elisa is lost

Hello Again

2011-10-18T11:02:00.001-07:00

I stopped writing because I became paranoid. It's stupid you put something on the Internet where anyone can read it you should be able to deal with that fact. So why did I become so scared that people were reading and laughing at it? Perhaps it was living in a small town and knowing that there was a person already living before I moved there who was reading and judging. Maybe it was because I only write when I'm sad and I didn't want people to see me like that anymore. (if anyone even reads this). Anyway it's been a little over two years since I've started this blog. I thought writing would help me figure out something about myself or help me find a direction for it to go in. Someone once told me that instead of following my brain I follow my heart. Looking at my life I would agree. There is a battle going on with in me right now. My brain is telling me that I shouldn't run off and that I should give myself a year where I am to really give it a try. Nothing is easy these days and moving doesn't mean I'll be any happier. My heart is disagreeing and it wants action. I feel very similar as to when I started this blog. I guess that's also why I feel a need to return to it.

Highway 90

2011-05-11T19:29:00.000-07:00

Ignore the sound unless you want to hear about Cisco on NPR. This video was taken on my drive back from El Paso a few weeks ago on highway 90. I think I'm somewhere between Valentine and Marfa. I'll be headed back out to El Paso again this week. It's crazy that El Paso has become the big city. I noticed on a map the other night of an aerial of New York City that my home town was on it. This experience has brought me completely out of my element.

There is No Place Like Here - Marfa

2011-05-03T08:24:00.001-07:00

I'm trying to upload this video with out much luck. It's a short video created for Etsy about the creative people in Marfa working in different mediums. It features a crafts night I've been going to on and off. Although I'm not in the video I will by the time I leave here have a scarf. Another exciting person it features is the creator of museum of electronic wonders and grilled cheese parlor (as well as the face of foodshark).

This is where I've been for the last two months and where I'll be for a few more. It really is so different than where I've lived before.

Cat Love

2011-04-21T20:38:00.000-07:00

Muzy Did Not Prepare Me

2011-04-21T18:43:00.000-07:00

When I think about traveling alone outside of the US I picture having communication break down due to the fact that I don't know any other languages. How can one ask for no meat or directions when they can't find the words to say so? This fear doesn't keep me from traveling, but it's something that I think about every once in a while. I came face to face with this in El Paso.

The other day I drove a fellow intern to the airport. After dropping her off the artist in residence and I ran some errands and got lunch before heading back to Marfa. It was lunch where the incident occurred. I had suggested we go to downtown El Paso because I remembered there being some interesting buildings. We parked the car and walked around before picking a place to eat. I had written down the Tap because it was suggest by the list of placed to go in El Paso that gets passed around. We walked in. The place smelled like bar. It was a smell that Marfa bars lack. The dark bar smell with a mix of beer on tap. The smell trigger a memory that I still can't fully place. Anyway we decided the food would probably be better at the Mexican restaurant down the street, so we left and went there. The menus were in Spanish with English. Based on this I knew finding some veggie friendly was going to be a bit tricky. The waitress came to take our order and began to speak in Spanish. Unable to explain what I wanted in Spanish I answered in English. I didn't get very far with this tactic as she just spoke in Spanish again. I felt so dumb and embarrassed for not being able to communicate with her. The artist saw me struggling and started to speak to her in Spanish and placed our order. We got our food (which ended up not being very good). The best part of the meal was the flavor water I ordered because some how I figured out mica was hibiscus.

I'm not sure what I would have done had I been alone. Originally I was supposed to drop off the other intern alone, but the artist decided to come with in order to check out some art stores. I always felt that if I moved somewhere I would want to learn the language because it would be rude not to. I never expect to have that feeling trying to order food in the US. It really reminds me how much I wish I paid attention in both French and Spanish class. I'm frustrated by my lack of knowledge of other languages. I think it's makes me very ignorant. I guess it's never to late to attempt to learn, as least learn enough to have a small conversation. How do I expect to travel alone with only knowing English? Will I really be able to get by?

Wild Fires

2011-04-11T22:42:00.000-07:00

West Texas was burning and I was babysitting multiple people's children. The children didn't seem to notice the winds nor the fire. West Texas was burning and I took my babysitting money and went to the bar. The first person I saw was my friend's ex bf serving drinks behind the bar. People were on their laptops concerned and drunk. Slowly more and more people I knew showed up. It was like Cheers where everyone knows your name except the bartender who keeps calling me Alyssa or Alicia. Cowboys mixed with arty types, spurs and Toms. It was a shit show, a night someone today told me they would have paid to be at. Men in woman's tank tops and knocking out of teeth all while Fort Davis burned. Had the winds been going another direction it would have been Marfa. West Texas was still burning the next day. 0% was contained and cows were dying in the fields. While it burned I spent the day working on my film. It's strange how one can detach even when danger is so close. That evening we, the people I work with, went to a carnival in the next town over. I rode the spider ride with a friend. The ride spun in circles to the song that states "I'm proud to be an American...." How strange it seems to be in Texas and hear that awful song while riding on a carnival ride while viewing the smoke from the fire only 20 miles or so away. There is a strange sense of guilt when you're enjoying life while homes are being destroyed so close. On the ride home we noticed the fires were moving back towards town.

West Texas is burning and the water is running out. Reports from days prior stated that when the fireman ran out of water they used dirt. Now the fires are contained and the winds have died down. We breath a sigh of relief that we didn't have to evacuate. What would we have done with all the cats? It seems we're ok for now until the next fire happens. We could really use some rain.

Voice Piece for Soprano

2011-04-04T06:08:00.000-07:00

I have no idea why I have not written about Voice Piece for Soprano earlier. It's a Yoko Ono piece created in 1961. As I've been working on a application to a new program this piece has come back to mind. I stumbled upon this piece at MoMA in the fall. There in the open space on the second floor was a microphone and on the wall the following:

VOICE PIECE FOR SOPRANO

Scream.
1. against the wind
2. against the wall
3. against the sky

1961 autumn

No one was participating. In fact a few people stood around by the walls leaving a huge empty space by the microphone. I decided that I should do it. I walked up to the microphone and stood in front of it. I looked out across to the bookstore and took a deep breath. I wasn't sure when I opened my mouth if any sound would come out. As much as I talk I fear people hearing me. I think that's why I mumble and talk fast. I opening my mouth and screamed. My voice filled the space. It was a sound I have never heard come out of me before. I just let go and when the sound ended I quickly walked away in order not to face anyone. My body started to shake. I couldn't believe I just did that. That I could let out such a personal noise in such a public space, let alone a museum. Often times I've fantasied about just going somewhere where I could scream at the top of my lungs and release all that is bothering me. This piece seemed to have that affect except with this added layer of an audience.

Even though I write this blog and people think I'm an open person I feel there is much I keep private. Over the years I've hidden much of myself in order to survive in society. I think part of my hiding has taken away my ability to create and believe in what I'm making I love having my own space where I can breath easy and not fear being judged.. When I'm alone I feel so much more comfortable. Today I'm getting a new roommate after having the last week with the apartment and cat alone. I know it's going to be an adjustment. There is part of me that wishes my program moved me out to have the single apartment and not my former roommate. She is much more friendly than I and more connected to the other interns. It is what it is and at some point today the dynamic of the place will change and I'll have to adapt.

Maree the Cat

2011-04-01T06:32:00.001-07:00

My apartment came with a cat named Maree. She is a special cat with a sad past. A brown recluse spider bite her which messed up her metabolism and left one of her toes naked. Maree now is a fat cat who must eat food for UTIs. She isn't allowed outside with out supervision because another cat here beat her up her up and sent her to the hospital. She is a bit moody at times and craves her own space which is how she decided to claim my space as her own because it was once an open room. Since my roommate was switched to another apartment so that the new intern could have a roommate, Maree has become my cat for all intensive purposes. She sleep in my room and I feed and take care of her. She is the pet I wanted through out my whole childhood. It's been really nice having her around. She doesn't like it when people brush her, but she lets me with out putting up a fight. Last night she stretched out her paw and placed it in my hand as I watched a DVD.

I feel like some how with in the small amount of time being here I've become the crazy cat lady. It's not that I have a million cats, but that I walk around with cat hair all over my clothes. I really enjoy her company and seeing how she has learned to trust me. Through interacting with her I've learned about myself. I think some of my expectations of her are what I expect in the people I know. Really both are not completely fair.

3 Weeks in Texas

2011-03-30T16:08:00.000-07:00

It's been 3 weeks since I've moved to Marfa. Maybe moved isn't the correct word because I know I'm only here temporally. So maybe it's best to say it's been 3 weeks since I've arrived in Marfa. The change between week one and now is huge. My first week was filled with so much anxiety brought on by a new place, new people, and a past. I was a nervous wreck in a lot of ways so unsure of everything. Despite being around people constantly I felt very much alone. Week two I calmed down. I joined a direct animation film workshop in town. I started to talk to new people who were not connected to the program. I got a library card and I got to reading. Instead of driving down to the second part of my tour I started to ride down. It's in the moment when I'm headed down the hill to the last part of the morning tour that I'm so happy to be here. It's strange it's not a big thing just a small hill but the feeling of just letting go is amazing. It took me a week before I could just go with out trying to slow myself down with my breaks (probably a metaphor for my life as a whole). Today I picked up my hands slightly from the handle bars and as stupid as that seems it holds meaning for me.

I can't believe how much space there is here. I've never experienced such openness. It's a far cry from the densely populated state I come from. There is such a beauty to the land here and people here seem to have a good life/work balance. I feel lucky to be here as I try to figure out much about myself and my own life. Last night at a bar I was talking to a local and another person passing through and we all said how much we wish we could get some of our friends out here. That we just want them to know how wonderful it is here.

There is one friend of mine in LA that I would love to see here. I don't think he would ever move here, but just a week here would take away a lot of what he is going through. I think it would relax him. It's doubtful he will make the trip.

Metamorphosis

2011-03-16T19:17:00.000-07:00

Philip Glass's Metamorphosis stirs something with in my stomach. Often during time of changed I've played this album as a comfort or a used it like a pill to feel stronger. I'm sitting in my room in West Texas and yet I feel like I'm in my bed in LA crying myself to sleep. Despite this mix of sadness I wont turn it off. I need it's magical powers now more than ever as I attempt to move into the next stage in my life. I'm 26 and all I want to do is escape reality. I feel like a cage animal brought into the wild and now all I want to do is run free. I know life isn't like that though.

Sometimes I hate being human, or that I've allowed myself to feel. I broke all my own rules and now they have come back to haunt me. It's a feeling that you know wont last forever, but while it's here it just hurts. No matter how much wishing I do the Universe wont change. 26 was the year I've been counting down to and so far the 16 days of it has brought anxiety and heartache. How arrogant I've been to think that I would never have to feel this feeling again. When words feel like daggers it's hard to keep face.

At time I think I'm too hard on myself which only makes me fuels my anxiety. I've forgotten how far I've come and how much I've changed. A friend once told me it takes 6 weeks to change a habit into a behavior. How long does it take to undue the schemas that have been ingrained in you from birth? Will 26 really be the year my life comes together and what does that mean? Maybe find love doesn't mean finding another person, but for the first time being able to love your self. I think I would be ok with that.

Communication Break Down

2011-02-13T07:01:00.000-08:00

I wonder why sometimes our words aren't enough or why silence can pierce like a knife. It took me moving 3,000 miles to regain a friendship and most likely 3,000 miles to loose one. Both revolve around the building of and breaking down of communication. There is a different type of closeness that can form when distance is in place. For one an effort has to be made for contact. Maybe distance makes the heart and the desire to keep in touch. Distance and e-mails mended a friendship that had gone through some rough patches. Through words we were able to not talk about the past, but move forward and learn who we had become.

I found the most beautiful line in an old e-mail of hers "Why do we understand ourselves so innately, and it takes so long for our brains to catch up to our souls?" I've been thinking a lot about this line and the subconscious. So many of our actions are connected to a subconscious desire. I've seen it in my own actions things that I've done to push people away, as well as the actions of others. A friend of mine informed me that he by accident erased an e-mail of mine and that he's it's happened before with other people's e-mails. This has happened to the last 3 that I've sent. I can't help but feel that on some level he is trying to erase me even if he is unaware of it. Lucky for him I'll soon be gone.

I Hate Seagulls

2011-02-09T20:29:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about spending $100 at a MoMA benefit just to see Kate Nash play. I love how in some song she can sound so angry while others she show a softer side. She one artist that I keep listening to day after day as I ride the bus to work. She even played a role on my road trip as I entered Pittsburgh. This one song always gets to me. I think it's the lyrics that hit something with in me. It might have to do with the shift she does from a list of negatives to this positive confession or maybe it has to do with the use of the word friend. Either way I find this song really beautiful.

My heart skips a beat every time we meet/ It's been a while and now your smile is almost like a memory/ But then you're back and I am fine cos you're with me/ And I'm .............

Learning as an Adult

2011-01-16T17:29:00.000-08:00

"Isn't it funny the lessons we don't learn until we're adults." That's what my friend told me after I told her a story about an recent reaction I was hoping went unnoticed. I told her after said reaction I realized I couldn't be upset because how can you be upset about something that you never expressed in the first place. It's like being upset because you wanted to see a friend, but they made plans. If you never asked them to hang out you can't really be upset they made plans that don't involve you. To go back to her statement it amazes me how many things its taken me years to learn. Despite the time it's taken me I'm glad I'm finally learning not to let every little thing bother me. I'm starting to learn that not everything is so black and white. Maybe it's that lesson that has made me more honest with my own feelings. I've noticed I find the need to express myself in order to let negativity go. I don't want to hold onto things in to the point that they eat me up inside.

I wonder how much of my self reflection has come from moving back east. For the first time in a long time I feel like I'm getting back on my feet after struggling for a long time. It feels pretty good.

A Bum Day is a Day for Thoughts

2010-12-19T17:01:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning with ambitions of heading into the city to go to yoga and then perhaps catch a film. I noticed that the film I wanted to see in the city, "Jean-Michel Basqiat: The Radiant Child" was on there on ever expanding instant watch queue on Netflix. This unexpected surprise turn my day into the kind where the outside cold never touches my skin. Instead of wandering the streets I'm wandering through familiar spaces sorting out things I've collected over time. Through the exercise of organizing I've realized I've been ignoring so much.

For the past two months I've taking most moments, when not working, to consume all that I can of culture, be it books, movies, or art. I've ignored the task of creating a comfortable living space and as well as working on my own personal projects. I've even, for the most part, ignored looking for a job in a career I want. Which brings me to my latest and reoccurring problem, I don't know what I want or more so I don't know how to get there. I thought all this time I was grooming myself with knowledge so that I could position myself in the art world. I still wants that, and yet I feel so helpless like I'm lost a sea looking for a lifeboat to bring me to safety. I watch documentaries and think how great it would be to find a team to make one. It's the same battle with confidence that I've been fighting for years. I'm not really sure where I lost it, but somehow I've never really been able to fully gain it again. Job searching always seems to place the salt on the old wounds. Despite my slight surrender to the feelings (if avoidance can be considered surrender) I'm determined to come out victorious. If I've learned anything from my past work experience it's that people don't seem to notice the storm happening inside. They see me as a calm hard worker and not the frazzled person I see. It feels like a have a mask on I didn't even know I was wearing. I would by lying if I said I didn't like it.

An Ode to Our Former Left- Right Coast Lives

2010-11-15T19:53:00.001-08:00

I think you stated in one of your e-mails that if I ever moved back you would miss our e-mails. I haven't thought much about them until tonight when I stumbled across some while searching for an old job e-mail. Looking at them together, our e-mails serve as the diary I didn't really keep, documenting our lives. I look at them and see moments of frustration, of happiness, and of anger. Writing to you was always a bit like therapy. no matter how weird (like the time it took me days to finish an e-mail and for half of it I was stoned and not making sense) I knew you would understand. In many ways i miss them. Our e-mails have now turned into bbms and face-to-face time. I would never give up our shared moments in the same place for words on a screen, but sometimes I long to still write. I guess I still could, but it's just as easy now to pick up the phone with out the time difference standing in our way. I think e-mail brought us closer despite the fact we only saw each other a few times a year. People always say out of sight out of mind, which I think is only half true. there are those that although aren't physically near that you carry around with you in the folds of your heart.

Our e-mails started with photos I took of you before I set off for the unknown. they were more business like than the confessional ones we would later write. you opened the door for that by writing just to see how i was doing. in that e-mail dated 8.27.07 you wrote: "We've been on quite a journey together and I truly miss you not being around.The art scene is here! We could start a revolution!"

Now that I'm back, it's time get started.

Memoir, How I love Thee

2010-11-10T20:03:00.000-08:00

It's true, I am in love with a type of narrative. Memoirs are the best of both worlds. With a memoir you have your truths (non-fiction) and you have your narrative. After the memoir I enjoy the semi-autobiographical novels. The ones that the author claims isn't them, but any basic knowledge of their life would prove otherwise. A writer once told me he probably would have sold more books had he called his book a memoir instead of a novel. Of course to admit the protagonist is your self, and that all their emotions and choices were yours takes guts. Perhaps it's this braveness of the author who writes memoirs that I admire. Their braveness and their openness about their own ego. I mean if your writing about your self and you hope to publish it, you must think what you have to say is either important or interesting enough for someone to read it. I've often questioned that about my own writing on this blog. Does anything I write matter?

A memoir I have been enjoying is Fury by Koren Zailckas. I used to own her first memoir Smashed until the Post Office lost it along with every other book my ex bf and his family bought me and some others. Her second memoir is all about anger and the lack of that emotion in her life. Reading her struggle to recognize and own her anger has made me look at my own life. She uses a lot of homeopathic and new age methods on her journey. Some of the activities or methods she uses I would like to try to release some of the anger or negativity I've been holding inside for a long time.

Zailckas's memoirs feel very honest. While reading it feels like I'm traveling along side her. I read a little bit about her process tonight on this message board Goodreads is doing connected to the book. I was hoping the message board would be more of a discussion about the book. Part of me desperately misses being in school and talking about a common book, piece of art work, or film. She says she first writes it as if no one else will read it, but herself. Maybe that's a good rule of thumb for all writing/art. If we loose the worry about what others will think and just create it for our own approval it we might get a better product because our mind will be freer.

To IS:

2010-08-12T23:31:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to accept the fact that I have no control over most things. I know that I can't control others actions and that the only thing to do is to wait. I hating waiting, in fact I hate it more than most other things and we both know I hate a lot of things. I'm not sure when I became that person, a person in the negative, but that's not really the point of this. I know that waiting is a lesson I have to learn over and over again. Moving home isn't going to solve the inevitable feeling of wondering "am I good enough" and the hope and then disappointment of a few resumes sent out to the world. So after I wait here, a short wait because after all in a week and a half I leave no matter what, whether or not my co-worker can come. I'm trying to forget all of that. I'm trying to pretend none of it matters because no matter what I still need to get x, y, and z done.

I'm not sure what was done to me in my youth to love rules to much. I create rules for myself all the time. How can I feel sometimes so much like a free spirit and yet love structure so much? I've got a stubborn streak. I want to do things my way. I've notices I don't always take well to suggestions, at least not at first. Given a day or two I come around. Perhaps my fear/ deep hatred of waiting comes out of the fact that it breaks with the way I've constructed myself. There is no order or logic with waiting. You are truly at the mercy of another. I hate giving up my power. Which brings me to another personality flaw, compromise sometimes feels like defeat. Somehow I'm always giving up more than I seem to gain.

I guess what it comes down to is, I like control.

Love always,

If Only............

2010-08-04T23:03:00.000-07:00

Strange Moment

2010-07-31T22:45:00.001-07:00

Tonight while packing books, I picked up one book which gave me a rush of happy memories. I huge smile spread across my face. During all of this I Think I Can by Animal Collective played which seemed fitting in more than one way. Looking at each book it reminded me of my varied interest over the years. It reminded me of who I once was or maybe am, but have forgotten. The books released from their place on the shelf seem to hold a different power. Instead of blending into each other they asked to be noticed.

Within 30 Days

2010-07-31T02:02:00.000-07:00

I'm moving.

Time Changes

2010-07-24T18:42:00.000-07:00

I keep forgetting how much time has gone by. Memories make events feel like yesterday when in reality it was years ago. I can't but think about how much I've changed in the past few years and yet how some things still feel the same. I've been thinking about this all day and now that I finally have a chance to write my mind feels blank. In coming to terms about my feelings towards LA I've realized other things about my self. I no longer feel a place will completely change someone and that moving means instant happiness or a new feeling of self worth. These things are more internal. I'm still a dreamer at heart who gets through the unpleasant by dreaming of some better future. Nothing is easy, which I tend to forget which leads me to give up.

I don't have the life I thought I would have when I decided to stay in LA after graduation. I pictured it a lot more glamours with a lot more money. I pictured being someone on importance. When I look at my life now despite how much I complain at times, I don't have it bad. In fact I have a pretty decent life, it's just different.

Vain Attack / Life in a Museum

2010-07-18T22:28:00.000-07:00

Ok it's true for someone so insecure I kind of have a large ego. This blog is prof of that, after all it's mostly about my thoughts and "problems," which by putting on a blog means I find them important and interesting enough for others to read. Anyway a girl in my studio lighting class took this photo of me which I like. Collectively my group set up the lights to create the shadows. We're starting to work with strobes this week. I'm so excited to finally learn how to use them. I'm going to be in the studio extra time this week to get more practice while I still have access to the equipment.

My dad e-mailed me info about a contest at the Museum of Science + Industry in Chicago. They are holding a contest to find someone who will live in the museum for 30 days. This person will have to take photos and blog about their experience. There is part of me that really wants to do this. I see it as a performance I'll get to while also getting to know the museum better. The museum claims it's an experiment to see what affect being at the museum will do to a person based on the remarks that visiting the museum has changed people's lives. I think it could be interesting. A huge part of the "job" besides getting to sleep in the museum is working with the public doing demos and talking to people. It's sort of like what I do now, but slightly different in that you become a bigger part of the museum. There is a good chance I'm going to apply just to see what will happen. I'm ready for something new and different like my new short hair cut which happened a week after that photo was taken.

Revolutionary Road

2010-07-14T17:08:00.001-07:00

I've been wanting to see "Revolutionary Road" every since it was in theaters. Finally last Wednesday I saw it. I pictured my self like the characters, living in the suburbs but feeling some what above it. Perhaps that's how I've always seen myself some how above everyone else who is just like me, which is complete bullshit. Through out the film April (the wife) argues with her husband, Frank about what their life has become. The film had such an affect on me because in a lot of ways I felt April was yelling at me for becoming complacent in a mediocre life.

I kept the film in my mind as I set off for Seattle the next day and then thought about it again while riding the train home. It seemed like everyone I met on the train had one thing in common, this belief that the young can do whatever they want. They all said I should travel and try new things. They seemed to think that if one isn't happy with how things are that they should make changes. Each person had a different idea as to what I should do. One told me I could do missionary work and travel that way, while another told me I shouldn't be looking for jobs in the US but in Europe. And on the Europe note another woman told me that I should look into being and Au Pair for a nice rich French family. One man told me working for the Government is always a good option.

Train people are different from regular plane people. There is something about us that seeks an adventure when we travel. We watch landscapes change while meeting strangers. We talk about our lives now and what we've done or hope to do. We talk about the place we just visited or about to visit. It's cathartic in a way to ride a train for a long period of time. There isn't much you can do, but look, sleep, relax, talk, eat and read. Life becomes simpler and time stops to exist in the same way it does off of the train. On my longer trips I've always been alone and yet I find I'm never alone at all.

Spoiler - in the movie they never make it to Paris. Frank gets nervous about making such a drastic change; one that society doesn't approve of. That's another thing I've been thinking a lot about society and the way it punishes those who don't follow it. I feel like for the most part I've tried to play by it's rules and still I feel it hasn't shown me any favor. So fuck it.

A New Train Trip

2010-07-07T23:27:00.001-07:00

On Saturday I'll be taking a train from Seattle to LA. 35 hours on a train to think about life, look at the window, read, and talk to strangers. There is a one hour stop in Portland, the city which stole a part of me. I left there feeling half dead. A few times since my trip I've dreamed of walking down certain streets. I wont have enough time to go to those streets, but I think I'll have enough time to leave the train station and walk somewhere. I'm excited to be back there even in such a limited way.

I think leaving LA for a bit will be a good for me. I'm never sure what is it means to like something or just be comfortable. It look a long time for Los Angeles to feel comfortable and for me not to feel like it was shitting on me at every turn. My move out here was not an easy one, which I sometimes forget. Something is going to change when I lest expect it. That's how life always works.

I Like LA (Maybe Love?)

2010-07-02T23:19:00.000-07:00

It hit me today that deep down I really do like LA. I find the city and it's history to be fascinating. It's the only place where I've felt both at home and also a visitor. There is so much I can't stand about this place, but when I think about things like the architecture, the weather, and the communities I've felt a part of it makes it hard to want to leave. I used to think LA was full of ugly architecture. The city landscape is full of strip malls and motel looking apartments. Ugly. Moving away from that there are many interesting houses up on the hills through out LA. LA has the space that NYC probably never had. I haven't taken advantage enough of having these homes so close. I've spent my time here trying to make LA into a more urban environment instead of giving into the fact that people move here to have a space with a yard.

With my parents here I've been playing tour guide which has brought up a sense of pride at making LA my home. I can tell them the history of areas, and show them places where I spend my time. In a lot of ways I feel like I've come so far here, from the person I once was and the life I once had.

Downtown Guilt?

2010-07-01T23:22:00.000-07:00

Downtown completely fascinates me. It's gone through so many changes over the years and yet it's still in transition. I watched a short documentary on Bunker Hill today. Apparently it's the longest redevelopment project in LA history. What happened on Bunker Hill, moving out the old poor, ripping up their houses and replacing them with skyscrapers seems so awful and yet that's where I work. Daily I benefit from the redevelopment. Should I feel guilty for something that happened long before I was alive? Maybe I should feel guilty about what's happening with skid row instead.

Developers are looking to push further and further east downtown leaving the homeless and low income population (as a documentary I saw "Lost Angeles" said not every one in skid row is homeless) with out a place to live. I fully take advantage of the gentrified streets of Downtown. I go there after word to eat or drink. I walk the streets pretending I'm in some other city. I looked at moving to the Alexandria, an old hotel re-developed into affordable housing. Just a few years ago it was a flop house of sorts, but it cleaned up and got stricter rules about income while still providing housing to those who make little money. Would moving there support the developers who seek out land in skid row? Would it prove that the young, educated, formal middle class, set of people are looking to move into downtown and that although we don't have money now there is a chance that one day we will? I can't fully explain my feelings about gentrification. On the one hand I think it's great to make streets safer for people to walk, but I also think most of the time it means making a place sterile and boring. It makes a place loose it's character. Making a place too safe and nice raises the rent that it prices out most people. Downtown seems like it's slowly heading in the direction that it will soon be a place only for the rich.

Writing/ Photos

2010-06-30T22:50:00.000-07:00

When I was 19 I seduced a man with my writing. It was an accident. In a class we worked shopped my story about this girl who lives fully with in her head. The story included part of my own childhood and my own dreams for the future. It was a personal piece that no one knew was personal. Something about the story, or the writing resonated with him enough that he wanted to get to know me. Years later he is still my biggest fan, if not my only fan.

I wish I could say my work could still seduce. I fear it has the opposite affect. Maybe I'm looking at it all wrong. Perhaps my work should seduce myself first, before it can others. I'm showing my stuff looking for approval for images that I don't truly believe are quality. I'm not sure this added pressure is what I need at a time where my mind already feels like it's spinning.

I keep seeing this image of myself dressed neatly with my hair back in a bun with boots on walking to a photo shoot with a cup of coffee in hand. I see myself not taking the photos, but something to do with their creation. I'm not sure what to make of this image that keeps coming. It feels some what hopeful of some future thing.

SO much to do!

2010-06-29T22:20:00.001-07:00

My family is coming in a few days. They are here to see my life before I give it up for the (semi)unknown. (at least i think that's the plan) I'm unhappy with the photographs I've been taking. I've been letting myself get away with mediocre work. I need to work harder and edit edit edit edit edit. I might be putting off my dream of grad school for another year, but it's only to become better. I can't get lazy. Perhaps I've become lazy. I don't want to hand in shit. What I have is shit. I need to keep pushing on if it's important. One roll of film a week, except it's been like one every two. I need to transition from being a consumer to a producer. I have a lot to prove because I'm so far from home, right db?

db told me I should take being called Woody Allen as a compliment. All artist are slightly crazy. I've been trying to hold that back for so long in order to fit in. Maybe it's the holding back that has made me so afraid of my own voice, and afraid to express my self fully. There was a time where I couldn't hold back. I needed to express myself so much I wrote on my walls with colored hair spray and lip stick. My parents must have seen it by now, but they have never addressed it really. Maybe the writing has always been on the wall, like how my fridge tells the world I have anxiety. So what I have anxiety; who doesn't when they want to achieve greatness. I'll take the lonely road if it means achieve something truly amazing.

Doll Parts

2010-06-29T00:32:00.000-07:00

I lied the other day, well a week ago, when someone asked me if I was a happy person. No one truly happy asks someone else that and yet I feel the need to claim to be bright and sunny. I think it's safe to say the idealist side of me has long died and the realist side has taken over. Maybe it's this realist side that caused me to no longer be happy with certain situations. I've always looked at others to give me something that I could never give myself. Perhaps that is selfish?

The other day wasn't the first time I've lied. I've lied through my actions, pretending the body laying next to me means more than a vehicle to feel affection. I enjoy a good distraction; I've slept with people because I couldn't sleep with the person I really wanted to. I'm sure I've been a person you spend time with just in order to not be alone and I know others have been that for me. Somehow nothing seems true. Despite this I search for the truth and meaning in my interactions.

"I fake it so real I am beyond fake......"

AHHHHHHHH

2010-06-27T22:13:00.000-07:00

Lately I have this urge to move to a place where I know no one. I'm not sure what has brought about this. There is part of me that thinks if I forced myself to go to an unknown that I would grow more as a person. I feel stuck and frustrated. There is a small part of me screaming to come out. I spent the past week or so distracting myself from any forward progress. I want to do something big with my life, but I constantly sell my self short. Perhaps being in a smaller city could help alleviate some fears? Then there is always the thought that I could go home and fix this debt I carry around. Being responsible sounds a whole lot less fun. I'm stubborn and I want to do things my way, even when it's not the best way. I'm more determined than ever to create some change.

My parents are coming to town soon which brings mixed feelings. I love them, but they bring out an ugly side of me. I'm excited to show them the life I've created, but feel sad that my life could soon be intertwined with theirs shortly. I am the family fuck up.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

2010-06-17T08:04:00.000-07:00

With one pull of a string all the work I've done fell a part. I've tried so hard to loose my sensitive inside. Instead of burying it deep with in I've let it ooze out of me. My mom has told me for years you got to be tough because this world isn't nice. How does one become tough, but not too tough as to still believe people can be good?

I'm sick of people seeing me as a scared mouse, of some weak animal scurrying about. I've calm down so much in the past year. I've learned to let a lot go, but apparently I have a lot more to do. Maybe life is a constant working and re-working of the self. Is there ever a point where one becomes satisfied?

Elisa Is Lost (yet again)

2010-06-11T21:31:00.000-07:00

When I was dating my ex boyfriend in high school, I never wrote in my journal for fear of him seeing it. I thought he would one day see it in my room or that I would feel the need or urge to read to him all the things I wrote about him. This fear kept my pages blank. Blogs are public so the same fear shouldn't apply, but yet I find myself fearful that I've said too much in the past so for a while I've been holding back. A week before I left LA for home I felt sad to be leaving town. It seemed strange to be sad about leaving for a week. Before I left I loved LA. I loved the friends I had been hanging out with and the activities we did. I think subconsciously I could sense a change.

Every time I'm home it's a test to see if I want to go back. Over the summer I was confident that home is what I wanted. I even started to clean out my drawers at home anticipating that I would return. Life however had something else in store for me. This time I waked around the streets unsure that home was something I wanted. Being back brought up parts of my self I've tried so hard to change. I felt aggressive, childish, dumb, and silly. Outside of the negative feelings I also felt comfort.

I'm not sure if comfort is a good thing. It's comfort that gets me trapped. It's hard to leave what's comfortable. Even LA has become comfortable. It might be easier to stay put, than to take a risk at this point. LA has become home and I have adopted to it's ways. I am newly born child of the west running in it's open fields, eating it's locally grown food. I'm not sure if I want to go back to the strictness of the east, although part of me wants the comforts of the womb, that of my childhood bedroom.

Every day I think about this; about how I can move my life forward, despite the recession. I wont let myself sit still. My mind is constantly racing about one thing or another. I feel like I need to push myself into greatness (although I'm not sure what that even means). I realized yesterday I can't go to grad school because I cannot comfortably say "I'm a photographer." How can I study photography when I'm far to embarrassed to claim that art form for myself. Note to self, work on that.

So after hold back for a month or so I'm word vomiting.

The Uncomfortable

2010-04-25T22:51:00.001-07:00

I have a knack for finding myself in uncomfortable, awkward situations. Sometimes they happen by chance and other times I place myself there. It's in these uncomfortable moments that my mind takes over and an internal dialogue begins where reality is questioned. For instance tonight went to a class on manifestos. I spent half the class living in fear that I was the person in class you wish wouldn't be and talk. I thought maybe that I was the idiot who speaks much more than she should. Everyone else seemed to know each other. I was the outsider who snuck away as soon as class was over, in order to breath more easily. Despite these worries, I stuck it out and kept talking when I thought it was appropriate. There is another class on this topic in the works which I'm even thinking about going to. Somehow by placing my self in uncomfortable situations I'll some how grow, at least that's the though. Let's face it I gave up on art because I'm too scared to let my voice be heard. I'm too scared the world will know how angry/sad/crazy I am and I'll find myself cut out of society (or at least the social circle and work circle I've managed to become a part of.) Because I've long hidden my voice I've taken to other ways of revealing. I've turned toward nudity as away to express vulnerability with out having to share what's really going on in my head. The body however isn't always so safe.

The other night I decided to take a hip hop class at the gym. I thought it would be a fun way to exercises. Quickly the class brought out all these different anxieties. Hands down I was the worst the in the class, so much so I thought about leaving the class early. I had a hard time learning all the dance moves because I couldn't do the moves while the teacher did nor remember all the steps that came before. While attempting to dance I remembered how unaware I was in high school of my dancing skills or lack there of. My freshman year I took a hop hop class and before the recital parents were aloud to come to a practice and video tape it. A few years after I found the tape and watched it with a friend. I was mortified by how completely awful I was. I couldn't believe my parents let me go on stage in front of people looking like a fool. My mom's response to that question was, "well you were having fun." At the time this answer angered me. I was embarrassed because for the first time I could see myself from a distance. Thinking about this in terms of this past class my mom was right, it doesn't really matter that I was awful, because it was something I enjoyed and was doing just to have fun. Sometimes things are worth pushing through the embarrassment.

On a side note to all of this, my mom during my senior year liked to remind me that I was the worst one in my drawing class. She didn't understand how I could go week after week and hang my work up for cretiques. It never bothered me that I was awful (really I wasn't that bad) because I took that class to improve my drawing skills for what I thought was going to be my life as an artist. There is something to be gained by going out of ones comfort zone.

Martyrs Love Peterpan

2010-04-21T20:02:00.000-07:00

I wish I could share the song, but it's not mine to share. It brought me to tears. It's the kind of song that you can dance to while you feel all the lyrics in each beat in your chest. Maybe it's ironic on the first day that I thought of my self as a true adult I'm listening to a song that says "you wont grow up." Growing up however doesn't have mean growing up, but leaving something behind, leaving Never Never Land. Who really wants to grow up anyway?

I always knew one day I was going to have to leave the world I created. In my fantasy world I had all the confidence I needed to be whoever I wanted. I was always some sort of artist. Performance was my gift. Perhaps it's still my gift, I can be who ever you want. I change roles each day as I change jobs. I'm really good at adapting. In my world I'm pretty awesome. In fact I love who I am because I get to be everything that I'm not in real life, or better than I am in real life. I realized at some point in high school there was going to be a point where reality was going to hit me and that, that day would be a very painful one. The one day has become a series of days spread out through the years. As time goes on I've learned that instead of mourning my loss of a false image of myself (although maybe my negative image of my self is also somewhat false?) that it's better to try to make reality into what you wanted it to be.

I guess part of that is learning to let go. I've held onto anger for so long it's consumed me. Through being angry I've sabotaged a lot as well as wasted too much of my time. I want to feel in control again, but giving up control.

An Island

2010-04-14T23:53:00.000-07:00

No man or woman is truly an island. On a trip to Vegas with my parents I came to a realization that I was destine to be alone for the rest of my life. If I was going to be alone instead of fighting it, I thought it was best to accept this fact with open arms. I have always been fairly independent and enjoy time alone, but there is a difference between being independent and living a life removed completely from others. Accepting the idea of being alone although originally thought of as with out a significate other has filtered into friendship as well. I assume no one is interested in what I am so I find myself opting to do things alone instead of with friends. As nice as being alone is there is something great about a shared experience. It can be a richer experience because it involves a personal experience as well as one that interacts with another experience creating multiple experiences at once. A balance is something I strive for; to stay independent while still enjoying the company of others.

To live with in society we are not aloud to live fully alone. At times I fear being seriously sick or hurt unable to care for myself because I don't believe anyone would help me out. I've always assumed if I ever needed an abortion I would take myself there, never is the male involved. I was frustrated that in order to get my wisdom teeth removed I needed someone to drive me. I have a hard time asking for help which is probably part of the reason I complain and whine so much to people. Perhaps it's a passive cry for help when I can't out right say "hey I'm in a funk I need to know there is someone out there who cares." It's important to learn how to ask for help when needed. As much as I want to be an island at times, in reality I need people to help me do what I can't on my own. In return I would like to be there for them.

For so long now my focus has been off. I thought I needed to find some guy to make me feel complete and if one couldn't do so I would make myself whole on my own. Now it doesn't seem so black and white. I left friendships completely out of the equation, when they play such an important role. Sometimes there is nothing better than grabbing a beer with a friend or taking a walk. They can make awful days a lot better.

Cloud On My Tongue

2010-04-13T00:21:00.000-07:00

This song went through my head today. Isn't life a bunch of circles?

A Random Trip

2010-04-10T19:54:00.000-07:00

Tuesday marked the third time I've been to San Fransisco. The first time I was there I fell in love with it an vowed to move with in the year. (never happened). The second time I went I was very bitter and angry. It was on the way home from a trip, a trip that I use to bench mark time. I wanted to crawl up into a ball and cry, not stay in a hostel full of strangers. The third time, I experienced the city the way I wanted to. I spent my days roaming the city, walking, taking muni, and the bart. The city felt like it was mine because it was easy to move about it. It was a sense of freedom that despite having a car, Los Angeles has always lacked. This trip made me wonder that perhaps I am a west coster after all, but just I moved too far south.

While I was in SF I went to three different museums. I was excited to see a James Turrell piece in the sculpture garden and the de Young. The art inside did not really satisfy the way the building structure did. I'm not sure what has happened to me, but I happened to look up and noticed the skylight mixed with lighting fixtures. I found it to be very aesthetically pleasing and took a photo. It's this new thing with me that I've been taking notice of floors and lights pertaining to art. Perhaps it has to do with a space one of my bosses might rent out.

I went up North to escape LA and the life I have here. I wanted a change and a place to think. I wanted my life to feel exciting again. I've been feeling lost with a lack of purpose. My days have started to feel meaningless. I had forgotten how great it is to relax and let the day take you where it wants. I forgot how great it can be to read and to write even if it's just a flow of words. The trip was probably the best thing I could have done for myself. I wish I could go back.

I'm Sorry

2010-04-03T00:18:00.000-07:00

I miss you.

My Dad Thought This Was Me

2010-04-01T22:18:00.001-07:00

I'm not sure what I should think about this. On the one hand my dad has forgotten what I look like (in the video it's very clear it's not me). On the other he thinks I would participate in the event, No Pants Subway Day (which I definitely would had I known). This further explains the oddness that is my family.

She Only Wants One Son

2010-03-31T19:41:00.000-07:00

Elisa,

You'd make a cute guy!Don't get any ideas!

Love,

Mom

This Blog....

2010-03-31T00:20:00.000-07:00

...feels a bit embarrassing. Perhaps this reveling period of my life is over and I will start to live a more reserved life. If anything in the past few months, I've mastered the art of hiding in your work. A huge change from the days when I was free to frolic around town.

Is it worth it?

My Selfish Future Part II

2010-03-21T23:37:00.000-07:00

As days move forward I feel I'm becoming increasingly more independent. I'm back to feeling that all I have is me. When I want to do something instead of inviting others my first thought is to do it on my own. I've never fully believed others would be interested in what I am. While I go through this stage I find that I am becoming increasingly annoyed by the feeling I'll need to hold any one's hand. Over and over again the words "you can do anything you set your mind to," repeated. Cheesy, I know, but it stands as a rally cry to believe in my self once again. Often I feel I've forgotten who I am or that I've tried so hard to be a certain type of person that I have becomes lost in the process. elisa is lost was meant to be a record of a summer while I figured out where I wanted to live and who I wanted to be. Seven months past that point, I've found that I'm not found, despite some of those first questions have answers. Perhaps part of being human is the ability to always change and grow. A constant re-working. Through this current re-working of myself I feel the need to start to distance myself from certain people. It's a cleanse.

I'll Always Love You

2010-03-21T08:22:00.000-07:00

I always thought I was a bit dramatic. After all I start fights, storm off, and sometimes even cry. The other day a woman put my drama into perspective. While working at MOCA a woman came up to me and asked if I remembered the man she had been walking around with earlier. Surprisingly I could describe his shirt and what he looked like. She handed me a card sealed in an envelope and asked that I give it to him when he got off his tour around the museum. I asked "What if I don't end up seeing him?" Her response, "Well then that's life." With that she walked out leaving me the task of delivering this card with an unknown message. Was it a love note? Birthday card? I decided if the man never showed I would open it for myself, however he did finally appear.

He came over to the desk to ask me a question and I told him I had something for him. I explained how she left the card and told him how I had been wondering what it was about. He explained it was probably a "fuck you" card. They had dated some time in college. He lived in Northern California and was visiting for a conference. On his only day off he wanted to go to MOCA. She agreed to meet him there even though she said she would rather go shopping. Through out the whole time they were at the museum together she acted pissy and then left. He opened the card, plain white with baseball stitching. Inside the card read "I'll always love you." It was her final dramatic statement.

My co-worker and I wondered where she got the card from. Had she been holding on to it the whole time? We didn't think it was possible she bought it at our bookstore because it didn't look like the cards we sell. Does she keep a bunch of cards around for different occasions? I wonder with those word "I'll always love you," was that a goodbye or an invite for him to contact her again despite her moodiness? I admire the simplicity of the card. Her few words held so much meaning. There is something to be said for being a minimalist. That's one trait I wish I had when it comes to words. Overall I'm glad to find that I'm a lot less dramatic than others.

Silence Between Two Thoughts

2010-03-15T21:10:00.000-07:00

During my freshman year of college a boy gave me a newspaper paper clipping of a photo with the caption "Silence Between Two Thoughts." Silence, a word I've desperately tried to follow, and yet somehow always fail. He didn't explain anything to me when he handed it to me. I think that was part of his charm. He was attractive and strange, smart and artistic. I was smitten by him. After he handed me this clipping I went back to my dorm room and wrote about what the caption could mean. When words didn't seem to function, I painted.

We lost contact several years ago. The last I remember seeing him was on a subway after not talking to him for a year. He had recently seen some photo I had taken on the internet. That was it until this past weekend. He approached the box with sunglasses on, hiding part of his face. Somehow his name escaped my mouth. We both seemed shocked to see each other. He introduced me to his girlfriend and told me he they were visiting LA; this isn't a story for the movies. I forgot the reason he gave for the visit. I suppose it isn't really important. It's just funny how people weave in and out of your lives. Seeing him brought back memories of my start of freshman year, of this month long tag game we played, and of reading Kafka. Seeing him reminded me of another person I know. Maybe running into him was comforting because it means others will pop back in.

Still....

2010-03-12T20:22:00.000-08:00

For the past month I've been carrying around with me this sadness I can't fully shake. It lingers from my heart into my limbs, it clouds my mind, and it causes small silent tears to fall. Despite all my trying I can never just be happy with my life. Maybe I'm over tired and the weight I've been carrying around is a reaction to that. Maybe I've realized in many ways staying busy isn't always good. I'm masking my disconnect and loneliness through over working. I'm bored by the tv (on my computer) that I watch, but I can't get myself to work on anything of meaning for fear of failure. I keep thinking I have to run away, I have to run away, but run to where? Wouldn't it be better to confront what's bothering me then pretending it doesn't exist?

China

2010-03-09T23:35:00.000-08:00

"Sometimes I think you want me to touch you/
How can I when you build the great wall around you"

sorry.

5 Days Till 25

2010-02-23T23:35:00.000-08:00

If I keep looking at art maybe it give me the courage to create? I have a roll of film that I need to finish and then develop. New goal finish roll by next week. My summer is on it. My rainy winter a few years ago is on another. How can some thing (photography) that I used to define myself be so removed from me now? Why have I become so scared for people to see what's going on in my head? My new project for next month is to capture my life through images. I respond well to structure even when it's self created. Yes, starting next month I'll be going more into photo/drawing/image based work. A visual diary so to speak.

6 Days Till 25

2010-02-22T20:18:00.001-08:00

Wishes for tonight/ tomorrow:

Please mind committee driving laws to memory.

Please face look pretty.

Please don't rain.

Please have a dream that does not have to do with working and/or driving test.

Please magically loose weight.

Please eat healthy.

Please silence the voice that tells me I can't do anything right.

Please make tonight/ tomorrow as great as the day was today.

7 Days Till 25

2010-02-21T21:22:00.001-08:00

NO ONE CAN MAKE YOU FEEL INFERIOR WITH OUT YOUR CONSENT

- mrs. e roosevelt

(this message has been brought to you by the sipps ice tea juice box of a friend in freshman year of high school. )

So stop consenting already!

8 Days Till 25

2010-02-20T02:15:00.000-08:00

An excerpt from this book (truth and half truths: a journey journal) I've been writing for some time now. I need to get back into it, write, rewrite, write again, complete something, add a photo component, make the book to put the words in, write, write, write, write.........

I am a cat. There was this photo I saw in the tiny photo book I kept by my desk growing up. On the page looking up at me was a woman’s face and a cats face merging into one face, image, being. Mad! So mad! That I didn’t do it first. But none the less I am cat. In sophomore year English “the heart is a lonely hunter” we talked about a cat metaphor. I excitedly raise my hand and said they are sexual. I can’t explain the look given back to me, as she said no. NO THEY ARE NOT SEXUAL. To her to be cat like was to be moody, mean, and snobby. I used to have this image of lying on someone’s lap. Some how I was naked and sort of pet like. I think I took this from some commercial I saw. Anyway I knew this was how I was going to be in a relationship, submissive.

I am cat --- I am small and I want (demand) attention. I want to be pet, touched, and groomed. As much as I want to be pampered I am independent – I can take care of myself and almost prefer it than to rely on others. I can curl up on you or stride away. When I walk you pay attention to the way my body moves. You want me close, but you can’t capture me unless I let you. Rain is not my interest. The cold wetness irritates my skin, sends chills up my spin.

Constantly I find myself attracted to guys who are allergic to cats. Guys who hate them. This I do not understand. If they hate these small beings then what do they see in me?

9 Days Till 25

2010-02-19T23:48:00.001-08:00

I'm now officially following in my dad's footsteps. I guess it makes sense since he was the one who taught me a lot of different things growing up. My dad showed me how to do embroidery with my American Girl set and helped me with my clarinet. He made cheesecake with me and taught me how to ride a bike. He gave me a toy camera when my brother was born and then later gave me his old camera when I was in high school. Unfortunately for him he was there when I cried before school because I hated that my butt showed because my shirts weren't long enough and cried because I had breasts before anyone else. For two years I worked for him prepping taxes and photocopying. Besides babysitting it was my first job. I was given the freedom to make my own hours. Maybe that set me up for a life of freelance and odd jobs. No matter how much I try I can't get away from accounting.

10 Days Till 25

2010-02-18T20:19:00.001-08:00

I'm still waiting to fully exhale. Lately I've found comfort in lounging around my apartment at night. It's not so much in that I'm avoiding the outside world, as I'm taking a break to relax before another day of working. I'm taking time to let my mind wander. I long for a day all of my own, with out work, with out doctors appointments. I miss going to different museums. I miss day time adventures. It's not that I'm unhappy, but just tired. When I look at my life it feels like I'm still treading water trying to keep my head up. My life wont be this way forever.

As a child I never thought I would be living in Los Angeles doing half the things that I do. For all that I complain about, I have a lot to be happy for.

12 Days to 25

2010-02-16T22:18:00.000-08:00

I never know what to believe anymore. There is the "truth" I want to believe and then there are the "facts." Yes, life is not black and white. Even truth and facts are subjective. I can't count the amount of times my body did one thing while my mind another. If I'm not honest how to I except others to be.

Tomorrow is my first day off in almost a month. And while I am not working I have dr appointments and my women's group to attend. While life keeps pulling me in multiple directions I find that I am looking forward to the small bits of time I get to spend with myself. I've become a home body of sorts. It feels nice.

13 Days Till 25

2010-02-15T21:19:00.000-08:00

"Why? Just because I tell you the truth? Look - you want love, you want interesting, you want feeling, you want closeness- and what do you settle for? Suffering. At least your suffering is intense.... The patient love her disease. She doesn't want to be cured."

- Fear of Flying

14 Days Till 25

2010-02-14T23:31:00.001-08:00

I spent my second Valentine's Day at MOCA. These past few have been some of my better ones. The day has never really meant much as a whole. Sometimes in high school my friends and I would send each other flowers and write messages comprised of lyrics. M made me the best card one year. "I squeezed this out for you..." with a white blob. Inside the card read "from my glue gun." On the back there was a black and white photocopy of a bathroom stall. It warmed my 17 year old heart in away only a good friend can. In third grade I signed all my cards "Love Elisa." The boys in my class made fun of me. I still have anxiety about how to sign cards. I tend to write "- Elisa" a cold but safe way to sign. My dad gave blood one year through some radio station. The radio station gave him some give aways which he then gave to the rest of the family. That was the only Valentine's Day i remember celebrating with my family. I'm not into traditional VD items. In college my boyfriend sent me 2 dozen roses. I hated them, until they started to die and then I thought they looked pretty. He said I was ungrateful and I told him that he wasn't thinking about me. He should have known I would have wanted something with more thought. He told me I should become more traditional and stop trying to be weird. I'm not sure what would have been so hard to buy flowers in a color I liked or a flower I liked. Other boys who have gotten me flowers have seemed to understand that. Anyway the day is almost over and the month half over. Time is speeding on by.

16 Days Till 25

2010-02-12T20:11:00.000-08:00

Yawwwn! My body wants sleep. I'm starting to relax again. Slowly my apartment will be clean again. I think I even have a day off next week! Time to focus on me.

17 Days Till 25

2010-02-11T22:27:00.000-08:00

After hibernating for a while, I decided it was time to leave. Art walk nights are always interesting. I've been giving out condoms at a few of them which provides me the courage to talk to strangers normally I would not. I think I view my self shyer than I really am. Over all if in the right mood I'm pretty friendly. Add some drinks in me and I'm a lot more friendly. I have no problem going to a bar alone provided that I have a book which the man sitting next to me tonight called a prop. It's true if you have a book no one feels sorry for you. I've found if you go to bars alone you tend to meet interesting people. Tonight's cast of characters was a man probably close to my parents age who was a regular at the Edison, this 1920's feeling bar Downtown. He knew about all the different nights at the bar and the different types of drinks that were specials. He told me it was unusual to see a woman at a bar alone which felt like a genuine observation and not some pick up line. He was nice to talk to in between reading pages of my novel and sipping my $1 Tom Collins. The man introduced me to what he thought was the best bartender in the place. Tempted by a drink created by the bartender that mixes blueberries and ginger (two of my favorite things) I ordered an After thought (drink name) and hung around a bit longer. The man I was sitting next to had some friend who join him. It felt nice talking in a small group. Even though I was much younger than them, I didn't feel childlike as I often do. Perhaps having to talk to strangers all day has made me less shy?

18 Days Till 25

2010-02-10T20:06:00.000-08:00

Another night with another strange dream. Another morning that I wake up and don't really want to get out of bed. My friend sent me the below image. It would be best to remember the "things to remember."

19 Days Till 25

2010-02-09T17:41:00.000-08:00

Last year at this time I remember being happy; I remember being excited about things. I don't know why this year I feel so down, although I have a few suspicions There is something about me that feels incomplete. At night I search for it only to wake up with nothing. Maybe it's the rain, but tonight I feel like hiding. I need someone to pull me out because I wont go on my own.

Today wasn't all bad though. While driving home I saw this:

It felt magical. It's been so long since I've seen a rainbow.

20 Days Till 25

2010-02-08T21:04:00.000-08:00

My brain feels like it's stopped working. Lately I've been lost in my own thoughts and no thoughts. Once home I want to crash or scream. My dreams mirror my days. Whatever my subconscious is working out, I hope it would do it quicker. I still feel very much lost. Am I supposed to feel more in control? I feel like I could crack at any moment and all the work I've done to put myself together will come undone. Maybe that's life in general is two steps forward, one step back.

I'm not ready for the low that comes with birthdays. I'm not ready to be entering an era in my life where it's expected I'll marry and have kids. Some girls grow up dreaming of their wedding, their perfect house and perfect family. Sometimes it amazes me I believe in love at all. I don't expect to be a bride, own property, or have kids. I'm secretly horrified by the idea of giving birth. I'm secretly horrified about having to be responsible for another. I worry about having postpartum depression. I worry that I'll have a child and regret it. I worry about things that aren't worth worrying about. What's to worry about when you're not the type of girls guys make their girlfriend. Sometimes I wish I could get over this image I've created of my self as a "good girl." The term is repressive. I wish I could be more free.

21 Days Till 25

2010-02-07T20:22:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I didn't wear underwear to work. In all fairness I had on tights and a black dress. In someways it felt very freeing and somewhat exciting. It felt like my little secret for the day. Maybe this says something about the state of my life and how uneventful it is. I am back to drinking a lot of caffeine. It's the only way I can get through my day anymore. When I drink a ton of caffeine I always think I'm super happy. I become very bubbly and overly friendly. These traits are helpful when I have to deal with the public. It's much better than when I act stand offish.

22 Days Till 25

2010-02-06T09:32:00.000-08:00

You run out of the car after a rant about shoes. Beep Beep, he texts you to tell you, you are hilarious. You're glad he finds your burst of craziness cute.

The boy in high school always said crazy in the head crazy in the bed. You never slept with him, but instead went to Republican social events with the local government There at the tender age of 18 you pretended to be his wife after someone mistakenly thought you were. You keep this act up through out many events using terms of endearment. You smiled and shook hands with the best of them all the while keep your own political views to your self. The few you had back then.

23 Days Till 25

2010-02-05T21:40:00.000-08:00

I wish I could work better with abstractions. The opening of La Ritournelle by Sebastien Teller has this power of sending me on a journey with out words. There is a sadness to it that penetrates as the music moves forward. It tugs at something inside. I ask myself how can I portray sadness, happiness, confusion with out the obvious. And I wish I could take a photo that would make you cry and drawing something that would make you smile. You being anyone that would care enough to look.

24 Days Till 25

2010-02-04T20:50:00.001-08:00

Today was a strange day. I'm not sure why I expected anything less considering at 4 am I was discussing Ayn Rand and if you need to read the Fountainhead in order to fully understand Atlas Shrugged. Haven't not slept much I came to work tired, hoping it would be an easy day. As I walked up to the box office I saw a security guard standing there. When I went to knock on the door of the box he stopped me and told me to look. In front of me was shit smeared onto the wall. I went to meet my co-worker in our bosses' office. There we waited as people ran around trying to figure out what to do. It took 30 minutes to clean up. It was like a performance piece: step one: place human excrement (something we all do) in a public place, step two: watch as people react in disgust at seeing what is normally private and personal out in the open, step three: watch the chaos it creates as people try to figure out how to solve the problem of removing it. The removal was done with kitty litter and water.

After 5 on Thursday the museum is free which tends to bring in a strange crowd. Normally I stay only for a half and hour of the "free time" before my shift is over. Tonight I covered for a friend. While working tonight I saw a woman pet a man who was sitting in the lobby like a dog. While this was going on this strange man kept asking the volunteer and I all this random questions trying to get a rise out of us. He would not give up. We were only saved with this guy I met on Saturday showed up and distracted him by geeking out about computers. The Saturday guy gave me a copy of this book of stickers he published and asked me for my opinion. His stickers were all the rage in the 90's.

The day is almost over. Is there anything else in store before I go to bed?

25 Days Till 25

2010-02-03T20:23:00.000-08:00

When I was a child I used to have bangs. My mom would cut them sometimes for me when they started to get long. Sometime in 6th grade I decided I no longer wanted bangs and grew them out. Good thing for me hair clips were all the rage. My forehead stayed naked for years until I moved out to California.

T M E

1994

(I think)

E M

2010

At 24 my mom no longer is cutting my bangs or fixing my hair. I can't help but wonder what the younger me is thinking about in that photo. Around that time my body was starting to develop, transforming into the body I have now. My hair (although not in the photo shown) resembles the hair I had when life was much more simple. My friend M is also still in my life despite the fact that we live across the country from each other.

26 Days Till 25

2010-02-02T22:06:00.000-08:00

I called in, I'm officially sign up for jury duty. Technically I'm "on call" meaning there is a week period where I may be called in (although I have to call each day to check to see if I supposed to be there) and then if picked serve on a jury. I wonder if called in if I should tell whoever is interviewing me my love for crime dramas, fascination with human trafficking, and general interest on documentaries that deal with our government and our court system. I can't image making a decision, guilty or not-guilty, that can have a huge affect on some one's life. The only time I have been in court was when I was 17 and a boy punched me in my face. My parents pressed charges.

I don't remember if I had to tell my side of what happened or not. What I do remember is the boy, now sober, apologizing. I remember his mother being upset over what had happened, claiming he was a good kid. I remember his punishment. I remember feel guilty that I ruined his teenage life for a few years. I also remember how I felt days after being punched. How I felt everyone was going to touch or hit me as I walked down the street. I avoided the town it happened in for at least a year or after. I didn't think I would see him, I just didn't want to be reminded of the punch, the tears, the crowds of people.

27 Days Till 25

2010-02-01T22:28:00.001-08:00

It's like I'm trying to make up for lost time; making up for all the months I didn't work. I've been working non-stop since I came back from the East Coast. Half the time I don't know what day it is anymore, although magically I show up at the right job at the right time. I imagine this must be what it's like to be old when your memory starts to go. For days I let my anxiety rule me. My head hurt, I felt nauseous. I was freaked out about messing up, about not knowing a program well enough. A program I had only used once. Accounting is in my blood. No matter how hard I try to get away from it some how it finds me. It's funny because I don't understand numbers. Chats with numbers might as well be some foreign language. I've slowly calmed down and just accepted the situation I've put myself in.

I never really been one to want a boyfriend (if you ask my ex bf he'll tell you all about it), but lately I wish that I had someone to come home to. On days when I've been super stressed I wish there was someone to just lay with or have help cook (maybe just do all the cooking). I hate admitting this desire as if it's admitting that I can't fully handle my own life or take care of myself. In someways maybe its this return to childhood where your parents hold you when you cry and care for you when you're sick. Maybe I just want someone to tell me that everything is going to be ok, when I'm doubting it. Since I don't have this I've been going out after work with friends or myself. Going out provides away to forget my day and feel like I still have some sort of life.

Crying In Public

2010-01-24T23:56:00.000-08:00

I thought I was over crying in public. It's this strange habit I picked up a few years ago, the exact year I'm unsure of. I spent my high school years bottling up my feelings and waiting till I was safely home to cry. One time I told my soccer coach I felt sick and had to go home. The truth was I was feeling depressed that day and knew I wouldn't make it home before the tears would form. Sure enough in my friends car just as we reached my house it all came out. I've often wonder what people on the street make of me as I let tears streak my face as I walked. Do they notice? The tears are the silent kind, the kind that falls slowly down your check one by one. The day after my 24th birthday I took off up the 1 and ended up in Santa Barbra. I had this overwhelming feeling of sadness and despair that I couldn't shake. Birthdays can do that to people, I've noticed. I sat eating food with tears down my face and then I laid on the beach with more tears until I fell asleep. That's another thing I've picked up; the ability to fall asleep at the beach fully dressed.

Tonight while riding the subway back from work the waterworks began. At first I tried to hide them and stop, but after awhile I got lost in my own thoughts and just let them go. With my headphones on I felt like I was in my own space and yet in a very public space. I'd rather cry in front of strangers than the people I know.

You Ate Your Self Up

2010-01-20T17:29:00.001-08:00

For years I've been begging my dad to take me to see his aunt. The last time I had seen her I had been eight. I remember sitting across from her, in the limo, on the way to my grandma (her sisters) funeral. She seemed so old then as she took out her dentures only to place them back in her mouth again. I recently found out she was only 60, but had aged fast due to her life style of heavy smoking and heavy medication. She was beautiful as a young teen in the photos I saw of her with my grandma. I imagined there was something dark with in her growing in the years before anyone knew what was wrong. Dark, in a tormented creative sense. I saw her as a Plath, but related to me. This vision, I now know, is not true.

My father said it was a bad idea to go. He went along with the plan anyway. My parents and I arrived at the assisted living home first. He made us wait in the car until my uncle and his family arrived, saying it was better to go in as a group. At first she refused to come down saying she didn't believe anyone was there. Later she said she didn't want to see anyone. Somehow the nurses convinced her to come down. They had to wheel her in a wheelchair because she wasn't completely willing. She turned the corner and all hell broke loose. She started to scream the most awful sound and lifted her self out of the chair while fighting with the nurse. She said we weren't her family and that she didn't know us despite how much we tried to explain who we were. For a moment I started to cry. I feared she was going to attack us and at the same time felt bad we were causing her so much distress. The nurse brought her into a dining room to "her" chair, a place where she felt safe. Despite being in her place on comfort she began to yell at us again telling us she divorced her family, we were drunk bums, and that we were lucky her husband wasn't there. She never married. My dad hid in the back trying to avoid her wrath while we pushed my uncle forward hoping he could calm her down. She said to him "you ate your self up" which we all interpreted as you got fat. When we showed her a photo on my mom's cell phone of my mother and father's wedding she flipped out having a phone so close to her. She grabbed her water and held is close to her and mumbled things that were not words mixed with I hate you, I hate you all.

Despite claiming we weren't her family my dad is fully convinced she knew who we were. We wish she understood that we're the only family she has, but to her we are enemies not family. After this failed attempt to see her I doubt any of us will visit again any time soon if we ever go back. We know that we can't take anything that she said personally, but that doesn't make it any easier to go back for more abuse. There was a time when she was more functional and warmer, there was a time when her meds worked better. As long as my dad has been alive she has been a paranoid schizophrenic.

Down By The LA River

2010-01-13T19:44:00.000-08:00

Today was one of those days that you don't end up doing anything you planned and instead find your self exploring. After a last minute meeting at work my co-worker and I decided to stay downtown. He showed me this place he used to go down by the river.

The tunnel we had to walk through to get there.

There was a homeless man with a shopping cart hanging out in there when we originally entered.

I find the bridges in Los Angeles to be so fascinating. Maybe it's not just Los Angeles, but bridges in general. Anyway he didn't believe me that Spring Street also turned into a bridge. To prove myself right we went there after. It was the first time I had been by Farm Lab since I started to work. Currently they are tons of veggies and herbs growing there. They added more sculptural elements such as a fountain and a toilet that plants are growing out of. I really miss going there on Friday afternoons for the salon.

The Wolves

2010-01-12T17:37:00.000-08:00

Sierra Club keeps sending me petitions to sign despite the fact that I never joined. With each mailing they send me the same set of post cards, an eagle, a panther, a bear, and two wolves. It's the wolves that always get to me. Last week I started a painting of them. I'm not sure why I'm drawn to such snowy creatures except I feel like they are expressing some sort of love. Love is an emotion I have yet to fully figure out.

For a long time I felt too numb to ever really feel any strong emotion towards another, friend or otherwise. I assume I must love my parents and my brother because we're family. I'd like to think that if something happened to them I would be upset. Ok, I know I would be up set. Of course growing up I was always more upset over strangers than those that were close to me. Some how caring about those who I knew was too scary.

It took me till I was 22 to let my self be somewhat vulnerable with another. I used to make all these rules about sex and cuddling. It was better to act cold then to get hurt. One night that changed as I used a man's chest as my pillow; I let down my guard partly. It's never been fully down. I'd rather start fights to distract from the true matter at hand than fully admit anything.

In the postcard the wolf (which I assume is female) is licking the male (also assumed) wolf. He is howling up at the sky. I take this is a statement of happiness from the affections of the female wolf. I don't dream of a "ideal dream man," but sometimes I wish to be happy like the wolves. I think about finding someone who worships me and I them. I want someone to battle the world with. In the likely hood that never happens I'm ok with being a lone wolf.

Subway Riding

2010-01-08T18:13:00.000-08:00

I have often wondered if I pay more attention to those around me if I would see the same people getting on and off the subway in the morning and the afternoon. Most people who take it in the morning, I assume, must be taking it to work. If they are taking the subway to work is it fair to say they probably take it around the same time every day? It's nice to think that there is a whole community of people in Los Angeles who either do not have a car or decided to leave their car at home and ride along with strangers to their destination. I love looking at the mix of people who ride at different times and days. There are the communities, the travelers, the families, and people with bikes. The subway is a mix of different ethnicities and most likely some what of a different income although not as wide of a difference as other cities. Today I was spotted on the subway.

A juror came into MOCA today, during a break in a trial. He recognized me from the subway earlier this morning. Randomly, this morning, I decided to take an earlier subway so that I could get a bagel at Union Station and eat it at a park before work. There is nothing like sitting in a park with all sleeping homeless and transient people who have just come off a train with no where to go. We started to talk and I found out he lives near me and that we got on at the same subway stop. I enjoy the random encounters that so frequently happen in LA. After I left the museum, my co-worker told me he came back. Perhaps we will meet again on the subway some day.

I Wont Dance In Front Of You (Oct 6)

2009-12-31T00:43:00.000-08:00

Tonight while driving I started to move to the music. My body felt right going left to right with each beat. It reminded me of how much I love it.; how once I cut out an ad that said “If I can’t dance I don’t want to be part of your revolution.” It reminded me that dancing was a part of my expression. In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never seen me dance. I’ve never let you. Somehow watching me dance was too personal, too intimate. There was too much I could be judge by. Instead I’ve let you seen me cry, pee, and even bleed. It’s funny the sides I’ve shown you and yet I hid something so innocent. I’ve never been truly honest with you; I’m realizing that now. You keep appearing in my dreams. Sometimes you’ve not even physically there, but merely your presence. In the last you annoyed me.

Looking Back

2009-12-28T21:08:00.000-08:00

Maybe it's the end of a year that makes people look back. I have a bad habit of comparing my current life to that a year in the past. Ideally, I like to think that the current year is better than the last. A year ago life felt like magic. It was a high before things slowly fell a part. There was a night in September where I hit rock bottom or maybe it's when I started to rise up. While hysterically crying I realized how much I disliked myself. For the first time I was able to say out loud that I hated myself. Since that point I feel like I've been trying to pick up the pieces. It's easier said than done. Sometimes I wonder how things would have been different if I was happy all the months that I was sad. I spent so much time being angry about everything. Maybe I'm still angry as I keep catching myself clinching my jaw. Like I said it's easier said than done.

I'm still wrestling with the idea of being someone. I don't know what it would mean for me to be satisfied. I feel so ill informed about life. My time feel wasted on mindless things. I feel uninteresting and not important in the larger scale of life. I want my voice heard and yet I fear anyone hearing it. This fear has always stopped me. Ms P, my art teacher, once said the sirens will always be there telling you to stop, but you need to keep pushing forward. I know that what I need to do. I need to write in my film blog and stop being scared that I'm not smart enough, I need to finish up stories I've started to write, and I need to take photos again.

With the new year I guess I'll get a new chance to start over again. To become my full self instead of the scared, shadow version of myself. Another thing someone once told me was that we must get sick so that we can get better and even stronger. Perhaps my health is coming back.

Kicked Out of the Feminist Club?

2009-12-16T23:29:00.000-08:00

For some reason tonight I decided to search on the internet for the cover of the Belgium Beer Festival from 2006. I was curious if the image was circulating around somewhere and if there was anything written about it. I found this article which made think again about the image of the devil girl.

When I was first asked to model naked for the image I was concerned that it was going to be something trashy and porn like. I asked to see what the pose would look like before agree to it. Upon seeing a drawing of the pose I agreed to become the first living "devil girl." I felt the pose seemed tasteful because you don't really see anything. There was something classic about it, similar to the poses I did at Harvard for a drawing class. Naked bodies should not always be read as sexy.

For a few weeks the guides could be found at some bars in the Boston area. I wondered how the women at my internship would react to seeing the cover or my feminist professors. I assumed second wave feminist would not approve, but at the same time I felt there was nothing wrong with the image. Until today I had never heard anything negative in regarding the image. The people I talked to at the festival seemed to like the image and thought it gave beer a classier look. Even my parents were super supportive, maybe even too supportive. My mom brought a copy of the guide into work to show her co-workers.

One women wrote the following:

The ‘model’ (I guess she didn’t want her name mentioned on BeerAdvocate.com) was photographed against a red background, but a “Devil Girl?” — she didn’t exactly have a tail or horns. I’m sure the ‘model’ is a nice person and that she and the beer fest organizers thought they were being tasteful in using her image on their guide. “Hey, it’s Belgian! Europeans are cool with nudity.” But how is that different from St. Pauli Girl beer bringing its annual Playmate — oh, sorry, spokesmodel — to beer fests? You would think that an organization that is all about distancing itself from the coarse ways of major breweries might at least be ironic in putting a nude model on its beer fest guide, to show how the craft beer drinker is more intelligent than the Bud Lite drinker. Like, they might have created a guide with a nude Devil Girl on the front cover and a nude Devil Guy on the back cover. That would’ve made me laugh and say, “These guys get it! They understand that their audience isn’t just backward-baseball-cap-wearing guys who want to guzzle flavorless beer.”

There were a lot of women at the beer fest — I’m guessing around 40 percent. I’m sure a lot of them were unfazed by the guide cover. But I’m sure a lot of them, like me, said, “What the hell? Is this some kind of lame beer-guy thing? What am I doing here?”

It makes me sad to think of my image as being a part of a collection of images I do not like. I think Coors ads can be offensive and they show women as objects just looking to please. I am familiar with the St. Pauli Girl on the label, but not their spokes person, however I image she is wearing fetishied clothes of some sort. To this women I was an object put out to attract men and alienate the women. If this is true, then I participated in something that I try to fight. I'm sorry that she felt this image was insulting to the women of the festival, but at the same time I still stand behind my decision to pose for it. The pose to me seems sculpture like removed from the seductive gaze of other beer models. I do not think posing for this image makes me any less of a feminist. I do not think it belongs group among images of women with altered bodies in more suggestive poses. Their images are meant to arouse while mine is about the beauty of the human body.

One of the creators wrote the follow in response:

Thanks for the feedback, Lauren. Our intention was honest: use an icon that many know, as well as capitalize on the “nude” and “devil” theme that permiates Belgian style beer labels and marketing in Belgium, and applying it to our guide but with a modern twist. No harm, no fowl, and definitely no tip of the hat to warm fuzzy piss beer. See you at Extreme, where we just might put an extremely huge cock on our next guide cover

I don't think an "extremely huge cock" would make the blogger happy although maybe it would be an ironic enough twist for her to smile. Anyway, judge the image for your self:

Lilya 4-Ever

2009-12-15T22:25:00.000-08:00

Tonight I watched Lilya 4-Ever knowing it would be something interesting to write about for my film blog. I am slightly overwhelmed with all the ideas floating around my head in regards to that film. A paper would do the film more justice than a simple blog entry. I first came across this film at random when I was in high school. There was a movie theater on 13th street in New York I used to like to go to. I would show up see what was playing and buy a ticket. One afternoon I did this with two friends. We all left the theater somewhat upset and confused. We were not confused about the plot, but more at our own reactions. Happy endings normally do not involve suicide.

Lilya 4-Ever sparked my interest/fear of sex slavery. I've caught myself thinking of how happy I am not to live in Eastern Europe, only to be reminded that my family originated there. America isn't so pure either when it comes to human trafficking. Since watching this film I've become interesting in learning more about the topic. When I first moved to LA I thought about becoming involved with an organization I had read about in a magazine which helps women who have been trafficked. I decided not to because they took a very hard stance against prostitution and pornography. One thing that makes Lilya 4-Ever so interesting is that it shows multiple aspects of prostitution. Although the film never shows a pro-prostitution stand point there is a clear distinction between when Lilya chooses to have sex for money and when she is forced. One might argue that her circumstance forced her into prostitution and therefore it was not a choice although that idea can be explored another time.

Re-watching this movie post film school, post being exposed to feminist theory and the debates about sex workers I had a difference experience. The film was not an emotional experience in the same way it once way. This viewing it became more of a text to explore and analyze. Different themes stood out to me. There is something always slightly exciting about revisiting a text. It still can entertain, but it becomes richer and full of hidden meaning.

A Car Crash

2009-12-14T23:49:00.000-08:00

I've been going through my stuff and doing a sort of spring cleaning except it's winter. The last time I felt compelled to do so I thought I was moving. This time it's also about moving, but moving in the sense of moving forward in my life. As I organized papers and such I found many things regarding my car accident. One was a diagram of all the dents on my car. Seeing this I started to imagine a collage with fragments of the whole ordeal. Today more than ever I've been itching to start to create again. To get past the idea that it might not be good and just do something. Perhaps this has something to do with working in an art museum and having art surround me. I haven't felt like this in a long time, maybe not since high school. I want to start to write again too. I have this desire to write a bunch of short stories. Sometimes I think I haven't experienced that much and other times I think of how lucky I am to have done/ seen all the things I have.

Dear Post Office

2009-12-11T07:59:00.000-08:00

Dear Post Office,

Its been years since my boxes of books have arrived and yet I still get upset when I remember the state my boxes came in. One box was banged up and taped up, but yet seems fairly intact, the other box is an entirely different story. My other box was tapped up to be half the size it should have been. Missing from my box was at least two books I got as gifts with notes written in that. These cannot be replaced. Another book among the ones lost was a book I bought in high school, but had never read. I'm sure there are more that are lost, floating around people bills and magazines. Where my books should have been there was plastic. In addition to the note there was a knife and two tapes in Chinese. When I brought these items to my local post office to find out why they were in my box, I was asked if anyone was out to get me. What an awful thing to think about. I answered no, but in truth one never knows if there is someone holding a vengeance.

Last night while placing my newly bought art books on my bookshelf I wonder if when the day comes to leave if you will be taking claim to these. I hope you would not rob me again of things I hold dear.

Elisa

Falling In The Rain

2009-12-10T23:30:00.001-08:00

Tonight I walked about a mile in the pouring rain by myself. This is a mixture of two things I don't normally like, walking alone at night and rain. Night makes me feel vulnerable as if anyone could attack me at any moment. Rain I find just to be unpleasant. Tonight somehow was different. I felt at peace walking among the lonely wet streets. With each step I retreated into my head to some land that only exists there. Wearing a coat that I wore through out falls in college I couldn't help but feel somewhat back in time and back to a city where fall and winter meant something more than a few degree shifts. I started to remember back father to my childhood bedroom in the winter and how cold it used to be, how my mother tonight on the phone dare to mention the coldness, and how years of complaining about the cold never made them do anything. It's almost like they thought I was lying all these years about freezing in my bedroom while the rest of the house had heat. I always associated that with them not fully loving me because after all even the bathroom was more heated than my room. It's silly to think of that now, but I can't help but think that after years of freezing I didn't want to be cold anymore so I moved to California. It's even more silly because it's hard to fully get warm in the poorly insulated apartments here.

Anyway I fell tonight flat on the sidewalk. I paused for a moment there out of display for the cars driving by. It seems some what fitting to fall almost face down on the wet sidewalk. I wasn't too upset about it. I simply woke from my day dreams (night dreams?) and got up and kept walking home. After the whole event I thought about my dream from last night. Dreaming of being in a city I've only been to once before. My friend Sassy was there visiting with me. In real life we've both been there and stayed at the same hostel, but at different times. While there I convinced him to walk towards Lovejoy with out telling him why I wanted to head there. No one else knew I was in this city. I ended up waking up because I realized it was Wednesday and that I had to work so that I couldn't be in this city. Lately I've been able to control my dreams towards the end of them. I wish I had more control about who was in them, but I guess that's only a matter of time.

It's sort of funny that I've gain some sort of control of my subconscious while I've let my conscious life go where it pleases. I've given up tight control and just accepted I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing now. Like walking in the rain at night, I'm no longer so afraid of what might be out there.

Transition

2009-12-07T21:54:00.000-08:00

This fall has felt like a struggle in some ways. Now that it's almost winter I feel slowly that I'm coming into my own. September started with the need to leave and ended with a reason to stay. Despite this reason to stay, an interesting opportunity I felt increasingly restless, irritated, or on edge. I'm not sure if I'm trying to prove myself to others or simple find pride with in myself. I think I've always looked to others to validate myself, to tell me I'm pretty, smart, talented, or capable. I've never truly believed it myself. For a while I thought if I said it out loud enough it would be true. In someways I think I was just trying to build a myth.

I've started two other blogs, one a feminist film blog and the other an art blog. I told myself I would write one entry a week for each. My film blog has been sitting untouched for months. I've placed too much pressure on myself for it to be good that I've been avoiding writing on it. I've started to feel the same way with my art blog. Both blogs I see as important exercises if I want to become knowledgeable and articulate in regards to film and art. I've been dreaming about teaching again. About coming up with my own class topics, engaging minds. I'm in a good place right now, but I think I should also be looking ahead.

I feel happier than I have in months. In some ways more productive too. I feel curious about life again. For so many months I lost my identity in away. I became a shadow of my former self. Traveling seemed like the only time I was happy and I think I was happy because I was alone. I was alone and I felt free to be this hidden self. I think part of my wanting to leave LA so badly was to have the feeling I get when traveling. I wanted to start over and feel new. I'm not upset that I'm still here. It still amazes me that I'm here, but for now I'm pretty content with being here.

I Think I Would Like to Sleep Now

2009-11-23T12:50:00.000-08:00

The sun and I have been battling in the mornings. I blamed the sun for waking me up at 6:30 when I could be sleep till at least 8. I wore an eye mask one night took a sleeping pill and still woke up at the same time. It's not the sun, but my own body that's betraying me. No matter how desperate my body craves sleep during the day in the mornings it wants to be up. The one advantage to waking up before my alarm is that work days seem like leisure days in that I linger in bed or an hour or two before I get up make breakfast and throw on some clothes. Everyday has been a work day, at least these past seven. Today on the eight day I thought I would feel some sort of release, but my body thought otherwise. Like clockwork I was up at 6:30 greeting the day.

My mind is spinning from all the things I should do, all the things I want to do with my time off. I've let my apartment become a disaster zone while I filled my head with knowledge and greeted people with warm smiles. I yearn to know, to do more, to stay active, to be a human. There is a laundry list of project I have to work on, of things that excite. Despite all of this I want sleep. I would like one night of good sleep.

I've never been good at balance. I either have to motivate myself to be active or remind myself it's ok to rest. I would like to nap and wake up refreshed before heading down to a lecture tonight. Maybe there is too much going on in my head to really sleep. Even my dreams seem to be puzzle like pieces.

Thanks For the Embarrassment

2009-11-18T00:21:00.000-08:00

Over the summer I went on an art tour with an educator at MOCA with a friend. On this tour the group stops at different pieces and discusses their thoughts regarding the art on its own and the art in regards to other pieces. Through the discussion the art becomes more accessible. One of the pieces the group stopped in front of was Kickback By Robert Rauschenberg:

My friend told the group that I probably saw the piece as having a penis. In that moment I become uncomfortable being outed for seeing sexuality in everything even though I had not said a word about the piece. After all earlier when I had a private tour I had said a piece looked phallic. I though the educator must think I'm some sort of penis crazed pervert. I forgot her exact response, but I don't think she validated his penis theory or at least said "maybe, but what else is going on" which takes away from the tie be a valid symbol of a male sexual organ. Today I received that validation.

On a art tour given to the staff at MOCA, we looked at some combines of Rauschenberg. The educator speaking today made me interested in his work in away I never was before. She explained that he wanted to remove personal taste from art while keeping a personal identity in it which he does by using objects that reference his life. When we stopped at Kickback the first thing she pointed out what the male genitalia protruding from the pants. I guess my friend and I aren't stuck in the phallic stage after all.

We're a Family Now

2009-11-10T14:32:00.000-08:00

The S clan of people has been changing. My uncle a bachelor until 50 now has a wife and two daughters. Family is strange in that you don't get to pick them and yet your supposed to love them. Maybe it's the sharing of genes that helps make you feel something towards them. In Boston I met my 8 year old cousin for the first time. She moved here from Uganda in September. Her mother moved here the year before with my Uncle and their daughter, Flo. Looking in her face I could see something familiar. Flo's older sister, M, is a complete stranger which now I've welcomed. I found myself alone with M a lot while staying at my Uncle's. I didn't know what to say to her. She liked the Barbie I gave her. She likes girlie things and yet she has a masculine look. She seems adjusted to life in America so far. In fact she seems more adjusted to this new life than my uncle. He seems to forget that he has children now that can't walk as far as he and who are not used to the cold. He is slowly learning what it means to be a dad. With Flo he can slowly learn, but M is older and needs different things like help with her home work.

M and I played with my camera on my first night:

of m

taken by m

On a different night I showed her how to take photos with my phone. She took some photos of my mom and I before calling 911. The operator called back from some 508 number and I had to explain that everyone was fine. Days later she found my disposable camera and tried to take photos with that. Maybe she will become the photographer of the family.

Welcome to Los Angeles International Airport

2009-11-04T23:52:00.000-08:00

People are gathered at the airport bar drinking their delays away. The lights flicker on and off. Then the performance starts. The man on the mic "check one two, one two check check check" He does this for five minutes. Following this act a man is kicked off a plane. "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!" he screams. Everyone at the bar starts to starts to look around. He walks around the bar area in anger. A voice says their going to tase him. I get up from my table to walk over to where the man was to see. I see the man far away, but I missed the moment where the security went over to him. They have him now, they are walking him some where. People are debating if he is drunk or crazy. I go back to my table finish my beer. I continue my conversation with some guys a few tables over laughing about being stuck in the airport. The bar closes. I walk over to the gate and find an outlet. I plug in my computer and being to write. I'm tired and it's cold. Rumor has it it's going to snow in Boston. I'm pretty sure I haven't seen snow in two years. I like snow in the snow globe kind of way. I like to view it from behind glass and with a hot drink in hand except the night of the first snow. That night is always magical as you can walk in the middle of a normally busy street.

November 2nd 2007

2009-11-02T21:56:00.000-08:00

I looked around my room, grabbed some bags, and walk down the narrow steep stairs for the the last time. With the last of my stuff now in my car I drove to the storage unit. Most of what I owned was already in there from the day before. My LA life packed up in a small dingy space. I added a few more things and locked the space and drove away into the Valley to work. We had a goodbye lunch at the same place we had my semi-goodbye lunch when I stopped being an intern and started to work there freelance. I learned my lesson from the last time and only had one margarita. The clock turned 5:30, so I left, walking out for what I assumed would be the last time. I drove across town to my cousins. R came and we ate pizza laughing until we noticed it was getting late. With quick goodbyes I was off to the airport. While running through the terminal a man texted me about how to get through faster and goodbye. He said he had a feeling I wasn't coming back. The plane took off as All My Love played, just as the part as the music slightly changes. At the time it seemed like a fitting song to depart on, leaving to the unknown. Leaving on a one way ticket.

I arrived at 6 am to a cold Northeast Morning. Cold, rain, wetness. I remember spending hours in my brothers room looking out at the window of the trees almost bare but still clinging on to a few red and yellow leaves. I applied for jobs in the morning, watched TV in the afternoon and at night would try to see friends. I was bored for the most part. Every day I wondered if I should stay or go back to LA. I knew I would have to return at some point to collect my things and my car. I knew I would step out and see the sun and it would make it hard to leave. While in Boston my friend's roommate said to me "You can always go home."

Right before Thanksgiving I received an e-mail:

hi elisa

give my office a call on monday - speak to a and set up a meeting for next week.... nice letter - well written and thanks.

I called on Monday, set up an interview and starting to make plans to go back to LA. Just like that I had some sort of direction.

Greetings From Australia

2009-11-01T19:51:00.000-08:00

My good friend is in Australia WOOFing and traveling. He is a man who never sits still. He is always trying to live life to the fullest. When work ended because the season was over for the show he worked on he decided to take an adventure. I admire how he will travel alone for weeks at a time. The longest I've gone was the train ride. I have never experienced staying in a new city completely alone. I'll admit I'm somewhat scared. I fear being drunk alone in a place I don't know and ended up somewhere I don't want to be. Maybe it's all the crime television I've watched over the years or the news. It's a fear I know I'll get over because my desire to travel is growing stronger than the fear.

I "saw" my friend yesterday as he video chatted me. I waved to his new European friends as they sat at a hostel while I cooked lunch. It was nice to see him so happy and excited. He even told me about seeing a photo of a friend of mine in a store in Sydney with out making his disgusted face or angry tone that he usually takes when ever the friend's name is mentioned. Today he sent me this photo:

He also sent me this photo:

To show me about life on the farm. He comes back in 3 weeks. I can't wait to hear all the stories. Fingers crossed he holds a koala and fucks an Australian.

Halloween Thoughts

2009-10-31T16:31:00.000-07:00

It's funny on halloween we can be anything we want. We can be anything, but ourselves. A look back at my costumes from the past few years:

Cat Waitress - Freshman Year

(Tray not shown)

Dead Girl - Sophomore Year

Dominatrix Maid - Jr year

(boyfriend on leash not shown)

Druken 50's Housewife - Sr year

(I drank straight from the bottle that night)

Natasha - First Halloween in LA

(My Russian Spy alter ego)

Bjork - Second LA Halloween

In honor of this day I got a manicure for the first time in years. Dark purple like a cool color shadow.

My costume this year....?

Creative?

2009-10-21T22:28:00.000-07:00

I'm full of half ideas and no ideas. To sit and think up creative ideas all day, was my dream job. It was what I always thought I would be good at. No, I wouldn't just be good I would be great. Well, that what I thought at least. Lately my mind has gone blank. It's permanently asleep. Finally I have a job where I can use my brain and it's letting me down. Today we looked at the design of our newsletter and my boss asked us what we could do to improve it. I wasn't sure. Slowly I had some suggestions, but it felt forced. Maybe I don't know good design after all. For years I've been telling myself I was creative, but now I'm not so sure. I might be too tired to be creative. My mind just rests on ideas instead of striving to think outside of the box. I'm not sure if I should surrender to these feelings and accept myself as being a non-creative or fight them and force myself to write, draw, take photos, whatever. For now I think I'm treading in the middle.

I've completely let my self become directionless. I told life to take me where it wants. I'm throwing different things at myself to see what sticks. Something will stick eventually. In the meantime I am trying to take advantage of everything I can. Tuesday with out work can mean going to LACMA for free or having a picnic with a good friend. Having an internship means learning new skills and meeting new people with similar interests. Sometimes I still wish I knew what I should be doing and that I had a goal in mind. Sometimes I think that's not who I am. I can create short term goals, but really in the end I want to do everything. I guess in someways I'm a child who refuses to grow up. I still want life to be on my terms. I want life to be fluid, moving, and non-restrictive. It's been an interesting journey so far.

Texts From An Ex

2009-10-14T23:26:00.000-07:00

Beep..........

The Past: And its hard to be a human being. Harder as anything else. & im lonesome when ur around, and im never lonesome when im by myself. and i miss u when your around......

(he likes to text me lyrics before he tells me about some girl in his life. he never once asks me if if i'm seeing anyone.)

Me: So what girl news do you want to tell me today?

The Past: Lol my hot dirty jewish gf reminds me of u in werid ways. Well other than being hot dirty and jewish lol. She has this werid role as protector of her father. Her mom is mean to him and she feels like she needs to stand up 4 him.

(gross)

Texts from a few weeks before:

Me: Good I ran into so many friends at a bar last night we danced. O is in la now.

The Past: Awesome! I bagged my mexican girlfriend S and two days later starting seeing my jewish coworker R lol.

Me: You are sort of a serial dater.

(he called me his girlfriend way before I was ready to. when i went back to school that fall i secretly wished he would move to SF so that we would break up. i wasn't ready to be his gf )

The Past: Lol seriously! After 2 nights together R is telling me she's never felt this way about anyone hahahha

(this is probably his dream. he is a bit of a ego-maniac)

Me: You guys sound perfect.

(he is a bit crazy too.)

The Past: Lol truthfully she is hot slender and neurotic sound like anyone u know lol?

These texts remind me of why I would never date him again. I'm not sure why he feels the need to tell me about his love life and give me half compliments. I'm happy for him that he is dating all these women, and happy not to be one of them. He is someone who always needs to be with someone. I am not one of those people. I find myself to be a better person when I'm alone, thinking for myself. Besides I think I make an awful girlfriend.

M's Page

2009-10-12T22:00:00.000-07:00

This is a man who had the first blog I've ever read except none of us knew the word blog then. He wrote almost daily about our lives giving each friend a code name relating to us. My was Athena, the goddess of warfare and wisdom. Life was more exciting in word form. I would read his blog often to see what he said about hanging out in some one's backyard, or going to the movies. He seemed to capture the shift in friendships and new relationships that can happen drastically at the age of 15. With in a year he stopped writing and M's page became something swallowed up by the internet.

This is a man who through out high school I constantly wanted him to wear my dresses. For the recorded he didn't except for this one shoot. We made this awful movie about a couple who goes to prom together only to find out at an inn in Canada that they are brother and sister. At first it was a simple concept I played the girl and he the boy. After watching the footage we realized we needed to make it longer and more exciting. We came up with the idea that we would do some of the scene over multiple times with different people playing the parts. M and I switched roles and I played the guy and he the girl. Him playing the girl meant he had to wear my dress. It was an exciting day for me. Besides seeing him in the dress it was exciting and interesting to take on a guys role. To be this aggressor harassing my prom date in the "limo" aka db car, instead of being a victim. "I took you to prom I deserve a little feel," was a line we both used when playing the male part. We ended up going to prom together that year. Neither one touched the other.

6 years after prom

Bloody Candyman

2009-10-11T22:46:00.000-07:00

Growing up I wasn't so much scared of Blood Mary or Candyman (although the commercials really freaked me out) as the idea of a spirit coming out of my mirror and attacking me. This fear goes back to a story I was told in first grade. Yes, first grade at the mere age of 7 a story was told to me that would stick with me for years forever causes me to fear dark bathrooms and avoiding looking at a mirror and a window at the same time. I'm not even sure where the story came from, but I remember the boy who told me it. I remember that if you stood in a bathroom in the dark with the door shut and looked at the widow and a mirror at the same time/ the window reflected into the mirror a spirit of a women would appear. This spirit would ask you where her son was. You would then have to answer California or else risk getting your eyes scratched out. There are more details to this story that I have forgotten. Typing this out makes me realize how pathetic the fear is.

Friday the light in my bathroom blew out just as I was about to leave for work. Sadly I'm too short to reach to light to change with out a ladder. This simple solution has not been available to me as I have been at work or at a conference during the times the office is open. For the past few days I've been living in the dark bathroom. Tonight I caught myself looking at myself in the mirror in the dark bathroom as the moon light filtered in. While doing such a mundane task I realized I was no longer scare; no longer hiding my eyes from my own reflection. It felt nice.

A Photo

2009-10-07T22:52:00.001-07:00

There is something about this photo that I really like. It was taken by a man I hardly know and yet I think he caught a small part of me. Looking at it it seems more like a photograph of my inner self or layer of myself than what I feel I normally present to the world. I look silent and introverted. Even my hands look relaxed.

A Work In Progress

2009-10-06T08:42:00.000-07:00

About two years ago I wrote the following poem. It was written as an apology to my friends. In the time that has passed, I'm don't think I've done what I had plan to do. I've been doing a lot of thinking about the idea of friends as burdens. About how much I am willing to take on another person's problems when I want to deal with something with in my own life. I am also realizing how much I've wanted to unpack mine on to others and how much I already have. Something clicked when I was in Portland and I saw I was someone I didn't want to be. I had become the person you know who always has something to complain about, where nothing is just right. It became more apparent in the following weeks meeting up with old friends, hearing the negative statements coming out of my mouth. It seems appropriate to revisit old work, to see a statement that came out of a very different time, but still holds truth.

An apology to those who know me:

No longer will I speak….

I will learn to be the silent piece of artwork that you admire for it’s intricate woven secretes

--no longer to be read as a map, a guide for a road to nowhere -

No longer will my world hold me as a sun god ---

--my actions will not play to childlike simplicity…

…. To a weakness that weakens me more than you’ll ever know

My poisonous tongue will be coated in order to protect from the burden that the creatures bring…

………….. of when I let them crawl out from the heavy bags

-and on to your lap-

It's Fall (sort of)

2009-10-04T12:41:00.000-07:00

Yey this weekend has felt like fall! I like fall. As much as I hate being cold I love the feeling of it being slightly chilly where you bundle up just a bit as you walk down the street. I love warm fall drinks and the feeling of your body slowly warming up as the liquid goes down. I like the way the leaves look when they change although sadly that aspect of fall I don't get to see. For years I think I took it for granted that after summer would come fall then winter and then spring, each season with it's own rituals. Southern California has seasons, but they are pretty slight changes. I think the lack of true changes blurs time in my mind where I think it's summer most of the year. Sometimes I forget how many months has passed; how long it's been since I've seen people or done certain things. Time is slipping by me.

Changes

2009-10-01T23:11:00.000-07:00

I wouldn't say I'm detached from everything, but there is something about me that's more reserved and internal. I feel softer and passive, but at the same time I find myself passionate about the work I do (the little work I have) so much that I find I want to work on it longer than the amount of hours that I probably should. Maybe it's an ego thing, wanting to do well, but if I could I would get totally lost in the research I'm doing and let it consume me.

Perhaps I'm already consumed, by the day to day life things. Much energy has been spent trying to organize my life that my apartment has become disorganized in parts, and I'm tired, so tired. I went to a women who likes to analyze my dreams. To her they all link back to my family. How tragic to think that every night I'm working out my family's problems over and over again for years. Isn't a cigar sometimes just a cigar? I'm not sure I want to dream tonight.

I liked to think I'm an caterpillar its cocoon. That I'm going through some metamorphosis and in order to grow and change I must pull back. Sometimes to make myself feel better I tell myself the world isn't ready for me meaning that I'm bound to do something great when the timing is right. That when I figure out what I'm supposed to do that I'll be some forced that can't be stopped. The truth is I don't think I'm ready for this world or that I wasn't ready. I still feel so child like.

Happy Anniversary!

2009-09-27T08:48:00.000-07:00

I moved into my apartment one year ago today. This is the longest I've lived anywhere in LA. In the course of the year I've rearrange my apartment at least 5 times. No art has been put up on my walls. My fridge however, has gifts from friends and smiling faces on it. This is the first place I lived in Los Angeles that ever really felt like home. I feel calm here, something I never felt in the house I grew up in.

It's still surprising to me that I'm going to be here for at least a few more months. When I moved in I told myself if things didn't change with in a year I would be out of LA. This statement is vague. Life constantly changes as we grow. I know I meant a job and this over all sense of happiness. In a lot of ways the two link in my brain as if having a job means you are a productive member of society or an adult. Instead of a job I have an internship. This internship so far has been more interesting and rewarding than the work I was doing for money for the past 5 months. I'm glad I'm getting to test out something new and letting life take me where it wants. I'm stressed out about money (shocker). Maybe now is a good time to read more, to watch my netflix I've been ignoring, or to work on some personal projects.

Survey Map of Paradise Lost

2009-09-23T20:43:00.000-07:00

Sex and violence together in movies can turn me on or completely disturb me and turn my stomach. It's the violence that's consented that I'm fine with. Survey Map of Paradise Lost is probably one of the most twisted films I've seen in a long time. Half of the scene fall in this blurry line of is the women being tortured or does she enjoy it? It's the blurriness that made me, as a viewer, uncomfortable because it was unclear what I was witnessing. Some scene it is very clear that what is being shown is sexual abuse and torment. I watched curious where the film could go and very uncomfortable. The end is what I can't get out of my mind.

In the end the man who through out the film you see sexually torturing confesses on vhs. On the tape he says that he found out that he had HIV and wanted to die. He was not brave enough to do so himself so he introduced these two women and tortured them separately over time. He does so to the point that they will become so angry that he will kill him which has happen by the time the viewer and character watch the tape. With his statement the film changes. It's not about a man getting a perverse pleasure from torture, but about hurting them so that they will do what he is too scared to do on his own. I can't help, but wonder of how many people I know have done something similar. Instead of ending things, or making changes they attack others or create situations where another person will get fed up, angry, or upset and they then do the action that the first person couldn't.

I can think of a slightly similar situation. Someone once told me I stressed them out and therefore we couldn't be together. That was probably the worst thing they could have said to me at that time. For a year or so I thought I was this awful burden for people (ok maybe I still feel this way sometimes). I really thought he ended things with me because I got needy when my grandfather died. When we started to become friends again he told me the reason he ended it was that he realized how much he cared about me and that freaked him out. Instead of dealing with those feelings he ended things and we stopped talking.

Rosh Hashanah

2009-09-20T20:42:00.000-07:00

In strange way I've always felt lucky two have two near years. I get two times in the year to look back at the past year and figure out how I want to do better. Rosh Hashanah, the religious one, is also the more spiritual one. It's been years since I've been home for it. I have mixed feelings when I think of that. I miss eating a big meal with my family and sharing the holiday with them, but I don't really miss being at temple except for the social aspect of it of seeing friends and sometimes people who I hadn't seen in a long time. Since I've been celebrating the holiday away from the family I've developed my own little traditions. I take the two days and cut myself off from the world and try to think about my life and where I am. This cutting off doesn't mean people as in I wont see them, but I remove myself from using my computer, television, and for the most part phone. I spend most of my day reading or sleeping. This Rosh Hashanah seemed particularly interesting as this up coming week is full of new beginnings.

I found this year that I enjoyed spending time alone, reading and cooking different meals. There was something nice not being so connected to the world at all moments. I found comfort being alone not pushing my problems on to other or having them push theirs on to me. I went to temple for the first time in a long time. Temple has many mixed emotions from me as it was something almost political in my family. When I was there I was reminded of all the rituals of preying. There is something beautiful about seeing it although I also can't help, but feeling like my preying is just me going through the motions. I find it boring, but I enjoy the almost philosophical/ spiritual side of Judaism. The side that talks about ideas and how Rosh Hashanah is the return to the self. I like that, return to self which in a lot of ways I feel my past two days have been.

While at services they handed out a packet for supplemental reading. This one part I thought was interesting and seemed pretty close to how I've been feeling:

"A toddler things that she cannot walk, but she can. A child fears he will never swim, but he will. Each of us is aware of our abilities and potential, and we all experience fear, doubt, and hesitation. Many of our limitations in life are more perceived than real. Often, it is only phantoms that are holding us back. "

Rereading is it sounds sort of like a self help book except there was a god part that I cut out. For whatever reasons I feel uncomfortable with this idea that god is a part of my self loathing and fears and then my conquering of said feelings have to do with god. To go back to this idea of returning to the self, I find it reassuring in a way, that it's not just me who has lost myself, but that maybe we all do in varying degrees. Rosh Hashanah is this time were we get a clean slate to start anew. We eat apples dipped in honey for a sweet new year. We throw bread in a moving body of water to cleanse ourselves of sins (symbolically). So here is to a new start, to a new me. Perhaps elisa is lost will one day become elisa is found.

Rides of the Bike and Mind

2009-09-16T22:20:00.000-07:00

Tonight I rode my bike into Echo Park to meet some friends for dinner. This isn't such a big deal except I've been too scared to ride my bike alone for some time now after I was cat called and a jeep stopped next to me one night and offered me a ride. I think it was the drunk bike ride back to the hostel in Portland that's made me feel like I can ride alone and I shouldn't be so scared. A positive from a negative. I really want to ride my bike more. I hate being in my car so much. There are pieces of Portland I wish could be everywhere, well just certain bits of the mind set. Anyway I've been trying to make certain changes in my life. I'm trying to move slightly out of my comfort zone in order to grow.

I've been uncomfortable every since I've come back, both by choice and by circumstance. I feel some what off and too self aware. I want to retreat into myself, to deal with only myself. I learned some fact about my life last week that I can't seem to get over. My life has become some fantasy. It's my own choices that put me there. I fear I've become lazy. That I expected too much from the world and am shutting down. I fear I've become my father, who is a man capable of so much more than what he does on multiple levels. With out my mother and her mother we would both starve.

I Called Her

2009-09-16T11:54:00.001-07:00

I called her to tell her the news. To tell her of my journey. Click.

We talked again days later. She said I sounded happy and excited on the phone the previous time. More so than she'd ever heard before from me. Based on my enthusiasm and passion (for once) that I had to do it.

E-mail today: I listened to "This American Life" in my car the other day. There was something about frienemies and I remembered how we once were "fighting," and yet you still drove me to school each day and we would sort of talk. I'm glad we are friends minus the enemies.

Postcard to be mailed: one embarrassing story that will make the postman blush, as promised.