Here’s What’s Happening
Our closing date is October 7, a full eight days before we anticipated. Turns out we’ll be moving over Columbus Day weekend. Now that the time has finally arrived, I’m even more nervous than before.
My friend Renee was here for a whirlwind visit. She lives in Chicago and we try to meet up in one or the other of our respective cities a few times a year. Yesterday we saw the gothic fashion exhibit at the FIT Museum, walked to the Mandoo bar in Koreatown for dumpling lunch, to Kalustyan’s for orris root powder so we could make our own scented dusting powder, and then to Little Pie Company for tiny cheesecakes to have for tea. Watched “Auntie Mame” while we waited for Rod to get out of work so we could all go to dinner.
We wanted to get pizza and prosecco for dinner, and at first we planned to go to Otto–even at 9 pm, there was a two-hour waiting list. So we went a few short blocks away to Piola, just below Union Square, and that fit the bill. Then back to Perdition, right near our apartment for post-prandial drinks.
I have become obsessed with the care, feeding, and raising of English bulldog puppies ever since Rod and I decided on this breed of dog. My sister-in-law knows a breeder of English bulldogs, and we’ve put our name down to buy a puppy the next time one of her dogs has a litter. The one thing I’m most concerned about is whether we’ve got time enough to devote to a dog. From what I understand, bulldogs need a lot of company, and I’m not sure the dog would be happy while we were at work for eight or ten hours every day.
Right now I’m working from home a lot, but I am looking for full-time work. I had an interview this week with a magazine that sounds like a perfect fit for me, and I hope I get the job. I’m not getting my hopes up too high, as this is the fourth interview I’ve been on in the last two months.
Went to Mass this morning and received the Anointing of the Sick. Wept thinking of how depression has hamstrung me my whole life. I think having a dog, an avatar of perfect love and perfect trust, in the house will greatly increase my joyousness.
Board Approved Us!
And I didn’t even have to mention that I like to bake…and give cookies to my neighbors.
Now all that needs to happen is for the lawyers to set up a closing date.
We need furniture, people. Anyone who can help us out, give me a shout.
How the Board Interview Went
We had an interview with the co-op board last night, three residents of the building who were all charming. I felt glad they were going to be my neighbors, as they were all obviously dedicated to creating a home together, and that’s what I want.
Rod and I are not investors looking to flip this apartment. We want to nest. We want to live with people who are interested in sharing herbs and tomatoes and recipes and tools from our respective toolboxes. We want to have movie nights and maybe a community game room in the basement where we could challenge people to a game of table tennis. We’re interested in being on the board ourselves.
In fact, one of the ladies on the board volunteers at the very animal shelter where I was looking to volunteer–she’s a team leader, too. They are all pet friendly, which is great, since I might want to get a dog. I’m going to volunteer at the shelter first and see whether the itch is scratched by that, or if I need to own a pet.
Of course I was the one who felt like a flake and a deadbeat since I’m not working in the corporate world right now. The board were as nice as they could be, inquiring about that. The concern had none of the snooty “Are you good enough for us?” but it was more of a nourishing, “Are you strapping yourselves in beyond your means?”
What can I say? My psyche’s very fragile; I have chronic low self esteem. Unless I emerge from my apartment into a world filled with rainbows, in which random people are raining rose petals on me, I generally feel like I am skulking along the earth and taking up valuable oxygen that others could be using.
Therefore I came home and dove headfirst into a pint of Chubby Hubby.
Woke up this morning with a sugar hangover.
I hope the psychic reading I get today will clarify a few things.
And now for something completely ordinary
I woke today from a long, involved, storylike dream that would make a great sitcom. I’m going to see whether I remember enough of it to work it into a short story.
My first day back on the job that I can’t stand wasn’t all bad. I like my coworkers, after all, and I like my boss. I just find the work itself incredibly depressing, and I’ll do anything to get out of it. I’m looking for jobs as a dog walker, barista, belly dance instructor…
In reading news, I just finished Toni Morrison’s _The Bluest Eye_ and Anna Quindlen’s _Rise and Shine.
I can’t believe I have an advanced degree and was never required to read _The Bluest Eye_. Everyone should read it. It’s amazing. The Quindlen book was okay. I love her prose style, but I’ve enjoyed her other works more.
Currently working through two Vodou books, _Dancing Spirits_ by Gerdes Fleurant and _Divine Horsemen_ by Maya Deren. I’m getting a reading done tomorrow by a prominent Vodoun houngan so that I can find out which spirits are walking with me besides Papa Legba. I keep dreaming of snakes, and skulls, which suggests to me that Damballah and Maman Brigitte are near.
We have an interview with the co-op board tonight, and I’m nervous about it, as I am in any social situation. The tarot cards I pulled for today were disastrous, all about saying the wrong thing. I pulled Gede, which is another reason I think a Gede spirit is near me.
Sunday night Rod and I went to a performance of the Marvelous Wonderettes. I think this show will be a hit with younger people because it showcases 1950s and 1960s fashion, which is very hot right now. Any retro kids who are scouring the Internet for cat’s eye glasses will love this show. Anyone who likes girl groups and hits such as “Leader of the Pack” and “It’s My Party” should see it. The talent in the show is incredible. It was a complete joy to hear such accomplished singers. I could have listened to them forever.
In apartment news, we are refining our audio system so that we’ll be able to play iTunes in each room. To that end we just got an antennae so the radio works in the new-to-us receiver, and I’m going this morning to score an Airport Express from someone I met on craigslist.
Now all we need is a leather sectional sofa and an armoire entertainment center and my joy will be complete!
Full Steam Ahead
Rod and I have an interview with the co-op board this coming Tuesday. As far as I know, this is one of the last things that has to happen. Then we’ll do a final walk through and sign about 100 papers, settle on a closing date, and we can move.
I’m not happy about starting to work part-time next week at the place I was when I had a full-scale nervous breakdown in the spring. I’m going to work two days a week instead of four days, but it is such a depressing atmosphere that I’m afraid I’ll have a relapse, just being there.
I’ve sent out at least 300 resumes over the course of the summer, just so I wouldn’t have to go back to that place, and now I have to, anyway. I must do this so that I can prove to the co-op board that I’m not a deadbeat, because when you have “freelancer” on your resume, people assume you’re a flake.
On the plus side, I put in an application for the Brooklyn location of Babes in Toyland!
I’ve been to Mass every day this week and it’s the only thing affording me some peace. If anyone had told me I’d have such a full-scale reconciliation with the Catholic Church, I wouldn’t have believed it.
Dream Analysis
I went to High Mass this morning, which is sung. The melodies differed slightly from the ones I remember, but then again, it is such a surreal feeling being in church after all this time that lagging during the songs is the least of the weirdness.
This morning I had a dream that Rod, two of our friends, and I were in my parents’ living room. Let’s call the friends A and B. Rod and our friends were chatting. I was feigning sleep on the couch next to them, when I heard Rod say to friend B, “Lena thinks you’re a lousy actor. Yeah, she doesn’t think you’re funny.” Friend B expostulated strenuously, looking to friend A, who refused to get involved or corroborate the information. I opened my eyes and told friend B to his face that he couldn’t act, and friend B promptly said, “We can’t be friends anymore,” and walked downstairs, where he lived.
I think this dream is my brain’s way of trying to banish those tendencies that are hampering me in my career. Houses often symbolize the psyche in dreams, and the levels of the houses the different states of consciousness: that is, the basement would be the unconscious, the first floor the ego, the second floor or attic the superego.
Friend B, in waking life, is someone who shares with me an unfortunate tendency to define himself by his accomplishments: he’s Capricorn, too, as I am. His worth and his happiness (as mine often do) depend on how well his work is going. That he went downstairs in my dream means to me that I’m relegating this desire for identity and status through work to my unconscious mind.
Friend A and Rod are two men in my life who blend joy and anxiety. They are usually cheerful, and they deal with anxiety mostly by ignoring it and keeping busy, focusing on the positive. I think the presence of three men in my dream is like getting three King in a tarot reading: in this case king of cups, king of wands, and king of discs.
Friend A and Rod sort of happened onto their current careers by happy accident.
I have known what I want to do for a very long time: I want to get paid to write. Now, how am I going to do that?
Spoke with my mother this morning about acquiring pictures of my grandparents so that I can set up an ancestral shrine in the new apartment. Mom is clearly pining to ask me what the hell’s up with me that I’m taking this sudden interest in the fam, but she daren’t say a word about it.
I realized this morning in Mass that my return to the church is a common story when people are dealing with either grief or a fear of death brought on by reaching middle age. In my case, Wicca has been absolutely inadequate in assuaging my grief over Don’s death. I need a bigger, more structured spiritual community to help me bear what feels unbearable. This morning in church I felt some of the sadness leach out of me as I gave my grief over to the community, sure in the knowledge that they would help me pray for the strength to live in a world that often feels as though I can’t live in it.
And if religion and God are illusions, they are necessary ones for me. Do I need an opiate to carry on living? Yes. the difference between Rod and me is that Rod does not understand that logic is the opiate of the modern man. At least I acknowledge my drug and my requirement for it.
Our New Apartment: Countdown to Closing
The paperwork is done and now we’re just waiting for an interview with the co-op board. We’re looking to close on the apartment by mid October. Here are some photos of the apartment we’re buying in Kensington, Brooklyn:
Of course the furnishings aren’t ours, but you get the idea. The kitchen is what really sold me. Tile floor, tile above the counters, and a dishwasher and a washer/dryer right in the apartment!
Also, there’s a bathtub. What richness.
And a communal garden in the backyard. With a grill. Aaawwwww yeah.
We will be holding plenty of parties to make sure our fancy Manhattan friends haul their delicate behinds all the way out to Brooklyn to visit us.
I’ve loved living in Hell’s Kitchen but really it’s time for me to go. I’m getting too crotchety to live in midtown anymore. Kensington is much more low key, and it’s close to all the stuff I need: fun and excellent poets, organic groceries, belly dance, poetry readings, ukulele jams, yoga, the library, the park.
Spiritual Epiphany, Job Woes
What have I been doing during the last sleepy weeks of August in NYC? Reading, cooking, writing, practicing the uke, clearing out the apartment, interviewing for full-time copyediting jobs, adjusting to changes in psychiatric meds, visiting my family, and having a ginormous spiritual epiphany.
Reading:
John Gardner’s _Grendel_, which was one of Don’s favorite books. I don’t understand why this lovely, lyrical short novel isn’t assigned reading in high schools. It’s right up there with _Catcher in the Rye_.
Kenaz Filan’s _The Haitian Vodou Handbook_. Good clean fun, and it strengthened my resolve to make good on my promise to set up a Legba altar by the doorway of our new abode.
Ross Heaven’s _Vodou Shaman_. I like that it outlines solo practice, but I’m more interested in the community of vodou.
Karen Abbott’s _Sin in the Second City_. It’s an account of prostitution in Chicago around the turn of the nineteenth century. Truthfully, I didn’t finish the book; it’s a little dense for my concentration abilities. History buffs would love this salacious account, and the author’s prose is wonderful. Can’t wait for her book about Gypsy Rose Lee.
Zora Neale Hurston’s _Their Eyes Were Watching God_. Again, should be required reading in high school. I’m embarrassed that I have an MFA in creative writing and just got around to reading this book now. It is not to be missed. I read it with my jaw hanging open in shocked pleasure and wonder. Simply amazing.
Cooking: Just invented a grapefruit currant chutney with stuff I had in the fridge, namely grapefruit, dried currants, scallions, ginger, garlic, vinegar, and curry paste. Goes well with pork, beef, lamb.
Family visit: Went over Labor Day weekend for my niece’s pool party and spent much of the afternoon asleep because my med dose was too high. The first time I’ve been around my relatives when I could say my nausea was a result of medication and not something my mother did. Realized I feel about my parents the way I would about a vest I made myself in a Home Ec class in junior high school, stashed in the back of the closet, ill made and totally unwearable yet I can’t throw it out.
Clearing out the apartment: Work in progress. We’re still looking for a stereo tuner and amp for Rod’s turntable, so if anyone can help me out, shoot me an e-mail.
In no ‘poo news, I just tried henna on my hair, and I “shampooed” it out with shikakai and coffee rinse. Got about the same results that I get with commercial shampoo, which is to say that the cocoa butter weighs down my hair for a few days until it works itself out.
I had two interviews for full-time copyediting jobs, and both times I didn’t get the job. It’s a heartbreaking process. There are so few of these jobs to begin with, and now I’ve been rejected by two major NYC publications. One of the interviews included an 8-hour freelance gig at the magazine, after which the managing editor *cancelled* my freelance appointment for the next week because my InDesign skills were not sufficient to her needs.
Again, it’s galling. During my day-long tenure at that magazine, I caught a mistake that their entire permanent staff had been missing *for almost a year’s worth of printed issues* and they didn’t hire me because I’m not *fast* enough on the computer right now, a fact that would change overnight with regular work on the damned computer. Speed over quality, that’s publishing.
Spiritual epiphany: I have started wearing a cross pendant over my heart. Legba is the spirit of the crossroads, and the cross is a nondenominational symbol of the marriage of spirit and matter, and what I’m trying to do in my life is midwife my spirit into the world.
I also went to confession for the first time in 21 years. Now that I’m studying Vodou and serving Legba, I feel a call for regular spiritual practice, and Wicca isn’t doing it for me. So much of the Vodou imagery comes from Catholicism that I find myself drawn back to the church.
Don’t tell my mother, who flung in my face when I was 17, “You’ll be back. Wait until you turn 40.”
I went to St. Malachy’s on 49th Street, which is the actor’s chapel. I was nervous about confession because I didn’t really remember all the details, but I recalled perfectly why I stopped performing this sacrament and abandoned the church: I didn’t want to tell some old man that I’d had premarital sex with my boyfriend and repented it and wouldn’t do it again. Because I didn’t repent it, and I would be doing it again.
It is not a lie to say that I am heartily sorry for all the ways in which I’ve failed to be loving to my fellow creatures, and that’s the spirit in which I went to confession. I was crying as soon as I knelt, anyway, and the priest gave me a blanket absolution without even making me catalogue my sins!
I got a real awakening about what forgiveness is, right there: It doesn’t matter what you’ve done; if someone loves you, they forgive you.
This is what my parents have been trying to tell me for years, and it’s what I can’t really give them in return. They love me no matter what I’ve done to them, and I feel like their abusive behavior snuffed out whatever love I had for them years ago, and I can’t get it back.
I did my penance and wept throughout the entire Mass, which was said to honor Pope Gregory, as it was his feast day. The sermon was about leadership, since Pope Gregory was an important church leader. Leadership is service, essentially. It was this sentiment that led me to reject the magazine job (not that they offerred it to me) on the grounds that I *will not* work for jerks whose only care is what I can do for them.
I’m freaking out about my work situation but my spiritual life is gangbusters right now.
