Monthly Archives: April 2007

Towel = thrown.

The following also appeared on the fab PWD blog.

  

Dear Phillies,

By the time you read these lines, I’ll be gone.

After 26 years by your side, it’s time to walk away. We both deserve better.

For years I’ve been ignoring the signs that our relationship was slowly dying. The yelling, the throwing things. All the nights I walked out early on you. The way we seemed to stop speaking to each other every fall.

When we fought last October, I was sure you loved me enough to make it up to me by spring. But after that night last fall, I told myself I’d give you one more chance. Foolishly, I believed in you. I suppose the truth is I always wanted to believe in you. To believe that you might someday get around to making good on all those promises. But now, in April, I think we both know that this affair has run its course.

Our courtship consumed my youth, and I should have listened when friends said “First love never lasts.” But my adoration was pure and I was just a headstrong child. I was giddy to skip a day at work or school to spend time with you, and just wearing your clothes was enough to make me happy. And then we went through that enamored grungy stage together in the 90s. You with your ratty hair and bad attitude and me in my flannels. Even that ended with me crying into my pillow, vowing that it was over.

Lately, it seems like you just don’t want to listen to me. I used to think you longed to know me, cared about what I thought. But now I can see that you’ll never change. Even my mother hates you.

I’ve been talking with my friends, and they admit now they don’t know what I could see in you. They all seem so content and fulfilled in their own relationships. None of them live with the day-to-day assumption that the other shoe is about to drop. None of them go decades without celebrating their love.

It’s just… our relationship has gone from being my springtime joy to my daily heartbreak. A girl should be with the one who makes her feel good about herself, and loved. It breaks my heart to say it, but these days all I feel is neglected, disappointed, and angry. You could have tried harder.

Believe me when I say this hurts me more than it hurts you, Phillies. After all, we both know you’ve got other girls waiting in the wings, blinded by your boyish grin and tight pinstripes. As for me, I’m a girl without country now. I’m thinking of going back to Pittsburgh. I hear Chicago is lovely in the summer.

I won’t deny that this separation will be a difficult one. After 26 years together, I can hardly extinguish my love for you with only this letter. You know me well enough to know that as spring turns into summer’s hot, hot nights, you can probably expect a late-night call from me once or twice. Like so many times in the past, our reunion will be hateful, and brief. Please don’t call me in the morning.

I leave you in the hope that someday we may be friends again, though you’ve wounded me so deeply that I cannot begin to imagine when that time may come.

Whoomp, there it is.
S

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Homeostasis

Archived from April 13, 2006 

The Undertaking
Louise Gluck

The darkness lifts, imagine, in your lifetime
There you are – cased in clean bark you drift
through weaving rushes, fields flooded with cotton.
You are free. The river films with lilies
shrubs appear, shoots thicken into palm. And now
all fear gives way: the light
looks after you, you feel the waves’ goodwill
as arms widen over the water; Love,

the key is turned. Extend yourself –
it is the Nile, the sun is shining
everywhere you turn is luck.

In fourth grade, the school district mandated swimming lessons for all the children. It was an announcement met with glee by most of my classmates — the ones who spent their summers turning into raisins at the pool — but one I met with abject fear. I spent my summers doing nerdy math assignments and learning how to type. I helped my mom out at the house, and had summer reading to complete. I wasn’t so much of a natural swimmer.

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The object of my affection

Archived from April 5, 2006

I can usually tell when I’m at my most stressed or least happy by the tone of my sarcasm. Friday morning, while stopping by the courthouse in Cumberland County for a story with Jamie, I was cracking wise about the one-legged woman behind us. It was unclear whether the bruises on her neck were violent or … romantic.

I’ve always looked at life cynically. Forever made deeply sarcastic jokes, and I’m aware that occasionally, I can be caustic. But there has always been a line in the sand that is sometimes my head. And that line is jaded.

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I love you, I hate The Dubliner

Archived, winter 2006 

Caveat emptor: This is a meandering tome relating to my disdain for a Philly Weekly columnist. I know it’s hypocritical to whine about someone’s diary-style columns in a blog (for chrissake), but I’m doing it anyway. Forewarned is forearmed, as they say.Those of you who know me well know my quick temperament and my inclination toward judging people. I call it “charming;” my detractors probably call it “mean.” Pussies.But let’s all come together, in the global Olympic spirit of unity, and uniformly hate the same thing. Ready? We’ll call it the Newsprint Downhill (zing!).

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But that is much

Archived, February 2006

Maybe Mike is right when he says there is something to writing with a clear head.
That said, despite the obvious fact that this entry has been a long time coming, I’ve been staring at unintentional white space here for a very long time.

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When the first cup of coffee tastes like washing up

Archived, January 2006

Occasionally, when I want to feel less the center of my own tiny universe, I take to staring out of my office windows.

If I look directly across the way, I’m faced with what I believe is the KPMG building. Every two windows represent another office. I am reminded of my freshman year biology class, when we learned about the origin of the word “cell.” The guys over there still have Christmas cards stuck through the slats of their stupid, cheap blinds. Who has floor-to-ceiling windows and keeps the blinds drawn? You’re at work. It’s not like you’re running around with your junk out. Oh, the business world…

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Wake me up

Archived, December 2006

A statement popped into my head this morning, and it was horrifying on several levels. Chief among them, the fact that I can remember anything of my high school science education.

Energy can be neither created nor destroyed.

I was on the shuttle to work when my iPod began its routine of lies. “No more battery power remains,” it mocked. This, after a night of charging. I’m beginning to feel like the girl whose bedroom Apple sneaks out of in the middle of the night. Lies, iPod. Lies.

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