When Words Seem to Read Your Mind

"Most if not all human lives are full of fantasy--passive daydreaming which need not be acted on.  But to write poetry or fiction, or even to think well, is not to fantasize or put fantasies on paper. For a poem to coalesce, for a character or an action to take shape, there has to be an imaginative transformation of reality which is in no way passive. And a certain freedom of mind is needed-- freedom to press on, to enter the currents of your thought like a glider pilot, knowing that your motion can be sustained, that the buoyancy of your attention will not be suddenly snatched away. Moreover, if the imagination is to transcend and transform experience it has to question, to challenge, to conceive of alternatives, perhaps to the very life you are living at that moment.You have to be free to play around with the notion that day might be night, love might be hate; nothing can be too sacred for the imagination to turn into its opposite or to call experimentally by another name. For writing is re-naming." 

-Adrienne Rich from When We Dead Awaken: Writing as Re-Vision

Give Into Me

Bro-ham's,

It's been almost exactly a month since we last hung out on this bloody thing. Profound apologies, my dear readers. You deserve better, but my, I've been wildly engaged with such deadly serious province. I won't get into the mythological lore and legends that were the yuletide season and Cabo San Locooooooo. Instead, we'll move right along.

It brings me great jocundity to report that my fictional enterprises are in full swing. In fact, right now I have quite a bit of writing responsibility: 1. Peter's Poison 2. Pen On Fire writing group 3. UCLA short story class with David Borofka (so very time consuming in the most fulfilling way) 3. Freelance work (trying to make those greenbacks). Nevertheless, my writing priorities are sometimes in a state of tumult, tumbling around over each other like kernels in the electric popcorn machine. But I'm trying to get the hang of it, and really I've never been happier. However, with this terrific line up of task, Peter's Poison has no doubt fallen to the wayside. We will work on this.

Well, the end of 2011 and beginning of 2012. What it has brought me. Change, freedom, elation, adventure. I quit my job, applied to grad school for creative writing (find out in April), was accepted into an amazing writing group, experienced my first critique after never having shown my fiction to anyone, completed my first public reading at a bookstore, found yoga, started coaching, and got a boyfriend (the best guy ever). I know, I know, if we weren't sure before, we know now that 2012 truly is the year of the apocalypse.

The words, "You'll never leave where you are until you decide where you'd rather be." That happened to me. With the help of some prodigious mentors and friends, I finally mustered the bravura to dive into the delicious discomfort of giving it all up to chase the dream. The life I'd always wanted and thought about incessantly but didn't feel was possible or deserved. Because after all, when everything is said and done, people will always have opinions but you are only going to have to face yourself in the very end. Regret or contentment. I am still slowly finding my way, but I have never felt more in sync with life and myself. I know that the bills will work out and that I will find my way creatively inch by inch. And instead of worry, I forge ahead because it is SO exciting. My friends, there truly is something to actually doing what you have always talked about.

Goals That I am Pursuing in 2012:

• Submit at least 3 stories to literary journals
• Complete my yoga teacher certification (beginning March 30th)
• Begin outline for my novel
• Reapply to grad school if I don't get in
• Continue listening to myself as the guide for my life

This post is embarrassingly maudlin and completely contrary to the jerky Peter's Poison way, but I am in a state of reflection at the moment.

Today, I have a heavy heart. One of my very best friends, Kristin Lynn Richards, is dealing with an inconceivable situation. Her mother is in the hospital in critical condition with breast cancer. She just flew back from Italy to be with her mama. Kristin is one of those drop-everything-for-you type of people. She is the most nurturing, rock steady, infallibly loyal and supportive people I have ever met. I am so unbelievably grateful to have the years of very close friendship that I have shared with her despite different time zones and life's curve balls. And right now, I just feel sick to my stomach. My heart is in Utah with my girl.


Good to see you guys again.


XX,

Petey


P.S. The reading yesterday was such a delightful experience. It could not have gone any better than it did. I am so relieved and happy. 

And It's Hard to Dance With The Devil On Your Back

So, it's come to everybody's attention that it's time for me to move out of Holly and Rob's house. "Moving Out" is an ironic term given that I pay for my own apartment in Newport. But during this grad school application process I sort of just migrated back down to the rolling hills of San Juan Capistrano (my apartment is rather bantam and I don't have a desk there). Needless to say, the family has collectively decided that I have outstayed my welcome. So, I have big grown up plans to move back into my lonely, unoccupied room in Newport Shores as soon as I get back from Sun Valley. This is good too because last night I think I received a sign.

Well, I was having the most fitful sleep. This may have been induced by the World War II novel I am reading, Unbroken. It is a positively horrifying book and details what the Japanese POW camps were like during this time. However, had I been alive in this era, I am certain I would have been head over heels in love with Louis Zamperini. His wiley, brazen nature, his iron will, really just an excellent synthesis of the exemplary man. The heart and soul of a sexpot. But, during this termagant sleep, I had the most appropriate of dreams. The sign I alluded to previously. Well, this dream started out like any other normal dream would. But then I walked into my Newport apartment and into my room, and to my outrage, I saw that my roommate had painted my room a shocking aqua. Now I was resolutely sure that I had never painted my room aqua as this would be far too committal of a move for me. As I looked around, I also noticed that my bed now resided in her room. Her tackle and possessions unabashedly littering my 12 x 12 foot space, casually lounging around as if I never existed. (Author's note: Heather, if you're reading this, I know you wouldn't do this in real life, it's just the universe's subconscious threatening ploy- trying to scare me into moving back). So, it's been decided, I am to move back to my little abode in the first week of January, where I am to resume being an autonomous adult.

Before the occurrence of this whole wrestling match with sleep, I went over to my gal, Christina King's house. Over CK's ambrosial turkey chili, we watched 50/50 -- I am not at liberty to tell you how we came into possession of this film at this time. This movie has a pretty lavish cast with Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Seth Rogen, Bryce Dallas Howard, Angelica Houston, and Anna Kendrick. I think each of them did a meritorious job too, especially Anna Kendrick. She always plays these awkward, annoying characters, but I think she is extremely shrewd and talented. Moreover, I was wrought with anguish over Adam's plight with cancer. It happens to him out of nowhere, and this is one of those stories of perspective, illustrating how life is so very fleeting, etc. While watching Adam's decline, I literally felt sick to my stomach like I do whenever I feel any sort of lugubrious emotion.

So I started considering my own life as one does after these reflection-inducing films, and I thought to myself, I could get cancer tomorrow. I mean it's a very real possibility. Or somebody I love could get it. And then, I was immediately so far down the vortex of this thought process that I bought the book, Facing Cancer Together. I know, I'm completely batty with the way I become intrigued/obsessed with things. Like I recognize I'm completely nuts. Just a little light recreational reading during this holiday season. But, I was thinking it's really not a bad subject to have a low level of awareness about given its prevalence in contemporary society. I'm a creep?

JUST HEARD ON THE PHONE:

Rob: Blair? It's your father.

Me: Hi, dad. How are you?

Rob: Well, your blog sucked less than it usually does today. Listen, can you do me a favor?

Well, alright then, I have to go do a plyometrics workout with 16 year old's now. 


Xx,

Petey

A Babe Laughing is a Babe Conquered

Guys, where the shit have you been? See that, how I projected right there. You really shouldn't put up with it. But I've been so very busy. Listening to way too much Rihanna (featuring Calvin Harris- you better believe I hit Rihanna's part like an angel), I've been playing volleyball and doing yoga, writing, coaching-- I had my first parent meeting last night. I brought an outline and everything. Almost positive that I talked way too fast (you know the whole thing I have about taking up people's time). But I was super nervous--"My name's Blair, I am a volleyball dropout and your child's coach. Please don't approach me ever--unless it's to compliment me or bring sliced oranges."

How are all these holiday parties and Christmas functions? I mean it's rather taxing on the mental and physical body. The gluttony at unspeakable levels. We had Rob's entire side of the family over on Sunday for Christmas dinner a week early because Hayden and his babe are going to Fiji. 18 people. Honestly, I thought things started off pretty strong, heavy on the champagne and lot's of lemon and hot sauce on my oysters. Just how I like it. And then I don't know if it was because I looked like a lifeless zombie from the night before or what, but as Hayden, Rj, Rob, Holly slowly got a little more juiced it became the let's-show-everyone-how-funny-we-are-by-making-fun-of-Blair show. Well, they never actually use my real name. Peter only.

I won't get into all the subjects that they covered during their 3 hour long Christmas roast, but I swear to you it did not stop until had everybody left the house. As soon as any one person got off topic from verbally hazing the shit out of me, Hayden and RJ were right there to steer the conversation back. And wouldn't you know it, my best friend and the star of this blog, Holly Socci, well, she saw an opportunity and she swung for the fences. The lady hung me out to dry like a dirty wet rag.  Divulging and exploiting like a crooked gangster. No joke. On Monday, I sternly let her know that we are going to have to sit down and really reexamine the treaty and covenants that our friendship was first founded upon. Because it's going to take a hell of a lot to bounce back from this sort of flagrant betrayal. Blah Blah Blah, she kept chiming in like a goddamned parakeet. Throwing alley-oops to Hayden and RJ like CP3. Egregiously taking slam dunks like Blake Griffin.

And I kept saying, "Mom, what are you doing? We are on the same team, we've always been on the same team. We are best friends! Why are you doing this to me?!??!!" But it was all to no avail. She was too enthralled by the success of her jokes, elated with her new found fame. She really wouldn't have stopped if faced down by Zeus himself. Best friends just don't do that to each other, you know? While it was happening, I mostly just sat there in bewilderment as I knew this was a battle lost from the start. I suppose it's just part of being a little sister. Simply accepting one's place as a sacrificial animal to the elders. 

My sole consolation during this battered and bruised state- raviolis from scratch. And they were truly ethereal. Other worldly. Freshly made pasta, it melts. I am going to stop because this is starting to sound sexual. But if you ever get the chance with these bad boys, seize it. 

Alright then, blessings to you tonight.

XX, 

Petey 

Man on the Moon

FriDAy POntiFIcaTIOns:

Feeling sorry for myself this morning because I didn't go to the Naked and Famous concert last night. I just felt that it would be the responsible thing to do after being a prisoner of war to illness all week. It was a precautionary and hopeful move that was meant to inspire possibility this weekend. Needless to say, I really like this particular band so it hurt me a bit, and also because it was at the Galaxy Theater in charming Santa Ana. A locale in which I have rich history with, my friends. I used to hit that shit up when I was 14 and 15, hanging out with the fast crowd at Santa Margarita Catholic High School, super rad. I was really punk rock (dear Lord). Wearing lot’s of black and dirty chuck taylor's, prob a studded belt in there too somewhere. Black fingernails (well, still have those actually). Working hard to offset being a little blond volleyball player, no doubt. One of the sweet, unknowing mothers of our motley crew would drop us off outside, waving goodbye to us from her brand new SUV as we went in to see a band I probably hadn’t even heard of. I’d be super scared every time I got out of the car because all of the other Galaxy goer's had Mohawks and piercings and tattoos to go with the sex pistols patches on their canvas jackets. So yeah, missed out on that trip down nostalgia lane last night. Bummer.

So two nights ago, I had the most surreal, hypnagogic dreams.  I awoke with such a startle, with such a deep gasp of profundity, I was sure it was real life. Well this is what happened, dear readers. I had not one, but two dreams about having a baby. Granted, I had been taking nyquil and tylenol pm all week with my illness and so I think I was in a bit of an altered condition. Yes, I'm now fully convinced that shit causes hallucinogenic experiences in the dream state. Because I can still picture my dream baby's face? And oh my God, it was the cutest baby ever.  Like, I'm afraid to have a real baby now because it could be a let down?? What a horrific thing to say. I don't mean it one bit. But my dream baby was so cute!!!! So then when I had transitioned into a lucid state of consciousness, I thought-- Blair, why are you having these baby dreams? Naturally, I set about doing some recon and googled, "What do baby dreams mean?". This very learned dream website said that this sort of dream is a sign of grand life transition. Which is actually entirely accurate given my whole whole turn 25 and overthrow everything I was doing bit. Kind of a let down if you ask me, my fingers were secretly crossed for immaculate conception.

***Rob is going to love this little baby anecdote when it shows up in his inbox this morning. Actually, they (family) don't even flinch any more because I have been joking about pregnancy for so long now. But, Rob subscribing to this blog by email was a really poor idea on everybody's part. We had a half a family meeting (minus dad) and collectively decided that somebody is going to have to hack in and unsubscribe him. So far, Holly is leading the charge. A true martyr for art that lady is.

Other Notes of Interest: 

• My baby Bruins are in the National Championship tomorrow night!!! I am so excited and proud. Such a great tradition, mess some shit up gals. All my love to you.

• Even though USC lost, I cannot get over how good their libero is. I mean she is one of the most fun players to watch I have seen in many years. I am excited to see what she does in the future. I forget her last name and I don't even know how old she is, but I would go to a USC (gross) game just to see her play.

• Did you guys ever listen to Brand New? For me, it was like my album of junior year in high school. I stumbled upon them on Spotify yesterday and listened to the whole thing again. It made me laugh remembering everything. Still knew every word.

Have a happy day, dolls.


XX,


Petey

Light it Up

This little casual email is from awhile back, but you know, I think it holds more relevance to this blog than most of the other shit that makes it on here.

My family's nuts.

Dance Yourself Clean

Babes,

How'd we do today? I am still in the merciless vice grip of this god blessed cold. Wound in its vicious web like a feeble fruit fly. I am not sure if it's allergies or just some assault of influenza/act of terrorism on my face as a result of calling Jane Adams sex-appeal-less on this blog yesterday. But one thing's for sure, this bitch won't quit.

Anyways, I was supposed to do a lot of shit for grad school this morning and unfortunately, it didn't quite get done. Mitch Johns would say that this is because I have a fear of success. I would pretend to disagree with him and then tell him about how I played three hours of volleyball this morning and explain to him that I got drilled in the back of the head by this behemoth of a man's knee while covering the block (the ball was up). I'd tell him it was especially harrowing because I had a concussion last year and so one is supposed to be expressly mindful of any head injuries thereafter (sympathy points, count that shit). So that is why I had to take it easy today, Mitch.  

Head injuries and snot everywhere = brain operating at half mast. He'd tell me I was making excuses. And that I need to get out of my own way, grow up and quit the self-sabotage. I'd respond like I usually do when called out, "I have no idea what you're talking about", "Whatever do you mean by that?", "How about Chris Paul maybe heading to the Clippers?".

But I mean the sickness thing is terribly inopportune during our current Christmas party season. I have no idea how I am going to get to the overwhelming bevy of soirees/win all of the dance-off's ahead of me/meet my husband at the boat parade while in such poor health. I've been watching a few movies and reading a few books during my recovery. I won't tell you which movies as (I'm an asshole) and also one never knows whose eyes are to befall this blog. The next thing you know they're reading into your movie choices like you just put a Sex in the City quote on your facebook status or something. I've never done that. I'm way too tough for that, but you get what I'm saying. I am reading Merrill Markoe's new book though. I have to say I'm rather disappointed. As you know, I saw her in person at the author's salon awhile back, and remember I thought she was so so funny in person. Her book, Cool, Calm, and Contentious, is less funny than she was that night in the flesh, thus far anyways. I don't know it's a little bitter maybe, a smidge depressing on the underbelly. Hopefully it gets better because I really want to like it.

Alright then. Wishing your immune system blessings and much fortitude.

XX,

Petey