax of,

men find women and join

their bodies to their minds

—which wants so to acquire

a continuity, a place,

a demonstration that it must

be one's own sentence.

Ten degrees fahrenheit

It's bitter. Too cold to snow, even,
and I am drinking
far more than is advisable,
yes,

but, far less than is
necessary.

It's not as bad as all that.