hang

(no subject)

Cooking mishaps and cooking triumphs.
Get up and try again.

I am so close to finishing a manuscript that it hurts to continue.
Grit my teeth and push on.

Life is hard. I find myself vacillating between a sense of grounded peace and a desperate ache for human contact, human connection. I have planted too many gardens and let them go.

My talents lie scattered. My room is a mess. In moments of lucidity I suspect that I am not happy.

I am teaching myself about whole grains. Taking on the spectrum all at once. This learning process is full of mistakes. I pick myself up and move on, but it is hard. My inner reserves do not feel boundless.

My moods are tied to the weather so strongly that it scares me. This is why I need to live somewhere sunny and warm -- my optimistic core is tested every time it rains.

Love, and my wok, will see me through.
neon

(no subject)

it is like being struck with a hammer, fracturing without breaking. think of starred impacts in glass, building complexity in refraction, stars growing thicker and brighter

until there is nothing but light
and no space in between
neon

NSFW

Let me first state that, while this is public (I am not interested in hiding), I know that some people (like my sister?) read this journal that might prefer not to know the intimate details of my emotional and sexual life.

If you fall into that category, I suggest you do not
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neon

Things I have

These are things I need to get back to their owners:

The dvd for Fantastic Planet (boredlizzie)
Three videotapes - Hard Cash, Hard Boiled, Texas Rangers (raccoonmask)
Dread (Alexei)
On Stranger Tides (knight3d, I think)
A collection of Raymond Carver's short stories (princesofswords)
A collection of Borges' fiction (Lex, who I have absolutely no idea how to get ahold of)
Victorian Fairy Tales (itybity_rose)

Contact me and we will work out how to get you your stuff. I am moving, and this is moderately important. Otherwise, it might end up consigned to a box somewhere until the end of time.
neon

(no subject)

contamity is right. I almost feel like I've been superstitious about LJ - not ridiculous, I'm superstitious a lot. As if the act of nailing something to the Internets could make it less real.

To recap, for those of you I never see:

(first, however: is it bad that I have to write these things down in order to remember them properly? I can remember the important things, brown eyes, hair that spreads out a little like wings, rough hands with thumbs gnawed to the quick, certain warmth of bodies pressed together. But I can't remember dates, and sometimes even names escape me. The more I use the name, the more it stays. stephanie stephanie stephanie.)

December the one. Saturday evening, No Snow Ball. Formal Contra dance. I wore my suit (yes, I finally bought a suit, or rather, my parents bought me a suit, it's very classy, black of course, this was the second time I've worn it, the first being to Lauren Manierre's WEDDING) and the nice dance/dress shoes I used to wear to Gaskells. T-shirt and suit pants. Did You Know? formal pants do more for your appearance than a formal shirt does! Amazing!

But I digress. Stephanie and I had flirted before - I remember seeing her at the Berkeley dance, and not just once, but several times. Regardless, I hadn't seen her in many months, and when we locked eyes it was a very definite sensation of breath leaving the body. We danced together, twice -- in contra lingo, that means "I like you". The music was fabulous, the callers were smooth and very talented. I was surprised and proud to see Jessica called up to the stage with the other volunteers to receive recognition for her work in keeping the Berkeley dance running.

Stephanie.

We exchanged cards (oh how adult I felt at that moment, and how ridiculous to be feeling such) and spoke at some length during the break. It was during this time that I learned her reason for being away - she had moved to Colorado. Not to let that stop us, we arranged to have a "hang out" the next evening. The night closed with her telling me that she "really enjoyed flirting with [me]". Given several different ways to interpret that statement, I held to my principles and took it at face value.

December the two. Sunday. We met for drinks at Au Coq -- I had a steamed milk thing, I think. Or possibly tea. I might even have had a steamed milk with a tea bag in it. We talked for a long time, held hands, and almost kissed -- she expressed reluctance to be so forward in public. Thus encouraged, I escorted her outside, where we made out under the lizardy thing attached to the building at the corner of Addison and Milvia.

Her frankness is very, very attractive. Nothing like being told in no uncertain terms that you are "so sweet", in an awed tone of voice. I don't think it's just my love for praise, however. The term "refreshing" offers itself -- it is so true, and I am reluctant to use it only because of its overuse. But it's true. Her straightforwardness is so refreshing, it takes away my breath.

We spent a couple of hours making out in her car, parked on the wrong side of the street, down the block from my house. It was very, very lovely. I felt (and have been feeling, since) the spark of connection, what I want to call love, mixed with a vague, self-conscious ridiculousness. Two days, and you feel like this?

December the three. Monday. I attempt to ride my bike to work, and discover that the neck injury incurred on Friday has become much more uncomfortable. Giving up, I walk my bike back to BART, use the elevators to get down to the platform (yes, really that bad) and then go home. Stephanie spends most of her last day in the area in my room, cuddling and making out with me. Beautiful. She excuses herself to take a phone call, propped up on my bed -- the ease of it is comforting. No tension, no expectations. We talk about distance a little, promise to stay in touch. My mother pokes her head in, is introduced, looks embarassed, retreats. Stephanie, meet Stephanie.

Now it is two weeks later and we have been emailing back and forth fairly regularly. Much more regularly than I email anyone else. I have spoken to her on the phone three times, and each time I have had very little to say, except to talk about the weather and to listen to her complaints about her job. I have trouble on the phone, and really I just want the excuse to hear her voice. She has suggested webcams. I am listening.

sarha is encouraging.

As for other things in my life, I took my last final of my undergraduate studies about two hours ago. If we suppose for a moment that I will pass all my classes (and I believe I will), then I should receive my BA (or at least confirmation of such) in a couple of weeks.

I am excited and not excited. It feels very anticlimactic. I want something extraordinary to happen.

Fireworks.

In the meantime, I am searching for a job that will pay me more than $8.50 an hour, and give me full time work. Benefits would be nice, too.

My mother wants me to work at UC. It's a possibility. I need to examine more closely the instinct to reject anything she suggests, out of... what? Pique?

Now that I have put it out in the open, it will be worked over in my mind. Perhaps I will begin to post more in this thing.

Perhaps I am a monkey.
  • Current Mood
    Oh, I'm definitely a monkey.
kenyaaa!

Accessing docs.google.com with Safari

(after telling you that Google Documents does not work under Safari)

If you are working to fix problems with a specific browser and would like to bypass this check, just add &browserok=true to the end of the Google Docs & Spreadsheets url.

Please note that it is a violation of intergalactic law to use this parameter under false pretenses, so don't let us catch you at it.

And, it won't work very well -- really.


Awesome.
  • Current Music
    planetary intergalactic