This is almost exactly opposite of how I think/feel about reacquainting myself with people from the past, but this speaks to me nonetheless. Pretty, pretty poetry. Kind of sad, yet calm, collected. Lovely.

Via Mighty Girl:

The Art of Disappearing
by Naomi Shihab Nye from Words Under the Words: Selected Poems

When they say Don’t I know you? say no.
When they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.
If they say we should get together.
say why? It’s not that you don’t love them any more.
You’re trying to remember something
too important to forget.
The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished. When someone recognizes you in a grocery
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven’t seen in ten years
appears at the door,
don’t start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.
Walk around feeling like a leaf. Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time.



This is my two-hundredth post on this blog. I’ll open with a quote I found when I googled ‘two hundred.’

There is a difference between a book of two hundred pages from the very beginning, and a book of two hundred pages which is the result of an original eight hundred pages. The six hundred are there. Only you don’t see them.

Elie Wiesel wrote a short book that I’ll never forget, Night. The rest of the quotes on the thinkexist page I linked to above are also worth reading. But if you haven’t ever read Night, I strongly encourage you to do so. It’s very short, but so moving, I can’t even properly describe how much I think that every person who can read, should read that book.

I write to understand as much as to be understood.”

This blog has allowed me to say things I might have otherwise kept inside, where they would do me more harm than good. It’s helped me take a step back from myself and realize what I really value in my life. It’s been pretty great therapy, and it’s free. I’m nowhere near done with this blog; I hope to keep it up for a very long time. In contrast to what I do on myspace, I don’t edit the archives here for content. Yet. I hope I never feel the need to remove any posts or any parts of them.

Friendship marks a life even more deeply than love. Love risks degenerating into obsession, friendship is never anything but sharing.

I’ve truly enjoyed sharing this with you readers. I’ve enjoyed very much what you’ve shared with me in return. To me, this is what life’s all about. Not blogging per se, but the exchange of ideas, the want to explore things outside myself, outside my sphere of comfort, and tell people who care what I think about those things; hearing what others think about those things, forming opinions and allowing myself to change those opinions as I learn new ways to approach issues and ideas. I love it.

I don’t think there’s a logical conclusion to this post, because it’s still just a continuation. So here’s one last quote from Eli Wiesel:

Words can sometimes, in moments of grace, attain the quality of deeds.

Counting my blessings

Heh. This makes me feel so grounded, normal, and calm. I’ve got my moments of blind rage, but so far I’ve been able to mostly contain them to screaming like a madwoman. And, if I ever do go nuts and destroy something in vengeance – which isn’t in my plans or anything, nobody need run and hide – it won’t be front-page news.

I love Scott Weiland. I loved STP. He’s not looking so hot these days, though. Drugs are bad!

A million little pieces, all moving in different directions

I heard yesterday that my cousin and his wife are expecting! Some time in October. I’m so excited for another baby in the family, and they’ll be awesome parents. My aunt suggested that we’d all fly out west and throw her a baby shower. I had to laugh; what six-months or so pregnant woman wants all her husband’s crazy relatives showing up uninvited? Hilarious.

I hate that I have this alternate reaction in my head/heart. I’m jealous, and that makes me so…mad at myself. It’s not our time. We’ve got other things going on; we should be house-hunting, Mike needs a new car, my work’s moving, and on and on and on. It’s not like I don’t have plenty of distractions, and I feel like I’ve rebounded so well from where I was in late September/October. Yet, I just couldn’t stop it. My stomach sank. My voice got all high and falsetto. Of course I’m happy for them, I don’t begrudge them a split-second’s happiness and joy. Why do I also have to feel so….graceless?

I hate my biological clock. I’m nowhere near time running out on it, but you’d think I was creeping up on 40 the way my mind goes round and round. For the most part, it’s easy enough to focus on other things, career, household stuff, etc. At the most random moments in my day, I just slap myself in the face with thoughts of how big and fat and picking out names I would have been by now. Why do I do that to myself? What happened was not the end of the world, it wasn’t the end of me, it wasn’t the end of anything except a very, very brief pregnancy. There will be more. Everything will be okay. Been a while since I had to tell myself that more than once a day. Okay, this is getting ridiculous. Why am I so fucking dramatic?

Answer Box

FM: Would you ever run for public office?

Me: Yes. I used to think definitely not, but after watching America try to impeach non-inhaling Clinton for lying about an extramarital blow job, then elect a veritable draft-dodging, born-again numb-skull, ‘nucular’-saying tyrant and not impeach him because of homeland security concerns, I think there’s nothing left for me to be ashamed of. If I found myself surrounded by capable people who would support a campaign, I’d be up for it. Something tells me my husband might not be so thrilled to be up for public examination, but like so many other things, you never know until you ask, and we’ve certainly never discussed that. All the skeletons in my closet should probably pale in comparison to what we’ve seen in the political/tabloid arena in the past decade. There is no shame anymore, that much is clear.

FM: Dayton, Ohio—Great city, or the greatest city?

Me: Great city, certainly not the greatest. I’ve got love for Dayton, there’s something perfect about a mid-sized city. You can become familiar enough with it that you get comfortable, feel like you know it inside and out, yet it’s large enough that you can always find something new to amuse yourself. After living in Springfield, I really miss Dayton. I’d love to live in a bigger city, or maybe even out in the country, but Dayton will always be home. Roots.

FM: You’ve got to start it all over again with a different science. Which one will it be?

Me: Now that, that is one hell of a difficult question. Part of me would like to move up (or down, depending on your view) the chain of physics envy, and go smaller. Microbiology or biochemistry. Reproductive endocrinology would be fascinating. Knowing what I know now, maybe even pharmacology. The other part of me would like something with fieldwork; The Trouble with Testosterone made zoology and evolutionary biology sound really enthralling. There are way too many scientific branches to choose from. If I were true to my political leanings, some sort of environmental work would be most fitting. Get on that global warming bandwagon, trying my best to not get too far swayed by the current rhetoric.

FM: Under what circumstances (if any) would you commit murder?

Me: Another difficult question. This might be a cop-out, but the most likely setting would probably be self-defense, which then would not be murder, correct? Otherwise, I’ll say if someone were aiming at my husband or potential children, family or close friends, I’d try to take the predator’s life before he/she took one I hold dear. Also, if they did manage to hurt or kill someone I love, I’d probably be tempted to exact vigilante justice while they were awaiting trial, but I think I think too much to actually go that far. Without having been in that position, I think even the worst of criminals should sit and rot in prison rather than be executed, by my hand or by the state.

FM: Have you ever written fiction?

Me: Ever? Of course, as a child/teenager, I was given assignments to “write a story,” which I always hated. My mom saved a lot of them, and I have them in a storage box in my office. They’re hilarious. I should dig some out and post them as a Cringe-tribute. But as an adult, no, not really. I’ve taken one particularly dramatic episode from recent history and pretended to fictionalize it on this blog, but it wasn’t really fiction. Unfortunately. I could see myself giving it a go, eventually, but I don’t think I’m quite ready to synthesize all my life experiences into one story yet. I need more distance, time-wise, from my most painful memories to arrive at a perspective that wouldn’t be too autobiographical.

That was fun! And now I owe Feral Mom at least one well-considered question. If any of you have any ideas or things you’d like to know about her, leave some comments and we’ll come to a consensus. Or, if you’d like me to interview you, that would be fun, too! Speak your mind; use it or lose it.

Feral Interview

Something saved my Monday from descending into a spiral of work-hatred and bitchiness! Feral Mom has offered to interview anyone up for it, and I volunteered. For the moment, I should go like, work, and shit. But, as a tease, here are the questions which I will answer:

For AmeDame:

Would you ever run for public office?

Dayton, Ohio—Great city, or the greatest city?

You’ve got to start it all over again with a different science. Which one will it be?

Under what circumstances (if any) would you commit murder?

Have you ever written fiction?

and Streeee-eeetch…

Nothing like what I believe the British call a good lie-in. Now that winter’s over, seems my body’s finally re-learned how to hibernate. I love to sleep in. For the past five or six months, I just couldn’t do it. As much as I wanted to, my mind would just not slow down enough for me to just keep sleeping. I think I’m getting the hang of it again; it’s about time. Sweet dreams.

I’ve always somewhat disliked the fall season. It’s beautiful in Ohio, with leaves bursting into oranges and reds, but it makes me feel like something bad is coming. Time to go back to school, to spend all my money on textbooks and start worrying about grades again. This past year, winter just felt like an extended fall, something to bear down on and power through. We made it. It’s finally starting to sink in that I have very little reason to feel so anxious. I’m allowed to relax. The things I’m procrastinating are not items with deadlines; I will not get an F or an incomplete if I put them off for another whole year. Nothing wrong with being a fifth-year senior. I can take some time to smell the roses. The aroma is intoxicating.