blocked

It's been a tough few months for writing.

I thought i had an artist for my comic book, but she's realized she's too busy to commit to this project and has gracefully backed out. I'm not mad at her or anything, and i completely understand (and was half-expecting) her refusal, but it's still really disappointing.

My workshop group hasn't met in ages. We kept getting delayed by various things: work commitments, school, migraines, lack of new things to review, weather disasters, holidays, and so on and so forth. I really miss that weekly gathering of creative intellectuals, as well as the motivation of a deadline.

I found a journal of women's environmental poetry that was looking specifically for prose poems, and i was all geared up to send them a submission, when i realized there was a reading fee to do so. Never send out anything you have to pay for; there's no guarantee of publication, and there are plenty of places that are more than happy to reject you for free. Hypothetically.

There's a lot of really emotional stuff happening for me right now, but it's happening right now, so it's hard to write about it clearly.

Since discovering Netflix, i'm much less inclined to sit reading or writing in the evenings, and much more inclined to knit and binge-watch Dr. Who. Which, while good for my knitting projects, is bad for my writing.

But.

Two of my roommates have moved out, and have been replaced by only one person. And it is absolutely worth the $100/month increase in rent to reclaim a little more peace, stability, and room in the house. We are hanging superhero posters in the hallway and organizing a library/bar/office in the corner room. The one with roof access.

I've been living in a nest for two years because i was too afraid to put my things in the house, because of what might happen to them. There also wasn't a lot of room, with four people crammed into a three-bedroom apartment. Now i'm de-cluttering my room and living like a human adult, instead of a magpie. My desk is in the library bar, in front of a window, with elephants and pictures of Boyfriend and Christina Hendricks for inspiration.

I have a shiny new phone that i mostly don't hate. (I've been resisting the smartphone upgrade since the debut of the Blackberry, but there's no escape now. The Samsung Galaxy Stellar, however, isn't terrible. If i have to have a smartphone, i'm glad i got this one.)

I have a nerdy friend who is going with me to the Neil Gaiman reading and signing this weekend. I am going to the Neil Gaiman reading and signing this weekend.

I have another nerdy friend who wants to have a sewing and cooking and drinking date with me soon. I'm really excited at the prospect of getting back into sewing.

I have a sexy, smart, caring, wonderfully weird boyfriend who snuggles me and is patient with me and goes on adventures with me and helped me make sangria last week. (My sangria recipe is amazing, by the way. I'll have to post it some time.) Sometimes i write terribly sappy poems about him and then send them to him through snail mail. Isn't that so cute you want to vomit?

I have, like, six different jars of fancy honey in my kitchen waiting for me to eat them. I also have an ice cream maker. I see honey-sweetened ice cream in my future.

I have Netflix! And tons of yarn! And, currently, not a lot going on in my life! This equals SWEATERS!!! It doesn't get much better than handmade sweaters in New England. (Unless, of course, it's July and they keep posting heat advisories. But i'll be glad of them in the winter, which is probably when they'll be finished, anyway.)

I have an awesome tattoo idea that will, someday, when i have money again (when i die), be an awesome tattoo.

I got fan-ish mail yesterday.

My cat is super cute.

Esther 3-10, Job 1-33

Job is one of my favorite books, and has been for many years. The poetry in the middle section is so great, and the poetry when God shows up is absolutely transcendent (which only makes sense, since He's God and all).

My Bible study took a pretty in-depth look at Job, but did so in only two weeks, so we left a lot out; there's a lot to be said about this book. People always say that the Bible speaks to you in new ways every time you read it. This may be slightly heretical, but that's never stopped me before, so here goes: i'm not sure that that's true of the whole Bible. I don't know how many new things you can discover when you're reading the same genealogy for the sixth time. I'm not sure that there are many great spiritual insights tucked into the measurements of the Temple.

But Job always has something new, at least for me. When i read it in different seasons of my life, when i come back to it after some significant experience, when i revisit a passage in a new translation, i notice something new.

This year, i noticed three passages.

Job 13:20-21
"Only two things do not do to me,
Then I will not hide myself from You:
Withdraw Your hand far from me,
And let not the dread of You make me afraid." (NKJV, emphasis mine)

I want that last line tattooed on my skin forever. "Let not the dread of You make me afraid." I read this verse in multiple translations to make sure i was getting the right message. (There's still room for interpretation, but i'm pretty confident in my understanding.) We talk sometimes about fearing God. Some denominations talk more about this than others; earlier generations talked more about it than we do now. "Fear", in this sense, doesn't mean, like, nightmarish terror of the thing under the bed. It means an awed respect for something or someone much greater and more powerful than you, something or someone who is so far beyond your comprehension that you can never hope to meet its level, and yet this thing, this person, is reaching out to you; you were in awe of it when it was on a far-off mountaintop but when it reaches out to take your hand? it's more dreadful and awesome than you could ever imagine. It's the terror of falling in love, really in love, and realizing how much power this other person has to hurt you, and also trusting them completely to keep you safe. It's entering the lavish throne room of a king and seeing him in his great throne, towering over you, with the divine right to control your life, and then seeing him smile at you.

I fear God, but i am not afraid of Him.

In Bible study one week, we talked about the difference between trusting God and trusting in God. Trusting God means being certain that He will never allow anything bad to happen to you. Trusting in God means that you know that bad things will happen to you, but that God is still God throughout, and that His will will be done in the end, trusting that His will is ultimately a good thing, even if it necessitates your death and pain and suffering. This is what Job learned: his life and health and happiness were subject to God's whims, but God is still God. God still loved him. God kept His hand on him. God was dreadful, but Job was not afraid of Him.

Job 16:1-5
Then Job answered and said:
"I have heard many such things;
Miserable comforters are you all!
Shall words of wind have an end?
Or what provokes you that you answer?
I also could speak as you do,
If your soul were in my soul's place.
I could heap up words against you,
And shake my head at you;
But I would strengthen you with my mouth,
And the comfort of my lips would relieve your grief."

Job 32:3
Also against his (Elihu's) three friends his wrath was aroused, because they had found no answer, and yet had condemned Job.

We do this all. the. time. We blame the victim, because if whatever bad thing happened is somehow the victim's fault, than we can just do the opposite of whatever they did or didn't do, and then nothing bad will ever happen to us. We give condemnation to people who are hurting, instead of comfort, or we offer a weak comfort like, "His ways are higher than ours! We don't know what the Hell He is doing! Just shut up, lie back, and take it!" Job's friends could not find an answer, they could not find a sin that he had committed, and yet they persisted in telling him that he must have sinned in some way. That his kids must have sinned in some way. That somewhere, somehow, someone messed up and called down the Wrath of the Almighty on their heads. Of course, those of us in the audience know that no one did anything wrong. And when we're not in the audience, when we're on the stage, it can be hard to keep everything in perspective. It's important to remember, therefore, the lesson of Job's friends: comfort comes before condemnation, and condemnation only comes after proof. Relieve the hurting of their grief, and refrain from insisting that everyone who has ever had something bad happen to them must have asked for it in some way.

Chicken Little

Okay. So.

The sky was falling.

For those of you who don't live on the East Coast, let me explain: we had a record-breaking blizzard this weekend, called Nemo. Several fronts and airs and precipitations (i don't know weather terms) all combined and worked their way up the coast. In lower states like Maryland, Delaware, and Pennsylvania, it was mostly rain and wind, but by the time it reached New Jersey, it was snowing. NJ got about 15 inches, and coastal towns had some flooding, but it wasn't too bad (although they haven't really bounced back from Sandy). But as Nemo got closer to New England, it turned into a full-scale disaster storm.

We got 30 inches of snow, with drifts and snowbanks reaching 4-5 feet. Also? Thundersnow. (bucket list: check). That's exactly what you think it is: thunder and lightning while it is snowing. Power was out all over several cities. I personally lost power for about fourteen hours, but some places lost power Friday night and won't get it back till Thursday. The roads are so clogged with snow and ice and cars stuck in snowbanks that plows can't do much to help, and there's nowhere to put all the excess snow, anyway. Storm surges caused flooding, and several towns were evacuated.

I've had power outages before, sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for a few hours. But never in the dead of winter, and never for very long. It was fun for a while: me and my boyfriend and his roommate and his roommate's cat all snuggled together with candlelight and booze, but when i woke up in the morning and realized we still had no power (no heat, no lights, no refrigeration), i got a little scared. They have a gas stove, so i made pancakes and the heat from the burners and the warm food helped. Then we all put on lots of layers and went out to start shoveling. When the power came back, a cheer rippled through the whole neighborhood.

My office was closed for four days (Friday-Monday), so this is my first day back. It's going to be a hell of a week.

Oh and also, my brother is having a really rough time dealing with his recovery and my friend is dying. Very soon, in fact. So i may be traveling some next week to see him.

On a happier note? The boyfriend and i had our Valentine's celebration last night, partly because we needed some joy and love and partly because he was thinking about leaving on Thursday or Friday to see our friend. And it was a wonderful Valentine's day. We had steak and rice and veggies (lovingly prepared by John), and wine (lovingly selected by me) and Black Forest Cake with wine-stewed cherries (lovingly prepared by me). Then we exchanged presents (slippers and fun socks for him, pearls for me). Then we watched "Wanted" (because Angelina Jolie is on his list and James McAvoy is on mine), and then we snuggled and went to bed.

So. Once more into the breach.

23

In my apartment, birthdays are extravagant affairs. You can expect anywhere between 30 and 100 people to show up. The agenda is simple: get drunk, get drunker, play drinking games, drink. The more the merrier, since more people = more booze, which makes for more hilarity and crazy pictures and stories for the next day. Plus, you might get laid. Open invitations are issued, and friends-of-friends think nothing of showing up with three of their own friends. It's all a little overwhelming for an introvert, and i usually stay long enough to get a buzz before disappearing to my own bedroom, or my boyfriend's apartment, or a deserted corner of the porch.

I don't really do birthday parties for myself. When i was younger, my mom helped me organize and plan parties; i remember an American Girl Doll party complete with tea and games. She suggested people for me to invite, hoping both to make other girls feel included and, i think, to get me out of my shell a little. But as i grew older and more autonomous (and more socially anxious), i invited fewer and fewer people and became less and less enthusiastic about the prospect of a party with me as the main focus. My best friends and i got together for a party at least once a month, and there were never more than six people involved. Because the parties were regular and rotated in location, and because they were organized around the Orange and Blu Kidz Club (a whole series of blog posts there), no one person was ever the center of attention. These were fun, and made the transition to birthday time easy: i invited the same group of people, hosted everyone at my house, and the only difference between that and our normal monthly meetings was that everyone brought me a gift.

My last real party was when i was fifteen. I had expanded the group slightly, and although there were no guests that i hadn't known for at least five years, i was painfully anxious and uncomfortable for the whole evening. The planning and preparation was exhausting, even for such a simple party, and the things i wanted to do were drastically different from the things other girls my age enjoyed, leaving me with an awkward choice to make: please myself and bore everyone else, or turn my own birthday party into a party for other people and leave myself sad and bored and slightly resentful? I settled on a compromise that mostly worked, but that was the last time i had any enthusiasm for a birthday party, and the events of my 21st birthday cemented those feelings pretty firmly.

But this year, i decided i was ready for another party-type thing. My initial thought was to schedule it somewhere away from my house, so that when i was ready for everyone to go away i could just go home. So i picked a restaurant (Mr. Bartley's Burger Cottage; visit if you're ever in Boston!), sketched out a preliminary guest list, and picked a date. Then i got ambitious.

We will be going to Bartley's, and then perhaps we will shop for books (the Harvard bookstore is right next to Bartley's; have i mentioned how much i love Boston?), and then back to my house for Cards Against Humanity. There are a few people that i invited out of obligation, but most of them are unable to come. I created a Facebook event for it and made it closed and invite only to keep it manageable, and then started sending out invites.

I was astonished to realize that there are now more than ten people that i really want to spend an evening with. In fact, there are more than fifteen people that i would like to invite, but some of them live too far away to attend. It is astonishing to me to realize that i like that many people enough to want to spend an evening with them in my home. I never anticipated being that sociable, even in high school, when i so desperately wanted to be different than i was. I never thought i could worry about finding enough seats for everyone in my apartment. I never imagined being sad that more than five people lived too far to invite, while simultaneously being glad that two-thirds of my best-loved ones would attend.

I guess what i'm saying is, this level of personal growth combined with the staggering number of good friends is such a wonderful gift already, and y'all damn well better give me something pretty anyway. It's my birthday, bitches.

saving me (love)

Love in all forms. Love from others. Love for others. Love of others for each other. Love for books. Love from my cat. Love for steak. Love from the earth. Promised love. Past love. The hope of future love. Making love. The love of others for one another. Ingrid Michaelson's songs about love. Love, love, love.

oh hey

So. Um.

Posting has been a little erratic lately. I do know that. Sorry.

All i can really say is that i've been so busy actually doing things that i have no time to write about them. I'll give you guys a quick synopsis of the past month and a half, and then we'll call it even, k?

So, in October, one of my best friends married her best friend, and i was a bridesmaid. So Boyfriend and i took a train, which arrived in Philly at 4:30 am, and then we waited for the rental car place to open. Then when it did, they apparently required a deposit (which they had not told us when we made the reservation and which he has never had to pay before when he has rented a car), and since he didn't have enough money in his account to cover the whole thing, his card was declined. So he made some angry phone calls, and i pulled out my iPad and transferred some money from my savings account and paid for the rental car. Then we went out to the parking lot, and our car was blocked in by three other cars. We called the office to ask them to move it, and then sat there for twenty minutes waiting. Finally, someone came out and walked around the three cars blocking us, looking confused, until Boyfriend got out and said, "Hey, can you move one of these cars so we can get out?" The guy looked more confused. Apparently, the office had told him to move a car, but not which car or why they needed it moved. Another ten minutes went by before we could leave. We slept at the hotel for a few hours, and then went to set up the church/rehearse/have the rehearsal dinner. Then the other bridesmaids and i stayed at the bride's parents' house. Then the wedding, and then the reception, and then Boyfriend and i went back to our hotel and passed out, exhausted. We checked out early the next morning, because our train left at 7:30. The rental car place wasn't open, and the gate to get into the rental lot wouldn't open, so we had to leave the car in the regular parking garage. A few hours later, when we were on the train, we got a rude phone call from the office, demanding to know where the car was. The story ends with Boyfriend writing an angry letter to the rental company.

The following weekend, we went to see Ingrid Michaelson on her acoustic tour with Katie Herzig. It was honestly one of the best shows i have ever seen. Both ladies were enormously talented, obviously, but they were also both very laid back and friendly and chatty. The whole thing felt like sitting in coffee shop, watching your friend perform. It was really lovely. Boyfriend and i had an amazing hotel room, and we spent some time cuddling, and antiquing, and exploring, and doing other things. On our way back home, we stopped at a state liquor store (we were in New Hampshire), and stocked up.

Then there was a hurricane. I was making myself dinner and drinking a rum and coke, when my roommates invited me to hang out. So i grabbed a bottle of wine and went downstairs, where we played Cards Against Humanity and i drank nearly the whole bottle of wine on my own. Then we took a break, and i went upstairs and got my special Black Velvet Toasted Caramel whiskey. We mixed it with apple cider and the rest of the evening is kind of a blur. I know i ate some pizza at one point. The next day, i took a sick day. Partly because i wanted to do laundry and never take any sick time and was out of vacation and personal time, and partly because i was too hung over to go into work.

Then i was proofreading and editing a paper for a guy in an MBA program. English was not his first language, and business is not my thing, so it was a lot of work. But it's the kind of work i love, so it was awesome.

Then Boyfriend and i had some serious discussions, and then i wrote him a whole bunch of love letters. Like, pen to paper, envelope, send through snail mail love letters that our grandchildren will read over one day. I know. How cute are we?

And then we organized our Thanksgiving trip down to Maryland to see my family and eat pie.

And finally, i and one of my downstairs neighbors have started an informal writing workshop group. So far, it's just the two of us, but we're hoping to expand soon. So i was revising old things, and realizing that everything i write should just be a sonnet and i should stop pretending that it isn't, and that i've missed this, and then i sent him two poems and he sent me a one-act play and we will meet this weekend to workshop them.

Oh! And i've also started going to the gym 3ish times a week. I do mountain climbing on the treadmill to a 90's pop music playlist, except for when i forget my iPod, in which case i watch Frasier instead. And then i drink a lot of water and eat some almonds or cashews and then go home and order a calzone or some Chinese food and eat it all in one sitting while watching The Office. It feels so great to be healthy.

Clearly I Need To Get More Tattoos

Today marks the one-year anniversary of my first ever blog post. It was a poem i wrote for class; i edited it and posted it as the introduction for who i am and why i do what i do.

The year has gone by quickly. April was when i started dating John and moved into my first real apartment, May was my college graduation, August was when i started my first grown-up job, September was when i started grad school, October was when my brother was wounded, February was my first "real" Valentine's day and my first venture into vegetarianism AND the time i met Mark Oshiro AND the day that my brother's leg was amputated, and my first year of blogging closed out with a continuation of reasons that i should live with my boyfriend, reflections on my brother, and a very strange piece of short creative non-fiction i wrote in my sophomore year of college.

I have to be honest: i'm still not totally sure what this blog is. It's probably most honest to call it a diary (or LiveJournal, if you're Benji and want to make fun of me).

My confusion is shared by my readers, as evidenced by some of my search terms. The most popular search term of all time is "never settle tattoo", which makes sense, since my most popular blog post of all time is the one where i talk about getting a tattoo that says 'never settle'. My second most popular search term is "Diana Lark", which means that i'm famous because people are actually searching for me by name. Right? Third is "awasiwi odinak", which was the title of this post about how i like nature and travel and walking and such. For those of you who may have Googled this term looking for a definition, i got the phrase from the TV show The West Wing. According to them, it means either 'beyond the village' or 'far from the things of man'. My fourth most popular term is represented by several variations of "world's happiest turtle". My favorite variation is "picture turtle eating a strawberry you'll never experience this joy". That seems awfully threatening to me. (Is threatening the word i want?) Anyway, if you want to know the kind of joy you're missing out on, the picture is at the top of this post.

As of this moment, i have gotten just over 2,000 pageviews. Total. In one year. My boyfriend keeps getting excited about my blog stats and telling me that i will be a famous blogger, and doesn't really listen when i tell him that many bloggers who are not really "famous" generally get several hundred pageviews a day. My record is 284 in one month. Furthermore, most bloggers are only famous to other bloggers. We're a weird bunch.

Anyway, i'm glad to see you all here. For those of you who are looking for more tattoos, rest assured that i am working on it. In fact, i've gotten another tattoo and just haven't written about it yet. For those looking for Diana Lark, you've come to the right place. For those looking to get away from it all, maybe start by turning off your computer and going outside? And for those looking for cute turtles eating strawberries, ME TOO. They are absurdly precious, aren't they?

Ghosts of Boyfriends Past: Fusco

This year is the first year in my life that i will be in a relationship for Valentine's Day. In recognition of that fact, i will be spending the weeks leading up to the 14th telling stories of my past relationships. Get ready to mock.

"Fusco" was my very first boyfriend. He moved into my town when i had just turned thirteen. He was pretty much the most amazing boy i'd ever met. Of course, being homeschooled in a small town sort of limited the selection, but i was thirteen and didn't know that.

Fusco had blue eyes and was tall and cute. He was also gangly and awkward looking, but i was thirteen. He was brilliant in all the ways i wasn't (math, computers, science), he was musically gifted (his dad, a professional jazz musician, was the new pianist at our church), and he was edgy and cool (he went to public school and listened to music by bands that were not explicitly Christian). Best of all, we had never seen each other in diapers. We had not spent our whole lives within a ten-mile radius of one another. He was new and exciting.

I was the most awkward of my group of friends (we were all homeschooled, so that title was hotly contested). As the boring one, i had already resigned myself to a life of spinsterhood. I did not get nearly as much attention as my cute and peppy friends, and was sure that boys would never notice me.

But Fusco was different. And by that i mean that i had big boobs.

Me, right around the time i started high school.

We dated for seven months. After about three, Fusco declared his intention to propose to me on my eighteenth birthday. He had it all planned out. We'd be on my back deck, and it would be snowing, and he would go down on one knee. I was not impressed, but pretended to be, because i liked having a boyfriend.

However, there were problems. I was starting to develop a crush on my grandmother's exchange student, and everyone (including my dad, who was usually oblivious to all human social interactions) was convinced that he had a crush on me. Plus, Fusco was constantly flirting with "Renee", one of my best friends. When i would talk to him about it, he would reassure me that they were just friends and that there was nothing going on. Then he would go to Renee and talk to her about our conversation and ask how he should reassure me further.

Finally, in October, i was starting to feel like i needed to break up with him. But his birthday was in October, so i postponed it. Then in November, his parents started talking about divorce. December was Christmas, but i couldn't wait any longer. I ended the relationship.

Fusco was crushed. He wanted badly to win me back, but i insisted that we take some time to work on our friendship. After a few weeks had passed, Fusco and i had a serious talk. He told me that he still loved me, and still wanted to marry me one day, but that he didn't think i was ready for a relationship. Also, he really liked Renee, and had decided to date her while he was waiting for me.

Obviously, i was swept off my feet, and when i turned eighteen Fusco proposed and we lived happily ever after.

Sike! Renee broke Fusco's heart, and then they both dated other people for a while. Fusco and i lost touch, Renee and i stopped speaking (high school drama), and we all moved on with our lives. Renee went to rehab, got out, got pregnant, got engaged, broke up with the guy, and named her son Kratos Wolf (yes, for real).

Nearly eight years after all of this began, Renee and Fusco are back together. Love is weird.

winning

It was Saturday night, and my living room was one sip of wine away from a lesbian orgy.

One of my roommates used to sell sex toys from a company called Athena's. Although she is no longer an active representative (or "Goddess", as Athena's calls them), she still had lots of connections within the company. She and my other roommate decided to host a ladies-only party this weekend.

If you've never been to a sex toy party, think of it like a Tupperware party, but with fewer casseroles and more glitter and lube. It started out slow, with things like "Body Dew" (an oil that you mist onto your skin after showering to give yourself a healthy glow) and exfoliating scrubs. Our goddess for the evening, Juliet, demonstrated each product. For some, she chose a volunteer (usually me, since i was sitting next to her), and for some she simply passed around the sample and let everyone try it for themselves.

After the more innocuous beauty products, we moved on to pheromone-infused colognes and something called "Nipple Nibblers". This is a chapstick-like product applied -- you guessed it -- to the nipples. It is supposed to make them perky and produce a either a cool or warm tingling sensation. The exact effects differ from person to person. It is also flavored, for . . . well, for nibbling. For the Nipple Nibblers, Juliet passed the jar around and had each of us apply a small amount to our nipples. In the living room. With everyone else.

This was the last part of the evening with any pretensions to delicacy and innocence. Other tester products were given to girls to take into the bathroom, from whence they returned wreathed in smiles and sat back down awkwardly. And then we got to the toys. Let's just say that i no longer have any questions about anal sex or the different varieties of female orgasm and leave it at that.

At the end of the demonstration, we retired to the kitchen for penis cake and more wine, while girls went one by one into the living room to do their ordering privately. As hostesses, we were entitled to a discount rate based on the amount our friends had spent. Like commission-based store credit. Since one of my roommates was still entitled to her Athena's discount and i was not really in the market for anything, the whole credit went to one lucky roomie.

We're planning a co-ed (or Jack and Jill, to use the Athena's parlance) party for February. Right before Valentine's day. So that couples can . . . I can't think of any more polite euphemisms. It's so couples can get sexy with one another and singles can get sexy alone. Carissa, you are totally invited.

Marry Your Best Friend

Charles and i met for the first time when we were both still in diapers, but it wasn't until 4th or 5th grade that our friendship really began. We got off to a bit of a rocky start (when we were six, i punched him in the stomach and he cried, and then i told my four-year-old brother to headbutt him). And when we started spending more time together, in 4th and 5th grade, we were just entering the "opposite sex has cooties" stage of development. He spent a lot more time with my brother than with me, and i spent more time with his sister (who was a good three or four years younger than me) than with him.

After completing 5th grade, Agelseb left public school and began homeschooling with us. This is when she and Charles began to be friends. Their friendship was likewise hampered by the gender differences, but by about 7th grade we had all gotten over that. Coincidentally, it was about 7th grade that Charles discovered girls.

Being one of the few girls that Charles never developed a crush on, i ended up being his confidant for many years. He would go through ups and downs with various girls, sometimes liking five or six at once, and totally without hope that any of them would ever consent to be his girlfriend.

In high school, he went through a series of extremely short-lived relationships, including one that lasted less than 12 hours.

In high school, he also developed a crush on Agelseb.

Inconveniently, it was the year that she moved onto the boat. Even more inconveniently, she was only interested in him as a friend.

Charles' crush lived on, though it would wax and wane depending on whether some other girl had distracted him temporarily. We all remained friends, despite sundry awkwardnesses associated with hormones and emotions, and when i graduated from high school and took a year off, Agelseb and Charles grew closer than ever.

The summer after my freshman year, i lived at home again. Agelseb and Charles and i spent lots of time together that summer, but i was beginning to feel a pull from the World. I felt restless and unhappy in my hometown, and they did not share that feeling. We didn't fight about it or anything, but we all understood that i wouldn't be spending much time there in the future.

Two summers later, i was living on campus in Quincy and working a summer job. Agelseb visited a few times, and once she vented for nearly two hours about her frustrations with Charles. I was not the least bit surprised when she told me that she was in love with him. At the beginning of the fall semester, Charles came up to visit us, and a little clever managing on my part had them agreeing to date each other that very weekend.

Their relationship underwent some weird adjustments at that time. For example, we'd all been friends for years, and thought nothing of cuddling on a couch, or even sharing a bed if necessity dictated. Charles had shared Agelseb's bed at the beginning of the trip, but once they decided that they should date, he moved to the couch. As friends, it was totally normal to say "I love you", but once they started dating that stopped abruptly. Charles didn't want to say "I love you" until they'd been dating for at least six months.

However, they successfully navigated the roadblocks and maintained a tender and loving (and combative) relationship for two years before they broke up.

I don't yet know if they'll ever get back together. What i do know is that their friendship, while initially making dating awkward, enabled them to get through a lot of difficulties. It also made it easier for them to coexist after the breakup. They're at the same school right now, and neither of them really knows anyone else yet. For better or for worse, they're all they've got.

Love comes and goes. Friendship is forever.

Agelseb, part 2

When we were fourteen, Agelseb's parents decided to sell everything and live on a sailboat. True story.

They sold their house, quit their jobs, and drastically downsized their furniture, books, and knick-knacks. The really important and sentimental stuff was put in storage in a shed in my back yard, and a surprising amount of stuff was put on the boat. A 41-foot sailboat has a shocking amount of storage space.

And then they were off.

It was really hard on Agelseb, and she fought it as long and as hard as she could. Imagine being fourteen and taken away from all your friends and family. And it wasn't even like she was moving to a new town, where she could settle in and make new friends and call or email us regularly. They'd be living on a boat, moving around all over the place for three years. And electricity would be both expensive and hard to obtain, so electronic communication would be scarce, and even postcards could only be sent when they were docked somewhere.

Plus, Agelseb and her parents all three suffer from some degree of sea-sickness. So all in all, not a totally awesome plan.

41 feet is not a whole lot of space. It's less when an angry teenager is sharing it with her parents and a dog. It's even less than that when it's a boat, because there's no yard or cars to store extra stuff, and no way to leave the house and get away when you need some space. Your entire world is those 41 feet. On the bright side, they spent a lot of time in warmer climates, like Trinidad and Puerto Rico, so they could be out on the deck or in the water most days. But everything gets damp when you live on a boat, so there's always a faint mildew smell and sometimes your stuff gets ruined and what if you just want to have a milkshake or something? You know that you can't really freeze stuff on a little sailboat? You can't take long showers, either. And in addition to spending your time on schoolwork all alone, you can't go to the mall afterwards and you have to get up late at night to take your turn on watch. Yeah, that's real. It's not just something you have to do in the movies. There are still pirates in the world, not to mention storms and other boats and so forth. Someone has to be on watch at all times. Even if all three of you are puking your guts out.

I visited once, along with Aunt Sis. We stayed for about a month. The boat got even smaller, and our misery was added to by the fact that Aunt Sis is mentally handicapped and didn't really understand why we couldn't turn on the air conditioning. She complained a lot, but we all love her so we did our best to 1) accommodate her requests and make her comfortable and 2) ignore her whining.

Eventually, they decided to cut their trip short. Money was running low, Agelseb had come back for an extended visit and was resisting the return to the sea, and the call of the ocean can eventually be tuned out. They plan to write a book one day, but in the meantime, they pretty much have the monopoly on cool icebreaker stories. Not to mention that Agelseb, while still partly wishing she'd never gone, did appreciate the opportunity to live on a boat and sail the coast of North, South, and Central America. Plus she rarely takes things like hot running water and high speed internet for granted.

Irene

Irene is a Greek name that means peace.

This weekend, the eastern coast of the United States was hit by a hurricane named Irene.

As hurricanes go, Irene was not terrible. Thirty-two deaths have been reported so far, and while more may be discovered as we clean up, the worst that most people are facing seems to be power outages and damage to basement storage.

One of the reported deaths was in the county where i grew up.

This is the first major disaster i have faced since moving away from my family. Despite my generalized anxiety disorder (which is triggered more by social situations or getting lost than physical danger), i was not afraid. I did experience a healthy amount of rational concern, however. I stocked up on candles, got some cash, charged my Kindle and my phone, and settled in for a long weekend of Buffy and Angel marathons. (The Kindle was for in case the power went out.)

However, i was profoundly uncomfortable being away from my loved ones during a time of emergency. My mother and sisters went to a shelter that had been set up in their church. Power was out at their house and the church, but the church had an emergency backup generator. My dad was alone in his apartment, and also experienced some power outages. My boyfriend was at home with his parents, and their power also went out. In my apartment, the lights flickered a little, but other than that we were totally fine.

We all tried to use our phones as little as possible, knowing that we'd have to save the batteries for an emergency and that we didn't want to tie up the lines for people who already had emergencies.

I don't have a smart phone, which means that my battery can pretty much last all day with normal use. Almost everyone else i know has a smart phone, which means that their batteries only last a few hours. So my boyfriend and family were far away and incommunicado.

Although the experience was, for me, anticlimactic (and i am in no way trying to diminish or mock the experiences of those who died or were injured or lost loved ones or suffered some other kind of serious consequence because of Irene), it still hit me hard in a lot of ways.

I'm sort of the dad of my house. I am the one who most often remembers to take out the trash. I am the one who most often remembers to lock the door at night and turn out the lights. I am the one who knows things about fiberglass mesh tape and different kinds of pliers. And when we were preparing for the storm, i was the one who told my roommates that, when Massachusetts is officially in a "state of emergency" and has shut down all public transportation and asked people to stay off of the highways, it's probably not the best time to go to Applebees to watch a UFC match. I was the one who filled up the bathtub so that, if the power went out, we could still flush the toilet. And when the drain on the bathtub wasn't working, i was the one who went to the attic, found an empty plastic storage bin, and filled it with water. When the storm was over i was the one who emptied the bin. Had we experienced any serious storm-related emergencies, i am certain that i would have been the one directing recovery efforts in my apartment.

It's weird to be the adult. It's especially weird to be the adult when you are the youngest person in the house. And it is exceptionally weird to be the adult when there are no other adults you can lean on, or even consult with. I couldn't ask my parents about how to light our gas stove with a lighter if the power went out. I couldn't double-team with my boyfriend to storm-proof the house and make sure that my roommates were safe. I was all on my own.

This post is pretty fragmentary and pointless; i'm mostly just reflecting on my experiences and emotions. So i'll conclude with some fragments of a poem i'm working on, based on a text my boyfriend sent me about a month and a half ago.

if the world is coming to an end
i want to go down in your arms
let the water swirl around us
i'd trade the sunrise for your eyes

I guess my point, which is parenthetical at best, is that even a potential emergency has a way of putting our hearts on our sleeves. We dig down deep to the cores of ourselves and find what matters, find what we're really made of and what we really want. And if we're smart, then when the crisis has passed we hold on to what we've found.

On Eves

When i made the big move from Maryland to Massachusetts, my mom packed up an SUV with all the things i'd had in storage at her house. I spend the next few days (or rather, weeks -- no, let's be honest -- months) figuring out what to keep and where and why and what to do with the things i no longer wanted. In all the unpacking and repacking and putting away and sorting through of the first seventeen years of my life, i came across a few surprises. I found things i thought i'd thrown away, things i'd forgotten i was working on, things i couldn't believe i'd ever cared about.

One of my surprises was a piece of notebook paper from high school. I'd written a few thoughts the night before my graduation, and had titled the piece "Graduation Eve". The first paragraph is rambly, pretentious, and bad, but the second one is decent, and has become even more meaningful to me in the five years that have passed since i wrote it.

6/9/06
Tomorrow, everything changes. You are still you, but now you are in a new environment. Even if you haven't actually gone anywhere, you are still "a stranger in a strange land". Your whole geography has somehow shifted, and you foresee this on that magic night. That night, if any, is the night when wishes come true, but the one wish that will not be granted is to go back, because now more than ever, you must move on.

It's not quite the eve of anything now, but the first day of school is fast approaching. Many of my friends will be going back to their undergraduate courses. But some of them will not. Some of them will not be returning to Quincy at all. And as for me, i'll be going to graduate classes. Yes, it will still be in the same buildings. Yes, it will be with some of my old classmates. But it will only be two classes a week, at night.

Everything is different now. I'm learning that by degrees.

I don't think growing up is something that happens. Not all at once. It's something that slips over you gradually, in tiny moments and realizations. And it never ends. You never reach a point where you're done growing up, where you've fully arrived.

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say. -- J. R. R. Tolkien

Beer Street

My housemates and i have started a new blog. It's like Texts From Last Night meets Shit My Dad Says meets The Jersey Shore. Read it.

love languages

Quality time:
John and i spend a lot of quality time together. Recently, we were sitting on my couch while dinner cooked. We were each playing our own game on our own computer. We were not watching TV together, we were not playing a game together, we were not cuddling. We were not even talking. But we were together. We each knew that the other person was there, and it was enough to simply be together in that moment.

We also eat meals together. We go on walks together. We spend time with friends, we go to concerts and plays, we go to church, we sit and talk, we watch movies. Quality time is important to a relationship. Whether participating in a specific event or simply being in the same room while you each do your own thing, the act of occupying the same physical space is powerful and wonderful.

Physical Touch:
This isn't just sex. This is when John and i are driving somewhere and i reach over to run my fingers through his hair. This is when we're at lunch with friends and he touches my knee under the table. This is when we're watching a movie and i lean against him. This is when i roll over in my sleep and he rolls over too, because even asleep he wants to be near me.

This is a simple expression of emotional intimacy. Skin-on-skin contact speaks volumes, and while we still don't fully understand everything about touch communication, we know that it is important and instinctive.

Gifts:
This is more than materialism. This is about sentimentality, tangibility, and permanence. I save everything, even ticket stubs from shows that John has been involved with, because they are a tangible reminder of something special that we shared. Yes, big sparkly diamonds are nice, and they are certainly also a tangible expression of memories and affection, but a gift can be an expression of love even if it is only flowers that you picked from your mother's yard (and John has brought me such flowers twice). Spending a lot of money on someone really does make a statement about your perception of their worth. But so does spending a lot of time making something for them, or spending a lot of energy to find the perfect greeting card.

Gifts are important because you can keep them. Quality time passes by, physical touch is fleeting, words are forgotten and acts of kindness come to an end, but gifts can be preserved. I still have gifts from old boyfriends that i don't even talk to anymore, because they are tangible memories of significant relationships. The relationship may not be in my life anymore, but it was important once, and it is partially responsible for me becoming who i am today.

Acts of kindness:
A few weeks ago, i came home from work to find the kitchen in shambles. We had all been up late the night before and had not cleaned the kitchen before going to bed, and the evening was full of gym trips and social engagements for my roommates. That left me to clean the kitchen or to not eat dinner. Before anything could be cooked or eaten, the dishwasher needed to be emptied and the dishes put away, the dishes in the sink needed to be put in the dishwasher, and several things needed to be washed by hand. The counters needed to be wiped down, the trash needed to be taken out, the stove needed to be cleaned, and the floor needed to be swept and Swiffered.

As i began unloading the dishwasher, John began washing the dishes in the sink. He had not dirtied any of them. I had not asked him to help. I was complaining about the fact that my roommates hadn't done anything in the kitchen, but i was not dropping hints. But he helped me anyway, because i was tired and stressed and he wanted to make my life better.

Words of affirmation:
This one is the most important one to me, but everyone is different. I express myself most easily and understand others most clearly through words. This is why i write letters, this is why i ask questions, this is why it kills me that i don't have a word to express how i feel. There is far less ambiguity in words than in anything else. A touch on the arm could be affectionate or accidental. Helping me with the dishes could be an act of love or a desire to hurry up and get the kitchen clean already so i can make your dinner. A gift could be meaningless to you, whatever significance it has to me, and quality time could simply be killing time until something happens. But words are what they are.

I save text messages and post-it notes from John. This poem was written almost entirely from those texts, notes, and actual out-loud conversations. Words matter to me. Gifts are great. Spending time together is great. Doing nice things for one another is great. Physical affection is great (actually, physical affection with John is amazing). They say that actions speak louder than words. But words speak more clearly.

the old house

From the age of four to the age of thirteen, i lived in a new house, built in a new development. It used to be farmland, and our property still bordered a soybean field. When we moved in, we were the only house in the development. By the time we moved out, there were four or five distinct neighborhoods and no more empty lots.

I had my own room. When we moved in, my brother was two and my mom was pregnant with one of my sisters. I lived in a tiny room downstairs while the upstairs was being finished. In the nine years we lived there, both of my sisters were born, and Aunt Sis moved in. It was the first place that my whole family all lived in together. My sisters shared an upstairs room, and i had another upstairs room to myself.

Nostalgia has a way of making everything rose-colored. The house was not great. It was not very pretty, the upkeep was expensive, we had occasional problems with mice and spiders, the openness of our surroundings left us vulnerable to some very damaging storms (including tornadoes and wind storms), and we lived outside of the delivery zone of all of the restaurants.

But it was home.

What i remember most about that house was its seemingly endless capacity. There were only four of us when we moved in, but the house often sheltered up to ten people at a time, and seven of us lived there full-time. I had cousins who were homeschooled with us and therefore practically lived with us, we had several exchange students, and of course there was Aunt Sis. Whenever we had a need, the house met it. When Aunt Sis moved in, we added on a garage with an apartment over it for her. When we got our first exchange student, he took my room and i moved into an alcove in my sisters' room, which was curtained off into a tiny but servicable space that belonged just to me. When we began homeschooling, we fixed up one part of the basement into a school room, complete with a huge dry erase board and lots of bookshelves. When my dad decided to start his own business, another part of the basement was set aside for his office. Yet another basement space became my brother's bedroom a few years later. And there was still space in the basement for storage, laundry, and a play-space under the stairs.

There was a secret room in my closet, under the eaves. There were apple trees whose fruit was always bitter, though whether this was due to the youth of the trees or the impatience of the harvesters (my siblings and i) was never satisfactorily determined. There were blueberry trees whose fruit was always sweet and plentiful. There was a swingset, a pool, and a plastic playhouse that we happily deconstructed and rebuilt into several exciting new configurations over the years.

I've lived in houses that i liked better, but none with quite the same magical ability to expand to meet our needs. I've lived in houses with better memories, but none with more nostalgia. I've lived in houses where more significant life changes took place, but none with untarnished memories of my whole family together. We moved to a new house a few years before the divorce took place. That old house is the first and last one where we all lived together.

One day, i will have a new home. My husband and i will argue over paint samples, and will hang new light fixtures, and will mow our lawn. We'll install a doggy door, and fix up rooms for our kids, and decide where to put the swimming pool and the swingset. But there is a part of me that will always know that my home is in the old house. I can only hope that my future home will have half the welcomingness of that one, will have half the willingness to expand. I can only hope that my future children will know that there is at least one place in the world that is limited only by their imaginations.

roots and wings

I spent the first seventeen years of my life on the Eastern shore of the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland. It's a beautiful area of the country, with Colonial houses, majestic rivers, sailboats, wildlife, cornfields, star-studded skies, and lots of rednecks.

I loved growing up there. I loved living near the river, smelling the marsh mud (nostalgia always smells sweet, whatever the reality) and watching the herons. I loved the feeling of endless space, of clean horizons. The corn and soybean fields went on forever, except where interrupted by deer or some picturesque trees. I loved eating fresh fish and venison. I loved eating corn-on-the-cob from my great aunt's garden, and steamed crabs from the Bay. I loved the black-eyed susans, the brick sidewalks, the heavy humidity, the scrapple, the biscuits with dried beef gravy, and the Ravens. (How can you not like a team named in honor of Edgar Allen Poe?)

I love my family. My mom's side of the family is large, loud, and invasively affectionate. They will feed anyone who enters the door (or even anyone who comes near the property line; my grandmother has frequently made plates of sandwiches, watermelon, and leftover cake for the garbage men). They all live within a twenty-mile radius of one another. They all talk at the same time. They all bicker constantly. They all pry into my private life. Several of them are outstanding cooks. They have all given me money at least once, whether as a gift for graduation/birthday/other special occasion or just because i am young and sometimes tight on cash. I have crashed on their couches, bummed rides to work with them, accepted hand-me-down furniture from them, politely turned down hideous hand-me-down furniture from them, and become friends with them on Facebook. And i have only had to put one of them on restricted access so far.

I love my immediate family, too. But my dad lives in Delaware. My brother is in Afghanistan. One of my sisters is only a year away from graduating and starting college, and the other one is seven and a half years younger than i am. As we both grow older, that gap matters less and less, but twenty-one and fourteen are still worlds apart. My mother's recent marriage to a guy i barely know makes the house even more awkward to be in. I no longer have my own bedroom, so i stay in my brother's room with all of his half-packed things from college and childhood.

And after a while, those endless horizons start to feel oppressive. Sure, you have no limits, but that also means that you have nowhere to go. My town has one movie theater. The second nearest one is thirty miles away. The nearest mall and Walmart are in the same town as the second movie theater. There are no museums, no concert venues, no public transportation, and no Starbucks.

Yeah. That's actually the whole town.

I have spent the last four years of my life near Boston.

I can see Boston from my roof (though not as clearly as in the above image). There are four coffee shops within walking distance of my apartment, as well as two cupcake shops, several bars and restaurants, and a Marshalls. And a five-minute walk brings me to the train, which can take me anywhere i want in Boston. I can go to theaters and museums, attend concerts, shop, tour the historic Red Line, eat fabulous food, and pretend that i go to Harvard. This 4th of July, my roommates and i hosted a cookout which culminated in watching fireworks from our roof, over the Boston skyline.

My family isn't so very far away, and they're not even in a different time zone, so it's not terribly difficult to talk to or visit them. The only real difficulty is that, as i mentioned before, i'm not the only one who no longer lives in my mom's house. But we make it work.

I have lots of friends here. I have a job here (for now, anyway). I'm enrolled in grad school. I have a church family. I have a boyfriend. I have a cat.

There are a lot of things that keep me here. There are a lot of memories, a lot of possibilities, and a lot of really delicious cupcakes across the street from my apartment.

But sometimes, when i'm sitting on the roof and gazing at the Boston skyline, i hunger for stars. Sometimes, when i'm at the beach with friends, i think of Maryland blue crabs steamed with Old Bay and my mouth waters. I long for thunderstorms that make the windows rattle and that last for hours. I long for humidity so intense you can barely move. I long for old men in pickup trucks who wave (in a friendly, non-creepy way) when they see you out for a walk. I long for my family, blowing my personal bubble to smithereens with their very presences. I long for goose-calls in the fall, for Queen Anne's lace in the summer, for mild winters where school is canceled because of forecasted flurries, for springtime full of wildflowers.

My roots run deep and my wings reach far. At times i feel like i will be torn in two by the opposing forces.

When i was sixteen, my dad took me out to dinner to give me a blessing, Old Testament-style. He said a lot of really great things, but the one that stuck was that i was a willow tree. He told me that willows look beautiful and graceful and delicate, but that their beauty conceals an iron strength. The roots of willow trees often force their way through concrete barriers into swimming pools or drainage pipes, all in a quest for water. They are tough enough to break mower blades. They are very tenacious and difficult to remove.

My dad said, "You are a willow. You won't let anything get between you and the things that you want and need. You will break through any barrier, block any blow, and hang on to the very end." The way that he talked about roots made them sound almost like wings. I liked that.

I have written before about my swallow tattoo, about how the swallow uses its wings to return home. When i read about swallows, their wings sounded almost like roots. I liked that.

I don't know what the future holds. I can't say that i will never again live in Maryland. I can't say that i will live in Massachusetts forever. I can say that, wherever i live, i will be torn. I will feel out-of-place and homesick. I will dig in my roots, desperate for sustenance and refreshment, and i will spread my wings, longing for the next horizon.

I could get used to this . . .

I've been to a few Christian concert events, like Soulfest, and i went to an Amy Grant concert when i was in middle school. But i've never been to a real concert, one where my friends and i said, "Hey, this band we like is playing in our town. Let's buy tickets and go!"

Until last night.

A group of my friends decided to go to the Owl City concert, opened by Unwed Sailor and Mat Kerney. It was at the House of Blues in Boston.

We wanted to make sure that we'd get a good spot, somewhere near the stage, so we showed up three hours early, prepared to sit on the sidewalk in the heat and humidity until the doors opened. We were a big group of friends, we all had phones and digital entertainment devices, some of us even had food and drinks. So we figured we'd be fine. Sure, it wouldn't be as nice as sitting on squishy, overstuffed couches, in air conditioning, with waitresses bringing us cool drinks. But we didn't mind and had decided it was worthwhile if we got a good spot for the concert. We had just settled in when this big guy in a suit came out of the building and offered us free passes to the VIP lounge. Believe me when i tell you that it is even cooler looking when you're there than it is in the pictures.

We sat on squishy, overstuffed couches, in air conditioning, with waitresses bringing us cool drinks. (Of course, we had to pay for the food and drinks, but for a VIP lounge they were pretty reasonably priced). There were bathrooms, there was free WiFi, and we still got to be some of the first people in.

It's surprising how quickly you can become accustomed to luxury. I'm now wondering why people don't offer me free exclusive passes to fancy things and places more often. I'm wondering how i can make this a part of my regular life. "What? Waiting in line at Dunkin Donuts? Isn't there a secret back room where i can sit until my order is ready to be brought to me on a tray?"

I can tell you this much: i'm going to be three hours early to everything for the rest of my life from now on.

conversations

Some things just need to be archived.

Emily: "I don't fit in well with people."
Jennifer: "I would say, 'Join the club,' but that would be counter-intuitive."

Emily: "What does Alex do, exactly?"
Matthew: "Freshmen."
KP: "You're a very humble, mild, well-mannered young man. We'll have to work on that."

Andrew: "I am 23.25 years old. My life is not a competition. There is no award for how sucky your day was compared to mine."

Jennifer: "Even starving Africans aren't going to eat a chocolate rabbit ass-first."

Bridget: "I just feel bad for the people who have to write the science text books. They must feel so awkward typing up that stuff (the chapter on human reproduction). Although maybe they like it. My mom really liked it. I mean -- not that part! I mean she really liked learning about it!"
Sheila: "Wait, what part did your mom like learning about?"
Bridget: "The . . . the reproduction (whispered) you know. The intercourse stuff."
Sheila: "So your mom didn't like having intercourse?"
Bridget: "I don't know!!"

Jennifer (to a mosquito): "Bitch. What are you doing here? Didn't you see the citronella candle?"

Pam: "He can also make his foot into a fist."
Jennifer: "Well, that's a handy skill to have, in case he's ever in a fight and he breaks both of his hands."

Pam: "The internet is being a whore."
Jennifer: "No, if it was being a whore, it would be easier to use."

Pam: "As our friendship grows, so does your butt."
Jennifer: "You realize this means you guys will have to be roommates forever? For fear it might deflate when she moves out."

George: "My life is a sad spiral of hate and lies. And gay porn."