night_daughter

Well, cycles come to pass and come to finish. The last six months of my life have been very turbulent on the relationship/romantic aspect. Something was off, but of course I was too scared at the time to recognize it. It took a moment of anger to really break through this bulldogish desire to hang on. A friend once wrote, "Sometimes you stumble across a moment when the world settles into complete bliss through the eyes of another person. Don't let them go." Sometimes, though, you have to. And so this is the last, summarizing entry in my long and largely painful saga of Christopher Fox.

I've chewed over the rollercoaster emotionalities of this many times already, and I feel no desire to do so right now. Suffice it to say that I have come to the conclusion that no amount of emotion can overcome fundamental misunderstanding - and I don't think we ever truly understood each other, nor can we. Maybe that's why my best intentions always turned to violent fights. I provoked them very consciously lately, in an attempt to either prove my certainty wrong or get enough momentum to break free - which I did. And once I did, all the anger... went away. It's very odd to look back on six months of everything from high passion to high despair and feel an odd, indifferent... blank. I didn't expect this to be the case, and it makes me a little sad. I've always tried to keep the people close to me in my life, but I don't think this will be the case now. Too many half-truths and concealed truths, too little trust, too little backup to the pretty words have simply destroyed the boy I once loved from reality. I can't chase something that doesn't want to be chased.

One of the most beautiful things about my life philosophy is that it prohibits me from caring or hurting about people who do not reciprocate this, or do so in a perfunctory manner that does not require any effort on their part. Which brings me to another thought, a positive thought... The people who ARE a part of my life in the best possible way. And so my final chapter will be - not a bitter rant against a person who has withdrawn himself from my life - but a tribute to the people who have stuck it out.


I am not perfect. I have gone through hell and back, taking the people close to me down the emotional roller coaster of depression, of fear, of tears and sometimes of bitterness and anger.

My best friend, Lyuda - who has stood by me since the first day we accidentally noticed each other's name tags at orientation, who took the good and the bad, the arrogance and bluntness as well as whatever support I could provide. We are different people, but we both care for each other so deeply that the differences are irrelevant -or maybe not irrelavant but rather valuable - we have had fights and misunderstandings, we have said hurtful things but always came back from them. She has stood by me as my confidante in the darkest secrets of my life, and as the recipient of the greatest joys, talked me through my torture and my doubts, and in the end accepted me, always, for who I was - bad things and good things. That is something I will always value above everything else.

My other half, Lee - and when I say my other half I do not mean it romantically, but in a much deeper way - he is the male version of my own consciousness, someone I can talk to with half-thoughts and half-sentences and always be understood. We met when my life was broken, when I was barely getting the strength to start picking up the pieces. Would I have been able to do it without him there, always listening, being a supportive shoulder, sometimes providing me a getaway from the world that got to be too much - sometimes standing as a wall between me and people trying to harm me - sometimes just giving me the most invaluable gift of confidence in my own ability and rightness? He saw me for what I can be, as the Dominique struggling to become Dagny - and winning with every step. He has given me courage and strength - taught me the good and bad parts of myself, taught me how to care and to love - and when I had to go and learn the other side of the world, the irrational passion and emotion - he did not break me, as he could have, but stood by my side and made the journey bearable. As I have told him before, I will always love him as someone who is more a part of me than anyone I have ever met, through the virtue of his values which are mine, his ethic that is the source of my admiration, and his care for my well-being. He flew a thousand miles on the basic instinct of a voice on the phone, of words on the screen - and I took a chance that I have never had to regret, and never will -because when it comes to the connection between us, there is no gamble on it. It is too simply right. Romantic or not doesn't matter - not here. It's a union of two minds that understand, and there are few things as precious and rare as this.

There are others who have contributed so much to me - if I were to write a tribute to every person that touched my life, it would take a hundred entries, each one longer than the next. Some of you I have never met face to face but know more intimately than many people I see daily - we are connected in the Silver Spiral, and our lives have touched each other, through the Great Work, through the twilight that is our nightly abode... Others I have known from infancy, our bonds implicit despite the years between our meetings - we know each other, know our roots, know the quiet melancholy simplicity that is at the basis of our hearts - and the passion that is aroused so easily in them with all the powerful fervor of slavic blood. Still others I met on the long journey of my life, some appearing briefly but powerfully, others burning as a steady flame - I may have had a drink with you and never told you how much that moment of comeraderie meant to me, we may have danced together and laughed at the shared joy, studied for a test and loved the dynamic of our minds, gone for a walk, swam on the beach, threw snowballs or collected flowers, wandered through museums, Prais, Riga, Moscow, through Quebec and London... Laid on a hot tropical beach, talking about life, or hiked into mountains... All of you, the people who have been in my life, who have taken the chance on caring and accepting - that is the gift of the Goddess that no one can match. You have made my life wonderful and full of beautiful memories - and so many more are to come that I cannot look to the future except with a smile.

My religious path has been raked with doubts, torn between the childhood salvation of Christianity and the balance, peace and harmony I found in the concept of Mother Earth. But to be truly a child, you must love the Mother Earth and the Father Sky - perhaps now more than ever I feel the reconciliation of these forces in my life, and smile - because I know the positive energy that fills me will continue to guide me, heal me, and support me through the independence of my own decisions.

Last night, I lay in bed crying for a long time. After the end of the conversation with Christopher - all the anger pouring out in a flash, all the hurt welling up - I had to let it all out and think of the good things and bad things, to let them be washed from my soul with my tears. I fell asleep, and the last thought on my mind was the need for someone to lie there with me, to comfort me through the pain and let me awaken healed and whole - without the ties to the past that have made me cry.

I slept, and I dreamed - a dream of rare clarity unlike any dream I have had in a very long time, a perfect progression that I remember in intimate detail. I dreamed I was with a man who appeared suddenly in my life. I felt safe, warm and secure, but there was passion, and happiness, and simple, quiet joy. I think every woman dreams of finding that man - the evocation from the depths of her consciousness of her own perception of the perfect partner. In the dream, I knew his family, his brother, his life and his heart. Scientists say that when we dream we work through the issues of our lives. Perhaps the hand of the goddess touched me that night, because when I woke up it was with radiance. I was not alone, that night, and through that dream I was reminded of everything that I have been searching for vainly - how real it is, how worthwhile it is - and how very capable I am of having that passion in my life. I don't know how and why this dream came to me, but now I feel peace, and love, and gratitude for the wonderful people in my life - but most of all, I feel a boundless joy and excitement when facing all the wonderful things that the future will bring.

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This is night daughter's last posting here. This journal was created on a whim - it did not have a solid purpose, and the entries here wavered from personal admissions to philosophy. I believe that it has served its function - and perhaps if one day I will need an outlet for built-up frustration, I may return to it - but I doubt that. For those of you who have come to enjoy my discussions, I have decided to start a journal dedicated to these thoughts and pries into understanding the world of humanity, spirituality, and nature as neosmera.

Snuck away from the party to write this, loud music in the background... it draws me, making my soul dance - my body dance, forgetting the stone-clad foot, forgetting the physical limitations... My blood is flowing with the ruby red of wine that sparkled on my tongue, in the candlelight, on the glass surface of the table... With the warm wind of the night carrying its intoxicating scent into my body.

There is laughter and ease and enjoyment all around me, and they fill me like the most potent of drugs. My mind is floating in the comfortable realm of almost complete intoxication (and yet I manage to write with unusual coherence, at a level that is utterly absent from my speech)...
There is so much right now that seems so clear through the haze... I've let go, and just flown... Flown... Into the rhapsody of existence.

I will lie in bed soon, I think, to rest my aching bound foot and rest my mind from the exhilaration of the evening... Listening to quiet music in the background and thinking of the one thing, the one release I did not have tonight, but for which I am now ready with the absolute and final simplicity of wisdom and innocence... Body and mind. I am ready... Take the chance? Yes, take it, now, because it's the right... is right.

Four conversations converged in one evening, four very different people resounding echoes of the same theme - a theme that has occupied my mind for a very long time.

How is it that we perceive and process the process of our own existence?

I've always divided the different approaches to living into two "general" categories - the line and the sphere. The follower of the line is intensely focused, his goals and experiences saturated and extremely specific. Most of the time, there are very strict criteria as to where an experience "can" exist/be found, where it is to be looked for, and where the motivation for this search is to come from. It is a very aggressive method of living and finding enjoyment - maybe this is why I have observed it most often (albeit not exclusively) in men.

The sphere searches for the same intensity of experience in an entirely different manner. Instead of focus, there is a broadening of vision - the difference, as I told one of my friends, between looking for a hairpin and lying on your back, watching the night sky. The most important premise of this spherical perception is that the entirety of the world is built on and saturated with the exhuberant sense of life that is the object of both searchers. The linear searcher looks for specific manifestations. The spherical searcher looks for themes, echoes, and hints as well as explosive, absolute occurrences.

Why call it the line and the sphere? The linear person lives from revelation to revelation, from experience to experience. Once an experience is over and the revelation has passed, they either set off on a search for another specific step - point B to follow point A - or, if for whatevever reason their psyche has been undermined, will stall just past that point of revelation by falling into their unique form of despair. This phenomenon is actually very common in other aspects of the human psyche - when on a conscious or subconscious level we are afraid of or do not wish to do something, we come up with very well-founded, reasonable justifications for why doing this would be impossible. By introducing this element of resounding futility, the psyche gets "locked in" - there is no progress along the linear line because the straight path had been cut off, but due to the linear nature of the original psychology it is impossible to move in any other direction.

The sphere is not immune to the doldrums, although for the most part spherical downs are caused by a divergence from the philosophical and moral aspects of the spherical approach. The spherical searcher must achieve a centralized sense of balance - a state of mind difficult to describe in words. It is a certain level of calm, a strong foundation - some may even call it a solid psyche - at the root of which lies supreme confidence in one's own existence and an unshakeable optimism regarding the nature of the world. This optimism directly ties to the spherical belief that the world is based on sense of life and exhuberance, and that men of reason, value, and laudable emotional morality (a curious term in itself) are not a dying species but rather a growing subsection of awakening humanity. Sense of life, joy, accomplishment and creation abound in every aspect of existence. The search of the spherical thinker is much more passive - it surrenders to creation, merges with it, and through this surrender experiences the flashes or eternal manifestations of the living power the perception of which is the ultimate goal. It is spherical because there is no direction - all that surrounds the searcher's center forms the sphere of the paths their mind may take to their own Nirvana. There isn't necessarily a lack of continuity, because one branch may be followed with greater intensity - but it will never be the sole branch.

In practical terms, a woman following the spherical path - in this case myself - may follow or search for this sense of life and achievement in a relationship (friendship or romantic can work for this model, and I have certainly done both), but should this path break short for any reason or cease to provide sufficient input for self-actualization and the inner peace/happiness that is so important to the people of the sphere, it is easily supplemented or even overriden by joys as simple as the sight of a cement factory and as complex as the most intricate melody. While a linear person may appreciate these manifestations of beauty, their intensity is too focused to ever have them act as complete substitutes. This creates both a negative and positive effect: the negative, an almost certain imbalance. The positive, an unmatched level of joy - extended or short - upon reaching the next point in their linear path. For the linear thinker, life is a relay race. For a spherical thinker, it is a walk of magical discovery - a walk in the woods.

Unfortunately, knowing these differences does not always lead to the stability a person seeks. Achieving the inner balance is very difficult, while keeping it is more difficult still - and, in fact, is not something I myself have done very effectively, as I am prone to edge towards linearity under severe stress or other unusual circumstances. However, the point is that the spherical perception and openness to surrounding joy and stimuli without a pre-defined agenda carries with it a much, much higher capacity for simple human happines. And, in the end, this happiness is the goal and the end of the entire process of thinking - clean, rational, spiritual and emotional happiness that stems from existing in parallel with the basic themes of creation.

Today, I finished painting my dragon box. I started working on it the first semester of college. I still remember lying, sprawled, on the carpet of the tiny cinderblock dorm room, trying to fight off Anna and Adriana as they dragged me to some party down the hall. I only ever finished the front, the face... The rest, I sketched - then put aside.

The unfinished box - a small chest of drawers, for keeping photos and keepsakes and small items - stood on top of that dorm dresser for a year. I put photographs there of friends who've faded from my life since then. I opened it and closed it countless times, taking out makeup to wear to a nightclub, a pill to soothe my aching head during endless nights of relentless coding, put petals in it from the first dozen roses I received...

It stood on a shelf in a comfortable room in old Greenbelt, covered by silk scarves that hid the unfinished faces and made it look like a complete box. I took out tissues when I was lying on my bed, crying, unable to move or help myself from the paralyzing sickness attacking my mind, as dirty plates piled on top of every surface in that room and I sank into depression. It emerged from that depths, only to hold a small photograph with a poem on the back, a eulogy for a beautiful girl who, as of that day, did not exist any longer. One evening, I opened a drawer and put a hairclip inside, my then long hair falling down to my waist as I felt for the first time the touch of Lee's now familiar hands, smiling in nervous, disbelieving anticipation at this new force that came into my life. It came to hold a glittering sapphire on a silvery chain, a candle burned in meditation when the frustration of distance drove me to exhaustion and frustration overrode everything... It held the stubs of endless plane tickets that marked the progression of two years... It held the dark green capsules of a strange Chinese herb dong quai, echoing with my whispers every night the foul-smelling concoction slipped into my mouth, "oh, God, Goddess, anyone... Please... please..." Then it was empty, and I did not plead anymore - just looked at the leftover dust with a deep gratitude and a faint echo of a regret that never had a chance to survive.

Into the unfinished drawers of that box I put the most intimate things in my life - the clips that held my hair, the cream that soothed my hads, the shells I picked up by the beach... The letter I received from the Robert H. Smith school of business, informing me that I was no longer a computer science major. The petals from the roses still lay there, now buried under the layer of the glorious eighteenth birthday, the quietly warm nineteenth... A stone I picked up under a bench in Moscow, and a small scrap of paper with a flower drawn by an inept hand, given to me by some young men in that magical ancient city of my birthland whom I had never seen and never will see again, that quiet evening when Katia and I sat beneath the shaded trees before the Kremlin, eating chocolate ice cream and talking without saying a word. "To the beautiful girls.", the simple inscription on the page reads. To a quiet haze gone by, to a church bell tolling in the middle of a capitol city... which city... which bell... which day...

The scarves fell off, the box came to my house in Baltimore, standing in its naked imperfection but concealed by the solid structure of the bookcase that sheltered it. The chain broke on the sapphire pendant hiding within it. I threw away the rose petals - they had turned into a fine dust and mixed with a half-opened pouch of potpourri that I had opened and did not use for over a year. The clips were gone - my hair now swung short and simple, a formal cut that did not require these artifacts of gentle adolescence and first steps of adulthood. A tiny knife lay there, the isis-shaped knife that I ran the edge of my thumb over, the symbol of the fine line I walked with the cold winds of February. Then came a day when I did not put a ticket stub inside the drawer... I lay in bed, my mind filled with fire and emotion, while the naked wood stretched out its barren sides to the light of a room where no one was sleeping anymore.

Then, one month ago, I took the box from the bookcase... I dumped the contents of the drawers inside a large plastic box, the remaining dust and stone and seashells mixing with rich, red chunks of porous lava from the paradise of Maui and its secret Martian planes. Out fell a large green stone with a bright gold image of a totem on it, out fell the creams and the broken clips and the scraps of letters and photos and all that had lived inside the cool darkness of the drawers for four years. Brush battled brush, and the chipped black of the paint was replaced with the smooth richness of a charcoal hue, the inept strokes of an unsure hand re-done, then re-done again - mystic shapes of soaring dragons, resting dragons, the symbols of my strength that had lain under the surface of the wood for four years, waiting until the slashes of silver and blue paint set them free. My hands ached and tore as sandpaper and knife routed out imperfections - not good enough - still not good enough - yes, now, this evening, under the warm rays of the setting sun - outside, in the garden where I've laid for so many summer days and fall wanderings - to be finished, at last, and placed on my desk where it had never been before.

I did not finish the box tonight. The surface has been painted, the edges have been set - beautiful polish has been applied to the picture, to make it last, to make it shine and stand the test of time. But I ran out of glue to line the rough, painted edges of the box with the soft black cloth I had prepared, the drawers only partially lined - the wood inside still naked, still waiting for the warmth of the final touch. The box stands on my desk, and I know that tomorrow - this week - soon - I will go to the store and I will bring home the glue, and the last slivers of fabric will obliterate the gaping wounds left by the rocks and shells and tears and broken sapphire necklaces. The sensually rough texture of the fabric will fill the orphaned drawers, and they will be complete - inside and out... And all I have to do is... Find the glue to hold the cloth inside.

Well, Jace is gone. Didn't think I'd get to say bye, but he called me on my way from work, so I ended up going to the train station for a quick cup of coffee. I had a gut feeling he had some special reason to ask me to come, and wasn't mistaken. He's decided to stay at the studio in Kansas City... Which means he won't be back for good this fall like I hoped. Kit's in tears, though I not so secretly suspect she's a little relieved to have that reminder out of the way. I wish he'd told us earlier. We talked for a little while, mostly him dragging happy and unhappy confessions out of me. I'll miss him like crazy, again... I love my migratory crazy Jace, and life's not going to be the same without his lanky persona hanging about it. When it was time to go, he gave me a great big hug and a peck on the cheek, then said - seriously, for once - "don't let it get to you, kiddo." His eyes told me he wasn't talking about his leaving, or himself. Sigh. I hate it when he knows me better than I know me. I feel orphaned.

Work was good in a crazy way. I hate my new desk, it's too cramped - but it doesn't matter too much when everything's going on. I wanted to write about the special feelings I had at work today, getting things done and talking to people, but after coming home I've been under a dark cloud. "So uptight am I..." No, not uptight. Disappointed, and very very tired. Focus on work and my cement factories (*grins at Lee*) and my new super-awesome non-fiction writing book - thank you thank you thank you!

Dark, dark mood tonight. Wanted to go to Orpheus, but stopped in the middle of getting dressed. Walked up to my own reflection and had this violent desire to shatter the mirror, to make that stone-cold made-up face crack. I don't feel hurt right now so much as angry for things going wrong. And frustrated... Seems like everything I do recently is just not good enough, or ends up pushing the wrong button. I'm sick of walking on eggshells... Sometimes it feels like I've been considerate of everyone's feelings but my own, and now that I'm trying to figure out things about me, I'm getting slapped down at every step. And I can't blame anyone but myself for it. Not a good thing. Will be over it by tomorrow morning, but not a good thing.

I've only got one outlet left for this these days, and that's to pick up the phone and dial a familiar number that reminds me I'm not crazy, my values are not skewed, and my expectations are not so ludicrously unreasonable. Sometimes it feels like talking to my own consciousness. Piece after piece, snapping into place. So angry... Why am I so angry? I haven't felt this dark in months. Probably just exhaustion finally catching up with me, physical, mental, emotional. There's only so much a person can handle. I need rest.

It is almost 11 at night, and my heart is racing. There is a strange rhythm in my body, a nervous hum that erupts in a burst of energy, carrying me on the waves of the violent music echoing in my ears. For the last hour, I have been shaping the final stages of a painting, russian music in the background as the silver and blue shapes rise from the wood, the background obliterated and rebuilt with knife, brush, and paint. My body responds to the strokes of the brush, moving in an increasing rhythm until I do not know if I am painting or dancing - but it is all the same, all part of the same insane, unbridled stream that carries me along. There is a longing in every inch of my body, a need for the kind of release that only the height of a dance or the perfect stroke of a brush - or the sun on the cupolae of the ancient basilicas, or the rustle of birches against the white cement of a high rise on a cool morning - can render. It is a strange mix of belonging, of self-realized power and of complete surrender to the nature of this energetic rhythm, when all the world snaps into perspective and all your desires and motivations loom before your eyes in a single fantastic map of strobe lights.

Russian music has a strange effect on me, the resounding echo of implicit understanding that comes from a culture that is ingrained in every particle of my soul. It is a different way to love and to live, a melancholy violence that has all the sweetness and bitterness of the world within the simplest phrases, phrases that take an essay in any other language to say, because of the quiet echoes of two thousand years of waiting and longing that hide beneath each word. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever find that brutal sincerity in this world of innuendos, shades of meaning, emotionless smiles and shallow desires. There is a raw intensity missing from the world around me, the ability to... let go, and immerse - in simplicity and complexity of war and peace, love and hate, joy and sorrow.

I write this, and my eyes close. My body is motionless, but my mind is spinning with the acoustics and the imaginary colours, and suddenly I am walking barefoot on a sun-heated boulevard towards a strange brightness. I rush downstairs, and the last stroke falls on the painting, setting it alive. A chill passes over my skin, the intensity of the emotional release paralyzing me for a moment in the flows and ebbs of creation.

Our lives are a metaphor of genesis.

In a crowd of strangers, a familiar face
Not too familiar, but an echo of a summer day
Brings back memories of heavy gold on my hand
Crisp freshness of watermelon dropped on bare wood

Innocence, laughter, a half-veiled mystery
That lead to a greater hall of twilight simplicity
Nothing but words woven into a silent symphony
In a language we knew from our first breath - alone

I like that I am not your passion, nor you mine.
In the currents of our lives, we think of others
And not ourselves, when we fall into dreamy sleep -
I of a boy I know, you of a girl you love

But in a crowd of strangers, we hear our silent symphony
And talk beneath the swelling pride of that pale moon
Two ships that passed again in darkness of the night
We know the other's mind as echoes still unheard

And in the swirling mass of colour, food and wine
We smile a little sadly, walking side by side
Until we pass each other in the dark abode of night
While strains of our silent symphonies play without accord

To walk into the world beyond the gilded doors
And face with courage new the passions that are ours
And smile as we recall the dark pure waters of the past
In sacred knowledge that no sin taint our minds' old tryst

Writing a reply to a friend's journal a few minutes ago, I began thinking about my own life. In the last month or so, I have finally began to put my life together again. It seems that this process comes in spurts for me. "Things fall apart, the center cannot hold..." was the theme for spring. I never liked spring. Of all the seasons it is my least favorite, despite the beautiful weather... I always feel a strange dissonance, a chaotic blunder of sorts that echoes like a tolling bell of unease inside me. Rationality disappears, giving way to a burst of emotion - barely controlled, raging through me. Most of my losses have been in the spring.

I am learning how to be alone. I've been in a serious relationship for a very long time, and the end of the last was followed by such an emotional roller coaster as I do not want to experience for a long time to come. I did not want to admit to myself that I was afraid of being alone, but I did not expect to hurt as much as I did for being with someone. In the perfect vision of retrospect, I acted exactly as my programming of past years intended - as a person who has been in a committed relationship for so long that anything other than a path to marriage was a mystery. I simply did not know how to deal with it. Something Lee said recently really struck me when I thought of this. "For all intents and purposes, I was married to you." That hit hard - because it was a sudden flash of light that illuminated the sort of trust implicit in the relationship - I came first, I was the center of many aspects of my other's life, I could trust him absolutely, and I never, ever had to worry - about not being good enough on some obscure level, about meeting some undefined guideline, about being me - the good and the bad. I knew, with absolute certainty, that I was valued for who I was and for everything that I wanted to be valued - and that gave the relationship the kind of confidence that made me sleep easy at night, content. But I was not in love, although I loved - and that single fact was enough to make me walk away. To this day I hate that I did not find the strength to do it without rather extreme external influence. I would have proven to be a far better person had I had the courage to do so before things got that far. It is hard, however, once you have had that trust to return to the uncertainty of anything else - to take the risks, to stand on your own two feet, to not expect that level of understanding, support, commitment and care. Not because it shouldn't be in a relationship - but because it grows with time in relationships that are rare and unique. I knew most of this instinctively, some of it rationally. But I did not act on what I knew.

The answer, of course, is one I've given to friends over the years - before you can be happy with someone, you have to be happy and complete in yourself. When I left Lee, I left a huge part of myself behind. It was the right thing to do, and letting go was one of the best decisions I have ever made. But I had used him as a crutch for so long, and have grown so used to his reliable stability to be trusted, to listen, to support me and to tell me when I was being unreasonable (gifts that I will always, always treasure as they have saved my life in so many ways over the years) that my emotional independence began to atrophy. It is a good symbiosis - in a marriage. When you are a twenty year old girl still searching for your way, this self-laxity is damaging.

I had to learn to stand on my own, to re-discover what it was I wanted. I had to deal with my body and the stranger that it has become to me. I learned very quickly my own incapability of non-discrimination. My body revolts at the touch of someone I do not care for. A useful self-defense, I suppose. My soul's revolt is even worse.

I spent a lot of time with my family, the last month and a half. There is something very soothing in being with people who accept you unconditionally, for all of our problems and faults. There's a quiet understanding between us now, a sense of... acceptance, with a touch of sadness that speaks of all the problems that brew within our individual lives. But together, we find a simple form of rest - rest that has allowed me to find peace in myself.

I feel the ability to act re-surfacing again from the depths where overwork and stress has buried it. Things in my life are starting to come together again - a new place to live, stability at work, even my finances.

I have had to make difficult choices. Perhaps the hardest was letting go of some old friends who have done nothing but harm me in the last two years. It very difficult for me to walk away from such a large part of my life, but the constant betrayals, insinuations, insults that have become the degenerative parody of the past no longer hold meaning.

So now what? Rebuild my relationships with friends I still love but have grown distant from. In searching for love and for passion, return to the simple things at its base - understanding, fun, enjoying time together, feeling the buildup of physical tension and reveling in the progression that makes the end result everything it has always supposed to be...Acceptance, peace, passion. And if one search fails, step aside - heal, think, grow, until the time comes to try again, until I wake up one morning to a light kiss and the knowledge that everything is finally right in the world. This is not an abstract discussion - I still care about a very specific person, despite the many early strains (how I hate spring) - but I want to care the right way. Not too much, not too little, not too fast, not too slow - and not until I can be sure, until I can trust, until I can give a little bit of myself again. A month ago I would have been afraid to admit things directly. Now, I have strength again to take that risk, though it is still hard sometimes. But I am doing it - and that is far better than saying I am trying.

On my way back from work, I drive through the city of Baltimore. It is like a cold shower to my tired mind - everything rises in sharp relief, from the gorgeous skyline glowing with all the lights of Edison's genius to the heavy silhouettes of tankers and barges that are more elegant to my eye than the most beautiful ballerina. I look at the lattice of bridges suspended over the glimmering expanse of water, at the factories and the neon signs and the life - the incredible life of the living mind that has willed all of this into existence. When I plunge into the tunnel, I think of the earth and water above me, and I smile to myself. I do not think of boyfriends or friends or other emotional goings on of the world. It is a moment of the deepest meditation, where the glory of existence, the power of the mind, the incredible rush of creation unfolds before me - and I float in the midst of it all with a secret smile that comes from knowing that inside my body I hold that creative power - and that is what makes me whole, happy, and living.

Viva la vita.

Current Mood: contemplative

Is it just me or did I get called Lucifer?

I like to spend my evenings in a quiet little chinese restaurant, nestled in the island of quaint calm that is old greenbelt. I settle into my favorite table, sipping the scalding, bitter tea that sends waves of heat rushing through my already heated body - like droplets of amber turned into liquid flame, encircling me from the inside as the soft stone wraps around my wrist. I like to sit and read, not silly things or funny things or exciting things, but books that are different, that speak in an incomprehensible way my own language of infinitely complex simplicities. So many beauties and beasts march in front of my own eyes as I sink into the world of deliciously subtle and irresistibly brutal words, the sinful indulgence of adjectives almost as spicy as the soup on my tongue, the texture of the pages as sensual as melting cream cheese touched with a hint of sweetness.

The proud defiance of Karen Andre, the innocent sensuality of Lolita, Sophia's simple, dark angst and the endless meditations of Tais rise and fall, obscurity and fame mingling in a rush of impossible pleasure of the mind and all that touches it. The talk of the few other late patrons fades out, and for a moment I can believe that laundry lists and family recipes have given way to the immortal canvas of my Leonardo, to the brooding gloom of that King of Mediocrity, Salieri, and his eternal struggle against the unsuspecting genius of Wolfgang, to the dry logic of Aristotle and the hysterical rampage of Abelard when he throws his eternal woes in the face of his God. Ah, how close I feel to the immortal and the dead, lost in a word created of the rational and the irrational, the incandescent fabric of emotion and urges that frame the bare simplicity of life! You, the man who painted light and shadow, knew of the infinite complexities that hide behind the perfect, simple strokes... The algorithm behind the cleanest, simplest sonata, and the calculus of angels lost in the divine melody of mediation...

Yes, call the night, call the shadows that whisper of these words insane and logical, wrap around my mind and teleport me into a world that is one where Mankind lives.

I feel alive.

Should have listened to my intuition. Oh well. I had a mostly good time.

I feel like a sacrificial lamb sometimes when I go through the motions of getting dressed, putting on makeup, perfume, and all that jazz. Normally I adore this. Other days, I wonder what perverse altar of sexuality I am laying myself on every time I do this. I don't mean it in the sense of sleeping with someone as much as a metaphoric perception, some concession or... I don't quite know.

Heading out to a cocktail party tonight. I know I probably shouldn't go, after what happened last time, but hell. I need a night out, and it should be a lot of fun. It's been a very difficult week for me, with Charlie's memorial and severe stress at work pounding down, with no one I can really talk to who knows enough about my life right now to genuinely help. Some folks can help me deal with Charlie's death, others with the work stress, still others with the most recent betrayal in my life. (Why, why, why do the people I care about most like that backstab motion so much? And why can I not stop caring about them, regardless, or stop trusting people? Oh, woe be me. *insert drama and angst here*). Used to be I would talk to Lee about it, but I can't really do that anymore. I've changed too much in a short time - for the better, but also in a way that makes it impossible for me to bare my soul to him ever again, even (or especially?) as a friend. Then again, this entire journal is largely a forum for angst. I don't write here when I am happy, I write here when I am bored and/or severely upset, pissed off, what have you.

Right now I'm just really hurt, though. I'm sorry in advance to all you folks who don't know what the hell I'm talking about here - but those of you who do, it's happened again, like you told me it would, and if I hear anyone say I told you so I'm going to beat you up. Or cry a lot. Or both. But I can't believe that people are essentially bad, no matter what happens or how bitter these betrayals are. (Are you listening, Oleg? I still think you are a decent human being underneath that horridness you've come to call your life. Dammit, you are so much more than this! Why do you insist on destroying yourself time and time again?)

I've tried to talk to a couple of folks, but the words get stuck in my throat and I find myself blabbering silly inanities at them, getting unduly upset when they don't magically/telepathically pick up the hint that something is up. Oh well. I'll figure it out one day - I still have so very very very much to learn. Can't even deny myself the admittedly immature punt of cursing at the coup du jour in my profile. Good god, it hurts, though. Like ten knives stuck in my stomach, and my stomach filled with lead.

Standing room only. The heat so stifling that my clothes were soaked, clinging to my body as I tried to look over the heads of crying strangers towards the pastor. Among the strangers, faces of friends, old faces of familiar comfort, voices cracking with grief. "A celebration of life"... His life, our lives. The final chapter in what has proven to be a bittersweet story. But to me, it is still not real. As I told Kylie and Craig on the way out, I will miss him like crazy, but it doesn't make what he did any less idiotic. To think that love ends at 24...

I've never been in love. Of my three most recent relationships, I was awed by Oleg, comforted by Lee, intrigued by Fox. But I was never in love. A hard realization, but a necessary one. If it takes forever, I will wait...for you.

I don't know who you are, or where you are. I don't know if you are living a life far away on another continent, unaware except in your deepest dreams that I exist, or if I have already kissed you goodnight under the glaring light of the streetlamps. I don't know what colour your eyes are, or what the sound of the voice that will ignite me is. I don't know the colour of your hair, I don't know your favorite flavor of ice cream or your favorite movie. But I know you, as I have known you all my life, with that intimate certainty that resounds with a quiet "of course" that eliminates all doubts. I dream of you often, and though your face is obscured in the waking memory, everything else is as vivid as the blood-red of wine in crystal glasses. I dream of making love to you, of walking with you, of laughter and tears, and when I wake up it is to a happier world. Every day I do not spend with you is one more day to make myself better, so when the hour comes and I hear the quiet "of course" in my mind, and, for the first time, see it reflected in your eyes, I will be ready. I wake up in the morning, glad that today is another day when I can meet you. Have I smiled at you as I passed you in the hallways of the university? Perhaps I have seen you cross an airport in a distant country. Have I woken up in your arms, not yet knowing that the warmth of the night will become the warmth of my life? Have I seen your face in the glowing embers of a dying fire, in the shifting clouds of the sky, in the imaginative ramblings of a sixteen, eighteen, twenty year old girl? I will wait, but not search - because I know when the time is right, I will know you - you, the man I have always loved, even though I have never loved a man.

Tuesday was very bad. I stayed at work until 8:00 pm, then started driving home. I felt like I was floating somewhere else. It's a miracle I made it out to the highway alive, since I kept forgetting I was in a car. For no reason that I could think of, I drove to Beijing - a little restaurant in old greenbelt. There was no one there except me and another couple, which was comforting. It felt like coming home. I haven't come home in a very long time. I drank the hot tea and cried silently so no one would hear or see, and it made me feel better. But I didn't think about why I cried.

A horrible, horrible part of me has started ticking now.
"Okay, we're entering the denial phase. Check. Grief phase. Check. Anger phase. Double check on that one." Like a mechanical process, wheels turning and turning. Did this once, did this twice, third time's the charm. This is different though. He had a choice.

Damn it, but I am angry. Angry at him, for being so... damn...stupid... Didn't he know how much we cared? We, the little group, with all our own problems and issues and troubles. Some people tell me, he died to depression. You're angry at him because you don't know what it's like. No. I'm angry at him because I DO know what it's like. I'm angry at him the way a person who went to a doctor for his flu is angry at a person who chose to stay at home and die to it. Because my mind refuses to accept what happened as rational or real - things like that have no place in any world. I can accept loss, but senseless loss? I can accept fate, but *choosing* THIS fate?

But here come the walls, brick by brick, block by block. "I wonder if..." No, don't think about it. "This is unreal." Good, keep it that way. Block out pain, block out everything, block out tiredness. Make it not be. Don't think, don't feel.

If anyone tries to tell Katy what happened was in any way her fault, I swear to God I will punch them out. She can take care of herself, but I will punch them out anyway.

When I told Josh, he thought it was a sick joke. So did Andries. I would have been offended, but when Aaron called me the first thing that came to mind was "I hope you don't think this is funny."

He went skydiving before it happened. I wonder if he was able to do it because of that. The thought keeps coming into my head. Maybe he pretended he was sky diving again, the freedom of flight. Nothing to worry about or fear except the "neato" in the back of your mind.

People keep calling. I keep my cellphone turned on, but rarely answer.I felt so lost Sunday when I couldn't reach Lyuda on her cell. Andy called. I am glad that he did. He was one of the few people I was able to talk to a little bit about it. Charlie would have wanted us to bury the hatchet. Now we did. The whole thing feels so stupid now. Friends become more important.

But so does hiding from them. People who are not sharing this grief are avoiding me, I think. I can't blame them. What do you say? Offer pity? I don't want pity. I think I want normality, for me and for every one of us. But people shuffle past, or offer inanities in the form of "oh, I'm so sorry." I know they mean it, but what are they sorry about? That I am sad? That my friend died? It makes no sense and makes me angry again. It's going to be okay, though. We're getting through it a little bit at a time.

I tried to talk about this to Lee, but it didn't really work. He said something along the lines of "I wish I hadn't put off grieving when our relationship ended." I wished he was right there so I could slap him. Such a violent reaction, the roots of which I'm scared to delve into. Relationships right now seem like a very trite thing. All the same, I resent waking up alone in the morning more than ever. And resent the simple truth that there is no one I truly want to wake up next to. I don't know why that just popped into my head. I think because the loneliness helped kill Charlie, but it's something so many others live with every day. And don't give up. Never give up. Never...

Mostly I've been coding. Obsessively, non-stop. Funny how an old skill comes in handy. I've come up with some relatively clever algorithms. It makes me happy. It's so clean and logical. Then I tell some folks about it, and they come up with ways to make it even better, and that makes me even happier. We build off each other.


My parents left for the Cayman islands. I was looking forward to having a week to myself. Now I dread it.

Read Katy's journal. He shouldn't have hurt her like that. He shouldn't have hurt Andy like that. Or Aaron. I worry about those three the most. I wish I could take peoples' hurts and throw them on myself sometimes. Because they didn't deserve this. Especially Katy. She has had too many losses already. And Aaron, whose life has had too many downs and who is now stuck in a bad situation in so many ways. And Andy, who so rarely shows very much on the outside but screams and cries and hurts like few people can on the inside. I have my little walls that stop me from feeling things for years, until they dissipate. This is the closest they've ever come to being ruptured... But no. This is just a strange twist of my mind. Work,drive, code, sleep, drive, code, work, drive, sleep.

I'm okay.

Current Mood: distressed

I like this one... It actually fits some of my darker moods/aspects. At least if you ignore my guilty pleasure of indulging silly thoughts on LJ. Go guilty pleasures.

Here's a recent one:

Today started out as probably one of the more disappointing days this semester. Once I convinced myself I'm going to graduation, I actually got excited about it. Bad idea. I should have stuck to my gut instinct :-/

The ceremony was okay, but the people I wanted to see streaked by so fast and so far that I honestly can't say I got that happy jab of proud excitement. I didn't get a chance, and watching it all on the monitor (because the stage was so far away) just did absolutely nothing for me. After the event there was such complete chaos...  I barely managed to find a few people I wanted to say congrats to in person, and though it was nice, I felt really out of place there, too.  One of the primary people I wanted to see at graduation I couldn't track down at all, which was a severe, severe disappointment, since I was really looking forward to that. So many disappointments in that department lately, though. I really, really wish I had a recent happy memory to look back at, instead of having a checklist of everything that went wrong in my head. Most of the time it's not even anyone's fault, just circumstances and a good deal of apathy. It's the apathy I hate.

When I realized that I wasn't going to get anywhere else with frantic running around, I went to my car to try and go home, since it was too late to go to work. Unfortunately, the parking lot was so stuffed I couldn't even pull out. It was hot, humid, frustrating, and I was so tired... I kind of blanked out for a little while sitting in my car, and when I looked up into the mirror  I saw that my face was covered with streaks of mascara. I hadn't even realized I had been crying. I don't know why I just broke down. Rationally, none of the small to medium disappointments of today were really worth that strong of a reaction. But it's just that frustration has been building up for the longest time, and that horrible afternoon just set it off.  I went into the ceremony wanting to give and share joy to the people I cared about. I left with a sense of being an intruder, severe unease, and a sad nagging.

I managed to make it out to the road after about an hour. Instead of going home, i drove to the cemetary where Ann's ashes are buried. I sat down on the bench and just cried for a long time, for everything that has ended and was lost. I know there is a new beginning and a new hope from every ending, but just then I needed to let it all out, to cry for lost loved ones, my lost peace, my lost love, my lost support, my lost confidence and joy.  I know I am lucky to have had those things to begin with. There's a very good russian song about it, called "If you don't have an aunt."

Some pearls of wisdom from it: if you don't have a wife, she won't leave you. If you don't live, you don't have to die.

I really like that song. I know when I open myself to good things, I have a chance to lose them like I have been recently. Some I lost entirely by choice, others I lost because I did not value them enough, others I lost to circumstance, still others I lost because I was not yet ready to hold on to them. But the thing is, once the initial sadness passes and the runny mascara has been wiped off your face... I would have done it all over again just the same, taken the risks, opened myself up, because it was worth it.

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You are Melisande. Beautiful, compelling, devious and utterly wicked, you entrance your prey before you lead them to their deaths. You are self serving, brilliant, diabolical and just warm hearted enough to keep your foes off balance.

http://quizilla.com/users/mshathvri/quizzes/Kushiel's%20Quiz/

Lee #2 and Lee #3 - is this better? ;)

Well, exams are over, for better or worse. Won't guess as to how well/badly I did on them. But does Anna get any rest? Nooo, Anna doesn't get any rest.

I've been very very grumpy and touchy lately. Probably because of lack of sleep/too much caffeine, but that doesn't quite cover the full range of annoyance. Maybe it's because I'm so very frustrated with so very many things right now. Like not being able to explain myself clearly to the people I want to understand certain things.

Take, for example, the current sore subject - business school graduation. There are, to be precise, three people who are graduating on Friday for whom I would do just about anything - with the possible exception of sitting through the ceremony. I've talked to two of them about it, once briefly and once at length, but it's coming out like I'm whining about something intangible or trying to ask them to say I have to be there or else. I don't know why I have such a strong revulsion against ceremonies of the kind, but I do and I always have. Maybe it's old hurts from childhood because my parents never had time to go to my events and I convinced myself they were crap.

Maybe it's because I should have been graduating this spring, too, if not for the idiocy of computer science and my parents dropping all their financial support when I left the major. I didn't think I still felt bitter about it, considering the great opportunities I got as a result... But I guess I still am, a little bit. But despite all this, I still want to be there for my friends, because I know it's important to them and it's important to me. I wish I could find a way to have them understand, but how can they understand something even I don't? I feel horribly selfish and awful, but I can't find a way to NOT feel like I should stay as far away from that graduation as possible. :-/ The thing is, I'm probably going to make myself go anyway, and more - make myself LIKE it, because I know it's the right thing to do. I'm probably foolish for ever bringing this up to them. Maybe I was hoping they'd say something that would make me realize how silly my desire to not go is. I think all I managed to do is offend the very people I never want to give anything but joy to.

It's not just graduation that's grating on me, though. I got into a semi fight with Lyuda a couple days back and been too tired to try and talk to her/see if things are okay now, or whichever. I don't like this state of being brittle. Everything that's happening is keeping me on edge all the time. And, of course, Oleg isn't doing much to keep the flames down - he's pouring oil into the fire, because I know he LIKES it when I get brittle this way since he's the only person I've ever met who knows how to de-brittle me for short periods and thus take primary focus in my life. He's staying in the US till sunday night, and now he wants me to come up to NYC on saturday afternoon and stay through sunday afternoon - completely innocent, get me my own room, blah blah blah, the usual assurances.

I completely trust him on that point, but it still feels very, very odd. On the one hand, I DO want to spend some time with him and see if I can salvage a friendship out of the whole ancient wreck, since it drives me nuts to think there's a person out there who knows THAT much about me and is not a part of my life in any way. On the other hand, all things taken into account this may not be very wise for any number of reasons.

I can't wait for work to start. I think once I have that solid part in my life, I won't be as frustrated about my new inability to express what I think. It's driving me insane - there is so much inside that is struggling to get out, good things, kind things, things that make me feel good about ME and things that have the ability to open up other people to joy, things that can create smiles and good times and happiness. But something is blocking them from getting out, and all that remains is a struggling kind of half-sarcastic, half-despondent attempt. I wonder if anyone has the ability anymore to open that up, since I've obviously done such a good job of sealing myself shut for whatever reason.

I walked outside late this morning and almost tripped over a gigantic flower arrangement outside the door. It was a beautiful set of pale violet and white lilacs. Checking the card, I saw Oleg's name and a phone number - no message, nothing. How's that for intriguing :) The number looked to belong to the DC area, so I called and, sure enough, there he was - heading to the airport from some business trip or another. Turned out he got my coordinates from Katia (how he always manages to weasel that sort of information out of my friends is completely beyond me). By now he should be back in Moscow, but it was a sweet gesture. Odd as it is, it's nice to know he still thinks about me - not that it'll ever change anything, but it's still nice. I was really touched that he actually remembered my favorite spring flowers. I wonder where he dug them up - I don't think lilacs are usual floristy fair.
The smell of lilacs drives me absolutely crazy in the best possible way, so I've been in a very, very good mood most of the day today.

I actually had fun at my exam. The essay questions were quite difficult according to everyone I'd talked to afterwards, but law for me is just a puzzle - and I knew the rules well enough to get an immense satisfaction out of untangling the pieces of the puzzle and making them fit a logical path. I can't believe how excited I get about some clauses of the Uniform Commercial Code... The more I think about it, the more a JD/MBA combination in a few years sounds like a good idea. The logic of law is just so fascinating... And combined with logistics... *swoon*

Got home early from the exam, thinking I'd study. Hah. Looks like it's going to be another last-minute crunch for my econ exam tomorrow... But in less than 24 hours, it will all be over for better or worse - and that is a very, very good feeling. I'm ready to have this semester over and done with. It's been very turbulent - not always in good ways - and for the most part failed to fill its potential. I don't think I did the best I could at all with ANYTHING offered to me this semester, starting with classes and onward with LTSCM, work, friends, family, and relationships. I'm quite ready to dive into work full-throttle, even if John, Abdul & Rod are telling me I'm going to have to bring my sleeping bag and pillow to the warehouse. That suits me just fine - work hard, play harder is going to be the motto this summer. Luckily, it looks like I'll have several people who'll make sure I live up to the play part of it :)

Josh hired a few more minions, so now K and I have a few more folks to terrorize. It should be fun - the atmosphere has been so much better lately, even with Shawonne telling me I need to take a break from men and find a good woman. (She even offered to find me one.) I was amused. But then again, I'm pretty easily amused these days.

Today was the second anniversary of Ann's death. I tried not to think about it too much - the death part, not the Ann part. I always think about her... I visited the cemetary on Saturday and brought her a bouquet of roses and irises from our garden. It was a beautiful arrangement, which I know she'd have loved. I really miss her...

I've been oscillating on how I did on the econ exam from "great" to "horrible" to "okay." If only I hadn't second guessed myself... But dammit, they put in evil tricky unrealistic numbers - the equations they gave could not possibly exist in reality! I did a double check on the answers when I got home, and sure enough, the exchange rates and interest rates came out NEGATIVE. Bastards. That may be obvious to an ivory tower mathematician with no disregard for reality :-/ To us silly logisticians, there's no such thing as a negative interest rate. Oh well. Something to whine to Professor Terrell about when I bug him some more about my research.

I was going to see Troy this afternoon with a friend or two, but everyone was busy with exams, so instead it's going to be a family night out :) I'm excited to see the movie - I've been waiting for a long time. Mom being the worrier that she is, she sent me out for tickets four hours ahead of time (right as I got back from the photo studio) so I met up with Jace and went to the Avenue for tickets and time killing. Just got back a few minutes ago. Jace has been dragging his stupid camera everywhere he goes with me these days, "For when inspiration strikes". Makes me wish I hadn't said yes to be in his portfolio sometimes :) But it's fun, and it strokes my female ego, which is already reaching dangerous proportions. Maybe he'll even break his evil rules and let me have a few prints. Though I'm not counting on it :/

People were looking at us funny since I was still dressed up in modelish gear - sleek black dress that was almost, but not quite, inappropriate, black heels, full makeup, onyx jewelry (didn't have time to change between the studio and going out) - and Jace had three cameras around his neck. Would have looked great in New York, but in Bradybunchville Preppytown White Marsh/The Avenue it was really out of place. I'm going to miss that boy when he goes back to Minnesota :( Silly employers stealing all my friends away to evil far places... *disgruntled grumble*

I was trying very hard to avoid the art supply store there, but Mr. Photography just couldn't wait to see if he could find more props, so I ended up stuck in the fine arts section. I left the store with a considerably lighter wallet, but now I have a brand new charcoal/carres/pastel set. I've been wanting to re-stock my little blue box for a long time... Found some very decent charcoal paper, too... I thought I'd have to go to the shop at the Maryland Art Institute (it's much better quality supplies as a rule, but also much more expensive), but I can definitely deal with what I have right now. There are several portraits I've been longing to get my pencils on. Sometimes doing a portrait of someone helps me understand them better, because I have to think of every nuance of expression... Even deliberately changing their appearance to express something I feel should come to the forefront. And there is definitely someone I would like to get to the bottom of... If only for my own peace of mind. *grin*

Once, I did a series of 20 self-portraits (yes, yes, yes. I'm a narcissistic Libra. Deal with it :P Besides, no one else will sit still for that long), each one emphasizing a different aspect I wanted to show. My art teacher loved it. My parents looked at them and said, "But Anna! They look nothing like you." Duh. Of course they don't - separately. People aren't used to looking at others' aspects in isolation, and because of this some of our most valuable features get completely drowned in the hubris of the ordinary and the everyday. The job of any artist, amateur or professional, is to strip away the everyday muck and find the lost things covered by the routine.

On a sadder note, I just found out today that Ann's parents will be holding a small gathering tomorrow - the Russian tradition of "pominki" - remembrance - when friends and relatives gather on the anniversary of a death to, well... remember. I don't think I will go to the gathering itself - it's going to be the same idiotic, stuffy women who'll suffocate her mother in displays of pity which I *know* they do not infuse with true regret that comes of missing a person. But I'll go in the morning to the cemetary and bring her some roses... Even after two years, that grief is too private for me to share with anyone but her mother. She understands, I think, the special relationship I had with Ann. I really did love her like a sister... We didn't always spend a lot of time together the last year or so, since we were both so insanely busy... But it didn't matter, because when we saw each other it was like no time had ever passed. I loved her, she loved me. Actually, change that. I love her, and she loves me. Period. I don't intend to spend tomorrow depressed and in tears - I think it would be an injustice to her. The best gift I can offer her is to be happy, so that in some way the part of her I will always carry with me can experience my happiness, experiences, laughter and good times.

In the very very morning, I'm planning on going down to Dance Place in D.C. and checking out some of their modern classes. Though I'm still searching for the exact location of my summer/fall residence, I've got to find a new studio right away so when I do move I won't lose track of dancing by simply putting it on the shelf. Looks like Dance Place has some pretty good modern sets, so I'll likely opt for that. Who knows - maybe my horizontal comfort will come in handy. Thank you, Alvin Mayes, for teaching me to NOT be afraid of throwing my 5-foot-ten body on the floor without a back thought.