Coping

I have nothing to say but wispy shit. 

And how reading over my older entries made me better understand how others can see beauty in a person while not wholly grasping the reality that the person is not ready to recognize nor employ it. 

Let me tell you, public: low self-esteem is a formidable adversary. It defies logic. It needs its own time, and you are merely another external, temporary placater if you take on the burden of healing it. Which is to say, as common wisdom now knows, confidence must come from an individual's hard work (of the introspective and behavioral nature).

Potential, no matter how impressive, is bullshit if you don't like yourself. Tell the person how great they are all day long, because they need more of that, but don't get caught up in the results. It's not your show. You can't control it.

                                                                           ~

Regarding the aforementioned wispy shit, I have mostly lost inspiration for writing about that at the moment, which I guess is good, if not unexpected. That's the thing; I know there isn't much to it. We shared intimate times with each other and he's a genuinely good person (hello, such a turn on), but I have no deep feelings for him and I've always felt weird about that. Is he OK with that? Is that an OK thing in general, given our very intimate physical exchanges? 

And I will miss him, naturally. But I have to remember how much better I felt knowing it was over. These sorts of things have a way of taking over my whole existence...if we're not right for each other, I feel like I have to be that person (the one who molds to his personality) all the time. I can't just turn it on and off at a whim. 

Being nude reminds me of him. So that's going to be a challenge, what with showering and getting ready for bed and all.   -__-

I want to be clear: the above topic (invested in healing a loved one) has little to nothing to do with my 6'2" honey bun. I developed no codependent tendencies with regard to him, nor him to me. I didn't even want to clean his kitchen!

OK so...maybe if the moment were right and enough time had passed I'd open myself to him again, but he turned me off in so many ways...some he's aware of and some he isn't. I mean hey, he's mentally about 26 years old (his friend actually said 23, haha). 

                                                                                 ~

You know I try to create cogent themes and succinct writing in my entries. Here we have two seemingly distinct topics that might be fun to mentally juxtapose. I'm proud of myself for not employing codependent behaviors, first of all. Putting his needs before mine a bit, yes, I did do that. But I'm so much better than I used to be. 

And that's the confidence I'm talking about. When I wrote many of those former entries, I sounded wise and in control, but it was largely intellectual and not fully, emotionally realized. This is how loved ones get fooled - because you can sure as hell talk the talk, but what is being said between the lines?

You're a *~beautiful~* sweetie pie. And I can also let you go.

I wanna talk about horror movies *kicks the dirt*

Cool, I came here on an emotional whim and it has been a year and one day since I wrote my last entry.

I just spent two hours laboring over reading two emails and writing a response I won't send. Trapped in that vortex for two hours. I don't want him, ultimately. I know that. But he's a strong, intelligent written communicator and we enjoy geeking out on some of the same things. The allure of intellectual intimacy! I'm hooked onto some aspect of our connection that doesn't represent him as a whole, so I won't risk leading this man on just to relieve some temporary longing-anxiety. I shall not!

They say they're fine and that they can be friends right after the topic of romance was broached...but with all due respect, they're stupid. Or lying to me and/or themselves. So OK, the onus is on me to put up the boundary since you haven't been able to. Certainly not my favorite position to be in, but I'm trying to be realistic about how difficult that should be. Suck it up, Kelli. 

Or a more effective approach - meditate. Let the feeling go, whatever it is about it you crave clinging to. 

Jim Gaffigan is commenting on how discouraging it is to see how few calories you burn while on a treadmill. True.

The end.

The Huntress

I've unexpectedly found myself dancing in Grandmom's boots before - the green rubber Huntress pair that I didn't know was a "thing" until some bar girl expressed her good natured envy. They're by no means good for dancing, but sometimes you end up at a certain makeshift music venue after a certain rainy day. And I think Grandmom wouldn't mind...I think Grandmom would be happy that I'm happy in them. Dancing is movement and processing; eyes closed, while I let a wave of motion snake up my spine and through my arms, I think slice of life thoughts, oddly juxtaposed to the present grinding, drinking and blinking. Tonight, as always, it was therapy. Those clunky rubber shoes on my feet, I felt supported, too.

SHAKE IT

www.staggeringbeauty.com

The Deep Bass of Conscience

This weekend I went to a Halloween rave, and lawwwd the kids there were young. While I still love the festival and rave scene and don't plan to retire from it any time soon, I've entered into an era of cognitive dissonance that I'll just have to live with until the time comes. Why do they allow 18-20 year olds to buy tickets for something that is widely known to house more dangerous drugs than any other type of recreational event? My comrades and I, ages 29, 31 and 34, made particular note of how the venue charged $5 for water bottles, patrons weren't allowed to refill the bottles in the bathroom, and no free water cups were given. The 31 year old said, "They'll learn when one of these kids collapses on the dance floor from dehydration and they have a lawsuit on their hands".

Raves are a parallel example of the type of dissonance that occurs for me with regard to rap and hip hop. I still love it, I was overjoyed to hear a little mixed in with the dubstep this past Saturday, but these lyrics...Jesus Christ. I am so tired of the way some rappers continue to speak about women. It's disgusting, and I hope that parents are sending stronger messages to lessen the force of what's being played on the radio.


Chances are she was acting up and I fucked her once, never fuck her again.
She can have a grammy, I still treat her ass like a nominee,
She’s leaving on with that pussy like so one time is fine with me.

-Drake, No Lie-

Y'all been together ten years, you deserve a menage 

Specially if you put that BMW in the garage

Specially if you paid a couple payments on her mame crib

Went to her neice's graduation, man, I hate those kids

-Kanye West, Birthday Song-

If she don't wanna fuck I get on my skateboard and I skate past her.

-Lil Wayne, Burn-

She say why you asking questions I say bitch you trynna be funny

Now take your fucking clothes off and let me see your donky kong...

I swear I saw my ho, I swear she waas with my ho

You know I fuck them both, sore pussy and sore throat

-Lil Wayne, No Worries-

Lil Wayne, in particular, focuses on fornication SO much in his songs. It's starting to get obnoxious and is detracting from his albums' entertainment value. Something that I believe solidly validates my disdain is the fact that a majority of nasty mouthed hip hop artists, Lil Wayne and Drake included, have young children (daughters for the aforementioned).

So that's all I'm saying hip hop. I'll still listen to you in my car for 85% of my driving time, but you're disappointing me. Then again, I rarely ever buy music and when I do it's to try out some indie artist I can't hear on the radio, so my opinion doesn't matter. As long as THIRD graders continue to gain such access to rap albums that they know every word to profanity laden Tha Carter IV, you'll be sitting pretty. No lie.

I experience ____. No no, that was a statement not a request.

He was a fine gentleman, a solid Irishman (accent and all) with an open spirit and a certain depth. I felt a kinship there. But despite our better-than-average first date conversation, I came away from the evening feeling defensive and anxious, and I knew that couldn't be good.

He is a teacher at a community college, and thus harbors that teach-y spirit that tends to drive me batty. This is what I would like: I would like to express a piece of me - specifically some light internal struggle -  and just have the person express understanding. No advice, no commentary indicative of the listener judging the comment's validity or need for change, just acceptance and reciprocal conversation.

Come to think of it, he was doing it from the very beginning and I was just trying to stay positive and enjoy myself at the time. This is an emotional bias that I know is nowhere near universally true, but I like to indulge in the perception that these men who become attracted to a girl whom they also feel the desire to teach or save are compensating for something. If, right off the bat, I feel the desire to guide a man, help him reach his potential, then that is not my man. That is a lovely person who is not my equal and who is in the Friend Zone. I'm not looking to mold someone into something else, and doing so alters my feelings about our power balance.

So more of this grrrrr that was mentioned in the previous post.

I am who I am. I don't need you to help me change when I've just met you an hour ago. If I tell you I feel a certain way and we barely know each other, any arguments against what I've expressed as my internal experience, no matter how well-meaning, will not be met warmly. Do you relate to and fully accept who I am  right now or don't you? I'm looking for the former, thank you.

This Body Is a Guest House, Invite Them In

Mmmm kimchi from the jar. It punches you in the face then lingers on the tongue, a complicated and fishy coleslaw with a vinegar undercarriage.

This blog was intended to be written from an ornery, forceful place, but endorphins have rushed in to sooth my capsaicin burn, thus "producing a feeling of well-being". And it hurts so good. Ohhhh yeah.

I can still, however, report on the pleasure associated with what is typically seen as an emotionally negative neurochemical event: a reduction in serotonin. This brain chemical helps us steer clear of depressive moods, compulsive behaviors and poor sleep patterns. It also keeps anger and aggression in check.

Last Friday the brain chemical gods sent a Baltimore riff raff to break into my car and steal my book bag, which contained the pills I take to increase my serotonin levels (I have struggled with mild to moderate depression for much of my life). It took a total of five days to obtain the refill, but by the time I picked it up I was starting to feel...alive?

Having also struggled with assertiveness over the years, and having tried this prescription for about 7 months now, I can say that the reduction in angry/aggressive feelings did make me less bothered by frustrating situations, but it also led to an added lack of drive toward redressing them.

So the pleasure I spoke of comes from a keen awareness of this sensation: I'm back, and I'm angry. I'm tired of not correcting people when they've incorrectly assessed my thoughts or emotions. I'm tired of not speaking up. Of not pushing for the information I need.

All this fiery enthusiasm could be a flash in this week's pan, and my heightened joie de vivre will likely be accompanied by deeper shades of upset when things go wrong (they don't call them mood stabilizers for nothin), but right now I invite it. I have shit to do, things to be inspired by...annoyed by, enchanted by, infuriated by. The emotions I experience have always been broad in scope, and it wasn't until this week that I realized how much I miss myself. 

Other Avenues

It's been a while, bloggy blog. I still think of you.

Tonight I'm pondering boundaries. As a caretaker of youth, I tend to let things (play fighting, energetic games) go further than a majority of other guardians might, but I'm fiercely observant for the signs that precede "too far". Partly, this approach serves my dislike of expending energy as a constant discipliner, but I also think there's value in letting young people feel out the edge. When I do step in, as I did tonight when a small child tried entering a play fight circle, I make the event clear to everyone and then back out again. My hope is to contribute to their becoming free-spirited, yet respectful and observant players.

These are the kinds of simple situations that I feel competent around because they involve rules that someone my age learned many years ago. When I am personally involved, however, and the rules are less clear, I have a tendency to lack boundaries...especially with kids.

Last night the 16-year-old I live with came into my room and chatted with me about zombies for a while. I listened politely and sleepily, recognizing that a young man his age might be getting more out of our conversation than a stimulating discussion of fiction. That is, my uh-oh bells were going off. Here's the thing though - I need connection right now. And even if I weren't in particular need of that, I'm still in love with the interactions I have with young people because they feel so unburdened and safe.

Tonight when his mom came home, she very tactfully, and with an edge of humor, pointed out the inappropriateness of a 28-year-old and a 16-year-old hanging out alone together in the 28-year-old's room. I felt immediately nervous and embarrassed. So that IS a bad thing.

I do well with stated rules, so it's good to have received that message, but I'm also mildly ashamed of not having been solidly, consciously aware of that idea in the moment. Emotional biases...tricky things. That's why it's good to seek external reality checks when you know your brain chemicals have hijacked you to some degree.

I am eager to make mistakes with young people and eager to learn. Tonight's play fight in the park was absolutely glorious. There is nothing like working with children.

Exposure

This past March I visited the West Coast for the first time, San Francisco specifically, and had a wonderful time visiting friends, seeing the area and attending the 60th Annual American Counseling Association Conference. As a volunteer at the conference, I paid half price. As an educational ambassador of sorts from the University of Baltimore, I applied for a travel grant that paid for my airfare and shuttle costs. I stayed with a CouchSurfing.org host, which was free, and paid an extra $20 to bring a small cooler of meals for the week in my checked luggage (thank you, science, for your extended-freeze gel packs).

This kind of frugality has defined much of what I've done over the past several years, and I've had the honor of experiencing travel, cultural exchange and applied learning with little to no help from my family and very little income from part-time jobs.

Although these opportunities are out there, I often wonder how much my gender, my ethnicity and the fact that I'm well-spoken play a part in my ability to take advantage of them. I've come to the conclusion that being a little more well-dressed, using slightly better speech and demonstrating a visible passion is all that would be required for the things I've done, and I want young people of all types to know that. Of course, not all young people would be interested in the kinds of things I went for (farming, mission work, a retreat house, summer camps) but any new experiences involving diverse people, cultures and job requirements is invaluable to one's growth. These things are out there. You can get out of your town, you can explore values beyond what you've come to know thus far, you can learn to communicate with a variety of different people and, most importantly, you can mature emotionally. The underlying changes these experiences create will be palpable to prospective mentors and employers, and you will be more proud of yourself because of what you were able to achieve.

I believe that a lessened level of the above qualities, particularly self-esteem, is part of what keeps many people back in this world, the limiting force of perceptions exerting its influence from within and without. But this doesn't mean you have to go half-way across the world in order to grow. It means simply being open to new things and places. It means developing a confidence that says "I can survive no matter where I go, and I am me no matter who I interact with".

Although an idealist, I'm still a logical, realistic person at my core; I tend not to get behind things that don't make proper sense. So when I get into the Baltimore City Schools as a mental health professional (I hope!) I feel confident spreading the message that the cultural glass ceiling, in certain ways, is a lie. So is the idea that appearing rich now is more worthwhile for one's self-esteem than saving one's money and living well later (Gucci ain't Gucci, is what I'm saying). The problem is, much of today's youth recognize their opportunities intellectually and buy into the "achieve" messages until those sneaky meta-messages from friends, society or perhaps even parents creep into their emotional make-up and dictate their beliefs.

But the thing is...yes you can. Yes you can, yes you can.

Love It Like You Mean It

What was it that never let you down? What filled you with connectedness and love when things elsewhere fell short? I'm thinking of people who read two to five novels each month or the fanboys who pledge everlasting love to a story line and its creators. Then there are the pet lovers of course; animals are living, breathing targets of affection and thus closer to justifiable thing-romance...but also subject to wider instances of creepy excess for that reason. And how about the tree huggers? They've got scientific backing for sustainability, widely accepted beauty and semi-aliveness on their side. I'm one of those, and I fully recognize how my emotional needs have influenced my political leanings in that regard. Nature was peace. Nature was me with my dog...and cognitive processing and no one shitting on my ideas or my character. No one ever ruined nature for me, and I thank God for that.

Often I wonder how people can pursue a love that affects other humans while being self-aware about its origins. For example, if you know that you came to love politics because talking about them was the only way you felt like you could connect with your father, then why doesn't that kind of arrest you, stop you in your tracks? Sure there must be a genuine sense of justice, or what have you, sprinkled in there but those are the kinds of emotional motives that truly drive people. As I write this I'm beginning to think it may not make sense to some...I'm not sure why knowing about a passion's origin somehow negates it for me. I guess because it makes everything we do feel selfish. It all feels like one big effort to repair ourselves in a world that keeps breaking itself and repairing itself repeatedly, while the humans inhabiting it are able to feel good about their existence because there are things to fix.

Things have gotten better though, haven't they? Women's rights, human rights, slavery, technology, child protection...so things do progress over time. And in my field, psychology, where the hell would we be without all those milestone psychologists who were driven by shit that happened to them when they were younger?

But to address my lingering doubt, what reason would be sufficient for me to feel good about going forward with a task or career? Pure, unadulterated altruism? I'm not sure there is such a thing. I have a sense that most other people don't hold themselves back because of this worry, and I wonder what wisdom they have? Ultimately, I suspect my over-focusing on this stems from fear of failure...or, similarly, impotence in the face of the community woes I'd like to heal. The same goes for this increasing "What's the point?" attitude I've been latching onto more and more as of late.

All these thoughts are the kinds that keep people from doing great things...loving wonderful people. To borrow a term from Quakerism, I expect to reach clearness on this issue some day. Particularly because it's equally...OK, more selfish to sit inside all day and not use one's gifts in an effort to help others.

What ho, Sir Ventalot!

Things that piss me off:

-Being completely misinterpreted, spoken to harshly because of it, and then not having the calmness of mind to redress the misunderstanding in the moment.

-Couples, married or otherwise, who have bought big, beautiful houses together or spend holidays in warm cozy cabins.

-People who want to change your mind and don't realize that showing respect for where you are is the first step in that process.

-Yoga studios that cancel only their night time classes "for the holiday" when the holiday was yesterday...and don't send out an email to their patrons about special hours. I'm talking to you Bikram Yoga Baltimore.

-Myself, when I'm flighty and forget stupid things.

white crystalline xanthine alkaloids and the women who love them

So often, when I find myself particularly agitated or physically/mentally down, it's because of caffeine. I've never really been a fan of the stuff, but on certain days you just need some wake-up juice...or some feel-different-than-however-I-feel-right-now juice. A friend of mine once told me, after the devastating loss of her mother, that she had created the designations of "A Sleep" and "B sleep". A-Sleep is the solid, deep kind where neurons are nourished and dreams happen. B Sleep is...well I'm sure you know it. You're stuck in the realm of alpha and beta waves all night and upset in the morning because your body tells you what should have been.

I contend that there is also "A Awake" and "B Awake", and for me, B Awake is caused by caffeine intake. Who are these people for whom a cup of coffee keeps them going unfailingly on each occasion? Two thirds of the time, I end up disconnected, mildly dizzy, pissed off or all three. And I can hear the voices now: "Then why do you keep drinking it?" Because I'm in grad school, and taking the chance that it might be a Good Caffeine Day is worth it for me. Also, as mentioned, sometimes you just want to feel...different.

Lately I've been working on not feeling embarrassed by or like I have to defend the ways I contradict myself. I want to continue complaining about how shitty caffeine makes me feel, and I also want to keep drinking it. I could see that being frustrating for friends, especially since the aforementioned sensations keep me from being pleasant and engaged in conversation. Or at least, they would if I stopped forcing myself to pretend to be pleasant and engaged so much.

Allowing oneself to go to contradictory, dark or grumpy places around new friends (or even old ones you don't get to see often) is scary business. You only get so many chances to be perceived as an enjoyable human to be around before it gets decided that, well, you're not. To an extent this isn't a neurotic approach to human interaction at all, and everyone shares and hides things to varying degrees in accordance with their personality, but it's the "why" that needs to be asked. Does it feel like a fearful hiding or a natural one?

So how about another designation: "A Engagement" and "B Engagement". How often are we present, authentic and free to be ourselves when engaging with others? And even when we're not present (a normal occurrence), do we accept that as OK? How much of this feeling "free" with others is reasonable to expect of ourselves and, for that matter, possible? In that annoying and paradoxical way reality likes to function, we can't know the answers to these questions until we do things that demand the trust we haven't quite developed yet. That's why you wake up in the morning, have your cup of coffee, feel the ambiguity, and do it anyway.

Charming

As it turns out, he's married. Which is exactly the kind of thought-stopper I was looking for, though I expected it to be more along the lines of "girlfriend" or "I'm not interested". Instinct or pheromones knew he wasn't quite right, but his curly blond hair, gentle lisp and large vocabulary enticed me otherwise. It was that nagging presence of an anything triggering the circuits wired for a something. Respectable guy.

I've come to know...I need a certain level of immaturity. If you can't recognize a sexual innuendo when it presents itself or are especially focused on things like property taxes I'll inevitably find myself bored.

That guy just said "balls". Come on, that's funny.

Rat Pies

There are a lot of entities in this house. Four people, two dogs and two rats. The rats are tucked in my room, repetitive existence, and I keep calling them mice. And I can't stop referring to them as male when they're not.

I'm babbling about this because my conceptualization of the rats, and the titles that help form it, has been a continuous consideration of mine as I become accustomed to their moods and find out where they sit in my heart.

Have you heard about "mirror neurons"? We have specialized nerve cells that are equipped to sense and replicate/reciprocate others' physical expressions of emotions. We are wired to empathize. Those in the mental health field love this concept because it's occupationally validating and also makes incredible sense with regard to what we see as human observers. Physiology so often follows instinct.

Autistic children will show a deficit in social learning such that they don't engage in those reciprocal moments with their caregiver...that is, they tend not to be inclined to share their joys with others or to make eye contact and recognize the emotions of people around them. It must be difficult for the parents of autistic children in that they don't receive loving, reciprocal feedback from the child. It can come with practice and learning, but those parents are initially fueled by love for a being they've created; filled with dedication but pained by the dearth of connection.

So it is with my rats, sometimes. They were lab rats (an amusing choice for a psych major, I thought) and weren't socialized well as pups. Getting them used to me has felt like a chore much of the time, and I've felt guilty for that. You get angry at them. Like when one hides under a dresser for a full twelve hours until you have to force it out by prodding it with whatever object you can find.

Since autism is a spectral disorder, different levels of functioning and different areas of impairment manifest for each child. The literature strongly suggests that initial levels of impairment play a large role in how much progress can be made. From the beginning, it was clear that Finkle was a more curious and adventurous rat. Einhorn (aptly named, with its linguistic approximation to Eeyore) tended to be less active and more fearful. Finkle has made a lot more progress since October 30th when I first got them, and frankly, I'm not sure I have the patience to do the things that will push Einhorn toward comfort. An active person like myself has difficultly sitting in one place, hands still as winter trees, waiting for a rodent's natural curiosity to override its fear. We're talking up to an hour of loving persistence when I have homework to do and finals to study for. Add to that the depressive's fear that when I slow down, I stop.

And yet, they're my beautifuls. They're my obligation and my annoying reason for taking action each day. Those tiny paws...they rest on your index finger while they survey the array of thoughtfully chosen munchables arranged in your hand. They let you see their faces while they scan the terrain for danger, heads weaving side to side like they've developed some kind of neurological disorder. Fuck the rats. And they're mine. And they reject me. And I'm their world now.

Re-Development

Write, type to feel connected
Clip nails, closer to hands
to touch and feel connected

Calmed down and safe in
home with life on couches

Read pages...hours,

nothing underneath but

thin spindle of a family

thing

approximation.

hOtNeSs

Big exam tomorrow (you know, the one that determines whether or not I am able to be licensed as a counselor in Maryland). Can't sleep. And now I will show pictures of the actors I think are attractive. Yes, that's all I've got right now.

Chris O'Dowd. Did you see him in Bridesmaids? Friggin adorable.

Did you know Jay Sean is Punjabi Sikh? Baby, I'm down down down.

Adam Sandler. Fair on the cuteness, but a great personality.

Jesse Eisenberg. He did such an amazing job in The Social Network - extra hotness points for that.
(Special note:  If he and Michael Cera were both hitting on me in a bar I'd give my number to Michael because of the charisma and humor)

Irfan Khan. Despite his playing a bad guy in Slum Dog Millionaire, I saw past
his evil ways to his beautiful face.

Paul Rudd. Eh, I just threw him on here to round things off...he's almost too pretty. We liked him back when he was in Clueless, young bucks!

It would appear I like me some dark haired, beautiful eyed, Irish or otherwise Eastern looking dudes overall. 

Proper Chuckles

The tone of comedy we choose says something about what attitudes we connect with or the kind of balance our darker side needs. A little deep for fart jokes? Maybe.

The other night I went looking for a kind of comedy that would vibrate at the exact emotional frequency I needed at the moment, and it took a while before I came across what felt right. The exploration took place in my house mate's fanboy man cave, a beautiful lair with colorful toys and comics, an Xbox hooked up to Netflix and a large flat screen TV. My first try was Mitch Hedberg (may he rest in peace), and I chose his stand-up because so many of my friends over the years have quoted him and I always found those excerpts funny. It had been years since I'd seen his routines on Comedy Central, so I wondered if I would experience the Saved By The Bell Effect (endlessly entertaining then, god awful now).

Mitch Hedberg - Donuts                                                                                                                              

His bits are really clever, but his delivery is so affected...especially in the later stuff where he's maybe more nervous about the pressure and further into drugs. If I had been drinking a few beers at the time I may not have minded the disconnect, but I needed something that felt more emotionally honest. So on to a Brit com called The IT Crowd.

The IT Crowd

Oh, silly campy disoriented Brit coms. Cute and all (particularly the curly haired white guy) but in my sullen state, they were insulting my oh so deep deepness. So I finally gave in and turned to the previously proven piece of beauty that is Louis CK's first season of his self-named show.

Louis - Episode 3 with Ricky Gervais

There was actually a clip of the episode I watched (and there aren't many good clips) but that bit was too nasty to post on here. In any case: sarcastic, subversive, defeatist, depressive, offensive, hilarious. Bam. Winner.
I ♥ U Louis CK.

Arousal and Attention (and sky diving!)

Today, I went sky diving.




When I watch this video I see me in a sleepy and not especially happy state. It hadn't been a good night for sleep, nor emotions. And it was so strange to enter into an activity like this with no excitement, hardly any nervousness and no real connection with the reality of what was about to happen until that plane door flew open and my dad's step-niece was shoved out. Pulling my legs around to the opening was exciting, but when we began to free-fall an unfortunate thing happened: I panicked.

All the talk I'd heard about this sport was the usual "thrill of a life time", "intense experience" sort of thing, but no one really made clear the idea that you are plummeting to the earth with nothing to grab onto, the exact scenario that would occur if you were falling to your death. I couldn't handle it. I closed my eyes, breathed deeply, and dissociated until the parachute was pulled.

The floating we did at that point was...pretty. But I was still shaken and also disappointed in myself. I felt like I wasted the experience or that I wasn't hardcore enough to enjoy it, despite the pride I'd gained from being a front seat of the roller coaster kind of girl.

My jump-mate actually cried this morning thinking too much about the realness of parachutes not opening, etc (she really enjoyed it none the less). Should I have forced myself to indulge in more of that kind of thinking so the shock of it wasn't so brutal? And what about the disconnecting I did while in the air? I'm very good at disconnecting, in general, because I'm so frequently and firmly dedicated to the feeling of being at peace. Maybe this dedication, and the strong distaste for anxiety that fuels it, goes too far sometimes.

I know, jumping out of a plane is fucking crazy and I shouldn't measure my appropriate arousal levels by it, but it's something to think about. I mean it's been a while; I don't even know if I like roller coasters anymore.

Still, I'm glad I did it and have the video. I think my favorite part was actually the act of being ejected from the plane...just before I realized I don't like what comes after being ejected from a plane.

DeeDeeDog

I have since established that this human body part chewing is an, erm, undesirable practice according to Dee Dee's owner. Good times while they lasted though.

5-7-5...?

Part of the concept of this blog (if I can say there’s a coherent concept) is brevity. I was always intimidated and fatigued by having to work through longer creative pieces. So with this in mind I wanted to explore haiku and how it’s meant to be written. Well, I found out that there is a truly “classic” form of haiku, but it’s difficult to adhere to if you’re not writing in Japanese. In the haiku history timeline, once haikus go English they start running all over the place…forms are altered, devices are modified. It’s to the point now where (alongside some traditionalist criticism of course) every new rule that’s offered is followed by a “but you can do it differently if you want” sort of phrase.

So now, attacking these three-line works has become an act of research and decision making akin to writing a short story. Not that I’m giving up the idea, but I need to sit with these potent little things for a while. In the meantime, I spent entirely too much time online gathering a handful that I really appreciated…

With his 1988 publication, Selected Haiku, Nick Virgilio introduced a form of haiku that became known as “lily and bass”. These are the two poems that chiefly introduced that concept.

lily

out of the water

out of itself

bass

picking bugs

off the moon

And another of his that I was attracted to.

my dead brother...
hearing his laugh
in my laughter

These two are from a woman named Stella Pierid who writes a haiku every single day and posts it on her blog. She’s good. : )

Moving house -
a snail and the same old
me

Just because
the sky is navigable -
thistledown

The Irish Haiku Society’s International Haiku Competition produced the following entries. Interesting how they reflect the times. (the last won the grand prize)

where the maple stood
a shroud
of sunlight

the things
we never did
undertow

recession
more tree
less leaf

memorial flowers
tied to the ash in full leaf
bowing and sighing

forty seven
and no pension
all the starry heavens

chill wind
the windowsill tomato
still warm

There are those who like to write “minimalist” haiku, and I find most of that to be crap (whilst feeling guilty for shitting on people’s art), but this one from Angie Werren works for me somehow.

snow
black crow
tea.

Juxtapositions and contrasts all over the place in that tiny thing.

And last, I was really impressed with a form of haiku developed by John Carley. Actually I’ll just paste in the description given by a dedicated and prolific haiku blogger, Melissa Allen (http://haikuproject.wordpress.com):

"At some point around the turn of the millennium John got fed up with all the squabbling about what constitutes an English-language haiku and decided to invent his own form of haiku that would be unique to English and capitalize on its special properties. You can read his essay about this yourself, but basically he got all scientific about it and crunched numbers with translations and did a little rummaging around in the basement of linguistics and ended up with this 15-syllable poem, divided into two parts, that he called a zip haiku”.

A light search revealed these two:

orange and tan | tan orange and tan
the butterflies | beat on

buoyed up | on the rising tide
a fleet of head boards | bang the wall

Love!

With regard to the classic form, I think what tends to be maintained throughout most haiku is that element of a switch or a turn-around. This “cutting”, the stimulating juxtaposition of two images or ideas, is haiku’s essence.

And with that, I leave you with this vital piece:

Haikus are easy
but sometimes they don’t make sense
refrigerator