One of the reasons i didnt want to start a blog is because i have a proclivity to complain (see previous posts)
Therefore to remedy the Negativities I must write a list of the positivities:
1. On sunday I saw a beautiful sunset. Who said smog is a bad thing, the clouds were vivaciously toxic.
2. I inspected the grass laying next to someone who's company I enjoyed.
3. I didnt cry today at work. And my account manager promised to take me out to lunch.
4. Gracie cooked a good meal tonight. We also have wonderful yogurt and cerael to eat.
5. I was very angry about this situation with the sermon i was supposed to write and give on sunday. but they ran out of time and i couldnt go. (and my sermon felt sucky). I was inspired in a non-desprate non- frantic way to rewrite sections of it. I will give it next saturday.
6. I enjoyed washing the dishes today. Sometimes it is very theraputic. It is wonderful to have a sinkful of dishes, and then have an empty sink and a bunch of clean dishes.
7. i used to be (and still am) the new girl who asked questions to everyone else every five minutes. Now there is a newer girl and she asks me questions every five minutes and sometimes i have answers for her! (this is at work)
8. My friend from the philippines wrote me a nice email and told me he was praying for me. I believe him. I wrote back and prayed for him while i wrote him an email. It was nice.
9. God is not a school teacher who doesnt have time to look at all the children in the class. Even the quiet girl by the door who doesnt sit all the way in the back, who doesnt sit all the way in the front, who wears white to blend in with the walls. He knows her by name. and her nick name is precious.
10. My eyes are heavy and I do not feel like I wasted the day.
Monday, January 30, 2006
This Magic Moment
Quick write on this icky feeling:
I want to be Diego Rivera lost in the braids of peasant girls and flowers. I want a quiet space where I can hear the deep and gentle voice telling me I am blessed. I want the green leaves of the plant at my desk to make me smile. I want to smile and mean it. I want to pull out my heart through the blades of my bones and study it. Draw it like a scientist. To know why it beats, and why it hurts today. The recovering addicts were on their porch this morning singing Glory to God as I walked by the bus. I shouted my hello and waved through the city early morning noise. Once I forgot to bring a good lunch, when there was a bowl of oranges at home. I was sad, but then discovered a coworker had brought a bag of organic oranges from my back yard. That is God providing me juicy deliciousness. I woke up at 530 am and didn’t want to get out of bed. A minute later it was 6am and I still didn’t want to get out of bed at 610 I realized I better get out of bed because I don’t want to be that girl running late to work, when she could have been that girl using her morning to enjoy life for a minute. Do I hate work, just because I need something to hate. If it wasn’t work would I find something else. Is it me am I displacing my self hatred on my surrounding or does my job suck the life out of me. I don’t know how to find the answer to this question. I could A)change the variables Jobs and see if I still hate work. But I have fear that when I leave this jungle of fronting sanity, I might find a thicker worse jungle of who knows what and I will regret leaving my ergonomic chair and paycheck. B) I could change variable attitude: I have been trying this daily. I have been trying to try. Poetry is like cutting my toenails.
On a more serious note: What kind of tea do you drink? Does it get the frog out of your throat? How about the newt and the lizard? How about all the unanswered questions you can not answer because of propriety. How about all the icky feelings you have under skin but you cant voice because you know you are being unreasonable.
I want to be Diego Rivera lost in the braids of peasant girls and flowers. I want a quiet space where I can hear the deep and gentle voice telling me I am blessed. I want the green leaves of the plant at my desk to make me smile. I want to smile and mean it. I want to pull out my heart through the blades of my bones and study it. Draw it like a scientist. To know why it beats, and why it hurts today. The recovering addicts were on their porch this morning singing Glory to God as I walked by the bus. I shouted my hello and waved through the city early morning noise. Once I forgot to bring a good lunch, when there was a bowl of oranges at home. I was sad, but then discovered a coworker had brought a bag of organic oranges from my back yard. That is God providing me juicy deliciousness. I woke up at 530 am and didn’t want to get out of bed. A minute later it was 6am and I still didn’t want to get out of bed at 610 I realized I better get out of bed because I don’t want to be that girl running late to work, when she could have been that girl using her morning to enjoy life for a minute. Do I hate work, just because I need something to hate. If it wasn’t work would I find something else. Is it me am I displacing my self hatred on my surrounding or does my job suck the life out of me. I don’t know how to find the answer to this question. I could A)change the variables Jobs and see if I still hate work. But I have fear that when I leave this jungle of fronting sanity, I might find a thicker worse jungle of who knows what and I will regret leaving my ergonomic chair and paycheck. B) I could change variable attitude: I have been trying this daily. I have been trying to try. Poetry is like cutting my toenails.
On a more serious note: What kind of tea do you drink? Does it get the frog out of your throat? How about the newt and the lizard? How about all the unanswered questions you can not answer because of propriety. How about all the icky feelings you have under skin but you cant voice because you know you are being unreasonable.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
A Day at the Beach
The unexamined life is a life not lived. – Famous philosopher
Live life like you’re going to die. You are going to die – William Shatner.
There is something undeniably marvelous about downtown LA at night. The rising of the lighted buildings amidst the night sky. Each light represents a dream someone had once. What is so seductive about the shiny lighted things? Even, I who, trudge to work each day in one of the cubicles, on one of the floors, in one of the buildings, on one of the streets of downtown, cannot deny, there is in fact, something alluring, mysterious…magnificent? about these structures. I wish they were more mysterious. I wish I didn’t know that each light shining from each window is more like a greedy gulp. You know that from the inside of the building you cannot see out because the lights just reflect on the smoky glass. My first day of work, I took a deep breath in my low high heals, and looked around at these square structures of unimaginable heights and thought, yes, this is my city and I am about to enter into it. I have not taken a deep breath since, (that was 6 months ago) because I am afraid the exhale will be disappointing, as this last six month exhale.
In front of the ___ ___ building there is a statue. Of a man whose neck ends into the building. He has no head. His head is somewhere inside the wall. Like he was bashing his brains out and on the final blow against the wall, the building just decided to absorb it. I do not want to be absorbed. I do not want to be absorbed. Sometimes, I think, just stick it out. There is a purpose to being in my cubicle, in an office building, on some floor in some city, in some universe. Keep the papers moving, keep answering the phone, with the expectation that the person on the other may or may not beat you up with their words, and tone of voice? Keep on keeping on for the sake of keeping on. This is perseverance. This is what it is about. I feel my skin growing a little thicker over these six months. Saying Fuck you (in the privacy of my own mind) to person who treats me like shit instead of running to the bathroom to wipe my eyes in the privacy of my own stall. This is good. This is adult. I should learn to be tough, how to take shit and throw it back at them in a polite and kind way, of course. Would never dream of making ___ ____ Company look bad. Never. Other times, I wonder if it is worth it. Do I want to have this thick skin? Do I want to be a place where tears are as unwelcome as a terrorist bombing?
(BTW should a terrorist call and tell you there is bomb somewhere in this building, keep talking to them. Asking them questions, where the bomb is, what does it look like. If they were kind enough to call maybe they will be kind enough to tell you all the details… This came in the advice manual that you get when you start working in a high rise).
Thick skin though? A heart that is hard and says fuck you to mean people. When the phone rings at work I have three responses depending on my mood. 1) Oh God, please don’t let them hate me. 2) I hate you I hate you I hate you why are you calling me 3) Deep breath, I can do this. I can. And if I cant it will be okay.
I’ve learned not to think about my life. To realize I spend 40 hours in a place I hate, with people I can not be friends with, smiling, smiling. I got employee of the month and they said one of my attributes is being “pleasant with a Can Do Attitude”.
If only they knew I dream of running away. If only they could see in the elevator cameras. As I get in at the end of every long day. My face crinkle, I jump up and down, and scream under my breath. I am always worried that the building security laugh at me or worse will come tell me not to jump in the elevators. But it hasn’t happened yet.
On my to do list at work the last item to do, with no date next to it is “smile though your heart is breaking” because I think that more than administrative assistant that is what my job description should include.
So is six months long enough. Should I put it to the test quit and see if its clerical work I hate, try out clerical work at the LA mission where, I might not feel like I am working at the bottomless pit of problems and papers, that once solved or filed reappear in more or else complicated fashions.
Or do I need to preserve at this job that changes me. I am no longer a morning person who can get out of bed. I roll around waiting until the last possible minute. Before lying in bed will longer will just make my day worse that it already could be.
But who am I to deserve a good job. Men work back breaking hours in the fields picking heads of lettuce because they do not know there is anything else, because its all they know, because we have pushed them into a box and labeled them Farm Worker and try as they might, we have used permanent ink that is hard to wash off, sweat of. Why should I get to change my label?
It’s almost 8pm and I can feel dread starting to settle on to my skin like a small layer of dust. But there is always that possibility that it won’t be that bad….
Live life like you’re going to die. You are going to die – William Shatner.
There is something undeniably marvelous about downtown LA at night. The rising of the lighted buildings amidst the night sky. Each light represents a dream someone had once. What is so seductive about the shiny lighted things? Even, I who, trudge to work each day in one of the cubicles, on one of the floors, in one of the buildings, on one of the streets of downtown, cannot deny, there is in fact, something alluring, mysterious…magnificent? about these structures. I wish they were more mysterious. I wish I didn’t know that each light shining from each window is more like a greedy gulp. You know that from the inside of the building you cannot see out because the lights just reflect on the smoky glass. My first day of work, I took a deep breath in my low high heals, and looked around at these square structures of unimaginable heights and thought, yes, this is my city and I am about to enter into it. I have not taken a deep breath since, (that was 6 months ago) because I am afraid the exhale will be disappointing, as this last six month exhale.
In front of the ___ ___ building there is a statue. Of a man whose neck ends into the building. He has no head. His head is somewhere inside the wall. Like he was bashing his brains out and on the final blow against the wall, the building just decided to absorb it. I do not want to be absorbed. I do not want to be absorbed. Sometimes, I think, just stick it out. There is a purpose to being in my cubicle, in an office building, on some floor in some city, in some universe. Keep the papers moving, keep answering the phone, with the expectation that the person on the other may or may not beat you up with their words, and tone of voice? Keep on keeping on for the sake of keeping on. This is perseverance. This is what it is about. I feel my skin growing a little thicker over these six months. Saying Fuck you (in the privacy of my own mind) to person who treats me like shit instead of running to the bathroom to wipe my eyes in the privacy of my own stall. This is good. This is adult. I should learn to be tough, how to take shit and throw it back at them in a polite and kind way, of course. Would never dream of making ___ ____ Company look bad. Never. Other times, I wonder if it is worth it. Do I want to have this thick skin? Do I want to be a place where tears are as unwelcome as a terrorist bombing?
(BTW should a terrorist call and tell you there is bomb somewhere in this building, keep talking to them. Asking them questions, where the bomb is, what does it look like. If they were kind enough to call maybe they will be kind enough to tell you all the details… This came in the advice manual that you get when you start working in a high rise).
Thick skin though? A heart that is hard and says fuck you to mean people. When the phone rings at work I have three responses depending on my mood. 1) Oh God, please don’t let them hate me. 2) I hate you I hate you I hate you why are you calling me 3) Deep breath, I can do this. I can. And if I cant it will be okay.
I’ve learned not to think about my life. To realize I spend 40 hours in a place I hate, with people I can not be friends with, smiling, smiling. I got employee of the month and they said one of my attributes is being “pleasant with a Can Do Attitude”.
If only they knew I dream of running away. If only they could see in the elevator cameras. As I get in at the end of every long day. My face crinkle, I jump up and down, and scream under my breath. I am always worried that the building security laugh at me or worse will come tell me not to jump in the elevators. But it hasn’t happened yet.
On my to do list at work the last item to do, with no date next to it is “smile though your heart is breaking” because I think that more than administrative assistant that is what my job description should include.
So is six months long enough. Should I put it to the test quit and see if its clerical work I hate, try out clerical work at the LA mission where, I might not feel like I am working at the bottomless pit of problems and papers, that once solved or filed reappear in more or else complicated fashions.
Or do I need to preserve at this job that changes me. I am no longer a morning person who can get out of bed. I roll around waiting until the last possible minute. Before lying in bed will longer will just make my day worse that it already could be.
But who am I to deserve a good job. Men work back breaking hours in the fields picking heads of lettuce because they do not know there is anything else, because its all they know, because we have pushed them into a box and labeled them Farm Worker and try as they might, we have used permanent ink that is hard to wash off, sweat of. Why should I get to change my label?
It’s almost 8pm and I can feel dread starting to settle on to my skin like a small layer of dust. But there is always that possibility that it won’t be that bad….
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
I did breathe today
And it made me happy.
J__ C__ L___'s name. 10 minute quickwrite assigned by G___. These blanks are both my housemates and i know how to fill in the blanks on this webpage, but i dont know how to fill them in theory. Theory is not really what i mean. There is just a lot of blank space sometimes between people evenw hen you get to know them really well. They always say something surprising, Do something unexpected. Hurt you in a way you did know you could be hurt. Hurt them when you are not even thinking. Love you in a way you didnt know you needed to be loved. Kinda like yoga. i have been doing yoga some lately. And this one teacher guy says doing yoga is like making love to your muscles or like giving yourself a better massage than any one else could give. only i have the power to massage my kidneys. JCL wrote me an email to day that's title was WE NEED TO TALK. My heart leapt to my stomach or the other way around because i wondered how i had hurt her feelings. There are always ways i am learning to hurt people. I guess i am not learning to hurt people. I just do hurt people and then i need to learn how not to. How to be kind caring and considerate. How not to think about myself all the time. But that is hard because i have learned to be the main character in this story of my life. but i am learning how to rewrite certain scenes so they are not all about me. like the one in the kitchen where i was crying on the floor. I know that i was not really alone in that moment. So i have not talked much about JCLs name yet and i think that 10 minutes is almost up. But let me tell you a story. A black boy named this picture he drew that was supposed to be a chinese gargoyle and he named in Quan Chi Lee. Because that is what he thinks of when he thinks Chinese. I once had a Chinese freind wth the Last name LEe. Her family owned a chinese restuarant, where i always hoped I would be given free food. Dont worry JCL i know that you are not Chinese. This one is for you.
J__ C__ L___'s name. 10 minute quickwrite assigned by G___. These blanks are both my housemates and i know how to fill in the blanks on this webpage, but i dont know how to fill them in theory. Theory is not really what i mean. There is just a lot of blank space sometimes between people evenw hen you get to know them really well. They always say something surprising, Do something unexpected. Hurt you in a way you did know you could be hurt. Hurt them when you are not even thinking. Love you in a way you didnt know you needed to be loved. Kinda like yoga. i have been doing yoga some lately. And this one teacher guy says doing yoga is like making love to your muscles or like giving yourself a better massage than any one else could give. only i have the power to massage my kidneys. JCL wrote me an email to day that's title was WE NEED TO TALK. My heart leapt to my stomach or the other way around because i wondered how i had hurt her feelings. There are always ways i am learning to hurt people. I guess i am not learning to hurt people. I just do hurt people and then i need to learn how not to. How to be kind caring and considerate. How not to think about myself all the time. But that is hard because i have learned to be the main character in this story of my life. but i am learning how to rewrite certain scenes so they are not all about me. like the one in the kitchen where i was crying on the floor. I know that i was not really alone in that moment. So i have not talked much about JCLs name yet and i think that 10 minutes is almost up. But let me tell you a story. A black boy named this picture he drew that was supposed to be a chinese gargoyle and he named in Quan Chi Lee. Because that is what he thinks of when he thinks Chinese. I once had a Chinese freind wth the Last name LEe. Her family owned a chinese restuarant, where i always hoped I would be given free food. Dont worry JCL i know that you are not Chinese. This one is for you.
Monday, January 16, 2006
actually writing as i write
i found out that socks actually do feel nicer on the feet inside out.
i found out that stirring a stick in the mud is not always as fun as you think. but usually its necessary.
i found out that i like wearing baseball caps.
i found out that i am a scaredy-cat. Roscoe, a true cat, is also afraid of dogs, vaccuums and large amounts of flying water. But still he comes home with scars, scraps and patches of fur missing. He looks and acts wiser for it. i am sure he is the neighborhood bully. He kills birds while they are still in thier nests. But he is still a scardey-cat. Pour a bucket of water on him. He loses all his boastful fur. If he had boots on he would be shaking in them. I am about to get a bucket of water poured on me.
Oh I do pray it is the living water that gets thrown on me.
i found out that stirring a stick in the mud is not always as fun as you think. but usually its necessary.
i found out that i like wearing baseball caps.
i found out that i am a scaredy-cat. Roscoe, a true cat, is also afraid of dogs, vaccuums and large amounts of flying water. But still he comes home with scars, scraps and patches of fur missing. He looks and acts wiser for it. i am sure he is the neighborhood bully. He kills birds while they are still in thier nests. But he is still a scardey-cat. Pour a bucket of water on him. He loses all his boastful fur. If he had boots on he would be shaking in them. I am about to get a bucket of water poured on me.
Oh I do pray it is the living water that gets thrown on me.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Quick write 10 minutes: bangles
She said, it seems like such a beautiful thing, that it must move the bone to slip them on, as she soaped up my hand and wrist in order to squish my bone and flesh through the delicate but rigid glass bracelets. It was quite easy to slip them on. I have been known for my small hands. Yes, there is something about it slightly hurting to slip on these bangles that are like a promise. They are not supposed to be removed, the only way to get them off is to wear them and break them somewhere along the way. For 3 days I lived in a balance of fear and awe as I moved my wrist and heard the twinkling of the glass. A slight breath was held somewhere between my lungs and lips and in that lived a hope that the bracelets would not break. But then I went to yoga, the intense sweaty kind, and I resoaped my hand and slipped them off, a resifting of my bones, of myself. Is it because the bracelets were created in India, formed, colored, finished, and somehow, without a will of their own wound up here, unbroken, with a light scent of something foreign, that I miss them today, they are not with me, as though, I am missing a piece of me, a visual reminder of myself.
10 Minute Quick Write: Candles on a desk.
What do you think of when you think of candles on a desk. I think of Lalo. He died. He was a co-worker who worked at Library where I worked for 4 years only about 10 hours a week. I saw him every day almost and then one day I never saw him again. We got the news that he died. I used to slightly hate my job. No, I never really hated the job. But I knew it was not a career and I thought I would die if I were to work there full time. However, now I think back fondly. When Lalo died an impromptu alter arose on his desk, no one gave instructions or thought it would be nice. Just one by one, people came by his desk trying to imagine an un-empty chair and left parts of themselves behind: lighted candles, flowers picked from the trees outside the libraries, or their own home gardens, printed out emails and a Xerox copy of his will. His mother came by to pay respects to us, the co-workers who had to mourn and to change his voicemail and hack into his computer to put an end to his incoming emails. How beautiful that an office could do such a thing as put flowers and candles on a desk. In my office now, I try not to but can not help to think what would happen if I were to die. I picture a scraping of the desk, a pulling off the notes of my cubicle walls, there would be no actual sterilization, but the actions would have a sterilizing effect. Only gray desk, grey walls and black computer would be left. The things people would say as they quickly got back to work would sound like the signatures in your senior year yearbook from the people you never really knew. “I wish I had got to know her better” “She seemed like such a nice girl”. But maybe I am underestimating the humanity of this place. They might tear up as they thought about the life insurance claim process and my boss would ensure that it ran smoothly. Its my birthday today, and I’m trying not to be morbid. But its not my party and I can’t cry if I want to.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Quick write 10 minutes: Hair blow dryers in the gym locker room.
Quick write 10 minutes: Hair blow dryers in the gym locker room.
So I joined a gym and I guess that means I have also joined the circus. In the woman’s locker room there is the daily method, not method but liets see, ritual of woman dressing. I like dressing in community when I know the community. I don’t know many people there. I am beginning to recognize faces. Legs are up on benches put on lotion. Bodies are in different stages of coverages. Women strip off their sweaty spandex; slip on their underwears, business suits, uncomfortable shoes. Most women blow dry their hair without their shirt on. I believe this to be wise. You could get sweaty in the steamy room with many moving bodies when hot air is intentionally being blown at your head. And that would defeat the shower you’ve just taken. Hair, blonde, brown, black, short, long is blown in several directions. Forget the gym, high maintenance women are a work out in themselves. Their arms up and out in uncomfortable angles as they brush out their hair slowly and repeatedly ensuring the hot air grips and bakes every strand. They do this in front of the mirrors. Huddled Masses. I don’t think this is what the French had in mind when they gave us the statue of liberty. Do countries do things like that these days? Kindly, generously, give large metal women to other countries. I have only seen the statue of liberty once. That was from New Jersey; so I only saw her back side. I wonder what way she faces. I am not good with geography I guess. Does she face NY to promote self-pride of the New Yorkers, or out to the Atlantic to welcome the incoming. Poetically, I would like her to face the sea, to have her countenance and clothes wind torn and sea worn, as her eyes search the horizon for those huddled masses. As a tourist I would like her to face me. Wherever I am. Maybe they should put her on a lazy Susan. Why are lazy Susan’s named after women, why not Lazy Joe-Bob. As a woman, I object. If I ever have a need of a Lazy Joe-Bob, I will be sure to call it just that.
So I joined a gym and I guess that means I have also joined the circus. In the woman’s locker room there is the daily method, not method but liets see, ritual of woman dressing. I like dressing in community when I know the community. I don’t know many people there. I am beginning to recognize faces. Legs are up on benches put on lotion. Bodies are in different stages of coverages. Women strip off their sweaty spandex; slip on their underwears, business suits, uncomfortable shoes. Most women blow dry their hair without their shirt on. I believe this to be wise. You could get sweaty in the steamy room with many moving bodies when hot air is intentionally being blown at your head. And that would defeat the shower you’ve just taken. Hair, blonde, brown, black, short, long is blown in several directions. Forget the gym, high maintenance women are a work out in themselves. Their arms up and out in uncomfortable angles as they brush out their hair slowly and repeatedly ensuring the hot air grips and bakes every strand. They do this in front of the mirrors. Huddled Masses. I don’t think this is what the French had in mind when they gave us the statue of liberty. Do countries do things like that these days? Kindly, generously, give large metal women to other countries. I have only seen the statue of liberty once. That was from New Jersey; so I only saw her back side. I wonder what way she faces. I am not good with geography I guess. Does she face NY to promote self-pride of the New Yorkers, or out to the Atlantic to welcome the incoming. Poetically, I would like her to face the sea, to have her countenance and clothes wind torn and sea worn, as her eyes search the horizon for those huddled masses. As a tourist I would like her to face me. Wherever I am. Maybe they should put her on a lazy Susan. Why are lazy Susan’s named after women, why not Lazy Joe-Bob. As a woman, I object. If I ever have a need of a Lazy Joe-Bob, I will be sure to call it just that.
10 minute Quick Write: Birthdays
So I want to start by saying, I walk into walls. This has nothing to do with my birthday, but it can and has happened to me on my birthday. Birthdays are days when you swallow a penny and then you have another penny jingling inside of you. I will have 23 pennies jingling inside of me on January 9th. It’s not very much but if you think of the max being 1 dollar. I’m a quarter of the way there. I have noticed that sometimes when I wake up in the mornings I have lines under my eyes I did not used to have. This sometimes worries me. I wonder if in another 20 years I will be looking into the mirror and thinking, I look so old. Once this woman who is now about in her 50s told me “when I see myself in the mirror its such a surprise. I still think of myself as I was in my twenties” and she showed me this picture of her skinny with long brown hair, a smile that had no worries behind it. I never knew her that way. She was always a pudgy short haired lady with wrinkles and a warm face. She still smiles a lot, but it is a different kind of smile; you knew she had been through stuff, like raising three sons. I look at myself in the mirror sometimes think, is this for real? I feel like I have been pretending since about age 16, and what, whats this I hear about myself: I live and work in downtown LA. I pay bills, I am responsible, I do grown up things like go out for coffee. It still surprises me that I know how to drive. And when I calculate I have been able to drive for 6 freaking years! That’s a pretty long time. My aunt offered me advice “why don’t you work in the corporation you are working now for the next 20 years and you will be able to live securely and retire at a young age” Hmm while that does sound like an interesting option, I think I will opt for security in God not a corporation and see what else life has to offer outside the box [cubicle]. And what is a young age anyway? You never know how old you can grow to be. There is a limited supply of pennies to be swallowed. Happy Birthday.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)