Miss Intro is . . . so very, very relieved

but a bit sad, as well. I guess the little soul decided that I wasn't a good match, after all.

This time

it seems different. Some random boy, no strings attached, no heartache, no betrayal, no anger. So, this time, it's just me and the little soul that decided to attach itself to me.

Miss Intro is . . . dumbfounded

Here we go, again.

Over and over again

I heard that little voice today. It said: "You have everything you need. You have everything you need. You have every little thing you need."

What a lovely, lovely realization. Happy Thanksgiving!

a couple of my favorite pics

Thailand, 2001ish

Just walk through . . .

what if it ain't rural binds?

O.K. Sooooo, aside from being an introvert, as it turns out, I'm just a little, well, weird. Enough to make navigating anybody's world very painful on my part, so I withdraw as frequently as possible. It's always been that way. And as much as people try to teach/show me the way "normal" people navigate various situations, it very rarely actually takes. I just don't give a rat's ass because it all seems like BS to me. I admire people who "get things done". I envy them and find that, for reasons I will never understand, they tend to think that I have the skills to be one of them. They quickly learn. And then, it just becomes uncomfortable.

Sooo, for my part, I gotta get out of situations like that. It's just that I grew up with 1) a father and his family (mostly men and their "supportive" wives) who came from the "getting things done" worldview ~~ so I feel it is expected of me and still, even though i KNOW that's not my strength, I want to measure up to that in some way; 2) a mother and her family who is full of intelligent yet trapped women, or women who honestly enjoy the role of mother and wife, or, love their home so much they don't give a crap about the husband ~~ I don't mean they don't love them, they just sorta see it more like a business arrangement, and it works for them. In other words, women whose lives are shaped by their domesticity. Guess which side I fall into. I am trapped by my domesticity. And I really like being domestic. I like my home. It's not that I don't like to travel or experience things outside of my little domain, in fact, i LOVE those things. It's just that I get strength and succor from my home. And when I am away for 11 hours a day (as is normal, and seen as appropriate in urban life), I can't do anything else except for work. I have to rest, at home, in order to have the energy to work. But, it's deadening, because I need the interaction of others outside of my dog and outside of work. I need to see the city. I need to experience the world again. To be invigorated and energized. My existence, for the past 9 months has been home, subway, work, subway, home and that's pretty much it. I'm done. toast. Miserable.

AND, back to the "getting things done" bit, my inability to work within that schemata makes getting out of the office, into the world of innovative go-getters, random and sketchy and never really rife with follow-up. Sooo, I get stuck in the office, supporting the go-getters, and being resentful as hell because I hate being stuck in the office and being support staff. Perhaps it's an attitude problem. Perhaps it's a gender (and domesticity) issue for them (and most importantly, me) ~~ i have been charged with all level of domestic issue with the building, that i don't see the male employees even thinking about. Perhaps I'm just in the wrong field and need to get into research and writing (preferably, working from my own fucking home, or at least not an 1 and 1/2 way).

I don't know. I guess it's time I stop trying so hard. I guess it's time I just stop, take an inventory and start to accept me for me, awkwardness, shallowness, lack of ambition included. And get a fucking job that mirrors what I CAN do, rather than what I think I should be doing because somebody in my family did it once or twice.

silly boys

monday night had me dancing with tony, making out with pete, mothering james and thoroughly enjoying myself.

What I really wish

For a lifestyle and job that allows the life that I would enjoy: simply put, walking my dog, cooking simple but good food and every once in awhile exploring what is around me (for a start); rather than having a skill set that puts me in a job i fucking hate.

What I Wish

It is very important to me that I have made a positive impact on bp. That all of that was not for nuthin' as they say around these parts. I allowed that boy to put me through the wringer, to put me through all kinds of agony. I don't think all of it was for naught. I sincerely believe that he shook me out of whatever the fuck it was that mired me down in Lubbock and got me here. Got me to think about and make basic steps toward doing whatever it is I'm supposed to do. Now, I, so it won't be for nuthin, I have to figure it out and do it. Anyway, I vacillitate between wanting him to be fucking miserable because we are no longer communicating (and heart breakingly, knowing that he's not) and wanting him to feel like he was blessed (like they say around the parts I come from) for knowing me, just like I feel (i can't believe I'm saying this) blessed for knowing him.


Time has passed, and so the intensity of all these feelings is lessening. But all of it is still there.

stupid assed boy.

5 Songs You Know all the Words to

Darlin' Nikki
Hey Joe
Summertime


okay. three. :)

NOW

I need a new job. NOW.

well it's official

i've done everything that can possibly done at that organization . . . from scrubbing toilets to writing an "article" in the newspaper and everything else in between (and trust me, that amounts to alot of various and sundries).


that means: i can go now.

at this point

it just all seems somehow surreal.

another 16 hours

of pretty much straight sleep. with a 5 min jaunt around the block with bg this am. haven't slept that soundly since the last 16 hours of sleep. jesus.

I fucking hate nyc

not so much the city (mostly because i haven't seen enough of it to form an actual opinion). But what it takes to live here. I'm about to fucking lose it. i hate this, i hate this, i hate this, i hate this, i hate this, i hate this, i hate this, i hate this, i hate this, i hate this, i hate this, i hate this, i hate this, i hate this, i hate it.

San Diego

Natural Disasters, or not so natural (such as 9/11). I think that when you go through something like that, you just take . . . things . . . in . . . stride.

I am a bit (just a bit) beside myself because of one or two or three or four people I know in the area. They all tell me there are safe. I will believe them. What else can I do?

I do wonder what my folks thought back in the the summer of 88 when I was backpacking/canoing in Yellowstone . I don't ever remember having a conversation about it. I was on a guided backpacking trip where we would hike for a week in various national parks, stock up on supplies on the weekends, and then go back out. Climbed the Grand Tetons, even. It was a great easy introduction to backpacking and, for someone in the deep south, a great way to meet people from other parts of the country. Now that I think about it, one of those pivotal moments in how you interact/view the word. Viscerally, I've never seen so many stars in my life, I've never been routinely so hungry, so thirsty, so full of pain (you should have seen my feet afterwards), so content and full and peaceful and in awe of the physical feats we accomplished and the mental feats it took to persevere. They called me the Little Tank. Howinever, we were out in the middle of the Yellowstone fire of 88. I remember watching the cloud of smoke approach us over a couple or three days (we were camping on an island in the middle of the park, with moose and other fauna wandering nearby) and then one day, we canoed our way out (with rumors and eventually sightings of helicopters). Not to mention in the narrows the firemen and the trees exploding, and the covering of our faces with bandannas as we canoed on out of there. very calmly as i remember. i don't remember panic. fear, yes. concern. a bit of what the fuck. but trust in the leaders and not panic.

in 2002, i was teaching a sociology class and this kid, this wonderful, intelligent and glorious kid decided he would tell his story of 9/11. He had been a participant in NOLS when that shit went down. If I remember correctly, he had been in the back country for about 3 months, and their leaders thought they shouldn't tell them about it. I mean, I guess, what could they DO about it anyway? They were so far removed .. . . So, these kids emerged from their otherworldly, life changing experience into a brand new American landscape. I dunno. As I am drunk and rambling, it just seemed poignant. I hadn't thought about him or his story in a while. He was a such a good kid. I got to write him a letter of recommendation. Early on in your career, it is such a pleasure and honor; and such fun.


They are comparing S.D. to Katrina now.

So today.

It's not that I don't like people, it's just that they wear me out. I can only take so much. Saturday, after a day of listening to people bitch about their parks (you people are SERIOUS about your parks), I actually yelled at a person (omg, can you IMAGINE ;) and elbowed my way out of the subway system because they just weren't moving fast enough for my taste. Traffic stopped to let me thru. Even though, I had had ENUFF; ultimately, i just felt silly. But, at least i was OUT> Went to work today, and one day to recupe/prepare just doesn't work for me. The train remained packed for the entire trip and I had to put my hand over my mouth so as not to yell as someone along the way (even though I had a primo seat). I mean, it's not that bad, really, but there are those pivotal moments that escalate when you can see the break, the release. If you can just hoooold ooooooon. know what i mean? I about ran out of the station this am. This evening was no different. The employees at the bodega where i emerged 2nite were all concerned, "What the hell happened to you?" was pretty much the consensus. I love my nabe.

Quotes that flew around me, at me, out of me in the past 24 hours:

• I was in a state of constant subway rage. Now, I've moved on to ROAD rage!!!!
• I'm a Muslim, I don't have to follow common sense.
• Today is a Good Day.
• Bye Lady!
• Are we all happy?
• You don't know what you have in your hand.
• Oh. Okay. So that's the way it's gonna be . . .
• I told C. about the rumors. Her trust is too much to lose.

See ya.

Me n the World

I certainly get off track (and have a penchant for being a magnet for intense, strong-willed, weird and/or needy men-boys). And, I am realizing, I have a combination strong instinctual navigation device/dumb-ass luck system that puts me where I need to be, you know "the right place at the right time". It, though sometimes dormant, has always been a part of how I make my way. When I unequivocally put my mind to something (small or large, and not in a complaining way, but a clear intention), it tends to occur.

What I DO with it, however, it is a complete other matter. . . sigh.

Soooo . . .

NOW ~~ I need confidence in my insight and voicing and/or acting on it at the appropriate moment.

NOW ~~ I need to de-magnetize myself from the aforementioned intense, strong-willed, weird and/or needy men-boys (or women, for that matter . . .). Seriously, dude.

lost friend

I always thought that bp and I would be in each others' lives for a long time, that we were, above all, confidants and supportive friends. Because I always suspected that he was ambiguous about his sexuality and that one day, he would come out of the closet. He is a fantastic lover, and is very open and curious about sex. He is also highly adept at creating an enveloping sexual intimacy that is as addictive as any drug.

But mostly, what I always thought, was that one day, he would become comfortable with being gay. That he would announce this to me (in between all the huffing and deep exhales that punctuated our more difficult conversations) and I would mourn the lost experience of being his lover. But, that I would get over it and that it would strangely deepen our bond (and loosen the binds): that we were above all, confidants and supportive friends.

I just miss him, still.

My New Book

Exploring NYC's Underground: Life on the D Train (or, how to get to the Bronx from Brooklyn and back in three hours)

Chapter 1: How to Spot a Tourist
They look happy.

Chapter 2: Peeking Above Ground
Home
Demographics: Hispanic, Eastern European, Asian, Muslim (in black dress), Hipsters
Coffee Shop: Dunkin Donuts
Alcohol: A round including 3 cocktails and 3 beers (excluding tip): $40
Nature: Dogs at the off-leash areas!!!!! Dirt paths you DO NOT go down.
Eligible bachelors: Old men, hipsters

Work
Demographics: Hispanic, Eastern European, Asian, Muslim (in bright dress), Hippies
Coffee Shop: Bodegas
Alcohol: A round including 3 shots and 3 beers (including tip): $16
Nature: dilapidated dog-run. Black squirrels (who knew?)
Eligible bachelors: Thugs

Chapter 3: Other Trains/Other Times
The D train ~~ Low energy, molded seats (everyone knows their spot) in a 7os fall themed palette. Each conductor has his or her own personality/cadence that signals whether or not you'll be late for work.

The 4 train ~~ High energy, new fangled (bench seats: everyone CRAMS in and very narrow thru-way: everyone CRAMS in) Fluorescent lights, chatty, LOUD and pre-recorded conductor spiels. How the hell are you supposed to know what time it is? Oh! It's on the marquee!!

Other Lines ~~ Wait. There are OTHER trains? OMG!

Morning: Standing room only (unless you are on the 4, then it's Packed - in - so - tight - you - don't - have - to - hold - on - to - anything). Either way, usually, blessedly quiet.

Daytime: Crazy people and people picky about their seats. Usually solitary (unless they are tourists, who look happy)

Evening: Standing Room Only, though typically chatter and some very exhausted souls. On the lucky occasion: train break-dancers; the one-armed harmonica player; the mariachi band (haven't seen those guys in a while . . .); the warbling spare change guy; the evangelist (in many incarnations)

Late Night: Very tired minimum wage people coming home from work, bright eyed intellectuals and and the occasional drunk ass (guess which category i fall into . . . ) BTW, most of the afore mentioned categories occupied by men.

Chapter 4: How to Position Oneself While Riding in the Subway or Can I drink NOW or Is it possible to Stand, Drink AND read a newspaper? What about a magazine? a book?

What pisses me off

thinking about every single fucking cent.
having no time for anything but work, recovering from work and preparing for work.
the fact that my 11 year old dog is trapped in this apartment with me and whose current "job" seems to be as a barometer for my moods. If I come home unaware of his presence (therefore seething about something) he slinks away from me. He now stands in the doorframe of the adjacent room to determine whether or not he's going to greet me. This (and only dog lovers would really get this) is a VERY BAD sign.
the loss (as i've mentioned before) of the ability to do the things i actually like to do (including hiking with my dog).
i really, really, really hate this version of life. the others were slowly strangling me to death. this one is grrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiinddddddddddddddddddddddddding me down. Slowly enough to feel it, but a whole helluva lot more quick than the vines that were tightening around my neck in the Deep South. Here, my skin has been scraped off and now the nerves and muscles are showing . . .

It's that "well, if you don't like it, go back home" time. And I really don't want to go back home. And I really don't want to wander somewhere else just goes this ain't working. And I really don't want to give up on NY or Brooklyn. But I really got to change something. I'm worried that any change won't be fast enough cause I'm getting to "that point". The one that either I do something drastic with no safety net (like, within a 4 month period, deciding to and actually moving to ny), or some diaster/trama/drama happens to make things change because I didn't take things into my own hands before the bad thing happened (like, getting pregnant by BP).

The time to move on, whatever it looks like, is upon me. And I better do something quick-like.

And what about that raise? The new fiscal year is upon us, is it not?

# 10

i've been walking around with a seething anger I didn't even recognize. Don't even know how long it's been there. Years? Months? pre/post BP? I have no clue. I just know it's there. And it's time to do something about it.

realization #9

I fucking hate this. I fucking HATE this. I hate having a 9-5 (or in my case, a 10-6). I hate that my fucking work day ends up being an 11 hour day, due to the (total) THREE hour daily commute. I hate that I have to kiss everybody ass that I work with because my approach is so vastly different that they don't what to make of me. I hate that because my non-profit salary job is also in the field of community development, in order to do a 1/2 way decent job, you are also supposed to work many nights per week and saturdays during the lovely seasons of spring and fall (because, you see, that is when communities can actually, well, develop, as they all have full time jobs, too). I hate that if I actually DID this, that eventually, the salary that I would make where I'm working, is 1/3 less than what grant writers in the city would make at 1/2 those people's ages. While I love doing something different everyday, I hate that my energies at work are so scattered that I can't do any one thing decently. I hate that I have no energy/time/money/geographical impossibility to do the things that I actually enjoy: from hiking with my fucking dog to spending a saturday cooking (this is what i used to do in lubbock to stave off the misery of west texas). I think I've "explored" maybe 5 times in the year and 3 months I've lived here. On occasion I'll stop by the neighborhood restaurant for a meal.

What the fuck? I could be living off a whole helluva lot less, and having a whole helluva LOT MORE MOTHER FUCKING FUN living somewhere else. No wonder I keep lamenting about the good ole very drunken days of west texas and the deep south.

I also hate that my cheering section as started saying things like, "Well, at least you know, if you hadn't taken that chance, you'd wonder until the day you died". Jesus. That's about the WORST reason to delve into the unknown that I can think of right about now. New York and BP. Two things I feel like I coulda done without the "experience", just so you could say you tried it. Give me a fucking break. I'm getting real fucking tired of these "experiences" and just want to what I'm supposed to be doing. Whatever the fuck that might be. Cuz, this sure as hell ain't it.

note to self

Quit lookin' back!!!

Speaking of neighbors . . .

Found in Lubbock, west TX: I'll call him "Windy Man".
Jeffe, you're the best.

Lovely neighbors, II

This past weekend, I was a bit under the weather . . . went to the corner grocery store to get juice, etc. Ran into my upstairs neighbor. He took one look at me, kissed my cheek, and said, "For supper, I will make chicken soup, and I will bring it to you" (he's from venezuela, and has a wonderful way with the english language). And he did. Two hours later, a gentle knock on the door and there he was . . . with a huge bowl of hot, homemade chicken soup. Such a rich broth and tender chicken and potatoes and scallions and just a bit of celery. I was well within five minutes.

Wednesday, after drinking way too much with colleagues, i randomly called my upstairs neighbor. he immediately ushered me to his apartment and fed me more of his now famous homemade soup. I love him. This guy was my stand in landlord when I first moved in (our landlord was gone to spain for the summer). Again, he took one look at me (Not only had I been driving cross country for four days from lubbock, I had just driven through a rainstorm so thick that I couldn't see any of the cars all around me when crossing the verrazono bridge . . . this from a girl who has driven on strictly rural roads her entire life), and decided that he and his son were going to empty my car, take my stuff up one flight of stairs AND go into the basement to find the a/c that was rumored to be left by my friend who used to live here, like 2 1/2 years ago, and install it for me.

So, tonight, I feed him for a change. I have nothing to say about it except that I'm so glad that my energy and general good cheer has returned so that I can start returning some of the unconditional support that I have gotten since I've moved here. Honestly, I love my neighbors.

Cows are cool

Note to self and others

I ain't NEVAH been known for my finesse.

what to do on a random sunday night

catch an unexpected express train into town, carrying bourbon and ginger ale (with a twist of lime to try and cut the sweet) in red solo cups. know you ain't fooling nobody, especially when wearing brightly colored t-shirts and talking about private matters loudly and in full-on southern accents (though both of us having a certain subway stance savvy that throws the observant, well, observer, especially when discussions ~~ and going from sitting to standing on cue ~~ veer from wrong doing man -boys to the astounding view of Lady Liberty, the brooklyn bridge and the lights of the city as we trundle over the manhattan bridge). I have to admit, that was kinda fun.

Get out at 8th St. Make a detour to walk by Grace Church just cuz it looks pretty, and even though I hadn't been in a church in several years before I moved here, I seem to get drawn in by that church in one way or another every time (okay, both times) I've been in it's proximity. It was the first (and probably only) 30 minutes of absolute silence and reverent stillness I've experienced since I've gotten here. Too bad it was closed this night (or maybe not ;) Get back on task: booze, eventually korean food.

McSorley's. My compatriot, in true used-to-live-in-NYC form, decided that the pot-bellied stove and centuries old dust covering the chandelier was just not fittin' the bill. Actually, I was in agreement, as we were totally in cocktail mode: McSorely's only serves their own brewed beer. I can't wait to get back.

The first on task stop, KGB bar. The bartender actually asked us if we wanted him to turn off the tv. The ancient, vertical push-button, rabbit-eared, snow rotating screened tv on a football game (now sundays are football nights, too?). FOOTBALL. To us, it's background noise, to us, it is the heart and soul of any bar (or home during the fall season, for that matter). It was joyous, JOYOUS when he turned if off, even against our protests of "That's a first!" "We're from the South, we don't have a choice in these matters!". Needless to say, our vodka tonics and vodka sodas were very strong and on the cheap. And he got a monster tip.

Next stop, Schillers. Killer cocktails and very friendly patrons. Hot bartenders. Highly recommended.

Moving right along: Oliva, Restaurant Bar, with excellent mojitos and very invigorating live music with such a tiny dance space that the dancing was just soooo. As I danced with Jose, my compatriot laughed because he was dancing samba, and i was dancing blues and it took, not so long, until he totally got into the bump and grind. Down and dirty, you know. And while it was good (he continued to come back for more), I soooo gotta learn the other. I mean the liquid hips of those women and the style that those couples possessed. Oh My.

And finally . . . blessed Korean Food. There seems to be a plethora of restaurants on the strip that are opened for 24 hours. Kunjip would be my recommendation. The kimchi was excellent. The bibimbob (which we both got) was just fine. I have to admit, I've sampled several of the places here, and my over-all favorite is still Kim II in Ft Walton Beach, Florida, and the very short lived Asian Family in Lubbock, TX. The waitstaff at Kunjip were friendly, patient and appropriately attentive as we slowly sipped our sake and devoured our food.

Other bars/restaurants of note in Brooklyn:

• Velvet
• Quarter at 20th St and 5th Ave. Sooooo good cocktails. Fresh ingredients and impeccable mixing
• The Bagel Factory
• Has Beans
• Thai Sky
  

#8

I have, for whatever reason, spent so much of my time "making do" rather than imagining that something better was attainable.

heartbreak lite: i still miss bp

Like i told him once, he has been both an anchor and a catalyst (in incredibly significant ways). he has also been something of a good friend, and a lover, at this point, beyond compare.

i miss him. i still miss that fucker and know that as far as the crux of the situation is concerned, he couldn't have done anything different, just like I couldn't have. It just was too much reality.

i still miss him. and, fortunately (or unfortunately) because of those three weeks of three hour a day subway rides (where i cried and cried and cried and cried . . .), am no longer angry. I just flat out miss him.

i'm also highly aware that we were just BAD together. As an idea, maybe, and as a reality, it was painful for all involved. I suppose because it was all long distance we could pretend. And when we were alone for awhile (though, inevitably, alone for too long), we got as close as either one of us possibly could.

either way, he made a tremendous impact on me. Most, through time, for the good.

so it goes.

me and bp in a nutshell

i knew i liked jimi for a reason:


why we liked each other. . . relief from everything else:

There must be some kind of way out of here
Said the joker to the thief
There's too much confusion
I can't get no relief . . .


How i got suckered in:

No reason to get excited
The thief he kindly spoke
There are many here among us
Who feel that life is but a joke but uh
But you and I we've been through that
And this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now
The hour's getting late . . .

and then, inevitably (only after the sublime), back to the mostly silent, though just as urgent pleading of one another:

There must be some kind of way out of here

kink

there is something primal about kink. and i think to be allowed to consensually and equally play with kink, whatever yours may be, sets forth a release that goes beyond physical. it is a bottomless soul release; a connection to another (though it's illicitness maybe just as much of a charge) that allows you to be who you are at that primal level with no judgments or condemnation and you are absolutely, mind, body (and if done right, spirit), lost in the sensations and the sharing of space and time and intimacy with that (or those) persons.

Here and here are a couple of blogs that explore many facets of sexuality.

#7

The problem with isolation is that you don't know what is out of line and what is acceptable. I don't mean the difference between right and wrong, but behavior in everyday exchanges. This is true for your own behavior as well as what is to be expected in work environments, and from others (ex-boyfriends, as an example ;)

FINALLY ~~ Realization #6

The vast majority of my angst has been based in my mourning the things that I loved about my life in the South. Really, almost like a friend! How strange!

Well. At least I know now and I can look forward to the new things that will come my way . . .

finally.

It's Business Time

I cry . . .

the thing about the thing

well. i have no fucking clue why i'm here. the getting here was easy enough. one phone call, one phone call, (and a couple of really bad miscalculations, but luckily, all seems to have been resolved) and i had a place to live, including bringing my dog. one month's deposit, no broker's fee and the deposit doubles as the last month's rent. one phone call, people. i guess what i'm trying to say is that anytime i tell the story of how i got here (which i won't tell you now), people inevitably say, "well, it was meant to be." I also thought so, too.

These days, I don't know what the hell to think. But back to the thing about the thing.

I took on this challenge, of up and leaving my tenured position (ain't nuthin', it was at a community college that gave you tenure after showing up for four years, they didn't so much care if you were drunk or sober, either. or, now that i think about it, how often you showed up) to the complete unknown of new york city. no plan except to get here. and i got here. the thought was that by accomplishing this i would do a combination of 1)shaking myself out of, well, myself and 2)accept myself. I've always lived with malaise, you see. Malaise tinged by awkward weirdness that doesn't amount to much as my mind is pretty undisciplined and concerned mostly with my angst (or, as an alternative, stupid boys), rather than actual, say, knowledge.

apropos to nothing, y'alls weatherpeople really suck, sooo annoying.

but, back to the thing about the thing: this workplace (!) of mine is so adept at pushing every single button i have. Even ones that I thought were over and done with. Ones I didn't know I had. Ones that are just who i am (ooooh, accepting myself, much?) It's amazing and at times a wonderful thing because it gives me the opportunity to try something else, another approach. Other times, I just want to hit people.

Though, I have to admit, my mood of late is generally of dumbfounded anger. Wanting to hit people is pretty much my MO. There will probably be more entries about the boy, also known as fucking coward asshole little little, and i mean, little man. It's a shame he knows how to use it.

anyway. 2007 has decidedly been NOT A GOOD YEAR.

On the virtues of dogs.

A friend of mine sent me this article, and I felt the urge to share.

one final entry about the boy

i took this picture of him leaving, in mesquite, texas. he was packing my car, and finally getting annoyed with all of my stuff, as i recall. i was driving from lubbock* to mississippi, he was back in texas for the holidays, 2005. We met in this hotel for a day or two. it was a lovely couple of days. i always liked this picture.

*i do apologize for such bad taste. it was just too good to pass up.

as it turns out,

i also take pictures on occasion. they sometimes turn out pretty well. i'll give you one or two or three, just for kicks.

These were taken in Arcos de la Frontera, Spain in summer of, i think, 2004

realization #5

i have a whole helluva lot to learn about community.

what i look forward to

having fun.
taking care of myself.
feeling like an actual human being.
loving somebody.
being loved back.
yoga.
serious exercise.
exploring nyc.
interesting books.
DANCING!!!!!!
traveling around nyc.
food, food, food, food, food, food, food, food.
cocktails.

i can't wait.

what the hell?

very strange week. it's as if everyone i know and love (well, not everyone, but a significant portion, anyway) is having a devastating week or two or three for one reason or another, all deeply personal and deeply and radically life changing.

hm. for the briefest moment, i wonder if something along those lines could be striking the boy, thus rendering him unable to deal with our little circumstance, but then quickly, i come back to my senses and realize, that it's too late to speculate about such and, i don't really care anyway. well, maybe a little bit, i do. how is that even possible?

and then there was nothing

and i mean nothing. and not to beleaguer a point, or anything, but that one ain't even thinking about trying to talk to me. 3 years? three years? i mean, it's not the 45 years my parents have spent together, or anything, but three years should amount to something, shouldn't they?

how do i really feel?

I think what is the most traumatic at the moment about the whole thing is that I've effectively been abandoned by this man. I can't believe I'm calling him a man. I think because if I call him a boy, it means that it's not his fault for abandoning me, he doesn't know any better. I'm just floored, actually. And I feel like a dumb-ass for actually being floored. My emotions: deep hurt, deep anger, betrayal, abandonment, surprise, relief, incredulousness . . . i suppose i could go on and on like that.

And I do wonder what the fuck is he thinking? Is he just NOT? Is it just too much to think about? Does he just not care? And the worst, for some reason, is he just happily or vengefully fucking somebody else right now so that he can't be bothered with me?

I'm at a bit of a loss of what to do. Do I call him? (oh, we've been playing a convenient form of phone tag for a couple of days now ~~ he calls when he knows I'm at work) Do I text him along the lines of, "fuck off"? Do I just quit thinking about how to communicate and just stop? That seems, well, not quite right, and a really good way NOT to achieve much closure. Maybe I'll just call right now and leave a message.


I called, of course, he didn't answer. I left a brief message essentially saying "I hate to leave a voice mail, but i'm not playing phone tag anymore. This is over." and i hung up.

So it goes.

and i didn't cuss at him? i didn't call him a irresponsilbe, meanspirited, cruel . . what? what could i possibly say to him that would make him hurt as much as i am hurting now?

absolutely nothing.

and then i guess what is even worse than him fucking someone else is for him to be relieved and not hurt or sad or something when he gets that message, whenever he gets it.

and then there was my buddy at work (a gardner at the local park), who, for no apparent reason at all brought me a handful of yellow flowers from the park today. he grinned at me like a little boy as he thrust out that fistful of flowers. he promised there were no bees in them. and then he turned around and walked out. just like that.

and then andy called to invite me to new orleans. i have no intention of calling that boy back, but i guess in the middle of this horrible, horrible week, it's just good to be not forgotten, or something like that?

well. i'm certainly in a state.

On not drinking

then you discover just how miserable you actually are!!!!! :)

lovely neighbors

The first thing you should definitely do when you move into town, any ole town, but it seems, especially, here, is get to know your neighbors. And do it as quickly as possible. Really easy for me because I'm actually pretty outgoing in certain circumstances and, make a thrice daily habit of walking my dog. When I first got here, literally, for hours. Ahhhh, the good ole days . . . But back to the neighbors . . .Even if just on a first name basis, get to know them, just so they get to know you and expect to see you and if they don't see you, then they wonder about it, and then maybe do something. I mean, this is a big ole city and very easy to get lost in the shuffle if you come knowing nobody. And, if you're an introvert (you knew i had to throw that in), because just day-to-day living here zaps any amount of social interaction that I would even think about having. So, sometimes, like this week, it's real easy to feel completely alone among the throngs and throngs and throngs and throngs and throngs and thr, okay, of people. It's real easy to fucking hate this place and wonder what the hell you are doing HERE. When you could/should be doing "it" (whatever "it" happens to be for you) some other place where it's not so freakin' relentless to just be here, i can't even imagine trying to get something accomplished.

anyway. this, as it so happens, is when those neighbors notice. or, maybe, they are looking for a little diversion themselves, and so you find yourself two doors down having rubbery hamburgers and surfacy but so well intended conversation (and typically, really good beer and/or wine). And you feed their kid soy-yogurt. and you stay for an hour or so. and it's plenty. and it's just NICE. and you don't feel so all alone. And you want to make them cupcakes and brownies or something. And one day, when the mood strikes, you do.

boy was i wrong

kidding myself about not feeling anger. wow-eeee. it's been awhile since i've been THIS hot about something. not to mention lots of grief, but that goes along with the territory.

and, of course, bp, or "the boy" as i like to call him (a bit of an age difference). Again, with the little arrangement we have, what is to be expected, but come on. COME ON. A little day-to-day wouldn't be such a bad idea. Texting "how are you holding up?" three days after our last phone call? I don't think so. Maybe I should call my next lover "the man", that way, he'd actually be one.

and then there was bp

Please keep in mind that I don't mean any of this as an indictment of any sort. He has done everything that can be expected of him in such a situation. Within the confines/freedoms of our cross country dalliances, he has always, always, always acted in such a way that I know on a deep level that he can be trusted, that he is doing absolutely everything in his power to recognize and in a different realm, touch the other and won't run away screaming from any situation. So, the universe decides to test us. yeppers, she does.

As could have been predicted, he responds with responsibility and concern and although comes at it from a completely different perspective, evidence of thoughtfulness about the situation. He offers an ear, he offers money, he offers support. What he doesn't offer is not something that I would expect from him anyway, nor would necessarily want. And therein lies the problem.

And in lieu of needless anger and resentment (for all manner of things concerning such a situation), what I find instead is the developing spider web cotton webbing that wraps around my heart, my lungs . . . the shutting down of vital organs where this person/subject/idea is concerned. I . . . feel . . . Nothing. And this, as we all know, is not a good sign, for a whole helluva lot of reasons.

Who knows how long this episode will last. Maybe 10 minutes, until I hear the phone ring (oh, that's right, I turned it off!), Maybe for years. Maybe forever. Who cares.

I just know that if I was loved the way that I want to be loved that he would be here, with me, just because.

yesterday's big adventure

it started off with the prospect of a community festival in the Bronx. My boss suggested that I "RIDE MY BIKE TO WORK". What a hoot, I thought. This man is clearly crazy. As I live in Brooklyn, about 30 minutes north of Coney Island by subway, and work at THE LAST stop of the aforementioned subway line. But after he whipped out a map of nyc specifically for bike riders and showed me a route . . . well . . . what better way to make someone else's community festival tolerable (see, my bad attitude is seeping out) than to have an adventure getting there . . . (my boss probably reading my mind at this point in our "relationship").

Sooooooo, off I went. I took my bike on the subway to central park, Columbus circle (that, in and of itself, a series of mishaps and run ins with very nice other subway people ~~ the ride back even more awkward, standing room only on the train, but with the most accommodating people i have ever encountered on the subway. truly. lovely people). And I've never come out of the subway station at that point. It is just a beautiful testament to the city. I highly recommend it. And rode my bike through Central Park. When I emerged out of the park, I hit Malcolm X Blvd. Harlem. Where people stared at me, and I probably stared back as i zoomed past on my rusty, dusty just my size girl's mountain bike that has been resting, unused in my basement for the past year ~~ SCORE!. Rode to 3rd Ave, then hit the 3rd Ave Bridge. Haha! As the police officers who were guarding a junior high football team practicing said when I asked directions, "That's it. Right there. And, honey, just where are you from? Uh-huh. And you're going to the Bronx? Uh-huh. Well. You be careful" as they shook their heads and pointed at a bridge that was so big that I missed it. Know what i mean? Crossing that was not a lark, what with on-coming traffic and all (but at least there was a chain link fence separating me and the cars). Had an interesting "how are we going to manueaver this?" moment at the apex with a bag man pushing his shopping cart, but we got through it with mutual smiles. When I got to the end of the bridge, the "sidewalk" was out (!?!?!) with bolsters, cement blocks and police tape, and there was nowhere to go but back! Omigod. At that moment, I did notice a flight of stairs off to the side. So, feeling a bit like a hobbit, and with the options of going back home, riding aimlessly trying to find a subway station, or going down those flights of stairs (which were nuthin' after the subway) I happily took them, wondering how the bag man and his glorious smile with the shopping cart made it up . . .

Once i got down, I was in a strangely silent, very complicated, yet clean underpass that made me nervous until I spotted Dmitri's "nyc's largest yard and garden store" in one corner, and Bruckner's "Up and coming Mott-Haven's respite for hipsters and artists" according to the Zagat's signage in the other corner. The Clocktower in the distance apparently home to those hipsters and artists, I could see a photo shoot occurring on that roof. The folks at Dmitri's were wonderful, and while they wouldn't sell me a t-shirt (my back clearly getting sunburned due to my forgetting, once again, to put sunblock on in the city), they gave me a cold, cold bottle of water, some shade to sit in among beautiful greenery and flowers and let me use their facilities. I love those people. And i wasn't biking naked, i just had on a strappy it's the hottest day of the summer top. (and somehow decided that THIS was the best day to ride my bike to work)

But, let me tell you, SoBro (South Bronx) ain't so pretty. Dilapidated buildings and rough looking people, but such a vibrancy of life when there were pockets of shade. I rode thru quickly, but where there were women and shade, life was happening, clothing and food were being distributed in one form or fashion, and where there were sun and groups of men, there seemed to be a sense of propriety and maintaining order/territory, and i wouldn't have wanted to be someone that might be construed as threatening to that territory. There was a particular corner where several of "us" (a wide variety of misplaced bikers) were circling, trying to figure out where we were and where we were going (as Morris Ave was very elusive). All of us so obviously different from one another (one guy in a speed bike all dressed up in those tight clothes, one couple who seemed to be touring as they had one bike outfitted to carry lots and lots of gear, a couple of latino guys that seemed to know there way around, and some do-rag wearing, bright red from LACK OF SUNSCREEN chick on a very loud bike (i got lots of attention when i put the brakes on) that we didn't even bother to communicate, in fact, eying each other suspiciously (what a missed opportunity!). But, we all eventually found our various ways out (here's to hoping, although i have to say that at one point or another, i saw each and every one of them head of in a direction very purposefully) and up I went to the Grand Concourse, past Yankee Stadium and up to NoBro (North Bx), though most of us in NoBro are uncomfortable with that terminology. Harlem and SoBro had similar demographics from what I could tell . . . poor black people, as you got closer to NoBro, it was mostly latino, probably dominican. and got VERY CROWDED and very loud with lots of musica and boisterous and more similar to the area that I work in. So .. . I rode on to work (actually, petering out a few subway stops before and taking the train into work) and commenced to "tabling" at the Bx Community Festival!!!!

It was so much fun, and I'll probably do it again in SEpt. when I have to be at work for various parks activities on a Sat. afternoon. I was exhausted when I got home, slept for 14 hours. When I checked my route today to see how long it was . . . 8 friggin miles.

anyway. that was yesterday's big adventure . . .

1 year anniversary

whooooppeeeee!!!

sleeeep

and so much of it. seems to be necessary these days. it is not uncommon for me to sleep 14 hours straight, and becoming not uncommon for me sleep for more than 24, with the occasional foray outdoors if only to walk my dog. it's not as though i walk around as a zombie, or don't do things i enjoy, but when i do hit the bed, i am OUT. took off work today to sleep as there was no way in hell i was going to be physically able to get out of bed. it's not depression, either. that, i am excruciatingly familiar with. It's physical and mental exhaustion, i guess???

something about the city

just when you've had it . . . there is some strange break or opportunity or something that comes along the way to ease things just a bit.

realization #4

Just because YOU like doing something/or know everything about a particular subject, doesn't mean that everybody else does or gives a RAT'S ASS about it.

And, being someone who has always been a bit "off", I certainly understand this. Just wish other people did.

realization #3

not even sure if it has anything to do with the whole introvert thing . . . but out of protection from big bad society, i am realizing how painfully in my own head i am. sucks ass. can't talk about much of anything except visceral responses and how things directly effect me or, on occasion, group dynamics.

anyway. what the hell have i been doing with my time?

boys are wierd, here

don't you think? they seem to be sorta scared of women in general. Or seem perfectly nice and at the last minute, pull some weird disappearing stunt. Or expect you to put out on the first date, and when you don't, get mad. Or when you do, act as though you are a whore. Not that I'm that *worried* about it, or anything. Just a bit annoyed.

why being an introvert sucks

I feel like ranting and raving about this current job of mine . . .

omigod. But I won't.  The past four months have WORN ME OUT
and I've gotten dangerously close to the burn-out point (even
though in soooo may waysthis place is just the best ever . . . I
can't believe I actually landedthere,especially for my 1st "real"
job in nyc).  There is always a very miraculous "break" when I've
just about had it, most recently, I'vebeen able to secure my own
office space in a next door building, bythrowing a mild yet "i
mean it" fit at my boss, (as opposed to being in a room with the
loudest person i've ever met and anywhere from 1 to 3 other
people. . . all very high maintenance or conversely, high energy,
interns). wait.  i said i wouldn't rant or rave.  I just did both.
the new office spaceis always there (at least thru the summer --
and there is the constantpromise that at some point in the fall, an
office space in my building will be available as some tenants' lease
will have run out), but the culture of the office that i work in requires
thati am in the original office most of the time (its very "family"
oriented and prone to impromptu discussions in which very
important info is thrown about).  The way it's arranged now, I will
(I think) have a couple of hours in the morning of quiet (which is
huge) or as needed.  In the afternoon, I will go back to the loud room
and do whatever is thrown at me.

anyway. 

the point being, or why being an introvert sucks, that i am so worried
about "basic needs"  (a quiet place to actually think and produce) that
i'm not at all able to segue this incredible resource of place that i am
currently working in to fit myown needs/becoming-more-clear-but-
still-blurry career goals. Much less actually do what my I'm supposed
 to be doing for them.

It's not that an introvert is high maintenance, necessarily . . . it's just
 that our needs are so different from others'.  And I'm finding that people
take it personally, or have a hard time dealing with the fact that what
 they want is not what everybody wants.  or something like that.

I dunno.

The crux of the situation

(at least for me)

a sense of shame (for no good reason) that is the most exhausting of all

Individual Responsibility

In a discussion with a friend after the Virginia Tech shootings, the topic of personal responsibility cropped up. The line of thought (filtered and expanded upon, of course, through my own interpretation) was something like this: This is a school ensconced in a part of the country where individualism is a part of the heritage. What, I think, is meant by this, is that rural people in this country have a more pro-active response to taking care of situations, taking care of themselves in back to the basics sort of way. Resources can be limited, people learn to improvise. People have a more realistic relationship with nature, in some ways, with life and death, as a part of nature, than intensely urban environments. How this directly fits into this situation is such: Guns are a part of southerners life. Hunters start hunting in elementary school. They learn a healthy respect for weapons. They have good aim. They don't back down. They know how to survive. So, the question emerged, why didn't any one of those students in those school buildings, why didn't they fight back? Why didn't they throw a desk in the madman's way? Didn't anyone have a gun on them? This is Virginia! And thinking back on conversations regarding the legal (or illegal) possession and carrying of guns I have over heard from people in a similar demographic . . . she's got a point. So ultimately, the question was this: Why, in a part of the country where people are not unarmed, where people are primed for protecting their territory, why were the students so cowed? Why didn't anybody fight back? The question was raised, then we went to brunch and drank mimosas and coffee and that was that.

Then, I picked up a few books while wandering through the streets of Brooklyn, walking my beloved dog. Someone had very thoughtfully left a stack of books for me to sort through. I find that people in this town are very conscientious about their no longer needed goods. I have been devoutly reading one called "To Live" by Yu Hua. It has been translated from it's original Chinese. It's a strange book. The basic idea is that this guy, Fugui, has suffered heart breaking and continuous calamity all throughout his life, yet he smiles and holds tenaciously to it, even as a old man blackened by the sun, stooped by physical labor, alone because all of his family and friends have died in very creative ways, he cackles joyously as he describes his heartbreak, because it is life. Don't get me wrong, he doesn't seem to enjoy the horrible things that happen, but he continues to see the good in people and the joy that is inherent in life. It is spell binding. How it fits into this discussion is this: It also describes a man who lets life happen to him. There are several instances throughout this book where it is obvious that the man did not prevent the calamity from happening. It screams from the text, though it is also written in a way that the reader can't be sure it occurred to the author to allow the character to even THINK about the prevention. It describes a man absolutely controlled by the governmental and societal upheavals of modern China. It seems to be an illustration of how ever changing regimes take away the individual's ability to react to situations in self-defense, rather they act in deference to the powers that be, no matter how ludicrous and obviously detrimental those powers may be to the individual.

I'm not sure if there is a connection between these two thoughts, but I do wonder if we, somehow, as a society have become cowed. Maybe it's the exact opposite, maybe it's complacency . . .we are a superpower, we are the best country ever, we are safe, we don't have to worry. In any case, back to the virginia tech shooting, what is going on in our country that these exact types of domestic terrorism keep happening? Why are we allowing this to happen?

Introvert Realization #1

Hats are cool. And not only do that add a bit of flair for anyone's ensemble, they are a useful tool for navigating this city. They communicate: 1) hi! i'm cute as hell and you should pay attention to me; or (my personal fav today) 2) leave me the fuck alone. and the same hat, worn in slightly different ways, can be used for either scenario. Hats are MARVELOUS!!!! you should definitely get one.

Realization #2

My time is not my own anymore. It will be again, and perhaps I will use more, um, proactively next time. This time, the 2 1/2 years that I claim were spent huddled in domestic bliss, maintained by excessive amounts of booze. It worked. Especially where I was huddled. West Texas.

Uncharacteristically Silent

Work today was heaven. It was uncharacteristically silent. I got my work done, by noon, and was twiddling my thumbs for the rest of the day (well, not really, but sorta). It's not that I really liked twiddling my thumbs, it was just that, because it was silent, I could GET the WORK DONE, and in 1/2 a day, and it's 11:40 at night, and I'm not exhausted. I even had someone over for supper tonight, albeit the thawing of chicken/turkey soup I made a couple of weekends ago (the stock not so tended to, out of time and energy, tho still made a lovely, rich soup).

My boss said "I think it's kinda lonely". I was in sheer heaven. Is this trouble? I dunno, maybe. Today was the first day in a while that I haven't thought that I wished my last life as a teacher (and we all know what that means: summers off and incredible holiday holidays) wouldn't have been so unfilling. Or something like that.

virtues of mysteriousess

Maybe it's not that I'm an introvert. Maybe it's just that I'm wierd. And require (or don't require) different things than other people do. And perhaps I haven't done a good job of keeping myself mysterious, and just sorta blurting out my differences, thus making it more difficult to navigate a world of extraverted people.

I suppose I should learn a bit of mysteriousness. Apparently, a well dressed woman of mystery is the way to go . . . .

officious young women

don't know quite what to do with them. they also seem to have gotten down the up-and-coming-young (i'm assuming not limited to) southern man's ability to take credit for any amount of work that is done around them, while weaseling out of doing any of the work. Never have quite known how to deal with it, and while there is a part of me that is happy for these young women for developing a skill that will surely fare them well in their chosen professions, it irks me to no end that I have no clue how to remove myself from their domain. As it is, unfortunately, a role that i played very well in the south, and one that while i absolutely despise, is familiar and easy to fall into, and easy to be targeted for. That role is of "support staff" even when there is no call for me to be their staff. really irritating.

On Building Community

from a poster boasting ideas of "how to" . . .

"Learn from New and Uncomfortable angles". oh my. giggle, giggle

Learning new tricks

I have an 11 year old dog who never ceases to learn new tricks. and he is joyous about it, revels in it, and with each new trick he learns, he loses at least 3 months. If it weren't for the distinguished grey around the muzzle, you'd think he was, well 7 years old. sigh.

I guess the point of this little entry is that it's a whole helluva lot easier to learn new tricks than it is to unsuppress, well, suppression. Learning new and innovative things is always a blast, because you are stretching your mind, your body, etc. Unsuppressing oneself is infinitely more difficult because it means going back to the instant (or the many instances) of pain or negative feedback that caused you to suppress yourself to begin with. Sometimes we don't even remember that it's suppression, just thinking that it is habit, or "the way things are".

So . . . if there was a way to convince oneself that breaking old habits is the same thing as learning new tricks . . .

Nuthin like Spring

As a southerner, I've never really lived in a place that has actual SEASONS. My recollection of the southeast is this: hot and humid as hell. mosquitos. huge blood thirsty mosquitos. three showers a day for 4 - 5 months. me being grumpy. an actual lovely fall. crisp with a short burst of fall hued (whutever that is supposed to mean) leaves. then, psuedo winter. not cold enough to bundle up and drink hot cocoa by the cheery fire (my father has been known to turn the a/c up in the middle of winter inorder to have a fire. several times a "winter"), but dreary and damp. and too bone chilled to do much outside if your not accostomed to the winters of the north. ahhh . . .spring. one week. then, hot and humid as hell. mosquitos. huge blood thirsty . . . well, you know.

my recollection of the southwest. 8.5 months of near "perfect" weather (read: NO humidity or mosquitos). i mean, for 3.5 of those months, it's hot, and i do mean HOT, but just sit under a shade tree and drink yourself a cool beverage, and life is just flat out good. get yourself a hammock if you move to the southwest. trust me. 3.5 months of psuedo winter, with a surprising amount of bone-chilling humid coldness. Never stopped me from taking my dog for a long hike, though.

Then, i moved to New York and experienced my first "winter". and I say "winter" because all of you keep telling me that this was nuthin. and i believe you. but i did have to wear long underwear and bundle up and wear hats and scarves and mittens. and i got to drink hot chocolate and tea, not for the novelty of it, but because i was COLD after taking my dog for a walk. The last portion of the walk ALWAYS up against the wall of wind from the waterways.

And your parks. Bursting with humanity on the very first inkling of a warm spring day. And people actually smile at each other, in the parks. For the past few months, we've been too bundled up and too pissy to even acknowledge each other . . .

Oh, btw

Here is good essay written by Jonathan Rauch in the Atlantic Monthly about the trials of introverts.

Ramblings for the hell of it

Hm. Well, here it is. It's tough being an new kid in the city when you're an introvert. There ain't no safety nets around these parts. People really don't give a rat's ass what your story is, cuz everybody's got one, and when you do listen, their's is always a whole helluva lot more interesting than your's. Or, should I say, mine. But is that really why people come here? For the stories? I suspect that is exactly the case. So what happens when the stories fade, and you are left with, well, your life. The mundane daily existence that on one level is pretty damn comforting (you know, that feeling of security that comes with responsibility to others), but like a vine around your neck once you discover the little eccentricities that the people that you spend the majority of your hours with (you know: those at work -- and BONUS: a decent SALARY with BENEFITS and PAID VACATIONS) have and that you actually have to navigate your existence around them. And don't get me started about the people in the neighborhood. A girl from the south who is taught to bend over backwards to be friendly to all, especially to not hurt the Male Ego has lots to learn about living in a largely Latino population. And, pray tell, let us not forget the older men white men in the neighborhood who have absolutely no social boundary skills. But back to the work place eccentricities: a small example. After hearing ad naseum about the activities of the 5 and 12 year old girls whose mom shares my workspace AND buying girl scout cookies (and she is like, the world's BEST MOM, btw, and i'm not being snide), the comment i get after mentioning my Southeast Asian lover (i guess one is really not supposed to mention one's lovers) was, "All Indian people stink". Come on. And the thing was, she wasn't trying to be offensive (coming from the south, I am highly aware of when people are being both blatantly and/or subtly racist). She was just stating her knowledge of The Way Things Are. Completely unabashed, unaware of self and others and just not interested (a completely different, though certainly no less virulent, form of racism or whatever ism is on your mind). Or something. This woman confounds me, as she is so adept at handling, juggling, so many things (her awful sister, her church goings on, her daughters' various and sundry really cool activities, the girl scout counsel, her "not for nuthin" idiot husband, her tax clients, oh, her job) yet who is petulant and downright mean when it comes to who she likes and who she doesn't. Isn't there a point in "professional" and "civic" life where we learn to deal with people we don't like in order to make shared space palatable? And she's an extrovert. With a capital E. So, when you go to actually Get Work Done in another room, and come back later, you have to kiss major ass so she will even acknowledge your presence because you have offended her by not being able to think around the constant NOISE and CONVERSATION that is absolutely NEVER ENDING. I have been reduced to tears at work, after work, before work, on the weekends thinking about work when thinking about this arrangement. It's not like she's a bitch or anything. I actually really like her. And it's not just HER, it's the whole damn work environment, she is just the easy target, being the loudest. It is that they are ALL extroverts with a capital E, and on the meyers briggs inventory, i am about as extreme as an introvert as one could possibly be.

Oh, toughin up, you might say. Don't think I haven't worked for assholes, pains in the asses, divas, bitches, arrogant sons of bitches or been in highly charged situations. It's that I have no where to go. And am required to actually produce. I almost would rather have an office to myself and have to deal with evil people when i leave the office than working in this super friendly and fun atmosphere with no where to go to Just Be. It really bothers them when I go to the outfitted basement to work. At a core level, it bothers all of them. And, I have to pay for it in one way or another once I emerge. Just like at a core level, it really bothers me that I have to be friendly at all times to all the extroverts (including the numerous interns that share the same space as me and loud lady and you have to go through the whole exchanging pleasantries YET AGAIN at various times throughout the day as they all have their own schedules). Reduced to Tears. If you are truly an introvert, you will understand. If not, you haven't a clue. And I couldn't even begin to try to explain.