Lazy Lizard

Nell once fell asleep while writing a prescription for paracetamol. She has also dozed off mid-consultation, much to the bewilderment of a patient, following a night shift. When her non-life was consumed by work and overtime, when her stress level tested at the 90th percentile, when she felt guilty for laughing and tasting and swallowing food while patients were suffering, when she was a half-step away from losing her mind, instead of crying or taking it out on her family, she slept.

She'd come home and say hi to her husband. She'd walk to their bedroom and close the door. In her dismay she'd sleep because when people talked about compartmentalizing, wasn't this what they meant? 

---

She talks about the time when she almost lost her license. There was a patient they nearly gave the wrong blood to which would have killed him. A simple switch of patients to different beds, no indication of the name mix-up, everything as usual. It wasn't until she checked his name on his wristband that she caught it. The shock in the nurse's face reflected hers and they stared at each other wordlessly, grasping how suddenly their careers could have ended. 

But she tells me such errors happened not infrequently in hospitals and you only hoped that it wouldn't happen to you and your patients, that the nurses or other doctors would catch it. That's how it was. In her words, they saved each others' necks. 

"I go to work every day praying, 'God please don't let me kill anyone.'" 

At her most jaded she thought, "You are not saving people. You are just helping them die."

---

Nell is a calm sea. Her voice and hands move in small waves and even her hair in its dry muted blackness is serene. With barely perceptible inflections she speaks about heavy experiences, her low tide voice washing over years of damage and dismay, lending due weight to each pain but never dragging anyone else underneath. I have also noticed that she doesn't let herself give into regret. Perhaps this is why what I would have found burdensome to hear, I find engaging. 

Ann said that we tend to befriend those who are similar to us. It's not a novel idea yet I never thought it applied to me because hadn't I been friends with all sorts of people whose interests I didn't share, whose values weren't aligned with mine, who I both respected and didn't? Even now that I am older, I change how I act and present myself depending on who I'm with to feign similarity. With me there is no "what you see is what you get." Is it a form of falsification and insecurity to manipulate my behavior to match that of others? Or does it simply infer that I don't actually know who I am or want to be? 

What I do know is that around Nell, I like myself. I don't second-guess or cringe over something I say to her weeks ago. The lack of dread or uneasiness about meeting up means there are no fantasies about canceling (if anything, this indicates how absurd my other relationships are). By way of seeing Nell's own measured self-acceptance and my acceptance of her, I've come to stop being preoccupied with how I come across. Suppose being friends with someone just means you feel safe enough to do that. For me, it's a rarity.

Terrific Tuesday

A mother sits by the pool watching her daughters playing together, collecting fallen leaves from the water. It's 5.50pm, the sun is setting and I'm happy. 

"Jenny! You're living the dream. Here's the reason why." -Me to myself 

Today after spin class, I took C to Huber's Bistro for lunch where she had meatball pasta and I ordered steak (!). She read The Wind in the Willows while I read manga (!!) and old messages between K and M -- some from 13 years ago and some from just last year. Reading those old exchanges, I registered how unfair and selfish I had been with both of them all along, and also... that perhaps I'm still this way, even today. 

Incidentally in one of M's emails, he pointed out that he didn't understand why I always got upset about not being productive -- that I'd feel bad about being online or doing anything else other than working. Years later, I'm surprised to be reminded that I had been like that before, even back then. Working hard... but for what? Why? I wasn't fixated on the reason; all I could do was keep going. 

But I don't think I'm like that anymore. Or perhaps it's more accurate to say that about a month or two ago, I stopped obsessing over what I should be doing, my self-expectations, my regret and frustration over not achieving enough.

The prickly self-consciousness is still there -- the feeling of incompetence -- but I don't really dwell on it anymore. 

I used to tell myself, "I am who I am," and that thought consoled me. But now I know it was just false acceptance and defensiveness. Instead, what keeps me afloat now is thinking, "I will not always be this way." 

(!) Because I've probably ordered steak 1-2 times in my life and always because I felt compelled to do so, never because I actually wanted to 
(!!) Because... MANGA?!?!?! Me...??? Guess I've changed. It's my first manga and I like it so far. 

Waiting for you after class

It's been years since I've listened to Jay Chou. He came out with his first album when I was in sixth grade. I didn't have his CD for a while, and my mom didn't allow us to watch TV at the time so the only ways I could listen to his songs were by secretly flicking on MTV and Channel V whenever she went out or by calling Carol. 

Carol was like the first person in my class to possess this coveted Jay Chou album, and I'd call her just so she would play his songs for me over the phone. I distinctly remember pressing my ear against the phone, suction cup close, to catch all the lyrics to 可愛女人 and 開不了口 while trying to think of a nice way to ask Carol to stop singing along please. 

Anyway I'm really glad I re-discovered Jay and this song, "Waiting for you." It's this line in particular that gets me: 

當我開始學會做蛋餅 才發現你 不吃早餐

Hello! I'm supposed to be working but

I need to tell you something. I hate long nails. They completely gross me out because I can't get over the thought of all the germs and grime that accumulate underneath. My grandma was a nurse and kind of OCD and one of my earliest memories was of this pink rectangular "nail brush" that she gave me. She taught me to brush beneath my fingernails every time I washed my hands. Now, whenever I see someone with long nails cutting fruit or handling food, I feel a little squeamish about all the gunk that's mixing in.

Don't get me wrong, I like the look of long tapered painted nails and a few times when I forgot to cut my nails, I too was enamoured by how they afforded my knobbly unremarkable hands with a delicate, elegant quality. My fingers were slender blades of grass. 

But have you ever witnessed someone digging out the white flaky filth from their nails (usually with their opposite nail)? It's nasty! It sheds on their laps in a heap or snows down on some unsuspecting carpet surface that I feel sorry for. I would chalk it up to picking-your-nose level of gross. 

You know what those white flakes under your nails are? They're your dead skin cells from when you scratched an itch or the microscopic pieces of your scalp when you ran your fingers through your hair. They're the plaque you picked from your teeth after a meal. They're your eye crud that you rubbed when you woke up from your sleep. They're pieces of the itchy leftover backne that scabbed over that you scratched. They're the feet callous you've been digging at. 

I will always always always prefer having short nails. How short? Can't even open soda cans because there's not enough nail to pry open the tab-kind of short. 

Lastly - I wanted to announce that I'm back! Back to blogging, that is. I have a LOT to tell you after all this time. 

Chloe, age 5, at the pool

I knew as soon as Chloe came home that she didn't nap at school. The signs are always the same, but here are the two most telling ones: a deep scowl, and the "ughhhhh" when I remind her to unpack her own schoolbag.

We went swimming, because she said she wanted to do that rather than go to the park. There was the usual gaggle of neighbourhood French girls, all 7 years old, forming their own clique, playing by the pool. 

It's been a year since a ton of French families moved to this complex and they mostly keep to themselves, both the parents and the children. Chloe tends to just watch them play, always on the sidelines, not joining in, probably because of the language barrier but also because on the rare occasions when she tried to play with them, she was left out despite her best efforts to be friendly and included. 

This time after waddling around in the baby pool for a while, she went up to three of them, the twins (who have ignored Chloe's greetings almost every time) and Gabby (who usually only smiles at Lexi, saying how cute she is) and asked them if she could play with them. They looked at each other before Gabby asked in English, "Do you know how to swim?" Then they explained the game rules briefly to her before talking to each other in French. Gabby's dad was the crocodile and the girls had to cross the pool without being caught by him. 

Giddy, Chloe skirted around the side of the pool, neck craning over her raised shoulders, saying, "So scary! Oh oh so scary!" Her first move was to run all the way to the opposite end of the pool, where it was obviously outside of the game parameters, grinning hugely because she thought it was a smart move -- she was safe there. She looked across the distance, checking to see when the crocodile would go after her. Expecting him to come. No one paid attention, although one of the girls glanced over. 

Still she ran back, gasping comically and smiling, dipping her legs in the pool before jumping back up. Once she even swam freestyle across the short end of the pool by herself, and it made me proud because she never did the rainbow fish unless prompted (even then, she often refused as it was the hardest). The crocodile went after another girl. 

"Mommy, I swam by myself! Did you see my rainbow fish?" she called. 

She was at least half a head shorter than all of them. She played for a while on the fringe, smiling with her goggles on, tiptoeing, eking out, "Uh, hello!" unacknowledged. She looked like my goofy Chloe. 

I caught the French girls glancing sideways at her and could see her through their eyes. Gabby's dad wasn't making any attempts to catch her. She was all but ignored. And when the game ended and they left together, no one said goodbye. I wondered if Chloe felt it, or if it was just me and my own childhood memories -- all those times being left out. 

Three things

that made me happy today:

1. Chloe sitting on the toilet in the adjoining bathroom. Drew and I talking in bed. Suddenly out of nowhere, "Mama. Mamaaaaa?"

"Yes?"
"Mama 我在這裡."
"Yes I know you're there," I said and laughed. Something sweet about the way she felt the urge to tell me where she was when it was already perfectly obvious. Drew then told me that she had been quite random all day. Exclaiming "Ah Ma I love you!" before getting in the car. Asking "Ah Gong why is your stomach so fat?" in the elevator.

2. It still makes my heart smile every time she tells me to hold her hand. Like today, in the mall. Lately I've been experiencing some guilt and anxiety about the decreased amount of time I spend with her now that I'm mostly preoccupied with Lexi.

But then I think about how my own mom was absent for a large chunk of my childhood, and how I ended up being so affected by her anyway. And how proud I am of her and of the relationship we now share. I keep going back to this, that children are resilient when it comes to what their parents put them through. 

3. When I went to kiss Chloe open-mouthed. I blew a breath inside and then she said, "I smell your smell," covering her mouth. I asked her what I smelled like. "Smelly," she said. But then she let me kiss her again. 

Sweet talking Drew

This is me, sweet talking Drew.

"I love your mole. I want to eat it. Chew on it. Grind it between my teeth."

Drew nods, head on his pillow. Closes his eyes and says, "That's kinda gross."

Back

In college I didn't meet the friends you'd keep for life, and one of my biggest regrets is losing touch with the friends I made while studying abroad in Florence. Here's what I remember about Florence:

--a dorm room with six bunk beds but only four of them were filled. I slept on a bottom bunk and Lexi slept above. Late into the night I'd often hear her munching on Special K. She'd bring the whole box up there and eat it dry. Sometimes she'd take swigs from a milk carton in between.

on one occasion she brought a guy back, adude who looked attractive only because he was tall and skinny. they made out and were pretty close to screwing but she stopped him. i distinctly remember the sound of her underwear elastic snapping against her flesh, like he was about to take it off but then let go abruptly.

--sitting in a circle on the floor of justin and jon's room with a bunch of our korean friends. grace was drunk and said a ton of things about each person. her two things for me were that i was very christian and deep. neither apply anymore. or maybe ever.

--throwing up then feeling better immediately in jii's bed. watching pan's labyrinth on her laptop and falling asleep 9 minutes in.

--staircase conversations.

--i never ate gelato there. i regret it deeply.

--but giorgio's panini, yes that i had many.

Where Chloe got her glare

After school

Chloe sleeping

Make the Ordinary Come Alive

"Do not ask your children

to strive for extraordinary lives.
Such striving may seem admirable,
but it is a way of foolishness.
Help them instead to find the wonder
and the marvel of an ordinary life.
Show them the joy of tasting
tomatoes, apples, and pears.
Show them how to cry
when pets and people die.
Show them the infinite pleasure
in the touch of a hand.
And make the ordinary come alive for them.
The extraordinary will take care of itself."

--William Martin

Girl in a Yellow Swimsuit

wish i could be young and free forever.

one of my favorite places to be is across from my mom, chloe beside me, eating taiwanese streetside buffet. feeding chloe fish, her excitement at the sight of fish bones, her proud declaration that they're prickly. "prickly," a new word she's learned in chinese.

wish i could be young and free forever. with all the time in the world, and then some.

wish i could have everything i want: for it all to work out exactly, but with some surprises, too--the good kind.

Torture is

helping my mom with ANYTHING tech-related, namely her macbook. i seriously cannot explain the agony.

Extra Credit

by Emily McDowell

right here

after two years and one month and 15 days, the breastfeeding days with chloe are over. we went much longer than i had ever thought we would, and i'm so proud of my girl for being more or less quite an angel about weening. she handled it much better than i expected. from the first moment i met her, that truly miraculous moment when she latched and my mind went from "huh? how do i know if she's getting any milk?" to "ah, so that's how it feels," to those nights when she was a newborn and needed to be fed every few hours, to later when she didn't really need it but wanted it more for comfort than for anything else -- all this has made up one of the most intimate experiences in my life.

in other news, tonight in bed in the dark, she said "yahng yahng" (itchy). "right here." and she pointed at her chin. so i blew on her chin and then kissed it. "yahng yahng," again she said, pointing at her cheek. i blew on it and kissed it gently, too. "yahng yahng," she repeated a third time, pointing at her forehead, and then later, at her neck, her eyelid, etc., and as i blew on each part and kissed it, i knew i was indulging her, that this was very certainly dragging on and prolonging her sleep, but i did it anyway and couldn't help laughing at that ridiculous litto bear. and then, having received a kiss on her lips she said, "okay! shieh shieh." and that was the end.

I don't understand what there is to like about the following:

egg nog.
matzoh ball soup.
enormous oysters.
and in my opinion nothing spoils a good cup of joe like adding almond milk.
Chuck Bass, again and always. My confusion about his appeal persists.

I am not

"I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edges
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.
This is how we heal.
I will kiss you like forgiveness. You
will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms
will bandage and we will press promises
between us like flowers in a book.
I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat
on your skin. I will write novels to the scar
of your nose. I will write a dictionary
of all the words I have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.
And I will not be afraid
of your scars.
...whether it’s the days you burn
more brilliant than the sun
or the nights you collapse into my lap
your body broken into a thousand questions,
you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane.

— Clementine von Radics

Chloe in March

We were somewhere in Brooklyn. She was sporting her new green bow from her Auntie Fans.

Font of choice

My all-time favorite font is Times New Roman, size 11.

Second is Calibri, but not in black. In dark blue. Size 11 also.

I used to love Trebuchet in size 10, grey, but not as much. I associate it with my MSN and Xanga days. It's also the font for this blog.

Once in a while, I like Courier New (11).

I hate:
--Lucinda Handwriting
--Comic Sans
--and Jokerman. I mean, have you ever seen that font? Looks like something you'd put on the front of a lame print-at-home invitation, with pixelated emoticons, smiley faces under cone hats, pictures of pinatas and mini tacos, printed on a card folded from an A-4 piece of paper. And just to be clear, I have nothing against cards folded from A-4s; I have made plenty of those in my bright creative days. But I at least drew my own 5 tier birthday cakes, colored in the candle flame, and most importantly, wrote the greeting in my own hand. The worst handwriting would still beat Jokerman.

Chloe in recovery

Chloe was very sick last week but she's getting better now. This weekend we drove by seven lakes and saw lots of lovely Fall leaves. Here she is, not yet fully awake from a nap. She wasn't in the mood for pictures either, and the only real consolation she had was in stuffing her hands in her pockets. She's taken a real liking to walking around with her hands in her pockets, and I think it's partly because it means she doesn't have to hold our hands. She's always loved being an independent little roamer.

But sometimes, and rarely, when she's sitting in her stroller, she'll look at one of us and say, "Hole my han." With this big smile. And I always ask her to say it again, because I love hearing it -- hearing my daughter telling me to hold her hand.

Signs of stress

1. Cravings for crunchy snacks (goldfish crackers and Hale and Hearty oyster soup crackers).
2. The urge to shop (for Chloe and myself. previously it was for the apartment. and for Drew?--not really, but possibly in the works).
3. Breaking out. The only upside is that I earn sympathy points from Chloe, who will gingerly point at a red pimple and say, "Mommy hurt" with a tender, genuinely concerned little frown.
4. Nonstop daydreams of early, cushiony retirement.

Chloe painting

Chloe was painting a wooden toy car. She used the colors green, white, yellow, red, blue, and black. And she poured some red glitter on it to finish.
(photo cred. Jin Yu)

Waiting for the bus home after a long day out

I'm so content. Can you tell?

Sigrid Agren

It's unfortunate, but there it is

"'We don't run much to looks in my family, you know, all knuckles and cheekbones and beaky noses,' he said. 'Maybe that's why I tend to equate physical beauty with qualities with which it has absolutely nothing to do. I see a pretty mouth or a moody pair of eyes and imagine all sorts of deep affinities, private kinships.'"

--Francis in The Secret History by Donna Tart

Cormac Mccarthy, Suttree

"Remember her hair in the morning before it was pinned, black, rampant, savage with loveliness. As if she slept in perpetual storm."

Good morning to you, too

This was a few months back when Chloe was rummaging through a clothes pile on the floor of our bedroom. She unearthed this soft white hat and seemed totally content going about her business with it on her head, bumbling from one end of our room to the other, discovering more treasures, occasionally toddling in front of our mirror to check herself.

Sometimes I miss

This was when we lived in Battery Park. This bed was in our living room right up against an expansive window from which I'd often look out at the apartment building across from us, glimpsing the residents and their furniture. I spotted large mirrors and heavy bookshelves, potted plants, beautiful bouquets and there was always at least one balloon in the scene. There were several stay-at-home moms and that made feel like I fit in.

Except when, around 5:45, I'd rush out on the street with my bouncing backpack and make for the subway to NYU, where I'd be in class until 9, back home by 9:30--often to a still wide-awake Chloe but sometimes, sleeping. Mouth squished between her cheeks, a ball of a chin underneath.

How do I de-stress, you ask

This helps. My happy place.

Chloe made a butterfly today

It was just Chloe and me today and it will always be one of the best August 24ths in my life.

We rode the crosstown bus to the Children's Museum of Manhattan. A whole new wonderland-- markers, sand, colors everywhere, yah-yah's, boats, fishing rods and oversized smocks, her butterfly and bubbles--and then later, asleep. Waking up in Central Park, toddling barefoot on satiny grass, running toward me, green-markered fingertip touching my nose-- "Mama!"
Then touching her own nose-- "Oh-ee!"

Throughout the day, "Mama-- Daddy?"
"Daddy'll be home soon."

Lights off in her bedroom, her cheek on my stomach. "Mama... Daddy... Mama... Daddy...Ee-yah-ee-yah-yo."

Ordinary things like grocery shopping

are made all the more fun with this litto bear in tow. "Moooore? Pleasssse?" "One!"

So long, sugar

I'm excited to say that this Jolly Rancher-loving, lollipop hoarding, See's Candies addict is finally ready to give up sugar!!!!!

Well, aside from dried mangoes, which do count more as candy 'cause they're so sweet. Especially the Thai ones I like, which are also infused with, yes, sugar. But I don't think I'll ever be ready to give them up, so a girl is allowed to have one exception.

Speck in the universe

My mind often wanders around 10 pm. I would daydream about certain people being a bigger part of my everyday life, and certain people being gone completely. I'd picture being the kind of person who could be courteous no matter the circumstance, and just overall, generally likeable--who wouldn't give the slightest hint of my discomfort or awkwardness. You know that feeling when you can hear your own voice, the fake lilt, the nervous swearing? And despite your best effort, you only come halfway, because everyone knows that you don't actually care to be there? You wish you wanted to be there.

You know you've failed because when it's time to say goodbye, you face an abrupt, cool dismissal. You hated having to pander, to begin the conversation in the first place with people who distrust you (because they can feel it, you fraud). Resent the fact that you even had to think about it, to put such excruciating effort in something that comes so easily for other people. Annoyed that you're in this situation at all.

I know at the end of the day that the problem lies in my perspective. And that's also where the solution is. If I could just change my perspective, talk myself out of feeling what I feel. Except--why should I deny it: how I am, how my mind works, my impulses and reactions and fury? If I deny all this, then wouldn't I feel more stuck than ever? Wouldn't I end up resenting myself, too?

Nothing bores me more

than fancy/cute/cool iPhone cases.

Goal

Need to watch Korean dramas again. Life is so much dreamier that way.

Listening to JGS's "I Will Promise You" while working on a manuscript about exercise and the brain. Oh, let me forget about my earthly day-to-day duties and just float away into JGS's arms~~~

Old Westbury Gardens

I made avocado gouda pasta tonight

with roasted asparagus and peppercorn--

and Drew wolfed it all up! Little else makes me feel as accomplished on a weekday night.

Oh no, nah nah nah

The following is an email from my mom after she read my earlier post about what a mess I've made of our bedroom.

"Dear xiao mei,

So you are busy all the times so you do not have time to clean your room?!

Are you sure Drew is ok with you?  Drew is such a nice husband!!

How I wish I can fly there to clean for you! 

Someday you will be able to make a lot of money to hire a cleaning lady!"

To this I would like to say--although the damage has already been done as my mother is obviously alarmed--that I am an EXCELLENT toilet scrubber. I also spend every night wiping our bathroom floor. And the kitchen trashcan is PRISTINE. I wipe down and disinfect the lid and sides like nobody's business. It's probably the cleanest trashcan in all of Manhattan.

A good day

After work, I met Drew and Chloe in front of Gourmet Garage, where the litto bear was clutching an empty coconut water bottle. She kept sticking her tongue in the bottle neck, hoping to catch the last little droplets--even when there were none left. Without her notice, I slipped onto the bench in front of her, and she was so busy with that water bottle that it took a minute until she looked up and noticed I was even there. She was quiet for a moment and almost expressionless as if trying to comprehend how I had materialized. Then she had this big, happy smile and said, "Ma ma!"

After she fell asleep at 7:30, Drew and I started our DIY Shabu/Hot Pot dinner. IT WAS THE BEST. Rib-eye, shrimp, daikon, Chinese cabbage, tofu, corn, carrots, etc. etc. So simple! And delicious! We had our feast while watching Grey's Anatomy.

By 11 pm, I was fast asleep.

Work life

Toni Morrison

"There is a loneliness that can be rocked. Arms crossed, knees drawn up; holding, holding on, this motion, unlike a ship’s, smooths and contains the rocker.  It’s an inside kind—wrapped tight like skin. Then there is a loneliness that roams.  No rocking can hold it down. It is alive, on its own." --Toni Morrison [Chloe Anthony Wofford]

Rug, better w/o tassels

 The uncertainty of where we'll be at the year's end, or in two to three years' time makes me reluctant  to commit to our current place. I like where we live. Our apartment is the best one I've lived in since moving to New York. But as was the case at 10N in Battery Park, which was our home for a mere 8 months,  I can't help thinking of 2A as temporary. I know that Chloe's bedroom looks nothing like the nursery she deserves. And that our hallway has so much more potential to be some kind of gallery walk-through area, which is what I had envisioned when we first moved in. And I know that neither Drew nor I really like spending time in our own bedroom, because:

1) I still have not unpacked my suitcase from 6 months ago.
2) There's no evidence of our personalities anywhere, and despite having discussed all the ways we could adorn our walls with artfully arranged prints, we don't have anything up aside from two sheets of paper that Chloe has colored and pasted stickers on.
3) Our desk is forever unused, because the entire surface is covered with my postcards and candy wrappers, envelopes and binder clips, catalogs and toys, and manuscripts upon manuscripts upon manuscripts.
4) We each have our respective clothes piles (mine is a million times worse), consisting of work clothes that we shed on the floor as soon as we come home, which we seldom ever hang back up or deposit in the laundry basket (which is usually overflowing).

I realize I'm not presenting myself in the best light here, describing how I am basically a slob. Which isn't exactly news to anyone who knows or loves me, anyway. But I guess this all folds into the realization that for a long time now, I haven't liked where I am at, what I'm not doing, and the who-I-am that has pushed the envelope of people's tolerance. It really translates into my inability to make 2A a proper, respectable-looking living space. One that our little family deserves. And above all, a place that feels permanent--whether or not it is.

Lalala

Do you like to swim? Yes, it's the only sport that doesn't make me sweat. 

Do you need to return anyone's phone call? I don't think so. Most people now know that it's usually fruitless to call me. 

What is the closest orange object to you? A book about how exercise improves the brain.

What did you last eat? Black bean soup mixed with Tuscan sausage soup.

Who is your favorite teacher of all time? My mom and grandpa. In school, it was Mrs. Chase.

Name one of your goals for this year? Maintain a clutter-free bedroom. Stop eating so much goldfish (probably not going to happen.).

Did you cry because Michael Jackson died? I did.

What does your 9th message on your phone say? "If you have taken the birthcontrols Yaz, Ocella, or Yasmin and suffered negative health effects you could be eligible for compensation." Good thing I have not.

Look to your left. What's there? Manuscript transmittal checklist.

Ever pop someone else's pimple? Yes. I have to say it could be thrilling if the person's name is Andrew.

How long does it take you to fall asleep? Almost no time at all. I have to stop myself from falling asleep all the time.

Are you scared about the end of the world? It's not a pressing fear.

What are you looking forward to? It's always the same: Going home. And retirement.

What comes to your mind when I say red? Clifford.

Do you crack your neck often? I don't know how.

Do you usually hold your pee for a long time? Sometimes when I'm sleeping.Then I have grotesque dreams of the nastiest bathrooms imaginable. 

Is it possible to lick your elbow? Not mine.

Worst feeling in the world? Guilt or resentment.

Name something you think is pointless? Doing work on a Friday afternoon when your belly is full 'n warm.

Favorite fast food restaurant? SHAKE SHACK.

Have you ever been in a fist fight? No, people.

Do you wish at 11:11? If I catch it, yes.

What's your favorite color gummy bear? I like green or clear.

What is the sexiest part of the opposite sex's body? Muscular arms.

Have you ever made up/sang a song for someone you cared about? For Chloe.

Where do you sing the most, in the car, the shower or other? I sing the most when I'm with Chloe, wherever we are. And nowadays I always sing when I put on her shoes.

What is your favorite thing that is green? Evergreens.

What do you smell like? Probably like soup.

Ever hurt yourself playing Wii? I don't engage in Wii.

Do you have freckles? Yes.

What's the last movie you saw in the theater? The Hobbit with my sister in Taiwan. I was there more for the popcorn. 

Ever jumped/fallen/been pushed in a pool with your clothes on? Yes, pushed. I fought like a dog but lost.

Name a song that you know all the words to: Insy Binsy Spider. It's currently Chloe's favorite.

Are you in love with someone right now? Oh yes.

What can you hear right now? Fleet Foxes.

Did you feel better or worse or the same yesterday? Better.

What are your plans for today? Going to a David Sedaris reading with Jess Chia! 

What was your favorite childhood show? Arthur the anteater.

Do you sleep well at night? Soo well.

If there's anything I'd like

It's this goose sweater.

Swimsuit season

Carl Jung

"Loneliness does not come from being alone, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important."

We keep what we hide

You call me all the right words but the right words sound so wrong
You say that I'm changing
I guess I will before too long
Will you give me a way out or a past to live down?

It's the simplest of things we want.

Listen here

Green in bed

I like having clean hair while eating kale salad in bed.

Small

chloe and i went to central park today. we stood under a big, blooming tree, and i took my eyes off her for a bit to observe a crew of models in a photo shoot. they wore such nice clothes. fur, leather, red soles, lots of shine, such long thin legs. 

when i reverted my gaze to chloe, there she was lying on her back, on the grass, smiling up at the tree and its delicate flowers. i was surprised -- a minute ago she had been standing. i guess she had figured out the best way to make herself comfortable. when i laid down next to her, she turned to me and smiled. "There you are," i said. "Look, tree."  

"dee."

i said Sky, and she pointed at the blue.