She Speaks in my Metaphors

Taken From the Czech Files--February 3 2003

"I sat down to write something meaningful today. Something to quench those age old desires and wrangle my restless pen. I want my introspection back. All I seem to be able to do is peer out the windows onto the square below, and watch the snow fall nearly horizontally from amarylis shaded eyes. The houses in the hills sit like snow globe entombed residences, too perfect and powder covered to actually exist. The double-viewed windows of the old town hall glimpse west, returning with the familiar sleepy heavy-lidded grey skies, the ones dogging me almost with out end since early October. I wonder if it's the honey I smell, or the ice.

I'm thinking about Communism and the passing of time. So much is unevident, everything with its shiny new coat of paint. But who's ever to say in the shapeshifting realms of cause and effect? Fifty years is no lifetime, the sun again rises. For those lost in the dark there was no return. For those casting aside the history , flames swallow that dubbed too true to remember. I'm thinking about time and history, this endless day morphing in the confines of my starved imagination. The people keep coming hurrying off to meet their history, while women in pointy black boots and skirts slit up to here push Woodrow Wilson baby carriages and night falls with the subtlety and grace of collecting dust. I've lost control of my pen, no longer honed after years of practice my mind spinning in space flirting with all directions and I can't hold on to anything long enough to transcribe. So much for meaningful. The lights are slowly coming on across the way, one after another spreading the mosaic conformism across the hillside.

How does it end?

I'm not the rebel fleeing from reality to the safety of unknown oblivion. I'm not the lowly heart searching the hovels of Africa for my long lost spiritual redemption. I'm not the wanderer searching for the family I never had, though maybe I should be. I sit and sip my tea, listening to the carousers jokes which make no sense and I wonder on reentry and its propensity to be the very same thing, only in a language I have a better handle on. Where do I run to? In a small town the size of Prague, where do I hide?"

Feliz-edad?

At home, in MD, being swallowed by the overwhelming Columbia-ness of the bubble. Just a small note to say that:

1. My mothers car sounds like a dying bovine, but driving is still most excellent.
2. The Mormon temple is Disney Land.
3. My family is tiring.
4. Boyfriend no. 2 is an AMAZING cook.
5. Coffee is suprisingly unnecesary when you sleep for 15 hours straight.
6. Phone is fixed, but I lost all my numbers, so text me yours.
7. Home is weird when theres just food around 24/7 and you eat constantly. I think I'm just way too good at being the poor college student
8. We have H&M, so life is grand.

Catch y'all on the flip side in...7 days.

That just about sums it up...

fulduh: ive killed my phone and my laptoop and yea
fulduh: kiss of death
FrenchLlamaDiet: hahhahaha
FrenchLlamaDiet: welll i could have told you that
FrenchLlamaDiet: you turn boys gay and electronics to crap
FrenchLlamaDiet: go you
FrenchLlamaDiet: hahha its almsot a superpower?
fulduh: i know!

One more final in 2.5 hours, which I can't summon the energy to care about. Napping in Templeton was my vital mistake.

Home in 36 hours...

The Living Dead

Procrastination at my best, I thought it'd be fitting to revive the dead list of yore. Then again, that might just be trying to finish my second paper in two days after actually, heaven forbid, relaxing for a couple hours tonight with pizza, beer, and tv. And Bailey's. But yea, for the record:

Its 12:45 am on Sunday morning, and I have

Dead:
-21 Page Global Inequality Paper on Transnational Organizing in the Indigenous Rights Movement
-20 minute presentation on representations of food politics in The Simpsons
-Final 6 page Spanish composition on How I Ran Away to Latvia
-9 Page Race and Ethnicity Paper about Russian Immigration to the Portland Area
-Bureacracy involved in registering for Russian at Portland State University next semester. They apparently haven't been informed of our supposedly well respected Foreign Language Exchange between the Portland Universities Consortia. Oops. Well leave it to me to enlighten...

Dying:
-2 Five Page Papers which together make up my Race and Ethnicity Final. Both well drafted, now I just have to prettify and cite
-Neccesary Studying for Spanish. Reread some cuentos, am still trying to revive the energy to care about Literary Criticism and Historical Movements in Spanish literature en espanol por supuesto

Alas, Still Writhing About in Gleeful Agony:
-Studying for what will surely be my most wicked final, Global Inequality. The review shit itself was like 7 pages long...
-Memorizing spanish literature terms
-Formalizing my internship for next semester at Catholic Charities (hush) Refugee Program
-Christmas Shopping, which sadly can't be laughed off this year on account of MY ENTIRE FAMILY SHOWING UP IN THE BUBBLE IN LESS THAN TEN DAYS
-Cleaning my house in Portland, which I haven't slept in in like, at least 10 days...Some WFR kids are crashing with me in January and our place is...well...disarray doesn't quite cut it

At least I'm mostly done with playing nice with heart doctors for the month. I'm, well, alternately petrified and quite intrigued at the process of going through airport security with a heart monitor. But I'm on lists to begin with, so why not spice things up a bit?! As my sister, who is currently radioactive due to cancer treatment, said, if we both make it back alive, then nothing a family holiday can throw at us can bring us down.

So hear me o gods of holiday doom, bring it.

All things considered, housing crap aside, I'm happy to report I think I'm surviving my first real finals week of real classes not to badly. I make no attempt at actually speaking English after writting semi-constantly for 10 days, but Russian does me better in the long term anyway. But I'm in love with my brain, kind of sickly proud of writting and writting and writting and creating and producing and deducing, and yea. Maybe academia isn't half bad after all.

Save travels to everyone, if you're back in the Columbubble for the holiday, be sure to come check out my sexy wires...If not, I'm back in Ptown as of January 3rd. Yep, thats a whole 12 hours prior to my golden birthday...

He he he.

?!

For the record, its December.

WHAT THE FUCK.

See below post.

In other news, I officially fail at being Russian president. Fail fail. But pass the word, we're having a christmas party next week. Which I should probably have notified, you know, people of.

D'oh.

I like to get all tied up and rescue myself, then it's off to the park and a scoop of icecream for my hero

So does it count as REALLY dumb to change one's topic of one's final research paper due in two weeks if one hasn't done any real research on said first topic?

Ha ha, yes children. I only write in third person when life is reaaaaaly interesting. But what can I say, I'm kind of burnt out on writting about the complexities of Russian social structure for a while. Me thinks transnational indigenous organizing and this wicked cool Siletz grandmother whom I met this summer would be, well, less brainfull-tiring. And just, way cool.

Check it: http://www.grandmotherscouncil.com/

And if you need me until December 13 (which is, like, way soon) I'll be at Papacinno's/PSU Library/Starbucks/Watzek. Pretty much, not my house. 'Cause the only way my house is livable, is in my bed.

Curtain Call

Oh band. I'm so...high right now, like back in the old days when the stage still meant something and putting on concert black was like prancing about in a tutu and tiara, just, totally casting a spell and stepping into another world. And music still holds that mysterious power to make me forget, for just a little while, and be totally immersed in my task. I've been fighting off a cold and just, lack of caffeine induced utter exhaustion all week, but as soon as I look up and there is music going on around me, magically my nose isn't running and my body isn't aching, and it always seems to be such a ---revelation.

I wanted to say we killed tonight, but not quite. The truth is, at points I was honestly expecting the director to stop and start again, it was that bad. But the main thing is we were so on, had such the connection to the 20 or 30 people in the audience, that everything seemed to line up, and pull in just the right times and places. You could feel it too, once we got a couple of pieces into what is for my totally non-music oriented school a pretty heady program, and everyone slowly sat a little straighter, and played a little brighter.

It was almost epic, I have to say, in that moment in time with the rain dripping in the background. I held my breath a little, thinking back through every other curtain call, every other barage of applause, every other gut wrenching first entrance. I looked out over the band, and they joined every other ensemble of which I've ever been a part in my mind's eye, in a transparent mesh of song and moments.

I am wondering where a year and a half from now will have me be, and what role the pulsing of sounds and banging of beats will have.

And mostly, I'm wondering how I'm going to write a three page analysis of Juan Ramon Jimenez tonight, en espanol por supuesto. But for now I really want to just go frolic in the rain in my tutu and tiara, and not break the spell quite yet.

Life is too short for people behind desks and people behind masks...

I've been looking back a lot lately, and discovering the phenomenal differences between looking back fondly, and looking over your shoulder, paranoid that life might be going to catch up with you. I can't describe how strange and surreal it is, to have woken up in a new world. Like my life of easily the past 4 years was this beautiful and horrifying dream, that as hard as I tried, I couldn't quite wake completely from. I look back on my own desperation, intrigue, even curiosity, and it seems like I'm sifting through a sitcom I'd watched loyally in high school. I can't describe how totally bizarre it is, and completely disconcerting to be...OK. Good even. The sheer euphoria of being alive and engaged and interested, still is a little novel. I cant keep from questioning the boundaries around me, and how I'd managed to dupe everyone for so long. The thing I keep coming back to though, in mulling over everything that's happened to me and with me and around me, is that in some sense I feel like I've traded in my poet's eye.

I know, geez Peggy, here we go again.

But really, hear me out.

In regaining some realistic emotional stamina, it seems as if life somehow means differently. I was going to say less, which is kind of true, but definitely not all encompassing. What I mean to say is everything I do, every minute interaction, every small relationship I stumble on in passing, is weighed differently. I think in the past while being so wrapped up in my mind, every experience I found myself in was somehow the end of the world. I've kind of always felt like life effected me differently, like in some ways everything just meant more to me, like I had the world on my shoulders. Then again, I am the girl who would will herself to stay awake because she thought those who needed her would some how know, and be comforted, by her presence. I look back to the days before life swallowed me whole, and I envy that Peggy a little bit, for living so fully and loving so freely. The trade off for gaining a new perspective is exactly that--a new perspective. I miss (and I can't believe I'm even writing this) everything meaning so much. I miss drama, because that meant that life was happening with me in hand. I love it that I've finally learned to look in the right directions for my strengths and salvations, but in a small way I feel like I'm missing a lot, just by giving up the right to feel and experience everything. I miss being possessed so fully and completely. I miss having passionate crushes on boys. I miss having secrets, and hidden dreams. In coming into myself, I've learned to spread all my cards in front of me, and look the dealer in the eye. I miss having a poker face.

The thing they don't tell you about listening so intently to the winds back when the world was new is that eventually you get tired, and then you go deaf. And then maybe, if you're lucky, you remember that you have been gifted with smell, sight, touch, and taste. I think thats what happened to me, that life got so overwhelming and blew so hard that eventually I just couldn't hear anymore. And only now can I really look around again, and hopefully with time, trust enough to open my ears.

I'm ok, really. For the first time in a while, I'm not saying that just to put people of my trail. I am so, intrigued by the world right now, that I really just don't know what to do with myself. Thats it, really. I don't know how to not be depressed and exhausted and confused and trapped. I have never learned the skill of being just human. I don't know how to not be so effected by life that it tears me apart. But I am doing my damnedest, and having a damn good time learning.

Life tonight, almost makes sense. School is hellish, but the change is radical now that I'm totally hooked on Sociology. Everything fits together so miraculously, I confuse which paper goes for which class, because they're all so interrelated. I was asked lately what made staying this year, not heading to Chile and living blissfully as a perpetual exchangee, worth it. I don't have the words to explain how I betrayed myself when I decided to stick it out here in Portland. The best I could say was that traveling lets me be the best parts of myself, and in staying here, even though leaving would have been much easier and fulfilling in mind and body, I wanted to learn how to be that girl regardless of situation. I want to harness the freedom and lucidity and adventurousness and confidence and gregariousness that I so revel in when I am abroad, and be that person regardless of passport stamp. I'm...getting there, slowly.

I accept things falling into place, however warily (theres that looking over my shoulder again). I somehow managed to con the LC registrar into paying me to take Russian at PSU next semester, which is so more than sweet. I've missed it, I really have. I'm so sickly looking forward to spending a good deal of winter break reverting back to Zen grammar workshop, the act of beating grammar patterns to death. I love the exhilaration of properly placing my thoughts into the mold of the Russian linguistic frame. Spanish has never come so freely to me, its always seemed a good deal more nebulous, without the grounding of the case system. That and I hate myself a little bit everytime spanish comes out of my mouth, just because I know I have never devoted enough of myself to mastering the language, and that the words spilling from my mouth in a thick russian accent are thus inferior. Dork? Yes. Next semester I am totally stoked, in addition to the Russian I'm hoping to do some volunteer work for the Immigrant and Refugee Community Organization of Portland. This will hopefully involve doing more of my home visits from the summer, hanging out with some crazy foreign kids, and throwing my weight around where it really matters. I haven't really planned the project all the way through yet, still working on finding a So/An prof to back me up for practicuum credit in the department. I'm applying this summer for student/faculty research money, to work with my Russian advisor on an ethnographic survey of the ruskogovorjashix of Portland. She wants to investigate the Russian-ish community of Portland, and how they've faired in the past fifteen years since the raspad of the USSR. All of the information on the subject (albeit quite sparse) is pretty ancient, or totally irrelevant, so the work that we could be doing is really exciting. That is, contingent on me applying and getting funding from the college, otherwise all is for naught.

Overall, if I could sum up everything that I've learned about life (Thank you Frost) in three words or less of course, it would be this. It goes on. I'd say that you owe it to yourself to be comfortable, and to keep fighting until you get there.

So color me...pensive.

Oh, hippies.

I'd just like to take this moment, huddled in the cyber cafe with 9 other strangers peering intently at the 530 news, that its moments like this that I love my school. Its election night, pitch dark and pouring outside, and professors and students alike are milling around amazed by the double presence of both Tom Brokaw and Tim Russert on NBC news. I love it that LC kids are pumped for government and life and well, engaged. I love it that LC kids have been milling around impatiently at all TVs and computers all afternoon, waiting for the first signs of poll returns. I love it that one professor this afternoon said he'd excuse anybody from the remainder of class who needed to drive down to the ballot box and vote. For all the crap that I give them, on rare days that everyone comes together in the pursuit of passions, and intellectualism, and civic involvement, well, I wouldn't trade Portland for anywhere else in the world.

I hope you don't mind that I put down in words...

Cuando me enamoré por primera vez tenía 12 años y estaba en el octavo grado. Él era mi mejor amigo, nosotros nos conocíamos de todos los grupos de música de la escuela, ya hacía más de dos años que conocíamos. Él estaba ya en el noveno grado, (no importaba que fuera más joven que yo por un mes) y yo tenía muchísimo miedo de que alguien se enterara de que salíamos. Salimos por cuatro meses, un tiempo largo cuando eres un adolescente, en que pasamos todas las tardes juntos tocando el piano y cantando las canciones de la época de nuestros padres. Nos separamos en una manera muy dramática, en el centro de la calle en la lluvia. No podía soportar que le faltara la confianza, y me preocupaba demasiado que fuera a dañarse. Le dije que esperaba que el obtuviera ayuda con sus problemas, y él se enojó. Nos separamos y él no habló conmigo en más de un año.

La segunda vez, me enamoré otra vez de un músico, y otra vez en secreto. Era una estudiante de primer año del colegio, y él estaba en su año final, lo cual fue bastante escandaloso. Tocábamos percusión para el colegio, y por eso pasábamos mucho tiempo juntos. Salimos por un rato en mi primer año, y también una vez más cuando ya estaba en segundo año. Cuando salimos por la segunda vez, era mayor, y sabía en que entré. Creo que hay siempre una pequeña conexión entre los amores viejos, que dura mucho más después del tiempo en que están juntos, y así fue entre nosotros hasta que yo salí del país por un año. Tomamos una copa cuando volví a casa para una visita pequeña, y pasamos la noche charlando y riéndonos de todo lo que había sucedido en esos años. Me he dado cuenta que somos muy diferentes, y me pregunté cómo era posible que fuéramos íntimos por tanto tiempo.

Cuando yo volví de mi intercambio, conocí a un chico nuevo en mi escuela secundaria, a quién por supuesto le interesaba también la música. Él ya conocía mi grupo de amigos, pero yo lo odiaba por tener una novia por dos años. Durante la temporada de la banda había tiempo para conocernos mejor. No fue hasta que yo partí para la universidad, que me di cuenta de lo que lo extrañaba. Hablábamos dos o tres veces por semana, y pasábamos todo el tiempo que yo estaba en casa juntos. Dejé el país una vez más para mi semestre en Rusia, y el me escribió casi cada día. Escribía sobre su vida en la universidad en Minnesota donde asistía, y de cuánto él me extrañaba. Estábamos tan lejos el uno de la otra que no sabía qué hacer. Regresé a Pórtland después de viajar, y él vino a visitarme durante sus vacaciones, cuando por fin pudimos discutir lo todo. No fue ni bonito, ni limpio, ni muy sano, pero en mi opinión es siempre mejor saber la verdad y los sentimientos que se influyan en la situación. Desgraciadamente, él tuvo que volver a su universidad, pero afortunadamente hemos podido quedarnos amigos.

Creo que la sociedad nos enseña a adorar a otros por unas razones equivocadas. Nos enamoramos porque pensamos que con otra podemos completarnos. Queremos buscar a otro porque tenemos miedo de estar solos. Es importante que uno sepa estar solo consigo mismo antes de poder estar con otro. Pero yo sé que todos deben aprender este hecho ellos mismos también. Creo que ser adorado, y adorar son las metas más importantes de la humanidad, pero también necesitamos estar listos para cualquier cosa que vaya a pasar.

HAPPY DANCE

Bruce Potlatch paper of doom is DONE oh joy there is hope :-D

Now, papers 2-5? Bring it.

i'm not an angry girl i just have everyone fooled

what a totally bizarre day.

I finally got some sleep.
I participated in a remotely eloquant manner in several of my classes.
I napped by the reflecting pool while looking down at the mountain.
I declared my second major.
I had two deep conversations with perfect strangers.
I walked home in the sunshine and picked rasberries.
My sister has cancer.

What a totally bizarre day.

Existential Potential

Of course the rains came the same time as my torrential readings, it figures. I love this weather, actually, its kind of like one less thing to worry about, sickly pleasing. And my snot green raincoat is the love of my life.

Mostly through existential crisis numbe one of the semester, which leaves me with the dual kicker of being all the more sure of where I am and what I'm doing and why, but restless as all hell for the duration. There will be mayhem this summer though, of that, I am very sure.

Classes are intense, the whole applying myself to the utmost of my potential, perpetually, is still really a new thing. The only way I'm close to staying on top of things is using every minute that I'm not in class to be reading. Every minute that is, that I'm not working in NE, tutoring, hanging with los rusos, or wandering in the park. I've come to the conclusion again, though, that I'm really quite inelloquant. I'm always so pysched whenever I do actually know whats going on in discussions, and I like, fall over myself to be able to participate. And then, well, hella verbal diarehea...Oh, Mean Girls.

I gotta get back to Peggy time, because that more than anything else raises the walls again. I haven't had time to myself, since I left for MD last month, and its starting to make me twitch. Time to myself, and workouts.

Over and Out, 50 some odd pages of "The Ecology of Freedom". And sweet sweet caffeine.

Funny

Its always funny to me how things come full circle. Went to the first night of percussion tonight, and 'lo and behold, I am the only chick.

And right back to that same place, 7th grade, where I'm throwing jabs, taking charge, and totally the sarcastic little whore that we know and love.

Just one of the guys.

It was sweet.

Why is it 12.19 pm, and I'm sitting in the music office blogging?

Because I am .005 away GPA wise of getting put up for honors Russian. OK, so yea, this whole crazy idea, was very much just that, completely friggin' sumashedshie, nu tak kak vsjo u menja. Its nuts, but I dig it, and I'm kinda a lot disappointed. I can wait and do it later, if I can bring my GPA up (with 3 SOAN classes? unlikely), but that means either another summer in Portland schoolin', or the dreaded back to back thesi senior year. No, I don't have to write an honors thesis in Russian, but I think I've thought it through pretty clearly and rationally, and this will have a lot of play in what I want to do with at least a good portion of the near future, and the experience would be incalculable.

So, how do I actually do the whole school thing then well? How do I play this game so I get what I want out of it? I am such a psuedo student, I honestly don't know what I need to do to get better at this, and that in itself scares the crap out of me.

But in other news, the sun is out, classes are intriguing, there are new drummers/otherwise beautiful people, I've already got into it with the band director, my house is semi-put together, have I mentioned its sunny??, and I speaka the russian pretty damn well.

Life is grand.

Kam Jdem?

Long post stolen from me in the chaotic 2 weeks sans internet...may attempt to recreate it but first I must pretend to pack.

Home to Portland tommorow, for now:

"We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."
T. S. Eliot (1888 - 1965)

Je ne parle pas francais...n'est pas?

This was truely a weekend of forwards and backwards and general insanity. I spent all day Saturday (and I do mean all day) up in Camus for AFS arrival orientation hanging out with a crazy group of kids, and feeling incredibly old. As horribly mismanaged and slightly incompetent as this organization can be, among them I am with my kind. Around exchangers I have that instant identification and commonality that I get so rarely anywhere else. It doesn't matter who, or where from, or where to, but if you've gone through a year pretty much dropped in the middle of nowhere at your own volition, I will probably find some reason to like you.

The whole day started out in typical Peggy fashion: I set my alarm for 4:55 am in order to be in outer SE Portland by 7. I wake up at oh, 6:15. Silly cell phone alarm clock, you have foiled me once again. Only then do I realize, oh shit, I'm at the new place, not the apartment, so all the downtown busses are a good 15-20 minute walk back down Palatine Hill. Oops. I throw on some clothes, run down to the Fred Meyer stop, miss the 12 by maybe 2 minutes. I spend the next 38 minutes while waiting for the bus plotting ways to make it look like I've showered in the last, oh, 35 hours. The new short-ass hair actually pulls this off suprisingly well. By the time I make it out to SE, we all pile into their van, and arrive at the church in Camus, I've now made everyone (group leaders, volunteers, students) a good 2 hours late. Bravo, yes I know.

I am volunteering as an orientation group leader for the year. Basically, I work with this sweet old librarian guy named Dan (Don? Quizas?) and a group of 9 AFS-ers at each of the orientations through their year here. We've got Turkish, French, German, Norwegian, Phillipino (half Indian), Thai, and Japanese. I think eventually they'll be an Italian girl too, but AFS Italia apparently summarily postponed all outgoing students because of the London crap for five days. Poor things. The Turkish boy was pretty silent, he told me he comes from Istambul, and his favorite things to do are chat and internet. Rural Washington will either do him a load of good, or kill him. The German boy and Norwegian girl, well, I predict they'll be down each others pants by the Pendleton Roundup outing mid September. Sweet kids, but yea, sparks a plenty. It made me laugh remembering our hookups (Alejandra and Cowri sharing a sleeping bag. Good times had by all). The Thai and Japanese girls were both really quiet, but given time and patience I'm sure they'll catch on. You can tell so quickly who is simply frightened and engaged, versus shut off completely. I keep finding myself wondering what people though about me through those first hellish moments...could I project that open mind yet? The Phillipino kid, he totally cracked me up. Kids more fluent than I am. He told me his home language is English, as he grew up in Bahrain, and its the only common language between his parents. He introduced himself by asking whether I liked American Idol. It breaks my heart though that hes still without a permanent placement, like, he'd be the perfect student. No communication problems, already pretty well aculturated, and so very eager and enthusiastic.

And alas, my pet French girl. Probably the least English competent of all, given no sleep and perpetual deer-in-headlights condition. So sweet, and totally freaked out by everything. I'd introduced myself to her early in the morning, before we were even in group sessions for some reason, so at least I think she felt Ok with me. When it become very clear that her spoken English comprehension under the circumstances was less than helpful, even at half speed with three word sentences, the Phillipino and I started trying to throw her a few words here and there. That was probably my first mistake, you know, we're supposed to be all about the ra ra ra trial by fire philosophy. Then, for the rest of the day, I'd catch her eye during the discussions, and she'd throw me a pleading look. Anytime we'd want everyone to give us a response of some sort, I'd do my best to explain the questions, either in French (ish), written out, or charade, all the while thinking, "damn it girl, why are you not spanish/russian/czech?!?" My French is less than abysmal, but I'd be lying to say I didn't get a kick out of trying. And if nothing else, it put her a little bit more at ease. However, I definitly never imagined I'd spend my debut at Portland AFS speaking French all day. The melange of Czech/Spanish/Russian, sure. But French, nope, not so much.

Someday todos de mes langues van a hacerse de mejor. Odnazhdi.

I'm glad I got to be a part of their first day in country. It brought back so many crazy memories. But overall, I'm glad I can a person for them here that I would have wanted back in the day in Czech. It'll be really interesting to watch the whole crew develop over the school year, in ways I'm sure I can't even imagine. I can say without hesitation that that year made me the person I am today, and I can't help but be excited for all of them, as they embark for the very same crucibles.

The house is shaping up nicely. Its so much bigger than I guess I've grown accustomed to, that I keep putting things down, and totally losing them. We had the place to ourselves this weekend, and oh the luxuries of an empty house to stretch out in. The room is coming along, we've got some serious procuring to do, but I can see it taking shape. Five days on a real bed and I think I've been officially converted. That and its my father's tirade of the moment, the whole "why don't you buy yourself a mattress? you never take good enough care of yourself. you're so cheap you don't respect yourself enough..." and more bullshit. Cracks me up, actually. But the bed, soooo nice. I'm pysched for this perpetual flux to be over, for people to stop turning over, for the new girls to arrive, and for this year to finally get started.

I cannot abide limbo, surprise, surprise.

Home Friday, for a marathon of people and places and pretend. But most of all, finally finally escaping to the woods!!

Free at least

I am moved out of my first shitty apartment.

This house may proove me social yet. Either that or be quite awkward.

Weird how this feels more like "school" than school ever did.

Potence

I am twenty years old. I do not demand that you take me seriously. I demand that you look at me when you are speaking.

The Continuing Adventures of Peggy the Transient

Well, OK. Breath. Yes. Moving on.

I am pretty well not going to Chile next year, for very many reasons, probably most tangible being I can't get my last major SOAN requirement otherwise. Of course theres more to that, so much more to that, but I don't have the energy to rehash again. I'm afraid I might change my mind again, and the waffling itself is killing me. I've made my decision, and to have half a chance in hell at succeeding at this, at these next two years, I need to focus my will and intentions and passions on right here, right now. And right here right now has a lot that really is exciting me, honestly it does. But the pang and pull of flight is semi-constant.

Turning to the next chapter, there is most definitly a strange girl living in my room at the new house. It figures, right? Apparently, some friends of one of our future roommates are pretty much squatting in the house until their new place is finished. Apparently, they thought we weren't moving in until September. THEN WHY THE FUCK WOULD I HAVE PAYED RENT FOR AUGUST?!

On the plus side, Ri and I are mostly moved out of the apartment (ok her more than me), and shes pretty much claimed the back half of the room already. I figure we'll force 'em out by will and subliminal messaging, if nothing else. I'm tired of all this constant flux, prepetually stress (life?)and really just want to get settled. We still have all the furniture, and most of the kitchen stuff to get rid of. I'm trying very hard to re-focus, because this too is all temporary. I'm really good with touchable solid deadlines and stress, because then I know that I can look 2,3,4 days down the line, and know that it will be done. And by next Friday, this will be done too, it has to be. We have to be out of the apartment by the 11th, and honestly, yea, sucks to be the squatters, but not really my responsibility. Nope Nope.

What have I got myself into?

I am super pysched for fall, however, which in itself is frightening. What a strange new phenomenon, and honestly, quite jarring. My textbooks have been arriving in the past few days, and a: god DAMN theres a lot of them, b: they all, without exception, look really quire interesting. Heres hoping a new perspective and a new mindset is enough to hold on to that optimism for a little while longer. School, just always wears on me so quickly. I hate what it does to me...I remember writting in my journals about it senior year of high school, when I so desperately wanted the luxury of a year off. I hate how wound up school makes me, how stressed. Its like I totally loose the capability of letting anything roll off, because everything is so damned important and pivotal all the time. I think it just comes back to this very misguided notion that I am in control of my life and my surroundings and my action here, so much so that when something is thrown at me that proves otherwise, yea, total melt down. Travelling and living abroad has taught me to adjust, to just go with it. When you have absolutely no knowledge of the whys and wherefroms, you learn really quickly just to make do in the moment. Which I do, under normal circumstances, do incredibly well. Now if only I could manage to do that within the constraints of this continent we'd be all good.

I need my spine back.

In other grand adventures, I have officially made my grand re-debut as AFS super volunteer of choice. We had training for orientation group leaders yesterday, and the whole thing just put me in this great mood for once. I'd almost forgotten how much fun exchangers are, just flat out hilarious trippy people. I'm with my kind there, how amazing it always is. AFS experiences though, are forever riddled with this happy melange of nostalgia, regret, and laughter. Everything anyone mentions always brings to mind about 23 different memories of my various wanderings, the good, the bad. I don't want that time back, no. Instead I want the confidence that more such insane trials and crazy times will come. So next Saturday, ass early in the morning, I'm trekking out to Camus (thats "kaemoos" in Oregonian) to hang out with a bunch of no doubt crazy cool new AFSers, to hopefully shed some light on their hellish first days in country, and maybe perhaps remember why I'm here.

In other, other news, I finally succombed. Trekking out to Gresham on thursday to meet my Russians and do some more interpretting for their case worker, Amy, I fell deeply asleep on the MAX. This has been one of my more petulant preoccupations in my 2+ years in this city, falling asleep on transit downtown, and waking up half way to Ashland. Now I can happily cross that off my list of things to do while still in college. The great thing, so I wake up at the end of the Blue line train, Gresham center, laugh a while, scratch my head in embarassment, cross the tracks, and get on the train going the other direction. End of story? Yea, not so much. No sooner had I sat down going safely back in the direction of the known world, do I fall asleep again. I was aiming for E 188th Ave, no more than 4-5 stops back the way I'd come. Instead, I wake up around E 122nd. Ha. Ha. Ha. I wait 20 minutes for the train going back the right direction, jump off, run run run up to their apartment, and realize the case worker has beat me there by a good 20 minutes. Yes, I plead poverty and studenthood (but my research paper is done done done!!!!) but it was pretty damn funny trying to explain that to my Russians...

Enough, time to hike back up to the empty apartment...


"There is no need to go to India or anywhere else to find peace. You will find that deep place of silence right in your room, your garden, or even your bathtub."
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

and my friend Emerson, as prescient as ever
“Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Monotone.

"Life is always opening new and unexpected things to us. There is no monotony in living to him who walks even the quietest and tamest path with open and perceiving eyes. The monotony of life, if life is monotonous to you, is in you, not in the world."
- Phillip Brooks

12:06 am. Do you know where your procrastination is?

create your own visited states map
or check out these Google Hacks.


And this? Well, just pathetic.



create your own visited countries map
or vertaling Duits Nederlands

Post Heart-to-Heart

10:37 am. Officially not fired.

Damn, damn, damn. I fail at badasdom.

But on the plus side, may have revived my letter-of-recommendation chances. And hey, I have officially 12 more days of work.

The end is in sight.

Wow, now I feel like a total bitch.

But at least I didn't cry.

7:37 AM: And I'm still not fired

Revelation: Maybe thats just it. I've forgotten the greatest lesson of all abroad--the perpetual uncertainty of everyday. I need to get back to a place where everyday itself is a lesson, a gift, a discovery. To give in to total early morning cheeseball-ness, today, in all its forms and permutations, can be every bit as surprising and challenging and provocative as every day abroad. I can seek out new experiences and new parts of the city and new adventures of living on my own almost as easily here as I can there. I can block out all the distractions of real life, ok, not so easy here as there, but I can work on it. I can seek the unfamiliar and the breathtaking. I can conquer the stupid basic demands that life places on me, even though here they take on more complicated forms.

Is this a decision? Maybe.

Cuidate Bien...Te Mando Amorrrr

The jig is up.










No really. I mean it this time.

Shine

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsiously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
~Marianne Williamson

Metaphysic

My words soon...

It is I who must begin.
Once I begin, once I try--
here and now,
right where I am,
not excusing myself
by saying that things
would be easier elsewhere,
without grand speeches and
ostentatious gestures,
but all the more persistently
-to live in harmony
with the "voice of Being." as I
understand it within myself
--as soon as I begin that,
I suddenly discover,
to my surprise that
I am neither the only one,
nor the first,
nor the most important one
to have set out
upon that road.

Whether all is really lost
depends entirely on
whether or not I am lost.
~Vaclav Havel

No Talent Bitchwhore Hag

Dearest Mary,

In my 9 month tenure here, I have grown from lurking in the far reaches of your awesome powers and wisdom, respecting your great intellect and compassionate command of your field, cowering behind your mighty resume and publishing accomplishments, to fearing your twitchy eye, your bellow, your amazing knack for condescension, micromanagement, vindictiveness, disrespect, passive-aggressiveness, and most of all, sheer ineptness and incompetence in the broad realms of human management.

I took this job because I was truly passionate about the causes in which you place your drive and passion. Because I, a lowly 20-something, should be so lucky, to be taken under your wing and grand expertise. I thought nothing of the shitty pay and dismal hours, because I was enchanted with the prospects of working at a job for more than the paycheck, for believing in my work, and seeing real application and results for my slaving.

You have categorically set about to abuse me from the get go. You have single-handedly reduced me to a snivelling paranoid three-year-old. Because of your mindgames, I am afraid to tell my father the state of my life, while at a cafe, a good 10 miles from anywhere you might happen to spread your bile. Because of your paranoia, and miscalculated power-trips, I'm afraid I might be overheard, exaggerated, and tattled on, all of which in some way might possible diminish your platinum image in the eyes of any of the Deans, which, take your pick, you surreptitiously kiss their ass.

I have never, in my small time on this earth, experienced anyone with such a backward idea of mutual respect. You have ignored me, you have criticized my judgment when I fulfill your meaningless tasks, you have questioned my capabilities at every turn. All of which you've done through any number of intermediaries, because it does not behoove you to communicate in any sort of remotely direct manner with me. You have exerted your power to reduce me to a muted pile of doubts and anger at your feet. You have used every opening to make it as difficult to do my job. You have demanded to see every single piece of work which I have produced, you have edited, you have re-edited, and wailed that I never seek your official approval on anything I do. You have dismissed me as incompetent when I ask for clarification, you have argued snidely that I am arrogant when I self start.

You have given me a perpetual fear of the sound of flip-flops and skin-cancer.

No, I don't give a damn about your perfect little daughter's perfect little life. No, I don't give a damn about how much of a martyr you are, and how many hours you work. And no, I don't give a damn whether things are 10 or 11.5 point font.

I'm no longer sorry for whatever freak of nature denied you attention in your childhood. You have spawned my pity, you have spawned my optimism, so now, mostly, I wish you a large hole to fall into, so as to limit your contact with any living creature. You do not deserve any more.

Stress Reaction

Ponderance: Does caffeine perhaps increase one's metabolism?? Because I am fucking ravenous.

That is all.

I am such a friggin' girl.

Shout out to my girl Elyse, she-who-should-have-won Season One of America's Next Top Model. My sentiments, well, exactly:

"By the way, my countrymen, it's been eight months since I've been here, and I just love what you've done with the place! Chicken fries? "I'm N Luv (Wit a Stripper)"? Snakes on a Plane? Majestic! Our country is truly crunker than it has ever been. "

In other slightly related news, I am a really big girl, for better or worse. I was on my way out to Gresham to hang out with the Russians, with Amy, the caseworker. She drove me out so I could translate for her with a new family we were signing up for the kids outreach program. Poor chick is on crutches after a nasty bike accident a few weeks back. We're literally in sight of the exit off 86 I think, when she realizes the cars kinda making funny noises. We think nothing of it, 'till five minutes later it gets louder. I look out the window, and 'lo and behold, I glimpse pieces of car trailing after us back down the highway.

Me: "Um, I think you've got a flat tire or something"

Two more minutes pass, and the car starts weaving.

Me: "No, I'm sure you've got a big friggin' flat tire..."

So we pull off into the shoulder, I get out, and she inches past me. The tire is seriously shredded, like, it looks like it's been mauled by a small dinosaur. No sooner do we stand staring at each other scratching our heads, and I manage to get the bike rack off the back, the spare and the jack out of its little secret underground compartment, then a magical bearded stranger swoops down and rescues us. Two, in fact. This dude had the tire off and the spare on in, no joke, less than 10 minutes flat. I was AMAZED.

So to my mysterious bearded stranger I say this: LET ME CHANGE MY OWN DAMN TIRE, MKAY? I may look helpless and confused, but I promise you. ITS ALL A RUSE.

Dang it.

In other really less related news, I'm out of my lease on campus come September, and already daydreaming of Santiago, in all its dirty glory. OK, so daydreaming of Latin french brasilien guys who play gorgeously on their acoustic guitars and rock the Chuck Taylors. Oh me...

I'm wondering what my russian-czech-spanish hybrid will sound like...

Fug

So, for the most part, I've gotten used to everyone at my workplace just automatically assuming I'm their collective daughter. For the most part, I've embraced that, and used it to my advantage. Never have I recieved so much free food.

Until today.

Now, I love my job, and I've made a pretty solid concerted effort to dress the part of the poised mature office worker. I've consumed more makeup these past six months than I have in, well, ever. I dress much nicer, and much more conservatively, than I would otherwise. I am on time. I am cheerful. I am engaged. I am caffeinated. I am enthusiastic.

Friday's are my one and only day where I don't have to get up at 5:15 am, in order to be at the Graduate School by 7am. Fridays, are known to some, as casual Friday. So today I slept in 'till a most luxurious 8 AM, had a nice slow shower, nice slow breakfast. Hey, even caught a ride to school with Cat across the hall. I am dressed well, however, in jeans and a polo, and did not stop for coffee at the Chevron on the corner, as is now my habit. There is not a smidge of makeup on my face. Not even chapstick.

Enter caffeine headache of doom.

I was on my way to my bosses boss to get some signitures, earlier today. We have an atleast congenial relationship, and she seems to take a pretty solid interest in my affairs. She also has a 20 year old daughter, as does my boss. See above. So I get my signitures, and turn to leave, she grabs me by the shoulders and says:

"You know, you need to take care of yourself. We love you, and you do great work for us, and we love you, and by all means work work work make lots of money, but you know, if you need time off or something..."

Thanks, Mary. Thanks a big one.

I have just succeeded in dipping half my hair in my coffee.

Good morning Peggy. Its Monday and I have just succeeded in dipping half my hair into my coffee. Brilliant. I'm sitting at Papaccino's nursing a rather large carmel coffee concoction and a bit of an endorphin rush after fighting my way up the hill. I wanted so bad to stop this morning and decompress a bit, to purge some of this craziness on paper. But honestly, I don't know if I can let it flow when I know theres a time guillotine hanging over my head. I'll be late enough as it is, even just leaving here by 7, I'll make it up to campus by 7:30. But its finally a five day work week, so horray horray horray I'll be in and out in 6 hours.

Summer is slowly snowballing into one big experiment and excitement trip. I fear that the bubble will burst and the secret well where I'm finding all my energy will dry up and disappear. I've made a pact that doing good works will keep me sane, and so far so good, but it is such a novely I cant help but question the unexpected gift. I started working for Catholic charities a few weeks ago, doing volunteer, what? Tutoring? Life Skills? Cultural Orientation? Some conglomeration of all of it I gues. The coordinator for the refugee program is an L & C grad, desperate for Russian speakers, thus entery Peggy, stage left. She matched me with a Meshketian Turk family who arrived maybe a month ago from Uzbekistan by way of Voronezh for maybe 15 years. Only real hitch is they live way the hel out in SE, basically Gresham really, its like SE 182 and Stark, the end of the Blue line MAX.

En Route to Gresham...

So a rather delayed start due to some loss in the translation when I tried to kall the kids earlier, but hey, an unexpected detour to a new haunt and a beautiful barista who allowed my pithy attempts at flirtation, and hey, what more could a girl ask for?

I don't know why I want so badly to do this right, the whole Russian thing. Maybe it feeds these pangs of destiny that keep ringing so close, the unshakable affliction that I am in hot pursuit of my calling. I keep being told in very many small ways that I should be teaching, and I cant run far enough. Or maybe I'm full of shit and I just get off being able to speak Russian and do some small good in my world.

En Route to town...

I'm sitting on the train and the guys around me don't realize I know they're talking about me in Spanish. The girls behind me are trash talking some guy in Russian. And suburbia is forever suburbia, except for Portland is so gentrified that here the poor are pushed to the outskirts and the rich lounge about in $1000 apartments. But here the two faces of suburbia have come to a grudging peace and you have the modest 2 bedroom single family homes sitting across the wannabe culdesac taunting the newly arrived. The stratification is palpable, and I'm intrigued. Out as far as my charges live, not a person of color to be seen. Well, no, thats not true. When I got off the train earlier I saw a whole Black family chasing this very drunk Russian guy, screaming that he'd stollen some of their shit. I just do what I do best, keep walking, and imagine I'm as inconspicuous as I endevour to seem. And suddely everyone I see on the street, on the bus, on the trains, everyone is someone from somewhere else. I swear to God I was sitting across from the Russian woman who works at Ross who always yells at me for messing up the shoes. And its weird because faces are all taking on new weight and new meaning, and everyone I encounter becomes someone I knew in a past life. The recollections come in layers and suddnly it hits me, all the small mysterious sources of this petulant dejavus, whatever it is. Like on this trian now, suddenly, I am on the train v Cechach on the ourskirts of rural Prague, watching the monsterous panelaky give way to the city I so adore. The settlments are built up around transit stops, real autonomous villages with their own gyms and shops and bars, the endless trek into civilization encapsulated in the last 800 yards of parking lot to some consumer mecca. It is not in the grand philosophical meanderings that we are able to grasp the oneness of humanity, but rather in the mundane dailty battles and the well worn trip to somewhere and someone and something neccesary. And suddenly life here is life elsewhere, the layers of existance then just a matter of circumstance and faith. I wonder then, how rare it is to never really get that far in their quest for...what wholeness? Identity? Understanding? Its all luck, and the only thing that distinguishes my experience here from those people's lives back in Voronezh is just luck, perception, and the faith I have in my surroundings and my relationships. Thats just it though, experience is a matter of perceiving and processing the world, not of the events themselves.

The one in which my brain implodes goofily.

People are talking simaltaneously in all my languages and I think my brain might just implode from trying to eavesdrop on all of their conversations at once.

JAK ja bych chtela CESTOVATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT. OK. I'm done.

I think I've fallen in love with Peggy the city girl. Fallen all over again. I'm on the busw back up to the apartment, looking down over the skyline of my beautiful city, writing, and rocking out to some crazyass African folk music. Its been raining all day, and I'm pysched by the small unlikely inkling of a thunderstorm tonight. Most of all, I love that I'm on transit, eavesdropping like mad, and writing again.

Oh, for a cup of coffee and a stolen moment, I thouch the moon with hot red ponderances.

I must catch up on sleep before I go totally insane.

Visceral

The thing that always amazes me is my most visceral reaction to tradtion. To the places that I grew up in, grew into, and grew around. I have become so adept at functioning as a chameleon, at running at the surface and getting a pretty good pretty early read on places, that I forget what its like to know, instinctively. To not have to try so hard, all the time. Its...disconcerting.

On my way home...what a funny perpetuity.

Someone asked me this morning where I was going, and for maybe the first time in the airport, I hesitated. It wanted to come out "home", but never quite got there. And then I started to wonder, is this really it? I'm finished with that life, destined to a new age of weekend visits and fleeting glances on semi neutral territory? It just seems bizzare, yet another sign of this surreal and grand adulthood, that I can go home and be with my family, and then leave, be done with them, and come really home to our apartment. Like, when does home stop being home and just become just someplace you visit?

I must admit, I can never quite escape that trepidation going home, that urge to primp and present myself. I thought it used to be just seing LuLu, but I think its a greater issue of just wanting to prove progress. I come back so rarely, and such a long chunk of time passes between visits, I always want to show outwardly the changes and work and maturity that I've exprienced since the last venture east. Hence the haircut (though in my defense long since neccesary), I pluck my eyebrows, I obsess over the clothes that I bring, and become totally possessed by little stupid things that fall outside whatever "me" of the moment that I'm trying to channel. Totally hyperobsessing over my toenail polish right now, when , I mean really, what the hell does it matter?!

Responsibilitieeeeeeeeee Yeah.

Seeing as in this one week in the adult world I've already amassed like, 10 pages of blog bitches to catch up on, I figured I might as well venture back and rediscover my blogger sign on. And hey, if nothing else, an intruiging diversion at work. Now that I've edited all my photos from this year, like, what else am I gonna do?

Revelations/Recommendations of the Week:
1) Pay any and all university bills when you get them. Not like a month later, when you kinda sorta think your tuition might finally be do.

2) I realised that *gasp* I am working my job because I like it and it is meaningful to me and is challenging, and thats worth more to me than temping somewhere for almost twice as much money. Which is good, seeing as I will spend the rest of my life working heart jobs, instead of checkbook jobs. But yea, weird.

3) Keys are a very strange mark of stature. No seriously, think about it. The more keys you have, the more ties you have to your life around you, the structure that holds the world together, in a strange sort of way. I remember first getting a house key, in like sixth grade, and what a moment that was, what a marker in the coming of age saga, to finally be considered worthy enough and responsible enough to be entrusted a key and being home by myself. And the similar gasp when I was given car keys sometime in tenth grade, keys to Evans freshman year, etc. Well, my keyring is now bulging, and it kinda frightens me with its dearth. In the past week I've added a key to the building I work in, the key to "my" office, the key to our complex, the key to our appartment (!), and of course, my own personal favorite, the key to my bike lock. I think its mostly the speed of the transition. In like, two days I go from the watercolor world of writing papers and alarm clocks and cafeterias, to swiping anything I possibly can out of the staff room at my job, keeping a check book balance, finding my checkbook, arguing with people I owe money, budgeting, grocery shopping, arguing with payroll, going to MEETINGS, buying bus passes. Weird. Just. Weird.

4) Goodwill = God. Portland Goodwill not nearly as orgasmic as Chicago, but hey. I got me kitchenwear for like five bucks and thats pretty damn nice in my book.

5) I am really friggin' young. I spend all day with people more than twice my age, and no matter what feeble attempts I make at looking or acting older than I am, I always manage to stutter, or trip over my heal, or say something stupid, or get caught running to the bathroom barefoot 'cause my shoes are too damn uncomfortable. I'm beginning to realize that my age is really only an advantage, as disconcerting as it is, because having all these people just assume I am their twenty-something daughter, well, it only gets me into more places, and given more knowledge, and included in more things in the work setting than I would otherwise. So suck it up and deal Peggy. Be that as it may, someone really needs to teach me how to comport myself in that setting, how to dress myself, how to speak on the phone with really important people. Or better yet, just not be intimidated that quickly.

6) I really like being back on my own. I really like the appartment thing. It kind of hit me, earlier in the week when I was sitting outside waiting for my bosses to arrive and open up the place, that long lost joy bumping in my chest. I've never been able to properly explain to anyone, the euphoria and exhiliration I get when I'm abroad, when my every move is soley up to me, when I am not dependent on anyone, and no one has any needs or responsibilities towards me. The grace of independence, the freedom of being in control of myself, the fear of the unknown because I am in control of myself. Realizing this, is its own small breakthrough, because I never really thought I could have that feeling back in this country, under these circumstances, I thought I'd be trapped for the duration.

7) A new coat of paint does wonders, but so does newspaper on the ground first. You live, you learn, right?

All for now. Good vibes to Sarah G, on your way to somewhere new...I am heinously heinously jelous...Three years, is a seriously long time.

Send good vibes my way next friday, when I start on my way back to the bubble for the weekend. How much havoc can one really wreak in less than 48 hours? Stay tuned.

Gravity is not the only force at work in this world

Some things make me really ecxtatic...

Like running in the park early, when I realize the birds are back.
Like plotting my escape.
Like rediscovering eye makeup (I feel like this is a reoccurent Peggy post trauma theme?!?)
Like making globetrotting plans.
Like realizing I don't have to.
Like realizing I can.
Like finding Czech pop music randomly on Mytunes at 2 AM.
Like expressing myself in Spanish.
Like speaking Russian for three days straight.
Like getting people to answer to me in said languages.
Like getting emails from a life abandoned.
Like discovering certain people really didn't hate you back in the day.
Like waking up to torrential rain.
Like practicing in Seitz, god, the accoustics.
Like being hopefull, maybe.
Like buying shit.
Like sitting outside in the rain talking under the eaves.
Like...

Las cosas que vendran...

"music was my refuge. i could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to the lonliness."-maya angelou

there is mayhem afoot. things are going far too pleasantly to be real.

i'm off to town for a set up. its kind of sunny. i got my first paycheck in almost 2 years. i have a new plan of escape, but SHHHH its a SECRET. i have a new piece of music to bang out. i haven't completely killed my knees yet, so the endorphin fits may continue. i think i figured out the late in the day jags.

who tore open my universe?

That almost nostalgia. ¿Pero de quien?

Me Gustas Cuando Callas
Por Pablo Neruda, Siglo XX

Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente,
y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca.
Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado
Y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca.

Como todas las cosas están llenas de mi alma
emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mía.
Mariposa de sueño, te pareces a mi alma,
y te pareces a la palabra melancolía;

Me gustas cuando callas y estás como distante.
Y estás como quejándote, mariposa en arrullo.
Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza:
déjame que me calle con el silencio tuyo.

Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio
claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo.
Eres como la noche, callada y constelada.
Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.

Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente.
Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto.
Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan.
Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.



God. Sometimes I just want to go to Chile, like, now now now. Wanderlust is beginning to deceive me.

Why not.

My Personal Dna Report

EEEEEE.

I think I just got a job this summer at Girl Scout Camp in Vermont!!!!!!!!!!!!!


EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

These people want to pay me to go and run around in the woods all summer!!! And go and much around with a bunch of crazy girls!!!!!!!!!! And foreign Russian counselors!!!

AHAHAHAHAHAH.

Peggy Happy. Peggy Very Happy.

Endorphins are the New Pink

Maybe, just maybe, catching my breath today. I'm just out from a mile+ pool morning, and the blood is running and the day is disgustingly beautiful and fickle. This is, what, day six of the "Lets keep Peggy sane by working out" campaign, and yea, it will destroy my body but oh god, feels soooooooo good. Then had a naked Russian conversation in the locker room with Ira, which made me incredibly happy, and for the first time in months my day doesn't seem quite so oppressive.

In an effort to keep up this facade of clarity and honesty and non-opaqueness, yes, finally heard from him, was weird as fuck, but yes, am relieved, at the very least. Patience is not my strong suit, I just want to fix the world now damnit, not sit back and wait for the explosion. But I am learning, sometimes the explosions are the best lessons. Regardless, not my call to make. So thank you, again, to every shoulder I've cried on, every unsuspecting soul I've snapped at, every half-way decent conversation I've ruined recently by dumping my own baggage on top of and squishing to death.

That whole lets take people as they are thing is still very nacent. I'm afraid I'll break first, and the old ways are just too easy, too ingrained. Its just so easy to slip back into those habits, wall off the world, and play happily in my own little sanitary hole. I keep telling myself, its more than worth it to learn to deal, learn to feel again, not fear emotion and drowning, and more than worth it now. I keep telling myself either things will be resolved, or I'll get used to it, its just a matter of which gets here first. And it will, so for now, I'm exploring, as sick as that sounds.

I really honestly do believe that everything happens for a reason. Not the whole slap-happy omnipotent omnicient predestination thing, but yea. We are meant to walk the path that we are on, and to see where it leads us. Maybe that is just the peace I make with a world that confuses and frightens, maybe it is my easy way out. But too many times I've found myself at a complete lost, and the only option is to follow my gut, and let instinct lead me to where I should be. Thats all you have left, when all of your comparisons fall away, when everything you know, everything you've learned, everything you've experienced, when everything very suddenly and cruely doesn't apply any more. I think that reliance on instinct is part of what I've been really missing back here in the States, part of the whole dependence thing that I find so stiffling. And its also what I fear the most, just letting go, stop logicalizing, stop thinking the world to death, and to trust in myself and my surroundings, or who I've chosen to surround me, that things will come out OK in the end. But maybe thats it, you have to sink before you let yourself float.

This is not the end, of the troubles, of the meltdowns, of the confusions. But I'd be worried if it were. I don't know what I'm doing, I haven't got it figured out, and I laugh at anyone who claims to know. Maybe laughing in itself is a step, two feet over envy at the very least.


Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

Reminder.

(Anonymous)
2005-07-25 04:52 am UTC (link)
who is you ;-)? Sometimes I read your postings and really actually feel like all those times weve sat and philosophized, right now the night after backpacking talking on your back patio till 1 am in the dark...all i can say to you now is bravo. no, you're right, you're not cured. sometimes i think you never really are cured from a pivotal relationship...but maybe thats the beauty of it...would you really want to be over her in such a short time? Suprisingly ( or not) i do agree with you on the god concept. I believe things happen for a reason...not that things are predetermined, not that someone or something is dictating all of our actions, but just that if we live a purpose driven life, things all end up in the end...the question is just where..how...what the destination is. Sometimes it just takes longer to figure out what you're supposed to get out of the experience. Maybe thats just the peace i make with a life that is far to lonely and empty and spiritual and amazing and vital and interactive...that we are meant to be doing what we are doing. As for being happy with yourself, if thats true, bravo. Even just stating so is a step in the right direction...having that be somewhere on your radar, on your consciousness...Life is an act of making peace...with yourself, with the world, whatever, just as long as you dont concede and give up too much in the process. Remember, just because you're diving off in a new direction very soon doesn't mean you have to give up what you have here...(yea i know...haha coming from me, but hear me out). Too many times I've burned my bridges, just assuming that whomever was important to me would make the effort to stick by me...well guess what, when you take that attitude, the only person who looses is you. There is no need to resign yourself and be cut off unless you want to. Trust me on that one...

Give it to me.

You want a kick in the ass?

Here it is. This is all you're getting.

Fuck you. Fuck you for making me loose sleep over you. Fuck you for making me cry. I feel like I'm in fucking 8th grade. Fuck me for still worrying about you. Fuck life for being hard. And beautiful. Fuck passive agressiveness. Fuck me for not knowing what to do.

Fuck my phone for not ringing.

AHAHAHAHAH. Its funny 'cause its true.

Peggy is mostly likely to say the out-of-date phrase: Get out of here you lousy lollygagger To: Picasso Why? Because you found twenty dollars and they said it was theirs Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

excellent. thats the one.

peggy -- [noun]: A beat poet working the streets 'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

eeh...

Peggy will have to write:

I will not be distracted by passing butterflies

'What will you have to write on the chalk board?' at QuizGalaxy.com

If any of y'all do the spanish thing...please for the love of all things holy edit this!!

Margaret Fulda
2006-02-05
Español 301

El Monstruo Volador de Espagueti
Hace mucho tiempo, cuando el mundo todavía era nuevo, nació el monstruo volador de espagueti. En ese momento, no había nadie que entendía lo que pasaba. No habían las montañas altas, ni los mares anchos, y no habían las llanuras que doblan y ondean como ondas de océano. Había solo una tierra muy desolada, era repleta de granos de arena que saltaban y bailaron con el viento. El cielo se atascaba en el estado perpetuo de gris, como si los espíritus estuvieron decidiendo hacer una tempestad ó no. No había nadie que el sol necesitaba entretener, entonces a menudo él no se levantó hasta el mediodía, o fue viajando a sus amigos, los planetas. Cuando el momento propicio se ocurrió, el sol estaba visitando al bebé Plutón, y entonces no vio con sus propios ojos la creación del gran monstruo.

El día comenzó con una explosión de colores. Los tonos esparcen a través de la oscuridad y un viento que se olía de trigo sopló violentamente. El aire llegó a ser grueso con el olor de levadura y electricidad. La atmósfera lentamente obtenía más y más gruesa, y por fin sola con un taponazo pequeño y una chispa débil, apareció un hilo solitario de pasta. El hilo era sucinto, no más largo que un brazo pequeño de niño. Este hilo se acostó por un rato, entonces empezó a retorcer como un pez en un gancho. Luego, el hilo empezó a dividirse. Todo el mundo en ese momento estaba quieto, salvo el viento que contenía la respiración, como si todas las criaturas por todo el mundo miraran la ocasión de gran importancia. Con un súper grande estallido de trueno, los hilos de pasta se reunieron. Las pastas todavía estaban acostándose, pero ya formaron una vez, una criatura. Los olores y el sentido de peso con cada minuto estaban aumentando, y los colores que estaban por el cielo también intensificaron. Entonces, los hilos pusieron a pies y empezaron a moverse. Pues ellos oscilaron juntos, y cuándo pararon, los pedazos de espaguetis habían formado a una persona.

Gradualmente, el monstruo ganaba su fuerza, y crecía al cuerpo. Cuándo terminó, era su grande mojada monstruoso tallarín, el medía 38 pies. Por fin, tenía doce apéndices tallarines que se undulan con ritmo cuando andaba, y una cabeza tanto grande cómo cien calabazas maduras. No podríamos discutir los ojos del monstruo, porque si los discutiríamos, tendríamos que comer nuestras narices para que no faltáramos de respeto al gran monstruo. Pero si miráramos con mucha atención, en sus ojos podemos ver la luna de noche. Cuándo el viene a ustedes, van a sentirse como se sienten en una nube, es porque tiene tanta fuerza que usted no puede controlar su mente. Los miembros no son exactamente sólidos, con demasiados pensamientos, el monstruo volador de espagueti se disuelve a una masa de pastas. Como era en el principio, así lo que continua, y el monstruo huele de de trigo y pan que hornea. La gente puede reconocer su presencia de estos olores. Pero, ahora todavía está temprano para asuntos espirituales. Antes de que los humanos puedan reconocer la grandeza del monstruo volador de espagueti, el debe que hacer todo en el mundo, y solo después de eso la gente podrían entender lo que sea.

Por un tiempo largo, el mundo descansó como desierto, como la tierra desolada. El monstruo pude hacer lo que complació. Después de un rato, el sol llegó a ser perezoso, no tenía nada otra que tuvo que hacer, y así empezó a subir. A causa de eso, el cielo también llegó a ser perezoso, y así decidió no tronar. La vida del monstruo llegó a ser fácil, y él también comenzó a ser perezoso y aburrido. Sus apéndices tallarines ondearon menos lento, y el olor de trigo era menos fuerte. También la luna en sus ojos era menos obvia, y no le gustaron todo de eso. Un día, los colores brillantes en el cielo se regresaron, y también se ocurrió el olor muy extraño y fuerte. También se ocurrió lo que ya pasó, cuándo el aire mucho espesaba. Después, sin cualquier fanfarria ni explosiones, se apareció una cordillera de montañas anchos, altas, y con nieve tan blanco como la arena abajo. En ese exacto momento, el monstruo empezó a volar. Sus apéndices dispersaron por todas direcciones, la arena se arremolinó, y lo siguió hasta las cimas de las montañas. El monstruo volador voló de la montaña a la montaña, y sus apéndices golpearon con felicidad. Cuándo por fin él volvió a la tierra, un árbol grande apareció de sus ap­éndices omnipotentes de tallarines. Eso árbol era tan grande como las montañas nuevas y altas. Luego, por supuesto sin descansarse, una otra gran y poderosa criatura fue desovada de los apéndices. Los ap­éndices retorcieron una vez, y entonces allí llegó a ser un hombre diminuto que paraba diminutamente alrededor del árbol grande. Ese enano era tan pequeño, que si usted lo miraba, no podría verlo. Usted me debe creer que él tiene un sombrero púrpura desenvuelto en la cabeza.

Después que la creación, el gran monstruo volador de espaguetis descansó. Su poder gradualmente aumenta, y el aire gradualmente espese. Hoy, quizás ustedes podrían oler un poco de trigo, quizás todavía está temprano. Pero estoy segura, que es nuestra responsabilidad esparcir el amor y santidad del monstruo volador de espagueti. Esa es la fuerza de su poderoso apéndice de tallarín.

Engage. Now. Or alternatively, how I didn't jump his bones.

Forwarning, I'm spinning, and stream of conciousness and I don't have a particularly positive rapore of late. But there are things that need to be said, things that need to learn how to be said, things I need to wise up and deal with and learn how to say. This week, these weeks have been wrenching, like a washrag hung drip dry and then strung end to end, just to make sure everything that was there will wash away across the sidewalk, mixing with dust. Its funny, I didn't actually realize the absurdity of my actions, that I was in friggin' RUSSIA less than 2 months ago, and galavanting across the universe not even a month ago, Isreal to be exact-er. And then it hit me, school is scary, life is scary, staying still in one place is scary, being is scary. And hard, and turmoil, and gut wrenching, and beautiful, and wet. But most of all wet. I have not been stationary, static, relaxed, just not on guard, in far too long. Then I remember why, because staying put, staying still, means engaging, means slowing down for long enough to see the world as it buzzes by. It means sitting in the rain, in the dark, for five nights in a row in split screen, watching the you that you've been so long be confronted and destroyed. I've had it coming, for more than a while now, but borrowed time can only last so long, before it stretches and breaks, and there you are, alone on your ass.

Most of all, I didn't expect to miss you when you left. I expected relief, craved relief, thought finally, after so many years of expectation, maybe finally I'd be able to breath again. You came, an aberration, an anomale, and yes, in your wisdom, an overblown out of proportion dream of lonely nights. You left, today, in all your shaggy glory, a greater part of my life than when you blew in. You are simplicity on acid, you defy my logic, my expectations, my desires. I am more than definitly not over you, but if I were, this wouldn't matter so much, this entire process wouldn't have been so gut wrenching, because the stakes wouldn't have been so damn high. I wanted to hate you, wanted to find my small and itching reasons to have you gone...and I failed. You are my normal. You take me at my worst, you take me at my best, you take me when I am poking and prodding you and making you cry. You have to know, how much it burned that night, watching me destroy you, and knowing that I couldn't come over and put my arms around you and make the world go away. And then, lying on my floor, staring at the ceiling, and feeling your breath and the wind howl, I think somewhere in there I let go. You won't buy this, I know, I can hear you already, chuckling slyly. But its true, I lay there and listened to the rain pound, and felt you with your arms around me, and I realized that its time to learn to enjoy you, to take you for everything you have given to me, take every recollection, every awkard moment, every shy sadness, every hysterical fit of laughter, every time I ran to you, every endless conversation, every hellish daydream, every consolation, every extasy, every joy. I hope you know how much you mean to me...how much deep love and affection I have for you. I hope you know that I meant every word that was said. I hope you know that I will never let you fall through, that I will be around to kick your ass, and I take that very seriously. I hope you know that you are loved.

But darlin', if you ever pull this shit on me again, if you every put me through another week like this one, I will kill you. Know that, too.

The thing that sucks the most about finally having to deal with a small part of yourself, which you have, however unsuccesfully, shelled off from the world for quite some time, is how surreal everything feels. This attraction, this addiction, has been such a lingering persistance for so long now, I expect it to still be buzzing around like a bee, so much so that I almost miss the noise. Almost.

I definitly did not expect to regain some emotional stability out of the hell that has been this week, in fact, I'm not quite sure where this is coming from, but I'll go with it. I just got back from some more bonding time in the appartments, just sitting, talking, being, and for the first time in quite some time I could look around and respect being here, realize being here. Maybe this week shook me just enough to open up again, to expose myself again, that whole fear of vulnerability, violent, petulant, iron gripped. Fear for me is again the duality of life-- the impetus to wall myself off, and the need and motivation to fix it, to look within myself and make some changes. Woman, again you give me the ground under my feet, or remind me where to look.

And now, back on my feet again, there are some changes to be made. I have spent the first three weeks of the semester revelling in feeling out of place, and again out of control. I was that same muffled, shellshocked, creature that I yelled at you for being. I think Amy was more right then I ever wanted to give her credit for, we get very used to our habits of being. Be it depressed, busy, exhausted, enraptured, we learn these behaviors, and thus changing becomes not only the act of changing your mind, but also changing your habits. I can't be that person again, the one that swallowed me whole last year, I can't, and I refuse to be. And that person is exactly the one that I'm recreating for myself back here finally, but I can't do it again. I can't do 21 credits, tutoring, music, working 12-15 hours a week, and mantain any sort of peace. No matter how much I'd like to bury myself in the sand, to craft myself a life here bereft of any and all chance to be with myself, by myself, in my mind, I can't. I won't. So, within a few days, hopefully (unless I loose my nerve...) I'll suck it up and drop music theory, what a revelation, and for the first time in my college carreer only carry 17 credits. Engaging in my world right now means accepting the fact that I don't anymore want to be a music major/minor, and keeping up the facade is really just by force of habit, and that is stupid. Music will be a part of me and will be in my life because it is like breathing, not because I have my name on a piece of paper. Old dreams die slowly, but its time.

Enough.

Black cats, ladders and broken mirrors. That was all fine. Egging that hearse was where we went wrong.

"It is so much easier to live placidly and complaisantly. Of course, to live placidly and complaisantly is not to live at all."- Jack London

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new lands but seeing with new eyes."- Marcel Proust

"The most glorious moments in your life are not the so-called days of success, but rather those days when out of dejection and despair you feel rise in you a challenge to life, and the promise of future accomplishments."- Gustave Flaubert

"Fear not that your life shall come to an end, but rather it shall never have a beginning"- Cardinal John Henry Newman


So taking that beginning, and seeing where it leads me, I guess. Being back is definitely oh-so-strange, but things have been so crazy awesome so far I haven't really had a chance yet to get sad. I'm loving my mornings, when the fog sits on the hills way off on the other side of the city, and here we all roost like chickens, gazing out from our perch over the quiet green persuasion. I'm loving the rain, sitting nights and listening. Funny how you don't realize the presence of such small...well...the word in russian is a cross between jewelry, decoration, and beautification...Loving seeing everyone, though I loath loath loath all this crazy awkwardness of "OMG hi WHERE were you all last semester?! Abroad? Like, how was it???" I'd rather you not ask, thanks. I don't know you, and you don't know me, and honestly if I have to spit out a "fine, thanks for asking. How was your semester?" one more time, I think I might throw something.

Its so strange to be with out that bottom again, back without the ground under my feet. And yet at the very same time, I feel the most solid that I have in awhile. Was starting to get panicky yesterday, yes, haha what else, due to already piling up music drama. I went to bed last night convinced I was going to drop music theory, for god sakes let it go already. Woke up this morning, went and played some before class, and everything was more than fantastic. It was hell, I mean really, I haven't struck a drum in a reaaaaaaaally long time, and have absolutely less than no chops left over from last May, but it just felt so good. Me flailing around like a retarded 8 year old and all, always has its pick me up value. So relaxing. The impetus, however minute, to turn my brain off and just be, damn it, is most definitely something still eluding me.

I love doing what I do, wandering, travelling, adventuring I mean, because taking me out of whatever situation to which I have become accustomed allows me not to be my pragmatic, logical, self. And I'm back here, and I sense myself getting stressed, and angry, and well, involved, and it irks me. I love being the free spirit, hoping a bus to Latvia on the spur of the moment, because I can. I love not knowing where I'm sleeping that night. I love, well, not having a fucking clue, and having that not matter.

And no, not knowing what the hell I'm doing with my college education DOES NOT COUNT.

Ok, so yes. Maybe I am melodramatic.

And the Winner IS....

Final Schedule Reporting- well, minus lessons and ensembles and all that bullshit....


Monday and Wednesday: 8-9 Swimming
10:20-11:20 Music Theory 1
11:30-12:30 Spanish 301


Tuesdays and Thursdays: 9:40-11:10 Intro to Sociology with DasGupta
11:20-12:50 Russian 498= RUSSIAN CLASS OF DOOM
1:50-2:50 Aural Skills 1


and somehow strangely all I've got on Fridays is Spanish 11:30-12:30.


And jesus. Its official. I will fry.

Transitions. Again

"Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we will find it not." —Ralph Waldo Emerson
Well said, my friend Emerson. Well said.

Hello, Budapest

Well, atleast the train station anway. Slowly I am making my way back towards the surface of the earth, like reemerging from my self created hermit cave. Its bright. And loud. And scary. But alas, tomorow the story ends.

Oh crap.

Realization: In less than 48 hours I will be home. Like, my home town. Stuck in the Columbubble. And then, I get to go and switch bubbles...

Fuck.

I still don't get how you can be simaltaneously so god damn home sick and yet not want anything more than to never go home...

Hello. I love you.

I am in friggin' Ukraine. Holy shit how did this happen???

Masha I love you.

Holy LAND HO

So Isreal is well...freakin' amazing. I'm safe and sound, please ignore what ever tragedy theyre replaying on the evening news, we're fine.

Dunno what the next stop is, aiming for Ukraine and Uzhgorod, but due to the snow, yea we'll see.

My new years greating to everyone, which I stuck in the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem last week:

Life is a process of making peace. Blessings to those who are searching, courage to those who have found.

So lots of love, can't wait to see all of you soo soon...