I am considering getting the Cherubic hymn tattooed on my forearm:

We who mystically represent the cherubim and sing the thrice-holy hymn to the live giving trinity, let us now lay aside all earthy cares, that we may receive the King of All who comes invisibly upbourne by the angelic hosts.

CHERUBIM and SERAPHIM

St. Ignatius Brianchaninov

And when trials beset you, comfort and fortify your soul by saying to it: Shall I not drink the cup which the father has given me? The Chalice is bitter. One has merely to glance at it, and all human calculations vanish.

Substitute faith for calculation, and courageously drink the bitter cup. It is the all-good and all-wise Father Who gives it to you.

It was not Pharisees, of Caiaphas, or Judas who prepared it. It is not Pilate and his soldiers who give it. Shall I not drink the cup which the Father has given Me?

The Pharisees plot, Judas betrays, Pilate orders the iniquitous murder, the governor’s soldiers perform it. By their evildoings they all prepared for themselves certain perdition.

Do not prepare for yourself perdition equally certain by animosity and resentment, by desiring and planning revenge, by being indignant and angry with your enemies.

---St. Ignatius Brianchaninov

Meet the solicitor

Anyone that has probably ever talked to me knows that my job is a less than ideal situation. It's not a fact that I conceal. I rarely, however, go into detail about why it's so abhorred, mainly out of mercy for the listener. If I find my work painfully boring, no doubt hearing about it second hand would put anyone to sleep almost instantly. Today, though, prepare yourself. I'm about to divulge.

Being the only employee besides the two Mexican guys that work in the warehouse, I get to wear a lot of hats here at the office. My official title is "administrative assistant," but the bulk of my job is customer service via the phone line, and everything that goes along with that: order processing, return processing, placating the angry, serving the every need of the salesman, etc. However, I am also required to do anything and everything my 3 bosses might require of me. This includes a lot of email drafting and interpreting (foreign vendors are almost impossible to communicate with), a lot of filing, and a smattering of inventory updating, invoicing, shipping, writing collections letters, and sometimes even working in the warehouse. I also design and email fliers on a regular basis.

Then on top of these every day tasks, my bosses, because they care naught for me, look for more things that I could do. Like upgrading their customer/inventory software to a version that was incompatible with the old one. Which meant that each customer file, each garment, every piece of inventory -- forty years worth of records -- had to be entered individually into the new system by yours truly within a matter of days. That was last month.

This month they decided to update the website. They switched providers and domain names and started off with a clean slate. So guess who's populating the new website with the hundreds of garments they've been importing for the past few decades. That's right. No training in website maintenance did they offer me. They just said, do this asap, and I said, bloody hell, but not to them.

So yesterday as I was getting ready to leave my main boss asks me if I've called the list of 5 regular customers she'd given me to solicit for re-orders. Yes, I have, but none of them need new merchandise right now. Ok, she says, sales are way down lately and that means you have to start calling ALL of our customers to see if they will place orders.

Ok. ...

Which means that today I am a fully fledged solicitor. Or saleswoman, I guess. Earlier I made a list of every customer that 1) bought from us last year, and 2) is worthy of soliciting, and have proceeded to call and/or email 47 of the 234 on said list.

Suffice it to say, I am not looking forward to the next few weeks at work.

Thursdays seem to be hard for me

These days have been endless ones. How does the passing week manage to be quick when each day still seems such a chore?

While in school I felt the immanent and dangerous possibility of becoming a creature ruled by habit. Back then the days were marked with the flux of changes and uncertainty, and I clung to my routines as a means of staying sane and grounded. Since graduating to adulthood, even in this short year since then, I've become calcified in my routine. Every day I wake at the same time, make the same coffee and sandwich, drive the same 12 minutes on the same two streets to work, and work the same eight hours that I've been working for the past year. Now instead of leaving me feeling secure, I get itchy at the thought of another week, and another week after, and another week after that, stretching on into the infinity of my adulthood.

I realize that structure is necessary, especially for me, and it's not hard for me to find beauty in driving those same five miles every day. But balance has never been an easy concept, and my wholehearted enthusiasm is often outweighed by pragmatism. And when pragmatism becomes paired with and colored by habit, it's then that I find myself prickly and prone to escapism.

It's Thursday again and I'm tired.

I love getting spam emails. The bottom paragraph sometimes has a string of unrelated words that might once have been part of a story... who knows. But I think it's great:


Subject line: very proud and disdainful, an I really b
children to their lessons, which were happily always supposed to begin
later on a Monday than on any other day of the week. The study door

Subject line: ugmy pham vfahv fsfw ieha
hab gmy positphamion
vfahvthe fsfpart
you xieh by kkofo
youubpme xegfrom tvjbtart.
Illbeqvoa beqdqfore ynrov.
belhqha pounceugmpony.
thisrphceremony
muv filahvlsmy fsf.
a punxiehch toy vokkofolunteer kubpnee.
is xegalu wavjbnt tohqvoaear
aqdqnd aynrovyou wlhqhasee.

Subject line: birthday girl... -23-

ftexploring 0k ic singly Tec superconductivitystacksiopSUST
The change t the structure f the syllabus has allwed the structure f the examinatin t be simplified. There are fur sectins t the examinatin, crrespnding t the fur parts f the HSC curse. All students will cmplete the cre questins in Sectin I, and students will answer questins relating t the ptins they studied in Sectins II, III, and IV. Each sectin f the examinatin is wrth 25 marks.
The lectures follow chronological and thematic considerations so that it will be easier for the students. The chronology will serve as Adriane s clew as we go deeper in the analysis. We will start at the end of the 19th century as it is the crucial time of changes. This is an arbitrary choice and others could legitimately make some other choices. Within 13 weeks we will put the emphasis on studying the 20th century. It is already part of history and rich enough for our class. Another advantage of concentrating on this period of time is that there are some people still alive, so we will rely on oral history, meaning accounts of people who went through the events we study in class.
Russian environmental legislation consists of numerous federal and regional regulations which often contradict one another and cannot be

Subject line: Become VVIP

reformist officer Genmyname is a Ytion of Pakistan into a stable nonthreatening
in i u ion andideal mu includeallof he ubjec ma erelemen iden ifiedin he
leftha islaborioustaskA just owwhe Iamsuppose to o

(These last 3 are my favorites)

Subject line: Attentionn!

Of what had taken place on the acropolis at sunset, which
they were all humorously cognizant. Myriad an accident.
gertrud is slightly more affected. Rung. Leyden. And you,
too, would be a soldier, when i became yours. If these conditions
are too.

Subject line: worlld crisis

Along with the bhojas and andhakas and kukuras became manifest
that, in the long run, the colonel any emergency. She no
longer felt any fears for bhishma, the son of santanu, then,
o king, proceeded ourselves on the offchance of selling.
rainey.

Subject line: Do you love?

Luxury of not asking why, hugh dear, what do you customs.
during my recent christmas sojourn at was so good in the
restoration of his sight, to she has not yet recovered her
equanimity on the from the facts in a parallel case. I know
human.

Darn

New favorite tights from J.Crew, got a run today, second time wearing them. Maybe that's why they were marked down to $2.99. What a bummer.

Today, Thursday seems incredibly depressing. The thought of slugging through the rest of the day, plus another one seems too daunting. This week has been a slow one, laden with skipped lunches and snipey bickering, tired nights and even sleepier mornings. I'm jealous of certain people that get to take days off when they get tired, and I'm tired of the endless progression of days. I deeply resent those brilliant people who seem to do everything effortlessly, whose blogs or studios or lives, even, are pristine spreads of proliferation and beauty or wit. My work, when I make it, speaks of struggle; it's hardly a testament of proliferative creation. And though I want to make beautiful things, I usually end up making dinner instead.

Workplace inspirations

Sometimes even work can spark my attention, like this mysterious fax we recieved today, or the unexpected inside of an envelope.

(it reads: May 18 10 06:08p p. 2 ,
and at the bottom is that strange rear-view mirror shape. I am really curious about how this happened.)





Because sometimes the small things are the most delightful.

Adulthood isn't all it's cracked up to be

Certain people have become such good writers that I am less and less inclined to share my daily musings, and more inclined, instead, to revert to childhood and create a montage of myself devouring my strawberry sweater. But such is life.

Mornings

These days I've been rising at an unheard of 7:30, a full hour and a half before I have to be at work. My parents, if they read this, would scoff. Usually I loathe waking up, be it 7:30 or 10 in the morning, but lately it's felt like a nice change of pace. If I'm lucky, the husband who leaves for work earlier than I will have left me coffee, waiting kindly in a thermos. I water my three plants that sit on a kitchen windowsill, drink the coffee leisurely, maybe read a little poetry. Usually ignore the cat.

This morning I was sitting on the couch in a generous pool of sunlight, coffee in hand, considering reading some Robert Bly; meow-meister curled up beside me, unusually silent and enjoying the sun. I absently put my hand on her still-shorn stomach, and must have nudged her tail on the way, because she proceeded to attack it like a foreign object she had never seen before.

So far that's been the highlight of my day.

GOOD

The Envoy
by Jane Hirshfield

One day in that room, a small rat.
Two days later, a snake.

Who, seeing me enter,
whipped the long stripe of his
body under the bed,
then curled like a docile house-pet.

I don't know how either came or left.
Later, the flashlight found nothing.

For a year I watched
as something--terror? happiness? grief?--
entered and then left my body.

Not knowing how it came in.
Not knowing how it went out.

It hung where words could not reach it.
It slept where light could not go.
Its scent was neither snake nor rat,
neither sensualist nor ascetic.

There are openings in our lives
of which we know nothing.

Through them
the belled herds travel at will,
long-legged and thirsty, covered with foreign dust.

On feeling more grown up than ever before

After a what felt like much longer than a week of moving, we succeeded in hauling our multitudinous piles of junk four miles down the road, and have happily settled in what seems like a different land altogether: Fullerton. The last box has been unpacked, and though there are still little piles of homeless objects clustered around the new terrain, the to-do list is quickly dwindling. It feels good to live in a place where groceries or an evening drink are only a walk away down our lovely tree lined street.

Our house is almost 90 years old. It's part of a 3-unit building, but we have our own mailbox and the address is delightfully sans-apartment-number. There is no dishwasher or garbage disposal; when you want to go outside you can choose between three doors (living room, kitchen or bedroom).

We also have our own garage, a tiny little one-car affair that my thoughtful husband voluntarily turned into a studio space for me. Carpet and all. For the first time in a year I have an area to spread my mysteriously inspiring odds and ends, a place that is soley for creating -- or just siting and thinking, which is sometimes just as important. Last night I slipped out there for a couple of hours that disappeared almost instantly, and I feel more refreshed than I have in a long time.

Darn

I've realized that having short hair necessitates a monthly haircut. Shoot, goodbye annual haircuts. I'll miss you. So will my pocketbook.

Deathday party

It's going down tonight. I am baking pies and will resemble this picture in some way:

Notice the palor and general ghostliness. Not quite sure yet how the dark mark will be attached to my person.

24 !!!

Today my darling husband turns 24 years old, which sounds dreadfully mid-twenties and approaching 30's to me.

Happy Birthday love!

Delicious

Pastrami, cheddar, bread & butter pickles, lettuce, mustard & mayo on whole wheat bread. My new favorite lunch.

DO NOT try making a pastrami, cream cheese and lettuce wrap with a left over crepe.

Hello, THURSDAY

As I was driving to work this morning, listening to David Bowie, I was feeling great and thinking of about twelve things that I needed to share with the world today.

None of which come to mind now.

This morning, as I was calming my bedhead at the bathroom sink, I observed Fhloston P. behaving as a Wild Animal. She was darting around frantically like she does when she either needs to, or has just pooped, except that today she also started leaping into the bathtub and licking herself for a brief moment before high-tailing it back to the living room again. The thing is, this cat is not a Great Jumper, and she had a hard time making it into the tub every time. So half the time she attempted the jump she ended up making a desperate scramble at the side of the tub, then deciding suddenly and urgently, mid-scramble, that she needed to run again, she would make a feline about-turn, ears flat against her head, and careen against the door jam on her way out.

11:05. I just remembered:
In Starbucks this morning, picking up my daily cup (as we have been lamentably out of coffee for about 2 weeks), the cashier, an older lady, maybe in her mid fourties, always friendly, asked me if I was a dancer. No, I laughed (the thought of me as a dancer, HAH!). She said, "Oh, it's just that you have such a beautiful...," and here she vaguely gestured at her own clavicle/neck/chin area. She may have also mentioned something about being tall, I can't remember. To which I also laughed, sightly uncomfortably, said, "Oh, thank you," and left immediately.

If only

I often wish that I was Winona Ryder. Perhaps that's why I cut my hair?

Sigh.

How can I force myself to start making art again?

Every time I get home from work, my crowded little apartment and the meow-meister cat tell me urgently to just sit down, forget about the mess, the dishes, the bills to sort through, the faint and foggy possibility of art-making --- just sit down and watch a movie.

And I do.

And the dishes pile into a heap that rivals the leaning tower of Pisa. Leftovers from last month stay mouldering in the back of the fridge. The trash overflows. My desk remains unused, and I quietly push it out of my mind.

Where have I been for a YEAR?

Yes, that is the question. It's been a busy and monumental year, and rather than write something long and boring, I will spare all you 3 faithful readers and summarize with a picture story:


>>>>>> I had my senior show. We did indeed survive the death weekend installing it, and though we were still there desperately adusting the lighting as the sun came up on the day of the opening, it came off a success.

>>>>>> Then I graduated. It was a moment of terror and excitement, drawn out for three hours and baked into me by the sun and my polyester robe.

>>>>>> I quickly moved on the the joys of paying rent and a 3 month flirtation with unemployment. Then I became ENGAGED, and wedding planning spirited me away for the next six months.

>>>>> On January 17th of this new decade, I married my love, and it was good.

>>>>> Married Life inspired me to chop off all my hair, and we have since acquired a seeming menagerie of animals -- two finches (Ananias & Sapphira), an unpictured rabbit (Maleficent), and a cat (Fhloston Paradise). My life is now complete.