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August 01, 2007

I'm just going to start putting the same blog posts up every month from last year. It's cyclical. Why not. It's such a lie that everything is fresh and new. True things are true. Here this is what I put up last August and you know it is true and appropriate for me to stick up here today too:

You've lived a long time. Hopefully, you paid attention. Everything you learned in your twenties and thirties you have the ability, nay, the OBLIGATION to use. So use it. Don't mimic young girls. How will they know how to behave when they're our age, if WE act like THEM? You're amazing. You know a lot. You've been hurt, you've recovered. Embody all that you've learned. Wear a bra. Show some cleavage, get some real jewelry, don't fuss with your hair or talk about your weight. See you in baggage claim.

Who do I love? Roseanne Cash, that's who.

2007 note: you know it's funny, she also got totally irritated there that someone was chewing gum, that a grown woman at the baggage claim was smacking away, and I was so inspired I gave up chewing gum for my new year's resolution for 2007. That was so easy! I felt so together. Unfortunately I started smoking again, but I am working on that. . . .

2007 note part 2: I listened to her album from 2006 later in the fall last year for the first time while I was (back when I made some sort of half-assed attempt at exercise) walking around Prospect Park, and I just started weeping. Walking and weeping--the guys don't really hit on you so much when you are doing that which is a good trick to have in your back pocket I guess if you really want to get the cardio in without the usual hassle. I don't quite know what that was, I am not a big cryer, it was just something huge there, that loss beyond the personal loss of her dad, that loss that was really about losing a generation of men that the next generation could never even come close to. I thought a lot about my grandparents and all they went through and how much everything good in their lives meant to them, how the work for it and the value of it were so full.

Okay enough deep sad mysteries of life for tonight. I am going away on a real vacation tomorrow so I will see you next week. Blogging about heros apparently this week. I like that, something hopeful there. Have a happy August, Love, Elizabeth.

July 30, 2007

It's weird to me that I've felt random waves of sadness when I'm down here in Brooklyn. Gauzy, as if the veil has been peeled back. You need to ask your friend something but you forgot your cell phone, then one minute later she walks around the corner and you two go get a sandwich. Who knew she was even back in town. (today)

You sit on someone's brownstone's steps with another friend just before midnight and you explain why, regardless of the awkwardness, you are grateful for this thing anyway and then it walks down the street. (some weekend) (more awkwardness!)

The"psychic flu": this means you just catch someone else's vibes. It happens to me so much more in the city. I've been trying to figure out why I feel weird and I realize I have nothing to be sad about. Whoever in my loop of hearts is sad and I am picking this up from you my friend, just call me and it will go away.

Actually everything is dripping in gorgeousness and happy times here: I have had three couples today checking out my place to sublet and they are the most amazing beautiful beings--we chatted and chatted and it was so warm and fun and I love being around relationships that lift everyone up, three separate couples who all felt so vibrant. Connected, funny, sweet, just adorable. It feels like an abundance of good vibes, and I just love that, because you know if it's true that what you're getting back is what you're putting out, I am doing great today with this crew. I just felt so happy and on the right track.

I kept telling this one that they could sorta wall off a certain space if they needed more room--their kids will be here for a few days--and they were like, oh we won't need that. Oh that's okay. Oh we'll just all be in the living room together.

Oh, that's just me and my writerly cretin ways and my weird (yet amazing! hi guys!) but weird wasp family that needs all that "alone time" to "work."

I know I should do some kind of meditation to get rid of whoever's bummed out cloud just flew over my head, but I think I will just go for a short walk and get a glass of bourbon. So perfect. Astringent! Yes, astringent! You can't really randomly do that upstate as a 15 minute errand at midnight. THAT is why we pay this rent! Okay, that's why--now I know. Well, I can't really do it in the same way upstate at least, where I know I'll run into someone to have a nice soothing chat with.

Whoever is so sad: cheer up, everything is really going to be okay. That's how it works. You're more than enough. You don't really even need to do anything, just be. You have all you need. You'll do the right thing. Clouds will part. I know it's true, without a doubt.

In more amusing and cheerful news, thank you Jessica for sending along this. Very very funny and you know I am sure it is depressing to a lot of people but it cracks me up. As Tori has recently said:Do this long enough you get a taste for it.

Not everyone wants to read a Jesus da Vinci Gossip Girl Geographical Location X Diet Book for your Pets. I have done this long enough now, I do in fact have a taste for it. Delicious. Astringent. But also kind of juicy.

Hi everybody. We're starting to rearrange the furniture over here and I am just testing something out.

It's so weird, isn't it, that they still have Mondays at this point in July? Isn't it? Sort of like a big collective fib. xxooE

July 29, 2007

I'm in Brooklyn, just for a day or two, it is humid. Like you become the sum of a smear of mascara, migrated lipstick, the hair stuck to your neck.

I'm lucky that my building is on my favorite block, so when it is this hot I just end up at the bar restaurant on the corner with whoever I'm hanging out with that night because I am too lazy to go anywhere else, but also because everything is delicious. Tonight it was good. In defense of my laziness: we tried Barbes around the corner but there were too many people.

Up in Hudson, there are these guys who sit on the porch of my building. One of them lives there and it really is his building more than anyone's, one of them looks like Lil John (but sort of post-male-menopausal version), one of them is the dude who got evicted two weeks ago but comes back with his backpack to hang out and drink beer when the landlord is not in town. Some others come and go.

"Pardon me for asking, but why are you wearing those flip-flops in the rain?" (the evicted one)

"Where's your umbrella!!"

Etc.

July 25, 2007

So I am cracking up still--one of the guys in my life thought that the dream about the Plodder that I put up here was about him. He was acting all weird. Boys, boys, if you are Warren Beatty we love the Warren Beatty but if you are not the things are not about you! It was kind of sweet though.

I really like writing up the little bits that show up and putting them up here--and I love it when a dream is a whole story. If I stick things into word docs on my computer I just forget about them, nothing ever happens. The blog is really fun in that it's not some heavy novel--it's like it's not all piling up and needing such hellish focus to get out into the world. But maybe it gets me in trouble! Oh well, I can handle a little trouble.

THe Plodder & the Lottery--I don't know what that was about really but not a person. More like the publishing industry, maybe, our whole story/media industry, and the lottery lady was the amazing women writers who take my classes or just in general who are plugged right into fabulous creativity right now. That's what I was thinking of--sort of like those 2 Tori songs "Teenage Hustling" and "Hoochie Woman" which use the language of a failed love story but it's really about an industry. (At least that is my take).

July 23, 2007

Big weekend. Too much sleep. Burritos from a gorgeous stand on the 9G with funny skinny Bard students at next picnic table. Drivin' on 9, 9G, 9H, 9 9 9 9 9. So much of the 9 up here. Neighbors who were screwing over my sweet landlord got evicted (hows that for the whole point of "fuckin' go" last week) and the funny downstairs neighbor admitted he still cannot tell the difference between me and my friend I share the writing studio with which is hilarious because I don't think we'd ever be put in the same lineup or anything.

It wasn't news: his normal greeting for either of us is "WHO ARE YOU??" and we've been up in this joint for months now, since March I think.

Porch sitting, snack eating, love the little pretty laundromat cafe around the corner all orange and yellow and nice and with internet. Stars. Dog. Writing. One of my friends didn't recognize my voice on the phone, I guess my voice sounds different.

I have cut my work email down to just Monday afternoons--I have a little autoresponder up and this system is in fact totally working, it's a surprise. It was scary but now it is planet liberation over here. We are all so addicted to our email. It is ridiculous. It sort of snuck up on us. It coincided with the Bush administration: think about it. Life in 2000 vs. life as we know it.

The thing is now I have to bribe myself to even get it done on Mondays. I have always loved a little bribery, however; it is a skill I enjoy and have no problem with.

July 20, 2007

One minute you're enjoying yourself finding ways to fit the phrase "put away that meat you're selling" into conversation (easier than it sounds: just turn your head fast and give an evil squint, never fails), the next minute you are having a nightmare, wide awake at 4:30 am, terrified like you have never been terrified in your life, grabbing your bag and getting in the car and driving to your friend's house. And then you are so freaked out that somehow you end up on that same weird road you got lost on a week ago, the 22, which is somehow an hour and a half in the wrong direction. You turn around a couple times but it only makes it worse.

The black turns to gray turns to mist and there are farmhouses with lights in the window and huge expanses of land around you, and you realize you are so unbelieveably far from where you want to be. Finally at 6:30 you find the right road, far on the other side of the valley, and at 7 you are at your friends house and asleep in the guest bedroom before you even say hello. Lucky.

The nightmare--it was the feeling behind it that got me out of the house. I am not used to nightmares. Sheer terror. Marching orders: get out.

The dream itself was that I stumbled on a book on amazon delineating precisely how this guy I know was the killer of two women. How when he cut their arms off it was done exactly the same way in both cases. The pictures in the book showing it were white marble busts with no arms, so beautiful. How both of these women had the exact same curve to their cheekbone and their eyebrows. I do not have this bone structure. But I gave this man keys to my apartment. I made some calls but my friends were all in Switzerland. He was coming for me. I was meat, actually. I woke up and couldn't breathe. Is this my dream too? A few years ago I woke up and there was an intruder in my apartment (I yelled & he left, everything okay) but that wasn't nearly as scary as this dream.

Fucking go, I say. It's okay though because tonight we are going to a DRIVE IN. Yes.

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Girly, by Elizabeth Merrick








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