The Transcript (partial)

E= The Examiner
I=Interviewee

I: "Those first few years after he was gone, I felt like a torn piece of paper."
E: "I'm not sure what that means."
I: "It's like I said, a piece of paper that's been ripped."
E: Silence.
I: "If I said that and I was five or six years old, you'd think it was a brilliant, very telling thing to say."
E: "Is anything written on this paper?"
I: "The torn piece of paper?"
E: Silence.
I: "I'm not sure that that has any relevance. Whether there are words on this paper or not. It's how I feel, it's how I felt about those years. I don't see it literally."
E: "Then why do you think you said it?"
I: Sighs.
E: "You're exasperated."
I: "What do you want, a goddamn poem?"
E: "That has been torn in half?"
I: "No, I mean, you want me to say something that's so perfect for this moment, perfect for some illustrative example you'll write up brilliantly and your readers will hurt over it. The words are so perfect that they'll hurt when reading them. They'll want to be you. They'll want to be me."
E: "That's not--"
I: "And all I feel like saying is I just felt like a torn piece of paper."
E: "Is the tear irregular?"

"Client stated she felt like 'a torn piece of paper.' This is my representation of the simile."

I: "What do you think?"

Titles

"Karl Marx's School of Barista Training"

Clearly, I have not been very creative lately. I spent all summer studying for my comp exams, then took my exams (August), then shot two weddings (September/October) then defended my exams (October), then presented at a conference (October) while simultaneously teaching four classes and NOT knitting, NOT writing, NOT reading, and NOT blogging. I am, in one word, exhausted.

I don't know why, but as I was getting out of my car this morning on campus I thought a title of a book should be "Karl Marx's School of.." something.  Something catchy and Most Un-Socialist.

"Karl Marx's School of Hair and Beauty"

"Karl Marx's School of Cake Decorating"

"Karl Marx's School of Divinity"

"Karl Marx's School of Palm Reading"

"Karl Marx's School of Weight Loss Training"

Ficus Elastica

You are gone three years today. Fifteen minutes to midnight.
The ficus I got from your funeral is looking horrible, cramped and diseased in the little pot with bamboo painted on the front. I take it out on the back porch and stare at it.

At least one leaf looks like it has just unfurled, so there is hope for this plant.  I drill holes into a new pot, pack it with fresh potting soil, and work the root ball out of the old pot. I have to cut through the plant roots with the pointed end of a shovel. 

Now the plant is in its new pot, hugging the side of my striped chair, right under the San Francisco poster. It's leaning at an odd angle, looks shocked to have had its longest roots hacked off, its diseased leaves cut. I hope it survives. Three years is too long to keep something so green and alive stuck in a body too small to contain it.

Secrets

One Sunday morning, she ate a secret. It tasted so good, she ate another on Monday.

My Grandpa

The world seems so much more empty when the people you grew up with have died. I'm rattling around in it.  I meant to write....weeks ago - no, months ago

Late with end of summer post...

I meant to post an "end of summer wrap-up" but I'm late. No surprise! I think my goals for summer were to learn Spanish, study for my doctoral exams, and make some money.
I stopped studying Spanish halfway through the summer...hablo espanol un poco...pero...  I'll get back to my livemocha.com training when I have time.
I have studied approximately 30-40 hours per week for 15 weeks...for a 17 hour test.
I made NO money this summer. The THREE jobs I had did not work out- I quit my research job, thinking I could count on the other two, but they did not come through for me. One job decided they didn't need me this summer after using me for 3 years, the other job kept saying they'd start me soon...and my start date is now sometime in September.

Right now, I'm trying to get my two classes going with lesson plans AND ETC. as I'm readying for the beginning of the exams next Monday. I have panic attacks all day long- ALL DAY LONG- and can't sleep. I'll be so happy to get the exams over with. My god.

What is remembered versus What is remembered.

You remember every moment of the before and I remember every moment of the after.
After- your plane landed in Atlanta and we pulled off at every rest stop to buy candy and to kiss on the picnic tables. After- you couldn't let me go in the aisle at the grocery store. After- we drove all night from New Mexico and still you reached for me at 3am.

After- we bought a mattress together, and a Christmas tree. After- the deserted beach in Puerto Rico and our towels hidden in the crevice of a rock. After- we moved from one bed to the other in the cabin on the lake.  After- the lights on the canal at Christmastime. After- the beach at Santa Monica, the fires burning on the pier to ward off the cold, even in August.

After: The honeywine, the menus in Deutsch, the Orthodox chapels from the train windows- all of this.

After- the what remains. The hotel across the bay from Manhattan. The bitter melds with the sweet until they are the same. Everything after. The after. The veins that map across my hands. The bottles of pills. The ashtrays. The living room rug. Monday trash days. This is what I keep remembering.