Sunday, March 30, 2008


Sometimes you just have to scream for no reason!


Monday, March 24, 2008

Back working at a bakery/cafe again. First shift today and I didn't hate it. I tend to know right away if I'm going to hate any job. Free food, which hey, is a super big fucking plus. This cuts down on living costs like whoa. You have no idea how much you spend on food and coffee. Yes, Jade knows how to live on 200 dollars a week. Whatchoo want?

I keep putting off getting a "real" job. I wish I knew what I'm doing is the right thing. I guess no one ever does. It would be nice, when I think of it, to walk around and buy iPods and leather jackets and Martinis and fancy shampoos and steaks all the time. I am telling myself this time that I'll get a real job when I'm done with the current novel. I'm tired of being poor, but I'm just not ready for an office, I and I think I know that.

I've always taken care of myself. I'll do what I have to when the time comes.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

The Universe is Short or God Bless Vicodin

Yesterday, when passing on my novel, Backstage at the Caribou, the reader of one of the publishing houses (I forget which, but I think it had a hyphen in it) wrote, "Stories about strippers have been done. Also, has Ms. Sylvan ever actually been a stripper? Most of her competition have been."


This morning, after three hours at the walk-in clinic and a sleepless night due to a tonsil that may as well have been on fire, I am in the pharmacy unbathed in my Indiana sweatshirt with the worst sore throat I've ever had, breaking down in tears (again!) trying the explain to the pharm tech that I spent two hours the previous day (in the police station, no less, but I digress) on the phone with the socialist bureaucracy who said that I actually AM covered before the first of the month. I'm stupidly crying asking how much the penicillin will be without insurance, while (no joke) the well-scrubbed, rosy-cheeked, redheaded 22-year-old in a grey pinstripe business suit with a reality-television smile standing uncomfortably close to me tries to think of something to say either to comfort me or to add levity to the atmosphere. He finally comes up with an interminable shrug and the words, "I'll tell ya, the day when all the medical problems are solved.... that'll be the day." I choose to ignore him completely instead of sawing his scalp off. He still standing there when I go back to sit and wait for my drugs, and when there is an uncomfortable silence, he intones, "Man, it sure is cold in here, huh?"

It writes itself, but how does one write about such cliche reality? Or does one?

Felt like a failure for a couple of hours yesterday but I decided it was more fun to just get angry at others. Fuck feeling sorry for myself. Romantic St. Patrick's Day dinner at Dali (a Spanish restaurant) where our waiter played Lorca in Tom's show on Friday. Not so impeccable at English, he says, "The Universe is short," which we figure out means that the world is small.

I was supposed to start working at The Biscuit today, but my condition has postponed this development. On the upside, I've got vicodin and the day off, which means writing, knitting, and Wes Anderson movies, all feeling much happier than I maybe should.

Sunday, March 16, 2008

No one ever buys me drinks, but last night I was purchased three Grey Goose martinis. I walked home, got lost, had to scale down what to me seemed like a great mountain, but was probably only a small incline between the hospital and Walgreens parking lots. I remembered my New Years Resolution to send more drunk texts, so I stopped halfway home to tell everyone that green light moves faster than red.

Got home safe and sat at my computer. Attacked a page with this:

“Hey,” I say.
“Yo, What’s up?” she says.
“Not too much. How’s school going?”
“Fine, Not bad. You?”
I kinda cough. “Not bad.”
We stay like, kinda frozen I think, for a while, then she’s like, “Well, have a good night,”
and I’m all, “Yeah you too,” and then she ‘s like, leaving before anything at all can like, even happen, so you know, it’s just like, life or women or something.

Totally cracked myself up. Moisturized my new tattoo and went to bed.

Today ate waffles and bacon. Turned off my phone and unraveled an old hat to make something new. While unknotting and knitting I watched Eternal Sunshine for the first time since it came out, and was surprised at how easily I cried. Then I watched Deconstructing Harry and tried not to identify too much with Woody Allen.

Saturday, March 15, 2008

The Hoot

Last night we went to The Hoot at Whitehaus, Brian Ellis's place in JP. This is a great white house with art scattered all over inside and a beautiful performance space in the front living room where on Fridays from 10pm to 4am poets and musicians gather for a laid back, supportive salon.

The acoustic music and hemp clothing brought me back to my best Bloomington self. We walked in as Brian was reading. He did the dog poem I loved so much back in the fall. I remember hearing it for the first time. I think it was that poem that inspired me to work harder at poetry.

Shira was there and read. I've only seen her once before and it was nice to watch her in a laid back, intimate environment reading new off-beat things. Alana sang and read. Later there was some sweet electronic music.

At 2am I got up and performed probably better than I ever have in my life. Derek asked me if I'd been practicing, but I said no, I just made a choice. I just decided to perform better, and I did it.

Now I have to keep it up.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

He says, "You've been sleeping better lately," so to disprove his grasp of me I answer with three near-sleepless nights. Some things don't change.

Our housewarming party appears to have been a success from the pictures. As far as the reality of the section of time and place, who can say? I'm reading The Dancing Wu Li Masters and am satisfied that all my intuitions about the nature of things are backed up by contemporary branches of physics, whatever that means.

All this physics pseudobabble makes me intensely miss my little brother. I will have to visit him in Michigan soon. Perhaps in May. Though of course everyone knows that Ann Arbor is a filthy whore. Since moving to the city, I've really found I savor my chances to get away from it for a few days here and there. Derek and I are going to Connecticut for Easter. It's so nice to be in a real house now and then.

One of my last mornings like this in Allston, I watched the pink sunrise and slithered down makeupless to Herrell's to try to write a novel or something. Looks like I'll probably by picking up the steam wand again, at least a few days a week. God, I'm getting tired of worrying about money.

PS. Speaking of the Northern Migration, look what we got:

Monday, March 10, 2008

Lady says she makes art to keep from going crazy. She says, "Why do you make art?" I say, "Well, to keep from going crazy, I guess, but also because I don't know how to exist without it. Because to live without it for me would be worse than dying. Because to be worth the air that I breathe and the food that I eat and the microbes I kill by moving, I have to make these things to try to tie us together."


I amend everything negative I've said about Bret Easton Ellis. American Psycho is one of the best contemporary books I've read. I finished it and went, "Fuck," to no one.

I didn't know they wrote them like that anymore. Fuck.

Friday, March 7, 2008

I feel 10X better. My mom left me yesterday not in the harried, spazzy state in which she found me, but calm and poised and ready and full of ideas and pastrami.

We ate many fabulous dinners (Oleana. Fuck.) and saw Juno. Not the Best Movie Ever or anything, but I liked it. It gave me a lot to steal for my teenage girl characters in the project I'm working on now.

Mom said she believed in me. That if she didn't think I would eventually be successful she would never encourage me on my current path. She would tell me to get a real job like all the other mothers. She does not want me wasting my time.

I definitely need to lay a little low for a while. I've been saying this for a while, but jesus, Jade, just do so already. I'm secretly such an extrovert it's hard for me to say no when people are doing things, but it's good for me and what I want to do to shut off every once in a while.

I guess I really miss my family. Sometimes I even miss the Midwest, but maybe that itself is a metaphor for my family. I pulled out The Dancing Wu Li Masters, a book my brother gave me a long time ago. I want suddenly to visit him in Michigan. We woke up one morning and our lives had become so different.

I have been posting sparsely because I feel like I have nothing interesting to say.

PS. Monday I got two copies of Spare Change in the mail, and upon perusing them, found that two of my old poems from Europe are published in them. Funny, I don't remember submitting there...

Lastly, all I want to listen to these days is Wilco, Spoon, and Broken Social Scene.

Sunday, March 2, 2008

God. I look so grown-up in this picture.

I have been extremely scattered lately. I've been forgetting so many things. I've found it very hard to focus enough to write much. The other day I left my bank card in an ATM and someone stole it and tried to steal almost 1000 dollars (that I didn't have). I was in tears Friday night on the phone, but I got it sorted out and I should be able to get the money they did steal ($200) back.

I think this is my own mind telling me to slow down. Calm the FUCK DOWN, Jade. Don't sweat so much. Do things in your own time and they will get done. I think I've been doing too much for too many other people. I really need to say no sometimes. I will be happier if I focus on my own writing for a while.

My mom is visiting tomorrow. I haven't seen her since Thanksgiving and I really really miss her. I think it will do my mind good to have her around for a while.