insider trading

I didn’t go to bed on Sunday night because of a boy from London. When I heard London, my ears perked up and my attention remained on him searching for an accent. There was none. He’s American, but a boy who loves London is a boy I could listen to. And he had kind eyes.

We stayed up- a group of us –until the sun came up. I watched green appear on the trees outside the window as I squinted against the increasing light. The notion of sleep was silly. I was still reworking all the words, all the questions, all the answers.

We turned the night into generalizations that turned personal. It started easily and innocently with a hypothetical, a question about what lies behind the curtain of a boy’s mind. He spilled all the secrets, said he shouldn’t be divulging so much. We ate up every word, hung on them.

“Why him and not me,” he asked at one point.

“It’s just a personal choice. It’s like why her and not me,” I replied.

“OK. I get it,” he said and with that I let him go, but we kept talking, almost endlessly about everything.

“I’m sensitive, but straight,” he cautioned us.

“I’m quoting you on that one.” He didn’t know how serious I was. I thought about leaving him my card- an arrow to this blog- a window inside my head. I hinted all night to him, but we had entered the friend zone. I could have- so many times- just slipped in beside him, turned his face to mine. I didn’t- claiming all the insecurities he had released in his conversations. In three hours I knew more about his heart, his feelings, his fears of love than I know about my closest friends. And that felt good. And he made me laugh. With his frankness and openness. I wish that I had said more to him than “bye,” in the morning- more than, “Have fun in London.”

i was the snow

and you scooped me up.

I don't understand the girl who needs to be with someone. I don't understand dependency. I don't understand how the absolute resolve to stand alone is unique. I don't fight the push and pull anymore in my mind. I accept this independence. And yet, I like to watch things like "The Bachelor" and I cheer for the girl who shelters her heart then lets the walls down in the ninth inning. I know that girl. That girl that makes the boy fight for her with everything he's got. But those boys, those boys don't come around very often and when they do I think sometimes I'm more than steel. Maybe I'm titanium. I just know that you won't find me being snow anytime soon. I am not some easily malleable sustance that could melt on contact. Although, I think- somewhere inside me I wish I was.

in which i talk about the pain

I believe in being truthful. I believe in being honest. I also usually tell everybody everything or anybody anything. I’m a heart-on-my-sleeve kind of girl.

Right now, I hurt. It’s real pain and it’s lodged in the general area of my ribs. I’ve had this pain since middle school, but then we had no idea what it was. It was undiagnosed pain that would awaken me in the night and would only be relieved by retching. My poor mother, who had to work the next day, would often wake up with me and rub my back until it subsided and I drifted back to sleep. Now, as an adult who loves her sleep, I realize that must have been a pain as well.

It wasn’t until 6 years ago that the cause was found. A Generalized Anxiety Disorder was the diagnosis. I took it with gusto, loved putting words to something as abstract as feelings, unexplained emotions even. Mostly, I deal fairly well with the anxiety. I have the tools now to keep it in check, but every so often I’ll let down my guard, or just become a little sensitive and the pain comes nestling in my ribs like rat burrowing for a home.

There is no more retching these days, just lots of calming self-talk, retro-active thinking to pinpoint the worry spot because I worry. A lot. About anything and everything. Again, I can now put most worries aside, tell my intelligent brain what is rational and what is not (this one is more common). Today though, I know the pain is about deadlines and things undone and things coming round very soon. I don’t know that I’ll sleep well tonight. I don’t know that I can calmly talk down the worries about time. I do know that while I toss and turn and hazily watch TV, I’ll wish I had my mother, half asleep herself, rubbing my back and worrying about me just like I worry about things I cannot control.

oh the thinks you can think

Kelly at klog tagged me for a meme about websites that make you think. She called the dribble on this site "poetic prose" and "profound." I'm going to suggest she go see a doctor- the kind that analyzes your head.

In the meantime I've been thinking about who on the Internets makes me think and here's what I've come up with. I link to most of these guys anyway, but it's always good to shed some real spotlight love on those you think about, or with, everyday. I think the list was meant to be 5, but I'm not that good at counting.

My cousin love Becca at TryBecca makes me wonder a lot about a bright poet who might be obsessed with pop culture. She recently compared Anna Nicole Smith to Dorothy Wodsworth. If that doesn't make you think then you might be dead.

Because she influenced my blogging fingers, I have to give some props to Snarkspot. My favorites are when she talks about other authors and about how catty or snooty they can be among themselves. Shame, shame on you published people.

I recently started to read Knitting blogs. Why? Because I knit and while in NYC on my last trip I got a little excited about the NYC Knitting webring. The thinking happened after I had been reading the following blog for several days (weeks) and just the other day realized that it was a man writing about knitting. Did you read that? Enter, the quite interesting and amazing knitter,brooklyntweed.

I love photography as much as I love words and so I have to offer up my daily photo addictions of the two places I love most in the world. These guys make me think a lot about living in these magnificent cities. They sometimes make me want to jump right inside the picture. The first is London Daily photo and the second is Joe's NYC. And here is a little extra one (because I'm also a little addicted to subways) Express Train.

chopshop or how i didn't give my hair away or how i went back to middle school or how i went into debt for bangs

Febuary 2006 was a good month. Not only was I still in my twenties, but I got a great haircut and gave 10 inches of my hair to Locks of Love. It felt good and the free $50 haircut was to die for. Almost immediately after the ponytail was chopped, I decided that I would always do this, that I would continually grow out my hair and give it away. And get free haircuts. To my budget that sounded good. Plus it helps people. And that is the main reason. The main one.

So I did. I've been growing my hair out since that last cut. That's right, no haircut for over a year. And I rarely blowdry my hair so splitends are minimal which in my mind makes it grow faster, right? Right!

Today's appointment was at 6:30. I've been spreading the word like wildfire. I'm so over this hair. So. Over. It. The stylist was in for some major love come chop time except that time never happened. She convinced me that I was still one inch away. Hmmmmm. And then. AND THEN. She persuaded me to trim the ends at least. After I almost speared her with her own scissors, I let her and while she was washing my hair I suggested bangs. BANGS! Wah? And now, behold the bangs in their varied forms (also behold the most you'll ever see of my face, huzzah);






The bangs as hipster cool.











The bangs as blinders.











The bangs as Barbie doll legs on my face.












The bangs as they were in the 80's with a ponytail.












The bangs as I like them.

it feels like the first time

Spring! Every. Single. Year. I proclaim it to be wonderful. It's like my memory lapses and I feel like I have never seen green budding on the trees, have never smiled at the hint of honeysuckle in the air, have never opened my windows, have never seen the sun. And yet it's what I think about when I look outside, am outside. I can't believe that I get to witness this beauty, that green can feel like life. And I don't even love Spring. I like it, but Fall and Winter have my heart. Spring is a mistress, my flirtatious interlude to the horridness of Summer. If Winter has my heart, Summer has my...

I've been so enthralled with Spring that I haven't yet cracked the air conditioning this season. In fact, I don't plan to until mid May. The weatherman says that cool will hang on in the evenings until at least the 10th, so with small fan whirring and windows open- let the savings begin.

But it isn't the first time that the miser in me has taken over the thermostat in my house. This Winter I might have turned on the heat 3 times. Might have. I have some things going for me in this instance. I live in the middle of my building- in the middle from top to bottom, left to right. I like to imagine that this helps the insulation factor. Also I like cold. I like candles. So, I mixed the two and often settled in with soup and tea to ride out the perpetual draft coming from the windows, and they're replacement too. The guise was the money issue. I could survive with socks and another shirt, but my bank account could not survive the blow of heat in Winter, one thing had to give so I chose the heat. I got flack for this, even started a family fight. Visitors complained, but I had forewarned them to deal and so I felt not guilty. I soldiered on, sometimes with a knitted hat on my head.

My motivation? A house. I want to commit. I'm ready for the plunge, the long ride into night, the settling of old wood, the settling of my soul. Plus I'd really like to be able to paint the walls.

If my desire to nest wasn't strong enough when I was 18 then I don't know what it's doing now. Everyone (with the exception of 2 people) has told me that buying a house is difficult and that you should search and search and search, but something tells me that my gut is my Google and I trust what it gives me in the number one position. I start hardcore looking this month. I plan to put a bid on a house in June. I hope to move in in August.

I'm poor now with no heat or air conditioning so that I can afford to buy a house. When I actually own one, what will be my excuse then?