Busy Signal

Life's very busy right now, and I like it. It's kind of inspiring when that happens. I have enough work to last all day (and then some), almost every day. I have new contracts coming up and plenty of things to write. I feel brimming with new ideas and about to work the creative stuff back into my life again full stop. I have some exciting personal things happening and coming up (I hope, that is). I feel balanced again more often than not. I can put things aside that stress me out without worrying I'm neglecting something else (at least this week). I'll admit, I haven't even kept to my meditation project. From failure comes success ... ?

The "very best that I can possibly do" feeling isn't so bad, and it doesn't really happen for me unless I'm blindly busy, because when there's not a moment to spare in the day, I can't ever say a misuse of time was a problem. Eventually, the daily clock just runs out, and I have to be satisfied with what was accomplished. So, bring it on.

As promised, food glorious food ...

Yesterday's meal was quite the success, and today I'm finding myself reminiscing about it (especially since I have so much frustrating busywork on my desk this morning so far).

Here are some beautiful photos, taken by my friend Emily, who takes the prettiest, most delicious pictures of food I've ever seen.

Speaking of old ladies ...

Although Friday I definitely acted like a young person, the rest of my weekend has been pretty much spent proving that I will make a great old lady once it comes to that. Yesterday I spent in doing a little cleaning, napping, shopping for items on today's menu. This morning I got up early to bake a cranberry pie (which is in the oven as I type). My friend Emily and I are doing another one of our theme brunches today, although this particular meal doesn't have the same level of thematic planning as others in the past (like "Luccipalooza, for example). It's more of a "The Main Event is Duck, so Let's Make a Bunch of Stuff that Goes with It" theme. So, without further ado, the menu:

Roasted duck with sage, garlic and mustard glaze
Rosemary cornbread
Spiced walnuts
cranberry pie

The movie event of the day is, so far, just one of my favorites of all time: Drop Dead Gorgeous (featuring Denise Richards' only acceptable role). I'm feeling like a theme will build as we go (I'm already thinking that maybe the duck thing is already related to Minnesota, since, it being one of my many homes, duck hunting is big there, and also referenced in the movie of choice). However, there has to be more than that (and maybe I should've made some bars or tater tot hot dish).

I think my excitement would only be slightly sad if I were doing this by myself, right?

And now, it's time to go running to prepare my stomach for the requisite calorie burning madness ... and buy some wine.

the song nigh time

I am definitely feeling that the time is upon me to write some more music. I feel the pull of something at the edge of happening ....

... on Betty White

My favorite quote of the day comes from my lovely friend Bart in France. We were discussing people being liked in spite of their looks, solely because of their personalities. I often argue it's only ever my personality that gets me dates (and that theory is pretty much what I believe most of the time). He seems to feel that if someone dates you, it automatically means that person thinks you're aesthetically "hot," so there's really no such thing as the statement "she's got a really great personality" leading to a date. Why? Well, it's logical:

"Betty White has personality, but nobody's trying to go down on her."

I don't know if I'm supposed to be comforted ... or feel bad for Betty White.

satifaction guaranteed

It's really true that when one area of life goes spectacularly well, some of the others suffer. Let me clarify, it's more that none of them are ever perfect (nor should they be. What would I write about?). But it's definitely a rule of the universe that when you start to get really incredible at your job and people come a-callin', and you finally get a steady core of some lovely, dependable friends (I think this is the first time in my life that exists, actually), and you start to convince (or maybe "dupe," but who cares what it is?) yourself with helpings of hope that you might be good at the whole love thing, but you really just haven't found the right person, the sketchy voice creeps back into your ear and makes you question everything.

I finished what was really an insignificant transcription project in the grander scheme of things yesterday, but felt really great, because it was challenging, I got immediate kudos (just on sight and a quick browse-through of the gigantic document) from the new client. And it proved I can still do really fantastic work and be incredibly skilled and impressive at my job, as silly and unaffective as parts of my job sometimes feel. And this project that I rocked is probably the beginning of a new professional work relationship that will really improve my life. I also just had a fairly great week with lots of pitches getting accepted for some fantastically fun and interesting articles. And on the social front, I've had some really good times (and more to come) with favorite friends.

Still, guess what I am I focusing on right now? Waking up this morning and discovering that someone who has been the least dependable person in my life for the past nine or so months after he exploded into it (but at times has very confusingly done some really big gesture things for me) and has sent my head and heart for a tailspin (but also sometimes has conversely also sky-rocketed both body parts into shiny places) and aggressively challenged my sanity and sometimes the things I know about myself sent me messages in the middle of the night when I finally thought he wouldn't dare anymore. The answer and response to him continues to be the same as the one I landed on after his last message a month and a half ago: I can't engage with someone that more often than not doesn't approach me like a human being (or at least most of the time chooses not to approach me in a human way), even if I've set a bad precedent and accepted that type of contact in the past against my better judgment. Still, sometimes (and perhaps a lot more than sometimes) I miss him ... a lot. And I secretly pull for him in a corner of my mind, hoping he'll miraculously overcome some of the social retardation -- which I've admittedly helped create -- as well as some deep truths I believe might prevent anything from changing, and emerge victorious.

The other part of me wants a sweep-me-off-my feet scenario from an entirely new contender that will just render this very intense problem powerless and irrelevant.

You can't please everyone.

it rains and pours on my new client blowout

The title of this entry is likely going to be far more interesting/creative than any of its contents. I'm in the midst of one of the types of workdays I've missed for over a year and a half: the extremely busy one. I started work with a new small business-y client today (initially, I'm doing some tele-class transcription for her), and it's a nice fit. I'm enjoying the opportunity to get better at a skill by flexing different muscles related to it (because I'm used to lately transcribing music industry professional/musician interviews). Who doesn't like to learn? I'm also really excited to be returning to where my small business skills all began -- working closely with someone that is training other people to be better entrepreneurs and business owners. Hello Old World, remember me? I used to make some money here.

Of course, on a day I was just supposed to have this one bulky thing, I ended up also getting a slew of pitches accepted (for the first time in a painfully long time) for one of my journalist gigs, which needed some attention today also. Ah, diversity and laundry lists of work-related tasks, how I've missed you!

And now, on my dinner break, here I am writing even more things. It's additional proof of what I've said many times before (but seem to always forget when I get particularly creatively blocked): Writing breeds more writing. The more I type ... well, the more ... I type (and want to type).

If I say it, it will happen

I'm fairly proud to report that just now, I finished a chapter of my essay book about a dream I once had that was directed by Stanley Kubrick. This satisfying completion thing isn't so unattainable after all. And, the feeling is kind of like a runners' high (which is how I know I'm supposed to be an artist).

And, here's a little taste:

Often, my “important things” manifest themselves in dreams, which tend to be complicated and usually end up being swept away by large amounts of water or a natural disaster like a blizzard. A very favorite person in my life, who seems to understand and embrace my secret love of horrible synthetic pop and be okay with the contents of my movie catalogue, while still being one of the most matter-of-fact assholes in the world recently said, “Wow. Your dreams are long” when I was relaying one that he thought would be a simple barrage of details: “walrus in the desert with balloons;” “baboons laying eggs on the streets of Paris.” We were noshing on our bagels, and after Sentence Two involving a mime, a donkey and a long car trip to Venice, he glanced at my lonely “everything” with bacon/scallion cream cheese, and his chewing got weary.

failure to complete

I was thinking this morning about my abysmal failure to finish anything recently, and how difficult it is in general to put the final period (or sometimes ellipses) at the end of any of my writing projects, or write the final note of a song (or put lyrics with songs), or even finish a run (even though that is thankfully more frequently accomplished than anything work related).

Then I was realizing that completion has always been hard. That was the biggest challenge of grad school for me, actually. We had to write at least one piece of fiction every week, and sometimes I'd cheat and bring in chapters of my novel that had already been written years before, because I could start stories like gangbusters, but found it impossible to tie them up at the end. Even my first novel took eight years to complete, even though technically I wrote 95% of it in about two weeks (in the first two weeks after I quit my preschool teaching job). The last chapter was definitely a doozy, and didn't happen until well after my divorce, because I was being quite autobiographical (in the cliched way that all newbie adult artists choose autobiography for their first works), writing about things in my life as they were happening, and there was a certain excitement to the idea that I didn't know where the story was going.I was living it. But I did finish eventually. Little did I know, of course, that all my work was going to be based on things that happen to be directly, because my life is usually better than anything I can make up in my head. Or maybe it's a very chicken or egg scenario, where I create imagination and near insanity in my environment because it is surging through me at all times. I certainly don't question the origin, as it has been a true gift and has guided me clearly towards my passions and what I want to do with the rest of my life. Still, it feels like when I'm ending a story -- especially when it's based on something or someone that truly hit me like a meteor -- I'm ending my relationship with that thing, experience or person. I guess I have abandonment issues.

This whole blog began flowing this morning because I was trying to think of how I motivated to do that much focused writing (because I can write little things all day about nothing with great ease) while watching television -- because most days I do that so I feel like I have company, even when I'm alone, without the pressure of having to be around other people and their distracting and sometimes invasive idiosyncrasies. And I realized that my first official day of writing after I decided I was going to give up the idea of going to grad school for cello performance (and get my creative writing MFA instead) was happening as the news was breaking about the tragedy in Columbine; I was watching talk shows whilst writing, and it interrupted my day.I was sitting on the ugly blue couch in my and my husband's one bedroom apartment in Woodbury, MN while trying to keep as quiet as possible to avoid waking the puppy, Griffin, who was happily in his kennel and already pretty much trained, despite just being not quite three months old. It was almost exactly twelve years ago.

The point is, I did finish, and I can focus when I want to focus. And I need to conjure up some of that strength and light a fire. I think also I often get overwhelmed by how much is in me and continues to strike me as writing worthy. It feels like I can't keep up. Sometimes my inspiration is like racing thoughts to which I am deeply emotionally connected. I can't grab onto them, and I mourn their loss as they whir past me on the track.

Luckily, they always return, and sometimes they hit even harder the second time around. I need to start seeing my writing and music more as a celebration of my on-going relationship with the world, and not as last rites or the final word.

unfinished finishing

Well, today was a big-time failure on the whole promise to finish something front. My male BFF Rick is moving to a lovely new triplex further downtown, thus ending his 6-year reign on the Upper East Side, and he asked for some measuring/moving help to prepare for the movers tomorrow a.m. It was worth it. My reward was a delicious meat-filled dinner at BLT Prime in Gramercy. Prime rib, broccoli rabe, cheese-encrusted popovers, chicken liver, goat cheese salad with prosciutto, apple tart with cinnamon ice cream ... a meat-lover's dream, truly.

It proved my theory that heaven is made of meat, or at the very least, meat flavored.

I guess I can technically say, "I finished a steak today."

Finish Him

Today's Mortal Combat quote was brought to you by today's goal: finish something. It sounds pretty simple, but for me lately, finishing anything is a very lofty situation indeed.

Blog entries don't count (at least not those for this blog).

singled out

Sometimes I think I need to take more advice from sane people, older than I, that don't feel the pressure to do things the traditional way and feel happy with the way their lives are turning out. I have plenty of friends that lead non-traditional lifestyles and have non-traditional relationships, but I don't feel like any of those lives resonate with me.

In general, I guess I think people need to encourage each other to be exactly who they are more often just to take the pressure off a little bit.

some delightful certainties of my life

I had a comforting revelation that makes me never worry that my life will be full and exciting if I want it to be, and without effort: I make fast friends, and bizarre and sometimes life-altering experiences (or at worst, experiences that change the way I look at the world) just seem to find me every single time I go out into the world. Last night solidified my faith in that statement as truth, and it made me less concerned about what I don't have and less worried that things won't "work out" for me. Because, they already are working out for me. I'm leading a pretty thrilling and happy life, full of funny incidents and overwhelmingly stranger-than-fiction coincidences. I can truly count on this.

In general, I need to do better at not trying to control how the tapestry of my ideal life is supposed to look.

today's special

Today's special is "nonsensical ways of treating other human beings."

I certainly am guilty myself of getting in neglectful mode and being careless and self-centered when it comes to interacting with others, but people I've come into contact with lately, both personally and professionally have definitely taken the proverbial cake, with extra icing. Without going into detail and shifting into full "dear diary" mode, I will simply say that sometimes disappearing completely with no explanation/cutting all ties is better than e-mailing to "explain" your douchery. Because in the end, that explanation is really just about making yourself feel better about your lack of scruples, and not about doing right by the recipient of any incredibly weak defense of your personal shortcomings.

To add to that, assuming you died and that this death might be the reason you blew me off is often an easier pill to swallow than the lame words you put together in an e-mail a month after I had mostly moved on anyway.

motivational Monday

Briefly put, I'm finally feeling some artistic and writing motivation (along with running motivation) after weeks of feeling majorly under the weather. This is going to be a good thing, I hope.

I'm also feeling more comically charged. Hopefully the return of my voice will shortly follow the return of my sense of humor, because this "not singing" thing is getting pretty tired.

vocalise in absentia

Because I can't sing right now thanks to the laryngitis, I'm trying to listen to stuff that won't make me want to sing along, but failing miserably, since I want to sing along to everything. I've been revisiting the latest Magnetic Fields album a lot lately and realizing why Stephin Merritt is my musical and lyrical hero. I really couldn't love a band any more than this, and I'm sorry that a few years ago I went with someone that was obnoxious times ten (and doesn't really appreciate the music, but just likes to be seen at things she perceives other people think are awesome) to see them at the lovely and magical old movie theatre in Jersey City. Next time, I'm going solo (or perhaps with someone I love, if that person exists).



I can't wait until my voice and drive return from illness. I'm ready to write more music, already ...

dreaming of home

When things get hairy in my life, I start to dream that I'm trying to get back to the house in which I grew up, usually on a school bus. It's a pretty mundane dream, since the dream trip usually starts at my old junior high school, except this time I have all the modern conveniences of my current life (cell phone, headphones, etc.) as well as my actual experiences under my belt, except for the big ones like my mom dying (in the dream I always suspect her to be waiting at "home," though I somehow can't get a hold of her). I am usually running to catch the bus because my dad, who is teaching orchestra at the school, has to stay after to help some kids with auditions and can't take me home. I just make the bus, but I'm not sure is still taking the proper route that will carry me home, and I don't recognize anything along the way until I get to Dolphin Lake (a few blocks from the house where I grew up in real life). Because I am somehow lazy and want the bus to take me almost right to my door, I almost get off too late, but end up exiting at the place where my very first bus stop (in kindergarten) used to be in Homewood, IL, just a few blocks from the house. As I start to amble towards home, the houses look strange, and I almost pass by mine. There is always someone else living in it (typically the single mother my parents actually sold it to in 2001 and her young son that has kept the house up nicely), though my mom eventually does show up to take me to a new house in Flossmoor (not the one they actually bought), which is gargantuan and cold.

Sometimes, I also dream I'm going back to college for my "real" senior year, having discovered I didn't actually graduate. Usually this involves me wandering around the halls looking for a dorm room (which is always my actual senior year dorm room) and trying to get back into swimming, but realizing I can't swim anymore (which isn't true in real life).

I'm not sure why I'm obsessed with school and the past in dreams in a way that implies regret of some sort, because in waking life, I certainly am not big on regret (I don't even think I believe in it). I guess I'll take trying on that issue for size in the safe confines of sleep over letting it consume me in life any day ...

starting the day right

I suppose I started the day and the worky part of 2011 right this morning, as after I brewed a pot of coffee, I jumped right into the fray of my essay project. A part of me is embracing the idea that I may forever be alone, and thus I'll have plenty of time to write. The other part of me is feeling quite depressed by that concept (don't worry -- I'm not ready to end it all. That's lame).

Being that I am also a crazy multi-tasker, I have also been organizing my journalistic articles as I write on a chapter of my essay project about a dream I had once that was in the style of Kubrick. My real life existence often sounds like a mixed-metaphor dream in and of itself.

And the disconnected hits keep coming ...

a life philosophy

We make our lives out of hope and chaos ... and love.

I wish to believe that's true, but I just don't right now. I'm not good enough at anything.

Happy Brand Spanking New Year

So far, 2011 is a mixed bag. I'm in my second week of waging war against a flu, and I'm more frustrated than I've been in a long time with it. I want to feel like myself again, but my sick-o lungs have put a wrench in that plan.

At least I managed to do the 4-mile NY Roadrunners' Midnight Run, and at least I had good friends with me. Of course, I'm still officially a 3rd or 5th wheel. 2011 better wipe at least the feeling of that away, since actually wiping the reality of it away seems like a tall order that's never going to get filled.

Here's hoping the past couple weeks aren't an omen for another pretty bad year.

And, a New Year's toast to thinking positively (and getting back on a normal sleep schedule that doesn't involve elderly-style nursing home naps all day long).