I'm really damn lonely.
If I didn't have a job where I get to hug kids all day, I think I would just sit down with a big old bottle of red wine and purposefully lose my mind.
At least now I know what the problem is. I've been naggingly depressed for weeks and unable to pinpoint why. Now I plan to get my ass out there and make people meet me. (Hey, it's worked before.)
Physical labor helps as well. The Hated Loveseat was wrenched and wrestled out my apartment (argh, despite our best efforts Colette and I got it impossibly stuck in the doorway, until wheezing crippled sickly really old Ted limped out of his apartment and unstuck it in TWO SECONDS -- appreciated and yet so humiliating!), down the stairs, and to the curb, and now my muscles are deservedly tired and endorphins have soothed my troubled brain.
As for the loneliness -- it sucks, but it will pass. I just need to keep busy.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Daily Poem
Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread
and forgive us our debts
as we forgive our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
For Thine is the kingdom,
and the power,
and the glory forever.
Amen.
Charge our stiff backs with power
to roll into the morning.
As we squint over the rims of our coffee
let our eyes see blessing in the quivers
of the leaves outside the window,
dappling the table with spatters
of the sun that rose too soon for our taste.
Let us want nothing more than
the feel of your goodness gliding over
our dry hands as we check our e-mail,
the light slide of the Spirit
like a finger along our jaws
directing our heads to turn
and putting love into our hands
so that we smile and tell people hello
and give our spare quarters
so others can use the vending machines.
As we walk out to the parking lot
listing chores, call us to lift our eyes
to trace the boiling summer clouds
shaped like clay in your hands.
Put a song between our teeth and our tongues
like bread from the beaks of ravens
that we may taste praise
not of our making in our own mouths.
Teach us to feel above the contortions
in our guts when our coworkers
call us “you people,” when our families
forget to phone, when the feral yellow cat
kicks over the tomato plants for the twentieth time,
for we know we have said “you people,”
we have refrained from words of comfort,
and we have kicked the staring ribs of strays.
Let us take the stones we so readily gather
into our hands, and use them to line gardens.
Let us break no skulls or windows,
raise no welts on our own skin or others’.
Let us step upon the ruins of old orchard walls
on our walks, and breathe apple-tinged air in the evening.
For we know, O Lord, that today is a jar
of dark moving water
and when we hold back to watch you stir it
the pattern of light on the surface
will run sharp red over the backs of our knuckles
when we dip our hands
to draw forth wine under your watching.
Teach us, then, when we drag ourselves
under covers and muffle the light,
to close our eyes. Teach us to sink backward
into dark moving water, to stretch
toward your hands and to open our mouths.
Teach us to cry out, Amen.
hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread
and forgive us our debts
as we forgive our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
For Thine is the kingdom,
and the power,
and the glory forever.
Amen.
Charge our stiff backs with power
to roll into the morning.
As we squint over the rims of our coffee
let our eyes see blessing in the quivers
of the leaves outside the window,
dappling the table with spatters
of the sun that rose too soon for our taste.
Let us want nothing more than
the feel of your goodness gliding over
our dry hands as we check our e-mail,
the light slide of the Spirit
like a finger along our jaws
directing our heads to turn
and putting love into our hands
so that we smile and tell people hello
and give our spare quarters
so others can use the vending machines.
As we walk out to the parking lot
listing chores, call us to lift our eyes
to trace the boiling summer clouds
shaped like clay in your hands.
Put a song between our teeth and our tongues
like bread from the beaks of ravens
that we may taste praise
not of our making in our own mouths.
Teach us to feel above the contortions
in our guts when our coworkers
call us “you people,” when our families
forget to phone, when the feral yellow cat
kicks over the tomato plants for the twentieth time,
for we know we have said “you people,”
we have refrained from words of comfort,
and we have kicked the staring ribs of strays.
Let us take the stones we so readily gather
into our hands, and use them to line gardens.
Let us break no skulls or windows,
raise no welts on our own skin or others’.
Let us step upon the ruins of old orchard walls
on our walks, and breathe apple-tinged air in the evening.
For we know, O Lord, that today is a jar
of dark moving water
and when we hold back to watch you stir it
the pattern of light on the surface
will run sharp red over the backs of our knuckles
when we dip our hands
to draw forth wine under your watching.
Teach us, then, when we drag ourselves
under covers and muffle the light,
to close our eyes. Teach us to sink backward
into dark moving water, to stretch
toward your hands and to open our mouths.
Teach us to cry out, Amen.
Sunday, June 26, 2005
heat
The heat is bad. A fan provides no relief. All the pleasure is gone from drinking water, but you have to drink or pass out and so you keep drinking. The only foods you want to eat are dripping with grease and salt, or dug from green dappled rinds.
The only living creature in my apartment that is happy is the majesty palm. The other plants are looking wilted and oppressed.
But it has been a beautiful day. I walked down to a nearby park and climbed a tree and swung from playground swings. I also discovered that the "blackberry tree" in the alley is a mulberry, so it's officially safe to eat the fruit.
I wrote a poem yesterday.
The heat is killer.
The only living creature in my apartment that is happy is the majesty palm. The other plants are looking wilted and oppressed.
But it has been a beautiful day. I walked down to a nearby park and climbed a tree and swung from playground swings. I also discovered that the "blackberry tree" in the alley is a mulberry, so it's officially safe to eat the fruit.
I wrote a poem yesterday.
The heat is killer.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
pure, delicious, unadulterated malice
I have finally embraced the fact that I hate one of my loveseats. Not just accepted; embraced. I HATE this loveseat.
It was fine as a landing pad for bookbags, shopping bags, spare pillows, and mail when Marianne and I roomed together in our huge apartment at Hurwich Farms. It was even necessary, on occasion, to sit in (though not very often).
Surprisingly it's the couch that, of the two, looks the better. It has a sedate gingham pattern in slate blue -- ugly, but not an eyesore. It has respectable curves and lines, and looks like it could easily belong in a small suite in an assisted living facility. It appears to be comfortable, modest, and useful.
It's not any of those. The couch that M and I prefer is hideous, covered in scratchy upholstery over which the worst flowers of the 70s committed a grotesque mass suicide. It's orange and brown on a cream background, its lines and curves are accented by awful fakey wood, and it looks like it could easily belong in a garbage dump. It appears to be uncomfortable, garish, and better left for dead. However, it is quite comfortable and when one hides it under linen sheets it's not as offensive.
This living room ain't big enough for the two of them. I refused to admit this until moving day, when lo, the two together in one room made for a tight squeeze. Being stressed, I resolved to worry about it another day. (Never do this, Sarah; never do this.) So I kept ignoring it, a feat made easier by the prevalence of sixty hour work weeks.
Now that I'm done at Ann Taylor, I spent my Saturday cleaning the hell out of my kitchen. (Just about literally.) The kitchen is bitchin' and I'm itchin' to do the living room. But alack, NOTHING CAN BE DONE with the hated gingham loveseat smugly taking up more than its fair share of the room.
What I really resent about this loveseat is that I can't move it out alone. I'm not Mrs. Incredible. I'm not even Miss Incredible. I'm just a tall angry woman living alone who resents the fact that she cannot heave this accursed loveseat out the nearest window without help.
Colette is out of town for the day or I would have knocked on her door with a grinning request for assistance sometime this morning. I think I'll request her help when she gets home.
Bite me, loveseat.
It was fine as a landing pad for bookbags, shopping bags, spare pillows, and mail when Marianne and I roomed together in our huge apartment at Hurwich Farms. It was even necessary, on occasion, to sit in (though not very often).
Surprisingly it's the couch that, of the two, looks the better. It has a sedate gingham pattern in slate blue -- ugly, but not an eyesore. It has respectable curves and lines, and looks like it could easily belong in a small suite in an assisted living facility. It appears to be comfortable, modest, and useful.
It's not any of those. The couch that M and I prefer is hideous, covered in scratchy upholstery over which the worst flowers of the 70s committed a grotesque mass suicide. It's orange and brown on a cream background, its lines and curves are accented by awful fakey wood, and it looks like it could easily belong in a garbage dump. It appears to be uncomfortable, garish, and better left for dead. However, it is quite comfortable and when one hides it under linen sheets it's not as offensive.
This living room ain't big enough for the two of them. I refused to admit this until moving day, when lo, the two together in one room made for a tight squeeze. Being stressed, I resolved to worry about it another day. (Never do this, Sarah; never do this.) So I kept ignoring it, a feat made easier by the prevalence of sixty hour work weeks.
Now that I'm done at Ann Taylor, I spent my Saturday cleaning the hell out of my kitchen. (Just about literally.) The kitchen is bitchin' and I'm itchin' to do the living room. But alack, NOTHING CAN BE DONE with the hated gingham loveseat smugly taking up more than its fair share of the room.
What I really resent about this loveseat is that I can't move it out alone. I'm not Mrs. Incredible. I'm not even Miss Incredible. I'm just a tall angry woman living alone who resents the fact that she cannot heave this accursed loveseat out the nearest window without help.
Colette is out of town for the day or I would have knocked on her door with a grinning request for assistance sometime this morning. I think I'll request her help when she gets home.
Bite me, loveseat.
Friday, June 24, 2005
grabbing your rights by the tail
I'm on my monthly lunchbreak. Since Meg and I are the only adults reliably present during naptime, we get no lunchbreak any day of the week except the last Friday of every month, when we have an in-service day to clean and plan and restock our food cupboards...and take approximately five minutes for every day that we didn't get a break. (This works out to be a 90-minute lunch.)
All it all, it's a good job.
All it all, it's a good job.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
June goodness
The only sucky thing about summer is that if you put off washing your dishes for too long, the things in them start to rot.
Other than that...I love June.
There's a blackberry tree in the alley behind my house. I ate a lot of berries from it over the weekend and didn't get sick, so apparently it's bonafide. Colette and I saw a few more blackberry trees on the walk home from the ghetto Martin's today (for those of you who have never had the interesting experience of living in the Midwest, Martin's is a chain grocery store with lettering that looks like Halloween). The sad thing about the trees is that they were so big the branches didn't start till a good twenty feet up.
What a waste. I trod on fifteen pies' worth of fallen blackberries and couldn't possibly reach up to pick even a handful.
I'm going to plant one outside my window.
Other than that...I love June.
There's a blackberry tree in the alley behind my house. I ate a lot of berries from it over the weekend and didn't get sick, so apparently it's bonafide. Colette and I saw a few more blackberry trees on the walk home from the ghetto Martin's today (for those of you who have never had the interesting experience of living in the Midwest, Martin's is a chain grocery store with lettering that looks like Halloween). The sad thing about the trees is that they were so big the branches didn't start till a good twenty feet up.
What a waste. I trod on fifteen pies' worth of fallen blackberries and couldn't possibly reach up to pick even a handful.
I'm going to plant one outside my window.
Monday, June 20, 2005
an apology
It appears that I have offended a friend.
My apologies to Joshua Caler. He has e-mailed me with an explanation of his perspective and I'm fairly satisfied of his lack of malice (though easily misunderstood) in commenting on my post about the kittens.
I did not react to his comments with kindness or brotherly (sisterly?) love, which I regret. Thanks everyone for supporting me as usual (I've got some wonderfully loyal friends) in the decision by which I stand; but I was wrong in my final response, and I'm sorry for it.
A note on the kittens. They're not at the Humane Society; the good folk who found them are farmers who are continuing to put out kitten food for them, but are letting nature take its course outside the bounds of human population control.
And this is fine with me.
My apologies to Joshua Caler. He has e-mailed me with an explanation of his perspective and I'm fairly satisfied of his lack of malice (though easily misunderstood) in commenting on my post about the kittens.
I did not react to his comments with kindness or brotherly (sisterly?) love, which I regret. Thanks everyone for supporting me as usual (I've got some wonderfully loyal friends) in the decision by which I stand; but I was wrong in my final response, and I'm sorry for it.
A note on the kittens. They're not at the Humane Society; the good folk who found them are farmers who are continuing to put out kitten food for them, but are letting nature take its course outside the bounds of human population control.
And this is fine with me.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
the perils of good hygiene
I am never clipping my toenails again.
Thursday night I was sitting at the edge of my bed clipping my toenails when a fragment flew up into my right eye. It hurt like bloody hell. I clapped my hand over my eye and shot to the bathroom to wash it out and press a cold wet washcloth against it. After five or ten minutes the pain eased, though the eye didn't feel its usual slightly impaired but chipper self; but I was tired, so I went to bed.
Friday morning I woke up late and in the rush forgot all about my eye. But as the morning at work progressed, the eye kept getting more cranky. When I rolled it far to the right, I felt a sharp prick against my eyeball beneath the upper lid, in the corner by my nose. By lunchtime I was frantically flushing it out with a bulb syringe while the kids ate and ran around before naptime. By the time Meg got the last kid down for a nap, my eye was swollen and red, but no matter how many times I turned the lid inside out, I couldn't see anything in the tiny hand mirror that we had in the room.
"I'm going to the bathroom to check in better light," I told Meg and one of the volunteers, who were both looking at me with that pitying aw-poor-crazy-girl expression. "Maybe it's nothing and I've worked it all up by rubbing at it, but I'm going to see, just to make sure, and then I'll leave it alone."
In the bathroom I flipped on the beautiful fluorescent lights and leaned close to the mirror. I turned up my eyelid and slid out, not a tiny fragment as I had thought, but an entire toenail clipping, crescent shape and all, preserved completely intact inside my eye. It had turned to fit the curvature of my eyeball.
I swallowed a post-traumatic panic attack and went running back to the room to show Meg and Carolyn what had been lodged in my eye. Meg said a very naughty word in disbelief (fear not, the kids sleep in another room); Carolyn started patting my shoulder.
My eye has felt much better ever since. (Poor eye.) I've been told that I'm the only person who would need to wear goggles to keep her toenails trimmed.
Or at least my glasses. I'll approach toenail-clipping much less casually, henceforth. Who knew good hygiene habits could be so dangerous?
Thursday night I was sitting at the edge of my bed clipping my toenails when a fragment flew up into my right eye. It hurt like bloody hell. I clapped my hand over my eye and shot to the bathroom to wash it out and press a cold wet washcloth against it. After five or ten minutes the pain eased, though the eye didn't feel its usual slightly impaired but chipper self; but I was tired, so I went to bed.
Friday morning I woke up late and in the rush forgot all about my eye. But as the morning at work progressed, the eye kept getting more cranky. When I rolled it far to the right, I felt a sharp prick against my eyeball beneath the upper lid, in the corner by my nose. By lunchtime I was frantically flushing it out with a bulb syringe while the kids ate and ran around before naptime. By the time Meg got the last kid down for a nap, my eye was swollen and red, but no matter how many times I turned the lid inside out, I couldn't see anything in the tiny hand mirror that we had in the room.
"I'm going to the bathroom to check in better light," I told Meg and one of the volunteers, who were both looking at me with that pitying aw-poor-crazy-girl expression. "Maybe it's nothing and I've worked it all up by rubbing at it, but I'm going to see, just to make sure, and then I'll leave it alone."
In the bathroom I flipped on the beautiful fluorescent lights and leaned close to the mirror. I turned up my eyelid and slid out, not a tiny fragment as I had thought, but an entire toenail clipping, crescent shape and all, preserved completely intact inside my eye. It had turned to fit the curvature of my eyeball.
I swallowed a post-traumatic panic attack and went running back to the room to show Meg and Carolyn what had been lodged in my eye. Meg said a very naughty word in disbelief (fear not, the kids sleep in another room); Carolyn started patting my shoulder.
My eye has felt much better ever since. (Poor eye.) I've been told that I'm the only person who would need to wear goggles to keep her toenails trimmed.
Or at least my glasses. I'll approach toenail-clipping much less casually, henceforth. Who knew good hygiene habits could be so dangerous?
Saturday, June 11, 2005
the story of a girl
No, friends, I'm not crying a river, and I'm certainly not drowning the whole world. I don't usually look sad, and there aren't many photographs of me...
Okay, that's enough.
Today my landlord installed the air conditioner in my bedroom -- hallelujah, praise the Lord. I can't wait to walk into my own private Antarctica come bedtime. It has been HOT here and I'm tired of waking up five or six times in a night just because my body is wailing discomfort.
I also bought a window fan which will hopefully draw more air in through my windows. So far it seems to be working a little bit.
Manager Deborah had two black kittens for me to look at, but they were too small and needy for what I can handle right now, and way too expensive (I'd need to get them fixed, shots, and kitten food), so I comforted myself (because they're going to be killed -- argh, don't yell at me, I feel badly but this is the responsible thing to do) by going to Wal-Mart and buying a large palm plant. I brought it home and got my hands absolutely deliciously filthy in potting soil.
I put in my two-weeks' notice at Ann Taylor yesterday. I'm going to be poor as Adam for awhile but much happier with my nights and weekends wholly mine. I can't wait to spend Saturday mornings at the Farmers Market with Colette, and to take trips to the Warren Dunes on Lake Michigan, and to learn to garden, and to work around the apartment, and to read. It's going to be GREAT.
Hm, I think I can watch a movie before it's bedtime. Tomorrow I'm going to get a phone call from a good friend with whom I haven't spoken for awhile, so I'm excited. (Hey, that good friend could be you.)
Okay, that's enough.
Today my landlord installed the air conditioner in my bedroom -- hallelujah, praise the Lord. I can't wait to walk into my own private Antarctica come bedtime. It has been HOT here and I'm tired of waking up five or six times in a night just because my body is wailing discomfort.
I also bought a window fan which will hopefully draw more air in through my windows. So far it seems to be working a little bit.
Manager Deborah had two black kittens for me to look at, but they were too small and needy for what I can handle right now, and way too expensive (I'd need to get them fixed, shots, and kitten food), so I comforted myself (because they're going to be killed -- argh, don't yell at me, I feel badly but this is the responsible thing to do) by going to Wal-Mart and buying a large palm plant. I brought it home and got my hands absolutely deliciously filthy in potting soil.
I put in my two-weeks' notice at Ann Taylor yesterday. I'm going to be poor as Adam for awhile but much happier with my nights and weekends wholly mine. I can't wait to spend Saturday mornings at the Farmers Market with Colette, and to take trips to the Warren Dunes on Lake Michigan, and to learn to garden, and to work around the apartment, and to read. It's going to be GREAT.
Hm, I think I can watch a movie before it's bedtime. Tomorrow I'm going to get a phone call from a good friend with whom I haven't spoken for awhile, so I'm excited. (Hey, that good friend could be you.)
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
run rabbit run
I'm waiting on a friend to arrive to help me unload the furniture Mom and Dad bought for me, which I cannot get into my apartment by myself. (Sigh. The only downside to being single...you can't lift everything.)
She's running late.
I am rather happy, though, having learned that I can throw away my ugly and superfluous loveseat on the premises, once I call the Borough (or whatever) of South Bend to arrange for special pickup. One large item per month you can have removed for free.
I broke a glass last night on my kitchen floor (I had lifted the drying rack momentarily to the floor to create some temporary sink space and the glasses crashed against each other and one shattered -- applause to my genius) and although I did not sustain serious injuries from looking down and realizing that I was standing barefoot among the remains of the glass, I have been picking up little sparkling slivers all night and my poor feet hurt.
And yow, my apartment is disgustingly hot. The landlord offered to help me install my new air conditioner, so I'm going to call him and see if he can do it on Saturday. (I don't expect this air conditioner to cool the entire apartment; just my bedroom, so I can sleep comfortably; I'll get a large window fan for the rest of the apartment, to suck in air through all the open windows.)
Smoking Neighbor Ted took a tumble down the stairwell yesterday, and I arrived home from running errands at the same time as the paramedics and the police. (Five police officers with drawn guns waved me and the woman next door aside; apparently this isn't the best neighborhood.)
So it was interesting. I'm tired and going to bed; maybe I'll conclude the Ted tale tomorrow.
She's running late.
I am rather happy, though, having learned that I can throw away my ugly and superfluous loveseat on the premises, once I call the Borough (or whatever) of South Bend to arrange for special pickup. One large item per month you can have removed for free.
I broke a glass last night on my kitchen floor (I had lifted the drying rack momentarily to the floor to create some temporary sink space and the glasses crashed against each other and one shattered -- applause to my genius) and although I did not sustain serious injuries from looking down and realizing that I was standing barefoot among the remains of the glass, I have been picking up little sparkling slivers all night and my poor feet hurt.
And yow, my apartment is disgustingly hot. The landlord offered to help me install my new air conditioner, so I'm going to call him and see if he can do it on Saturday. (I don't expect this air conditioner to cool the entire apartment; just my bedroom, so I can sleep comfortably; I'll get a large window fan for the rest of the apartment, to suck in air through all the open windows.)
Smoking Neighbor Ted took a tumble down the stairwell yesterday, and I arrived home from running errands at the same time as the paramedics and the police. (Five police officers with drawn guns waved me and the woman next door aside; apparently this isn't the best neighborhood.)
So it was interesting. I'm tired and going to bed; maybe I'll conclude the Ted tale tomorrow.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
bright bright sunshiny day
I'm blogging from the homestead in my beloved Pennsylvania (I can now call it PA without people looking slightly puzzled) and it's gorgeously hot and very much June.
Eric and Kristin's wedding was perfect. (Of course, I was fifteen minutes late and so nearly missed the whole wonderfully short ceremony.)
And I'm with my family, including my sister (for the first time since last August -- hooray!!!), which is also perfect.
Eric and Kristin's wedding was perfect. (Of course, I was fifteen minutes late and so nearly missed the whole wonderfully short ceremony.)
And I'm with my family, including my sister (for the first time since last August -- hooray!!!), which is also perfect.
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