[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
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|Friday, February 16th, 2018|
|Wednesday, February 14th, 2018|
-I don’t have cable but now the antenna picks up “the Justice network” and I’m wasting my life away anyway. My new favorite show (they’re all good: Crime 360, Murderous Affairs, Drugs Inc., Dr. G Medical Examiner, Rescue 911, Inside [prison], I Killed my BFF, etc.) is “I Survived,” which alternates three firsthand narrations of shit people miraculously survived. Last night a story about a chimp attack in Sierra Leone had me literally holding on to the armchair. Then I spent an hour online looking up chimp attacks stuff.
|Tuesday, February 13th, 2018|
About the fourth time that I read that Michelle Obama’s portrait included the use of a “gray scale” did I finally understand (see?) that her skin was painted in black and white.
| It’s 10:55pm, do you want to try on all your lipsticks?
(I stopped after the 8th, okay? I’m not that cray cray.)
|Monday, February 12th, 2018|
|Algunas cosas sobre hoy:
-Llamó el Dr. H. Es ahora a mediados de febrero que todo el mundo está medio-despertando (no me incluyo). El Dr. H es guapo, como le decía a Ryan [especialmente], ‘Hace 50 libras.’ Y muy simpático, con los pacientes también. Le gustan las chicas (le gusta todo el mundo), lo he escuchado regalándole a los residentes y estudiantes de medicina historias sobre su estadía en China y no se qué, exactamente el tipo de cosas que jamás me interesan sobre las personas. A mí nunca se ha adaptado. Me habla como que alguna vez le he respondido con interés. Hoy me saludó con cariño (por mi nombre), me preguntó si conocía a esta paciente, le dije que no y se extrañó. Una vez en el cuarto casi todo fue incómodo (como me había dicho, la paciente a veces era sorda y a veces no). Al final llegó una doctorcita, pero solo con suficiente tiempo para ponerse la bata estéril y los guantes y quitárselos para irnos. Me sostuvo la tapa de la papelera abierta para yo botar lo mío. Afuera el Dr. H bromeó que esta era la parte donde “me cede su vida con su firma.” Le dije que sí y le pase mis papeles (no sonreí), en ese punto se le cayó el bolígrafo, todos lo miramos en el piso, ¿pensando en quien lo recojería?, el Dr. H se dobló y su gemido me hizo darme cuenta porque él también miró el bolígrafo por unos segundos, y en eso el estetoscopio se le resbaló del cuello y terminó en el piso también. Y después firmó. Nos despedimos con demasiada cortesía para ser creíble.
-“Pensaba que te habías perdido,” me dijo la técnico cuando llegué. Me molestó y hablé sobre su voz para presentarme a la paciente (otra persona ya había comenzado a traducir). Si necesitas un intérprete inmediatamente usa el intérprete por teléfono.
(Lo estoy guardando para alguna ocasión.) “¿Cómo te llamas?” Le pregunté a la técnico para llenar mi papel, “Monalisa,” me dijo, ¡y la recordé! Entonces me puse simpática por el resto de la interacción.
-Me emocioné al ver los ingredientes para hamburguesas en la cafetería. Que bajo estándar. Lo que pasa es que cambiaron el pan a uno denso tipo brioche, y ese sí me gusta, así que aunque la carne y el queso sean mediocres, Lunes-de-hacerte-tu-propia-hamburguesa me mata el antojo de comerme una, y es relativamente saludable. Me fui del comedor apenas terminé de comer. “La hora dominicana” comenzó temprano. Pago $3 para perdérmela. ¿Quiero un té, en otra parte, justo después de comer? No, pero a veces vale la pena por el (relativo) silencio, y claro, para salir del hospital.
-Tuve que traducir “heavy kissing,” dije, “besarse apasionadamente.” Y cuando pensé que había superado el reto del día, la paciente preguntó que era el “sexo oral.”
(-Sigo de pésimo humor.)
|Sunday, February 11th, 2018|
“... and they tried to see who could make the most words out of the name Beethoven.” ( MineCollapse )
Make your own list first! (I cheated a little bit.)
|Saturday, February 10th, 2018|
Hola. No se que lenguaje hablar, como dice mi hermano que se la pasa viajando (y cambiando idiomas). Yo
no quiero decir “Ay, ¿inglés o español?” Para mí es casi lo mismo. Lo que quiero decir es que no se que Rose ser, supongo. “Lo que almorcé hoy-Rose,” (les juro que nunca los mantendré al tanto, la comida me aburre); “Las hojas de los árboles llueven sobre mí-Rose,” más bien la nieve hoy en día, y la multitud de gris. “Historias del metro, el trabajo...” Acabo de pasar una hora en el teléfono, “hablando” (esperando) con mi banco y después con Amazon, que nos estafa tan fácilmente que ya mi banco sabía que no tenía que cancelar mi tarjeta sino simplemente llamar a Amazon (ellos, a mi que me lo sigan chupando) y cancelar una membrecia que “¿No recuerda haber adquirido...?” Preguntó Stephanie, la asociada de Amazon, “Que nunca adquirí,” le dije. La representante del banco todavía escuchando la conversación, como una referí. Que threesome más aburrido. Pasé más de 20 minutos esperando, por eso estaba tan extra-amargada. La vida es una mierda. De verdad. Lo pensé mientras esperaba [es una de mis citas favoritas], para recobrar mis $107 y 79 centavos. Un sábado. Mientras veía en televisión (apenas miraba) una película de Barbra Streisand y Robert Redford (otra vez) y decidía que terminé con el amor. Terminé con toda esa mierda: la incertidumbre, la insuficiencia. Y a eso iba, no se si es hormonal, no se si es el invierno (el encierro), no se si son las noticias (personales/profesionales) que recibí que ya no alterarán el resto de mi vida (como yo planeaba), no se si es la vida de mis padres y otros miembros de mi familia, ahora precaria, no se si es mi situación amorosa. Lo es todo. Y últimamente no deseo pensar en la bueno, no quiero terminar esta entrada con lo bueno. Mi estupida vida ha sido todo lo bueno, y hay que sufrir. Incluso en este momento resisto el impulso para resaltar lo bueno. Tal vez por eso digo, No se que lenguaje hablar.
|Friday, February 9th, 2018|
|I know I am but what are you
This is RIDICULOUS.
I was playing along filling out forms, checking boxes without reading, as one does, until I really didn’t know how to answer.
|Wednesday, February 7th, 2018|
I was happy, and then I lit a candle... And I was so much happier.
|Monday, February 5th, 2018|
I take one earbud out when strangers address me even if I’m not listening to music. It means (the earbuds) don’t talk to me please, thank you.
My current life has become a countdown to 5pm Friday, sadly.
Today it was sunny and nonfrigid enough to soak in some vitamin D in the park. I was starting to wonder how much longer I could bear these days without that. Plus the cold weather sunlight has this surreal effect that helps me “disconnect from reality” more easily.
The other miracle was that I was determined not to let the agitated first patient of the day discompose my Monday mood (a tone from the weekend I try to carry through for as long as I can). I can be only about as good as the person I work with though. And this social worker, this social worker
seems to have shared my lowkey-Monday-please sentiment; she gave up so quickly hallelujah. Some people you can’t
talk to, you are not talking to, regardless of the language.
Aw. I’m getting live-blogging posts flashbacks. My days used to be more stimulating (in a better way).
|Sunday, February 4th, 2018|
Is what I said when my friend was like, Sure let’s hang out today.
|Friday, February 2nd, 2018|
No longer nighttime when I leave work and get home (natural-light-wise). An orange light flashed into the train when we came out to cross the bridge. I turned around to a bright sunset, a black skyline in front of it, a few clouds... Light blue sky in my ‘hood!
|Thursday, February 1st, 2018|
Admitting to a friend that I had an existential crisis after I finished watching True Detective, ‘But I think it’s cuz I watched it all in one day.’
I don’t care about being an interpreter. I love interpreting. I love encountering, seeing, meeting new people all the time. I love the few seconds we spend figuring out how the interaction will flow. Will they address me directly? (Please don’t.) Will they trust me and catch on quickly, use me as just their voice? How much will we have to look into each other’s eyes? I love voicing interactions, and “not being there.” I love being removed, and being so important. I love how comfortable I am in either English or Spanish, yet finding the stuff that’ll make me trip (always). I love realizing how capable a brain can be. I love learning new things all the time. I love words. I love bringing kindness and warmth into situations with my voice and tone, and strength with my posture. I love sensing awkwardnesses in communication (always) (why do we do it like that?), and knowing it will all be “understood” anyway, or “let go of.” I love the things people say, “What’s your religion?” “Hallelujah!” (Just yesterday.) I love “knowing” what people are going to say, a fraction of a second before they say it, and being right. I love cracking up in my head all the time, and even crying, being shocked, staying away. I love that I have to keep a poker face (my face). I love helping, so directly and indirectly at the same time. I love everyone’s gratitude. I love being in intense situations. I love being able to separate my emotions from what I’m saying. I love being there. I love us being human and doing the best we can. But, I don’t care about being an interpreter.
|Wednesday, January 31st, 2018|
When I was 13 years old, I’d lie in bed (lie, why did they ever mix those verbs?) (at least they threw “lay” into the confusion), and tell myself that no matter what, 100% of the time, every day, and every hour, I would always be myself. I had a fair childhood. At the beginning of adolescence, I must have started to sense that being oneself required some determination. Sure enough, I must have said it to myself enough times that soon I was comfortable with it, and effortless about it. Surely, I was born with some of the strength required, too. Over the years, I used that strength to hold on to my way of being when it was challenged. Both qualities have become automatic, at least every year gaining me labels like: selfish, insensitive, stubborn, cold, proud, mean! I don’t always disagree. No one has a perfect year.
Since it became possible for me to open my heart more, after some regular, adulthood battering of it, I have had to go back to that resolution to be myself. It is monumental in a way, to be my natural loving self. I resist, I self-protect, I have a long way to go, still. And I face the conundrum that this depth depletes me, the solitude of it.
My life became boring. I was self-indulgent enough, whether when it came to an inability to accept an imperfect (unloving) partner, or to settle for an un-structured (“dead end”) job, most significantly, in practical terms. I tried to change both things. I am always changing things. The future spreads open ahead of me, I know that, but time caught up with me, or I caught up with time. Who knows? Making the entry below, I started to realize how close that time felt, yet how long ago it was. And glancing at the news today, I realized how quickly a year goes by. It all felt so close-knit. I realized all that could have happened, that didn’t. Things that feel pressing now, which brings me grief. I have never wanted to force what doesn’t feel mutual, or meant to be.
In trying to make resolutions, which I discussed with my friend at the beginning of this month, and which can be kind of fun, I realized that throughout the year, I am always making efforts to improve myself: eat more fiber, say “I love you” to people you love, crosspost literary quotes to LJ communities... were some of the specific resolutions I’d thought up for 2018, forever. But more and more, in spite of the disappointments, in spite of the clock, I have to keep reminding myself to just be, and love myself.
|Tuesday, January 30th, 2018|
created a fun LJ meme! A lot of the questions require your statistics, which I do not have. I won’t be able to answer those questions, but I told him I’d be doing it like Frank Sinatra.
Looking back at least 13 years here!
1. My first entry here was on April 16th, 2004, here it is:https://lifeinroseland.livejournal.com/479.html
(I started using LJ as a way to keep in touch with everyone when I moved to Chicago. I was tired of writing the same email to everyone.)
2. I posted 14 entries in my first month on LJ
3. In my first month here [dunno how many] people visited my journal ([dunno how many] of them were fellow LJ users), [I can estimate that 2-6] people friended me, [dunno how many] people unfriended me and  people left  comments in my journal
4. I received my first comment here on my 2nd entry and on my 1st day here
5. My first commenter was amafiaprincess
6. My first commenter I am still friends with [and is still active] was glove_to_face
, it was my [who knows?] entry on my [who knows?] day here
(In 2008-2010 I think.)
7. My first friend friended me on my 1st day here, it was amafiaprincess
[She was a friend irl who made me get an LJ. She made me get a MySpace before that. Luckily, we were no longer friends by the time Facebook came around! I say luckily as in I’m glad I’m not on it. The friendship did end by my choice, though. She was also friends with my ex after we broke up, and I couldn’t handle it. I don’t regret my decision at all, but I did think we were kind of on cool terms (in spite of everything) until a couple of years ago when I had to contact her to get her current address. I was getting a comprehensive background check for a job, and I had to provide the names, DOB’s, zodiac signs, LJ aliases, etc. of everyone I’d ever lived with. We lived together one summer, after my ex moved out, actually. So anyway she was like, ‘I’ll give you my address when you return my sheepskin.’ HUH???!!! Was sort of my response. She sent me a screenshot (this is years
later, she wasn’t active on LJ anymore) that I had posted in more recent days, some random shot of my apartment where you can see a sheepskin on an armchair, ‘My
sheepskin, that you denied you had,’ she said along with the screenshot. The whole thing was suddenly so college-age drama stuff for me, but I had grown some. Even though I didn’t have to explain anything, for her peace of mind (the sheepskin did have great emtional value to her), and some of my own, I explained
that the sheepskin in the photograph, with-my-friend-who-drove-me-to-IKEA-as-m
y-witness, was one of two sheepkins I had gotten there for $29.99 each, like half the world.
She must have not believed me, because I never got her address.]
8. The first friend to friend me who I am still a mutual friend with was volsi
who friended me on my [dunno] day here
(Another friend “from college,” and really the dorm. We actually weren’t friends irl. We’d just seen each other around, and added each other when we found ourselves here. I periodically delete inactive journals, unless I’m emotionally attached to a person that I’d still like to hear from here some day, maybe!)
9. The first friend unfriended me on my [dunno] day here, it was [dunno lol, but you did the right thing! Don’t like it? Don’t read it]
10. The first like I received was from [I don’t know/find out who Likes my entries, I’m just glad they do]
11. My first subscriber was alphabetic_fish
(This happened recently. I was so confused. It’s an account in Russian. It looks like a she, but it might be a he, or an it.)
My favourite entry in my first month here was this one:https://lifeinroseland.livejournal.com/5324.html
Q: Do you think this journal was more interesting in its first month or it is now?
A: Now. 22-year-old me is pretty much 19-year-old me, which is pretty much current me pointing out so much interesting-ness.
|Unless you’re George from Seinfeld
My uncle’s baby mama (the baby is now 15 years old) left overnight, effectively abandoning her children (she later had two more with someone else), yesterday. That was the “gossip” of the day, or how my mom later put it, the “high-risk situation.” I immediately ascertained her desperation (baby mama’s), and commented on it after the initial shock. I’m not sure where my mom was going to take it. She is closer to them (close, period, I am not at all), but she can be ruthless and irrational in her interpretation of people’s acts, even harmless ones (or maybe I just don’t voice these things myself). As I said, I’m not sure where she was going with it, but quickly she was compassionate of Angie, as well, admitting how hard it must have been to make the decision to leave, because she is a “hen mom.” It took me a few seconds to realize that that meant something like “helipcoter mom.” Would she be working? In the neighboring country where she went to flee hyperinflation (among other ills). Will she come back? She didn’t want to talk to my uncle (who informed my mom after his daughter called him). He himself has been crossing the border for tangible compensation, lately.
‘Sorry. I was with my new friend...’ I didn’t reply to Step’s text last night, a comical graphic depicting Yes or No options to check, and a third choice allowing for an Eventual reply with More evasiveness. I didn’t get it at the time, but ha! I get it (more and more) now. ‘Did he come over?’ I’m not quite sure, even considering our friendship (Step’s and mine), why she is actually interested in this story, and even in providing insight once in a while. My other friends had kids, I guess, and I’ve known them longer. They get the apparent pointlessness of my love life. ‘Hell no...’. “Coming over” means guaranteed ‘s-e-x,’ as I put it. (You can always say no, I have! But.) ‘Maybe that’s a good thing, the hands off thing...’ (I have never been able to be “just friends” with a man, especially after this one came into my life, actually.) ‘No, I want him more.’ (But it was my idea.) ‘Unless you’re George from Seinfeld.’ My gear was shifted immediately, and hilariously (I started laughing in the middle of the street) to Step’s attempt to make a Seinfeld reference.
Mine have been lost on her. She is not a TV watcher. And you know
a Seinfeld reference, it’s hilarious, bonding, and gone in a few seconds. That is it. ‘Remember he becomes genius when he stops sleeping with his girlfriend?’ Step has recently assured me that she does watch TV, now. That she knows what Seinfeld is. (I mean, even my dad likes Seinfeld! “They all have their own thing going on.” He was thrilled when we went to their diner.) ‘You’re trying too hard,’ I told Step. “George from Seinfeld.” ‘Remember that one? Then Elaine stops having sex with her boyfriend so he can pass his tests, and she gets really dumb.’ Amid my laughter, I was starting to realize not only that I did remember the episode but that it felt like my life, ‘And it’s: day one. Wait. Why does Elaine get dumb?’ ‘It only works with the guys. They’re not distracted with trying to get it anymore. Seinfeld explains...’ Seinfeld explains, ‘That women are used to getting it whenever [right]. He says it’s like when the garbage man stops taking your garbage. Bags of trash start piling up in your head. Mental garbage.’
And I am dumb. Especially to find myself in this situation again, which cannot even be interesting to me, and maybe that’s why I don’t talk about it with the rest of my friends, since I went through it (the whole thing) when I was 18 (and 19) with someone else. But I did get some clarity, yesterday (and excuse my vagueness; it is an old story), on whose responsibility it is to end something. As usual I am stepping up to the plate, and sadly sacrificing things that are important to me. Until when?
I signed up to become a Big Sister. For the family reference, I gave my baby brother a heads up. ‘I am honest in my references,’ he exclaimed. ‘But you’re family, so I’ll look the other way.’