Floor Plan B

spacedani · Apr 7, 2004

grief

I want to hit a wall. Fuuuuuuck…

I can’t believe this is fucking over. I feel so sad all of the sudden. Like I lost. I gave up. I surrendered. I didn’t really finish anything here: acting, improv, friendships, adventures…I feel like I did everything half-assed, because I was too fucking afraid to commit to anything. Even people. I met a shitload of awesome people in the improv community, but my fear (which translates into social awkwardness) kept me from REALLY getting to know any of you. And now I’m fucking leaving. It makes me sad. I’m sure I’d feel like this whenever I leave, but I feel like things are just now starting to take shape. I’m focusing my life and meeting people outside of improv and redefining my existing friendships and not taking as much bullshit from people and starting to see the shades of gray in most of my endeavors, not just black and white. Flip. Flop. Balance. Compromise. 30% cool gray, not all white.

On the one hand, I’ve accomplished a lot, if not so much objectively, then at least in Dani-scale. Not only did I blindly move to New York without a place to live and knowing not a soul, but I also finished a year of full-time acting school. I directed a small handful of plays. I’ve busted my ASS waiting tables, including during the lean fall and winter of 2001/2002, when everyone wanted to numb themselves in bars, not awaken their senses in restaurants. I’ve survived hellish co-workers and demon roommates. I’ve moved four times. This Cali girl dealt with the weather, trudging into the office when others called out for “blizzards.” I've carried myself through major chemical depression. I've loved and lost and loved and lost and loved and lost and loved. And lost. I've forged a completely new career path. And tomorrow, I’m getting on stage to improvise a musical in front of an audience of my peers for the first fucking time! Me, who used to cry during singing lessons because I felt so vulnerable and inadequate. I have come a long, fucking way.

AND I learned how to cuss.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Okay, I checked my email and have since calmed down a bit. What am I going to do in Oregon? I mean, aside from schoolwork. What will I DO? How bewildering.

spacedani · Apr 12, 2004

fashion and sex

I’ve been spending a lot of money lately. On STUFF. Not on things I can eat or things I can drink or things that are fun, mainly. But on stuff.

I told myself I was going to have fun before I left New York. Not be so stingy. Not be such a schmoe. So I’ve been spending as though I were Spalding Gray about to board the Staten Island Ferry. [Sorry.] But you’d think that, moving to Eugene in June, I’d be spending my hard-earned cash on dance clubs and movies and dinners and bands and plays and hos. But no! Instead I’m buying high heels and belted jackets and camisoles and other things that will be of little service to me in the backcountry, once I get there. Why? No Oregonian lumberjack-frat-hippie-student-guy is gonna care whether I wear my cuffed Seven jeans with pointy Marc Jacobs flats or with ratty Converse. In fact, they’d probably prefer the ratty Converse. Because they’ll be wearing a scummy pair of Adidas from 1998. So why do I care? Why do I bother? With my current wardrobe alone, I’ll doubtless be the lone style stalwart of U.O.

While running on the treadmill today, I figured it out: the clothes, the shoes, even the act of shopping and spending itself—it’s grasping at straws. It’s the way I hold on to New York like one might claw at the edge of a limestone cliff, about to fall at any moment. And once I’m in the abyss, even if there’s no one there to appreciate them, I’ll still have my pointy Marc Jacobs flats. My Burberry trench. My Kate Spade sunglasses. No matter that the terrain is a rocky desert and I actually wear prescription lenses—these items are New York memories incarnate. Prêt-a-porter at its best. Reminders of that which once was but that now ceases to be. There’s no Bendel’s in Eugene, no Barney’s Co-op, not even a Diesel boutique, to be sure. Get the goods while I can, then hoard them like golden acorns in my future log cabin. Though I’ll be scorned by the locals for wearing BCBG stilettos in public, I can always don that Burberry trench and those Kate Spade sunglasses in the bedroom, like a kind of Italian mafia fetish gear for gentlemen callers.

Woe, what will become of me? And uh…of my BCBG’s?

Other things on my mind:

Taxes
Housing
Chocolate
Drafting assignment due tomorrow that I had three weeks to work on but didn’t.
Sex

Specifically, the disparity between how men and women’s sexual habits are perceived in our culture, specifically by MEN. I am SO FRIGGIN’ SICK of the stud/whore dichotomy. If a woman chooses to share her body with you, that is a damned sacred thing. RESPECT HER. 98% of the time, men don’t deserve women’s bodies to begin with. Why should a woman give herself to a BOY who doesn’t know how to touch her (attentively, with awareness, responsively), what offends her (beard stubble, rough hands, rough and clumsy groping, rushing), and who doesn’t respect her (insists on nights “in,” disrespects boundaries when tired, etc., makes time for sex but not breakfast, must be drunk and/or stoned to be intimate, views her as a semen dispenser)? Well FUCK YOU, idiot little loser boys. (I sound angry here but really I’m just emphatic.)

Shave. Be present and aware. Make an omelet or take her to breakfast. Appreciate her presence, and tell her so. If you are ashamed to be seen in public with her, then you should not be using her body in private. IT’S NOT THAT HARD, kids. Respect.

Peace.

spacedani · Apr 14, 2004

former actor feminazi

“I was an actor.”

I was an actor.

I was an actor.

It sounds…okay to say it. Not bad. Not great. But okay. Maybe even good. Kind of a relief. “I was an actor.”

Went to see some short solo pieces tonight, and afterwards, I complimented one of the performers, who was riveting. “Thank You. You were so vulnerable and committed and just…thank you.”

“Thank YOU. Are you an actor?”

“I was an actor.”

And it’s fine. I’m moving to Oregon to study architecture and everything is fine.

In other news, I posted my little sex rant on craigslist the other day. A couple people emailed me to say thanks, and there were a few negative backlashes posted to the site. One went like this:

My response to this garnered me the coveted title of “feminazi.” Another person said I was addicted to coffee. How flattering and odd, I thought, respectively.

Am I a feminazi? Last weekend, a friend of mine pointed out that I mildly bit some guy’s (her friend) head off when he stepped into a conversation two other women and I were having about dating. I had no idea. I thought I had said something like, “We’re talking about men and dating…” My intent was to gently “warn” him of what he was stumbling into. But apparently it came off as “We’re having a bonding experience and ranting about men, so don’t even TRY to participate in this discussion.” When she told me later in the evening that that’s how I sounded, I was mortified. Do I sound like that? Am I a feminazi? And if so, why? I know there are already a couple people on the boards who think I am.

It’s so curious how disparate {the way the world perceives us} is from {our own self-perception}. To discover the former is so luminating.

Hehe. Feminazi.

edit: I just had a realization. I think the coffee commenter was onto something. If the boy would have simply made me a cup of coffee, I wouldn't have felt so objectified and abandoned. Just a simple little measly cup of coffee. I'm stupified at how easy it really is, yet still so many guys miss the mark. Wow.

spacedani · Apr 23, 2004

Raising the bar

---
My emotions have been put through the wringer by hormones this week.
---

I'm going to quit doing myself a disservice, and start being more judicious.

At this juncture, I refuse to have sex with a man who

- is married or otherwise committed
- I love but who doesn't love me
- is belittling, degrading, humiliating, or objectifying
- abuses a substance more than I am comfortable with
- has hurt a woman friend by doing any of the above
- or if the costs outweigh the benefits.

Along these lines:

- not if he's a player
- not if he's financially irresponsible
- not if he doesn't know how to communicate
- not if he's self-absorbed or selfish
- not if he doesn't take care of himself

more to come, I'm sure. Right now, I need to take a chill pill and sleep.

But ladies, how can YOU stop doing yourselves a disservice, and what does raising the bar look like for you?

edited to say: ugh. I hate what my Acrimony thread has become--so far removed from its original purpose. It's fucking annoying and if I keep responding to every irrelevant, ignorant post, it will continue to snowball. I'm out.

spacedani · May 2, 2004

moving

Holy fucking shit; I'm moving to Oregon.

<img src=http://a248.e.akamai.net/7/248/1229/v134/imageonthefly.autodatadirect.com/images/?IMG=U4NIGEG1.jpg&WIDTH=640" alt="1994 Nissan Quest XE Passenger Van" align=left>
94 NISSAN QUEST MINI VAN - $3200

SERIOUS INQUIRIES ONLY PLEASE

87,000 ORIGINAL MILES
POWER WINDOWS AND STEERING
7 PASSENGER
1 SLIDING DOOR
AUTO START WITH ALARM
HIDDEN RADIO/CD PLAYER- NO CASSETTE
REMOVEABLE SEATS

I'm going to look at this vehicle tomorrow, if it isn't sold by then. I'm also buying a large pet carrier for my two kitties. Sort of overwhelmed by all of this. Need to find a place to live in Eugene. Need to do my assignments for the rest of this semester, but I have no motivation anymore. Especially since my classes won't count towards my Oregon degree. My cats are going to hate the trip. What to do about the fish? Maybe someone would want to buy the tank and fish from me. I think I may be able to give my fish back to Petland, in any case. Right now, the only things I cannot bear to leave behind are my mattress and bed frame, my Gary Fisher hybrid, and I guess that's it. But I'll probably also bring my drafting table and bookcase and TV and telephone table and nightstands. Lord, what will I do with all these books? Too many books that I have separation anxiety over. I feel like if I get rid of my two or three boxes of acting books and plays, that it's like throwing out the last five years of my existence. Not true, of course, but ack! I'm also worried about driving out alone. I asked my good friend in SF if he wanted to fly out and ride back with me, but he will still be finishing up this semester in advertising school by the time I drive out there. We would have had so much fizzun. Fyuck. Lord. God.

spacedani · May 4, 2004

Dodge Grand Caravan

<img src="http://auto.consumerguide.com/images/autoreview/lrg/96103331990709LRG.jpg" alt="1996 Dodge Grand Caravan">

No go on the Quest. He sold it. But that’s okay as it might have been too small, anyway. And ugly. Looking into the Dodge Grand Caravan. The one I’m going to see before class tonight costs about 7K. Am I crazy? What’s wrong with me? Why am I spending all my money on a car? How do I know I’ll be able to sell it once I get there? At least, how do I know I won’t lose money on it? I do not.

Was up until 9:30 this morning working on a perspective drawing for class tonight. Called in “insomniac” to work for a half day. Got a blueprint done on my way to work, and now I’m here, posting on the IRC. I should really focus, and get an apartment, THEN worry about a vehicle. Yoiks.

Stress anxiety is creeping up again. Not NEARLY as bad as the end of last semester, but still here, nonetheless. Not sleeping doesn’t help much, either. It’s like this vicious cycle: I’m stressed out in general so I procrastinate on my assignments by looking for apartments online. Then I stay up all night drafting, and am exhausted the rest of the week. Sleep deprivation causes irritability and less energy to de-stress at the gym (on top of the stress of finding a place to live, a van to buy, final projects to work on, dumb job at which to be awake, and packing and moving my entire existence 3,000 miles away). So what do I do? I go into “overwhelm mode,” staying awake too late without accomplishing anything of substance thereby just worsening the whole situation.

I can work under the gun and handle pressure. In fact, I get the most accomplished that way. I just don’t like it.

Coffee. Apartment. Dodge Grand Caravan. Sleep.

spacedani · May 6, 2004

a few brief notes

I dodged the Dodge, as they say. He wanted $1700 over blue book for it. He was willing to split the difference, but that still would have been $850 more than blue book I want to spend. I was kind of hoping he'd sell it to me cash for blue book value, but no cigar. People get really attached to their money and their possessions. I hope he does get $7K+ for a '96 Caravan, for his sake. He won't, but he can try. His other car is a new Mercedes. I'm a secretary. Yay for greed!

Everyone should read Slickun's "Why I'm going to marry her" journal. I just did again, start to finish. Gives me hope for the human race, kind of. Great reading for people who think they're tough.

Need a massage bad, but my normal massage vehicle is no longer a viable option. Maybe I'll just wait until after I move, when I'll REALLY need it.

I should be drafting right now.

Might surprise my mom in San Diego this weekend, showing up on her doorstep with my brother Eric, who lives in Vegas.

Have been submitting one or two apartment rental agency applications per day. Nobody likes cats. Why??

Tim and I are good friends again. He's sad I'm leaving. Poor guy. I'm sad to leave him and my friends, too. But I'm glad I'm not the one being left behind. He seemed genuinely bummed out. "You're gonna go to Oregon and get a boyfriend and settle down and have kids and everything." "Probably," I replied with a wink. "He'll be a professor."

For the first time, Tim seems to think I'll have success in relationships. Maybe he knew something that I didn't all along: I'm not New York fodder. Although I kind of knew that all along. Interesting though--now that the stakes are virtually zero for dating in New York, little opportunities have appeared. I suppose it's the shift in a woman's energy: when you don't need them, they're like bees to your honey. When you need them, they cross to the other side of the street to pass you by.

Pacific Northwest. Pictures and now-broken links. I knew I'd be going out there, even though I didn't really know it. Just needed to find my raison d'etre.

This is so weird.

spacedani · May 9, 2004

I did go back to Cali. Yep, I do think so.

It’s such a different world out here. I can’t believe I f’ing GREW UP here. Weird. The weather is, as usual, perfect.

I had so much to say yesterday in the plane. Not so much today. It’s always emotional, flying in to San Diego. There’s still a lot of crap, buried, or not so buried, that I deal with every time I see my mom. I guess it’s good I’m only here for a day, before it gets weird. She was shocked, though. We pulled up in my brother’s car last night, and my mom and her friend were smoking in the garage. (Not according to plan. She was SUPPOSED to be in the living room. I was supposed to call her and chat for a minute before ringing the doorbell. She was supposed to answer the door while still on the phone with me. Yes, TV cliché, but it would have been awesome nonetheless.) So we pull up, and apparently she was like, “who’s pulling into the driveway at 9pm?” Then she saw the Nevada plates and was like, “Eric!” So he gets out while I slink behind the dash. She’s totally surprised that he drove out from Vegas. Then I get out, and she’s like, “Eric, you brought a girl over and you don’t even introduce her!?” But as I get closer, she flips. “Oh my God, it’s my daughter!” It was rad. We really got her good.

I’m screwing myself though. I’ve got so much friggin’ homework. I brought my T-square and drafting supplies, so hopefully I’ll get something accomplished while here. I’ll be on a plane all day tomorrow, so most of that day is out the window, too. Whatevs. I think this was one of the few times Eric and I could actually pull this off. Once I start grad school and he goes back to work after disability (next week), we won’t be able to do this. Plus, this is a good time to visit. Fred is back in the hospital not only for his cancer out of remission but also for his leg skin graft rotting off. She’s stressing out.

Facts, facts. It’s nice to be here, even though I feel somewhat awkward. Like I don’t know what to do with myself. She doesn’t know what to do with us, either. The fridge is empty and there’s really not much to do. We’re visiting Fred in the hospital later today. I feel like I should be a better support, but because we don’t talk regularly and never had a very tight relationship when I was growing up, I’m not really sure what to do. I wanted to reach down and start rubbing her shoulders last night, but I didn’t. I don’t know why not. She was never very touchy-feely, and neither was I. We’re all sort of stoic, Mom, Eric and I. There are reasons, probably, but not for an IRC journal. Suffice it to say, the three of us have been through a lot of crap together. Like any family.

We watched Seabiscuit last night. I thoroughly enjoyed it. For some reason, the part that struck me was how quickly and easily the second wife “snagged” Jeff Bridges. Back then, it didn’t take much, I guess. Marriage was such a normal part of everyday life, and if a guy wanted to get some, he got married or paid for it. A lot more things were sacred then. I guess women who put out a lot and want to be in committed relationships, yet aren’t, are part of their own problem. Ugh. I hate that things are this way. There’s got to be a balance. I wish men got pregnant, too.

spacedani · May 10, 2004

Luxury deluxe resort campus living

I might live here. Fancy schmancy. Might have to take a roommate. But they'll give me a half-off discount for the summer months, which means I'll have time to find someone I like, preferably a guy. I really don't think I can live with another woman. I need to rule my territory. And so it is.

Or I might live here. It looks quite different from the previous complex, to be sure. But it's $450 for a one-bedroom as opposed to Chase's $780 for a two. And it's closer to campus than Chase, although it doesn't have a pool and a 24-hour gym, etc., etc., etc.

Oh, and yes, these are very cheap rents, compared to New York. So why don't I just live alone in the 2-bedroom? Because once I move there, $780 won't be cheap. I will have no income and will be spending over $13K per year on tuition alone. That's why.

I'm worried, because the girl in Eugene who said she'd look at an apartment for me if I wanted to rent it is now all, "I'll give them a call if I have time later in the week." But it might be gone by then. Yikes. I feel so sort of helpless. I might just have to sign a lease blind.

To have or not to have a going-away party? That is the question. It's sort of pathetic to organize your own going-away party. Especially if something like only three people show up. This is my fear. Talk about out with a wimper. But I'm afraid of too many things, in general.

Was up all night drafting this morning. Started getting ready at 4:30; by 5:30 Eric and I were out the door, and by 6:30 we arrived at the airport. By 8:00 I was on a Continental flight to Newark and by 8:05 I was out cold. Woke up at about 4:00 and landed at around 4:15. Nice.

Back to drafting those pesky tulip chairs. Why do I make my life more difficult with fancy furniture and complicated diagonal shelving? Why?!

[Sigh] It's hard being a perfectionist. I'm just too fabulous.

:Qh:

spacedani · May 11, 2004

It's 3:58; do you know where your final draft is?

So I just finished the preliminary draft. Now on to the vellum final version, which also includes time-consuming shades and shadows. I told myself I'd get to bed by 5, but maybe it would be better to try for 4:30. Won't finish draft by then, but maybe I can finish at work. Thank gawd for that extra desk behind me.

A few things I want to do in Oregon:

learn how to be a rockstar drummer
become a rockstar drummer in a local band
learn Judo and then kick asses if bad guys give me shit
play a sport like soccer or basketball
become a really awesome salsa dancer
dj at the college station (for old time's sake)
maybe take up the viola again and play in a chamber orchestra. or a rock band.
learn Italian
make my apartment look like something I would design for a client
design original furniture and break new ground in sustainable design
get my work some exposure in a trade publication before I graduate
ride my bike all over like a mofo and build up quads of steel
get that master's degree
meet the love of my life and forget all my problems

Back to the drafting table.

spacedani · May 12, 2004

Striking fear into the hearts of men.

I wish I could see people’s souls. My mother is psychic and used to be able to do all those things that most people don’t believe in, like read auras and predict the future. She lost those abilities, she says, when she told a woman that she (the woman) would die soon. The woman didn’t know she was sick and wasn’t expecting to die, but sure enough, she did. I guess that would constitute an “abuse of powers.”

I wonder what I’d see. Would most souls be compassionate and loving, or would they be frightened and alone? Not the people, but their souls: the inner them-ness that makes them uniquely them. My belief is that most souls would be compassionate and loving, and that fear and loneliness lie very close to many people’s cores. I am not exempt from my own evaluation.

Animals possess fear. It’s how they get through life. Without it, all but the highest on the food chain would be eaten alive as soon as they left the nest/den/roost/burrow.

{Interestingly, the verb “burrow” is a synonym for “cuddle,” which is a synonym for “love.”

Also curiously, its antonyms, “flinch, push away, and shrink” are all behaviors that animals adapt to keep potential predators away. For protection.

“Canoodle” is a keeper, by the way. I digress.}

As animals, it’s natural for us humans to be afraid, to shrink back and protect ourselves from other people, our potential predators. We’re our only predators since we’re highest on the food chain. But the thing about this FEAR to which we attach ourselves like a toddler to his skanky security blanket is that it’s totally antiquated. Emotionally, we’re in the freakin’ Stone Age. And there’s no good reason for it. (Sure, fear comes in handy when someone physically attacks you or when you’re lost in a forest full of boa constrictors. But in most other circumstances, I really think it hinders.)

I mean, do we really enjoy feeling frightened and alone? Is it comforting in that Ur-evolutionary sort of way? Does it still work for us? Are we getting what we want? If dissatisfaction were a late model SUV, there’d be enough of it in “civilized” societies to congest a hundred thousand Los Angeleses. We’re so pre-occupied with the pursuit of happiness that we have made ourselves miserable. We’ve traded in real life, not to mention liberty, for the shackles that are “the pursuit of happiness.”

How do we move from the pursuit to the real thing? If I knew, Bill Gates would have nothin’ on me. But I have a hunch that it involves doing something different. Looking our animalistic fear in the eye and telling it where to get off. Going back to our days in the burrow, where there wasn’t even a word for fear because we were protected and loved. Stepping off the cliff into the fire, with faith that everything will be okay. Because it will. Unless, of course, there’s a boa constrictor forest down below.

And even then, the worst thing that could happen is that we become immortalized in a Shel Silverstein poem. What an awesome way to die.

spacedani · May 14, 2004

minutae, not matters of the heart.

I have been incredibly sleep-deprived and generally stressed lately. Yet I'm uncharacteristically even-keeled, except for getting annoyed at my brother, the "Can't-do Boy," tonight on the phone.

I've got it all scheduled out. Now that I'm planning however, it's time for God to start laughing (according to the Jews). But if I get this current drawing done by Saturday, I can start on the overdue one on Sunday, work on it all day, and get it done by Monday morning. That covers all the assignments I owe for drafting & perspective drawing class.

Then after work on Monday, I'll head to school and work on my final project for computer modeling class; the lab is open 'til 1 a.m. Then on Tuesday morning before work (HA!) I'll head over to Everready and get blueprints made for drafting class, which is after work. Then after class, I'll head over to the computer lab again and finish my modeling project, which I will hand in Wednesday night in class. Then maybe I'll head over to the PIT party, which is just a block away from FIT. Or maybe I'll collapse on the train home. Either way, I won't truly get to recover sleep until at least Friday night. Thursday night is Mark's (the lawyer I work for) going-away party. We will both quit on the same day: Friday. A la Romeo & Juliet, but without the love. And death.

More tedious facts:

Haven't been to the gym in a good couple weeks. I can see my body melting. The sacrifices I make for education!
Am still buying a mini-van. Cars.com seems to have stuff.
Have yet to find an apartment in Eugene. Fingers crossed on getting it over with by Monday.
My cousin Marshall is moving in with me later in the month. I know. Insanity. He'll keep the apartment for at least a month after I leave, and then decide where he wants to live. It's almost like he's moving here from San Diego to take over my life. If I actually had one. I'm sure he'll be much more "socially active" than I was--devilish, adorable heartbreaker that he is. The things I'm willing to do for family...

I have no idea how I'm going to host a houseguest and pack and move and generally flip out at the same time. But where there's a will...

Dani: fucking up her life one houseguest at a time.

Did I mention I was stressed out? I'm not acting it. I predict that three days before the move, I'll have a nervous breakdown. Stay tuned...

spacedani · May 15, 2004

La vie, c'est dur.

I went home last night and crashed. Probably around 8, I'm not sure.

I got an email today cc'd to me from my dad, sent to my grandmother. He's extremely dissatisfied with his life, hates his job (he owns a small accounting firm), and misses his family, although he doesn't know how to relate to us. He's thinking about living on a boat. I've been suggesting for years that he should quit his job and open a Bed & Breakfast in Nice with his girlfriend, Carmen. He keeps working in accounting because he earns more than he could doing anything else, he says.

This was my response, in English, because I was too busy to respond in French, and don't want to be misunderstood:

I am sorry you feel dissatisfied with life. I miss you too. You have no reason to feel stupid when you talk to me or anyone. Maybe you're too stressed out? Maybe you just need to relax? Maybe your job isn't helping you to relax, in general? Je ne sais pas. But although I am your daughter, I am also an adult, so you can talk to me like a normal person and I won't be offended or judgmental.

I am moving to Oregon soon to start graduate school in interior architecture. I am hoping that the change in lifestyle will be good for me. I'm not really a big city person, I guess.

There are a lot of reasons to feel frustrated about life right now, for everyone. But that doesn't mean that you can't do anything about it. You say that you can't make as much money in another field, but really, is that so bad? Why do you need all this money? Really, all you need is a roof over your head and food in your belly. I'm sure you don't need to have your current job to have that. I'm sure there are less expensive places to live than Paris. I'm sure that there are companies in other parts of France who would welcome your financial expertise. I'm sure that you could also start a business on your own that has nothing to do with accounting, and earn enough to live. My feeling about doing a job you hate for too long is that, you never know when you'll die. You could get hit by a car tomorrow, and then it won't matter how much money you have in the bank. Why not live life for today rather than for a tomorrow that may never happen? And even if you live until you're 100, how do you want to remember those years?

Anyway...I don't know everything, of course. This is all just my opinion. I am doing something that many people would consider dumb: giving up a "decent" job to go back to school and into debt, when I could continue to work as a secretary and make $50,000/year, save up money, buy property, and live happily ever after. But I wouldn't be happy. I don't like NY (the only place where a secretary can earn that kind of money) and I don't like my job. So the money doesn't mean anything if I am miserable. So I'm sacrificing my future house and retirement etc. etc. to pay for school, and that's okay. Because I feel like there's no point in living if you're not going to really LIVE, n'est-ce-pas?

All my love,
Danielle

:love:

spacedani · May 17, 2004

Punch

This is my last Monday at the ol’ law firm. I’m not fond of the feeling I get when I’m here: one of general guilt (for being late; it’s my own damned fault) and shame (for being a mere secretary; also my fault). Four more days.

God indeed laughed this weekend, as my lofty plans to complete both perspective drawings by last night were thwarted. I didn’t even finish the first one. I could have, were I not a perfectionist. I will be one busy bee tonight.

During my walk from the Fulton Street station to work, I noted a few things.

Passing by a coffee & doughnut stand, I noticed two men and two women in line. All wore black pants. Each man sported a corporate blue oxford shirt, and the women both wore blouses in the same shade of pink. Cogs in the uniform corporate machine.

I switched from my shoulder bag to my Sierra Club backpack today. Wearing that, combined with toting my WNYC gym bag and art tube, as well as my general quirky-corporate attire, must make me seem like some kind of lefty-liberal non-belonger down here south of Wall Street. I suppose that would be correct.

They’re re-pouring the sidewalk on the corner of Broad and Water streets, in front of the building next door. The workers pay meticulous attention to smoothing the concrete just so, so that there are no ripples or bumps or anything uncharacteristically “sidewalky” about it. They must get a satisfaction from their job that office workers can’t fathom—creating something lasting with their hands, seeing the direct benefits of a job well done, completing a project from start to finish. It must be so terribly satisfying. If I were a man with no university education in search of a day job, I would do something like that for a living.

Completely unrelated to anything stated above:

Sometimes I feel like my life is a puppet show. I don’t know who’s watching, but I’m sure they’re laughing, and not necessarily in a good way. I’m conflicted and anxious and perhaps too idealistic. I don’t think I will ever learn.

Call me Judy.

spacedani · May 17, 2004

It'll End In Tears.

Within a couple minutes after the close of a potentially emotionally debilitating telephone discussion, I decided that I had waaay too much work to do and could not afford the minor breakdown, so I temporarily stuffed it and put on a This Mortal Coil album, bracing for the worst at any moment. (No, not It’ll End In Tears. That would have been much too transparently masturbatorily masochistic. I chose Blood instead). “Should I call someone?” [Names scroll through my ticker-tape mind.] No, that would be fruitless and I don’t have time to talk, anyway. What would I say? ‘Uh, I hurt so pity me.’ No. Just then, Tim calls, as if on cue. He had just come from our friend and co-worker Claudia’s Spank show. He was happy and chatty, but after I told him that I had just hung up from this minorly crippling conversation, he was devoted to me. We chatted and he listened and as usual, gave me advice I didn’t agree with, “don’t let yourself feel bad,” [“Um, Tim, pain is not something that you choose to feel. You just feel it. And I’ve found that the quicker and more willingly you let yourself feel pain, whether it’s physical or emotional or whatever, the quicker and better you heal.”] “Yeah, you may be right…” But he had me laughing and smiling in no time. And what a charmer: “You have a nice laugh. I’m gonna miss you when you go.”

I will miss him too. And I appreciate his honesty and emotional generosity. How did he know to call at that exact moment? It could not have been better, quite frankly.

I will miss a lot of people when I go.

This song is playing out of my stereo:[font=book antiqua, times new roman, times][size=+1]

They say my love for you ain't real
But you don't know how real it feels
All I want to do
Is to spend some time with you
So I can hold you, hold you
Your sister says that I'm no good
I'd reassure her if I could
All I want to do
Is to spend some time with you
So I can hold you, hold you
Plans fail every day
I want to hear you say
Your love (run, run) won't be leaving (run, run)
Your eyes (run, run) ain't deceiving (run, run)
Fears will soon fade away
Smile now, don't be afraid
All I want to do
Is to spend some time with you
So I can hold you, hold you
And let me whisper in your ear
Don't you worry, they can't hear
All I want to do
Is to spend some time with you
So I can hold you
[/size][/font]
Back to the drafting board. (Every time I write that, it seems to take on new significance.)

spacedani · May 18, 2004

I'm tired.

I'm probably blowing my problems out of proportion, you know, without sleep and all. I'm getting short tempered with my cat, of all people, so I know I've blown a fuse somewhere.

Almost done with the first drawing. Needs a border and a title and to be cut down to size (18" x 24", as they all are), and voila. Technically, I need to draw shadows, but I have little patience. I accept my penance, whatever that may be.

The friend-of-a-friend in Eugene who was supposed to check out three apartments for me on Saturday has not emailed or called. I've written her but still get no response. This pisses me off. I was going to say it "saddens" me, but no, it's simply fuckwad-ish of her. I think she flaked on looking at the apartments, so now she's probably too embarrassed to write. IF THE APARTMENTS ARE EVEN STILL AVAILABLE, it looks like I'll have to rent one of them stone cold blind.

I'm seeing the computer screen in perspective, as I would a drawing. It's quite the mindfuck, if I may say. The letters on the left appear smaller than the letters on the right, which are sort of coming out at me. Hallucination.

I hallucinate and I pick when I don't sleep. My whole back is torn up right now because I've been picking at it all night. Probably blood everywhere under my shirt; I don't even know.

Tonight (actually yesterday night) after perspective drawing class, I am supposed to finish my computer modeling project. That should be a fucking riot, considering I'm already hallucinating now. Anyone who does 3D modeling knows what I'm talking about--clicking precisely on a miniscule line segment and adjusting it mathematically while a billion other lines and segments surround and suffocate it--it's something you want to do with a clear and rested mind.

I'm pissy right now. Can you tell?

My cousin moves in with me a week from tomorrow.

I realize this is a rant. I just feel like my life is an ancient temple, and I'm scurrying to prop it up as it inevitably crumbles. Not necessarily the most opportune moment to add insult to injury with an emotional stumble, but I suppose it never is.

My only hope may be if my teacher allows me to turn an assignment in late.

I guess what I need is a hug, but I seem to be getting punched instead.

O, Tragedy!

I actually need sleep.

spacedani · May 19, 2004

another entry

My drafting teacher gave me until Monday to submit my last assignment. Hoo ha. This is good, because I’m angling for an A, not any of this A- bullcrap. After our final class last night around 7 p.m., I straggled over to the computer lab and didn’t leave until it closed at 1 a.m., by which time the hallucinations had become relatively intense. Still not done with my modeling project, but think I can finish during the remaining time we have to work on it tonight “in class.” Was able to sleep five hours last night, so I feel much better than yesterday.

These are my last three days here at work. I’m not really sure what to do. I feel like I should be hoarding office supplies or using the ease that is my “personal account” to mail bulky packages to faraway places. (We really do have personal accounts; it’s not some euphemism for stealing.) I’m trying to figure out how to say goodbye gracefully to my many work acquaintances. I guess a lot of other people would just sneak out without so much as a peep, but I think that’s impolite. I would feel slighted if someone I know were to leave without saying goodbye. Would it be gauche to send a bcc’d message to a handful of people? I suppose I have bigger issues than “email farewells” to tackle.

So I had a learning/growth experience this week. Stuff:

Those things about me that make me “unique” are assets, not liabilities. It sounds simple enough, but in my hiply self-deprecatory and criticism-infused existence, it’s much too easily forgotten.
Along those lines, I am worthy. At the risk of sounding all self-helpy and west-coast serious: I don’t have to change who I am or how I act in order to impress someone who I assume won’t accept me as-is. It’s too much anguish to try to fit within a self-prescribed mold, especially one that is too confining for even the most Martha of Stewarts. [Ahem.] I’ve chased my tail for so many years, losing my mind because I’m not what I think others want me to be. I’ll probably chase my tail again, but for now, I feel calm. I know that the possibility for real, unfettered connection with another [sane] person exists. I just have to let the chips fall as they may. (I’m disappointed that circumstances were not in our favor this time, although part of me thinks that circumstances are never “ideal.” We are, after all, imperfect beings in an imperfect world. In general, it’s our choice whether to make circumstances work for us. The scary part is deciding that it is worth the effort.)
Honesty and communication really are the best policies. When you tell the truth without trying to manipulate in any way, instruct, or prove yourself, you take a leap of faith. The rewards, however, greatly outweigh the risk. Being honest and open allows you to heighten your relationships, far surpassing levels of connection and potential ecstasy [!] attainable in “normal,” guarded relationships. So you’re not wasting time with all the gamey bullshit and can instead spend your energy fully enjoying each other, rather than obsessing about what she meant when she said that or whether he likes you.
In the long run, games and manipulation serve to get us nowhere. Or worse—in places we’d ultimately much rather avoid.
You gotta let people simply be. There is no use rushing to predict/change/prevent/deconstruct someone else’s behavior. Sometimes, a spade really is just a spade.
Prudence. Balance. Not everything has an explanation. Sometimes, the wisest thing to say is, “You’re Right.” (This is the hardest lesson of all. I resist even now. Part of me hates to even write it.)

In other news:

spacedani · May 20, 2004

I finished something.

I just got home from school. Turned in the final for computer modeling. One class down, one to go.

The assignment was to model a floor plan of our own choosing, including furniture. I chose my Studio 1 project, since I forgot that we had to bring in a floor plan on the day we were supposed to have one, so I just printed the studio floor plan from this journal. Keep in mind that this is an introductory course, so it's not gonna look all George-Lucasy and stuff. Also, the version of the software we used (FormZ) did not have a rendering capability installed, so you won't see any realistic-looking materials or textures represented here.

I designed and modeled all the furniture you see here, including the upright piano and those yellow chairs and the stools which, I just noticed, are buried underneath the raised dining area platform. I forgot to raise them up. Ah well. But in any case, this is the same studio apartment that that I designed last semester, so here's a kind of cool way to see what it it might look like from the inside, if we were cartoons. (Those white squares represent paintings, not windows.)

There are a few more perspectives here.

And if you are reading this, you are invited to this.

Tomorrow: research van, do something with the files on my work computer, catch up on Mark's filing, write landlord to extend vacate date so my cousin doesn't become homeless, go to Mark's going-away party, sleep.

Achey body. Achey heart. Optimistic mind. I will miss you all terribly. Thank you. Good night.

spacedani · May 21, 2004

Catharsis.

Wow, I can't believe this week is over. And how many things are over this week. This has been a week of all kinds of purging, though not the throw-up kind.

End of job (2 years)
End of therapist (8 months)
End of classes (4 months)
End of another thing (6 weeks)

I. Feel. Spent. I feel empty. I feel sad. I do feel lighter. But I feel burnt out. Frishizzled.

More endings on are on the horizon. Thank gawd they're not right now. And of course, "with every ending, there's a new beginning" yadda yadda. I'm still experiencing the ending part, though.

I hate goodbyes. I hate them. I didn't think I was one of those "I hate goodbyes" kind of people since I'm so used to them, having moved all the time and stuff. But I realized today that I really don't like them. I've grown close to a lot of people at work, and it's so sad to know that I can't just see them every day. That they won't just "be there." These PEOPLE are part of me, and though they're still here, alive, on the planet, they feel kind of gone now. How sad. I'm sorry; I don't mean to sound depressing.

It's Friday night at 10 p.m. and I just finished a bowl of instant split pea soup and a warm defrosted bagel. Comfort food.

If I were wise, I'd go to bed right now, so that I can wake up bright and early and head to Rockland County--somethin' about a van.

I am so sentimental, it hurts.

:love:
Unfunny

maybe i'll make jello pudding.

spacedani · May 24, 2004

I'm so over this semester.

from: Dani
to: Britt
Saturday night

How is the assignment going? I haven't started yet.
---
from: Britt
to: Dani

Likewise- haven't touched it. We are probably BBQin' tomorrow if you're interested ?? Let me know. The weather dictates the plan. Talk to you soon. Hope you're having a good weekend. xoxo-B
---
from: Dani
to: Britt

BBQ!! That sounds really fun, but I can't do anything fun until I finish this. I wish I had gotten something done today, but I actually took a nap after getting back from Rockland County where I bought a van…This past week has…left me a bit spent. But TOMORROW—tomorrow I'll do that one-point perspective, dammit! (at the expense of fun, sadly) -d
---
from: Britt
to: Dani

I'm sad to say I probably won't be grilling either at the rate I'm drafting now. Suffice to say I haven't started. Oh, why can't it just end?

Have great day—keep me posted on your progress. I really have to do some research on the act of procrastination…when I have a chance. -b
---
from: Dani
to: Britt
Sunday

I feel your pain…I just woke up. It's 1pm.

[blushing],
me
---
from: Britt
to: Dani

Hi-

How's it going? Do you know when the deadline is tomorrow? I'm struggling. We have a friend staying on the couch tonight—I'm not sure I can make it an all nighter. -b
---
from: Dani
to: Britt
Sunday 5 p.m.

I haven't started. I know. I haven't had the gumption, and instead have been puttering around, pretending to "clean." That, and obsessing about [something]. I thought I was over it, but it only seems to be getting worse these past few days. -d
---
from: Britt
to: Dani

You must draft [it] out of your pretty little head! Or you could draft a new [thing] into your living room. Holding a bottle of wine perhaps—with a roaring fire in the background…bear skin rug…okay…now I'm distracted. -b
---
from: Dani
to: Britt

Good idea, though I'm much better at drafting women, for some reason. But I still have the 1-point perspective to do, so maybe I could try my hand at [it] in there—it seems a good enough space for wine and fire etc. I just finished "fixing" project 11B, so now I'm finally on to the 1-point. How is yours coming?

Frank asked for blueprints of all my stuff, so I'll be at EverReady at Union Square for a while tomorrow—right next to [something]! Must. Get. [It]. Out. Of. My. Head. !!!!! -d
---
from: Britt
to: Dani

This is a complete disaster. My drawing looks all distorted and weird. Thinking about starting over. IT NEVER ENDS!!! What time are you going to school tomorrow? I'm going to Soho Reprographics if you need an alternate printer. -b
---
from: Dani
to: Britt

Britt, don’t start over! Remember: Keep it Simple Simple Simple.

I told Frank I’d get there between 10 and 2, which means more like 2, if I know myself.

I’m still working on the drawing. But at least it’s the final version. Should have no problem finishing by the morning, although a modicum of sleep would be preferable. This is it. Thank You Dear God.

There's a Christian rock song playing on msn radio.

"We were meant to live for so much more; have we lost ourselves?"

Seemed appropriate for some reason.

Floor Plan B

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