time between trains.

i spent an hour today sitting in between gates C and D at union station with my ipod as loud as it could go, focusing on the white shoes of the woman sitting in front of me, the double doors that looked like they had eyes, watching the minutes go by on the digitial clock, red minutes moving, practicing meditation of minute details, wanting my senses to be overwhelmed by the moment i was in as if to fend off sorrow by loud music and bad hair and weird clothing aligned with tired faces and the thought of moving with no end.

when i saw that i had missed a call from my parents while i was in class, i knew. i knew, but i listened to the voicemail anyway, walking out of the law school building, ducking into a hidden area, stunned with grief. i stayed on campus for a bit, vacillating, but decided to hell with school and work. i didn't know where to go or what to do, so i just started walking and the thought of being in my apartment at that moment was making me a little nauseous. i walked into union station and found myself in the waiting area for the trains and once i sat down, i couldn't get up again for a long time.

"sorrow is nothing but worn-out joy". perhaps.

last time i was home, my dad brought my grandpa outside and they were sitting in lawnchairs while the boys and i were running around, and i discovered the first concord grapes on the vines, which are my absolute favorite thing, and we were all in the backyard, eating concord grapes and spitting out the seeds and skins, not really saying much. just enjoying each other and the joy of warm grapes fresh off the vine that are sharp and sweet with a little bit of sour aftertaste. most of the time i think that everything should taste like that. that's how things are now.

here's what you may not know: every time i eat a concord grape, i will think of him because he's the one who introduced me to the vines in his backyard. concord grapes? my absolute favorite. that alone would make me love him. but concord grapes? don't even come close to telling you how much i love him.

i waited for a long time at union station, but no trains came in and no trains left while i was there. just people. and me.

unexpected things.

yeah, so you've noticed my bad mood as of late, and i just want to let you know, hey, it's really not that bad, and sometimes, my hormones kick me off on a helluva ride, and i'm just lookin for fights all over and sometimes the fights just come to me whether i'm lookin for them or not, but i sure as hell always notice. but here is the truth of today: i woke up this morning, bleary-eyed from staying up too late working on a memo with the prospect of finishing up before having to be on campus this morning, and there were emails from two beautiful women i know, both flattering and perhaps more than the self i've been lately has felt like she's deserved. but what a way to start the day.

my work study job has turned out to be not only low-stress, but also just really great because the two women i work for are pretty great. it's taken me awhile to get used to the both of them - one a hyperactive nervous friendly sort, the other a quiet monotonal awkward sort - but we've all gotten used to each other a little bit more now and i don't jump the way i first used to when the hyperactive one says hi and the quiet one flashed me a big smile on my way out this morning and told me to have a good weekend. i think i will.

my day was rounded out by unexpected going out to eat with the woman i don't spend nearly enough time with these days, and i was reminded of my life as something other than that which is contained at union station. and we bought cakelove cupcakes, and right at the last minute, they brought out lime with chocolate, which is my all-time favorite kind. all-time.

and we got home and crashed on the bed for an unexpected, but much needed nap, and i am feeling refreshed for the first time in days. the writer is still asleep on the bed, and in this quiet space of her gentle breathing and the noise of the keys on my beautiful laptop, i am reminded of a conversation i had with my father not too long ago where he commented on how the things in my life seem to move in such positive directions. because even with all the extraneous crap that makes me grumpy more often than not, that makes me so busy and tired that i've neglected all of you for so long (yes, i will call you back soon), that makes me live a pretty solitary life these days, even though i'm not sure that it's really more solitary than before, but still.

i have a joke with a law school buddy about how i don't really know the meaning of exuberance since i'm not sure i've experienced it before. but here's what i do experience and would experience more if i just remembered to think about it: the quiet confidence of a woman who knows reciprical love and respect from other women. there's no word for that really, but i do know know what that is. and the unexpectedness of experiencing it with women i haven't talked to in a long time, women i've just met, and the woman i love meeting over and over again, gives me a lighter heart.

recovery.

things that made my night:

1. looking at beautiful kitchens in a bougie magazine.

2. riding on the metro listening to music sitting next to someone i love.

3. korean tea.

4. cookies.

5. kimchi.

6. soy bean sprouts.

7. more kimchi.

8. superhero underwear.

9. awkwardness on jeopardy.

10. DANCING WITH THE STARS!!!

seething.

i was just reamed out in my small section for supposedly unfairly attaching holmes' theory of judicial decisionmaking to a majority opinion he wrote because the nature of majority opinions require compromise, so it's unfair to accuse him of social darwinism when the professor had just pointed out the formalistic tendencies of the opinion in question regarding classical liberal thought. the professor gave quite a lengthy response, to which i respond, yeah, but holmes wrote it, and he wouldn't attach his name to it if he disagreed - obviously he agreed with the opinion presented in the opinion. to which the professor replies, yes, but they're not necessarily his ideas. and the professor elaborates further, do i know that majority opinions require compromise in order to maintain majorities and blah blah blah, after which he looks at me and says, does that makes sense, and i say, well, sure, but you're arguing that there is a distinction to be made between social darwinism and classical liberal theory - i don't think there is in this particular application. to which he says, oh, right, ok.

and then moves on.

that's absolutely ridiculous. you ask for a goddamn opinion and then rip me up and then give me a backhanded concession? fuck you. if your name is on the goddamn opinion, it's your fucking opinion.

i haven't figured out if this guy thinks i'm crazy or combative or what, but what the hell is up with letting people slide with ridiculous commentary and choosing to critique me for a good five minutes?

a big fuck you to classes today. and no, i won't be going to the dinner you're hosting tomorrow night, thanks.

"radical attire".

last friday, i went out to an indian restaurant that i had been wanting to try with some friends of mine, and we're going around the table exchanging commentaries on our lives, and i choose to ramble on about one of my classes wherein i read two very old cases about contract law and considerations and whatnot and made a comment in class that was not, shall we say, very well received ("wow, that's a very cynical view of law!" yes sir, it is.). a white man was dining alone somewhat near us, and all of us had at various points noted to each other his various offenses to his waiter, and after he finished his meal, he came over to me and said something along the lines of, i heard what you were talking about and i just want to say that i'm the only surviving attorney of a same-sex sexual harassment law suit, with two women! [it is unclear as to what exactly this case was or what his role was - but sexual harassment! two women! oh my!], and i just want to give you some advice: i go dressed like this [pointing to himself and his pleated khaki pants with partially untucked button up shirt], and i want to say that if you want to win, you won't win wearing your radical attire [the phrase "radical attire" was entirely his, even if the rest is a paraphrase of his monologue].

ahem. first of all, i was wearing a boy scouts jacket - not too radical there, i think. in fact, one of the more conservative groups, no? also, i was wearing an adidas cap, thus displaying my affection for capitalism and advertising for my corporation of choice.

in any case, um, no, i don't think you heard what i was talking about because, say it with me, i am not a lawyer. that's right. which means that i was not complaining about losing a case - rather, i was complaining about losing an ideological battle. different scenarios. and oh, yeah, i don't think i need any suggestions from you, sir, on how to play the game. i've been playing it for as long as i can remember. quite successfully in fact. so thanks for the advice, but even as someone who is not a seasoned professional like yourself, i'd probably wear a suit to court. because if i remember correctly, i have to look better than you do to even get any sort of goddamn respect and excuse me if i'm looking a little lackluster on a friday night out with friends.

thanks for the advice.

p.s. you weren't looking so great either, but what the hell, white maleness seems to do wonders for one's image.

rainy day.

i love waking up to wild rainy days, and no matter what my intentions the day before, these days are always lived a little slower than the rest, and no matter what my irritations the day before, these days are always better than the prospects were before falling asleep. at the moment, i am sitting on the couch, talking to a friend on the other coast whom i have neglected time and again and who has forgiven me time and again, freshly showered, comfy sweat pants on, an old favorite tshirt on, long forgotten, just recently found again, sipping hot korean tea, bella sleeping behind me, and i'm feeling good with an early birthday card and an early birthday present (yay macbook sleeve!!!), and i'm in love with the world. really.

well, okay. except for that.

and that. but still. love. i've got nothing but love.

balancing act.

so it turns out that my lofty goal of waking up in the morning to pack lunch for lara before she leaves to teach at 6:30am was a bit optimistic, shockingly enough. after waking up the last 2 mornings early enough to pack her lunch, i missed the first official day of her classes starting, and it occurs to me that learning to wake up early in the morning may take more than learning not to smoke in awkward social situations. she said gently this morning, "maybe we should pack lunches the night before". this morning has been spent figuring out budgetary concerns for the next 4 months, or trying, figuring out reading assignments for the first day of classes next week, figuring out what my calendar looks like, and it's five hours later and it feels like i haven't really gotten anything accomplished yet today.

no, i haven't gotten excited about law school yet. in fact, i'm terrified for many reasons, but mainly, terrified for my well-being, mostly for my soul. my first meet and greet was monday. here is an excerpt from a real conversation:

"so, where are you from?"

"kenya."

"oh really?"

"yeah, i just got back."

30 seconds later, checking back in the conversation:

"i spent the last 6 months in kenya, but i guess i'm really from kentucky."

what the fuck? seriously. the amount of space that white men take up never ceases to amaze me.

so this week has been dressed in taut smiles and incredulous looks, as i stumble awkwardly from one thing to the next. what i have seen so far: an excess of friendliness and an intense need to speak loudly and often. my worry before going in was that law school would be filled with assholes. that hasn't really gone away, but i guess i'm one of the assholes as i sit sullenly in my seat with my baseball hat pulled down as far as it'll go, trying not to make eye contact. i have the weekend to reform myself before classes officially start. for now, a deep pain has settled in my right shoulder.

sometimes i just can't win.

i just got yelled at for chewing gum? seriously. i'm at the library, minding my own business, looking around on line, the only noise coming from the keyboard, and the woman who had just sat down next to me said, "excuse me, do you mind [sic] gum? i'm really sensitive to the noise." so i said, sure, thinking that i had been unconsciously snapping it, even with my mouth closed because i do that sometimes, so i make a note to myself not to snap my gum and am chewing it slowly as i browse things online, and the next thing i know, the woman slams shut her books and starts yelling at me and saying something about the staff here (maybe that she was going to turn me in?) and i guess about my inconsiderateness in particular, and inconsiderateness in general?

in any case, damn. i'm just sitting here in the air conditioning trying to do some research, minding my own goddamn business, not taking up more than my share of space, and she goes off on me for chewing gum? not even chewing gum, really, just having it in my mouth? this is a fucking public library for chrissakes. i shouldn't have to move if i was here first and you happen to find me offensive. don't be pissy at me because you picked the wrong computer to sit at. and now you've put me in a pissy mood when i was having a pretty goddamn good day all around.

um, excuse me. i'm 9 days not smoking asshole. would you rather me light up in here with an ashtray near your keyboard? jesus fucking christ. what the hell is up with people? a few weeks ago, i was going out to dinner and smoking a cigarette near the road when a woman who was dining outside yelled at me for smoking and told me to move. she was dining outside, mind you, when most places are nonsmoking inside. i looked at her in disbelief. then the guy behind her lit up.

so no, i'm not going to spit out my new orbit lemon-lime gum just because you're sensitive the sound of my occassional chewing as i sit here. welcome to law school libraries. i can't fucking wait.

but wait. a woman with a baby just sat down next to the anti-gum woman. and the baby is fussing. hahahaha. yes. how 'bout them apples?

dreams.

bella decided that the best way to wake me up this morning was to bite my arm - completely unprovoked, with no explanation, followed by a jaunty jump off the bed. in that space i occupy right before waking up, as my body is pushing through the layers of sleep, i have the most vivid dreams, and these are the dreams that i remember, if i do. so this morning, i woke up more than a little pissed, and a little freaked out. i dreamt that i was teaching last night, but it was in some sort of woody area in a log cabin-type thing, and the class was huge and they were in a large oval shape around the edge of a room, and there were two boards on two different walls, but not everyone could see because it was such a large space. the overlap between this dream and my notdream is that i am starting a new class tonight, and they had a sub for the first class because my office double-booked me, so i am a bit nervous as i hate the idea of giving up control of my class by having someone else start it for me, and that was incorporated in the dream. anyway, i woke up in kind of a sweat, nervous, because half the class had left at the break, which people just took, because they thought it was a waste of time.

so then i was kind of up because bella bit me, and i was upset and mumbling about it, and it was later than i realized, but as lara and i were talking - me more mumbling and unresponsive than anything - i managed to burrow myself deeper in the bed, and fell asleep in the classic lara way, which is to say, i was awake one minute and asleep the next. the next thing i know, i'm kind of floating in my dream world, and all i see are trees - tall tall trees, and there was someone standing in the middle of a ring of trees (me?), and there were signs on the trees that said NO EXIT, and when i looked up (i'm pretty sure it was me), i couldn't see the sun because the trees were so tall, and i remember thinking, this is so hobbit-esque (do you remember? i forget which book it was in, but the hobbits were in a forest and it was scary because they couldn't figure out how to get out - i'm pretty sure it was in the two towers because that's where i remember the ents were...), minus the signs on the trees. and then i hear lara laughing and saying "...aaaand you're sleeping again, aren't you?"

so what does it all mean? the bucolic dreams? in both dreams, i wasn't really freaked out by any of it, even though i knew that in both, things were not going well, but i was largely unaffected. the recurrence of trees, circle-like shapes, being surrounded with no clear exit and my surprising attitude in both...what does it all mean?

kickin' it.

today is officially a week without cigarettes. i haven't hurt anyone. yet. although it must be said that i've wanted to. more than once. at the moment, i'm distracting myself with my sleepiness and trying to stay awake. i have coffee and a long night in front of me, and i just want one teensy lil' drag.

but. i am wearing new superhero underwear. i mean, they don't have superheroes on them, just, they make me feel like a superhero - they're the "hipster" cut with a thick waistband. i'm in love with them. because they make me feel like a superhero. and superheroes do not smoke. but they do get tired sometimes, which is what coffee is for. also, i think that superheroes take naps sometimes because it's hard work being a superhero. also, superheroes don't hurt people unless they deserve it, and even though i've wanted to hurt people, i don't think that being annoying equates with deserving to be hurt. so. i'm trying to live up to the superhero underwear.

so even though i'm not technically a superhero, my superhero talent at the moment is warding off the urge to smoke cigarettes. i've never wanted them so bad now that i tell myself that i can't have them - not even one. it's all so very final. but superheroes have to be rigid sometimes - boundaries help superheroes stay sane. i want to be a superhero.

ok, so that's a lie. but have i mentioned i like the underwear?

winding.

i've been having trouble falling asleep after my long days of working and then teaching, which i've done too much of lately, but not last night. last night, lara looked at me and said, i'm going to draw a bath, and i'm normally a little squeamish about baths, but we both knew that i needed something relaxing and good, so we got in, and i fell asleep on her in the bath tub to the lullaby playlist that she made me. it was really one of the few times that i've fallen asleep before her and she's had to coax me to bed. tonight i came home to a dark apartment and bella meowing at the door (i still haven't figured out if she does that whenever someone walks by or if she knows the sound of my legs hitting my bag), more awake than i felt during my class, which is the way it happens, i suppose.it's also the first night in awhile that i've slept by myself, since i'm either with lara or with this or the other friend who's in town, and it's a little strange, all this quiet. i forget sometimes how quiet things can get.

yesterday, i had sort of an epiphany that was somewhat guided, and here's what i decided: i need to quit smoking; i need to start eating better and more regularly; i need to work less; i need to have more contact with the people i love; i need to start exercising. so yesterday and today, every cigarette i had, i savored, because i knew it was one of the last. it's hard to say goodbye to old friends, even if you know they're not good for you, that you need to move on. i finished my pack tonight and will not be buying more. i've stopped smoking more than once before, but haven't had too much of a commitment about it, so slipping back into it was easier than staying out, and really, the stress just doesn't let up, so it's time for something different. if i'm more grrrr and rrraaarrr than usual the next week or two, you'll know why. as far as working goes, i'm only teaching two classes next week, which is a wondrous occurrence these days, and i've finally put my foot down in scheduling. so there's that. and there are yoga tapes somewhere that i'm gonna start doing next week because my shoulders are killing me what with carrying around all these goddamn books all the time and all the work that goes into looking all laid-back and easy-going when i'm clearly a type a personality resides there. also, lara scheduled me a massage. so. i can't say no to that. last night, i got 2 large pizzas for 11 bucks, so i'll be eating that pretty much for the rest of the week. i guess the eating better part will have to wait until next week - wouldn't want to be overwhelmingly healthy all at once.

and i'm trying to write myself to sleep now, but i'm in this mood, you know? pensive, i think. thinking about these things that matter and don't in the end, and this woman who loves me, who's somewhere not here and how i miss her, and how lucky i am that i have someone to come home to sometimes who tells me that i need to take a bath, even though she knows that i have a weird mental aversion to baths. and we just sit there together, listening to music and sometimes laughing at the cats, and she holds me as i try not to fall asleep but do anyway. and tonight i burrow deep under the covers because i'm the only heat in the room. and i've smoked my last cigarette.

seriously (con.).

actual new york times headline: G.O.P.'s bid for Blacks Falters

actual reaction: um, seriously? is that the language you're using? hm. hm. ahem. hm. hm. perhaps buying members of a specific group of people should not be used as a metaphor? don't even ask me about trying to understand the metaphor itself. geez.

all the news that's fit to print my friends. all the news that's fit to print.

seriously.

"The United States defended its record on prisoner treatment, racial profiling, immigration and the death penalty on Monday in its first appearance before a top United Nations human rights panel in 11 years."

you know things are getting bad when there's an attempt to defend oh, you know, normalized oppressive behavior. usually these sorts of things don't need to be defended. but isn't that sentence funny? read it again. by funny i mean, tragic? progress, eh?

matters of the state.

yesterday, i was at the state department for an awards ceremony honoring various foreign service employees, one whom is one of my bosses, and you know how sometimes experiences just confirm everything you thought you knew anyway? yeah. so, sure, the administrative/support awards went to women. so, sure, everyone else who received awards were men. so, sure, everyone who gave out the awards (usually the sponsor of the awards or the family members of the person who sponsored the award) were white men, with the exception of one white woman. things were going very briskly for the first several awards, and then things slowed down a bit because there were awards given for "constructive dissent", and so we heard some speeches. the first was pretty impressive. this guy who works in the office in panama was speaking out against the profiling of muslims entering the united states and the lies told and the conditions under which people were held, and it was powerful and good and right and true. until the whole patriotic hegemonic part that he cushioned it in at the end. but still. more than i was expecting at an event like this. the next guy gets up, and before he even got up, i felt myself groan a little on the inside not because i don't believe in partner rights, because my god, of course i do. but because i will admit to having suspicions that gay men representing the cause will have tendencies for the dramatic in a way that doesn't seem all that relevant to me. and as he started speaking, i felt a little bit of me die inside. why the hell else would there be so much controversy about access to marriage if marriage itself didn't come with its own sack of privileges? not to say that i really believe in it other than to say, yes, marriage does exist, though usually not for long or very well, but sure, it exists, and sure, the appealing thing about marriage is the legitimacy of one's relationship. sure. but goddamn it, i don't want to be force-fed a much too long speech about family values and whatnot, how this is not about changing the definition of marriage, how this is about human rights...for fuck's sake, i'm a woman who's dating a woman, and absolutely, if she needed health insurance or whatever, i would do what i could to arrange that, but c'mon - i would do that for anybody i loved because access to health care? now that's a right. i would fucking do that for my ex. marriage is a goddamn privilege if you want to call it that. come back to me when you're ready to actually change the institution of marriage or eliminate it altogether as a bastion of inequality. so let's just cut the shit and say that everyone should be allowed to pick one person in their life who has access to all the shiny things in the embassy you work in, because that's really what it's about isn't it? if i was single, i think it's fair that i could choose a friend of mine to come with me and live with me somewhere if i worked in the foreign service. life partners be damned. we all know there's a pretty solid half and half shot that that's not gonna happen. when he's finally done scraping away at my intellect with his blunt object, what happens? he gets a fucking standing ovation, that's what happens. the man who got up before spoke about people in panama who were subject to inhumane treatment by us authorities - he got some nice clapping. but this guy? this guy gets up here and talks about how as an ambassador, his partner should have access to the embassy and training and whatnot, and he gets a fucking standing ovation? who the fuck are we kidding? progressive politics are laughable.

but besides that, and besides my sweating in my suit walking over there, and besides thinking my feet were going to fall off from wearing real shoes, i was in the state department, yo. in the reception area, and it was pretty cool. except, you know, when people were talking and stuff.

unpacking.

things are, for the most part, out of the boxes and bins, and with the exception of a few things scattered here and there that have yet to find a place, my place has become more or less my place. and i look in the final bin of things that remain unpacked for lack of furniture, and there's a little turtle that makes me smile and takes me back. when i was a senior in high school, my best friend's mom bought us matching stuffed turtles that were the softest things we had ever seen, and i slept with mine, and my friend took it with her through her various moves. i named mine torpid, torpy for short, and he was the one thing that i couldn't bear to leave home when i left for what i thought was going to be six months in thailand, but turned out to be a bit longer. at the end of my time there, all the things that i had brought as gifts for my host family seemed insufficient to express how much i was going to miss this place, these people, as crazy as they were, as crazy as i was then through a tumultous time that really made me, allowed me to be this person right now. so i offered torpy as a gesture of my love. for all of what i had experienced, as hard as it was sometimes, as much as i cried sometimes, still, my love. for who i knew i had become. and my host family was a little appalled, knowing that this was the one thing that gave me so much comfort at the end of the day, the one thing that allowed me to fall asleep, and they asked how i was going to be able to fall asleep without it, and i said that i would find a way because in that moment, i was wondering how i would fall asleep anyplace but this place that i had grown to love so contentiously. after some back and forth, my host mom squeezed it to her belly, as if the harder she squeezed, the less she would feel like crying, and i knew the feeling well. i came home without torpy, without my old self, except i still was kind of, though my family had a hard time recognizing me at first. we still have those moments, i think. but word got around about torpy because certainly i was never the type of woman who was ashamed to say that she liked the comfort of sleeping with a stuffed animal, and i was hanging out with ryan, who was my only nephew then, and he was showing me something, and my mom was there, and he said, aunt laura, you don't have a turtle anymore, you can take one of mine because i have two. and my heart...my heart. my sweet sweet boy. he was six years old then. my mom started crying, and saying to me, i didn't tell him to do this...he still breaks my heart. this turtle doesn't have a name. but he has the best story. i think i like it better that way.

sometimes.

sometimes, things are going well, and you've moved into your own place that you've lusted after as long as you have memory of being old enough to think about having a space all to your own because you never have shared well, and you're the type of person who is difficult to live with, and even your mom likes to remind you of that every so often, and your girlfriend buys you beautiful shiny knives because one of the first times you met, you said "i like knives", and you knew that something was happening because she thought it was funny and charming and not just crazy, and you've bought yourself that shiny new coffeemaker that you've always thought would look nice in a kitchen of yours, and you learn that you qualified for that credit card that allows you to buy that new laptop you've had your eye on earlier than you thought, and you go to the apple store and your girlfriend realizes that you qualify to get that black nano that you've drooled over but could never justify paying money for since you do have a nice shiny silver mini that has done you well, and law school is starting in a few months, and even though you play it tough and act like it's no big deal, everyone sees right through you, and you actually are a little excited at the prospect of doing something academically challenging, and after battling the internet connection, you finally get it to work, and things with your family have been rough, but lately, things have been pretty good all things considered, all around, and there will be another nephew added to the family, and your two boys who are the loves of your life are well and happy and growing so goddamn much but they still remember you and want to talk to you and want to see you, and other people you love seem to be doing well, and the people in your classes laugh at your jokes sometimes and seem to get at least some of the stuff you're teaching, and the office is going smoothly with no complaints from the higher ups and they're sad that you're leaving, and relationships are evening out, and the lsat is happening soon but the one person who is taking it right now who you actually really care about in terms of how well she does has suddenly gotten her mojo and is scoring so much better than perhaps she even let herself think about, and and and...you're tired, but it's good because you're making money, and things are aligning, then stop. stop. you get an unexpected phone call that lets you know that no matter how many shiny new things you acquire, what you really want you can't buy no matter how many hours a day you work. because what you really want is to bring close all those people you love and protect them from everything. everything. even the things you don't know about and the things that they won't tell you about because they want to protect you. and you sit at your desk and you want to cry because you know you can't. everyone knows that. lord knows, they might need protection from you sometimes. but there is so much physical distance between you, and you want to just say hey, i will get on a plane right now and fuck all this other shit because it doesn't matter (because it really doesn't in the end, does it?), because you want to be that friend who would do that, but you don't because you think you can't, and you're probably right about that anyway. and for the past several weeks (months?), you have been running from one job to the next, sleeping when you can, eating when you remember, talking to a few friends (not enough) and family on the way to or from, and you get a phone call that you answer only because it's that one person you don't talk with a lot, but nearly always answer the phone for if you can, even if it's to say, hey, i'm at work, lemme call you back, and she makes you stop. is she ok? i don't know. are you ok? am i ok? so. sometimes it's like that. sometimes you have to be reminded about the difference between the things that look good on you, and the people who make you and suddenly the things that look good just make you feel a little nauseous because they do nothing to protect you and they certainly do nothing to protect the people you love. sometimes you don't know if you're fine with the prospect of not making a lot of money because you know that all the money in the world doesn't give you what you want, but then you think, if you had all the money in the world, you would build a huge complex where everyone you loved could have a place with everything they could possibly need or want and then, maybe then, money could buy you what you want. but you're not entirely convinced, and even if you were, you think that it might take awhile to get all the money in the world and are not sure how you would go about it since your decisions thus far have led you far far from that path. in any case, sometimes, you stop. and you think about things like that.

lazy friday.

i've got lucinda singing to me, and i'm not sure i've said a complete sentence to anyone all day. my life has turned into more or less administrative tasks, at work and otherwise, preparing to leave, setting things up, taking inventories, considering what is necessary, what is needed, what can be left, what can be thrown away, the paperwork that needs to be completed when, which means that my mental checklists have become exhaustive lists of my life at the moment, and what my life will be soon. if i think only of the discrete tasks, my present, my future, is not at all about my life, just things that need to be done by certain times, and really, that's what life is anyway. i mean, the past few weeks have been consumed with scheduling: work, teaching, eating, sleeping, friends, more or less in that order, which is frightening, even if only temporary. i see the writer the most, although that's not saying much considering it's usually at the end of a 12 hour work day when i've already started to crash, and she says sometimes, "you look like you're dead". thanks, darlin'. thanks.

last night, i came home to silence, and it was a bit unnerving at first. the apartment was empty, and i had just finished my last class with one of my sections, so the relief of that particular pressure managed to empty out my head, and the echo of silence can be quite loud. but nice. and soothing after awhile. and bella and i just hung out and fell asleep, not having to say much of anything to each other and happy about it.

and it's friday and my work day will end at a normal time or earlier, and i have some emails to send out, some news to read, and...well, that might be just about it. my checklists seem to be in good shape, and me too, all things considered. and this weekend...well, the goal is to look a little more alive. but i think i'm getting there, because this is one of the first things i saw this morning, and there's nothing like dancing to start the day. and just now, i had someone ask me, "why are you being so difficult?!", and i smile, mostly to myself, because obviously, i'm getting back on track. also, there's the prospect of home-made korean food on monday night...um, what? that alone can keep me happy and sated for an indefinite period of time. it's friday, yo. time to put away those checklists and let the silence fill your head.

sunday morning.

i'm sitting in an airport hotel, watching wolf blitzer on cnn. the last time my brother was in town, we went to see jon stewart at gw, and he came out of the bathroom, and he was all, "hey, isn't that wolf blitzer?", and he mumbles quite a bit (yes, more than me, i think), and he was trying to be quiet at the same time, so i kept saying , "what?". i thought i had heard something about wolf, but i thought surely that couldn't be right...someone named wolf? and i finally realized that i was hearing correctly, and then, of course, i was like, um, maybe, i don't know. kevin pointed out that wolf was quite shorter - much shorter than he realized - and decided that he wasn't going to watch his show anymore. and then during the show, it was pointed out that wolf blitzer was indeed in the audience, and kevin nudged me and said, that was wolf blitzer! the point being that kevin's decision not to watch because he's short, turns out to be reason enough. me, i'm not a fan of his facial hair, and he's a really irritating interviewer. but i'm in the sort of mood where it's still on, even though it's irritating me quite a bit...i can't stop watching it. checkout will be a relief. besides being too cheap to pay for cable, my brief exposure to cable always reminds me that cable would only mean constant access to irritation, which i certainly don't need. access that would be very difficult for me not to access. that would be a problem. apparently, freedom is advancing. how exciting. i'm not sure where it's advancing, but it's advancing. with guns and shackles and censorship, but freedom's gotta do what it's gotta do.

ridiculous white men who manage to use so many words without saying much of anything, notwithstanding, it's sunday morning, and it's one of my rare days that i don't have much of anything to do, and it's wonderful. the coffee's not that great, but it's coffee, and i'm stretched out on a big comfy bed with the laptop, tv on in the background, waiting until i have to checkout, then waiting some more for the writer to be done with her training so we can head back to dc. i'm not that far out of dc, but it feels good to be somewhere different, even just for one night. once i get back to the city, there are many things to be done, but for now, just saying hi to myself, and catching up, then sitting in the sun with my ipod, and maybe dancing. just a little.

strange advice.

"worry about being yourself later" is what i was told a few months ago. it's strange advice, i think, but not necessarily bad advice, i suppose. these past few months have been a whirlwind of activity and happenings, and this past weekend, this woman i love stood in front of a podium of her peers and former professors and assorted friends and family and read a story, and i sat there, and i knew that everyone else in the room knew how good it was, how good she is, and there was no end to the people who wanted to say hi, wanted to talk with her, wanted to tell her parents about the writer she is, and i experienced a moment, or moments, of bafflement, as it occurred to me that at the end of the day, she put her hand in mine, as we walked out of that building. these days, our respective worries have very little to do with each other, but very much with how the circumference of our lives brush in seemingly negligible ways, just forming the venn diagram, the intersections where we spend much of our time. and i am more happy than not. it's true. but i'm feeling a little unraveled and disheveled. my familiarity with my life has shifted, and i don't really have the words to describe this mood i'm in today where i'm thinking about that some, wondering about where it went. i mean, not bad, just, what? i don't know. things are ending for me, things have ended, things are continuing, and that big thing is starting sooner than i'm comfortable with, really. and i've been so goddamn tired lately. and the thing about the advice, the thing about that is that i knew that she meant that i would be myself regardless, because how am i not, you know? it's just that i like to play it safe most of the time, i don't venture very far outside of what i know, but here i am, and there's so much i don't know about here. and it's a little scary, and not as snug as where i'm used to, just because i'm commuting a lot, and neither place feels entirely like home these days. but then, you know, she takes my hand and puts her head on my shoulder and says, "let's go", and that's all it takes. that's all it takes for me to forget about the discomfort of the realization just a moment before of who i am not.

defective links.

so, it appears that the links on the side of my blog are becoming less and less useful, but i'm keeping them up out of obstinance rather than as evidence of functionality. it's the story of my life, really. i suppose i can understand not wanting to write in a public forum that provides a certain degree of pressure of presentability when sometimes, the last thing you're feeling is presentable. but. i'm sad about it. and i just wanted to say that. and i know i don't write as much as i should, or as much as i want to, and i swear, there are things rolling around in my head that i want to write about, but i am more oblique than perhaps is good for me, more obtuse than some may like, but perhaps not enough for others. but i'm still here for now. or around, anyway. so do check in. if you do. or not. i will still be clicking the defective links on a daily or near daily basis, if only for ritual's sake. because when you don't have religion, you still need rituals, and that need is perhaps more religious than not. but. i'm not sure what it all means, this walking away from the blogging, but i'm not quite ready to let it go just yet.

transitioning.

i've been thinking about transitions a lot lately, and it seems like the past 3 years, possibly more, has been a continual transition, trying to stretch more flexibility from myself to be able to slide and wiggle and squeeze into one place after another. i remember the day my mom left me at college, and it was only a half hour away, but she was trying so hard not to cry like she wanted to, and i think i might've ended up crying a little because sometimes that seems like the only thing i can do in a situation where i want so desperately to be able to not only say, but convince, the person i love standing in front of me, how deep my love is for them. even if it involves some walking away on my part. even if it involves both of us letting go a little. my mom and i, we still have this moment before i leave to go back to wherever, though more subtle than it once was, even given our rockiness and disappointments in each other and ourselves, because her little girl has grown up so fast. her headstrong, stubborn girl, who never really knew what she wanted, just what she didn't want. these days, i think her more recent tears come from the realization that her little girl is finally starting to figure out what it is she wants, the realization that her little girl has changed into this young woman that maybe she has a hard time recognizing sometimes. that she sometimes doesn't want to recognize. and i love her so much, but no matter how many times i say it, i still wonder if she knows how much i love her. how i would do everything for her. except that one thing.

and god, isn't it just like that? there's always that one thing. and maybe that's what remains so unconvincing to the people you love who just don't seem to ever believe you when you tell them how much you love them, how much you care about them. and wouldn't it be so much easier if we could just be what that other person wants us so desperately to be? just, i don't want to have to prove anything. and, i want you to know how much you mean to me. there are so many things that i'm not good at, that i'm not graceful about. grace is not a word that would ever be used to describe me, really. with every transition, i am well aware that someone in my life i love is taking it as a judgement. that me changing, means that i don't love them as much as i say i do, because we all know words matter, but really, it's what you do that matters more. just, i've made some big choices on what i think is best for me any given time, and i think sometimes, these people i love so much, well, they don't get why they're not best for me at any given time, and really, i have no answers for that. i'm not sure that anyone could really be best for me. i have so many people who are good for me, but i don't think i can make a decision on what's good. so, these transitions, i mean, it seems like they should get easier or something. but they don't. i'm selfish, i guess, if you want to call it that. other people have. frequently. as have i. among other things. i guess it's a lot to expect people to be happy for my happiness, for my choices to move in that direction, when it leaves them unhappy. when you move a lot, it's best to travel light, as hard as that may be sometimes. it doesn't mean that i don't love. it just means that i'm not strong enough to carry it all with me and be who i think i want to be, to try to become a woman who knows what she wants, not just what she doesn't.

nostalgia.

i just got an email from the woman who subsidized much of my time in cleveland announcing that she was returning to cleveland after two years in mozambique. actually, there was a wonderful group of women there who held me close, even if they let me think that i was doing stuff on my own. and i was struggling a lot when i lived there, but they were all there, mostly not judging, sharing their homes and their beautiful lives with this improbable young woman who somehow managed to enter into this circle of women who made my jaw drop, who made me believe for the first time in my life that i could be doing work that inspired me, that it was possible to build a life based on this thing called community and that lovers and partners came and went, but at the end of the day, it was something loud and funky on the stereo that we all could sing to and dance to if we wanted, late night cooking, cloves on the porch, popeyes and fresh lemonade on the homemade patio in the back, and just love, sometimes contentious love, but love. and i tried very hard to hold my own, but am okay with the realization that sometimes, a woman in her early twenties has nothin' on women in their mid-thirties who have lived lives that are just breathtaking, these women who represent all different shades and definitions of success, and i loved them all. and was just a little bit in awe of them. still am, mostly, if only because i have yet to meet comparable matches anywhere else. more than once, i found myself thinking, yes, this is the life i want. this is the life i want to create. and it still is, really. it still is.

i miss these women. i miss knowing that they were watching out for me. i miss their physical presence, their hugs. i miss looking into their eyes and knowing that they were looking out for me. i miss their looks of incredulity when i wondered out loud if i would ever get there. i miss how safe they made me feel, because nothing i've ever experienced is as strong as the bond of women who choose to love each other. not that they were lovers, although everyone had their doubts and fantasies. i might've had one or the other, but after living with them, i'm pretty sure nothing much happened besides a lot of talk and the occassional baths together in the winter time. the rainbow colored flag outside didn't really help the rumours, but i think it was more obstinance rather than anything else that kept that there. just, i was lucky to have had these women take me under their wing and i was wide-eyed for most of the time. incredibly lucky. and i know it. and i miss them. as desperate as i felt during most of the time i spent there in a job that wasn't exactly right for me, with hours that were not at all good for me, in a relationship that covered too many miles for me to ever really feel home in that physical space, i want to pluck some moments and keep them safe from all of that. cleveland wasn't right for me. but i love that city. and i know i love it because of these women. i think they'd make just about anyone love that place.

and has it really been two years? i guess it has. i stayed a bit longer than the doctor did, but two years is pretty accurate for when the community had to change into something else other than what it was for most of the time i lived in cleveland. i never thought i'd miss cleveland so much when i was living there. but these women. god. these women. who are still doing their thing, still searching, still defining, still living and loving so hard. it's spring in dc, which feels more or less like summer in cleveland, and more than anything, what i want right now is to be able to go home to that big sprawling house with its wonderful shades of color and wonderful stove and huge bathtub and wooden floors and smelly dog and crazy cat and lovely lovely women and just sit there and take it all in. just one more time. and my mouth would be open just a little bit, and i'd probably be smoking a cigarette, and the doctor wouldn't judge at all - she'd just say, "i think everything's fine in moderation". and they would just keep passing me food, laughing at how much i can eat, and their hands would be outstretched, holding out love, knowing how much love i needed to sustain me. and they never ran out. these are the women who taught me about grace, who taught me about good food, really really good food, who taught me about standing up, about fighting hard for what you want, about asking for what you need. these beautiful, sexy, brilliant women. of course i miss them. of course. they're the women you see and think to yourself that they just keep getting more and more beautiful. they're the women who make your jaw drop sometimes. and they were my women. my lovely women in cleveland. and i was just this person balancing between girl and woman, tripping along behind them taking notes in my steno pad i had shoved in my hip pocket. and they are still talking about what kind of trouble they can get themselves into, and that makes me smile more than anything.

adventures slash fantasies in wireless communication (a guest entry by that girl)

so yesterday we went to the cingular store, my lovely girlfriend whose blog this is and i, because we knew that on a saturday in bougieville things would be all sunshine and roses and there wouldn't be a wait at all, and, in fact, we would happen to stumble through the big glass doors on "national free phone day," or maybe they were going to give a free phone to the one millionth customer and we happened to walk in and there would be confetti and balloons and streamers and noisemakers and the like, and she'd get her new phone and then music would start up, something with a good beat, deep base, something you can jump and grind to, and the camera would pan back on revelry and free electronics and an orgy of cellular goodness.

well. not so much. but what matters is she's got a hot new phone, hotter than your phone and hotter than that one, too, and i only had to restrain her from throwing rocks at a few people. that one chick, though, the one who said, "everyone else in the family has a razr, what about meeee"? she totally deserved it.

so hit my girl up. she'd like to hear from you. even you, maybe.

disconnected.

i lost my phone this morning, but am holding out hope that it will be returned to wmata's lost and found. we'll see. nobody's been making any sort of calls from it yet, so there's that. i feel naked without it. but. i like naked. in any case, it might be a good minute before i get it back or finally break down and buy a new one. so. look at me with a good excuse to not answer my phone! or return phone calls! until then, there's email. as always. so, i'm not as unavailable and unreachable as it may seem, phone or no...i've got nothing but love for you. really.

glass.

i've been obsessed with neko case. she moves her voice with the ease and artfulness of a glass blower, constantly shifting, moving, adjusting, creating. it hits the air and hangs there, and i marvel at the malleability of her voice, but when i sit with her songs, the echo of her voice becomes brittle, and all i see is glass. i feel like a neko case song today. hanging. brittle. fragile. transparent. obtuse. heavy. airy. cool and smooth after walking through fire. and the air bubbles the only evidence that i was not always like this. i can't stop listening to her goddamn music. but i think i should. maybe i'd feel a little less glasslike and a little more humanlike. the heat of my emotions will break me soon, i'm sure. sometimes i think that you think that i can contain more than i can. than i do. i wish i could expand just a little bit more for you. then we might both be a little less not happy.

commitment.

last week, i bought a bed. for the first time in three years, i have something other than a futon to come home to. and now that i have this amazing wonderful bed, i wonder what the hell took me so long. what i have spent my money on since graduating college: food. of course. a car. sold the car to pay taxes and to finance an lsat class. lsat class. intended to land me into a new york city law school. bus rides. to new york. plane tickets. to people i love. this has meant no savings. but. it's a small price to pay for indulging my wandering feet and my heart that's so willing to empty my bank account and my head that tells me that home is just a city away.

when i was in kalamazoo, i thought it was a stopping point on the way to a life abroad. when i was in chiang mai, even though i felt alive and full for perhaps the first time in my life, i knew it was a stopping point on the way to discovering the importance of a cultural and linguistic home, as contentious as my relationship with home might be. when i was in cleveland, it was a stopping point on the way to the east coast. when i moved to dc, it was intended as a stopping point on the way to new york - the final and only destination.

a year and a half later, i find myself still here, making decisions unimaginable to me only a few months ago, let alone the me i was who made the decision to go to law school while sitting outside with two of the women i love most fiercely, drinking coffee, eating pastries on a sunny spring day, and i looked up into the face of the woman who has seen me through so much, who i have seen through so much, the woman who has never wavered in her love for me, as ridiculous as i might be sometimes, and i knew then that this was love worth committing to, worth moving for. so law school it was. and i got back to dc and signed up for a course, hoping desperately to get into my dream school, and it would be a fairy tale ending of sisters building critical mass, creating movement, but mainly just loving each other in a way that women are always discouraged from loving each other.

yet here i am. i finally discarded my two-inch futon (no, no frame) on saturday and in its place is a beautiful queen size bed that is so luxurious that i have to force myselt to get up, as if that wasn't already hard enough. this is the bed i was supposed to buy in new york, of course. i had told myself since finding that $20 mat on craigslist, folded it up and carried it out of the apartment building with molly, and transporting it to my room the weekend i moved into dc, that i would buy myself a bed when i was ready to commit to living in a city, when a city convinced me that it was more than just a gas station on a road that ended, i hoped, somewhere near contentment.

tuesday night, i was asked by one of my students how to make a decision about whether or not she should take the lsat in june. while the training for becoming an instructor was an exhaustive process of learning how to teach various approaches to what seems like an impossibly large number of methods when you're taking the course, the hardest part about teaching hasn't been teaching the techniques. the hardest part has been how to look into the faces of students and see the fear of not being good enough, and still teach what i am paid to teach. to not stop in the middle of the lesson and tell them, "never let your life be contained within a score. never let a number determine your self worth." and of course, i say that anyway, or something similar. and the fear is mixed with a hope they aren't sure they should have, and i know, and maybe they know, that this is really not much of a choice, that this is really not up to them. that the rules have already been determined, long before them, and we all know how ridiculously important this test is to them. so i tell them that they need to decide right now whether they're going to law school to get into a particular law school, or whether they're going to law school because they have decided that this is their vocation. who knew how much i'd sound like max weber? and no, the lsat is not at all content-based - it's about how well you can learn to think a certain way that does seem a bit preposterous to me, but really, what do i know? so it's that. but it's also about confidence. and i teach these classes, and they're mostly women. and mostly women of color right now. and it is not at all surprising to me that this is the biggest struggle. believing that they are good enough, believing that they have the capacity to take this test and chew it up and spit it back in the faces of the lsat writers and the institutions of privilege we are expected to beg to get into. i tell them that i know they can do better than what they're doing, and they all seem surprised.

and of course, i have many luxuries. i am teaching the course, not taking it. i got into my dream school and told it no. because, in the end, i refuse to kiss their ass and tell them i'll do whatever it takes to go there. i walked away from them because they didn't want me nearly as much as i wanted them to. and it's a sea change that i never ever even thought about. it was never a possibility in my mind a year ago that i would be walking away from them. i have the luxuries that come from knowing and loving my sisters who look at me, and i know what love is. i keep thinking to myself that the trajectory of my life was never supposed to place me here. i remember taking my first class with my favorite professor my freshman year of college wherein she said before handing back our first exams, grades don't matter in the end. obviously, you all are here, and the fact of the matter is, this is a middle management school. it will train you to become middle management. or something like that. it was the first time it occurred to me that there was a world that i had no understanding of. it was crushing. but kind of freeing. i got a 64, by the way. my worst grade ever, but then i just told myself, eh, middle management. what do i care? she is, i think, irritated by my decision to stay in dc in the end, but.

so, i bought myself a bed. i bought myself a bed because i figured that it was about time to consummate my commitment to myself. to this city i never really gave a fair chance to. to me, this woman i've always had a hard time loving and being fair to. and to the idea that sometimes, you think you want something so bad, you don't see anything else, and you think if you don't get this one thing, then you'll regret it forever, and maybe one day you realize that decisions based on fear of loss, fear of regret, make you miss out on some pretty big things. like seeing yourself. and your life. and how you could be. that it's not about one person or one place. it's about you. it's about you and how you allow yourself to be loved, how you relate to these places and these people. and you've always prided yourself in being able to look at people in the eye and make them feel like they were the only ones worth talking to, but you realize your hypocrisy because everyone in the room knows that what you really wanted was to be somewhere else. and then, oh. oh.

and in the end, i know what i've always wanted is to be someplace and be at home. to not be thinking constantly to myself, what next? where next? because as much as i love spending time by myself, maybe, just maybe, i have been running away for as long as i can remember. it's much easier to maintain my sour disposition and snarkiness that way. i have always been waiting for an auspicious alignment of stars, when really, i look around, and wonder when i got this lucky. i joke a lot about my lack of willingness to commit. and i've been hard on myself, really hard on myself, for this very reason. and this past week, i was having this conversation with a woman i love dearly, who knows a little something about what it's like being so hard on yourself, and she tells me, "i don't think that's true at all. i think you're scared of being vulnerable, but we all are." and yeah. that's exactly it. but i mean, the commitment thing has always been at least partly true. that's why it works as a joke. because i've never really been able or willing to commit to myself. to other people, to the work i happened to be doing...yes. but to me? that's the struggle.

so, i don't know. i don't know if i'll be at home in dc. but i'm starting to be at home in my own skin. and it feels kind of nice. and i bought this bed, and i think, there's not much more that i need. i am the type of woman who wants it all. i want all the people i love with me, but you know, sometimes, they have to do their own thing too, i guess. and i know, i know our lives are so imperfect. but god, sometimes, doesn't it overwhelm you by how beauty emanates in such unexpected ways? because really, when i hear one of my students say, god, yeah, i really needed to hear that right now, in an off-handed way, it makes my heart stop. i teach for moments like that. because sometimes, it's not just about technique. because sometimes, you realize that you've been training for a life in a textbook fashion, and what you really need, you've never been told. it's content, not form. and i've been bending over backwards for way too long trying to get the form just right. but fuck it. my new bed pulls me in close, and i lay on it however i want, dreaming about beauty.

marching for human rights, against the war

so, yes, i do know a couple of people who do not have their own blogs, and sometimes i get sent things that i think should be accessed by more people than just an email list. and this is one of those times. this is the hottest piece of writing about current events that you're not going to see in the news. word up. see you at the protest, yo.


hey friends,

just a note to encourage everyone to take to the streets in these coming days, weeks, months, in support of immigrants' humanity and rights, and against this vile war in iraq. we live right here in the belly of the beast, and we have no ethical option but to agitate and create discomfort, we must make our voices known, we must make clear that we will not be quiet as this country's white male elite continues to destroy the women and the people of color around the world. i know at times it feels like demonstrating won't accomplish much -- but we
are up against a huge monster and we have to take up every tool at our disposal to fight it. seriously. demonstrating has always been an important tool of people's resistance to occupation, injustice, inhumanity. so take to the streets, and then come home with the new inspiration that comes with marching and yelling, and come up with new creative ideas for resistance. demonstrating *is* a way to show where you stand, to educate others (passerbys for example), to create community around resistance, etc. and although it can be frustrating to see how the media downplays turnouts at rallies, it's also an indication that we are doing something right, that the those in power are scared of, and want to discourage, the mass resistance we have the power to create.

we have to make the connections that exist between the rising anti-immigrant measures in america and europe, and then the war in iraq and the looming war against iran, 9/11, corporate global power, etc. and we have to protest, and we have to be vocal, and we have to talk, and we have to support each other and each other's struggles. let's build a movement for equality and justice together.

the media coverage of the marches around the country for immigrants' human rights has been pathetic. it's a sad day when supporting human rights of immigrants is such a radical idea that the mainstream media
downplays support for it. i've included below a compilation of numbers are the various marches across the country, so as to give you a sense of how many of us are out there, who want to see this country, and this world, as a more humane place.

stay in touch,
amna

p.s. april 10 is a national day of action for immigrants' rights--actions are happening nationwide. for details on what is happening locally see the listing compiled by the national immigrant solidarity network:

http://www.immigrantsolidarity.org/cgi-bin/datacgi/database.cgi?file
=Issues&report=SingleArticle&ArticleID=0513

do it.

A favor to ask, it only takes a minute.... * Y * * * Y Please tell ten
friends to tell ten today! The Breast Cancer site is having trouble
getting enough people to click on their site daily to meet their quota
of donating at least one free mammogram a day to an underprivileged
woman. It takes less than a minute to go to their site and click on
"donating a mammogram" for free (pink window in the middle).

This doesn't cost you a thing. Their corporate sponsors/advertisers use
the number of daily visits to donate mammogram in exchange for
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Here's the web site! Pass it along to people you know.
<http://www.thebreastcancersite.com/>

no, please...

don't pray for me. this study is ridiculous. what's it prove about anything? people are crazier than anybody. really.

Study fails to show healing power of prayer Fri Mar 31, 2006 09:49 AM ET By Michael Conlon CHICAGO (Reuters) - A study of more than 1,800 patients who underwent heart bypass surgery has failed to show that prayers specially organized for their recovery had any impact, researchers said Thursday. In fact, the study found some of the patients who knew they were being prayed for did worse than others who were only told they might be prayed for -- though those who did the study said they could not explain why. The patients in the study at six U.S. hospitals included 604 who were actually prayed for after being told they might or might not be; another 597 patients who were not prayed for after being told they might or might not be; and a group of 601 who were prayed for and told they would be the subject of such prayer. The praying was done by members of three Christian groups in monasteries and elsewhere -- two Catholic and one Protestant -- who were given written prayers and the first name and initial of the last name of the prayer subjects. The prayers started on the eve of or day of surgery and lasted for two weeks. Among the first group -- who were prayed for but only told they might be -- 52 percent had post-surgical complications compared to 51 percent in the second group, the ones who were not prayed for though told they might be. In the third group, who knew they were being prayed for, 59 percent had complications. After 30 days, however, the death rates and incidence of major complications was about the same across all three groups, said the study published in the American Heart Journal. COMPLICATIONS AFTER SURGERY "Intercessory prayer itself had no effect on whether complications occurred (and) patients who were certain that intercessors would pray for them had a higher rate of complications than patients who were uncertain but did receive intercessory prayer," the study said. There is "no clear explanation" for the latter finding, it added. The study -- called the largest of its kind -- was designed only to try to measure the impact of intercessory prayer on heart surgery patients, an intervention that some earlier reports had showed seemed to be beneficial. "Our study was never intended to address the existence of God or the presence or absence of intelligent design in the universe" or to compare the efficacy of one prayer form over another, said the Rev. Dean Marek, director of chaplain services at the Mayo Clinic, one of the authors. The patients in the study had similar religious profiles with most believing in spiritual healing and almost all also thinking that friends or relatives would be praying for them as well, he said. "One caveat is that with so many individuals receiving prayer from friends and family, as well as personal prayer, it may be impossible to disentangle the effects of study prayer from background prayer," Manoj Jain of Baptist Memorial Hospital, Memphis, Tennessee, another author of the report. The authors said one possible limitation to their study was that those doing the special praying had no connection or acquaintance with the subjects of their prayer, which would not usually be the norm. "Private or family prayer is widely believed to influence recovery from illness, and the results of this study do not challenge this belief," the report concluded.

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hands.

she took my hands in hers and said to them, "you have lived a rough life, haven't you?" and looked up, less a question than a declarative statement, holding my eyes, refusing to let go. she had called to me as i was walking by her porch, on the way to somewhere from somewhere else, lost in the cleveland summer. it scared me how much she seemed to know about me, how it seemed like she had known me from some other time, some other place, so i never went back. it was hot that day, but i had goosebumps on my arms for hours after from the chill that lingered. and my hands were shaking. i forced myself to ignore what they were telling me.

the lines in my hands run deep. i want to make up something about what that means, to make sense of what my dermatologist told me recently as he held my hands, palms up, and commented that there was nothing abnormal, only that most people have one or two layers of skin there, but i have several. maybe more. it takes me back to when i was 16, and my mom took me to a dermatologist and stated that my hands were starting to matter in the way it does when girls think about holding hands with boys. we were both more optimistic then.

my hands have a greater capacity for memory than my head does. they hold cigarettes with grace and love, as if they had found the perfect accoutrement to their disconnection. they hold alcohol with trepidation, knowing what my tastebuds like to forget. they hold pens as if the pen itself will determine what is written. they accentuate my speech and infuse it with feeling my intonations don't always reflect. they feel everything intensely. they are the part of my body that stubbornly refuses to get warm, stay warm, when the temperature is below 70 degrees. my hands control their own destiny, and are not liable to listen to much of what i say, searching your body for what makes you giggle and moan. the rings on my hands mark events and places and people, the traces of moments, of ideas, that i could spend my life trying to recreate. my hands contain stories and lives i could spend my life trying to forget. mostly, i try to remember.

but words are insufficient for this. words will never tell you what i want you to know. what i need you to know. take my hands in yours. and never let go. let your hand warm mine and make me forget about the chill from just a moment before. when my hands shiver, let me remember the feeling of your warmth. let my hand leave an imprint on yours that marks you forever. let my touch sear your heart.

take my hand.

not ok.

jesus h. christ. snow. !!! this weather makes me want to renounce my vow to never live south of the mason-dixie line. if you need me, i'll be under the covers, hands over my ears, humming loudly, trying to convince myself that it is not as cold as it is. i may or may not hear the phone ringing. i mean, really.

lust.

i'm in new york city, baby. new york city. the city that burrows in my bones and electrifies me. the city that encapsulates my desires and longings. the city that tells me that it's never too late, that i'm never too late. overwhelm me with your lights and furious living and passion. you are the lover that terrifies me with your grand gestures and romantic stylings because how long can that last? you sweep me off my feet. and make me think that nothing else looks as good on me as this city looks on me. even our fights make me hot. this place that tells me that i am alive. that being awake is a way of being, not an option. this is love. this is love delayed and denied, but this is love. take me as i am. i'm in the city, baby. the city. there is no place but here. i have come back to you. and you've been waiting. i've come home. and you won't say anything when i leave, knowing that i will dream of you when i sleep. and someday, will wake up, and come back to my true love. this place that fills me with lust. lusting. lustfully. lust. i want this city so bad. i live elsewhere, but this city that tempts me and teases me until i can't say no, and there i am, back in her arms. and i want to explore every inch of her. i want to get lost in the complicated fractured beauty of this city. fill me with desire. wear me out, keep me up all night. make me never want to leave, make me never want anything other than you, right now, in this moment.

holding up walls.

it was the end of a long day, and i was waiting for the elevator when a woman walked up and looked at me, saying, "holding up walls, eh?" and i laughed and said, "yes". yes. yes i am. i laughed because it is so succinct. i think about the women in my life. all these women. all these beautiful wonderful women. women who make me cry and ache. women who teach me how to laugh, who show me how to love. women who have no idea what they mean to me. women i have only caught glimpses of. women who leave me wanting more from myself than i had ever imagined possible. and my sisters. my sisters who are my world. my sisters who give me reason enough to fight harder than i think i can, to be smarter and tougher than i feel. my sisters who remind me to feel. all of these women who show me what beauty is, what brilliance is, what devastation is. and we are all holding up walls.

and i think of my sisters and this struggle we call living and think we are doing the best we can to hold up these walls. and i know that prometheus and atlas have nothing on us. there is nothing glamourous about this job of holding up these walls that we know can crush us if we stop pushing. that still manage to crush us sometimes, even when we are holding them up. this is not the tragedy of ancient myths. this is the tragedy that was never written in those myths. this is the tragedy of being denied space, the tragedy of having to sweat and struggle and fight through our fears and insecurities and indifference and oppression in order to remain standing. for this alone, we deserve more than the myth we were not given.

but don't ever forget that this is what you do. because we are told all the time, that this is not what we do, that this is something we don't have to do. and it's a lie. it's all a lie. while we are all busy holding up our walls, it is so easy to forget that we are standing together. our sweat runs together, and we keep each other alive. and the walls sometimes seem to close in, and the tiredness is overwhelming, and when that happens, i remind myself to look up. look up. look up at your sisters. see how much love can fit within tight spaces and how love itself pushes the walls back. that's the secret. that's what we've never been told. look up.

the walls are still standing. as are we. we have gotten so very good at this, that we forget how incredible our work is. we are holding up walls. so, the answer is yes. yes, i am. yes, we are.

spring days are perfect for this, apparently.

there is something thrillingly ironic about a group of white people wearing tshirts and signs that say "stop racism now" walking around downtown, all very pleased and happy with themselves. i was tempted to strike up a conversation, but didn't want to interrupt them. they have a lot of work to do.

the taste of coffee black.

i am up earlier than i have been in awhile, awake in the way you are when you are glad to be awake, not just needing to be awake to get somewhere, and not just because you were up all night. the type of awake you are when you are just happy to be here, and that's why you're awake. i have my cup of coffee beside me, not because i need the caffeine to waken my sore tired head, but because i want to savor the sips of heated flavor of rich, bold coffee, with a hint of bitter and sweet. i drink my coffee black. but you knew that from the moment you met me. just like i knew you didn't.

the birds are raucous this morning, and the trees have already changed from yesterday. i marvel at the changes that have happened so quickly, that i am noticing the subtle movements of spring coming. of spring arriving. on my doorstep. standing in front of me and around me, as i sit on my stoop. i never really know i'm yearning for something until it's there right in front of me and i realize i have been holding my breath for an impossibly long time. i have been shaking, holding my breath, and then it comes, and the air rushes out of my lungs to meet it, and the shaking stops, but now i am trembling. and just so so happy that it has come. because i have been waiting so long, i started to convince myself that it wasn't, to try to prepare myself for the disappointment.

i keep asking myself when i became this woman. these past few months have been so intensely difficult for reasons you know and reasons you don't, and not like there weren't wonderful moments of love and joy there, because there were, but time has been difficult in the way things are difficult for a compulsive perfectionist like me who needs to know what's wrong so she can devise an intricate plan to fix things. i couldn't figure out who i was or where i went or anything. i didn't know what i wanted anymore. i had lost myself somewhere along the way. i wanted to fix things, but didn't know what to fix, where to begin.

so i am beginning here. it's early monday morning, and i am giddy with the knowledge of experiencing the first spring rain from start to finish, of trees that have changed from one day to the next, of writing that makes me never want to stop reading, of falling asleep to the sunrise, of waking to the sunrise, of cups of coffee that i savor and don't need, of popsicle brand popsicles, of time that is not measured by numbers but by everything else that is unquantifiable that gives you reason to remember particular moments over others.

the thing is, i didn't just become this woman. i didn't need to fix anything in particular. i needed to see myself in a new way. i needed to allow myself to be defined in ways other than the ways i had become so comfortable in being defined, in defining myself. and i know that i have been this woman all along. that i am this woman.

i learned to drink my coffee black because i liked what i thought it said about me. i drink my coffee black because i've come to love its complication. it may or may not say the things about me that i was hoping for when i first started drinking coffee. but you're sitting there, across from me, drinking your coffee with 2 shots of cream, and you know why i drink my coffee black.

i am this woman who gets out of bed to see the sun coming, to greet the day. and i drink my coffee black. it's good coffee. and i'm not trying to prove anything anymore. because i am sitting by myself, drinking my coffee black, and it's for me. it's for me.

i have been waiting a long time. and it's been worth the wait. i have been worth the wait.

leave no room for cream or sugar. fill it to the top with hot hot coffee. i take my coffee black.

plans.

i had things to do today. i had plans for today. and now, i'm sitting here on the steps that lead up to an empty house, ashing onto the steps leading into where i sleep, my heart pumping quidkly, reverberating rhythms through my chest, out my cheeks. my left shoulder is so tight, i can feel the blood pushing, struggling to pass through, and i'm taken back to winters in michigan, driving through piles of snow, trying to get somewhere, anywhere, my little red escort will take me. the radio has been gone for as long as it's been mine, so it is silent except for my choppy breathig, the shallow inhalations of concentration, the pushing of air out of my lungs. my heart beating. i am trembling with nerves and anticipation. my trembling is the only betrayal of my fear, and if you look closely, you can see me, dressed in my fear. but i am so good of hiding that most people don't notice. my makeup is more convincing than the sorority girl i don't want to be, if only because i know i can't. can you disappear if you only disappear because you don't know who you've become anymore?

last night, i caught the first spring rain. the first. my first. each drop surprises me and lingers while the next falls. it's a succession of contained cool and my skin makes them warm to the touch. and they linger and spread, and it's no longer just rain. now i'm just wet and shivering. the rain stops and i breathe deeply. it is the smell of the street moving to meet the rain, impatient to let it just fall. the smell of spring in this city of asphalt and roundabouts and square patches of yellow grass they call parks. the smell of spring that is muted by the the knowledge of so many suits in shiny shiny shoes. the smell of spring that never lets on that in a few days, another cold front will move in, and your sandals will be exchanged for your winter boots.

i bring my quiet with me. but i am always looking for it, trying to create it. my quiet slips through me to you. you see it and touch it and try to move it. meanwhile, i have the pain in my shoulder. the pain in my shoulder is the trace of you and me. like the air on a hot hot day with no hint of breeze.

beauty.

beauty is found in the pieces of the fragments of what you think is your heart, but may be just your life, and you call it your heart because it seems smaller somehow, even though that doesn't really help matters much because really, you are your heart and you know it. or you want to be, even when it's like this, even when these pieces, luminescent, transparent, capturing light and never letting go, even when these pieces are deceptively hard. and you know because after staring at these pieces of yours, imagining the possibilities of reconstruction, you get impatient, and reach to pick them up, and the pieces are stiff and hurting and don't want to be touched, and they cut you a little, and you see a drop of blood in the palm of your hand, but it doesn't hurt. no. it's the pieces. the pieces hurt. these fragments are so achingly beautiful, and you wonder about their separation from each other, and wonder when they will stop hurting. what hurts you is not the blood, but the sharp intake of breath. the signal of fear that is noiseless.

days like that.

you have my best writing. and i wonder what you do with it. do you keep it safe? do you keep me safe? today is infused with the chill of the grey day, and it seems too optimistic to think of spring, to hope for it the way i'm hoping for it. i desire warmth the way that people chase faith. i stepped in the sun this weekend, and managed to convince myself that it would never go away. even with the shade overtaking the day, accentuated by the wind. the wind that pushed through all my layers and blew the hat off my head. the wind that gained strength in the shade, daring me to remember the day the way i did. as warm and sunny. and bright. like that patch of blue sky that was only so blue because of the tree with leaves so green, it made me wonder about the possibility of planting fake trees outside. trees like that that can give more color to everything around them, but not air. it made the sky so blue, i didn't care about the air. i was holding my breath looking at that tree. looking at that patch of sky. acknowledging that sometimes, you have to choose between air and color. the color that reminds you of who you want to be, makes you think about what you want. the difference between the air that keeps you alive and the color that reminds you that you're living. and you know it because your chest is tight, and you find yourself holding your breath a little, and maybe you catch yourself waiting. and you're not really sure what you're waiting for. but there's that patch of sky right in front of you, and that tree right there, and you think, i could wait here for a long time. a little breathless. waiting for warmth to cut through the grey. waiting for the wind to die down and change from its pulsating techno rhythm to a lullaby that caresses you. watching the sunset. waiting for sunrise. i close my eyes, and i'm not tired. i'm just waiting. i'm waiting for the wind to grow tired. i'm waiting to be kissed by the mist of spring coming. i'm waiting for the heat that makes me sweat. when i open my eyes, the blue is there. the tree is still there, with its green greenness. the tree is real, though. i see that now. sometimes, you don't have to choose between air and color. sometimes, moments extend into days, and as you're falling asleep, you're smiling because you just realized that you didn't have to choose between anything. and you dream of blue blue skies and green green leaves that have grown early, convincing you, even on grey days like this where the chill comes out your hands, even when you're inside, that the warmth is coming. soon. i stay awake for a long time and fall asleep right before sunrise. creating my own warmth, waiting for the sun as it creeps closer and closer. you have my best writing.

transparent.

i don't know how to say goodbye to my grandfather. i spent some time with him the past few days, sitting with him, watching part of an old movie with him, and i found myself staring, but not at him - through him. there i was, just trying to be with him, but i wasn't. at least, not as much as i'd have liked. we talked a little, but his voice was not the voice i remember. it was the echo of the voice i remember. my body was sitting next to him, kissing his cheek, his handlebar mustache scratching my face, hugging him while breathing deeply, stealing the smell i have grown up with so i don't forget. my thoughts are all over, wondering if this is the last time i will see my grandpa; if this is the last time i will hear him ask me if i was still his girl, if this is the last time, i hear him clearing his throat, his voice escaping gruffly, gravelly; if this is the last time i will smell him - the smell of my grandpa. the smell of love that doesn't pass judgment. his hands, smoother than mine, but so much larger, with a lifetime of manual labor engraved in his palm, old age and pain wrinkling the top, cool, and firm, makes mine disappear; wondering if this is the last time i will watch old movies i would never watch on my own, but find out that i can enjoy them, even if it is only because i am sitting here with him. i wonder how long it's been that i haven't seen him - i wonder how long it's been that i've looked at him and seen only my memories of him.

he's lived a lifetime that i only know scraps of. and i know it's been imperfect, that he's been imperfect, because i've heard traces of that as well, although i never could really internalize all of that because that's never been the grandpa i've known. and he mostly just lays out on his bed or his lazy boy now and doesn't get up much, but i still remember sitting on his lap, i still remember taking him by the hand to show him something i thought was exciting, and he did, too. he did, too. and i'm with him now, staring right through him, thinking that he seems not unhappy. he's 88. and i think he's lived a life that he seems quite proud of. and maybe his only doubt or misgivings is not whether or not he wants to do much more than he has, but what his wife will do when he's gone. the woman he met when they were just a boy and a girl, and this boy and girl who fell in love with each other, fought with each other, had a family together, struggled together, nagged each other, but were just there, together. and now, very soon, they both know, that they won't be together for longer than they've been apart their entire lifetimes, except when he was in the war.

it's a life i can't imagine. and i think to myself, maybe this is it. absence of regret isn't always about thinking that there were other choices that could've been made, because there are always choices to be made. maybe it's just believing in what made you choose something over something else so much that you think to yourself that whatever happened, you wanted something so bad, there was no other choice to be made. my father told me once that if someone didn't have any regret, they didn't live their life as fully as they could've. we disagree on many things, but he told me that, and it made me stop, and i realize now that he made me change my mind. i have a tendency to become immobilized by choices, which has made me the butt of many jokes, but this fear of making the wrong choice comes from a fear of making a choice that leads to regret later when i know more or think i do or something.

but here's what i know now. i'm glad that my precociousness as a child prevented me from having fear of taking my grandpa by the hand, that i never considered my loving him as a choice i had to make, that my love for him propelled me home when it was hard, harder than it should have been, because there are no regrets there. i think he knows by now how i love him, imperfect as i am, imperfect as my love is because i know how much he loves me. and i continue to be surprised by how much that still means to me at 24 and a layover away. i look at him and know that when he looks back, he still sees the unsullied joy of us, even when i'm not sitting right next to him. and he dozes off, but i'm wide awake, and just looking at him. i don't know how to say goodbye to my grandfather. so i don't. and i don't think he knows how to say goodbye to me, either. in any case, he didn't. i think we both appreciated it.

um.

i might have just given a thumbs up to the spice girls. i feel like i just betrayed myself. my standards! ack. it's all downhill from here, folks. and pandora is documenting every minute of my descent. i'm a marketer's dream. give me a soft smooth voice, maybe some nice harmonies, soothing instrumentals, and i'm a goner. "hey mama" just came on. in case you didn't figure it out from the title, it's country.

i don't even know what to say about it.

lyricism.

it's not true that you can't see stars in the city. the past few nights, the sky has been flecked with points of incredible brightness. i stared at the moon tonight and wondered if it was better to be able to reflect light with the shimmering grace of the moon, or absorb it in the insatiable insistence of the sun. growing up, i loved those long summer nights with the cool remembrance of the heat of the day, lying on damp grass, getting lost in the dizzying array of bursts of light. there is something very undemocratic about the sky - how only the brightest things get seen. and i know that i have always wanted both - to be both bright enough to get seen and small enough to get lost. i guess i still do.

i'm postponing writing a short essay about where i see myself five years after law school. i want to ask them if they know that if the sun were to burn out completely, that it would take at least 2, maybe 3, years before we felt a physical difference. that the moon would still be reflecting the light of something that ceased to exist for years. so my answer is this: if the night sky would still be the same given the absence of the brightest of stars, how does anyone know how a moment, or a series of moments, with people we've met and people we will meet affect us or cease to affect us? will we even begin to be able to say what the possibilities are?

but here's what i'll do: i will take a shower, think about doing my taxes, and hope tomorrow will bring a little less obstinance and a little less lyricism and a lot more pragmatism. i will say that i will be both insatiable in my desire to absorb the world and vigilant in my task of reflecting it. that i will demand both from myself. and i will strip away the metaphors, all the while hearing the question, "Yes, that's very pretty, but what exactly will you be doing?"