Now I can continue making break-up art.

The boy off-and-on for nearly 2 years and I are no more. And, unlike the last time when this happened, it was a mutual decision. And I'm not going to do the crazy things I did last time this happened. His birthday is December 28th, and it seems fitting that while we were not dating this summer he sent me a pretty awesome birthday package at camp (notebooks, Let's Get Primitive, collapsible chop-sticks, Luna bars, can't really recall what else at the moment...), and I'm going to do the same. Luckily, this go-round our lives (though not our evenings) were less entrenched, and I still have a lot of support both here in So Cal and back in Baltimore, which wasn't the case when I was an RA last January. Anyway, now I can finish my break-up hair quilt, and do the performance piece where print-outs of e-mails are produced and shredded ad inifinitum. In time, when I've processed enough, hopefully we'll be able to be friends, not just friendly. For now, however, my heart aches, and my eyes are sore, and I'm not going to be able to talk to him everyday (though I will still play Scrabulous against him), but I think I know this time in a way I didn't a year ago that I'm gonna be okay.

Topping off my podcasts at the airport.

I have a New York Times from today, and I'm downloading some more podcasts, organizing my RSS feeds (75+), and trying not to think about myself and the boy, we had our talk finally and it was pretty illuminating, but not necessarily encouraging of the future of our relationship. But it was more we've talked since...I don't even know when, beginning of the semester? Some time apart physically will allow us the space to think, and I think both of us need that right now. Not to mention recovering from finals. I can't wait. I am aware that it's pretty silly to pay to go on the interwebs, but I just turned in 12 time sheets which will result in over $700 being directly deposited in my account before the end of the year. Yes, it is sad that of me and mine I'm the only one working a campus job (other than my friend Aric, a graphic designer and book-maker), everyone else is in the field and making far more than $7.50 an hour. Perhaps I should work on that next semester?

Homesickness is funny.

Well, not really funny. Kind of agonizing. They tell you when you're a camp counselor to help girls identify that they are not physically sick from missing home, that they're just missing home. But what about when home is all these associations, intangibles, people far far away. I'm watching Catch & Release (oh Kevin Smith, you sassy scene-stealer) and seeing all these Colorado trappings, missing Angie and Blue and all my co-counselors, Songbird and Zig-Zag. I also had an existential crisis in the yogurt aisle at the grocery store and called mah momma, which brings up how I'm all grown up yet still need some guidance. Also, longest graveyard shift ever. And I love chubby clever boys like Kevin Smith, my sweetheart, and Jack Black.

It's the little things that make all the difference.

In design, life, room arrangements, way you slurp your tea, relationships. As a kid, I don't think I was alone a ton. I was a tagger-alonger, the pesky little sister (I think). I mean, with a twin sister, there's not a whole lot you do by yourself. I think until we were 11 or 12 we even had our doctor exams in the same room. My studio is becoming a haven, it feels like home and I do love it, love how it's got my re-finished table with the red edge, and my fabrics that I've made and my sculptures and my rag rug and all mine mine mine. I guess I'm just a social creator, I like to roll ideas around in a circle 'till it's gained mass and momentum. I'm at the crux, the starting, of a few projects, and would simply really love to roll some ideas around with my graphic designer significant other. But off he goes to a tea party and here I am, toes frigid, trying to understand what the hell I'm doing for these couple of (related) projects. And blogging about it. Ninety percent of the time I'm fantastic, I can work on things alone, but I hate making work in a bubble, you get this stuff that's great in your eyes but when you put it out on that severe white pedestal and under them fluorescent lights it just doesn't hold their attention (in a good way). Just had to get that out. I don't really imagine myself ending up in a relationship where we only exist together in rest. I need to be engaged and fight and argue (in a positive way)! Guess I'm just a little bit contrite. Ahh well, nose to the grindstone! I also think I'm just feelin' the end of the week, sipping my Italian semi-dri red and eating cold pizza and just thanking G-d that shabbat is nigh!

Home to humidity

Chilling out at an open mic (with ilyAIMY and company) in Owings Mills, MD, and in summary all I can say it is so good to be home. And I say this as a person who doesn't have a place to hang her hat and keep her dozen pair of shoes and her 300-thread-count sheets and arrange her pillows in a highly specific way. But, I've gotten back together with the old flame, and here in the humidity and my temporary residence in his domicile 'till I get keys to my own tomorrow...it feels like where we're meant to be, together, at this moment in time. And that is perfect right now. The predators are different back here in the city. Readers of this blog missed out on how one morning, while getting up at 5 am to shower before heading out to Wyoming, I laid in my Kelty 25* bag, it's worn-in nylon fabric and polyester batting, warm like toaster strudel filling. At around 5:12, I was just finishing disentangling my mind from my hazy mists of sleep, I hear, somewhere between Warm Toasty Magpie and Warm Fragrant Shower, the bear. And I kid not, it sounded like Chewbacca. And that cool Colorado morning shower became FAR less welcome than going back to bed. Here, I don't have to worry about bears (I read a whole book on Bear Attacks this summer). Instead I worry about muggers. But from the book I read, I learned that fighting back is what you do with bears, where with muggers you just give them what they want and leave. So, speaking of bears, the fuzzy one and I are going out again. Nobody's parents are pleased, and we, too, are feeling their apprehension, but the stakes are no greater than before. It's a risk we've elected worth taking. I think I've really grown over the summer, I think I keep becoming more and more of who I am destined to be (for a while). My path is becoming more clear cut, long term, and the little things that used to upset me don't really bug so much anymore. After all, I spent all summer climbing rocks, eating dirt and avoiding unpleasant bear encounters. Tomorrow is moving day. I've decided to hire movers, and I am thrilled. Senior year, here I come.

Save the drama for your mama.

The mind boggles. Hung out with J last night since he was on-duty in my building and got massive amounts of Asian Taste, watched Harry Potter and G4. I spent all day in the studio yesterday and didn't get a TON done, today I'm working on all of my papers and doing some rag rugging. I know that he hasn't been the most reliable friend, but I can trust him, and he can trust me, so here we are doing a dance of a different sort than this time last year, figuring out how to be friends. I'm finally getting used to the space, to filling my own life and days. I mean, I've been working towards it for a while. So, I'm writing a paper as my final for Blog As Memoir. Six to seven pages, I might even typeset it as an accordion book which would be part of a blogging meetup pin of some sort...it would certainly be awesome to do a business card, too. But sort of peripherary to the paper. Right. The paper I've got to write. Yes.

Few are the things that cannot be made better by being battered and fried.

So, Brett Dennen is playing at the Recher Theatre on May 11th at 9pm with Animal Liberation Orchestra (who I don't know anything about) in Towson, but I was wondering if anyone was interested in joining me. Last concert I went to was Rhett Miller at Sonar with my big bro (excluding all the IlyAimy concerts with J & company). Also, why do I have a killer sweet-tooth today? I've been reading my new Nigella Lawson book "How to be a Domestic Goddess," but I don't have a ton of ingredients on-hand, so for now it's just looking. The past couple days I was just weepy. People who know me know that crying is something I do when I feel overwhelmed, it's not neccessarily indicator that OH G-D SOMETHING IS WRONG MAKE HER STOP CRYING! Seeing my dad made me happy, so I wept. Passed by places that reminded me of my ex (who, keep in mind, I'm on okay terms with), and I shed a couple tears. Said goodbye to my dad and cried. My New York Times didn't get delivered and that made me cry. I'm not even sad! I'm thinking a lot about grad school right now, since i know it's just around the corner at this point (if I choose to go straight out of art school). One thing that being dooced is affecting is job applications; that is, I have to explain why I was forced to resign as an RA, and that's a hard thing when it still seems unjustified, unfair, and leaves me feeling confused. I feel like I was so dedicated to the job, to my residents. And then I think of the course of events that transpired, and how I felt like I got tattled on, instead of someone coming to me with their concerns. I understand why they did it, I just think it was real low. I'm glad for these experiences in ResLife because I know they will make me a better residential coordinator or house director one day.

Reading too much Shmuley

I think that the ease of communication between people that occurs naturally, that the two learn to cultivate, is the real basis for long-term partnership. In retrospect, I see that J and I had our differences, and there were certainly times when I could have been more communicative and understanding of my own needs. Instead, I sort of lost myself in him, lost focus on myself. But, in the end, I hope nothing more than he ends up with someone better for him than I, that he can feel free to be himself. Nothing's harder to watch than seeing him trying to make everyone else happy, but not really being that happy overall right now. I can't wait till he finds himself someone that he doesn't have to be political with (though he will still have to be polite). The last thing we need these days is one more audience to cater to, and someone's partner shouldn't be another person to have to pander to in order to make them happy. Slowly but surely, I'm learning.

Commemorative Bedsheet

In honor of the end of my first big love, hacking off all of my hair (twice), I printed this commemorative bedsheet, using my hair as opposed to rubylith or a drawing on vellum or acetate to block the light on the silkscreen when I exposed it. I wish my screen mesh were a little finer, but even at 137 count, there's an interesting quality, wherein the hair sort of emerges, isn't entirely obvious, which I like. There's also something interesting about hair and sheets, because if this was ACTUAL hair, arranged in a repeat pattern, we'd be dealing with a totally different animal. First image above is of the sheet, the second is a close-up of my test prints. I've got one more screen to print, and then I'll be somewhat done with that project, though part of me does beg another part of me to do pillow-shams as well. They'd look great strung up on a line outside.

Yesterday

Yesterday would have been a year with J. It wasn't an easy day. One of my roommates is utterly one-month-in in-love with her boyfriend, and I miss that. I miss him. And I still don't regret being with him, and every relationship leads to a better one, and everything, everything, happens for a reason. It was a little more heartbreaking finding out that a new RA has moved into my old quarters. I want to tell her about my residents, but I know she's got to learn how to interact with them in her own ways. A year is not a whole lot of time in the span of a life. It's 1/20th of my life, 5%. So much has changed in such a short while, but it'll just be a blip in memory, eventually. J's sick, it's really hard to resist the urge to be there to comfort him, to call him and see how he feels. Instead, I have to be alone with myself, and think about how I feel. Which is a whole lot harder, for me. While I have fewer responsibilities, there's a lot up in the air right now. Still haven't found a camp job for the summer, or figured out where I'm living and with whom next year. Miss my residents, miss programming for them (though I am doing programming for the Jewish Student Union now that I have the time and can prioritize it). And, of course, there is the reality of how I don't want to be an art-maker right now. How art is less interesting than residents. But, when I step back, I think of how I've grown and changed in the past year, how part of me has become the me I recognize better, the one that explores the city and has days that are easy to reminisce about. Yesterday was tough, but things are getting easier, in ways. As the weather improves, my SAD starts to go away, and that's pretty amazing.

A recent e-mail from my aunt: Life is full of disappointments, sorry to say, and hopefully this will be your worst. You know what "they" say, it's better to have loved and lost...then never to have loved at all! Life is a risk...we all have to be brave enough to take them and learn from them. Some day, we will talk about Jeff and you will learn how many times he has loved and lost, but never gives up the quest to find the person he can make a life with. It's funny, because at this point I'm getting over the loss of romantic love, I'm starting to get over the ideal/idol complex of that person (J) being The One, moving on in some pretty significant strides. But, from where I sit right now, I would have made a damn fine RA next year, and I continue to be stunned in the turn of events. If Residence Life defends itself from me by asking me to resign as a course of action, if they choose to do that as opposed to defending all the good I've done in this job, and that I still have a ton to offer residents, then ResLife isn't making the right decisions. ResLife needs to be about students first, and not about keeping it's pristine reputation. The one thing this job truly lacked for me was a feeling of understanding and humanity on a regular basis...sometimes I feel like it's more of a business (business of making parents of under-classmen at MICA happy with their students' living situations) than an art (the art of helping students develop as individuals by advising on conflict resolution, educating, programming effectively, and enforcing policies). I screwed up, in more ways than one, but it's not my fault if a resident makes a poor decision for the last time. When does bureaucray and appearances take a back seat to doing the -real- work, the kind that cannot be measured or administered like disciplinary actions? When does a resident have to defend making the same mistake over and over, and everyone knowing about it? As a department, when does Residence Life genuinely choose care of students over care of the department? I know the two are intertwined hopelessly, but people make mistakes. Residents do, residents get second, third, fourth chances. When does Residence Life realize that RA's are just as much works-in-progress as our residents? The thing that frustrates me the most is that I've worked so hard on building personal relationships with my residents in the past two months, in really understanding them, opening up for them a little and recieving the same sort of opening up from them. Whatever blog posts I made that may have tarnished reputations, my own and those of others, appear to be long gone. Not a single resident of mine has guessed accurately why I was asked to resign, not by a long shot. In the course of thirty hours, where the public at large had access to various and sundry entries for which I would later be dooced, 18 people TOTAL spent more than 0:09 (nine seconds) on my blog's site. I just find it hard to believe that if a resident points out a poor decision made by an RA (that didn't threaten lives and was an honest mis-take) while being met with over something that they did wrong (incense, drinking, pot, throwing things off of balconies, whatever), that Residence Life can't take the position of "That's his/her poor decision, and they have to answer for it just like you have to; Now, let's talk about the better choice(s) you coul have made." Maybe if Residence Life at MICA allowed my mistake, allowed me to own up to it to my residents, say what I did and what I should have done, maybe ResLife at MICA wouldn't be seen as the sort of "police force" it's construed as on a whole. RCA's here are trained not to ignore situations or not report incidents, but it shouldn't be because of being threatened into doing it, it should be for genuine care of well-being of the residents. Eighteen people read my blog after I posted the link on my Facebook profile, and before I un-published some unsavory entries. I know the names of at least six or seven of those. That's 12-13 (consider they each found it so fascinating they told a room-mate: 24-26) residents who "read" my screw-up(s). Out of a few hundred freshmen, at least 45 of whom are my residents and know me well, and another couple dozen who I know well even though they aren't in my community, which really makes the bigger impact? Why can't we be human as RA's, so that our faults and successes are both paid attention to, as opposed to being beacons of light, on which one speck of dirt is an abomination of a distraction? What would happen if ResLife had a blog? What would happen if the list of the incidents, minus names, was posted each week for all to see? I'm just questioning some of the lack of open-ness that's going on here, because 1) It's not like residents are completely imperceptive as to staff dynamics/conflict on staff when it's not brought up to them, and 2) Maybe if Residence Life operated in a thoroughly resident-centered manner, in ALL things, we wouldn't have a whole lot to hide. They'd always do what was best for the residents. A little overly simple, perhaps, as there are certainly cases where it's student versus student(s), but, again, what's so bad about transparency? The reason blogging is so worthwhile to people of my generation is that by giving information openly, there are a lot of gains to be made. Attention, better understanding, releasing feelings. Pretty soon, there will be no un-tarnished MySpace or Facebook for potential employers to look at; this sort of over-sharing instantly is something so characteristic of this generation, and pretty much everyone will screw up eventually. It seems to me that in Student Affairs (in general, not just MICA) rules and procedures are put into place to protect the physical and mental health of residents/the student body and encourage healthy growth and development. But should it be at the cost of the physical and mental health of student-staff? Considering my role as a student leader, doesn't MICA have just as much invested in my well-being as that of a acting-out/misbehaving resident? I guess I just wish someone had told me that by becoming an RA, I would have to cope with everything really well, and that chances given to other members of the student body would no longer be available to me as a member of student staff. I still woulda done it, I still may have even fucked up, but at least I'd have been a little better prepared for being asked to resign. Or maybe not. Maybe it's similar to love in that nobody can warn you how much it's going to hurt, or how you couldn't even have helped screwing up, so full of passion were you ('omg! I did a good job at policy enforcement! I'm not a failure!'). Everyone can try and warn you, but it'll blindside you just the same. And you won't be the same person in love as you were before it. And you won't be the same person after losing something so precious as you were when you "had it all." Whew. And, I'm spent. I'm sure I'll feel very differently while at grad school for these things, and maybe I'll understand my superiors better, but I'm still sort of in shock, truth be told.

I love cable.

The only major moving I did today was my small metal tables, my television, my step-stool, and my folding chairs. I worked six hours straight doing my Desk Assistant thing, and have off the next three days, which I will use to finish moving and maybe go to DC on Monday (can you say "painting cherry blossoms like woah?"). I've still got loads of kitchen packing, clothing folding, and, finally, cleaning to do. Not to mention the loads of papers which I can never seem to handle completely. At one point it'd be nice to just go ocra/paperless, once I get a computer that's going to last me a while. I've had my little Averatec since Freshman year, and it's case, though replaced once, is showing it's wear, in the form of cracks (not even hairline anymore). The smell of smoke is sort of pervasive in this apartment, I have to close my door and even then it doesn't stay out entirely. I'll have to figure something out. I know it's sad that I'm back in bed, but I'm really happy watching Discovery channel from my loft bed and working on camp staff applications. So glad it's spring break, even though moving sucks. I apologise for the relatively thoughtless nature of these posts, as I've got no huge insightful blog posts on blog theory or on what being dooced so thoroughly feels like. You know? Of course you do, Interweb. Of course you do.

Spring Has Sprung!

It's official: Whilst the tulips and crocuses made their first appearance on Martin Luther King Day in Bolton Hill, they have returned full-force, with a vengeance. The snow all melted yesterday, I'm up for a 6 am to 12 noon shift at the Meyerhoff, my home for the rest of the semester, and the birds are singin', the sun is shinin', and it's otherwise quite goregous out. Perfect weather for moving, right? As if ANY weather was perfect for moving. Still, I did all my laundry at the new place, made my bed yesterday--a loft bed, full-size--hung up my secondary/alternative lighting situations, showered at the new place, etc. Today's mission is the tables, shelves, printer, and TV. I've got a TON of papers that I'll have to sort through, but I have four days (including today) to finish moving, and I think I'm allowed, at least a little, to start setting up the new place as I'm moving out of the old. I did a bang-up job of keeping all my shelving, hardware, power cords, nails, lights, and all those other moving essentials as the first things to the meyerhoff. J is going to give me some coaxial cable and help me move my monstrosity of a television into my room, which will be freakin' sweet (as these dorms are outfitted with cable!). I took the safety rail off of my bed, though one leap from it yesterday confirmed the ladder as a true neccessity, as the shock reverberated through every little tarsal, meta-tarsal, and the calcaneus of my feet and made me yelp in pain. Moving isn't that bad, though I'm not getting the best vibes from one of the new room-mates, though that may be because she was using my room as her own personal studio. But, I like their friends, it's a little messy for me but that means that I won't feel the pressure to bring things back up to code, and I do my art at my studio anyways. I think only time is going to prove to the new roommate that I am NOT devil-spawn, and I promise, scout's honor, to be on my best behavior. I unpacked the ol' inflatable mattress from my days out on the Terrace, and tucked it under my bed as possible chillaxing space. Alex, my amazing stupendous resident, and I watched The Little Princess (old school Shirley Temple style) and packed yesterday. One of the crappy things about moving is definitley going to be moving all my kitchen stuff. The counter-space is somewhat lacking, and the new place smells like ciggies (it's a smoking apartment), but I have a full-size bed, and I'm pretty sure I'll be okay.It's official: Whilst the tulips and crocuses made their first appearance on Martin Luther King Day in Bolton Hill, they have returned full-force, with a vengeance. The snow all melted yesterday, I'm up for a 6 am to 12 noon shift at the Meyerhoff, my home for the rest of the semester, and the birds are singin', the sun is shinin', and it's otherwise quite goregous out. Perfect weather for moving, right? As if ANY weather was perfect for moving. Still, I did all my laundry at the new place, made my bed yesterday--a loft bed, full-size--hung up my secondary/alternative lighting situations, showered at the new place, etc. Today's mission is the tables, shelves, printer, and TV. I've got a TON of papers that I'll have to sort through, but I have four days (including today) to finish moving, and I think I'm allowed, at least a little, to start setting up the new place as I'm moving out of the old. I did a bang-up job of keeping all my shelving, hardware, power cords, nails, lights, and all those other moving essentials as the first things to the meyerhoff. J is going to give me some coaxial cable and help me move my monstrosity of a television into my room, which will be freakin' sweet (as these dorms are outfitted with cable!). I took the safety rail off of my bed, though one leap from it yesterday confirmed the ladder as a true neccessity, as the shock reverberated through every little tarsal, meta-tarsal, and the calcaneus of my feet and made me yelp in pain. Moving isn't that bad, though I'm not getting the best vibes from one of the new room-mates, though that may be because she was using my room as her own personal studio. But, I like their friends, it's a little messy for me but that means that I won't feel the pressure to bring things back up to code, and I do my art at my studio anyways. I think only time is going to prove to the new roommate that I am NOT devil-spawn, and I promise, scout's honor, to be on my best behavior. I unpacked the ol' inflatable mattress from my days out on the Terrace, and tucked it under my bed as possible chillaxing space. Alex, my amazing stupendous resident, and I watched The Little Princess (old school Shirley Temple style) and packed yesterday. One of the crappy things about moving is definitley going to be moving all my kitchen stuff. The counter-space is somewhat lacking, and the new place smells like ciggies (it's a smoking apartment), but I have a full-size bed, and I'm pretty sure I'll be okay.

On "Finding Voice"

Regarding finding my voice... and the blog Blog Core Values. So, the blogging "voice" doesn't exist.  Or rather, we write, we read, or "see" words, instead of hearing them.  The author uses the word "telephonic," the longing for something that is as ephemeral as the powerful feelings we have sometimes.  But, text, html, blog survives voice, body, phase.   I'm failing at blogging every day.  I wait till night, when I've got a whole day to blog about, but do I really want to write about the day I just spent?  How I didn't finish the dishes, how I read and read but couldn't put fingers to keyboard.  I've committed myself to this independent study, but I've got to admit that I've comitted myself to this for me, not for my instructor.  This is a selfish desire to be introspective for myself, and put it out there for all to read. It is actually the loss of selfishness, I think, that led to the end of my relationship with Justin.  I became obsessed with HIS life, HIS existence, HIS work, not my own.  This isn't a tendency far from my lineage.  My mom is a Sacrificer.  She Sacrifices.  And that's noble and good but at some point there's nobody else there but you, and you've got to be happy with yourself when you are on your own. Right, so, back to "finding my voice."  Stop looking for instant identity.  It will take a little while for my personality to come out in this space, and that's to be expected.  Everything I've read in "You've Got Blog" has taught me that.  So, tonight I'm going to keep writing till I'm near-empty.