Things are disjointed. I'm moving in a forward direction down the winding path to a Myo Sim Karate first dan black belt, which is terrifying and exciting at the same time. More about that as the new semester approaches and this year's test (finally) takes place.
I wrote a very short poem about the glorious full moon tonight, getting down and dirty with pen and paper for the first time in way too long. I have been on the cusp of bringing up something large, looming, soft and silent, something I foolishly assumed had gone to ground inside of me.
On the same subject, I consciously lied to you by omission for the first time last weekend, and it's been weighing low and heavy on me for the past few days. I told you the story about home, about my transience and the wrapped black milk carton that travels, cradled in my protective arms as I tack back and forth across this sprawling town, never getting unpacked, smelling like nag champa and oak. I told you each of these things in turn, using the low tones of my voice and the sprawl of my arms to emphasize their importance, but crucially, consciously and painfully, I neglected to explain what it is and why.
Needless cruelty, shortshifting covered over by a mysterious smile and a distracting punching combination.
On another note, apparently I invite pounding because I have "a good frame for it." Shockingly, probably for the first time I *reacted* to an instructor reinforcing this statement (effectively, playfully punching me in the sternum) by pulling both fists back and into a short range double solar plexus punch. It is the unfairly agressive behavior I generally only unleash on B., and I swear you could have knocked the aforementioned instructor over with a feather.
But not in a bad way.
reading: Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot (and other observations) // Al Franken
listening to: Sweet Mistakes // Ellis Paul
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Thursday, July 3, 2008
you've got a lot to learn about possibilities
Running through the gamut of bookmarked blogs on my browser last night, I suddenly realized that Blogger had logged me out since I hadn't updated in at least a month. After a ten-minute struggle to remember my password, I return to Lesbia today in an effort to send some kind of update about how things are right now.
In the boring specificity of the day to day, I'm at work right now, constantly starting and stopping the medium-sized flat item scanner, running off hundreds of pages of rather boring 19th century sheet music. My iPod sits beside the monitor with a couple of hairties wrapped around it -- extras, since the one holding my long hair back is on its last threads. I'm avoiding the solitary world of playlists because I want to keep having intermittent conversations with the girl at the other Digibook. She is very polite and has a nice laugh.
I am well-worked and tired, my body slightly stressed after hours of hiking yesterday, but not sore like a difficult class or a long run might have left me. The tension in my neck is left over from Tuesday night falls, a little bit of whiplash that I still can't prevent. My right palm is scraped a bit and my fingers are cracking, and I desperately need a haircut that I can't afford.
Having tomorrow off for the holiday is a nice break from my usual Friday routine. I pretty much don't know what to do with myself without workout, but E. and I will be at my parents' house for dinner in the evening, which I expect will be nice. By "nice" I mean "bearable due to the presence of free food and drinky drink."
Hiking yesterday was gorgeous and relaxing and just generally wonderful, by the by. I stood too long on the edge of Blue Hole, watching B. splash around in the freezing water, but eventually I got over myself and jumped. It was every bit as cold as I had imagined, a cold that ended with both of us screaming and flailing for awhile, but eventually going numb and climbing out to bemoan our usual state of unpreparedness. Towels will be involved in similar adventures in the future.
Plans are being formulated for the annual Rhode Island trip (or exodus, as it were). I am extremely glad that E. has consented to come with for the second year in a row -- if the first year with my strange extended family didn't scare her off, then pretty much nothing could. It should be a pretty good time, at least. Two cushy weeks of bayside living isn't really a struggle.
In much more general terms, I'm looking forward to the fall semester already, though I'd like to find a class to replace my filler of "Late Victorian Fiction." Doesn't exactly sound riveting. I'm not nervous about third year -- I'm quite content to have a major and a plan, even if it's only for the next two years and doesn't mean much outside the department. I'm excited to have more days per week to ride, since I think I'm on the verge of starting to do a little bit of showing just for fun, but I'm also apprehensive because little Andi wants me to take over for her as a lesson instructor. I'm not sure I have the patience, the time, or the skill -- but I could sure use the extra cash. Big Andi seems to be in favor of this (but who really knows what she thinks? I can never tell). Sometimes I think she forgets how little time I've really been riding.
As for Myo Sim, what will be will be, and I'm not going to fight it. B. and I talk a lot about training, about what will happen to the school in the future, and about how things were (or in my case, how I've heard they were) way back in the earlier days of the school. I try not to think too much or too far ahead in classes, just practicing, just doing whatever it is that I'm supposed to be doing and thoroughly enjoying it. I am worried about possibly leaving in the spring and being declared unready to test next summer/fall, but really, my own readiness is something that has to come on its own. I want to feel it, and know that it's there, before I have to show it to the world (our small, insular, meaningful microcosm of a world, that is).
That was entirely too many words for not saying much at all, but since conversation is generally lacking and reflection even more so, there you have it.
My hand hurts.
In the boring specificity of the day to day, I'm at work right now, constantly starting and stopping the medium-sized flat item scanner, running off hundreds of pages of rather boring 19th century sheet music. My iPod sits beside the monitor with a couple of hairties wrapped around it -- extras, since the one holding my long hair back is on its last threads. I'm avoiding the solitary world of playlists because I want to keep having intermittent conversations with the girl at the other Digibook. She is very polite and has a nice laugh.
I am well-worked and tired, my body slightly stressed after hours of hiking yesterday, but not sore like a difficult class or a long run might have left me. The tension in my neck is left over from Tuesday night falls, a little bit of whiplash that I still can't prevent. My right palm is scraped a bit and my fingers are cracking, and I desperately need a haircut that I can't afford.
Having tomorrow off for the holiday is a nice break from my usual Friday routine. I pretty much don't know what to do with myself without workout, but E. and I will be at my parents' house for dinner in the evening, which I expect will be nice. By "nice" I mean "bearable due to the presence of free food and drinky drink."
Hiking yesterday was gorgeous and relaxing and just generally wonderful, by the by. I stood too long on the edge of Blue Hole, watching B. splash around in the freezing water, but eventually I got over myself and jumped. It was every bit as cold as I had imagined, a cold that ended with both of us screaming and flailing for awhile, but eventually going numb and climbing out to bemoan our usual state of unpreparedness. Towels will be involved in similar adventures in the future.
Plans are being formulated for the annual Rhode Island trip (or exodus, as it were). I am extremely glad that E. has consented to come with for the second year in a row -- if the first year with my strange extended family didn't scare her off, then pretty much nothing could. It should be a pretty good time, at least. Two cushy weeks of bayside living isn't really a struggle.
In much more general terms, I'm looking forward to the fall semester already, though I'd like to find a class to replace my filler of "Late Victorian Fiction." Doesn't exactly sound riveting. I'm not nervous about third year -- I'm quite content to have a major and a plan, even if it's only for the next two years and doesn't mean much outside the department. I'm excited to have more days per week to ride, since I think I'm on the verge of starting to do a little bit of showing just for fun, but I'm also apprehensive because little Andi wants me to take over for her as a lesson instructor. I'm not sure I have the patience, the time, or the skill -- but I could sure use the extra cash. Big Andi seems to be in favor of this (but who really knows what she thinks? I can never tell). Sometimes I think she forgets how little time I've really been riding.
As for Myo Sim, what will be will be, and I'm not going to fight it. B. and I talk a lot about training, about what will happen to the school in the future, and about how things were (or in my case, how I've heard they were) way back in the earlier days of the school. I try not to think too much or too far ahead in classes, just practicing, just doing whatever it is that I'm supposed to be doing and thoroughly enjoying it. I am worried about possibly leaving in the spring and being declared unready to test next summer/fall, but really, my own readiness is something that has to come on its own. I want to feel it, and know that it's there, before I have to show it to the world (our small, insular, meaningful microcosm of a world, that is).
That was entirely too many words for not saying much at all, but since conversation is generally lacking and reflection even more so, there you have it.
My hand hurts.
Monday, June 2, 2008
On the landing in the summer
Perhaps two or three weeks ago, I recalled a piece someone I once knew had written on the subject of kneeling iai seven, part a. In recalling said piece, I reflected on an old instruction from when I was training for ... green belt? brown belt? Awhile ago. Anyway, the advice was about picturing someone you cared a lot about kneeling before you, mid-seppuku (ritual suicide), waiting for you to sever their neck and hasten an already painful death.
For me it was always K., a constant act of vigilance and faith at the beginning of class, an ordinary moment made extraordinary simply by the fact that then, and only then, would I allow myself to see her before me. I carried that isolated feeling, the power of being her imaginary second, well past the days when we actually had to spend time together (slow, slow torture), past graduating from high school, past turning eighteen and the first half of college.
And then, one day, the girl under my sword changed into someone else from the past, lovely darkblonde hair turning deep brown, clear blue eyes turning greener. It threw me to see another there, welling up from my subconscious, making me feel strange and slightly sick after the kiai. But I took it, you know, because as long as the iai looks halfway to respectable, what does it matter what soft neck I need to pretend is under the katana?
Two nights ago I dreamed that K. broke into my room in Brown to find me eating a late dinner after a Thursday class. She tossed her long hair back, haughty, proud, and demanded why she wasn't in my kneeling seven anymore. I told her that there were so many other lost connections in my life by now that it was only natural. She slapped me once, right cheek and then left cheek, and told me not to give up.
It reminded me of how, right in the beginning when I was so young and raw and hurting, I would dream before the opening of class. I imagined testing for my first degree black belt (as I'm sure we've all daydreamed about), imagined righteously deep stances and beautiful partner work. In the midst of all of this, I imagined those two smooth glass doors opening, my pupils dilating at the sight of her, coiled tense and beautiful, with the deepest blue eyes fixed on me. A pointless dream, that a near-stranger would travel across the country simply to watch a black belt test in her hometown, but one that unashamedly motivated me.
So when we did kneeling seven tonight, and our instructor reminded us that it is appropriate to gaze slightly downwards, I was projecting the same pale white skin below me. In exchange I got the same feeling of intensity as we swept downwards as one, all slicing cleanly and honorably through the necks of people who would probably be horrified to know their role, however hypothetical.
I like to think you might shiver, even now, knowing this part of my experience is sunk so deeply in you.
For me it was always K., a constant act of vigilance and faith at the beginning of class, an ordinary moment made extraordinary simply by the fact that then, and only then, would I allow myself to see her before me. I carried that isolated feeling, the power of being her imaginary second, well past the days when we actually had to spend time together (slow, slow torture), past graduating from high school, past turning eighteen and the first half of college.
And then, one day, the girl under my sword changed into someone else from the past, lovely darkblonde hair turning deep brown, clear blue eyes turning greener. It threw me to see another there, welling up from my subconscious, making me feel strange and slightly sick after the kiai. But I took it, you know, because as long as the iai looks halfway to respectable, what does it matter what soft neck I need to pretend is under the katana?
Two nights ago I dreamed that K. broke into my room in Brown to find me eating a late dinner after a Thursday class. She tossed her long hair back, haughty, proud, and demanded why she wasn't in my kneeling seven anymore. I told her that there were so many other lost connections in my life by now that it was only natural. She slapped me once, right cheek and then left cheek, and told me not to give up.
It reminded me of how, right in the beginning when I was so young and raw and hurting, I would dream before the opening of class. I imagined testing for my first degree black belt (as I'm sure we've all daydreamed about), imagined righteously deep stances and beautiful partner work. In the midst of all of this, I imagined those two smooth glass doors opening, my pupils dilating at the sight of her, coiled tense and beautiful, with the deepest blue eyes fixed on me. A pointless dream, that a near-stranger would travel across the country simply to watch a black belt test in her hometown, but one that unashamedly motivated me.
So when we did kneeling seven tonight, and our instructor reminded us that it is appropriate to gaze slightly downwards, I was projecting the same pale white skin below me. In exchange I got the same feeling of intensity as we swept downwards as one, all slicing cleanly and honorably through the necks of people who would probably be horrified to know their role, however hypothetical.
I like to think you might shiver, even now, knowing this part of my experience is sunk so deeply in you.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
one magnet to another
What were you doing 10 years ago?
In the spring of 1998, I was looking forward to turning ten and being ... in the double digits? In fifth grade? To be honest, I don't remember a whole lot before about twelve.
That was the summer we went to Helsinki, Finland and Stockholm, Sweeden -- a trip whose many marvels I have not forgotten.
Name five things on today's "to do" list.
-clean kitchen / bathroom
-grocery shop
-buy E. some birthday presents
-give my horse some kisses and a good workout
-start a new mix cd
If I were a billionaire ...
I would buy a beautiful piece of land just outside Albermarle and rescue horses; and I would write on the side.
Name three bad habits you have.
Getting stressed about little things that don't really matter, general perfectionism, and self-depricating comments.
List five places you've lived.
Ivy, Virginia (1988-2000)
Charlottesville, Virgina -- in Greenbriar (2000-2006), on-grounds (twice- 2006-2007 and 2007-2008 school years), on Fontaine Avenue (summer 2007), and on JPA (summer 2008).
Name five jobs you've held.
Full-time Student
Unpaid Horse Trainer / Groom
Office Assistant (read: paper bitch)
FCC Grill Busser / Host (read: kitchen bitch)
RMDS Transformative Digitizer (read: digital bitch)
In the spring of 1998, I was looking forward to turning ten and being ... in the double digits? In fifth grade? To be honest, I don't remember a whole lot before about twelve.
That was the summer we went to Helsinki, Finland and Stockholm, Sweeden -- a trip whose many marvels I have not forgotten.
Name five things on today's "to do" list.
-clean kitchen / bathroom
-grocery shop
-buy E. some birthday presents
-give my horse some kisses and a good workout
-start a new mix cd
If I were a billionaire ...
I would buy a beautiful piece of land just outside Albermarle and rescue horses; and I would write on the side.
Name three bad habits you have.
Getting stressed about little things that don't really matter, general perfectionism, and self-depricating comments.
List five places you've lived.
Ivy, Virginia (1988-2000)
Charlottesville, Virgina -- in Greenbriar (2000-2006), on-grounds (twice- 2006-2007 and 2007-2008 school years), on Fontaine Avenue (summer 2007), and on JPA (summer 2008).
Name five jobs you've held.
Full-time Student
Unpaid Horse Trainer / Groom
Office Assistant (read: paper bitch)
FCC Grill Busser / Host (read: kitchen bitch)
RMDS Transformative Digitizer (read: digital bitch)
Saturday, May 10, 2008
there's a low moon caught in your tangles
No, I haven't quite slipped off the face of the planet yet. Things have been too wild, too crazy, too busy recently, with finals dragging on forever and the messy process of two people moving twice.
That is me telling you that the past couple weeks have been stressful in all kinds of ways -- I have been frustrated, and angry, and sad (and I'm sure I've inspired similar feelings in other people as well). You have my apologies for not being patient and relaxed, but understand that I can't help it. Packing up and moving is something that I deal with as a undergraduate and will no doubt deal with for awhile thereafter, but the sight of everything I own in cardboard boxes and laundry bags makes me anxious (no matter how organized it is!). For me, the ultimate comfort is being in a space surrounded by my posessions -- whether that's the sweatshirt I stole from L. six years ago, my sword bag standing in the corner waiting for the next class, or the happy birthday note scribbed on the back of an envelope from Inga, to which I've attached sticky notes from E. and B.
It's been stressful, but I'm glad that the semester has finished up and I'm ready to start the summertime. We're moving this evening into the fabled House of Dimes (which makes my decidedly non-dramatic self slightly nervous), and my last academic assignment is due by Monday at noon (just a late paper revision). Then I have three more days and work starts Thursday morning.
I'm a little bit looking forward to spending full days in Harrison / Small -- it's going to be more interesting and more active, particularly with other people like C. there to keep me company. I'll miss the graduated fourth years, but not their drama and their annoying moments. I mean, sure, it still means being locked in a windowless underground dungeon-chamber for most of the day, but I think it will be more than just okay.
On tap for today is a little bit of last-minute packing, calling Rick (and going to see the a/c unit?), PONIES (hopefully with little Andi), lots of showering, food food food, and moving house.
A bientot.
reading: email inbox
listening to: the way i am // ingrid michaelson
That is me telling you that the past couple weeks have been stressful in all kinds of ways -- I have been frustrated, and angry, and sad (and I'm sure I've inspired similar feelings in other people as well). You have my apologies for not being patient and relaxed, but understand that I can't help it. Packing up and moving is something that I deal with as a undergraduate and will no doubt deal with for awhile thereafter, but the sight of everything I own in cardboard boxes and laundry bags makes me anxious (no matter how organized it is!). For me, the ultimate comfort is being in a space surrounded by my posessions -- whether that's the sweatshirt I stole from L. six years ago, my sword bag standing in the corner waiting for the next class, or the happy birthday note scribbed on the back of an envelope from Inga, to which I've attached sticky notes from E. and B.
It's been stressful, but I'm glad that the semester has finished up and I'm ready to start the summertime. We're moving this evening into the fabled House of Dimes (which makes my decidedly non-dramatic self slightly nervous), and my last academic assignment is due by Monday at noon (just a late paper revision). Then I have three more days and work starts Thursday morning.
I'm a little bit looking forward to spending full days in Harrison / Small -- it's going to be more interesting and more active, particularly with other people like C. there to keep me company. I'll miss the graduated fourth years, but not their drama and their annoying moments. I mean, sure, it still means being locked in a windowless underground dungeon-chamber for most of the day, but I think it will be more than just okay.
On tap for today is a little bit of last-minute packing, calling Rick (and going to see the a/c unit?), PONIES (hopefully with little Andi), lots of showering, food food food, and moving house.
A bientot.
reading: email inbox
listening to: the way i am // ingrid michaelson
Thursday, May 1, 2008
I was nineteen, calling
Another semester is racing toward its finale, and I am nothing if not a sickening mix of stressed and excited.
I refuse to make any predictions about the summertime, because I don't want to be disappointed. I think that I will be happy, and it will be enough. And really, everything else like work and traveling and whatever is uninvolved and only of mild importance.
My body bends. I'm having trouble typing since this is what I've been doing for the last five (six?) hours.
I have entry upon entry plotted out in my head, and yet when I grab these moments in both hands, I can't remember what I wanted to say.
Here is the next week--
Friday: paper due at 5. workout???
Saturday: errands in town -> British History final, 2-5 -> drive to Williamsburg, return with E.
Sunday: class? -> whatever
Monday: edit French papers, prep for Enlt review session -> class
Tuesday: Enlt review session, 12noon (?) -> sell textbooks back -> class
Wednesday: turn in two French papers -> move out of dorms
Thursday: Enlt final, 2-5pm -> class
Friday (workout) or Saturday -> move into Sophi's room
I'm just going to go now.
listening to : Tegan and Sara
reading : feministing.com
I refuse to make any predictions about the summertime, because I don't want to be disappointed. I think that I will be happy, and it will be enough. And really, everything else like work and traveling and whatever is uninvolved and only of mild importance.
My body bends. I'm having trouble typing since this is what I've been doing for the last five (six?) hours.
I have entry upon entry plotted out in my head, and yet when I grab these moments in both hands, I can't remember what I wanted to say.
Here is the next week--
Friday: paper due at 5. workout???
Saturday: errands in town -> British History final, 2-5 -> drive to Williamsburg, return with E.
Sunday: class? -> whatever
Monday: edit French papers, prep for Enlt review session -> class
Tuesday: Enlt review session, 12noon (?) -> sell textbooks back -> class
Wednesday: turn in two French papers -> move out of dorms
Thursday: Enlt final, 2-5pm -> class
Friday (workout) or Saturday -> move into Sophi's room
I'm just going to go now.
listening to : Tegan and Sara
reading : feministing.com
Monday, April 28, 2008
i could speak italian
I can now change the oil in my car (and, presumably, in other cars as well).
Parkour = something I want to play with more.
I also am in posession of a loaner pair of drumsticks, and will henceforth proceed to drum loudly on all available surfaces.
Have I mentioned how awesome life really is?
listening to : kanye
reading : feministing.com
Parkour = something I want to play with more.
I also am in posession of a loaner pair of drumsticks, and will henceforth proceed to drum loudly on all available surfaces.
Have I mentioned how awesome life really is?
listening to : kanye
reading : feministing.com
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