May 2009 – LaDonnaWitmer

I Miss Dull Moments

Mood: Frazzled | Drinking: Snapple Peach Tea

loo_blanket

Fair warning: Totally random scattershot blog post ahead.

It’s clear to me that the theme of 2009 is CHANGE. Not pocket change or Obama change. I’m talking totally life-altering, plan-upending, out-of-the-blueness change. I assume you need examples. Well, let me lay out this past week for you.

One week ago today, I was in Denver chatting up old friends.
Sunday I was back home, packing up all my bookshelves and other various and sundries.
Tuesday, I was decorating a new office cubicle and meeting lots of fellow co-workers whose names quickly escaped me.
Tonight, I’ll be eating sushi with Eric from Michigan (he of Flashmaster fame), who’s in town for the weekend.
Tomorrow, I’ll be schlepping many of the aforementioned boxes to a storage unit.
And Sunday I’ll be shooting part 2 of the “Homogeneous” cinépoem with Shel and Jimmy. And Kathy and Melissa.
And oh, god, then I shall collapse, get up, and do it all over again.

To say I am busy is to say the sky is blue, the Pope is old, and cheese is awesome.

If you’re saying, “Uh, didn’t you just start a new job in January after getting laid off and whatnot?” Well, first, you are very observant and second, yes. Yes I did. But things happened and headhunters hunted and recruiters recruited and now I am the new girl all over again.

“And about those boxes,” I can hear you muttering, “what’s up with that? Are you reflooring? Repainting? Moving altogether?” Yes, uh-huh, and sweet tasty freeze almighty, yes. To be more specific, we are packing up 90% of our personal and previously totally necessary shit in order to stage our cozy wee home to look all real estate magaziney and then we are sticking a for sale sign on it.

Don’t worry, I’m not leaving San Francisco until they pry this city from my cold dead hands. No, we’re just, you know, taking the next step in home ownership. Also known as getting a 2nd bedroom. Oh, the luxury.

I want to stick a sign on my chest at the new job that says: “Please ignore the crusty eyes and frizzy hairs…I’m trying to do too much at once. Again. Please don’t get used to this version of me. Insanity is only temporary.”

In my defense, I didn’t ask for all of this change. It all plopped into my lap completely unexpectedly and entirely unavoidabley. (Is that last one even a word?)

So I shall continue to go about my days slightly frazzled until all of this simmers down to a slow boil. In the meantime, I guess I will have to find a way to enjoy the bubbles. And the boxes. And the inability to remember all the names at the new place. So. Many. Names.

I’m sure that when “Homogeneous” comes out of the editing suite in the fall, I’ll be bemoaning my total lack of onscreen pizazz. Thank god I’ve got Emanuela and Jimmy to fill in the gaps in this one!

I shall try to keep up a steady patter in this space over the next few weeks, if only to preserve my sanity and step away from the leaning tower of boxes now and then. Speaking of which, when I stopped at the storage unit this a.m. to unload a new carload, I rolled up the door only to find that the previous night’s delivery was toppled all over the floor. I am a terrible box stacker. An inept cardboard wrangler. I have to get Boy on this, STAT.

-Lo, who will totally pilfer any decent-looking cardboard you leave on the curb.

The Tyranny of the Mirror

Mood: exiting stage left | Drinking: tea, naturally

tyranny

In honor of the impending neuroses of swimsuit season, I have a six-part poem for you…

The Tyranny of the Mirror

earth suit
Sometimes I forget how to lie
to myself
how to steely stare down
my mirror eye
and convince my reflection
she is good enough,
she is smart enough,
and goddammit, people
like her.

Some days I forget that what I see
doesn’t matter.
That what is housed invisibly within,
floating somewhere between bones and skin,
is more everlasting than its cage.

thick around the middle
I think about my body
every day.
Make lists
of unsatisfactory parts.
Measuring
with no joy
the increasing distance
between hands
spaced on either side
of my waist.

I remember when
muffin tops
were just delicious
and bore no correlation
to shame.

grande y bonita
For weeks now, the Mexican man
behind the counter at the Shell station
has been flirting.

He woos me with free fountain sodas
and appreciative stares.

Finally today he asks if I have a boyfriend
and shakes his head in dismay
when I reply.

“When I come to America, I dream
of meeting girl like you,”
he says, looking up to meet my eyes.
“Strong. Big. Beautiful.”

I blush and pay for my Diet Coke
and all the way home, wonder if “big”
can be construed to mean “tall.”

skinny jeans
The “Diet for Dummies”
costs $40 to download
and I pay the price
without blinking,
print out the menu
that reads “broiled halibut”
and “carrot sticks,”
dream of slimming body image
solutions while couching
in sweat pants, munching
white cheddar Cheez-Its.

cell memory
Just because you wear new skin
than you did 2,556 days ago
does not mean the old you
has been forgotten.

Cell memory gets passed down
from regeneration to regeneration.
The new cells are born with collective
knowledge and an inferiority complex.

What you focus on the most is remembered,
is held within muscles,
whispered from vein to vein.
Even the smallest of cells knows
exactly how much you hate yourself.

seven years of bad luck
Somehow the tyranny of the mirror
remains through the ages unbroken,
undiminished by intelligence
weight loss
and the compliments of lovers.

Seven years ago I thought I was fat,
posing for pictures with a cheek-pinching
smile, stomach sucked
concave. Now I see

what that girl never could,
that she was traffic-stopping,
jaw-dropping, heart-popping
gorgeous.

But standing sideways before the glass,
I think that seven years is a long time –
things grow. sag. wrinkle.
To find this woman beautiful,
I will need seven more.

*****

-Lo, whose bikini days are behind her.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Mood: Diligent | Drinking: Soon

future

If you read that title and you’ve now got a Joss Whedon tune ringing in your ears, join the club. If not, well, congrats. You are not as big of a nerd as you think you are.

I, however, am a huge nerd. And I’m definitely feeling the “what’s next?” vibe, though not bursting into song just yet.

Every big undertaking (in this case, the revamp of this website) has a big payoff in the form of fluffy clouds of euphoria. But the payoff is usually promptly followed by a letdown. You’ve been so busy and so focused for so long, and now you’ve reached the pinnacle, you’ve achieved your goal. So then you start looking for the next mountaintop. You start wondering where you’re gonna go next.

I never have a shortage of artistic ambition. A lack of energy, time, and direction, yes. But never a lack of hare-brained schemes.

Fortunately, the post-project dip is a shallow one this time. I’m already on to the next thing — this Saturday, in fact, which is the first of 3 or 4 non-consecutive days of cinépoem shooting. We start filming Homogeneous this weekend, with fearless volunteers Jimmy and Emanuela, who have already recorded some pretty badass vocal tracks.

Homogeneous is one of the most ambitious cinépoems Shel and I have done so far, although this one doesn’t involve any bunny suits or fake blood. It’s a three-parter and involves some tricky coordination, so it might be awhile before the finished product makes a grand debut. But it will be worth the wait.

I have a few other ideas up my sleeve as well. It’s only been 2 years since The Secrets of Falling came off the presses, but I’m starting to have dangerous ideas about a new printed piece.

And there are always new small projects, postcards and prints and things, to do with Kathy. So I’m in no danger of being bored.

Meanwhile, beyond this website and all the fun poetry projects it encompasses, life continues to move and change in new and strange ways. Boy and I have decisions to make, but it’s one of those domino things where one leads to another which leads to another, but you can’t go anywhere until the first domino falls. I’ll let you know where they land… when they land.

Speaking of all that’s new and fun, what do you think of the new site? Comments are open now, remember? Be sure to leave your mark. How else will I know that you’ve been here?!

-Lo, who thinks that 39-year-old straight white dudes who are tone deaf should not walk around the office singing Beyonce, if they want to maintain their dignity.