Call me coach (roller derby update)

before

It’s been 366 days since I broke my ankle doing (err — trying to do) a turn around toe stop at practice. I’ll spare you the rehashing of my recovery, as I’ve blogged about it repeatedly, but I’ll tell you this: It was a lot harder than I anticipated, and it’s taken a lot longer, and it still isn’t over.

I was so excited to get back on skates that I didn’t mind starting over as a new recruit. But as I skated alongside my second group of newbies, once again watching them get better faster, my frustration with roller derby grew. I knew it was time to make a difficult decision.

Skating wasn’t fun anymore. I dreaded going to practice. I was angry that my ankle was still weak, that simple things were still difficult and painful. I was frustrated that I couldn’t participate in scrimmage and hitting drills. I was sad and disappointed that even though I was in the best shape of my adult life, I was still slower and clumsier than most everyone else.

I went to my surgeon a few weeks ago to see what the problem was. I half expected him to tell me never to skate again, and when he didn’t, I was disappointed. And that’s when I knew: I don’t want to play roller derby

But what did that mean for me and the Outfit? I love those punks so freaking much. And I didn’t want to walk away — especially since I’d just signed on as marketing coordinator. Around the same time, I found out that the Shakedown (our C team) needed a bench coach…and I volunteered.

Next Saturday, I’ll be making my debut as bench coach of the Chicago Outfit Shakedown in Des Moines Iowa.

after

I’m totally psyched to support this team. That doesn’t mean I’m not sad and disappointed about my career as a roller derby badass. But I tried. I tried really really hard and I got hurt and then I tried really really hard again. I passed the 25-in-5, I learned how to do turn around toe stops even though they terrify me. And then I made a decision that makes the most sense for me and my life.

Maybe I’ll try again next year. Maybe I won’t. But I’ll always have this story to tell, and the gnarly scar to go along with it.

Poem #8

In workshop last semester, NPP (new poetry professor) asked us to write imitations of our classmates. We then turned them into him, and he removed our names and our font-ticks and passed them all back to us so that we would have to a) guess who wrote the poem and b) guess who they were imitating. It was way easier to guess who was being imitated than to guess who was imitating. Anyway, my classmate and friend Sacha wrote an imitation of me called “The Musician Checks His Pockets.” I liked the title so much that I stole it, along with a couple of lines from Sacha’s imitation, and ended up with this (please ignore the spacing…I don’t feel like fixing it right now):

The Musician Checks His Pockets

 

 

He will have a drink with us. He will have more

than a drink with us. Grappa or limoncello,

sweet aperitif to soothe the tongue. He’ll forget

his flapping soles, his sunburn. He’ll promise

to remember our names. The Musician doesn’t know

we are not as sweet as the drinks he buys.

Though we laugh and bat our eyes, we want

more than flattery tonight. He won’t know

until he boards the train, that we have something

of his. Words written on the corner of a map,

torn off and folded into thirds. The name

of a town on an island, a shop keeper

and a street address. We’ll only need it for now.

He’ll only miss it for the rest of his life.

Oh My God. AWP is next week.

There is so much going on next week! And since AWP is coming to my town, that means that I pretty much have to keep living my real life while also going to panels and readings and wandering the book fair. On the up side, I don’t have any current writer crushes or personal drama to make me act stupid at the book fair or late night dance party.

Here’s a brief run down of where I think I’m going to be:

Wednesday

8pm, Chopin Theater: Chicago Poetry Bordello. I’ll be rocking out my calico and corset. Just $10 to get in (or $5 if you wear a costume, too).

Thursday

12-1:15 – panel on labor and class in contemporary poetry
1:30-2:45 – panel on translation
3:00-4:15 – panel on fulbright fellowships for writers
4:30-5:15 – panel on working class pedagogy in creative writing
OR – Nashville Review Reading at Haymarket Brewer (friends Roger Reeves and Tyler Mills are reading)
6:00 – A Face to Meet the Faces Launch at The Jazz Showcase (favorite poets Eduardo Corral and Aimee Nez reading)
7:00 – Revolving Door / BlazeVOX (blog pal Amanda Auchter reading, friends Jen and Jamie hosting)
OR – Simone’s Bar in Pilsen (blog pal Brooklyn Copeland and favorite poet John Gallaher reading)
OR – Black Lawrence Press reading at Salud Tequila Lounge (Mary B and Brent Goodman reading)

Friday

12:00 – Ghost Writing the Eulogy (panel with Simone Muench and Kim Addonizio, two of my heroes)
??? – My MFA prof Craig Paulenich is I think reading on Friday afternoon, but I don’t have details yet.
5:00 – New England Review at Delilah’s (favorite poets Eduardo and Traci Brimhall reading)
6:00 – Bread Loaf waiters reading at Green Door
OR 6:30 – Kale Soup for the Soul – Portuguese American writers, including Carlo Matos, my derby wife’s husband. 78 E Washington
7:00 – Diode and Barn Owl Review – Fine Arts Building. I love everyone who is supposed to be at this event, but especially: Jason Bredle, John Gallaher, Traci Brimhall, Brent Goodman, Aimee Nez, Sandy Longhorn.
10:00 – AWP dance party

Saturday

10:30 – White poets write about race panel
1:30 – NEOMFA faculty reading
3:00 – Vampire Poets panel
4:30 – Pitt Poetry Series reading

So, as you can see, I’m going to need to clone myself in the next couple of days. And I’m also going to have to make time to eat lunch or drink beer or wine or coffee or eat dinner with people who are awesome that I only see once a year or so. Speaking of: Brooklyn, Sandy, etc.: let’s hang out!

Oh, I’m tired just thinking about it.

 

a note about poem #7

I wrote Poem #7 last week, but I’m not going to post it. It’s just not that good, and I don’t need people reading my crappy first drafts. Not that Poems #1-6 were all perfect, but they were at least getting close to doing what I wanted them to do. Poem #7, not so much. So it’s going in the vault. Hopefully Poem #8 will be more successful. I’ve got three days to make it happen.

I’ve been reading a lot of poetry the last few days: Natasha Tretheway, Dawn Lundy Martin, Honoree Jeffers, Brigit Peegan Kelly… My head is full of unfamiliar rhythms and phrasings and images and I’m excited about writing. But sometimes it’s terrifying to put pen to paper because what if the things in my head don’t translate? Hopefully they will.

Also, Bread Loaf. I’m applying. But I’m stuck on the part where I have to say what I hope to gain from attending. Um…awesomeness? Is that not an acceptable answer?

 

Poem #6

Here’s my (late) 6th poem for the year. I only have 3 days to write poem #7 and get back on track.

This poem can be filed under “dating is for suckers” and also “is it springtime yet?” The title is from an essay by Alice Fulton.

Cure the Winter Desolations

Dear Poems,

Why are you hiding from me? I need two of you on paper, pronto.

K? Thanks.

Love,

Sara

Crying Uncle and other ramblings

If I did have a valentine, I'd want him to buy me this instead of roses. Click for link.

I change my mind a lot. A lot. And over the past few days, I’ve changed it at least 16 times regarding how I feel about Indie Wed Guy and dating in general. At the moment, I think dating is for suckers. I promise, this has nothing to do with Valentine’s Day (though I just this minute got a happy v-day text from IWG). I think the last time I celebrated Valentine’s Day I was 12, so not having plans with someone “special” today is no big deal. But, BUT, I do think it has something to do with being tired of the roller coaster that is meeting someone for the first time, liking him, wondering if he likes me back, thinking he does like me back, thinking he doesn’t like me back, thinking he likes someone else more… You get the picture. It’s really not all that fun. So I’m crying uncle. I’m hanging up my dating hat (at least for a minute) and focusing on other things.

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Have I ever told you how much I love Betsy Lerner? I read her book The Forest for the Trees when I was in college, and I was like “this book is about me! ohmygod!” and I’ve read that book about a million times since then, even though it sort of doesn’t apply now that I’m a poet. But a couple of years ago she started a blog and I’ve been lurking daily ever since. (Those of you who have your own blogs know I’m not much of a commenter…I feel it’s a shortcoming of mine but I don’t know what to do about it.) Anyway, in her latest post, she said this: “Isn’t writing the ecstasy?”  And I thought: yes yes yes! Writing is ecstasy. And why don’t I do it more often?

I’m behind on my poem-a-week resolution. Just by a couple of days. Hopefully today I’ll write 2 so that I can be back up to speed. I’m feeling really good/excited about the direction my writing is taking so far in this experiment, but still not sure how to turn it into a dissertation. Hopefully I’ll work on that today, too. I met with two of my profs last week to talk about dissertating, and I’m chock-full of ideas and questions and plans. I just need to sit down and put them all together.

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There’s some change afoot in my derby status that I’m not quite sure what to say about. There’s likely to be a lot less roller skating in my future, but not necessarily less derby. I’ll be writing a full post when I know more. But it’s been a weird couple of weeks trying to decide what I want to do. Dr. HotShot said there’s nothing really wrong with my ankle — maybe a little scar tissue rubbing between 2 bones — and he’s going to do a steriod shot next week to be sure. It’s a relief to know there’s not something major, but the near constant pain is getting old. Hopefully the shot works because if it doesn’t…surgery.

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And now I’m off…to write poems, emails, and maybe something that looks like a dissertation prospectus.

Listen

I don’t usually blog about dating, but I’m going to today. Because dating is taking up a lot of my head space and I need to get it out. And what better way to do that than to tell a bunch of strangers?

A quick back story for you: I call myself the perpetually single girl. I sometimes get involved with guys who say they don’t want to be my boyfriend. I crush real bad on someone for a couple of months and then I crush on someone else. I was watching TV with my mom over Christmas break and I saw a commercial for eHarmony’s free communication weekend and I decided to try it (even though my first experiment with online dating was a disaster).

My free weekend on eH resulted in a few dates with one guy; we’ll call him Hollister. Hollister is nothing like me, nothing like anyone I know, and I was instantly fascinated. Now, I went into my first date with Hollister thinking that the rules would be different with this guy because we found each other on eHarmony. It’s like, the dating site that people use when they already have their wedding planned and they just need someone to meet them at the altar (which makes it hilarious that I was getting fitted for a wedding dress the afternoon before our first date). And our first conversations indicated that we were totally on boyfriend/girlfriend tryouts. And then suddenly we weren’t. Turns out Hollister is still in love with his ex.

Luckily I didn’t have to pout about Hollister’s false advertising for too long, because I met guy #2, who we’ll call Indie Wed Guy. So, I’m wearing the wedding dress mentioned above, along with my skates, rolling around this bridal show in pincurls and red lipstick, and Indie Wed Guy tells me I look stunning and gives me his number(I don’t know how I managed to attract the attention of the only straight guy who wasn’t someone’s fiance at the whole bridal show). Over the next few days, we exchange 200+ text messages. We go out. Unlike Hollister, Indie Wed Guy is totally familiar. He’s like the people I grew up with. He’s like the guys I dated before grad school (which is maybe not the best thing since the guys I dated before grad school were a lot of trouble) and have been missing since I moved to Chicago. (Side note: there are a lot of tiny men in Chicago. Before Indie Wed Guy, I think I out weighed every guy I’ve dated since I moved here. And I don’t weigh that much.) And more than being familiar in this kind of “he’s my type” way, we also share some really strange commonalities…like, for instance, how we’ll both eat sour candy or salt and vinegar chips until our faces sweat and our tongues are raw. Come on, people, how often do you find someone you can share a bag of s&v chips with and not be embarrassed?

Anyway, as awesome as all that is, things get complicated. Indie Wed Guy is very forthcoming with information (unlike Hollister, who would only tell me things if I asked direct questions) and let me know from the beginning that he’s dating several women. (Okay, first of all, who has energy to date several people? And how do you keep it straight?) For a minute, I thought that was my cue to make a quick exit. But then I got to thinking…isn’t that what dating is about? Aren’t you supposed to do it with more than one person? Don’t you eventually have a conversation with a person about how you don’t want to see other people?

As a person who crushes hard on one person at a time, this concept is totally foreign to me. Dating? More than one person? How on earth? But I think I’m going to try it.

Life is crazy and full and overwhelming and amazing right now. I’m really happy. And I’m enjoying the intensity of my feelings even when it gets a little ridiculous…I lose whole days just feeling. It’s weird to say it like that, buy you probably know what I mean. If not…oh well. And you know what else? Being confused about boys has always been good for my poems.

More

I thought this winter would stretch out before me in endless chunks of alone time and procrastination (or if I was lucky (err-disciplined), in endless chunks of poetry reading and writing). Turns out I’m not getting endless chunks of anything. Just endless piles of emails. At the beginning of the year, I decided to forgo my usual 2-page-per-week planner for a simple monthly calendar, but I find every square filled up. Appointments, practices, classes, readings, friend-dates and date-dates. I’m not complaining, just saying: it’s more than I expected. Different than I expected. And it’s forcing me to shift my priorities. I’m finding that I want more:

• time with friends
• art
• music
• travel
• fresh air
• stretching
• conversation
• order
• coffee

and less:

• television
• junk food
• roller skating
• pretension
• bull shit
• chaos
• uncertainty
• time with people who don’t matter
• city

It’s not an earth-shattering, life-changing list, I realize, but it does make for some not-so-subtle shifts in the way I spend my time and maybe goes to explain a bit of the funkytown feeling I’ve been fighting (it was gone for a day or two, but came back with a vengeance over the weekend). The only problem — the only thing standing between me and the more list — is stupid crap like taxes, bills, and laundry (and the never ending search for quarters to do said laundry). Why can’t I just go off the grid?

Escape from Funkytown (and poem #5)

Bad news on the ankle front: Gotta go back to the surgeon. Roe says I shouldn’t still be having this much pain at 11 months, so I need to check in with Dr. HotShot to see if something’s wrong. I must say I’m not thrilled about seeing him again. And not thrilled about the possibilities that might follow this appointment (more PT? surgery to remove my hardware? who knows). Oh well. What can you do?

*

Super excited about poetry right now. I think I have a plan for my dissertation, and I’m starting to think about poems all the time again. I just want to get back to the way I was when I was writing my thesis. I’d get up in the morning, take my stack of poems  and a cup of coffee to the garage or the porch (I was a smoker then) and I’d read and make notes and smoke until I got inspired and then I’d go inside and start typing. I’m glad to be free of the cigarettes, but I sure do miss that rhythm.

I spend a lot of time working on Outfit stuff and a good amount some days working on Italian homework. And then there’s my social life…I’ve been dating, internet, which is interesting but not for the blog…which gets in the way of doing anything. So most days I don’t get to spend the time I’d like on my writer’s life. Have to get better at budgeting my time, I guess. Don’t want to waste dissertation leave…

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Not much else to tell you, so I guess I’ll get to the poem. No good back story for this one, though the reference to Leviticus is because of the lecture I was not paying attention to as I wrote this poem (the talk was actually super interesting. I just had a poet-moment).

These Blades

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