A Life Less Busty
Current mood: bored
Category: Life
So it's been a week since the Great Cut- I'm no longer a zaftig FF-cup wonder. I'm not quite sure what size I am, swelling being what it is, but I'm much, much smaller. My San Francisco friends will understand this part well; I dressed yesterday in black button-front shirt and black pants, and looking in the mirror, presented much more androgynous than I ever have. And it didn't bother me- I thought it was cool.
Being defined by any physical trait is a double-edged sword. It gives you a touchstone for identity, but it also makes you paranoid about who you are without it. Many people will tell you that, up until the moment they knocked me out (probably to keep me from yammering about my doubts), I was not sure I could go through with the reduction. I mean, who would I be? Would I have a problem not busting out all over?
It didn't help that most people reacted like I was going insane. Men literally mourned the upcoming loss of The Girls; women asked for me to transplant some of my excess to them. I wondered if this was really a necessary surgery, or was I just being vain?
One week later, I still can't answer questions about whether it was worth it. I am smaller, but still sore and drugged and generally useless in the upper body area. I pride myself on being generally productive with bouts of laziness, and this is the reverse. I spend more time asleep and watching judge shows than anyone ever should. But I'm enjoying the opportunity to break out of one more stereotype I hold for myself. I have always been "the smart girl;" "the busty girl;" "the girl with glasses," etc. If I'm not that girl anymore, there's a clear new space to play in, and from the tone of my last few posts, I seem to desperately need to break out and do a new thing.
Today I have my stitches removed, and the drains come out (this surgery ain't all glamourous). I hope to gain more range of motion soon, and I hope to be able to stop sleeping while sitting up. And I'll continue to keep you updated on how a life less busty goes. I'm looking forward to the journey.
Response to a Friend
Current mood: aggravated
Category: Friends
So a friend write me this (edited by me) email:
I'm sorry.
I know that you're leaving. I know that tonight was your shindig, and I had every intention of going. Until I sat and I thought about it for awhile. I really wasn't up to being around all of Cincinnati's collected [general nastiness].
It may sound stupid, but it's still pretty damned painful to me.
I wish that I could be strong enough to say that I don't give a damn, and that I would just walk in there and be fine...but I can't. I want to see you before you leave, if you can forgive me for not showing.
I miss you. Really I do. You are dear to me.
There's more, but the crux of the message is there. And this is a response to that friend, as well as a general heart-rending out-pouring of emotion about me leaving this town and the collected group of personalities that I have gathered around me.
To you, friends, I say, I am trying to work out a version of friendship that does not consistently require me feeling bad so that you all feel good. I have heard more "sorry"s that the law should allow, and, at this point, I don't have any response to them. I am numb.
I know that things are very often not personal, and I don't think enough of myself to believe that it's all about me, but for once, on my leaving, I wanted it to be. I wanted to feel like the years I've spent in Cincinnati mean enough to folks that they could stop by for a quick beer, if only because they knew I would be a non-drinking, limited mobility invalid for my remaining time in town. I wanted them to recognize that I planned a going-away party (for myself, how pathetic and telling), built so my friends could come, built to not hit the surgery or the San Fran trip (slight miscalculation). I want my friends to know I didn't even want a going away party, but everyone told me I owed it to my friends to let them say goodbye.
I didn't have the heart to tell everyone that I suspected very few people would show up, that I feared very few of the folk I call "friends" would be bothered to come. And I was proven somewhat correct.
When you give yourself a party, several things come to mind. Will anyone come? Why am I planning this myself? Is it because no one else can? Or no one else will?
In my case, I realized that my mother, once again, is correct- be careful who you call friend. I have a series of acquaintances, from different lives, with varying levels of connection and communication. It's hard to bring all those folks together in one place. I tried four times- only the first was a rousing success. I feel like I should have followed my first mind and just faded into the sunset- but that felt melodramatic as well.
So it's said, and done. I won't see many people before I leave- I'm too sore and drugged up and tired to do more than connect via Facebook, and I've got family trading organs tomorrow. I'll write about this time in my life, and maybe that's the payoff- I get another life experience to write about. Sometimes, that's all I can ask for.
I love you, Cincinnati, and I am grateful for the folks who I have laughed, cried, fought with and loved. I'll miss many of you, and some of you know where to find me. Peace to you all, and really, it's ok. It's all ok.
Post Script to an Ending
Current mood: groggy
Category: Life
I am home from San Francisco, which deserves (and will get) its post. I have also had the breast reduction I'd been planning an fearing for months. Now I'm recovering at my grandmother's apartment, waiting to heal and to begin my new adventure as a graduate student.
The surgery has given me much time (and plenty of drugs) to think- about pain, and limits, and saying no when you mean yes, yes when you mean no. I'm a consummate people-pleaser, and I realized after San Francisco, many of my so-called friendships are predicated upon me feeling bad so that others can feel good. And I've had it. San Francisco gave that to me (so I say Thank You).
Going across the country will give me a new space to recreate myself, but my mother tells me, and is true, that "Wherever you go, there you are." And if I don't deal with the attitudes and behaviors that created my life here at home, it will just be the same in Boulder. And so...
- I am giving myself permission to not talk to folks if I am too busy or just don't want to. - I am giving myself permission to call people on their junk (and to have them call me on mine). - I am giving myself permission to say a few, well-needed F&^%- you's. - I am giving myself permission to say "ouch, demmit, this hurts! And it is not ok. - I am giving others permission to not keep in touch with me, or care what I do next.
So, Other People, you are off the hook. This is a period of renegotiation, of resetting limits and reconstructing relationships. Some will be let go, some will emerge stronger. And it's all good. Some folks I will be reaching out to, and others, I will retreat from. And it's all good. My experiences are showing me that there's a great big old world out there, and when I let them in, wonderful people show up and take me higher than I ever thought I could be. So I will have no hard feelings, but neither will I contort myself to fit others' images of me, nor will I let others piss on my leg and tell me it's raining.
I'm reclaiming my writing, and my dance. I'm releasing that part of me that needs to be a professional YP. I'm totally withdrawing from questionable alliances with other women's men, and from men who are as unavailable as...well, who are pretty damn unavailable. Girlfriends, I'm done being jealous of you, of trying to talk you out of destructive behavior, and of letting certain topics be off-limits. If we're going to be friends, we're gonna start going there about any and everything- because I think our lives depend on it (more on that later- it's a legacy from San Francisco).
I'm not the best correspondent, and I don't check in as much as I would like. But let's change that. Let's create authentic relationships, let's build, let's support each other. This is how it's gonna be from now on, at least for me. If you're in, let's go. if you're out, goodbye. Go in peace.
Post Script to an Ending
Current mood: groggy
Category: Life
I am home from San Francisco, which deserves (and will get) its post. I have also had the breast reduction I'd been planning an fearing for months. Now I'm recovering at my grandmother's apartment, waiting to heal and to begin my new adventure as a graduate student.
The surgery has given me much time (and plenty of drugs) to think- about pain, and limits, and saying no when you mean yes, yes when you mean no. I'm a consummate people-pleaser, and I realized after San Francisco, many of my so-called friendships are predicated upon me feeling bad so that others can feel good. And I've had it. San Francisco gave that to me (so I say Thank You).
Going across the country will give me a new space to recreate myself, but my mother tells me, and is true, that "Wherever you go, there you are." And if I don't deal with the attitudes and behaviors that created my life here at home, it will just be the same in Boulder. And so...
- I am giving myself permission to not talk to folks if I am too busy or just don't want to. - I am giving myself permission to call people on their junk (and to have them call me on mine). - I am giving myself permission to say a few, well-needed F&^%- you's. - I am giving myself permission to say "ouch, demmit, this hurts! And it is not ok. - I am giving others permission to not keep in touch with me, or care what I do next.
So, Other People, you are off the hook. This is a period of renegotiation, of resetting limits and reconstructing relationships. Some will be let go, some will emerge stronger. And it's all good. Some folks I will be reaching out to, and others, I will retreat from. And it's all good. My experiences are showing me that there's a great big old world out there, and when I let them in, wonderful people show up and take me higher than I ever thought I could be. So I will have no hard feelings, but neither will I contort myself to fit others' images of me, nor will I let others piss on my leg and tell me it's raining.
I'm reclaiming my writing, and my dance. I'm releasing that part of me that needs to be a professional YP. I'm totally withdrawing from questionable alliances with other women's men, and from men who are as unavailable as...well, who are pretty damn unavailable. Girlfriends, I'm done being jealous of you, of trying to talk you out of destructive behavior, and of letting certain topics be off-limits. If we're going to be friends, we're gonna start going there about any and everything- because I think our lives depend on it (more on that later- it's a legacy from San Francisco).
I'm not the best correspondent, and I don't check in as much as I would like. But let's change that. Let's create authentic relationships, let's build, let's support each other. This is how it's gonna be from now on, at least for me. If you're in, let's go. if you're out, goodbye. Go in peace.
Post Script to an Ending
Current mood: groggy
Category: Life
I am home from San Francisco, which deserves (and will get) its post. I have also had the breast reduction I'd been planning an fearing for months. Now I'm recovering at my grandmother's apartment, waiting to heal and to begin my new adventure as a graduate student.
The surgery has given me much time (and plenty of drugs) to think- about pain, and limits, and saying no when you mean yes, yes when you mean no. I'm a consummate people-pleaser, and I realized after San Francisco, many of my so-called friendships are predicated upon me feeling bad so that others can feel good. And I've had it. San Francisco gave that to me (so I say Thank You).
Going across the country will give me a new space to recreate myself, but my mother tells me, and is true, that "Wherever you go, there you are." And if I don't deal with the attitudes and behaviors that created my life here at home, it will just be the same in Boulder. And so...
- I am giving myself permission to not talk to folks if I am too busy or just don't want to. - I am giving myself permission to call people on their junk (and to have them call me on mine). - I am giving myself permission to say a few, well-needed F&^%- you's. - I am giving myself permission to say "ouch, demmit, this hurts! And it is not ok. - I am giving others permission to not keep in touch with me, or care what I do next.
So, Other People, you are off the hook. This is a period of renegotiation, of resetting limits and reconstructing relationships. Some will be let go, some will emerge stronger. And it's all good. Some folks I will be reaching out to, and others, I will retreat from. And it's all good. My experiences are showing me that there's a great big old world out there, and when I let them in, wonderful people show up and take me higher than I ever thought I could be. So I will have no hard feelings, but neither will I contort myself to fit others' images of me, nor will I let others piss on my leg and tell me it's raining.
I'm reclaiming my writing, and my dance. I'm releasing that part of me that needs to be a professional YP. I'm totally withdrawing from questionable alliances with other women's men, and from men who are as unavailable as...well, who are pretty damn unavailable. Girlfriends, I'm done being jealous of you, of trying to talk you out of destructive behavior, and of letting certain topics be off-limits. If we're going to be friends, we're gonna start going there about any and everything- because I think our lives depend on it (more on that later- it's a legacy from San Francisco).
I'm not the best correspondent, and I don't check in as much as I would like. But let's change that. Let's create authentic relationships, let's build, let's support each other. This is how it's gonna be from now on, at least for me. If you're in, let's go. if you're out, goodbye. Go in peace.
Post Script to an Ending
Current mood: groggy
Category: Life
I am home from San Francisco, which deserves (and will get) its post. I have also had the breast reduction I'd been planning an fearing for months. Now I'm recovering at my grandmother's apartment, waiting to heal and to begin my new adventure as a graduate student.
The surgery has given me much time (and plenty of drugs) to think- about pain, and limits, and saying no when you mean yes, yes when you mean no. I'm a consummate people-pleaser, and I realized after San Francisco, many of my so-called friendships are predicated upon me feeling bad so that others can feel good. And I've had it. San Francisco gave that to me (so I say Thank You).
Going across the country will give me a new space to recreate myself, but my mother tells me, and is true, that "Wherever you go, there you are." And if I don't deal with the attitudes and behaviors that created my life here at home, it will just be the same in Boulder. And so...
- I am giving myself permission to not talk to folks if I am too busy or just don't want to. - I am giving myself permission to call people on their junk (and to have them call me on mine). - I am giving myself permission to say a few, well-needed F&^%- you's. - I am giving myself permission to say "ouch, demmit, this hurts! And it is not ok. - I am giving others permission to not keep in touch with me, or care what I do next.
So, Other People, you are off the hook. This is a period of renegotiation, of resetting limits and reconstructing relationships. Some will be let go, some will emerge stronger. And it's all good. Some folks I will be reaching out to, and others, I will retreat from. And it's all good. My experiences are showing me that there's a great big old world out there, and when I let them in, wonderful people show up and take me higher than I ever thought I could be. So I will have no hard feelings, but neither will I contort myself to fit others' images of me, nor will I let others piss on my leg and tell me it's raining.
I'm reclaiming my writing, and my dance. I'm releasing that part of me that needs to be a professional YP. I'm totally withdrawing from questionable alliances with other women's men, and from men who are as unavailable as...well, who are pretty damn unavailable. Girlfriends, I'm done being jealous of you, of trying to talk you out of destructive behavior, and of letting certain topics be off-limits. If we're going to be friends, we're gonna start going there about any and everything- because I think our lives depend on it (more on that later- it's a legacy from San Francisco).
I'm not the best correspondent, and I don't check in as much as I would like. But let's change that. Let's create authentic relationships, let's build, let's support each other. This is how it's gonna be from now on, at least for me. If you're in, let's go. if you're out, goodbye. Go in peace.
So I'm hanging out in San Francisco for three weeks, transitioning from artist and arts professional to full-time scholar. The process largely involves a great deal of reading, followed by a great deal of drinking...rinse and repeat. But I sacrifice for my career.
I am wandering along Haight (I'm living in Lower Haight while I'm here), and stumble into a bookstore tucked away along the various T-shirt, hookah shops and tattoo parlors. They have no romance novels (infidels!), so I browse the list of upcoming authors to do signings.
Her name caught my attention first; a clang from my Slam past (is it ever a past, or does the Slam urge just lie dormant?). She had two new books out; one a collection of poems and shorts, the other, a collection of erotic stories featuring her as a character. Some were true, some pure fiction. Intrigued, I decided to attend the reading.
I don't often get tongue-tied around celebrities, but I revert to my screaming New Kids On the Block days when I meet "famous" slammers. Patricia Smith, Roger Bonair-Agard, StaceyAnn Chin, Sarah Jones...you get the point. Daphne Gottlieb ranks up there for the awesomeness of her presence alone. Her locks, her height, the style that says "f&^% you clothes, you serve me-" she bowled me over. She gave away prizes, and I wound up with plastic birds, not plastic handcuffs.
I dragged along another woman from the Institute, a Mainer who is as Tri-Delt as I am boho. We both noticed how human Daphne was; she was nervous through the entire reading. Her voice was really warm, like she'd be a great hostess and offer you cookies and extra blankets. We'd both bought the stories about her, me to see what kind of bravery is takes to invite people to write about screwing you, and E (the woman I was with), because she met one of the book's contributors in the store.
As she signed books at the end, I, blushing, stammered how I'd come to know her name ("I slammed in Ohio-" akin to Baby's "I carried a watermelon" in Dirty Dancing, and dropped a few names she might recognize (she did recognize them). And that was it, until I read the inscription. "You didn't have to come all the way from Ohio to meet me, but I'm glad you did." Aww... see why I have great big poet crushes?
And the book, titled F&^%ing Daphne, is really good. Fan-tastic. Get it.
Oh yeah, come to my going away party on Saturday, July 26th. At Mr. Pitiful's. 1323 Main St. It's gonna be a gas.
It’s pretty commonly known in the graduate school "angst universe" that March 15 is a drop-dead date for schools with strict (not rolling) applications deadlines sending out results for Fall admission. Ergo, the closer you get to the Ides of March, the more likely it is that you are on a wait list, or have been rejected.
I applied to nine schools. Three were my "top-tier;" schools where I had a medium-to-high level of interaction/communication with faculty before application, liked the location, the program description, and the funding structure. Five were schools that I could be interested in, but for various reasons, were not my first choices, and one was an outlier, a program that I applied to because it would allow me to do the bulk of the work I was interested in, near home, with a faculty I’d met and enjoyed- but it wasn’t a Sociology program.
Well, the decision being made, I am now receiving the rest of my notifications from schools, which is sort of weird. I’ve been accepted to two schools, one with funding, one with no news as yet. I accepted the sure deal, for a ton of reasons, but the bottom line being it became a far-and-away favorite after my visit.
The results, so far:
U of Cincy- accepted, Master’s, no funding (yet); U of Colorado- Boulder- accepted, PhD, tuition, TA, stipend, subsidized health, fellowship (I’m going- top tier); UC San Diego- rejected (they were ranked 7th on my list of 9) U of Arizona- rejected (they were top-tier); Emory University- rejected (they were top-tier); Stony Brook- rejected (bottom-tier, very little pre-application contact);
I have not yet heard from: Syracuse Temple OSU (the outlier program)
I don’t care, as such- I just want the letters to end the waiting. It’s a weird psychological defect, I’m sure, to have accepted an offer, and yet still wait for likely kicks in the teeth from programs you don’t want to go to. But seriously, what about this undertaking speaks of sanity?
It was weird- when I got the offer from Boulder, something clicked into place- a knowing that regardless of the other news, we had selected each other. Indeed, it was difficult in the scant days after my return from the visit, to not get geeked about the program. As it was, I was looking at apartment costs and soliciting bids from movers the very day I got the good news. Love at first sight, I guess.
For fans of The Secret, some of the things I wrote on my list of desired items were; to feel that I was wanted/being recruited; a phat financial package, and a faculty of up-and-comers who took a direct interest in the success of their students. I got all of that. The rest of the list I can’t fully remember and some of it remains to be seen, but it’s more than a decent start. To quote my friend Gabe, "Universe?! Hey, boo...thanks!"
I am Director of Graduate Studies for the Department of Sociology at the University of Hometown. I have the pleasure of writing today to inform you that your application to the Sociology M.A. program has been accepted. Congratulations. We very much hope you can join us this fall.
The Sociology Department's Graduate Program Committee makes graduate student decisions in two steps. First, we decide whether to accept applicants, and we communicate that news -- which is why I write today. Second, we make decisions on funding, based on the resources the department has available, the number of eligible students, etc. The GPC is in the middle of working on those funding decisions, which I hope to communicate to applicants within the next three weeks.
If you have any questions, please contact me or Ms. Super Cool, who is the department's Graduate Program Coordinator.
Director Guy -- ph. 555-XXXX; director.guy@Hometown.edu Super Cool -- ph. 555-XXXX; super.cool@Hometown.edu
Again, congratulations, and we hope we will see you at Hometown.
bored
aggravated
groggy
eccentric
nervous
enthralled