Posts Tagged 'where everything lost is found'

Tonight I have an overbearing amount of work to do… work related work. Part of that work is putting together a shared blog for my students, sickness which led me to wordpress.com, store where all of my WordPress blogs are accessible under a same account (nice) and, viagra inevitably, I’ve ended up here.

In the mental fog of summer migraines, which are consistent with this weather, and the ghosts of dreams and nightmares that follow me after shut-downs (sweaty, disturbed migraine naps), I thought it would be a good idea to reconnect with what is on my mind besides my daily routines and work, to write anything at all. I’ve been fantasizing about writing anything at all for a very long time… but this ridiculous guilt over how I should be “doing something else” (like desperately trying to sleep) – much like reading when I was student: “No! Don’t read for fun, you should be reading for your courses!” – has kept me from it. Even in the notebooks I carry, where I plan out my lessons, I feel tempted to scribble, but end up tapping the pen on the desk or making “to do” lists.

For the last few months I’ve been working. A LOT. And I don’t mean working as in “doing things” – because I’ve even put that off, doing the “things” I want to do that also count as work, but I mean employment. I’ve been nearly 100% devoted to work for several reasons… I’ve been working at the institution where I studied, and I feel lucky every single day, and I love it. I guess with that comes the pressure of trying to do the best job I possibly can (much like my co-workers who are around my age). But I also took on two other teaching jobs, which left me, for a couple of months, with only about 4 hours to come home and sleep on weekdays. Teaching jobs. Which basically means giving up all of your mental and emotional energy to a bit over a hundred people whose faces, names, personalities and particular needs you’ve had to memorize. Aside from the preparation and work you take home, delivering a lesson with a smile, putting up with fluorescent lights and throbbing eyeballs, noise and stabby needle sensations right in the brain (yes, I’m talking about migraines), and talking non-stop. I was exhausted, and sometimes I’m impressed that I made it alive. The second reason is precisely that… I wanted to spend all of my energy as a form of purification. Not to think. Which is also why I haven’t been writing… I’ve been avoiding feelings and truth.

It’s safe to say that it worked… even my perception of time during those months, from my memory’s eye, is all mixed up… like months were squeezed into weeks, years into months. I don’t remember sleeping much, and I was physically sick often. And so it was and so it is that I’ve just kept myself from writing… so it will be either subtle volumes of obscure prose or intense, cathartic (still obscure) poetry before I catch up with what’s going on and place myself again. And what I mean by “place myself” is knowing where I’ve been and where I’m going, internally. It’s all shapes, shadows and melodies, when there are no words. Unless the voices while falling asleep count.

But, to break between the large chunks of text, I give you Office Looks 2014. Newest to oldest. (I only let my hair down for selfies, though. And those $7 sunglasses, I sat on them. So mad.) Do I look tired? I am!

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I realize it’s been a almost a year since I updated… Coming here is safe, because I always suppose I don’t have any readers (1) and, since I tend to follow the mood and style I use in my different blogs (as I do with different paper journals), I don’t talk about feelings. I always want to cry into livejournal’s buxom, but facing what’s in my own heart is something I’ve been avoiding… put into words, I mean, because it materializes in the form of ghosts that follow me like little shadows, all the way from sleep and memory.

I realize I haven’t updated in almost a year and also, how full of it I was when I said I wouldn’t keep submitting my hair to violent lightening procedures anymore. I want to talk about that because, apparently, I need to talk about my hair or I’m not on this blog.

While I was an undergrad, I used to hang out a lot with a girl who is still a good friend, but I just don’t see or talk to often anymore. We had memorable conversations every day, about everything. I remember her telling me once, after getting a new piercing in her ear (one of many), that she liked taking care of her body piercings… I don’t know if she feels this way anymore, but she said “Since I’m not having any children, I need something to take care of, so I’ll take care of them.” It sounds a bit over the top, but sometimes I think of her during my hair coloring and conditioning rituals. Sometimes it’s not even about how I want it to look… not about the vain aspect, but for the simple purpose of controlling outcomes and then caring for something. Something that also happens to be a part of your body… it becomes a habit. Even when you have little free time left over and would probably do better just stopping altogether, at least in my experience, I look forward to “hair nights” and trying new dyes (which are sometimes disappointing!). There’s also my limited choices… I would only dye my hair black while I’m not trying to go for white or gray, or any shade of blue. Black is difficult to undo, and blue, well, I’m still trying to make an impression on my superiors (though, fortunately, I don’t think hair colors matter to them at all). But I’ve been twice traumatized over my choices… (twice having started work already WITH My Little Pony hair, then told to change it).

So besides working, not writing much and bleaching my hair, I’ve also been driving. I bought a car. Car Selfies 2014.

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A lot has happened in 11 months… WELIF was published and released in the wild last October. Friends and strangers have given me heart warming feedback about it. Which means a lot, because this is really OLD poetry I wrote while I could still be called a kid, and my drawings are in it (which look like a kid drew them, which is true, my inner child is the one drawing, always).

I take for granted that people who want to find out about my books do so at the book blog  or SLF’s (well, MY) facebook page. I’ve done quite a few book-related things, including a really neat-o, Freudy conference about SLF and dream translation that I PUBLISHED on the book blog linked above.

You can still get my books on Etsy and I could use your support with Etsy faves and Goodreads “to-reads” (of course reviews are better, but to-reads also make me happy!)

Look at little WELIF:
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My good friend Viruella recently posted an interview of sorts on her blog with flattering photos of my books and my answers to some really fun but difficult questions that I responded to on a work night. Without revising. That’s also an invitation, though, to follow her and read the thing (if you even read this far).

Academic terms are winding down and I have less courses than I did while I was a zombie. I have some secrets that I plan to reveal soon.  They’re actually exciting, but in hiatus until I put scattered self  back  together, so… stand by. Or follow me elsewhere. Or risk waiting forever (the average amount of time between posts here).

 

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For a long time I’ve been feeling an overwhelming exhaustion from… being.
It’s kind of embarrassing to talk about… considering it’s not a “real” dilemma.
On the other hand, contagion considering this “NON-BLOG” – where I try to be the least personal – has become a haven for venting, buy since it’s buried under all these frames.

Like you have to come in to a dark room with a door you usually ignore, dosage then crawl under the covers to read it.
That’s how I like to imagine it, anyway.

Well, this exhaustion… I like to set nearly impossible goals for myself, most of which I keep secret, because though I suppose I cope with failure, I like to avoid it at all costs.
I think the last time I felt hopeful about life was while I was still stumbling through my MA, not really sure of what I was doing (as usual), but I thought it would lead me somewhere.
Then I graduated, and hesitated to apply to grad schools for many reasons…

So here I am, and here I’ve been for a long time… with flickers of excitement inbetween, distractions and experiences, none of which I regret… probably because there’s no point in regret, only lessons to be learned.

I’ve mentioned how work really sucks the magic out of me. I’ve been working at the same place for a year now (a year!) and it’s starting to give me an existential itch… wanting to explode.

So I have this (not so crazy idea) that I’ll be carrying out this year.
I also made a decision that I’d been wanting to make for a long time that I haven’t told a soul. (And I’m still not telling. Don’t wonder, it’s not even that interesting, but it is a chosen path of Fate.)

I kind of hate how sometimes my posts become all about my hair… but this is another decision I made that I’d only thought about in terms of “what if.”
Destroying my hair with bleach.

It doesn’t even look like the photos above anymore, I’ve lightened it one more time and the residual colors are fading.
I still feel strange when I look in the mirror and see blonde hairs on my hairbrush…

Though a purely superficial act, it’s symbolic for me… creation in destruction, a sort of death that needed to take place in order to allow rebirth. Rebirth of an imaginary state of being I only assumed in darkness, that took over me when I felt unlike myself…

So this existential discomfort is lifting with the simplest thing… something I want to do.

I’m still drawing pen sketches for Where Everything Lost is Found. I wrote a bit about it at my books blog. My deadline is May. Let’s see if I can come through.

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I’ve also been finding scraps in what little is left in my old house, which is to be sold soon. (Not going to talk about that.)

I don’t like the notion that, try as we might, we really are essentially the same person. This little bit below was in a tiny notebook, I never even used it, only transformed it and recycled the rhymes. But it made me go “bleh.” I was perhaps 16 when I wrote it. Not going to use it now, either, but this is precisely the person I’m trying to un-become.

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