Writing Practicum #2-1

Exercise One: A Sense of Belonging

Nobody felt the lateness of the hour. It was dark outside, we knew, but we had come to a place defined by its darkness. We were loud in our fervor-- we screamed, we laughed, we, in short, acted like idiots, and sometimes dressed like it too. Every third person was a cosplayer, every fourth a larper. We used works known only to we few, we happy few, we band of those pushed rudely into lockers in high school. We believed if we just tried hard enough, we could disapparate and free ourselves.

The true nerdlings, honestly hard core, had to be here or somewhere like here, standing in a long and rowdy queue. Neo-Naziesque establishment hounds robbing us of our smuggled wares-- our cokes, our burritos, our Milk Duds.

"We're been here three hours," we whine. But, if we are truthful, we know it is our suffering that makes us mighty. A few of us make threatening gestures toward the sticks in the mud using our accessories and uttering non-words that still mean a rather lot to us. A few of us even laugh-- it's easy to be happy here, especially non-sensically.

We exchange war stories-- tales of exceptional valor and excessive trauma. American-ness becomes an insult-- spelling is important-- colour, favour, theatre. East coastians dominate the Westerners. But England is the shiniest place of all-- we fake British accents as we recite the standard lines.

"But, Josephine," one of us says, "You're a girl."

"Well spotted!" Another of us replies indignantly.

Some of us mock the posers in the second line. It's mostly good natured-- but part of us knows we mean our cruel words.

"Fandango," someone in my line whispers. We all nod, knowingly, taking the dirty word in stride.

When we are admitted, when the wait finally finally ends, we, for a few terrifying minutes, become mortal enemies. We battle, we wage physical war on one another, we use our purses, hats, children as weapons. Curses are screamed, none in English but we know what they wish of us. Then, cut and bruised and tired as hell, we sit, and are once again at peace.

Throughout the ceremony that begins this grand event, the event before the event, if you will, a few scattered voices sound out from the audience. In response, we must "shh" the ragamuffins. It isn't quite as serious an atmosphere yet, we are as though in suspended animation, hypersleep, and yet this wait is painful, we are all as though under the influence of the crucio.

Yet, when the main attraction, the glory of all glories, what we have all waited for hours, no years, possibly all our lives for, when it begins a single voice continues. Speaking over the voices we all came to hear, stabbing our eardrums like a sharpened pencil, a pointed wand. In our ears, it sounds as though a wicked Parseltongue. We bring up our props to kill.

From the theatre, she is not literally thrown, but she may as well have been. The one among us who was not one of us had to be ejected and ejected she was-- rightly so! It was as though she had crashed a baptism, an annunciation, the ascension of Mary, for god's sake, was not so spiritual as this night.

She was not permitted to re-enter. So it goes.

Unfortunately, she who was not us was, alas, my sister. And to this day, I believe she has never forgiven me for booting her out of the movie theatre (not theater) on the opening night of the first Harry Potter film.

Today

Some people seem to think that everything comes easy to me and that I lived the most glorious life of all. Just because I try to be cheery all the time, doesn't mean I've always got a heckuva lot to be cheery about. I am content with my life but today was a lousy day, for the most part. It had some good parts too-- they should not be forgotten, but I am a busy soul.

Here was my day:

7:00AM- My cell phone alarm rings waking me up after finally getting to sleep around 4:30. Rough night for sleep on account of the noisy wind. I am so exhausted, that I go back to sleep.

7:15AM- The second alarm rings and I must get up this time. I dress myself, do my make up and hair, eat, and otherwise prepare for the day. I feel too sleepy to wear a skirt, like usual, but do not want to dress down-- I have a presentation today. I wear Bermuda shorts with tights, which, on reflection, looks a bit silly.

8:30AM- I leave for work. There is a lot of traffic on the freeway. I try not to fall asleep while driving.

9:00AM- I am at work trying to type up meeting minutes, which I hate hate hate, update a website, fix a few documents, make a writeable PDF, etc. My chair has been switched with a less ergonomically friendly one, on account of which my back begins to hurt-- it hurts every day, but today is worse than usual.

10:45AM- I go to the faculty hiring session to hear a fellow teach about GIS. It is extremely boring and math heavy, and I forgot to pack a snack. The gentleman cruelly suggests that people receiving government "handouts" are more likely to commit crimes through his data- whether he meant to make this suggestion or not is unimportant. He's nearly a PhD and should know to be careful.

When asked how he will deal with diverse student populations and, in particular, transgender folks, he gives a strange face- suggesting "Ew." I am pretty peeved off. I make plans to give him a harsh review. My back really hurts.

1:15PM- I return to the office and get back to work. I am behind on everything because of the faculty hiring session. I have received two new assignments while I was out.

1:30PM-ish - A friend stops by and I leave the office to talk with him. A very unpleasant conversation ensues about which I cannot detail further without resorting to indiscretion. (It seems passive-aggressive to insult people who may read your blog, though I doubt this person does, though I mean no insult)

1:35PM-ish - I return to my office and promptly sit down to cry. My back aches terribly and I'm in a foul mood. I call my mom for a pick-me-up conversation.

4:30PM- I take over for the admin assistant, adding her duties to mine for the crucial last half hour of the day. I do not complete all that I had hoped to by five.

5:15PM- I leave work and head over to the student bookstore to try and procure some food for class. The prices are insane, so I leave disappointed. To get a bit more energy, I go to the coffee shop and get a triple soy mocha. Ahhhh...

5:30 - I meet with my presentation group to prepare for our group presentation... which is a redundant sentence. I buy a Diet Coke and drink both it and the coffee and eventually get hyper enough to fake a good mood.

5:45-10- CLASS

10:30 I arrive home and play video games for a bit before going to my blogging and reading some.

Now - I am sleepy and my neck/back hurt badly enough to want to go to sleep and not update anymore/read, even though I ought to.

Good night, my lovelies.

I can't seem to juggle...

two blogs! The other has been updated on an insanely regular basis lately. But this one is neglected. In any event, I shall try to be more diligent. I plan to update twice today for this blog, for one must be very serious and rant-y in nature. I should like this particular entry, however, to be a bit lighter.

...

That said, I can't think of a thing to write about. I got a Wii and love love love it. That is what a person is meant to spend some settlement money on. Lego Star Wars is a lovely game and Twilight Princess is fun so far. I haven't even loaded Super Mario Bros yet.

Also, I'm thinking maybe I ought to actually get my tattoo. I've been wanting one for awhile. It should be Little Prince (星の王子様- it is pretty in Japanese, so I'm putting it here) themed, because I love that book an awful lot (I have hit the love capacity... word-wise). I'd like it to be a bracelet of the stars and planets in the picture below:


And then have a quote circling around as a circle as well. It would be in cursive and pretty. I just need to choose a quote. I'd like one from the book but, unfortunately, there seem to be few one-liners. They all go on for a bit, and that would be messy. And so, here are the quotes I like best, I think. Do you like them?:

"I burn my candle at both ends,/It will not last the night./
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends,/
It gives a lovely light."- Edna St. Vincent Millay

"'Do you know, I always thought Unicorns were fabulous monsters, too? I never saw one alive before!' 'Well, now that we have seen each other,' said the Unicorn, 'if you believe in me, I'll believe in you.'"
--Lewis Carroll

"People think pleasing God is all God care about. But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back." --- Color Purple (from the side!)


hmm. not many.

Layered Account of Chronic Pain, Material...ness

I'm just going to put it all together here and maybe update here as I go along. For my final in my Autobiography/Autoethnography class, I'm thinking of doing a layered account of chronic pain, tying in theories about pain poetry, trauma narrative as cathartic, my own philosophical writings on pain, etc. mixed in with some of what I've written about the experience of chronic pain on my other blog.

Which I still haven't linked here. It's a pain blog- how fun can it be? The whole purpose of it is to complain to the empty void of cyber space without having to give anyone in my real life chronic headaches!

Anyway, there's not much a point in reading this post from here on out, except that I am organizing some thoughts below.

UNPLEASANTNESS WARNING (in caps, so you know I mean business)

DIARY/BLOG ENTRY (from this blog....)

What it Feels Like

It always reminds me of one of those horror movies at first, where the monster gets under the victim's skin and plays around for a bit. Like the scarabs in The Mummy, or the alien that bursts from the handsome guy's chest in Aliens, or, even, the serial killer in Silence of the Lambs who makes a suit for himself out of dead women's skin. I feel like someone or something is trying me on for a bit, stretching me out to the point of bursting, messing around with my bones and arteries and everything else in there, affecting my every nerve.

The beast climbs up and down, mostly hanging out toward my center, massaging my shoulders too roughly, slithering down my spine with tiny bites that cut like class shards and bleed. It stretches upward and downward, and my center feels like a single wearied muscle.

Maybe wings will sprout. The creature is something come to make me new. The contracting of my muscles, the aching of my bones is to bring forth a new part, and all of this will pass.

But the wings are too heavy, too big, and I can't bear them. They weigh me down, so that I lean back against my will. They'll grow, I think, so much that they'll touch the ground, and will drag to relieve me. But they stop growing a few centimeters short, and I continue leaning for a very long time, wishing they'd just rip from my body already. One brief moment of agony, and then the gradual lessening.

Or maybe the wings pull but will not separate, and I feel myself pulled over and down, and I keep going down through the earth. I continue downward, six feet, and think I'll stop. My wings and I sleeping enveloped in worms and ants and little sproutlings forever, together but painless in our rest. Yet, still it drags me onward.

I leave the earth's crust as I continue to descend, hitting the mantle, which is like a wall, and I'm sure I can't break through. But we manage it, somehow, and still I am attached. We pass through fossils of creatures no one knows ever existed and I wish my mind were more prepared to take in the sights. But this isn't a tour, it's a descent.

I continue down with my wings, my burden, through the outer core, and am engulfed in flames. The weight and the flames are all I feel now, my senses otherwise dismantled. Everything now is felt, if it exists for me at all. And still, we continue, and I don't burn up. Vaguely, I wonder why, but then thoughts too are lost.

We hit the inner core, the center of the earth, and it is nothing like Verne thought. It is hell. I have arrived. And in hell, you descend interminably. And there is no end. And your thoughts return, regretful and angry. Those thoughts and your feelings are all you have, and it always increases. Ever worsens.

I stretch and crack and massage, but it only continues, this sensation. I try to force my thoughts elsewhere. I try to count to a million. It seems a large number, but I'm there so quickly, and am not distracted at all. It seems more like a measure of the increasing hurt. And I give up.

I give up, and I swallow a Vicodin. And everything's floaty and happy, and those wings are chopped off while I'm too numbed to care, and I float upward, back through the layers, to the sunny day, regardless of the weather or whether it be night. I lose sight of what's real. I just don't give a damn, and it's a positive experience. I don't know any better. And I am made a pleasant woman. I smile, I laugh, and I float along. And I don't remember a thing.



POEM

To the man who surely would have killed me if he had just been real

Well, you’ve visited me almost five times now
and every time you’ve failed to impale me with your enormous knife

You have that jagged blade that catches the moonlight even when there is no moon
and dark clothing that I suppose is a mix between an undertaker and a ninja
though the silly bandana over your mouth and nose is more Western rogue-ish
and how the devil do I know you’re smiling when your lips are covered, anyway?

We’ve lost the passion of our early days, you and I, and fallen into a routine.
You lunge, I scream and propel myself away, and then you simply disappear
the cat looks at me irritably and you aren’t there to take the blame
which really makes you like every other man I’ve known

After all this time, I still haven’t seen your face, but I imagine you must be handsome
because, after all, why shouldn’t you be?
I can’t remember your eyes; maybe you wear sunglasses, which is just ridiculous
and might account for why your aim is always so far off

Oh, my mysterious visitor with your phallus-like choice of weapon
I am beginning to wonder if you aren’t the creation of a mind that hates the romantic
but only when it is sensible enough to be awake
and, if you please, if you couldn’t one day try to become some sort of erotic fantasy
I think that that would be just fine


ESSAY

Buddhist Philosophy and Pain

In the study of Buddhism, one of the first lessons to be understood is the concept of suffering or disquietude (dukkha) that is central to considering the Four Noble Truths and the nature of samsara. While dukkha includes disquietude of all kinds, this paper will link the concepts from the philosophies of Dōgen, Kosho Sensei, and Nishitani to the dukkha that is commonly referred to as physical pain. As one who continuously experiences physical pain, I will additionally relate these philosophies to my own experience of dukkha and how this reality need not be interpreted as negative but can easily become a tool for the Way-seeking mind. Through the activity of meditation on pain in an attempt to achieve continuous practice, and/or the meditation on extreme physical pain, it becomes apparent that the subject can utilize his pain and realize it as potentially becoming or already existing as one of the eighty-four thousand dharma doors to enlightenment.

As an exercise to purge pain from the conscious mind, pain specialists have long advocated the practice of sitting meditation. The subject is told to focus her entire mind on the center of her pain, allowing the aspect of the mind that experiences pain to grow accustomed to and understand the nature of the pain. The suggestion thus is that by focusing entirely on the pain and nothing else, the pain might be eliminated as a continuous experience. However, the meditation, once achieved through sitting, must be continued throughout everyday life, in order to become a mechanism for living a healthy life. The pain-suffered is told to practice maintaining her acceptance and understanding of pain beyond just the time spent in sitting meditation. This meditative state of mind that the practitioner seeks to always maintain is akin to Dōgen’s concept of continuous practice, and supposed seek for a healthy life, really a venture toward understanding the Way.

In the fascicle “Tenzo Kyokun” (“Instructions for the Tenzo”), Dōgen explains that “Those of old tell us, ‘For the tenzo, the mind which finds the Way actualizes itself through working with rolled up sleeves.’” What is particularly noteworthy about this statement is its specificity, referring to the role of the tenzo, the temple cook, generally a single member of a temple’s monastic community, alone. This particular member of the temple is singled out in the fascicle and in the statement, thusly explaining that not every Way-seeking mind must actualize through the mindful work in the kitchen because not everyone can or need be a cook. While the tenzo must be careful or mindful when pouring rice to prevent the waste of even a single grain, a monk in charge of cleaning similarly must be careful or mindful to make sure that every speck of dirt is removed from the temple’s floors. In Dōgen’s fascicles entitled “Continuous Practice, Fascicle One” and “Continuous Practice, Fascicle Two,” various examples of monks attaining enlightenment are given. Sometimes these monks attain enlightenment upon hearing a statement or question, such as Zen Master Fachang after hearing from Mazu that “Mind is Buddha” (122), but sometimes it is a physical sensation that accompanies the realization of enlightenment, such as Linji upon receiving sixty blows from a senior dharma brother (132). The particular moments at which these monks attain enlightenment are seen as mostly irrelevant, merely a natural result of their continuous practice.

Dōgen’s concept of continuous practice can similarly be applied to the chronic pain sufferer’s attempt to continuously meditate on the center of his pain. Similar to the tenzo who must be every mindful about every aspect of every item in his kitchen, the pain sufferer must learn to be mindful about every aspect of his pain. Like the monks who seek out unpleasant living conditions with cold weather entering their meek dwellings, with light supplied only by the sun and stars, and in continuous solitude, the practitioner of pain meditation cannot begrudge his hardship but welcome it and seek it out. This practitioner’s dukkha becomes a guide toward enlightenment as it emerges as an ever-present thought in the mind. The monk Nanyue is described as living in a harsh environment for fifteen years without a single text to study, and this path was found to lead him to enlightenment: “Not having one piece of knowledge or half of understanding, he reached the place of no effort, going beyond study” (131). While the practitioner of pain meditation might study the reasons for her pain and see doctors claiming to be experts, essentially seek out a cure for her pain, she might better serve herself in her quest for the Way by welcoming the ache as these monks have welcomed and sought out harsh living conditions. By living with this ever-present unpleasant condition, she is perhaps lucky in being able to attain the environment that these monks seek bound within the flesh of her own body, aiding her in the attempt to achieve continuous practice as well.

Kosho Sensei, in his lesson to the Advanced Buddhist Philosophy class on April 20th, spoke of the unpleasant conditions under which he worked on one particular night. As the only member of his temple who possessed technical skills and understood word processing, Kosho Sensei was asked to complete a series of documents and given a strict deadline. In order to complete his work on time, Kosho Sensei stayed up all night working, hunched over a computer in what assuredly became a painful position, with the additional unpleasantries of excessive tiredness and anxiety. After completing his work in the early morning, Kosho Sensei went to “take a shit,” and on his return to the temple, saw a beautiful flower that somehow seemed especially beautiful. The experience of unpleasant things and conditions thus seems to make it simpler for the practitioner to be mindful, and, therefore, a sustained unpleasantry must be helpful for the Way-seeking person.

Sitting in meditation on pain additionally can lead one to the experience of the Zen Great Doubt, which Nishitani describes in Religion and Nothingness as following from the breakthrough question “For what purpose do I myself exist?” (2). Nishitani describes terrible situations in which a loved one may be lost or one is presented with the reality of her eventual death, situations which give cause for despair. From physical pain, emotional pain can often spring forth, and, if intense enough, will assuredly result in a despairing subject. In this case as well, however, the pain, even unbearable, can prove a means by which the Way-seeking mind may approach revelation. While the great pain can be eradicated through the use of narcotic analgesics, such as Vicodin, it might also be used by one who meditates on pain toward experiencing the Great Doubt, or, more accurately, allowing this experience to manifest.

The practice of meditating on extreme pain seems ultimately to proceed in one similar fashion that is driven by the reality that to sit stiffly in meditation brings about, in the chronic pain sufferer, a level of pain such that cannot be differentiated from the despair explained by Nishitani. As the sitter sits meditating on acute pain, the questions proceed from self-pitying questions, such as (1) Why am I the one who must now suffer?, (2) Is there a greater purpose for this pain that I simply cannot see?, (3) Why has God made me to suffer?, and (4) What have I done to deserve this infliction?, to less self-oriented questions that nonetheless continue to address the self. These questions may be (5) What kind of God would allow a decent human being to incessantly suffer?, (6) Can there be a God if there exists extreme suffering in the absence of sin?, and (7) Can a human being consistently experiencing pain be differentiated from her experience of pain?, proceeding to the subject-less, object-less expression that simply asks why?. Finally, all that remains is a wordless question, what Nishitani refers to as a “single great question mark” (17), essentially that which immediately proceeds the Great Doubt, wherein the conscious no longer experiences the continuous pain because the conscious is the continuous pain and the continuous pain is the conscious. Likewise, in this ineffable experience that manifests itself, there is no “I” to experience the pain nor is there any pain to manifest itself in the “I.” The within and the without have been realized to be identical by both the subject and object that are, in actuality, inseparable and indistinguishable.

In sooth, all that remains is the question which is not so much a thing in one moment of linear time as an essence of being that coexists as both noun and verb, something that somethings. Yet, even the world “something” falls short of this question mark essence, so perhaps it can more clearly be articulated as die sache or あと物 (atomono), the unifying non-thing, the source of thinking manifesting itself as a perception that is not perceived by anything but instead perceives itself as perceives or wills itself to be perceived. Pain is gone because there exists nothing to receive the pain that is not part or entirely pain itself; pain cannot ache pain in the same manner that I cannot I I. This experience is what is referred to as the Great Death, defined also by Nishida as a “radical doubt” (21).

Through studying Buddhist philosophers such as Dōgen, Kosho Sensei, and Nishitani, it becomes apparent that continuous and excessive pain is a gift for the Way-seeker on her journey toward enlightenment. Not only does it allow one a great opportunity to gain insight into continuous practice and the harshness of circumstances that aids one in her practice, but it additionally grants greater understanding to the phrase “life is suffering” and the Four Noble Truths in general. Dukkha is a characteristic of samsara but it does not have the negative connotations that are so often associated with the idea of suffering. While the other Noble Truths are not addressed through these exercises as explained in this paper, based on the benefits of meditation on pain and extreme pain, it is certain that this particular type of disquietude is amazingly useful to one who seeks the Way.

Works Cited
Dōgen, Eihei. Enlightenment Unfolds: The Essential Teachings of Zen Master Dōgen. Ed. Kazuaki Tanahashi. Boston: Shambhala, 1999.
---. “Tenzo kyokun: Instructions for the Tenzo.” Trans. Yasuda Joshu Dainen Roshi and Anzan Hoshin Roshi. White Wind Zen Community. 2004. 10 Apr. 2009 .
Kosho Sensei. “Soto Zen Tradition.” Advanced Buddhist Philosophy Lecture. Seattle University, Seattle, WA. 20 Apr. 2009.
Nishitani, Keiji. Religion and Nothingness. Trans. Jan Van Bragt. Berkeley and Los Angeles: U of CA P, 1982.

(Sorry, the Works Cited isn't transferring well and I'm too lazy to fix it :/)

RANT

Migraines vs Bad Ass Headaches

I know, I know, it's terribly petty but it pisses me off to no end how many people claim to have migraines. Then they go on to say how they "handle" it- tough it out and stay at work or whatever, never calling in sick. Like I'm a weakling for having to stay in bed with my entire torso encased in ice and a blanket over my head with earplugs in.

You know what I mean? A real migraine means you can't much do anything- not watch tv, not listen to music, not move. It makes you throw up it hurts so bad. Maybe my definition of a migraine is just too limited by my experiences of pain.

Maybe not.

I think that a lot of people want to relate personally to what I'm going to, if I've told them about my pain issues, but I don't WANT them to relate. Because I don't think that most people can, really. I've been in extreme pain so often and since I was eighteen-years-old! The sort of pain I have is comparable to what 70-year-olds must endure- age pains, you know? But I'm young, so I'm angry that I have to deal with it now.

What's worse is that my psychologist says she has migraines, but the way she talks about it makes me think that they're just really bad headaches. Who could give a lecture to UW grad students with a migraine? It's impossible to think! But now I can't tell her about my frustrations, because she does the thing that frustrates me. Psychology is tricky.

Okay, I'm wiki-ing "migraine."

From Wikipedia:

Migraine is a neurological syndrome characterized by altered bodily perceptions, severe headaches, and nausea.

-- so what does "altered bodily perceptions" mean? Ah, lots of stuff. Like excessive "urination" and diarrhea. Blurred vision. Extreme sensitivity.

There are no words to say how awful it is to be in a level of pain characterized as a 10. That's the point at which you think about going to the kitchen and slicing open your wrist. I think the only times that I am truly depressed are when my pain peaks above a level of 8. Then, you can't help but watch your mood decline to the lows- 3 at the highest.

So when people try to compare an achy knee or things like that, I get pissed off. I shouldn't, but I can't help it. There's so much anger and I just don't know who to aim it at. It doesn't work to be angry at God or whoever/whatever you believe in. I can't believe that I'm being punished or I get depressed. It's easier to be mad at people.

As Helen says in Diary of a Mad Black Woman: "I'm not bitter. I'm mad as hell."

Though I don't know why I rant now- I'm in very low pain levels at the moment. Had a migraine night-before-last/yesterday morning though, and it stays with you (app. called the "postdrome phase.") ugh.

P: 3
M: 5

Things I Need to Blog About

The Princess and the Frog and Bruno Campos Being Latino

The Man With the Hat that Wasn't a Bowler Hat and Etc.

The Reason I Get Pissed Off!

Why Alpacas are Durned Cute, Durn It

Academic Things, Including Photovoice, Academic Armor, and Layered Writing

Four Square and My Mayororialness.

Faculty Hiring!

Writing Practicum #1

Intensity Warning!

And so, I begin.

I Remember, after Joe Brainard--

I remember when they announced a storm was coming and all I could understand was the picture of trees getting dragged away.

I remember I had hot chocolate with a lot of American marshmallows.

I remember marshmallows costing about the same as postage- I sent you postcards like messages in bottles, I remember.

I remember calling long distance and how it ended up costing me all of my last month's stipend.

I remember going to Mashiko where the trees were unnatural colors like your damned laser pointer hair and remember they were both (somehow) natural.

I remember small breasts displayed in low cut shirts.

I remember things that did not happen.

I remember silence in words and screaming in wind.

I remember the man getting shitfaced on the plane and pissing himself and trying to grope the flight attendant.

I remember the sober man on the train with his hand up my skirt--I remember trying to pretend it was you, but his hands were too big.

I remember going on a Ferris Wheel called a gondola, which didn't make any sense but who cared 'cause it was pink and made us laugh- not you and I but someone else and me.

I remember the giant spider covered in Christmas lights and the tiny jumpy spider covered in stripes that I named Herbert and chronicled the activities of meticulously.

I remember you hate spiders.

I remember taking the Women's Only train and it smelling like a hundred different perfumes, one of which was the one you used to wear-- Clinique Happy.

I remember reading Beloved on the train to and from school.

I remember looking at the abstract ice sculptures and trying to understand why anyone would go to such trouble to make something so ugly.

I remember IMing you and you talking about you and you and you and you.

I remember wandering through a graveyard and taking pictures of bottled water and tea on the tombstones.

I remember the woman sitting in the middle of the train station with her skirt bunched up to her waist sobbing and screaming and nobody doing anything and I remember thinking I would have done something, except I wasn't really there.

I remember the couple in the room next door making love except the way they did it it was fucking because it was so fucking loud that I couldn't sleep.

I remember you writing something that broke my heart but I don't remember what it was.

I remember that asshole who dropped something but wouldn't stop so I could give it back to him, and following him all the way across campus saying "excuse me."

I remember you could pay 500 yen to go in the back of the Great Buddha.

I remember my friend taking a picture of a "Do not take pictures" sign.

I remember finding out someone I love died and not being able to attend the funeral.

I remember how reading Beloved somehow seemed like a good idea after that; it wasn't.

I remember the men in the train workers' uniforms going past me with a gurney and something lumpy with a white cloth stained red over it.

I remember realizing it was a corpse.

I remember you telling me how lucky I was and me thinking you should go to Hell.

I remember the man on the train who had lived in Germany and spoke English and wore one of those hats I always forget the name of, and how I rode the train to the boondocks just to talk with him for a while.

I remember getting "standing room only" tickets but somehow having a seat anyway.

I remember getting a student discount on sweet potatoes.

I remember the smell of vomit on the Yamanote Line.

I remember joining the piano club so I could go the club room and play the keyboard and sing, and how the janitors could hear me but for once I didn't feel self-conscious at all.

I remember missing you singing with me, because you had a much better voice, probably still do.

I remember singing anyway.

Doctoral/Master's Programs

I figured that people might be interested in the programs to which I hope to apply. Below, I have copied the fancy Excel document of the programs which now interest me. The highlighted items didn't copy over, however, so I'll let you know that UW's Women's Studies PhD program is my top choice right now (I want to stay here!) with UCSB, UC Irvine, UCSC, Stanford, and Claremont's programs pretty much all tying for second.

Let me know what you think! Also, pay attention to the crazy degree titles-- I'll try to put more details later once I figure out which one's I'm more interested in. The UW program only takes three PhD students a year, so I need to focus on getting a large chunk of apps out there. Also, I'll need to take the GRE again-- cruel world! I'll plan on taking it this summer, when my brain can rest a bit more than usual.

Anyway, here is the lovely, lovely table (costs started disappearing because I realized I pretty much can't afford anywhere but the UW without substantial aid, and if I'm going into debt for my education, I might as well go for bust!...):

College	Location	Degree Type	Degree	GRE?	Cost	Other
Cornell	New York	MFA/PhD	Creative Writing	Yes	29,500	Viramontes
UW	WA	PhD	Women's Studies	Yes	10,727	Swarr, Jeffords
UW	WA	PhD	English	Yes	10,727
PSU	Oregon	PhD	Sociology and Social Inequality	No	5,844
UBC	Canada	PhD	Women's and Gender Studies	No	20,306
UBC	Canada	PhD	Interdisciplinary Studies	No	20,306
UC Santa Barbara	California	PhD	Feminist Studies	Yes	15,000
UC Berkeley	California	PhD	Ethnic Studies	No
UC Irvine	California	PhD	Culture and Theory	Yes
UCLA	California	PhD	Women's Studies	Yes
UC Santa Cruz	California	PhD	History of Consciousness	Yes
Stanford	California	PhD	Modern Thought and Literature	Yes
Brown	Rhode Island	PhD	Integrative Studies	Yes		Ivy
Brown	Rhode Island	PhD	American Civilization	Yes		Ivy
Yale	Connecticut	PhD	American Studies	Yes
Claremont	California	PhD	Women's Studies	Yes