cakewalk, october 1983

numbered cardboard squares
duct-taped to the grayish utility carpet of my elementary school
arranged in a large wobbly circle,
one through twenty.
i put my "admit one" ticket into a coffee can
with a slot cut through its plastic top
and stand shyly on a cardboard number.
someone puts the needle down on the turntable
randomly in the middle of a song
from billy joel's "an innocent man" album
and we are startled into forward movement
to the next square, counter-clockwise.
i watch my shoes and walk large and slow
careful to secure my position firmly on a number
with each giant step.
i am glad to feel my mother watching me
her timid almost-six-year-old.
someone scratches needle from the vinyl and
i freeze on number ten.
when someone calls number ten, i'm red and bashful.
my embarrassment dissolves, though, when i realize
that i get to pick a whole cake
from all those cakes on that table
to take home
all for myself.

new autumn face

last night, i made curried pumpkin soup in my new kitchen. the entire apartment smelled like american harvest mixed with exotic homestyle. the recipe called for pears, which i peeled and diced. i laughed because they kept slipping out of my hands. pears are such a nice shape and look so nice and naked when peeled. i recalled a painting that i did last fall of a threesome of pears. two of the pears were nuzzling each other and the third pear was slumping in the other direction, clearly solitary and not like the others.

i smiled to think that, if i were to paint pears this autumn, the painting would be so much different.

falls where?

i apologize for neglecting my writing. last weekend, my boyfriend and i moved in together and i've traded my small basement apartment in the district for a very large suburban apartment in virginia. my life lately has been a constant blur of lists, worries, sweat, pizza, random cords, and garbage bags, with undertones of happy anticipation and vague, undirected panic. of course, you know how it is. you neglect things like blogs and bills and birthday presents. it's a strange transitional time and usually makes me miss my parents.

i'm very bipolar when it comes to change. i am constantly seeking new experiences, yet i also sort of hate them. this particular change has proved to be more major/life altering than i really expected, which means i had pretty uninspired expectations. big change number one is going from living alone to having a roommate. and not only a roommate, but one who wants to kiss me and be with me all the time. as someone who craves solitude and order and calm in an almost pathological way, my self-regulation system is sending out an SOS. don't get me wrong, i am smile-for-no-reason happy about my new situation. i'm just saying it's quite an adjustment, and a slow-dissolving one. i'm monitoring it, and i believe that, with time, this situation will feel, to me, as comfortable as kansas.

another major change stemming from this move is that i've started taking public transportation to and from work instead of driving. this change colors each new workday in a different, more pleasing, hue. i actually feel like a happier person because i don't have to spend 40 minutes a day driving my non-air-conditioned geriatric car in local DC traffic. it's as if i've been handed two free hours of relaxation time per day (my new commute is about 50 minutes each way by foot, bus, and train). i'm ecstatic to have time every day inside my head when i'm not tempted to attack my to-do list. anyway, so far so good with the commute, though it's probable my tune will change with the seasons.

what really matters though, is that i can still walk to several local bars. and i have representatives in congress.