So much to talk about, but I’ll give everyone the shortest version possible:

My condo in Florida, which has been on the market since April of last year, finally closed. I have a contract on a house in Charlotte, NC that is my white picket fence dream home. And while some may scoff at a mere 2000 sq ft single family home on .38 acres -living in a concrete jungle my entire life, I’m enamored. I’ll post pictures, soon.

My husband became extremely ill last week from some horrid stomach flu. In the midst of the attack on his body, he gurgled “Rachel, I think I’m dying”. There’s no other feeling in the world than what I felt at that moment because rarely does my husband call me Rachel – he calls me “honey” even when we argue. But there was something about “Rachel” at that moment – I became a physical person instead of an affection. I became something he needed to physically hold on to – something tangible – instead of a feeling.

My ear hurts – badly. It started out earlier this week with my inner-ear feeling cloudy and I heard everything with an echo. It went away for 2 days then came back. Today, it feels like there are five knives stabbing my inner-ear. Thank goodness for that bottle of Vicodin I keep around. Doctor’s visit is in store for tomorrow. I’ve never had an ear infection in my adult life, but had “swimmer’s ear” as a child. I’ve been taking a lot of baths lately, so this may be the reason. I’m kind-of obsessive about showers and baths and have been known to take four a day for no good reason.

I feel like my whole household has been sick lately. I blame it on this crap-tastic condo I live in. It’s evil, I say.

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Spring is here again, I think

And it was time to update the look of my blog. I get bored easily so I will use any excuse to change something.

Soprano’s are moving along – slowwwllyy. Before it’s all over, everyone in the NY family will be dead, apparently. I guess that’s what happens when you eat off of Phil’s plate. Snicker.

Mannequin Envy has released their first print anthology, TRIM, – a compilation of their best work published between 2003 – 2006. In it, you’ll find my poem Confessional. You’ll also find poetry by Michaela A. Gabriel and Arlene Ang. You can download a free copy but I encourage everyone to purchase the paper back version.

Updating the blog also encouraged me to finally link directly to the poems that I have had published online instead of taking visitors to the journal’s index page. As I was doing this, I noticed that the poem I had published in Clean Sheets in early 2005 had not been archived by them. I searched and searched to no avail so I sent the editor an email asking him to look into it for me. I hope they find it.

Still waiting to hear back from The Hat. I sent them an inquiry almost a month ago regarding my submission and they haven’t responded to that, either. *sigh*.

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blah

I’m writing this blog feeling almost like death – I know what my imagined death feels like. I ate Icelandic Charr last night – a type of fish, while having dinner with my husband, his father and brother at Bonefish Grill. I’m a fish eater. Living in Florida for almost my entire life and being Italian, fish is something I eat often. But never, have I had an experience like this. Five minutes after getting up from the table, I thought my stomach was eating itself. I spent the entire night either in the restroom or sweating as if I had a fever, in my bed. I called Bonefish to inform them of my experience and, of course, they immediately became defensive. I simply wanted them to be aware that there might be some problem with their fish.

Lina is going to see P. Buckley Moss this afternoon with my mother-in-law, to get a book signed and have some pictures taken with her. Lina drew her a picture. P. Buckley’s art isn’t my style, though she has a few pieces that I like. It will be a great experience for Lina – Lina’s artwork has already been in one art show at her school and she is on the after-school newspaper committee as an illustrator. She’s six! I really hope this keeps up, I do as much as possible to encourage her to create art.

Well, that’s all for today. I’m going to work up the nerve to possibly eat some soup and rest, rest, rest.

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So, I’ve changed my mind, I feel compelled to continue talking about the tragedy at V. Tech on this blog, because if we don’t keep talking, there won’t be a solution. That’s not to say I have the solution, because I don’t.

What I think I do know is this: Cho’s writing (I read the two plays) is disturbing not because of the subject matter, but because of the way in which he wrote about the subject matter. There have long been scripts written about disturbing, and for a lot of people, unviewable subject matters – if you don’t believe me, check out Gummo or Happiness.

What his writing does suggest is that his capacity to express himself emotionally was infantile. Here is someone who is a Senior at Virginia Tech. I’m going out on a limb and I’m going to say that one can’t be a dummy to get that far at that kind of school. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that this kid was smart yet he lacked the basic skills to cope socially and personally.

I think it is extremely important that we recognize the difference between writing about “disturbing” subject matters and the person who is doing the writing.

There is such a fine line that we are walking here with regards to a “patients rights”. These must be revisited. Mentally ill people need other people looking out for them because they CAN NOT do it by themselves.

And I just want to say that when I had my “other” blog, the one that talked about a lot of personal things, there was someone who emailed me a few times, gave me their number and told me to call them anytime to talk. I only know this person via cyber-space. I never did call, but the gesture meant a lot to me.

Yes, a few people tried to befriend this very mentally ill individual. But obviously, that wasn’t enough. Maybe someone needed to try harder. I’m not blaming specific individuals here, I’m blaming our culture. The short-term solution culture. The me, me, me, culture.

And while Giovanni did what she needed to do to protect her class, I hold her to higher standards – why? Because she is a poet, because she prides herself on understanding how those who are being oppressed feel. And yet all she could muster up about Cho was that his writing was intimidating and that she felt he was mean. How can one be a poet and look at someone else with such a surface-level view. I’ve lost all respect for her.

I hope after the news cameras have left that we, as a community, find some alternative to the various problems defining this tragedy – gun control and how we deal with those who are mentally ill- because they need our help.

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If you need an escape

You must play this loudly. I keep playing this song over and over in my car.

No Cars Go – Arcade Fire

We know a place where no planes go
We know a place where no ships go

(Hey!) No cars go
(Hey!) No cars go
Where we know

We know a place no space ships go
We know a place where no subs go

(Hey!) No cars go
(Hey!) No cars go
Where we know

(Mom!)
(Dad!)
(No go!)

(Hey!) Us kids know
(Hey!) No cars go
Where we know

Between the click of the light and the start of the dream [4x]

I don’t want any pushing,
and I don’t want any shoving.
We’re gonna do this in an orderly manner.
Women and children!
Women and children!
Women and children, let’s go!
Old folks, let’s go!
Babies needing cribs, let’s go!

And now, a few words from Kurt Vonnegut from, “A Man Without A Country”:

I wanted all
things to seem to
make some sense,
so we could all be
happy, yes, instead
of tense. And I
made up lies, so
they all fit nice,
and I made this
sad world a
paradise.

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