Word Designer

The coolest thing about living by oneself, is the ability to sing to one’s self as often and loud as one feels, in lyrics similar or equal in quality to these:

Work Work Work, I don’t mind work,

But I can’t think about it on the weeeekends.

Work Work Work, I don’t mind work,

But I can’t think about it on the weeeekends.

Monday, Tuesday, I can look at my computer

I can hit enter and and apply.

Wednesday and Thursday I sit at my desk

and sigh.

Friday I work hard, print print print.

But Saturday!

And Sunday!

I dance and prance, and sit in a trance.

I don’t have rants, and I visit with my aunts.

These are the days where my troubles are away,

I can sing all day, any words that I say.

But then Monday!

It starts all over as I work.

Work Work Work, I don’t mind work,

But I can’t think about it on the weeeekends.

Work Work Work, I don’t mind work,

But I can’t think about it on the weeeekends.

I did my final lap around the reservoir and looked across the water at the Upper East Side skyline. The building windows were gold tinted. The black wrought iron poles were pink from the sunset reflection and I felt almost relaxed.  For the first time in 3 years I didn’t have a potential suitor in mind. There were no crushes in my head.  No lusts I was considering.  No possible dates for the future or relationships pending.  I was just me. I was just me with a job, with friends, family and a vacation coming up soon.  Work wasn’t killing me. I was just me, as a writer who writes 2 nights a week and who runs.  Runs a lot and walks like a maniac.  I had an apt, no car, a few bills to pay, but little to worry about except for the national economy.  I had a recent negative memory, but the longer time was, the fainter the memory.  I was the me who could take care of myself.  I was the me who knew I wanted to see the every corner of the world and meet lots of people and hear loud music and smell beautiful flowers and dance to thumping bass.   I was the me that loved the feel of hot sun on my arms.  The only thing I could want for, I wasn’t rushing.  And the only person rushing was my mom and my grandma. But it didn’t matter.

The trees over me were dark, a picturesque comparison to the Technicolor water of the reservoir. And I was ok.

As things in my life continuously change, I am struck by how much everything reminds me of what has happened before. Here I am sitting with wet eyes with the same song I listened to over a year and a half ago, reminding me that everything would be ok. And I am writing. I am writing with the same melancholy happiness. The kind of sad happy where you know its going to be ok, once you get to the crescendo.

You’re not supposed to understand what I am talking about. But listen to the song that I am listening to, and maybe just part of the melancholy happiness will be clear. Nuvole Bianche

And so, for the first time I am ready to be something that I am. As compared to who I am not.

I watch the cheesy chick flicks.  I love them. I love the build up of emotion. The girl, shes average, a little kooky.  I can relate.  Something cool happens, she meets a cool guy and resists.  Then we see they’re going to fall in love.  And then something happens.  And then they get together.  My friends watch it bored or laughing, or groaning. Or just… not pleased.

Me, on the other hand, I watch these movies (like 27 dresses) with tears in my eyes, laughter out loud and a smile on my face. Does this mean I have dropped in my level of sophistication, as compared to my girlfriends?  They roll their eyes, I wipe mine. Have I become sappy?

Or a romantic?

I’d like control over a good day vs a bad day. I find that when I decide on the day of that it will be a good day, it usually ends up being so. Why don’t I wake up thinking this every day? And would it always work if I did?

Today didn’t start out as a good one.  I woke up and the maintenance people came. And we made a plan that I’d leave my bottom lock open when I left for work.  So they left and would come back later. I left and locked up.  Got into the subway and onto a train. One stop away, I was like Oh crap! I didn’t leave it unlocked!  I got off, walked home in tears (not really sure why).  Went into my apartment, ready to burst (I definitly locked it all up) and had a moment.  A “this day isn’t going to be very good” moment.  Sniffled.  Left, locked only the bottom lock and restarted my journey to work. And I was ready to cry all day.

Tuesday, tax tuesday, on the other hand will be a significantly better day.  Seven minutes into the new day, I can decide. Good night and good day.

So I am going to try this blog thing again.  It is SO easy to just not do it.    Like making your bed or obeying a diet.  Or anything really.

So today at work I threw a tantrum on technology.  I got sick of having my life made more difficult by a program I have to use.  So I decided this: I would like to live in a cave where technology is a just word we don’t talk about because it isn’t relevant. I might be happier.

Especially if I had good food and good company, good movies and books to read and watch.  And maybe good games to play so I’d have mental stimulation and challenges aside from building fires and keeping my things dry.  Oh! and decent monsters that I’d be able to chase away so my life would be exciting.

I have good plans I believe.

Anyway, so writing I am to do and it’s going to be on a computer and I am going to be involved in technology. So I have to get over it and/or suck it up.  But I still would like to take these programs out to a field and kick the crap out of them.  And that is my final offer.

And anyway part two, because it is so easy to not write, I am going to get myself kick started like to do when I run. I’ll say “Rachel, move your lazy ass”. It’s a good pep talk.  And similarly, like running, I am going to start small and build on it.  I used to train and force myself to just run one mile. Now I am forcing myself to write just for 1 minute. I mean - 10.  Ten solid minutes.

And alas, ten minutes are over. Goodnight.

I forget sometimes that the world is bigger than me.
Bigger than this moment I am living in.
Just need to let go and let things be.
Let the world happen to me.

It had been pouring for hours. Everyone carried a wet umbrella or was soaked.  They clung together pushing ahead to get into the car first, even before the train pulled up.  A mental “me-first” game.

A usual wednesday.

Not much room to sit. But people sat anyway. Squeezed their way in between the overweights and relieved by the underweights and the scrawny. I stood. I felt too gross to sit.  Pants were wet. And sitting would lead to umbrellas dripping down my leg.

Stops passed by.  I looked at the people around me.  Nothing new. Wet people.

42nd street, grand central.  Quick movement below me. I looked down.  I saw an arm moving. An arm dropped a paper on a lap. On top of a black backpack.
I peaked as inconspiciously as possible.  She closed her dark skinned hand over the paper.  Surprised, then back to stoic. Back to the world of ipod.  But I could see the curiousity and confusion.  Started inching open her pack’s zipper to put away the paper for later.  But so still.

She picks up her hand, about to pick up the paper and twirls her long black curly hair, soft from gel and rain mix. Then puts it backdown.  I thought I wouldn’t find out.

But then she picked up it.  The yellow thick paper. I could see blue inside.  She opened it. She frowned.  And I peaked, my eyes down…

Arcadian smithsonian, elevator machine of transportation, buckle seats, malignant children, carcass, ameliorate.

I started this post a few months ago.  Was I stoned?

No, I think it was for this counter that notes the difficulty of words.  I am just going to share it because it makes no sense, and this is the way my mind works.

I am missing half a toenail. Is that normal? It may be ignorable in general but my toenails are painted red. And my middle finger toe looks very crooked. It’s so blatant.