Poem #4, Wedding Dress Funtimes, and an Interview

My interview at the Collagist is up and running. It was so much fun to answer these questions, and I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity. It’s (still) a strange thing putting my writing out into the world, stranger still to know that someone has read it closely enough to ask such questions.

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Yesterday,a few of us Outfit girls got to dress up in pretty gowns and roll around in skates at Indie Wed. We had such a good time, and made some really great connections. I’ll be writing a post for the Outfit blog later today, and I’ll link it here when it’s up. We also got to take some really fun photo booth pics, most of which I have to wait to see when they’re posted online, but this one I got a copy of. Fun! (My favorite is the angry one at the bottom)

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I was so busy this week that I didn’t get to write my poem for the week until this morning, and I don’t love it. I ate some really delicious plantains earlier this week, and I’ve been thinking about the Musician a lot, so I put them together, but the truth is the plantains and the Musician have nothing to do with each other and I don’t know that they make sense together. Plus, the Musician is kind of…I don’t know…unfocused right now. I don’t know why I’m writing about him or what his deal is. But I promised to post it, so post it I will.

Maduros

The Musician wakes from a dream about plantains. His room is small and hot. In the night, he’s stripped the sheets from the bed and now he lies bare back to bare mattress, watching a lizard climb the wall. Outside his window, rooftops and a flock of pigeons circling. Beyond, gold plated dome and church bells. But there are no plantains here. He thinks of home, city of steel and concrete. The corner café where Gloria cooks arroz con pollo and black bean empanadas, where her daughter mixes avocado milkshakes in a dining room that smells faintly of cleaning supplies and mildew. He feels a tightness in his gut—a longing—he recognizes as homesickness, and thinks the word is insufficient. More like hunger or exhaustion, this nostalgia could be easily sated by the sound of a Midwestern vowel or a bite of sweet maduros.

working poet

You know what’s awesome? When you actually are doing the work you believe you’re supposed to be doing, and things happen as a result of it. I’ve been putting my poet hat on for at least a couple of hours every day and what a difference it makes! So, this post is a bit premature in that there are no links to give you yet, but here are the working poet things I’m doing:

1. Next week, I’ll be judging a poetry contest for freshmen at UIC.
2. I just did an author interview for the Collagist. I’m not sure when it’ll go live, but I’m really excited about it. It was tough to answer their questions because the poem they published was pretty confessional, and I didn’t know how much to say about the biography behind it. It would have been more fun to talk about a poem with a weird back story or inspiration, but that’s okay. I think I handled it well…and soon you’ll be able to decide for yourself.
3. I am going to be teaching an online workshop in August. I’ll probably post the link tomorrow. It’s going to be awesome!
4. I’m going to be reading at the Green Mill (super-famous home of slam poetry in Chicago) in my poetry whore get-up. And doing my first AWP off-site reading (also as my poetry whore alter-ego Factory Girl).

So I’m writing, and submitting, and getting my name out into the world in various ways. Next up, I need to apply to a couple of conferences for the summer and I need to start lining up some readings.

Now if I could just land one of the part-time jobs I’ve applied for and figure out my budget, everything would be peachy.

When Pinterest isn’t a complete waste of time (2012 Poem #3)

Have you discovered Pinterest yet, dear reader? If you haven’t, don’t. It’ll ruin your life.

If you have, then you know as well as I do that you can lose hours looking at pictures of cute puppies, girls with nice abs (fitness inspiration, my ass), and things made out of mason jars and doilies. It’s utterly ridiculous, and utterly addicting.

It took me a while, but I finally figured out that there’s more to Pinterest than the popular pins. There’s also a ton of interesting photography, art, and design. Pretty and (or) disturbing things that lead to pretty and (or) disturbing images in poems. So I started using Pinterest as a vision board of sorts. One for my dissertation (the mobster project) and one for my latest (and longest running) obsession with demolition. Anywho…today I made a poem happen and it comes largely from pictures on Pinterest. Take that, oh-internet-gods-of-time-wasting.

This poem will self-destruct in 24 hours.

This time next week

*Poof*

the quick and the hungry

Last night = first time back on skates after my crisis-of-faith and my virus-from-hell. Came home with that legs-made-of-jello feeling and ate all the food in my apartment. Okay, not all the food. But too much of it. A salami sandwich and some leftover beef stew and all this after I had a luna bar at the post-practice meeting. This is why I’ll never be skinny…I burn a bunch of calories and then my brain says “Yay! You made room for more food!” Anyway, practice was good. I noticed I have a bad habit of deciding before I try a drill that I can’t do it. That’s probably not helping me get better, so I’m going to try to break that habit. I also noticed that when I’m in a pace line with the new girls, I’m not the worst! It’s so nice to not be the worst!

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Today is the first day (for me) of Italian 102. They started a week ago while I was convalescing. Half of me wishes I wasn’t registered for this class, but it’s just the half of me that wishes I never had to wear pants with buttons. I like speaking Italian, and I like sitting in my office and working, so having to go to campus 3-4 days a week is a good thing. Plus, campus is where all my friends are. I like my friends.

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Last night, I got the questions for my first ever author interview. I’m super excited to answer them but worried I won’t sound smart. There’s a lot of pressure to sound smart when you’re getting a PhD.

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I’m working on the edits for my new manuscript and sending poems out to journals. Exams are over and I have to start being a part of the poetry world again. Thank goodness.

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I’m totally digging this anti-winter we’re having. I hope the whole world doesn’t freeze in April or some crazy shit.

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What do you think of Prayer and Demolition as a title for my book? I’m not sure there’s enough of either in the book to warrant the title, but I sure like the sound of it.

Resolution Poem #2 – Self-Portrait as Blues Singer

Caveat: I don’t know much about the blues. This poem will likely require either a) a new title or b) some research on the blues.

Let me tell you how this poem happened. First, I’ve been listening to this song on repeat:

Second: Last night, I went to my lovely friend Rogue’s birthday party. Rogue is the kind of person that you either want to be or be with. If a) she wasn’t married and b) I liked girls, I’d try to marry her. Since we both already have derby wives, we decided to be derby mistresses.

Me & Rogue at the pride parade last summer.

But I’m getting off track. Rogue isn’t actually the inspiration for this poem, the venue of her party is. It was upstairs from a bar, in this space with great hardwood floors and dark red walls, and there was a huge picture window next to the dance floor and an awesome dj and lots of happy dancing derby girls. One of the things I love about derby girls is the way they dress — which is to say, not at all conventionally. Boots and tights and shorts, leggings and lace, funky dresses, great accessories. Anyway, I was thinking about clothes, dancing, and wood floors.

Third: I’ve been reading this poem and this journal.

So 1+2+3 = this poem (which will disappear sometime tomorrow):

Self-Portrait as Blues Singer

*poof*

Crisis of Faith – Derby Style

icallthisart.com

Okay, listen. Roller Derby is amazing. When I was a grieving, self-medicating, salt-and-vinegar-chip-eating mess, roller derby swooped in and got me out of my head (and off my ass). When the floor dropped out at school, roller derby was the net that caught me. And even when roller derby broke me, it saved me. It sent me this awesome bunch of girls who drove me to the emergency room, staved off my panic with snickers bars and xanax, did my laundry, helped me up and down the stairs, cheered for me when I took my first steps on my bionic ankle, and encouraged me to get back on skates even though it was scary as f*ck (sorry, mom). So I wanted to give back to derby, and I became marketing director. I love that too.

But a couple weeks ago, I had a bad practice and decided I needed a few days off. Well, after my few days off, I got sick, and so now it’s been 2 weeks (almost) since I went to practice. And in that two weeks, I haven’t missed derby like I thought I would. I miss my girls, that’s for sure, but I don’t miss skating. And so I’m having a bit of a crisis of faith, derby style.

Don’t worry — I won’t quit. I just had to sit and think for a minute about what it means that I while I’ve been sitting here, quarantined from the rest of the world, it’s been kind of a relief to answer the “you need a ride to practice?” texts with “nope, still too sick.” So, what’s the deal? And how do I go forward?

First, I need to admit that roller derby is the key to me getting in shape. It’s common sense that you’ll only stick to an exercise program if it’s enjoyable, right? And there’s not a chance in the world you’ll ever find me on an elliptical machine for 2 or 3 hours at a shot, but I don’t mind being on skates that long. Running? Maybe. If I could run outside and not break my ankle again, I could maybe become a runner. But I’ve been too afraid to try running outside (since I was told not to months ago) and now the world is covered in snow. So put that idea on the back burner. Lifting? I like it, but if I didn’t have derby to motivate me, I probably wouldn’t do it. This is the important part: I only go to the gym because it will help me get better at derby. Sure, I care about my health, and I care about my weight and how good my legs look in that skirt, but for years those things have failed to motivate me. Derby does. Derby has forced me to figure out how to push my limits, how to do the work even when I don’t feel like it, and how to make fitness a priority. Sometimes I backslide, but never for more than a week or two. I don’t know what would do that for me if I gave up on derby.

Second, I need to remember that derby is just one part of my life — my very full, albeit unscheduled and unstructured life — and I need to find a way to balance that. Going to every practice (4 a week, for a total of 9-10 hours plus another 6 hours of commuting) is not a balanced or reasonable expectation. It leaves very little time for having a social life, for going to literary events (which often happen on Sundays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays — all practice nights), or for having nights off to just hang out with my cat and watch TV (I know, it doesn’t exactly sound awesome, but I need to be alone sometimes). I’m required to attend 8 practices a month, and I shouldn’t feel guilty for not doing more than that. If I have a week where three practices seems feasible, fine. Maybe even four will fit sometimes. But if I can only do 2, no big deal.

Second (continued), I can spend all of my time answering marketing emails, updating the website, doing market research, brainstorming awesome ad campaigns, or I can limit the amount of time I spend on off-skates work and instead spend all my time writing poems, submitting to journals and publishers, brainstorming awesome dissertation projects, applying to residencies, reading other poets’ blogs, reading articles and books that have to do with my field, etc. It’s easy to prioritize derby work because I have a league depending on me. There’s external pressure to answer quickly and get shit done. But the bottom line is derby is temporary. I’m not going to be hip checking bitches when I’m 50. (Not that 50-year-olds can’t play derby, I just know I’m not going to.) I am, however, going to be writing poems and applying to residencies when I’m 50, so I need to think long term every now and then. Poetry first, derby 2nd.

Third, I need to remember that I am a dilettante. I’m surrounded by these amazing athletes who take this sport very seriously, who are working toward regional and national rankings, and who have adjusted their lives so that derby can be a top priority. I am not now, nor do I aspire to be, a Syndicate (read: ranking) skater. I do aspire to play roller derby in public with my friends. I would really like that to happen in or near Chicago or Cleveland or Detroit or Lynchburg so that I can invite my other friends and my family to watch. And should that happen, my only goal would be to get through the bout without breaking any more bones. Those are my derby goals: play in a bout, don’t break anything. That’s all. So, eligibility for our first bout started last week but I still can’t scrimmage. No. big. deal. The season is long. I can move at my own pace, finish my minimum skills, and still be rostered before the end of the season. It doesn’t have to happen for the first bout. My injury has set me back, but rushing myself to get into full contact situations with people who are known for their ability to knock people over is just silly. I need to remember that I’m only competing against myself — not these hotshots on 8 wheels juking all over the place.

So, yeah. It’s all good. 2 practices a week, poetry before derby, don’t hurt yourself. I can do this. I can have fun on my roller skates instead of taking things so seriously that I end up crying at practice and needing time away. And who knows, maybe when I stop pressuring myself, shit’ll get easier. Because you know I don’t screw anything up worse than when I’m holding on too tight.

Ouch.

I like to think of myself as tough. I claim to have a high pain tolerance. But then I get sick and I remember I’m just a big baby. Lucky for me, I don’t have to teach people this semester (never connected with the interviewer I wrote about last week, so no part-time teaching), so that means I don’t have to call in sick, cancel class, and/or show up in class and try to lecture while being unable to breathe through my nose. Oh, those are the days, aren’t they? Nothing like public speaking when you can barely speak at all. I have, however, missed 3 days of Italian class. That’ll make things tricky later on, as I’m not about to let a 100 level class screw up my GPA, and language classes always have ridiculous attendance requirements. (I’m conflicted about attendance requirements. As I teacher, I want my students to show up primarily so I don’t have to answer their annoying “Did I miss anything important?” emails. But as a student, I think if I can learn the material without participating in class, then I ought to be allowed to skip as often as I want. Yes, I know it doesn’t make sense.) Anyway, I’m feeling really spoiled and lucky that I can carry out my convalescence in the privacy of my home rather than running around Chicago with kleenex stuffed into my sleeves. But I’m hoping to feel good enough to rejoin the land of the living tomorrow.

Unfortunately, even though I don’t have to call in sick, I am falling further and further behind…and wasn’t I going to be a workaholic this semester? Derby emails (so many derby emails!), dissertation prospectus planning, poem writing, book submitting — none of these things are getting done while I’m sleeping 18 hours a day. When I went to bed last night, I swore today I would feel better and get some work done. But declaring that you’ll feel better doesn’t make it so. Could I be answering emails instead of blogging? Yep. But I needed to write some sentences.

And I haven’t been to the gym — or on skates — in ages. Normally I would be thrilled that my scale is 4 pounds down after not eating for 3 days, but now that I actually know a little bit about health and fitness, I realize that I’ve probably lost 4 lbs of muscle that I worked really hard to get. And the next time I go to practice or try to lift something heavy, it’s going to be a lot harder than I want it to be. If I’m not ready to be back at practice by Sunday, I am going to pitch a fit. It’s a good reminder, I guess, that exercise has finally become a part of who I am (even if it isn’t my favorite thing or the first thing I think to do when I’ve got a free hour) because I am missing it more than just about anything else I can’t do right now.

And now I think it’s time for a nap.

head in the clouds

I lost an entire day yesterday to daydreaming and thinking about what’s next. I might have a part time teaching job before the week is out (if the interviewer and I ever stop playing phone tag), so I’ve been imagining writing cool literature syllabi (even though chances are 99% that I’ll be teaching comp, like always) and wondering what my schedule will turn out to be. And things are afoot in other arenas too, but I’ll leave that to your imagination. Suffice it to say I’ve been grinning for days.

Everyone around me is talking about the beginning of the semester, their classes, their students, their text books…and if I don’t get the job, I’ll be on the outside of that academic rhythm for the second spring semester in a row. Hopefully this one won’t involve crutches or surgeries or physical therapy. I don’t know what I want more — to get the job and jump with both feet into a new kind of teaching experience (the university I’m hopefully interviewing at is on Michigan Avenue, overlooking Grant Park — a huge contrast to UIC, the ugliest college campus I’ve ever seen), or to not get the job and have a semester to work from home and be a full time writer.

But if I can’t get focused…yikes! There’s so much to do. And one of my unofficial new year’s resolutions was to waste less time, but yesterday was a waste as far as productivity goes. Then again, part of being a writer is indulging in one’s obsessions, right? Right? Yes, I know I’m making excuses.

I just want to be a rock star, okay? And not a literal rock star, but someone who just makes shit happen. I want to be a workaholic, not a daydreamer. I want to pump out residency applications and literary essays and poems as quick as I pump out status updates on facebook. I want to be a force of nature. I want to be a revelation.

And I want someone else to do my damn taxes. Bah.

yes, there *is* crying in roller derby (season 2, episode 5)

Another brilliant "hey girl" tumblr.

Oh, bugger.

It’s been a year since I first showed up at an Outfit practice, and a year since I hit the giant wall of I-can’t-do-this-it’s-so-hard-I’m-going-to-sit-over-here-and-cry-about-it self doubt at my second practice ever. And I haven’t cried at practice since then. Not even the day I broke my ankle. (Believe me, I’ve cried about derby since then, but never at practice.) Until last night.

It was a pretty normal night for me. 99% of the people there were working on jammer and blocker drills and I was off to the side working on the basics. This, my friends, is beginning to feel like purgatory. I tested a bunch of contact stuff with Smashley, and I *think* I passed most, if not all, of the contact skills. But I’ve still got 3 skills that are tripping me (quite literally) up. Turn around toe stops, 180 degree knee falls, and adjusting my speed in a pace line.

Now, if you’ve been following along in my derby drama, you know that pace lines are the bane of my existence. I’m getting better/faster, but now I need to work on my control. When the pace line slows down, I have to touch the girl in front of me to slow down instead of running her over. 180 degree knee falls? Well, those are just annoying, and I’ve gotten in a bad habit when I do them that I need to fix.

Turn around toe stops. These things: bah! I broke my ankle during a turn around drill, so a) I’m scared shitless and b) it hurts like crazy to turn my ankle that way. I got these last night, after doing like 1000 of them wrong, but didn’t get to re-test because by the time I had gotten it, my leg hurt so bad I threw up in my mouth a little. No joke.

I think I told you a couple of weeks ago that Roe told me I had “graduated” from icing my ankle during practice. She wants me skating the full two hours (and I get it, I need to work on endurance as much as anything), but last night, after 90 minutes I just couldn’t. I swear I’m not exaggerating when I say I could feel my fibula straining. So I told myself I was going to ice for 5 minutes and then skate until the end of practice. I iced 5 minutes, went back to my corner, skated for five minutes, threw up in my mouth a little again, and then gave up. And I iced and cried for the last 15 minutes of practice like a big old baby.

So. Yeah. Being on team injured is kind of never ending. But I’m also pissed off, and a lot of the crying was about being pissed off that I couldn’t just tough it out. And that I can’t skate with my friends. I feel like a leper. And I know that I’m not, but I’m so tired of being on the outside.

My derby friends are so supportive, and they’re all full of compliments about how tough I am to come back after such a major injury as a newbie, and that I’m not the only one who struggles coming back after an injury, and I know that’s all true. So forgive me while I wallow in self pity for a while. My ankle and the rest of my body will eventually catch up with my brain and it’ll all be fine. But today, I’m pissed that I’m not a natural athlete and that my body isn’t more resilient.

On the upside, today I’m going to try on wedding dresses, and at the end of the month, I’m going to wear one of those wedding dresses and my roller skates at a fashion show. Only in derby, people, only in derby.

2012: Resolutions

Okay, so 2011 is over. And yesterday doesn’t count because it was a holiday. But 2012 is going to be a super productive year. I swear it.

I usually make big long lists of resolutions and declarations, but this year I’m keeping them simple. Like this:

1) write a poem every week (and post it to the blog for good measure)

2) go to a literary event every month

3) do cool Chicago stuff more often.

I’ll post this week’s poem below. It’s not uplifting, I’m sad to say. Maybe one of my resolutions should be to write more happy poems. Also, since new year’s eve went well into new year’s day (well, an hour or so), I’m counting it as this month’s literary event (though I’m sure I can find something else to attend before January’s over). The party I attended was hosted by 2nd Story, which is a cross between a reading and a theater performance. I tried to photograph it, but my camera sucks and the closest I could get to a good photo was this:

Anywho. I’m looking forward to 2012 being a busy, happy, healthy year, and I hope it is for you too…though you wouldn’t know it by the poem below (which will, of course, disappear for revision tomorrow).

poof!