If someone asked me what I was thinking in moving to new york city. I'd say a number of things. All in the tone of supreme dissatisfaction. And if I were close to them, I'd perhaps disclose a secret; that secret having the tone of hope, of perhaps some sort of salvation from myself, from my life.
The past couple of weeks at work has been stressful. Why? you ask. Lots of work, ofcourse!
So many things have been happening. A repetition. When will I get it right? If not the "other"? But no doubt its nice and exciting, warm and fuzzy, pleasurable and measurable. I know it will land me in trouble.
I can't believe its September already, the end of the first week. I'm in my new Chinatown apartment, in my cubbyhole of a room. Maybe this is the way it will be, every 5 months it will repeat. I will sing the same sad song in the end and be ultimately bored, and obsessed.
I walked around the block earlier tonight. Chinatown closes down way too early. I wear newly bought oversized two dollar pink plastic slippers and speak in chinese with the cashier/waiter at 69. He guesses my age to be around 19. I laugh. I was much sturdier then. Less sick in the brain, lighter in the heart. He was nice. There were some people out for late night snacks. I feel as if the world of china is closing in on me. My mom warns me not to tell people about my extended family. Absurd. Yes. I pass by a Chinese school and think I might want to volunteer some of my time.
Enough.
Monday night I start feeling a little funny when I got home.
By 11pm I was getting chills and body aches. I know I'm burning up. I totally thought I was hit by another round of the flu.
5:00-5:30am ish Tuesday morning
I wake up with a splitting migraine and I noticed that my ankles and small legs were numb. They weren't paralyzed but they were very difficult and PAINFUL to move. Like when your legs are asleep sort of and you try to move them.
I was so freaked out. But it was so early there were no one to call. I was also in tears because of my intense discomfort.
7:30am My legs were still feeling numb and pained. I called mom. She yells at me for not going to the doctors. I did not feel well enough to go to the doctors... you know, pick out a doctor, then calling to make an appointment. Nor did I feel adequately sick enough to go to the ER: well enough to get to the elevator, go downstairs, get into a cab, OR rich enough to call an ambulance.
So I go back to sleep hoping that my legs would be fine when I wake up.
So all day I'm in and out of sleep. I do believe around 1 or 2pm (????) I forced myself to get some fruits to eat. It was a struggle to go outside.
I wake up at 7 or 8pm. I can feel my legs except my midsection was in mad pain. I thought my kidneys were going to explode or something. Finally around 11pm my pain felt bad enough and I felt I had been burning up for an adequate length of time to go to the ER.
I was seen surprisingly fast at the ER. Probably because I was running a fever, complaining of severe lower back pain, feeling nauseous, and the story about my lower legs being numb. I was examined by a couple different nurses and two doctors. All were very nice.
The woman whom I roomed with, was not. She was this old lady (kind of senile) whose entire back and ass crack was revealed to me everytime she tried to move. She moved a lot. Her son sat by the door looking irritated. She left with ducolax and some suppositories.
I gave the doctors an urine sample. They gave me a dose of percocet (oxycondone + tylenol). They perfected a couple of exams on me. They they hooked me up to an IV. That was nice. It felt good. Then they added a morphine drip. I was still in pain. After a while the pain dulled a bit but I was sooooo nauseous. They did a cat scan. The results were unclear, some severe kidney infection? Really bad UTI (which I'm pretty used to by now because every time I've gotten sick with a bad cold or flu, my immune system gives out and I get an UTI)? Which doesn't really seem to be the case since I was sneezing or coughing or had a runny nose. Anyways a whole lot of my blood has been rushed for tests and I'm hoping to hear back soon. They added a second dose of the morphine drip later which helped tremendously. I'm now loaded on antibiotics and percocet pills.
Funniest thing. I was discharged from the ER around 7am. I stumble towards the nearest breakfast place I could find because I was SOOOOO hungry. I order two eggs, bacon, potatoes, toast, and orange juice. I was so out of it from the morphine and percocet.
I took four bites before I started feeling like I was going to vomit. So I look to the nearest waiter and asked for a plastic bag. He looked a bit confused but understood when he noticed I was trying to hold down the spit up. Right as he turned to get a bag, there in front of everyone I barfed everything on the floor in a neat circular orange pile. When the waiter came over to give me the bag, he saw the art then looked at me in surprise. I was sooo hungry that I just ate right away anyways. I apologized, took the bag and hoped I wouldn't puke again. Whatever, they should be used to vomit since they are located across the street from the hospital ER.
It was fun being on the morphine and percocet. I felt all jelly. The antibiotics make me puke (as I discovered earlier tonight before dinner). It is rare for me to actually puke. So its been surprising for me to be able to do so and then bounce back so quickly. Its been nothing but a "bleh."
I'll be alright. I have to followup at the doctors Friday. This is a shitty entry probably because im about to pass out from the pain medication. WHATEVER.
By 11pm I was getting chills and body aches. I know I'm burning up. I totally thought I was hit by another round of the flu.
5:00-5:30am ish Tuesday morning
I wake up with a splitting migraine and I noticed that my ankles and small legs were numb. They weren't paralyzed but they were very difficult and PAINFUL to move. Like when your legs are asleep sort of and you try to move them.
I was so freaked out. But it was so early there were no one to call. I was also in tears because of my intense discomfort.
7:30am My legs were still feeling numb and pained. I called mom. She yells at me for not going to the doctors. I did not feel well enough to go to the doctors... you know, pick out a doctor, then calling to make an appointment. Nor did I feel adequately sick enough to go to the ER: well enough to get to the elevator, go downstairs, get into a cab, OR rich enough to call an ambulance.
So I go back to sleep hoping that my legs would be fine when I wake up.
So all day I'm in and out of sleep. I do believe around 1 or 2pm (????) I forced myself to get some fruits to eat. It was a struggle to go outside.
I wake up at 7 or 8pm. I can feel my legs except my midsection was in mad pain. I thought my kidneys were going to explode or something. Finally around 11pm my pain felt bad enough and I felt I had been burning up for an adequate length of time to go to the ER.
I was seen surprisingly fast at the ER. Probably because I was running a fever, complaining of severe lower back pain, feeling nauseous, and the story about my lower legs being numb. I was examined by a couple different nurses and two doctors. All were very nice.
The woman whom I roomed with, was not. She was this old lady (kind of senile) whose entire back and ass crack was revealed to me everytime she tried to move. She moved a lot. Her son sat by the door looking irritated. She left with ducolax and some suppositories.
I gave the doctors an urine sample. They gave me a dose of percocet (oxycondone + tylenol). They perfected a couple of exams on me. They they hooked me up to an IV. That was nice. It felt good. Then they added a morphine drip. I was still in pain. After a while the pain dulled a bit but I was sooooo nauseous. They did a cat scan. The results were unclear, some severe kidney infection? Really bad UTI (which I'm pretty used to by now because every time I've gotten sick with a bad cold or flu, my immune system gives out and I get an UTI)? Which doesn't really seem to be the case since I was sneezing or coughing or had a runny nose. Anyways a whole lot of my blood has been rushed for tests and I'm hoping to hear back soon. They added a second dose of the morphine drip later which helped tremendously. I'm now loaded on antibiotics and percocet pills.
Funniest thing. I was discharged from the ER around 7am. I stumble towards the nearest breakfast place I could find because I was SOOOOO hungry. I order two eggs, bacon, potatoes, toast, and orange juice. I was so out of it from the morphine and percocet.
I took four bites before I started feeling like I was going to vomit. So I look to the nearest waiter and asked for a plastic bag. He looked a bit confused but understood when he noticed I was trying to hold down the spit up. Right as he turned to get a bag, there in front of everyone I barfed everything on the floor in a neat circular orange pile. When the waiter came over to give me the bag, he saw the art then looked at me in surprise. I was sooo hungry that I just ate right away anyways. I apologized, took the bag and hoped I wouldn't puke again. Whatever, they should be used to vomit since they are located across the street from the hospital ER.
It was fun being on the morphine and percocet. I felt all jelly. The antibiotics make me puke (as I discovered earlier tonight before dinner). It is rare for me to actually puke. So its been surprising for me to be able to do so and then bounce back so quickly. Its been nothing but a "bleh."
I'll be alright. I have to followup at the doctors Friday. This is a shitty entry probably because im about to pass out from the pain medication. WHATEVER.
Its true. That's all I care about. Go China. "JIA YOU!"
I don't think he will read this; which is fine and consistent since none of my exes ever read what I write. In fact, I'd be surprised if anyone read this bastion of self-absorption. I've decided. I will start blogging about my life again so that I can look back upon this narrative and perfect my storytelling skills for others.
The last couple of days have been unnerving. I'm bleeding all over myself, my emotions out of control. Today was better. I felt less like death or that I was hallucinating my life some how. The dark felt interminable yesterday. Time slowed to this slurpiness, something like those big churning trucks noisily pouring liquid concrete onto the street. I started asking myself if I was losing my mind, if I whipped up my own "herstory." AHAHAH. I make the worst jokes.
Even though I've perfected my craigslist searching skills, me and XY have not found a satisfactory apartment to move into. We saw a place in Long Island City yesterday evening. When we got there, the building owner and ad placer did not answer his phone until a kind tenant in the building asked us who we were waiting for. She was so nice. She was so nice that I actually feel a little bad about having to liken her physical appearance to that of a Japanese horror movie protagonist/demon woman. Skinny, pale, and uncanny facial features mostly exacerbated by asymmetry. Her entire left side of face looked like it was trying to come together somehow. She was nice. When we told her we were waiting for the adplacer named J, she offered to make a call through her landline. I asked her if she would do us the favor of actually knocking on his door. XY lightly jested, noting my unconcealed disgust, "But... she is nice and a woman."
She smiled, disappearing into the door behind the door, and two minutes later, XY's cell rang. The building smelt of its pre-war age. There were two apartments available, one unit on the first floor and one on the second. Building owner J reminded me of my current "landlord." Lean, appearing confident while concealed; in total small vendor business man mode. You know exactly what I'm talking about. NYC is full of them. Like cockroaches, they scurry on about in tight spaces, never fully content, but content themselves in the petty glories of making cash here and there. I throw out scattered questions and stupid comments: "Hows the waterflow?", "Thats nice.", "Good price", "Great investment on your part." etc. I was trying to save our disatisfaction from fully revealing itself. The tired light coming through the kitchen windows of each unit weren't enough for that.
Back to the search. *Sigh*
I'm struggling to say more. Something something something about moving a fifth time in 2008. Something something something about the nonexistent poetry chapbook I'm working on. Something about it being a story of failing myself. HA HA HA.
No, I look forward to the future. Toward interesting times and people. Simply because thats the way it has always been.
I don't think he will read this; which is fine and consistent since none of my exes ever read what I write. In fact, I'd be surprised if anyone read this bastion of self-absorption. I've decided. I will start blogging about my life again so that I can look back upon this narrative and perfect my storytelling skills for others.
The last couple of days have been unnerving. I'm bleeding all over myself, my emotions out of control. Today was better. I felt less like death or that I was hallucinating my life some how. The dark felt interminable yesterday. Time slowed to this slurpiness, something like those big churning trucks noisily pouring liquid concrete onto the street. I started asking myself if I was losing my mind, if I whipped up my own "herstory." AHAHAH. I make the worst jokes.
Even though I've perfected my craigslist searching skills, me and XY have not found a satisfactory apartment to move into. We saw a place in Long Island City yesterday evening. When we got there, the building owner and ad placer did not answer his phone until a kind tenant in the building asked us who we were waiting for. She was so nice. She was so nice that I actually feel a little bad about having to liken her physical appearance to that of a Japanese horror movie protagonist/demon woman. Skinny, pale, and uncanny facial features mostly exacerbated by asymmetry. Her entire left side of face looked like it was trying to come together somehow. She was nice. When we told her we were waiting for the adplacer named J, she offered to make a call through her landline. I asked her if she would do us the favor of actually knocking on his door. XY lightly jested, noting my unconcealed disgust, "But... she is nice and a woman."
She smiled, disappearing into the door behind the door, and two minutes later, XY's cell rang. The building smelt of its pre-war age. There were two apartments available, one unit on the first floor and one on the second. Building owner J reminded me of my current "landlord." Lean, appearing confident while concealed; in total small vendor business man mode. You know exactly what I'm talking about. NYC is full of them. Like cockroaches, they scurry on about in tight spaces, never fully content, but content themselves in the petty glories of making cash here and there. I throw out scattered questions and stupid comments: "Hows the waterflow?", "Thats nice.", "Good price", "Great investment on your part." etc. I was trying to save our disatisfaction from fully revealing itself. The tired light coming through the kitchen windows of each unit weren't enough for that.
Back to the search. *Sigh*
I'm struggling to say more. Something something something about moving a fifth time in 2008. Something something something about the nonexistent poetry chapbook I'm working on. Something about it being a story of failing myself. HA HA HA.
No, I look forward to the future. Toward interesting times and people. Simply because thats the way it has always been.
I don't miss him. The connection has been cauterized. I blame him. I want to blame him. I replay the Saturday night we walked around the beautiful cobblestone streets and talked about our future. The sharp sensation of alienation as he willed any emotion away, appearing as practical as possible, becoming himself tomorrow ten worlds away from me; in that projection of the limited self, he became his own empty pride. And I held the questions of commitment between my teeth; "Can you?" "Can I?" "Will we make this work?" Shadows shifted, I saw him common as he was; all the pieces came together. I will always love the possibilities. I could never love a man who can not overcome himself.
The mind plays forward. I was crying silently in his car on the way back to his shared apartment. He was oblivious; probably feeling sorry for not saying more comforting things to me. So completely and utterly oblivious to the fact that I was in mourning. I continued nursing the answer in my hand even as he reached his hand over the brake to hold mine. I hated myself.
I wanted a nice vacation. I made it one. I came back to NYC and tried to revive my appreciation for our amazing ability to banter with each other for long durations over the phone. Except I couldn't do it for more than another three weeks. His voice and words, once sweet and boyish, lost their charm. All I could hear were ocean waves lapping over each other and the white heat of the sun.
Oct. 14th, 2005:
Let the leaves fall,
and brush,
all the words into the sea,
for I know, I know,
he'll never give to me.
So lets be quiet,
and hush,
these feelings all away,
for I know, I know,
death's for but a day.
Then let me sail,
and rush,
like waves into the shore,
for I know, I know,really nothing anymore.
I've been very amorous as of late. Such a whirlwind!
I've never fallen softly, I wonder what I will think when lucidity returns.
I once wrote this (its not very good but I find it amusing and fitting):
Life's sweet, supple,
He kisses my lips with a bite; not a man for you,
An escape, a salve for throbbing aches,
As he rolls his hand
Around the meat on the undersides
Of long neglected paths. He is not a gardener,
He wears nothing but his skin, nothing but
A thick musk to mingle among the bed of roses,
A tongue to sway purple petals,
To rinse the dew that gathers
In throwing arches. Enough of heaven,
I want earth. They laugh as if
I am a silly bird. How can this not be real?
How can the ascending waves,
Caused by the intimate violence of his cupped palm
Roving in my chalice
Be not real? Our crashing bodies,
Desires' soft injuries; what? What could be
More real than this?
©hRj2006
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I don't want it to end. But it will.
I know how these things go because I've been there before.
I've never fallen softly, I wonder what I will think when lucidity returns.
I once wrote this (its not very good but I find it amusing and fitting):
Life's sweet, supple,
He kisses my lips with a bite; not a man for you,
An escape, a salve for throbbing aches,
As he rolls his hand
Around the meat on the undersides
Of long neglected paths. He is not a gardener,
He wears nothing but his skin, nothing but
A thick musk to mingle among the bed of roses,
A tongue to sway purple petals,
To rinse the dew that gathers
In throwing arches. Enough of heaven,
I want earth. They laugh as if
I am a silly bird. How can this not be real?
How can the ascending waves,
Caused by the intimate violence of his cupped palm
Roving in my chalice
Be not real? Our crashing bodies,
Desires' soft injuries; what? What could be
More real than this?
©hRj2006
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I don't want it to end. But it will.
I know how these things go because I've been there before.
Last night I had a fright. A block from my apartment, I suddenly lost my sense of balance while on the way home. I thought I was going to collapse in the middle of the street and be mugged/raped/taken to the emergency room (because then I'll have to pay huge bill because I have no medical insurance). This has NEVER happened to me before.
A friend suggested that it might be due to a panic attack (which earlier in the night I had). I think I'm stressed out or just plain going crazy. This happens to me every once in a while... my emotions get out of hand and I think I'm going crazy. Do people normally suspect themselves of clinical insanity? I know people generally question how "normal" they are.
Yesterday I also met up with a close friend whom I haven't seen in forever. We were best buds in highschool. Seeing her and catching up totally destroyed my ability to appreciate other people later during the night. It's just that we have such an energy together; she's always up to some kooky shit... everything is a story (but ofcourse not without risk). I would love to divulge details but I shouldn't and can't. Some later time I will find a way.
A friend suggested that it might be due to a panic attack (which earlier in the night I had). I think I'm stressed out or just plain going crazy. This happens to me every once in a while... my emotions get out of hand and I think I'm going crazy. Do people normally suspect themselves of clinical insanity? I know people generally question how "normal" they are.
Yesterday I also met up with a close friend whom I haven't seen in forever. We were best buds in highschool. Seeing her and catching up totally destroyed my ability to appreciate other people later during the night. It's just that we have such an energy together; she's always up to some kooky shit... everything is a story (but ofcourse not without risk). I would love to divulge details but I shouldn't and can't. Some later time I will find a way.
Happy Lunar New Year!
Eat something round. Eat some noodles for long life. Wear gold bitches.
I'm addicted to the gym and now spending exorbitant amounts of time on my fake facebook husband. I wish more people are as amused by it as I am. Come on, Tang Dynasty emperor? Hilarity! I guess its less funny for those people who honestly thought that first I got engaged to Mr. T and now I'm married.... well most people don't know Chinese history that well. Am I crazy to be playing this kind of joke? Here's the plotline: I want him to start hitting on my girl friends and trying to persuade them to be his newest concubines. He already put a servant to death for disrespecting my bridesmaid at the wedding.
Yes I've been job searching, doing better than before (before I was just saying I've been job searching, doing better than before). This is real. I've honestly been sending out coverletters and resumes.
This past weekend was AWP (which my current roommate and his friends who flew in from Alabama was involved in). I didn't register early enough and the tickets were sold out. I went to see Li-Young Lee and an emerging poet named Jennifer Kwon Dobbs read at the Asian American Writers Workshop and then went to some other Asian American poets' reading at NYU.
I loved Li-Young Lee. He was simply wonderful! I was never really interested in poets themselves as much as their poetry. I read his works during college and spent a month obssessively in love with his book, The City in Which I Love You. As much as I loved his poems, it never once occurred to me that I should know more than his poetry. Weird huh? So when I talked to him I felt great embarrassment when he said that he lived in Chicago. after learning that I just moved from there. That was such a dipshit moment. Well now that I've met him, I love him more: he means every word he writes and the quirk is fitting. Seriously even my idol Alice Notley... I have her essays, her poetry books, and I don't know shit about her except that she was married to Ted Berrigan and has a son (whose poetry took me a bit to get but then I learned to enjoy it).
I tried to be friends with Jennifer. I think I scared her.
When I went to the second reading at NYU, I don't know... I liked a couple of lines, two poems, and the rest of the time I felt bored. Bob Hicok (who I have yet to explore, who my friend is really into) pointed out something that might help explain my boredom. In an interview (http://www.caffeinedestiny.com/hicok.html) he said, "What is most commonly said about Slam poetry - that it's not as good on the page as it is live - is true for most though not all of the work. What people don't notice, or admit, is that the opposite is true. Much of the poetry that gets published is no good on the stage. Or, has little force on the stage." That probably explained it. Maybe if I saw those poems on the page I'd feel more engaged.
I felt really scared at this reading. Like. Intense pressure to go up or say hi and compliment everyone. I mean you can't just go up and say hi, you have say hi and compliment or you can't buy just one person's chapbook or they can't see that you didn't buy theirs. It's fucking complicated. Like... if I get good at writing poetry, this is the group I'll be in. Don't get me wrong, I'm extremely proud of being myself and care deeply about AA political issues.... solidarity is semi-important. But I couldn't do it. I don't like everyone's poetry. And then because I'm not MFA type, how fucking valid is my criticism or preferences (they're valid to ME (and we all know my opinion is final opinion) but I don't live inside myself or try not to)?
Anyways I was really glad though to meet Marlon E because I knew him from 11th grade from watching Two Tongues perform, and then being at the Typical Cats concert, and then through my Chicago slam poetry friends. He had a good vibe about him. I hope if I go to their monthly saloon that I don't offend anyone. My facial expression betrays me in split second lapses of control.
Oooh I love my tumblr blog but its a secret and all written in Chinese. TEEHEE. I'm definitely improving everyday.
Eat something round. Eat some noodles for long life. Wear gold bitches.
I'm addicted to the gym and now spending exorbitant amounts of time on my fake facebook husband. I wish more people are as amused by it as I am. Come on, Tang Dynasty emperor? Hilarity! I guess its less funny for those people who honestly thought that first I got engaged to Mr. T and now I'm married.... well most people don't know Chinese history that well. Am I crazy to be playing this kind of joke? Here's the plotline: I want him to start hitting on my girl friends and trying to persuade them to be his newest concubines. He already put a servant to death for disrespecting my bridesmaid at the wedding.
Yes I've been job searching, doing better than before (before I was just saying I've been job searching, doing better than before). This is real. I've honestly been sending out coverletters and resumes.
This past weekend was AWP (which my current roommate and his friends who flew in from Alabama was involved in). I didn't register early enough and the tickets were sold out. I went to see Li-Young Lee and an emerging poet named Jennifer Kwon Dobbs read at the Asian American Writers Workshop and then went to some other Asian American poets' reading at NYU.
I loved Li-Young Lee. He was simply wonderful! I was never really interested in poets themselves as much as their poetry. I read his works during college and spent a month obssessively in love with his book, The City in Which I Love You. As much as I loved his poems, it never once occurred to me that I should know more than his poetry. Weird huh? So when I talked to him I felt great embarrassment when he said that he lived in Chicago. after learning that I just moved from there. That was such a dipshit moment. Well now that I've met him, I love him more: he means every word he writes and the quirk is fitting. Seriously even my idol Alice Notley... I have her essays, her poetry books, and I don't know shit about her except that she was married to Ted Berrigan and has a son (whose poetry took me a bit to get but then I learned to enjoy it).
I tried to be friends with Jennifer. I think I scared her.
When I went to the second reading at NYU, I don't know... I liked a couple of lines, two poems, and the rest of the time I felt bored. Bob Hicok (who I have yet to explore, who my friend is really into) pointed out something that might help explain my boredom. In an interview (http://www.caffeinedestiny.com/hicok.html) he said, "What is most commonly said about Slam poetry - that it's not as good on the page as it is live - is true for most though not all of the work. What people don't notice, or admit, is that the opposite is true. Much of the poetry that gets published is no good on the stage. Or, has little force on the stage." That probably explained it. Maybe if I saw those poems on the page I'd feel more engaged.
I felt really scared at this reading. Like. Intense pressure to go up or say hi and compliment everyone. I mean you can't just go up and say hi, you have say hi and compliment or you can't buy just one person's chapbook or they can't see that you didn't buy theirs. It's fucking complicated. Like... if I get good at writing poetry, this is the group I'll be in. Don't get me wrong, I'm extremely proud of being myself and care deeply about AA political issues.... solidarity is semi-important. But I couldn't do it. I don't like everyone's poetry. And then because I'm not MFA type, how fucking valid is my criticism or preferences (they're valid to ME (and we all know my opinion is final opinion) but I don't live inside myself or try not to)?
Anyways I was really glad though to meet Marlon E because I knew him from 11th grade from watching Two Tongues perform, and then being at the Typical Cats concert, and then through my Chicago slam poetry friends. He had a good vibe about him. I hope if I go to their monthly saloon that I don't offend anyone. My facial expression betrays me in split second lapses of control.
Oooh I love my tumblr blog but its a secret and all written in Chinese. TEEHEE. I'm definitely improving everyday.
I joined a GYM.
I like my new roommate.
I got plenty of exercise this weekend.
I'm a very lucky person.
I like my new roommate.
I got plenty of exercise this weekend.
I'm a very lucky person.
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