Anna says to me
pneumonia I may have but
not this disease
toast by the old man
in the greed plaid tweed trousers:
inappropriate.
uncle's proffered friend:
instead of awkward chatter
shall we just make out?
Grandma says weakly
how nice that you all are hitched
Nora, you are next?
one thing you can say
we know how to procreate
and how to party.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Babies!
Okay, so I have been dreaming pretty much constantly since I started getting more sleep. Lately, the dreams have become so vivid that I always have a few thrilling and disoriented moments during the waking process where I cannot fully differentiate between my realities. Generally, this means something as innocuous as "Wait, do I actually own a red Honda Civic? And why was I driving on the Irish side of the road?" as opposed to after my nap this afternoon, when it became "HOLY SHIT WHERE IS THE TWO YEAR OLD CHILD I GAVE BIRTH TO IN 2005, AND WHO HAS BEEN TAKING CARE OF HER ALL THIS TIME?!" It took a few moments to calm down and remember that if I had indeed pushed an inordinately largeish-small human body out of my vagina after completing my freshman year of college, I would probably remember it rather vividly.
Yes folks, Nora has Baby Dreams. Dream analysis (a practice in which my therapist mother has an extensive background) would tell us that dreaming of babies is generally connected to one's creative progeny, whether that be (in my case) writing, music, the theatre phantom-limb syndrome I have been experiencing this summer— or (possibly in your case) birdhouse-making, culinary experimentation, or somewhat demeaning yet lucrative exotic dancing. Potato, pot— well, whatever. Not the point.
Anyway, I suppose what I am trying to say here is that the subconscious is a creepy and powerful thing. The actual reason I am blogging about this is because of my cousin Anna:
(leather jacket, third from left)
...who has been a nanny for quite some time now and is free of her shackles in approximately 12 days, and who, when given the task of picking a blog topic, chose this one. Her official nanny opinion is:
annaXXXX (10:45:38 PM): i am nannied out
annaXXXX (11:03:39 PM): the best place for a toddler is in a blog
So here (in a blog) is a picture of what my subconscious supposed a toddler of mine would look like:
Given another couple of years (and a necessary wardrobe correction) I imagine she would have looked something like this:
...and with these unsettling images of my potential progeny, I will leave you in (dubious) peace for the time being. Sleep well!
Yes folks, Nora has Baby Dreams. Dream analysis (a practice in which my therapist mother has an extensive background) would tell us that dreaming of babies is generally connected to one's creative progeny, whether that be (in my case) writing, music, the theatre phantom-limb syndrome I have been experiencing this summer— or (possibly in your case) birdhouse-making, culinary experimentation, or somewhat demeaning yet lucrative exotic dancing. Potato, pot— well, whatever. Not the point.
Anyway, I suppose what I am trying to say here is that the subconscious is a creepy and powerful thing. The actual reason I am blogging about this is because of my cousin Anna:
...who has been a nanny for quite some time now and is free of her shackles in approximately 12 days, and who, when given the task of picking a blog topic, chose this one. Her official nanny opinion is:
annaXXXX (10:45:38 PM): i am nannied out
annaXXXX (11:03:39 PM): the best place for a toddler is in a blog
So here (in a blog) is a picture of what my subconscious supposed a toddler of mine would look like:
Given another couple of years (and a necessary wardrobe correction) I imagine she would have looked something like this:
...and with these unsettling images of my potential progeny, I will leave you in (dubious) peace for the time being. Sleep well!
Monday, June 4, 2007
How to Win Friends and Influence People
My manager told me today that he has been reading a book about improving your prospects at work and in life. This apparently involves the identification of things that you are good at, followed by doing more of them. He is apparently good at "interacting with people" and "problem solving at the macro level." This prompted me to make a list of things that I am good at:
- Being a hermit
- Creating awkward scenarios
- Dating emotionally unavailable men
- depriving myself of things (i.e. wheat products, sex)
- Non Sequiturs
I did not submit this list to my manager, although I suppose I could have. Then he could have applied his problem solving skills to discovering a way for me to utilize these unique talents in the workplace. Maybe they can install a hermitage for me behind the line, where I will write sestinas for Ernesto the dishwasher. The emotionally unavailable men who come in for their high end dessert will be given the option of dating the resident pastry hermit, who will then refuse to put out and speak only in non sequiturs. This will be an awkward scenario. Problem solved.
Seriously though, most of my occupations thus far have involved overriding my natural skills and impulses to function in a repetitive and intellectually sub-stimulating environment. Isn't that why it's called "work?" The next step up the career ladder for me is tending bar at a place that allows me to show cleavage for tips. I believe it is soon after this point that women hit the glass ceiling in the workplace. Or, if you are in Boston, The Glass Slipper?
Whatev. I will stow my post-late-shift cynicism along with the wad of dollar bills that I will be judged at the bank for depositing in the morning... esp. if I do so in my old Candies heels and that spandex minidress.
- Being a hermit
- Creating awkward scenarios
- Dating emotionally unavailable men
- depriving myself of things (i.e. wheat products, sex)
- Non Sequiturs
I did not submit this list to my manager, although I suppose I could have. Then he could have applied his problem solving skills to discovering a way for me to utilize these unique talents in the workplace. Maybe they can install a hermitage for me behind the line, where I will write sestinas for Ernesto the dishwasher. The emotionally unavailable men who come in for their high end dessert will be given the option of dating the resident pastry hermit, who will then refuse to put out and speak only in non sequiturs. This will be an awkward scenario. Problem solved.
Seriously though, most of my occupations thus far have involved overriding my natural skills and impulses to function in a repetitive and intellectually sub-stimulating environment. Isn't that why it's called "work?" The next step up the career ladder for me is tending bar at a place that allows me to show cleavage for tips. I believe it is soon after this point that women hit the glass ceiling in the workplace. Or, if you are in Boston, The Glass Slipper?
Whatev. I will stow my post-late-shift cynicism along with the wad of dollar bills that I will be judged at the bank for depositing in the morning... esp. if I do so in my old Candies heels and that spandex minidress.
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