Update

Life is good. This is my last week of work, and it has been fabulous. I really love these kids. I'm looking forward to being done with work, but I will miss these kids. They all have such unique personalities that I have grown to love. Today one boy, who dances a lot anyway, was dancing out-of-control. It was hilarious. Everywhere we went, he danced. The best part about his dancing, is that it is so free-spirited. He is not self-conscious yet, which is funny, because I think it must be around the age of 5-7 where self-consciousness is slowly making its way into the picture. For example, one of my favorite boys today would not participate in this silly song/dance we do together. He stood there like he was too cool the whole time. However, "Dancing Boy", of course, got into it with his entire body. I told him that I like that he dances so much; it makes me happy. He does the "rock on" symbol with his hands and even plays air-guitar. I had to scold him for being too loud in line. He kept playing air-guitar, and making loud noises of "Bah Bah Bah Maaaahhhhh!" That was his guitar attempt. 

I had a nice time hanging out with Leslie and Alicia last night. I hadn't seen them in weeks, which is rare for us. I'm getting excited to move back to school, and I am feeling better about living with Leslie the more we talk about it. She's nervous and excited about transferring, and I'm looking forward to being able to show her around and help her out. Two people I work with will be freshman there this year, and I am looking forward to being able to make their transition easier. Especially the one, because she seems hesitant about it, like I was. I forget how awful Freshman year was until I start looking at people going into it, and then I feel pity for them. It makes me want to reach out to them in such a difficult transition. Although, I'm aware that many people will not have nearly as difficult of a transition as I did,  it is hard for everyone.

Things are going well with my project. I've received a few submissions, more positive feedback, and am getting some great research done from different anthologies on mental health. I'm reading Poets on Prozac right now, and I love it. There are so many unique and articulate ideas about creativity and mental health problems.

I'm tired. I need to answer some questions about my project for people, so I need to go. I needed to blog, though. When I wait to blog, I don't have time to get to insightful ideas, because I am trying to scratch the surface of my thoughts. I've actually had a few insightful/creative ones lately, but I haven't been writing or blogging enough to really grasp them. I'm working on it. Maybe tomorrow.

It's a Beautiful Day, Isn't It?

I had a wonderful weekend. Saturday I went to the art fair with Kristin's family to meet up with her. The weather was horrible, but I had a great time. Kristin and I ran into a girl we used to carpool with when we played soccer on a club team about an hour away. The funny thing is, we always saw this girl when we were together. Her parents drove us at the time and we saw them at the art fair too. What are the odds? It's not like I hang out with Kristin every day like I used to. I'm sure she doesn't travel with her parents as often as she used to. It was such a pleasant surprise to run into each other like old times. We didn't have much to say, but just the coincidence of it was great.

From there I went to my friend, Drew's to carpool to Jenn's wedding. We missed the wedding, because we were given the wrong outdoor location. It was incredibly depressing, but the beautiful reception made up for it. I wish I would have seen the wedding because John married them.  I hadn't seen her since Thanksgiving, and she looked absolutely beautiful--just glowing with happiness. At one point she said to us, "I'm so happy," and our table smiled, speechless. She responded, "It's sick, isn't it?"

I met with with a nun from Siena who has already published one anthology and is currently working on another. She helped me get my letter ready to send out to professors and advised me on the best way to go about sending it out. I have since sent out e-mails to over 30 Chairs of English departments all over the country, asking them to forward it to their English department. I have received several supportive responses, which is very exciting! A guy from NY said that he thinks it is  "ambitious and worthwhile," a woman from Alaska said she thought it was an "interesting" project, and a woman from Boston called it "vital." They all wished me luck. It has helped motivate me to continue working hard to look up addresses every day. It's a little monotonous, but it's cool to think of what may come of it. It makes me feel less guilty about not doing my own writing.

Last night I went to see a documentary at a Peace meeting. It was about nuns who go to prison for civil disobedience. It was well done, and there was a fantastic discussion that followed, which helped me to feel spiritually awake...even if only for the rest of the evening.

Speaking of awake, my job is incredibly draining. It's not physically draining. In fact, most people would think I have an easy job, because I work good hours and do not do manual labor. However, it is creatively, emotionally, and spiritually draining. I figure that is why I haven't been writing. I love the energy my job requires. I wish I had more energy to give, because I love the kids. I feel tired a lot, but every now and then they say something that wakes me up for a second to remember how lucky I am to be able to love and be loved by these kids. For example, yesterday this new boy, who is incredibly articulate, but very behind in school, was standing next to me with his hands in his jean pockets. He had on a plaid shirt and cowboy boots. It was recess; the other kids were playing. He looked around, then looked at me, and said, "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" I stifled a laugh, but failed to control my huge smile and said,  "It sure is." This kid uses his brilliant language skills to try to get out of working to learn anything else. For instance, I was asking him to do a task that would require him to practice shape names. He said, "How about I play with the dinosaurs instead?" like he is providing me with the options.  I have to test the kids on their first day to see how much they know at the start of school. I was quizzing him on the colors. As I held up the flash card with the black crayon on it, he said, "I said this over and over for like 20 years, but I can't remember." This kid is only five! I cracked up. It's hard to appreciate work when I'm so tired all of the time, but I really do love my job.

Natalie Goldberg

This is another one of my favorite authors. I haven't read this book yet, but I like that they made a "book video." It's like a music video would promote an album. Apparently, you tube is making books cool again :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e17SIiSRIwY

Culture

I finished a book where the Jewish author reflected on a traditional Jewish funeral. It reminded me that I wished I was Jewish when I was younger. Many of my favorite actresses, comedians, musicians, and even writers were Jewish. Plus, I was always abnormally interested in reading about the Holocaust. I read The Diary of Anne Frank on my own when I was going into fourth grade. My friend's older brother was teasing me about being a nerd, because he was four years older and was expected to read it for his class. Now, I understand that I wasn't supposed to be Jewish (like I thought), I was just a sensitive, compassionate kid. It's the same reason I started listening and being impacted by hip-hop in sixth grade. I could feel the anger and pain in their words and I loved the way they rhymed. I still do. I used to get made fun of for listening to hip-hop. I will admit, I've listened to my fair-share of crap rap, but I have tremendous respect for real hip-hop artists who write with feeling. Now that I can articulate the fact that I appreciate the way they play with language, because I'm an English major and a writer, people lay off when they harass me about loving hip-hop.  

What does this have to do with anything? Well, I was talking with lisa last week about how I was surprised a couple years ago when I learned two of my close friends from growing up who are Mexican, used to wish they were white when we were younger. They said they'd stay out of the sun to avoid getting darker, and try to deny their heritage. This blew me away, because I was always jealous that they had culture to connect with. I wished I was Mexican for a while too, because their parents spoke Spanish and they knew where they came from. The one friend's parents always made me Mexican food, practiced my Spanish with me, helped me with soccer, and had beautiful accents. I loved them. I then complained to lisa that I don't know anything about my heritage (for a long time I joked that I was a little bit of everything and part red-neck), and I wish I had some explanation for why I'm the way I am. She said, "Your parents and family make your culture. You have culture, it's just the dominant culture so it doesn't feel rebellious." I'm not looking for anything rebellious. I just wanted something that could ground me to my roots. The more I talked to her, I realized I do fit in with Catholic culture (the belief portion excluded), but I speak the lingo, know the hand motions, know the struggles and joys. Even though I have many things I'm angry at Catholicism for, I'm thankful to have a culture where I have fit in. It's funny, because the people I have the best discussions about faith with are either currently Catholic or ex-Catholics. I will have a great discussion with someone, and it is not until later they will admit to being raised Catholic or being currently Catholic. It doesn't even surprise me much anymore. Being a part of a certain culture is that strong of a connection.

I no longer wish to be something I'm not, but when I hear about things like racism and anti-semitism, they blow my mind. Have other people ever felt jealous that people have different cultures that exclude them? I wonder if that is what creates racist thoughts, if people feel excluded and fearful so they hate to protect themselves. There was this great quote in the movie about the Beat Poets. It was something along the line of, "If we love to protect ourselves from hate, maybe we hate to protect ourselves from love." 

 

A Cherry-Pit-Dumping Enlightenment (Sort-Of)

I was dumping cherry pits into the trash when it hit me. It was not a new thought, but a connection of several old ones. "I need to blog, but I have nothing to say," was the trigger thought that occurred when I made the short walk to the kitchen. It spiraled downward into self-loathing as I thought about the several pieces of writing that are all at dead ends, the fifty-million half-finished books I'm reading, the fact that I bought 4 books online today (2 I've already read). I am trying to carry on with my writing goals, despite the fact I'm not writing much. For example, I'm rereading a book I feel I can learn from and appreciate more a second read-through. Plus, I'm supposed to meet with a nun who just published an anthology to discuss my idea for an anthology on Monday. I have all these big goals and good intentions, and they are frozen right now. I've been feeling creatively frustrated the past month or so, then I thought about how I also have felt stunted spiritually. I once told Adam that my spirituality is like a car that won't start. I get little sparks here and there, but nothing to keep it running. Is it it a coincidence that I'm creatively and spiritually stuck? Then I realized, for me, they are connected. When I lost all sense of spirituality and had nothing left in me to even attend class, go out with friends, sleep, or pray, what did I do? I got my ass out of bed and went to the library to write. My creativity helped keep a little bit of some spirituality alive, which was enough to keep the me running, even if I still stalled out pretty regularly.

I don't know how to refill myself up spiritually and creatively, so I've been reading a lot. They say a big portion of a writer's job is reading. I'm revisiting books I read years ago. They are impacting me in new ways; I am seeing things I missed before. I've taken to underlining meaningful or well-written passages to reflect on--research for my own writing (that's how I rationalized buying 4 books today. They are well-written books I can use as models for my writing). 

I lost the energy from my cherry-pit-dumping enlightenment. I hate when I can't capture creative flashes like that one. I just couldn't slow my thoughts down enough. That's so frustrating. I'm going to keep pushing them, though. Keep forcing some writing, even if it's shit.  I wouldn't be so creatively drained if I wasn't stuck on an essay to the point of giving up (honestly, I worked the entire spring semester on this essay, and it's still not okay), unable to crank out any poems, and hadn't ran myself into a wall with my fiction. What's left? I really need to learn to play guitar so I can write songs. Three genres is just not enough for me. 

Keepin' the Faith

Tonight I spent the evening with Kristin, her mom, Dawn, Dashon, and a woman who worked as a teacher with inner city kids. I didn't talk much, because I had little to contribute to our heavy conversations. They all have faced so much adversity, and then the story of this woman's students made all of our lives look like heaven. Dashon talked about his exhaustion from depression, and how he wants to "take a semester off" of school. Kristin's mom told him he is half way there and how much we all believe in him. They then proceeded to tell stories of faith, answered prayers, and sparks of hope in dark moments. Kristin's mom recalled a few stories through tears where she felt her prayers were answered. One of them involved a man who was doing a repair on their furnace hearing them pray. John was crying because they didn't have enough money to fix it and they couldn't go to their Uncle's for Thanksgiving because the pipes would freeze. Kristin's mom told them that it was Thanksgiving so they needed to be thankful that they had each other. The repair man left, but returned and said, "God told me to come back with this part for the furnace. I'm going to fix it, and you don't have to pay me a penny." The tears of joy she cried while telling me about this were amazing. That idea of prayer connecting people and prayers being answered by people holds true for this. I'm thankful I have that to believe in, because I don't want to deny such a powerful connection. So what if a man in the sky didn't tell this guy to go back and fix their furnace for free so they could enjoy thanksgiving? The idea that belief can connect people like that and spark such miraculous,  counterintuitive, benevolence is awe-inspiring, which is the same thing as God for some. 

I had such a wonderful night and made sure to tell Dashon that I loved him (and all of them). It breaks my heart to see Dashon struggling with mental-health issues after so many years, but I see a light in him. I have faith that he will not only pull through, but do something huge to change the lives of many suffering.  Tonight he was talking about how there are not enough role-models for young Black men. The seed has been planted. I'm confident he will be one. He's got such a good heart and a drive to help others and seek truth. I'm just as confident and proud about Kristin and Dawn, but I feel the need to tell Dashon about it the most, since he feels so hopeless sometimes. Then, don't get me started on Kristin's mom. She has such a big heart and an admirable mindset. I am thankful to have friends I love and am so proud of in my life. I don't get to see or talk to them nearly as much as I would like. I realized I missed them more than usual the whole night I was with them. I kept feeling happy to be with them, but sad for all of the lost time and the knowledge I will not see them for a while again. It's not a bad sadness; it's that beautiful kind that causes me to treasure those moments more than anything else in the world.

Thunder and Lightning

The storms here have been outrageous. I've been talking with my friends, Laura and Tom, about mental health a lot lately. It's strange, because when I was severely depressed I had no problem blogging about seeing a therapist, symptoms I was experiencing, or being on medication. Now that I have my act together enough to appear sane, I've stopped talking about, or admitting any problems with my mental health. It's so much easier not to talk about it now that it doesn't plague me every day, but not talking about it is what makes it harder for people who are isolated by mental health problems. It's unfair for me to pretend it's not something I struggle with. I've been reading a lot about depression for my anthology idea. It was upsetting to read essay after essay of people who have lived 30+ years with depression, saying that it never goes away entirely. The good news is, it is something one can manage. Most days I'm pretty proactive about my mental health, although there are times when I give up and let myself slip until I can barely function. It's like I just desire a reminder that I'm still me. Darkness was a part of my identity for so long that it feels comfortable. When I'm away from it too long I get anxious. That must sound sick to anyone who hasn't experienced something similar. 

I didn't realize I ran out of my prescription for Wellbutrin. Therefore I am off my medicine until I get time to go to the pharmacy. I'm not sure when that will be. It's hard with work. Adam talked about how he used to stop taking it in the summer. I stopped taking it earlier this summer for a week or so, but I felt lousy, so I started taking it again. It's weird, because it is really all in my head. I think I can go without it for a while; I couldn't earlier in the summer, because I hadn't had time to be alone with my thoughts since before exams. Plus, moving is always a big transition, especially moving home, because I think I know what to expect, but it's never the same. Things are a little more stable now.

Today one of my little kids grabbed my hand when we were walking down to snack at the end of the day. The storm was really loud. She said, "I'm scared." I assured her she would be safe in the school and on the bus. Then she said, "I don't like storms, but sometimes they're really pretty." It made me smile so big. I said, "I think they can be pretty, too!" Storms are dark and depressing, but the flashes of destructive light help me pause and appreciate life for a moment. I just try to breathe and appreciate the fact that I'm alive and okay, despite being surrounded by chaos. It's funny how thunder and lightning can make me feel the most intense flashes of peace sometimes. Lightning bolts of peace. I should put that in a poem sometime.

Blue Skies

Life is good. This weekend was wonderful. I'm always surprised at how much the weather influences my mood. For example, I was feeling down Wednesday night and even some of Thursday, but the combination of having perfect weather all weekend plus spending time with my entire family, including Adam, was great.

I am working more on my fictional short story, and it is getting better. I'm really surprised and pleased, because I haven't finished a fictional short story since last summer. CRAZY.

On the fourth, a close friend had a breakdown and we were both car-less, so we met up to walk at midnight. We walked (and sat by a statue at a local college) until after 2AM. It was a beautiful night. The weather was perfect, the stars were out, and I could feel the love. It's funny, because friendships are so powerful, yet they are so normal and unappreciated until moments where we realize how much we need them. My friend had an awful night; I was worried about her, but it felt really good to just be with her and acknowledge her suffering. I want to write about it sometime, because it was a really moving evening. I'm not articulating it very well here, but I'm not motivated enough to play around with words and describe it better. I'm not much of a writer this evening, I guess.

I have tomorrow off. I plan to run, do laundry, and catch up on errands. It won't be the most fun day off, but it's still a day off. I'm feeling anxious lately. I think I just want to get moved in and back to school. It's not that I'm unhappy here, it's just that it's getting harder to live this double life. I established more of a life at school this year, and to be away from that, and try to fit into my old life--when all of my old friends are either not here, busy, different, have boyfriends, etc... I'm not upset about any of those, because that's natural, but it just makes me feel like I fit in better up at school in my new life rather than my old one. It's hard going back and forth, but I do enjoy coming home to escape everything during the year.

This entry is rather bland. I felt the need to update, because the longer I wait, the harder it gets to write anything. It's all about the writing practice and discipline. Here's my half-assed attempt at discipline.

I'm Worried About This

http://www.writersweekly.com/the_latest_from_angelahoycom/004597_03272008.html

What Would (Your Venerable Teacher's Name Here) Do?

Lisa wrote this poem for me. It includes all of our favorite spiritual teachers with things they preach, and the last three names are her, and then two mutual friends. Chris is a great guy from my writer's group; Adam is one of my craziest, but closest friends.

What Would (Your Venerable Teacher's Name Here) Do?

The greatest minds on earth

have planted

the seeds of wisdom in your heart.

When trouble comes,

ask yourself,

"What would Annie Dilliard do?"

Look. See.

"What would Buddha do?"

Be present in the moment.

"What would Rumi do?"

Dance the Universal Love.

"What would Thich Nhat Hahn do?"

breathe in, calm

breathe out, smile

"What would Natalie Goldberg do?"

Keep the hand moving.

"What would Anne Lamott do?"

Find beauty, pain, lessons and questions in the struggle.

"What would Julia Sweeney do?"

Let God go.

"What would Karen Armstrong do?"

Be nourished by good teachings from many traditions.

"What would Elizabeth Gilbert do?"

Eat.

Pray.

Love.

"What would Jesus do?"

Feed the poor.

"What would Chris Matthias do?"

Gather with friends. Play. 

Go on a vision quest. Sweat.

"What would Adam Deline do?

Sing and dance. Barefoot.

"What would lisa eddy do?"

Transform through ceremony.

The seeds of wisdom are in your heart.

When trouble comes, ask,

What would my venerable teachers do?

Then do it.