while you were sleeping [at the wheel]

a,

the town of rye, ny takes things very seriously. idling in your car is illegal, and everything is recycled. you can't get out of the car in the loop in front of the school, nor can one open the trunk. every house is equipped with an evacuation box, and a red bucket that's for your clothing when there is radioactivity (too bad you can't fit your whole self in there, i say. she laughs but i know she isn't listening.) only one parent per household works in the city, just in case. everyone has at least one hybrid car, and nannies are a step up from a designer bag (stephanie has her bachelor's and is helping me before she gets her masters [What??]. oh, that's nice... well, lexi is in her last year of med school and speaks french!) dishwashers are run after 7pm (the electricity rates go down!) and the house is kept 2 degrees cooler when the children are at school.

at catholic youth basketball, amidst a staggered audience of ashed wives whose husbands are still at work, i overhear that "mine's gone for 6 weeks. yah... to see her family. well she hasn't been home in 5 years, so. and she's married, so you know, see her husband. i'm ok, though."

i wonder who i will be when i'm done here.

i'm very sensitive, and i so appreciate kindness. i really do. i suppose kindness is love in its simplest form, to some degree. these children do not say please or thank you, and they tell me what they want at all times. their jackets, bags, hats, shoes, all strewn about-- and it takes as much energy to ask them to do it themselves over and over as to just do it myself. but i ask them anyway, because otherwise i'm not doing any good. i'm just doing.

the first mountain i must conquer is their insatiable dishonesty. i Hate that.

i miss my nephews. my sister has grown the most beautiful and magnificent tiny men. slightly stepford, actually, and such a stark contrast to this madness.

i'm sorry. i'll stop about all of that. although, as one final thought... they broke my heart a little bit today. my first attempt at making lasagna... and while it came out absolutely delicious and amazing, they hated it because it had spinach and zuchinni in it. the mother sat and allowed them to tear it and me apart. then she asked me to heat up frozen sausage patties for them. i wanted to vomit on her.

all they want is frozen meat products.
yet she insists everything be "organic". bullshit.

there was a bright side to today. i made it to manhattanville and met with my professor, jonathon tropper, who is certain my script will sell. he has two producers and his agent to hand it to. he got me excited enough that i wrote the entire story, and will have the script done by end of week. he wants it asap so he can pass it on. i am thrilled not only because of what he said, but because he lit a fire! i was into it today, like i haven't been in so long! it felt great. it felt... natural. so right.

strange, though, walking the halls of a tiny place i called home for 4 years, searching for a familiar face and not finding one. i'd wanted so badly to sit in on writing classes, but duty called and there were frozen chicken nuggets to make.

have you ever investigated meditation? there is something in you that wants to be quelled, i'm sure of it. your body and mind want peace.

you are beautiful when you smile, a... but i wonder what you'll look like when you're truly happy. i suppose i'd have to shield my eyes for fear that nothing would ever equate.

sorry for droning on and on.




i so look forward to seeing you.
-s

and suddenly, i'm a mother of three.

highlights of my first day nannying:

(K= Kiki, 3. J= J.P, 5. G= Grant, 10. S= Suzie, the mother)

* "you can pickle a cucumber but you can't cucumber a pickle." -Me.

* having the 3 year old who it's "always a struggle" to dress, dress herself. will

ingly.

* "you're a really good cook. why don't you become a cook? you could move to new york and open a restaurant and make billions of dollars." -G

* finishing the day with an orange and a cup of tea.

* the amazing electric hybrid car i get to drive.

* "what is that?"

   "it's my blog."

   "so that people like you?"

   "no! just because people want to read about what happens in my life." 

   "so they want to marry you?" -G

   "no!" -Me

* "have you ever gone on one of those perfect match sites?" -G

   "no! (lie) have you?" -Me

* the big pink heart in my room filled with chocolates to "welcome" me.

* "you're nice." -G

* eating the best hummus i've ever had with baby carrots all day.

* "you're huge!" -K

* "we only have salad"

   "can i have gum?"

   "salad!"

   "chicken parm?"

   "salad!"

   "ice cream?" -Me

   "ok, ice cream salad." -K

* "this is the best mac and cheese i've ever had in my life." -K

* this is my shower head:

* "Yes, ma'am." -J

* "what does that say?" -K

* "oh, stephanie is interested in marketing, i bet she could do it!" -S "oh? well how much do you charge?" -Her Friend

* "i'm not being very nice to you." -K

* "ballet des enfants 'fairytale ballet' "

* being quizzed about presidents by a boy covered only in bubbles. few bubbles.

* i have a secret to tell you... please come here?

she gives me her ear

i had a really good time playing with you today-

thanks so much for playing with me all day, i tell her.

i have a secret for you, too! she says.

i really love you,

and i really love your hat!

...and it really is.

the night turned day was rough to rougher. surprising my brother, the last to know i'm home, and then having him not say a word to me until this morning.

so, what's the plan? 

he stood in the door way to the attic room i'd slept in. i don't know yet, courtney, i said-- picking up my things, but as soon as i do, i'll let you know.

well, are you gonna get a job?

yup.

doing what?

i don't know.

i walked downstairs, and he up, to his office. i didn't see him again.

this theme is recurring. it often feels i'm a man who's been thrown a fish so many times, and never been taught what a rod was. i'm hungry, i'm hungry i beg

yet they're pockets are long emptied of fish,

and no one has time or want to bait a hook with me. and they blame me

for my hunger, they blame me

for not knowing how, on my own.

a tired metaphor.

i left with my mother. insisted upon leaving. got in the car and moved her purse to the floor. she got in

excuse me! she said, picking up her purse and setting it between us, 

you can always sit in the backseat if my purse is in your way.

trust me, i said. i know.

and so sat and heaved the quote of the day (displaced to the back of the bus for a purse) until lunch, after i'd spent hours on a project idea and allowed my mind its reeling...

i'm talking too much, and too loud, probably, about the economic crisis and other things, to my mom at a restaurant. the people behind her get up to leave, and the woman stops at our table and says

"excuse me, i'm sorry... it's just, you're a very smart person. i've been listening to what you've been saying-- and you've really got some good things to say. you're going places, i know it!"

i: completely taken aback and surprised

i say i'm sorry i was talking so loud! and she says no, no, i enjoyed it. my mother says:

she needed that, with a smile. and the woman walks away.

wow, i say to carol- eyebrows still raised- my life is So Weird!

i wish i had softer hair.

i cried in the shower, sitting on the floor.

first time since i got here. first time

since i left.

i wish i could dismiss all feelings of regret or thoughts turned second. it's been one week, now... and i've eight less close friends and one less job. one weekend and everyday to fill with this screen. i can't drown out the din of my cousin's t.v upstairs. don't want to cover it with other noise. music/noise. all of it, noise. 

i don't know why he has it so loud, or why the sound comes down the stairs more often than he does. 

 i'm forced to imagine my other life, and the me i unplugged... what i'd be doing right now. who i'd be with. 

why did i go? why did i go? i don't remember.

i have to keep reminding myself that i really wasn't happy.

my problem, always, it seems.

never remembering things quite as they really were.

maybe that's why i devote so much of myself to the past. 

why i seem to live there.

it's deluded. am i?

[she said 

if you had let yourself fall in love with me...]

my dreams are born, and die before they cry.

i can't do this right now. i have wine to drink, again, and dreams to birth and watch turn blue

waiting

waiting

for me to slap them into being.

but i won't.

for now,

i'll crawl back into the shower

and wait til it dries//

make it wet again.

Will write for food.

Craigslist.com says:
South Shore/MA
Full time content writer for developing original content for client websites, company web properties and newsletter, including technical writing. You will be producing ten 1000 word articles a week on varied topics.

Please respond with a 450 word sample "how to" article that has NOT been published, this must be fresh work so we can get an idea of your style. The article MUST include "how to" in the title, and be a short but descriptive and useful guide on how to do, well, anything! No topic is off limits, and creativity definitely counts. All samples will be checked for plagiarism.

So Stephanie says:
How To.
A Bullshitter’s Guide.

Don’t worry about books. Keep them around (of course), but don’t bother reading them. They can’t tell you anything you don’t know. Leave them stacked next to your bed for the cardigan-clad women you bring home for the night. Only read the back covers, and the author’s blurb. If you read the blurb, then when someone presents a discussion on the book you can mention something like “Oh, did you know that he actually wrote 5 children’s books before that?”. Everyone will think that you not Only read the book, but did follow-up research on the author. Then (and they won’t know this, because they are not as smart as you) the conversation will be shifted from a discussion of the book to a general talk on children’s books and the ‘Youth today in America’ and what do you have to say about that? Oh, all kinds of things. After all, you were a youth once… and there you have it. You’re suddenly at the cushy crème-filled center of a conversation that began with the “Unbearable Lightness of Being”. Crisis averted.
Never admit you are wrong. Practice saying things like “I appreciate your point, but” and “Well, sure, but have you ever stopped to consider…?”. Make “but” your most-used word. If you negate everything anyone says, eventually people will just agree with you because they are tired. Don’t get tired. You do not lose.
Make people feel like they’re stupid, and then tell them they’re not stupid. It’s really all a power-play. If you make them feel stupid, patting them on the head of their egos will be like giving a puppy a tummy rub. Neither one will remember you smacked them with a newspaper one minute before.
Confuse, confuse, confuse.
Commit to hypotheticals. That way, no one can ever say you Really said anything. You can get your point across and never be held responsible for anything you said.
Oh, there’s a really good one. Never take responsibility. Believe me. Somehow, everything is someone else’s fault. You crashed that car… but did You really crash that car? So simple? Of course not. The brakes were faulty. You were rushing, because That person is always nagging you. You’re PMS-ing. There was a bunny. Post-Traumatic Stress. Someone moved that pole during the night.
Absolutely condescend. This goes back to those nagging, unavoidable literary conversations. Eventually that one guy who brought up the book in the first place is going to realize that the conversation has transformed into some strange form of charades mixed with Never-Have-I-Ever and that you’re standing a whole lot closer to the girl he was trying to impress in the first place. When he tries to bring the discussion back to the book, simply brush his attempts aside with a sweeping remark like “Oh come on now, Mark, we’re all so tired of that… this is a party!” or “Hey Mark, never have I ever been in school right now”. He’ll feel like an ass, she’ll laugh, and you’ll take her and her cardigan to bed.
Never ever admit you don’t know how to do anything. Of course you know.
Always, always keep the heat off you. It’s a matter of distraction. It’s having a “Hey, look over there!” for every time you’ve got to stuff the bunny in your top hat or slip out the “door”. Bullshit is the Twix of life. Need a minute? Bullshit. It’s mental sleight of hand.




I hope I get it! Haha
Massachusetts here I come...?
Right back where I started from.

if you don't like my fire, then don't come around

i shouldn't try to write at morning because nothing worries me in the morning. but it's only quiet in the morning. maybe if i was quiet more often, i wouldn't worry so much. that's something i might never know.

in bed at night when i should be reading but am not, i lament over the fact that no one in my family knows that i'm suspended today. or that if i'm disenrolled from this program it's because i disobeyed my Behavioral Contract, or because of my involvement in "the drinking party". nobody knows that my driving priviledges have been suspended indefinitely. they don't know about all the things i do "wrong"... and nobody -never mind my family- seems to know about any of the things i do right.

i looked at portland, oregon and charlottesville, virginia, on craigslist for apartments and jobs.

i really can't do this. i thought i could. write,
that is.

tonight. [i'm sorry]

'cuz i'm gonna burn one down.

a choppy salutation

i don't know who you are or if you'll know me. or if you think you already know me. or if there's anything to know, really... or so much of nothing that it just seems like things or somes. the sum, perhaps, of all things.

i have trouble with this. i have trouble writing these days unless it's to somebody, so i'll suppose i'm writing to a some body or a body somewhere, to a who, wherever...

and i can barely keep my own words straight right now
because i'm listening to pandora radio
[distracting]


like i said i have trouble unless i'm writing to a somebody, and i guess my problem right now is that i'm running out of bodies to sum. i'm running out of readers, out of dear's and sincerely's. so i'll start at another beginning:







name: stephanie dignan
age: 24.5
hair//eyes: brown//blue
current location: vinton, iowa


it would be too scrambled if i simply wrote. there's so much that came before this moment... i couldn't possibly fit it all-- and wouldn't want to.
right now? right now i'm in a room with two americorps team leaders and i'm dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. mocassins. since iowa doesn't plow, even if i was to go outside, there'd be no roads to take me anywhere.
last night... last night i got quietly drunk on company and lime flavored soda water that was supposed to have vodka in it. came home to my roommate who always listens, and ate a burrito in bed talking about
yesterday. yesterday was spent in third-floor offices (administrative offices). i've established a colorful File for myself in this program... with disciplinary reports ranging from smuggled baby bunnies hidden in the dorms to a nose ring i wouldn't cover. i was told i'd never get anywhere if i didn't learn to follow rules, and not just the rules i wanted to follow. i was told i better shape up or ship out, and that i don't have any respect for my team leader "as a person". i'm thinking she may be right. i was told by a friend that i wasn't made for institutions, and that as long as i tried to squeeze myself into their confines i'd never be able to breathe. and i'm thinking she may be right.

i'm 6 months into a 10 month program and have been happy for none of it. for the most part, this campus believes me to be an unsociable, negative, isolated bitch. and i don't so much mind living up t0 that. i'm always giving people what they want. what i know they want, when often they don't even realize they want it.

last night, too, a girl i've only ever seen in the hallways:
"we want to be your friend! we're just intimidated by you... you don't seem, you're not really... very sociable... smile at us! be nice to us, we like you!"

it was strange and she was drunk. as she patted me on the head and shook my hand over and over, apologizing and telling me the nickname they have for me "the Queen L" i felt like a socially estranged pseudo celebrity.

i'm just not really that friendly
...
but i won't be a jerk if you're nice to me

i probably won't change my ways. too many lunches eaten in high school bathroom stalls, too many bullies and mean girls. too much hurt.



[i have too many scars to just start walking around naked.]



although i came to iowa hoping for a fresh start, i still don't smile to strangers in the hall, and i still don't know more than 80% of this corps' names. won't know them, either. unless they introduce themselves drunkenly in a bar and beg me to be nice to them.

upon waking this morning to my alarm that doesn't know what a weekend is,
i realized that i don't trust. it would seem when you met me that i'm all too trusting. because i'm gullible, or because i let you hurt me... but the truth is i probably just very badly want to be able to believe you (and you prove i can't) ...and i probably always expected you to hurt me.

i'm incredibly scattered. this week has not run a track expected.

on tuesday, three martinis in she asks: what keeps you going?
hope, i say. even though that seems so stupid. i have hope things are going to be ok. eventually. like one day i'll be skinny, and i'll find love, and i'll be ok.
she's judging me, i can tell. she keeps to cosmos and i'm drinking a naughty school girl with a stale blow pop at the bottom.
i don't know, i say. what keeps me going? the little things. this. a lot of really little things strung together. little things.
yah, you're depressed, she says.
i take a sip of my drink and realize it's just another lilly pad.


i wish i could leave this place. but i'm too scared.
i have nowhere to go. like i said, they don't plow the roads...
maybe that's a good thing,
because if they did
i'd have no excuse to stay.