The Morning of Calm

I've been awake in the silent house for a couple of hours now. I woke up at around three in the morning, thirsty as a fucking camel. Last night there had been drinking, hot-tubbing, ice-angel making, drinking, dancing, drinking, and some gambling before I passed out several times. Seven of us had consumed nearly an entire case of wine, plus a handful of beers, and I had neglected to drink any water. I stuck my head under the bathroom sink and gulped down the cold water like it would save my life.

It did. I woke up a little bit later feeling like a million bucks. I put on some clothes and stole downstairs. I made coffee and went out on the deck.

It was 29 degrees, but it felt wonderful.I watched the sun gently wash the mountains and water with shifting colors. Geese and ducks were the only other living creatures on the silent lake that morning.

I could live here.

Speed Dating Tips for the Single Guy

What do you say to the twentieth man who asks wearily, "So what do you do?"

Many answers come to mind. I've already tested out most of them. "I play a shitload of video games." "I play rock guitar in a band." "I write about my dreams online." "I knit scarves." "I'm writing a novel.""I play D&D." Each one is an opportunity to be someone else; but the problem is actually, they're all me - and by this point in the evening, I'm totally bored of me. I want to be someone else.

"I fix cars." "I'm chief meteorologist at KTVU." "I track down dudes who've jumped bail." "I pimp."

Don't ask me that. Nineteen other men have already asked me, and I've exhausted the possibilities. Ask me how my day was. Ask me what the last trip I took was. Ask me something more specific than general. Ask for descriptions rather than lists. Or on second thought, don't ask me anything. Talk to me. Tell me about yourself. Compliment me on something. I can't tell you, guys, how flattering this is. Nothing lewd, just something like "That color looks nice on you" or whatever. It breaks the ice and makes a girl feel good. And then let's go from there.

Last night MJ and I went on a BAARE (Bay Area Asian Rendezvous Events) speed dating party at the Whisper Lounge. I'd link to BAARE from here but their TOS agreement prohibits it, so go ahead and just Google it if you want to check it out. Many of you have wondered why I'd chosen a specifically Asian event. The answers are, why the hell not? and, by accident - we signed up because a friend of ours had signed up and sent us the link.

Also, a full confession here. As many of you have guessed, I'm not actually looking for another romantic partner. In fact I got busted by one of the guys, who, when he heard the list of stuff I liked to do, said, "Why are you here? Seems like you have plenty of chances to meet a really diverse group of people. You can't tell me you have trouble meeting people." He's right. It's not like I, ahem, work too much or I don't go out or I have trouble meeting people. But who says speed-dating is just for overworked shy shut-ins, anyway? Damn it, I defend my right to meet as many men in one evening as I possibly can - including the three tasty bartenders.

It's quite an entertaining experience, especially if you go into it relaxed and without expectations. And if you don't get along, it's no sweat - they're gone in four minutes, poof! Just like that. If you do get along, you both know it - and you look forward to continuing the conversation later. In fact I think it's a great way for the shier types to force themselves to practice meeting people. It sure drives away any inhibitions you may have had. By your third drink and tenth dude you are a confident, seasoned pro.

But don't let that confidence become too familiar. The bulk of men I met gave me the same spiel - "I'm a engineer; I love outdoor sports, especially snowboarding!" I KNOW they must have repeated the same things to every other lady - and it shows. It doesn't sound fresh or new any more. Come on guys, that can't be all you do. Didn't you ever secretly wish to be a master chef? Didn't you ever dream of ditching med school and becoming a painter? Didn't you ever stay up four nights in a row to finish coding some file-sharing software which you never released? I mean, yes, snowboarding is an amazing experience. But EVERYONE thinks so. I'll take it for granted, okay? that you love snowboarding. Let's move on from there. Tell me something about yourself that I don't know, that I wouldn't guess in a million years. You grew up on a vineyard. You went to school in Switzerland. You spent last year in Hong Kong taking air pollution samples. I don't know, ANYTHING is better than telling me how much you love to snowboard - unless you can describe the snowboarding experience in the sexiest, wittiest, most evocative ways.

I did meet some interesting folks with whom I'd like to hang out perhaps. One kid had recently discovered indie music, and was so incredibly enthused about it. It was really cute, actually. "And, I've really gotten into punk lately!" he said as if he were sharing a secret. Aw. I invited him to come with me to Gilman sometime.

Another guy used to write for NextGen, the late great father of all smart gaming magazines. Color me impressed. We obviously had a lot to talk about. I hope we can have coffee or something sometime and discuss in detail our favorite rpgs and why. And a third boy works for Rotten Tomatoes. Also interesting.

What's really tough is that in four minutes it's a crapshoot trying to discover your intersecting interests. It was purely by chance that some of these guys revealed the nuggets of information that would make me interested in them - and would probably make other girls go, "huh?" So the best thing you can do is just be natural, don't repeat yourself over and over, because the sparkle goes out of what you say, and just coast on personality more than facts. If you're an open, kind-hearted, funny person then it doesn't matter what your stats and facts are so much - I'm going to want to keep talking to you to figure out what else you're into. Also, remember - you don't have to impress every single girl. Some of them are gonna like your style, some just won't click with it. Don't feel like you have to charm the pants off everyone. As tempting as that idea might be.

The event itself could have been shorter. 100 minutes (plus a ten-minute intermission) is a long-ass time to keep introducing yourself over and over, which is why I stopped doing so after a while. It would have been better I think if we had met ten people for six minutes each. It was fun up to around the tenth person, and then everyone got veeeeery tiiiiired. Still, there's a purity in this form of dating - no bullshit, you get straight to the point. You like what you see? Mark yes on your score card, hope they do the same, but if they don't, no big deal. If there's one thing speed-dating makes abundantly clear, it's that there are indeed many fish in the sea. Almost too many, in fact.

I did mark down some yesses. I figured, even if there are no sparks, a cool person is still a cool person, and I'm never going to say no to a good conversation.

But then again, I'm not really the girl you're trying to reach, cuz I ain't looking for a man, know what I mean? So you can toss all that advice I just gave you out the window.

Carry on, snowboarders.

Tally-ho

Exciting things are afoot.

Firstly, we're going to Tahoe this weekend for Adam's birthday. Some of the group (me included) had ideas to cook breakfast and dinner for sixteen people. Never having done that before, it all seems feasible to me. It's going to be so fun. Hot tub, karaoke, drinking, cooking... oh yeah, and snowboarding too I guess for those who're interested in that. I think I'll pass this time around, not because I dislike snowboarding but because I love Saturday pajama parties with my girlfriends (and a couple of gentlemen friends) better. Besides, it's another $50 for the lift ticket which I could contribute towards alcohol.

Secondly, I finally signed up for Netflix. I haven't received a single film yet and I already know I am going to be addicted to it. Like Tivo. How did I ever live without it? I await with bated breath my first two choices, Dark Victory and The Big Sleep.

Thirdly, tonight I'm going speed-dating. 25 dates, four minutes at a time. I don't know if I can handle it. I checked out some of the past photos and it looks like a bunch of Banana Republicans but what do I know - I may be pleasantly surprised. GOD I hope so or I'm going to be tempted to fake an epileptic seizure just to make things interesting.

Jesse suggested I wear the orange jumpsuit tonight. Hm. I think maybe he just doesn't want me to get any further dates. I'll let you know how it goes.

When Spam Attacks

I woke up this morning to almost 400 emails* related to the p2p MyDoom email virus. This was in addition to the couple hundred normal spam that crawl into my inbox while I sleep. Emails date-stamped yesterday afternoon from my friends didn't make it in until this morning. My email server is fucked.

It's going to be tough to work today.

*This was just the spam in my inbox; my spam filter parsed out an ADDITIONAL 388 mails directly into my Spam folder.

I Love _____

I've forsworn Valentine's Day and all things pink, red and heart-shaped next month but these are too damn cute to pass up.

Crafting

Every winter, it seems, I start up my knitting again. I often have to relearn how to cast on, bind off, and keep the correct tension on the yarn, but cuddling up under a blanket to knit a scarf while watching a movie seems like an ideal winter's evening.

Even more than actually knitting, I think I love planning knitting projects. I look through some of my sister's fancy knitting books - many of them seem too complicated for a beginner like me. Hats? Mittens? Socks? I think I'll just stick to good ol' rectangular scarves for now, thanks. But I really think the next big thing is felting. Can't wait to get started on that.

Some great crafty links (blogs, community sites, etc) I've been enjoying lately, in no particular order - these are sure to get your needles clicking:

She Made This
Girlie in the City
Knitty
Not Martha
Sew Wrong
Sew Hip it Hurts
Get Crafty

Okay! Back to work for me. Which today means, play Deus Ex. Yeah, life's tough.

Party On - and on and on

Saturday was D&D day. My new sword KICKS ASS. A flaming longsword +1, which means d8+1 damage PLUS d6 fire damage. I am so fucking badass with this thing. It makes me hot just to think of it.

After dispatching some shadow hounds, I had to run - it was Connie's birthday and we were going to RNM on the Dine About Town deal. Reservations were at 6 PM - which means I had fifteen minutes to change my clothes from comfortable gamer to elegant diner and get myself over to meet Anne. So I threw on a black wool dress and pink fishnet socks and high heels and ran to pick up Jesse and meet Anne and Ryan.

We were late, but so were Zack and Connie, so it wasn't bad. The food at RNM is all right, although overpriced (but affordable if you do the prix fixe option). We had a couple of excellent Pinots Noirs, and Ryan's bread pudding dessert was delectable. The scallops were good, and my braised short ribs were falling off the bone - tender and delicious. It was all great quality, but nothing really different or exciting. I loved seeing people I don't get to see very often, though. And it's always fun to dress up. Jesse looked fantastic, by the way, in a black button-down shirt and wool pinstripe pants.

At nine the party broke up because the hardcore hobbit fans had to catch the Return of the King at the Metreon. Jesse and I took the BART back, falling briefly under the somnolent spell of the train. We had drunk a little too much (and eaten far too much) at dinner so it was tough staying awake, but the night was still so young - Saturday night, after all! Where's the next party?

We headed over to check out Justin's houseparty. I especially wanted to go because I had heard that Harvey was in town. I miss that guy. We sat on the couch in front of the fire and had some beers. It was very chill, a good time. Later in the evening much amusement was had watching Chris W play GTA3.

I gave Harvey and Chris a ride to the BART (they had to head back to their hotel in Palo Alto) and took Jesse home. His roommates were just getting ready to go out, drinking red wine and Jack Daniels. "You should come with us," Noah said. "You guys look perfect. The theme is Porn Star." I guess my pink fishnets qualified as porn star wear. Jesse just needed to undo a few buttons on his shirt and he was ready to go. DJs, dancing, and booze were promised. We were already a bit thrashed by this point, but - well, maybe just for a little while. We swallowed some whiskey and hit the road.

The party was just down the street. We strutted down in our finery. Eileen and Noah were pimped out in sunglasses - Eileen had on a fantastic fur-collared coat and huge earrings. Noah wore Eileen's corduroy jacket and a lovely multi-colored striped shirt. We walked in on a party filled with many interesting variations on "porn star". You had your standards - the French maids, the construction workers, the Daisy Dukes and the revealing shirts - but there were some unusual ones too, like one fellow dressed like a fast food worker. Hm. That's some pretty niche porn right there.

I had a rum and coke which I promptly spilled on myself when I started dancing. I'm not sure why I've recently really wanted to go dancing. Maybe it started with my birthday party? I love dancing. I used to go two or three times a week. I used to be able to dance to anything, but these days I prefer music with soul. And a beat. And a funky fucked up bass line. Oh yeah. I could go all night on that. Jesse's claims that he didn't dance much were belied for the next couple hours as he did his Ricky Martin impression. All he was missing was the gold chain. Sexy! I have no idea what time we stumbled out of there but we greeted a couple of arriving cops on our way out. I remember parties like that.

My feet hurt (and smelled like rum and coke) by the end of the evening but they're itching to get on the dance floor again.

Where can we go for chill club atmosphere, real soul, and no hipster attitude? Let me know if you know.

misremembered

I had a really strange dream last night but I can't remember it. It was extremely elaborate, however, involving a large and diverse cast.

Do you remember your dreams? I know quite a few people who don't.

Hearth and Heart

We didn't cook together as a family, although my mother and father were both accomplished in the kitchen. My mother was the more traditional, at the time; later in life she got looser, more experimental, but the dishes I remember best from her repertoire were things like roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, apple pie, spaghetti in a marinara sauce that simmered all afternoon on the stove, oxtail soup, and a big fat goose for Christmas. My father was fond of elaborate dishes with exotic ingredients he'd spend all day shopping for - lamb curry and couscous or lamb chops with potatoes and asparagus and mint apple chutney. Although Anne and I did not participate often in the meal preparation, dinnertime was unmissable. We sat down together, talked, and excused ourselves when we were done. Although there were a few foods I didn't like back then, we weren't allowed to refuse any serving of my parents' cooking. I cried over mushy eggplant, but I ate it - albeit under the most vehement protest I could muster.

I'm not sure where along the line I learned to cook. I made a birthday meal for my first serious boyfriend, when he turned twenty I think. We had a small dinner party at his parents' house in Orinda. His parents were out of town. I made vegetarian lasagna, layers of fluffy fresh cheese, vegetables, and sauce topped with paper-thin slices of eggplant under a thin layer of parmesean that crisped delightfully in the oven. Jeff claimed it was the best meal he'd ever had. I wasn't so sure. I was never sure. The end product never matched up to the vision I had started with. In the end Jeff gave up trying to convince me of my culinary talents. And maybe I stopped believing in them.

Jeff always wanted to help out with the cooking, but I never could let him. Except to let him grate the cheese. I was too stressed out while preparing food to enjoy another pair of hands at the stove, and the friction between us tainted the experience. I wasn't raised to collaborate on meals. When my mom cooked, she cooked alone; and our dad also wouldn't dream of enlisting the aid of his children. So when I cooked, I cooked like an absolute queen bitch of the kitchen.

As I grew older, I stopped cooking so much. I didn't like being such a control freak. Many of my boyfriends were superior chefs, and it was delightful to be able to sit and drink wine while they did all the work. I absorbed a lot from watching their various techniques, though, from simply relaxing in the kitchen while they worked. When I took the reins, I didn't allow anyone else to be in the kitchen with me unless they could chop vegetables to my exact specifications.

When living with my sister, who is an excellent cook as well, I let her plan the meals and make the decisions. Anne is an inventive, explorative cook who never makes the same recipe twice. Quite a baker she is, too, of breads and cakes and pastry shells. She actually owns ceramic pie crust weights - you know, most people use old dry beans. Not Anne.

It's understandable that I would feel some intimidation around my ability to perform exceptional culinary feats. Having a sister who makes rose-petal and pomegranate cake for one's birthday might have that effect. Having had boyfriends who routinely make sushi or risotto or a beautiful pot roast will do that too. And I got lazy.

But slowly I discovered again how much I love to cook. I love the entire process, from strolling through a farmer's market or a really good grocery store picking out the produce, or exploring unfamiliar spices at an Indian dry good store, constructing in my mind the shape of a meal built upon the flavors and textures I encounter that hour. I love to read cookbooks even when I don't plan to make anything. I learned so much about food from reading MFK Fischer and Julia Child and Marcella Hazan. They treat even the humblest ingredients like precious jewels. Child spends an entire chapter on the proper treatment of an egg. It can bring tears to my eyes.

Yesterday I was inspired. I spent the better part of the day thinking about variations on a menu for Adam and Lisa and Jesse and his roommates. I went over to Jesse's house in the evening and we went grocery shopping. We bought some very nice, dry white wine - I wanted a suave white Burgundy but it was too expensive. We settled on a crisp Chardonnay.

We started to cook. Noah peeled potatoes, Jesse commanded the soup, I chopped and assembled. Cocooned in the warmth of a kitchen, wrapped in fresh, delicious smells, my heart glowed. Perhaps the wine helped a little with that, too. Relaxed, happy, I felt no stress at all as three of us moved around the kitchen set on our various tasks. I was even able to have conversations with Adam, Lisa, and Eileen without fretting over the timing of the eggs or the fish.

The results of our cooking were spectacular. Jesse's classic potato-leek soup had a touch of crème fraîche for that velvety, silky finish. A voluptuous soup. The crab and asparagus frittata was soft on the inside with nice crisp edges, and a sprinkling of scallions on top. The sole was flakey and feather-light, nestled on a bed of chopped Roma tomatoes and chanterelles, poached in fresh fish stock and a dash of sweet vermouth. When the fish was done I made a roux with a little butter and flour and added the poaching liquid to it for the sauce. With the addition of cream, it was ready to be served with buttered parsley rice.

More wine, and Adam's homemade cookies rounded out the meal. Noah made coffee in his stove-top espresso device, and the smokers among us enjoyed that with the delectable after-dinner cigarette.

I realized something today: that all my techniques, although skillfull, had only made me half-good at cooking. True cooking has to be open and generous, not one chef's vision but a community project we all share in. That is what results in the best meals. Working in the kitchen with the people you love is the truest way to experience the sensual and spiritual pleasure of food. Somewhere along the line of my life, I'd forgotten that. What most restores and nourishes the heart is not the finished meal but the love that produces it, and the love that we share when we sit down to eat it.

And now, I think I can finally consider myself a decent cook.

party pics

more pictures from my birthday party from jason and wayne.

how much do i love lisa? this much.

hotel room

i dreamt that robin and i were sharing a hotel room somewhere, along with a chatty woman in her sixties whom neither of us knew very well. it was a warm and friendly room, although the chatty lady was making me a bit nervous as i was getting ready for bed.

i don't remember how this happened exactly, but jesse and his friend tom were in town too, and needed to crash in the hotel room with us. we let them sleep on the floor next to the bed.

the woman i didn't know kept talking to me, and i was surprised at how much she knew about me. i began to be a little uncomfortable, although everything she said was very flattering. i was in my pajamas, she was wearing a weird housecoat. she had a seperate bed on the other side of the room; robin and i were sharing the other. robin was talking to me too, and i found that comforting. a familiar voice. she got in on the side of the bed near the light. the other side was dark.

"why do i have to have this side of the bed?" i asked her jokingly.

"so you can be closer to jesse," she said, laughing mischievously. jesse was sleeping on the floor on my side of the bed.

i thought it strange at the time, because i didn't know that i *wanted* to be closer to jesse.

i woke up as my dream-self fell asleep.

happy day

a superlative birthday, as i woke up the next day still drunkish. indian food, dress-up, and karaoke!

the evidence:
from kat, jane, and lisa.

so happy to see everyone!

highlights for me include: MJ's tanuki poem, lisa's lap dance, and nat singing - my god, i don't even remember the name of the song! but he did remarkably well.

adam sang The Beatles (it was so damn cute!), chris g hit me with his best shot, chris w took these broken wings (i think that's why the cops were called), jason rocked the mic with poetry, anne was Like a Virgin, and jesse sang Georges Brassen.

later at the Mint jonas impressed us all with A-Ha, and kat did a lovely rendition of Can't We be Friends (why of course we can, girl, just c'mere). max and mary did an incredible duet of the Safety Dance. heather had back-up dancers for Missionary Man. lisa sang Crazy for You and we slow-danced.

and i jumped around like a Cheap Trick.

huge props to adam for bringing and setting up the equipment so we could rock. adam, you are the best. and to lisa for holding my hand during the intense restaurant negotiations (and for helping me pick my outfit). thanks of course to everyone who performed for me, and to the appreciative and good-humoured audience who indulged me so sweetly! i love you all so much. and jesse, thanks for driving me home, as i was pretty wasted by the end of the evening. je t'embrasse trés fort.

best. birthday. ever.

spampoetic

hornbeam heroin hexachloride

- from Marisa Hemphill

Prime

Happy Birthday to me.

31. A prime number, indivisible but by itself and one.

Other memorable prime number birthdays have been:
7. (1980) A birthday party with just me, my mom, my sister, and family friend Judith Mazia, at Judith's house. She said seven was a good year. I had a cake and I was excited to blow out the candles.

11. (1984) I have a photo - a pale polaroid - from this birthday party. Helena, Roxane, Annette who lived down the street, and my sister. We played a strange game I made up.

13. (1986) Klara invited me out for my birthday. We walked from her house to Gino's pizzeria. There Daria, Anna, and - Roxane? Nancy? Joanna? I can't remember who else - were waiting with balloons. It was my first surprise party. I loved it.

My dad wrote me a poem for my 13th birthday. I've lost it.

That was also the year I went to my first rock concert. The Cure. I dressed in black and wore eyeliner. I stole my dog's collar to wear as a belt. My mom would go into paraoxysms of shame to see me dressed like that.

17. (1990) I don't remember my birthday. That was a strange year. My dad had just passed away the winter before. I was a mess. I was fighting constantly with my sister and running away from home. I may have spent it alone.

19. (1992) I was in love for the first time. Passionately, completely. And independent - working and living and going to school. I think perhaps Jeff took me out for my birthday. I was such a preppy back then. Seriously. I wore like polo shirts and deck shoes. Ugh. What was I thinking?

23. (1996) What a year. My boyfriend at the time made me cry on the morning of my birthday. I went to work and was comforted by the ladies there. I discovered a lot of things that year, including revelations about my sexual being. And for that, although he made me cry a lot, I'm grateful to the man I was with, as I think his openness and eagerness to explore had a lot to do with that.

Although, come to think of it, it may also have been all the MDMA I was consuming at the time. Hm.

29. (2002) I enjoyed turning 29. I felt very powerful. I had a dinner with some friends. It was very quiet. I got an Xbox as a gift. I had been scared of my thirties but I began to look forward to them. I still didn't feel grown-up or anything though.

31. (2004) I am having a party. I am a colossally bad party-planner. But I am warming up to the idea that birthdays are an excuse to have one. Last year's was fun, although I got sick and threw up. This year's will be even better.

Every year is better than the last. Indivisible and whole, integral, every year I am in my prime for something I am to do or learn.

I'm looking forward to this year, and all the pleasures and trials ahead.

But first, I need to go shopping for a frock to wear to my party tonight!

fairy tale

once upon a time i was a princess who apparently had everything going for her. everyone believed me bright and beautiful. i had just a little kingdom to my name but i tended to my beloved garden and it bloomed and flourished.

and then disaster struck. the queen mother passed away, my prince charming left to go ride against his own dragons. weeds sprang up and little rodents grew bolder about eating the potatoes. hard rained the days and the nights were cold. and in the storm the flowers began to die. ghosts and nightmares troubled my sleep.

i spent some time in my castle, alone, and it was good. i had many friends, near and far. but the storm wouldn't die down, and i grew anxious about the future of the garden. would the roses recover? would the peas be as sweet next year? i even considered bulldozing the whole thing and building housing developments.

i was on a ship one evening making my way along the coast of my kingdom when the storm hit with violence and capsized my craft. i wasn't frightened, not yet, because this had happened to me many times before. i knew it would be difficult but i could swim back to shore. however, that night the clouds covered the stars, and i couldn't find my way.

i woke up on a sunny island in the company of a handsome mustached sailor with the sea in his eyes. he'd been shipwrecked here long ago. he offered me mangoes and coconuts he had gathered. "where is this place?" i asked.

"it is a place for those who have lost their way. they find it here," he replied.

"i have lost my way," i said, "but what are you doing here?"

"i have lost my way, too," he replied. "but i have found you."

we sang songs together and sunbathed on the beach. we made wine from fruit and built sand castles. he told me about the ocean and i told him about my garden. he built me a fragrant bed of petals on palm fronds. love flashed in his eye while he sang me to sleep.

but i couldn't stay on the island forever. i needed to find my way home. i grew anxious about my garden. i didn't want to leave him, but how happy would he be with me in my cozy castle with stone walls protecting my seedlings, he who was used to the open sky and the wind in his hair? so with tears in my eyes i said, "you are a sailor, you belong to the sea. i can't ask you to come away." and then i was frightened to think of trying to find my castle again without him.

he took my hands and replied, "i will never leave the sea, because the sea will never leave me. but my feet will follow my heart into your garden, or wherever you should go. besides, fresh tuna would fit well with your bed of escarole and endive."

and now i live in my castle, he on the sea. i can see his ship from my window. on calm days we meet by the shore and sing songs and play in the tidepools. he brings me large fresh fish and i give him apples and lettuce. on fine evenings we cook by the fire. when it rains he listens to my saddest songs.

someday he might sail away. but then, i might sail away with him.

la femme jalouse

i have been jealous. i despised it in myself. it was so unnecessary, so petty, so destructive. but i couldn't seem to help it. jealousy was a monster that controlled my words and actions, even, at times, my very thoughts.

you can point all you like to biological bases for jealousy. yes, this reaction is apparently hardwired into our heads. but that doesn't make it any more pleasant when thrashing in the throes of its grip. one feels small and helpless, an insignificant mammal caught in some larger ugly primeval force, driven by instinct to snarl and snap at invaders of the territory.

jealousy sometimes goes under cover as love. this is jealousy at its most insidious and harmful. "i'm jealous because i care, because i love." and that is why i want you all to myself; i want to know always that i am the center of your universe, because you are the center of mine. i won't permit interlopers. i won't allow you to enjoy another's company. because it threatens my position as your sun, moon, and stars.

and that is the source of jealousy: this terrible insecurity. that little voice inside which nags, "am i good enough? i can't possibly be. i don't want to be rejected, to be left for someone else. what if he should love someone else more than me? what if someone else is better than me?"

a tragic shame, to see women (and men - although today my subject is female, a reflection of myself) who are beautiful through and through react this way. it makes me terribly sad. i understand, i have been one. with every reason in the world to be secure, i have troubled myself about my flaws, i have obsessed over my behaviors and my appearance and my personality. insecurity like this destroys trust. it destroys love. ultimately i believe it may even destroy you.

and now, what i am working on for the new year, for myself, for the rest of my life, is security that comes from within and doesn't depend on the approval of others. easy to say, and hard to do, i know. and with confidence of a self so rooted in the world comes love: unconditional love. love that allows the beloved to be free, do what he wants to do, expand and grow and run as fast as he can. if that takes him away from me, i still offer love and understanding - that his flight is not a rejection or reflection of myself, but simply something he needs to do. and i would be a very poor lover indeed if i did not let him do it.

jealousy has been useful for me, teaching me these lessons, albeit at the cost of several broken hearts. i have learned that trust can not be proven; love can not be negotiated; faith cannot be earned; forgiveness cannot be bought.

all must be freely given, over and over again.

and when you do so, you will learn: what a truly beautiful creature you are, and love will flow to you like water to the sea, because you are worthy, and because you deserve it. and the jealousy that used to strangle you will be a tiny insignificant thing that merely pricks your finger once in a while, reminding you that after all you are still - gloriously and humbly - only human.

oranges

i dreamt i showed up to a housewarming party with a huge platter of beautiful oranges. i walked up to the door and rang the bell. as i waited i stared down at the oranges and wished to eat one.

it's possible that i am vitamin-c deficient. i must take care to guard against scurvy.

the other side of the street

are you scared? i talk a big game, but i'm scared too.

that's ok. we can hold hands to cross the street.

le fin des vacances

the end of the year and the attendant revelries have faded and it is time to face the sober winter light. my to-do list looms before me, my inbox is overflowing. many of the messages are confirmations of friendship and love that i am happy to return; others remind me of tasks not yet complete, and people who depend on me for them; and still others offer me prescription drugs or shady business proposals from former military officers of Zimbabwe. it takes me a solid hour to sift through these.

the second hour i spend on my body - feeding and stretching. after a week of indulgence in an embarrassment of riches my body feels grateful for a clean clear draught of cold water and crisp leafy greens with minimal dressing.

last night when i thought about today i quailed; but today i simply line up the tasks, one by one. and it's not too bad.

it's the end of vacation, the beginning of a new year - i rise with the sun. the day and i will start together.