My walls are crumbling. As the hours pass, I am losing my anxiety that is so deeply rooted and my innards are exposing themselves. It feels so swell. I have been more present, and that is what allowed me to dive for so many low discs in the freshly mown grass as thrown by Ben, mowed by Just, just this morning. The grass is so supportive, and I always roll out a couple times round my hips. For gratuitous good measure. So we got mad sweaty, and then went to the quarry. Me, Ben, and Emily. "Clothing optional." I kept my pants on, because I am a boy, and can bare my chest. When we went out to toss, one of the salsa dancers was "sun-dipping-skinny-bathing" as Ben described it. I jokingly made a comment along the lines of "she wants you" and surprise of all surprises, Ben took off his shirt and said "bring it on!" heh. well. what a lookcomer. After throwing and cutting and laying out and general bliss, we winded down, and went to the quarry for a swim. Which i mentioned. Above.
Another instance of crumbling inhibitions:
I wandered into the kitchen where chocolate chip cookies were being made. Keren spontaneously danced, and so did I , and so did Just. I could describe it in detail, but I don't want to. You want to. Maybe I should consider this lifestyle. Maybe I shoulld consider more fads, like Obama.
Tuesday, 25 August 2009
Autism and nature.
This is an excerpt from an email I just wrote to the father of one of the kids I tend to/teach/ hang with.
I've been feeling like there has to be more similarities between me, and the other people here (inasmuch as we have communicated these enlightened and mutually understood feelings) and people with autism. I don't know what is different between us, but someone who acts in such a bizarre way as Alex does, must have something ese going on. I don't think it's a quanitity issue, but rather a difference in flavor, or even language. But the difference from an actual language, is that thus far, the various "autistic languages" have not been thoroughly uncovered.
Time for lunch and a staff meeting in a house made of twigs. Here is the excerpt:
"anyway it has me thinking, about alex. Mainly prompted because the head chef has been playing that bob marley album when he makes the meals, and ive been helping him. So it's really different here, obviously it's the wilderness. I think it is worth a try for Alex, as much or little as anything else, and it might even be less costly than some pie-in-he-sky medical treatment (im not meaning to discount anything, just to paint what i am saying in a positive light.)
I mean, you can see stars here. And when it is dark, it is so dark that you cant see even the darkness. It's thick. I'm sure you have felt it sometime. And there is so much less stimulation, and distraction. I mean, there is the inside, where it is simple, and we cook the food. And the outside, where there is grass and trees and woods and a quarry (water). I guess I have 2 ideas about why this might be good for alex : the obvious, calming, meditative, therapeutic of being in nature and away from all the things that are simulated in the city. I mean, let's face it - Alex acts pretty primal. The inhibitions just aren't on his radar, and things are more like that here. I'm not saying we eat with our hands caked in mud, but there are readily available reasons for doing everything we do, and none of them are related to disipline, or chastising for being physical with someone else (that said, there is respect and this is a dancey-yoga-ish place, but im thinking that maybe there wo
uld be less stimuli for Alex's meltdowns over here, since there is less stimuli to begin with.
2nd point: It is humbling, deafening, and beilttling. I feel beittled being around all this nature,because i am reduced to being a thing / creature of nature as well. especially at night, with the stars - it is scary, but because it is "the way it is" - there is nobody to go to to request a light be turned on. When I let that notion sink in, then it becomes more calming than scary, because it is just howthe world is supposed to be. I don't think that everyday life for a kid in the city, especially an autistic kid, is anything how life is 'spposed to be'. I mean, everyone has to be able to wait in lines, but where there are naturally fewer people, there are fewer lines. That is just a tiny example. I also read this book where this teacher/mentor went camping with an autistic nonverbal boy for a week and didn't feed him until the boy made the correct hand signs for the food, and other neccesities. I am not saying that you should dump Alex on a wagon with some gluten free pretz
els and a chew toy and call it a vacation week, but as far as a real transformation happening, it might be beneficial, or at least worth trying, a huge environmental change. Arguably, the insides cannot change no matter how much environmental altering and enhancement goes on. But the try. At the very least, he will be aware of his limits in relation to the greater natural forces out there.
I've been feeling like there has to be more similarities between me, and the other people here (inasmuch as we have communicated these enlightened and mutually understood feelings) and people with autism. I don't know what is different between us, but someone who acts in such a bizarre way as Alex does, must have something ese going on. I don't think it's a quanitity issue, but rather a difference in flavor, or even language. But the difference from an actual language, is that thus far, the various "autistic languages" have not been thoroughly uncovered.
Time for lunch and a staff meeting in a house made of twigs. Here is the excerpt:
"anyway it has me thinking, about alex. Mainly prompted because the head chef has been playing that bob marley album when he makes the meals, and ive been helping him. So it's really different here, obviously it's the wilderness. I think it is worth a try for Alex, as much or little as anything else, and it might even be less costly than some pie-in-he-sky medical treatment (im not meaning to discount anything, just to paint what i am saying in a positive light.)
I mean, you can see stars here. And when it is dark, it is so dark that you cant see even the darkness. It's thick. I'm sure you have felt it sometime. And there is so much less stimulation, and distraction. I mean, there is the inside, where it is simple, and we cook the food. And the outside, where there is grass and trees and woods and a quarry (water). I guess I have 2 ideas about why this might be good for alex : the obvious, calming, meditative, therapeutic of being in nature and away from all the things that are simulated in the city. I mean, let's face it - Alex acts pretty primal. The inhibitions just aren't on his radar, and things are more like that here. I'm not saying we eat with our hands caked in mud, but there are readily available reasons for doing everything we do, and none of them are related to disipline, or chastising for being physical with someone else (that said, there is respect and this is a dancey-yoga-ish place, but im thinking that maybe there wo
uld be less stimuli for Alex's meltdowns over here, since there is less stimuli to begin with.
2nd point: It is humbling, deafening, and beilttling. I feel beittled being around all this nature,because i am reduced to being a thing / creature of nature as well. especially at night, with the stars - it is scary, but because it is "the way it is" - there is nobody to go to to request a light be turned on. When I let that notion sink in, then it becomes more calming than scary, because it is just howthe world is supposed to be. I don't think that everyday life for a kid in the city, especially an autistic kid, is anything how life is 'spposed to be'. I mean, everyone has to be able to wait in lines, but where there are naturally fewer people, there are fewer lines. That is just a tiny example. I also read this book where this teacher/mentor went camping with an autistic nonverbal boy for a week and didn't feed him until the boy made the correct hand signs for the food, and other neccesities. I am not saying that you should dump Alex on a wagon with some gluten free pretz
els and a chew toy and call it a vacation week, but as far as a real transformation happening, it might be beneficial, or at least worth trying, a huge environmental change. Arguably, the insides cannot change no matter how much environmental altering and enhancement goes on. But the try. At the very least, he will be aware of his limits in relation to the greater natural forces out there.
EarthDance
I am spending a week at earth dance. earthdance.net. It is 45 minute drive away from the nearest town (Northampton) and thus it is different from anything I have ever done. I am not really doing it. I mean, I am doing it. I just went to the creamery. a little shoppe. down the road, a lot of miles. we picked up an order of yogurt from sidehill farm in vermont, where we get our yogurt [apparently.]
This week is different from most weeks here at Earthdance - its salsa camp/week/ convention. 50 women are here from all over the world (I know this because a handful of them don't speak English, and I can't understand when they try to request butter knives or spare towels or jugs of water, or an amalgam of the 3.) So I am a staff member here, and that entitles me to be here. I have a shift or 2 or 3 a day, cleaning, sweeping, taking out the trash, cursory bathroom cleaning (obligatory grimace) and burning the burnables! In every bathroom there is a bin for burnables. It means burnable things. Like toilet paper rolls or paper towels used to dry off your hands. No bodily fluids, please! Those are NOT burnable here. So this morning, Ben (head honcho-type) and I headed off through the woods to the furnace/sauna / quarry place and lit some fire in a fireplace-type-place and kept stuffing the burnables in and watched their edges curl in iridiescent orange flamules, as they became ash and char, making way for the rest of the burnables to burn.
I have been asking a ton of questions here, becuase I am not afraid to ask, and I have questions. Nothing that goes on here is typical of the supposed world that I was brought up into. I helpedCalyan, the head chef, make dinner last night. from 4-7 pm I chopped, peeled, diced 'n' sliced veggies, and then stir fried them in a wok, which all resulted in a sore arm and fingers, and a small sliver of skin sliced off of my left middle finger, and a hot splash of safflower oil on my wrist. But all is well, and we created a mean meal for 65 people. 50 salsa dancing women and 10 staffers. Fish chowder, Sweet potato Lentil stew, kale, veggie stirfry, and some other stuff that I can't remember right now. Everything is made in these huge bowls. Late last night Calyan came into the kitchen and made granola from scratch. I watched him make it. I don't think he is terribly fond of me, as I was asking him lots of questions and every time he said something to me I had to say "what?" because it was hard to hear his soft lyrical voice over the bellowing vocals of the tribal celtic / what-have you alternativish music blasting from his arcane laptop perched directly about the 10-burner oven. So calyan made granola. So much granola. We ate it for breakfast this morning. I had it with milk and maple syrup and cinnamon. Heavenly. I want to do some intense outdoor manual labor and frisbee today. I was teaching this woman who is bou 34 years old but certainly feels more like a 12 year old jumping around in a freeing new world, how to throw a flick. I was kind of impressed at my frisbee throwing knowledge, I suppose in comparison to the layperson. We got sweaty, we cut for each other, we climbed trees. There's a guy here, he made a commitment to live here for a year - he is the "buildings and grounds" guy, his name is Justin, but people call him "Just" or "Just one". Yesterday I pulled out weeds with him around this apple tree for an hour and a half, and we had a nice, albeit a bit forced, chat. He told me he has a younger sister who is 28 with special needs, and about a place he has been considering for her to live once their mother is no longer able to care for her. It's called ploughshare farms, and apparently its a self- sustainable community based heavily on the tenet that it is a bunch of people living together, and not in a hierarchical way - the people who need the support of the neurotypical "Staff" are meant to feel equal to said helpers. Would I maybe want to spend sometime working and living in a place like that? Maybe.
The more I think about it, or allow myself to submit to the different way of life here, the more I realize that I don't always have to be busy. I just wrote "busty" - I also don't always have to be busty, but that is less in my control than my business. It is quite a frightening sentiment, to have free time, and be in a rural place, as I have been used to the opposite for so long. This summer went pretty much like this for me:
Take care of kids, fret about various issues surrounding the respective babysitting jobs, play sports, think about the sports and the pickups and the people and myself in relation to everything else going on, take lots of subways, and play more sports on weekends, and spend time with friends. Oh, and fend off / appease the family. But I must say, my nephews and niece are definitely the sweetest, cutest babies ever. Albeit every baby is the sweetest and cutest. But really, the soft skin, the undifferentiated eyeball pigment, the wispy thin short hairs, the barely shaped nose, the limbs that flail arbitrarily and get more padded week by week from suckling just milk. It is all of those things but also, and most key-ly, the idea of a baby that is so powerful. The whole responsibility, extension of self, amalgamation of 2 people in love (sometimes), the we-made-this-life, or God-made-this-life-through-us thing... kind of makes someone with an ounce of sense just shut their mouths. Not me though. I can't shut my mine, apparently. It is time for me to do a cursory cleaning of the bathrooms here in the main Earthdance Farmhouse.
Needless to say, I am proud of myself.
This week is different from most weeks here at Earthdance - its salsa camp/week/ convention. 50 women are here from all over the world (I know this because a handful of them don't speak English, and I can't understand when they try to request butter knives or spare towels or jugs of water, or an amalgam of the 3.) So I am a staff member here, and that entitles me to be here. I have a shift or 2 or 3 a day, cleaning, sweeping, taking out the trash, cursory bathroom cleaning (obligatory grimace) and burning the burnables! In every bathroom there is a bin for burnables. It means burnable things. Like toilet paper rolls or paper towels used to dry off your hands. No bodily fluids, please! Those are NOT burnable here. So this morning, Ben (head honcho-type) and I headed off through the woods to the furnace/sauna / quarry place and lit some fire in a fireplace-type-place and kept stuffing the burnables in and watched their edges curl in iridiescent orange flamules, as they became ash and char, making way for the rest of the burnables to burn.
I have been asking a ton of questions here, becuase I am not afraid to ask, and I have questions. Nothing that goes on here is typical of the supposed world that I was brought up into. I helpedCalyan, the head chef, make dinner last night. from 4-7 pm I chopped, peeled, diced 'n' sliced veggies, and then stir fried them in a wok, which all resulted in a sore arm and fingers, and a small sliver of skin sliced off of my left middle finger, and a hot splash of safflower oil on my wrist. But all is well, and we created a mean meal for 65 people. 50 salsa dancing women and 10 staffers. Fish chowder, Sweet potato Lentil stew, kale, veggie stirfry, and some other stuff that I can't remember right now. Everything is made in these huge bowls. Late last night Calyan came into the kitchen and made granola from scratch. I watched him make it. I don't think he is terribly fond of me, as I was asking him lots of questions and every time he said something to me I had to say "what?" because it was hard to hear his soft lyrical voice over the bellowing vocals of the tribal celtic / what-have you alternativish music blasting from his arcane laptop perched directly about the 10-burner oven. So calyan made granola. So much granola. We ate it for breakfast this morning. I had it with milk and maple syrup and cinnamon. Heavenly. I want to do some intense outdoor manual labor and frisbee today. I was teaching this woman who is bou 34 years old but certainly feels more like a 12 year old jumping around in a freeing new world, how to throw a flick. I was kind of impressed at my frisbee throwing knowledge, I suppose in comparison to the layperson. We got sweaty, we cut for each other, we climbed trees. There's a guy here, he made a commitment to live here for a year - he is the "buildings and grounds" guy, his name is Justin, but people call him "Just" or "Just one". Yesterday I pulled out weeds with him around this apple tree for an hour and a half, and we had a nice, albeit a bit forced, chat. He told me he has a younger sister who is 28 with special needs, and about a place he has been considering for her to live once their mother is no longer able to care for her. It's called ploughshare farms, and apparently its a self- sustainable community based heavily on the tenet that it is a bunch of people living together, and not in a hierarchical way - the people who need the support of the neurotypical "Staff" are meant to feel equal to said helpers. Would I maybe want to spend sometime working and living in a place like that? Maybe.
The more I think about it, or allow myself to submit to the different way of life here, the more I realize that I don't always have to be busy. I just wrote "busty" - I also don't always have to be busty, but that is less in my control than my business. It is quite a frightening sentiment, to have free time, and be in a rural place, as I have been used to the opposite for so long. This summer went pretty much like this for me:
Take care of kids, fret about various issues surrounding the respective babysitting jobs, play sports, think about the sports and the pickups and the people and myself in relation to everything else going on, take lots of subways, and play more sports on weekends, and spend time with friends. Oh, and fend off / appease the family. But I must say, my nephews and niece are definitely the sweetest, cutest babies ever. Albeit every baby is the sweetest and cutest. But really, the soft skin, the undifferentiated eyeball pigment, the wispy thin short hairs, the barely shaped nose, the limbs that flail arbitrarily and get more padded week by week from suckling just milk. It is all of those things but also, and most key-ly, the idea of a baby that is so powerful. The whole responsibility, extension of self, amalgamation of 2 people in love (sometimes), the we-made-this-life, or God-made-this-life-through-us thing... kind of makes someone with an ounce of sense just shut their mouths. Not me though. I can't shut my mine, apparently. It is time for me to do a cursory cleaning of the bathrooms here in the main Earthdance Farmhouse.
Needless to say, I am proud of myself.
Tuesday, 23 June 2009
What I need to write
I need to not quash/squelch/quell the thoughts that are in my head. That I have. That I think. That I own. That exist, that creep. I am pretty sure they just do said things because my mind has a penchant for extremes and attempts at self-freaking out, but here it is. If Shalom Auslander can write in his world-renown published satirical orthodox yeshiva hating memoir about the initial thoughts of fear and terror for his unborn recently- concieved child, then I can write about thoughts along a similar (non heroin- infested, I might add uselessly) vein that I have tried not to entertain as of late.
When I held the babies, a thought came: I can poke out one of their tiny little, unfocused, of androgynous color, eyes. I can toss/drop/throw/huck them onto the floor. It's like when I drive over that curvy overpass on route 4: a slight turn of my wrists, or a negligence in turning at the right moment to remain on course, and drastic things with irreversible consequences, pregnant with grief, ensue. And it's all in my hands. Along with the great undifferentiated potential personalities, tribulations, and proud moments of these children lies the power in me to deter that, to fuck with it in a really really twisted and subtle way, or I could take the demonic route that would lead to as much havoc as me refusing to go to college and moving to a forest; and practice my javelin toss. Of course I need to write this in a veiled manner, even after setting off on a quest to be super lucid, because it's my fallback, and my default when I know that this is not FYEO. Sucks.
So the neuroses are there, ripe for the diagnosing. where are the willing, eager young world- changers?
When I held the babies, a thought came: I can poke out one of their tiny little, unfocused, of androgynous color, eyes. I can toss/drop/throw/huck them onto the floor. It's like when I drive over that curvy overpass on route 4: a slight turn of my wrists, or a negligence in turning at the right moment to remain on course, and drastic things with irreversible consequences, pregnant with grief, ensue. And it's all in my hands. Along with the great undifferentiated potential personalities, tribulations, and proud moments of these children lies the power in me to deter that, to fuck with it in a really really twisted and subtle way, or I could take the demonic route that would lead to as much havoc as me refusing to go to college and moving to a forest; and practice my javelin toss. Of course I need to write this in a veiled manner, even after setting off on a quest to be super lucid, because it's my fallback, and my default when I know that this is not FYEO. Sucks.
So the neuroses are there, ripe for the diagnosing. where are the willing, eager young world- changers?
Wednesday, 17 June 2009
Funny you should ask.
So it's been a month since last blag. I guess that's indicative of summer. I am proud of my cooking that I just did, so I will note it here:
I made angel hair in a pot, alongside a pan in which I fried pieces of eggplant, broccoli, and string beans in butter, oil, and garlic. I added tomato sauce to the pot of veggies and then some pizza cheese, and mixed it with the angel hair. Now I'm eating it. It is such a pleasure to eat real food... It just makes so much more SENSE than what I did last night after a weary night of frisbee in astoria; stop at cvs and buy a pack of peanut butter cheese crackers and an instant teriyaki noodle bowl of soup to microwave with one of those tiny packets of "vegetables" which are really just thin flaky pieces of cardboard in orange and green and marroon. Next up will be eggplant parm; it just has to be. The strange thing is, it took me so many days/weeks to muster up the something to cook. It's like I feel it will be a big endeavor, whereas it's not more than 20 minutes, and now I'm set for food at least till tomorrow night. Is it gross to eat a pound of pasta and veggies in a day? I hope knotz. [chomp chomp]
Ok, I ate 2 bowlfuls and cleaned up. Good going E! I even wiped up the stovetop. The food is packed away in the fridge and the utensils and dishes are washed. And my shoulders hurt. And I will need to go to work in half an hour. On that front, here's what I've been up to these days:
Babysittin'
- lying around, trying to impart wisdom and common sense on a tot, perfecting my playground protocol/ettiquette skills in this damned city, cabbing myself and the little one EVERYWHERE, and generally getting looked at differently by everyone since I have a small clueless vulnerable child in tow. For example:
On the subway, first of all, the kid loves it. I'm not sure if it's because it is SO much bigger and greater than him, and he might feel about it the way I feel about the ocean. It continues regardless of him and all the other people present, but at the same time, all of those people make it what it is. I mean I look at his face, and it's that same enamored obsessed face when he sees an elevator, a shiny glinty "OPEN" sign, or whatever elsemight tickle the quirkish fancy.
Also, heh. I want to write about some stuff right now that I am so hesitant to divulge even here on the internets because I'd venture to say there is a 30% chance that somehow the people I will be emulsifying and blending with my words will stumble accross this very blag and then I'll have to dig myself out delicately from this self-imposed cheezit-crumbs barrell.
Ok, so 3 babiesfor the price of...well, 3. But for the timing of one gestation period! That's right, I am an aunt to triplets. I never thought I'd be typing that sporting this surreptitiously smug smirk but hey, that's the Truman life. They are somewhat real to me but will be even more real after this sunday night when I perform my first selfless and painstaking "night shift" of feeding, burping, daiper changing, cooing, wooing, pooing, and cashewing, and whatever else is involved with people who weigh 4.5 pounds each. It's all me. Well, it won't be. But I had a strange dream. And then it was July, July, July, and it seemed SO strange!
Get the ref? you should.
Iran: kind of exciting. I wish I was there. Or it was here. Token mention of sadness for the casualties and injuries, but my original hunch remains: I want in on the passion.
So what kind of sense am I trying to teach the little dude? First of all, I call him dude. Maybe a little bit too much. The entire thing is an exercise in my own patience, for sure. I need to tell him everything, and between 5 and 10 times before it gets done. And not just tellling, but prompting, physically and modelling. For everything. Like, "give me your foot" so I can put on your shoe. But hey, some people can't move their own feet, so this is a prodigious thing and should not be catted on.
Man, I need to wrap this up as I should put on presentable clothes and maybe brush my teeth? And then go be one of the other people here with a purpose. I can't wait for certain things. Such as hockey later. I don''t know, its been much too long since I've made it to a weekday scrimmage.
I made angel hair in a pot, alongside a pan in which I fried pieces of eggplant, broccoli, and string beans in butter, oil, and garlic. I added tomato sauce to the pot of veggies and then some pizza cheese, and mixed it with the angel hair. Now I'm eating it. It is such a pleasure to eat real food... It just makes so much more SENSE than what I did last night after a weary night of frisbee in astoria; stop at cvs and buy a pack of peanut butter cheese crackers and an instant teriyaki noodle bowl of soup to microwave with one of those tiny packets of "vegetables" which are really just thin flaky pieces of cardboard in orange and green and marroon. Next up will be eggplant parm; it just has to be. The strange thing is, it took me so many days/weeks to muster up the something to cook. It's like I feel it will be a big endeavor, whereas it's not more than 20 minutes, and now I'm set for food at least till tomorrow night. Is it gross to eat a pound of pasta and veggies in a day? I hope knotz. [chomp chomp]
Ok, I ate 2 bowlfuls and cleaned up. Good going E! I even wiped up the stovetop. The food is packed away in the fridge and the utensils and dishes are washed. And my shoulders hurt. And I will need to go to work in half an hour. On that front, here's what I've been up to these days:
Babysittin'
- lying around, trying to impart wisdom and common sense on a tot, perfecting my playground protocol/ettiquette skills in this damned city, cabbing myself and the little one EVERYWHERE, and generally getting looked at differently by everyone since I have a small clueless vulnerable child in tow. For example:
On the subway, first of all, the kid loves it. I'm not sure if it's because it is SO much bigger and greater than him, and he might feel about it the way I feel about the ocean. It continues regardless of him and all the other people present, but at the same time, all of those people make it what it is. I mean I look at his face, and it's that same enamored obsessed face when he sees an elevator, a shiny glinty "OPEN" sign, or whatever elsemight tickle the quirkish fancy.
Also, heh. I want to write about some stuff right now that I am so hesitant to divulge even here on the internets because I'd venture to say there is a 30% chance that somehow the people I will be emulsifying and blending with my words will stumble accross this very blag and then I'll have to dig myself out delicately from this self-imposed cheezit-crumbs barrell.
Ok, so 3 babiesfor the price of...well, 3. But for the timing of one gestation period! That's right, I am an aunt to triplets. I never thought I'd be typing that sporting this surreptitiously smug smirk but hey, that's the Truman life. They are somewhat real to me but will be even more real after this sunday night when I perform my first selfless and painstaking "night shift" of feeding, burping, daiper changing, cooing, wooing, pooing, and cashewing, and whatever else is involved with people who weigh 4.5 pounds each. It's all me. Well, it won't be. But I had a strange dream. And then it was July, July, July, and it seemed SO strange!
Get the ref? you should.
Iran: kind of exciting. I wish I was there. Or it was here. Token mention of sadness for the casualties and injuries, but my original hunch remains: I want in on the passion.
So what kind of sense am I trying to teach the little dude? First of all, I call him dude. Maybe a little bit too much. The entire thing is an exercise in my own patience, for sure. I need to tell him everything, and between 5 and 10 times before it gets done. And not just tellling, but prompting, physically and modelling. For everything. Like, "give me your foot" so I can put on your shoe. But hey, some people can't move their own feet, so this is a prodigious thing and should not be catted on.
Man, I need to wrap this up as I should put on presentable clothes and maybe brush my teeth? And then go be one of the other people here with a purpose. I can't wait for certain things. Such as hockey later. I don''t know, its been much too long since I've made it to a weekday scrimmage.
Sunday, 17 May 2009
yep
The world is so weird. This is going to be pretty stream of concsiousness, as I am listening to ben folds and just feel this fancy dark chocolate melting rapidly in my mouth as i try to quickly spread the remaining bits over all surfaces of my mouth in a futile yet ever- valiant effort to enhance the sensory experience. I mean, double you tee eff? Im sitting on a comfy twin bed in stuytown with my partialy unpacked stuff surrounding me, including a down blanket i snatched from the carlyle pile of discarded dorm stuff. Im sitting here shirtless, probably with peanut butter on my chin and perhaps my nose. I had the strangest day. Actually, it was so UNstrange, I think that's what about it got to me. I couldn't deal with the normalcy of it, since I've worked my entire life (since I was 11 and became aware of myself) to create this alternative image of myself, and stray from normalcy that when I actually fight those natural E.-urges, stuff goes awry in my heart and my kidneys, and I end up... drinking? Nope, that didn't pan out. I feel really emotional right now, and I'm not sure why. I think it's because although I feel like my socializing today was totally ftw, (for the win) (i.e. good, way to be Elana, way to socialize with the real adults and still maintain your individuality) but I also know that none of it meant anything and that it never really does/ will.
Fact: Drunk people embody transience. No matter how turned on I might get hanging around the hockey guys, flirting aimlessly and shamelessly back and forth, forth and back, none of it means anything (when does flirting mean something? I should ask Duncan, who concentrated in Meaning. see last post. He owns my respect though.) I mean I'm all about fucking the notion of a boundary and doing whatever, but since I think too / so much about it, I inevitably and undeniably impose meaning and importance to all of the actions I do, and that are done to me. I can't just let something happen, in the split second before, during, and after every tiny decision I make, everywhere I look, everything I say, every facial expression I put out, I consider so mouch. I consider what other people would think: all of the people in my life that I have ever known, and all of the people I might know in the future, myself in different mindsets, etc. Should I/did I do this was it good or bad or stupid, I dont need to spell out the defining characteristics of hyper self-awareness here.
There was a mini mini scrimmage. With some people later on. It was really fun, it was what I needed. I tossed twice for short amounts of time in between the hockey and the socializing, and I needed those also. We lost our game, but that feels like ages ago. I can't do games, I choke, I choke up, and I flub, or I don't perform, and then I feel shitty about it. I get so hyped and worked up inside in my heart that when it's my turn to play I am jittery as a beanbag and can't do much. I was ok today, I blocked some shots with my stick and legs nicely, and held hark marks on D a bit. but none of that is enough. It means something to me in my head, but I need to finish I need to score and get on that paper. Thats why games suck...they promote said mindset and outlook.
What is my point? what am i getting at. maybe i feel successful that i socialized with adults. why dont i feel like an adult? why cant i just do what everyone else does and not freak out about it and overthink it so much? see llook now im not writing in caps this must be emotive. I am worthwhile and I know it, and I want so much to prove it to others, but in unconventional ways, and i think the truth is that most of the world doesnt give. Who has the time or energy or trust, especiallly trust and interest to be receptive to such a strange breed? Why can't I just dumb down and be like everyone else? I'm typing pretty fast here, this rocks. maybe i should get a job as a transcriber, or a transponster, like chandler bing. Phew. Sore shoulders, egging holders, and I have a boy after me. Not really. Now I can't even write about it. Sometimes a part of me just wants to focus all my efforts on facilitating compliments for myself so I can feel that tiny bit of "Yess!" ness when someone gives you a compliment before I start to deconstruct their motives and fabricated/ produce other reasons why they don't mean it, or why if they do mean it, I shouldn't take it with more than a grain of kosher salt.
oh eff em ell, oh woe is me, oh oh.
Fact: Drunk people embody transience. No matter how turned on I might get hanging around the hockey guys, flirting aimlessly and shamelessly back and forth, forth and back, none of it means anything (when does flirting mean something? I should ask Duncan, who concentrated in Meaning. see last post. He owns my respect though.) I mean I'm all about fucking the notion of a boundary and doing whatever, but since I think too / so much about it, I inevitably and undeniably impose meaning and importance to all of the actions I do, and that are done to me. I can't just let something happen, in the split second before, during, and after every tiny decision I make, everywhere I look, everything I say, every facial expression I put out, I consider so mouch. I consider what other people would think: all of the people in my life that I have ever known, and all of the people I might know in the future, myself in different mindsets, etc. Should I/did I do this was it good or bad or stupid, I dont need to spell out the defining characteristics of hyper self-awareness here.
There was a mini mini scrimmage. With some people later on. It was really fun, it was what I needed. I tossed twice for short amounts of time in between the hockey and the socializing, and I needed those also. We lost our game, but that feels like ages ago. I can't do games, I choke, I choke up, and I flub, or I don't perform, and then I feel shitty about it. I get so hyped and worked up inside in my heart that when it's my turn to play I am jittery as a beanbag and can't do much. I was ok today, I blocked some shots with my stick and legs nicely, and held hark marks on D a bit. but none of that is enough. It means something to me in my head, but I need to finish I need to score and get on that paper. Thats why games suck...they promote said mindset and outlook.
What is my point? what am i getting at. maybe i feel successful that i socialized with adults. why dont i feel like an adult? why cant i just do what everyone else does and not freak out about it and overthink it so much? see llook now im not writing in caps this must be emotive. I am worthwhile and I know it, and I want so much to prove it to others, but in unconventional ways, and i think the truth is that most of the world doesnt give. Who has the time or energy or trust, especiallly trust and interest to be receptive to such a strange breed? Why can't I just dumb down and be like everyone else? I'm typing pretty fast here, this rocks. maybe i should get a job as a transcriber, or a transponster, like chandler bing. Phew. Sore shoulders, egging holders, and I have a boy after me. Not really. Now I can't even write about it. Sometimes a part of me just wants to focus all my efforts on facilitating compliments for myself so I can feel that tiny bit of "Yess!" ness when someone gives you a compliment before I start to deconstruct their motives and fabricated/ produce other reasons why they don't mean it, or why if they do mean it, I shouldn't take it with more than a grain of kosher salt.
oh eff em ell, oh woe is me, oh oh.
Thursday, 7 May 2009
birthday
So It will be my 21st birthday, and it's hard to know what, if anything, that means. I should ask my Gallatin pal who just finished his colloquium in "Meaning." Meanwhile, another Gallatin grad of this year is planning to go on a bike trip all around the usa with a friend for the summer... 3 months, bike trip. propane, couch surfing, camping, grime, etc. What's it mean? I should go spend some time in the jungle with the hulu tribe. Oh wait...
I'ts kinda weird to see the way physical maladies evolve. Like pimples. Just saying.
I'ts kinda weird to see the way physical maladies evolve. Like pimples. Just saying.
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