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I am...a New Yorker
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[Previous entry: "Erica Jackson!"]

Monday, September 30, 2002
Making Connections
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Leaving...
Most of the sidebar at home.

Editing...
A proposal for Jamie, which I think will be approved.

Reading...
God On A Harley, loaned to me by a coworker.

Watching...
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer?s Stone, which became available on Saturday. Still no sign of Heavenly Creatures.

Enthralling...
Anne Sebold on Charlie Rose. I need to pick up The Lovely Bones, how many great reviews do I need to hear?

Missing...
That nerdy, James Spaderesque boy I met in San Francisco so many years ago. How I loved it when his spectacles came off. I do make passes at boys who wear glasses.

Fetishizing...
Women's feet, my own included, in a simple, handsome pair of black, leather, knee-length boots. I needed a second pair of shoes for work, as my sandals aren't making it after Columbus Day (really, I'm from California, so the Labor Day thing hasn't sunk in with me).

I never thought of myself as much of a fetishist, but that afternoon in Crocker Plaza (in SF's financial district), I so enjoyed towering over Seamus atop that shoeshine throne, as he took my Doc Martened foot in hand and, eyes twinkling, told me I was beautiful.

So, OK -- I confess black, leather boots, lilting Irish accents and glasses do it for me.

Wearing...
Nothing but a bra, panties and my boots (oh good Christ, think of the Google hits). I can't take them off. I might just sleep in them. Man, they are hot!

I am...finally to the point at which I feel my synapses have begun to fire of their own accord again. I'm not brain dead from working absurdly long hours, nor am I stressed and stretched to my limits trying to make ends meet. I?m far from swimming in dough, but there is enough.

I volunteered to stuff envelopes today, as all the bosses are at a retreat and so the place is quiet as a tomb. Someone said I was stupid for pitching in, but the mailroom helps us all out and I had the time, certainly.

I sat here, stuffing envelopes and noticed a coworker who I discovered last week is also a writer. My mind wandered to our conversation about what we write, about identity an then on to our inspirations.

The two books that made me consider writing as a vocation were, I realized just then, written by Jewish women (well, one was a teen). The books in question, I'm sure I've mentioned many times herein -- The Diary of Anne Frank and Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret.

In going over this conversation in my mind today, something dawned on me that is probably terribly obvious to anyone else. These books are both primarily inner dialogues. One is a journal outright and the other so often takes the form of prayers and internal conversation, that it similarly has the feeling of a conversation with a close confidante.

I've been struggling with the journal thing, particularly the online version of course and never have an answer when people ask me why. Moreover, I've been so confused about what I could write when my experience is college newspaper, essays and, for nearly 5 years, online journals.

Eric suggested to me months ago that all I had to do was edit some of my entries and I'd have a great book of essays. It's bizarre when your ex-boyfriend has more confidence and vision regarding your talent than you do.

Now that I haven't rented out my brain in its entirety to my employer, I have this free time to use my brain for important things. Secretaries keep the whole world organized, but right now, I need my own talents to get my life back on track. It's odd, though so obvious I can't believe it didn't occur to me sooner, to start applying my fantastic organizational skills to my own life and my writing, rather than just to keep other people's lives running smoothly.

I know, duh!

. . .

I'm also making another sort of connection. With individuals at work. Last week, I actually had two people who wanted to have lunch with me on the same day. I know that sounds like a silly, trivial thing. But it?s these small niceties that help make life more bearable.

I am not the sort of person who can, or even desires, to be buddies with everyone I meet. But I never had a job before Non-Prophet at which I had not one ally. A couple presented themselves as such, but it seems to have been just the big, pink mafia trying to interfere.

To this day, I honestly don't know who had nefarious intentions and who was genuine, if any. Since only one person from that place returns my calls (and another who I hardly knew returns my emails), it's impossible not to think the worst of the three people I actually tried to cultivate friendships with. I keep thinking, what a sad, sad place.

But, no more! Not for me, anyway. It is the simple things in life, I tell ya. Today someone from my orientation cohort asked me to lunch unexpectedly. We walked to the park in Tudor City and I only wish I?d brought a camera along. It is lovely and, though private, we walked in with no problem. Gramercy Park requires a key and I haven't had a chance to get into it.

We had a nice conversation about how we ended up at Non-Profit and how we?ve been scouting neighborhoods, with an eye toward getting our own places, although she?s not ready to live alone and wants a roommate.

A year ago, I never thought I'd be thinking about the future and things getting better. It feels great.

[Next entry: "Learning"]
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