I've been meaning to blog but this whole week kind of got away from me. I'm posting this from my phone because I'm in bed, "taking a nap" in an attempt to win the battle against The Bronchitis That Will Not Leave Me Be. I bought some homeopathic meds and I'm trying them out. No amazing results yet. I didn't exactly think the hippie voodoo (in which I clearly at least partially believe in) was going to make the burgeoning chest madness slap on its hat and run for the hills but here's hoping. If I'm not better by Tuesday, especially in the stamina department, then I'll make an appointment for antibiotics. And maybe a dustbuster so I can innerspace myself, go into my lungs, and vacuum away the wheezies. Shut it. It could happen.
In work-related news, Vox assigned me a feature. I'm going to cover an upcoming film festival that covers a genre of movies I've never seen. It's like a fun social experiment where I say yes to things and hope they don't blow up in my face.
That's all I can think of for now though I know there's more. If I don't get back here before the weekend is out, have a happy holiday!
September 3, 2010
August 28, 2010
August 25, 2010
Life
Working at Vox is going pretty well. I worked almost full-time for about three weeks while we were preparing our arts guide. (I think I already mentioned that; oh well -- consider this a rerun post.) The guide went off to the printer today and I'm looking forward to seeing it all fancy and printed out. I got to see it in full color after spending HOURS editing a draft of it yesterday. I've long wanted an editorial position and boy howdy, I have one. I'm just glad I've been entrusted with tasks beyond working on the calendar. Now that the guide is done, I've been uploading film and theatre reviews. Some of the work is tedious data entry but I'm SO happy to have a job to go to and so happy that I can now call myself underemployed instead of that other word. My cats are pretty pissy that I leave the house with regularity, though. I got an earful from George this morning. I tried to explain that leaving the house is necessary if she wants to continue to eat but I don't think she's making the connection. Lately she's been spending part of the night sleeping on me, going so far as to do a little sidestep whenever I change positions. It's so adorable I can hardly stand to move her in the morning when getting up to tinkle beats out my desire to snuggle.
So... back to Vox. Okay. I will say from the start that I am crazy sensitive about some things. I could almost not stand to be in the same room at Verbose & Co. with Prince Asshat (my ex-worker that I renamed Cecil for reasons I can no longer remember) because the sound of him swallowing water or eating an apple drove me batshit insane. The fact that he got up at least once a morning and did push-ups (while panting softly, which produced retinal-scarring visuals) was also off-putting. My new coworker, the Earl of Pandemonium, is nice enough (friendly, literate, thought I was in my 20s), BUT... he throws down his bag, crashes into his chair (which he pops in and out of with alarming regularity), types like he's punishing his keyboard, heavy sighs about one thing or another OFTEN, taps his feet, bangs down his coffee cup, and slams his phone down whenever he makes a phone call, which is also often. He also does several of those things simultaneously and I get so frustrated that I begin fantasizing about beating him to death with my stapler. My non-prison fantasies involve a purchase of noise-cancelling headphones, which is the dream that immediately follows the one where Vox finds enough money in its limited budget to bring me on full-time (which would necessitate said noise-blocking devices). I have found that certain songs on my iPod, like Rihanna's "Breakin' Dishes," are good for drowning him out. I would, however, like to preserve my hearing well past my 30s, so I need to come up with an alternate plan. The room isn't really big enough to move out of earshot, but primarily I don't want to ask because I feel like a weenie for letting such silly things get to me.
I keep mentally spending the tiny amount of money I've saved up. So far, I've bought new furniture, the aforementioned headphones, applied the cash towards the deposit on a new apartment, started saving to hire movers (so not necessary but MAN it would be nice since moving sucks so much ass), and, I don't know, probably joined Costco or something.
I got turned down for another PR job and was telling my therapist (who I know I am lucky to be able to afford despite being underemployed) that I think I keep getting turned down for those jobs because they aren't my passion and the Universe knows this. As such, I'm working more on my art. I've been rearranging my house for a couple days so that I have a better space to make art. I've also been writing with Steele and/or Sterling for the past few weekends and been pretty successful with generating some writing, except for last Sunday's horrible social experiment. I wasn't able to meet on Saturday and knew the library wouldn't be open at 10:00 a.m. on Sunday, so I suggested the cafe at Barnes & Noble. Our surroundings were quiet for all of half an hour before the crazy distractions set in, including two chattering biddies who didn't even seem to stop talking long enough to breathe. Next week, it's back to the library. It seemed limiting since we couldn't talk about our writing or anything, but MAN, I missed that mandatory silence. Based on what I just said and congratulating myself on my self-control for not beaning the Earl with my hole punch, I think I would make a very good hermit.
I just remembered that I've also mentally used my meager savings to repair my car's trunk. It's refused to latch for months -- I popped it open sometime in the winter and assumed it was just frozen -- but spring came and the trunk never worked again. Considering the car is 17 years old, I'm impressed it's still chugging along, but it would still be nice to go over bumps and not listen to the bungee-cord-closed trunk go KABONK! (Fun with words! Next... on Oprah.)
Speaking of words, I found an iPhone app called Instant Poetry, which is magnetic poetry on one's phone. It cost $1.99 and is pretty fun to play with. The first poem I wrote, however, didn't get saved before my phone burped, basically, threw me out to the main menu, and erased all traces of my carefully-crafted words. I immediately tried to recreate the piece but could only remember bits. At least I could remember part of the skeleton but I need the rest of the bones. I did write (and maniacally save) these two earlier:
(untitled)
whispers are the passionate eyes
falling inside the embrace
of tender fragrant lips
the lover, a passing hunger
surrenders a soft kiss
long for her into the night
linger
blur the burning sea of sadness
melt the aching emptiness
spread the black body sleek
until she is serene flight
a sweet sky for dreaming
question the calm bright
we are between stoicism and destiny
I don't know how much sense they make but I love the organic nature of that kind of poetry. Writing with Steele and writing for Vox the last four months is helping me strengthen my writing muscle, which is especially important because I am once again considering grad school. I looked at the list of the top 50 schools in the country and picked out 14 solely for their location. Now I can start researching programs and seeing what sounds good, ideally for a dual degree in poetry and creative nonfiction. I love poetry -- it's what I primarily wrote until I took a nonfiction course almost 10 years ago -- but writing essays has become something I'm far more passionate about. I also know there are all kinds of dual degree programs. I've researched grad programs a number of times since I graduated from kollich and figure if/when it's meant to happen, it will. But it has to happen on scholarship or fellowship because I'm already Sallie Mae's bitch. (Yet another fantasy about where to apply my wee savings, although the gaping maw that is loan repayment makes me decide to keep my dollars and buy some throw pillows instead. Or puppies. Ooooh... bunnies! Clothes! Maybe just some gum. Or a LOT of gum.)
So... back to Vox. Okay. I will say from the start that I am crazy sensitive about some things. I could almost not stand to be in the same room at Verbose & Co. with Prince Asshat (my ex-worker that I renamed Cecil for reasons I can no longer remember) because the sound of him swallowing water or eating an apple drove me batshit insane. The fact that he got up at least once a morning and did push-ups (while panting softly, which produced retinal-scarring visuals) was also off-putting. My new coworker, the Earl of Pandemonium, is nice enough (friendly, literate, thought I was in my 20s), BUT... he throws down his bag, crashes into his chair (which he pops in and out of with alarming regularity), types like he's punishing his keyboard, heavy sighs about one thing or another OFTEN, taps his feet, bangs down his coffee cup, and slams his phone down whenever he makes a phone call, which is also often. He also does several of those things simultaneously and I get so frustrated that I begin fantasizing about beating him to death with my stapler. My non-prison fantasies involve a purchase of noise-cancelling headphones, which is the dream that immediately follows the one where Vox finds enough money in its limited budget to bring me on full-time (which would necessitate said noise-blocking devices). I have found that certain songs on my iPod, like Rihanna's "Breakin' Dishes," are good for drowning him out. I would, however, like to preserve my hearing well past my 30s, so I need to come up with an alternate plan. The room isn't really big enough to move out of earshot, but primarily I don't want to ask because I feel like a weenie for letting such silly things get to me.
I keep mentally spending the tiny amount of money I've saved up. So far, I've bought new furniture, the aforementioned headphones, applied the cash towards the deposit on a new apartment, started saving to hire movers (so not necessary but MAN it would be nice since moving sucks so much ass), and, I don't know, probably joined Costco or something.
I got turned down for another PR job and was telling my therapist (who I know I am lucky to be able to afford despite being underemployed) that I think I keep getting turned down for those jobs because they aren't my passion and the Universe knows this. As such, I'm working more on my art. I've been rearranging my house for a couple days so that I have a better space to make art. I've also been writing with Steele and/or Sterling for the past few weekends and been pretty successful with generating some writing, except for last Sunday's horrible social experiment. I wasn't able to meet on Saturday and knew the library wouldn't be open at 10:00 a.m. on Sunday, so I suggested the cafe at Barnes & Noble. Our surroundings were quiet for all of half an hour before the crazy distractions set in, including two chattering biddies who didn't even seem to stop talking long enough to breathe. Next week, it's back to the library. It seemed limiting since we couldn't talk about our writing or anything, but MAN, I missed that mandatory silence. Based on what I just said and congratulating myself on my self-control for not beaning the Earl with my hole punch, I think I would make a very good hermit.
I just remembered that I've also mentally used my meager savings to repair my car's trunk. It's refused to latch for months -- I popped it open sometime in the winter and assumed it was just frozen -- but spring came and the trunk never worked again. Considering the car is 17 years old, I'm impressed it's still chugging along, but it would still be nice to go over bumps and not listen to the bungee-cord-closed trunk go KABONK! (Fun with words! Next... on Oprah.)
Speaking of words, I found an iPhone app called Instant Poetry, which is magnetic poetry on one's phone. It cost $1.99 and is pretty fun to play with. The first poem I wrote, however, didn't get saved before my phone burped, basically, threw me out to the main menu, and erased all traces of my carefully-crafted words. I immediately tried to recreate the piece but could only remember bits. At least I could remember part of the skeleton but I need the rest of the bones. I did write (and maniacally save) these two earlier:
(untitled)
whispers are the passionate eyes
falling inside the embrace
of tender fragrant lips
the lover, a passing hunger
surrenders a soft kiss
long for her into the night
linger
blur the burning sea of sadness
melt the aching emptiness
spread the black body sleek
until she is serene flight
a sweet sky for dreaming
question the calm bright
we are between stoicism and destiny
I don't know how much sense they make but I love the organic nature of that kind of poetry. Writing with Steele and writing for Vox the last four months is helping me strengthen my writing muscle, which is especially important because I am once again considering grad school. I looked at the list of the top 50 schools in the country and picked out 14 solely for their location. Now I can start researching programs and seeing what sounds good, ideally for a dual degree in poetry and creative nonfiction. I love poetry -- it's what I primarily wrote until I took a nonfiction course almost 10 years ago -- but writing essays has become something I'm far more passionate about. I also know there are all kinds of dual degree programs. I've researched grad programs a number of times since I graduated from kollich and figure if/when it's meant to happen, it will. But it has to happen on scholarship or fellowship because I'm already Sallie Mae's bitch. (Yet another fantasy about where to apply my wee savings, although the gaping maw that is loan repayment makes me decide to keep my dollars and buy some throw pillows instead. Or puppies. Ooooh... bunnies! Clothes! Maybe just some gum. Or a LOT of gum.)
August 23, 2010
Return of the Mack Maxine
I heard this song yesterday during some radio station's way-back weekend. I think it was being billed as an '80s song even though it was released in 1996. Whatever -- I loved it, still like it, and very clearly remember dancing to it at a now-closed club that I miss a lot. The video is ridiculous -- there's random, nonsensical kicking; lots of tool-y posturing (hence the 'mack,' I suppose); and Mark Morrison looks like the love child of Seal and Bobby Brown -- but I still like the song. I'm just going to close my eyes should I choose to play the video again.
August 16, 2010
Smart kid
From It Made My Day:
A friend was in the airport bathroom washing her hands when a mother, her daughter, and her son came in. While the daughter was in the stall, the little boy looked around and then asked, “Mom, what’s a tampon?” to which his Mom replied, “You really don’t need to know that.” A few seconds passed and the son asked, “Mom, can I have a quarter?”
A friend was in the airport bathroom washing her hands when a mother, her daughter, and her son came in. While the daughter was in the stall, the little boy looked around and then asked, “Mom, what’s a tampon?” to which his Mom replied, “You really don’t need to know that.” A few seconds passed and the son asked, “Mom, can I have a quarter?”
August 15, 2010
100 Updated Things
It's been almost four years since I posted the original list. Inspired by Steele, I thought I'd go through my 100 Things. Most are still true. I updated a few, mostly to get rid of things that were no longer relevant. New info and comments are in bold.
1. I am a whore for Diet Coke. I need to chill on the soda. A medium-sized drink at a fast food place is now a bucket of caffeine. 20 ounces was enough; it has to be twice that much now. Bleah.
2. I havefour six tattoos and want more. But maybe not 12 as I originally thought.
3. The sound of the tattoo needle being turned on scares me more than getting the actual tattoo.
4. I don’t understand why there are so many commercials for yogurt and for mascara.
5. I used to love broccoli and dislike cauliflower. Now things have switched.
6.Sapporo Stella Artois is probably my favorite beer.
7. I also like Dos Equis, Moosehead, and Grolsch. And I still like Sapporo.
8. I love to watch romantic comedies, especially those involving straight people. I have no explanation for this. Well… most of them are ABOUT straight people, so….
9. Sometimes I think about throwing away my TV and VCR, all my DVDs, and remaining videotapes and just living a happy TV-free existence. Seeing as I just got digital cable, I guess that won’t be happening anytime soon. VCR? Videotapes??
10. I got my cat, George, about six months after I left my parents’ house. George is the best cat ever. Even if she is persnickety and lashes out at people… including me.
11. Aside from six-month stints in (1) an apartment at 19 with a roommate I now refer to as Damien, (2) a dorm room on the campus of my alma mater, located 20 minutes from my parents’ home, and (3) life in a single dorm room at a university about an hour from my parents’ home, I lived with my parents until I was 28. I still have shame issues about that.
12. Othello is my favorite Shakespearean play. Waiting for Godot is my favorite non-Bard play.
13. My cat Gizmo always hides when people come over. I love that she trusts and likes only me and I gloat a little when my company leaves and Gizmo comes out, purring and looking for me. She’s sweet, but she’s a nutball.
15. My body is selectively lactose intolerant. I can eat buckets full of ice cream, but half a piece of cheesecake will take me down within an hour. Not really true anymore. I seem to have grown out of l.i. But I also don’t eat cheesecake very often, generally out of fear.
16. I think James Spader is sexy as all get out, especially in Secretary.
17. I also have a HOOOOGE crush on Vincent D’Onofrio. And Matt Damon.
18. I cannot stand commercials that feature people talking with their mouths full or making yummy, slurpy noises. We get it. The food is good. I’m going to blow up your restaurant now.
19. I routinely went to Starbucks until the one closest to my apartment closed. Nothing has taken over its space and it makes me sad.
20. I think I’m starting to have hot flashes. Given that I’m only 32, this freaks me out a bit. I think I was just warm the day I wrote this.
21. My new cell phone is on order. I plan to recyclemy stinky poopy incensy pee-pee phone the phone I accidentally threw away in a bag of, erm, pre-inspected kitty litter. I have been a happy iPhone owner for almost two years. I think I recycled my old phones but there might be one lingering in a drawer somewhere.
22. When I was 13, my bedroom was pink with cream trim and pink carpet. I *loved* it. When I was 28, that same décor made me feel like I was six.
23. I’m a little more OCD than I previously accepted but none of my tics seriously interrupt my life. Usually they just result in my father calling me Adrian Monk.
24. I clearly remember hearing several Journey songs during my youth.
25. My first concert was the Oak Ridge Boys, whom I loved.
26. I danced to “Elvira” for a sixth grade talent show tryout. I didn’t make the cut.
27. I dig spearmint gum.
28. Symphony candy bars with toffee chips are my favorite candy bars. It’d probably be easier to just come up with a list of candy bars I DON’T like.
29. I have developed a great affection for Gatorade over the past couple years, especially the orange and red kinds. My crush on Gatorade has ended.
30. 7:00 p.m. is my favorite time of the day.
31. I’ve watched Six Feet Under all the way through twice. Both times, the last episode made me sob like I knew the characters personally.
32. I tend to unwind in the evening by watching reruns of Friends. Friends is now on from 4:30 p.m. to 5:30 p.m., which I generally miss, and from midnight until 1:00 a.m. I see those episodes pretty often. It would be easier to buy the whole series on DVD and just go the hell to bed at a decent hour, but that would be r-a-t-i-o-n-a-l.
33. I haven’t smoked in months and can’t tolerate it much anymore. The smell gets to me and I can only smoke for about a week before the inability to take a deep breath pisses me off and I re-quit.
34. My first and middle names are African and routinely botched by pretty much everyone.
35. I was born overseas. My birth certificate proclaims me as “an American citizen born abroad.”
36. When I was an undergrad, I was misclassified as a non-citizen which messed up my student loan. The financial aid clerk glanced at my first name and my birthplace, stared at me, and half-yelled, “HOW LONG HAVE YOU LIVED IN THIS COUNTRY?” Despite the fact that I answered her in perfect English, she yelled and over-enunciated her next few questions as well.
37. I love sushi. But not octopus. Some days, I’d cut a bitch for some salmon.
38. Many of my childhood memories involve being stuck at book sales with my parents and next to my mom in fabric stores, bored senseless.
39. I now love fabric stores and bookstores and could spend a great deal of time in both.
40. I love to buy books, but I don’t always get around to reading them. Sometimes I think I just like to own stuff so I can look at how pretty it is.
41. I can’t settle on a graduate program to apply for. I need to ovary up and apply to a creative writing program. That’s all there is to it.
42. I need to take better care of myself. I do some things, but not enough.
43. Flavored, caffeinated, and “diet” water all freak me out.
44. Cherry Garcia used to be one of my favorite Ben and Jerry ice creams, but I heard about someone choking and dying while eating it and it lost its allure.
45. I love love love to swim.
46. My parents owned a bright orange VW bug when I was a baby. Sometimes I think about buying a bright orange VW bug of my own, although the re-envisioned versions take away from the slug bugs of old.
47. Getting put on blood pressure medicine made me feel ancient and broken.
48. I am instantly calm when I enter a flower shop.
49. I want tattoos on at least one of my forearms, something big on part of my back, something on the back of my neck, possibly something down my spine, and possibly a vine ‘growing’ up my right thigh. I love the freedom to decorate my body the way I choose. Got the neck and forearm tattoos.
50. I had my nipples pierced for about a year. I got bored with the piercings (and also tired of them catching on the bedsheets at night – YEOWCH!) and took the barbells out. I should’ve just changed the jewelry because I doubt I’ll ever go through that experience again. Although hearing myself shout, “SON OF A BITCH!!” when the piercer stabbed my first nip is pretty funny. In retrospect.
51. I have been in a few two many car wrecks.
52. I need to read more. I used to be a voracious reader and I miss that about myself. Reading blogs doesn’t count.
53. I used to hate thrift stores. I’ve been coming around over the last couple years.
54. I can’t stand football. I’ve tried. I’m sorry.
55. I like to crunch up crackers in Ramen noodle soup so that the soup becomes a slightly moist crackery noodle delight. I don’t think I’ve eaten Ramen since I wrote this.
56. I would love to go to a spa for a week and get massaged and rubbed down with salt scrubs and mud packs and to get facials and foot rubs.
57. I would like to have a rice steamer. I used to excel at cooking rice, but I’ve been fucking it up the last few years. I blame the electric stoves I’ve lived with since 2002. I got a rice cooker from Vanessa and Brenda last year and it’s one of the best things I have ever owned.
58. I recently bought bras online and vastly overestimated the size of my boobs. There’s a definite echo in the cups.
59. If I won the lottery, I would buy a house in the mountains in Santa Fe. It would help if I played the lottery.
60. I haven’t gone out for New Year’s Eve in years. Lately, my tradition has been to sleep through the countdown.
61. I love pasta, especially angel hair.
62. One of the best birthday celebrations I ever had was a small get-together with friends that featured an international foods pitch-in dinner.
63. My 15-year high school reunion was a grandiose waste of $40. I am not looking forward to my 20-year reunion next year. Maybe I won’t go. But I skipped my 10th year and was later told I was missed. I can’t win for losing when it comes to high school.
64. I am a terrible skier and would rather be punched in the face rather than ever go canoeing again.
65. I wear earplugs when I sleep. Occasionally I wake up in the middle of the night to find that I’ve taken one out of my ear and I’m holding it. I’m apparently not awake enough when I realize this to put the earplug back in my ear. Once I woke up and found the earplug in my bellybutton. You know. Safe keeping.
66. I have a hard time trusting slim people sometimes or anyone who tells me they lost weight by “you know, just eating less!” as though that’s some incredible secret I had yet to figure out.
67. I used to fantasize about all kinds of baby names but saw an episode of Queer as Folk in which a Jewish character said it was bad luck to name a baby before its birth. After that, I stopped thinking about baby names as much, even though I’m so far from popping out a kid, I might as well be a man. And also not Jewish.
68. I often have Greta Garbo-ish “I vant to be left alone” days. This… is called depression, Maxine. Call your therapist.
69. I tend to forget that I’m tall until someone remarks on it or until I see a photo of myself standing next to people.
70. I don’t understand how people can’t “believe” in homosexuality. It’s not like we’re unicorns.
71. I used to love the smell of gasoline. Not anymore.
72. Sometimes I think about having enough money to buy my parents’ house when they sell it.
73. I tend to look at bed frames in catalogs and pick out favorites based on potential for naughty activity.
74. Sugar or no sugar, grapefruit is the work of Satan.
75. I say “Meep meep!” when I see tiny cars because, of course, “meep meep” is the sound that all tiny car horns make. Generally, Smart Cars evoke this reaction, no matter what their horns actually sound like.
76. I prefer to do laundry with liquid detergent.
77. I am two years and one month older than my brother.
78. I prefer not to cook. I can do it and have made some good stuff, including my mom’s chicken enchiladas and a kickin’ spaghetti sauce, but generally, it’s just a lot of work and I am terribly impatient.
79. I prefer to be barefoot as often as possible. This presents a problem in the wintertime.
80. Sometimes I think about moving places like San Francisco or Seattle or Portland, OR, and I wonder if I’ll ever make it there.
81. I often wonder how I’m going to die. I don’t want to die anytime soon but I’m so curious about the potential of an afterlife and what it’s like that I can almost not stand it.
82. I’ve had surgery twice, both times as an outpatient.
83. Rattan, yes. Wicker, never.
84. I think I would make a good evil overlord. I’d rather use my power for good than evil, but evil overlord would look bitchin’ on a resume.
85. I finally accepted that I don’t like gorgonzola cheese and no amount of trying it was going to change that.
86. I haven’t been overseas for almost13 17 years.
87. I was recently gifted six large canvases and a bunch of paints by a painter friend. Surprisingly, five of them are still blank.
88. Matisse is one of my favorite artists.
89. I also dig Frida Kahlo.
90. I watch TV with the closed captioning turned on.
91. I have never been to Mexico.
92. I developed a love for artichokes at a young age.
93. Once, when I had a bad cold as a kid, my mom gave me half a pill of some kind of cold medicine that puts people to sleep. I still remember being very disturbed that I was falling asleep against my will.
94. I used to be in ballet and gymnastics. I wasn’t good at either.
95. I like math more than I, a former English major, let on.
96. I used to be a huge fan of Garfield books and owned several. I also once got a hand-signed letter from Jim Davis, which I think I still have somewhere.
97. Lasagna rules but I almost never eat it. Still kinda true. I made a couple pans a few months ago and I think I burnt myself out by eating it for so many meals in a row.
98. I long to own white bed sheets with tiny purple flowers on them.
99. Mercedes Ruehl is dead sexy. I love love loved it when she was on Frasier.
100. “Excessive” and incorrect “use” of “quotation” marks “gets” on my “nerves.” Same, thing goe’s for, comma, splice’s and mis’us’e of, apos’trophes’.
1. I am a whore for Diet Coke. I need to chill on the soda. A medium-sized drink at a fast food place is now a bucket of caffeine. 20 ounces was enough; it has to be twice that much now. Bleah.
2. I have
3. The sound of the tattoo needle being turned on scares me more than getting the actual tattoo.
4. I don’t understand why there are so many commercials for yogurt and for mascara.
5. I used to love broccoli and dislike cauliflower. Now things have switched.
6.
7. I also like Dos Equis, Moosehead, and Grolsch. And I still like Sapporo.
8. I love to watch romantic comedies, especially those involving straight people. I have no explanation for this. Well… most of them are ABOUT straight people, so….
9. Sometimes I think about throwing away my TV and VCR, all my DVDs, and remaining videotapes and just living a happy TV-free existence. Seeing as I just got digital cable, I guess that won’t be happening anytime soon. VCR? Videotapes??
10. I got my cat, George, about six months after I left my parents’ house. George is the best cat ever. Even if she is persnickety and lashes out at people… including me.
11. Aside from six-month stints in (1) an apartment at 19 with a roommate I now refer to as Damien, (2) a dorm room on the campus of my alma mater, located 20 minutes from my parents’ home, and (3) life in a single dorm room at a university about an hour from my parents’ home, I lived with my parents until I was 28. I still have shame issues about that.
12. Othello is my favorite Shakespearean play. Waiting for Godot is my favorite non-Bard play.
13. My cat Gizmo always hides when people come over. I love that she trusts and likes only me and I gloat a little when my company leaves and Gizmo comes out, purring and looking for me. She’s sweet, but she’s a nutball.
15. My body is selectively lactose intolerant. I can eat buckets full of ice cream, but half a piece of cheesecake will take me down within an hour. Not really true anymore. I seem to have grown out of l.i. But I also don’t eat cheesecake very often, generally out of fear.
16. I think James Spader is sexy as all get out, especially in Secretary.
17. I also have a HOOOOGE crush on Vincent D’Onofrio. And Matt Damon.
18. I cannot stand commercials that feature people talking with their mouths full or making yummy, slurpy noises. We get it. The food is good. I’m going to blow up your restaurant now.
19. I routinely went to Starbucks until the one closest to my apartment closed. Nothing has taken over its space and it makes me sad.
20. I think I’m starting to have hot flashes. Given that I’m only 32, this freaks me out a bit. I think I was just warm the day I wrote this.
21. My new cell phone is on order. I plan to recycle
22. When I was 13, my bedroom was pink with cream trim and pink carpet. I *loved* it. When I was 28, that same décor made me feel like I was six.
23. I’m a little more OCD than I previously accepted but none of my tics seriously interrupt my life. Usually they just result in my father calling me Adrian Monk.
24. I clearly remember hearing several Journey songs during my youth.
25. My first concert was the Oak Ridge Boys, whom I loved.
26. I danced to “Elvira” for a sixth grade talent show tryout. I didn’t make the cut.
27. I dig spearmint gum.
28. Symphony candy bars with toffee chips are my favorite candy bars. It’d probably be easier to just come up with a list of candy bars I DON’T like.
29. I have developed a great affection for Gatorade over the past couple years, especially the orange and red kinds. My crush on Gatorade has ended.
30. 7:00 p.m. is my favorite time of the day.
31. I’ve watched Six Feet Under all the way through twice. Both times, the last episode made me sob like I knew the characters personally.
32. I tend to unwind in the evening by watching reruns of Friends. Friends is now on from 4:30 p.m. to 5:30 p.m., which I generally miss, and from midnight until 1:00 a.m. I see those episodes pretty often. It would be easier to buy the whole series on DVD and just go the hell to bed at a decent hour, but that would be r-a-t-i-o-n-a-l.
33. I haven’t smoked in months and can’t tolerate it much anymore. The smell gets to me and I can only smoke for about a week before the inability to take a deep breath pisses me off and I re-quit.
34. My first and middle names are African and routinely botched by pretty much everyone.
35. I was born overseas. My birth certificate proclaims me as “an American citizen born abroad.”
36. When I was an undergrad, I was misclassified as a non-citizen which messed up my student loan. The financial aid clerk glanced at my first name and my birthplace, stared at me, and half-yelled, “HOW LONG HAVE YOU LIVED IN THIS COUNTRY?” Despite the fact that I answered her in perfect English, she yelled and over-enunciated her next few questions as well.
37. I love sushi. But not octopus. Some days, I’d cut a bitch for some salmon.
38. Many of my childhood memories involve being stuck at book sales with my parents and next to my mom in fabric stores, bored senseless.
39. I now love fabric stores and bookstores and could spend a great deal of time in both.
40. I love to buy books, but I don’t always get around to reading them. Sometimes I think I just like to own stuff so I can look at how pretty it is.
41. I can’t settle on a graduate program to apply for. I need to ovary up and apply to a creative writing program. That’s all there is to it.
42. I need to take better care of myself. I do some things, but not enough.
43. Flavored, caffeinated, and “diet” water all freak me out.
44. Cherry Garcia used to be one of my favorite Ben and Jerry ice creams, but I heard about someone choking and dying while eating it and it lost its allure.
45. I love love love to swim.
46. My parents owned a bright orange VW bug when I was a baby. Sometimes I think about buying a bright orange VW bug of my own, although the re-envisioned versions take away from the slug bugs of old.
47. Getting put on blood pressure medicine made me feel ancient and broken.
48. I am instantly calm when I enter a flower shop.
49. I want tattoos on at least one of my forearms, something big on part of my back, something on the back of my neck, possibly something down my spine, and possibly a vine ‘growing’ up my right thigh. I love the freedom to decorate my body the way I choose. Got the neck and forearm tattoos.
50. I had my nipples pierced for about a year. I got bored with the piercings (and also tired of them catching on the bedsheets at night – YEOWCH!) and took the barbells out. I should’ve just changed the jewelry because I doubt I’ll ever go through that experience again. Although hearing myself shout, “SON OF A BITCH!!” when the piercer stabbed my first nip is pretty funny. In retrospect.
51. I have been in a few two many car wrecks.
52. I need to read more. I used to be a voracious reader and I miss that about myself. Reading blogs doesn’t count.
53. I used to hate thrift stores. I’ve been coming around over the last couple years.
54. I can’t stand football. I’ve tried. I’m sorry.
55. I like to crunch up crackers in Ramen noodle soup so that the soup becomes a slightly moist crackery noodle delight. I don’t think I’ve eaten Ramen since I wrote this.
56. I would love to go to a spa for a week and get massaged and rubbed down with salt scrubs and mud packs and to get facials and foot rubs.
57. I would like to have a rice steamer. I used to excel at cooking rice, but I’ve been fucking it up the last few years. I blame the electric stoves I’ve lived with since 2002. I got a rice cooker from Vanessa and Brenda last year and it’s one of the best things I have ever owned.
58. I recently bought bras online and vastly overestimated the size of my boobs. There’s a definite echo in the cups.
59. If I won the lottery, I would buy a house in the mountains in Santa Fe. It would help if I played the lottery.
60. I haven’t gone out for New Year’s Eve in years. Lately, my tradition has been to sleep through the countdown.
61. I love pasta, especially angel hair.
62. One of the best birthday celebrations I ever had was a small get-together with friends that featured an international foods pitch-in dinner.
63. My 15-year high school reunion was a grandiose waste of $40. I am not looking forward to my 20-year reunion next year. Maybe I won’t go. But I skipped my 10th year and was later told I was missed. I can’t win for losing when it comes to high school.
64. I am a terrible skier and would rather be punched in the face rather than ever go canoeing again.
65. I wear earplugs when I sleep. Occasionally I wake up in the middle of the night to find that I’ve taken one out of my ear and I’m holding it. I’m apparently not awake enough when I realize this to put the earplug back in my ear. Once I woke up and found the earplug in my bellybutton. You know. Safe keeping.
66. I have a hard time trusting slim people sometimes or anyone who tells me they lost weight by “you know, just eating less!” as though that’s some incredible secret I had yet to figure out.
67. I used to fantasize about all kinds of baby names but saw an episode of Queer as Folk in which a Jewish character said it was bad luck to name a baby before its birth. After that, I stopped thinking about baby names as much, even though I’m so far from popping out a kid, I might as well be a man. And also not Jewish.
68. I often have Greta Garbo-ish “I vant to be left alone” days. This… is called depression, Maxine. Call your therapist.
69. I tend to forget that I’m tall until someone remarks on it or until I see a photo of myself standing next to people.
70. I don’t understand how people can’t “believe” in homosexuality. It’s not like we’re unicorns.
71. I used to love the smell of gasoline. Not anymore.
72. Sometimes I think about having enough money to buy my parents’ house when they sell it.
73. I tend to look at bed frames in catalogs and pick out favorites based on potential for naughty activity.
74. Sugar or no sugar, grapefruit is the work of Satan.
75. I say “Meep meep!” when I see tiny cars because, of course, “meep meep” is the sound that all tiny car horns make. Generally, Smart Cars evoke this reaction, no matter what their horns actually sound like.
76. I prefer to do laundry with liquid detergent.
77. I am two years and one month older than my brother.
78. I prefer not to cook. I can do it and have made some good stuff, including my mom’s chicken enchiladas and a kickin’ spaghetti sauce, but generally, it’s just a lot of work and I am terribly impatient.
79. I prefer to be barefoot as often as possible. This presents a problem in the wintertime.
80. Sometimes I think about moving places like San Francisco or Seattle or Portland, OR, and I wonder if I’ll ever make it there.
81. I often wonder how I’m going to die. I don’t want to die anytime soon but I’m so curious about the potential of an afterlife and what it’s like that I can almost not stand it.
82. I’ve had surgery twice, both times as an outpatient.
83. Rattan, yes. Wicker, never.
84. I think I would make a good evil overlord. I’d rather use my power for good than evil, but evil overlord would look bitchin’ on a resume.
85. I finally accepted that I don’t like gorgonzola cheese and no amount of trying it was going to change that.
86. I haven’t been overseas for almost
87. I was recently gifted six large canvases and a bunch of paints by a painter friend. Surprisingly, five of them are still blank.
88. Matisse is one of my favorite artists.
89. I also dig Frida Kahlo.
90. I watch TV with the closed captioning turned on.
91. I have never been to Mexico.
92. I developed a love for artichokes at a young age.
93. Once, when I had a bad cold as a kid, my mom gave me half a pill of some kind of cold medicine that puts people to sleep. I still remember being very disturbed that I was falling asleep against my will.
94. I used to be in ballet and gymnastics. I wasn’t good at either.
95. I like math more than I, a former English major, let on.
96. I used to be a huge fan of Garfield books and owned several. I also once got a hand-signed letter from Jim Davis, which I think I still have somewhere.
97. Lasagna rules but I almost never eat it. Still kinda true. I made a couple pans a few months ago and I think I burnt myself out by eating it for so many meals in a row.
98. I long to own white bed sheets with tiny purple flowers on them.
99. Mercedes Ruehl is dead sexy. I love love loved it when she was on Frasier.
100. “Excessive” and incorrect “use” of “quotation” marks “gets” on my “nerves.” Same, thing goe’s for, comma, splice’s and mis’us’e of, apos’trophes’.
August 7, 2010
For Katie
My cousin passed away on Tuesday. For the purpose of this post, I’m going to call her Katie.
Katie was, unfortunately, an alcoholic. I did not know, until King V told me, that her father is also an alcoholic. He wasn’t around as we were all growing up; I knew Katie’s stepfather as her father. I’m not sure when I found out about her birth father.
I didn’t know that Katie’s alcoholism was as bad as it was. I don’t know that I had ever seen her drink, but if I know anything about addiction, and I do when it comes to food issues, then Katie was likely drinking alone a lot. Or maybe she was hammered every time I saw her – major holidays, mostly – and I just never knew it.
Katie was beautiful. Blond, slim, great smile. She was very friendly, had been married but got divorced, and had a young son. He’s seven now. I’m almost 30 years older than he is and can’t imagine losing my mom as I inevitably will, but especially not to suicide. King V told me that Katie’s son knows some of what happened and that he’s seeing a child psychologist. As with Katie, I barely know her son, but knowing all of that still breaks my heart.
I didn’t know Katie’s pain. I didn’t know until sometime last year that she had three DUIs under her belt and had to live and work close to home because her license had been revoked. Last year, I recently found out, there was also some kind of accident involving motorbikes. Katie and her friend (or boyfriend – no one seems to be sure) wrecked somehow but disappeared before the police showed up. Hearing about all the details of her life as they raced towards a tragic end is surreal. A lot of my processing on Tuesday came in flashes of black screen, i.e., I was seeing the details of her life unfold in white text on a black background as they do on “Intervention.” The words always say things like “Person X started drinking when he was 12” or “Person Y drinks up to a gallon of vodka a day.” The reality that so many people are in pain to such a heinous degree is mind-numbing. The show used to be trashy television that I would get lost in because of my voyeuristic tendencies. As I began to see the addicts for their individual diseases and understood better what they were trying to escape from, the show became something of a learning experience in which I looked for clues to heal my own wounds. Now that Katie has passed, I’m not sure I’ll be able to watch the show, knowing that several people, including Katie’s ex-husband, sister, and our Aunt Verbose, had to deal with what could have only been one sad situation after another.
That Katie was an alcoholic is enough. That she bought 150 Tylenol the night before she was found and may have taken them all is enough. That she was on life support makes me stop breathing for a moment. My cousin was on life support? Her organs were failing? Her pain was so dire and inescapable that she decided to take her own life? This happens? I probably sound naive just typing that, but I’m processing my questions and my grief through tears and disbelief. Katie made the attempt on her life on Sunday. I don’t know how she knew that an overdose of acetaminophen would kill her; I don’t want to know. Maybe, as Queen S suggested when we unfortunately began talking about Katie’s death last night, Katie had researched ways to check out. There was a chance, apparently, that she could’ve pulled through. A slim chance, but a chance. Unfortunately, the Tylenol shut down her liver, which was already damaged from alcohol abuse. I don’t know how much she drank but King V told me she’d recently lost her job, so something tells me it was a lot and that she was going everywhere drunk. Katie’s kidneys were also failing. She was apparently headed to dialysis a few hours before she died. I was going to go and see her on Tuesday evening but King V called on Tuesday afternoon and said that she had passed. The hospital was taking her off life support when she went. She’d made the attempt sometime on Saturday night, it sounds like, and was found by her friend/boyfriend sometime on Sunday. She was to be on life support for 72 hours from the time of her overdose; that’s the time it takes for the drug to clear out of her system so the doctors could assess the damage, I guess. I don’t know. I’ve never known anyone who has overdosed, so this is unfamiliar territory. King V said that I wouldn’t have recognized Katie, that she was puffy or something. Maybe she was pumped full of fluids in an attempt to flush the drugs out of her system. Maybe it was the alcoholism. I hadn’t seen her in a while. I didn’t know until I talked to my Aunt Verbose that Katie had been in jail. I guess that makes sense with the DUIs, but that news never reached me. We’re not exactly a secret-keeping family; I think that my relatives’ lives unfold in their good and bad ways and that everyone sort of assumes everyone else knows what’s going on. That “I thought you knew!” reasoning was used on me for at least one relative’s pregnancy, if not others.
I had no idea my Aunt Verbose had been such a part of Katie’s life. I’m glad that Katie had someone in her times of need. I can’t begin to think about how she felt or what led her to the decision that would take her from us. Her mom, one of King V’s other two sisters, had passed away more than 20 years ago. I think Katie overdosed on or near her mom’s birthday. I remember King V telling me towards the end of last week that whatever day it was, Thursday or Friday, was Aunt Jeanine’s birthday. She would have been 74. I was 15 when Aunt J died; Katie would have been in her early 20s. That means she spent about 20 years spiraling downwards. I don’t know when she started to drink. Like I said, I never paid attention to what she was drinking, be it alcoholic or not, because we saw each other during holiday celebrations and who wouldn’t have a drink in their hand during those occasions? I can only imagine what losing your mother to cancer does to a person, period, but especially when you and she are so young. Aunt J was 52. Queen S was about 56 when she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2001 and underwent radiation and a lumpectomy and THAT shit was scary enough. Luckily, her cancer was a Stage 0 and obviously caught in plenty of time, but after losing Aunt J and knowing friends whose parents had been claimed by the disease, I was super uneasy. As I write this, I realize just how uneasy I still am that her cancer will come back. It was due to Queen S taking hormones, however, and she stopped taking them after her diagnosis, so perhaps she will be lucky and cancer-free the rest of her life. I hope so. See also: Vast understatement.
Katie’s death simply isn’t real yet. I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that I am NEVER going to see her again. Like I said, we weren’t close (clearly), but that doesn’t mean I liked her any less. Knowing that she’s been hurting for so long makes me very uneasy. I hardly think I was going to ride in on a white horse and wrest the bottle from her hands but it’s human nature to want to have been some kind of savior. Her death is especially jarring because I have dealt with my own depression and been seriously suicidal twice in my life. Both times, something or someone saved me from myself. The first time, it was divine intervention. The second time, it was a phone call to a crisis center. The first time, at 19, I was living with a terrible roommate and had planned a day to die. I put it on my calendar – no lie – and watched the month unfold as I got closer and closer to my decided day. The evening of, Damien went out, as she usually did, and I got gussied up in my bathroom. I did my hair, painted my nails, put on makeup, and selected an outfit; I remember thinking to myself that I was going to look GOOD when “they” found me. I’d been drinking vodka during the primping process and stumbled towards the kitchen to get a knife. I was serious. (Some 17 years later, this whole scene frightens the crap out of me as though I wasn’t the protagonist in the story.) On the way to the kitchen, I passed through my bedroom door, past the dining area, and a short wall before reaching the folding doors that separated the kitchen from the living room. Right as I reached the first door, something turned me. I distinctly recall feeling an energy that turned me towards my right, at which point I realized/remembered/drunkenly saw our television and Nintendo. I plopped down on a beanbag chair and played Dr. Mario until I kept fucking up the game because I was too drunk to concentrate. I shuffled off to bed at some point, my plans abandoned (and, I believe, forgotten). I already believed in a higher power, especially after my discussions with God after Aunt J’s death, but after that experience, I think it was even easier to believe in energies and the forces of the universe.
The second time I was close to the brink I called a crisis line and talked to a counselor for about 45 minutes. Even though that experience was more than 10 years ago, I want to write an anonymous letter to the staff of the hospital where the crisis line was answered and thank them for saving my life. It doesn’t much matter that the person I talked to may no longer work there for any number of reasons; I still think it’s important that they know. I say of this as an explanation of sorts to Katie’s spirit that I understand some of what she was going through. I have been there, it’s terrifying, and I’m sorry that she couldn’t be saved. I’m sorry that her kid is going to have to go through life knowing his mother committed suicide. I’m sorry that Katie’s immediate family, who have dealt with alcoholism, divorce, and cancer now have to add “suicide” to their list of Things That Have Fucked Us Up. I’m sorry I didn’t get to the hospital in time to see Katie but I’m not sorry that I’ll always remember her smiling and laughing. I hope she made it to heaven (I don’t believe that people who commit suicide go to hell; I don’t entirely believe in hell in the first place and plus, hello kick-people-while-they’re-down) and I hope that she’s having a nice glass of iced tea at a sunny sidewalk café with my Grandpa and Grandma Verbose and Aunt Jeanine. We are sad and will miss Katie terribly and I certainly wish her life would have ended differently, but she’s free from all the pain she felt and for that I am grateful.
Katie was, unfortunately, an alcoholic. I did not know, until King V told me, that her father is also an alcoholic. He wasn’t around as we were all growing up; I knew Katie’s stepfather as her father. I’m not sure when I found out about her birth father.
I didn’t know that Katie’s alcoholism was as bad as it was. I don’t know that I had ever seen her drink, but if I know anything about addiction, and I do when it comes to food issues, then Katie was likely drinking alone a lot. Or maybe she was hammered every time I saw her – major holidays, mostly – and I just never knew it.
Katie was beautiful. Blond, slim, great smile. She was very friendly, had been married but got divorced, and had a young son. He’s seven now. I’m almost 30 years older than he is and can’t imagine losing my mom as I inevitably will, but especially not to suicide. King V told me that Katie’s son knows some of what happened and that he’s seeing a child psychologist. As with Katie, I barely know her son, but knowing all of that still breaks my heart.
I didn’t know Katie’s pain. I didn’t know until sometime last year that she had three DUIs under her belt and had to live and work close to home because her license had been revoked. Last year, I recently found out, there was also some kind of accident involving motorbikes. Katie and her friend (or boyfriend – no one seems to be sure) wrecked somehow but disappeared before the police showed up. Hearing about all the details of her life as they raced towards a tragic end is surreal. A lot of my processing on Tuesday came in flashes of black screen, i.e., I was seeing the details of her life unfold in white text on a black background as they do on “Intervention.” The words always say things like “Person X started drinking when he was 12” or “Person Y drinks up to a gallon of vodka a day.” The reality that so many people are in pain to such a heinous degree is mind-numbing. The show used to be trashy television that I would get lost in because of my voyeuristic tendencies. As I began to see the addicts for their individual diseases and understood better what they were trying to escape from, the show became something of a learning experience in which I looked for clues to heal my own wounds. Now that Katie has passed, I’m not sure I’ll be able to watch the show, knowing that several people, including Katie’s ex-husband, sister, and our Aunt Verbose, had to deal with what could have only been one sad situation after another.
That Katie was an alcoholic is enough. That she bought 150 Tylenol the night before she was found and may have taken them all is enough. That she was on life support makes me stop breathing for a moment. My cousin was on life support? Her organs were failing? Her pain was so dire and inescapable that she decided to take her own life? This happens? I probably sound naive just typing that, but I’m processing my questions and my grief through tears and disbelief. Katie made the attempt on her life on Sunday. I don’t know how she knew that an overdose of acetaminophen would kill her; I don’t want to know. Maybe, as Queen S suggested when we unfortunately began talking about Katie’s death last night, Katie had researched ways to check out. There was a chance, apparently, that she could’ve pulled through. A slim chance, but a chance. Unfortunately, the Tylenol shut down her liver, which was already damaged from alcohol abuse. I don’t know how much she drank but King V told me she’d recently lost her job, so something tells me it was a lot and that she was going everywhere drunk. Katie’s kidneys were also failing. She was apparently headed to dialysis a few hours before she died. I was going to go and see her on Tuesday evening but King V called on Tuesday afternoon and said that she had passed. The hospital was taking her off life support when she went. She’d made the attempt sometime on Saturday night, it sounds like, and was found by her friend/boyfriend sometime on Sunday. She was to be on life support for 72 hours from the time of her overdose; that’s the time it takes for the drug to clear out of her system so the doctors could assess the damage, I guess. I don’t know. I’ve never known anyone who has overdosed, so this is unfamiliar territory. King V said that I wouldn’t have recognized Katie, that she was puffy or something. Maybe she was pumped full of fluids in an attempt to flush the drugs out of her system. Maybe it was the alcoholism. I hadn’t seen her in a while. I didn’t know until I talked to my Aunt Verbose that Katie had been in jail. I guess that makes sense with the DUIs, but that news never reached me. We’re not exactly a secret-keeping family; I think that my relatives’ lives unfold in their good and bad ways and that everyone sort of assumes everyone else knows what’s going on. That “I thought you knew!” reasoning was used on me for at least one relative’s pregnancy, if not others.
I had no idea my Aunt Verbose had been such a part of Katie’s life. I’m glad that Katie had someone in her times of need. I can’t begin to think about how she felt or what led her to the decision that would take her from us. Her mom, one of King V’s other two sisters, had passed away more than 20 years ago. I think Katie overdosed on or near her mom’s birthday. I remember King V telling me towards the end of last week that whatever day it was, Thursday or Friday, was Aunt Jeanine’s birthday. She would have been 74. I was 15 when Aunt J died; Katie would have been in her early 20s. That means she spent about 20 years spiraling downwards. I don’t know when she started to drink. Like I said, I never paid attention to what she was drinking, be it alcoholic or not, because we saw each other during holiday celebrations and who wouldn’t have a drink in their hand during those occasions? I can only imagine what losing your mother to cancer does to a person, period, but especially when you and she are so young. Aunt J was 52. Queen S was about 56 when she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2001 and underwent radiation and a lumpectomy and THAT shit was scary enough. Luckily, her cancer was a Stage 0 and obviously caught in plenty of time, but after losing Aunt J and knowing friends whose parents had been claimed by the disease, I was super uneasy. As I write this, I realize just how uneasy I still am that her cancer will come back. It was due to Queen S taking hormones, however, and she stopped taking them after her diagnosis, so perhaps she will be lucky and cancer-free the rest of her life. I hope so. See also: Vast understatement.
Katie’s death simply isn’t real yet. I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that I am NEVER going to see her again. Like I said, we weren’t close (clearly), but that doesn’t mean I liked her any less. Knowing that she’s been hurting for so long makes me very uneasy. I hardly think I was going to ride in on a white horse and wrest the bottle from her hands but it’s human nature to want to have been some kind of savior. Her death is especially jarring because I have dealt with my own depression and been seriously suicidal twice in my life. Both times, something or someone saved me from myself. The first time, it was divine intervention. The second time, it was a phone call to a crisis center. The first time, at 19, I was living with a terrible roommate and had planned a day to die. I put it on my calendar – no lie – and watched the month unfold as I got closer and closer to my decided day. The evening of, Damien went out, as she usually did, and I got gussied up in my bathroom. I did my hair, painted my nails, put on makeup, and selected an outfit; I remember thinking to myself that I was going to look GOOD when “they” found me. I’d been drinking vodka during the primping process and stumbled towards the kitchen to get a knife. I was serious. (Some 17 years later, this whole scene frightens the crap out of me as though I wasn’t the protagonist in the story.) On the way to the kitchen, I passed through my bedroom door, past the dining area, and a short wall before reaching the folding doors that separated the kitchen from the living room. Right as I reached the first door, something turned me. I distinctly recall feeling an energy that turned me towards my right, at which point I realized/remembered/drunkenly saw our television and Nintendo. I plopped down on a beanbag chair and played Dr. Mario until I kept fucking up the game because I was too drunk to concentrate. I shuffled off to bed at some point, my plans abandoned (and, I believe, forgotten). I already believed in a higher power, especially after my discussions with God after Aunt J’s death, but after that experience, I think it was even easier to believe in energies and the forces of the universe.
The second time I was close to the brink I called a crisis line and talked to a counselor for about 45 minutes. Even though that experience was more than 10 years ago, I want to write an anonymous letter to the staff of the hospital where the crisis line was answered and thank them for saving my life. It doesn’t much matter that the person I talked to may no longer work there for any number of reasons; I still think it’s important that they know. I say of this as an explanation of sorts to Katie’s spirit that I understand some of what she was going through. I have been there, it’s terrifying, and I’m sorry that she couldn’t be saved. I’m sorry that her kid is going to have to go through life knowing his mother committed suicide. I’m sorry that Katie’s immediate family, who have dealt with alcoholism, divorce, and cancer now have to add “suicide” to their list of Things That Have Fucked Us Up. I’m sorry I didn’t get to the hospital in time to see Katie but I’m not sorry that I’ll always remember her smiling and laughing. I hope she made it to heaven (I don’t believe that people who commit suicide go to hell; I don’t entirely believe in hell in the first place and plus, hello kick-people-while-they’re-down) and I hope that she’s having a nice glass of iced tea at a sunny sidewalk café with my Grandpa and Grandma Verbose and Aunt Jeanine. We are sad and will miss Katie terribly and I certainly wish her life would have ended differently, but she’s free from all the pain she felt and for that I am grateful.
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