Afterthought

I'd pick up a pen to write, but who writes with a pen anymore? Does anyone write at all? Once upon a time I thought I'd be a writer. Haha. I am majoring in English and I haven't written anything significant in a long time. I don't want to think about it.

The weather has turned nice and suddenly people are outside, sitting, talking, walking, playing ball. It's light out and I'm happy. Winter depresses me. I can't wait to shed my winter coat.

A group of kids were huddled in the park, playing some sort of game. It's fun to watch kids play. I don't want to be a kid. I want to watch them in their natural habitat. Maybe learn from them how to be carefree.

I'm tired. I've been baking. Cupcakes, cake, brownies, cookies. Some for Purim, some for birthdays, parties. I'm not much of a baker but I can figure it out. I don't take pride in what I make. I get nervous until people put it in their mouths and say how good it is. And even them I know I could have made it better.

I got a costume for Purim. It's a secret. We'll see if it works out. I decided it would be fun to dress up. Get in the spirit of things.

I have a confession to make. My life is very routine lately. Boring, even. I can't think of anything to write about because nothing inspiring ever happens to me. My thoughts run a mile a minute and the conversations in my head are funny. But nothing seems worthy to share with the world.

Oh hey, I forgot about you. Are you still out there? Ya you. In that creepy only-happens-in-movies kinda way, imagine me pointing at you through your computer screen. Why do I have to do all the talking? Why don't you share something for a change?

I'm tired. Going to sleep now. I'll be back. (Just as soon as I can think of what to say.)

Here comes the Sun

I close my eyes and feel you,
caressing my cheek like a lover might.
You surround me, but more, you fill me
and reach every empty space inside of me.

My eyes search for you,
I see you peeking through the clouds,
struggling to get out.
You crack the sky in half.

The glow spreads
until a ray reaches through
stretching out to earth
because you miss us as much as we miss you.

I smell you
fresh cut grass on a summer day
the scent of new clothing
smooth feel of bare legs.

You cushion my head like a pillow
seeping through my closes eyelids
turning the world orange
bright spots in my vision.

I'll forgive you sunburn,
and sweat
and discomfort
if only you would return.

Children sing about you
and ask you to shine down on them.
Well Mr. Sun, I've seen you
and you can hide no more.

Do you need a man?

Walking home from work today, some guy said to me, "Hello, how are you? Do you need a man?". There are unsavory characters in the area near my office. Stare straight ahead and keep walking. Repeat silently over and over, 'please don't follow me, please don't follow me'.

Um, no. I don't need a man. Particularly, I don't need you.

I'm not trying to fool myself. Yes, eventually I will meet a great guy and get married. Someday. But I don't need a man. I am learning more about myself each day, and what it takes to be the strong confident woman I know I am meant to be.

My mother is on a trip in Florida with my sister. My mother doesn't have Facebook but my sister is a serial poster. She keeps posting pictures of them on their trip. Here they are at the beach, visiting my grandparents, eating food, in the warm Florida sun. Yay. good for you. It's freakin cold here.

My mom looks so relaxed. She looks happy. I spoke to her last night, and she told me she is learning who she is away from her kids. My youngest brother is 16. We are all growing up. While I will always need my mother in my life, she has more free time now, and she is connecting with herself. My mom became a Baal Teshuva years ago, before she got married. I think the whole 'yidishkeit' thing was kind of thrust upon her, and by the time she was married and having kids, she just ran with it. Jump on the moving train, and all that.

In Chabad most married women wear sheitels outside the house. We consider it to be the most mehudar- the highest form of tznius for a women in covering her hair. There are many different kinds of acceptable head coverings, and while I respect everyone's decision, I was brought up being taught that a women wears a sheitel outside of the house.

Lately, I noticed that more and more my mother is wearing tichels (scarves) outside of the house. It is weird for me, because I always saw her putting on a sheitel to go out. But in this picture of her in Florida, she looks so beautiful. She's wearing a purple tichel that gives color to her cheeks, she looks relaxed and happy, and younger. She looks different. She says she is remembering what she was like before she became frum. My mom was talented. She acted in plays, she made up songs, she played musical instruments. She gave all that up when she became frum. Now she is trying to find a way to combine both parts of her.

I don't suppose people live their whole lives as one stagnant entity. No one wants to be stagnant. I'm young. I never thought beyond marriage, I can barely imagine myself having kids, let alone a life 'after kids'. I think it's nice that my mother is rediscovering herself now that she has an 'empty nest'.

I don't need a man to be me. I am learning how to be me on my own. How to be the best me that I can be. And when I do G-d willing find the person I will spend my life with, we will be two complete wholes joining together as one.

About a Boy

With Valentine's day coming up, I've been thinking about boys. I think about them a lot lately. Mostly in the 'will he make a good husband' way, but sometimes 'he's cute' kind of way.

I hate any word related to 'shidduch, shadchan, profile, shidduch resume', etc. It annoys me. I hate putting myself on paper, fitting myself into a little box. I want to be free.

A family friend sent me a profile of a guy. I glanced at it. I hate having to determine 'is he what I'm looking for? Can I see myself with him?' like I have some sort of vision. Sometimes I don't see myself with anyone.

Long story short: the guy was interested. I was not. I have my reasons. But I am also proud of myself. When I first started dating and my self-esteem was kind of low, I felt like I had to go out with every guy who was interested in me because I probably had no shot with the guys that I was interested in.

But now I am able to determine if it is worth the trouble and stress of dating, or if maybe it is really 'not for me'.

I can say no. That's okay. I don't need to or want to go out with every guy that comes up. I have no interest in serial dating.

Ahhh, but Valentine's day. I hear in the secular world little boys and little girls are encouraged to give heart shaped cards to each other with a sweet Valentine's poem on it. No one wants to feel left out.

Too bad I can't stick a heart-shaped card in the locker of a secret crush and say 'I think ur cute'.

I did make my own fudge though, so I am way ahead of the game.

Happy shtusy love day.

Fudge

I want fudge.

I want to make fudge.

I want to create this beautiful thing called fudge.

All I can think about is getting that delicious chocolaty peanut butter sweet bite in my mouth, and every second that I am away from it, it feels like I am dying.

Okay, snap out of it, I tell myself. It's just a little craving. It will pass.

But in my mind I am already planning to buy the ingredients tomorrow and make the fudge. Even though I know it is a really bad idea. I tell myself, it's cool, I'll just eat one piece and bring the rest to work. They'll love me.

One piece. Ha.

My brain is screaming, stop! Don't do it! Don't go any further. Drop the fudge, and no one will get hurt.

I wish it were that simple. I wish I could turn cravings off as quickly as they start.

On the cover of one of my textbooks stands a tiny little man at a crossroads. There are many arrows in front of him, each pointing in different directions. The subject is ethics, and the arrows must represent the many decisions one can make in life. To be moral, or to be immoral. The choice is up to you.

But it is not a choice, really. We, who got the Torah. We, who were told not to lie, told to be honest and just and good. Do we need a textbook to teach us to be ethical? It is laughable. And yet I sit in a classroom once a week, listening to these people discuss right and wrong like it is really a choice. It is torture.

We always have a choice. We can choose to be honest, or greedy. Ethical, or immoral.

I can choose to have the fudge, or resist temptation and let it go.

What will it be?

Leap of faith

The world is one big puddle. People slip and slide down the street, trying to find dry places to walk, only there are none. Their feet struggle for purchase, as they pray that they don't fall.

My boots are waterproof and my feet are dry, and for that I thank G-d and my good sense to spend money on well made winter boots. Two days ago when it snowed I thanked every person who shoveled the sidewalk, so I could walk by on snow-free ground.

Some people took the lazy way out and didn't bother to shovel, or even to put salt down. Maybe they figured that they could get away with it, after all the snow will melt eventually. But alas, it rained today. And not the pleasant rain that washes away all the snow, but the kind of rain that pelts at you in icy prickles, thudding on the roof of your umbrella (if you're lucky) and turned the hard packed snow into a dangerous ice rink. It makes those people who have no jobs grateful to be able to stay home, and for the unfortunate souls who must work for a living pray that they get there in one piece.

I learned quick enough that it is better to embrace the ice than to try and fight it, so I slid my feet along the sidewalk in a way that must be similar to skiing, except I've never been skiing. The sidewalk was not so bad, and it was a pleasant surprise every time I got to a relatively dry patch. I even saw a few guilty souls out there shoveling, scratching their heads like, 'oh ya, did I forget to do that 2 days ago when it actually snowed?'

You have to learn the etiquette of a narrow strip of shoveled sidewalk, when you see someone walking towards you. You both dart left, then right, then one  sucker (usually me) reluctantly steps aside to allow the other to pass.

Behold, the corner. A flood. It is comical. You see many a people make it to the corner, thanking G-d that they did not slip on the ice, only to find out that there is no where for  them to go. Straight? Maybe try to cross the street? It doesn't matter. You are on an island surrounded by water and there is no where to go but forward. Or backward. You must make a choice. Give up and go home, after you've come this far? Or keep going to reach your destination?

In life we are faced with so many challenges, big and small. Just when we think we have figured it out, we are gliding along tentatively thinking, 'I got this', I can do it, then life throws you a puddle and says, just wanted to test you to see how committed you really are.

Well, life, this time you will not see me fail. I remember the game of belts we used to play as kids. The aim of the game is to see how few leaps you can take to jump from one point to another. The one with the fewest strides is the winner.

I eye the puddle, and although my boots are water proof, I don't want to test them that badly.

So I back up a few steps...

I start running forward...

I leap, and hope I'll make it to the other side.

Dry and in one piece, I'm still going strong.

When life hands you a puddle, you take out a paddle and say, 'I got this'.

We Can

There is no I in team.

I never really thought about it nor did I care.

I don't consider myself a team player.

But give me a responsibility and I will thrive.

I trained a new person in this week. I barely recognized myself, the amount of patience I showed was unlike me. Today my coworker said jokingly, "Work is changing you". To which I retorted "You mean because I'm a nicer person now". She laughed. They all laughed. But it was the truth.

Working with people, especially training in new people can be extremely grueling, and sometimes I want to snap at someone, or ignore them, or brush them off, or tell them to figure it out themselves. But every time someone says "Altie I have a question, do you have a minute?" I say Yes, how can I help you. Because when you start saying no they will stop asking.And it feels nice having people come to you for advice.

I reached that point where I stopped wondering when I would move on to the next stage in life and leave this 'temporary' job. I stopped counting the months I've been here. I used to dread the thought of committing to one job for a long period of time. But now it is a great feeling to be able to say that I've been working here for over a year.

I may have a bit of team spirit in me after all.

Oh Joy

We hired a new guy in the office. I got to train him in. Oh joy.

It can be used in a sarcastic way. I have 25 pages to read for tomorrow. Oh joy.

Today I slipped on the ice on my way to work. Oh joy.

Or literally: I am loving my new class this semester! Oh joy.

I left my familiar building behind to broach into new territory. I'm taking a psych class. I'm not majoring in psych. The professor had us each say our name, what we are majoring in and what our job is. Everyone said psych, psych, psych, psych. I said, English major. He said, interesting, how did you end up here? I told him there were no English classes available. The honest answer. I got some laughs from that.

Psychology fascinates me. This particular class is industrial psych. The prof poses a question: Someone calls you up to ask about an employee who is not that great a worker. They ask you, how is he as an employee? What would you answer. Some people said, say the truth, don't hire him. I said, say good things to get him off your hands. Professors response: You will all be sued. The employee will come after you and sue you for slander. Never say a word, you send them to HR and say you can neither confirm nor deny that the peson ever worked for you.

Lesson one in the corporate world.

I am taking another class called business ethics. The book has a picture on the cover of a little guy standing at a crossroads with many arrows. I feel like that right now. I am majoring in one thing but interested in another, and not sure what I really want to do. I can't think past graduation and even then who knows which degree would help me more in life.

In work-related news, I trained in two new people in the last few weeks. Which means I am officially no longer the newbie (after working there almost a year and a half).

Good things are happening. Spring is right around the corner. (I always wondered why they call it Spring semester when it starts in the heart of winter.)

Hey man, stay warm.

Where we go to get away

The snow obscures the ground. I cannot tell where the sidewalk ends and the street begins. I am not in control tonight. You are. And so I follow you.

These low lights and high stools and soft chatter. I've been here before. Well, not here, but places just like it. The haze that confuses you, you squint at your surroundings, but still you cannot see clearly. You wonder if that is the effects of the dimness, or too much alcohol. Then you don't care.

Tonight we are here not to drink, but to have fun. And we do. I laugh at the dirty jokes that are in poor taste, and the sorry people who make fun of themselves for a living. They get up there awkward and try to make a crowd laugh. Some people laugh. Some people titter. And some are just too drunk to care.

It's late and I'm too old for this. That's what I'm thinking at the beginning of the night. Too cold, too much snow, too tired, too sober for this.

But I didn't come just for the laughs. I came to say I did. And to see you.

I come home with a smile and a lighter step. I had a nice time. The snow will soon melt but tonight will stay with me.

Museum Muse

People come here to get inspired. To experience culture firsthand. They come here for hours. They come many times as once is simply not enough to take in all this beauty and splendor.

What of me? Why do I come? Rather, why did I come. Because I won't be back. Been there, done that, got the sticker. I'm a one time kind of girl. Culture just isn't my thing.

I gaze at the paintings and try to care. Sculptures and statues and photographs. Drawings and masterpieces. Furniture. Quaint dining room sets. Gorgeous old jewelry. Musical instruments. Asian culture and Greek culture and Arabic culture and plain ole American culture. So many things in one place. One maze that takes you from room to room with guards that are always watching. Look but don't touch. No flash photography. No eating. Getting lost until it feels like one will never find their way out.

I want to lay down on the ground and soak it up like a sponge and see if it will seep into me. If being around all this culture will make me cultured as well.

But I'm not a sponge and I'm lost in a maze and claustrophobia sets in and I have to get out. Where's the exit, sir? How do I get out of here, ma'am? Air. I need fresh air. I need to be gone from all these paintings staring at me haughtily saying you naughty girl, you barely saw anything. Stay awhile, don't go now.

But I must go. Like a caged bird I yearn to be free. So I run and get outside in the fresh air and the sunlight and I walk until I see a sight worth stopping for. The sun shines on the reservoir as swans swim peacefully; the sun shines on the water in a cloudless sky. The air here is clear and fresh and I breath it in in large lungfuls. I would trade this for all the museums in the world.

I may not appreciate fine art on canvases in famous museums. But pure nature is G-d's greatest creation.

It feels good to be free.

I thought you didn't care

Some people say, 'hey I'm coming home, bake me some cookies'.

I asked you to hide the cookies.

I didn't know that you listened.

Instead I heard what I wanted to hear. Disinterest in your voice. Distance. Like you didn't care.

So I didn't show. And you didn't call. And I thought you didn't care.

But cell phone reception was bad. So I didn't know that you called. Twice. And left  two messages. And texted. To say that you thought I was coming and you missed me.

I thought you didn't care if I came, but maybe that was my own insecurities talking.

And thanks for hiding all the junk food.

My opinion

You think you know what I will say before it leaves my mouth. Funny. Sometimes I don't even know what I will say when I open my mouth.

I say I don't discuss politics or religion, but what I'm really saying is that I want to be able to have an opinion without you disputing it on the basis that you disagree. We can disagree. That is what an opinion is. But don't try to change what I believe.

I surprise you sometimes. I know I do. You look at me shocked by the things I say, claiming that I used to leave the room when you would discuss those topics. Not true really. You would gossip, which I hate. I was merely reading an article that someone else wrote, which I don't even agree with.

There is a buzz going around Facebook. When is there not. You think I'm the type to jump on board, to add my voice to the melee, to call for blood. You don't know me. I would rather stand in the corner and watch everyone running around like headless chickens and smirk because I know better.

I may not know better. But why are you making an outcry? Why are you pointing fingers? First you accuse people of paying no attention to a story and then when they do, you complain that they are giving the story negative coverage. Well what do you expect? Negativity sells. And all they want to do is sell a story.

I am not heartless. Maybe we simply have a different understanding of the same subject.

It's funny how you think you know how I will react. I say I will not get involved, I would rather keep my opinion to myself.

Sometimes that is simply because I have no opinion on the matter. And sometimes it is because I know you will crucify me for what I believe, and I don't need that.

We can discuss Kim Kardashian's latest pictures if you want. I have an opinion on that.

Last Chance

2013 was a pretty good year. I have no regrets.

Let's talk about goals. I made a goal and I didn't reach it. Tomorrow is New Years. But that doesn't mean that the goal is over. It's one of those goals that can extend beyond the time set out.

So I am filing for an extension. I will keep at it, and G-d willing reach my goal soon, and set new goals and reach those as well.

2014 feels weird in my mouth, but I never really liked 2013 anyway. I don't like odd numbers.

G-d willing this year will be a good one.

Glass ball, is there a tall handsome man in my near future?

Best wishes for all of you in the secular new year.

Dear Notebook

I've missed this. I used to write in you all the time back in sem, when I didn't have a laptop and my thoughts would run and I had to write them down or lose them forever.

Lately I've stopped thinking so much. Or I got so busy I had no time to think. Or I didn't let myself think. Which is good because sometimes when I think too much bad thoughts pop into my head, sad depressing thoughts, and lately my thoughts have been normal and happy and stable.

But I'm not sure what day of the week it is. I'm gonna say Monday, but it doesn't feel like Monday. It feels like this week has been going on forever and so tomorrow must be Wednesday which means pizza day in the office, only it's not Wednesday and I don't eat pizza.

Break time means free time which means boredom or an all-consuming need to fill up the silence with noise, preferably the kind that quiets your thoughts and makes you stop thinking. Only, TV drama is way worse than real life. It sucks you in, and suddenly you find yourself loving/hating/involving/investing yourself in fake relationships you see through your computer screen, and when you turn off the show you can't stop thinking about it, and when you go to sleep you can't stop thinking about it, and when you work you can't stop thinking about it, and it consumes you and you know it's time to stop but you just can't turn it off.

You want someone to shut it off for you and tell you to stop watching shows that suck you in so much and make you sick when the characters fall in love or out of love, and you know it's all fake but you can't help it.

But no one comes to shut it off.

12:00 AM comes and you find yourself standing in the kitchen thinking it's time to make a lunch and go to sleep and you can't move.

So you call home and listen to your father's voice on the phone, which is weird because you hardly ever speak to him for so long at a time, and then he says hold on and so you hold on for 3, 5, 7 minutes but he doesn't come back and you know he's forgotten about you.

So you do the mature thing and drag yourself to bed and vow that tomorrow you won't watch that show anymore. But you know you can't stop.

You can't wait for break to be over and life to go back to normal, while wondering what it is about the TV drama that makes your life seem so boring. But that's what TV does to you.

And you wonder if somewhere out there is someone who will know when to pull you back from the edge.

Six Word Challenge

Hemingway was asked to enter a contest: write a meaningful book that contains only six words.

He wrote: "For sale. baby shoes, never worn." - an entire world in those six words.

What would yours be?



(Credits go to a Facebook friend for posting this.)

Oh Boy(s)

Long ago when I was young and innocent, I was uncomfortable around boys. They made me feel self-conscious. I would move differently, talk differently, think differently around them, always wondering how they perceived me. I would make a big deal out of every small glance, every spoken word, wondering if he was thinking about me, what he thought about me. For instance, when I was fourteen and I called my neighbor to speak to her, the sixteen year old boy answered the phone, and he asked how I was doing, how's school, etc. Forever after I kept thinking how nice it felt that he took an interest in me. (I may have had a crush on him).

Fast-forward like four years. At eighteen my sister got engaged, and I wanted to jump on the bandwagon. I was in seminary and I told my mother I was absolutely ready to get married, and I wanted to start dating. After some determination it was decided that I was not ready. (Married at 18? Haha, says my present self to past self.)

A few years after that I started dating. It was exciting and nerve wracking at first, but it quickly turned to draining and annoying, each date a roller coaster on its own. No matter how many times I tell myself that I won't care if it doesn't work out, it is hard nevertheless feeling like it will never happen for me.

But, life happens, things settle, and I began to feel calm and that it will happen at the right time. Better to get married at the right time to the right person, than too soon to the wrong one.

Enter: my young roommate. In her late-teen-early-twenty stage, all she can talk about is boys. To my knowledge, she has not dated once. But all the time it's "My mom says this dress looks so great on me, all the boys will be after me". or "So this cousin who is seven years old wants to set me up with her other cousin who is like nineteen, and I'm like, no way! That's so embarrassing!". Or "I was at a shabbos table full of guys and the host asked me who I'm married to, so I flipped my hair and said, 'no one'." Or, "My chaseedish cousin who is like six wants me to date her uncle, he's like eighteen and that's normal by them. And every time I'm there they mention him and I'm like, guys stop, it's embarrassing." Or "I was by my friend's house and her brother asked me to leave the room because he was going to work out, so I said, right like I've never seen guys work out before, but he insisted that he doesn't like working out in front of people. So I left the room but I had to go back in to get something, and he was shirtless."

My first reaction whenever she does this (which is all the time) is to say, shut. up. Get over it. There are tons of guys in the world and you are bound to bump into a lot of them, or be teased about dating them. So seriously, grow up and get over it.

But then I remember how I was at her age. Young and innocent and convinced that you could go out with any guy and iy would work out, cuz guys are like, guys, and aren't they all the same?

But no. They are not. And maybe while I have realized that I need just one, no matter how hard it is to fine, she is still in that stage of 'oh wow look how many are out there, so many possibilities'.

And who am I to wipe the stars from her eyes? She will find out soon enough, dating isn't all that it's made out to be.

For my mom

Who goes wherever her kids need her.

And for my dad, who follows her wherever she goes.

I love you.

Who will bring the food?

She asks me to go over there, make sure he's alright. She doesn't tell me, but I know if she were here that's what she would do. Maybe he wants to talk, she says. Probably not. Maybe he doesn't want me there at all.

She's worried about him. But don't tell him I told you to go. Right, like he thinks I would just show up on my own, out of concern.

So I go. I bring food, because how could I show up empty handed? I say, I brought cream cheese sandwiches, I'm not really sure what you like. I don't know what he likes. I don't know if he wants to talk. I don't know how he feels. But I came with food.

I ask him how he's doing. He responds as expected. What are you really supposed to say in this situation?

I don't know. So I bring food. And I tell them I'm here if they need anything. I know they probably won't take me up on the offer. But that's what my mother would do.

What are you afraid of?

He sits down next to me and I freeze in place. I barely breath, my eyes focused forward, unblinking.

"Hows your evening going?" he says.

"Great," I say, hoping like hell that he will get up and move on.

He is sitting so close to me, not touching me but just barely. "Are you happy?" he asks. I don't respond.

'Please leave me alone. Please leave me alone. Please leave me alone' I repeat in my head, over and over.

But he doesn't. He just keeps talking. He says he thinks it's nice that I don't have a phone in front of my phone. That the world needs more people like us. I am not willing to put him and I in the same category.

When I relax enough to move my head, I notice his fingernails are cracked and dirty. He has a rolled joint between his fingers. Some of his teeth are missing. For all intents and purposes, he looks homeless.

But he doesn't smell bad. I notice that.

He keeps talking, I try to tune him out but he won't stop.

He says he just wants to talk, he's a good guy, he just wants to connect with other people.

He says his name is William, by the way, and he hopes one day I will remember him as a good guy.

He seems to think that we are alike, and I hope that is not true.

 But I decide he seems harmless enough, so I start responding. "Are you happy?" I fire back at him.

He says not really, he is lonely sometimes and he just wants company.

He mentions Jewish people. I ask him if he believes in G-d. He says he doesn't believe in one G-d who runs the world, he thinks we are each our own G-ds and goddesses.

I tell him that I believe in G-d. And by the way, I'm Jewish. He says that's nice.

Thank G-d it is now my stop. I stand to get off. He stands too. I groan.

He says, oh I actually have to get off here too. I need to go to C___ station.

I say, you missed it, it's two stops back that way. He says he will walk.

I say it's a long walk, just take the subway.

Please don't follow me, Please don't follow me, Please don't follow me, I think over and over again. He doesn't follow me.

I leave the station. My heart is pounding. 

William, you are right. It is sad that there are so many bad guys out there in the world that we are taught to be afraid of them all. I live in New york and I know that the subway is ripe with weirdos. My first instinct is to run in the other direction.

If I wasn't afraid, I would tell you that I am happy, for the most part. That I'm a writer, and isn't that cool? That I'm different than a lot of people, that you and I have something in common, we both want to connect to people, but the difference is that you try while I block everyone out. I don't need people, I say. They are burdensome and annoying. They speak a different language. We have nothing in common.

William, why me? Out of all the anonymous faces on the train, why did you choose to sit down next to me? And why when you ask such a simple question, are you happy, does my heart pound and my mind is saying yes but thinking hmmm I never thought about it cuz no one ever asked.

I'm afraid of you, because I fear the unknown. Had I known you were no threat we may have had a pleasant conversation.

But I am also afraid of myself, and what I would discover if I let my guard down.

I'm afraid of what will come out when I open my mouth. I have so much to say, but no one really asked.

Why me?

Stay warm tonight, William. I will remember you.

The World and I

"There's no I in team". That's what they like to say, anyway.

If I help you, will you help me? Will we do this together?

But it was I who was up until 6 am writing my paper. It is I who will give it in. It is I who will be graded on it.

You encourage us to discuss, share, learn from each other. But what happens when I get paired with the one person in class who barely speaks or writes English properly? In an English class. An English major. It is grade school all over again as I search the crowd seeking out a partner, someone, anyone but him. And all I want to say is, why sir are you majoring in English when you can barely write it?

It is torture reading a poorly written paper, and to have to comment and evaluate it is hard. I want to mark it with a big red F and move on with my life. I know better. I am smarter. I am greater. My paper is complete, it meets the guidelines, it is perfect.

Why then must you ask us to reread, to rethink, to question, to restate, to reask, to revise, to rearrange? All words that begin with 're', the prefix that means to do over again. But I don't want to do over again, I want to be done with it. Don't make me question it, I have no answers.

Yes, I'm tired. My brain is lazy. It wants to curl up in warmth and sleep and stop revising a paper that will have no impact on my life.

I don't need you to tell me how to do things, because I already know.

Who said that I am right and you are wrong? Who said that the way we speak and write is right or wrong or must comply with the rules? Who has made these rules?

In an alternate universe, you would read my paper and groan at how bad it is and how hard it is for you to read such junk. You'd think to yourself, if only everyone could write like me the world would be a better place. You would walk outside and think that the sky is shining for you, that the birds are singing for you, that everyone is praising you for you are great.

I easily slip into the mode of right and wrong. Why do you heat up water in the microwave instead of on the stove, that's just dumb. Why do you straighten your hair every day, it looks just fine curly. Why do you take advil when you have a headache, be a man and suffer through it.

The question, really, is why is the world not more like me.

But instead of telling you what a stupid paper you wrote, I smile and say that you have a good start, here is where you can go with it.

I say, oh poor you I'm sorry you have a headache, when all I'm thinking is, (*cough*)drug abuser(*cough*).

The world may be full of idiots, or I may need to learn more tolerance, or both.

The answer lies not in the world, but in me.

The House Across The Way

I see them mostly every day. I can't say I really know who they are. We share a walkway. I say a neighborly 'Hi, how are you' when I see them. She's a mom, with two kids. There's no husband around. I thought he died. I heard they're divorced. I didn't care enough to find out which was true.

The little girls sat outside one day with a table full of toys from their house, yelling "Sale! Sale!". In an effort to help them out I bought a pack of playing cards for two dollars. They told me I was their second sale of the day.

On Purim I did the neighborly thing and accepted shaloch manos for them when people came around, rather than letting it sit outside their door.

I chatted briefly with the mom. I offered to let the girls wait inside my apartment when their mom wasn't home. I've seen them in school uniforms and assumed they attended the local frum girls' school. I hear them coming and going. I'm a New Yorker at heart. I can't say I really know them. I can't say I really care.

One day I saw them outside wearing pants. I looked twice to be sure they were the same little girls who lived next door. They were. I said hi and walked past. It made me sad.

I try not to be a nosy person, but I wondered if anyone knew, if anyone cared what was happening to the family. I only sort of know their names.

One Shabbos I heard the little girls outside. I am slightly ashamed to say I spied on them through the peephole. I heard them call their mother. No one answered the door. The older girl said, in a nervous voice, "I'm gonna ring the doorbell". The little one looked uncomfortable. She rang the doorbell and I ran quietly away from the door, thinking about what I saw. Their mom came to the door. I'm not sure, but I think I heard her voice through the intercom.

I'm thinking, somebody should do something about this. Anybody. But not me. I barely know them. I'm not nosy. What would I say?

And so I stood by and did nothing, and let these Yidishe neshamos slip away.

A simple gesture

He appears at my desk and immediately I wonder what he wants.

"I just wanted to say hi".

I say hi, in a bewildered voice.

"How are you?", he asks, with concern in his voice.

He asks like he cares. Like I am important and my state of being matters to him.

I say I'm fine, thanks, it's nice to see you.

He works in the upper management of the company and I've only spoken with him a few times. It is nice to feel like he knows me.

Say hi like you mean it.

Pity

There are times in life when we show the world how strong we are, that despite any situation we can keep going and stay strong. We scorn pity, we say no thanks we're fine, move along.

Then there are those times like when you get your wisdom tooth taken out and all you want is for people to say 'awww how's it feeling, that really sucks'.

Ya it sucks. I can't eat anything, I can't drink anything, there's blood, and I'll spare you the rest.

I may be brave but coddling would be nice. (Thanks mom).

#Hashtag #Chanukah #Blues

I can see the big greasy latkes my mother used to make when I was a kid. We would sit on the floor and play dreidel, eat chocolate coins and donuts and enjoy Chanukah like only a kid can.

One of my fond memories from childhood was running across the street to Lefferts park right before Shabbos Chanukah to see Rabbi Butman land in a helicopter and get a dreidel. He would light the public menorah in Manhattan and fly back to Crown Heights to make it in time for Shabbos. Then he would hand out dreidels to the kids waiting there.

Chanukah was an exciting time, to have vacation from school, get Chanukah gelt, and eat and eat and eat.

Chanukah as an adult is hard. Between work, school and life, I have to make time to light the menorah. I dread the greasy food, I treat donuts like they are the enemy, I can't imagine how many calories are in all these foods. 

We had an office Chanukah party for the first time ever and I made the effort to go. It was fun seeing coworkers after hours, there was food and alcohol and entertainment. Some people brought their spouses and families. I brought no one. 

I came home to see a card for me from my grandparents. They send me a Chanukah card every year, with a check inside. It is a nice gesture and I smile when I see it. Someone is thinking about me.

For me, the meaning of holidays has changed a lot since I became an 'adult'. Things are not done for me anymore. My family doesn't really have huge parties. If I didn't light the menorah for myself, no one would. 

It is a hard transition from being a child to being an independent individual with responsibilities. It gets easier but not funner. Even though I go through the motions, it would be nice if I could just show up and participate. 

Despite my personal feelings about holidays, it is heartwarming to see menorahs in banks and gas stations and know that the whole world is celebrating the festival of lights.

When chatty is too chatty

I got an email from my professor entitled "A letter to pretty much everyone I know". It was a holiday greeting of sorts. I don't know if she intended to send it to students or if she simply sent it to her whole email list.

It was 'family newsletter' style, updating people on her life, what she is doing now, etc. Oh, and that she is pregnant! Yay.

Is that too personal to be telling students? She actually told me already, we were walking to the subway together after class and she said she hates taking the subway, she used to bike to school but she stopped now because she is pregnant, even if that is just an excuse.

When I say pregnant I mean I can barely tell. She sits at her desk most of the class but I have seen her standing up and I don't recall seeing a baby bump. (Although I'm not the greatest judge, in high school there were teachers like in their 5th month and girls would be whispering about it and I would be like, what, she's pregnant? Huh.)

She is a very friendly teacher and the class is small and 'intimate', but I still think a line should be drawn and personal information such as having a baby need not be shared.

Oh, so on the show 'The Biggest Loser' the trainer Bob 'came out' as being gay, he was trying to encourage a contestant to 'come out' to his parents. I saw an article how this is the first time that Bob was open about his gayness. But c'mon, we all knew already. So is he now gay because he said it publicly, or was he gay all along? But if someone called him gay before he 'came out', could he sue for defamation of character? Is that a real thing?

Does all personal information have to be shared publicly? 

What I'm thankful for

It's quiet in the apartment as I watch my menorah keep an eye on it while watching a show on my laptop and I am thankful for the quiet. It is hard living with other people and coming home after a hard day of work and being surrounded by noise, and being asked how my day is when I don't care to talk about it.

But at the same time I am thankful that I have people in my life who ask me about my day.

I am thankful for my free time, which is rare these days. Between work and school I am pretty busy and have very few hours that I can just relax.

I get a call from a friend asking if I can come over and babysit now. She took a gamble that I wouldn't be in school and she got lucky. It is cold and rainy out and the thought of leaving the house on my free night is not welcoming. But I always tell her "call me if you need me" and I am always busy when she does, so I go. And I am thankful for the three gorgeous cuties who keep me company when they are supposed to be sleeping. The 3 year old tells me about the menorah he made, and squeezing 'shemen zayis' into his menorah and I want to pinch his cheeks. I say I'll tell them one bedtime story and I struggle to remember the story of Chanukah, something about Antiachus the wicked king, he did to the Jews a terrible thing, and besides he was so mean....- hey it's hard to forget that song. But the kids help fill in the blanks and we get through the story just fine. Then I tell them it's time to sleep.

I am thankful that I have a job where I feel appreciated necessary for the cause and I feel accomplished (when I don't want to strangle someone). I like that I have my work 'people' and work jokes and am a part of it.

I am thankful that I get to leave work at work and go home at the end of the day and not think about it.

We take so many things for granted, like food and shelter and money. I can't imagine my life any other way, neither richer nor poorer. I have come to accept that what I have is mine and I achieved it, I earned it. But it can be taken away in a second.

I am thankful that I feel content and grounded in life, that I am proud of what I have done and where I am heading. I am proud of what I left behind, it is great to be able to recognize that at any given moment in life, you are where you were meant to be.

Happy first night of Chanukah. Have a donut!

Silence

Chance.

John Cage's 4'33”. 

At first I thought it was the dumbest thing I ever heard, to take silence and call it music. 

How can you say that someone “composed” silence, or that they own it? 

It looks really dumb seeing a guy sitting there and not playing the piano for 4 minutes and 33 seconds. 

But truly, it is brilliant. It makes one question, what is music really? 

Is music the beautiful sounds of flutes and violins played for people who want to enjoy the music or dance to it? 

Is music the loud blaring pop that we listen to today? 

Or perhaps the jazz that was so popular, with all the instruments that came with it. 

Methods of chance are weird, make up strange sounds, take objects that we would not normally think of as instruments and use them to compose what can only be referred to as noise and that I would ask someone, no insist that they turn it off. 

It is torturous to listen to it and think thatanyone can possibly call that music. 

But to think that someone could block out a portion of silence and call it music, learn to listen to the sounds, a portion of time can never be duplicated, the idea of it is brilliant. 

Even if I would never choose to listen to it.

Scattered Pieces

There was money on the floor and no one was picking it up.

They didn't seem to realize that those tiny greenish scraps of paper littering the floor was a dollar bill torn into many pieces.

Who would do that?

Scattered forever never to be reunited.

Or perhaps swept up and thrown away.

21 pieces. All over.

There is George Washington's face.

You just stepped on him.

Clever, or stupid?

A game?

A message?

Were 'they' waiting and watching for someone to pick up the pieces and put the puzzle together?

But I can see it's just one dollar.

So really, is it worth it?

What Now

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Someone left the tap on again. I watch it and contemplate getting up to shut it off.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I have an essay due tomorrow. Haven't yet started it.

Drip. Drip.

Essay will not write itself.

I just sit and stare and listen to the sounds around me, try to hear the silence in the music, and wait for someone to walk by and shut it off.

I stand in the supermarket isle, my basket too heavy to hold.

I leave it there on the floor and walk up and down the isle, looking for a certain type of chips that I can't seem to find.

Get to the end of the isle and turn around and keep looking. Nothing.

Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.

The sink is leaking harder now.

I can't find the chips. Where are the chips?

Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.

Why won't it stop.

I sit outside on the steps eating licorice. Close my eyes and hope no one will find me here.

Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.

I found the chips. They are long gone now.

The tap is still dripping. It won't stop.

It's a steady stream. 

I can't seem to move.

Someone walks by. I ask her to shut off the tap.

The dripping stops.

Two minutes later someone leaves the tap on again.

I can't seem to win.

Wish I knew what to do next.

Remember, Remember, the 5th of November....

Happy 5 years of blogging!

Today also marks one year from the day that I started working at my current job. Big accomplishment for me, considering I could never imagine myself committing to one job for more than a few months.

I am older and wiser now, and more prepared to take on the world. I hope that this coming year will enable me to continuing growing and analyzing the world around me, in an effort to understand it. I hope that I can add a new perspective, and that people will gain something from seeing the world through my oddly shaped glasses.

Have a cupcake in my honor.

If I went trick-or-treating

"Did you go trick-or-treating tonight?"

I look around in confusion. Who is she talking to? She repeats the question again, looking at me.

"Did you go trick-or-treating tonight?"

I say "hahaha, no, I'm actually coming from-"

She points to my red tote bag, which is holding my books from school. Says, "I thought, wow that's a lot of candy."

I smile and ask them how their trick-or-treating is going, did they get a lot of candy, I comment on their costumes and say how cute. I wish them luck in their candy gathering and tell them that I saw a lot of litter on the subway from candy wrappers. We wish each other a good night and part ways.

If I went trick-or-treating would I egg them if no treats appeared? Would I go from door to door and use that opportunity to tout my religion? In exchange for a treat, tell them about G-d?

I'd say, the real treat would be if we could all stop fighting, and live in peace and harmony.

I'd say, Obama's just a name and in a few years he will move out of the White House, and won't you just feel foolish for saying such nasty baseless things about him.

I'd say all these heartless murders are killing us, and there is an autistic child that went missing a few weeks ago, and we may never see him again. I see his picture everywhere and I wonder if he is lost somewhere in the subway tunnels where no one will find him. I think about his parents waiting at home for a call, to hear news good or bad and all they want is for their child to come home. And that little boy is not going trick-or-treating tonight.

I'd say we are separated by race and religion, by political standing and allegiances to teams that play games that mean nothing at all. Sports that waste millions of dollars yearly so fans can stand 3 deep at a bar and scream at the television screen, as if they could decide the fate of other humans. But you and I we share this world, we share the air we breath. We are all humans, people just trying to live our lives.

I'd say wouldn't it be nice to turn on the news for once and not hear about people dying, prisoners escaping, government officials being arrested for corruption, missiles falling in Syria and people pointing fingers and always trying to place the blame on anyone else.

I'd say aren't you scared to let your child leave the house dressed in a costume or a mask, looking like all the other bedecked children tonight and approach a stranger's house, many strangers' houses and ask for candy, are you not afraid for your child's safety.

If I went trick-or-treating I'd give out candy to all the kids, even the ones who came back for seconds, knowing that maybe their moms or dads are too poor to buy candy and tonight they want to feel just like everyone else. I'd make sure that they throw their wrappers in the garbage and not litter them on the subway floors and benches, because after all, that may be someone's bed tonight.

I think of all the people coming in contact with each other, strangers with flitting passing interactions, they laugh and talk and are emboldened by their disguises. They swarm the streets and subway cars in groups, hoping to get lucky tonight. Tomorrow will be back to school and work, if they wore a mask tomorrow they may get arrested for suspicious activity, we are taught to be scared of people in masks and hoods and disguises, but tonight, they blend right in.

Think of how much each person has to share with the world, if everyone dropped advice into these brightly colored trick-or-treating baskets instead of the poison we call candy, the poison that dentists love and parents hate, the poison that guilts people every day into dieting, if we forgo that poison for snippets of love and goodwill we may all be that much healthier and wiser.

I walked by a store tonight that had a sign in the window that announced "NO candy, only stickers", and I wondered which child was dumb enough to enter just to get a sticker, when everyone else was offering free candy.

If I went trick-or-treating I would say, "Sorry, NO candy, but I do have advice, I have life experience, I have insights and opinions, I have a unique outlook on life that is sure to be different than yours, I have happiness and sadness and stories, and love, I have inspiration that is sure to last way longer than that piece of candy that you stuffed in your mouth, or the one you left behind on the subway, deeming it unfit for your possession.

If I went trick-or-treating I would neither trick nor treat, I would not dress up in disguise. I would go out as myself, with all my flaws and all my attributes, I would share what only I can give and show people what they have been missing.

I would be ME, and hope that the world accepts me for who I am.

The Giraffe Challenge

One friend changes her profile picture to a giraffe, and I think "huh".
Two friends: Okay, what's up with this?

After a little digging, this is what I found: 
There is a riddle going around Facebook. If you get the answer right, nothing happens. If you get the answer wrong, you must change your profile picture to a giraffe for 3 days.

The riddle goes like this: "3:00 am, the doorbell rings and you wake up. Unexpected visitors, It's your parents and they are there for breakfast. You have strawberry jam, honey, wine, bread and cheese. What is the first thing you open?"

Really, my opinion of humanity is falling lower and lower.

If you feel like trying to solve the riddle, try your hand at the challenge here: http://thegreatgiraffechallenge.com/.

In the end, it really just comes down to: Do we have time for all this stupidity?

We Fought

In winter we fought, we fought in summer, and spring. Throughout the years we fought. We fought by parties and by weddings, we fought in company and alone. We fought on the phone and in parks, in restaurants and in malls. We fought over a $50 bill in the ocean, we fought over spots at the table, we fought for attention. We fought over shoes, and toys, we fought over books and computer time. We fought over looks, we fought with words, we fought with knives. You left and we fought, I came back and we fought, we fought over cars, and boys, we fought in old houses and new ones. We fought on buses, we fought in different cities, we fought when we were together, we fought less when we were apart. We fought over food, and jobs. In frizzy hair we fought, sleek and straight we fought. We fought in school and at home, we fought over rooms and beds, we fought with names, we fought with chairs. We fought over remotes, we fought over clothes, we fought with faces and gestures. You left me at home and we fought. They made you take me with you and we fought. We fought over friends, we fought over makeup and perfume.

 

We fought sadness, we fought pain. We fought insecurities, we fought weight, we fought ugly, we fought titles, we fought mean names. We fought ourselves. We fought the haters, we fought the enemies, we fought the losers and the weirdos, we fought the intrusions, we fought the uproots, we fought change, we fought life, we fought depression, we fought school, we fought society.

We fought, we fought, we fought.

You fought and I didn't know. You smiled and you fought, you gave presents and you fought, you shopped and you fought, you ate and you fought. You went on trips and you fought. You fought in the house and outside. You fought in company and alone. You fought and no one knew. 

You fought and for once we didn't fight.

Unsettled

Freeze.

You know you should say something but you can't make any words come out of your mouth.

So you sit in silence, and the seconds stretch.

You know the person on the other end of the line will say "are you still there?".

You have a choice, to pretend that you got cut off and to hang up the phone.

Which won't undo anything nor unsay what was said.

Or you could react.

So you say, "I don't really know what to say".

And that is all. That is how you feel. You know it doesn't involve you, it doesn't much affect you, life will move on and things will keep changing and spinning and happening on their own.

No one is waiting for your big reaction, no one is asking you to be dramatic or emotional or say what you feel, cuz really, it's not about you.

You want to just say, "uhu okay that's nice, thanks, bye" and hang up.

You want to rehash what was said over and over again until you understand it, and give your opinion on it, and make sense of it, and try to change it.

Change it. Undo it. Make it like it never happened. If we could turn back the clocks, would that make things right?

But no one is asking you, nobody cares what you have to say.

And it doesn't matter really, does it.

Usually, you can describe how you are feeling. But sometimes, there is really nothing to say.

You kind of feel nothing at all. And that makes you feel weird.

How can one describe nothing?

Devoid.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

I feel nothing.

And what does that say about me, really?

Forced Company

Friday afternoon, I still did not have a place to eat for the Friday night meal. My mother said, 'go to your brother!', but I go to him way too often, and I found out that he had gone away for Shabbos. My friend invited me to go with her to some post-sem single girls meal, and I was reluctant, thinking it would be awkward, and that I would not have anything in common with these girls other than that we were all single. I didn't enjoy the thought of being lumped into a group simply because we all shared the same 'single' status. Why don't they make a group for artists, or writers, or people who share the same interests? My whole life does not revolve around my singlehood, nor does it define me.

After expressing my opinion and discomfort at the thought of this meal, I reluctantly agreed to go, because my friend is rarely ever in town, it would be nice to spend time with her, and well, why not.

We went to shul first, which was nice, and the lady in charge made me feel welcome. She is also my high school principal's mother, they look so much alike, and she brought back warm memories. After shul, we relocated to the room where the meal would take place, and then I started to get nervous. There were so many more girls than I expected, my friend and I could not find two seats next to each other, she was not agreeable with my idea that we ask two girls to move over so we could sit together, so I grumbled about sitting by myself next to strangers, and thought about going home, to my familiar warm apartment with no awkward social gatherings.

Then the meal started, and the girl next to me started talking to me, and I surprisingly had a very pleasant time. She was refreshing, similar to me in some ways, and we found what to talk about. Throughout the meal the girls sang songs, and my new friend and I sang a different song than everyone else, because we both just liked that song better. I helped serve food, and clear the table, I saw familiar faces of girls I met before, and I told the friend I had come with that it was okay that she abandoned me because I made a new best friend. She insisted that she did not abandon me.

The meal was arranged by a program that is geared towards post-sem single girls, and they want Friday night meals to be a regular thing, maybe once a month. The woman in charge said they are in the process of building a lounge, they envision it to be a place for girls to come and hang out, learn with each other, or just have fun. They also want to have programs, melava malkas, and other activities.

While the idea does sound very nice, and it is great that someone is taking charge and filling a need in the community, the thought of being part of a 'singles club' does still make me uncomfortable, mostly because I'd rather not be a part of it for logistical reasons. And also, joining feels like if I label myself as a 'post-sem single girl', that is what I will be forever. Silly, I know. But then, fears usually are baseless.

I didn't expect to have a nice time, and I did. And that is rare. So thank you to said friend for bringing me along.

Despicable Me

I hated those people, the manipulative ones, the ones who try to get there way 'just cuz', who push others out of the way and say things like, 'I don't really need it, I just want to stick it to them'. It makes me cringe.

I hate those people, the ones who call me 'liar' on the phone when I am just trying to do my job, and accuse me of trying to screw them over, and threaten lots of things if they don't get what they want.

I hate those people, the ones who refuse to pay for a service because one little thing was messed up, and I just keep thinking how dishonest that is, and it bothers me.

And yet I understand them, the hapless helpless feeling of what now? I trust someone, I trusted you to come through and you didn't and now what am I supposed to do about it?

So I basically called them a liar, and threatened them, and told them "I know what I'm talking about, so don't try to pull the wool over my eyes".

And then they came through in the end. And more than that, they offered me compensation to better 'satisfy' me. Now I feel ashamed, like how could I have stooped so low and become those people I hate?

Wake up on a Saturday night

It's Saturday night and to some people that means putting on their best glitz or glam outfit, lots of makeup, and going out on the town, trying to meet people, mix and mingle, find something to do, go where it's 'happening'.

It's 7:30 and I have nothing to do. No, I have an essay to write but I don't want to. I don't have school tomorrow so I should be out there with the best of them, doing something, anything but laying here bored out of my mind.

I don't have any good books to read. I don't have any movies I feel like watching. I think of getting dressed and going out, but then it's 10:00 and I haven't done anything and now it's too late.

And still I sit here, laptop sleeping, music playing on the radio, and I feel bored. Restless. I want to do something but have nothing to do.

I think the correct term would be 'Bla'. As per thefreedictionary.com: blahs A general feeling of discomfort, dissatisfaction, or depression.

Okay, so I decide to draw. And I can't think of what to draw so I draw charcoal people that don't really look like people but kind of do. I think of psychologists and how they have young kids draw pictures because they can't accurately express their feelings. And I look at my charcoal sort-of people and think about what I'm trying to say.

Then I lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Then I call my mom. Then I hear her talk for ten minutes about a foreign film she saw with my father that she liked, it was in French with English subtitles, and she thought I would like it. I tune her out and think, sometimes you don't even hear what they are saying, it is just nice to hear their voice.

Then I hang up with her and think about watching a French movie with English subtitles, and think about getting dressed up and going out, and think about having someone to go out and do something with, and think about all the people currently out and having fun, or pretending to have fun, or having a horrible time but not wanting to go home because then their life would be really sad and depressing, so they go out and pretend to be full of life and exciting like everyone else but really being boring and depressing and wanting to go home, and thinking about how nice it is that I can stay home and not feel like I'm missing out on some big party scene, and then I listen to a Hilary Duff song that I heard on the radio years ago when I wasn't supposed to listen to the radio but I did so secretly until my sister caught me and told my mother, but now I can do whatever I want and the song is about going out on a Saturday night and I wonder if she actually wants to go out on a Saturday night or maybe they just told her that is what she has to sing about so she did what she had to for her career.

So I listen to it about 7 or 8 times and then write the world's longest run-on sentence just for fun.

Time to go to sleep. Happy Sunday.

Dreams

Did you ever wake up from a dream ad have that feeling that something good happened, but you can't remember it?

And then you do, it is a warm fuzzy memory from dreamland, an occurrence that never really happened, and yet you remember it as if it did.

You play it over and over in your mind, wishing you could go back to sleep and return to that dream, hit play and see what will happen next. But alas, we have no control in dreamland.

You replay the details again and again, bothering it like a loose tooth, until you are not even sure what you dreamed.

After many times of thinking about it, it begins to fade, until the warm fuzzy feeling goes away, and you realize that it was only just a dream.

But you want so badly for it to be real. 

Worldly Experience

There was a guy who declined to date me for the reason being that he didn't think I was 'worldly' enough. He has since married a girl from South Africa. I guess living in another country could make one 'worldly'.

What does being worldly even mean? Does it mean you have to travel to many countries, be cultural, know current events, be involved in politics? Does it mean anything or is it just a pretty way of saying nothing?

A person can have a more extensive life experience staying in one city his whole life, than someone who has traveled the whole globe. Experience comes from what you know, how you perceive the world, how you think, how you act upon what you know.

People have book smarts and people have street smarts and people have no smarts at all.

What makes one a worldly person?

The B---- who stole my day

I don't hate all people, just some people. And the some people that I hate, it is usually because they don't respond to me in the way I had expected them to. And I don't adapt very easily.

Building on my last post, the girl who I will now forever remember as "The B---- who stole my day", is at it again.

I emailed her being that not only did she hand in her story on my day but to top it off she didn't even print out enough copies. So I messaged her to say, in the nicest way, "hey B----- who stole my day, please send me your story. Oh, and by the way, not cool what you did."

In my exact words:

"It seems there was some confusion, as you switched your workshop date with mine without letting me know, being that I missed two classes. I stayed up late finishing my story only to find out that it is now due in three weeks. As you can imagine, that was a bit distressing for me. There is nothing you can do about it now, but it would have been nice if you tried to get in contact with me, send me an email or ask the professor to let me know ahead of time. I would have had no problem switching with you and having extra time to work on my story, had you asked me. In general, that is the decent thing to do."


Me thinking that she would be all nice and apologetic and I would be all forgiving, like oh don't worry about it.


Her response:

"I'm sorry that you felt rushed without the knowledge that you didn't have to have your piece ready, but I can assure you that I had no idea that there was anything to inform you about.
I had an issue with my workshop date and asked the professor if she could switch my date and she told me that she would be more than happy to bump up my date earlier. At no point did she tell me that I would be swapping dates with you or that I should inform you about it. I was under the impression I was being moved into a free slot. I would think it would be the responsibility of the professor to inform her students of a swap or at least provide one student with the other's contact info.
The decent thing to do would be to not make assumptions about a situation because, like you stated, you were absent and therefore weren't there when this happened. "

(When I told the professor, she said she had assumed that this girl had worked it out with me. There is way too much assuming going on.)

 Thanks, B-----.

I noticed she was wearing a magen david necklace. Now I feel like saying, hey while I was out celebrating our holiday, where were you??

I so want to tell her that her story sucks, but she would probably just find a way to turn it around on me. And the worst part it, based on the first few sentences, she is a decent writer. Which makes me hate her even more.

Now do you understand?

Fiction writing

I'm taking a fiction writing course at school. I wanted to see if it is something I would be interested in.

I learned that it is not. I decided that I either have no imagination or it is somewhere in there so deep that I can't find it.

Every time I sit down to write a story, I second guess myself. Is it stupid, will anyone like it? Didn't I just read a book with the exact same storyline?

Every idea I come up with seems too cliche, done before, tired, or from a book I just read. Or I stress and think, will it suck, will people hate it?

I get myself so worked up that I can't even write the first line. My mother told me that I am thinking too much, that I should just start writing and forget about all that stuff. I told her that I may need something to 'relax' me first, so she told me to have a drink. (Yes, my mother suggested that I drink.)

So I stressed and stressed and managed to write a story that seems decent enough, and it was due today because each student has a scheduled day that they have to hand in their story to be workshopped. At 2 am I finished, and I went to check the list of students to see how many copies I needed to print.

Then I realized that my name was moved to the 24th. So basically, no one told me that I was switched. I missed 2 classes because of Sukkos. My teacher replied and said that a girl asked to switch with me because she would not be there on the day hers is due. My teacher just assumed that she had asked me so the switch was made without telling me. In her words, "we've made changes. People joined the class, things evolved." Thanks lady. While things were 'evolving', I was celebrating my holiday.

My story is done a few weeks early. But that will just give me extra time to stress about it, revise it, scrap it, hate it, love it, all or none of the above.

If you are interested in reading the story, feel free to email me. I chose not to post it here because this is not a fiction blog.

Bystander effect

When you see a stranger in distress, do you run towards them or away?

The bystander affect is an interesting phenomenon whereby many people witness an event happening, such as a mugging, an attack, etc. But the more people that are in the crowd, the less likely it is that any one of them will run to help, or to call 911, being that everyone thinks that someone else will do it.

A famous story used to illustrate this effect is the Murder of Kitty Genovese. A woman who was murdered outside her home, and neighbors heard her screaming and did not go to help.

It is unfortunate, but pretty common.


Also it's natural to not want to get involved, especially if there's a possibility of personal harm.

But what if you needed help and everyone stood and stared and said, hey anyone got a light?

If you see something, say something. Do something.

American Haiku

He browsed a newspaper left behind.
How many hands held it today?

                                                    June 5, 2013, #2 train
            * * * * *

If we all shut the tap tightly,
we'd have more water in the world.

                                                June 5, 2013

            * * * * *

He dropped his ID card
and I ran after him shouting "excuse me!".

                                              June 17, 2013, College Campus

           * * * * *

Zooming around on office chairs is fun
when the boss is not around.

                                           June 18, 2013, The Office

Fear

Fear is irrational and stupid.

Tell that to the trillions of people who suffer from stupid and irrational fears. And the list literally goes on and on: The phobia list.

I thought my 'fear' was made up, but apparently it is real: Graphophobia- Fear of writing or handwriting. I don't have a fear of writing so much that I have a fear of sucking, or of ridicule. I just have to write a short story for school. But what if it comes out horrible?

Ah, there's a word for that too:
Katagelophobia- Fear of ridicule.

Some are especially noteworthy: Kleptophobia- Fear of stealing.
So like, don't steal.

LOL: Syngenesophobia- Fear of relatives. 

Chaetophobia- Fear of hair. (Like, even on your head?)
 Phalacrophobia- Fear of becoming bald.

Cenophobia or Centophobia- Fear of new things or ideas. (ME!)
  
I think if I keep reading and identifying with this list I will become insane.

And there it is: Agateophobia- Fear of insanity.

Cibophobia- Fear of food.(Sitophobia, Sitiophobia) (Do you starve?)

Chirophobia- Fear of hands.

Macrophobia- Fear of long waits. (Most people, everywhere.)

Hmmmm... Papaphobia- Fear of the Pope.

Yup, Xenophobia- Fear of strangers or foreigners.

Anthropophobia- Fear of people or society.
Sociophobia- Fear of society or people in general.

Oh so that's what my problem is:  Sophophobia- Fear of learning.

Bromidrosiphobia or Bromidrophobia- Fear of body smells. (I think we all suffer from that)

Agoraphobia- Fear of open spaces or of being in crowded, public places like markets. Fear of leaving a safe place.

I searched 'fear of babies'. No such thing.

Made the list:  Theophobia- Fear of gods or religion.

BEST. ONE. EVER:
Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia- Fear of the number 666.

Okay seriously, if you need a laugh check out The List 

I need to go to sleep.

Oh no:

Hypnophobia- Fear of sleep or of being hypnotized.
Somniphobia- Fear of sleep.

Noctiphobia- Fear of the night.    

Clinophobia- Fear of going to bed.

I could just go on and on.....