oh hi

OH HI!
no  one will see this now that Google+ is dead.

Here's my update:
I AM MOVING TO CHICAGO
I will be attending The Chicago School of Professional Psychology for a PsyD
I went to Chicago three times and Philly twice since I started these interviews at the end of January. Last one was on April Fools day. I put down my deposit on the fifteenth of that same month.

my job is going through the end of JUNE - I am helping in looking for someone to fill my spot - I wounder if that means I can add hiring manager to my resume

I am taking online classes because I didn't have a prereq done for my grad program.
I have been having migraines and think cutting my hair will help.

I am going to Israel in July and then somewhere else. After some back and forth I should be getting my Israeli passport in the mail soon. The second leg of the trip will be with Matt but we haven't planned it yet.

I am coordinating with three girls regarding flatmate living in Chicago. They will all be attending a different psych graduate school which I decided was a worse fit for me, but I met one of the girls through the interview.

My youngest brother is a teenager. My grandmother here for her annual visit.

I will flesh out most of this later.

this is all for now

ny winter

Another one that got lost in the anneals of the draft box, regarding the end of 2017

I am starting to think that lyricism is a frame of mind, a lens to look through at the world. It is something I have been struggling with lately. To lose the ability to look at the world cinematically is also the loss of ability to take photographs and write; and it is daunting to try and find that lens, misplaced somewhere in the attic of the mind.

After lengthy and long overdue conversation on the phone with Esther, during which she mentioned that she was going to NYC and said that I should come, I made some arrangements to take the trip. Canada, where she lives, is far away; NYC less so. The practice where I work had no patients that week anyway, so on Wednesday morning I took the subway over to south station and started my long bus ride over. I got off by FIT and entered the first place that served food. I scarfed down what amounted to two lunches; a large soup with bread, and a large piece of greasy spinach cake which was more delicious when I started it than when I took the last bite. Having completed this meal, I headed towards Wall Street. 

Leonid had warned me, somewhat embarrassed, "it's very posh". I entered the building from the wrong side, and a hotel-visitor pointed me towards the check-in desk for the apartments. Everything is gilded gold, with sweeping stone floors and an enormous Christmas tree lit up in the hall. The concierge rung up to the apartment, got Leonid's ok to let me in and buzzed the turnstiles. To my right, a couple rooms were sectioned off with slow arches, separating the postal boxes from everything else to hogwartsian effect. Finally, I made my way up in the pho-Greek style elevators to the sleek apartment with impressively large windows reaching all the way up to the tall ceilings. I claimed one of the couches to sleep on and met a flat mate that had not yet left for winter holidays. Leonid made us some drinks - a skill he's been honing recently. Eloosha swung by and it was funny to think; how different and how the same we all are, that we have known each other for more than half our lives. Once Eloosha had left Leonid and I went to get dinner; poke bowls close by, a fad that is not quite caught on in Boston. Then drinks. Then sleep.

When I got up in the morning I had the place to myself. I made myself some coffee and fell asleep again. There was something very nice about this; I often wake up tired but I am never able to do anything about it - waking up a second time well rested was lovely. I lounged around the apartment for the entire morning, reading Jean Gadget's Prisoners of Love and arranging my thoughts. For lunch, I met Leonid and Kostya by Union Sq., Dorado's and I can only remember that we ended the conversation discussing spelling. Writing now, I remember that my New Year's resolution a few years ago was to improve my spelling, the results of this resolution, like of many New Year’s resolutions, are very limited. On top of that, difficult for me to evaluate: even if my spelling has improved, my ability to catch misspellings has not so I can't do a comparison and see how far along I am.

Leonid and I then headed towards the winter market and went hunting for a supplementary Christmas gift for his girlfriend. We both bought some tights from an energetic group of Israeli women doing convincing demonstrations. More coffee and then to a party somewhere in midtown, with his law-student friends. I was immediately served an old-fashioned - his friend also honing his cocktail-making skills. A log burning in a fireplace filled the room up with smoke. Chips and another drink and talking; stories about a terrible house guest, discussions about identity. It got late and then later and then we departed. 

Leonid left early the next morning and I waved him a sleepy goodbye from the couch. Another lounging morning and then headed towards Union Sq. to drop off my backpack with Kostya who had kindly agreed to hold onto it. Then I walked 25 blocks to meet Esther and Niko. A tight warm hug! Lots of bread for lunch. A face sorely missed. And then, after a few hours, I walked back to Kostya and to my backpack, talking to Matt on the phone - it was already snowing in Boston.

Kostya continued to work and I went back to the winter market to pick out a couple of gifts and track down the artist name for a ring that was beautiful but much too expensive to buy. Twinkling lights and postcards and sweaters, mulled cider and felted ornaments. For my mother: Brooklyn truffle oil, for Matt: NY made ghost pepper hot sauce. Once Kostya was done we got pizza and headed towards the main event - Eloosha's birthday party at Olivia's place in Brooklyn. Immaculately decorated and hosted, rooms filled with people and mulled wine. Here too: it got late and then it got later, and Kostya Rebecca and I got a ride back to Kostya's place where I now again claimed a couch as my bed.

I had slept in later than usual: the living in which I slept had no windows, so no light woke me. Soon we had gathered ourselves for brunch; hipstery eggs Benedict. Then we went to get Eloosha and Olivia and some bags and back to wintry Massachusetts (though I had bought a bus ticket, but a car ride with friends won out).

Now I’m home.

not a ghost

Months passed I had a dream - A boy I liked from high school but had lost touch with was dancing with me. It was in a building that used to be a psychiatric hospital years ago, by a lake with tall stone walls and hallways that echoed. Ghosts would pop up and then disappear just as suddenly. I've since wondered: if ghosts are usually freed to the spiritual world by resolving the issue that was tying them to the earth past their due, what do you do with a ghost of a paranoid schizophrenic? Are they more likely to get stuck here forever, unable to be brought clarity?

A week ago a friend I had in college killed himself. From my last communications with him, it was clear he had become increasingly disorganized and paranoid, overburdened with false guilt, annoyed by the lack of freedom. When Kelsey called I knew from her voice what she was going to talk to me about, I just didn't expect it to happen so soon.

He had been so sensitive, he was so bright - I can’t imagine what it is like to see yourself losing that, especially for a person to whom intellectual acuity is paramount - emotional sensitivity key - and he certainly felt that the medications blunted him in so many ways. 

At one point he had been one of the people I hung out with a fair amount, he came to a couple of my movie nights and I took photos for This Bardian Life, and we went out dancing, and he came to my 21st birthday party and numerous lunches and dinners together, he called wine vino and had a particular way he nodded his head, large bony hands, hair that had to be constantly swept to the side, low voice and eyes that paid attention when you talked; conversations not to be had in passing. 

I wish I had more I could find of him, it's a strange drawback of having communications in person, in vivo; you can't look over them later. I read something for TBL, he was thinking maybe I should expand it, I was concerned -- 
You mean you think the re-work would weaken it? I think that's reasonable. If you're interested in a remaster, go for it, although, with my bit of experience with creative work I was thinking your past self might have more to say. But it's up to you, of course. Send me the new version if you're comfortable; i'm also open to talking more about your process if you'd like.
 

We lost touch, he had started to lose something, and I was busy and attributed it to other things until we had stopped trying to speak to each other once I had graduated over a year ago now and only recently did I hear from him again, but not him, some other person. I miss the he who I knew, who he was, but both are entirely gone now. I know I can’t feel like I could have done something, but I wasn’t there, one of my last messages to him an apology for us not having maintained contact, and somehow I want to apologize for him being dead, to apologize to him for the sorrowful mix of genetics and environment that led him to not be here anymore, age 22 forever, for the world for having played such a cruel trick on him, that I couldn't do anything to stop it.

I don’t believe in restless ghosts: I have my memories of you on this side. 

inflated

Why does the intellectual life sometimes feel at odds with the stupid risks of youth? Haven’t most great artists and thinkers lived great lives - really lived, thrived, felt, been hurt - held insight and ignorance simultaneously? Maybe, even, it’s impossible to write (authentically - a toxic word, steeping through the liver as we drink our way to inhibitions end) without first diving into some sort of simplicity (which is never truly simple, or everything is always simpler than --, or whatever it may be.) The cerebral is contained within the rest of the body, depends on and feeds off of the happily (death-driven?) pursuits of the body as we meander on the path of existence (but not just existence: life, awareness, and once again the idea of thriving). 

Hotline bling has been stuck in my head for the last few days, and it is my fault. 

For months I withheld extensive interactions with my co-workers. I went out drinking with them once and later felt like I should have left earlier. I went out again when someone was leaving and did leave earlier. The adrenaline-rushed and boredom filled existence of the halls, the repetition of “here’s a toothbrush” mixed with “I have his right arm” is filled with people who made me want to be careful. I said “working here is like an abusive relationship: you can only be with the people here because a) the weird hours mean that you cannot hang out with anyone else and b) the people here are the only ones that will understand what you are experiencing.” Someone said “It’s so hard listening to people complain about their work after a day here: oh, you had a bad phone call at work? I feel SO sorry for you, someone spit in my mouth today”.

To the point: in spite of my avoiding it at first, I have by now found myself ingrained in this group. I got invited to a birthday dinner of a smaller circle, and after I came Launtylaunt dug at me, telling me that I’m part of the clique, retaliation because I gave them shit about being cliquey for months. The next day I attended a bbq. I find them more and more ingrained in myself. I would not be friends with them if not for this job - but then, I chose to work here, and so did they. I kept thinking careful careful, until suddenly I found myself not so careful. In May I wrote to Kelsey “We bundle strangely”, which is still true. But this tide of people drew me into the fold. I wish I had been writing more as it came along, begrudgingly, uncertainly, cynically, untrustingly, judgmentally. I want to make this whole, here's the first attempt at patching up the hole. all I can find to add: May 4th: i think maybe we are friends, but not the kind of friend, at least not at this point, that will last beyond 'this point' -- this job.  July 4th:  (two of the supervisors are, for lack of a better word, grooming me for the position. It comes with a lot of flattery I don't know what to do with). One of my coworkers pushes my head in a way that a brother would do, and I'm hoping that's all he means by it. I glare at him every time I speak too softly and he tells me to talk in a 'big girl voice'.

Launtylaunt and World are both cocky. They know this, we tell them all the time. They think they are amazing but they also tell the people they like how amazing they are. When the drink flows so do the compliments. I sit there thinking that if I’m not careful, my ego will be so inflated that I could be thrown into the Charles with weights and still stay afloat. Our mouths fill with cigar smoke and they and tell me they want me to be a supervisor - have been telling me for months, Laungtylaunt called me a selfless bitch one time when I rejected a scheme that I thought was ineffective, but would have been to my advantage. They listed off four reasons I should be a supervisor, reasons crystallized with opportunity. Let me, through them, gloat. Even if all of this is false, it is true that they said this.

1. you are the smartest person in the hospital.
   “this is not true but I will not argue with you” and they repeat themselves. Matt alters it, he says “you have the kind of mind most people envy” thinking I can swallow this better and I think how little how little how little (how can I not smile softly to myself at that? how can I not fiddle with the glass of wine in my hands? no matter what it is both nice and horrible to hear)
2. you have a heart like no other
   a similar reaction internally, but I don’t bother fumbling with the words.
3. you know what’s going on
   nobody ever does
4. you are ready, and have been ready
   nobody ever is

I never finished my dinner, World and Launtylaunt ignored me when I said I was fine where I was by the bathroom door, having vomited, picking me up and lugging me to the black couch instead, where I slept for a little bit. We are all just prisoners here, of our own device.

yellow balloons

Mama and I went to Newbury St with one goal in mind: to get me a hat. The Goorin Brothers shop was filled with people listening to the Kentucky Derby crackling on the radio, drinking bourbon and wearing outfits alluding to some old-Kentucky time. The hat is brown and felt and with a very large wavy brim. My hair does not look silly sticking out from underneath - this was a very lovely birthday gift.

Sima's birthday was on Thursday, so they all came to me. We inflated nine yellow balloons (his favorite color) and we went to Baraka Cafe, which has good food and a chatty Tunisian lady. I told Sima that, since he has so many things, I'm not going to give him a physical gift. Instead, my gift to him is that he will come visit me for a day and sleep over. When Mama asked him what I had given him he said "She gave me love".

assorted squash

я: у нас постоянно гниет чеснок.
мама: не постоянно, постоянно значит он не переставая гниет
я: ну, почти
мама: я тебя все ровно люблю, не смотря на то что ты такая ворчливая

eng --
me: our garlic is constantly rotting.
mama: not constantly, for that it would have to rot nonstop
me: well, basically
mama: I love you anyway, even though you are so grumbly

***

Yesterday we went to a birthday party for s&b, so many people came that the table was in an L shape from the dinning room into the living room, chairs set tightly all around, food a plenty. Guests from here, NYC, LA, Toronto, Tula, St. Petersburg. A boy a year younger than me from Tula asked "What do you think is a good age to get married?"
What a strange question, I thought. 

***

Birthday Queen

Yulka's birthday, as usual, was during our camping trip. She had considered not coming - but something about being alone on the day she turns 22, after spending it with us for most of those years, turned her against the decision (thankfully.) For me the night was perfect in a way words cannot quite describe, though I will pitifully try.

The four of us (Yulka, me, Lizza, Veta) celebrated, first sitting on top of the playground structure, trying to get enough reception to play a Miley Cyrus song from when she was still Hannah Montana. We watched the sun set and felt the chill set in. Most everyone went to the theater that day, but we drove to a gas station instead; played a mix cd on the way, got chips and the saccharine poison Red Bull. Ordered a Dominoes pizza and consumed it, crouching in front of Yulka's car on the pavement. Lizza and Veta presented the Birthday Queen with cards and flowers and a bracelet. I was happy, and I think they were too.

coconut cake

DEMOCRACY IS NOT A SPECTATOR SPORT

says the banner in the middle of town. I'm not sure what they want me to vote for. People have been standing on the corners of streets with signs -- waving and smiling, but their waving and their smiling is so peculiar that I have yet to read what the sign says.

Yesterday Yosef and I sat in the car after buying him school supplies, ate Reese's cups and debated who has a bigger nose. He turned 16 the day before, complaining about school the second day in, but I hope he enjoyed the coconut cake.

Tomorrow I'll be helping at a 3D printing booth at Sudbury Fair.

dismantle

After heroically fighting cancer for eight years, a member of my community; wife, mother of two, sister, aunt, and friend – passed away.

---

I feel like there is a haze between my eyeballs and my skull; hopefully this cold will dissipate soon.

Wednesday on the way back from NYC I saw the collapsed buildings in Harlem as we pulled out of Grand Central Station. Nine hours after the explosion, the debris was still strewn across a couple blocks, the firemen swarmed around the buildings, and the smoke indifferently rose up to the sky.

Last Friday Hannah threw a small party. We read animal-related writing, drank mulled wine, ate coconut cake and painted our face wild colors.

• Intro to The Golden Compass - Philip Pullman
• The Eighth Eulogy - Rilke (translated)
• Black Cat - Rilke (original and translated)
• Traveling Through The Dark - William Stafford
• Autumn Begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio - James Arlington Wright
• The Cow - Robert Frost
• Nightwood: Watchman, What of the Night? (last line) - Djuna Barnes
• Cat - Tolkein
• Jabberwocky - Lewis Carroll
• Jubilate Agno, Fragment B
  Jubilate Agno, Fragment B - Christopher Smart
• Schoolboys in Winter - John Clare

I went to Olja’s birthday party the next day, finally legal in this country as well as her own. 

It was the anniversary of a Bard student’s death from last year. I’m not supposed to know how she died but do, and have seen the pain it brought to her mother and friends.

After getting off the train and onto a bus, I listened to two women talk. They were both young and with children: one had a two year old girl, the other a four year old boy. They were struggling with being single mothers, living in a shelter, walking in the rain for an hour to find a job, not having access to the internet to search anywhere but the library, where it was difficult to search because libraries aren’t set up for little children to run around while you try to find job leads.

When I talked to Shimon on the phone last time, he told me that he and one of his friends pretend to be Pokémon. The transform and have made up new ones and wait for Ash to collect them.
 

CC 2013

1. It occurred to me that I have spent a week of the summer with these people for 8 of the 9 past years. An imperfect track record of change.
2. We watched the meteor shower the first night. There were too many of us for tranquility but the Milky Way stretched out above and I haven’t seen that many stars in ages. (5 years ago I made a wish on a shooting star and it came true. I haven’t made one since).
3. Only four people in my age group were there the full week. Yulka and Valya had internships, Myron joined the army, Sasha was preparing for his wedding, Liza and Kirill had work. (Who will be here next year?)
4. The last night we were presented with three plays: Alice Through the Looking Glass, The Little Prince, Деревья Умирают Стоя (trees die standing).
5. We sang around the campfire late into the night (пять лет назад когда мы пели «выйду я на поле с конем» Даша сказала Илюши «нет, не любишь»).(five years ago we sang a song which contains the words “I love you Russia” to which Dasha said to Eloosha “no, you don’t”).
6. I watched Shimon for most of the week. He was tense from all the people and ran to me at 2am one night, in his underwear and barefoot. Five minutes after we were in our sleeping bags he was dreaming. 
   
7. 
   I feel no real connection to many people there but this is not surprising; the number hovers around 100. I had an interesting conversation with one adult one night when he drank more than usual. Noma and I named another caterpillar this year. Some conversations did not happen. 
8. Yosef had plans to swim everyday so that he could pass the swim test and join the crew team, but it was too cold to stay in the water for long. He passed the test anyway.
9. Made decorations for the plays, swam and attended the poetry club. Did yoga, worked the dinner-shift, and listened in on conversations. Collected firewood in the middle of the night, drank tea & not tea, celebrated birthdays.

The One Train and Sloatsburg

On a Wednesday, Genya and I went to the restaurant Somovar: for me after work, for her between patients.

A week ago, on Friday, I took the subway to Kostya’s place. A person was standing, muttering. This is not unusual for New York, at least as far as I have seen it, I was almost surprised that it made people nervous. One eyebrow was plastered over (stitched up?).  She (looked like a he, but she) kept muttering, getting more and more agitated. There was an advertisement on the wall across from me that said “SCHIZOPHRENIA” recruiting people for a new antipsychotic trial. Finally, yelling angrily, she punched the lady sitting next to her.  One man called the police and started berating her, saying that “Lady, you’re going to jail, have fun”.  The doors opened and she slipped off, looking terrified, grabbing her big black trash bags. The police man was more considerate, trying not to scare her away. She stayed in the neighboring wagon and we waited for the police to come. Somehow I don’t think that’s what Woody Allan was thinking about when he wrote the introduction to Manhattan.

Eventually, after being held up in the subway for a while and listening to people gossip, I got to Kostya’s place. His friend Simon was down from Montreal, and the three of us went out; first to eat, then to drink Brooklyn lager at The Thirsty Scholar. We wandered around and went to a second place, called Anyway Café, which turned out to be Russian owned and run, and which had live music and a nice atmosphere. They lit two of the three drinks on fire; the absinth, and the Valentina Tereshkova (which also had absinth in it). Then we went to a Bulgarian club called Mehanata- the music alternated between Indian/Turkish, Russian and Latino, so it was great for actual dancing, and people to dance with.
The next day we spent walking around the island and eating in Chinatown before heading to Sasha’s birthday party. Russians, drinking, music and watching the sky as it brightened into morning.

The next morning I got driven back to Manhattan, NoizeMC was playing in the car and Katya talked about a trance rave she had gone to by a bridge as we drove by it -- where the traffic had drowned out the music to the outside world, and where they had paid the hoboes to stand guard for the police. Once we got there Vova and I walked 90 or so blocks, eating frozen yogurt.

On the subway back from hanging out with Kostya and Simon that evening, the subway was under construction and I noticed that another girl was looking for the same one train on the express track as I was. She’s from Wisconsin and lives at the same stop as I do and gave me her number in case I need anything. In a city full of people, I met a person.