Seton Hill looms. I’m nervous because I’m not sure where to go when I get to campus. I will write about the weekend and my last day at work. For now, I’m going to try to get my brain settled enough to rest.
It’s going to be a long night.
There is rain in the forecast for tomorrow. I hope the flight is smooth.
This is the story I submitted to Seton Hill. I meant to post it weeks ago. Please remember that I totally turned this in at the last minute, that there are grammar and plot issues, and that the point of view shifts. It’s a work in progress, after all, and although I am disappointed in some aspects of this work, this is the first time that I’ve ever gotten excited about writing something. There’s chapters (stories) that linger in the background. It is meant to feel like an introduction. That’s a purposeful choice…. enjoy (oh…and Mala talks about being blind, but in one of the drafts she was staring into the afternoon sun and then I changed the time and forgot to pull that line out…. oopsie)
One more thing. Some of the spacing and indentations are funky. I could clean it up but I’m too lazy to go through and strip everything out and respace it. Work with my laziness… I implore you !
It’s rushing up on me, this lack of time. I’ve resisted disassembling the house, trying to sift through the stuff, to find the proper box for this and the right packing material for that. For the first time in a long time, I’m considering the wooden trunk. Full of old journals (when I was super-tragic) and unused notebooks, I am contemplating whether or not I should bring all of those memories and events with me. I’ve felt it all before — that pinching pain of rejection, the elation that comes with success. I don’t need my words to remind me. And it feels like I’ve outgrown the need for those reminders. My memory, although flawed and eroding, holds what I need to remember, and nothing more. Perhaps I should destory or give away those old papers that mean less to me. I don’t know that Erica anymore. She doesn’t belong in Portland.
Then again.. I’ll probably chicken out and bring all of that crap with me.
Speaking of things we are getting rid of. I’ve got a few things to give away. I promised Julie our bookshelves, but I don’t know if they will all fit in her house. The biggest thing we need to get rid of now is that futon. We don’t need it anymore. If you want it - let me know. Part of one of the armrests is scratched up from where the dogs stood on it, but it’s in perfect shape. Also, the mattress is better than most and we splurged on the cover. Let me know if you want it — otherwise, I have to find a way to get it to the Salvation Army or something. As I relinquish more stuff, I’ll let you know. I would rather give things to my friends than to strangers. Also, we have a shitload of alcholol that will have to stay in Orlando. Except the vodka — i need it to make my vodka cream sauce. I’ll give all that stuff away on our last week.
As for gatherings and such. My weekends are open right now. D and I are going to see Pirates this weekend… I can’t wait. I am going to be in PA from the 18th to the 26th of June. And we are leaving on Saturday June 30th - which doesn’t leave a lot of time for goodbyes. But we will manage. Let me know when and if you want to get together — I’m flexible.
I finished my story for Seton Hill. I kind of intended it to be a first chapter or story for a composite novel. It’s not as strong as I would like it to be, but I’m in love with one particular character. I will post the story later today when I get home. I reread it and found tense shifts and some point of view issues, but I can get away with it being slightly crap because it’s a “work in progress.”
Suitcases - I had the best suitcase ever. One of those older, blue ones with flipping latches and a shell so indestructible that I could lean on the side without it buckling. It wasn’t cool enough to be vintage — and after looking around at various sites, I think it can place it in the late ’50’s early ’60’s. The blue, kind of dark heather blue, highlighted the dents and scars from my travels. From San Francisco to Orlando, it ventured with me. They don’t make ‘em like that any more.
Now, when we lived in Delaney Park, we rented a lovely duplex, just blocks away from Lake Davis, at the corner of Delaney Park Drive and Mills. The neighbors, our duplex-mates, were “interesting” characters. The lesbian trucker with the box of jalapeños is a story for a later day, but there was a woman (the trucker’s girlfriend) living next door with her white supremacist son and various spawnlings that she sired with various men, although none of them, save the go-whitey son lived with her. She lost custody. I could hazard a guess as to why, but I’m sure it would have been less interesting than the truth.
Back to the suitcase. We shared an attic space with the house of social engineering reject, and my suitcase disappeared. My beautiful, rugged, not-so-vintage, rockin suitcase went with them. I was pissed. How dare they!? Through the winding streets (okay, it was just an alley) of San Francisco, through the steamy jungles of South Florida, on the harrowing journey north to Orlando — that damn suitcase saw the world, and then ran off with some trashy fucktards. Did I mention I was pissed?
I’ve been searching for a good suitcase ever since. In desperation (prior to a trip to see the parental units in Colorado) D and I picked up a set that cost 50 bucks or something. They sucked. The rolling bits on the bottom locked up, the fabric was flimsy and couldn’t protect anything valuable (much less my frackin toothbrush) and it looked like every other suitcase out there. My blue suitcase stood out — the black ones were like a slutty cheerleading squad - everyone had their hands on them. I am heading to PA next month, and tired of the shittastic offerings in the box stores, I ventured to the Salvation Army. Actually, I stopped that Thriftco (whadda dump) and couldn’t find what I was looking for. Then I went to the Salvation Army off Michigan.
BINGO!!! DING DING DING!!! WE HAVE A WINNER!!!
Blue, almost the same shade as my old one, firm shelled, a little musty (for some reason I liked that about my old suitcase too) with those useless satin pockets that snap in and out of the sides. But I really really lucked out. Inside the big one, was a smaller one. And inside that — one even smaller (think it’s more for the personal essentials but it slightly bigger than a really large shoebox). Now… guess how much I paid for it… nope… too high.
Guess again….
nope…
Wanna know?
Do you really wanna know?
6 bucks. Yes, I rule the world.
Nail in the Coffin: Talked to the overlord/property manager 2 weeks ago. I swear to god, baby jeezus and all those fun-loving saints that this woman only likes to talk to me and hates D. Which is strange. I’m the bitchy one in the family. anyway, our conversation went well. She needed an end date for our lease, and in a surprising move of generosity, never made us sign an addendum for the extension. I guess living there for three years, paying our rent on time, not freaking out when the roof got shot to shit in Hurricane Charley, fixing things without bothering them and not pissing off the neighbors has payed off. I also asked her for a recommendation, because as much as it chaps my ass, we are going to have to rent when we get to Portland. Logistically, it makes the most sense. But she has an end date now, and I’ve promised smiles and cooperation. It’s not smart to leave things on bad terms, even when she did show up that one time, unannounced. That visit cost us 350 bucks! It’s hard to hide a second beagle. My parental units are overlords property owners, so I should know better. Oh well. I just hope they don’t try to bleed the rock dry when we move. We can’t afford it.
Realization: I sound like a superficial ass when I talk about presents. I get miffed by my family, but only because I have unrealistically high expectations of them. Their visit threw into sharp relief my flaws. Instead of being grateful, I was selfish. It was great spending time with my siblings, and my mother as well. Sometimes I just feel like she wants me to be a different person. My manic depression seems to stay at the forefront of my family’s’ thoughts, instead of my successes, but we are all flawed people. I will say this — they ate vegetarian enchiladas and actually liked them. And they make me laugh — all of them. It was good to see them and I am grateful that they were there for the ceremony. — and Alexis — thank you for my super cool, nifty, skull/stack flip-flops! I love you !!
I’m going to get back to work. I put my resignation in. It felt good.
Have a happy Thursday.
Busy busy busy….
I have to pull a 10 page work out of my ass by Friday for Seton Hill. For some reason it seems different. I can’t procrastinate, although I already have, and I feel bad for not getting on this assignment sooner. It’s going to be my introdution to my classmates, and they specified that we are not to submit old content or works that have been published. Published? Sheesh, I wish. I get to do homework this week…there’s just something wrong about that.
Graduation was wonderful and underwhelming. The walk moved me, but sitting there listening to our speakers felt like a waste of time. Said my goodbyes to a lot of people. It felt good, but somewhat painful. The walk from the Chapel to the Sports Center is one I will never forget. Dr. Dunn gave me the best goodbye. Did I mention that she gives really good hugs? Took pictures with Amanda and the Rev at Orlando Hall. Wish I had taken more. Alas. Anne sat just down the row from me during the ceremony, and I almost forgot my card — you know — the one that tells the announcer my name. Yeah, brilliant. Lauren and I goofed off in the Chapel. I could swear that she found spiked punch, but I can’t ask her about it now…she’s off to Africa for the summer (happy travels Lauren!). Oh — and I graduated Cum Laude. I’m a dumbass and didn’t compute the honors system correctly. Yes, you may smack me now. But I got a nifty yellow tassel…it’s purdy.
The graduation party was a success. My family (including D’s family) melded smoothly with our friends. I think the last person left around 3:30 ish. Thanks to Amanda, Kahleen, Kim, and Frankie for my lovely presents. We threw out an obscene ammount of food. Who knew there was that much cheese in Orlando. I wish I had more time to spend with everyone (Anne… I love you !) but I think that will come incrementally.
The fam left yesterday. It was good to see them. Sometimes the visits feel too short and too long at the same time. I wasn’t in a good space this time, but I think that is due to the transitory nature of my life right now. I’m not solid, except on a solid foundation of change, which leaves things a touch treacherous. I was kind of disappointed that I didn’t get a graduation present from my family. I don’t know why that bothered me as much as it did. I’ll get over it — less stuff to move anyway.
Jerry Fallwell died yesterday. I don’t feel bad about being glad. If I believed in hell — then he would get a special seat. A special flaming seat. Have a nice trip, asshole.
D and I watched Dust to Dust. It made me sick.
There is much more to talk about, but I need to rummage about and find me some lunch! Howz that fer grammer?
I’ve been digging through my imagination for an idea for the first peice I am writing for Seton Hill. In order to get us familiar with the process, we are submitting a short work (I think 5 pages) to the critique group before we meet in June. I’m assuming that I am supposed to come up with something in the urban fantasy vein, since that is my focus, but another part of me wants to lean heavily on my creative non-fiction comfort zone. Sometimes, I’m such a coward.
What are my ideas? I shall share
I have more, but I think I will just try to work around those. I’m interested in trying to get something with a composite structure, but I don’t know how the school will feel about that….
On other notes…. I took Seroquel last night, slept like the dead, but am suffering from a sort of med hangover… blech
MORE COFFEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Now that I have hair, and since Christy gave me my first cut in over a year, I’ve been trying to find the right “goop” to make my hair happy. Gel drys my hair out. Crunchy is good for cereal and crackers, not for hair. My anti-frizz stuff makes my hair shiney, but my waves and curls are wild and need something heavier to tame them. Due to my animal rights beliefs, I won’t buy products tested on animals. Honestly, why would someone want to slather a beagle or bunny with gel or hair shampoo? Anyway, I found the perfect product. It tames the frizz but keeps things light enough so that my curls bounce around. It’s the little things….
I’m D’s model for his art class. He’s been snapping shots of me, posing like a dork, or sitting solemnly. What I’ve come to realize recently is that I’ve gotten fat and aged. It’s disheartening and depressing. It didn’t help that I thumbed through old pictures when I cleaned out my closet. The weight thing continues to be an issue. All I can do is change it, but it feels impossible sometimes. I say this all the time, but damn, I just get bummed.
I’m starting to pack things up. The first mountain to tackle- the books. I am guesstimating, but I believe when we pack up all the books, it will take the same space as our couch. That’s a shitload of space, if you were wondering. After digging through shelves (I stacked the books two deep because I ran out of room) I found: Julie’s Harry Potter books, the Dogfather’s Superman books (I need to get those to you), and I discovered some comics that Frankie lent me in my closet. I packed four boxes of books. Although I promised not to give any books away, there are more than a few that I got for free when I worked at Borders that I no longer want. Donations, anyone? I think we are going to cull the comics collection as well. I bought tons of comics and now they just take up space. I may not get rid of all of them, but I think most are going somewhere. Donations, anyone? The next thing to tackle in terms of packing - D’s closet of doom. A few scanners, Cds, art supplies, computer books and a dead body or two, his closet has it all. Donations, anyone? Hehehehe….seriously though - we have a pimp scanner that works like ass with the Mac, so we want to get rid of it….
After drunken Karoke on Friday night (more on that a little later), we recovered only to go to a party. Leslie is an art adjunct a Rollins. She taught my very first class - Art 101. I love her personality, and her irreverent nature, and that she didn’t take things so seriously but she still made you understand the gravity and brilliance of art. She likes to teach barefoot and mock the saints. But, I remember so much about the art and I think that is due to her teaching style. Over the years, we’ve become friends. When I got an invitation to her Spring gathering, I thought it was a party for her students. I checked the e-mail list and recognized a name or two. I thought the rest of the people were her new students, ones have taken her since I was in her last class. D and I were about an hour late. I had to finish cleaning my living room. We bought some wine and headed over to her houes. I was shocked when I stepped into the living room. Screaming kids - gobs of them - raced through the kitchen, onto the front porch and out the back door. Then I saw the adults. I didn’t recognize anyone. Her Spring gathering was not for her students, but for her friends. At first I was apprehensive. What in the hell do I have in common with middle aged mothers and members of her book club. But, as always, D and I made friends with the guy who likes video games. He is the father of two little girls and lives within walking distance from us. We geeked out, talked about games and living in our neighborhood and the trails and tribulations of the hurricane. Then I got into a discussion with another Rollins adjunct (I forgot her name…I’m so bad with names). D and I were some of the last ones to leave, but I had a wonderful time. Leslie made lots of veggie food and even took the time to cut the veggie stuff on a different cutting board, so as to keep it free of meat-taint. It’s wierd to transition from a student to a friend, but I am so glad we went. The only bad thing — she gave us a ginormous bottle of wine when we left, which we finished in our living room. Bad idea. We just don’t know how to say no. It was fun though.
D and I watched Superman Returns last night. It kind of sucked. The pacing felt off, lagged at some points and rushed through on others. The guy who played Superman looked the part, and I enjoyed his performance. Parker Posey and Kevin Spacey also did well. Elements of the film really worked for me, but it didn’t seem to fit together cohesively. It was good popcorn fare, but far from my favorite.
We went to Big Daddy’s on Friday to celebrate my admittance to grad school. Ginny and Amanda met us there, and Jenny and Heather joined the fray. I found it hilarious that Heather and Amanda have such horrid taste in music. They love 80’s rock. It’s just scary. The conversation went from make up to moving to graduation and back to booze. I had such a lovely time, and I sang again. Someone should really stop me. My voice sounds like a screaming cat trying to sing opera. Yeah, good stuff. But the beers were lovely. I tried a new beer: Spring Heat (doesn’t that sound like a porno name?) We bebopped to the music, marveled at the good singers (there were more than a few) and laughed and loved that tiny guy that sings “My Way” every Friday night. I can’t even begin to explain how adorable he is.
What in the hell is up with this weather? It’s cold and rainy today — the high is 62. Did someone forget to tell the Elements that it is spring? Not that I mind. I love this stuff, but I started to put away my warmer clothes and then had to pull them back out again.
So, that’s it for me. I’m planning my trip to PA in June, and trying to find a good cheap flight. I am going to rent a car while I am up there. That means I will get lost. I hate getting lost. I get lost everywhere. I need a personal navigator, and I am soooooooo not kidding. After talking with a few people, I realized that I didn’t explain the Seton Hill thing properly. It’s a low-residancy program, which means that I fly up to the school once a year - for a week, and the rest of my studies are online. It’s the perfect blend of face-time and distance. I think it’s going to rock.
And now I have to listen to my geeky podcasts and run a report. I wish I was on vacation.
I just found out that I was selected for the “Scholar’s Discount.” What does this mean? I get 20% off my tuition…. think of it as a scholarship for really dorky people. Remeber that god awful question that I had to answer? “If you had to invite three people to dinner, that you don’t know, in order to discuss your plans to embark on graduate studies, who would they be and why?”
I normally hate those kinds of questions, but apparently they liked my answer. And for your amusement — my brilliant reply. (note mostly sarcasm). It’s not perfectly written, because I waited until the last minute. Typical Erica.
Three men walk into a bar. Why a bar and not a restaurant? We only have time for a drink, not a nine-course meal. Charles DeLint sits to my right. Caravaggio takes the seat to my left. Eddie Izzard sits right next to me, instead of the chair across from me at the table. He smiles wickedly.
“Good evening gentlemen. I’ve invited you here for a brief conversation about my graduate program goals. I need each one of you to give me piece of advice that you think I can’t live without. Just one piece. That’s it.” I watch them chew the idea in their minds. Charles seems puzzled. Caravaggio flags down the waiter and orders a wine and a beer. Eddie, just smiles.
Charles clears his throat and begins. “I know you love my books. They were your first foray into urban fantasy. But I’ve fallen into a rut, and I want to steer you clear. You are going to love certain parts of your writing, and certain avenues of life. They are going to become comfortable. But you can’t be afraid of taking a risk and chucking it all so you can begin again. With a clean slate, you can reform your writing, and recognize when there is repetition in your style. Stay away from the grooves of the well worn streets, and you will go magical places.” He sips his Guinness, and gives me a small smile.
I watch Caravaggio peer into his wine glass, then he swirls it around the bowl of the glass. He isn’t looking at me when I hear the quiet rumble of his voice. “You must balance light and dark. I am revered because of my use of the deepest blacks and the brightest colors in my paintings. Although other Baroque painters utilized this style, I crafted my paintings with a fine eye for detail and color. Do you know why so many look to my paintings for inspiration? The mystery and the truth – they are what captivates. If you write a character that is complex or flawed, you must reveal truth about them as well. Do not make them two-dimensional. The human form and mind are round, full of shadows, and are all the more interesting because of it.”
He stands, places his empty glass on the table, and bids us good night. Charles sips his beer.
Eddie throws his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close, and turns me so I can look into his eyes. He’s my favorite comedian. I’m not often star struck, but I think British transvestite comedians are quite adorable, so I blush. “ Don’t forget to laugh, love. You’re gonna find that this whole “graduate school thing” is very serious. It will make you gray and you’re gonna have more than one tantrum because you screwed up and didn’t manage your time. And I have to say, temper tantrums are cathartic, but people tend to look at you like you are crazy. Never mind. Anyway, don’t be afraid to have a message. It’s your voice and you can say what you damn well please. But don’t take this all too seriously. You can’t forget to smile. You are doing this because you love to write, so don’t let the pressure take that away from you. Keep an eye on the smallest aspects of society and their flaws. You’re gonna find quirks and inspiration from the strangest things. Have a sharp eye and loud laugh and then it will all be okay.”
Charles stands, hands me a copy of his book – the one I loaned out years ago, and wishes me luck. Eddie places a kiss on my cheek and reaches out to hug Charles, who looks mighty startled. “Come on, old chum. She’s gonna be okay.”
I never ordered my drink, but I got what I needed.
When I was little, when I read fairy tales and wandered through the woods looking for gnomes, I wanted to write about it all. As I grew up, I never lost that longing for the fantastical. And today, my dream came true.
I GOT ACCEPTED TO SETON HILL!!!!
I am going to be a genre writer. I am going to join a group of writers where the love of the language and imagination are more important than breathing. This is perfection for me. It’s low residancy, and I am supposed to fly up to Pennsyvania in June. HOLY SHIT I GOT ACCEPTED TO SETON HILL.
I am going to stay on cloud 14 (rather than 9) for the rest of the week. It’s all starting. Where I was filled with fear and panic yesterday, I am bursting with love, hope, elation, exciement….there are more words, but I am quite speechless.
I GOT ACCEPTED TO SETON HILL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I think I just peed my pants.
Meow | 
06 18th, 2007| 