Beautiful Inheritance

2012-02-13T15:06:00.000-08:00

This triptych altarpiece was created by Matthias Grunewald in the early 16th century for a hospital full of syphilitics, thus the gangrenous colors and horrific emphasis of the crucifixion. On major holy days, the clergy would turn the triptych around to reveal glory.

Garden

2012-02-10T11:22:00.000-08:00

This is my new patio garden with help from my mom. I'm growing spinach, bok choy, rosemary, geraniums, succulents, zucchini squash, and basil.

I've decided to reinvest all the money I make from teaching creative writing toward my own writing. All income from creative writing classes and private coaching will go toward renting a space in Joshua Tree, buying books, and other literary ventures.

2012-01-30T14:23:00.000-08:00

My sleeping pattern is so irregular right now. Last night, I slept in a different bed and could not get up in the morning. The other room is so much warmer. No wonder the dog sleeps in all the time. He moved into the other room a few weeks ago.

Working on an essay about a poet, and on another about fairytales.

Applied to Sewanee for summer but may not get in since I applied for the scholarship. There are a ton of other people who have more voluminous CVs. But we're also planning a South America trip for summer just to get away for a while.

My accelerated night class ends this next weekend. A new class starts the following week and I get a fresh start, a new student body, and I'll be implementing a whole different syllabus with a portfolio at the end as the final project. I don't know why I didn't think of doing this before. My media analysis assignment at the course's end didn't go as well as planned. But it's good to test things out. I may return to poetry, too, for analysis papers.

This week I'll be reading up on Marina Warner and Angela Carter.

2012-01-28T12:31:00.000-08:00

The weather is amazing and the weirdness is on in San Diego. On our drive to Balboa Park, the dog and I saw marathon runners in superhero capes. And a man pushing a shopping cart full of his belongings in white clown paint (part of marathon or no?). At the park: nearly naked male sunbathers on the lawns, elderly lawn bowlers in white-trimmed pastel leisure suits, and squirrels--so many, but not enough for the dog.

My story is up on The Montreal Review.

2012-01-27T13:24:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the Hulu descriptions of episodes are funny in their vagueness. For one episode of Louie the reviewer states: "Louie has a pretty bad time in general." What?

Free weekend! I finished the 90 papers. I'm treating myself today, and then M and I are having dinner at Alexander's and Cucina Urbana this weekend. We're going to the farmer's market, too. I've never been to the one out here. I might take the dog to the dog beach.

My sister comes down next Friday and we'll have a sisters weekend--brunch, shopping, fancy dinners, drinking, a movie.

It's getting warmer and warmer. I hope it stays that way. I need full sunlight all the time.

2012-01-25T14:04:00.000-08:00

Seventy-five student essays left to grade. The dog is sleeping on the patio in full sunlight. He seems perfectly happy among the geraniums, basil, and succulents.

Winter makes for difficult teaching: resistance, foul moods, the cold mornings, illness. There is so much else students bring into the classroom aside from questions and papers.

Spring break isn't until April. But January is nearly done. I've decided not to take on any classes in summer. I'd like to take a long trip out of the country.

2012-01-24T15:34:00.000-08:00

Finished a new short story this week in between grading. Have been listening nearly nonstop to Dustin O'Halloran for the past week.

Caught M's cold but haven't missed any obligations. Walked a mile with the dog to fetch a turkey burger and carried it home, awkwardly.

I don't feel terrible, only tired and that's to be expected. Finished the second out of five fiction workshop meetings last night. Felt something lingering in the air after the critiques, displaced disappointment, frustration, and possibly a little injury. I forget that some workshops end this way. But...transference, countertransference. Maybe?

Tried to read Transtromer's stuff but found it difficult. That's the trouble with reading a collection of collections. If a single page houses more than one poem, it's too much. I put it away today, but will try tomorrow. I only really read one poem. While it is economical to buy the collected, it's really better to read a slim collection of poetry at a time. It's much more manageable that way, otherwise there is too much cake, and then of course you have to eat it all at some point.

I'm still waiting to hear back about my essay on apocalypse and the sublime. I wonder if I should sent it to TMR. They have been receptive to my work this year. Not sure how much longer I'll have to wait--April or May, probably.

Have been getting rejections for work: two last week, but I still have 20 to hear from. The rejection hardly matters anymore, but in clusters they remind me not to take things for granted.

2012-01-15T23:46:00.000-08:00

Downton Abbey--such a great show about all of the changes at the turn of the century--fin de siecle! Women, class, duty, honor, romance.

But a few patterns have set in:

If Bates won't answer, he's doing something annoyingly chivalrous.
If Mary has a hand over her face, she's in tears about Cousin Matthew.
If servant A answers for servant B, both servants A and B are lying to servant C.

2012-01-15T22:25:00.001-08:00

Was supposed to be in Big Sur this weekend, but M caught a cold. Instead, we hiked Cabrillo National Park and the grounds around the Junipero Serra Museum.

Am feeling stuck in my way of life. But what else should I do? I need some adventure.

Would like to see Lava Beds and Redwood National Parks this year.

Freedom

2012-01-14T11:26:00.000-08:00

I was at the chiropractor's office recently flipping through an issue of BITCH magazine, and I couldn't help but wonder if some of our feminist creations are actually still within the lines that society has drawn for us. Angela Carter in a personal essay about Linda Lovelace discusses the irony of Lovelace being perhaps the saddest creature of all, believing she is free, and not only that, but happy in her false freedom as a sex worker known foremost for being able to swallow a man's foot (and not orally). She psychoanalyzes this as a response to her female castration or powerlessness, which in turn causes her to want to ingest/swallow all parts of the male body in order to latently devour/overpower him. Are we free at all? From the oppression against our sex, from oligarchy, from the corrupted ends of unrestricted capitalism, from our own inclinations to hurt and exploit in all degrees? Can one ever be free once these things are set in place? (Horkheimer and Adorno would say no.)

2012-01-01T11:21:00.000-08:00

This winter has been difficult for writing. Next week is the last segment of my break and I'll be moving and settling in; any sort of upheaval always complicates the writing process. I find that if I don't have a specific project (though there are always half a dozen or so) that I am really focused on, it's nearly impossible to progress. And by focus I don't necessarily mean structure or plot--it's the more nebulous feeling of the piece. I have to be able to hold it and sustain it over the weeks and months in order to get this thing down on paper, and then fill it out. All of the workshoppy elements of fiction are secondary, though this is what you get first when you read the how-to writing books, all of them apocryphal.

A lot of the time I have to "flush the hares" from my brain, and chase them or stop chasing thing; ask all of the hard questions and stop asking them. My mind is a pinball machine in reverse. If everything comes together and I can still the mind and focus and stop asking a million questions, the flippers will stop ticking all over the place and let the ball fall through the chute in a straight shot. But it's rare. It's easier with poetry and flash fiction--the space you are working with is so much smaller. And what you have to sustain is over a shorter period of time.

Boundaries

2011-12-28T15:55:00.000-08:00

Invariably, when I conduct this exercise in a group, no matter how sophisticated the players, people violate their own boundaries. Many people don't feel where the boundary is. They look scared. They withdraw inside themselves, but still they say "fine" instead of saying "get out of my face." Such inattention indicates how serious early violation has been by parents and others.

With children the boundaries change. We change their diapers and then we allow them to keep the door closed when they are sitting on the toilet. At first we attend to every aspect of their being. Every decision is ours to make, but gradually we need to give over control or we become "intrusive."

By not being sensitive to the gradations of power and space as the child grows, we fail to educate our children in a sense of personal boundary. In some families a child is not allowed to say "no" to a parent without verbal or physical abuse. A child who protests or shows anger is humiliated. How can a person believe in boundaries when their separate identity has never been respected before?
...
Without a clear no, we cannot have a clear yes.

-The Body in Recovery, John P. Conger

Homily on Prayer, John Chrysostom

2011-12-22T19:47:00.000-08:00

This was sent to me by a dear friend this past week--on beautiful typeset. It is a homily on prayer by John Chrysostom, a 4th century church father. Even if you are not a Christian, you might take pleasure in this beautiful language. For me, I take pleasure and comfort in what prayer is in our secret, interior lives.

"Prayer is the light of the spirit. Prayer and converse with God is a supreme good: it is a partnership and union with God. As the eyes of the body are enlightened when they see light, so our spirit, when it is intent on God, is illumined by his infinite light. I do not mean the prayer of outward observance but prayer from the heart, not confined to fixed times, or periods but continuous throughout the day and night.

Our spirit should be quick to reach out toward God not only when it is engaged in meditation; at other times also, when it is carrying out its duties, caring for the needy, performing works of charity, giving generously in the service of others, our spirit should long for God, and call him to mind, so that these works may be seasoned with the salt of God's love, and so make a palatable offering to the Lord of the universe. Throughout the whole of our lives we may enjoy the benefit that comes from prayer if we devote a great deal of time to it.

Prayer is the light of the spirit, true knowledge of God, mediating between God and man. The spirit, raised up to heaven by prayer, clings to God with the utmost tenderness; like a child crying tearfully for its mother, it craves the milk that God provides. It seeks the satisfaction of its own desires, and receives gifts outweighing the whole world of nature.

Prayer stands before God as an honored ambassador. It gives joy to the spirit, peace to the heart. I speak of prayer, not words. It is the longing for God, love too deep for words, a gift not given by man but by God's grace. The apostle Paul says: "We do not know how we are to pray but the Spirit himself pleads for us with inexpressible longings." Rom. 8:26.

When the Lord gives this kind of prayer to [someone]; he gives him riches that cannot be taken away, heavenly food that satisfies the spirit. One who tastes this food is set on fire with an eternal longing for the Lord: his spirit burns as in a fire of the utmost intensity.

Practice prayer from the beginning. Paint your house with the colors of modesty and humility. Make it radiant with the light of justice. Decorate it with the finest gold leaf of good deeds. Adorn it with the walls and stones of faith and generosity. Crown it with the pinnacle of prayer. In this way you will make it a perfect dwelling place for the Lord. You will be able to receive him as in a splendid palace, and through his grace you will already possess him, his image enthroned in the temple of your spirit. "

2011-12-21T00:35:00.000-08:00

My biggest worry is that I won't finish, even if roughly, my short story over break. Inadvertently came to an answer about the story's ending in the car a month ago while listening to Tycho. I've been hanging on to it, and will hang on a little longer until I have the two full weeks to write after Christmas. It's a delicious anticipation, and sometimes stippled with dread that it won't come out right.

Here are the next things I am super excited to read in the new year, but I haven't bought them. No new books until I finish some old ones!
The Snow Leopard by Peter Matthiesen
The Great Enigma: New Collected Poems by Tomas Transtromer
Wherever You Go, There You Are by Jon Kabat Zinn

But I can't start these until I finish the first set of books... Carter's collected nonfiction, by the way, is written in her characteristically gorgeous and painfully precise prose. I should make a list of good essays or essay-like stories about writers' love for their mothers: Carter and Munro make the list.

Now that I'm thinking about my own work, I may have to cut down on the personal projects so that I can finish the story, a single poem, perhaps a single essay, and the food reviews just for fun. What will I do first? The food reviews. Best to get them out of the way, out of my system. Then the poem, just to clear the phrases and images out of my head. Stick them to paper. And the short story, which may or may not come to completion this break, but any advancement will be good. Finally, the essay--this will take some time, too--I'll need to go over a few collections of poetry to refresh and gather my thoughts.

Today I completed course planning for all three composition classes. Tomorrow I will plan out the first week of class lecture, activities, and readings. Soon, it will be my turn. I'm thinking of going to the Museum of Contemporary Art in La Jolla--it might be conducive to a piece, and there is an overly luxurious cafe just a walk from the beach. So excited to work.

2011-12-20T01:34:00.000-08:00

One late final paper, and I am now officially done with classes for this term. All of the Christmas shopping is done, the gifts wrapped, and the cards written and/or mailed. The bills are paid, the laundry is washed, and I've already completed the syllabi for my three classes next semester. I am totally on it. Sans coffee, too. I gave that up two weeks ago, and I'm still alive; the caffeine withdrawals did not cause an internal apocalypse.

My three-week holiday has begun, and there's still much to accomplish in the first week of break. On the academic side:

plan classes for comp class 1
plan classes for comp classes 2 & 3
write up mini-lectures and plan writing assignments for my January fiction workshop downtown
make sure my parking hanger arrives so I don't get ticketed on campus
make copies of syllabi for all classes
make sure all the textbooks are ordered and available at the bookstore
make sure my own extra desk copy arrives at some point in time...if ever

Once all the academic stuff is organized, I can move onto the personal projects for the last two weeks of break:

work on the short story
write two reviews
proof my short story before publication in Jan
write 3 essays on 3 writers and their works
start/finish readings: Angela Carter's collected nonfiction, Conger's orgone therapy, Didion's latest memoir, John Chrysostom, and Proverbs

And for my own health and sanity, I'll be in yoga classes four times a week. Practicing yoga, getting chiropractic work, eating decently, and splurging on the occasional massage have really kept illness at bay this year. I caught a cold a few months ago, but it was so mild and short due to all the self-care and oregano oil. I'm going to work to stay healthy through next term, and manage the stress. It's always the little things that get me.

2011-12-16T00:51:00.000-08:00

For Christmas, I would like all of my students to pass my night class. And I'd also like to finish my personal projects over the break.

Next semester I have 3 composition classes--one at night with the university I'm teaching at now, and two during the day at a community college I taught at last spring. My schedule is jam packed into two days when I'll be teaching 8 hours/day. This might not seem terrible. Normal people work 8 hours a day. But teaching 8 hours a day is being "on" and in front of students all of those hours. And factor in 90 students, which means a minimum of 90 assignments to grade per week. I'm already anxious about it.

I taught 3 classes last spring, but two of them were humanities. I'm using my winter break to work hard to organize all the syllabi, class content, lectures, and assignments. Then I'm using the last two weeks to work on my own writing. The next teaching hiatus is spring break in April. I'll have another week then to work on my own projects.

My story is coming out in The Montreal Review in January, I think. That was the last they told me. And my art review appears in INK around the same time. A good start to the new year. I still have five projects in various stages to complete.

To keep my sanity next term, though, I'm going to have to really coordinate all of my class schedules so I don't end up grading all 90 student papers on the same day, or some other insane scheduling flub.

The upside is that I have three days of non-teaching a week, which means I'll have time for yoga, dog walks, grading and prep, the occasional massage, and volunteer work. Yes! After many unreturned voicemails, and various interactions with cranky, clueless, or disinterested administrators, the dog and I have finally found a new place for volunteering. The nursing home is across the expansive Balboa Park we frequent every week (the dog's favorite). The coordinator was enthusiastic about us, and even mentioned that there are no volunteer pets yet at the facility. We start next Wednesday. My sister tells me she'll begin volunteering in the new year, too, but in a different capacity (legal aid). We got the volunteer bug from our Mom. She used to take us to the local nursing home and have us make room visits to the elderly, play cards, help decorate, and even, embarrassingly but sweetly enough, put on piano and violin recitals. It gave us a heart for this kind of volunteer work, and it's stayed with us. She continues to do it, too, even though she's abroad now.

Christmas shopping is almost done. The presents for husband, sister, brother, in-laws, and nephews are hidden in my room. I've only one gift left to buy for my sister-in-law, whom I love. And wine for the two Christmas parties. And a pie, possible a turkey depending on how ambitious I feel.

I will miss my less complicated, less student-filled life. But I've got to work these classes, tutor online, and freelance next term to save money. Who knows what will happen in summer or fall--M will be looking for jobs after graduation. While I'm hopeful, I'm also hedging just in case the worst happens. And there isn't much security as an adjunct, though I'm newly grateful for God's providence each year.

2011-12-10T13:02:00.001-08:00

Met with a long time friend I haven't seen in five years. We were romantically linked in college, and have maintained mutual affection and respect all these years. I'm glad we didn't live together, or take things too seriously. At nineteen you're not a fully formed human, and young relationships can lead to injurious ends. In other words, I'm glad we didn't seriously hurt each other seven years ago.

Earlier this week I met with another old friend-- a high school friend I had not seen or heard from in ten years.

These meetings are valuable to me in ways I can't articulate. It must be a quarter-life milestone to meet up again with old friends. No wonder it's the subject of many sit-coms and soaps. No high drama for me, though.

Did my laundry, and the dog's. He's snuggled under the covers of M's bed right now. Anyway, the dog had two dirty blankets that needed washing. And now it's done. I'm on to grading a bajillion papers.

2011-12-09T00:49:00.001-08:00

Should information always be free? I ask because I met another English composition adjunct today (rare), and we actually talked (rarer!). He's new at the school, and he asked how I teach, what I teach, how I split up my time in class. I had so many questions when I first started teaching the accelerated courses. But there was no one to help. So I answered him, and then offered to send him a couple student samples so that he could show his students. Right away I experienced two things simultaneously: the desire to make information free, and the desire to withhold because of competition. But I don't think the latter is a valid concern since 1) a fair competition is best 2) this is for education and the greater good 3) I like to help.

I don't know. Adjuncts can be secretive. Writers even more so.

Next week is the last stretch of class. I have 60 papers and 30 outlines to grade in 9 days. Totally do-able, right! (Stage of grading: denial).

Feeling very sensitive lately--not that I'm acting out or crying; I just feel it. Must be the holidays!

2011-12-06T11:37:00.001-08:00

I am slowly, as we speak, giving up the reality that I might even go to yoga today. The class starts in 15 minutes. I find that I go through this cycle of being fired up about it, being consistent and going 3 days in a row, then missing my Friday class at which point I do not go to yoga for 4 days in a row. So which is the more impressed pattern? The not going.

Lately, I've only wanted to lie in bed, veg out for hours and hours. Maybe it's the holidays. I feel lazy to the extreme. So lazy I don't even want to walk the dog more than a block or two. It's like I have mono without having it. It's like I'm living the life of a depressed shut-in without being really depressed. I want to sleep and sleep until it's late spring ripening into summer.

Finally, I am nearing the end of grading. Maybe grading depresses me. Found this true and funny blog post about how grading induces the five stages of grief. Read it and know what all instructors think and feel.

I want to go somewhere else in the world and do nothing.

Tonight there's class. I've incorporated TED Talks into my four-hour classes. I have two papers left to grade, an insurmountable amount of work to do with my own writing, and a million things to read. Plus moving. The condo is finally foreclosed, and we're being offered a little assistance to move out in one month exactly. This move will help us eliminate all the extra things we don't need. But still, moving. What a pain.

2011-11-29T10:45:00.001-08:00

I'm reading The Body in Recovery by John P. Conger and I highly recommend it if you're interested in bioenergetics. I'd like to go to a holistic therapist but it's so expensive. So I'm reading this book and using the tools for self-therapy.

I teach tonight. Half of my students were absent last week because of the holiday, and I've been getting emails that they aren't sure what to do for the assignment. Of course they are: they missed class. I teach an accelerated one-month course in composition. That's 8 classes with some Saturday emailed assignments. The countdown has started, we're in class 2 tonight. It's exciting to see how much students improve in just a month if you push them hard.

Jack Gilbert has a quiet, frightening poem in this week's New Yorker about aging. His poetry is full of wisdom, and serves as a guide for the introspective mind.

What am I going to have the students free write tonight? I don't want a boring topic like how can you succeed in this course though I suspect it's important.

With the holidays around the corner, I feel an anticipatory excitement. As if anything can happen. It's such a good time to socialize.

Going to yoga now.

2011-11-18T11:23:00.001-08:00

The interview I wrote with new media design artist Noa Kaplan is online now! You can read it at The Montreal Review.

Winter

2011-11-16T13:26:00.001-08:00

M and I are going to take a ten-day tour of California over winter break. We have about a month to plan what we'll indulge in. My list so far consists of a visit to the LACMA and Getty in Los Angeles, the Monterey Bay Aquarium, and San Francisco MOMA, to which I've never been. I also want to take a long hike through a Northern California forest, and spend time in Berkeley bookstores and cafes.

I need these mini vacations to look forward to.

I start teaching the composition courses next week and the courses will run through the end of March. Hopefully, a few more courses will open up then so I have work. I also have two more classes in spring with the art center downtown. I'm teaching an Intro to Fiction course that focuses on technique and sentences, and a Stories of Suspense course that teaches students how to write about murder, suicide, madness. I'll be using Didion, Carter, and Oe in that second class--I've never taught it before so it'll be fun.

It's strange, we could be moving out of San Diego next summer. It all depends on where M finds work after graduating.

The early darkness is getting to me. The sun is setting at five-thirty, and I can't believe I used to live in Chicago with its biting wind, bitter ice, and endless gray months.

This year I started to feel my own mortality. I know that sounds maudlin and weird, but I am getting wrinkles, and the enamel is wearing down on my teeth, and I am already twenty-six. I also had a heart palpitation the other week that for someone reason made me think for a moment that I might die. The only thought I really had was panic because it would be so anticlimactic to end it there, in the car, on my way to who knows where with so many stories unfinished, M not fully moved in, my parents in another country, my dog in the house alone.

Do you think about this?

Earlier this week, M found a note taped to my door. Apparently, the dog had done his business in the courtyard somewhere. An accident. Probably when I was doing laundry and had let him out to sun for a moment. The letter was so intense--tons of bold lettering and exclamations. How does someone get so bent out of shape over an accident? Like when M spilled wine in his step-dad's house and his step-dad just completely flipped. Or when parents scream at children for dropping/breaking/spilling something by accident. I've been really careful ever since, but also had to calm myself and not care too much.

A good piece of news: my first full short story will appear in January with The Montreal Review. I love them. Word of advice: write a review to get in the door.

2011-11-13T13:05:00.001-08:00

Feeling depressed today, so took the dog out to La Jolla. Felt better seeing the sky and water; there were seals floating on their backs in the surf. Took the brine with me in my hair. The dog had a nice time spotting ground squirrels on the cliffs.

On the drive home a couple stopped their car beside mine and rolled down their window. But when I turned to them, they only stared. And before the light turned green, the woman said, "Mariko?" and I shook my head and drove away.

Took an Epsom bath salt, read Joan Didion's "On Self-Respect." Ordered a book on orgone therapy in addition to Didion's newest book, Blue Nights. Made vegetable soup. Am trying to decide what to work on, though I suspect I will write nothing today.

A small piece of news: my interview with new media artist Noa Kaplan will appear in The Montreal Review by the month's end.

Halloween

2011-10-31T09:53:00.000-07:00

A little travel article on Madrid here in the San Diego Reader. I actually get paid for this one!

I spent the weekend in Jefferson City, Missouri with my friend, A-M, a poet. We made candied pralines (a first for me), carved pumpkins, walked through their little downtown area, visited Columbia, and went to a department party for the college at which she and her boyfriend teach. I forgot how beautifully expansive the midwestern sky is. Of course, also spotted cows and drove by many fields.

It's Halloween and I don't think I'm doing anything fun tonight. Boo. (Pun.)

My intensive writing month begins today. M made me some French press coffee this morning, then I spent a good hour repotting some geraniums, rosemary, basil, and succulents, and sweeping the front of the house, and using the random two cinderblocks that came with this apartment as a platform for the plants. I'm doing laundry, will need to make a trip to Target and the grocery. Is it bad to put a fly trap at the front of your house? I don't know. There are HOA rules here since most are condo owners here.

This weekend I'll be going up to L.A. to meet with an artist. I believe my sister will be here late in the week for fun times.

It's almost Thanksgiving. The year is passing so quickly.

Oh, and I want to go to the Phenomenal: California Light, Space, Surface event at the Museum of Contemporary Art in downtown San Diego on Thursday night.

Art Review!

2011-10-23T20:31:00.000-07:00

Great news! My art review of design/media artist Noa Kaplan will be in the next issue of Ink Magazine. They put out some really beautiful issues. My first essay/review publication!

2011-10-21T13:43:00.000-07:00

The English composition class is nearly finished; the students email their final papers to me on Saturday. We had individual conferences last night, and it was a life affirming experience. I was afraid near the end of the course that I had done too much, not enough--that I wasn't quite effective, or that the syllabus could be altered to be better. When you teach, you have this long silence, this vacuum--the students take it all in and don't comment on the quality of you're teaching so you're kind of in the dark, hoping you're getting to them.

During my conference break, I made photocopies of stories I'll teach at the art center downtown. We're going to read Lahiri's "A Temporary Matter," Jhabvala's "The Interview," Bloom's "Silver Water," and Wolff's "In the Garden of the North American Martyrs." Here's the progression in stories: story with a closed, repeating environment creates pressure on cracking relationship; first person unreliable narrator story; story in which someone kills herself, possible moral story; moral story set in academia.

I have 7 signed up for the workshop so far. It's a fairly large group for me since I've only had 6 at most. The workshop runs over four weeks at two hours per session, one session a week. I'm so excited to talk about fiction again. It's been a long time since I taught my last workshop. I think I might talk about process and method a bit, too.

I'm basically free to read and write as I please starting this weekend. I've already started writing by hand. That's my project: to write all fiction by hand over the next month. I'll be reading more Carter, the Carr book about Internet and brain, probably Dubliners, and whatever else I can get my hands on.

Also currently obsessed with light and space exhibits, and new media installations.

Last week I saw a car on the freeway shoulder; it was on fire. It was so recent none of the lanes were blocked off. Two people stood sixty feet away, their arms crossed, watching it burn. The fire truck rolled up, and then I was gone and couldn't see.

This new diagram is James Turrell's Roden Crater project. It opens in a few years, and I'm hoping to make a pilgrimage.

Poem!

2011-10-16T22:09:00.001-07:00

My poem is out in Valparaiso Poetry Review!

Post-MFA Life

2011-10-13T11:34:00.000-07:00

One of the blogs I read is shutting down: Three Ps of Post-Montana MFA '08. I found this while I was in the MFA program at Johns Hopkins. I was accepted into Montana's program, which is why I had this fascination with the program: my alternate reality. Alas, they're closing it down, but their last post inspired me to review my literary life since graduating.

Work
During the MFA, I tutored Hopkins students, tutored online for a university, and did random jobs like read to a blind, retired professor, serve as a temporary caretaker for an Alzheimer's patient, farm-sit, dog- and house-sit, proofread a professor's book, and of course, teach and work for the magazine. Some students felt like the magazine job was worthless, because it pegged you into a narrow field and didn't allow you to teach during the semester. But I got to be the first fiction woman to help run the magazine, and I taught more classes than most other adjuncts (summer and intersession) over two years. When I left Hopkins, I had no debt, and enough money to move across the country.

I landed a job a week after I moved back to CA. But during orientation I knew it wasn't for me (corporate structure, not academic). I quit two weeks later. That first semester after the MFA I kept things going with three part-time jobs.

Then I was hired by two colleges for spring semester. I taught humanities and English composition at an accelerated pace. I also taught a couple fiction writing workshops for an art center downtown. Was contacted by a ghostwriting company to do some meetings, and even held one with a producer in L. A. but it didn't pan out, and in the end I was glad. In summer, I taught a writing workshop for middle school boys. Applied for 15 FT teaching jobs across the country, and all 15 rejections rolled in. Miraculously, things lined up and we were above the poverty line. Was offered an unpaid internship at Tin House but turned it down after much thought.

Now I'm a "core adjunct" teaching English composition at a private college two nights a week. I still tutor online with the same university, and freelance occasionally. I'm prepared to adjunct for the next few years, but I'm still hoping to land a full-time teaching job at some point before I die. Either that or receive the Guggenheim and travel the world.

Writing
Since starting the MFA program in 2008, I've had 3 flash fiction pieces and 2 poems published, and exactly 100 rejections.

There is no set track or ladder to success in writing. It takes patience and training to write. You have to read and experience life to gain the maturity and insight to write something worthwhile. We all think it will happen eventually--signing with a small or big press, winning a book prize, etc. There is no but because I certainly do. I just don't know when it will all come to fruition.

Other People
In the last year, three recent Hopkins grads have had books come out. Numerous have been included in Best New Poets and many other magazines; they've also been winning prizes. Hopkins grads seem to be doing well.

Writing, Brains

2011-10-12T21:08:00.000-07:00

This weekend the dog and I are heading up to L. A. to see my godbrother's MFA exhibit: a skate bowl that creates sound. I'm looking forward to it; he built it by hand.

Only three more classes before my brief hiatus for writing. A whole month to read and write. I'll have to train my neurons into a literary routine. Speaking of neuroplasticity, I'm currently reading Nicholas Carr's The Shallows, a book on how the Internet has/continues to change our brains. The first two chapters were scary, the third explained the vital pathways of the brain, and I have to keep reading to figure out the rest.

Today at yoga I kept wondering why I don't read or look at certain books, magazines, etc. that I'm actually very interested in. I think there are three main reason why I don't devour books the way I used to: 1) I'm basically afraid I am going to come into new, horrifying knowledge of something and realize I can't do anything about it. 2) It's so delicious that I fear it's end. 3) The Internet has probably reprogrammed my brain because I find it difficult to read more than two chapters at a time. Oh, brains, I must train you.

But in reading the chapter on neurons, axons, dendrites, synapses, etc., I realized that it wasn't an accepted scientific fact that our brains are made of neurons until the last two hundred years. I mean, telescopes, microscopes, computers, and all these machines are recent compared to how long we've existed. There are still innumerable things we don't know.

I think that I'm going to write by hand during my hiatus. I want to see what will happen to the writing if I do it that way. I write all my poetry by hand, and all the fiction by computer. But I'm going to try and write all the prose by hand. Maybe it will make me even more productive because I wont' be distracted by emails and things.

2011-10-05T11:54:00.000-07:00

This is family week--we're visiting M's brother's family today, and this weekend I drive up to LA to see my own family. It's my mom's birthday, so the kids are putting together a birthday dim-sum lunch and brainstorming gift ideas. I spoke to her yesterday while she was at her counseling conference, and she said that her colleagues gave her a surprise birthday/going away party. My parents have moved to Taiwan for the next few months, possibly longer. I was thrilled that they celebrated Mom; she's been very active in her community.

I'm working on an abstract and paper for this conference in Norway. I've never submitted or attended a scholarly conference, so it's fun putting this together; also, I want an excuse to travel.

Next weekend, I'll be in LA again for my god-brother's MFA show, and then at the end of the month, teaching ends though the writing workshop at the art center begins, and I'll make a trip to St. Louis to see my close friend, A-M. I have all of November and part of December off from teaching. This will be my writing sabbatical. This evening class schedule really agrees with my writing schedule. It mitigates the anxiety from not being able to really write during this time with so much grading, student emails, and preparation for classes.

Sometimes, I feel like a loser because I don't have a full-time teaching position. But in reality, I'm lucky to have work that pays well enough so that I can write. That's the point, after all.

The marriage is in a very happy place right now. The stability in that area creates a good foundation for other parts of life. We're almost at five and a half years now.

100-word Review: Ron Paul on The Daily Show

2011-10-03T14:39:00.000-07:00

This week Jon Stewart interviewed Ron Paul on The Daily Show. I’d never heard Ron Paulspeak (aside from the most recent GOP debate) as I’m not a “political person,”even if that doesn’t really exist as some might argue, and I’m not a fan ofStewart because of his tiresome, grotesque facial manipulations, mock-pouting, andhyperboles. Regardless, Iwas struck by Ron Paul’s idealism, and my interest (at this point synonymouswith support), however fleeting, grew throughout the interview until hisdescriptions of a free society began to basically register in my brain as sciencefiction. Here is mock-campaign scene depicting Ron Paul’s trajectory andaudience enthusiasm: Free market! (crowd shouts, applauds) Self-regulatedstates! (crowd hurrahs, applauds harder) Now let’s all get into the spaceship(silence).

Friends and Teaching

2011-09-25T18:41:00.000-07:00

M and I made an impromptu trip to Julian, a rural apple town that specializes in apple pies. We had lunch outdoors and shared a slice of warm apple pie, meandered through town, bought a handmade candle, a pie to bring home, and fed a llama on the sidewalk. The dog enjoyed the natural environs, too.

It's been so cool out here at night, and I really love the cold mornings when the marine layer hasn't burned off. I'm feeling happy about my entire life.

Tomorrow, my sister and two her friends drive down to stay with me. I'll have to plan an affordable two-day San Diego visit since they're on the last leg of the trip, usually when the money runs out. Then a day or so later, a high school friend of mine will come down and stay a night, too. Four people in a week is a lot of socializing for me; I'm delighted, and will happily retreat back into solitude or some time with M over the next weekend.

The next class starts Tuesday (we're on an accelerated track), and the response to the last course was really positive in that four students individually told me they enjoyed the class, which was rewarding. And now these thirty people will have left me having read Jack Gilbert, Stephen Dunn, Emily Dickinson, Seamus Heaney, and Robert Hayden! Hopefully, they know how to write, too, but the poetry is important.

2011-09-22T12:24:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was ideal. I finished ALL of my grading--40 papers. The dog and I went to the wonderful Cafe Bassam. It was the first time I'd gone to do work there, and the chairs are comfortable, and the dog enjoyed the sofa and got a treat from the barista. I'll have to go back there to read, too. They serve up delicious cappuccinos and chai lattes.

I have been watching the BBC's Peep Show, which is so brilliant. I tried to watch Breaking Bad but it scares me. In the second episode they dissolve a body in acid, and that was the end for me. I can't deal with that.

Also, I've been feeling spooked. The two bedrooms here have a wall of mirrored sliding glass closet doors. I try thinking about worse things in real life to make the mirrors seem inconsequential. The fear is probably a symbol or symptom.

Still have to prepare for class and finish proofreading/editing for a private student.

Bought my plane tickets to see A-M in Missouri in October. My first trip out to see her; she came to San Diego in March, I think. Happy times.

M and I will spend Saturday with another couple, and then my sister + 2 friends may be down to stay for a couple days next week, followed by a high school friend who will visit at the end of the week. A high contrast to my somewhat solitary life. It usually falls that way--lots of socializing, or time alone. I enjoy it all.

Also, started the morning play Friends with Words on my iPhone with Rae Armantrout. So awesome. She is, of course, beating me in the first round already.

Haunt

2011-09-16T00:20:00.000-07:00

For the rest of the month, my class is on poetry. Students always have a hard time with this section, mostly because many of them don't read on a regular basis, so Emily Dickinson and Elizabeth Bishop are difficult. I've found that I incorporate a lot of talk about feelings, problem-solving, and attitude adjustments in class. Sometimes I have them write out stressors at the beginning of a class as a journaling exercise, and today I found myself telling them not to resist poetry, and that resisting only creates another obstacle, which is very unhelpful since analyzing poetry is already hard. They don't need to create more problems. Also, fear of failure and fear of feeling stupid both breed frustration, anger, and finally, indifference, the worst thing of all.

But I wonder if I would be able to cultivate this positive attitude if I were in an organic chemistry class or something. Anyway, a few students came around to liking poetry at the end of class, I could tell. It was really rewarding though it always begins as an unpleasant experience on both sides.

It's finally the weekend, though--officially for me, anyway. Tomorrow, I'll grade and have coffee from the beautiful glass French press. Then, yoga at noon with a no-nonsense instructor, laundry, and Balboa with the dog so he can enjoy the outdoors and I can pick up my pottery from the artist village. In the evening, a local bar with my husband, and a movie.

I haven't written anything in the last day or two. I did order Seneca's Dialogues and Essays, Angela Carter's collected journalism, and a secret book for my scholarly paper which I am going to attempt in the next month or two.

Last night, I watched a short A Day in the Life episode (I'd never seen one before and it wasn't very good filmmaking or plotting) and was inspired by Misty Copeland. She works at least five hours a day training and rehearsing with American Ballet Theatre, giving all of her focus and intensity, and it made me realize how much harder I need to work. Serious artistry! Sigh.

I'm reading Inzanseville now, and the cover creeps me out even though it's just a black and white partial-face of a teenage girl. The eye follows you around the room. I had the worst nightmare last night: I was working in a cruise ship kitchen, and it seemed as if the crew members were all oppressed by something. I would walk somewhere, and a fellow employee would randomly tell me the devil was right beside me; everyone could see the devil following me around, but I couldn't see. (I was creeped out in my sleep, and even more creeped out when I woke up.) Then a crew member killed someone--I just knew it as fact, and crew members began to tell me that I had to kill a certain employee at the devil's bidding. But I couldn't do it, and instead, went ashore and authorized myself to be euthanized. So the first set of shots went in (there were apparently two sets of shots to kill me), and simultaneously two houses on a block were altered: their doors were taken off and boards were nailed to close them off. I came to at some point and canceled the second set of shots, and realized that I had other options--to live and just be haunted. The whole point of this is that I'm equally afraid of two cursed situations: being haunted and becoming schizophrenic; maybe they are the same thing...curses compounded.

I don't know why I'm feeling this way. I'm in a weird funk this week.

Post-Birthday

2011-09-12T17:35:00.000-07:00

It's two days after my birthday, and Sunday was a day for recovering (not that I so smashed), but I'm so low-energy today that I couldn't even write more than a half page. I took the dog out to Balboa and spread out a picnic blanket, but the sun was wavering, and when it didn't waver, it was severely hot on my skin. So we didn't last long out reading Inzanesville by Jo Ann Beard. She writes children and teenagers marvelously. But I was missing Carter, and feeling anxious that I'm reaching the end of all her short fiction. I'll be moving onto her journalistic writings, and then some novels.

I was sitting at my desk today thinking, I can't just read Carter my whole life. That was kind of depressing because my literary knowledge and breadth is actually so narrow and shallow. What else is going to come along? It's not easy to find delectable writing that both delights and surprises.

I'll have to order some new books soon.

Maybe I'm feeling lonely. You have fifteen people hanging out, and then none. It's important to keep some events to look forward to. M and I plan to go camping for a weekend, but I'm not sure when that is; he's planning it. In November, I'll be flying out to St. Louis, and possibly New York City, or maybe Nova Scotia if I have the money! I'd like to see places I've never seen. I'd like to go to Turkey and Bali next year, but I'm really afraid it might not happen, or even come close to happening.

So November--a few trips to see close friends. A time to refresh, take a short break from teaching composition to teach short fiction at the art center downtown. Then there's Thanksgiving. And Christmas. And hopefully a cruise trip with close friends in spring. I could also get to AWP in February if I get motivated but it's hard to motivate yourself to go to Chicago in February.

Oh, I'm just feeling a little sad. Nothing that won't go away soon. Or with a glass of wine and a soak in the tub with my green tea mask. I'm going to yoga tonight, too, with a friend. This will be day 3 of yoga in a row, which is good, and fatiguing. Tomorrow, I teach and that should be all right.

On a very good note--something to stabilize the transient post-birthday blues, my husband has been a very excellent partner.

Birthday!

2011-09-09T14:26:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I turn 26. Ten to fifteen friends will celebrate with me at a Moroccan restaurant downtown. I'm really excited, not stressed; I'm happy to be alive and have people I love. Too bad the dog can't go in.

Finished pottery class this week. It was tough, but I finally finished two vase/bowl looking things and glazed them bluish green. The instructor was bored and did a lot of the glazing for me, to be honest. I get to pick it up next week.

Went to yoga today and the instructor demonstrated what the wheel (full backbend) should look like on me, and it was so difficult (feet parallel, knees in, hamstrings and legs pushing, arms straight, lower back not contracted, upper back bending), and my pinky started to really tingle. I think my nerves went crazy.

I have not written in the past two weeks because of teaching, which seems to be the case whenever classes start. I'm trying to make this deadline for a submission, but I don't know if it will be ready.

Oh! Yesterday the power went out for thirteen hours in San Diego (much of Southern California, Arizona, and Mexico), and while it doesn't seem like a big deal, it was a little frightening. None of the street lamps or traffic lights worked, and then it began to get dark. The food was slowly cooling in the refrigerator, and I couldn't read anymore, so the dog and I went to Balboa and walked aimlessly. Then we went to M's complex where we have neighbor friends, and they were all camped out in the courtyard with a lot of alcohol, a little food, and a "bonfire" of scented candles. It was lovely.

M asked me what would happen in ten days without power. The shops would continue to be closed, all the food would spoil, no one would be able to buy gas because of dead registers, no flights in or out, radio stations just filling the air with static. What would you eat after ten days? Dried noodles, boiled rice, canned things. You'd have to begin trading with others. Candles would melt down.

We took a walk with friends around the neighborhood, and there were little tribes of people with fires, candles, instruments, and all types of potables. It was amazing. There was a tribe sitting near the theater --the director and some actors for Marlowe's Edward II (III?), another tribe camped outside the liquor store full of rowdy, drunk men. Others walking around the block in pairs or small groups like we were, too hot to sit indoors in the dark. There were a lot of dogs with their people, no children in sight. People booed when the power came on near midnight.

This morning when I drove to yoga, I saw a cop car, and I was grateful that they'd kept the city safe from looting and worse things.

Home

2011-08-30T14:41:00.000-07:00

I've been away dealing with an illness in the family, and now I'm back and preparing for class tonight. I'm nervous and excited about teaching again after a three month summer break. It can be fun to dress up, organize all the material, and teach a new group of people how to compose various essays. We're doing a process analysis and literary analysis (they always hate this because poetry is hard).

This week I was feeling stressed, and it showed in the little, crazy lady ways. For instance, I went to the hardware store with my mom and left the keys in the car and the car running, and I didn't realize until I missed my keys about ten minutes later. I get on autopilot. This morning, I turned the coffee on and took the dog out, but I forgot to put water in the machine.

My mom told me that when I was a toddler, walking beside her, she knew that I would grow up to be her friend. That really touched me because she raised me through all those years and it came true. We are very close friends now, and I'm lucky and blessed to be close to her and my sister.

For self-care, I took a noon yoga class today. I also set up the wireless printer and felt impressed with myself. Silly, but I'm easily daunted by these things! I also saw M last night and he'd bought some fancy whiskies, and I pulled a chair up in the middle of the room and he gave me a whisky tasting which was awesome. Some tasted of bitter orange, toffee, even peat, and there was a particular whiskey that tasted like a hospital--metal and cotton, bandages, gauze: Laphroaig. In addition to that, we tried Highland Park, Glenlivet, Chivas Regal, and another that I can't recall.

My brother flies in to see me tomorrow, then we drive home over the weekend. My sister comes home from the UK the same weekend. So much is happening!

Oh, and here's a bit of good news: I have a poem coming out in Valparaiso Poetry Review in the fall! I'll share the link when it appears. Thank you, Ed Byrne. Couldn't be better timing. I thought the year would end without a single acceptance.

An Education

2011-08-22T12:33:00.000-07:00

I am getting older. What is it the T. S. Eliot writes? Do I dare?...And how should I begin?...And would it have been worth it after all?

You know how sometimes there are certain words or phrases, or even names that keep popping up in your life? As if the universe is trying to tell you to learn something? Well, Seneca has been referenced multiple times lately, and I'm going to read his writing, dialogues, and letters soon.

I have been alive for a quarter of a century, which sounds long because of century, but is not enough time. I need two hundred years to get things right. If only the body didn't age so quickly. What have I learned so far?

You get little wrinkles when you turn twenty-five.
I'm allergic to wheat beer--it makes the joints ache terribly. I like a glass of shiraz every night.
You ought to write what you want, whatever excites and delights you.
It's true that nothing matters if you don't love other people.
Love accepts a person as he is, believes he is valuable, cares when there is hurt, and forgives all wrongs.
That the best thing to acquire in a life is love and wisdom. Then money if you can get it--so you can have a room to write, and good food and drink.
That the means is just as important as the end.
Patience is most difficult.
That a dog is good people.

I was at the park and didn't want the dog to veer into a floral area, so I pulled and told him, No. He tugged and then came obediently after. There were many children at the park and I realized that if I had a child instead of a dog, things would not have gone so easily.

The Snark

2011-08-19T14:24:00.000-07:00

Last night my husband tore out a page from his copy of Esquire and gave it to me. It's a TV show review of The Suburgatory. (Nice compound but a mouthful.) Anyway, the review is really about how TV shows (and probably films) are all snarky but appeal to us because the snark is entwined with sentimentality (see: Juno). This is the exact thing I've been criticizing in terms of heroes. My latest proof is the bandit/hero from Tangled. The hero stutters, stammers, hedges, redacts, retreats, shirks, etc. etc. And I've been wanting a real hero (like Batman, so when is the next one coming out?) and I guess movie studios and audiences have too. (See: Conan the Barbarian and Thor. But why do they have to be meatheads with hammers and so on? Sigh.) (Note that my tone is not snarky, just exasperated and okay just tinged with snark...)

The first time I heard the word snark was in a nonfiction writing class at UCSD. The lecturer (who was awesome) kept using it, and one day we discussed this word because she looked it up, and it didn't mean at all what she was using it for. Here is Merriam Webster's definition:

snark

imaginary animal, coined 1876 by Lewis Carroll in "The Huntingof the Snark."

It's an imaginary animal...So here is Urban Dictionary's definition:

snark
Combination of "snide" and "remark". Sarcastic comment(s).
Also snarky (adj.) and snarkily (adv.)

Anyway, there is no escaping that this is our generation's favorite mode of humor. In King Louis' (XIV?XV?) court, the favorite mode of the French was wit (see: Ridicule). We love irony. But there are also different types of irony. Dramatic irony, which isn't funny because people don't know things they really ought to know but the audience knows it and has to watch them die, fumble, lose, etc. (see: Shakespeare). We're most familiar with "the use of words to convey a meaning that is the opposite of its literal meaning" (Dictionary.com) except we like it in a meaningless + hyper self-aware way, and not a meaningful + new awareness way (see: My So-Called Life).

There's nothing wrong with irony, snark, sarcasm, but the soul does tire of it. This is where sentimentality is injected, I guess. Maybe this is why so many writers use the colloquial, conversational language of plebs and force situations and events to have meaning when in real life they wouldn't. Fiction is a construct, not a clear reflection of the world, so there's that defense, but still.

I'm not trying to instigate a fight or anything. I'm just trying to put it down so I don't forget. And maybe when I'm 90 and have Alzheimer's I'll hire a kid to read my blog (or stories and poems) back to me and I'll say, "Who wrote this?" and the kid will say, "You did," and I'll say something snarky and the kid won't have any idea what my tone is because the kid will live in a totally different generation of humor.

2011-08-11T12:29:00.000-07:00

I went to pottery/ceramics class last night and learned the first steps of using the wheel. I was left mostly to my own devices, and centering the clay, pushing it up, flattening it--it's all very difficult. I don't know how to use my pressure points, I don't know how to angle my hands and put pressure on the material just right. The clay I had was red and had a lot of grit in it, the owner ran out of the gray stuff, and now I have tiny cuts on the inside of my knuckles. Hairline cuts. I found them out in the shower washing my hair, and it frightened me, like my skin was cracking open at the joints like those harlequin babies.

Tonight I drive up to Anaheim to meet Linda. We're going to eat at Memphis at the Santora in Santa Ana only because it has a dog-friendly patio, and the dog will be with me. I'm going back up to Ventura to accompany my friend to his sister's wedding.

At four I'm going to get a haircut. I haven't gotten one in... I can't even remember the last time. Oh, I think it was last year...

Need to work on my writing, take the trash out, do the laundry, and not have a glass of wine until I leave.

I miss my sister and brother. I miss my family.

The need is greater than the neediness. I think that's what my friend says. I'm feeling needy and I don't know what's going on, what this inner landscape is showing me, but it's keeping me up at night.

The thing about having a place all to yourself, a place stocked with food, wine, Internet, books, is that you can get comfortable and never want to venture out into the world. So while I was overwhelmed with the weekend events, the drive to my parents', it's all a blessing in disguise, a tiny orchestration to get me out of the house before I turn into the cat lady, or in my case, the dog lady.

2011-08-10T14:19:00.000-07:00

I have no reason to be depressed, and I feel deflated. Hormones!! I went to noon yoga today and have not done a drop of work. The weekend is filled with social events and I already feel the prick of dread, as I always do when there's a lot going on. The inclination is to hole up, but that's not good, I know.

Ceramics/pottery class tonight. I think it will be good. I hope! Am reading the rest of Carter's short fiction. What shall I read next?

2011-08-09T20:02:00.000-07:00

My sister is finally coming back from the UK (grad school) in a few weeks. She'll be staying with me for a few weeks in the fall as she looks for work. Can't wait-- dinner adventures, brunches, shopping, yoga, the beach. It's nice having a sister.

I am probably going to a ceramics class tomorrow night. I've been wanting to learn for a while, and one of the resident artists at Balboa Park gives lessons to small groups, and I am going to try my hand at making a bowl or two.

Am reading American Ghosts and Old World Wonders by Carter. The language is calibrated for the Old West though she can't help herself with a little French here and there still.

My goals for the next month are to get the dog relicensed for volunteer work, find a location for volunteer work, and try to kick start a little tutoring for side money.

10 Before 26

2011-08-07T13:55:00.000-07:00

10 Things To Do Before My 26th Birthday
1. Visit UCSD (my alma mater)
2. Set boundaries and stick to them (so far so good)
3. Plan an exquisite three-course picnic
4. Volunteer with Rocky
5. Visit the Winchester House in San Jose
6. Finish current project
7. Attend 20 yoga classes (4 down, 16 to go)
~~8. Visit Grace Lutheran Church on Park Ave. at least once~~ (done, will go again)
9. Throw a housewarming/dinner party
~~10. Make the new home pretty and list it on Airbnb~~ (done, but no Airbnb for now)

This morning I went to the service at Grace Lutheran. The liturgy, of course, was highly formal, but there was a casual warmth there that I didn't quite expect, and was encouraged to take Communion by a deacon, so I did. I enjoy the Lutheran liturgy more than the Reformed or Orthodox Presbyterian liturgy because of two reasons: in the Lutheran liturgy, the Lord's Supper wine is served in a single cup which all congregants share; and the sermon is a bit shorter, and the Lord's Supper is a bit longer than the other two services.

There's also a moment in the Lutheran service (I've been only to two, but it's happened both times) when all the congregants have taken the Sacrament, and there's a short lull so that the the Sacrament can be brought to the elderly who are unable to go to the table. It moves me much because it reminds me of God's tenderness in taking the time to make sure that all of the people are taken care of, and not a single one is neglected or forgotten.

Oh, so I'm very happy that Mad Men is now streaming on Netflix. My next goal is to get Rocky licensed with a national pet therapy company and find a place to volunteer.

2011-08-04T17:22:00.000-07:00

Today I bought caladium and two pots of geraniums in high-saturation red. I love geraniums because they're hardy. The caladium needs only shade and water, and the speckled red on lime green makes me happy. My basil is acting a little sad--droopy and wilty. So I picked off some leaves for pruning, moistened the soil, and set it out in sunlight for a few hours. The succulents are doing very well in the kitchen window. I tried to buy rosemary, but Lowe's didn't have any pots that fit the "soil pot" in which the rosemary was growing, and I didn't want to buy a pricey ceramic one. Eventually, I'll get the rosemary so the flies will stay away from the front door. I've been allowing this spider to live on my front porch, but it seems his web is too low to be effective. I may evict him eventually if he doesn't do his job.

It's been so hot, and the heat is penetrating. It dulls the mind, slows the body.

My parents may come down this weekend, which will be nice. And I have a lunch date with M on Saturday in La Jolla, and I'll bring the dog. He's puzzled by the seals--dog barks and marine bodies--and he loves the ocean. It makes him crazy.

School begins in three and a half more weeks, so I have some time to plan out lessons. It will be nice to teach again.

Writer Snacks

2011-08-03T16:19:00.000-07:00

Thanks for bringing this to my attention, Shashi. From The New York Times.

New Home

2011-08-02T10:29:00.000-07:00

Spent the past few days moving in to my new place in San Diego, and in that time I've spent some time with M, witnessed a neighbor on the block (not in my complex) OD (he didn't die, thank God), and cleaned the fetid, swampy regurgitation from the tub (heard that adjacent apt flooded before I got here?).

It costs a lot to move in from one place to another, it's a little frightening. A trash can at Target costs $17, and I've been there three times now and cannot get myself to purchase it because it seems morally wrong to charge that much for a plastic tub. I bought a small one for the kitchen since it's just me, and I won't want a giant garbage mound stewing in my place anyway. I know I could go to Walmart, but just thinking about that place gives me anxiety.

The complex is gated, and the interior flora and fauna is richly beautiful. It might have to do with the black wood/mulch making all the colors pop, too. Cattails grow beneath one large window, and, on my mother's advice, I also bought three pots of little succulents for my kitchen window.

Today is a free museum day in Balboa Park and so I might try and get in. Usually there are swarms of screaming school children everywhere, though, and tour buses full of Europeans. The two groups are not the same, but it does create a very crowded park. My favorite koi fish has grown to adolescence, and I'm glad he's survived the summer and other fish--I go there a lot and can even tell him apart from his impostor.

It's my second morning in the new home. It's nice. All the residents own their condos, and I'm the only renter, and since they own, they keep the complex really nice, and work full-time, and are quiet.

Received a copy of 50 Essays for a freelance project, and am actually really excited to read it, and use it for my writing class in September. I have all this free time this month, and I haven't felt sad or lonely, which is very good.

I'm having a couple girls over for beers tonight so they can see the place. And Providentially, I have a little tutoring work and a freelance project this week.

2011-07-29T14:54:00.000-07:00

Received a personal note from a top review today with words from the editor. Somehow it always feels much more awful when you get so close.

Ahhh...you can't really blame me for my obsessive-compulsive nail-biting. The fingers hurt because the heart hurts!

2011-07-27T22:01:00.000-07:00

I went into Paper Source today to purchase a card, and perused the beautiful planners. But the small planners do not start in August, they run through a normal year rather than an academic one. I'm still stuck on the academic calendar--it's the teaching. Anyway, while I was there, the friendly cashier showed me some other planners, some of which are called "Mom Planners." And then she said the company also made some for "normal people," and then we laughed.

Moving in a couple days. A tiny bit anxious about neighbors, finding a bed, and making the home pretty and cozy.

Am currently reading Black Venus by Angela Carter. She makes me realize how uneducated I am, and that I need to learn French, anthropology, and much more folklore and theory. Sigh. Sigh.

Feeling kind of weird lately. It's the transitions.

Realized on my drive to yoga tonight that the constant underlying tensions in myriad areas of my life are also a good thing--signs of life.

10 Before 26

2011-07-27T02:02:00.000-07:00

Fellow blogger Amy of Just a Titch has a list of 29 things to do before she reaches 29. It's inspired me to put together a list of things I'd like to do before my 26th birthday, which is 5 weeks away on September 10th. I won't be able to do 26 amazing things, but I'm putting together 10. Self-care and a couple treats will be so delicious! I'll have to put together a more extensive one for the next year, but for now...

It's a good month for doing things since I don't teach until the very end of August.

10 Things To Do Before My 26th Birthday
1. Visit UCSD (my alma mater)
2. Set boundaries and stick to them
3. Plan an exquisite three-course picnic
4. Volunteer with Rocky
5. Visit the Winchester House in San Jose
6. Finish current project
7. Attend 20 yoga classes (4 a week!)
8. Visit Grace Lutheran Church on Park Ave. at least once
9. Throw a housewarming/dinner party
10. Make the new home pretty and list it on Airbnb

2011-07-26T20:10:00.000-07:00

I've discovered words that authors are using over and over in my reading:
Jules Verne: phlegmatic
Angela Carter: viridian
Jack Gilbert: music

After reading parts of Linda Gregg's All of It Singing and Robert Hass' Field Notes, I've discovered I'm not really a fan. They both write too many non-profound factual lines that read just as such. Hass isn't as bad as Gregg since he has wild mushrooms, California coasts, and comfortable domesticity to offer. Maybe it has something to do with gender though I don't want to venture too far into that perilous territory.

Also, the most frightening shows I've seen so far are teen pregnancy shows. If I were a teen these programs would scare the wits out of me. They scare me now and I'm twenty-five, married, and have my education so I really can't imagine how terrified and difficult it all must be at sixteen or so. I don't even think I was completely sane, my brain fully formed at that age.

I wonder what someone has (or thinks they possess) when they feel ready to have a baby. Love and trust with a partner, financial security, various forms of stability? Yet even still, many people make it work with less.

The weather is so mild in the evenings here. The air begins to cool, and everything is dry, pleasant. The dogs tire out from sun and boisterous hours of play; they lie on their sides anywhere and plop their heads down.

I finished my syllabus today, and will begin lesson planning. If you know of any good process analysis or literary analysis sample papers or articles, please let me know. I'm always looking for good examples. I'm happy to teach more writing classes. Composition is so organized and neat, not like creative writing.

Oh, Love

2011-07-22T11:53:00.000-07:00

An NPR piece called Stieglitz and O'Keeffe: Their Life in Love Letters. I've loved his photographs of her and her hands for a long time, so I was thrilled to see something about them this morning. They exchanged 25,000 pieces of paper: letters, 2-3 a day sometimes. Oh, there's nothing like a good love note, letter, or postcard!

2011-07-18T20:50:00.000-07:00

It looks like I'm moving back to San Diego. I have some teaching to do in the fall through spring, and it will afford me time to write.

The MFA doesn't pay off in terms of high salary jobs, but it does allow you to work few hours and keep a flexible schedule.

I'm letting the responses/rejections roll all the way in. It's hard to be patient with yourself, but I'm going to use the next half year to focus on finishing pieces. The nice thing about being a writer is that learning yourself, the world, others--moving through the world--all of it is part of your work!

2011-07-12T14:05:00.000-07:00

I'm realizing that many issues in relationships don't get fixed for good. Even saying "get fixed" is passive, and that might highlight how easily overwhelmed I am by relationship problems. I'm an idealist and an underground romantic--by that I mean I'm embarrassed by flowers and big displays of affection, but I'm always seeking out the secrecy of romance: glances, desire, motive. Flowers are convoluted symbols that are symptoms of love/desire, but hey, I'm not saying I wouldn't accept them.

My friends are up-and-coming writers, truly. One friend's YA novel just came out; it's called the Rites and Wrongs of Janice Wills. Read this if you've got an open slot in your summer reading.

On a literary note, I received two more non-offers from jobs, and a literary rejection this week.

I don't want to write today, but it's frightening how quickly time passes in this house. Soon, I'll be twenty-six. Soon, it will be Christmas.

I'm going to try and finish this piece in the next week or so. I started it in graduate school, and put it on hold until now.

2011-07-06T13:10:00.000-07:00

Back on something like a schedule. I'm trying to work 4 hours a day whether it's writing or reading because I have a lot to do. Sometimes I get overwhelmed because I haven't really organized how I am going to do manage the collection of stories. Right now I'm working on finishing one thing at a time. The inclination is to do many at once, like how I read.

The dog likes to lie on the couch beside the desk and stare at me while I type. Eventually he will fall asleep, but only into a light sleep as his ears are still pricked. They are his spying instruments.

Tomorrow I head up to Santa Cruz, and then San Francisco to see my brother. We are planning to go to a nice steak house. We'll be visiting the MOMA, which I'm excited about and have never seen.

Good news--I have a pupil in August for tutoring. Tutoring last summer in La Jolla proved to be a good resource since I now have a small arsenal of resources for handwriting, decoding, etc. It's fascinating what types of emotional and psychological blocks children have. Most children need coaching and some type of cognitive retraining.

Right now I'm freelancing (correlation projects with publishers) and working part-time online for a university. And I just finished the two-week writing intensive course with the middle schoolers. There will be another in August, possibly. And tutoring the boy. I'm feeling OK about the work/financial situation. There always ends up being something to keep me going. Ah, Providence. Anyway, this is what life after the MFA looks like. You can work few hours for good money, and use your time to write. Full-time teaching jobs are extremely difficult to come by, and that's the honest truth. You need a connection and a book.

Things are OK. Yoga helps, the writing schedule is sometimes shot to hell because of any of the many variables in my living situation now. Money is being saved for numerous, successive rainy days in the future, plus a cruise to Belize in spring with girl friends. I am embracing this next year (I still think of years in terms of academic years) as open-ended and studded with small adventures.

I'm turning twenty-six in two months.

From The Last Psychiatrist

2011-07-04T21:48:00.000-07:00

Some of you may have read the NYT article (I posted bits some time ago) in which a female writer documents her husband of over a decade, and with whom she had a home and children, turns to her one day and declares he doesn't love her anymore and wants to leave.

Here are some intelligent musings from The Last Psychiatrist blog on men, women, and marriage. Read it. You really should. It doesn't answer all my questions, but it's damn good.

Love Means Not Letting the Other Person Be Himself

2011-07-04T15:50:00.000-07:00

Happy 4th of July!

Spent the morning doing a little shopping, then sat out back with the dog and read some Hass, Heaney, and mythology compiled by Graves.

Am going to eat potato salad, chips, hot dogs, and fruit once the grill gets started. Later, I'll walk down to the park (hopefully my parents will join) with the dogs to see the fireworks. Carter describes them as "parasols" of light in "A Souvenir from Japan."

I'm feeling quite content today.

2011-07-02T01:41:00.000-07:00

I decided to turn down the internship. It was a really difficult decision, but in the end, it's not the right move at this time. Still love the magazine, though.

2011-06-27T20:53:00.000-07:00

Am watching The Bachelorette with my mother, who keeps laughing so hard.

Went to yoga today and literally lost two pounds of sweat.

Reading Robert Hass this week.

Love, Happiness

2011-06-23T16:48:00.000-07:00

There was a Groupon today for the L. A. Supper Club promoting artistic performances (acrobatic) + dinner. When I looked at the Supper Club website it appeared, and only appeared very nearly like some kind of sex show. I was going to invite my godbrother to go with me because it looked interesting despite the suspicious website, but it would become extremely awkward if it did turn into something too racy. Nevertheless, I'm intrigued though I don't want to seem like the near-pervert that I probably am.

What I mean by that is when I sluggishly read another few pages out of my Literary Theory: Introduction book by Culler and came upon Rousseau's account of his love for his surrogate mother, I was really intrigued. No, I was immediately connected. In the account in his Confessions, he is often kissing the things she has touched, prostrating himself on the ground over which she has walked. One night at dinner, she places a morsel of food in her mouth and he declares that there is a hair on it, and when she takes it out, Rousseau snatches the morsel and consumes it.

I like love on the verge of obsession/consumption. This probably explains why I like fairytales, myths, and now, theorists.

I'm reading the literary theory introduction because I am a philistine, and so I can stop being one.
Also , I have to read while I consider whether I should apply to PhD programs.
I may apply to PhD programs because I have no other options. And I'm afraid to move to a cabin by myself and force myself to write.

Thinking of loneliness, I have one happy memory feeling utterly alone though not lonely. Two summers ago, I was asked by Jean McGarry and Wayne Biddle to farm-sit and watch over three cats and one dog. One night, I was sitting near the windows when I saw all of the fireflies light up in the grass, against the trees. For a moment I wished that someone else could witness it, but in that moment it sufficed that I was there, and I did have one witness: the dog. We went out on the grass near the field and this is why I wish you could have been there--the fireflies were innumerable. I caught one in a jam jar, but let it go because they blink in flight, or maybe they lose motivation knowing they are in a glass jar. That was one time I was very happy alone.

I went to yoga again yesterday, and I'm not going tonight because the 6 PM instructor plays country songs about contentment during the practice. I think I'll take the dog out for a walk, listen to music, watch him start after lizards.

I haven't worked on my writing in some time now. It's hard. My friend wrote me the other day and told me kindly not to shortchange my grief nor lose hope. I'm feeling better these days. Tomorrow is my five-year wedding anniversary. I will likely spend it having dinner with a girl friend. Nothing changes the fact of sadness, and still you can be happy somewhere in an inner room.

Future Stuffs

2011-06-22T14:15:00.000-07:00

The magazine interview went well, but many others are being interviewed for this one position so I'm not sure what will happen. I find out next Tuesday. If I got it, I'd be moving very soon. If not, I'll probably just sit somewhere and cry, make a list of other options, possibly fly out to Miami and Philly to see friends, to get cheered up, something.

Sat up with the dog til the early morning because he was stretching out with his rear in the air and whining. We'd gone to the beach earlier and he'd been playing in the littoral zone (I just wanted to use this word) and lapping up some surf. He ate a few pieces of seaweed, which was new. I think he ingested too much saltwater and had the runs and stomach pains. It passed though (oh, a pun), and he ate a little breakfast.

I've been teaching middle school boys how to write, and they finished a sonnet this week. One wrote about a girlfriend cheating on the speaker with the speaker's father, and then the father dies from eating too much fast food. This is just like Bukowski's poem about his father eating himself to death minus the cheating. This same kid told me his favorite movie was The Hangover. He's eleven years old.

Ordered two large collections by Robert Hass and Linda Gregg which should arrive on Friday.

Went to yoga again for the first time in two weeks. It was all right, but I miss my old studio in San Diego. I can't seem to write. It's hard to write right now.

2011-06-20T22:04:00.001-07:00

I don't know what to do with myself. I don't have a job for the fall, and I need to get out of this suburb at the end of June. I'm so lost.

I need to move...somewhere...

Days 12 & 13, Home

2011-06-14T09:30:00.000-07:00

I stayed in the Grange Fitzrovia on Bolsover Street in London. Bought a prosciutto sandwich, elderflower soda, chips (or what they call crisps because chips are fries), chocolate mousse, and a slice of cheesecake. Ate it in my room over a few hours and watched bits and parts of bad American movies like Monster-in-Law, Vanity Fair, some Schwarzenneger movie I couldn't figure out. Took a bath and passed out.

Woke up the next morning and had to change twice at the metro. You should have seen me at the second stop. I stood there, lost, kind of confounded because there were so many platforms, while Londoners streamed past me. Calmed myself, stopped panicking, and figured it out. Made it in time to the airport only to find that the flight had been delayed (again).

Sat beside a charming Polish woman who works at the DMV in Orange County. Ate everything they gave me-- went into some kind of travel-survival-prison mode where you eat because you have no idea how long it will be until the next time you eat. Got back to Los Angeles around 3PM and was picked up by my brother and mom.

Immediately realized how much I missed sunshine and beautiful people. I do love California.

Now I'm home. I have to decide whether I want to teach a two-week writing workshop to some middle schoolers... or not. My responsible self says, "Yes, you should do it and save up," but every other cell in my body just shakes its non-existent head. I'm tired, and to be honest, I feel lazy and I want to laze around and do nothing but putt around for the next month. But maybe I'll regret it. I'm not so good with decisions in general.

Also, received more non-offers from schools. So what's the tally now?

Riverside, Pasadena, and Saratoga are the only districts left in the waiting game. I have been denied by the other 8 schools.

Sometime this week I need to drive down to San Diego and get my little dog!! I miss him so.

Day 11: Last Night in Cambridge

2011-06-11T09:28:00.000-07:00

Cleo and I brunched in her college today, and then we set out to climb the highest tower in Cambridge with her friend. The tower--I forget which college it's in now--is very much like the one in Baltimore, very narrow, very tall, many tiny steps. The one in Baltimore is in Mt. Vernon.

I've booked a hotel at the Grange Fitzrovia in London for tomorrow night. A friend may meet me in the city. I'd like to walk around London, have dinner, soak in the tub, and relax in a quiet room. I'm an introvert, can you tell?

I've had a good time, and I'll be sad to leave the UK.

I have a good tiny project to finish for my internship interview. I need to write a 500-word review of a story or novel. I think I'll write on an Angela Carter story that I love but haven't really analyzed or broken down. A good exercise, I think.

For my last night in Cambridge, we're having dinner at any place I choose, so I've got to look for a delicious restaurant.

Other Thoughts While Traveling

2011-06-10T04:22:00.001-07:00

My friend wrote this beautiful article on This Recording. Very timely considering that I, too, was riding a train outside of London and thinking about my feelings and work.

The natural progression of the soul through any dark passage seems to be that of panic first--the twisting and clawing of some trapped bird. Then terror or some kind of paralysis, which is worse than the former--knowing that you are there, closed in psychologically and alone. Then comes the stilling of the mind, the discipline of calm. And after, you find the little opening that you failed to notice because you were thrashing about and exhausting yourself, blurring your senses.

In my friend's article, she and the author she discusses all create images of self-soothing as seeking a future self for comfort and advice, or comforting a past self. It's a sort of self-re-parenting because, well, it wasn't done right the first time. Or maybe it's just that nothing prepares us for this--being a creative, intelligent, feeling woman in your mid-to-late twenties.

What I wanted to say all along--though I documented the locations and events of my trip instead--is that I do feel sad, and bored, and boring. Sadness makes us boring, or maybe I am boring in general. I don't know. Self-respect, right? Self-respect.

It's nearly noon in Cambridge. I'm going punting with Cleo and her friends in two hours. We're going to drink on the river.

While abroad, I received one literary review rejection via email. However, I do have an internship interview in two weeks. I don't want to say too much because who knows how it will turn out. But I'm happy about this. I can see a little light at the end of my tunnel.

Days 8-10: Madrid!

2011-06-10T02:33:00.000-07:00

It was raining when we arrived in Madrid. The subway system was easy to navigate, and our host Raoul (airbnb) was so warm and thoughtful. He's a choreographer, dance teacher, and performer. We stayed in Chueca on Calle de San Lucas. Chueca is the gay part of Madrid.

Calle de San Lucas in Chueca

Despite the rain we roamed the neighborhood, ate raciones de patatas y huevos and calamari. Then we made our way down to Gran Via, the largest street in Madrid, and Paseo del Prado, which leads to the enormous and beautiful Museo del Prado, which houses five centuries of European art.

The next day we ventured into Sol for jewelry shopping, walked through Sevilla and saw some hippie activists who tent around the Metro, and went into the Museo de Reina Sofia.

Activists in Sol

Catedral de Almudena: you can pay 20 Euro pence
to light a plastic candle via electricity

The Museo de Reina Sofia houses Picasso's Guernica and seemingly, nearly the entire ouevre of Y. Kusama, a Japanese artist.

acensors (elevators) made of glass in
Museo de Sofia Reina

Kusama installation

Infinity room with mirrors and light, Kusama

Neoballet installation

We witnessed the Museo del Jamon, tried two nearby eateries, did sample the Jamon Iberico many times, and ate at the Mercado de San Miguel.

Museo del Jamon

Mercado de San Miguel: paella, croquetas, seafood, pastries,
wine, mixers, desserts

Near the end of our trip, we visited El Parque de Retiro, and Plaza Mayor many were tortured during the Spanish Inquisition.

Plaza Mayor

Day 7

2011-06-06T21:32:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Cleo and I lunched at Michaelhouse, a church and cafe conjoined. I've found that this is common. The church was no longer in use, rather it was housing art. I went to the Museum of Zoology on my own and it really felt like a freak show, which I adored--bat fish, crocodile bones, an entire whale skeleton, birds' nests, lampreys, and complete skeletons of a horse, elephant, giraffe, and more. I also saw some of Darwin's original slide specimens, and an edition of his book.

I walked three miles roundtrip to attend a yoga class. After, we had dinner at a Chinese noodle house, which was decent. Then we came home to do laundry, eat shortbread cookies, and prepare for Spain.

It's 5:30 AM here in Cambridge, and our flight is in two hours. I'm really excited for Madrid because while Cambridge is charming, it's neither exciting nor bustling.

I can't believe I've already been out of the country for a week!

Day 6

2011-06-05T02:50:00.000-07:00

Last night for dinner we met at Cafe Rouge and dined on duck and champagne pate, and pasta with leeks, spinach, and pepper in a creamy sauce. While it was good, I find French cuisine a little bland, and I have yet to be completely won over.

After, we met some of Cleo's friends at The Maypole, a popular pub, and I tried a summer ale whose name I can't remember at all.

Today we are heading to Granchester, a beautiful orchard, for tea and scones. I might rent a bicycle though riding through these narrow streets, streaming with cars, cobbled, and oppositely signed, seems perilous.

Have been reading Angela Carter's Fireworks: Nine Profane Pieces, her early collection heavily influenced by a residence in Japan. Rushdie says that it's difficult to read her novels because the writing, ornate and also heavily technically descriptive, gets too heavy and long-winded. I see it now. I didn't see it in The Bloody Chamber, but there are times when the stories, floating on water like paper boats begin to sink as a result of ornament and machinery.

I feel I am perpetually trying to propel myself forward and away from boredom. I wish I were easily excitable. Boredom can be in conjunction with waiting, "waiting meaning without things" (Jack Gilbert). Do I need to work out of it, as in, is it internally expelled or is it mostly externally problematic? Do I need to dig deeper to ape the reactions of stimulation, or do I need to buy a puppy, travel (not quite working), etc.? I think above all I need someone with whom I can have real conversation. I think that's the cure: others. The other cure is stimulating work.

Day 5

2011-06-04T09:46:00.000-07:00

This morning we had brunch in the Murray Edwards dining hall where they served eggs, waffles, sausages, beans, mushrooms, broiled tomatoes, and other pastries. I met some of my sister's colleagues and friends who are all friendly, highly independent, intelligent, and driven. They are finishing their exams, writing dissertations; they speak five languages, play sports, keep boyfriends in other countries, and have plans to work for top companies or the UN when they graduate. When people ask me what I do I answer that I'm a writer and a teacher, but I always feel a little insecure about this. Probably because I'm not teaching now, and I don't have much to show for in terms of writing--at least in the publication world. I feel mildly deflated with all of these scholars around. I need to work on my confidence.

Cleo and I walked to the Midsummer Commons where there was a Strawberry Festival though there were only two small stalls of strawberries. The fair was enormous with lots of food, people, and a knight tournament that was half-assed. There were so many people watching but no one really cheered, likely because the knights were not giving their all. And when the MC interviewed one knight asking whether he was "a goodie or a baddy," the knight answered, "Just because I wear black doesn't make me a baddy." Good answer.

After, we went to the Cambridge city center and I bought a watermelon juice, and we strolled around and shopped. I made my first purchase at Topshop: a burnt orange belted sundress.

I'm now resting, and we will meet again for dinner at a French cafe.

Oh, I forgot to tell this in my last post. Yesterday we went into the Union Library and accessed the Rare Books room where we ordered two books for viewing: Historia Monstrorum and leaves from the thirty-six line Bible. It was amazing. It was sweet of her to plan a trip here specially for me.

Anyhow, I have not seen many attractive people here. Perhaps in Madrid...

2011-06-02T23:22:00.000-07:00

On the job front, received another sad email denying an offer. That's 6 filled positions, 7 more to hear from.

I wonder what is going to happen to me...

Day 4: On My Own

2011-06-02T22:11:00.000-07:00

Today Cleo and I will have breakfast (cappuccinos! croissants! but no beans, people eat beans here for breakfast with sausage and eggs) and go punting down the river. Punting is like boating in a gondola in that you push off with a stick, but the boat is wider and you do it yourself. Afterward, she'll be busy with Gates scholar photos and a special dinner, so I'll be on my own.

I will go to Kettles Yard (modern art) or the Fitzwilliam museum (Italian Renaissance drawings + expansive manuscript collection from ancient to early 20th century). I haven't decided yet. I do feel the urge to see some super weird modern art, but I'd like to see the manuscript collection, too. But I'm against overdoing museums, so I'll have to pick one.

Then, I will probably wander around the city center, attend a second yoga class, and find a good place for dinner. Last night Cleo and I along with two of her friends went to Jamie Oliver's restaurant and I had a "rocket salad" which is arugula with lemon and balsamic vinegar and parmesan, and skewered lamb shoulder, bay leaves, prosciutto-wrapped focaccia, and kidney/heart over potatoes lightly dressed in mint. After, we drank at The Eagles Pub.

All of the streets are cobblestone, and it is slightly difficult for walking. The sidewalks--they call them footpaths--are also very narrow. So far the weather has been pleasantly cool at night and warm during the day, and the sun rises around 5 AM, and fully sets at 9:30 PM. People are very polite, and the city is filled with bicycles.

Days 2 & 3

2011-06-02T06:25:00.000-07:00

Yesterday my sister and I wandered through the Cambridge city center and had cappuccinos early in the morning in a narrow cafe next door to an old book shop where I came across an older edition of Grimm's fairytales. I came across another edition later that day in the Murray Edwards College library. And that night we watched Hanna, which was amazing cinematically and musically. I loved the film--it's a modern fairytale: Little Red Riding Hood + a wicked stepmother. I haven't read any reviews or articles on the film, but I'll do it sometime this week. I need to watch it again and write something more substantial.

Woke up at 5 AM today and caught up on all my gossip on Gawker. Ha. So many typos, though!! I bet these writers punch it in on their iPhones while riding the subway, watching TV, or rock climbing. I don't know.

After breakfast, I walked about two miles to a yoga studio and took a vinyasa class. It felt good to integrate a little part of my normal life into my UK trip.

Tonight Cleo and I will dine at Jamie Oliver's restaurant here in Cambridge. My time has been very pleasant, and mellow (exams are in progress here). I imagine things will get livelier in a few days, or over the weekend.

I miss my dog. I saw two little terriers this morning and my heart melted.

Right now I'm resting. I will take a short nap, find some energy and wander through the city center again before meeting up with my sister who is hard at work on her dissertation for the next couple hours.

Day 1: Getting There

2011-05-31T23:35:00.000-07:00

If, from the beginning, things had gone right, I would have left LA at 7:50 PM on May 30th, and arrived 10 hours later in Heathrow, London at 2:15 PM.

But the pilot called in "sick" once boarding time came around. Then American Airlines discovered their aircraft was too heavy to fly nonstop across the Atlantic. Later, the crew needed to entirely swapped out in New York.

So we arrived in New York after a three-hour delay, and then we waited another three hours on the tarmac until the flight crew arrived at 7 AM. Then they said we ran out of water. Then there was a cockpit maintenance issue. So we left another two hours later, totaling nearly five hours on the tarmac.

Finally, we'd reached London area, but because there were too many planes, we circled the airport a couple times, and eventually landed after another half hour's delay.

What should have been a ten-hour straight flight turned into an eighteen-hour affair.

But I kept calm, drank a lot of water, brushed my teeth, washed my face, ate small quantities of food, and stretched. I did see a woman lose it on the plane; she yelled at an agent (not an attendant) and then an old man clapped, but I felt a little embarrassed because I doubt there was anything to be done at the moment(s) of delay and the agent was looking at her as if she were a petulant monster.

Anyhow, it's nearly thirty hours since I left the U. S. I spent the last twenty-four hours on a plane, bus, and cab. (There are so many roundabouts in England.) Everyone was very kind in helping me get on my way. The man at the airport kiosk helped me buy a coach ticket; he literally fed my pound notes into the machine for me, and spoke very gently. The bus driver helped me choose the right stop. And my cab driver stopped another cab driver from stealing a job, then spoke to me about man's highest principles: integrity and pride. When I arrived, he gave me a little more change out of convenience, and I tried to tip him, but he refused and said that talking to a nice customer was itself reward. Wow. Talk about a high-minded cab driver.

Now, I am jetlagged. It's 7:25 AM in England. I arrived at Murray Edwards College in Cambridge University where my sister is completing post-graduate work in criminology on a Gates scholarship at 2 AM. She made me pasta putanesca and we had a little wine. It was a good reunion; I have not seen her since Christmas.

Well, I am here. I keep thinking the absolute worst happened, but I'm here-- I did it, and I did it with a sound mind and body. That's my focus for the trip: enjoy life in the healthiest manner spiritually, emotionally, physically. But my mother wrote me a card for the trip and told me to let loose completely and act careless. I think there will be a time for that, too--maybe very soon.

Bon Voyage!

2011-05-30T13:30:00.000-07:00

I'm off to London, Cambridge, Madrid!

See you all in a couple of weeks.

2011-05-27T13:24:00.000-07:00

Trying to not spiral into a depression before my trip. I don't want to leave and go somewhere like this, but maybe the 10-hour plane ride will be long enough to sulk, read, and get rid of all the negativity. Why am I depressed? God, look at my sink. If I haven't done the dishes in two days you know I'm feeling blue. There are plates of ash and butts around the kitchen, a sink full of dirties, dog toys all over, the bed unmade, and I have to kick my own ass to get in the shower. I can make a list of why, but it's not that neat and organized, you know.

In addition, I received two literary rejections this week.

Also, was rejected by two teaching jobs.

The only upside to all this is that I have nothing, which is also the downside. I'm moving out, I'm single with dog, I have a car full of clothes and things (all organized well, just to add), and I have a little money that should last me a few months. I'm going to London and Madrid for two weeks. Everything will come after in its own time, everything including happiness, I hope.

The Kids are All Right and Kick-Ass

2011-05-25T20:02:00.000-07:00

I spent last night watching The Kids are All Right and Kick-Ass, and was surprised by both films because of my initial presumptions. I thought TKAAR was a drama-comedy centered on a lesbian-coupled family + Mark Ruffalo as the sperm donor, but that's only a section, and because of the film's proportions and ending, it's actually really about the family-- the trials of marriage, child-rearing, empty nest, teenage life, and desire. There's a lot it tries to cover and it does so superficially at many points, but it's still an interesting though terse (still over two hours) and cleaner version of complicated real life.

Kick-Ass really scared me. It's supposed to be an innovatory film, and my friend reviewed it for N+1 magazine when it first came out. My presumption was that it was a family film in the vein of The Incredibles or any one of those tame, forgettable loser-turned-super-hero films. But it's more like Kill Bill meets Fight Club with children.

I was just discussing the fact of American film taboos with my friend last month. In American films, adults don't really hurt or kill children. (Not so in Asian films-- I remember watching a kid die from asphyxiation by being jammed at the waist by the window glass in a limousine.) So Kick-Ass is somewhat refreshing but also disturbing and ultra-violent. I'm not at all a fan of gore, so death by bod-popping via microwave, junk car compactor, etc. was unbearable to me. (As was Nicholas Cage's robotic and very slow dialogue in which each word was verbally punctuated with an ellipses or huge period.)

Kick-Ass combines gritty realism (the eponymous teenager/superhero is stabbed and hospitalized on his first night out as crime vigilante) with elements of the fantastic (11-year old girl sustaining multiple bludgeon injuries and still fighting). If I had to recommend just one, I'd say watch K-A, but I did appreciate TKAAR, too, and I think it's kind of life-affirming if you're into that sort of thing.

Waiting and Going

2011-05-23T16:39:00.001-07:00

Booking my trip to Madrid tomorrow, and I am now thinking of all the things I will need to pack: sandals, summer dresses, a pair of good jeans, shorts, flats, a few light tops, a cocktail dress, jacket, sweater, sunglasses, a notebook, a few pieces of jewelry, perfume, two good books, tea tree oil and other toiletries. I hope everything will fit in my carry-on bag.

Once I get to London (11-hour trip), I will have to wait another hour to catch the bus to Cambridge, which will be a two-and-half-hour ride. Then, a few days later, we fly out to Madrid. I'm really thrilled about Spain, and even received a travel book on Madrid as a gift.

There is only a week left before the trip. Reading Jack Gilbert helps me be better at waiting--"Waiting meaning without things." I am waiting to move, waiting to hear back from jobs, waiting so as to allow myself enough time to realize what I want.

I Don't Love You Anymore

2011-05-21T13:32:00.000-07:00

A friend sent me an article published two years ago in Modern Love narrated by a wife whose husband said, "I don't love you anymore." They had kids, a house, etc. and then she realized that it had to do with his pride, so she stuck it out and he came back.

When life’s knocked us around. And our childhood myths reveal themselves to be just that. The truth feels like the biggest sucker-punch of them all: it’s not a spouse or land or a job or money that brings us happiness. Those achievements, those relationships, can enhance our happiness, yes, but happiness has to start from within. Relying on any other equation can be lethal.

My husband had become lost in the myth. But he found his way out. We’ve since had the hard conversations. In fact, he encouraged me to write about our ordeal. To help other couples who arrive at this juncture in life. People who feel scared and stuck. Who believe their temporary feelings are permanent. Who see an easy out, and think they can escape.
-Laura A. Munson

I'm not posting this excerpt out of hope or because I even want my old marriage back, but because I think the myth of happiness and success is really dangerous. And because I think that having what my mother calls "tunnel vision" or seeing temporary feelings as permanent truths is really damaging.

I looked into getting the book on Amazon but I think her voice is a little too pushy and self-assured.

2011-05-20T18:31:00.000-07:00

I tried to be optimistic today by doing all of my errands, and then making myself take the dog to Balboa, but once I got there I felt like a sad blob, and I kept zoning out while the dog sniffed around. The dog drank out of a garden fountain and the koi pond; he seemed especially bent on tasting all the water today.

We sat in the garden with the two fountains, but the recorder guy, this man who sets up and plays recorder seriously for hours, was there and I didn't want to get too close to him because he shouted at me specifically last time. So we sat at the other fountain and I couldn't see through the tower columns beneath the cupola. It's really beautiful, with a gold dome held up by four white columns based on a tower. It makes me feel good when I can look through the columns and see sky. It's helpful when I think, but since I had to sit elsewhere today, I could only stare at the wall, which is a metaphor, I mean, come on.

I am in bed already. The sun is still out, which is depressing. I can't move. All I want to do is wake up tomorrow.

2011-05-20T12:38:00.000-07:00

Today is for errands: vacuuming, selling back my textbook, laundry, taking out the overflowing recycling.

Later, I'll go to yoga. It will be my fourth day in a row. It's amazing how being left can transform you. I can think of two stories where the women get physically stronger on their way out of a marriage-- Bobbie Ann Mason's "Shiloh" and "Baby Pictures" by Molly Giles.

I want to do something different today.

2011-05-19T15:01:00.000-07:00

I'm in a terrible mood today.

Woke up late (-)

but had coffee and showered immediately (+),

took the dog out (+),

and submitted my stories to two contests (+)

but am now broke (-),

then met my mom-in-law for lunch (+)

where she talked about her menopause problems, and M (-).

After, my Mom called (+)

but she had that tone in her voice (-).

Feel like I will never publish again (-)

and hate myself for being a downer (-).

I feel that character in Grace Paley's "Wants." I am going to go to yoga today even though my muscles are very fatigued. I hate everyone today, although by everyone, I really only mean one or two people. And even then, I don't hate them, I just want to punch a million balloons and create a balloon explosion.

Practiced curling into a headstand and am 70% there.

It's only a matter of time before I turn into a superhero.

2011-05-18T16:23:00.000-07:00

Gave my last final today, and finished grading already. After, a student came up and shook my hand, which was nice. The bungalow we were in was shaking a little bit, and we couldn't figure out whether it was raining (it was not, I went out to check) or an earthquake (it was not, I checked online). I mean, maybe it was a minor earthquake? Anyway, I said, "Maybe we should go outside," when it first rumbled, but it stopped. Then I said, "If it happens again we can get under our desks," which I meant seriously, but they all laughed. Isn't that what you do? I haven't done earthquake drills since grade school.

I am determined to go to yoga today even though the session last night killed. I did learn the key to going from dolphin pose to a headstand, though: with your forearms parallel and on the ground and your hips high up in the air with both feet planted, walk your feet to your head and then curl up if you can. I can't quite do it yet, but I'm getting a little closer. The head/handstand is my metaphor for life. Once I can accomplish this, I will be able to do anything. Right? It takes practice and strength, and you fail a lot, but every time you fail better.

What should I eat today? I sort of passed the hungry mark because of finals, and now all I've had today is an apple. I'm no longer hungry, plus I have to wait until after yoga anyway. But what should I eat!? Should I go get a wild boar burger with sweet potato fries? Oh, I'm so lonely! If I cook at home and eat the same things, I'll only feel lonelier. Sigh.

The dog knew I was sad today and he went under the bed. But he is now napping on the bed at my feet. We did our two-mile walk so he's tired.

I have nothing to do. I don't want to revise. I just want to float in a heated pool somewhere and eat sushi on a inflatable raft, smoke, and then watch a movie on a big screen TV while eating hot fries. That's exactly what I would want right now.

2011-05-17T20:32:00.000-07:00

I spent the entire day part of the day doing absolutely squat. The dog and I walked two miles, and that was about it. Wait, no, I did put in final grades for one class and cook a hot meal since it was rainy. After, I went to yoga and I think my lungs expanded twice their size from all of the very, very intense stretching/twisting postures, and the teacher pushing my torso up and over numerous times. I already feel so sore, I don't want to know what my body will feel like tomorrow. Oh, it hurts so good. (I'm gross.) Yoga really has so many benefits. I went in slightly congested and now I can really breathe.

However! I did no reading, no writing, no revising. I think I get this way after I finish a story. I'm just zonked out, depleted. Truthfully, I don't even really feel so bad for doing nothing today. My cells are trying to replenish themselves with a little self-prescribed indolence.

I'm going to take a bath.

Tomorrow I give my last final and hope the student who stole my textbook from reserve will return it because I really don't want to drive down to the library just to pick it up if he ever decides to do the right thing. I'll have some grading to do, probably read a little more Jack Gilbert. Sometimes I am happily astonished at how much pleasure good writing gives me. I think the chemical release is the same as eating cream puffs or participating in foreplay (so clinical, trying to keep things PG). The word I'm looking for is delicious. Sarah Shun-Lien Bynum used that word a lot in my undergraduate workshop.

Oh, I saw Bridesmaids this week and it was really good, mostly because I watched it in a theater packed with other women. I loved it-- we all awwed in unison when the good guy came onscreen, or when the camera lingered on puppies in bow ties. The movie is worth watching-- funny, heartfelt, although a tiny bit long (just over two hours). I'm glad it was long though and not a ninety minute movie. It takes itself seriously as a comedy, and not as a cheap chick flick.

Also, I saw M today and there was a moment when I said something, and then his eyes flicked over me, and I told him that I thought he was thinking about how dumb I was for saying that, how he probably was reassessing my intelligence. And then he said that it was interesting how we all create little narratives or assumptions, and in fact, when his eyes were on me he was actually thinking of how tan I am now.

2011-05-17T14:23:00.000-07:00

It's raining! Well, it's misting, and the dog despises getting wet, so he hugs the walls, steps gingerly around puddles and tries to avoid drips from the roofs.

Must go to yoga today. Must revise a few pages.

I'd really like to go to Joshua Tree this summer and camp.

2011-05-16T19:32:00.000-07:00

Made pasta at four-thirty, then the dog and I went on our two-mile walk. When I got home it smelled like gas because I had left the stove on for two hours, small flame and all. An inadvertent suicide attempt. How scary. My other self is trying to kill me!

You know I'm off-kilter when I start to do things like this--leave the fridge door open, leave the stove on, park in my neighbor's parking space.

Also, I missed yoga tonight. Tried to call my spiritual guru, Linda, but she's MIA. Spiritual gurus...

I feel so lethargic it's crazy.

Made tea, turned the stove off.

2011-05-16T18:03:00.000-07:00

Not a great day so far. I went to the library to retrieve my textbook from reserves and it turned out that one of my students stole it a month and half ago. He has not returned it, nor has he appeared in any classes since March. I went through proper channels, and then emailed and messaged him. It made me feel really disappointed because I went through all that trouble to request an additional textbook, and then put it on reserve (no other teachers had put this book on reserve). Sigh!

Then another student didn't do well in my class and lost a scholarship for school. I hate to see it happen, but it does. It happens completely on the student's own, and there's nothing I can or want to do. I mean, come on, academic responsibility, right?

I just have little sympathy for people who can't pull themselves together. I've worked while I was in school, been married, had to deal with human and pet emergencies, bronchitis, poverty, and so on. I still turned in my work and showed up for class. Of course, there was that one summer biology course that I failed. It wasn't meant to be-- I was planning my wedding, getting ready to move, and commuting two hours. Sometimes it just doesn't work out, and you have to accept it rather than wheedle.

Snark

2011-05-16T11:35:00.000-07:00

I am giving my first final this afternoon. I am equipping myself with my iPhone on which I will play Angry Birds, and my Molly Giles collection. It's so interesting reading an author's first collection because you can see how obvious their talent is (sometimes), but you also get to see their flaws.

Oh, that reminds me, I got a package just now. Let me see what's in it.

Hooray!! I love Amazon Prime. I received Jack Gilbert's The Dance Most of All, Angela Carter's collected short stories Burning Your Boats, and Tobias Wolff's Back in the World. I'm supposed to save these for the plane, but you know me...

I'm going to read through all of Jack Gilbert as my funds allow. The other books are quite expensive, so I'll have to wait until I have a job. How exciting--the possibility of collecting all of his writing! The man is living in a nursing home in Berkeley and the one person who actually knows where he is won't tell me because he's a douche. What good is it for him to be alone there? Really, what good?

A writer's voice is really important to me, and I'm tired of all the contemporary snark. The semi-self-deprecating and witty, subtly vicious funny voice that undercuts everything and everyone, and then pulls back for a moment of vulnerability to carry the story forward, to expose some rawness.--well, I honestly have an extremely difficult time caring about this kind of voice. Caring is an understatement. It's hard to give a shit.

What is underrated is the big hearted voice like Jack Gilbert. The generous and intelligent voice found in Hempel, Carter, Munro, Didion, and even Molly Giles, even if the narrator is unsure at times, or dropped into precarious situations. I think we can agree that the snarky voice (quirky or unabashed) is the voice of our generation (Tina Fey, Sedaris, Chelsea Handler, Colbert) and don't get me wrong, I enjoy it on TV or in movies, but if I'm going to spend alone time reading for hours, I'm looking for something a little higher.

2011-05-13T12:05:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I saw the white screen of death on my phone so I headed down to the Verizon store and perused the very few options for phones, namely the Droid, iPhone 4, Blackberry, and something akin to the Jitterbug ("a senior-friendly cell phone"). I was like a deer in headlights, but I splurged on the iPhone and now I have one. Welcome to the 21st century, me!

I am now 75% finished with my collection. I will work to finish it in the next month, and plan to send it out to one place as a test run. It's not what I had imagined while I was in the program, but I'm saving those ideas to group a next body of work.

I looked at my submissions sheet last night, and I have 23 submissions out right now in poetry and prose-- in total it's actually something like 6-7 pieces of writing out simultaneously. We shall see. I feel like something good will happen this year.

It's cloudy today, but the dog and I finished our two-mile walk in the morning. Had coffee. Transatlantic phone call from my sister, planned our time together, loosely, but will be spending time in London and Barcelona, and I will get to go to a Cambridge University formal (a lot of free wine, I hear). Saw the cafe full of people and decided to write at home.

Will go to yoga in five hours. That means I have five hours to write, read, and dance around to Fleetwood Mac.

2011-05-11T17:01:00.000-07:00

I just realized that going to yoga as many times as I teach per week is the perfect inversion. Inversions in yoga are supposed to nourish your body and help you reset alignment. No wonder I go so often-- I get to be the student as many times as I am the teacher.

Loneliness distilled dispels panic. I feel it, then I acknowledge it, isolate it and think of what I can do to combat the decline into sulking or paralysis.

At first I was petting the dog, and then I wondered if he was wondering why I was so boring. But he's just sleepy. We went to Balboa Park and a decent walk with a lot of sun makes him retire around dinner time for his second nap. He's getting older.

I've decided to take a day off of yoga since I went Monday and Tuesday. Instead, I will take the dog to the park a few blocks north, then bring him into the dog-friendly cafe so I can read my books and see other human beings.

My friend was once so depressed and lonely that he didn't speak to another living soul for a week. When he went to buy takeout, he resorted to pointing. I've felt that way before-- in Chicago in the dead of winter, driving across train tracks to get to my 10-hour day job with minimal pay, two thousand miles from home and still not knowing if I would get into an MFA program or whether this new marriage would make it. I remember staring out into the gray sky, the icy ground feeling like I wanted to sit on those tracks until I didn't exist anymore. So maybe I'm afraid I will feel that way again. But I know I am now very far away from it. You get better and better at these things, you know.

2011-05-11T09:10:00.000-07:00

Today is my last day of real class and we are playing humanities Jeopardy.

Listened to half of Terry Gross' interview with Ian Brown, whose son is severely disabled. I love how critical she is. I finally looked her up online; I always thought she was a brunette. If I ever publish and become big, I want to be interviewed by her. She's tough. No one gets away with bullshit. Also, I love her voice, I could listen to her talk all day.

Looked up summer writing classes at New School in New York. I'm too late for their summer session, I'll be out of the country. Looked up Hopkins summer school and there's a new poetry grad student who is teaching myth and modernizations just like I did when I was there. Only, mine incorporated folk tales and fairytales, too. I think about applying to PhD programs and then immediately implode.

What am I going to do today? Teach, walk the dog, have a very late lunch, go to yoga. Vacuum, sweep my kitchen, take out the recycling. Read Molly Giles and Paul Guest. Write. Tomorrow I will set aside for writing, too.

Maybe I'll go to the mall, or the dog beach if it warms up. Maybe I'll go to a museum.

2011-05-10T22:20:00.000-07:00

Loneliness, one of my top fears. I am already a little anxious that I will be lonely this weekend. I guess it's not so much loneliness as missing a specific person. Oh, life.

I will try to fill my days with yoga, dog walks, reading. And I will write. Made some progress today. Put Rivecca's Death is not an Option away for good-- just couldn't get through it. Blech. Instead, I've moved on to Rough Translations by Molly Giles; it won the Flannery O'Connor Award for Short Fiction.

On Love and Other Monsters

2011-05-09T16:09:00.000-07:00

Today I went to the cafe for lunch with M, and a woman overheard me talking about the 8-minute movies I had my classes make, and she introduced herself as an artist, came over to me, kissed me, and then said, "I want to see everything that you do all the time." I think this is nearly on par with the homeless man's love confession to me last month: "Hello. I like your dog. I love you." I am susceptible to these frank admissions of love/obsession. It's not love unless you're suffocating or bleeding... kidding, and not.

I watched the first twenty minutes of Eternal Sunshine again last night. It's my go-to movie when insomnia strikes. It's genius. I'm like Clementine in being inclined to tell every single detail and truth and observation to the person I love. Only, it's exhausting, and no one really wants that. I've often mistaken intimacy with striving to be omniscient and thoroughly empathetic. Is this a god-complex? I once told my husband that I wanted to absorb him, like in those scary alien movies. He said that wasn't right (he felt eerie, I'm sure). But doesn't everyone want that in some way? Isn't that why we have sex? Isn't that why we bite and pinch little children? (Am I the only who bites chubby babies?) I discussed this in my Hopkins Intersession Monsters in Literature class when we came upon criminal cannibalism-- the idea isn't really too removed from normative society since we "ingest" each other (oral sex, or worse coprophagia) and use food names as endearment (honey, pumpkin, cutie pie, sweetie, etc.). I mean, what does it mean to say that God's love is all-consuming? It sounds fantastic and terrible. It's the apogee of the sublime, right? Excuse the paradox.

I don't know where I'm going with this but I think about it often.

Wednesday is my last day of lecture!! Then finals week.

I am going to try to write a lot and finish my story.

2011-05-08T17:45:00.000-07:00

Went on a two-mile walk with my mom today, and we saw a rattlesnake curled up at the edge of the sidewalk near shrubs. Rocky actually led me to it because he darted toward a lizard, but was restrained by the leash. It was large, probably around two feet long and 3 inches in diameter at its thickest; it was soaking up the sun and hot dirt.

I am back in San Diego now. I finished most of my work, but am too tired to write now. I feel so sleepy. And I think I'm going to modify my yoga goal from 12 classes to 10, which seems more realistic.

Need to go buy date nut bread at the health food store.

Yoga Challenge

2011-05-07T16:24:00.000-07:00

I went to 2 yoga classes last week, and 4 the week before that.

My challenge is to go 12 times in the remaining 3 weeks of May!! I think I am going to splurge on the one month unlimited yoga pass at The Little Yoga Studio, the most fantastic studio I've ever been to.

Home for the Weekend

2011-05-07T11:29:00.000-07:00

I'm home for the weekend, for Mother's Day. I bought a pretty card with pretty font and garden colors. I haven't written my note yet, but I have tonight. I can do it while I watch Anthony Bourdain on my laptop before bed. I think I dreamt about him last night, which is perfectly fine. Word of the week: silver fox. I heard it once on TV, and then my sister said it this morning during our transatlantic telephone conversation.

It's hard to be home for a long time. I think it's that way for any mid-twenties person since you begin to really see how many problems your parents have, and paradoxically, that they also have wisdom though at times the wisdom that they have doesn't apply or suffice for the problematic situations they have gotten themselves into. It's like playing the baby tool bench all over again. Find the cube. Put it in the cube shaped space. But all you have is the cylinder and the pyramid.

Did some light editing on poems last night and sent something out over the Interwebs. I actually feel good about a few stories and poems, and the rejections don't really phase me or make me feel that they're not very good. It does sting, at any rate, because they're still unwanted. Little orphans. How sad.

I think I've officially become obsessed with yoga. My goal is to get into a graceful handstand during a vinyasa flow, which is just to say that I want to curl up into a stand during the procession of postures without kicking and flailing and breaking someone's nose. But I've noticed that all 3 yoga teachers I've had class with are heavier on top, which seems to help with grounding and balancing. What about pear-shaped people? Or people without heavy "tops"?

Brought Paul Guest with me for the weekend. Realized I am too late for all of the residency deadlines for writers. Fail. I should take that more seriously next year. Although, hopefully, I will get a job somewhere and fund my own residency in a nice apartment with a decent school office.

2011-05-06T17:04:00.000-07:00

Selim Nahas, a publisher in Boston, found me via Hopkins and the book collection contest in which I placed and won money last year. He was so happy that I'd created a wishlist including his edition of The Nuremberg Chronicle (1493, original Latin), that he is sending me a free copy. Thank the Internets. Unbelievably amazing.

The Nuremberg Chronicle is one of the oldest illustrated chronicles of world history and is divided into seven dispensations: Creation to flood, Abraham, David, Babylonian exile and captivity, Christ, the present age of 1493, and Judgment Day.

2011-05-05T13:13:00.000-07:00

I woke up so late this morning. Time warp. Watched Yi Yi last night, a sort of epic that documents three generations of Taiwanese people in Taipei. It was so amazing and nearly three hours long. I should watch this film twice a year.

So my workshop downtown is canceled for May. There weren't enough students to make it worthwhile, not that I started teaching down there for the profit in the first place, but with all of these transitions, I decided to let it go.

Taped the Rilke quote next to my bed--Living the questions now from Letters to a Young Poet.

I'm going to Cambridge/London, then Madrid/Barcelona, and if I get into Sewanee, I'll be in Tennessee. After that, I'd like to go to New Jersey to see a friend, then maybe Philadelphia to see another friend before I return to Los Angeles.

Rejected by two more reviews this week.

Yoga tonight.

Living the Questions

2011-05-05T00:28:00.000-07:00

Me: Do you think it's OK?--my life and not following a model or anything...
Dennis: Explain that.
Me: I've found a little Buddhist-styled meditation helpful. I'm just constantly a little afraid... of making mistakes, failing, becoming a heretic, becoming a syncretist, of falling away, of losing things. But I've found my balance a little bit. It's just that I have to stop being afraid.
Dennis: Admittedly, fear is a potent mechanism for behavior control. But what?
Me: Will God discard me if I walk outside the lines? That sounds silly, but... why am I so afraid of all these little things? Did church make me like that?
Dennis: Do you want to wander off somewhere?
Me: Yes, into happiness. It's not that I want to do so many things, it's just my thinking. I don't think God wants me to be afraid to fail, make mistakes, cling to things. Is it enough to believe in the gospel, act out of gratitude, and also take care of myself and be kind to others?

Dennis: What else would there be?

2011-05-04T18:39:00.001-07:00

Today I caused a minor motorcycle accident. I was driving around campus at the speed limit and a motorcyclist didn't see me and began to turn very, very slowly into the lane when he saw me and then just tipped over. It was very much like slow motion. And he was quite far away from me actually, and in truth, I didn't really cause it-- he didn't look, and once he did, his body didn't register to stop, or it did, and he went slack and let the motorcycle fall. I stopped and made sure he was OK. He shrugged and just said he didn't see me.

I also walked around Balboa with the dog today, and there were four enormous telescopes set up. One of the men let me look at the sun through two scopes. The first was white light. The sun was a perfect white orb. The second was a red sun with waves rising off the surface.

2011-05-04T14:58:00.000-07:00

I like this week's Glee. All Fleetwood Mac songs and particularly good stories.

Less than two weeks of school left for me.

I want to go to yoga today. The classes are all vinyasa, which is s supposedly one of the highest calorie burning types of yoga. But I'm really sore and there's something funky going on with my shoulder. Maybe I'm overdoing it. I went four times last week, and also yesterday.

Really don't want to move. I'm scared.

Melting Down

2011-05-03T15:47:00.000-07:00

And I'm not talking about San Diego in eighty degrees. I am having anxiety on the job front, also with my marriage which is resembling an origami animal that folds and unfolds into various shapes, some of them unrecognizable. Also trouble on the no money for a therapist front, and the writing front, and the keeping fit front. I am having a bad week/month/year/life.

The dog is patient with me. We are not in sync today. We went out to the cafe and I put a cup of water on the ground for him, which he knocked over immediately. Then he entangled himself in his own leash around chair legs while I prepared a short lesson on Manet, Monet, Degas, and Morisot. Something stung my toe while we were sitting the cafe's backyard. My mascara was already running down one eye when I got home, and there was white powdery residue on my arms and dress front from the sunscreen.

I wrote for two hours yesterday. I couldn't even finish transcribing out of my notebook; I got overwhelmed. I can't seem to finish this new story, and just questioned whether it's even worth finishing. I don't know. I just have to finish it.

Spoke to a therapist who does art therapy. Don't think that's right for me. I don't want to write about my feelings. Although, earlier, I did diagram or write out a logical progression of fears. I am basically afraid that I don't want enough in life. And I am afraid of failing and making mistakes.

I want to finish a collection, and then have it published, and then get some money for it. I want to work harder at writing and finish things. But I am having a meltdown. I was standing in the kitchen, feeling like I was going to freak out. So I made coffee and wrote my friend an email.

I think if I read much more Chase Twichell I will freak out. Too zen and distilled. Stop meditating on snow and trees and deer tracks! But Paul Guest's writing is so wild and disorderly that it makes me feel the same. I need Jack Gilbert to come scoop me up and tuck me into bed.

I've actually run out of money. But I'll be paid in a couple days, so it's not so bad. I have noodles and some meat I froze. I also have kale, beans, and an apple.

I wonder if the dog ever worries that I'm going to really lose it.