Ligature

Name:
Location: Chicagoland, Illinois, United States

Tuesday, June 29, 2004

conSonance

i wrote you a letter once, tracing the curve of a road around the Shape of the firSt letter in your name, SuggeSting that where it ended we might find a Secluded place to park on a Summer afternoon.

you "Savored" the letter, you Said. you Said lotS of thingS.

So. when i Saw you today, it Started with a Stare. i waS enjoying lunch with a friend, and when i looked up, there you were. paSSing my table. on your way back to yourS. our eyeS met (don't they alwayS?). and we Stared at each other. after a few StepS, you turned to look back, Stared again.

my mouth opened

and your name Stuck in my throat. i couldn't Say it.

i couldn't get paSt the firSt conSonant of it.

"S… ?"

Monday, June 28, 2004

Such a Monday

Tonight's workout CD: Weird cross between New Age and Jazz
(Hey, I went to the YMCA. I got a massage instead of working out, but at least I went!)


What a day at work. Things went from irritating to surprising to hilarious moment to moment. I'd like to keep my job, thank you very much, so no details here.

Yesterday I was simultaneously rejected by a romantic interest (through a third party) and suggested for a set-up with someone else (by the same third party). Weird.

I'm psyching up for my trip to Spain. I leave a week from tomorrow. I'm nowhere near packed. Wish me luck.

Going to watch "Lost in Translation" now. Not betting it'll do anything for the funk I'm in.

Sunday, June 27, 2004

New discoveries …

1. Tea with milk and sugar.

2. My tomboy-in-jeans-and-corduroy persona is far sexier than my all-black-mysterious-artist persona.

3. Neither of the options in number 2 is appropriate for summer. What's left?

4. Being smart isn't solely an academic pursuit, but it's most-appreciated among academics.

5. Nail polish. I've only been compulsively interested in nail polish since my grandma's death. I never saw her without perfectly manicured fingernails.

6. Yeah. Just try to reconcile number 2 and number 5.

7. The money sucks in careers for idealists.

8. Fiction as escapism. (It recently has supplanted sleep, my former method of escape.)

9. Politics.

10. Visiting a tourist trap more than once makes it no less odious.

Saturday, June 26, 2004

A moment, remembered

There are lines in books snatched from my own life: the arrangement of arms around shoulders, his chin upon her head. The difference in age insignificant in light of rare compatibility. They gazed into a fireplace in a cold stone room. Your laughter rumbled in your chest as you held me against you, our reflection distorted in the blank television screen. The sight of us together startling, having watched each other more often from afar. More startling, your fingers threaded through mine; fingers you'd deliberately withheld from me until it was allowable.

The night pressed against the window screens, the world outside coated in an icicle glaze. The train rattled past and the insects gathered on the white apartment walls and you spoke: "Is this what it's like to have a life again?" We joked about hymns and politics and talked about music, our feet propped on the coffee table, both of us in our winter-wool socks, mine green-and-tan flecked ... yours ....

Yours are fading from memory ... your voice and even your appearance are slipping away ... the reality of the moment fades ... dissolves, too, the pain of our falling-out ... me, inquisitive; you reticent ... the pain recedes and these rare moments are warm-to-the-touch again ... the bitterness blooming sepia-sweet.

Tuesday, June 22, 2004

The return of naked guy

Tonight's workout CD: Putumayo's Arabic Groove (again)

In my former job, I worked with a group of people who liked to party. Nothing crazy, really. An occasional kegger or driveway barbecue or billiards tournament at one of the neighborhood dive bars. We all worked more hours than for which we were hired. No one else could stand to socialize with us. So we worked together during the day, and relaxed together at night.

We went all-out for Halloween. I attended a party with some of the best-costumed people I've ever encountered, including: A human tornado (who made a in inverted, conical wig out of black gauzy fabric and affixed toy trailers and farm animals within. A dead Bob Saget, complete with cobwebs. A human word seek-and-find which included all the names on the party's guestlist. A human reporter's notebook. And naked guy.

Naked guy started out in a trenchcoat and cowboy boots. Until the boss left. Then, it was down to a leather thong. And, finally, uh, nothing.

Halloween was his birthday, he said, so he came in his birthday suit. Thankfully, when I danced with him he was still wearing the trenchcoat.

For months to follow, a photo of his posterior graced many a farewell card for departing employees. The card read: "You're leaving it all behind."

I've moved on to a new job. And he's moved to a new job in another state.

Downtown, today, I walked into a conference room for Adobe software training. As I claimed the same seat I'd occupied yesterday, I looked three places to my right. A new student for today's session. None other than naked guy.

Monday, June 21, 2004

The reward: Dehydration and aching muscles

Tonight's workout CD: Putumayo's Arabic Groove (again)

I haven't been to the gym in two weeks. It felt good to go back tonight.

I've been busy, barely keeping on top of my seminary classwork. And having my uncle as a houseguest for three days was great, but did little to help me keep my regular weekly schedule.

My seminary professor emailed me remarks on my most recent paper. "Excellent," he said, and "I was planning on making similar comments in the near future."

I hope the quality of my work makes up for my infrequent posts to the class discussion. I'm one of the top posters in the class, but we're all falling short of the stated goal of three papers per week.

This week's goals: 1) Make a home-cooked meal Monday (done!), Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. 2) Go to the gym Monday (done!), Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. 3) Post an email for seminary class Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. 4) Pack a lunch for work Wednesday and Thursday.

I'm giving myself tonight off of classwork because I worked hard over the weekend. So I'm off to read something equally fluffy as this, which always makes me think of the good-luck gift Meckhead gave me before a first date, once. It was a good date. But the Harry Potter bubble bath proved far more useful in the long run.

Thursday, June 17, 2004

To sleep, perchance …

I've been having dreams about someone. Three, in the past week.

We'll call him G.

I've only met G. twice, and when we've met we've had little opportunity to speak. But I feel like I know him. He has an uncanny resemblance to a college friend. I didn't notice it the first time we met, as I had my I'm-dating-someone-else blinders firmly attached at the time. The second time we met, the similarities were profound.

I've never had prophetic dreams. They're usually symbolic.

So here's what's perplexing me. What does G. symbolize?

After the first dream, I woke up with only a photo-exact image of his face in negative. It was as if, dreaming, I saw the positive image, and the reverse lingered upon waking. He was smiling, and pushing his hair out of his face.

In the second, we were driving somewhere together and I was asking G. advice about car maintenance. He was exasperated with the questions. (I usually dream about cars with failed brakes or spinning along an icy road when I feel out of control of my life.)

In the third, we were at a swanky party in a very luxurious condominium downtown. G. showed me a losing lottery ticket, complimented me (for what I can't remember), and I moved the champagne from his hand to the table and started to kiss him. He resisted, at first, and then gave in whole-heartedly.

I only remember my dreams occasionally. Why three in one week?

Anyone have insight for me? (Or, at least, if I call him, something other to say than "I've had three dreams about you in the past week.")


Knobs, skunk and the crib

Last weekend, a friend-of-a-friend mentioned that she bought a cribbage board while visiting family in Wisconsin. She's taking it back to Pittsburgh.

I hadn't played cribbage in at least ten years.

My uncle (from Wisconsin) spent the last three days with me as a houseguest. He'd left at home the cribbage board he usually keeps in his car. So Tuesday night I bought the last remaining cribbage board at the local K-Mart.

The packaging was spartan: a tin case holding a folding three-track board and deck of cards. Nowhere did it lure shoppers with phrases such as "Fun for the whole family!" or "A minute to learn, a lifetime to master."

For good reason:

The dealer gets two hands of cards, his/her hand and "the crib," two cards from the dealer's original six-card hand, and two cards from the other player's original six-card hand.

The remainder of the deck is cut, and a card turned over, but ignored until after the players play thier hands.

The dealer and other player play their hands, adding each sequential card. Points are awarded for the player who makes a total of 15 or 31, as well as the player who completes a run or pair or triple as the addition goes along.

Then the players group their hands into scoring points. Groups of 15 are awarded, as are pairs, triples and runs. If a player happens to have the jack of the suit of the card cut from the remainder of the deck, they get "knobs" — an extra point.

Finally, the dealer checks the crib for pairs, triples, runs and knobs, and gets points accordingly.

Switch dealer, start over.

Play continues until someone gains 120 points, or until someone gains a so many points so as to "skunk" their opponent.

I'm bringing cribbage to the next barbecue I attend. It'll be hours of fun.

Wednesday, June 09, 2004

Greetings from far, far away

At the end of a long day, coming home at 10 p.m., I pop open my mailbox-which-never-locks to discover my electricity bill ($19.26), an advertisement for free checking and a crisp envelope from a friend.

There's an Agnes de Mille stamp on the front, a quote on the back about love and bread and language (from Carlos Fuentes), and a "Spain" sticker circa 1981. I love the Spain sticker. It reminded me that I'll be in Barcelona exactly a month from today.

It's been on my table for forty-five minutes. I'm dying to open it, but don't want to spoil the anticipation.

I'm going to pour a drink first, settle onto the couch, and see what brilliant words wait inside.

Tuesday, June 08, 2004

I feel lucky …

So much has happened over the last 48 hours to make me feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

No cavities. Unexpected cash. The wedding photos I shot that turned out better than expected. (100 made the FINAL edit!) A compliment from a supervisor. An error by my eye-care practitioner that's earning me a free exam and new, free lenses.

I bought a lottery ticket. Y'know. Just in case.

Monday, June 07, 2004

Things you don't want to see from the vantage point of a dental chair

— or — Why pay for dental school when you can be a stand-up comedian?

Blue scrubs, face mask and all, Dr. McKenna re-enacted a scene from the Wiggles before my check-up. Wra-wra-wra, sound effects, hand motions, funky dance and everything.

Can you say "captive audience"?

Sunday, June 06, 2004

A little help …

Can anyone who saw Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban identify the musical selection Lupin plays in his classroom during the boggart scene?

Never mind. Consensus seems to be that it's John Williams' Swing, Swing, Swing, perhaps as performed by the Boston Pops. Thanks anyhow.

Saturday, June 05, 2004

Diary of my ideal weekend ... so far

Friday
12:01 a.m.

Be one of exactly two childfree, non-student adults to show up for the local midnight screening of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

Friday
9:00 a.m. - 5:20 p.m.

Slog through a long day at work after irresponsibly viewing Prisoner of Azkaban at midnight.

Friday
7:30 p.m. - 11:30 p.m.

Join friend-from-D.C. Monika, her cousins Rehka and Anil, and her colleague David for excellent Thai food downtown.

Saturday
10:00 a.m. - 3:45 p.m.

Photograph Brad and Janelle's wedding and hang out with their awesome friends and family.

Saturday
5:00 p.m. - 6:30 p.m.

Nap.

Satrday
7:20 p.m.

Order pizza, peruse DVD collection.

Thursday, June 03, 2004

Profundity

I had something to say last night. Now I've fogotten.

Tuesday, June 01, 2004

The specific gravity of anger

I've been angry at J. for months, now. I've let out the anger at carefully controlled intervals when no one is watching. It always comes back.

It has weighed me down, made me sleepless, made me destructive and made me tired. It has made me anxious and nervous and not-at-all self-assured. I burst into tears at kind words from a friend.

So I forgave him. Not just to myself, but I wrote him an email saying I was tired of being angry and that I forgave him.

I don't think he deserves forgiveness, but it wouldn't be forgiveness if it was deserved. If Kim Phuc can forgive something so huge, who am I to withhold forgiveness when a sincere apology has been offered.

I feel better. I'm writing this so I remember. This is the tattoo over my heart that says "I am well."

I didn't do it for him. I did it for me.