my mercredi

mymercredi @ 2007-04-16T22:52:00

2007-04-17T03:53:57Z

Here's another one!

2007-02-02T21:59:54Z

See that?

2007-01-30T05:29:07Z

See that userpic up there? That's MY baby bunny.

Right now she is destroying the box my filing cabinet came in.

And periodically, she stops to express her joy at being given such a wonderful gift: she does a really, REALLY fast loop around the house, leaps into the air, clicks her back heels together, and slides to a stop. Then she comes over and kisses me.

Life is good.

mymercredi @ 2006-12-06T22:11:00

2006-12-07T04:11:54Z

Someone save me.

44 Pages To Go.

I love my papers, really. Truly.

I hate finals week.

haha, sorry guys...

2006-07-06T02:58:01Z

I escaped from the Dungeon of Mymercredi!

I killed Peleblow the rat, Isleofinnisfree the nymph, Eunierophrenic the giant spider, Relax Love the troll and Carmelizeme the kobold.

I looted the Dagger of Bard Messiah, the Amulet of Container Gardening, the Dagger of Thesauri, the Sword of Wine, the Dagger of Baroque Art, the Wand of Language., the Armour of Coffee and 123 gold pieces.

Score: 148

Explore the Dungeon of Mymercredi and try to beat this score,
or enter your username to generate and explore your own dungeon...

mymercredi @ 2006-07-01T14:14:00

2006-07-01T06:32:27Z

I should really talk about China, since I haven't updated in a while, but I fear China itself is only tangential.

I'm going out of my mind. I've never been on break this long. My mother will tell anyone who wants to ask that I used to become practically suicidal during Bard's 6-week winter break. It's been almost two months already of no work, no school - and although I certainly complained plenty and was un-stimulated by either my job or my classes the last couple of years, they at least kept me busy. Add to this the way women work, culturally, in China and I feel like a housewife. Not even just a housewife, but a pre-war housewife. Maybe even a Muslim pre-war housewife. I am an accessory to Josh's life here; I haven't met anyone on my own he doesn't already have an established (or, worse, business) relationship with, and no Chinese person will talk to me unless they think I'll be an easier sell (being female) than he; or, with approximately equal frequency, they want to look up my skirt. (On no less than three occasions, one or two or even three men have literally sat down on the street curb while I've been waiting for the bus and literally tried to look up my skirt. They seem to think that because I can't speak very much of their language, I'm retarded, and therefore won't notice. I don't know how to say "fuck off" or even "go away," so in a way I suppose they're right; my only recourse is to either walk away and thus miss my bus, or pretend not to notice.)

In taxi cabs, the drivers ignore my instructions entirely if Josh is along. (Our Chinese friend Ava says my accent is better than his, and they're obviously male chauvenists.) If I hand money to a cabbie or waitress or cashier, they inevitably hand the change to Josh.

Worst, though, is the work situation. I had all these grand fantasies about all the writing I was going to do here. I've done none of it. Zero. Partly this is neurosis: I can't seem to work on Josh's computer, especially when he's in the house. Partly this is because if one is going to write well one must be in the mood to write, and one must have some semblance of freedom and privacy; Josh hasn't been working much lately, and as a result spends almost 18 hours a day on the computer, and although he says I can ask him to give me a turn to work at any point...well....

So I cook and clean and that's about it. I think, sometimes, that if I have to wash one more pot I'll kill myself. I told this to Josh and he said "okay, so I'll cook some." Which sounded good at first, until I realized that he is incapable of cleaning up the kitchen as he goes along, and so by the time he's done making dinner, the whole area is a disaster (which I have to fix later), and that at least if I'm cooking I feel useful.

Mostly, sadly, I just need more people to talk to. Not people who are trying to get me drunk, either. I just want someone to have a cup of coffee with. And Oh, what I wouldn't give for some decent gluten-free cake...

It's not all horrible, really; this is by far the best vacation I have ever, ever had. It's just that it's a bit long, and it's not over yet. Even once we're back in America, I still have six weeks before my first day of classes. Why oh why can't time compress just a wee little bit??

Over'n out, from Qingdao, where the weather is beautiful, incidentally; I hope none of you is flooded back home.

also weird:

2006-05-04T12:35:02Z

http://www.nypost.com/entertainment/movies/news/n9007.htm

mymercredi @ 2006-05-04T08:25:00

2006-05-04T12:26:03Z

http://www.theonion.com/content/node/47722

let's talk about some pollen.

2006-05-03T18:55:45Z

I can neither breathe nor move because NYC has taken it upon itself to fill our streets with strange trees, all of which I am apparently allergic to, in addition to the grass and the maple.

What is up with that? I mean, really. I would be bad enough if we had just the grass and the maples here. Why does Manhattan feel the need to import flora? Why not celebrate our lovely New York State trees flowers shrubs and grasses? I say this not just from a selfish standpoint (though I will note that my "native" allergies have gotten significantly better as I've gotten older and really don't trouble me SO much anymore, at least, not so much that I wind up in BED), but from the point of view that illicits questions about the morality: we are introducing strange flora and often because of this strange fauna or at least insecta to our NYC habitat. Right? Is this wrong? Are we messing with stuff we shouldn't be messing with? Is the pollen this stuff releases going to do something weird, in the long run, to our native trees and flowers? Is it bad-weird or good-weird? It's times like this I wish I'd paid more attention in science class.

help!

2006-05-02T16:35:19Z

My friends, I have a problem.

This is that every time I fly anywhere, my luggage gets LOST.

But I am going to China for two months, and although Josh says he has some clothes there for me, I don't necessarily trust his taste for everyday wear, so I feel I must bring at least two changes of clothing, no? Right.

Anyhow, I also want to bring the following:

My Laptop
All my many xeroxed articles (which stack to be approximately 6" in depth)
Three books for the current research project
A yoga mat, because I am silly and...want it.

How do I smush all of this into a carryon? More accurately, how do I smush it all into a backpack that they cannot possibly force me to check? (obviously the yoga mat should technically be carried separately, but then it counts as another carryon, so I was just going to strap it to my backpack.)

What if I just wear a lot of clothes on my person? What if I decide to be a total hippie and only bring a hippie skirt and one pair of pants? What if I...check a bag? I'm afraid, my friends. Terribly afraid. I like the clothing I have now, and honestly, I don't have much of it. (Josh's parents might testify otherwise, but the boxes sitting in their basement are honestly just filled with books.)

Let's be serious here: what are the chances that they're going to totally lose my luggage again??

mymercredi @ 2006-04-25T09:26:00

2006-04-25T13:42:06Z

I thought I was going to make it to Bard one last time, and to New Hampshire one last time, but I'm not sure I can do it now. I'm stressed and tired and guilty-feeling for abandoning my father in some way and I don't want to see the world at all today, but of course I will, and my fingers are dying again (you know that bizarre skin thing that happens? someone told me it has something to do with diet) and lord do I ever miss Josh and my silly professor LOST my portfolio of work and now I must madly collate files and submit it all over again, hopefully without being docked a grade but he insists I never gave it to him...so so so.

The Counting Crows are on tour this summer for the first time since, I think, my freshman year of college (maybe they were touring once during college too, but I can't remember) and although I'll miss the St. Louis stop I'll have a free flight coming and might go back to Albany to see them avec mes soeurs in August. Which would be a very exciting girls'-night-out sort of thing. Which we've never all done together.

This English prof would like to see some of my writing and I have nothing to send him.

I would so much rather make something to send him than make a 6-slide powerpoint presentation about the technology in NYU's Bobst Library.

Ohohoh, why didn't I listen to Mary Caponegro and get a job at Starbucks? Of course, then I wouldn't have met this English professor...life is a series of conundrums.

It occurs to me that everything that has happened this year at Pratt has been designed to make it as difficult as possible for me to finish this degree. Seriously. No exaggeration. The "accidental dismissal" from the school, the perpetual incompetence of my computer, the way professor after professor has "misplaced" my work, all the many interceding factors that have caused me to miss so many classes this semester, the way the financial aid office elected to not inform me that it was time to sign my acceptance letter and then just didn't send me my stipend check, the way I am told, perpetually, that I "overthink" my assignments and the way no one has been able to keep track of my enrollment status, continually erasing me from the computer system. It's like even the institution knows I don't want to, and in so many ways shouldn't, be there. Every time one of these things happens (and with only two weeks left in the semester, they're STILL HAPPENING, how bizarre) I contemplate just letting it go.

I could stop now and start revising the book. It wouldn't be such a tragedy.

But then I think that someday there might be a puppy or a baby that needs me to do some cataloging to buy it food. Le sigh.

And when all I really need to do is write a paper and make a powerpoint presentation (evil, vile thing that powerpoint is), it would be (admittedly) a bit silly to stop now.

Still.

It's tempting.

me too.

2006-04-24T19:51:17Z

Find your own pose!

summertime!

2006-04-24T19:44:37Z

Rather than making silly New Years' resolutions, I'm making some summer resolutions: three and a half months with no real responsibility (well, I suppose that's not QUITE true, but it ALMOST is) leaves me, for the first time in a long time (what is it now - eight years? nine that I've been rushing about working and carting children around?) to actually follow through on some things. (Maybe.)

1. I'm going to do those exercises the doctor told me to do every day. I have a lovely rubbery sticky new green yoga mat in its very own bag and I shall cart it around China with me and stretch and try to force my body to behave normally.

2. I'm going to revise The Book one more GOOD time and leave it at that until some brilliant editor points out my poor word choices and tells me, after long last, what to do about it.

3. I'm going to write that new article. The one in scraps on the backs of receipts and napkins in my purse.

4. I will re-learn French, so that I may place out of "language classes" and take one in which I read Proust and Mallarme in the original, which used to make me feel much better about the world for some reason.

5. I will keep a journal because keeping a journal is supposed to be good for you.

I am very much in countdown mode. 8 work days left at AMNH. Huzzah!

Have I mentioned, also, that we/I/Quadrangle housing may have found us an apartment? It's pretty, according to the floor plan... ;)

mymercredi @ 2006-04-19T14:12:00

2006-04-19T18:35:27Z

I don't know what to write.

Mamma died. She was 102. She waited until after second seder. She waited until Aunt B was on vacation, and would be home with her. She waited until she died in such a way that we went through Shabbos, buried her that Sunday, sat shivah for only two and a half days, and resumed our Passover celebration. (You're not allowed to mourn on holiday.) She wasn't my mamma, actually. But she kind of was. I have such a weird weird weird position in this family. I'm not really anyone's daughter these days.

I am, however, someone's sister: Chloe is coming down to the city tomorrow and we're going to go visit colleges. Which will be exciting. We might go down to Philadelphia to see Haverford. Depending.

I'm down to a 19 day countdown: 19 days to the end of work and library school. My To-Do List has gotten a lot shorter, too (at least in terms of things pertaining to libraries):

Subject Paper for Children's Lit
"Site Visit" for Info Tech
Holocaust Literature Paper for Children's Lit

shivah was strange because I had the exact same conversation at least six times: it amounted to "who are you and what are you doing here?" followed by a slow extraction of my life story from me - or at least an attempted extraction; I managed to circumvent this most of the time by saying something about next year-St. Louis-PhD-Yay! and then was asked to give a three-second synopsis of my research interests. At one point I had a pretty good, articulate, explanation of trauma theory going but I lost that within 24 hours.

Then comes the return of the total lack of privacy. I share a bedroom with some adolescent boys. Most of the time they're away, but the past two weeks there's been someone here constantly. I don't want to count the number of international calls I've had interrupted by boys coming into the room, plunking themselves down in front of the TV, turning up the volume, and sitting there despite the fact that I was obviously trying to have a private conversation. Craziness!

Other news: I'm changing my plane ticket to China. It is now round-trip from St. Louis leaving a day before the Finkels. It turned out to be almost $500 cheaper to do it this way.

So there's all this stuff, but there's more too, and I'm losing track of time and of my life. Or it feels that way, at least. I'm having trouble remembering what needs to happen when (despite having it all written down). Time stagnates. It's that time of year.

Oh, right. The name change. The name change that I've been trying to do since I was a teenager. I mentioned it to Josh recently - something about this upcoming move and the new start is making me feel that it's finally time to just go ahead and do it. (This, by the way, is a name change from my father's last name to my mother's maiden name.) I can't explain this. I don't know what to tell people. it's just something I need to do.

Josh's intimation that it's not necessary because my aunt and uncle have somehow tried to make things up to me the last two years, that they really do love me, is simply not enough. I love them dearly, but it's my grandfather who took care of us, who was the only one who gave a damn about us, and these stories I hear about how much my father's family WANTED to help just don't cut it. Neither does retrospective desire. And he's still playing headgames with me, and I just don't want any part of this anymore. I'm about to start a new life (effectively) and although I know I cna't really leave these things behind me...I would really like to start this new life on my own terms.

Does that make sense? I don't know if it makes sense. I don't know if it matters if it makes sense.

Mamma would have thought it made sense.

mymercredi @ 2006-04-08T13:33:00

2006-04-08T17:34:02Z

I'm going batty.

Eight pages of paper to go and already I'm habitually repeating myself.

This just doesn't take that long to say.

A Supermarket in California

2006-04-06T22:31:17Z

I miss my Bard. I miss everyone there. I read Ginsburg this afternoon and was struck by nostalgia.

Do you remember the night we went in search of everything and anything cranberry and lost ourselves between Red Hook and Hannaford, delerious, and by the time we arrived the cashiers had closed for that one hour, so we waited in the cake aisle, you curled into the floor, wanting your cranberries more than I think you'd probably ever wanted anything (if only for that one moment)? And then less than a month later we were taking the same pilgrimage for me. Slightly better timed and slightly more successful...but we wandered looking for cranberry things through ice cream and chocolate.

And then later tea and sugar and curled (I was always curling somewhere that year) onto a chair in Kline, project spread across a table, me pretending I was actually getting something done and that the something was worthwhile.

I need poetry back.

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for
I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache
self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went
into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families
shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the
avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you, Garcia Lorca, what
were you doing down by the watermelons?

I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,
poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery
boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the
pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans
following you, and followed in my imagination by the store
detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in our
solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen
delicacy, and never passing the cashier.

Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in
an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the
supermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The
trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be
lonely.

Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher,
what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and
you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat
disappear on the black waters of Lethe?

Qingdao, anyone?

2006-04-06T18:19:07Z

Hi All,

So Josh has been living and working in Qingdao for the past year, at a couple of different schools. His most recent employment is with Dr. Paul's Language School - I substitute taught there while I was visiting on winter break, and it's a great place - small school, steady contact with the students, and very friendly. They also pay really well. They're looking to hire seven new ESL teachers for the coming year. Qingdao's a great place to live and it's easy to travel from there. I said I would help "find new teachers", so...pass it on...?

Dr. Paul's Language School is seeking native English teachers in Qingdao. We're looking for outgoing and dedicated teachers to join our team. Our students are Koreans aged 7 to 18, so you will have the opportunity to explore both the Chinese and Korean cultures while teaching our small and friendly classes. Qingdao is a beautiful and cosmopolitan city, famous for it's clean air, mountains, beaches, seafood and architecture and chosen as the host of the 2008 Olympic sailing competition. Couples are welcome.

Teachers will be asked to teach 20 hours per week, and to spend 6 to 10 hours per week preparing lessons and tests in our offices. We are looking for one-year commitments.

We offer:

*10,000 RMB per month salary.
*8,000 RMB bonus upon completion of one-year contract.
*A spacious, furnished, modern apartment located downtown with a private bedroom, TV and DVD/VCD player, a kitchen with a stove and refrigerator, washing machine, and a clean bathroom to be shared with one colleague.
*7-8 day vacations for Chinese Spring Festival (Feb. 20-28), May Day (May 1-7) and Fall Festival (Oct. 1-8). Unpaid.
*Additional 1,000 RMB per month salary to teachers who wish to provide their own housing.

For more detailed information, please e-mail Josh at joshatdrpauls@gmail.com

oh, lupus, you wolf you.

2006-03-30T22:35:51Z

At school.

I took off early from work today to go get my TB test read (it was negative, as expected, for anyone who's curious) and managed to get some prednisone out of the NP in the process.

Prednisone. I have such mixed feelings about prednisone. It gives me a moonface - and not the kind of moonface Josh talks about (he says something about it being roundish and pale and "luminescent" in characteristic fashion). It makes my cheeks puffy. And the rest of me puffy, too.

But it also makes me feel so much better...two weeks of prednisone, and everything stops hurting quite so much.

Have I mentioned I hurt again? It started out at the beginning of the month, with a bunch of oral ulcers (despite fanatical oral hygeine). Then my vision started getting blurry (and I got it checked, by more than one doctor, and was told over and over again that there's nothing wrong with my eyes). Then my hearing started to kind of go on the blink, and then my brain got all fuzzy and I was having trouble getting words from my thoughts to my mouth. Then the usual stuff started again: the joint pain, the morning stiffness, the "asthma" symptoms, the fevers, the nightsweats, the GI problems (despite the strict diet). It's really bad this time. I'm afraid of how long this is going to take to pass. I don't want to be sick in China. I don't want anyone to have an excuse to tell me I shouldn't go to China (I know there are plenty of reasons I shouldn't go to China, but there are some overwhelming reasons that I SHOULD).

What I'm really worried about is moving, and Josh. He wants to take a road trip. I wanted to, too, for a while, but now I'm worried. His parents and my parents all think I should UPS everything to St Louis and then fly directly there after China and forget about the roadtrip; not only will it be too much for me, but it might actually be too much for Josh, driving like that for the first time in a year after being abroad. I tried to bring this up with him but he cut me off and said "well, I think we should do whatever the hell we want," and I couldn't quite find a way to mention that I wasn't so sure I wanted this. But does he even mean "we" in that sentence? I'm afraid to ask.

The thing is, this is an "invisible disability." He doesn't quite get it. The last time I was in China and sick with a cold, he didn't quite understand that it wasn't *just* a cold. It was the cold and the way that the cold temperature made my hands and feet turn white regardless of how many pairs of socks I put on and the way the jetlag multiplied itself times ten as far as my body was concerned...

My uncle has this problem too. For some reason I will NEVER understand, the minute I mentioned I wasn't feeling well again, he suggested (again) that I try going off my meds (again). Because I wasn't actively complaining and crying before yesterday, the general concensus is that it can't be that bad. What is it with people? Should I be complaining constantly so they know exactly what the progression of the illness is? I don't think they'd like that, either. I tried to drive the point home by telling him I felt like my body was eating itself and falling apart, and he pointed out that plenty of people have bodies "more falling apart" than mine and I ought to be a bit braver.

I hate having something that makes me feel sick but doesn't make me look sick. I need a t-shirt. Or a button. I can wear it on bad days so people won't bother saying it. (They actually exist: they say, "But you don't look sick?")

And this whole entry makes me sound like I'm defining myself by my illness and I so DON'T do that, it's just...days and weeks and months like this. Days when I wind up taking drugs I hate and weeks when I sleep 13 hours a night, and months when every single time I move *something* locks up and aches. I can't brush my hair or tie my sneakers. In short: This Sucks. And I get really tired of other people not taking it seriously.

shedding the skin

2006-03-29T15:06:55Z

This sometimes happens. I'm feeling selfconscious so I'm changing my livejournal. That other one lasted quite a long while, really...

I think I change the journals mostly as my circumstances change.

That is to say: Hurrah! My circumstances are changing!