Vitamin D Cleanse

The weather begins to change and so do I. The end of March brings the beginning of spring and Bushwick smiles. People talk of roof-top parties, roof-top yoga, and bike adventures. Today is one of those days where the clouds look too low to be real, wisps of cotton to be curled up in the palm and Bushwickians polish up their walking shoes.

This budding warmth impregnates us with inspiration while the full moon gives us eery dreams to decipher. Teddy Roosevelt, hungry wolves and dangerous ninjas whisper to friends of mine while they sleep and wake, begging for explanation. We laugh it off over coffee, still confused and curious, but protected by walls of brick, rays of sun, and a spring-like warmth that crawls along your skin like caterpillars, not having quite arrived yet, but carrying promises of something beautiful. 

There's a box at home that waits for my winter jackets, scarves and gloves, alluding to empty hangers who beckon for spring dresses. This winter has taken its taxes from my walking shoes and plans must be made for newcomers. Those poor old boots, mirrors of bad temperaments and illogical darknesses, need replacing. 

While time passes, I learn more and more of the subtleties of the mind and its development. My psych courses continue to enlighten and enthrall while bizarre tidbits of information stick in my mind: as fetuses, our ears initial develop on our necks (fact); neanderthals are not our descendants, but rather another branch of humanoids that developed and died out alongside our ancestor (fact). 

For a period of time, I have stumbled away from this writing endeavor, more out of preoccupation than deliberate avoidance, but nonetheless the pages had remained empty. But now, I feel words being crafted out of much missed doses of vitamin D and return to the keyboard. All is well.

A Thought: As the weather grows warmer, I find myself less in need of hearty, fatty comfort food. Now is the time to reinvest in health, to cut back on what is unnecessary and to remember how to nourish oneself, not only with food, but with beliefs and lifestyles as well. Grab the shears, trim the fat and excess, and live more cleanly. 

A Find: Down on Wilson St there's a restaurant called Dear Bushwick that has the most PHENOMENAL food. Period. The owners are so sweet, the atmosphere homey and comfortable, and the food, again, phenomenal. Definitely check it out!

New Years Change of Heart

The year turns and we survive the end of the world. In this post-apocalyptic day, we've made our New Year's resolutions and begun working towards check-marking them off our lists. This year's resolutions seem less resolutions, less "do this" or "stop doing that," and more goals to strive towards, checkpoints to mark off of our calendars. "Accomplish this by this date." "Be able to do this by this date." Some are intellectual pursuits - publish another review, publish an actual poem, get 3-5 A's this semester, etc... Some are physical pursuits - do more yoga, be able to do chattaranga and a head stand. Some are creative pursuits - paint a painting, make a sculpture.

Along with the new year, a new pursuit has come along. Rather than continue to scholarly pursue writing and performance (though I still love both), I've decided to pursue another love: psychology. After years of probing, delving, and exploring, I've come to realize that I want to be a clinical psychologist. I've finally realized what it is I want to be when I "grow up." 

It's a weird discovery to make, the "what I'll do with my life" discovery. I've been experimenting with various hobbies and opportunities - writing, acting, modeling, art, philosophy, film, history - and now, suddenly, it all clicks. For the first time in over two years I feel like I'm solidly working towards a feasible goal, a realistic profession, something that promises work and income, while simultaneously satisfying my interests and intellectual pursuits. 

All of this AND I will become the first female Doctor in my family. Boo yah!!

On top of this, we've been reconfiguring the apartment. After a failed attempt at a Stora Ikea bed (only suitable for one person or 200 lbs and flimsy as hell, we came to find), we are now researching how to make our own loft bed, a seeming necessity for city living. Hopefully, it won't crash and fall apart. I'll keep you posted.

A Thought: More a realization of my own than a thought for all of you to ponder, pursuing this field will make me not only my parent's daughter (as I obviously am), but now also their colleague. Not that I'm pursuing this for either or them or that reason, it is non-the-less really awesome that I'll be on a similar plane to my parents and, quite frankly, even surpass them in ways. There's something about children that begs to surpass their parents, to continue onwards and upwards, exceeding and reaching ever higher. I will be their colleague, but I will be the Dr. in the family. 

A Find: Notelettes make a really awesome student planner. I'm super picky about my planners and the one that I got is absolutely wonderful. Complete with: Conversion tables for metric measurements, distance, european clothes sizes, lists of holidays and dates, national currencies and time differences, semester schedule planner, regular planner with weekly notes section, lined paper section, grid paper section, and blank paper section. How cool is that?!?!?!

Christmas Caterpillars and Old Rice

We ride the giant caterpillar home for Christmas, commuting again like we did at the beginning of this blog. It feels familiar, all the ants in transit, yet simultaneously feels so distant and foreign, a language we nearly forgot the words of. The past two weeks have been a windstorm of finals and sales associating, of fingers to keyboards and "Do you need a button-up to go with that cardigan?"  

As we adjust to anything, I have adjusted to retail and the art of starting conversations while meticulously folding clothing. No longer nervous, I genuinely feel like I am helping people to locate the items they are seeking, rather than pushing material goods on people who aren't wanting to spend money. 

Though I'd love to be focusing solely on school, we do what we must, I in my new job, my boyfriend working mornings and nights, and some afternoons, at the cafe next door to us. We pass through the days, pay rent and utilities, and pinch until paychecks. Our meals consist of the remainders of our rice and salad dressing, as we haven't had the time or cash to go food shopping in a little while. It's always interesting, the concoctions made from the last of the food. 

And now we sit on the train, me writing, him reading, as we head home to see our families for Christmas. It's appropriately snowing and freezing, as though the atmosphere has picked up on the Christmas mood that we've been forgetting up in Bushwick. A busy day at work feels like a busy day at work, little more, as I frequently forget that it is the holiday season and Christmas is in fact rapidly approaching. But here it is, in just a few hours. It's quite bizarre.

A Thought: Holidays are funny. They're like days of permission to not work and expectation to see your family. Of course there are other implied meanings, but when you look at them very basically, they are a sort of funny phenomenon. 

A Find:  Streets of Laredo. An amazing band made up of three awesome New Zealanders, two of which work at the cafe next door. They just released the video for their song "Girlfriend," and both the song and the video are awesome!! Totally check it out! http://vimeo.com/46340913

Folding the Words in my Head to Weave Garments

Hours correspond with dollar signs and letter grades. I work, I study. I work, I study. Yesterday at work, a neighborhood cat wondered in through the open door. All folding ceased as we stopped to pet and coo "Fatso." It was a welcome interruption to the general flow of a day in retail. My second week on the job and I feel confident in my folding skills, semi-confident in my sales abilities, and happy with my position. 

After work, on the way to class, I was serenaded to "Call Me Maybe" by an Indian man selling prepaid cell phones, one of the more hilarious things I've seen this month. During class, I received an email from a poetry publication that said they would publish a poetry review that I wrote. SOOO EXCITED!!! My first publication and I'm on my way to eventually getting my own writing published. This will be the first publication for the resume, the beginnings of a literary journey.

It makes me think a lot, about writing, about opportunities, about my own abilities. I wonder about future publications, future means of income, future plans and I over think. I think myself into a whirlwind of possibilities, what ifs, and questions. Will I publish my own poetry? Is that profitable? Would it be better to focus my attentions to other formats, more profitable formats? Should I start my first novel? Should I continue pursuing the crafts I've begun? Crocheting scarfs and leg warmers, crafting jewelry? Who knows? All I can do is continue moving forward, in some direction, at some sort of pace, and I trust something will fall into place.

A Thought: Work and play are mere distinctions established by our minds. If we can bend the boundaries between the two, then each will begin to lend to the other. Our work will be playful, our play will be productive.

A Find: Meeting a new friend, I have been reintroduced to Shamanism. It's an amazing, healing, beautiful art and practice that, I've found, really helps to recenter and calm an individual. Medicinal healings, animal spirits, meditations, breathing exercises, and general reintegration with the earth are all common factors that I've come to find are extremely grounding.

We Gather for Warmth

Last night my boyfriend and I had our first Thanksgiving together in our new apartment. We congregated around our make-shift table like a transplanted family with a clan of New Zealanders that we've met through the local cafe. The wine flowed freely, as did the conversation, and we were happy.  Peeking through our window, you'd see a group of slightly drunk twenty-somethings talking and laughing in our studio apartment. 

It was a good prompt for us to get the apartment cleaned and set up as well. We hung paintings and photographs like freckles on the walls, splattered the apartment with our expressions and were happy. Our four walls begins to feel like a home while we collect our memories and experiences and store them beneath the floorboards so that the apartment's a little bit warmer. We save our laughter in lightbulbs so the apartment's a little bit brighter and our gas and electric bills remain untouched. 

A huge part of moving out of state becomes new family creation. We meet new people, curate our finds and house a gallery of intimacy. This new family comprises our top picks and we choose. That's the most amazing part, this choosing of family. 

Tonight we gather again for a birthday celebration, my birthday being tomorrow. It'll be a larger gathering, here in Bushwick in this new home, than I've had in several years and I'm amazed at the pace with which we've been establishing connections. I'm excited. I'm always excited for my birthday, being an only child of a single parent it was always a big thing. But for now I sit, a fixture in the local cafe, a light on the wall, writing and crocheting scarves.

A Thought:  Holidays are interesting phenomenon. They're days assigned by a calendar to be special, to stand out from the rest. On these days, besides possible congregating with friends or family, there's really very little that makes them different. I say this not to downplay holidays, but to make a point of how easy it is to decide that a particular day is special, and then act accordingly. Why not do this with more days? Establish personal holidays? Or even make every day a holiday?

A Find: Sitting in a different cafe the other day (yes, I'm pretty much always in cafes), Miike Snow's song Cult Logic came on. It's an awesome song that I hadn't heard before, even though the album came out a few years ago. Definitely youtube it!

From the Wings of a Butterfly

Sometimes ice creeps into the veins and movement becomes sluggish, thoughts become sluggish, and to-do lists fall by the wayside. The events of the past few weeks transpire and culminate in a loss of words. My first attempts at public laundry, an exciting success, becomes silenced by the following storm, Hurricane Sandy, which struck my home county quite hard. Words dry up in my throat and I am at a loss for what to write, blessed by minimal-to-no damage in my part of Brooklyn, horrified by the amount of destruction my childhood beach towns endured, the week without electricity my mother endured, the loss of a house my uncle endured. 

Now, following the storm, certain aspects of life resume normalcy. I once again feel I can write about my experiences, my safe, primarily unaffected experiences here in Brooklyn. We never lost power, experienced no damage or destruction, resumed normal life the following day (with the exception of the downed L train, which proves to be our main artery into the city, to school and work).

We wake, do our laundry in the building next door with the help of our faithful cart Lermy, food shop, cook tempeh and rice, go to school, go to work. We do these things at times as though on a conveyer belt. The novelty, the beauty in these tiny moments, moments so full of life and uniqueness, gets lost in the repetition.

Last night, while my boyfriend was cooking dinner, the oil in the pan caught fire. It was terrifying. The pan fire lasted about a minute before it went out, setting off the fire alarm that I had to fan while he opened the windows. Neither of us were hurt, but once the danger was gone, all the possible outcomes flooded our heads. He could have been horribly scorched, could have set fire to the whole building. Most terrifying is that the fire started during a normal, almost rote action. We don't understand what happened or what went wrong. The rest of the night was spent in near silence. We ate quietly, dressed for bed, and slept. 

A Thought: These tiny traumas, tiny disasters begin so unnoticed, a wind that turns into a hurricane, a dash of oil that ignites, yet can build and build into such horrifying outcomes. In our daily lives, these are things that can possibly be avoided, the hurricane of a verbal fine, the fire of a confused action. Take notice of the little initiators. Doing so could prevent large, disastrous outcomes. 

Vegetable Soup Eyes that Watch the World

Waking this morning, unable to sleep anymore after my boyfriend's "see you later" kiss as he went off to work, I was accompanied by a familiar restlessness. The roof seemed the only place to go and so I went, straddling the wall. There's something about elevation that seems at one time natural, an expected preference, but then at another time transcendent. Most of us live between five and seven feet off the ground. We are stuck by gravity to remain on the ground, to inhabit a vantage point that keeps us, in the great scheme of things, quite small. Sitting on a roof four floors off the ground, I become greater than my building, greater than the small buildings around me. I see over them and into Manhattan ahead of me, Brooklyn behind. The city, which is so easy to feel lost and swallowed up in, becomes an objective pinpoint "over there." It is small, manageable, containable. I like to look down on things, see them from above and watch.

Only a few people were on the street so early, though, in my part of Brooklyn, there are often only a few people on the street. An elderly woman entered her apartment building across the street, a few kids walked down the street, I'm sure happy for Saturday, a van of workers pulled up and begin unloading supplies as the climbed onto the roof of the single story building next door. 

A few workers noticed me, curious about the girl precariously poised on a fourth floor roof who watched them. A few waved and smiled. After sitting for a little while, I noticed another people watcher. An elderly man crouched at his window across the street with a cup of coffee, doing exactly the same thing I was doing. However, he didn't notice me, didn't realize that he had became part of the group of people to be watched on this early morning. I watched him watch the workers I had previously been watching. I wanted to wave to him, welcome him into this voyeuristic complicity. However, he didn't notice me. I left as the workers began changing on the roof, offering them privacy though the elderly man continued to watch. 

A Thought: There's a balance one must find as an actor of stripping down one's own tendencies and idiosyncrasies and developing new characteristics of the character. But where exactly is this balance? One creates and inhabits the character through the self, but where is the line between the self and the character and where do these two merge? That I do not yet have an answer for.    

A Find: Interstate Gallery on Knickerbocker. Last night there was an opening reception for a new exhibit that was based off of David Lynch's Twin Peaks. Opening receptions are wonderful. There are so many people to meet, artists to speak with, the gallery owner himself to become friendly with, as well as the art, of course. Any chance you have of going to opening receptions, go!