Part of growing up is knowing when to ask for help.

I am so full of anxiety at this moment. My car needs to be re-registered and needs California insurance.

I had just enough money to pay the deductible.

I need a full-time job and to stop being jerked around by Barnes & Noble. I need to rock these two interviews on Monday.

I can do this.

"I'm a phlebotomist."

it lingers still...

you are forever
embedded
in my consciousness
locked away
like the pages
of the journals
i keep
locked away.

sometimes
i take them out
to peruse

it fills my heart
like bath water
but i cannot
linger for too long
because the water
grows cold

and i have
things to do.

black leather journal v.2

i dreamt i was sleeping in my old bunk bed again. but i wasn't home. i was in some other country, a newcomer about to start a new job. melanie was sleeping above me. the bed was surrounded by a thick jungle of leaves and bamboo. natives lived in it. you could hear them throw bird calls to one another. i was afraid of them, of the strange noises. mel poked her head down. i said, "they are so loud." she said, "that's because you are. don't be afraid of them. they watch over us at night, like guardians." i grew calmer.

the next moment i left my bed. standing by the water. you could see the feet of the natives in the jungle. then faces. they smiled at me. their chief came. he drew a line in the dift with his toe, connecting me to him. we played a game with his tribe. he set up small carved figures and a woman rolled a ball to knock them over. inside one object was a map.

next we were on top of a tall building. the tribe was in street clothes. i realized then they were not a jungle tribe, they were only pretending. the chief turned out to be a failed rock n' roll musician with one song to his name. he taught me about history. we looked at the horizon. i looked at the skyline of building tops emitting endless clouds of smog and began to cry because i could not see the sunset.

clouds came. lightning, a hot pink, struck a building. i thought, "how pretty." then i remembered where we were. as soon as i stood up, lightning struck the building and electicity shot through me. i made everyone run underground, to the subway. the chief fell into a coma. i do not know if he wakes up.

(2:30am : 4/20/07 : Greece)

black leather journal v.1

i love the brown skin of the mother downstairs. it shimmers with gold in the sun. her hair is ebony black. she looks Mexican, but i cannot really tell. she seems to always be doing laundry. her son wanders on his bike and looks at me in wonder as i walk by.

Tips, the cat, wanders along the drive, looking for bumble bees with broken wings no doubt. the woman next door is always doing laundry as well. she is heavy set, sturdy. i see her husband ride on his motorbike.

a boy, their son perhaps, does maintenance around the apartments. he has dreaded hair and looks as though he knows how to get some hash.

Tasha's kids are beautiful. her daughter is all smiles when i come around. the sturdy wife next door stares at my bare breasts from the ground.

i can see the mainland crystal clear today from my balcony. the coast and mountainous silhouettes. the sun bakes again. i hosed the salt water from my clothes yesterday. the sun dries them in hours.

(4/12/07 Greece)

in a cafe and out of cigarettes

Oh well, I suppose.

This place is full of 20-somethings searching for some semblance of a Tuesday night life. Laptops, mugs, and books. Here I am with Lil' Mac and a delectable slice of Tres Leches, typey-typing, listening in on everyone's conversations, and eyeing the cute, tatt'd guy at the other end of the room.

The Living Room is a wonderful ecosystem. Full to the brim with college students and late night wanderers, but not annoyingly so. Hearing such a concentration of babble makes me think about my own connections with people. Old high school classmates who have initiated conversation after years of distance. How far away I feel from Boston and my family. I want to know that everyone is happy and doing well. :there is some delicious custardy substance in this cake:

I am happy to be here. Perhaps that is what I am getting at. My bones feel settled now that my need of frivolous human contact has tapered off. I am preparing for all sorts of new challenges. They are coming. I feel it in the very depths of my stomach and as electricity over my skin.

:i should have ordered tea with this cake:

free frozen yogurt never hurt anyone...

I am scheduled for two job interviews. One at the Goodwill Bookstore in Eastlake, the other at Nuyo in Otay Ranch. These are not the jobs I really want, but I would be doing myself a huge disservice if I did not keep my options open.

The positions I really want? Assistant Director at Tutoring Club, an after-school educational program; Campus Organizer for another educational program that assists with student visas, job application, etc.; and the best one, the Membership Manager at the Museum of Contemporary Art in La Jolla.

I have spent this last week in agony over my resumes. Various versions now litter my Documents folder, waiting to be sent out to all those important job people. It took several e-mails to mom, constant revision, and quite a few late nights, but they're done. And, not to give myself a hand, but they look pretty freakin' sweet. My mom, being the business savvy woman, gave me a lot of great verbiage and a couple of lovey, mom-style pep talks.

All right, me, let's do this...