There were two fires in two days in Chicago this week. The trains have been a mess because of them. I find it odd that they are both so large and disruptive and happened so close together...call me a sassy Nam Vet, but I think its a conspiracy. I think arson is involved and these people lighting these fires are trying to say something. If we all shut up and listen real close, I think we can hear what they are saying, just faintly...fuck all y'all and your stinkin train commutes!
You are right, arsonists! We should not be so hurried to get home. We should enjoy lounging on the platform for a few good minutes (20 to be exact) and read our books, enjoy our carefully selected i-tunes, find comfort in bitching with others about the delays...really take in the good life, you know?
Also, it brings people together. People forced to be nose to nose on the train. Bumping and apologizing all over the place. What spirit this brings to the Big City! And how!
Anyway, stop lighting fires so close to train lines. Its pissing us off. Thanks arsonists. Stay cool. (get it? HA!)
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
A friend of mine was kind enough to reach into my hair while I was bent over and grabbing something out of my bag, pluck a HUGE spiny, dried out grey hair out of its dead follicle, and present it to me as a sort of birthday gift. She said "here you go," or "take a look at that," or something like that, with a big smile on her face. But I didn't even hear her. I just stared at the foreign body between my trembling fingers.
Now I know grey hair shouldn't be a big deal. I guess it is just a part of the aging process. But I am someone who happens to be terrified of getting old, and I happen to be in a bit of an emotional period in my life, and I happen to have never seen a grey hair on my head until that moment. So needless to say, I was a mess.
I honestly was brought to tears by this discovery. My friend of course felt terrible. She thought it was funny because she has many grey hairs, and she was sure I had seen at least one or two already, being the ancient 27 years old I am. But no. She unknowingly pulled out my first and hopefully only one. And got the scare of her life when it brought me to depths of depression as a result. I kept a hold on my tears, unwilling to let them spill. But it was a fine line. They danced on the rims of my eyelids. But not a single drop actually stained my face. Thank the Lord.
I guess I am letting my sadness get the best of me lately. It could be the darkness, the cold, the icy wind unwilling to let me enjoy my time outside and instead confining me to the small surface area of my apartment. I had done well for myself, I think. I was not very sad for about two months. I was freaking out, sure, but it was at a tolerable level I could handle. Now I am feeling a little paralyzed. I will push through it soon, I am sure, but for now it sure is annoying.
I think it was aggrivated by a sudden feeling of utter loneliness. I don't want to be friends with people who don't think I am important enough in their lives to make an effort for me. Why even bother? I am getting to a point where I think I want to let go of people who I don't hear from for a while...stop trying to keep in touch with walls that don't reach out to me as well. I really feel like I don't have a true friend in my vicinity anymore...someone who I can depend on, at least. Even those people I feel close to, I know if I really needed them, unless I was dying on the side of the road, they might be too busy. And I am a culprit too. I don't always make myself available to people when they need me. But usually I will try to make up for it if it happens, make a concerted effort to call or see them as soon as I can. I call even if it has been a while. I don't remember the last time someone did the same.
I think there are friends that fall into the "They just aren't that into you" category. And I am the girl who thinks (wrongly) that the excuses are because they really care, they were just too busy. But really, if they cared, they would make time. Somehow. Maybe not when I wanted it, but sometime soon after. When someone really wants to be with you, they find a way. And so with pals, if they really enjoyed your company and valued you, they would find a way. A lot of my friends "just aren't that into me," not as much as I am into them, I guess. And that is a hard thing to come to terms with, much like it is in a couple situation.
We are also all quite self centered now, in this life. I see it in the people close to me all the time. And sometimes in myself as well. Will that phase ever end? Or is that the only way we can be in this cutthroat capitalistic and cruel society? We have to focus on us or we will not be payed attention to by the world... we will slip through the cracks...
All this makes me wanna just lay down and sleep away the sadness.
Jeez I am so goth right now.
Ugh.
Now I know grey hair shouldn't be a big deal. I guess it is just a part of the aging process. But I am someone who happens to be terrified of getting old, and I happen to be in a bit of an emotional period in my life, and I happen to have never seen a grey hair on my head until that moment. So needless to say, I was a mess.
I honestly was brought to tears by this discovery. My friend of course felt terrible. She thought it was funny because she has many grey hairs, and she was sure I had seen at least one or two already, being the ancient 27 years old I am. But no. She unknowingly pulled out my first and hopefully only one. And got the scare of her life when it brought me to depths of depression as a result. I kept a hold on my tears, unwilling to let them spill. But it was a fine line. They danced on the rims of my eyelids. But not a single drop actually stained my face. Thank the Lord.
I guess I am letting my sadness get the best of me lately. It could be the darkness, the cold, the icy wind unwilling to let me enjoy my time outside and instead confining me to the small surface area of my apartment. I had done well for myself, I think. I was not very sad for about two months. I was freaking out, sure, but it was at a tolerable level I could handle. Now I am feeling a little paralyzed. I will push through it soon, I am sure, but for now it sure is annoying.
I think it was aggrivated by a sudden feeling of utter loneliness. I don't want to be friends with people who don't think I am important enough in their lives to make an effort for me. Why even bother? I am getting to a point where I think I want to let go of people who I don't hear from for a while...stop trying to keep in touch with walls that don't reach out to me as well. I really feel like I don't have a true friend in my vicinity anymore...someone who I can depend on, at least. Even those people I feel close to, I know if I really needed them, unless I was dying on the side of the road, they might be too busy. And I am a culprit too. I don't always make myself available to people when they need me. But usually I will try to make up for it if it happens, make a concerted effort to call or see them as soon as I can. I call even if it has been a while. I don't remember the last time someone did the same.
I think there are friends that fall into the "They just aren't that into you" category. And I am the girl who thinks (wrongly) that the excuses are because they really care, they were just too busy. But really, if they cared, they would make time. Somehow. Maybe not when I wanted it, but sometime soon after. When someone really wants to be with you, they find a way. And so with pals, if they really enjoyed your company and valued you, they would find a way. A lot of my friends "just aren't that into me," not as much as I am into them, I guess. And that is a hard thing to come to terms with, much like it is in a couple situation.
We are also all quite self centered now, in this life. I see it in the people close to me all the time. And sometimes in myself as well. Will that phase ever end? Or is that the only way we can be in this cutthroat capitalistic and cruel society? We have to focus on us or we will not be payed attention to by the world... we will slip through the cracks...
All this makes me wanna just lay down and sleep away the sadness.
Jeez I am so goth right now.
Ugh.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
I am Celebrating my 20th Blog by writing in a HUGE font!!!!!!!!
YeeeHawww!
Ok enough of that.
I miss my mother. I do.
I was at my boring temp job, endlessly sealing envelopes, and I was reading a literary magazine called "The Sun" to keep my brain cells active and my eyes open. There is a section called "Readers Write" where people submit short pieces about their experiences with a given topic.It is a wonderfully fresh and interesting section of the magazine, full of many voices and perspectives.
It seemed like there were about 3 or 4 stories in a row about mothers and the sacrifices they made, or their childrens' attempts to connect with them before they die, or how old and decrepid they have gotten in their old age, but how beautiful they still are. I kept coming across these heartfelt tales and being moved to near tears...mostly because I am at a highly emotional time of the month, but also because I am reminded of my own mother and how far away she is. I haven't lived near my mother since I was 17, but I at least saw her every few months in California. Now I see her once a year. Barely. And sometimes I have a clear image of her in the near future as a very old lady, and she is beautiful like the ladies in the stories I read.
Then you know what I do when she calls? I talk for a while, try to relate to her, then end up annoyed and hastily hanging up. I push her away when she is right there ready to talk. After I just lamented on how I wish I could see her more, I am turned into instant brat when one thing she says sets me off. It is ridiculous. I don't understand it. And I know I am not alone with this. Lots of people my age have difficulty seeing family, yet living so far away, we crave it incessantly.
Maybe it is not the family we miss, it's the sense of belonging, the ease of childhood. The comfort. And we may not ever be able to get that back. Maybe we can only try to recreate it by having a family of our own, and becoming that stable comfort for someone else. I guess that idea makes me understand the appeal of children for some people. A way to reach out to that life you miss, and be on the giving end this time, which I am sure is just as rewarding.
After all this, I guess I am really looking forward to visiting my family in California at Christmas. I think even if I get irritated with them, I am going to try to remember how much I missed them while I was here, and push against that feeling.
Family is so weird. As are the emotions they bring out in us, good and bad.
YeeeHawww!
Ok enough of that.
I miss my mother. I do.
I was at my boring temp job, endlessly sealing envelopes, and I was reading a literary magazine called "The Sun" to keep my brain cells active and my eyes open. There is a section called "Readers Write" where people submit short pieces about their experiences with a given topic.It is a wonderfully fresh and interesting section of the magazine, full of many voices and perspectives.
It seemed like there were about 3 or 4 stories in a row about mothers and the sacrifices they made, or their childrens' attempts to connect with them before they die, or how old and decrepid they have gotten in their old age, but how beautiful they still are. I kept coming across these heartfelt tales and being moved to near tears...mostly because I am at a highly emotional time of the month, but also because I am reminded of my own mother and how far away she is. I haven't lived near my mother since I was 17, but I at least saw her every few months in California. Now I see her once a year. Barely. And sometimes I have a clear image of her in the near future as a very old lady, and she is beautiful like the ladies in the stories I read.
Then you know what I do when she calls? I talk for a while, try to relate to her, then end up annoyed and hastily hanging up. I push her away when she is right there ready to talk. After I just lamented on how I wish I could see her more, I am turned into instant brat when one thing she says sets me off. It is ridiculous. I don't understand it. And I know I am not alone with this. Lots of people my age have difficulty seeing family, yet living so far away, we crave it incessantly.
Maybe it is not the family we miss, it's the sense of belonging, the ease of childhood. The comfort. And we may not ever be able to get that back. Maybe we can only try to recreate it by having a family of our own, and becoming that stable comfort for someone else. I guess that idea makes me understand the appeal of children for some people. A way to reach out to that life you miss, and be on the giving end this time, which I am sure is just as rewarding.
After all this, I guess I am really looking forward to visiting my family in California at Christmas. I think even if I get irritated with them, I am going to try to remember how much I missed them while I was here, and push against that feeling.
Family is so weird. As are the emotions they bring out in us, good and bad.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Mustaches Making a Comeback!!! (no, not the good kind)
The topic of female mustaches has come up a few times this week, either in conversation or right in front of my face. Now, I have nothing against mustaches, but when I see a woman with one, I have to wonder--doesn't she KNOW? Doesn't she CARE?
I happen to have friends who are cursed with some dark facial hair above their luscious sexy womanly lips (as if PMS isn't enough to deal with!). Now these lovely ladies are aware of their genetic disposition and take measures to keep things under control. Nair or whatever the kids use these days...
And I never really thought about how good it is that they do this, until I started at my new temp job. There is a woman I will not specify that has very pale skin and a very clear black mustache across her upper lip. I think she may be Italian or even Jewish, and let's face it, both backgrounds provide quite a hairy disposition. Yet she seems not to notice. I think she is the type that would care if she realized how gross it looked. But for some reason she is oblivious. I cannot help but stare at it when she is assigning me my newest slave project. I feel like she is a little woman Hitler with that black stuff going on, dictating what I do for the day.
I am lucky enough to be for the most part hairless, but I know if I suffered a different fate, I would shave that shit. I have a guy friend who shared that he once dated a girl with a tiny mustache, and every now and then he could feel it when he kissed her. He confessed that sometimes it really sicked him out. But he couldn't say anything because he didn't want to upset her.
Why should we all continue to be upset to spare one poor girl from being upset for maybe a day or two (before she shaves that shit)? She will get over it and thank us later. And we get to stop being grossed out whenever milk gets caught in her mustache, making it glisten in the light.
Lets end the female mustache once and for all, people. Tell someone you love to get over her man hair and save us all a little awkwardness every day.
The topic of female mustaches has come up a few times this week, either in conversation or right in front of my face. Now, I have nothing against mustaches, but when I see a woman with one, I have to wonder--doesn't she KNOW? Doesn't she CARE?
I happen to have friends who are cursed with some dark facial hair above their luscious sexy womanly lips (as if PMS isn't enough to deal with!). Now these lovely ladies are aware of their genetic disposition and take measures to keep things under control. Nair or whatever the kids use these days...
And I never really thought about how good it is that they do this, until I started at my new temp job. There is a woman I will not specify that has very pale skin and a very clear black mustache across her upper lip. I think she may be Italian or even Jewish, and let's face it, both backgrounds provide quite a hairy disposition. Yet she seems not to notice. I think she is the type that would care if she realized how gross it looked. But for some reason she is oblivious. I cannot help but stare at it when she is assigning me my newest slave project. I feel like she is a little woman Hitler with that black stuff going on, dictating what I do for the day.
I am lucky enough to be for the most part hairless, but I know if I suffered a different fate, I would shave that shit. I have a guy friend who shared that he once dated a girl with a tiny mustache, and every now and then he could feel it when he kissed her. He confessed that sometimes it really sicked him out. But he couldn't say anything because he didn't want to upset her.
Why should we all continue to be upset to spare one poor girl from being upset for maybe a day or two (before she shaves that shit)? She will get over it and thank us later. And we get to stop being grossed out whenever milk gets caught in her mustache, making it glisten in the light.
Lets end the female mustache once and for all, people. Tell someone you love to get over her man hair and save us all a little awkwardness every day.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Seventeen thousand papercuts later I am done with another excruciating day of stuffing envelopes for idiots. I swear I am not a temp, I am a chump they hired for slave labor. They must do this every year to some poor unsuspecting new temp. I was the goat this time. Damn. Well, lesson learned.
There is this thing happening recently online with some other blogs and with real world friends too. This sudden crisis about life. I mean, its always THERE, but maybe its the drastic change in weather or I don't know what, but people are getting laid off and hating their new job transitions and freaking out A LOT about money. And I am right there with them. How does one do all this living business? I mean the business of making one. Making a living does not seem much like living to me. It is quite the opposite. I feel like I lived more when I waitressed because at least I could make more money if I really wanted and there were always two good days for every miserable one...and there is the whole 5-6 hr shift thing that was nice. Actually I am surprised I don't mind the grind hours as much as I thought I would...its just the money that shocks and appalls me. How do I live off this? Let alone save?
Ok ok blah blah blah
Lets do something that will cheer me up. A list!
Ok...um...how about things I WON'T be for Halloween:
1. 26
2. alone
3. sober (yay!)
4. a "sexy" _____. (fill in whatever occupation normally isn't sexy but gets made sexy for a girlie girl to enjoy her Halloween and get gawked at like she hopes)
5. A republican
6. Michael Jackson
7. Pee Wee Herman (sigh* maybe next year...)
8. Pennywise (ew clowns!)
9. a terd (again)
10. warm (this is Chicago, folks)
11. Hungry (I will most likely get a free meal of some sort from some kind friend)
12. Amish (bad costume this year)
13. Bored (there is always something going on in the city! That is the beauty!)
Happy birthday to me!
PS I am finally going to be a Scarecrow this year, something I wanted to do for a long time but never got around to because of numerous complications. I am gonna be damn cute!
There is this thing happening recently online with some other blogs and with real world friends too. This sudden crisis about life. I mean, its always THERE, but maybe its the drastic change in weather or I don't know what, but people are getting laid off and hating their new job transitions and freaking out A LOT about money. And I am right there with them. How does one do all this living business? I mean the business of making one. Making a living does not seem much like living to me. It is quite the opposite. I feel like I lived more when I waitressed because at least I could make more money if I really wanted and there were always two good days for every miserable one...and there is the whole 5-6 hr shift thing that was nice. Actually I am surprised I don't mind the grind hours as much as I thought I would...its just the money that shocks and appalls me. How do I live off this? Let alone save?
Ok ok blah blah blah
Lets do something that will cheer me up. A list!
Ok...um...how about things I WON'T be for Halloween:
1. 26
2. alone
3. sober (yay!)
4. a "sexy" _____. (fill in whatever occupation normally isn't sexy but gets made sexy for a girlie girl to enjoy her Halloween and get gawked at like she hopes)
5. A republican
6. Michael Jackson
7. Pee Wee Herman (sigh* maybe next year...)
8. Pennywise (ew clowns!)
9. a terd (again)
10. warm (this is Chicago, folks)
11. Hungry (I will most likely get a free meal of some sort from some kind friend)
12. Amish (bad costume this year)
13. Bored (there is always something going on in the city! That is the beauty!)
Happy birthday to me!
PS I am finally going to be a Scarecrow this year, something I wanted to do for a long time but never got around to because of numerous complications. I am gonna be damn cute!
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
WARNING!!! The following post is a rant vomit session that you may not want to read for fear it may overwhelm you as much as it did the writer of such filth...proceed with caution:
I have discovered a dilemma with temping. While mindlessly stuffing papers into envelopes and listening to Mike Doughty and the Garden State sountrack for the 18th time in a row on my ghetto MP3 player, I realized that this office work I was doing wasn't mindless. It is mind-full! As in, my mind started to wander into the bad places I try to avoid. Like the places where I get sad and keep thinking about how much my life blows and jesus will I ever be able to afford the things I want, and why am I even here doing this, why aren't I traveling or writing or helping starving children eat some porriage or something!
Then I can't get the thoughts out. They have become a force not to be reckoned with. They dance and laugh at me, swirling in my head like so many brain tumors. I start to let Zack Bratt's music choice effect my mood as well, and suddenly I am almost weeping because right when I realize I am turning 27 in 21 days I hear the lyric "Let go, what are you waiting for, there is beauty in the breakdown...." And so I follow the advice and am now tearing up for reals, oh god, yeah, I am really gonna cry here at this stupid freaking HR desk that isn't even mine. While I stuff pamphlets into envelopes. Pamphlets about the risks of being fat stuffed into envelopes to be mailed to fat people. Oh god this is terrible. I want to leave. I can't leave. I have to make money. I can't even afford to take a class to better myself and get myself the hell out of this situation of having way too much brains and not enough experience to get a real thinking job, instead I have to sit here and do what monkeys could do. And know that I could be actually utilized so much better somewhere else but no one would ever give me a chance because who the fuck am I???
Ok so that was a taste of the bad places my brain went today. Now it is a bit more clear why I choose to avoid these places.
But temping is now a portal to hell, as far as I am concerned. I just think about all the no money I am making and being unhappy. And I feel very stuck though I know I am not. I know I can just "let go, jump in, what am I waiting for?" But somehow even knowing that congnatively, I am paralyzed. I have concrete slabs on my feet and move a lot slower with them. These slabs are made of insecurity and fear. Hooray! help!
I have discovered a dilemma with temping. While mindlessly stuffing papers into envelopes and listening to Mike Doughty and the Garden State sountrack for the 18th time in a row on my ghetto MP3 player, I realized that this office work I was doing wasn't mindless. It is mind-full! As in, my mind started to wander into the bad places I try to avoid. Like the places where I get sad and keep thinking about how much my life blows and jesus will I ever be able to afford the things I want, and why am I even here doing this, why aren't I traveling or writing or helping starving children eat some porriage or something!
Then I can't get the thoughts out. They have become a force not to be reckoned with. They dance and laugh at me, swirling in my head like so many brain tumors. I start to let Zack Bratt's music choice effect my mood as well, and suddenly I am almost weeping because right when I realize I am turning 27 in 21 days I hear the lyric "Let go, what are you waiting for, there is beauty in the breakdown...." And so I follow the advice and am now tearing up for reals, oh god, yeah, I am really gonna cry here at this stupid freaking HR desk that isn't even mine. While I stuff pamphlets into envelopes. Pamphlets about the risks of being fat stuffed into envelopes to be mailed to fat people. Oh god this is terrible. I want to leave. I can't leave. I have to make money. I can't even afford to take a class to better myself and get myself the hell out of this situation of having way too much brains and not enough experience to get a real thinking job, instead I have to sit here and do what monkeys could do. And know that I could be actually utilized so much better somewhere else but no one would ever give me a chance because who the fuck am I???
Ok so that was a taste of the bad places my brain went today. Now it is a bit more clear why I choose to avoid these places.
But temping is now a portal to hell, as far as I am concerned. I just think about all the no money I am making and being unhappy. And I feel very stuck though I know I am not. I know I can just "let go, jump in, what am I waiting for?" But somehow even knowing that congnatively, I am paralyzed. I have concrete slabs on my feet and move a lot slower with them. These slabs are made of insecurity and fear. Hooray! help!
Monday, October 09, 2006
Another day of temping passes through my fingertips.
I worked at Whole Foods today. I filed my sweet little ass off. It was as boring as golf, I tell you. It did not help that I started my day off getting a coffee at 7-11. This is never a wise choice and I should remember that. But sometimes I am daring and adventurous in the bad kind of way, and I challenge what I already know to be true. So the coffee. It was called French Roast and I doused it with french vanilla creamer, as I have many times before. And the resulting concoction tasted exactly like what I imagine piss would taste like. Warm and uriney. It was awful. So my morning started off sour like pee.
And it will hopefully end bitter like beer, for that is where I am headed now. To beerland. Or my local pub. Whatever you wanna call it.
I worked at Whole Foods today. I filed my sweet little ass off. It was as boring as golf, I tell you. It did not help that I started my day off getting a coffee at 7-11. This is never a wise choice and I should remember that. But sometimes I am daring and adventurous in the bad kind of way, and I challenge what I already know to be true. So the coffee. It was called French Roast and I doused it with french vanilla creamer, as I have many times before. And the resulting concoction tasted exactly like what I imagine piss would taste like. Warm and uriney. It was awful. So my morning started off sour like pee.
And it will hopefully end bitter like beer, for that is where I am headed now. To beerland. Or my local pub. Whatever you wanna call it.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
People who have big, boistrious laughs tend to reach higher positions in companies. That is what I have realized today, as another boring office day goes by. Whenever the head of the department laughs, bodies jump in their seats all across the floor. Hers is a laugh that is both jarring and infectious. Quieter women in their cubicles full of Disney characters say things like "Something really funny must be going on over there," and you can hear the envy and curiosity in their meek little voices. Everyone wishes they could be so free, so comfortable and genuinely amused that they could just burst forth such a loud cackle. Even I am momentarily distracted from my very important labeling job.
I think these people who laugh loud are in positions of power because they make everyone around them feel like the funniest person alive. Also, when you are "in on the joke," you get to know the reason for the big laugh and this is pleasing to most people who want to feel important or part of a group. These big laughers make everyone feel "cool."
I know a girl who always seems to get promoted quickly, even when SHE herself isn't quite sure she is qualified to be in whatever position it is. She is a widely known loud laugher, and I think somehow this, along with her obvious charm, has catapulted her to great corporate heights without her really even trying that hard. Thus proving my awesome theory of moving up in Corporate America.
So from now on I am going to try really hard to laugh loud and proud at anything remotely funny, especially from higher ups. Except the ladies with Disney characters in their cubicles. I don't want them to get the wrong impression that they are "cool" or something.
I think these people who laugh loud are in positions of power because they make everyone around them feel like the funniest person alive. Also, when you are "in on the joke," you get to know the reason for the big laugh and this is pleasing to most people who want to feel important or part of a group. These big laughers make everyone feel "cool."
I know a girl who always seems to get promoted quickly, even when SHE herself isn't quite sure she is qualified to be in whatever position it is. She is a widely known loud laugher, and I think somehow this, along with her obvious charm, has catapulted her to great corporate heights without her really even trying that hard. Thus proving my awesome theory of moving up in Corporate America.
So from now on I am going to try really hard to laugh loud and proud at anything remotely funny, especially from higher ups. Except the ladies with Disney characters in their cubicles. I don't want them to get the wrong impression that they are "cool" or something.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
To the left of my boyfriend's apartment building is a church. I walk by most mornings in a sleepy haze, shielding myself from the biting 7am winds and willing the sky to fall in so I don't have to got to work.
Today I was jarred out of my usual angry morning mood by the sight of chalk outlines of bodies on the sidewalk outside the church doors.
Was there some sort of mass murder out here? The bodies were all very small sillouettes. A child massacre?
After further inspection, I realized they were just a product of children having fun with colored sidewalk chalk. All these morbid looking chalk outlines in various poses. They each had the child's name written in nice careful handwriting along the torso. Meaning some adult supervisor had endorsed this chalk outlining as appropriate, and helped make it all happen.
At first I had thought perhaps some kid from the "bad side of town" had shared with the other children the images he sees outside the mini mart near his house--gang shootings resulting in real chalk outlines. "Hey Billy!" he would shout, "We should do what the policeman does!" Commence outlining.
But no, it seems this was an adult induced idea, given the naming of each child's torso, to show who's silloutte was who's. "Danny died of a gunshot," or "Lindsey was pushed out a window and landed with her leg twisted just so." Horrible deaths given real names...
What if we did that with real chalk outlines?
Anyway it was pretty intense and shook me up a bit. My brain wasn't quite prepared to see so many dead bodies strewn all over the sidewalk at 7am.
Today I was jarred out of my usual angry morning mood by the sight of chalk outlines of bodies on the sidewalk outside the church doors.
Was there some sort of mass murder out here? The bodies were all very small sillouettes. A child massacre?
After further inspection, I realized they were just a product of children having fun with colored sidewalk chalk. All these morbid looking chalk outlines in various poses. They each had the child's name written in nice careful handwriting along the torso. Meaning some adult supervisor had endorsed this chalk outlining as appropriate, and helped make it all happen.
At first I had thought perhaps some kid from the "bad side of town" had shared with the other children the images he sees outside the mini mart near his house--gang shootings resulting in real chalk outlines. "Hey Billy!" he would shout, "We should do what the policeman does!" Commence outlining.
But no, it seems this was an adult induced idea, given the naming of each child's torso, to show who's silloutte was who's. "Danny died of a gunshot," or "Lindsey was pushed out a window and landed with her leg twisted just so." Horrible deaths given real names...
What if we did that with real chalk outlines?
Anyway it was pretty intense and shook me up a bit. My brain wasn't quite prepared to see so many dead bodies strewn all over the sidewalk at 7am.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Monday, October 02, 2006
CTA Moments...
I waited a good amount of time for the train home today. I thought getting off work at 430 would be a blessing for my commute, but it turns out maybe not so much.
A crowded can of sardines at last arrived at the station. I crammed myself in between the doors and found solace in the middle section of the car. I let a small Mexican lady cram in with me and prayed my armpit didn't stink while I held on to the pole above her tiny head. After a day in an office wearing a cheap H&M collared shirt, there is no telling what the funk might be under my arms. Just saying.
I got myself comfortable with the situation.I checked my stance to make sure I could balance despite the train's quick turns and lurches forward and back, and I made sure my MP3 player was at the right volume so I could still vaguely hear the world around me. A double check of my bag--making sure it wasn't accidently open or knocking into someone--completed my checklist. I was ready for a 20 minute train ride home.
About 3 minutes into the ride, I noticed a warmth near me. Being in an overcrowded train, I wasn't surprised. As the Brown Line curves and twists, I often feel body heat from other passengers rub or brush against me. But this was different. It didn't go away. A man behind me and to my left was brushing up against me, not in an offensive "oh my God I can feel his boner" way or anything, but just a subtle sort of forced closeness. It alternated between various places--our arms, our hips, our lower backs...but the contact remained constant. And truthfully, I didn't make huge attempts to move away. I actually enjoyed the feeling of having no idea who he was but getting to feel the pressure of his hip against mine, or sense the heat radiating off his arm hairs, or feeling the weight of the day he had had in his feet. I could sense all of this, quietly, without ever looking him in the eye. And we shared a moment of human contact on the train for no reason beseides we had to- we were squished between a million other people.
These kinds of moments are why I moved to Chicago. In California, I felt the human contact shrinking away. I was always in my car or in a building or in my personal space bubble, rarely having to share much space with anyone. Here, in the city, there are forced interactions, and while at times they are irritating or not wanted, either way you are affected, every day, by your surroundings. No way to entirely "tune out" or not be present. And I like that.
So this guy and I shared a moment where I think we both actually enjoyed the feeling of another person's heat against us, and we let it happen more than we might have needed to. Certainly I let it happen more than if it had been some hairy old lady or something. And it was nice and not creepy but sort of comforting, like we were sharing our day for a moment, without words or eye contact.
I actually made accidental eye contact towards the end and we both turned our heads quickly like it had shattered our perceptions. And then he got off the train shortly after.
Ah,Chicago. How I do love thee.
I waited a good amount of time for the train home today. I thought getting off work at 430 would be a blessing for my commute, but it turns out maybe not so much.
A crowded can of sardines at last arrived at the station. I crammed myself in between the doors and found solace in the middle section of the car. I let a small Mexican lady cram in with me and prayed my armpit didn't stink while I held on to the pole above her tiny head. After a day in an office wearing a cheap H&M collared shirt, there is no telling what the funk might be under my arms. Just saying.
I got myself comfortable with the situation.I checked my stance to make sure I could balance despite the train's quick turns and lurches forward and back, and I made sure my MP3 player was at the right volume so I could still vaguely hear the world around me. A double check of my bag--making sure it wasn't accidently open or knocking into someone--completed my checklist. I was ready for a 20 minute train ride home.
About 3 minutes into the ride, I noticed a warmth near me. Being in an overcrowded train, I wasn't surprised. As the Brown Line curves and twists, I often feel body heat from other passengers rub or brush against me. But this was different. It didn't go away. A man behind me and to my left was brushing up against me, not in an offensive "oh my God I can feel his boner" way or anything, but just a subtle sort of forced closeness. It alternated between various places--our arms, our hips, our lower backs...but the contact remained constant. And truthfully, I didn't make huge attempts to move away. I actually enjoyed the feeling of having no idea who he was but getting to feel the pressure of his hip against mine, or sense the heat radiating off his arm hairs, or feeling the weight of the day he had had in his feet. I could sense all of this, quietly, without ever looking him in the eye. And we shared a moment of human contact on the train for no reason beseides we had to- we were squished between a million other people.
These kinds of moments are why I moved to Chicago. In California, I felt the human contact shrinking away. I was always in my car or in a building or in my personal space bubble, rarely having to share much space with anyone. Here, in the city, there are forced interactions, and while at times they are irritating or not wanted, either way you are affected, every day, by your surroundings. No way to entirely "tune out" or not be present. And I like that.
So this guy and I shared a moment where I think we both actually enjoyed the feeling of another person's heat against us, and we let it happen more than we might have needed to. Certainly I let it happen more than if it had been some hairy old lady or something. And it was nice and not creepy but sort of comforting, like we were sharing our day for a moment, without words or eye contact.
I actually made accidental eye contact towards the end and we both turned our heads quickly like it had shattered our perceptions. And then he got off the train shortly after.
Ah,Chicago. How I do love thee.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
I quit my job I guess. It is finally official.Having a record for being sort of half assed about a lot of things, I handled it in the usual way. I took some time off to try temping, then I never really went back. I called and planned on going in to talk to the boss about it (mentioned in my other blog) but I think God didn't want me to have to do that because it rained so fiercely yesterday. When faced with the rain, I did what any person who didn't really wanna do something would do. I called instead to investigate if it was even worth going down there for. After numerous phone tag calls, The boss and I finally touched base and he seemed even less into the whole talking thing than I was. So we handled it lamely over the phone. But I stressed that I had WANTED to do it right. It just didn't quite work out that way...
And another chapter of my existance is closed. Awkwardly closed, with maybe a doorstop smashed in there just in case, but closed enough for now.
I am not sure why I am so bad at confrontation. I really want to be the person who wows people with her quick thinking and logic, her professional manner and open frankness when she thinks something isn't right. But instead I freeze up when faced with actual eye to eye confrontation about what I really want. I hardly ever seem to know what I really want, and maybe that is my way of staying out of trouble. Knowing what you want means facing the sad truth that you may not get what you want. So instead, I stumble around trying for things halfassedly so i don't get too disappointed when I don't get things.
I don't know what I am really going for with this. It's Sunday and my brain isn't quite up to par. Maybe this is why most people don't blog on the weekends...
Another avoidance of going deeper right now...compliments of Leanne...
And another chapter of my existance is closed. Awkwardly closed, with maybe a doorstop smashed in there just in case, but closed enough for now.
I am not sure why I am so bad at confrontation. I really want to be the person who wows people with her quick thinking and logic, her professional manner and open frankness when she thinks something isn't right. But instead I freeze up when faced with actual eye to eye confrontation about what I really want. I hardly ever seem to know what I really want, and maybe that is my way of staying out of trouble. Knowing what you want means facing the sad truth that you may not get what you want. So instead, I stumble around trying for things halfassedly so i don't get too disappointed when I don't get things.
I don't know what I am really going for with this. It's Sunday and my brain isn't quite up to par. Maybe this is why most people don't blog on the weekends...
Another avoidance of going deeper right now...compliments of Leanne...
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