Posted August 10th, 2003 by Michelle

I write because I have to right now, even though my body cries for sleep and rest and a reprive from alcoholism. I write because it has been such an amazing week, and I am so sad it is over. It was definitely fraught with hard work and confusion and hangovers and mess, but it was also beautiful, sweet, and perfect.

Ian got married yesterday eve. It is a story too hard to tell, but yesterday and the three days before, for the first time in years, I was exactly where I wanted to be, spending time with exactly whom I wanted to spend time with. I carried no keys, nor wallet or phone, ignored my watch, and surrounded myself with a soup of loved ones. Some I love now more than I ever thought I would, more than I thought I was capable, and those of you who get that love better be ready because you are now part of my life and I’m going to make sure you stay there. I am a determined woman, and I will do whatever is in my power to make sure that such goodness, light, craziness, gorgeousness, power, and love, only grows in my life. I am stunned by this week, stunned by the company of my mom and my brothers all in the same house, amazed at the reverence that Ian and Tessa create that brings so many people so far to work so hard to make sure their day is perfect.

The first night was just Sean, Jordi, Ian, Kent, Sean Patrick and my mom, but late in the evening, Scott, Annie and Chip showed up. This comparitavely small party played board games late into the night, and it was the beginning of bliss.

The rehearsal dinner that my Dad and Carole threw the next night was so spectacular that I can barely recall being happier. So many people got to their feet to declare their love for my brother and new sister. So many friends had so much to say.

Friday was the picnic at the swimming hole, the barbeque and softball game at night (where, as I’ve reminded everyone in the passing days, I not only scored a run even though I was pegged in the leg by a ball, I also was part of a double-play). Again, unimaginable fun, made even richer by a late-night trip to Great Barrington to feed the vegetarians in the car.

Saturday, the day of the wedding, was somehow the most lovely and sad. Jordi and I got ready together, which was terrific since neither of us clean up very often. I had the honor of being in charge of Chopin the dog, who was also the ring-bearer. We processed up the hill, where under a sweet, light rain, Ian and Tessa vowed to do the best they could for the rest of their lives. There were cocktails on the lawn, and then the reception in the barn, and I danced about three years off (or maybe added on to) my life. But a celebration of love, particularly on of this character and grace, definitely makes you re-examine your own life, your own love, and reminds you… or in my case, suddenly dawns on you, what it is you want.

I know what I want now. Everything else is falling into place. I’m no longer worried about not being cleared for the Peace Corps, or if my job is what I should be doing, or if I’m doing the right things in my life. Some things have become clear. What I need to do is take care of me, take care of my heart, and hope, hope, hope that in the end, I’ll get what I wish for. I’ve wished for a lot of things in my life that I didn’t really want. This is the exception. I’m calling on all the powers of the universe to help me, to grant this wish, to at the very least let me believe for a fraction of a second that this kind of happiness is possible. Let me actually believe that I can love, and be loved. It’s all I ask.

Posted August 6th, 2003 by Michelle

This morning at the Park Slope Food Co-op, it was so slow that I was able to shop during my shift for enough flour, butter, oranges, and confectioner’s sugar to cook two hundred orange rolls. When my mom picked me up, I lugged the huge box of groceries, my dresses, and my bags from the Co-op to her car. I had planned so well, dragged everything from my home to the store to save time. Only now, when I am upstate, having driven the length of Manhattan and back to pick up Tessa’s earrings and dress, driven up here, and worked in the barn for a few hours do I realize that I left one bag at the Co-op. That one bag is a familiar Tangerine color, containing one Tangerine I-Book given to me by my brother Ian.

After a frantic phone call I learned that my computer is exactly where I left it, and someone heading up for the wedding is going to pick it up tomorrow. Big fat phew. It’s not like me to do something like that. When Sean, Mom and I were in Utah, we bought advance tickets to the next night’s showing of the Pirates of the Carribean, and I promptly lost them. It is so confusing to me that I’m allowing these things to happen. I was able to talk our way into the theater, so we didn’t miss the show, but I just don’t get what I did. A week later I found one of the tickets, but the other two are lost in the world of nether.

There is still so much to do here, before the wedding, that everyone is a little overwhelmed. I still have a few things to pick up myself, and all of us have to devote time towards the barn tomorrow. But Sean, Jordi and I made a pact that we are going to all tackle tasks together so at least we won’t be hanging out alone anywhere. Steve is here, as well as Dad, Mom, and Carole, and Kent and Sean Patrick are supposed to get here some time late tonight. Sean and Jordi will arrive any minute, and when all is said and done, I get the good fortune of being with my entire family in one room. It might be weird or difficult, but it also might be terrific. I’m just so incredibly freaking happy that Ian, and Tessa, found people they want to spend their lives with. I can’t even imagine what that must be like.

Posted August 4th, 2003 by Michelle

More often than not, I sit down to write my blog when I have exactly no time to do so. I just worked a double, and have to be on my bike in six hours to get to French class on time.

But here I am anyway.

I’ve realized this week how much easier it all is when you don’t care about people’s opinion of you. It’s just so much easier. You stop trying to talk up the people who you are pretty sure you don’t like you, and a couple of days later they sit down next to you and ask about your Peace Corps application. And you still don’t really care if they like you. It’s sort of a wonderful feeling.

I leave for the wedding on Wednesday and don’t return to work for a week. While that certainly sounds lovely, I just have no idea how I’m going to make it work financially. I guess I’ll leave that worry to the end of the month. What is on my mind is my colposcopy, and the fear that my stupid cervix might keep me out of the Peace Corps.

On that note, to bed.

Posted August 1st, 2003 by Michelle

One year ago yesterday I was on the border of the United States and Canada, in Glacier National Park. I’d been away from home for three weeks training in Salt Lake City, Utah, and the days before had driven north to the starting point of my trek. I’ve been thinking about the influence of last summer, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it actually has changed my life. Since then, I’ve no fear of the outdoors, of heat, of lack of sleep, of not showering for weeks. I also got a good taste of what it’s like to think you are doing something great and to be reduced to doing not much more than cooking dinner. But within weeks I could also pitch a tent in under two minutes and make dinner out of the dregs of vegetables and canned soup at the bottom of a cooler. I also have only approached my hair dryer, and any serious makeup for that matter, once since returing last October. And that was for a Christmas party.

I also feel as though it has made me lust for the Peace Corps. Wherever I go, I will be essentially on my own, and whatever happens will be a result of my work. I’m scared I won’t be able to go for some random health reason. I’m trying to remain open and ready for whatever decision comes from Washington but I’m also… unsure. It’s a terrific lesson in patience.

Yesterday I at work I rushed upstairs during my shift in hopes of an available bathroom and a co-worked was sitting at a desk reading the paper. The headlines screamed “GAY HIGHSCHOOL TO OPEN IN NEW YORK”. My first instinct was to say to my co-worker, “Hey, cool, I can’t believe they are doing that”. Ten minutes later, as my station downstairs was undoubtedly going up in flames, I was still sitting at the desk talking about this high school. The person reading the paper was a twenty-year-old gay man, and as we talked I was given pause.

My initial thoughts when debating this idea were simply this: enough money and recognition is going towards the gay community that they can open a school. Gay kids won’t get harassed and beaten anymore. Gay kids can be open as early as Freshman year of high school without fear of repercussion.

But then… gay kids will always have it harder than non-gays. In my lifetime there will not be full tolerance, and hate crimes will not cease to exist. So do we raise our gay kids in an environment where they will never have to deal with hate, with fear, with violence against their kind, and then send them off into the work force where no such illusion exists? Do we let them form themselves during those hugely important years without learning to tell homophobes to f**k off? Do we let them believe that they will never be harassed for being gay, and by doing this, not allow them the defense mechanisms that they will need for the rest of their lives? Can we really create this false sense of security that could ultimately, and let’s be specific and historic on this issue, get them killed?

I’m not saying that just because every kid in the school is gay that they will not have a hard time. High school is hard no matter what. And maybe if it is a multi-racial school they will learn what it is like to be different from one another. But if you put 100 white gay kids in one school, I have to believe that they will not learn to deal with the real world.

But even more than that, I worry about the kids in the regular high schools who were the abusers. If we take all of the gays out of the non-gay high school, that will create even more ignorance and fear among the kids that were raised to hate gay people. The best thing to happen to a homophobe, in a situation like this, is to find out that one of their friends is gay. The fearful person then learns first-hand that their friend is both their friend, and worthy of that, but also gay. What if the grade and high schools had remained segregated? How do you suppose I grew up not believing what I was told but what I experienced first hand? My first crush was on a black boy at Taylor Elementary. I was in the 4th grade, and his name was Stephen. The year was 1981. Not too many years before, we would have been in separate schools, and I would not have been able to concieve of having a crush on a black person.

I don’t want hate-filled people growing up in schools that enforce that hate because of seclusion and segregation. And I don’t want gay kids growing up without learning to defend and believe in themselves when their very nature is attacked. I cannot believe that this is a good idea.

Posted July 29th, 2003 by Michelle

My apartment is the pit of despair, my bank account is in shambles, my cat is sicker than ever and my career as a writer is nonexistent. And yet, I’m happy.

I slept until 2 PM today. Which means I slept through my French class. But as soon as I woke, I had lunch with my brother Steve, and then fixed (yet another) flat on my bike. Which allowed me to ride in this not-even-quite-80-degree weather into the city to my yoga center. And there, I went to a rooftop yoga class in which my practice, oft ignored this last month, went deeper than ever.

My teacher, the venerable Dana Flynn, was talking to us near the end of class as our sweat seeped through the wick in our clothes and our minds filtered her words and the New York night. She said many things, she said silly things, and she reminded us that our lives are now. She also said something that made tears burst from my eyes. She said that living well today takes care of the past. That good choices today make previous bad choices okay. I spend too much of my life beating myself up. These last couple of days I’ve spent berating myself up for freaking out during my last night in New Orleans.

The reason for my freak was because I could not find my shoes. Neither pair. They were lost, although they were only in the next room, and I in turn, lost it. But I did not lose it because I could not find my shoes; I lost it because I was filled with alcohol and lacking sleep and most importanly, because I was so sad the weekend was ending. And for about ten minutes, I was so upset I was crying. And I’ve been ashamed of that these last two days, ready to apologize to my brothers.

But when was the last time they apologized to me for their behavior? Long ago. And not because they have been perfect, but because both Sean and Ian are able to accept themselves, and see minor freak-outs as part of life. And this weekend is a testament to them both, particularly Ian, who brought such incredible people together, and who held onto them for years.

So screw apologizing for my behavior. I’ve always found apologies empty anyway. What matters is what you do next, not the words you find after the event. And by living better, none of us need to apologize. Ian has some of the coolest people I know for friends, a veritable posse of them, most of whom could not even make it to New Orleans. But those that showed were so funny and terrific to remind me that Ian isn’t just my brother. He is a friend that has inspired enough allegiance and love that I’m dizzy in the company of his friends. The best choice I’ve made in months was to buy that ticket to New Orleans, and I hope to keep making those good choices. I may have years of bad choices to haunt me, but I have the rest of my life to do something about it.

Posted July 28th, 2003 by Michelle

I would like to explain my absence of late. No, I was not having yet another hard week. Nor was I working so much that I was too exhausted to put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard. No. I was in New Orleans at my brother Ian’s bachelor party.

I think I will refrain from describing most of it, since there is no way to do justice in the retelling. I remember most of it, which is a miracle since I think we almost drank that town dry, but I think I’ll keep my hazy memories to myself. However, I will say that at one point, at something like 5 AM in a casino, I told everyone there- about ten men- that if I ever get married, I want to celebrate my bachlorette party with them. No women, just me and my brothers’ friends, back in New Orleans.

I’ve rarely felt so free of responsibility, so able to go along with the flow, so happy to be in company. And while my bank account and brain cells may never recover, I’m beyond happy that I went, and that I have the kind of brothers who wanted me there.

Posted July 23rd, 2003 by Michelle

You know how I was pretty certain that I’d be able to drop of my Fedex to the Peace Corps and not think about my health for a while? Well, it didn’t exactly turn out that way. Cruel, cruel world, there is much left to do. While I was thrilled, but not terrilbly suprised, to find that I am HIV-negative, I was unsettled by my PAP results. They were abnormal, quite clearly so, and said that I had squamous intraepithelial lesions, which in layman’s terms means abnormal cells that have a very slim chance of developing into cervical cancer. They are a manifestation of HVP, which is a sexually transmitted virus. Here’s the crazy thing about HVP: 80% of sexually active adults will test positive for this virus in their lifetime. It’s that common. And it can take ten to twelve years to manifest, or may never, which means there is no knowing where or when you contracted it. You will have it your whole life and it may not require any care; on the other hand, the lesions could require surgery to remove them, and it can also lead to cancer. I told a few friends about this and all three said that not only did they test positive for this virus, two of them had had surgery, and said it was no huge deal.

The next step for me is a colposcopy, which is a pelvic exam with cameras. If nothing is detected, than I am fine, but need to get a pelvic again in six months. If lesions are detected, I might have to have surgery. I was really worried at first, but really, I’d rather have that than HIV, and it is something I can watch and take care of for the rest of my life. If I have to get pelvics twice a year forever, fine. This is something I can manage, and it may never bother me again. Unfortunately, my doctor could not schedule my colposcopy until the middle of August, so I have to wait until then to find out what exactly is happening on my insides.

But then there is the Peace Corps. I called the Washington office today, and found the name of my placement officer and health screener. Both of them were wonderful, and assuaged my fears of losing my nomination since my health exams were taking so long. But my health screener said that I should Fedex everything I have right away, and that I can fax my PAP results (and colposcopy results) as soon as I get them. I can be nominated without them having every shred of paper, as long as I prove that I am fully cleared before I go. So tomorrow, everything I have to this date will finally fly towards Washington, and I start the waiting game for both my invitation and my colposcopy. My placement officer said she would start sending invitations in a couple weeks, so the waiting game may not be as long as I once thought.

Posted July 21st, 2003 by Michelle

I get home rather late most nights, but it is always strangely assuring that my brother Ian is not yet asleep. How do I know this? Because every night I get home and check his blog, and every night it is the blog I read earlier that morning. When I get up at 8, the new blog is always there, but it has never appeared before 3 AM. So I know that there is at least one writer out there burning the midnight oil long after I’ve retreated to la-la land.

It is raining here in the city, raining out everyone’s weekday beach plans, possibly even raining out my ride to French class tomorrow. I’ve yet to take the subway to class or work since, well, since it stopped snowing, but the rain might get me down. Not because I’d get wet- I’ve got more wicking and rainproof gear than any single woman ought, and besides, I love riding in the rain- but I’m a little hesitant about my daily battle with the cars on Flatbush. When you add a bunch of rain and slick streets, well, it seems to exponentially raise the danger level.

Tomorrow is possibly my last trip to the doctor for the Peace Corps exams. I learn my PAP and HIV results, and hopefully will get the last of the paperwork I need to Fedex everything to Washington, D.C. I just want to get that done, drop it off at the Fedex center, and then sleep for an entire day. These tests and exams have been rigorous and, at times, painful, and while I think it’s great to make sure I’m healthy, I’m more concerned about finishing the last phase of my Peace Corps application. I’ve also just worked six shifts in four days and I’m not thinking clearly. I will be glad to know my results tomorrow, and gladder still to visit Fedex.

I have to be at French class in eight hours. Ugh.

Posted July 19th, 2003 by Michelle

Tonight at work, a woman sitting at the bar with three of her friends said, “Do you also work on the floor?” I said yes, that I worked both the bar and the floor. She said, ” You waited on us. Over two years ago. We’ve been back since a few times but not seen you. You were so wonderful- I had the tuna and my husband….” She went on, but the point was, she remembered me. Yes, she is a stranger, but for two years I’ve stayed in her mind, close enough to call upon the minute she saw me.

Say what you will, you black-wearing, black-feeling, black haired naysaying motherfuckers. There will always be you trying to make me hate me. You were more plentiful in Los Angeles, but you are everywhere I will ever live. Belive what you will- believe that I am full of shit, believe that I’m half a person, believe that I believe that the world owes me something. Believe that my self worth lies in the eyes of others, particularly men. Believe that I should “slow down”, stop “doing so much in my life”. Belive that I am an okay scratching post for your fears, your jealousy, your self-hate, your lost dreams. Believe also that you have the right to tell me exactly how you feel about me.

But know this: my life is richer, harder, darker, and more wonderful than your happiest moment. I don’t waste my blackness on the void that is you. My blackness, my truly knowing myself, allows me to leave the dark side at home rather than share it with the negative, pathetic, self-loathing likes of you. My life is a hundred times harder than yours and it is because of that that I can look you in the face, feel your black mindless hate, and laugh and ask you how your day is, how you are feeling, what’s going on. And smile and move on when you grunt because you can not bear my presence.

There will always be you. But better yet, there will always be me. Think what you will, breathe your poisonous dreams at night, suffer because you can’t hate me enough. But… suffer more, because you WILL NOT GET ME DOWN.

Not for good, anyway.

Posted July 17th, 2003 by Michelle

True to form, I have once again not written when perhaps I really should have. The gaps in my journals, written since April 21st, 1979, always indicate a particularly difficult time. Perhaps it is because I do more talking than writing during times like this, but I also fear that not committing to paper keeps me from helping myself. Actually, I have no idea why, I just know that it is a habit to shy away from the written word when things get hairy.

I am in the middle of the battery of health tests required for the Peace Corps. I have now seen two doctors, one dentist and four nurses, in two different states, over the course of a month. And I’m far from done. I am still waiting for the results of my PAP and HIV test, and I have to get another urinalysis done since my test last week showed a presence of blood. They are thinking it was left over from my period, and I am certainly hoping the same. It is the only anomaly so far in all of my tests, and every inch of my body has been prodded. In one day, I had a hearing test, a vision test, a hemoglobin finger-stick, a TB test shot, urinalysis, and blood drawn for HIV, blood type, and RH-factor testing. The visit before I had a full physical and pelvic exam. In a week I get all of the results, the last tests, and I just might be finished. Two months of paperwork will go into my pre-addressed FedEx form, and then the real waiting game begins. I may not hear anything for months, my program, country, continent, and leave date could all change, and all I can do is be flexible and patient.

And I have to decide what I really want to do. Once I’ve sent the FedEx, I’m going to try my best to not even worry about it until I get my invitation, and in that week, make a choice to affect the next two plus years of my life. I don’t want to live the next few months as if I will be leaving shortly; I want to live as though nothing is fixed and take it from there.

I have to send out great thanks to my family and friends, even those who do not even know that I write this blog, who rallied around me this last week when I was attacked by the dark side. Someone tried to break me, tried to make me feel worthless and foolish and as though I was totally full of shit. This person sat me down and detailed what she believed to be a list, a long one, of my faults, and in the meantime, also insulted the very way I live my life. I actually believed her for almost a whole day, until I finally started talking to some of my friends and family who were furious. And I finally realized that although, as Ian said, maybe 15% of what she said was true, the other 85% was horseshit and she isn’t even worth a reply. Simply put, she is sick, and cruel, and insane with jealousy and anger, and she is not a person I want in my life.

And I am jealous of the millions of people in France right now who get a glimpse of Lance Armstrong and the rest as they fly by at 45 miles an hour. And jealous of those who have a TV, when I can only listen to the Tour on my computer. Turns out more people watch the Tour de France than any other sporting event, including the Super Bowl. If you’ve never watched these men in action, gentle reader, I encourage you to check it out. And I need to figure out why there are no women in the Tour de France. Hmmm.