I’m Amanda. I’ve got wide eyes, a smart mouth, and a MetroCard. And I’m not afraid to use them.
One of Sam’s Christmas gifts was a copy of Work and Love, Stephen Dunn’s out of print poetry collection. This collection is very hard to find and Sam has searched for it for years. I found it online a few months ago and had to wait forever to get it. When it arrived at my NYC post office jet-lagged from a cross-country voyage, I simply put it in a drawer with all my other Christmas gifts.
So much to say.
It’s a wonder it doesn’t suddenly bubble forth, like a burp I can’t hold back. Or stream out like the blood of a hemophiliac. (I’m not trying to rap).
I want to burn a cd of songs that have a woman’s name in the title. Here’s what I’ve thought of so far from my ipod:
There’s a man in the vicinity of I.S. 666 who owns a dog. This man appears to be a drunk and hangs out on the streets and keeps the dog on a rope. A few weeks ago, the man put a ratty old sweater on the dog, despite the fact that it is an extremely fuzzy chow chow mix and can’t possibly be cold. Anyhow, I used to see this huge, hairy dog wearing the stretched out, striped monstrosity after school everyday when I walked to the subway.
I really enjoy the Counting Crows song “Long December.” It smells like apple cider, old leather, and salt water. It feels like the sting of wind on your face. And it sounds like a night-time conversation between two exhausted people on a long drive home.
If you follow the news at all, you already know that NYC has endured a two-day transit strike. Day one, I took the day off and ran errands after sleeping late. I felt the freedom that only unemployed people feel. Actually, that’s not so much freedom as it is aimlessness and desperation, huh? Let me revise. I felt that freedom that college students feel when they have completed their finals or a class gets cancelled and suddenly the universe expands. Who knew that all that time they were in class and taking quizzes that places like coffee shops and movie theatres were open? Who knew?! The streets didn’t seem any more crowded than normal yesterday. Except for one very rude worker at my branch of the NYPL, Upper West Side people were acting normal. Life was good.
I know I’m breaking my promise and haven’t written a good entry today, but I’m waiting to find out if the MTA is striking or not. Seven million people ride a NYC bus or subway each day, and I’m one of them.
The best feeling in the world is not love.
Sure, that’s one of the best feelings, but nothing feels as good as the first sense of your own repair/growth. Think of the first time you can think about a person who hurt you and you feel nothing. That person’s name becomes a mere name, instead of a symbol of all your regret, loss, and anger.
