Here's a 360 degree turn from my punchiness the other day. I'm not working at SJSU this semester, but am still on the English Department mailing list (from which I learn wonderful tidbits; the department sent a memo out, begging for an "old futon, mattress, anything" that one of the visiting scholars could sleep on in the "humble apartment supplied by the University." Nothing like a garrett with no mattress to make visiting scholars feel really welcome).
BUT ANYWAY..among the office dreck was a note from my favorite professor of Blake and Mythology, who has no blog nickname; he's simply Harvey. Harvey had to retire last year; he has a heart condition (I don't know what the nature of it is, exactly) and has been getting sicker and sicker. A small group of students went over his house recently and had lunch with Harvey and his wife Maya; they are so much in love (they married the year I was born), and Harvey is so brilliant and funny that his illness seems an unbelievable tragedy. Harvey's memo was that his heart condition has worsened so much that he is going to have to have a heart transplant. He's in really good spirits about it, apparently, and says the operation will rejuvenate him and he is excited about the possibilites if the operation is successful. I gathered from the memo that this is a last-ditch effort to save his life. The last time I saw him, I gave him a hug and he was so thin, like a little bundle of bones.
I looked up heart transplantation on the Internet--I really don't know that much about it--and came across a lot of stories of really brave folks. There was even something funny--one guy woke up in the cardiac post-op area after his transplant and got really frightened, because he heard lovely harp music! He thought he had, as my dad would say, "done died and gone to heaven," but it turns out some dear old lady came into that area of the hospital regularly to play her harp for the patients. I am not sure harp music, for all its loveliness, is entirely the best thing to be playing in certain areas of the hospital.
Anyway, I have a feeling Harvey will make it and be well, but it was quite a bit of news.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Sunday, August 21, 2005
I will keep this private
I had to confront my older sister this week; she is addicted to prescription painkillers and, though a member of AA (supposedly), she's started drinking again.
I hate the way alcohol and drugs ruin a person's personality. I had to set limits with her because she left an abusive message for my daughter (she leaves these kind of messages a lot), and because I discovered she was saying a lot of things about me behind my back to family members, including my children and my elderly father. In my letter, I told her that I loved her and that I was really afraid she had gotten addicted to painkillers and that the addiction was changing her personality and making it hard for me to have a relationship with her. I urged her to get into detox and I said I really did want to have a relationship with her, but that it was really difficult right now because of her addiction. This was hard for me, and I certainly didn't think she'd just jump up and say, "Oh, yes, I'm addicted! You're right!" Still, she's called my younger sister twice this weeked, and my dad. They've also tried to put limits on what she does (she's been saying nothing but bad things about me and my kids, and Mr. Strega), but I can't do their boundaries for them.
I do love my sister. She helped me a lot when I was a single parent (if you call it "help"--I was terrified every time I had to ask her for money with a car repair, or for school clothes for my kids, because she treated me like shit with every dime she gave). I do bless her for this, though, because it spurred me to go to graduate school and get my MFA so I could be independent from her (similar to women going to school or getting job training because of an abusive husband). I began to have panic attacks when listening to her ramblings when she was high, and so had to limit my calls to her, or my studies and home life would suffer.
I realize she became addicted because of legitimate health problems, but what's she's like now is so far from the sister I knew that I can't be close to her anymore, until she gets treatment. She acts like my mother, and I can't handle it--the abuse, the backbiting, the lies, the need to have everyone pay obeisance to her. I am not enslaved and I will not take orders from a bottle of Oxycontin. And that is the truth as I know and see it, for today.
I hate the way alcohol and drugs ruin a person's personality. I had to set limits with her because she left an abusive message for my daughter (she leaves these kind of messages a lot), and because I discovered she was saying a lot of things about me behind my back to family members, including my children and my elderly father. In my letter, I told her that I loved her and that I was really afraid she had gotten addicted to painkillers and that the addiction was changing her personality and making it hard for me to have a relationship with her. I urged her to get into detox and I said I really did want to have a relationship with her, but that it was really difficult right now because of her addiction. This was hard for me, and I certainly didn't think she'd just jump up and say, "Oh, yes, I'm addicted! You're right!" Still, she's called my younger sister twice this weeked, and my dad. They've also tried to put limits on what she does (she's been saying nothing but bad things about me and my kids, and Mr. Strega), but I can't do their boundaries for them.
I do love my sister. She helped me a lot when I was a single parent (if you call it "help"--I was terrified every time I had to ask her for money with a car repair, or for school clothes for my kids, because she treated me like shit with every dime she gave). I do bless her for this, though, because it spurred me to go to graduate school and get my MFA so I could be independent from her (similar to women going to school or getting job training because of an abusive husband). I began to have panic attacks when listening to her ramblings when she was high, and so had to limit my calls to her, or my studies and home life would suffer.
I realize she became addicted because of legitimate health problems, but what's she's like now is so far from the sister I knew that I can't be close to her anymore, until she gets treatment. She acts like my mother, and I can't handle it--the abuse, the backbiting, the lies, the need to have everyone pay obeisance to her. I am not enslaved and I will not take orders from a bottle of Oxycontin. And that is the truth as I know and see it, for today.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Secret Lover cards
Oh...kay...I guess there's a niche for everything. Some woman has dreamed up the idea of greeting cards for one's adulterous affair.
Don't mean to judge, but these cards have a not-so-slight film of ickiness about them, as well as the fact that the text (poorly written, I might add) celebrates the most unhealthy sides of having an affair--the hiddenness, the need to "share" the other person, the inability to spend holidays and birthdays with the other person, and the tedium of one's "ordinary" at-home life.
Anyway, the cards themselves are about the ugliest things I've ever seen. The images are muddy and look like they've been drawn with lumpy cake frosting. My personal favorite is the card called "The Weekend is Over." The text says something to the point that the weekend was tedious without the Secret Lover, and now they can be together (presumably at work). The graphics show the office water cooler and two shadowy people smooching behind a door (which has a glass window--oops, not so secret). The most pathetic one is the Secret Lover Birthday Card, which contains a mealy-mouthed apology for not being able to spend a birthday with one's Secret Lover, as well as holiday cards for the same reason. There's even an anniversary card (do people really celebrate the anniversary on which they committed adultery?), which has two people looking at their (very distorted) reflections in a pool of water (I don't even need to point out the Narcissus reference). There's also a seriously groveling "I'm Sorry" card which begs forgiveness for "demanding too much" from the Secret Lover and their "special relationship."
Mr. Strega and I started joking around about cards for all sorts of weird relationship scenarios, most of which were not appropriate to print here. We did brainstorm a "Real Secret Lover" collection, with cards such as "I Promise I Will Leave My Spouse....Someday," "Call Me On My Cell Phone...Only," "I'm So Good At Erasing Every Trace of Me From Your Apartment," "I Don't Mind Spending Christmas Alone...Really," and "If You Don't Do What I Want, I'll Tell Your Wife."
These cards do seem to have one good purpose--they show how miserable most affairs probably end up, after awhile. Maybe that was the author's (secret) intent.
By the way, Hallmark has stated that they won't be coming up with a competitive line.
Don't mean to judge, but these cards have a not-so-slight film of ickiness about them, as well as the fact that the text (poorly written, I might add) celebrates the most unhealthy sides of having an affair--the hiddenness, the need to "share" the other person, the inability to spend holidays and birthdays with the other person, and the tedium of one's "ordinary" at-home life.
Anyway, the cards themselves are about the ugliest things I've ever seen. The images are muddy and look like they've been drawn with lumpy cake frosting. My personal favorite is the card called "The Weekend is Over." The text says something to the point that the weekend was tedious without the Secret Lover, and now they can be together (presumably at work). The graphics show the office water cooler and two shadowy people smooching behind a door (which has a glass window--oops, not so secret). The most pathetic one is the Secret Lover Birthday Card, which contains a mealy-mouthed apology for not being able to spend a birthday with one's Secret Lover, as well as holiday cards for the same reason. There's even an anniversary card (do people really celebrate the anniversary on which they committed adultery?), which has two people looking at their (very distorted) reflections in a pool of water (I don't even need to point out the Narcissus reference). There's also a seriously groveling "I'm Sorry" card which begs forgiveness for "demanding too much" from the Secret Lover and their "special relationship."
Mr. Strega and I started joking around about cards for all sorts of weird relationship scenarios, most of which were not appropriate to print here. We did brainstorm a "Real Secret Lover" collection, with cards such as "I Promise I Will Leave My Spouse....Someday," "Call Me On My Cell Phone...Only," "I'm So Good At Erasing Every Trace of Me From Your Apartment," "I Don't Mind Spending Christmas Alone...Really," and "If You Don't Do What I Want, I'll Tell Your Wife."
These cards do seem to have one good purpose--they show how miserable most affairs probably end up, after awhile. Maybe that was the author's (secret) intent.
By the way, Hallmark has stated that they won't be coming up with a competitive line.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
The Neglectful Blogger
I've been neglectful of the blog, mostly because I have been working on my writing and trying to figure out what I am going to do with my work life for the next three months. I haven't heard anything from the agent yet (it does take some time). I have learned to do lots of constructive things while waiting, including:
Wash, vacuum, and wax the car (Turtle Wax is really an exercise in mindfulness and slowness, I'm convinced)
Take all my floppy disks that have one file apiece on them (in boxes and stacks all over The Office) and start transferring the info on them to a CD for storage (the "clean" floppies then go upstairs, so soon we will have 8,000 more of them by the upstairs computer)
Clean the bookshelves and actually put the books upright in the shelves, instead of on other books
Make up a "Rules of the Bathroom" list for the downstairs bathroom (which the kids usually use--the list runs to "wipe all the water off the floor" and "hang up your wet towel." My children are truly in touch with their Inner Hippo--they like to loll in the bathtub, then rise up slowly and drench the floor. I don't observe this happening, of course, but I surmise this from the tide pools left on the linoleum)
Work on that darn afghan I've been crocheting (yes, in granny squares--but it's nice yarn)
Ditto for the quilt I've been putting together since the '90s.
Deadhead, fertilize, and prune in the garden.
I AM TURNING INTO MARTHA!! Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! It's better than thinking about what's happening over at the literary agency, though. If I have to go through more than one agency query, at least one of the side results will be a lovely garden, a clean car, a bathroom without a lethal floor, and an afghan to hide under when the tower of floppy disks threatens to crash down on me.
I did have an odd dream about it last night, though (no, not the afghan). I dreamed I was in front of a white cinderblock wall which had a rather incredible property--you could ask the darn thing "yes" and "no" questions, sort of like the Magic 8-Ball. I had a moment of lucid dreaming--very rare for me--in which I consciously asked the wall if this literary agency would take me as a client--and the word "Yes" popped out of the wall! So, last night I literally read the proverbial "handwriting on the wall."
That's enough for the night. Namaste.
Wash, vacuum, and wax the car (Turtle Wax is really an exercise in mindfulness and slowness, I'm convinced)
Take all my floppy disks that have one file apiece on them (in boxes and stacks all over The Office) and start transferring the info on them to a CD for storage (the "clean" floppies then go upstairs, so soon we will have 8,000 more of them by the upstairs computer)
Clean the bookshelves and actually put the books upright in the shelves, instead of on other books
Make up a "Rules of the Bathroom" list for the downstairs bathroom (which the kids usually use--the list runs to "wipe all the water off the floor" and "hang up your wet towel." My children are truly in touch with their Inner Hippo--they like to loll in the bathtub, then rise up slowly and drench the floor. I don't observe this happening, of course, but I surmise this from the tide pools left on the linoleum)
Work on that darn afghan I've been crocheting (yes, in granny squares--but it's nice yarn)
Ditto for the quilt I've been putting together since the '90s.
Deadhead, fertilize, and prune in the garden.
I AM TURNING INTO MARTHA!! Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! It's better than thinking about what's happening over at the literary agency, though. If I have to go through more than one agency query, at least one of the side results will be a lovely garden, a clean car, a bathroom without a lethal floor, and an afghan to hide under when the tower of floppy disks threatens to crash down on me.
I did have an odd dream about it last night, though (no, not the afghan). I dreamed I was in front of a white cinderblock wall which had a rather incredible property--you could ask the darn thing "yes" and "no" questions, sort of like the Magic 8-Ball. I had a moment of lucid dreaming--very rare for me--in which I consciously asked the wall if this literary agency would take me as a client--and the word "Yes" popped out of the wall! So, last night I literally read the proverbial "handwriting on the wall."
That's enough for the night. Namaste.
Monday, August 01, 2005
I hate waiting
Ugh--this is the part that's difficult for me, the waiting for an answer from an agent. It's nerve-wracking and I am trying so hard not to get my hopes up. I haven't revealed that the work is at the agent to ANYONE except for my immediate family members and one friend.
I haven't told any of my writing colleagues (unless those who've possibly read this blog), and I haven't told my writing group. I am too scared and too aware of the possiblity of what it would feel like to have to go and tell a million people that I didn't get an offer of representation. Plus, the very fact that they wanted to see it is a little jewel I just want for myself (though, of course, I share it with the readers of this blog).
In the meantime, I am purging my manuscript of words I use too frequently in the story :"then" is a real culprit, as well as "always" and "still." I am mortified to see how much of this went into the first 100 pages I sent to the agent. I am also weeding out little problems in my chapter outline. It is embarrassing as hell. There are times I wish I'd stuck with poetry. I realize the agent is not an English professor, but JEEZ! Ah, well, progress and not perfection, eh?
Back to work.
I haven't told any of my writing colleagues (unless those who've possibly read this blog), and I haven't told my writing group. I am too scared and too aware of the possiblity of what it would feel like to have to go and tell a million people that I didn't get an offer of representation. Plus, the very fact that they wanted to see it is a little jewel I just want for myself (though, of course, I share it with the readers of this blog).
In the meantime, I am purging my manuscript of words I use too frequently in the story :"then" is a real culprit, as well as "always" and "still." I am mortified to see how much of this went into the first 100 pages I sent to the agent. I am also weeding out little problems in my chapter outline. It is embarrassing as hell. There are times I wish I'd stuck with poetry. I realize the agent is not an English professor, but JEEZ! Ah, well, progress and not perfection, eh?
Back to work.
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