Wednesday, June 27, 2007

It's one of those nights where I feel like a terrible writer and think nothing is going right in my life. No elaboration, just putting that out into space.

Monday, June 25, 2007

the stars are out tonight

My friend Al and I went to the Out of the Blue tonight to Doug Holder's feature. I read a long prose poem piece I've been working on and Al had a great piece he performed impeccably. We met a cool girl named Lisa whom we drove home, and now I'm home myself in my Fortress of Solitude.

Today = ten hours at Starbucks, one hour of Star Trek, and a couple of hours of minor poetry stardom. 'Twas an all-star day.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

I went to the Lizard Lounge tonight for Adam Stone's feature. He was really good. I like his stage presence -- funny, kinda dorky, but can slide instantly and effortlessly into serious and weighty material.

I've read three times already this week, and gone to five readings. Tonight I was signed up, but the jazz with the bass and the sax and the five minutes of Tom Waits allusions and the poem read about the dizzying spin of a crush made me think too much about things I have been doing such a good job of mentally dodging, and at 11:45 I decided I had to go home and get some sleep.

Which I better do, come to think of it.

Friday, June 22, 2007

Tonight went with Sue Red for the first night out I've had in a while. We drank a little, bitched about boys and men, watched some poetry, ate sweet honey cake, and saw five minutes of jazz.

We talked some about writing. How maybe we could be happy alone forever if our writing were successful. How we sometimes wish we really could marry our art.

But it was good. I left my Fortress of Solitude. I got to stop thinking for a moment, even if the imprint of problems always hung parachuting over my thoughts.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

My stomach is in knots again and I don't know if it's because of what I ate or how I ate it or just because. Methinks it's just because.

Sitting here trying to figure out if I ate too much or too little today. I felt like I was force feeding myself what was it, oatmeal, two boiled eggs, carrots with hummus, a scone. Drank a Frappuccino at work today. Feel both still hungry and still stomach sick. Took some Tums.

At least I've been sleeping better.
Yesterday read on Debbie Priestley's Cambridge TV show, then hung around Central Square for the Cantab. My friend I was supposed to go with got sick and canceled, which led to me eating and drinking alone for the two hours prior to the open mic while sort of writing at Middle East.

I got to the Cantab early this time, no number one slot for me, and talked to Adam Stone and Judy at the bar while I drank my Jack. Adam is the only person I know who is on the no fly list.

The crowd was weird tonight. A lot of first timers. I read my poem about the Atlantic and I don't think anyone liked it very much. I was down already about other things, and that didn't help, so afterward I went outside and bummed a cigarette. I talked to a nice kid from NH named Mark, who is also called The Colonel. I said I felt weird reading here because no one talked to me. He told me not to take it personally, that it just takes that group a while to warm up to new people.

I left before the feature. I had been alone too much, inside my head too much, and all I wanted to do was go home and do my dishes and eat hardboiled eggs.

Monday, June 18, 2007

I had the day off today. I was going to go make an appointment to get a tattoo, but the weather was great and I was alone, so I decided to ride the train downtown and sit and look at the harbor for a while. I gave the ocean a present, or offered something to someone, or tried to make a symbolic gesture letting the Universe know I acknowledged that certain things are out of my hands. Anyone watching just thought I was littering.

I wrote a poem about the Atlantic, then I came home and realized I'd misplaced my car. When I found it (it had strayed behind me at work yesterday) I went alone to Stone Soup and read, and I think I did a pretty good job.

Not bad today. Not bad at all.

Saturday, June 16, 2007

Published Poem

My poem, "Redlight" is up in the June 2007 issue of Word Riot. Please check it out and comment. It would make me happy.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Went with a friend to see Knocked Up last night. It was more of a romantic comedy than I thought it'd be, and maybe it wasn't the right time for me to go kind of high to a romantic comedy. I didn't laugh much, and instead just pictured myself alone for the rest of my life.

I realized I don't know how to be single yet. I've defined myself along with another person for so long, when I take that away, I don't even know what's left.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Sweeping and dusting, I'm cleaning out my (my!) apartment and putting all my old letters in a black lacquer box.

With the distance this past week, finally being away from him, I am seeing things in brighter colors. I'm finding my own path again. I'm an individual.

God, exhaustion is hitting me hard right now. I have so much to write about, but no energy. Before I left I was so stressed out -- I can't remember being in such a state -- and I was sleeping about two hours a night. Then for the five days in Indiana, I was getting about four to five, but that was in the good way of drinking and talking and celebrating and having to get up early to eat an egg breakfast with clusters of family and old friends. Now it's 12:45 am and I'm waiting for my sheets to dry. I knew this would happen, that I would be nodding off waiting for my sheets, but there's just something about fresh, clean sheets that says to me "new beginnings."

Yes, that's what I need, and it's coming and it's about time.

Monday, June 11, 2007

Yes I am different. I am now the person who wore a red dress and toasted and danced with her little brother at his wedding.

Right before I left, I found out he's finally gone. I write this from an empty apartment.

So much more to say, but I must sleep. Not much the past few days.

Thursday, June 7, 2007

Never in twenty-four years have I been so excited to get on a plane. No trace of the old paralyzing fear crept into my neck as I waited, boarded, and waited. Sitting in line for takeoff at Logan, clutching my armrests, screaming inside my head, "Get us in the fucking AIR, man! Get me the fuck OUT of this place!" I planned upon our departure to flick off the city that has thrown me on such a whiplash roller coaster ride for the past five months.

Then we took off, flying over the harbor and the New England sailboats, watching the city skyline with the evening sun emanating golden beams behind it, and Jesus Christ, why didn't anyone tell my how pretty it all was? We flew along the Charles gaining altitude, and I saw Allston and Brighton. I saw where I sit and watch the rowers when I have to think. I saw my neighborhood. I saw the swirling patterns of the crazy gridless streets.

For two hours, I felt my problems shrink to tiny specks, and I saw again, both figuratively and literally this time, the Big Picture.

Then I came down, and the little pictures came back, but I figured hey, I'm not afraid of flying anymore, so in all of this I must be doing a few things right.

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

better version of me

I think what I need is a new Jade Sylvan. Upgrade time. The person I was from March to June is not going to work anymore, just as the person I was from December to March did not work in the spring.

To quote Fiona Apple, "Here it comes, a better version of me."

Tuesday, June 5, 2007

Lord lately sad and lonely, I'm. Upset more than I should be over a boy and a situation over which I have no control. Ex-boyfriend moving out eventually, right? We think, we hope, and the plane and the dog and Indiana. What to do with the apartment? Where to go? Who to be? Space and the city, I am the most neurotic thing in your amorphous walls.

So I do not sleep, either lying awake for hours or waking up a few hours after falling asleep from whiskey. Play guitar in open E. Listen to Bright Eyes and Radiohead. Write two page run-on sentences and call it poetry. Take long, long, staggering walks at two am. Talk to friends, talk to family, say the same things over and over.

Things have to get better soon.