cygnoir.net

People who dispense with niceties used to catch me off-guard. Before my current job, I expected a minimal exchange of greetings before a request for help. I wonder if, as a result, I have done away with my own greeting patter when I am out in the world. It does seem a bit superfluous at times, especially when we are all so furiously busy, scuttling between inputs like crazed crabs.

Because of this intensified pace, I become more conscious of how to phrase answers to questions without being condescending or curt. A dyslexic patron today obviously felt quite embarrassed for mixing up the microfilm for 1906 and 1960, and I wonder if my bland “no problem” response was sufficient, or made her feel lessened. I can’t imagine being dyslexic; so much of my daily life revolves around the written word.

Students who come up to the reference desk look as if they expect violence. Their eyes are wary, one hand neatly wrapped around the ubiquitous mobile, library card in the other gripped like a makeshift shiv. During reference interviews, sometimes they shift away from me to text someone: five minutes is too long to be in contact with only one person.

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My new home is a palace, an oasis, a haven. I have an office all to myself with a door that opens onto a small patio. Soon I will break that in properly with a cup of tea and my writing notebook. The cats have not yet met formally, but there was an awkward moment with an accidental bathroom door opening and growls in two-part harmony. Neither one had flattened ears or fluffed tails, so I remain hopeful for their future status as Tugboat and Hambone, urban adventurers and best of friends.

Despite my bizarre affection for public transit, the N-Judah has already lost its shine for me, what with its random hiatuses and lame malfunctions and general chicanery. At least I always get a seat, and can doze off to podcasts for 30 (to 60) minutes. Whatever the case, each N trip is bookended by a library job and a home with my best friend, so I have no real complaints.

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Even at 20% off, I could not afford the expense, but I tested this beauty for free during Flax’s pen fair today. The Namiki Vanishing Point fountain pen excels in form as well as function, especially in the Raden finish, and I cheerfully anticipate the momentous occasion that its purchase will punctuate.

These are the only tidbits I can sift out from my addled brain this evening. Happy Mother’s [sic] Day, mothers, especially to my own, who will meet FunkyPlaid for the very first time when she hits town in five days!

What I will/won’t miss about my flat:

• pimp/ho fisticuffs during the wee hours;
• siren orchestra of Fire Station #3;
• the little man who slept by the front door of my building who would always say he was sorry when I tiptoed past;
• surly neighbors;
• always-packed laundromat;
• lanky smokers in front of the corner bar, all elbows and coals;
• lack of street-lamps;
• single-paned windows;
• tissue-thin taxi brakes;
• the 2, 3, and 4 bus lines, especially that tschhhhhh noise;
• the Angriest Beggar who called me “sweetheart” when he needed anything and “bitch” when he realized he wasn’t going to get it … every single time;
• bridge-and-tunnel screechers after the bars close;
• and every single unexplained loud noise in the night.

It’s been quite a year for me here. Living in this neighborhood definitely challenged me; working and living in this neighborhood exhausts me. I am looking forward to living in the “suburbs”, sleepy quiet, near the ocean and the park and not much else. Most of all, I am looking forward to living with my partner in a proper house that we will furnish and care for together.

Goodbye, little nest.  Onward to the next roost!

Today, years ago, in a place I have never been, a woman I never met did something remarkable. All mothers do something remarkable, it is true: that violence absorbed, accommodated, relinquished is nothing if not remarkable. As a result, and despite that, you exist.

When I met you, that first day in your store, I knew you were more than just a passing acquaintance, more than a bit part on my stage, even though our orbits were mostly separate. Each time after I saw you, I knew you less; not for any obfuscation on your part, but because there was more of you to which I could not be privy.

How could I realize that my dull little email four years later would spark the beginning of the most important friendship of my life? That summer, as you were preparing to change your entire life, mine changed alongside it. Your openness to the world, your sheer breadth of knowledge, and your inimitable passion for living taught me that amidst all these bitter, jaded people, I was not wrong for anticipating goodness and light.

Back then, I couldn’t have done what you did, no matter what you might have believed about me, and you always believe the best. I couldn’t have uprooted my sense of self, my home, and my comfort to achieve a goal. I would never be so arrogant as to say “I let you go” because you had to go. My hands released yours easily so you would never doubt your path away from me.

Even so, when you left, I wanted to be so much stronger than I was. I wanted not to grasp desperately to catch you again; I wanted to be the effortless support I strove to be with you in my midst. But miles apart, I could only see not seeing you. I could only think of you in my own terms: mine, or not at all.

So many lessons in those interim years I learned the hardest way. Time and again, I tricked myself into lessening you. As you reached and grasped and succeeded, I learned the most important part: you exist not for my sake. And I promised myself that if we were ever able to be friends again, I would not forget that.

So here we are, my heart, on your birthday, the first we celebrate together, and all I know is that all my words fail me in the utter presence of you. With your own hands you built your life, your support structure, your home, your business, and your education, and I am lucky to witness them all from so close. Your humility throughout all your accomplishments is my touchstone; your resilience unmarred by disappointment or rejection is my inspiration. My lesson to learn is how to love you for who you are, because you are the greatest person I have ever known.

Happy birthday, D. And thank you for persevering through so many hard times on your own so that we might share whatever is to come.

(photo by s.)

This will be brief, because I am extremely ill today due to accidentally ingesting gluten in last night’s dinner. The worst part is that I dread eating the next day so much I tend to avoid it until I can’t anymore, and then scarf something vaguely disgusting down just to have some nutrition.

Clearly I am new at managing this disease, and have a lot to learn.

My experiment in giving up my RSS reader for a week is complete. I’ve made my point to myself: I don’t need to keep up with 269 RSS feeds to lead a complete, informed, happy life. Also, I prefer getting my news from communities that encourage participation instead of from one-way news blasts. The exception to this is Twitter, which is eminently useful to me as a means to keeping up with my friends and certain web tools (especially world news and daily weather reports).

That’s all from here tonight. It’s raining, which is a pleasant change from the blustery gray un-springtime. FunkyPlaid is at GAMA; these are my last days living alone. Should I be living it up? And if so, what does “living it up” entail? I sense there might be illicit activities involved, but watching the people wandering my neighborhood in various states of stupors and loss is an excellent deterrent. Sleep, then.

It is absolutely remarkable what happens when you choose to let go of fear.

It is a choice, of course, not immediately apparent while we are clinging to it, like a necklace worn so long its weight no longer registers.

If this seems to be a melodramatic way to talk about changing RSS-feed-reading patterns, perhaps it is, but no less relevant. I have been afraid, for many years, of missing out on information, of not knowing while others know. Working at the public library has changed my entire view of knowledge and information in this regard; it is clear to me now that none of us know, at least not in the way I understood knowledge. We think, and believe, and wonder, and learn, and these are all valuable, important things. Knowledge is a tool, not a belief system, and I have been treating it as the latter for much too long now.

Not knowing is the ultimate freedom. Not to know, and to seek or to help, is the most satisfying pursuit I have experienced.

Pieces of the shell I have constructed for myself – comprised of the equation of What I Know to Who I Am – fall away daily, and I step lighter than ever.

FunkyPlaid and I were at the store until late last night, so I didn’t post my non-progress on the RSS fast.  No matter; absolutely nothing has changed.  I spend my time writing, reading, and puzzle-solving instead, and my stress levels are markedly down.  Now I am absolutely convinced that I need to ditch my RSS reader permanently, and only read a handful of feeds on a start page like iGoogle or Netvibes.

We ran lots of errands today, relishing in our pre-cohabitation domesticity, wringing out the moments of our only day off together.  Right now I am sipping pomegranate wine and eating dark-chocolate-covered pistachios while chatting with some old friends online as FunkyPlaid’s WoW character busies herself with the usual smiting of evil.  Yawns escape my protesting lips; FunkyPlaid leaves for a trade show in Vegas tomorrow, so I won’t see him for a week, and I don’t want to fall asleep yet.  But who defeats sleep?

The way a morning comes upon you, discovering you in sleep,
slicing golden on the lid, opening the Ziploc of your dream,
is not how the poets would have you think. Not even this one.
It is not a stealing softly, nor is it an infusion of warmth.

After a night spent dwelling in (not on, because you, ever
resourceful, armed with paintbrushes, have made them
more than habitable) your doubts, morning arrives
like a sneezing fit with no tissue in sight, like a lost dog
limping you can’t let inside, like the last bus on the worst corner.

You will stave it off with promises to be productive,
with hints of increased understanding and self-worth,
with brute force of blankets yanked up over your head.
You will stave it off for minutes, even an hour.

But the morning is patient, a new nun with a scrubbed rosary,
knowing that you may not be a believer
but in the morning
you’ll pray anyway. We all do.

© 2008 by Halsted Mencotti Bernard

Day 3 of the RSS fast: today I only visited The WELL, MetaFilter, and Twitter for lunchtime information input. I spent the rest of the time reading Special Topics in Calamity Physics, which is nearing conclusion, after which I’ll continue reading Matter. (It’s dense, and I needed a bubblegum break.)

I did hop on to my Netvibes page, but avoided the tabs containing RSS feeds.  However, I could see using that every day instead of an RSS reader; I like the interface, and it is a multipurpose start page.  It made me want to revisit iGoogle … but not now, because I know there are RSS feeds on it.

So far, I’m not missing any feeds, and am particularly grateful for folks who use Twitterfeed.  Forcing myself to visit communities for news encourages me to participate in discussions, instead of just siphoning bits and scampering off into the shadows.

Day 2 of my RSS fast has been uneventful. Lunchtime was a little strange, as I reflexively opened my RSS reader and quickly had to shut it again. I recovered with Thai food and crossword puzzles and reading. If I want headlines … well, I work in a library on the same floor as a bajillion periodicals. I get headlines the old-fashioned way.

Aside from email, my information inputs today were all community-based: Twitter, MetaFilter, and The WELL. I fiddled with popurls.com for a little while, but lost interest, perhaps because I don’t much care about what is statistically popular, instead preferring what people I like find interesting.

Speaking of people I like, I’m heading to Board Game Night at Gamescape North now!

As I mentioned in my last post, I’m a bit overwhelmed by information right now. In a fit of pique (which just the other day I learned, thanks to FunkyPlaid, is monosyllabic) I decided to stop reading all RSS feeds for a week.

Day 1 has gone swimmingly, perhaps because I spent the majority of it in a workshop. Regardless, I did not check my RSS reader on my iPhone during my lunch break. Email and Twitter were my only two information sources, and I subscribe to the BBC world news feed with the latter, so I have a vague notion of the day’s headlines. I read my book, chatted with FunkyPlaid, window-shopped in Hayes Valley, and started a crossword puzzle.

Tonight I will meet with my writing group, and then head to the Halou show at Café du Nord, so that’s the rest of Day 1. This is easy!

(Watch me eat my words around Day 3.)