summer wardrobe expansion: garment #9.

my first cardigan!!!

i tried to knit a cardigan a few months ago, but the sleeves were somehow way ridiculously too large, so i went without my hard knit sleeves and made it a vest.

however, this cardigan is sewn, not knit. well, the fabric is knitted fabric, but i found it already knitted on the sale rack at hancock and fell in love with it. i went home, shrunk it up with the laundry and started on the cardigan asap.

it's a little odd shaped.

i like it big, but the thick hem at the bottom makes it flare out and look funny.

and it's a little short.

but oh well.

it's warm

and handmade

and a cardigan

(with silly buttons),

so ultimately, what's not to like?

pretty fabric.

veruca salt.

2 thrift stores

9 tops in various styles (many of them involving buttons) and

$30

later

i have decided that second-hand clothing is my vice.

some people don't even have thirty dollars to spend in a month, let alone one day.

also, what the hell am i doing, buying more clothes before i move into a dorm room?

but i suppose i could have worse vices.

this must be how it feels to peek over the edge of a cliff; figuratively speaking, of course.

so i've walked up to the edge

with the parachute strapped to my back

and i'm looking down,

running the toe of my shoe along

the jagged seam of solid rock and frigid air,

and i'm looking down through a thick fog

to vaguely where i'll be landing.

and i can see a friend,

her parachute open,

drifting down ever so slowly,

hovering just above the fog,

knowing that in a moment she'll be gone from view.

and i'm saying,

"so you just jump?"

and she's hollering back,

"yeah, yeah, come on you'll figure it out."

and then she's gone.

the girl i met first on the first day of kindergarten,

who thought my haircut made me look like a boy,

who skipped with me when our undeveloped conversational skills brought talking to a halt,

she's gone downstate,

to college.

actually, it's university for her, darling.

why does she seem so cool, calm, collected?

how can she be packed so soon?

when did she pack?

i'm not really feeling the full effect yet.

i won't for a bit.

because we didn't see each other so much,

a fact which i regret immensely.

so right now i'm just trying to wrap my mind around the fact of her departure.

like, now when i bike through boystown, i don't get to think,

"i could just drop by elizabeth's house and see if she's around,"

because she isn't around anymore.

unless "around" means geographically-in-the-same-state,

then, yeah, she's around,

until i go to new york, that is. and i go to new york very soon.

sort of like, you know you're going to fall at some point

you're gonna feel that sensation in your middle,

where your stomach manages to fall out from between your legs

and work its way into your throat at the same time,

but not yet

because you are still on solid ground.

because you are not done packing.

because you have not biked through boystown yet.

this week, this day, this hour, this minute

i am safe.

i am going to be the last of my peers to leave chicago.

i am still packing.

i am biking to stores with an empty backpack

and riding home with a satchel zipped to the brim

with toiletries and socks.

i am growing restless.

i am growing tired of this rain.

of the figurative fog.

could i see what's at the bottom yet?

somedays i think i would like to know. maybe.

chance words.

2. There is so much longing in the characters in your book - what are we all looking for? Is it love? Can we ever get enough of it? Is it because we are all latch-key kids? Maybe it's just there to keep us moving or breathing or alive?

mj: I think longing is a habit, it is perhaps the way we deal with emptiness, empty space. The empty space is normal, but, depending on our level of fear, it feels more or less unbearable.

i was preparing the envelope for sending my friend a copy of my one-act, because i promised i would, and i wanted to fill the empty space on the back of the envelope with collage. so i got out my collage folder which is full of cut-outs i've amassed over the years and i just happened to pull out a section of an interview with miranda july, around the time her book no one belongs here more than you. came out. i think the section was from the magazine arthur. i don't know why i had cut out just question and answer #2. also it was cut out in a weird shape. half of the word unbearable was cut off (it was just "unbear-"), so i don't know if that was the end of miranda july's answer.

i've kind of danced around the question of "what is your play about?" because the honest answer feels way too risky. because the answer is, "me. my play is about me."

however, this q-and-a #2 feels like a kind of accurate description. (also i think that both the questions and answer are beautifully worded.)

my play is about love and fear and empty space and things unsaid.

so i pasted the interview cut-out onto the envelope and decided not to cheapen it by collaging the hell out of the rest of the blank space.

empty space.

this is what it looks like:

and then i woke up...again.

...you're fucked!

cancer is not a metaphor.

while i listened to my play get read aloud i took notes to keep busy,

to give my fidget hands something to do.

i ended up writing this:

• title: "kiss me at all the red lights." or "today i think i'll be emily dickinson."
• is the makeshift bed in the opening description?
• print five copies and highlight.
• should i feel this nervous? listening to my words?
• "i'm a loner, you're not": that line might suck.
• i want to VOMIT.
• "but that would be even better" should be better even.
• charlie's exit should be bicycle.
• shit, over time. shit.
• cut some narration.

the play was surprisingly well received.

which is the least i could ask for, considering i nearly melted while listening to it.

that is, i soaked half my homemade blouse clean through with sweat.

i have chosen neither of the two title options from the first bullet point.

tomorrow,

which is really today,

the play will be read to all who want to hear it

between 1 p.m. and 2:30 p.m. at the harold washington library.

i would really love it if you came.

this afternoon i journeyed to the nearly uncharted land of retail. and decided to fall in love with some $230 (reduced from $700!) prada heels. i can't have them because they are expensive. because they are new. because they are (new) suede. because they are wildly impractical.

and beautiful.

i cannot remember the last time i bought new clothing.

i think it was april when i bought a new brassiere at sears because thrift store underwear is just not something i want to do yet.

though, in the interest of full disclosure, i have bought new fabric, which i then sew into new clothing.

i. want. them. i. want. to. leave. now.

now, how did i forget that theatres are dark on mondays?

i don't like my forgetful moments.

i'm just like my dad in that i like to beat myself up.

and someday i'll get cancer.

i'm just like my dad, sometimes.

it's nice of him (not my father) to tell me what i want to hear, even when i can't return the favor.

the good-byes really suck. his good-byes really suck.

call me old-fashioned, but i like to end my phone conversations with "good-bye."

and if i don't get one, then i just keep talking and talking and occasionally i stumble upon a good line and - hey! hello? aw, shit, i thought you were still there, i wanted you to hear that.

i should stick around. fine. "for a little bit."

"hey, i'm gonna get going."

"okay."

i don't like to make scenes, and i don't regard his impending departure as a big deal, but i thought he did, so the response was a bit lackluster.

i'll see you in a week. (a week! i get a whole week to not worry about letting him down or breaking his heart! yesss!)

"where are you going?"

"are you leaving?"

yeah.

"what! why?"

i would rather be anywhere, but here. i would rather be alone. i would rather be at the hospital. i would rather be sobbing into my shirtsleeve about my future and about the book i just finished.

"i've just got a lot of shit going on," i said, waving my arms and fingers around my head to illustrate the motions that my brain was going through.

the bike path felt incredibly unsafe in the dark.

i have said that i hate the bike path.

if i was alone on it, riding in the dark with the lake gently undulating to the east of me, that would have been lovely.

but instead, my mind got spooked at my own huge shadow, regarding it as a separate rider, one altogether too close to me and moving too fast.

my late dinner was under heated but still tasted oh-so-good. going brain dead in front of the television sprawled along the couch with the little (though newly growth-spurted) brother and the cats was oh-so-good, too.

i made some good decisions today.

why does it seem that this blog has rapidly devolved into a wannabe fashion blog?

summer wardrobe expansion: garment #8.

shit, i am a giving person.

i gave this silly hat to a friend.

i made several attempts at a hat for her, to give to her at her graduation party. i was unsatisfied with all of them, so i went more basic and made this hat in a few committed hours. the shape is a little funny, and envisioned something a bit more original looking, but i guess i like how it turned out. and crocheting a design into a piece was something i hadn't tried before.