Monthly Archives: February 2019

Independence: A Morning

Yesterday I had my first guitar lesson, 27 days after the day I bought my first guitar. Of course, everything I had practiced from online tutorials had to be thrown out the window. I like my teacher. He gave me exercises, but the first exercise he gave me was this: finger independence.

In the finger independence exercise, you lay all fingers down on one string and slowly shift one finger one at a time to the next string. You are never to do two or three at once, even though you will find your fingers doing it. I found my fingers were not as dextrous as I had always been pleased and proud to consider them, and I’ve been enjoying struggling through the exercise this morning as I slowly woke up. I’m on my second coffee.

This exercise makes no sound. You do not pick, you do not strum. The strings are muted. This is simply an exercise in movement control of the left hand. I am trying to re-teach my hands to “think” independently, so that when called on, each individual finger can act adverse and contrary-wise to the other.

As the sky went from the deep dim blue of early morning to the light white of the usual Seattle day fog, I have been doing this exercise on and off. Slowly, in my mind, an idea was developing, though I did not know what it was yet.

“Are you practicing? Can I play music?” asked my husband after he woke up, a bit later than me because he is sick.

“I am practicing, but it doesn’t make sound,” I said. “Go ahead.”

With the music and my husband, the apartment began to wake up. My cats started leaping about. One even showed interest in my guitar for the first time, much to my horror. Coco, the one who had surgery and is recovering very well, was sulking on a blanket, miserable in her protective cone.

All the time I was thinking of my fingers as numbers, like I used to when I played cello years ago. “4,3,2,1” I whispered as I released each corresponding finger. “1,2,3,4.”

I put my second coffee in a pink mug with a gold handle and eyelashes painted on it. It was the first purchase I made for myself that had no use other than aesthetics. I still feel a little strange using such a leisurely commodity.

The idea awakened. I gained financial independence only months ago. This morning, slowly, I realized… I am back at square one, where even my fingers can become independent.

Announcement!!! <3

I am independently published! I have an essay, “Death is a Noun,” in an anthology “SLEEP, NAUSEA, ANXIETY & PAIN.” The editor is a colleague of mine, Lee Bullitt. We met at a class taught by the wonderful @SarahNumber4. You can find Lee on medium or on her website at www.leebullitt.com.

This is the first time I have ever been published, and it is a big milestone for me. I wrote “Death is a Noun” during that class, which was my very first workshopped writing class. It was also the first time I let others know I had a mental illness.

Lee has been working on the anthology for a while, so it was great to finally receive my copies in the mail, personally gift wrapped in red spotted gauze by Lee for me. If you want a copy, it is available to buy on Lee’s shop here: https://www.leebullitt.com/sleep-nausea-anxiety-pain. It even has a bar code, so it is very much real. I warn you, it is a limited edition, so if you are interested, act fast!

I still remember getting the email from Lee about the idea on May 8th, 2018. The title of the email was “Calling All Sad Girls.” It was very effective in getting my attention. The idea was to create an anthology we would be proud of which expresses the pain women feel across many spectrums. Mine, as you may guess, was my struggle with mental illness, specifically how it began when I was 18.

All my life I’ve dreamed of being published, but only recently did I mature enough to realize that was not my endgame. My new goal is simply to write often, and to make finished products I am proud of. Of course I will still seek to be published, and it feels damn good to finally be published, but what I really want is to look at a short story or essay or memoir or novel I have written and revised a thousand times and finally say, “It is finished. I am proud.”

For the fact is that “Death is a Noun,” even as it is published, still requires a lot of work to be truly done. I simply chose it as is because 1) Lee requested it and 2) I didn’t have the time to meet deadline. However I don’t mind having something rough “out there.” After all, these blog posts are very public, with my real name on them, and they are a bit rough; however I stand by them. Gone are the days when I am ashamed of anything I write. I never write anything I don’t mean anymore, except in my journal, which is safe for anything.

So, welcome. But in the meantime, any positive comments or congratulations are welcome, and “Hello, World”: I am a published author. Come at me!

Pink Coat in the Rain

Today I was walking to the dentist. It was raining. I was wearing a very opaque purple thick and frumpy NYU sweater with ripped jeans, my hair tied up. I was walking on concrete, which I never seem to get used to, especially in the rain. I might even reveal to you that despite the rain I was wearing flip flops – the dentist is really close and I overslept!

Usually, in a past New Jersey/New York life, I would look down and hustle forward in the rain, knowing I couldn’t see through my glasses anyway. But people are so unashamed of the water in the sky in Seattle. It rains every day. So I looked up.

There, in the distance, I saw it: a pastel pink puffy plastic coat waiting for the light to change at the opposite side of the street. “This is why I should always carry my new nikon with me!” I thought. Quick as I could, I took out my phone and switched to camera mode. I knew I didn’t have much time. The light changed: “walk.” Frantically, I started taking pictures as fast as I could (shutter mode what?). As she approached, for it was a “she,” I was more and more impressed. She was wearing very carefully maintained skinny jeans carefully folded up at the ankle to reveal – could it be? It was! The most stylish, brown, …suede boots. Suede? In Seattle? In this rain? Of course, I thought to myself, I have two leather purses.

She was getting close to me now. Would she notice my unabashed attention? Would I get the dynamic shot I was hoping for? I didn’t see her face, I was too nervous.

The moment was gone, she was gone. There was water droplets all over my phone. I hastily wiped it with my sweater and looked at what I got. Her face was careworn. Maybe she was on the way to the dentist too, or something equally unpleasant. She had not noticed me in any of the pictures I took.

I picked my favorite picture, and as soon as I got to the dentist and was told to wait (of course, sigh), I posted it on instagram, where you can see it if you are curious. It turns out, it was when she was closest, where you can really see the utter lack of joy in her face, the careful outfit, the crinkles in her pink coat, that I liked the shot the most. The bright optimistic light of the walk sign gave her no joy.

The dentist appointment was really painful. The anesthetic didn’t seem to work at one point, and after a minute or so of trying to endure the pain, I begged for the needle in my gums again.

I wish I could say I, walking home, my face swollen from the anesthetic, but relieved, and remembering the photograph I cherished, looked up in the rain, and noticed my surroundings, loving life. But instead I took a leaf from that woman’s book. I called my husband and discussed the terrible price of having my wisdom teeth removed, and barely noticed any walk signs, stop or go.