more.

In my room I have four windows. Three lining one wall, a single one on the adjacent side (it's times when I get to use the word adjacent that I'm happy to have paid attention, sub-consciously, in math). The cross breeze effect caused by this is so calming. I need that right now. To be calm. To think. Alone. I've been listening to nothing but Gang Gang Dance today and I feel full. I always seem to feel full of something. When the wind stops blowing I feel stagnant and hot again. My mind becomes so clouded and I stop writing.

I keep thinking of all of these oxymorons. Temporary permanence keeps coming up. I can't stop writing it on things. Thinking about it. The mental trap of being a mature child. I'm having one of those days where I feel really trapped in my own mind, not that it's a bad thing... I just want to stay home and use my hands. I'd like to come home to a clean room. I'd like to come home. I'd like to look at my bank account and not want to cry, panic or laugh. I'm in one of those wishing moods. But to the contrary I'll work instead.

My room convinces me that it's about 10˚ cooler than it is outside. When I really think about how I feel, I become very frustrated and on the verge of tears. The tears that well up rush to my head and I get that feeling of drowning again. It disorients me a bit and I stop.

Here's a poem. Goodnight.

The way the ants gather in my bathroom intrigues me
Staring, they blend into the black and white grid of tiles
Hunting for food that isn’t there
Their roaming seems so aimless,
But from what I understand of their nature
There is no such thing as misdirection.
I’m surprised to see them so lost
Happy to see them
Instead
Raid.
Thinking of the smell at all makes my stomach turn
And returns childhood memories.
Insects determining a family income
Just. Like. That.
Why is it so, that roaches come, where ants don’t go?

invisible.

There's a lot going on out there tonight. I walk right past it all. No eye contact. No friendly smiles. I don't want the smoking bar patrons to know I'm jealous. They already know I'm uninvited, isn't that enough?

"I'm not smoking for a week," I tell myself. I know I'm lying, but I at least am not going to buy a pack until Tuesday. Make money to spend money. I keep walking. Heels. I am surrounded by heels.

It's Sunday and I'm sure all of these people are Industry folks. Music, photography, publishing... the only types out on a Sunday, partying like it's a Friday. Looking for something else to do at 1 A.M. "Industry" has such a connotation in this city. Reminds me of "actress" in L.A.

Staring at a drink-board, I take in the range of beverages: Coffees, teas, beers and liquors. Immediately, I consider the beers. I drink too much. But I can't live enough. I get tea. I keep walking.

if i could i would

When I stand in the mirror and twirl my wet strands of hair into ringlets, I can’t help but think of you. Even when my sense of humor comes across as bizarre, I know that it’s just you. I see little girls fall, scrape their knees, and I think of you when I tell them that they’ll be all right, to stop crying and get up again. You taught me that. I can’t thank you enough. There isn’t enough biology to explain the way that you made me, really. I can’t really bring myself to celebrate Mother’s day because every moment of my life I appreciate you.
I think about you when I put on blush- I see myself playing with your make-up brushes and you telling me how nice it feels.
I tweeze my eyebrows and I see Jade, 16 sitting in the kitchen and you telling her that it doesn’t hurt… that you have to go against the growth of the strands.
I try on boots and I wish that my feet were just a little smaller- to have the intricate lace-ups you had when I was little (black school-teacher boots, I considered them to be).
Though he may stand 6’ 1” I like to think I got my long legs from you. Even at your height, you stand so tall.
I could go on.
I get it from you.
Everything.
I don’t really have the guts to acknowledge Mother’s Day just once because I need to spread it out.
My love for you is overwhelming.

Happy Belated Mother’s Day.

the wall.

It's finally happened. I've reached the point at which I need to run. I've wondered for sometime now how people have lasted for long at my job. Years. Years, upon years.

I recalled a time when I felt pressured by my family to do great things, quickly. Someone was always forcing the idea of an early death on me (my mom); I felt as though I needed to succeed as soon as possible: Before time was up. I've managed to make time stop. I've at least managed to fool myself into believing in this theory. I have tomorrow. I have no rush.

I love my job.

I feel such genuine pleasure in hearing someone say that they can "tell that [I] love [my] job." Hospitality is a forte of mine; I've always wanted to be a housewife. Yet unfortunately I think/feel/know that I'm meant to be more than that. I actually have to DO something. People keep asking me what my dream job is. I never want to work again.

I want to be a professional hobbyist and mother.



But I suppose I owe the world one good trick in the meantime.

so many reasons I can't get a job.

As I've done in the past, I've decided to post another cover letter. I actually am thinking about writing them just for fun, and for your eyes. This one was for VICE. I thought I was going to lose it last week and subsequently quit my job so I started a hunt. Unfortunately my flowery tactics sometimes override my sense of professionalism... but I can't/won't change that (unless there's a lot of money involved).



To Whom It May Concern:

My name is ___________ and I’m writing in regards to your open position for Office Assistant / Receptionist. I haven’t set foot in the VICE offices since the spring of 2008 when my college internship with Virtue Worldwide came to a close. I worked under Hosi S_______, Ciel H_______ and T_______ M_______ as a project assistant. During this time I gained experience in project development, brand research, building and dissecting press-kits, in addition to the odd jobs required of my position. At the time we were working with EDUN Live, RockBand, and MTV (to name a few). I was learning so much, meeting so many people, accomplishing team goals… And then it all stopped.

After my internship ended, I graduated college, moved to Clinton Hill and got a few jobs in retail and restaurants. I tried my luck in Los Angeles (and came right back). I’m currently working at Madiba Restaurant in Fort Greene, which seats a maximum of just over 150. Being personable, organized, meticulous, and level headed is how I make money five nights a week. I spent countless Virtue-intern hours printing shipping labels. The pleasure I get from keeping other people’s lives in order might baffle Freud. I take pride in everything I do, from photocopying to photography. I’m qualified to be your Office Assistant, but most importantly, I miss the energy and attitude of VICE.

I’m trying to keep this cover letter from delving into the realm of a romantic penning, but that’s kind of how I see my work-life: as a committed relationship. I know it’s been a while, but can we have some coffee and catch up?

Attached you’ll find a copy of my resume, which also includes my contact information. My current income is approximately $xxxxx a year, and I am interested in starting with-in the upcoming months.




Thank you for your time-