I will not

• freak out about money, even though I just inherited a tremendous debt and sweat every time I see it on my online credit statement
• allow the lack of recognition for my work to mean that I will not work my hardest while I'm here
• forget that I am a generally good person with lots of things/characteristics to be proud of
• be scared to speak up... I can be pretty funny, interesting, and helpful
• waste my time worrying or sleeping my problems away because they never go away
• obsess over frien's feelings for me or for others....
• forget that I want to be with someone who wants to be with me as much as I do with him... if it is ever less than that, I don't need the wrinkles caused by worry and endless comparison
• stop going to the gym for an extended period of time again. It keeps me grounded, it helps me tune out the world, and it makes me feel good about myself and my appearance
• drink soda more than once a week

Day 4 - Monday, January 29, 2007

Elliptical - 30 minutes - good pace, fake intervals, fairly easy

No lifting - legs sore as all hell

5:30-6pm

Day 3 - Friday, January 26, 2007

Elliptical Machine - 30 minutes, pretty damn easy
Hyperextension - 10x10 (2)

5:30-6:15pm

Day 2 - Thursday, January 25, 2007

Sitting Calf Presses - (both) 50, 70, 90, 110x10 (single) 30x16(l) 30x20(r)

Elliptical - 30 minutes - pretty difficult

Assisted Pull Ups - 70, 80, 80x10

5:15-6pm

Day 1, Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Elliptical for 30 minutes - around 150 rpm
Leg Press - 50x10, 70x10, 80x10 - difficult but doable
Leg Extension - 30x8, 30x8, 30x8 - moderately difficult
Leg Curl - 20x10, 25x10, 30x10 - moderate

6-7pm

help wanted: in the removal of excess baggage.





she is spread wide ready to receive
but the rival beckons and her lover leaves

i wouldn't have.
and you would.

i'd rather keep my thoughts to myself than have them declared lunacy.

comparisons comparisons
secrets secrets
cynicism

forever runner up. runner up forever? not even first, but second.
my baby. my sweet potato pie. my sugar.
my girlfriend, my frien, my keep-under-wraps.

this friend. this classmate. this prom date.
this other. this asian. this doesn't-have-a-clue.

one date. one night. one light-hearted.
one smile. one fuck. one omission.

she funny. she motivating. she supportive.
she quiet. she moody. she contemplative.

this fun. th

don't lie if you have a terrible memory.

why call my doubts madness? lunacy?
we have both seen them proven.

you left me ashore to go test the waters
while you felt the waves i got buried in sand

if freedom is what you desired then why did you tie my hands?
Freedom is not enough without the oppression of others

My rivals laugh at me behind my back and to my face but you are not so bold
Only behind their backs do you love me

When will we talk again? We've talked mostly about me but he has his own walls built though he won't acknowledge them.

Shared Theme

The heart makes deals without the mind's approval

I won't ask for the same passion you gave my rival

You bring your ties with you to our bed

I never ask for what I want, only look for what I fear

A joke is told. A wide, toothy grin, enveloped by deep creases (not wrinkles) from years of laughing and smiling accompanies the punchline. The desired effect of most aspiring comics, audience laughter, is not produced, neither in the highly-coveted belly rumble, or in the less satisfying, but acceptable, chuckle. Only the low, exaggerated groans from a pair of women can be heard, their eyes rolling down and then upwards in an arc, eyelids drooping to feign ennui. To most, this sort of response would elicit embarrassment, shame, perhaps the immediate rewind of the joke in one's mind, searching for the adjustment that would have secured at the very least, a half-hearted smirk.

A joke is a hard thing to tell. And to recover from a bad one is daunting to even the most thick-skinned of us. So why do the groans from his audience, their tongues wagging as if gagging, delight him so much?

His youngest daughter finds the perfect opportunity to attempt to embarrass him. Around the glass-topped kitchen table, they have gathered. The lazy susan sits in the middle, announcing to everyone its perfect uselessness on so small a table. They pluck grapes from the basket it holds and trade stories and memories. She sets in, recounting her earliest childhood memory:

I was only three or four-years-old. We were still living in the apartment back then and you were mean as ever. You still are, but in Newark, you took meanness to a whole 'nother level. Did you know I used to call you "Skeletor" behind your back? He's He-Man's enemy. He was scary and evil and nobody liked him. Anyways, do you remember this? Making ramen noodles for me in the kitchen and me begging to take the bowl out to the living room, where I could happily eat my soup and enjoy quality television programming at the very same time? You taunted me. "Don't drop that soup. Don't you drop it, you hear me?" I heard you. I held on to the handles of that bowl so tight but you followed me out to the other room, and you said, "If you drop that I'll make you eat it off the floor." Of course, I dropped it. And you made me get on my knees and slurp up at least three noodles before mommy came in and put an end to all the horror.

His eyes are watering and his lips are pursed together into a thin purple line. Is this a display of a father's regret? Everyone pauses. But the thin purple line breaks long enough to let a giggle escape, and everyone's straight backs become rounded again. They laugh, even the storyteller, exclaiming that the trauma caused by that experience would need at least three years of extensive counseling.

...

Random Insecurity

Sometimes I worry if he will ever love me as much as he did her. To be expanded upon at another time for I haven't the energy or desire to worry about it right now. Luckily for me, the feeling was fleeting and left almost as soon as I began writing.

Speechless

I had a terribly long and painful meeting with a grandparent today. This woman is the epitome of maarte. Everything she says must be twisted in every which direction before arriving at the intended (or perhaps unintended) point, and once all engaged parties arrive at said point, they are overwhelmed with a very tired, confused, and disoriented feeling, as if one has travelled four days just to get across the street. All of the topics that she covers in a conversation seem to flow together seamlessly if you choose not to focus on the words, which I so often did today. One minute she is discussing the occult, and the terrible hold it is threatening to have on her son, the next minute she is discussing fashion, and her opinions on what is truly in, or out, of style. Although most of what she said during the two hours we spent together was pure drivel, there was one thing that stuck out in my head and proved somewhat useful to me. She was going on and on about how perceptive she is and how she wishes her grandson could be half as perceptive as she. "That's why we have two eyes, two ears, and only one mouth, see? We need to observe and listen, before we can even TRY to speak." Lord knows how a woman like this, who seems to dare every person she's in a "conversation" with to get a word in or two, could go around citing that as her motto. But whatever, I like it. It gives me an excuse for my diffidence: careful observation and listening.

On the Showing of Affection

• How much can I say that hasn't been heard before, or promised, or sworn on a bible (or some other equally arbitrary book)?
• How much can I say before it becomes obvious that I have no idea how to put feelings to words without sounding trite or unsure (for everything I say, whether it's felt superficially or deeply, seems to come out with diffidence, as if asking a question rather than making a statement)?
• What feelings can I attempt to describe would bring him pleasure? And which would be barely be met with a lifting of the eyes from a well-written book?
• How much affection bestowed would result in monotony? How little before a starving esteem looked for affection in other people and places?
• Where words fail, does touch excel and vice versa? In what sort of proportion should both be used to convey love? respect? appreciation?

Words Fell

So apparently, according to Ray Bradbury in the Art of Writing, I should be keeping a list of words that might serve as a starting point or inspiration for my writing. Here's what I've come across so far that I've enjoyed reading or saying, or wished I could say:

• providence - n. a manifestation of divine care or direction
• insipid - adj. without distinctive, interesting, or stimulating qualities; vapid
• prodigious - adj. extraordinary in size, amount, extent, degree, force, etc.
• alacrity - n. cheerful readiness, promptness, or willingness
• despondent - adj. feeling or showing profound hopelessness, dejection, discouragement, or gloom
• fait accompli - Fr. an accomplished fact; a thing already done
• brevity - n. the quality of expressing much in few words: Brevity is the soul of wit.
• formidable - adj. causing fear, apprehension, or dread
• malaise - n. a vague or unfocused feeling of mental uneasiness, lethargy, or discomfort
• contrition - n. sincere penitence or remorse
• attrition - n. a reduction or decrease in number, size, or strength
• diffident - adj. lacking confidence in one's own ability, worth, or fitness; timid, shy; restrained or reserved in manner, conduct, etc.

• elusive
• strained
• estranged
• contrary
• monotonous
• unabridged/abridged
• impressive
• deceitful
• laud
• brazen
• calibrate
• dignify

Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen

• Elinor Dashwood
• Marianne Dashwood
• Edward Ferrars
• Colonel Brandon
• Mr. Willoughby

Elinor Dashwood is in love with Edward Ferrars, the brother of her sister in law. Marianne Dashwood is in love with Mr. Willoughby, an aquaintance. Both men show affection and interest to the sisters. Both men also become engaged to other women, leaving the two sisters heartbroken and confused, although each displaying these feelings through completely different thoughts and behaviors.

Broad Strokes

There are few good memories of my father before the time I turned eight. Most of what I can remember is his face, brows furrowed with disapproval and lips pursed, two signs which invariably mean that, in public, I have done something intolerable and that later, in private, I will find out just how badly I'd performed. In my head, he seemed always to be yelling. Whether or not that's true, it's hard to say, of course, what with the mind deciding that the past ought to be looked upon as broad strokes.

• Just as Picasso's nudes solicit an immediate response of adoration or repudiation, any event or person dated further back than five years is instantly assigned as mostly good or mostly bad.
• Anything above ten becomes cemented as eternally evil or untouchably pristine.
• Sure, those initially turned off to a piece can sit and study and pluck out instances of genius or beauty, but the initial judgment remains and is usually always part of the description of one's opinion: "At first I thought it reprehensible, until I noticed ...blah blah blah."
• Even those that continue to offer trite condolescences such as "Everything happens for a reason" (yes, even those sad few that own a poster or mug stating the same or similar sentiments) have made some sort of judgment in their head about everything and everybody they've encountered.

I've discovered that how and what I write are usually dependent on the book or author that I'm currently reading. If the path to being a good writer is to read, how can I be sure that I'm writing what I want to write and not what I like to read?

Someone To Tell, Ari Hest

Lend me your ears tonight
I am venturing out
I am leaving myself
I just need you to hear me out
And it just don't seem right
Without someone to tell

Willoughby, Sense and Sensibility Chapter 10

"Brandon is just the kind of man whom everybody speaks well of, and nobody cares about; whom all are delighted to see, and nobody remembers to talk to."

Here I Go Again

Starting a new blog, although this time, mainly just for me to read. I have no intentions of publicizing this thing. I've only just decided today to do a number of things to improve my quality of life over the next year, few years, lifetime. Those include such things as going to the gym, quitting smoking, reading more, writing more, being a better friend, lover, sister, daughter, etc. and keeping a journal of my progress (or lack thereof) throughout the whole thing. Here's to a new year (which I am acknowledging, as is customary, a few days later than its true beginning).

January Books To Read

• Sense and Sensibility
• Little Women
• Jesus' Son
• Alice Munro