...

Reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

2012-02-21T12:21:00.001-07:00

It seemed, fittingly, the thing to Read over Reading week.

Serious, relevant, but still light and recreational, tangentially Buddhist.

I am surprised at how a book touted as "philosophy" paid so much attention - positive attention - to "technology." I have a lot invested in technology, as a nascent technologist. So I keep reading.

(I have a lot invested in philosophy, as a human being, so I keep reading.)

Aside: The book itself is a loaner from a technically-minded man who makes his living doing Instrumentation, and my mind smiles when I see "shop talk" in the book. I imagine him reading it and understanding it intuitively. I like the word "instrumentation."

We all struggle to live as people in a world of technology. It's a fight, and how grateful am I that there's a book about how to bring yourself to that conflict. It is, at this rocky point in my education, what I mean by "relevant."

I have 101 days of practicum left to compete for what I want, and 3.5 days to rest and find that fight again.

It's not working

2011-10-19T23:27:00.001-06:00

I mean, I keep managing to write a bit, but... This blog's not working. Or maybe it is, just not how I think or hope.

Meh, the equivocal vagaries of generalized statements are useless to me. I can't write without an image of an audience of some kind, can anyone? ....and the audience - the listener - isn't here any more. I think that's the best way to explain it.

I need to go to bed.

Confessional: Everything tastes like blood

2011-10-09T22:03:00.013-06:00

Since a couple of people have asked, that's about where I am right now. Flying the Russel's Sign Flag high on both hands and trying to keep the angular stomatitis down to a dull roar.

My preceptor for this rotation in my program sat me down to tell me that she's seen "a decline." I said that things have been chaotic and left it at that. So it's official, now, that my life is affecting my work.

We've been having a bit of a relapse, I'd say, which isn't exactly unexpected, given everything.

Which is unfortunate, I don't want people thinking I've lost almost 30 pounds just by throwing up. You've got to do some starving, have hungry days and get the spins when standing up suddenly and bust your balls at the gym to have muscles like this and lose weight at the same time.

I think I underestimated how distressing stuff has been. Just because you make intellectual sense of things, this doesn't mean jack to your emotions.

I gouged my oropharynx so hard it bled all over my hands and I just kept right on going because it has to get out. What I was stupid enough to binge on cannot stay in, and I don't care. I never thought I would be having these experiences again. Luckily, the poke hole seems to have healed just fine. But what has not recovered is my skill at emptying myself.

What scared me was the possibility of being "bad" at purging more than a potential GI bleed. If I can't purge, if it wears out, I have to compensate some other way. Why the compulsion to escalate? I do my very best not to "stack" symptoms, because I can become very unwell, very quickly. I really wanted to stack compensatory measures together. I mean, if one is unsuccessful, it doesn't count, so it's not really stacking, right?

So it's time to get it together, again.

High levels of anxiety. This expresses itself as a paranoid conviction - intrusive and agitating - that I've got a disease from goofing around with a fling. I very well might have, how can you ever be 100% sure? But the mental distress can be ridiculous and out of proportion. Yes, I use sex inappropriately to advance friendships or relationships and yes I have to learn how to relate to people properly but right now I just need a friend, ok?

A friend uncomplicated by the mire of being an ex.

It's weird. You end a long-term relationship with someone because they've become something you don't recognize anymore. Maybe you don't recognize yourself anymore either. Maybe you've had it wrong the whole time. But then you go your separate ways a little bit and get your bearings, and he looks more like the guy you thought you liked, and sure you know that all the same dumb problems would be there but you doubt, you muse to yourself. You know truly that it's a breakup because it's broken, it's all for the best, really, in the end, even if you both have to go through all this. You have to go through it.

Sublime

2011-10-02T22:37:00.001-06:00

Thirteen pounds to freedom.

At 13.85% body fat by electrical, that's just about right, actually. Funnily, I thought I would be happy if my bf was at 18, but sometimes there are surprises.

I smell a 11 second flyer lap in my future...

Art

2011-09-05T20:34:00.001-06:00

Disfigures, indeed.

Body Remix, modern ballet that will mess you up.

Haiku

2011-08-24T16:40:00.000-06:00

My name's Vanessa
And I am an atheist
who's in a foxhole

Disjecta Membra

2011-08-18T23:37:00.004-06:00

While I don't particularly want to fragment and scatter my, er, opus (oeuvre? saga?)... I don't really feel like I can write here anymore. Which isn't to say that I'm stopping writing - don't think I could if I wanted to - but that there's a decision to make. Do I fractionate, amputate? Distill and discard the residuum? Leave a blunt stump?

It's like a benign tumor. "Warts and all" - warts are benign tumors, yes?

Editing for content kind of feels like it would take away from what I've been tinkering with here. "..." is already a bit incriminating, and if I wanted to write nice, ideally I would just go start a new nice-writing franchise, and keep the attitude and profanity here where it belongs. A disadvantage is that I've always liked the comprehensiveness of "..." because it's ALL here , and fragmentation takes that away and puts a hard line between public and private, which mayn't be a beneficial mental exercise for me. (I need to learn to share myself more, not less.)

As a great philosopher once said, "Should I stay or should I go?"

Radical relocation is, by definition, total. Sometimes necessary. (As a great friend once said: "Growth is a reductive process.") Sometimes you leave parts of yourself behind. Free to start again. Some parts would be coming with me, though, too. I'm not sure whether I'm done here or not, has the purpose been served? What am I doing anyways? Is it harmful to want to keep it just because I like it? Is a desire to remain with what is comfortable and sentimental obscuring the view on the best choice?

Truly it would be a good idea to transplant and graft, bring what's good to marry it with the new to grow, leaving this blog as the waste product of progress, an explant. Start a new professional work for the public performance, replace the defective part, start a new whole.

...

Reading Brian Evenson, and more

2011-08-14T20:35:00.005-06:00

1) If it's true that literature affects film, and film in turn affects literature, I think "Last Days" is a fine example. The writing style is called "spare," myself calling it kind of an anti-style. Very cinematic. I suppose that's so that the horror fan can run the gore film through his head as his reads this sort of script.

I didn't realize it was supposed to be horror until I was finished and reading the acknowledgements, where the author thanks a horror writer's guild for an award. Which was good news, because I was thinking that the violence was getting pretty boring. I

I liked that for a second there, it had the same feel as some J. G. Ballard - very cold, quite cruel, but not ugly, maybe even quite beautiful. I could see how Evenson could end up being a bit like Ballard for people who were too young to have "discovered" Ballard.

2) The process of disentanglement has further complicated. We (the condominium) paid the contractors. The sub-contractors did not get paid. Sub-cons are pissed and warned us they are seeking official legal measures. If a lien is put on our condo, this could make selling it tough. Of course, we're still a looooong way from showing and selling.

3) Haemophilus influenzae is a common pathogen isolated from microbiology specimen from the lungs and above. It grows a sneaky "satelliting" clear, small colony on the agar plate. It can look pleiomorphic under the microscope, which confuses training technologists trying to pick it out of the myriad of bacteria that will grow from a human sputum sample. While working this up, a sheet of paper plonked on my bench writing me up for being 2 minutes late did in fact make me cry. Down tools, flee, sniffle. Tomorrow I start in the real micro lab at the University hospital. I hate haemophilus.

4) Isolation influenzae is a common problem. As I drank my coffee, I looked out at all the laptop screens that lined up perfectly to make a little enceinte. All of these people behind the screens are probably lonely too.

5) What's worse than... a hipster on a fixie? A hipster with one gear fucking coasting.

Salmagundi

2011-08-05T21:29:00.002-06:00

- While the roof was being fixed on the condo and it thunderstormed in my livingroom, the resulting damage means another filthy tryst with another slimy insurance company and another bunch of contractors. If I'm paying them, why do I feel like the dirty one?

- Today, I did something unimaginable, a personal taboo. I rode my bicycle wearing scrubs.

- From a legal doc against a bike messenger movie via BikeSnobNYC: "25. Both male protagonists are romantically interested in the same type of woman. In THE ULTIMATE RUSH, Chet pursues an aggressive, fit, sexy, confident, tough, punkish, love interest, Ho (despite her name, Ho is not Asian). In PREMIUM RUSH, Wilee pursues an aggressive, fit, sexy, confident, tough, tattooed, 20-something, love interest, Vanessa."

Hm, well, how does one find out if they inspired a film character? Or perhaps several? :)

- I have an excellent top-hand. 19 other dragon boat paddlers who sit behind me and watch for it tell me this is true. For some parts of this week, this felt like my sole redeeming feature. Practicum lab felt so hopeless that for an afternoon there, I saw the future where I was broke, alone, homeless, uneducated, unemployed. But with a good top-hand.

- You can tell if a swab came from an "old vag" by looking under the microscope. I am not making this up.

Bitch List

2011-07-05T14:29:00.001-06:00

1) Half of the house is covered lamely in plastic and tape. If you stand and look up in the living room, there are spaces where you can see undersides of the shingles on the roof.

2) So the couch-and-TV have been removed as an isle of refuge. I considered paying money to see Bridesmaids just so that I could sit in a cushy chair and be entertained for awhile.

3) So the cats are locked in the little downstairs room, 24/7. I seem to be the only person looking at baby gates or anything so that they can be upstairs with us. Neko's ass-sore was almost gone, and now it's back like WHOA again. Other digestive issues are still pending. I don't want to put a cone-collar on him while he's stuck down there too.

4) We sleep downstairs on the mattress on the floor. While is rad when I work nights. Which I have been.

5) I try to respect tradesmen as valuable professionals and skilled workers, but holy shitfire are the ones we get major failures of basic planning. If "we" did any of the things they do at "our" jobs, we'd hung AND shot. My cats are downstairs crying and you just decide not to show up? Without calling or cancelling or anything? What? You don't give any indication how or when this rebuild is going to happen? Oh, wait, we've been waiting 3 days for something that your company doesn't do and we have to find ourselves another company to fix it? But "we" don't talk back or say anything because heaven forbid we piss you off and this make it WORSE, or you do a shitty job so that "we're" in this situation again next year.

I want to like them, I want to stay out of their way and let them do their complex jobs, but it's so hard to respect them with this kind of bullshit. I know this is your worksite, but it is also my home. If YOU had to stay in a tiny room with a litterbox until the project was done, this would be different, no?

6) If the weather co-operates, I can at least go to dragon boat practice. If the mosquitoes don't carry the boat away first.

Things I think into my coffee mugs

2011-06-26T18:50:00.000-06:00

One of the juiciest times to be sipping java and reading one's book unobtrusively is when two online dating folks get together for the first time.

Now, this used to be REALLY RARE, but clearly the gain in popularity and the "information superhighway" business means this nouveau blind date has become a spectator sport.

Fuck reality television.

Sure, it serves a benign purpose as a substitute, the plastic flowers of modern isolation. Listening to the genuine experience from behind a book is only slightly better - it's not edited by monkeys nor formatted to fit my television screen. I am as guilty as anyone of observing life, being entertained by life, tossing out judgements upon life, but not participating in life. I insist on a window seat.

Even if invited to participate, if coffee houses were still the grand salons of yore, I would probably decline at least half the time. I participate by watching, by being the audience, an extra or a prop on the stage.

I also wish those two luck, by the way. If an outcome can be affected by observing it, and they try out a relationship and it's happy, then I helped.

I love vacation time

2011-06-17T21:43:00.002-06:00

Yes I do.

I drank coffee in the window of a shop at an intersections that bike messengers know as "two by two." (That is, 102 ave and 102 street) I watched people and bikes and people admiring my bike, and tattoos wondering by, and messengers, and I read more of Infinite Jest.
It rained a great summer downpour while I sat inside.

It had stopped raining by the time I rode home.

I cooked a wicked peanut Thai chicken dish.

Vacation is awesome.

Cyclic/Nontrivial Path

2011-05-23T00:53:00.000-06:00

a nontrivial path in a graph from a node to itself

(Thanks Wiki)

Listening to, fittingly, "Roads" by Portishead.

(Don't judge me. At 8.9 million views on Youtube, I can't be the only one.)

Ever looked back, just to see yourself staring back at yourself? Surprised, you'll blink, and see your old self opening their eyes. Guess we haven't come quite as far as we thought, huh.

Portishead's Dummy album was on high-rotation for me 15 years ago.

June of 2008 is peering up through the kaleidoscope, expectant, blink, waiting for an answer, blink blink.

Ever given yourself stage fright? What if they're all back there, looking at me, expecting change, waiting?

Moist's Silver or Delerium's Karma, Songs of Faith and Devotion or Gridlock's Further, the red journal is looking back, and the black one, the unlined journal. The punk-rock mix tape from Nen with his polaroid self-portrait on the front, the file "Untitled" I opened asking "what's this?"

I could've written that yesterday. Blink.

For a few years now I've worn a gift since it was put on me. It's a silver Ouroboros, the only way to escape is to pull the snake's tail out of it's mouth.

The [Blank] of The Situation

2011-05-08T00:27:00.000-06:00

The situation is awkward, but you can tell me if it's unusual or not.

I am in the ____ situation of living with someone I really like but often fail to connect with.

(Unusual? Common? Fortunate? Unfortunate? Manageable? Unmanageable?)

A person might ask, why do you fail to connect? I would tell that person that it's mostly my fault, not all, but mostly. Maybe they could fill in the blank for me then. I would tell them that I really like Lanky. Because I do. But I also suck at being a girlfriend for him. Or is it that he sucks at being a boyfriend for me? See, you can't tell, it's awkward. Awk-ward as in, wrong-facing, as in, not to-ward or back-ward or for-ward.

It's blank-ward.

Fixie Haiku - Dear Bike I Missed U

2011-05-06T22:05:00.000-06:00

Urban Torpedo
Steel is Real and Whatever
Goddamn my knees hurt

A dark night's work

2011-05-03T21:14:00.000-06:00

Microbiology indeed.

I am so crabby. It is amazing to me how much I feel like the Vanessa of 17 Years right now.

I hate Austen

2011-04-30T01:43:00.003-06:00

Sometimes I like to read a bit of Jane Austen just to remind myself how much I hate it.

I mean, even when I'm not crabby from stress, I might do this.

The group of 4 girls I sit in front of in class... I'm quite attached to "my spot" and the desk there, and all of our lectures are in the same room. We sit in the same places every day with very little variation. The girls who sit behind me seemed nice and fairly smart at the beginning of the program.

I refer to one of them privately as Princess [Firstname] in my head. And usually I'm so good at suspending judgment. When I get caught up in it, I feel as though I have to compete with them.

In our program, there is a professionalism award/scholarship. I want it. I finish each day quite exhausted from keeping my "work face" on, with only a lunch break to slip away for reprieve. The award recipient is, as far as I can tell, largely chosen by the instructors. The "wobble" is that in Professional Practices, little ballots were passed around so that we could nominate our fellow students.

The Austen girls voted for themselves. Not each other, themselves personally.

Color me alienated.

I guess it makes me self-conscious in that, well, 12-year-old way. If I perceive my classmates a certain way, omg, how do they perceive me? Even more importantly, what do my instructors see? Someone they'd give a professionalism award? It follows naturally from there - a low-grade irritation as I wonder about the freak that is me.

On perception, self- and other's-... There is a recent grad from the program that I work with now who presents probably a lot like I do. She's smart and uncomplicated by make-up or pretense, a bit socially retarded. Willing to have fun. Nerdy. And you know, she's a bit weird to talk to at times, and I wouldn't want to be her friend. Like me, I suppose, except without scars and an occasional lazy eye and disinclination towards alcohol and sex and other social lubricants. Would I want to be my friend?

(I shouldn't be so hard on the scars. One of the three chicks that I don't mind in my class herself has a few smallish scars on her left arm. And my scars still serve me as they always did, if they show or if I'm forced to show them, in that they scare the competition a little bit, perhaps give them cause to muse over what it is that made me "like that" and just what I've managed to survive... Answer? A LOT. Now give me my professionalism award!)

Lobotomy Patient

2011-04-24T22:57:00.002-06:00

The center of his orbit is quite far from mine, but as luck and probability would have it, we cross near enough once in a long while.

A bunch of Life happened to him unexpectedly and recently. It might be a long time before he shows up again in my sky, but I kind of wanted to say, "Hey."

Even back when the earth was still cooling at 2400 baud, you could tell he was a Cool Guy. Rumor had it he had a ponytail and a nose-ring. Then no hair and a nose-ring! But even beyond that, you could always tell a Real Human Being even in ANSI, they have a twinkle about them in the dark hours of the morning.

Who knows what I looked like from far away back then, some kind of awkward nocturnal hyperliterate baby owl who'd been isolated a bit too long? He talked with me anyways.

It is still the case that when I want to bridge the spaces between myself and people that interest me, the only thing I know how to do is date them. This never worked with Lobo because by the time I was old enough, he was always understandably taken. That makes about 16 years that I've known of this gentleman, seen him around once in awhile, 5 8 years since we were in the same room, and about 15 years since we've actually talked.

So, when Life happens and you feel like you want to say "Hey." ... ?

Writing some stuff on some blog is the best I can do, anything else is outside of my realm of expertise, and periods of Life are not the time for wanton experiments with my human dysfunction. It's only times like these that I wish I had another skill set to work with.

FWIW, I'm thinking of you from way over here. Next time maybe we'll talk.

Book: Buddha and the Borderline

2011-04-08T22:30:00.000-06:00

Link

One of the major goals of managing the "borderline" state is learning to tolerate in-betweens, dialectics, seeming contradictions.

Zen is much the same - full of "things" that are both and neither, like thought/no-thought, self/no-self. Zen tells us no to worry about it, that the disharmony is harmonious.

Use the "shades of grey" metaphor if you must.

I've come to using this when it comes to the food - living with the duality of being full and empty at the same time, of having eaten far too much and far too little in the same bite, of one being too many and a thousand not enough.

I'm not borderline. At least I don't think so, it's not fashionable to tell patients their diagnoses in the age of insurance coverage. What we write on the duplicate forms is less and less relevant. But I forget that we're all borderline, and I have some of that in me too.

So having a book where the author explains how she copes with this, with these details of living and strange opposites while trying to co-exist with the URGENT INNER PARANOIA ON FIRE IN A VACUUM CATASTROPHE that goes on inside a "borderline"... Has been a good reminder.

The hurty-head ultra-endurothon

2011-04-02T18:38:00.001-06:00

Well, it's that time of the school year.

The winter is dying, everything outside is filthy, and the mood about the place turns from "somewhat existential" to "plainly nihilistic." (I would make a little picture of that analog dial, if I cared.)

And today being one of those days, where I cling to my cup of boutique coffee and shoot envious glances at the wandering homeless - skinny bitches - while querying what the hell it is that I'm doing right now, and what the hell are normal people are doing right now....

Fat-tyre daddy shows up to save the day with an e-mail. (If you're reading this, I mean the second e-mail, lol) Who hasn't used the long climb analogy? But FTD has style about him, and says: "And when the hunger gnaws at you, it feels exactly the same either way. Conclusion: keep climbing; it's better than feeling sad, because at least you're getting better."

With a timely Bender quote to add the polish.

There are some people you never stop liking. :)

Reading (or: Is Love Enough?)

2011-03-20T19:59:00.002-06:00

I have thought long and hard - and read a few books or parts of them - on whether love is enough.

I mean, what if you really like someone, but you're repeatedly miserable together?

So I guess the answer depends on what the other person thinks. And I think they think they're miserable.

You like them, though, and you want them to be happy, healthy, whole. Better as a person. But while you're being miserable together, the options are kind of... limited. Especially when you're trying and they're trying and somehow the efforts just don't make anything better.

I'm not too sure how far I can stretch to make it better without breaking myself, and while I'm not against it in theory, it's bad to break yourself when you're in school.

Maybe when I've done more homework and he's become a Guitar Hero, we'll watch a movie and share a container of guacamole. Or maybe not.

8.6

2011-03-12T15:26:00.001-07:00

(on the Richter Scale, be well, Japan.)

Sometimes stress gets me in the head - anxiety, dizziness, dissociation.

Sometimes it gets me in the body, it just hurts, viscerally. My heart actually aches.

Here I will sum up the entire canon of human literature in three words:

Is love enough?

Amusing trifles

2011-03-08T21:13:00.001-07:00

There's a lot of stuff goin' down in the Lanky/Shortie household these days.

School can be a dog too. Not catching transcription errors will get you a 0 on your lab.

So I got a toy. (not that kind you pervs) It plays music and I can read books on it (even if I do have to pay for some of them), it fetches my e-mail if there's WiFi around, tracks my money and calories (or it will, when I feel motivated), and makes graphs of my sleep patterns, but mostly I like to play with the fish in the virtual pond and rake little designs in my rock garden.

Somehow this keeps it together.

The Maiming of the Shrew

2011-03-03T20:04:00.000-07:00

Those five words are all I've got today. They're plenty.

All-around

2011-02-21T22:31:00.002-07:00

I don't want to.

I don't want to go, I'm objectively fat and that I haven't done a single athletic thing since... Well, since the middle of January. I mean, that's what I did, so fine, but it seems silly to showcase that fact in front of an international audience.

My classmates are clinking glasses, populating hot tubs in mountain ski resorts and what-have-you. Some of them have gone to their "home" wherever that may be. My instructors are lounging on various beaches.

Me, I agonize.

And I didn't even get to chill at work because it's quite a show these days, and on Sunday someone called in sick and I had to put out a LITERAL fire. (Ok, I just wanted to say that because I use the euphemism "running around putting out fires" when work feels that way. Truthfully, I didn't pull the trigger on the fire-extinguisher. The burning centrifuge was spinning down after I hit the power, and it was a show-down between the burning and the rotor stopping. It stopped before I saw flames, but the smoke and soot blowing all over and the stanky fumes nearly made me discharge the canister. Nobody answered when I asked "Should I do it guys?" but I'm glad I didn't, that would've been a major mess and a lot of paperwork.)

I know it's never really true, but it feels true to say that mindless eating is the only respite I have.

Acquisition of THINGS (a bitter history rant)

2011-02-12T22:24:00.002-07:00

Here's how I got to thinking about it: I'm going to have to wear glasses for some time yet because to reliably correct my vision requires implantation of lenses into my corneas. It doesn't come cheap. It would mess with my studies. So I cozy up to the idea that glasses it has been, and glasses it shall be. 28 years, another one or two won't be a big deal. As long as I get it in before the 35 mark, where most places become reluctant to do surgical correction as the corneas stiffen with age.

But really, how many times will I order rad new glasses and be told they can't build them for me?

For someone with an enormous head, and a sphere value of +6.5 on one side, my eyes are apparently freakishly close together.

I'm not very good at the acquisition of things. Certainly I acquired things when I was younger in that impulsive way that young people do. I've got a few more bicycles than is strictly necessary. Skates and related objects/athlete toys are carte blanche around here. And God knows that with food and how much it costs and how irresponsible I am about it borders on scandalous.

But THINGS... like new glasses and a new duvet cover to replace the one with the broken zipper, those are harder. Lanky today: "You just like that one because it's cheap." Feeling all dangerous and impulsive and "YEAH I'm totally going to buy discount glasses!" was fun until... no go.

People don't need THINGS to be happy, for fuck's sake. My mom is nearly a hoarder and she's drowning in STUFF and I don't want that at all. I've got way too much stuff right now as it is. I'm pretty sure I've done the "bed" bitch on this blog before, but I sum it up like this:

For a long time when my mom was married, I was the only one in the family who didn't have a bed. I slept on an air mattress. I sprang a leak. There was, of course, no patch kit, the family not being given to maintaining anything ever. I re-inflated the mattress most nights, then I just gave up. The lack of bed was not because we were poor, because my step-siblings had the best of everything always. Even if my stepdad was in a depressed cycle and feeling financial pressure, it eventually ended well for them, because they would keep pushing, and he would either give in, or flip into a manic phase and walk into stores demanding THE BEST of whatever.

I guess I never picked up the gift of the manipulative nag. If I needed something, as in, the kind of thing that I couldn't be told I didn't need, Dad would shift uncomfortably and ask if we couldn't go to Value Village or something. Generally I was told I didn't need. As an adult, I still wrongly believe that not-needing, being a rock being an island, indicates virtue.

My mom would sneak some cash away to keep me properly dressed for winter and stuff. I had to keep these gifts a secret, though, because if Dad found out that I got something, it would end in some indignant thing about how *I* got mittens and HIS kids, most of whom were adults who still lived at home by the way, didn't get anything. To rub it in, my step siblings would bring home various lavish gifts from THEIR biological mom. None of them had jobs beyond "working" for their dad. None of them had finished high school, the second coming of Christ was going to happen first you see. It's easier to keep people dependent and controlled when they're uneducated, right? I had a job at the golf course when I was 12. I wanted to be a surgeon... My stepbrother lived in his room with a proper bed, trussed with Nintendo and Sega, while I worked for two summers to get a second-hand computer. I had to borrow 200 from my step-dad to pay for it. And certainly repaid every penny. The fact that I was not allowed to use the phone line before 12 o'clock at night and the freaks and weirdos I met online at the age of 13 may have something to do with the person I am today. :D

This is all relative. It's not like I ever went hungry or anything. (I can't say for sure that my mom never did, though, while this was going on.) I got to do the stuff that rich white kids do - I know how to ski. I've seen a couple of European countries. Dad spent a lot of money buying and crashing luxury automobiles, so I got dropped off late to school by a vintage Jag.

There's a lot of mixed feelings. I'm disappointed that I finally got the 'nads up to buy something for the sole and explicit purpose of liking it and looking good, and it went south.

Not yet Real

2011-02-11T00:02:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I can't finish my day and go to bed until I find something that seems Real.

When things hover along, endlessly repeating and quite monotonous, one can feel rather unlike themselves, I think.

In a day of sitting in class, then driving a microscope, then writing stuff, da capo... There isn't much to challenge... whatever it is that reassures you of...

Oh whatever. It's my day to do dishes and kitty litter.

"how my little life could be"

2011-02-07T01:18:00.000-07:00

Bad Wine and Lemon Cake

(shrugs)

The Quotable Brad

2011-01-24T22:53:00.000-07:00

"To say it's what I "really think" would be to imply that of all the thoughts that pass through my skull about the reunion, the ones in the article are the ones I've chosen to believe and to call "mine." That's what we do a lot of the time. I do it too."
Brad Warner on his impending high school reunion

I forget, daily, that thoughts materialize and dissolve as part of their nature. Picking and choosing which ones to try to preserve is pointless.

I forget because for a long time, I lived with panic disorder. Where thoughts would inappropriately choose you and suffocate you, they would persist unnaturally.

Since the term started I've installed a few sets of thoughts as if they were permanent fixtures unique to Some Great Entity Vanessa. Forgetting that I must've chosen them. And that if I'm willing to forgo the egoist idea of Some Great Entity Vanessa, I can just put them down and let them do their thing.

Finishing Yesterdays Thought

2011-01-17T19:34:00.001-07:00

I was just describing the highlights of a dreary racing weekend when I was interrupted yesterday. Today the duvet is at the drycleaner and where the bed used to be is a bucket collecting water.

The point was that I skated a race that was so bad, people I didn't even know were coming up to me to pat me on the back and say, "we really felt for you in those last couple of laps." Lanky said, "I thought you'd given up when both of your arms were on your legs."

If you don't skate, but are curious as to how it feels to watch something suffer this way, you'll know the mixed feelings I speak of if you've ever seen a deer hit by a truck stumble, stumble, stumble off into the brush. You're not sure what to hope for.

One of the fastest girls on a bike that I've ever met said that she always finishes her race. Even if, as when she first started, the officials were taking the course down around her and going home.

So this is what I get: I'm proud that I finished.

The Quotable Zen

2011-01-16T22:06:00.000-07:00

"Speedskating is the best of sports, and the cruelest of sports. It lifts you up like nothing else on the best days, and it also breaks your heart over and over and over." ZATAOSS

Also, it can do this all in one day.

Sometimes, lining up is really hard. For anybody, and for me too. Sometimes, I'm sure that I'm going to throw in the towel on this speed skating business, when it's a given that the only way I will ever go fast is if I jump off a building. I don't have the talent/time/support/resources/body to get where I wish to go, and maybe it's just dumb to keep trying anyways.

But here is the return for investing in racing this weekend:

I finished a 3000m OS. Sure, it took me seven minutes and twenty-some seconds, which is abysmal, which was the slowest time on the board by a minute:fifteen. And no, not because I fell, because I didn't. It was beyond ugly. For the last lap I couldn't do crossovers any more, I had to kind of coast-push.

I was lapped on the back stretch by my pair. (Who met her goal, incidentally! I told her I wouldn't scratch so that way she'd have somebody to lap and bolster her confidence.)

Now, back to regular life problems of finding that the cats peed on the duvet, because it was wet, because our roof is leaking water onto the bed when it's THIRTY DEGREES BELOW FREEZING OUTSIDE. We are irate.

Annular Rings

2010-12-31T23:17:00.000-07:00

It's neat to look back at the year, and it's exciting to look forward, but neither is a very Buddhist thing to do. Having said that...

... there is a long pause where I come to realize my head is too full... That always means: time for point form!

This semester, I would like a higher GPA. A 3.9 looks kind of like "first loser."
I'm starting to get excited about a new kitchen.
I've got dumbbells and I'm going to lift them, dammit.
I don't care how I do at Masters anymore, as long as I finish the 3000m somehow. Which is good because it's been evil cold, so I haven't skated, AND SOMEBODY ALREADY BROKE THE NEW GODDAMN ZAMBONI.
I still have to get my act together about sex because Lanky refuses to have meaningless casual encounters with other people. Or even meaningful ones. It just popped into my head now that maybe it's a function of laziness, and if I can convince him it's WAY more work to get laid with me than someone else, maybe I can get off the hook? Or what if I get her and bring her home?
I would be well served in many areas of my life were I to meditate every day.

Reading Brad Warner

2010-12-22T21:32:00.000-07:00

I've read all of Brad Warner's books now, some of his blog, and some of his interviews.

Sex, Sin, and Zen is no different, it is at once profound and superficial, hilarious, deadly serious, and revealing, all while being instructive.

I would buy this author a beer. I might say: "your books can save our generation from itself!" and he might be halfway through gazing distractedly in the distance, while picking his nose, and go: "Wha? Yeah maybe, 'scuse me, saviour's gotta take a leak."

I wasn't sure how much this book would apply to me, being 98% frigid. But talking about sex is also simply talking about how you treat other people. And that applies to everyone.

Generally, if I ain't got zazen, I got nothin'. I don't want to make GOALS, but I will say that things tend to go to crap when I don't take time to rehearse some Zen every day.

Breaks

2010-12-19T22:26:00.000-07:00

The last time I took a break was back in March.

I took a week of vacation to go to the LT skating camp, but 2-a-days and 8am ice time - while awesome - is not quite a break.

Only occasional weekends, as the job is a necessary evil.

My last day of work was the day before school started.

I love love LOVE having the house to myself, and I'll have 1 day or maybe 2 before Christmas. I hope that day, plus some sleeping-in, will make my head better. I understand that maybe my thoughts and internal reactions are less than ideal. But this time I shouldn't ignore them either. Maybe it can be ok.

2010-12-13T22:28:00.002-07:00

music and people carefully composed
I lit the fire and he hid the fire hose
we burned it down, we became the show
that's what I tell people
and that's all they know

Tough as steel balls

2010-12-12T22:54:00.000-07:00

Dilema: Full cut-proof suits run about 500 bucks. Which is steep for an adult, let alone for a sport where growing children, often several from the same family, tend to participate.

I don't even really know with certainty that kevlar, or teflon, or whatever it is in cut-proof suits, actually provides the kind of protection we hope it does.

Every time there's a bad crash with a cut injury, I kind of wish the full neck-to-ankles cut-proof suits were mandatory. BUT, at that kind of price, I also wish that speed skating would remain a sport that lots of people can afford to do. (It would be sad if a sport so many people liked went the way of white rich money sports. It's hard to respect Dressage or show jumping no matter how hard the participants work.)

I didn't see the crash that happened this weekend, but a skate came up and caught a skater near the front shoulder, under the collarbone where the armpit protection of most sew-in suits falls short. The skater held his injury, finished his race, and there was enough blood all over that the ground crew thought maybe there were multiple injuries.

(I wasn't there, so I don't know why the race wasn't called, maybe the crash was right at the end and it finished soon after. Also, we tend to assume that if you're up and moving, it's going to be ok, and you want to finish your race.)

So, the ice was shaved and Zambonied to get rid of the big ugly stain, racer went to hospital to get some stitches in that gaping wound, the show went on.

Tough as balls, the cut racer skated day 2 of the event - even lacking all of those oxygen-carrying red blood cells - and skated really well. He must've REALLY wanted to qualify for Canada Winter Games.

Go him.

It's tough to say if there are more cut injuries, or if you just hear about them the more you hang around. Skaters today aren't moving much faster than "back then" 10 years ago, so if there are more injuries (if) I don't think it's speed causing them.

I hope it's still true that nobody has actually DIED doing short track. Try to play safe everyone.

Nearing

2010-11-24T21:25:00.001-07:00

There once was a man I would've taken to bed and ripped apart.

Well, that's not right, he's still around, which is the point here, but no longer available for a vicious tackle without a moment's hesitation. Those times have gone by, and have been blogged about. I don't think I was the type that would lift his luggage anyways.

This good-looking man said something that from anybody else I would've dismissed. His opinion on... how things are and how he implied they could or should be... in my current relationship... It had some zing because I would've hit that. His idea of how things should be could've applied to me, if things had been different... but they do not.

The zing was the feeling of being both rejected and judged. To be fair, I never made a formal pass, and was never actually rejected. He might not have had the slightest clue! Worse, when the incredulous comment was made, I kind of wrinkled up my nose and agreed with him. Why yes, sir, I am a bit of a loser for being in this perceived situation! Thanks!

Had I felt all confident and said something like "Yep, that's how it is, and that's how we like it!" I could have at least saved some face. He could scratch his head at how weird some people are and he could marvel for just a moment and that would be that. Alas no. I let him think that I agreed with him, and that I was slumming it in this perceived situation, and HIS ideal would clearly be the superior choice. If there had been a choice.

Is there a choice?

The Next Generation in the Next Milennium

2010-11-21T02:09:00.000-07:00

Watching it now, Star Trek TNG plays out like office politics in space.

I still cheer for the BORG.

(Also, it still beats Deep Space Nine, which plays out like a soap opera in space. I assume.)

------

My word for the day is: Arresting.

Catching up on the career whereabouts of David Usher on YouTube, that's the word I thought of for the videos.

A quality I always wish for myself. Maybe that's one of the things that seems to be "missing" as I persist in the journey.

Sounds like he lives in Montreal. I still don't have a good answer for "why I don't live there yet."

------

There are nights that I'm awake, I don't take my pills as an act of rebellion. I am very broke right now, as in cash poor, not as in broken just yet. So the world is asleep and I can't afford anything and none of the people I would like to talk to are about, BUT... it's quiet and I have time alone. 2am is a small price to pay.

-------

Here's another word: Tectonic.

Machines don't understand sacrifice

2010-11-14T22:32:00.000-07:00

My poor brain, poor mind. I tried to give it a rest by watching Hardware. (You can't stop progress.) It's always tough to watch a movie that you've seen before with someone who hasn't. I get self-conscious and worried. I wonder if the first time I saw the movie, was my company thinking the same things?

Finished Apolo Ohno's biography. I'm still not entirely convinced there's a real person in there, but the story about getting into a car accident with Shani Davis was pretty good.

Heard at Short Track

2010-11-12T22:09:00.003-07:00

If you're skating on the small ice past the age where your parents can force you to, why is that?

Deep down, I think anyone who keeps doing this has an inner sense, an appreciation, a voice in their soul that loves to say "Duuuude, whoa!" Even the nice "active lifestyle" moms who join us have this voice, the masters who couldn't retire this year due to economic downturn, they have it. I'll bet Cliff loosens his tie, hangs up his white hard-hat and brags that we had to pick pieces of his teeth out of the ice after he crashed. Because if somebody else moving at that speed caught a piece of tooth, they'd be the next one calling an emergency dentist.

Add to that population an assortment of high school kids, scruffy-haired young men who are also, say, big hit downhill mountain bikers, kite surfers...

Would YOU take advice from these people?

Talking shop about passing-back, a little process where someone passes you in a race and you immediately pass them back, some timeless racer wisdom was dispensed. So what if it was dispensed from a machine with a broken arm? "After you make your pass, never slow down. Even if it's a 5000m and you've still got twenty laps to go, don't slow down. You're going to die anyways."

From him it was plain and sensible. When the coaches asked me if I was sure I wanted to get pushed by Big Steve in the relay and I said "Well, you're going to die anyways" they laughed at me and praised my "optimistic view."

But how easily we forget: you're going to be tired anyways. You're going to be hungry anyways, you're going to get older anyways, you're going to need a shower anyways, you will be unhappy anyways, you'll just be short on time anyways. So you might as well.

The Shorts Shortage

2010-11-09T21:40:00.000-07:00

My local benefit consignment boutique (Value Village) has put away the section of men's shorts for the winter.

HOW AM I GOING TO CLOTHE MYSELF?

I lost another pair of shorts last week, in the same manner as always: The weight of my ass on the saddle wears the fabric see-through, then the nose of the saddle spears the thin spots just as I'm getting ready to sprint when the light turns green.

The pair I'm in today is hanging on by about five or six threads.

The grey hawaii-shirt print camo shorts need to be washed, and have been missing the waist button for two weeks.

This is becoming a crisis! The only army shorts on e-bay in small sizes are American BDU.

Lanky is on vacation, so I couldn't even borrow his shorts unnoticed IF I could somehow convince myself it was even morally questionable. (Then I could argue, but alas, it is morally unacceptable to wear your boyfriend's clothes out of the house if doesn't want you to wear them.)

(No really, we both own our own pairs of size M Race Face Buzz shorts. That's how much I like Lanky's trousers, and how deftly he evades my attempts to "borrow.")

Talking like Grownups

2010-11-05T23:20:00.000-06:00

It's a cliche by now, but open honest communication in a mature adult setting is best for a lot of things. We all know this to be true, the theory looks pretty good, and if you write a book about it, you can be on Oprah too, right?

I try really hard, but in my core I am tight-lipped classist British judgementalist, so open and honest are two things that require megawatts of brain power and a particular optimistic mood. Which is hard when you aren't at your best, but on the other hand, it's also hard to keep those scathing verbal assaults quiet too.

Then we start getting into reasonable vs. unreasonable expectations (again with the English conservatives: claim not to have any expectations, mock when imaginary expectations are not met) and I kind of wish I had my shrink to talk to.

98% of the time Lanky and I do pretty well being reasonable, communicating without judgement, giving benefit of the doubt. When we're both overworked and just-hanging-on and frankly bitchy, we aren't so great. I mean, we did really well considering, we know what "worse" looks like (our parents) and don't go there... but it needs work.

Tomorrow will be the first day I didn't have to do school or work in... 20 days. I still have exams next week (one a day for eight days!). I'm teetering on getting sick. Add some relationship STUFF. What a ride.

Taking Blood, Pt 2

2010-10-25T20:53:00.001-06:00

Well, this week in the specimen collection lab, after a great deal of fumbling and mistakery, I got two tubes of blood out of my partner, with the correct labels on (one of which was hand-copied), and within the allotted amount of time.

Unfairly enough, I have beautiful veins that are visible from across the room, but deep enough that they don't roll very much. A drunken darts player could hit them in a smokey pub. Both of my collectors got them on the first try and filled a tube up in about a second. I do not have this kind of luck at all.

The whole ordeal is still a panic from start to finish, but this is what I remember and think other people might be interested in reading.

A little comparison, shall we, between what the brain thinks and what the mouth says?

The exact stream of consciousness at the moment of truth:

"Ok, my gloves are still on? I prepped the site, right? Got tubes? Ok. Ok! Here we go... Anchor the vein above and below, don't be shy, hold it down... say something, I'm supposed to say something!"

Mouth says: "Ok, little pinch coming up right here..."

"Nice low angle, ok - Push fast! Right in the middle! Ok, smooth, so far so good, wait, what? WHAT IS THAT GRITTY THING MY NEEDLE JUST HIT?! STOP! But wait, it doesn't look like enough of the needle is in yet! Ok god it's still hard and gross under the needle, keep pushing though, too far is better than not far enough this time... It's supposed to ease up once you're in the vein, so it should stop feeling like concrete in a second... Ok, no, IT'S NOT IT'S NOT it's not feeling any easier, ok, I can't push anymore, ew ew ew. Just put the tubes on the holder and see what happens. Ok. This could be bad, just pretend everything's normal."

fumble... soft click... ...nothing.

"OH. MY. GORDON. What have I done? I really screwed up. I've got a needle halfway in to this skinny chick's arm, it's probably in a nerve and she'll be maimed for the rest of her life, and I STILL didn't even get a sample. I'm going to fail, totally fail! Her husband's going to kill me!"

Mouth says: "Ok, um, now what? Did I blow clean through it or what? No, you don't know why I'm not getting blood? Pull back a bit?"

"Pull back? Ok... Oh! Oh look! There's blood in there! Rad! Ok... Ok, just hold it still... it's a slow one, steady..."

Ears hear: "Ok, so, what should come off now?"

Mouth says: "Oh balls, the tourniquet!"

So I yank on the slip-knot side so it'll come off. Except it doesn't, it just pulls the skin around the needle and looks painful.

"Thank you lab partner for not screaming if this hurts really bad, or does it always looks like that? Jesus. Why won't this thing come off?"

Mouth says: "Could you give me a hand, this isn't coming off and I don't want to lose the vein."

"How does one person do this with only two hands? Ok, it's off, there won't be any impairing vessel damage or foot-long bruises on my lab partner. Ok."

Switch tubes!

"Don't move the needle... don't move the needle... Holy goat balls she's not going to have an arm left if I keep jerking around."

fumble... soft click... IT'S GOOD!

Ears hear: "Ok, I think the tube is full now."

Bladder voids. (Well no, but that relief was nearly as substantial.)

"Even if she loses the arm, I'll get full marks for filling both tubes."

Busyhead

2010-10-23T21:20:00.000-06:00

Ah yes, I remember now: the process of becoming educated is less like learning and more like running around panicking because your brain is full and you're certainly going to fail, until somehow by magic the courses finish before you've quite had the chance to execute the failure.

At least, that's how I hope it turns out.

Working backwards

2010-10-20T01:05:00.002-06:00

Runs in the Family

A little tune that's been sticking by me this week.

... I'm not sure I know how to write this well so I'm just going to write it and post it and editing be damned.

I missed the bus. Yeah. Brushing up against 30 years old and standing at a bus stop. It's a bit shameful. You may wonder what that adult person at the bus stop you drive past is thinking.

Once you realized you missed the bus, you think this: As a first port of call, you get angry at public transit. This is easy and everyone can relate. Then, angry at yourself for being behind schedule. Then, angry at the cats for needing to be fed before you got out the door, then angry at the boyfriend for being too overworked and tired to drive to practice and only giving you a moments notice. Angry at yourself again for not insisting on the kind of relationship where of course he would drive you. Get angry that a cab never drives by when you actually could use one. Get angry at the spoiled kids on the ice right now who's parents drove them, who's parents gave them cars, who don't know what they've got. Get angry at money and life for not being able to afford a car, get mad at your principles about going into debt, get angry at your anxiety about driving a four-wheeled upholstered murder weapon. Get angry at skating for being so late in the evening, and so far away, get angry at anybody who could've picked you up that you've never asked to. Get angry about the feeling that you've always got to do everything yourself. Get angry at your body for being the size it is, for needing to burn calories, get mad at races coming up for requiring you to train, get mad at school for making you tired and making you feel pressured, get mad at yourself for being angry at these things that you have no right to be angry at.

I want to be punished when I'm like this. I call myself an ungrateful snot for awhile, I tell myself to stop being such a pansy because disappointing things happen, then I make up clever epithets about whatever personal trait I blame that second, and after awhile it gets boring and I would prefer just to be slapped across the face, shoved into a wall and then kicked down the stairs and have it over with.

What I like about it is that somewhere between provoking violence and the bottom step, you know it's not really your fault. Finally, something is not your fault. You might've asked for it, maybe that first smack, but you didn't pitch yourself down to the first floor. For a moment there, you don't have to control it, you don't have to be responsible for the outcome. There's something quiet and astonishing as you check to make sure that your teeth are still firmly in their sockets. It's better than punishing yourself because when you do it yourself, with your actions and your responses, it's still all just you.

I guess that's how badly I would like a respite from feeling responsible for every outcome and result, for everybody's feelings and situations. Way down at the bottom of my Self I know that that's not fair... and I think I just made myself very sad. It's funny, I always think I'm so tough. Yeah. I envy the strong women who can just say what they need to say, who aren't afraid. Sometimes I call those women whiners, I call them weak for not being able to put up and shut up, fools who can't control their mouths, have no discretion, no sense of consequence, can't keep it in. I applaud myself for being able to Take It, when really I'm too scared to Say It.

Giving Blood

2010-10-18T22:50:00.001-06:00

Or: An afternoon of feeling the "lingering looks"

There was, unfortunately, little choice to be had in the matter.

Provided choice, I would've sidled up to the girl with tattoos on the sides of her neck who makes no particular secret about her past competency finding her own veins for recreational usage. Or in a pinch, I could've gone mano a mano with one of the two guys in the class. Sure, he may have been just as uncomfortable, but I can manage with the male behaviour protocol for uncomfortable situations.

(Now just check on the prostate and we'll both get the hell out of here!)

"The Patient" Vanessa stared at her belt buckle, made some apologetic chit chat, tried to be neutral and matter-of-fact. Accepted compliments on her tattoos.

What do they see?
A person can spend forever trying to solve for this.

Just now, I snap a couple of emo-kid pictures, trying to see how these arms really "look."

It's worse than shopping online, because I can't tell how they would look "on me."

"personal" "professional" distinctions, boundaries, too far, irreversible? Who decides? Who controls? What now? What story do I tell myself? Tell them? Is professional suicide better than being professionally victimized?

"The Phlebotomist" Vanessa is ironically too gentle and concerned to collect blood very well yet. Afraid of hurting anyone and afraid of causing damage to the skin or blood vessels of the arms, both tries on her classmate - the right and the left - were too shallow to be successful.

:\

skinsuit rant

2010-10-15T00:52:00.002-06:00

I hate feel-bad skate practices.

What I hate the most is the damned club suit. And I don't hate it for the reasons you would immediately assume I would. (That it makes my butt look big, or it's black which we all know is the slowest color, or whatever.) I swear it's the only skinsuit that actually makes me feel less like a speed skater. How is this, you ask?

It is a club suit. We order them in good faith, for a lot more money than you'd think, after trying on a sample. Faith no more!

The suit is possibly supposed to be black, or perhaps very dark grey. The lining is white. So, anywhere the suit stretches at all, the white shows through to accentuate the underlying form. Generally, the chest and back and arms are quite black, but the lower body and legs are sewn in such a way that they are very grey on everyone. It looks like the suit is stretched awkwardly.

This effect is augmented if you opted to pay the big bucks (as we did) for the Kevlar sew-ins, which add an extra flattering seam. The thigh protection and ass coverage again alter the optical qualities of the suit, making it DARKER, so from the back it looks like you're wearing black underwear that's showing through (more on this later) and from the front it looks like maybe you wet yourself.

The shin guards only go about half way down the shin, and look uncomfortably miniature on everyone. The knee pads aren't bad, but again, they add to the multi-chromic effect of the rest of the suit, adding contrast so that the white stretched parts look even whiter, and the dark kevlar parts even darker.

Also... IT IS SEE THROUGH. I do not feel very safe in a skinsuit THAT I CAN SEE THROUGH. If a girl is wearing a pair of Juicy Couture undies that say JUICY on the butt, you can read it through the ass of the suit. Not just on a relay push, you can read it from blue line to blue line. Somehow even through the kevlar with it's panty-line seams and supposed cut protection, there it is. JUICY.

The zipper seam is bunchy and it too shows white bits through the "black" exterior. The limbs are a bit short on most people, so a lot of the kevlar ankle cuffs show. Because neck protection IN ADDITION TO the kevlar in the suit is required in Canada, there's still the bulk and strangulation effects of a bib guard underneath. We're like the Steve Urkel of club suits.

So now I've got a suit that makes it look like my underwear is showing and I've peed my pants, and really DOES show my underwear just because it's a crappy damn suit. It doesn't even succeed in replacing shin guards very well. I ordered an XS because the limbs on the S were just a hair too long, but this was a mistake. I thought I was going to lose weight, ok? So I really am poured right into that suit. And the legs look too short because of the cut and the Kevlar. As if I stole it from my little sister or something. Or one of the little kids in the club outgrew it and I was too cheap to buy it new. The stress on the poor-quality fabric has started to make it pill and fuzz disintegrate a bit on my ass and thighs, adding even more to my self-consciousness, that even a suit that is poorly fitting ugly and unflattering IN ADDITION is just the wrong size and will just suddenly BUST OUT at any moment.

I feel so, so uncomfortable in it, but I keep wearing because it was expensive, it's easier to have sew-in guards and kevlar than to haul around all the little parts, and I feel as though it's punishment for being bottom-heavy. Like I should suffer with it because I didn't lose the weight, so there, fatty, that's what you get, the ugly suit.

My other option, at this time, is the national team suit that is technically Lanky's. This ALSO makes me feel fat and self-conscious because a) I assume anyone would think that SHE is clearly too short and tubby to be on the national team, so why is she being a poseur and wearing the suit? and, b) obviously she isn't as good as the other skaters who don't appear to be on the national team, so why is she being a poseur and wearing the suit?

I don't want to break down and buy a shitty club suit but in a better size because a) it's such a crappy, ugly suit and b) buying a larger size is like admitting defeat and the arms would be too long anyhow.

Finding a nice suit with sew-ins that isn't made by this company is a major major pain, and then there's the expense, and then you don't look like you're on any team at all, and as far as I can tell the only way to get a suit from Descente or Nike is to like, get on the damn national team!

So.... if I'm not having an ON skating night, you add all that together and it's a real blah. Tonight was a blah. Nobody really my speed to skate with. Even if I make the bad suit look the worst of everyone on the ice, at least with Lanky he can tell me that "nobody looks good in that suit" and dismiss it as unimportant because, truly, it is unimportant. Then I can chase him and focus on being just a bit faster, not on having to be EONS faster like the guys WAY ahead. But Lanky's not feeling well this week (overworked, is my guess) and... blah.

A student asked me about Kevlar in the suits. Her husband is a firefighter and says one of his BC friends got an award for saving a kid at short track who got cut through his lung (!!) She'll tell me more tomorrow, because we were talking on facebook, and it's late. I'm totally curious.

sighs

V.

Things about School

2010-10-11T22:07:00.000-06:00

It drives me batty that the "new thing" is for instructors to be very careful not to disclose general marks. No class averages, no posted grades, nothing. For full disclosure, my angst used to express in the form of comparison to other people. "Well, so and so is in a similar situation and they don't appear to suffer the following drawbacks, so there must be something wrong with me." This is bad and I work hard to stay away from it.

In this case though, it drives me batty. Would I feel as good about a mark >90% if half the class received a similar mark? No, I wouldn't. But I have to know how I'm performing relative to everyone else. I would like confirmation of my awesomeness, please. If I need to be working harder to distinguish myself, I would like to know that too. "Competitive" still a bit of a dirty word for women, but I am. I don't want to ask around either. I hate those kids. :D

Outside the one room where we take all of our lecture classes, there's a pink tree. I don't know how it manages to have pink leaves, and it doesn't matter now that winter's swooping in. I really liked looking out the window when my brain needed a quick breath. "Wow, that is a really pink tree." This would satisfy my whimsy, and I could turn my attention back to the lecture.

What am I going to do when I look outside and think "Wow, that is some fucking desolate tableau"? Start counting how many months until I get to admire the pink leaves? How awful.

The other thing about school is that there are only a few of my 20some odd classmates that I would want as potential co-workers. Makes me nervous.

Splendid Isolation

2010-10-09T23:43:00.002-06:00

It's a fact: Weird things happen to your brain if you're by yourself for too long.

Around about a week, I think my mind figures it's drought time, and starts building the spore.

Lanky gets back from his business trip, and I'm already a squinty-eyed hermit who hasn't showered in days.

It's probably like that for him too. Maybe he gets home and regards all of the space suspiciously, wonders if maybe installing a couple of server cabinets or a hotel air conditioner wouldn't take care of the stifling silence.

A new interpretation of "elephant in the room." What if you don't mind at all that it's around? What if you've wanted an elephant? But being quite unprepared to see one up close, you'll tiptoe around it for awhile like it's nothing unusual. Just to be safe.

(eta: inspired by Hyperbole and a Half, I drew a picture and made myself laugh.)

Face Stand

2010-10-04T22:44:00.000-06:00

Just when I start to really like a pair of shorts, I wear the ass out of them.

And when I start to really identify with a jacket, I go and lose it.

Once you feel like you're managing to tread water, a holiday hosting event sneaks up on you.

Some less excellent marks are returned.

You wonder if you've got time to sharpen and skate.

Your legs walk you to the grocery store even though you don't want to go.

Taking Blood

2010-09-26T19:44:00.000-06:00

They don't waste any time in this program, we're starting venipuncture next week.

On each other.

I guess that'll let the short-sleeved cat out of the bag, eh?

The older I get, the more I value professionalism. This is not to say I wear a 3 piece suit to class. I wear cargo shorts, cycling shoes, and a T-shirt over a long-sleeve or under a track jacket. If it's below 0 Celsius, cycling tights with those shorts.

I don't wear flip-flops, sweat pants, yoga pants. I do wear jewelry in my vertical labret, but not my nasal septum. This puts me right in the middle of the appearance spectrum in my program. We've got blue dreadlocks, neck tattoos (back of neck, or side of neck, one behind the ear), multiple facial piercings.

So, to be exceptional, I won't leave the lab without thanking the TAs and/or the instructors, among other things.

This is the level of professionalism I'm comfortable with.

Having my class section and some of my instructors get a good look at my arms? Not comfortable with that.

Metanoia

2010-09-11T23:07:00.000-06:00

Just for a second here, it's going to be all about me.

So many bacteria, so little time.

It is cosmically unfair that Neko's eyes have to start looking sore again just before Lanky leaves for another work week out East.

I'm making little index cards to study off of, so that I can study easily on my way to skating if the train is really full.

What is the significance of a light-blue tube stopper for blood collection? What is it used for? What can it NOT be used for? What is the substance inside and how does it work?

A bacteria produces a medium white-gold beta-hemolytic colony on blood-agar plates. What is the bacteria and what does it do? What color would it Gram stain? What shape and arrangement would it have microscopically?

Will I have time on Monday to get more tinned cat food?

How is a group of 11 people going to act out an immunological pathway?

How long can you leave the same set of bed sheets on before it actually gets detrimental?

Apprehensive

2010-08-27T23:58:00.000-06:00

Well... at school today, I saw what I believe to be a Kona paddywagon with yellow rims and two brakes on it. Even if it is a single speedy, at least our bikes can make friends and appreciate each other's styles.

Otherwise, the whole thing was a bit of a spook.

I'm not afraid of hard work, per se, but I am afraid of feeling exhausted. I don't like being bored for long periods of time, as my brain will go day-tripping and may get lost. I see great potential for both conditions.

Today, I should have been listening, but instead I thought of how much I'd like a T-shirt with Bender B. Rodriguez on it. I'd put a speech-bubble on the shirt and write in it with washable smelly-felt pens, so that way I could put a new Benderism on every time it went through the wash.

I've also foolishly spent time fantasizing about all the excellent things I'll be able to do once I'm out of shift work. I dislike disappointing myself. Silly expectations are one of the things that my thoughts do when I'm bored, that's why I avoid it! What if I don't have lots of time to devote to skating because I'm still working part-time? What if I don't lose any weight with these fabulous lifestyle changes I've dreamed up? What if my academic results are only mediocre? Why did I get scared when I overheard the early signs of developing friendships? How do I manage the feeling I get when I consider that this might not be "the way out"?

Flipping through old pictures

2010-08-26T20:35:00.000-06:00

We were beautiful and sublime.

4

2010-08-20T20:10:00.001-06:00

This weekend, the team paddles. I like competition, but hate competitions. I hate sitting around waiting for the next race. It's a bit impolite to read in front of everyone instead of chatting lightly, but at the same time, you can't risk going off on your own in case you're suddenly called up.

But TGIF! I tolerated this week's work load and associated shoulder pain by doing mental race preparation. Our start count is 6666, sadly extended from 666 because we were able to get more boat speed that way. I must keep my top hand out past the gunnel while recovering. I must rotate. I will plant the paddle DOWN in the first 6. I will not pull hard until the blade is buried. I must not stop leaning out when I get tired, so I must check the color of the paint on the side of the boat whenever the drummer calls something. I must remember to put my glasses in my pocket so that I don't very nearly knock them off my face and lose them in the river. I will keep my head up to watch the stroke for timing. I will focus on my team even when other boats are in my peripheral visual field. I would like to be the first on our team to barf after we cross the line.

Don't do mental preparation at night before bed, by the way.

I will initiate high-fives. I will try not to make smart-assed comments, even if I think they are hilarious.

That was good. It is totally not at all a Buddism-friendly to imagine and desire things in the future or past. But I stopped hating my fat butt for a few minutes there...

8

2010-08-16T16:40:00.000-06:00

8 shifts left before full-time work ends and full-time school begins. There will still be work on the weekends, though, I have not escaped the gravity of money yet.

Reading: "Manufacturing Depression" by Gary Greenberg. I normally avoid nay-sayers, but his interview on Quirks and Quarks sounded reasonable enough; he says that talking about whether or not depression is really a disease is dumb, or whether or not it should be treated by drugs, and whether or not the companies are evil, is also a bit dumb. He wants to know what happens to people when you tell them they're "sick," what "sick" means and has meant in the past, and so on. He gets -1 point for playing the RLS card. Not that Big Pharma hasn't been disgraceful with this one, it has. But he suggests it's a mistake for Big Pharma to convince those with RLS that our suffering is caused by a disease.

Does that mean that I'm supposed to enjoy it, or that it's not a disease? Ok, let's call it a condition, like having bad eyesight. It's still mean to say we're not actually suffering, we're actually all being exploited by those big lens manufacturing corporations.

He does get +1 point for writing well enough that his history of medical "sickness" and psychological malady and how the two continue to relate since the dawn of syphilis was quite engaging. We'll see where he goes with this.

Also reading: some Cheri Huber (a Zen teacher who plays the role of the parent-you-never-had) and continuing with the Body Image Workbook. Waiting for the new Mary Roach (science writer writes life in space!) and the new Brad Warner (a Zen teacher who plays the role of your enlightened local bartender you never had).

I like reading. I like reading big books with a big coffee near a big window. I like mulling through. I'm worried that school is going to extinguish reading-for-pleasure. Only 8 days to finish so much leisurely reading! Stupid school.

Silence Snowball/Fear Avalanche

2010-08-07T20:06:00.000-06:00

Lanky is the braver of the two of us.

He's the one who dared to ask the scary questions; starting the dialogue on issues of happiness, of intimacy. Those questions where, if the answers are unfavorable, they mean a whole lot more questions without any answers at all.

This is especially brave, because I know that when I disappear inside myself, trying to have a real conversation with me can be like pushing a catatonic boulder up a hill.

Other drawbacks include Van having a list of bad habits that all lead directly to Withdrawn.

If I bite my lip once, the silence will snowball. "If you have nothing nice to say it's better to say nothing at all" is not always true. (Mom.) One wrong refusal to comment germinates annoyance. Annoyed Van can go either way. Once fed up with being annoyed, the heavy hitters anger/guilt/nihilism/judgementalism move in to take over.

Now it's best if I keep my thoughts to myself. When I'm pissed I can have quite a mouth on me.

All the silence and brooding turn into an avalanche where normal human fears run amok. I can stay buried quietly like this, deteriorating steadily for amazing stretches of time. I fancy that I hide it well, although it might be obvious that I am immobilized, suffocating, and unable to get out. I imagine up all kinds of wild, or expensive, or unaccessible solutions. I play the blame game, against others or myself.

Lanky is the one to speak up say "so what's the deal yo?". Just so we're clear, I am not accepting ALL of the responsibility, but I am willing to acknowledge my own contributions. And willing to admire what's required to be the one to break the ice.

So I solicit some reliable advice, listen, learn, discover that "talking" does not mean "impending hydrogen bomb" even if it habitually feels that way, that it can be better and the process doesn't even have to be that difficult. If everybody is willing to play ball and go for three downs*, it'll probably be ok. Why do I always forget this? Why so little faith?

* (Especially if the Canadians are willing to play ball, none of this 4 downs on a tiny field garbage the Americans tell us is football. That's as much football as a mini-golf is the PGA.)

Wanting to be told

2010-07-29T21:54:00.001-06:00

All this training and learning makes me want to have a coach to tell me what to do all the time, or at least to reassure me that I am doing the right thing most of the time.

I suppose it's true, sometimes women do want to be told what they want.

It is much the same as when somebody else feeds me. No questions, no worries, I just trust that they will decide what's best and that will be that.

The only real "food rule" I've had at camp so far is that I split my lunch in half. There's a small operation that serves up coach-approved lunches-to-go. Everybody gets the same. I figure that I am about half the size of say, Wotherspoon, and I do less than half of the work he might do - even at camp doing 2 a day - so my lunch can be safely half as big. I eat the rest after the second ice session.

Lanky thinks that to consider paying someone else to tell you what to do is a bit dumb, that we know what to do and ought to just do it. And if you don't know, figure it out, trial and error, whatever. He is also correct, but still leaves me with my feeling of insecurity and general tendency towards being MENTAL and obsessive. I seem to recall that his Myers-Briggs inventory also indicated a tendency to judge rather than feel, so perhaps I shouldn't be so offended by a taste of my own medicine.

Another question came up over dinner, that being: Why not demand more of the coaches we already have? I have never really felt that they were particularly interested in coaching on that high a level. I also have a nagging fear of being THAT kid. The one that demands all kinds of an instructor's time, but never makes progress, that becomes resented, that isn't going to go far anyhow, basically, a waste of time that could be better spent elsewhere. I pay the same fees everybody else does, but the issue is not just one of reimbursement, it is also just me wanting to be polite, and a good person, and like, and not an obnoxious Bother.

I would feel more comfortable soliciting advice in a formal financial transaction with someone outside our circle/club so that way I wouldn't have to worry about these things. If I explained that, most people would probably shrug and say "so what?" ... It causes me distress, is what.

No conclusions to be drawn yet. I know sometimes a person has to push through discomfort to make progress. But sometimes it's unnecessary self-torture (I am very good at this) and sometimes it's just the bitch of normal human development and I'll be damned if I don't have the wisdom to know the difference.

From the "pile of drafts occasionally reviewed to see the light of day."

2010-07-27T23:39:00.003-06:00

First Boyfriend Stories
(or: Why it's Hard to Talk)

The first time a boy kissed me...

No, wait, let's start it like this:

The first time I kissed a boy I was 14 years old. He was a boy with a girl's name, pretty eyes, and scratchy stubble. His shirt was athletic grey and smelled of laundry soap. It was just starting to get dark outside, and we held hands in the company of a small group of friends, waiting at a bus stop after the movie.

I was not yet counter-cultural. Definitely weird, obviously unlike the others, but I did not yet have WARNING and DANGER signs stuck all over.

A few days later - more than two days, but less than a week - we happened to talk while I was struggling with a poor mood. I explained a little bit about what was going on in my head, how it felt. That if I'd just killed myself the last time I felt this way, I wouldn't be having this problem right now.

The boy with a girl's name was upset by this. Crying upset. Ok, sobbing upset (I'm sorry). OMG what have I done what just happened upset. I listened intently and was fairly sure that he was saying that it was hard to hear his girlfriend talk like this, about these things. That he didn't know what to do. I apologized, taken aback by my mistake. This, this was not what was supposed to happen when "sharing," as far as I could reckon at the time.

Our conversations became quite formal afterwards, and faded. He was scared. It was too bad, because I really liked kissing him. I drifted out of the social circle and into infinite space, getting stranger as I went.

The boys I dated changed, from healthy and fun to people who I sensed could handle me and my pain. Older, tougher. Men who smelled of cigarettes more or as often as soap. I was still too much for some, and was responsible for overwhelming their capacities on some levels. I feel remorse for that. I wish I could have been a better judge of character, and I wish I could have known better.

So, I don't want to talk about it because I don't want to hurt yet another person with my Stuff.

Everybody knows a person who has been dragged down when another's need and pain has been imposed upon them. Conversely, everyone knows there are survivors of a suicide who say that they never saw it coming, no indications at all that their friend was suffering. Admirable and polite as it is to keep your burden to yourself, look where it gets you and the ones you love in the end... I don't want hang a rope around my neck, and I don't want to be the millstone around yours either. I don't need to feel guilty and responsible for hurting and breaking more people.

So, I have shared why I struggle along, selfishly refusing to share.

V.

Notes to self

2010-07-26T19:22:00.002-06:00

Having a go with Lanky's iPad. It's a neat toy, but the typing is taking some time to learn to do well, as the screen is very sensitive and lacks the tactile feedback of a regular keyboard. Which, as a person who loves the old loud spring-return keyboards for their decisive hand-feel, is very strange.

I'll work on it a bit and then see what my WPM score turns out to be. (I'm sure there's an app for that.)

Most of the bother is that every time one wishes to use an apostrophe they must stop and fiddle with extra buttons. Even if that's (AAARG) something that can be customized, this machine does not belong to me so you will pardon my sudden insistence on using the Queen's (fuck!) English.

The purpose of my post is for some "notes to self" about skating.

1) For the knee drive, bring the knee of the recovering leg as close to the ankle of the gliding leg as possible. This brings me lower and fixes a lot of problems.

2) The vendor-liscenced-to-sell-Starbucks at the Oval has stopped in fact selling Starbucks and I do not need to tell you how I feel about that.

3) No "cheating" the left-outside leg glide drill by twisting like an old-school short track banana. Lean more like a flagpole so that the shoulders and hips stay aligned. I like to turn with my huge ass, which is not as effective on the big ice.

4) One can "really force" the knee bend once in awhile and it feels really good. For 400m anyways.

More when I am back on a substantial keyboard. :)

Van. (giving the hard sell to anyone who will listen to come to the Master's here in January)

The Workbook (or: so much for Our Post-Human Future)

2010-07-23T23:11:00.000-06:00

I'm doing it. I'm reading, writing, evaluating, and affirming my way through... The Body Image Workbook.

(Scuffs toe in the dirt a bit)

There are exercises that I'm already pretty good at.

A bit of the, sort of, process anxiety is expressed by some face-picking. So, my skin has looked better. I'm not too sure what I think I'm going to accomplish with those tweezers, but I keep trying. :)

There is skating camp next week to consider.

Yeah.

Improving as a Team

2010-07-15T23:46:00.000-06:00

This is the most technically sound video of dragon boat paddling I've found so far on YouTube: Tada! Even then, I haven't been able to find a textbook example of some national team somewhere schooling the camera on how it's done, with a nice view from the side. Where is it?

My favorite part of paddling, I think, is when the team improves. Not only do you get to enjoy having done a better performance yourself, but you get to enjoy the accomplishments of the group as a whole, the ones that come from better co-operation.

This is neat for speed skaters, who traditionally compete individually but train together. We don't often get to celebrate teamwork.

Like skating, though, only a small part of speed comes from the muscle's potential to generate force. What makes a team fast is synchronization (front to back, and from side to side of the boat). Secondly comes the technical details of an individual's paddling (which are still relative to their teammates!) and only then does the ability to pull water like a monster make any difference at all.

So when we get the boat off to a "meh" start, then the coach talks, then we're all on the same page and feelin' it, and the next start pops us up out of the water like a cork with a wake on it, and you and the paddlers you can see around you are all "BIG" and reaching in time as if connected by rails... All worth it. I'm hurting and covered in mosquito bites, but that's ok.

Me craning my neck around: "Did the other boat sink? Seriously, I can't even see them, where are they?"

Today's Musings

2010-07-12T16:46:00.000-06:00

"What movie is it that you want to go see?"
"I want to um, well, I want to see Predators. Because Adrien Brody is in it."
"Oh, cool. It looks like it'll be a good movie, too."
"Yes, because he takes his shirt off."

(As my criteria for film appreciation in this case were few, and my expectations for Hollywood film are abysmally low, I was surprised at how much I enjoyed this movie.)

The Golden Age of Nostalgia

2010-07-10T03:42:00.000-06:00

Why is it that everyone talks about the Golden Age of (whatever) as having passed, not as something that's coming up? Let me be the first to stand up and declare that next week shall be the Golden Age of doping scandals in professional cycling.

Anyways, from the Golden Age of Usenet, the finest document produced by the internet to date is the alt.angst FAQ.

I've blogged it, but apparently not in this blog. So for those of you who have been with us since the very beginning, sorry.

Following closely is this: excerpt of Walter Percy.

(edit out something to do with the fact that commercial rat poison is bacon-and-cheese flavored, and couldn't possibly be worse than Pringles chips)

I'm fine now, but sometimes I scare even myself.

Random Article

2010-07-08T03:03:00.000-06:00

To get out of my miserable head for awhile I had to find something to think about that didn't make me feel worse (no small feat), so I browsed random articles on Wikipedia.

Did you know:

that there is a Magic: The Gathering Pro Tour Hall of Fame?
Tilt Cove, Newfoundland, Canada, has a population of 7?
The HMS Hermes, a 1898 cruiser-turned-sea-aircraft carrier, has GPS co-ordinates? It's upside down off the shores of Dunkirk where it got hit by a Germ(an) U-26 in 1914.
Frank Zappa built a recording studio called the Utility Muffin Research Kitchen?
"Fisticuffs" isn't just a term for rough-housing, it's another name for bare-knuckle boxing?
Judaism was one of the first foreign religions to arrive in India in recorded history?

Here is What Is:

2010-07-01T23:52:00.001-06:00

Here is what is:

I can't look at myself in the mirror anymore. I just can't.

You think this would be a motivator to change the way I eat, or more correctly change the way I live and exist so that I don't have to do what I do with food.

So riding my bike home (from the grocery store) through the skids, I wondered just what change could be so terrifying that I'd rather be shamed and fat, and dress/act/talk like I hope nobody will look at me.

This is it: I want to be able to say "No" and "You're Wrong" and "Try it this way" and I want to get mad, and not in that passive-aggressive snarky "sure what a great idea Sherlock!" or "OMG you won't believe what he did" way. I would like to say to one of my work supervisors "because YOU didn't tell me about this, the schedule is a major difficulty for everyone." "because YOU didn't interview candidates in addition to the Internal Transfer who Changed Her Mind, and we didn't get a new employee when you thought we would, my schedule is awful and I'm letting down the 21 other team members in the dragon boat twice a week."

I would like to say "I don't care!" and exercise my power to just go and CHANGE the work schedule so that I can do what I want to do, even if it annoys everyone else.

(I am so going to be done with shift work by September. So very done.)

I would like to say "That's nice but I want it done my way this time."

I would like to be angry at people who deserve it, instead of being angry at my own spinelessness and punishing myself. I want somebody else to feel bad for a change, for real, not just HOPE that they FIGURE OUT that they're FUCKING MY SHIT UP.

I would like to say "Sure Lanky, but it's thirty degrees in here and it's retarded not to open a window."

I would like to feel as though I COULD HANDLE THE FALLOUT THAT COMES AFTER I ASSERT MYSELF.

I want to say "TOO BAD." I would love to spin around in my desk chair to face him and explain this right now instead of tappity-tapping away at the keyboard and feeling all choked up.

Worse: I know I'm guilty of supporting a way of socializing that makes other people or co-workers feel this way too. Of "not talking about it" and "smile and nod" and being dismissive or insulting because something that seems dumb to me happens to bother you. I encourage stoicism and repression. Yet I want to cry over spilled milk if I feel like crying, and I want to resist the reflex to treat someone else badly and call them a wuss if they do the same.

All-or-nothing thinking has gotten me lost between "toughen up buttercup" and... whatever emotive thing is on the other side. It's really difficult. I feel like I can't do anything (really, anything) to help myself, or just console myself, without upsetting somebody somewhere. Might be my imagination, but even my own skin, my own hair, feels subject to expectations and judgement.

I'm not even sure how to finish writing this without going "Oh, but it's ok, it's my fault for being such a failed iconoclast, don't feel bad." "It's my unreasonable expectation that you would read my mind, magically know what bugs me, so I shouldn't feel like this, I'm sorry." I want to be done saying sorry for things that aren't my fault.

Peaceful storms

2010-06-23T23:16:00.001-06:00

The weather gods were kind today. Warm but not hot, and the rain stayed away until I was safely back at home, come from paddling with dinner under my arm.

Now, a gentle thunderstorm before bed.

I am grateful.

Last night was just plain hot, unrelenting. I tried to write. Blunt and matter-of-fact as I try so hard to be, there are still things that are difficult admit. I was afraid. Reluctant to admit that if Lanky wasn't around, I might pursue a full-time career in bulimia. If my will to avoid those stealth impulses fails, at least there's a self-consciousness that stops me if Lanky is around. Sometimes this is less a saving grace and more an annoyance. I am not alone in thinking this, almost all of us in this recovery boat have mixed feelings about the things that influence the participation in symptoms.

As blunt and matter-of-fact as I try so hard to be, I could never just excuse myself to purge. Would he reply like: "Oh, hey Van, do you want me to pause the movie?"

Those secrets are exhausting and aren't usually "secrets" as much as they are well-orchestrated oversights anyhow.

So might as well get back to struggling with "eating normally" and "healthy weight." Both of these things sadden me. "Well, here we go again, chubs." The gentle thunderstorm helps: "Shhh... Just be still and listen to me. Then keep listening. There."

The Fight you Fight Alone

2010-06-19T23:21:00.000-06:00

The struggle on the home stretch, after the whiplash through the corner starts to wear off and you're on your own steam, you know that part? When you decide that between where you are and that line on the ice over there, you will either finish hard or just die. Either is fine, and either way it's over.

You won't have to feel this way again for another couple of hours, another day, maybe even another season.

The reason why I can't draw any sensible comparison between fighting addiction and fighting the race timer is that addicts don't get a finish line.

Even if I leave everything I have out there in the struggle, it keeps on' keepin' on. I might make it tonight, but I will wake up tomorrow morning with it. Today I fought with it from the moment my feet hit the floor and I felt gravity's effect on my thighs and I'm still wrestling. I grudgingly give myself a fighting chance until.... until I don't.

I am unable to tolerate feeling miserable and hungry. I look for an engaging film to watch, so that I can feel miserable, but Hollywood miserable on the couch with a blankie and chips instead of for real.

Even now, I should just let it go and put myself to bed but I'm thinking, I could still totally order pizza! Pizza will still be there tomorrow, but that would mean tomorrow is doomed too so if I don't get it now it's like admitting defeat before Sunday even starts.

So here's the bargain, addicts are scholars of the bargain: I'll go to bed now, no pizza. If I sleep, great, then I did a good thing for myself. But if I'm up with restless legs, if I don't get the bliss of unconsciousness before I have time to change my mind, then it's Greek with extra olives and an order of wings.

Reasons not to write

2010-06-18T20:38:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I think about "writing" in that enduring academic formalized process kind of way. Art (capitalized "a"). Sometimes I wonder if I should try to get on that interminable path of Doing Writing. I gather that this is supposed to give Life some Meaning and that it is related in some way to the universal Human Condition.

Only twice in my life have I read anything and thought to myself, "I could probably write like that." My first during a read-through of Frank Huyler's The Blood of Strangers: stories from Emergency Medicine and the second was when I laughed at BikeSnobNYC as he cruelly mocked every established institution in cycling.

I put forth the following obstacles I would face in Becoming a Writer:

I do not live in New York City.
I am not a resident in Emergency Medicine.
I am not good at making shit up.
I do not care about social issues enough to research them and write about it.
I dislike the process of traveling and have no plans to do any in the near future.
I am fully aware that I have never been enough of anything to have a marketable memoir.

If I'm missing anything, let me know, otherwise I'll just continue musing to myself in front of the Internet and carrying around a black notebook full of stuff even I can hardly decipher.

Outside world, inside world

2010-06-15T21:00:00.000-06:00

Landscape: flat, dry
You can see Thunder for days before you hear him

I held your hand
Or were you holding mine?

Reductive Process, pt 2

2010-06-12T21:16:00.000-06:00

I need a word. Somewhere between lucidity and senility.

Because I want to know if, when you're there, you know it or not.

Maybe you're quite sure that talking about dying is a bit upsetting, and you're doing your best to be polite to the people that are around. Even if you're the kind of person who speaks their mind, that might change, when you start to live somewhere between.

Sometimes, the level of awareness and insight are quite obvious. Not this time. I don't know why I want to know. What does it change? Which answer would be the most comforting? (If any?)

I wish I'd asked.

Reductive Process

2010-06-08T13:03:00.001-06:00

"Growth is a reductive process."

A Truth, packaged and delivered to me in this quotable form by a friend. A variation on "Life is suffering" for the biologist, who knows that development involves a lot of killing and putting to sleep.

In literature, you sometimes have to murder your darlings. (Last three words taken from Diana Athill, fyi)

I'm there now, leaving more dreams behind. Twisting my mouth around with uncertainty as I can't help but draw the process out. Packing up just like moving house, when you take a minute to handle each otherwise-meaningless bauble, smile wistfully, and then decide whether or not to let it go or let it weigh you down.

I just thought of Gaiman's Sandman collection, where he proposed an entire mythology for modern times including the realm of Dream. Dream is a place where the little mementos might go. That sounds much nicer than leaving bits of wreckage behind, doesn't it?

So excuse me if I seem a bit sore and achy.

Beautiful Men

2010-05-31T16:44:00.001-06:00

I've been thinking about attractive men.

(Humans, people generally...)

What about a person makes your Self enjoy them?

What makes you want more of a person?

What makes you recognize them as a fellow human being at all?

There is a hierarchy, for me, of traits (conditions, states of being) that make someone progressively more appealing to me. A draft copy would sound something like: Smart. Emotionally complex. Conflicted. Driven.

People with these traits tend also to have other labels. It doesn't matter if they actually possess all of these functions, or if I just imagine they do. Everyone alive has a private list of superficial things that they prefer in other people, superficial things that do not actually change the quality or value of the other person, but that make us irrationally like them better. I like the inwardly oriented, the literarti, I like them perceptive, maybe even sensitive, but not whiney.

I will confess: The only reason I muse today on the Internal Lives of Mankind is a cute actor whose introversion I had mistaken for slowness.*

When someone of interest possesses an unusual combination of (desirable) traits, and also possesses an unusual history, does correlation equal causation? Weird circumstances often, but not always, produce weird people. Plainly mundane Jane can spontaneously birth an exceptionally fetching freak. It's easy to be fooled. It's easy to fool yourself.

*A totally common error to make. No surprise, though, that I had a fun afternoon of interview reading and youtube watching after I reconsidered the unlikely hottie. I like that the possibility of such people living in this world exists.

Matters of Scale

2010-05-28T21:50:00.000-06:00

(surprise, though; for a change I will not be writing about the earth's gravitational pull on my ass.)

How to talk about that little oil well problem... I'm waiting to hear from a friend who's partner works on off-shore rigs around the world to see what he's got to say about it. I couldn't even muster an uninformed opinion yet, except to suppose that it's probably pretty bad out there.

You could sit and ruminate for years upon the size of event, the reach of implications. While the ocean floor continues to hemorrhage at what I presume is an alarming rate, but I don't even know what an "alarming rate" is when you're talking about an ocean. I had to search the web for a a good picture of a 45 gallon barrel just to make sure I knew what we were talking about here, then line A LOT up in my head. Can't imagine a specific number of barrels, we're still arguing about the numbers.

Look around at my plastic life.

Read assessments I can't find information on. ("The Russians have nuked their broken wells." "The European safety codes would never allow this to happen." "This charity is collecting human hair from salons to sop it up!")

Now that I've got a handle on my anxiety condition, I can open a newspaper, sit through a thunderstorm, tolerate feeling a bit physically unwell, or fly in an airplane without catastrophizing, somatic panic. So I am pleased that a potential environmental disaster is on TV and I'm only mildly annoyed and concerned. I am also a bit displeased with this boredom response, but some things are just way bigger than me. Even me.

The Cutest Deadly Sin

2010-05-19T22:50:00.000-06:00

A link on BoingBoing about baby sloths got me to wondering. Here we have a point-form collection of poorly researched facts that surprised me, lifted carte blanche from the eponymous Wikipedia entry.

The animals that we call "Sloths" are two independently evolved critters. We call them two-toed and three-toed, but they aren't closely related.
Sloths can swim. (I know right! Caught on video!)
Their fur grows "backwards" so that it lays the normal way when they hang upside down in trees.
They're photosynthetic. No, really, the slightly greenish look of adult sloths' fur is due to the fact that the coat hosts a cyanobacterium that helps them camouflage with leaves.
They'll take a crap about once a week. One of the few times they'll climb down to the ground.
... Because they are most vulnerable on the ground. Proof? The ground-sloths are all extinct.
Metabolic depression does double-duty: Can survive nearly exclusively hanging in trees away from predators because they can get by on the calories of only leaves AND the slow movement means that predators that notice motion will pass them by.

Sometimes evolution is neat. :)

Unformed

2010-05-18T20:19:00.001-06:00

I don't know. There's no story I tell to myself these days about stuff.

Did some "inner critic" discussion in a BED group that was very helpful. I've been very caught up with the "inner critic" for awhile, you know how it goes.

Talked with Lanky about the state of our homestead. I was quite proud of myself for opening my mouth and verbalizing some of the things that wear me down, and giving the person involved the opportunity to be excellent. Didn't get the fantasy answer I wanted, but at least an answer we can try out. I hope. Stuff couples deal with.

Every couple of seconds I have to interrupt the inner critic. I would be more than happy to say really awful things to myself about all the things that are going on, what everything MEANS.

The baby mouse I rode home - in an inner-tube box in my bag - died. It might have been toast anyways, after the trauma of running across a parking lot. I tried, it seemed unfair to just leave it out there when it couldn't even see. Poor little beast. Sigh.

Learnin' Time Again

2010-05-10T13:50:00.000-06:00

Whelp, back to school in September!

I'm not too sure which part is more exciting me to: waking up at the same time every day, or the fact that there's an ice rink on campus.

If it's like any other Canadian rink, time allotted to anybody without a team jersey of some kind will be limited to an hour a month, but...

Next question: Do I retire all of my T-shirts for long sleeves?
Especially if I join, say, the co-ed dodgeball league?
What do you do when you can't afford Starbucks anymore?
How do you study at home with cats?
What if people want to... make friends?
How will the management of my eating change?
How do you manage things like being home for a roofing company when everybody is busy during the day?

Neko Peko

2010-05-03T23:15:00.000-06:00

Tearing your heart out daily; here's one of mine.

What if my kitty is in constant pain?

Cats are great at tolerating pain, masking it from view, carrying on in spite of it.

Obviously his eyes hurt him quite often. I feel guilty about this because I am selfishly unwilling to strangle my kitty in a towel and administer drops that make him cry more than twice a day. He has a bit of a tremor sometimes that his brother doesn't have. Is there another condition that causes that? One of those unfortunate consequences of breeding for human-pleasing traits? Or is it just because he's managing pain that the breathing seems maybe a bit jagged?

How would I know?

I picked Neko out of the litter because he was quieter and more stand-offish than the other kittens who were more talkative, more playful, more focused. He had a dreamy air. Even as a little clumsy yoda, he would spend a lot of time sitting with his eyes closed, but not sleeping. Just being a kitten-gargoyle.

What if it was because he was hurting then too? What if he was born with something wrong?

He grew into a cat-gargoyle. When he sits around with you, eyes closed, I hesitate to pet him. I worry that he's already in pain, and that it's just adding to his annoyance that some human is rearranging his wrinkles. The optical effects of his eye issues aren't improving. The corneas are still clouding, the tiny arteries that have made their way into the opacities keep invading further, growing.

Where does this lead?

eBay surprises

2010-04-28T22:32:00.001-06:00

I've never been a major auction queen, but I've done my share of transactions on eBay, and even now, there's still something a little bit magic about it.

I was "feelin' lucky" and bought a pair of no-photo Trekalized Sonoma shoes for a song about two weeks ago. (Well, perhaps the price of about two albums, once all the fees were said and done. Certainly less dollars than a seat at the opera anyways.)

They arrived today in a "keep refrigerated" box. As most 36 EU shoes are, they are a hair too big, but that's as small as they come, and from my time as a messenger, I learned painfully that bigger is better, baby.

My original Sonomas - which I believe were a men's model - were so desperately in need of replacing that the heels read "SPEC".

Also today, I wore some "blue jeans" and due to lack of a cargo pocket, LOST MY WALLET. The nice folks at my local burger chain kept it behind the counter for me after a good citizen found it on the floor. (I cancelled the credit card anyways.) For all I know, I went to put my wallet away on my right side and just dropped it into thin air. I hate normal people clothes. They itch and they're too hot and don't have anywhere to put stuff.

Following it's predictable course

2010-04-25T20:32:00.000-06:00

It was a magic 29 days.

It happens fairly often: where a bout of "restrained eating" is inexplicably busted, in a fit of what is only later to be revealed as... PMS.

Clockwork, really. The calories get lower and lower. This is fine until hormones and life both conspire to leave you a bit irritable and alone. (For the record, I couldn't manage a weird liminal space between early morning shift and evening commitments with gym clothes that refused to dry in 8 hours hanging in my locker at work.) I eat more calories for a few days, just barely keeping a lid on it, then, nosedive. The night Lanky returns home, when I should've been shaving my legs and investigating which pair of heels to wear (in bed), I was painfully regretting keeping so much food.

I have a half bag of Twizzlers and a half bag of Almond Hershey's kisses to get through and then hopefully that will be the end of that.

A couple of days back "on" and we'll see what the scale says. I'm guessing 4 pounds up if we're finished with the "compensatory measures." What Nature giveth, she also taketh away, so hormones should let me lighten up a bit in about a week.

Training

2010-04-08T15:36:00.003-06:00

Terrified that work was going to cripple me for the upcoming dragon-boat-paddling season, I submitted a request for an "ergonomics assessment" for my supervisor to sign. I'm pretty sure these are intended for chair-spinners, but I will do what I can to avoid actually having to go to a doctor or a physio.

Sweet, sweet NSAIDs.

I went to the gym after work, with some trepidation. It was surprisingly busy for 2am. I somehow find it impossible to be in a gym that also has men in it and not lift like an animal.

This morning, I have managed my neck and shoulder pain by making the other side hurt.

I don't mind it so much, though, because...

That's training, folks!

Credit (or: I should write something today)

2010-04-03T10:56:00.002-06:00

I should write something today. It is good to write a lot, perhaps daily. This is supposed to make one a "better writer." I've not actually anything to say though... A few half-formed thoughts roll around, but they are quite unimpressive. Imagine middling-sized tumble weeds in an annoying wind.

I suppose I need to learn to write about stunted tumble weeds too. By the time I put pen to paper, I'm usually writing about huge tumble weeds, entire hedges in a hurricane that will kill a man and tear his clothes off, bounding across the highway like a wookie in trousers.

Or maybe I should talk about writing as though it were kidney stones - accumulating layers of excess. Multicolored crystallizations that will kill you if you keep them in, but will also kill you on their way out.

No, I will go with a wookie in trousers. Tribble in a g-string. One is called "getting your credit card bill," one is "pretty girls in ugly glasses," and there is a handicapped conjoined twin, "diet" and "exercise."

There, I wrote something.

Today I

2010-03-29T20:53:00.002-06:00

ended up with a big calorie deficit and don't know if I should leave it or eat more even though I'm not hungry.
had a super-fun 22.5km ride that felt like it was downhill both ways. Except for the climbs, I mean. :)
got my hair cut. Waxed my eyebrows.
spent money I... well, don't have available in the cash flow exactly right now... on a berry colored GoreTex shell. I was going to let it go, but then I saw a number written on the tag that was way-awesome, took it to the till, stood corrected. (Why would someone write a number there, then?) Came back for it. I've spent money on dumber things I've used less.
figured out what to do in the gym tomorrow for upper body/core. Did I mention I was in the gym on Sunday? No? Well I was and I'm very proud of that. :)
went grocery shopping with Lanky. First time since he started traveling for work. Fun was had by all!

This week

2010-03-27T20:48:00.002-06:00

I think with any drug, there is a period of time between being "high", and "wanting to get high" that averages out to something like normal. You've finished being under the influence directly, and are not yet entirely consumed by cravings to be under the influence once again.

I also know that this period of time can get shorter and shorter as an addict progresses. (Here I will leave the matter of volition alone, why this happens is up to you.)

I'm there, right now, drawing it out, buying time.

Careful, careful.

Athlete toys

2010-03-22T14:22:00.003-06:00

For the last, oh, 3 months I would be remiss to call myself an athlete. I wouldn't let such a detail stop me from buying cool toys though.

Today I got an HRM watch that, like many HRM watches, has many very excellent features that I like. It:

- is strapless (chest strap, not wrist strap :))

- is waterproof

- has a reasonably-sized face

- isn't fucking ugly

- is analog

That last point refers to the timekeeping abilities, not the heart rate display. But wouldn't it be cool if it WAS the HR? You'd have, like, an engine tachometer!

The watch is probably intended for old ladies who have started Walking off the Weight on the advice of their doctors and don't like digital. I hate digital time, brain does it faster old-school. Anyways, you push the button, it shows your HR. No alarms, zones, percentages, inverse LCD, nothing complicated.

This will let me be a bit nerdy (morning HR tracking) without being overly complex and obsessive, and hopefully will help keep me moving this summer. Having one goal (lower resting HR, or say keep HR high during bike commute) is much easier than trying to choose among the many, many things that could be improved in the off-season.

Yay toys.

The Introvert's Dilemma

2010-03-18T22:27:00.004-06:00

Being too alone is stressful.

Being with people is stressful.

The train station closest to skating practice is actually the end of the line. (I'm not making that up for literary effect, either. :) ) Today, the train arrived with me on it, but headed back the way it came with me still on it. I was feeling unwell. Was it something I ate? What did I eat yesterday? What didn't I eat yesterday?

I think maybe I wasn't accustomed to taking the train and got a spot motion-sick. The other train ride this week wasn't awesome either, but it was in carriage less than 40 years old.

I haven't had a high enough level of anxiety to ride the train to practice but not get off, sitting in the same seat for the trip back home for some time now. I didn't want to talk to people, there are people at skating, they expect me to talk these days, and more than just what track position to be in for a relay push. Sighs. I guess I am kind of stressed. And no Lanky around to make reassuring background noises/odors around the house. (I mean for instance, the sound and smell of roasting or brewing coffee, but I find it funnier left ambiguous :)) This is the most alone we've been since we moved in together. It's a blowhard, but I don't want to go out into the world, either.

Just failed at giving Neko drops AGAIN. Obviously it's because I'm fat.

Some days I wish I could've been a cross-country runner.

Bullet List

2010-03-18T01:00:00.002-06:00

I went to practice! My straights are total garbage, but it was still pretty fun.
BikeSnobNYC is my favorite blog of the moment.
NakeyCat clawed me up my nose when I tried to give him drops tonight. I conceded.

You don't know what you've got

2010-03-12T04:21:00.002-07:00

... 'til it's gone.

My course of treatment never went through that particular venue. But it would usually come to mind in the form of a question: "Would I go now?"

This is not good news, especially at 4:30am when you're a bit disappointed in yourself because you seemed to be doing really well until just now, and thank god there were some eggs in the fridge otherwise you might've opened some cat food because you just suddenly really needed to stuff something in your face after you finally sat down for a second to read your news feed.

Being now technically overweight according to BMI, I can at least say this about not purging: When it goes in and stays in, consumption becomes self-limiting. You can surprise yourself with how far you can push your limits, but at least you will eventually roll to a stop. With purging, you can go on until the container is empty, the fridge is empty, the bank account is empty, your life is empty.

(blink)

At least, I think that's distinction.

From me to you

2010-03-10T02:01:00.002-07:00

I've had this song stuck in my head since I heard it. It's not particularly good. I just stumbled upon it today.

SEXtronauts!

Which then reminded me of this "Oldie but Goodie" which is filed under "songs that aren't particularly good, but I would frequently dance to anyways." Alien Sex Fiend!.

Then I felt a need to hear the Dead Stars Still Burn song (very old Covenant!), which is in the same file, and truly I should go to bed before music nostalgia and youth get a choke hold on me.

I was very beautiful and fucked up then. I probably would've been quite popular if I'd been on a planet nearby.

To everyone who sat and read intellectual volumes by smoky candle-light at our table... I raise my glass and request Suicide Commando.

om nama shivaya

2010-03-03T21:31:00.004-07:00

When I remember not to be all caught up in my own STUFF, it's better.

Apparently "Om Nama Shivaya" translates variously into an honorific title for Shiva, praises for Shiva, praises for the Shiva in your soul, etc. Most loosely, and how I first heard it, was as "I honor the divine within me." The Divine being Shiva, but whatever. It can also go as "the divine with us" if we presume that, being supernatural, it's in me and everyone else. The phrase sounds nice when you say it to yourself. It makes me feel a bit better.

I'm reading a book that's so popular I wouldn't admit to reading it. I think it may have been on Oprah at some point. NYT bestseller. Anyways, in one bit the author talks about how she writes "conversations" with herself using the voice of whatever she's seeking outside of her. So when she wonders "oh god what do I do now?" she answers herself as perhaps god might.

I ran with this for just a split second, an impossible fantasy of what I would want to hear that is from an external source, from a friend who's not here, from a dad I've never had, from my mom if we were brave enough to really know each other, from the kitties if they could talk, from boys I've loved and lost... My imaginary conversation partner got as far as "oh, sweetie, come here for a hug," before I had to shoot it down.

because there's no use in crying about it

I so very rarely speak to myself like that.

Easy to get caught up in the wanting-of-it, as if it's outside of you, when really a lot of it is already right where you are. I'm human, I want it from elsewhere all the time.

I hung on ok to just being in this moment, the one right now, for most of the day. Unravelled a bit at work. Knew that my night was probably going to end in the zombie-walk-of-shame through the grocery store, but for just a second there I remembered to think om nama shivaya, while I was biking home. I figured, maybe I could just, you know, ride home. Chill out. Spin past the neon and the awnings, have tea and some frozen fruit for dinner.

Then I dove straight back into my STUFF and discovered Triscuit minis come in a new flavor!

Anne Lamott (who I first read here) wrote in one of her books that:

"It is hard to remember that you are a cherished spiritual being when you’re burping up apple fritters and Cheetos."

... Om nama shivaya

Hurry Home

2010-02-28T23:03:00.002-07:00

I'm waiting for Lanky to come upstairs.

Truly I had a few more things to do at work, but I said a little prayer that my colleagues did their calculations right, because I had to hurry home! Lanky is leaving for Ontario at 4, airport at 3, it's ten past 2 and I'm still wearing a lab coat!

Maybe we'll have time for a cuddle before he goes. Wait, it's going to be awhile, would it be good practice to get in his trousers? Maybe I should go with him to the airport and take a cab home?

Arriving, his car is still in the parking spot, and I ride my bike straight through the back gate (yes!) and go inside. I hear something that sounds a bit like a fan, and I smell roasted coffee. He said he'd roast a big batch for me before he left. If it smells this good it must be nearly finished. I won't disturb this process - the room smells overwhelmingly of burnt, and if I open the door the cats get in, so upstairs I go! He always comes upstairs after to put the roaster back and show off.

Surfin' the websites that don't take much time to read, expecting to be interrupted with a container of medium-dark shoved under my nose and I listen to the water leaking through the roof into a container to drip out the seconds. I don't really want to get into any trousers just now, I think, but a big smooch is in order. Two weeks is a long time.

Maybe there's something in my e-mail to amuse me for a minute or two.

Already gone?

He's left for the airport already?

I'm waiting here. I thought you were downstairs!

Oh.

I consider how long it would take to cab out to the airport. Wonder if he's through security or not. Whether an eighty-dollar round-trip is justifiable or not. He calls to tell me his flight has been delayed, but it's hard to talk over the din.

Hurry Home.

Things I like

2010-02-25T20:29:00.002-07:00

- Riding my bike straight through the (open) garden gate. Easier in winter on the mountain bike, but today was the first time I've done it. Summer will involve squeezing the fixie between two parking blocks and on to the deck. If there's enough space to do both. Still, it was cool.

- Thinking I need to go to the grocery store in the evening, when an inspection of the fridge reveals some stuff that doesn't ACTUALLY smell bad even if it's past the best-before, and being able to assemble a lunch with it. Lunch made, grocery evade!

- Having a nice bit of fiction to read at a leisurely pace.

- Cat in lap. (Way better than cat on back.)

- Speed skating on TV.

- Sunlight.

Neko's vet appointment tomorrow. Wish us luck.

Surly the Clamdigger Slayer

2010-02-23T20:55:00.002-07:00

Sacrificed another pair of shpants to the nose of the bike saddle. If I never stopped at red lights, this would never be a problem.

(Follow the link for hahas, you only have to watch the first minute.)

One would imagine that I would have all kinds of things to say during the Olympics. I don't.

Lanky and I find ourselves depleted, and bumping around the house like zombies in the brief periods we are awake. Lanky doesn't make it all the way up to the bedroom all the time, what with the couch a floor below offering a rest from the struggle against gravity, so some nights the other side of the bed is occupied by a pile of clean laundry.

The kitties find this terribly boring.

Entropion

2010-02-19T22:08:00.004-07:00

... is what the current vet says Neko might have.

The first vet called Neko the Sharpei of cats, and yes, the eyelid configuration is also common in the Sharpei.

I hope the vet-optho we'll see next week says that yes, that is a major contributing factor to Neko's eye problems, and yes, he is a good candidate for surgical correction.

(So, my cat would get an eye lift. Friend says: "Geez, while you're at it he could get some liposuction." :))

I don't really care if he gets better vision - he may not, the cornea is quite clouded by scar tissue at this point and it can improve but never completely resolve - I just care that he stops hurting. I feel bad that it took us so long, even though reasonably it was a forgivable mistake to make.

Money-wise... if they let me in to school, I'll have to hustle some scholarships up if I'm going to get my cat surgery and repair the roof that's probably rotting off the condo as we speak. Every day a new and surprising site of water from the stipple! The lamp of the ceiling fan has filled with brown water. Even one of the cats had some splash marks on his back.

This weekend the skating event we're helping co-ordinate takes place. I can hardly wait for it to be over.

Too Fat for Short Track

2010-02-16T16:54:00.002-07:00

If I could skate in a muu-muu, I totally would.

When things get too busy, I start dropping the ball. I totally missed a session I should've attended for my school application. There's a meeting for co-ordinating volunteers on the same night that one of our skaters will be in the women's 500m and we're setting up a screen at the rink so we can watch AND practice. Skate politics at board meetings start creeping in to your ice time.

I always suspected it was hard to skate AND do bureaucracy. I was right.

I also suspect that once you've been shoved into the organizational side of things, you don't really get to go back. Certainly not all the way back.

There are things I want to write about, like reading Neil Gaiman, but I can't seem to get my head together.

My mom and I had coffee today, and something we are both quite sensitive to is the feeling that we are being taken for granted. We do it to ourselves a bit - hard workin' people-pleasin' class-conscious women that we are - but neither of us have a solution. We storm out into the world ready to impress everyone with our gracious easy-going brunt-taking attitude, and somehow nobody bothers to notice the effort that goes into it. Sometimes you'll get a thank-you (yay!) but by and large, nobody will offer you a break in return. And that's just the way it is.

I said that we tend to put ourselves aside for others because in our imaginations, our conflict-avoidant imaginations, the worst thing that could possibly happen is someone would be upset with us. Oooooh, scary! How about this: poor them for being upset, that's really too bad. If we say no, maybe next time they won't take it for granted.

2010-02-06T23:04:00.003-07:00

The problem is that I can't tolerate starvation the way I used to. No it's not. That's like saying you can't tolerate sleep deprivation the way you used to. You're not supposed to, and people who can tolerate it are in a pathological condition, they're sick. I wish I could believe that even though it's true. Hard dieting would make you skate slower. If I even could diet hard. Even if I was skating, when was the last time I went to practice that wasn't for an organizers meeting? Just excuses. What am I supposed to do with this, then? By way of apology I'd like to demonstrate my physical sincerity. Can't injure yourself, everyone would know, awkward. Really you're too old for that.

Really you should get a book and read until bedtime, just let it go. You can start tomorrow with a healthy breakfast. I want to stay up all night with this, it's too important just to set it aside and sleep it off. How is doing anything other than what will fix the problem going to help you? I wish someone else could help me, swoop in and save me. Who else is going to do that for you? I always hope for too much. You can be a big girl and manage yourself. Starting now with the whining, and tomorrow with sensible eating. But I always fuck that up, 1500 turns into 1200 turns into the triples, sensible becomes unrealistic somehow and it's just a matter of time before the crash-landing. Do have any other bright ideas this time then? I don't, I don't. Then dust off the calculator and figure out how you're going to get it done because you can't keep going like this. I can't keep going like this.

Skater crush

2010-02-03T03:01:00.002-07:00

So, you get used to knowing a lot about the people you skate with, right?

And you know, I've always had a little skater crush on Charles Hamelin - by that I mean, in addition to the general swooning I do over anybody in a national team suit.

I know Charles Hamelin has family in the sport like lots of skaters do, I know he drives a fast car. He's got nice eyes and looks good even if he doesn't shave. I'm a sucker for long floppy hair. He's damn fast.

This little article from the Patinage de Vitesse blog added two new bits of information I didn't know...

Did you know he has his nipples pierced!?

(What? Oh that? That was me falling out of my chair.)

Also, how did I not know he was dating St. Gelais? They're both cute and fast and all very awesome, and it's probably common knowledge most places, like Ohno and Baver, Gregg and Shoebridge, but this is news to me. I hope they have a rocking Olympic good time.

I had this thought

2010-01-31T22:31:00.003-07:00

Brain is still stuck on daddy issues, but it came up with this:

Wanting to enjoy the benefits of a paternal-type relationship is not at all weird. Who wouldn't want those perks? If I could imagine up a third class of human being to act as an additional parent, I would, and so would everyone else! (Oh wait... I think that's what "extended family" is/can be for people... yes? Favorite uncle etc? We speak idealistically.)

Rub: For those those of us who were not granted a father, or had an abusive father, or for those of us lucky enough to have experienced both... It can start to be a different mental exercise. You start to want this imaginary parent relationship the same way you can get attached to wanting anything you've never had before. Like your first bike. First romance. First car. You want it with the same child-like intensity because that's the level of development we happen to be talking about.

So... I'm not weak or unreasonable for wanting a father-type relationship, or for feeling as though that is something that is missing for me. This is normal and probably can't be remedied. I can work on understanding that my imaginary projections about how a dad-hug would cure EVERYTHING when I'm in a bad mood... may be unrealistic. Or that attributing the entirety of the huge hole blown in my psychology to the faults of two fallible male human beings who weren't dad or weren't a good dad... When in fact there are many things that need repairing... is a cognitive distortion.

(Dad-hugs probably don't make many situations worse, though.)

(Incidentally, I can't stand it when people dismissively suggest that anyone's shortcomings might have something to do with fatherlessness or whatever. Sure, that stuff messes a person up, but it's an obstacle, not a defense. It's sad that sometimes one parent can't be enough, and it's hard, but having one parent doesn't make a teenaged girl pregnant at 13 people, yeesh. "I was abused" doesn't mean anyone gets to act like a jerkwad and not be sorry.)

Mr. Peko

2010-01-29T22:43:00.006-07:00

My kitty is having eye issues again.

I wonder where I can find some comfort that doesn't have calories? I would love it if I could sit down and have my kitty hop into my lap and settle down for some pets. He doesn't really do that with ME, and if he looked up at me with his red eyes that are all smeared with ointment, it would make me sadder. I can't give him any more treats, I have no idea what else I could do for him until he wants to play. That leaves a distressed Van to soothe.

It totally kills me when the kitties are unwell. KILLS ME.

I was thinking that it's odd to feel both unsettled and stuck in a rut (how is this possible?), but I found a way to phrase it that makes more sense. I feel unsettled and trapped. A much more effective image. I seem to WANT a lot of things, some desires being reasonable, some difficult but rewarding, some tawdry, some totally adolescent, some probably conflicting with others. I settle for ice cream and pasta.

(How many times have I written something like that in my adult life?)

Sometimes when I feel this way I try to be all upbeat and funny and sarcastic and instead end up sounding kind of like a bitch. Sorry Lanky. I didn't mean to shut you down if you wanted to talk about how your job is panning out this week by making a crass joke. This is not to invalidate my bitchiness: it's a statement of understanding that not all of it is appropriate.

I was hoping that a Buddhist-like meditation practice would help save me from this sort of thing. There are all sorts of notions I have that I was hoping would save me from this kind of thing! Even I can't do any saving. I would also like to write something about the daddy issues on my mind just now, but I can't think of anything dignified to say about it, and will now go think about why I insist on using such a churlish turn of phrase such as "daddy issues" to describe whatever it is.

Oh, Neko's here for a drink.

I ought to shower. Sincerely.

Van.

AmandaFUCKINGPalmer

2010-01-27T22:05:00.003-07:00

AFP and her Golden Globe adventure!

Just go look at the pictures for fun.

Neil Gaiman - who I hear is good but I've never followed closely - could not ask for a more appropriate fiancée. (Neil looks hot: tall/thin/tortured/floppy haired.)

I like a lot of her tunes, some more than others. Sometimes her largely untrained voice is the perfect instrument, sometimes, it is not. But everyone likes AFP for just being AFP.