To Write, To Share, To Connect

It's been well over a year since I last wrote in this blog.

I love to write and thought that starting this blog a year ago when my transition back to NYC was pretty rough would help me to organize my thoughts and feelings - while at the same time feel a sense that others might read it and we might connect on some level that we don't fully understand. Some level that technology and globalization brings us that we have yet to put into words in a way that can fully capture the connectedness of humanity.

Or some such bullshit.

Now I'm back and for a similar reason. I've been living in NYC for roughly 3 years, with a 6-month absence when I moved back home to California to be with my mom after she was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. I had been studying abroad for the summer in Colombia and thinking that life couldn't be sweeter, when I got a call from my dad saying that my mother had multiple tumors, malignent, and it had spread - I better come home quick. I was there the next day. The doctors gave her 11 months - she died 11 weeks later. With my brother holding one hand and myself the other. We whispered comforting things into her ear as we squeezed her hands, brushed her hair from her face, and watched. There was a moment when she was gone and we were still there and that fact seemed so impossible and the knowledge of what our lives had become, absent of the woman who loved us most, so huge and so incomprehensible that we stood in silence. My brother then walked outside. Screamed. Screamed so loud from the bottom of his tattered soul that I rushed outside and held him tight while he cried and screamed, cried and screamed, fists clenched, muscles so tight it was like he was made of stone, staring at the sky and at the house and at me like he didn't have any idea what to do next. The only thing left to do was let our hearts keep breaking - crumbling into the soles of our feet.

It is at this point that I went pretty numb to the world for about 4 months. I apologize to my family who had to deal with me in this state - I wasn't much help to them emotionally as I could barely handle what was happening to me. I really am sorry.

I couldn't have possibly written about this a year ago when I started this blog (the rough transition mentioned above). The wound was too fresh and I would sob myself to sleep so often that it became normal.

I remember dating a boy shortly after moving back. Dating was still a pretty new concept to me and I had met him on OKCupid. A red-headed, beautifully bearded plummer, born and raised in Brooklyn. He was interesting and complicated. Kind of an asshole but with the potential to be the opposite. I couldn't share any of these precious, fragile emotions with him. He'd been broken-hearted and this caused him to be closed off emotionally. I didn't know how to handle this so I broke off the relationship within a few months. Having dated several broken men since, I realize we all have broken pieces because we've all lived. We aren't 18, clean and untouched. We've loved and lost and tried and failed and jumped, dived, crashed, burned.

This didn't go where I thought it was going to.

I've never told anyone about my mother's last moments. Always wanted to, never could. Now here they are. For anyone to read. And it feels good.

I think that's why I wanted to start this again. Type what I can't say. Articulate the things that I have trouble verbalizing. My mind works best in writing. I should have been born in that era when letter writing was an important and time-consuming part of everyday life - capable of sustaining long-distance relationships. You know, like in all those Jane Austen novels. I'd Pride & Prejudice my way into Mr. Darcy's castle so fast! Well, no, not so fast cuz it took a really long time for letters to get places. Then you have to wait for a response. And you know he would have written and re-written that thing at least 6 times - you can easily do that with a text message but hand-written letters, forget about it. Then, if he spilled the ink bottle all over it, the whole thing is fucked. Then one of his servants has to make a day-trip to town to buy him another bottle - which is not cheap! - and then he has to start again. Except he can't that day because the Duchess of Windchestshire Abbey is visiting and you know how she can be. And then, when I finally get his letter, he uses "there" when he means to use "they're" and I lose interest completely.

So, I'll just write here instead. This is the conclusion.

- Adrienne

I Want a Job. No, Not That One. THAT One.

I had a job interview today. I had a different job interview a few days ago to help run a pre-school program associated with a pretty cool charter school in Red Hook. I'd told myself I didn't want the job because the hours are long and I'm still in school, not to mention Red Hook is difficult to get to from this side of Prospect Park without a car. Then I got an email from them saying they have chosen to "continue with other candidates" and my heart sank. Why not me? What did I do wrong? What did I say? What didn't I say? But I think I know the answer: I wasn't passionate about the position. It's not quite what I want to do but I pursued the interview because I need a job, money. The stress my poverty brings me on a daily basis verges on the brink of an anxiety disorder and seriously affects my sleep. I hate money, how necessary it is. But, that's the world.

Anyway, the job I interviewed for today is much the same. A job I'm not all that interested in but it'll pay the bills while I finish school. The types of jobs I really want I can't get because my background is all wrong for them. Without my graduate degree complete I have little background in policy - the transition to this field is kicking my ass but I won't give up. Not without a serious fight. In fact, I suppose I should be anticipating tears and bloody knuckles. I knew this wouldn't be easy and it isn't. It's fucking hard. But I'm strong, resilient. I'll keep chugging and my wonderful friends and family will always be there to help me along. I'm actually quite blessed and have learned how to truly appreciate good things when they do come. I may have written most of that last part to cheer myself up but I also mostly believe it.

I hope they offer me the job. And I hope they don't. I wonder if I should wait one more month for all those policy positions floating around out there with my resume in the mix to meet their deadline, wait for someone to send me an email asking when I'm available for a phone interview. Then an in-person interview. Then a "Congratulations, we like you best!" Wouldn't that be lovely?

I need to edit my resume. Make it snappier. Flashier. Impressiver.

I then got free coffee at a cafe where a friend of mine is a barista. She's almost always happy. It's nice. She flirts with cute men who buy her cappuccinos and experiments with coffee art. Why can't I be that care-free? Care-free...what the hell is that?!?! I know it when I see it though I'm not sure I've ever experienced it. I suppose caring is good, worrying is bad. I need to work on that. I don't worry, I care. Yes. Sure.

Then a subway ride with a good book. Walk the dog. Eat. Debate whether or not I should go for a run before it gets dark and then remember that I haven't bought a new pair of tennis shoes yet. Now the goal is: a workout video (Jillian Michaels is such a bitch), a good dinner using the salmon I bought (frozen), then applying for jobs while I watch a movie in the background. Perfect for a foggy Wednesday afternoon.

I still love this city.

B Train

I've been back for just a few days and find it shocking that everything looks and feels the same. It's like I never left. Which is nice though underwhelming and I still worry about all the same shit I did last time I was here like money and employment and school and boys. What a cliche.

I wake up late because I still haven't transitioned from California time and 10:30am feels like 7:30am which means that I am not at all lazy but quite the early riser considering I have no big plans for the day. I take a shower and walk the dog. It's beautiful and sunny and all I wear is the light, purple coat I bought at Target on the 50%-off rack - something I brag about every time someone mentions my coat in casual conversation. I wonder what it would be like if someone mentioned something about my coat in un-casual conversation. Probably something like, "Shit! Your coat is on fire!" Back inside, my hair is mostly dry so I curl it, something I don't do often so I feel pretty damn fancy.

My roommate suggests going to Union Square before we head over to the Center for Architecture for a talk about Urban Planning and Resilience. We take an unfamiliar subway. The B. The B existed in Harlem but I never took it because it was slow and went to parts of Manhattan I wasn't interested in. Apparently, it goes all the way to Brooklyn and is quite speedy on this side of the East river. I read from my Kindle and allow the familiar sway to guide me towards The Borough.

Union Square is just as crazy and weird as ever. I'm fairly certain the beat of those Congo drums doesn't change and if it ever stopped the earth would cease spinning. I don't know the scientific details of what would happen if the earth stopped spinning but I'm pretty sure we all die so thank God for those beanie-wearing hippies and their desire to make noise in public. We head to Bank of America so the roomie can take care of a few things because being an adult is stupid and then we decide to walk up Fifth Ave. and look at clothes we can't afford.

We find the sale section of a store that is so stupidly over-priced that I want to hate it but I don't. Instead I love it and hope to make irresponsible purchases there one day. Even the sale section is far out of our financial reach but we each pick a pretty occasion dress (we have no occasions) and try them on. Beautiful. Then we hand them back to the very pretty and very snooty lady in the dressing room and walk back out to the streets, Empire State building in the background. I love this city.

We walk down, past Washington Square park - the Christmas tree is still up and lit under the arch - and find a cute cafe just a few doors down from the Center for Architecture. Two black coffees from a bearded barista and we're ready for an academic talk about Urban Design. It's interesting and engaging and the immensity of urban planning challenges overwhelm and excite us all. Time for free wine.

Our friend from the graduate program we all love and hate came and brought yet another friend, new to our program and new to the both of us. He is funny, intelligent, and nice which is a rarity I did not ignore. We went for drinks at a cute Brazilian bar and restaurant nearby. Two Dos Equis. Good conversation (weather, sports, weather, our interests, weather) and lots of laughs made for a great night.

B train and bed.