Change in the air

There's a chill in the air these days. Winter is coming. I could feel it in my bones for the first time today. It was the first day off I'd had since starting my new job. I didn't leave the house, but cleaned and watched 'Hair' among other things. A TV day. I'm watching 'Moonstruck' now. I've been meaning to watch it since I took this job- the place is directly across the Lincoln Center. It's not the reason I took it, but I will say that the association didn't hurt. I ride the Q every day (except when I happen to catch the B) and walk through Columbus Circle and the Artist's and Merchant's Gates to Central Park. I get to walk past one of my favourite buildings, though it has a shiny new façade that replaces the strange 1960's original. 2 Columbus Circle, inspired by Italian palazzos; "the lollipop building." I'm sad that it's been modernised, but the fact that it still stands means that I can remember how it looked before. I'm nervous for the snow that will inevitably come. I hope that I will be warm enough. I hope I will adjust to the bustle of the City. My work life is falling into place. It's making sense, I'm getting the hang of things, though I'm still a bit slow in the Prep. The Health Department came yesterday. Completely terrified me. I've never been comfortable when I don't know the laws well enough. It's something to learn, I'm not going to let it frighten me again. Challenges. Memories. I have rambled enough.

Work

To day is the first day of the rest of my life.

I start a new job today. Exciting to say the least. New York. I have to learn a American Kitchens again. The way things are called, the running if service, the sheer duration of it is going to feel so foreign. I'll get used to it, despite the strangeness of it at first. I used to do it all the time, right? I've been more productive this morning than I usually am in a day. It's the establishing of a routine. I like my routines. Consistency is paramount. I hate then things are out of place, but let it slide when I am floating as I have been. I have a touch of the old impatience back. " now now now! I want to have today roll into tomorrow and there to be paychecks and days off and leaves budding on the trees so I can see summer and be hot and long for winter." I'm so impatient. It's good on a level, but mostly it's a pain in the ass. I'm too impulsive, and do things without properly thinking them through. And that's why I'm nervous about this job. What if I'm wrong and it's going to be a horrible fit? Then I say to myself, "This is New York. There are literally thousands of restaurants, and 5 in this group alone. If I get bored, I move on. I have options. It's a peculiar feeling, and not one I've allowed myself before.

I'm trying to remove certain associations from cooking to put my mind at peace with the way my life is now. It's not easy to do when I don't want to lose them. But they say time heals all wounds. I need to remember that, remind myself daily. I put myself here, no one else, and I have to come to terms with the new truths. But this feels more right than things have felt in a year. I hope that I'm not just grasping at straws.

America

I'm back in the US, finally in New York. I've secured myself a Job. I'll work on an apartment in the coming days. I forgot how I love the City. The leaves are falling. There's a chill in the air that I know will become a bone deep cold in the next few weeks. I'm excited. I can't help but be. new beginnings are exciting. I think I will be ok. Actually, I don't have a choice, so I will be. I'm happy with that. I can't ask for more than that right now. Life is good.

October 13

October 13. It keeps Cropping up in my life. I note it's passing each year. Not for any really good reason, I just seem to remember it. When I was young, High School, it was marked as Chris Carter's Birthday. He created the X-Files and then named the Production Company 1013, for those of you who do not have my levels of geekiness. It is for this reason that I chose the date in 1997 to petition the Dialectic Society of The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill for membership. I gave a speech on the need for hugs in modern society. Oddly enough, I get them now. European society, or at least what I've seen of it, is much more physical with greetings and salutations. The embrace and kiss on the cheek that Americans just don't do in the same way. I imagine I will cling to that affectation for a good while, like I will try to maintain my British pronunciations. I've always been a bit odd, anyway, so it won't be too out of character for me.

October 13 usually goes by with little more than a thought and a nod. In 2007, I remembered 10 years since I first petitioned, and in 2008, it was on a Monday again. It was the re-opening of the ADC Theatre. A new Stage, a new Rake, a new addition, a new Theatre. I went to see the Show marking the reopening, but I was knackered and the wine was flowing freely, so I remember little of it. I do remember being an ass, a flirt and saying things that I shouldn't have said. I do remember the row that ensued between my now ex-wife and I afterword. If pressed, I would mark that as the beginning of the end. Not that I realized it then, of course, but it marks the wobbling of the house that we built. There were cracks before then, but every building develops settling cracks as it ages. It took another month for us to really break. We tried fixing it, but the damage was too great. The past year has seen the lot cleared and yesterday the last of the rubble was taken away.

October 12, yesterday. The hearing in front of the courts for the dissolution of our civil partnership. Unless something was terribly out of order, it will have been accepted and passed with all the rest. A faceless piece of paper in front of a nameless judge who banged shut the door of an 8 year relationship. I imagine it sounded like a gavel.

October 13, today. The lot is cleared, and after a 6 week cooling off/ dust settling period I can think about building on it again. There's nothing left for me to do, hasn't been since August, really. I have to wait for her to submit the final forms, wait for the certificate of dissolution in the post, wait until I can come back home to England. It's over. I've gone from a Mrs. to a Miss. I can't say I'm happy about it. I am relieved it's over.

October 13. Today. A new day. A new lease.

speed

I wish I could type as fast as I write as fast as I think. Waiting for the world to catch up. wondering what to do next, the decision is mine and mine alone. I write to think and come up short. I write for some sort of approval. To touch the outside world, to distil the crazy into something manageable. like fine whiskey, only time will tell. I want it all now now. Impatient, rash, foolish. Slowing down equals fear of stopping all together. but I need to stop, to shatter into a million pieces, to take the time to put them back together. to look and find what I've lost. it's not lost so much as it's locked away. I'm afraid of myself at times, with valid reasons.

I refuse to lose my temper, lock it down and bury it inside so the rage comes out in tears. I hurt myself before I will hurt others, trying to make everyone happy. Believing the good, trusting to my own detriment. no one is perfect, but I want to be. so I am never content. It's my own fault and I know it. But I'm afraid of being nothingness. stillness. so I runrunrunrunrunrunrun run until I collapse. drinkdrinkdrinkdrink drink until I am stupid. pushpushpushpushpushpush push until the edges give way and the walls come crashing down around my ears.

Am I the unstoppable force or the immovable object?

hungry

leaving staying going coming rainbow sprinkle. sooty fingerprints blood on my hands foie gras knowing the truth no in the truth lie behind the eyes in her arms my arm burnt bruised but not broken. a freezer full of chilli and ice cubes in the fire. one of many the only one. running away to hide and find the reality that doesn't exist. art is love is pain is art. sad tears through the laughter mocking. i have a farthing. and a threepence. i need you to not cry when i tell you i'm going i need you to cry. weakness in the strength of the emotion. post on the mat. afraid of not being scared. scratching the surface until it bleeds only to find nothing. an excercise in english class psychology. write write write write write write write write to discover yourself and plunge the depths of nothingness. mothering to save caring for yourself myself. don't want to eat without meaning don't want to offend his mom, her mom, eat a little of everything, even if you don't like it, i've told them your allergic to milk have a nice time dear. my best friend when i was 5 had a four poster bed. i wanted a canopy bed but had to settle for my Dad's parents like i've always had. the mattress is as old as i am.
cheddar, parmigiana, not stilton not brie. a friend a lover. mozzarella a new beginning. where can i get marmite in the City that never sleeps, the windy city? how can i make her understand. i don't understand myself.

drown sorrows in sorrows, reach for the sky and fall to the ground.

Walking

I keep having the urge to do something crazy. Light fires in buckets, climb trees inappropriate trees, Shout poetry on street corners. But mostly it's been the thought of walking a pilgrimage of sorts. El Camino de Santiago, walk to Canterbury for giggles, or the Pennine way. But mostly, I want to chuck it all in, and take six months and walk the Appalachian Trail. I'm a bit late to start this year. The desire for survival and testing myself appeals to me.

I want to strip away all the creature comforts, worry about the basics in a real way. Where will I next sleep? Will I find fresh water, wholesome food? Will I know what to do if it all goes wrong and can I manage to live day to day? I know I can always come out of the woods, but that would be giving in to weakness.

My real issue is the being out of work for 6+ months. If I could afford that, I would be out the door in March. Saving up is the answer, though. I think a few years might be enough, provided the international move doesn't take too much out of my savings. So, April 2012 maybe. Why 2012? because it will be 100 years since the sinking of the Titanic. Seems as good way as any to pick a date to do something completely foolish and selfish.

That said, I now have two and a half years to learn to take care of myself. And how to put up a tent in the rain with out it getting too wet, among other things...

Chris Wood

She is the one person I don’t want to be protected from, the one closest to me. That is why I keep her close. I am safe in her honesty. I trust her to tell me herself as she changes. I trust her to tell me when the rumors are false and even when the rumors are true. If I am to be hurt, it should be by her hand, the one that holds my heart for the world to see. She knows best how to heal the wound she’s created. How then to heal when the wound is opened by another. A rumor, perhaps, but rumors become their own truth after a while. People believe what they want, what they see, what they hear. The name is familiar, perhaps from her own lips. But I don’t remember it echoing there. Not when it mattered most. Not when I stood bare before her, offering myself, the whole of my future, in exchange for an end of it all. Willing to sacrifice what I could not bear to lose after all. I left the power in her. Asked her to battle away the demons with me, and still she withheld. I know what happened was not right. No one should have to watch their love fall in love with another. It burns through flesh and bone.

I would walk through fire for her, destroy myself for her to know that she will scoop up my ashes and I am reborn with her. Like the phoenix. All I ask is everything. An equal exchange. I give the whole of myself, is it so much to ask in return? My ashes, my failures, for yours? Life offers little perfection- the snowflake, the blade of grass, the grain of salt. I don’t seek perfection, I seek it’s opposite. “I am flawed, flayed open for you. My bloodied hand reaches for you, take it, if you will, despite its stain. Show me where I can rest and be safe. Bear my burden and I will bear yours.” It is easiest that way. What is the proverb? ‘Misery loves company?’ No, not that. ‘Many hands make light work’. I feel like Atlas, alone with the sky on my shoulders. I am broken. I am dust. Then the wind comes and there is nothing left. Nothing but memory of once great empires, built in the clouds.

Carpe Diem

You should not ask- it is Evil to know-

What to me, What to you

What end the gods will give

Nor to Leveeornoes

nor to the Baby Ionians who divine the numbers.

It is better, whatever will be, I will endure.

But whether many Winters, or if the last is given by Jupiter,

which now beats the stones by the Tyrrhenian Sea,

be sensible, drink wine and think less on long flung hopes in this brief space

While we speak, envious time flees; seize the day, trust as little as possible to the Future

I'll sort references out later, but this was allegedly written to try and get some woman into the sack. Brilliant.

words

Actions speak louder than words. A picture is worth 1000 words.... I think that's why words can be so fascinating. You can hide details in them. You can speak whisper and subvert. There is a beauty in the written word that is not there in the spoken word, but the spoken has charms uniquely it's own. Reading, listening are incomplete. There are always gaps to fill in. Conclusions to be drawn, meanings to be found out.

Writing is self gratification in someways. Teasing individual words to wrap around an image, a pure though or emotion and illuminate it. The light cast by words distorts the view. We see what we want, despite the solidity of what's underneath. I can prattle on for pages and ages, each time adding another light, but there will still be shadows. To write, my inflection is lost, sarcasm is transparent, my words are left to your mercy. To read, I imprint myself onto the words. my desires, hopes and dreams taint the purity of the image you try to create for me, for someone, to discover lurking beneath the surface. I can twist things on the page screen into whatever I want them to be. Words of hate become words of honesty. Words of kindness become words of lust. Words to find yourself find me instead. They are out there, in the unreachable, floating on the surface. Meaning ripples back to shore distorted marring my reflection.

Speaking hides. Words dance around one another, distracting me even as I try to focus on them. Like a boxer's feint. I listen to one hand and hear the other. Then the wind is knocked out of me. Chosen carefully, sliding like oil to lubricate the machine of chance, change. I duck but it is too late, your true meaning is through and I am on my back, looking up in awe. When did you come into the ring? Wasn't I alone a moment ago? I use my words to lull you, to wash over you like sweet spring rain bringing up the flowers. They smell so sweet, but they are muddy. Fragrance intoxicates. But the bee hides amongst the stamens. He would sting your nose if you close your eyes and get too close. Better to smell the bouquet of this wine. Drink my voice in... let it warm your soul, you are drunk before you know it. And then you are on your back instead. With me lying beside you.

Get in the kitchen and make me some....

I should mention that I am an American currently living in Cambridge, England. I don't generally notice the cultural differences after 3 years, but occasionally there's a breach. Brits don't get the joy of peanut butter. Recently I had a friend ask me about the American obsession with pie. Not all Americans are fascinated with pie... but I love Pie. I have a passion for food, and it got me thinking about pie... and I started ranting in my head. It amused me, so I've kept ranting until I'm satisfied. Then I will have some pie....

Pie is good. the simple, existential existence of pie is good. One does not need to know what is in the pie to determine the black and white goodness of that which is pie. Quality of pie is another matter. Making a horrible pie does less toward making the pie bad, than it does toward making you a bad person. "Why would you do that to a dear and innocent thing like pie?!?" Pie are not squared. pie are round.... unless you bake them in a not-round dish.... Meat pie occasionally happens in a square dish, but that doesn't change the fact that it is pie.

Pie can be sweet or savoury. Pie can be like quiche or like tart. Or like a more traditional, British meat based pie. You could feasibly have pie for starters, mains and pudding and have them all be different except for the shape. you could eat pie every meal for a week or even a month, and still not have the same pie twice. This is the versatility of pie.

If you spoke to an American about pie, you would have them thinking of something sweet- apple pie or cherry pie. But say "pot pie" and you will have eyes light up and chickens dancing in people's minds. Beef is less common in American pot pie. That said, it's not unheard of. Fish pie, on the other hand, is completely foreign. I do mean what I say about dancing chickens. little cartoon ones, wings and drumsticks all jumping into a pie shell with veg and sauce. yum.

Pizza is pie. This makes dessert pizza acceptable, but still odd. Pizza, at least deep dish pizza, is pie largely because it is round and baked in a dish that looks astonishingly like a pie tin. Deep dish pizza is not something you see that often in the UK unless you go to a Pizza Hut, i would imagine. Cheese on toast becomes pie when you make savory bread pudding, with cheese, and bake it in a pie shell. But, is this quality pie? I wouldn't say without having made one myself, but it could be interesting. I can see cheese on toast pie being like white pizza... but then, it could be absolutely disgusting. I'm not in a hurry to try out this recipe.

To sum up, pie starts out good, by virtue of being pie. The chef has the power to ruin the pie, and the chef will go to hell for it. Not the pie. I love pie. yum.

Cleaning house.

I've been going through all the stuff at my parents house over the past few days, trying to figure out what to keep and what I should get rid of. If I haven't needed it in the last 4 to 8 years, might be time to get rid of it. I came across my first diary in all of this. It's from seventh grade, and I spend a lot of time talking about one of my teachers who I remember I had a crush on. I think it might explain why I find glasses intriguing, if not downright sexy. Imprinted at a young age.... though not that young.

there are two things that really intrigue me though.

The first: I wrote my New Years resolutions on the inside cover, but only managed to do it for 1996. It was "learn to cook".

The second: I'll just rewrite the first few sentences...

8-26-92
Life has led me to realize that every day could be my last! To "celebrate", I'm trying to improve my handwriting and become more child-like....

So, on some level, even at 13, I recognised the need for a sense of wonder. I never developed good penmanship though.