Was eating udon at my favorite restaurant for lunch when my stomach began to hurt. In the past week or so, I've been having moments of extreme nausea and then vomiting only a little, as I'm walking, talking, eating, etc. I also found a lump under my chin that was tender to the touch and hurts when I look to my left. On my walk down from eating, I decided I'd go into my local CityMD and get everything checked out. I waited a long while in the waiting room when finally my name was called. The doc checked my blood pressure but we had to do it three times because I kept crossing my legs. She then gave me a cup and I forgot people still pee in cups so I had to ask her just to be sure that that was what I was supposed to do with it. I came back with the warm and fresh urine and thats when I noticed Friends was playing on the small T.V. next to my chair. She then took my blood and I stared at the fun medical poster instructing CPR or something, I forget, for the entire duration of the blood drawing. I thought about so many things in that period. I thought about going back to school, my friend Bella, about that one time in Montreal where R. and I sat on Mt. Royale and wrote down everyone we've slept with, and I thought about Friends. Doc put the bandaid where she had stuck the little needle in and I looked at the two vials of blood she had filled. My blood looked so brown and orange like a dirty brick. I was disappointed that I didn't get to have the glamour of fainting while laying at a 45 degree angle with my limp arm out and a needle with a tube of my blood sitting on the metal tray next to me. I love that sort of posture and composition but I unfortunately don't faint when having my blood drawn. Doc then pulled out two chic and thin cotton swabs with pretty blue shafts. You know the procedure now... said Doc. I opened my mouth and stuck my tongue out and did not say aahh...
I left and ran into a girl I know who is engaged and moving to L.A. I took a photo of her because I might not see her for a while. I walked to the park and ran into a boy named Alec who has big lips and a voice so stoner-y that you would never believe he doesn't smoke weed. I told him I had just gone to the Doc because there was a literal lump in my throat and I had read online that HPV can turn into throat cancer rather often especially if you are a smoker. Do you have gonorrhea? I had gonorrhea maybe once or twice. As long as it's not hot down there you're good to go baby. I took a photo of him and kept walking to sit with Ethan by the basketball courts.
Loving my new routine of having a cappuccino between 4 and 6pm. It's really a nice way to slip into the evening.
kiss.
m.
Friday, August 16, 2019
Thursday, August 15, 2019
mood swings
It's been a very bumpy August thus far but I feel like these lows always end up resulting in some sort of positive change(s).
I feel drastically different now than I did when I woke up. I woke up tired and sore from what I can only prescribe as a terribly slow moving anxiety attack. The things I thought the night before lingered in my head all morning as I got coffee and went to the ATM. I came home from the grocery store around noon and my roommate had asked me if I wanted her bed, which is significantly larger and firmer than the bed I've slept in for the past two years. I was delighted and right away moved all my furniture around. Once I finished, I realized how within the duration of my rearrangin', I hadn't thought once of anything dreadful or overwhelming. It seems that that was exactly what needed to be done. 2 hours of maneuvering large things back and fourth through my slender door, reorganizing my books and wiping all the dust off of them, finding old photographs under my bed of Tess at NoHo Star (R.I.P.) and coming across a stack of manilla envelopes that have collectible and rare magazines in them. Some of the manilla envelopes also have letters and zines friends have made. One that I am so happy to have found is a little book my friend Sabrina made for my birthday that contains poorly printed photos of Björk and little notes about our friendship in the margins.
Ethan and I had lunch at Nepalese restaurant yesterday and then walked in the rain to McNally Jackson. I wrote in my journal and he read his new book. I left him and went home to watch Jeopardy and drink wine with two other friends of mine. After Jeopardy ended, we skipped around different channels - Reality shows, every variation of Law & Order, Friends, the local news, the world news and what have you. We stopped on Turner Classic Movies to watch the last 15 minutes of some Ingmar Bergman film starring Liv Ullmann. It was in classic Bergman nature that there wasn't much happening other than a clock ticking and Liv Ullmann running up to a house. My friends were bored but I was very comforted watching this. I usually get fidgety in these tedious moments but it felt like I was very little again playing with a string for hours on the living room floor; slightly bored but not bored enough to do much about it.
Tess and I went up to the Upper West Side the other day and walked up Amsterdam till we reached The Hungarian Pastry Shop. We sat outside and an older man started talking to us about some documentary series he's making about museums around the world. His plan is to have celebrities like Cate Blanchett and Monica Bellucci host different episodes. He left and so did we - making our way down to go take a look at The Dakota. I haven't been in a while and I read a book last month where a large part of it was about the apartments in the famous building. I pointed out to Tess which apartment I believed was Lauren Bacall's and the Bernstein's family. I felt sure in my knowledge but I was probably bullshitting for all I know. We got back downtown and wikipedia reminded me that it was in fact the 5th anniversary of Lauren Bacall's death! Coincidences always come for me.
Keeping busy really does do something to your mood. How do I always forget this?!
I feel drastically different now than I did when I woke up. I woke up tired and sore from what I can only prescribe as a terribly slow moving anxiety attack. The things I thought the night before lingered in my head all morning as I got coffee and went to the ATM. I came home from the grocery store around noon and my roommate had asked me if I wanted her bed, which is significantly larger and firmer than the bed I've slept in for the past two years. I was delighted and right away moved all my furniture around. Once I finished, I realized how within the duration of my rearrangin', I hadn't thought once of anything dreadful or overwhelming. It seems that that was exactly what needed to be done. 2 hours of maneuvering large things back and fourth through my slender door, reorganizing my books and wiping all the dust off of them, finding old photographs under my bed of Tess at NoHo Star (R.I.P.) and coming across a stack of manilla envelopes that have collectible and rare magazines in them. Some of the manilla envelopes also have letters and zines friends have made. One that I am so happy to have found is a little book my friend Sabrina made for my birthday that contains poorly printed photos of Björk and little notes about our friendship in the margins.
Ethan and I had lunch at Nepalese restaurant yesterday and then walked in the rain to McNally Jackson. I wrote in my journal and he read his new book. I left him and went home to watch Jeopardy and drink wine with two other friends of mine. After Jeopardy ended, we skipped around different channels - Reality shows, every variation of Law & Order, Friends, the local news, the world news and what have you. We stopped on Turner Classic Movies to watch the last 15 minutes of some Ingmar Bergman film starring Liv Ullmann. It was in classic Bergman nature that there wasn't much happening other than a clock ticking and Liv Ullmann running up to a house. My friends were bored but I was very comforted watching this. I usually get fidgety in these tedious moments but it felt like I was very little again playing with a string for hours on the living room floor; slightly bored but not bored enough to do much about it.
Tess and I went up to the Upper West Side the other day and walked up Amsterdam till we reached The Hungarian Pastry Shop. We sat outside and an older man started talking to us about some documentary series he's making about museums around the world. His plan is to have celebrities like Cate Blanchett and Monica Bellucci host different episodes. He left and so did we - making our way down to go take a look at The Dakota. I haven't been in a while and I read a book last month where a large part of it was about the apartments in the famous building. I pointed out to Tess which apartment I believed was Lauren Bacall's and the Bernstein's family. I felt sure in my knowledge but I was probably bullshitting for all I know. We got back downtown and wikipedia reminded me that it was in fact the 5th anniversary of Lauren Bacall's death! Coincidences always come for me.
Keeping busy really does do something to your mood. How do I always forget this?!
Tuesday, August 6, 2019
intimate portrait
In the past few months, I've adopted a new addiction. It's not a bad one but it can be depressing at times.
I have cable television and an off-brand Apple TV. You can access YouTube on the thing and one night in May, I stumbled across a series of videos called, Intimate Portrait. It's a documentary show that ran from 1990 - 2005 on LifeTime television. Each episode focuses on a single actress and lasts about 1 hour. It's subjects range from Audrey Hepburn to Meryl Streep and have a comforting and sweet messages to each episode. There is gaudy piano music at the beginning with black and white photos of feminine Hollywood icons gliding across the screen. There is a nondescript soft voice saying things like, "It wasn't long till Hollywood came to accept Ms. Hepburn as a major figure in cinema." and, "Shortly after filming, Bacall found she was pregnant, yet on the set of Bogart's new ambitious project, a miscarriage interrupted the serenity of her newfound love." Everything is suddenly important.
The best episode is on Lauren Bacall. I watched it after reading Jamie Bernstein's memoir on her father, Leonard Bernstein. In the book, Jamie Bernstein spends many pages describing what it was like to live one floor below Lauren 'Betty' Bacall at The Dakota on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I never paid much attention to Lauren Bacall but after reading the addictive memoir, my interest inflated on Bacall specifically. I searched for some documentaries on Bacall one night and that is how I came across this great series of "Intimate Portraits." I admire the sweetness and unapologetic censorship this sensitive series presents each subject with. It's as if no woman in Hollywood has ever done a thing wrong. I like this because for once I am not looking for something controversial at the end of the night and simply just want to hear about how great Audrey Hepburn and Ingrid Bergman were.
Toni Morrison passed away this morning. I've never read any of her work but have known her name for as long as I can remember. I remember my mother reading a few of her books and when I look at them at the bookstore, they summon blurry memories of childhood. In the past month or so, I've picked up a few of her novels and considered buying them but I have yet to follow through. Maybe soon the time will come. I really have a hard time looking at social media when a celebrity, especially one within the hands literature, passes away. The myriad of people who haven't picked up a book since 8th grade post photos plastered with emojis of broken hearts, the fashion people who like the intellectual's iconic sunglasses more than the work they've left behind, and the Bard graduate who thinks it is unexpected for them to show interest in such a mainstream icon - it all instills such a strange anger in me I simply have to exclude myself for the day from looking at Instagram and other platforms. I dread the day Joan Didion dies, dear God.
I'm having a hard time overall with reading and writing in this week. The book I'm reading feels more of a burden than it does a pleasure. I wake up each morning and open it as if someone's holding a gun to my head and I have no other option. I start reading and before I know it I've read 2 words and it's been 1 hour. I don't know what I was looking at or thinking about. Today, while I was reading this terribly boring collection of essays, I was reaching in my bag for a cigarette and stared into nothingness when I noticed beyond my periphery a pair of dirty hands waving to my left. I looked over slowly to find the skater boy that I had slept with not-so-long ago. He himself declared we don't speak anymore to which I agreed but it is clear to me now that he has some desire left within him. I don't. I smiled with my lips tight and he walked off with his strange posse.
Writing has been equally as difficult this week. I meant to dedicate today to writing in my journal but had fallen into a deep sleep around noon. It was a terrible accident, this nap. I woke up on my bed at 5pm and felt as if I had been asleep for many days. I didn't know what time it was and couldn't remember much about my life prior to the deep and accidental sleep. I felt nauseas and fatigued - full of rage and sadness towards myself - a precious day-off spent mindlessly.
Autumn comes to town soon and it's all I can look forward to. My romantic life has plateaued into a rather dry and silly place. The only person I have true feelings for is miserably misguided and just as lost as I am, it seems. My attempts at moving forward are not so strong but I'm starting somewhere and that's enough to make me feel fine about myself. I'm just about over my job at the movie theater but I at the same time don't mind it all that much. These feelings are all too familiar as this becomes my life with each and every August. Come mid-October, my life seems to always take a wild and drastic change. I wonder what will come within October? 8 more weeks - I question how I'll fare!
kiss
m.
I have cable television and an off-brand Apple TV. You can access YouTube on the thing and one night in May, I stumbled across a series of videos called, Intimate Portrait. It's a documentary show that ran from 1990 - 2005 on LifeTime television. Each episode focuses on a single actress and lasts about 1 hour. It's subjects range from Audrey Hepburn to Meryl Streep and have a comforting and sweet messages to each episode. There is gaudy piano music at the beginning with black and white photos of feminine Hollywood icons gliding across the screen. There is a nondescript soft voice saying things like, "It wasn't long till Hollywood came to accept Ms. Hepburn as a major figure in cinema." and, "Shortly after filming, Bacall found she was pregnant, yet on the set of Bogart's new ambitious project, a miscarriage interrupted the serenity of her newfound love." Everything is suddenly important.
The best episode is on Lauren Bacall. I watched it after reading Jamie Bernstein's memoir on her father, Leonard Bernstein. In the book, Jamie Bernstein spends many pages describing what it was like to live one floor below Lauren 'Betty' Bacall at The Dakota on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I never paid much attention to Lauren Bacall but after reading the addictive memoir, my interest inflated on Bacall specifically. I searched for some documentaries on Bacall one night and that is how I came across this great series of "Intimate Portraits." I admire the sweetness and unapologetic censorship this sensitive series presents each subject with. It's as if no woman in Hollywood has ever done a thing wrong. I like this because for once I am not looking for something controversial at the end of the night and simply just want to hear about how great Audrey Hepburn and Ingrid Bergman were.
Toni Morrison passed away this morning. I've never read any of her work but have known her name for as long as I can remember. I remember my mother reading a few of her books and when I look at them at the bookstore, they summon blurry memories of childhood. In the past month or so, I've picked up a few of her novels and considered buying them but I have yet to follow through. Maybe soon the time will come. I really have a hard time looking at social media when a celebrity, especially one within the hands literature, passes away. The myriad of people who haven't picked up a book since 8th grade post photos plastered with emojis of broken hearts, the fashion people who like the intellectual's iconic sunglasses more than the work they've left behind, and the Bard graduate who thinks it is unexpected for them to show interest in such a mainstream icon - it all instills such a strange anger in me I simply have to exclude myself for the day from looking at Instagram and other platforms. I dread the day Joan Didion dies, dear God.
I'm having a hard time overall with reading and writing in this week. The book I'm reading feels more of a burden than it does a pleasure. I wake up each morning and open it as if someone's holding a gun to my head and I have no other option. I start reading and before I know it I've read 2 words and it's been 1 hour. I don't know what I was looking at or thinking about. Today, while I was reading this terribly boring collection of essays, I was reaching in my bag for a cigarette and stared into nothingness when I noticed beyond my periphery a pair of dirty hands waving to my left. I looked over slowly to find the skater boy that I had slept with not-so-long ago. He himself declared we don't speak anymore to which I agreed but it is clear to me now that he has some desire left within him. I don't. I smiled with my lips tight and he walked off with his strange posse.
Writing has been equally as difficult this week. I meant to dedicate today to writing in my journal but had fallen into a deep sleep around noon. It was a terrible accident, this nap. I woke up on my bed at 5pm and felt as if I had been asleep for many days. I didn't know what time it was and couldn't remember much about my life prior to the deep and accidental sleep. I felt nauseas and fatigued - full of rage and sadness towards myself - a precious day-off spent mindlessly.
Autumn comes to town soon and it's all I can look forward to. My romantic life has plateaued into a rather dry and silly place. The only person I have true feelings for is miserably misguided and just as lost as I am, it seems. My attempts at moving forward are not so strong but I'm starting somewhere and that's enough to make me feel fine about myself. I'm just about over my job at the movie theater but I at the same time don't mind it all that much. These feelings are all too familiar as this becomes my life with each and every August. Come mid-October, my life seems to always take a wild and drastic change. I wonder what will come within October? 8 more weeks - I question how I'll fare!
kiss
m.
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