"We Were Emergencies"

Poetry is something I need to have spoon-fed to me. So, while I won't take credit for finding this one, I definitely want to share.

"We Were Emergencies" by Buddy Wakefield

A poet
can stick anything into the fog and make it look like a ghost.
But tonight let us not become tragedies.
We are not funeral homes
with propane tanks in our windows
lookin' like cemeteries.
Cemeteries are just the Earth's way of not letting go.
Let go.
Tonight, Poets, let's turn our wrists so far backwards
the razor blades in our pencil tips
can't get a good angle on all that beauty inside.
Step into this
with your airplane parts
and repeat after me with your heart:
I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hate myself.
Make love to me
like you know I am better than the worst thing I ever did.
Go slow.
I'm new to this
but I have seen nearly every city from a rooftop without jumping.
I have realized the moon did not have to be full for us to love it.
We are not tragedies
stranded here beneath it.

If my heart really broke every time I fell from love
I'd be able to offer you confetti by now
but hearts don't break, y'all,
they bruise and get better.
We were never tragedies.
We were emergencies.
You call 9-1-1.
Tell them I'm havin' a fantastic time.

Bob Dylan. The man is a legend. The music is unique. The hair is epic.

Betcha he could roll out of bed and still look like the rock star he is. What else could you want hair-style-wise?

I want hair like Bob Dylan's.

"I KNOW you have a heart."

Yesterday I got my heart scanned. One of my friends, Walter, is studying to be a... cardio-something. Basically he'll be looking at hearts for a living and his skills labs include scanning hearts. Being a sucker for simple and new experiences I volunteered to be one of his "patients." That's how I wound up in a hospital-like bed and gown.

The first part called for a top view of my heart. I craned my neck back towards the screen. Fascinating. It showed my right atrium, aorta, and one of my valves fluttering with the blood flow. Sometimes Walter pushed a button and I could hear blood woosh-ing through.

Wow. There it was, my little fist-sized heart that could.

Unfortunately a lower view didn't work out. Walter moved the transducer but couldn't get an image. "I KNOW you have heart," he said. "I JUST scanned the top of it." He eventually gave up in to avoid being intrusive. I know he's not a creep but I understood.

It was still a win-win: he got some heart-scanning practice and I got to see my heart at work. "Amazing" doesn't do the latter justice.

And Then There Was One

Saturday afternoon I went over to Missy and Becky's. The usual suspects were there: Joe, Missy, Becky, Derek, Brandon, Amanda. Except it wasn't usual anymore; all my closest buds are now couples.* Yep, it became "official" on Friday.

My visit would've been completely enjoyable if it wasn't for a gnawing thought. Was I the "single friend", the odd one out? You can tell me I can be what I want to be, but you can't tell me it's not a legitimate worry. I've had a close friendship altered by dating. I daresay that's why some of us singles appear cynical and bitter about couple-hood: we tend to get forgotten. Not all couples are like this yet the convenience of having that one person tends to make some people disappear.

(On a side note, I do have some pretty rockin' couple friends. Props to you guys.)

Later that evening I heard "One is the Loneliest Number" by Three Dog Night. I pointed it out to Amanda and Brandon and promptly told the intercom to shut up.

"It's not like you're 'the single friend' and you can't hang out with us anymore."

Those words were pretty reassuring. "I know, but I still have to readjust."

For me this means being confident they'll still be there for me. I also need to let go of my near-panic. I am comfortable being alone, I just don't like feeling lonely. I don't want/need a significant other (not now, anyway), but I do want/need friends.

Today I feel more secure about the social future. The camaraderie seemed the same as we hung out that Saturday afternoon. We bummed around in the living room, talking about nothing and everything, laughing, playing games, napping. As long as I have that, them, I'll be fine.

*One friend, unmentioned here, is trying to go that direction.

Passive Aggressive Haiku

A few weeks ago I applied for a graphic designer position at the Portland Japanese Garden. I just received an email from them, thanking me for my interest but apologizing I would not be moving on to the interview process. Here is my response:

I would have been good

Pox on your lov'ly garden

Hope your bambo dies

Ex Nihilio

Yesterday I felt like nothing: not good enough, unwanted, untalented, and un-anything else from a professional standpoint. My hormones also conspired against me, resulting in a depressing day. One of the few good spots was talking to my dad for about an hour.

Today I went to counseling. The first thing I did was ask for chocolate; Buffy knew it was bad when I grabbed the Kleenex box next.

How are you? I feel like nobody wants me (employment-wise). And, due to certain triggers, I feel... poor, like I have nothing.

The latter is a big deal. Being and immigrant I know what it's like to start from scratch and be "poor." However being low on the economical bracket never defined or bothered me. Besides, we always had a roof over our heads, food and clothes. Only reason I was self-conscious was because kids would tease me. Children can be cruel.

Now my current job hunt points to my low-income reality. But there is something spiritual about having nothing. I'm not convicted but I know. When you are metaphorically stripped down you shiver from cold and shame. Then you start to see who you actually are and what you really do have; in a strange way you are free. Assuming we include God, He takes that and works wonders.

I feel insecure right now but I know I am far from nothing and have a lot to offer; I love and am loved and I have what I need, including autonomy. Yet I know there's more; I just don't know what right now.

In the beginning there was emptiness. Nada. Then God spoke and created amazingness and beauty ex nihilio, out of nothing. I am hoping one day that will be me.

"Claudia, DO SOMETHING!"

Within the last three weeks I applied and/or sent my resumé to four different prospective employers. (I'm doing a fifth, though it's not a track record to be engraved on a plaque.) I had a pre-interview with one but have heard nothing from the others. In the meantime, I find out a friend has an interview and another starts a new job next week.

My feelings are mixed - happiness with a touch of envy and pressure. At a young age I craved approval. Now as a "grown-up" I continue to want it at some level, this time with a job. I want a "professional" to tell me my skills are good enough. Thing is, I KNOW they are; my FRIENDS tell me they are; my CLIENTS are happy. These people, including me, matter. So, what the hell is my problem?

My friend, Michael, said, "Employment is just as much a sign of talent as grades are." True. I just don't want to be that friend. You know, the deadbeat who didn't do anything with his/her life. The one who somehow frustrates you because he/she didn't reach potential. Yeah, that friend.

While writing I've perked up. I don't necessarily need or want what others have; my long-life happiness isn't contingent on employment. (That's another blog for another day.) Right now though, I feel like comedian Margaret Cho when Wisconsin's Laotian community contacted her for help: "People are calling me and e-mailing me from there... going, 'Margaret, DO SOMETHING!'"