I finally wrote a poem about a subject I've been skirting around for a long time. It's here if you're interested. I've been reading Joy Kogawa lately for my Modern Canadian Fiction class and reading about the bomb in Nagasaki, if only ever so briefly, along with fucking me right up again, reminded me of Setsuko and of her story about Hiroshima. There'll probably be more about this in the future, but I'm glad I finally have started writing about it.
Posted by hKath at 12:57 PM ()

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Thursday, March 13

I am the worst procrastinator ever. Or is that the best procrastinator ever? The past 2 days I've had an excuse, but today it's just woah girl, you're intentionally ruining your life, aren't you? Oh, well. Time to eat or go to >play or something.

Posted by hKath at 8:46 PM ()

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Last night, Elvis Costello was the substitute host for the David Letterman show. It was a divine experience for me. No kidding. He was wonderful. Nervous at the beginning with yuckylady from Sex and the City, but then when Eddie Izzard came on, it was suddenly the Elvis Costello show, and everyone was British and talking about penises. I could watch Eddie Izzard and Elvis Costello chat for hours and I'd never get bored. After the two interviews and Mitch Hedberg (who sounded quite familiar, let me tell you ;) Elvis spent about five minutes introducing himself. He called himself the handsomest man in rock n' roll, among other things. Then he went through like 6 of his albums and commented on the covers. Then he finally just yelled "Elvis Costello and the Impostors and ran across the stage, grabbing a guitar on the way. It was sooo cute. They did (What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding. I'm happy. But I'm also late. so I'm leaving.
Posted by hKath at 10:06 AM ()

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Wednesday, March 12

OK, so Sharon from Creative Writing finally answered her phone. At eleven o'clock, as I was walking to the subway station. And, my suspicions were confirmed, I've won the President's Prize for poetry.

Hopefully someone I know is going to win the fiction prize so I won't be alone on Tuesday, during the ceremony. I already know a friend of a friend won the playwriting prize, but I have no clue who she is, so I'm feeling pretty lonely right now.

I managed to tell two people today, Trang and Kathleen. Both seemed pretty happy that I won, but I felt apprehensive to tell anyone else. Abby, Amanda, Julie and Megan are all also in my Wednesday class, and they're pretty cliquish (as if my gang isn't cliquish, but whatever ;) and it really felt like I'd be rubbing it in their noses if I told them. I'm sure Priscila will make a big thing of it tomorrow. She is the one who pushed us all to submit, submit, submit, after all. Which is why I entered in the first place, not out of a desire to win, but out of a desire to simply get into the habit of sending my work out.

My mother is probably coming to Tuesday's thing. So is, you know, every major English and CW faculty member, and the University president, and the Minister of Culture, and apparently, members of the press with videocameras (why the hell would they want to film this?). But I'm focused on my mother. It means I can't smoke while she's here, so I'll be freaking and minus my daily dose of nicotine, and I have to stand there and quite likely read a poem which mentions not only that I've had sex, period, but that likens the experience to having a dead fish inside me.

Joy.

But in another way, I'm actually really psyched about it. I want to stir things up. I want to see my mother's face when I read it in front of all those people. Sometimes I have dreams that I tell my parents I smoke, and that they let me smoke in their backyard and stuff. Weird, eh?
Posted by hKath at 5:50 PM ()

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*goes completely batshit, starts destroying cyberspace*

What kind of a fucking office isn't open at ten-thirty? What the fuck? Bitch, get yer lazy ass outa bed and answer my goddamn phone call!
Posted by hKath at 10:40 AM ()

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Tuesday, March 11

I am freaking out. In a way that makes me particularly exhausted. I remember the last time I freaked out this way. It was over two years ago. If I went back, I could probably find the blogger entry that corresponds to it, although you wouldn't know what it was talking about. It's song lyrics, lyrics to Danny Michel's Last Straw to be precise, because I just happened to be learning that song at the time. But I remember posting it. I remember this feeling well.

*storytime*

There was a well-attended Frucon meeting the night before. All of us online and it was January, or maybe early February. We needed some specific information, so Fiona, band liaison at the time, called Jian about a few things while we conferred via IRC. He menitoned selling merch again and her reaction was pretty harsh, although I'll admit she was speaking for all of us, as this was a subject we all felt pretty similarly about. But from her negative reaction, Jian got very defensive. They exchanged words (I can't vouch for what memory and hearsay put in my head, but I recall that the fight had more to do with his feeling torn between us and the band, and less to do with merch) and then Fiona was left staring at a dead phone line.

The meeting went on. A dark feeling came over me, over all of us I guess, after this. We discussed the issue some more and decided we'd reconsider if that was what it took to make him happy. We weren't going to get much done without Jian's (and the band's) participation, after all. That was decided pretty quickly. The big decision was next - who was going to call him and tell him this? We were all agreed it should be someone he was familiar with, but strangely enough, those who didn't expect him to recognize their names were the most comfortable doing the calling. I wasn't comfortable at all. Somehow right from the get-go I knew they were going to pick me.

I spent the next day in a state of unease and constant jumpiness. I'm bad over the phone. Once, in high school, I had to call the Côte D'Ivoire embassy to ask them to mail me some pamphlets for a presentation I was doing, and it took me three hours of psyching up just to pick up the phone. I used to get nervous calling my grandmother. Hell, I still get nervous calling my grandmother. And I'd never, ever, ever called anyone to apologize. Neither had I called anyone on behalf of a collective before. I tend to work hard on being a nervous wreck.

So, when I got home from class, I picked up the phone and called. And got his machine. I left a fairly innocuous message and sat on our pathetically broken futon, waiting for him to call back, hoping he wouldn't call at all. I was exhausted from the entire day of worrying about the call, of worrying about how badly we'd pissed him off, or just how fragile our relationship was with the band, period. I was scared. I passed right out on the futon. Out cold. Deep, deep sleep. Blank sleep.

The phone rang about an hour later, waking me up. I picked up and heard Jian's voice, and offered an approximation of an apology... I think. I was still half-asleep, and couldn't understand really what was going on. He was talking about speakers, about how we should call Bill Wyllechka and see if he would speak at the Con. I was nodding and saying "uh-huh" a lot. He mentioned other names and places and things I couldn't place and didn't write down. I hung up having no idea how the conversation had gone at all.

*storytime over*

I guess that wasn't much of a story at all. Or at least, it didn't have much of a point to it in relation to what's going on today. That was a pretty negative story, and this is a pretty positive situation, I guess, although I'm trying not to get my hopes up. They're informing the winners of the President's Prize of their, well, winning, this week. A friend of a friend got a phone call this morning telling her she'd won in the playwriting category, for a 90-page play she'd submitted. We all got very excited. A few friends of mine went up to the Creative Writing office during our break and asked who the other two winners were, and were told that the names couldn't be revealed until all the winners were notified, and that that hadn't happened yet. I submitted out of principle more than anything, feeling as though I should get into the habit of routinely sending my work away to visit other people. This is the poem I submitted. At the mention of the contest, I thought about checking my messages, casually. I'd forgotten my phone at home.

Later, after my second class, I thought again about checking my messages. I happened to have a quarter, so as I passed a pay phone, I stuck a quarter inside. There was a message from the Creative Writing office in my mailbox, asking me to call them back. From yesterday evening. I called them back, but it was almost exactly four o'clock, and no one was picking up, despite the fact that the message last night was left at quarter to six. I left school in a state of turmoil, determined to get to my phone and to sit steadily by it until it rang. Now I'm starting to get tired again, that heavy sleepy feeling... can it wait until tomorrow? Can everything wait until tomorrow, until I sleep and sleep and sleep again? Is this a hiding mechanism? I'm not sure.

Keep your fingers crossed for me (if you got this far in the entry!)
Posted by hKath at 6:59 PM ()

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My body is happy again! Watch it dance! Watch it squeal with delight!

OK, maybe that's just laying it on a little too thick. I got back on the yoga horse this morning. Got up an hour and a half before having to go anywhere, did a good half hour of yoga, easing myself back into it. Niiiiiiice.

I'm back into thinking I want a Palm. Evil, isn't it? But with exceptionally good timing, seeing as how my tax refund is on its way as we speak. Eep! Gotta reboot!
Posted by hKath at 9:43 AM ()

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