June 30, 2012


I'm somewhat in a mad dash because I need to head to the office soon. Saturday. I know. But these days finishing the Arena overrides any semblance of life outside of construction that may exist or not. And I'm going in very late, probably won't arrive until after the lunch hour, but I required sleep this morning. Sleep fuels the body.

Above pictured is the crazy land we call the Bunker Suites, now to be known forever and on as The Vault. Do you SEE these insane partition lay outs?? This might be the most artistically designed (?) amount of work my company has ever overseen. I'm slightly scared. I have glass walls that are to be installed in those channels laid out on the floor. Those walls have a frit interlayer. And a film applied later in the field, suite side. Shoot me now. Welcome on board to the Wild Ride that is Opening Barclays Center. We may all just collapse in small pools of dust and demise.

I don't know. The main reason I am penning is that I received a promotion this week: FINALLY! I am literally now billed as a Project Engineer. I have felt on Cloud 9 since told this. It's been a long time coming but it means so much - it is one of those crowning achievements that you text to 400 of your closest friends (which I did do) and hope that they understand the impact. I'm real now! I am really a living breathing entity in construction, to my company. Hurray! And the raise that came along with it didn't hurt, too. So Johnny and I celebrated my promotion with cheese and wine a few nights ago, to a terrible fault probably because the next day was disastrously foggy for me AND I had to lead the charge on an All Day Signage Meeting, first at our office then at Metro Tech and my brain became a messy pile of ancient Greek garbage.

Nevertheless, life charges on. I am now in a quiet and numb state of missing Greg. Every time I think of him my heart does this thing that it hasn't done for anyone for a completely insane period of time which is Skip a Beat, and I know he's been off the grid for a greater portion of a week and I know he is elated to be off the grid. We've discussed it. But now, so many days into his vacancy from my life and my emails and my texts, I am anxious, so ready to hear from him again, or to at least learn that after much meditation in Buenos Aires he has decided to delete himself from this. That wouldn't surprise me, only sadden me, because I've become stupidly happily involved with thinking about him, dreaming about him, wanting him right here, all the time, staring down at me from the pillow with those haunting dark eyes, sending his fingers along every notch in my spine, leaning in to be as close to me as he physically can be, our profiles fitting this perfect curve while watching the blue skies from his bedroom window...I don't know. I just want it. I hope it returns with his return.

Anyway. That was reaching deep for me. I should resort back to talk of the Arena. Much less emotion involved.
Headed there now. Good times.

June 24, 2012


I'm so melancholy and morose this morning, this fine blue-sky Sunday June morning...but in the most satisfied and most welcome way. Nothing is normal - everything is so atypical with me, right now. And I'm embracing it. Where to begin, as always, unsure...this past week's Monday found me attending a friend's reading at KGB Bar (why again have I never been to this literary New York institution??) where I found my friend Ashley and another long lost friend in a red room to listen to Daniel read a portion of what turned out to be like an exquisite corpse-type piece. Daniel has a beautiful soul. That's all I want to say on that.*

Wednesday we held a Book Swap Happy Hour at Scratcher Bar to promote International Short Story Day created by an organization based in the UK who sought out our assistance (I love Lit Crawl NYC!) This organization celebrates short form writing on the shortest day and shortest night of the year, June 20 being the shortest night...ahh. A short night. So much daylight it could send you mad. I love the thought of it. Our Book Swap was successful and everyone brought short story collections (I, of course, brought an Aimee Bender collection since I can't get enough of that woman and want to share her with everyone) and we cheered beers to each other and the whole thing just went well. That's all I want to say on that.*

Random. I was riding the subway Monday and my eyes drifted upward to an advertisement for a pet store, and at the edge of the ad swam a fish. For some reason I immediately wanted an aquarium. Like, right then. And so when I got to work, at some point I chatted to Johnny that I had this random thought, and he got SO excited at the thought of it and now??? Johnny, Nilla and I are getting an aquarium. How excited am I??? Johnny has already done such awesome research and Nilla sent me this adorable text: "so excited can we just please be sure to get fish that don't eat one another? i want my fish to be kind and sweet"...(Ha ha, of course! Nilla's tenderness is so endearing!) I hope we can make this happen. My summer is headed down a path of mandatory Saturdays at the office and that renders me fractionally dead inside, so coming home to gaze at little colorful fishies circling one another should lower the aggravation front tremendously. Let's hope.

Yesterday I took myself to new heights. And do you know what? Taking yourself to new heights is probably one of the only ways to get there. Sometimes others can do it for you, and sometimes it just unfolds before you without you realizing or expecting it. But yesterday I needed to do it for myself because that was what my Saturday walked up and said to me. So what I did is I showered early and left the apartment armed with my laptop and the book of Sylvia Plath poems that Johnny bought me for my birthday. I wanted to write. I wanted to sit somewhere and drink wine and just write write write write. Instead, what happened is that I walked for a really long time. There was so much sun and brilliance and I wanted to walk and look. Looking is something people don't do enough of, and I'm not high-fiving myself for doing it, all I'm saying is that I did it. The world deserves to be observed.

I finally settled in somewhere (see photo above) - Simone, a French place on St. Marks, and the A/C was kicking so hard in there that I almost requested a blanket, but it was nice...I didn't pull out my laptop to write; instead, I read Plath. And I felt completely insane. How can I love this woman so entirely having never met her yet through her words?

I read "The Arrival of the Bee Box" and was absolutely reminded why being a poet is my main mission in life. I want to be that good. I want my words to hurt someone as badly as these do. Sylvia Plath is my hero.

I cannot say much more. I miss Greg, hearing from him. He's in Buenos Aires and has emailed me just once from there and I hate that I've handed him my heart without his acknowledgement thereof, and I want to curl up somewhere and cry over it. But I won't.

Instead, here:

"The box is only temporary."--Sylvia Plath, 1962.

June 17, 2012


It's a little early for a Sunday for me to be awake but sleep isn't necessarily anything I'm overly interested in at the moment (I'll probably sleep this afternoon)(Happy Fathers Day, Dads, keep shining) so I figured I'd stop in to gab for a bit. It's funny...last Sunday I spent a majority of the day after Greg left feeling confused about what I felt like doing with my time - writing, reading, watching television, wandering around the City (my neighborhood, anyway) and by the time it got to be about 9 o'clock at night, the realization struck me that I WAS BORED. What!!? I never get bored. I mean, some work tasks are boring and sometimes I'm in the company of people who slightly cause me to want to gouge my eyes out, but that's entirely different than the restlessness I experienced last Sunday. Ideally today won't find me in the same boat. Johnny and Nilla are heading to Connecticut today, I believe, for a Fathers Day thing with her Dad, which leaves me in the quiet company of myself and my apartment, which is, I think, something I need after last night. But I'll get to that.

Speaking of Nilla...I have become increasingly obsessed with one of the affiliates of Lit Crawl called Liars' League which I've now shared with Nilla who will be possibly auditioning in the next week or so after a few emails between Andrew, the Director at Liars' League, and Nilla. I'm so elated to be able to connect people and things and help friends find muses. So the next Liars' League performance is July 11th and I'd love nothing more than if she were able to act out a story at that one. We'll see. And I read a brilliant story acted out at the last event on their website called The Horse Latitudes which still kind of has me reeling. And I shared it with Greg. Of course I did.

Speaking of Greg...I will in a moment, anyway. In other Lit Crawl related endeavors, we received an email at one of our Lit Crawl email addresses inquiring about teaming up with a small organization based in the UK which celebrates short form fiction on the shortest day of the year as well as the shortest night of the year, a concept which fascinates me. The organization is small yet they work with varying top name larger organizations so, as networking for Lit Crawl goes, this was a fairly prestigious inquiry. The organization apologized for reaching out so hastily but they're small, they said, and finding International partnering potential has been taking time...yet, they wondered if we might host an event in NYC June 20th (next Wednesday) to honor the short form and the shortest night of the year. Suzanne and I both became really rather giddy at the prospect, and even though Suzanne is in San Francisco for a couple of weeks and will have to miss it, she prompted Dacel and I to lead the charge on hosting an event. Dacel did a majority of the legwork (Suzanne allotted her to it, not only to give her some fair responsibility but also because Dacel is a librarian and school has just ended so she'd have appropriately timed "free" time to pull this off.) We're hosting a Book Swap Happy Hour at Scratcher Bar - everyone brings a book of short stories (in honor of International Short Story Day) and we have drinks and mingle and swap our books. Lit Crawl has given me so many incredible experiences, and they just keep compounding. I love it.

So speaking of Greg. Friday there were maybe more emails between us than had transpired the entire week leading to Friday. Well, no, because Thursday we did email often also. But Friday there were many bits of correspondence, and to be truthful, despite what a friend texted me (sorry, Niki! Never again, promise) I did slightly compromise my schedule for him Friday, only because...well, I have no purpose to have done so other than my want to see him. My wanting to see him is quickly creating this insane sense of urgency, but at the same time, it's a sense of urgency that I feel I haven't felt in so tremendously long that I'm finally coming back into myself, really feeling like myself. Without a sense of urgency for anything, we just become flatlined. And I think the past two years have more or less found me flatlined. This isn't to say it should be a boy bringing me back to life or that I can justify my mere existence by his (because I spent the last decade less two years doing that with Craig) but with this profound desire to be in his presence come so many other beautiful notions: the want to write pages and pages, not just here, but elsewhere, the ability to smile and walk with a proud stride while I listen to music through the streets of New York, the sensation of loving subway rides, intersections, notions in and of themselves.

Okay well anyway. Greg sent me an email mid-afternoon that read, "FYI, I may have drinks with my friends Matt, Phil and Libby tonight (all of whom were at Lit Crawl). Unconfirmed as of now, but if plans pan out, want to drink and be merry (where "merry" to Greg at the moment is a neurotic, overwhelmed, WTF with all this stuff coming up kind of merry)?" Insert: he sent me a bullet point list of computer work engineer stuff he is required to complete before leaving next Thursday for Buenos Aires (more also on that at some point.) I'm getting it, maybe slowly, why I rarely hear from him during the work week...um, yes, while he's at work, he works. A lot. Maybe it's overkill. But he loves it. So good.

Anyway, I had been texting with Dacel through the day, and she was lunching with her coworkers (their "end of year party" consists of lobster tail and sirloin tips and rich nonsense like that - she works at a private school, a well-to-do one) and she was telling me that usually they all would go get drunk after the lunch, so she wasn't sure if she could meet me for our usual Happy Hour. But by around 3, she texted me that no one from her staff wanted to do the after-party party, so would I still wish to meet her out? I agreed, literally just prior to receipt of Greg's invite.

I emailed to Greg that I would be meeting Dacel, but to keep me informed of his merriment status. And the thing is this: I never, rarely, if ever bail on a girlfriend. I can't stand it when it's done to me, although admittedly, I brush it under the rug if it does happen because I am a Turn The Other Cheek kind of girl, but I just don't like to do it to others. So I left work right around 5 (Wip, as I passed his desk on my way out: "Where are YOU going")(because even on Fridays, we should all be staying until 7, ugh) and traveled to Union Square where I literally clambered off the train (so fucking tired) and waded through the maze of people to The Ninth Ward, a great bar on 2nd Avenue. The place was already swarmed with Friday Happy Hour crowds but I found Dacel, and she had secured us a small space with stools so at least we had real estate.

I love Dacel so much. I cannot even indicate how inspirational she is to me...she's clever, fresh, fashionable, funny, brilliant. I cherish her new friendship so very much. Anyway, one of the first things I mentioned to her was that Greg had invited me out for potential drinks later with his friends. Emphasize (because I haven't yet) with his friends. That's progress, is it not?? He's introducing me to people who have a stationed position in his life?? Grand. Of course, Dacel being the super supportive friend and confidante that she is encouraged me to "head out to meet him whenever." The only reason I actually felt comfortable doing so? Ditching a friend...? is that her cousin and cousin's close friend met us out, also. So I wasn't leaving her alone. She had camaraderie.

So here is what went down. Our texts:

G: "Woodland, at Flatbush and 6th, in Arena-district, about 8.30."
K: "Brooklyn!!??"
G "Yes, I'll be there in 40."
K: "I'll be there probably in an hour or so. If I can find my way back across the river."
G: "Row your boat splendidly!"
K: " I plan on swimming."

By this time, Dacel and I and our company had transitioned to a less-invasive bar, somewhere with far fewer trust fund 23 year olds, a place more our speed. And sunlight was streaming into the bar and we were doing shots and I actually somehow managed a happy hug out of Dacel who is famous for wanting no affection from friends whatsoever, so help her God. Upon receiving the above referenced texts, I just...I kept showing them to Dacel, and she was like, "Kristin, go. You want this!" And so I went.

I will say this: feeling over tired, having drinks (mixed with shots), finding my way miraculously to the 4/5 train, traveling back to Brooklyn after having left it hours prior, finding out via text that Greg and co. had changed venues from Woodland to Flatbush Farm, weaving through the crowd at FF inside, stepping out into the back garden and seeing Greg at a table in the distance, watching him turn to me and smile and wave me over...life cannot compete with that entire sequence.

Beautifully, conversation flowed at the table where I sat with Greg, Libby, Matt and Phil. And at some point Libby and I went into the bar to get a round, and she was just enormously engaging to talk to, and I kept thinking, Of course Greg keeps good company. Of course he does.

And we were sitting there, and at some point early on Greg turned to me and said, Thank you for coming tonight. It felt...it was nice.

I will say that it was slightly surreal to be around the corner from my job site with friends that have no association whatsoever with that junk pile. After Flatbush Farm, Libby and Matt headed home and Greg, Phil and I made a visit to Woodland (return for them, first time for me that evening) and we ordered drinks ("I think I've only ever seen you drink wine," Greg said to me as I half-contemplated the cocktail menu...yes, true statement, I really don't drink anything else) and fried cheese and olives. Phil is great...I can completely see why Greg values him. He's a stand up person. And smart enough to actually complete conversations.

So then after all of this, we bid Phil farewell and Greg and I walked down Flatbush. I couldn't contain myself: I know he has such little interest in it (not little interest in me, or in what I do, but in the building itself) but I begged would he walk the perimeter of the Arena with me? He obliged sweetly, and we walked Dean, walked 6th, walked Atlantic...and he asked questions, engaging ones about construction, and I answered to the best of my ability. Then he was like, So why don't we head to my place? We wound up walking to Brooklyn Heights then, from the Arena, and good god, who knows how long that took but it didn't matter...time with Greg has no quantitative factor on it, not now. It did before when I was confused as to how I could tolerate someone for so many hours without leaping from the window. I get it now.

We made it to his apartment and decided, because it was stupidly amazing outside, to rest a while on the stoop. I wanted to take the entire span of New York City and draw it inside of me, pull it in so that I would be spilling with beautiful things. Instead, I was dumb, sitting there in my Converse All-Stars and dopey glasses (I didn't KNOW we'd be hanging out that night when I got ready in the morning, so I dressed like a vagabond!) and he was asking me about weights of traffic lights and stone slabs and at some point, I don't know when, he put his arm around my shoulder, and that was it, for me. I melted right into that stone slab stoop we were debating.

The rest of the night is obviously filled with things I refuse to discuss in this place, but I will say that he likes to touch each vertebrae of my spine, and he sleeps mostly silently, which is important to me (hard to say why because it's not really in our control) but on occasion, he'll make some sort of grunt, and I'm awake for it, awaiting it.

June 14, 2012


As I suspected, I've been hearing from Greg more near the end of this week than in the earlier stages of it. And that's fine. I know we haven't mapped out any set commitment to speaking and it's just...I don't know. What happened is this: I was in the Arena for a walk through yesterday to discuss turn over areas. Our turn over dates are purely insane. I cannot believe the promises we've made. But, whatever...it is what it is. And I'm now fully in the practice of "Instagramming" job photos when I'm out there because frankly, construction is art and it's becoming to see, especially in Instagrammatic filter format. So, after standing around waiting on the absentee crew for too long and accomplishing nothing, I walked over to the Practice Court framing to see the progress. And I shot the above photo, and it pleases me. Because Instagram can make anyone appear to be a photographer.

It was nearing 4 and I needed to get back to the office, so I basically ditched what was quickly becoming a non-meeting and as I circled Main Concourse, I checked my phone yet again for any word from Greg...anything, a text, an email. These are the reasons boy distractions are not in my best interest at the moment. I should have been peering at the job but instead I was weaving around palettes of tile and carpet and boxes of seating and debris peering at my phone. And guess what? An email from Greg.

If anyone could have seen the size of smile to spread across my face, it would have been crystal clear that my day (week) had just improved exponentially. And in his email, he apologized and said that he had literally just received my Monday email the night before, which means, who knows? Maybe he checks the particular address to which I email him less frequently than I do mine, or most people do theirs. I don't know. But I have no choice other than to trust his words. But he went on to say that he was en route to "Deep Jersey" to accompany his aunt at an awards ceremony as her "date" (endearing) and that he wanted more time to respond to my email. And mentioned something cryptic that still has me confused, but fine.

Quick shout out: my friend Gale gave birth today to Baby #2 - Miles Lloyd! Happy Entrance into this World, Miles! Love you already, little guy!

So then tonight there was a poetry event that I was supposed to attend, and Greg mentioned possibly tagging along. The invite was through a Lit Crawl committee member, Amy, but as time flew today for me at the Arena, I realized that getting myself to Tribeca in time for this event wasn't likely. And I was communicating this to Greg and Amy. And Greg sent me a few quick email inquiries about me being unable to go. I think he was somewhat hoping to see me tonight. I think. Maybe. Hard to tell. But it didn't happen, which is fine, because now, NOW, the next See Greg Date rests somewhat back in his court...or maybe not. I'm going to Williamsburg Saturday night to attend a concert followed by an LP-release party of friends of mine, and if something arises wherein Greg wonders what I'm up to on the weekend, I will completely invite him, open-ended, no strings attached, come if you wish.

I just like him more than I've liked anyone in such strong ways. So yes. But the thing is...he is completely deliberate. His intentions are followed by action or inaction. And I feel like I know him, after so many trillions (dozens, fine) of such long conversations...and I don't think he is in some market to hurt me in any way. I just think we're both in soul-searching modes that are difficult to run parallel courses with one another. And that, too, is fine. I will take what I can get. Because I'm...I feel very much like there is, regardless of baggage, a strong pull between us. And I like it.

The major other thing from my week is that I wrote a poem for the first time in God And Everyone Else Knows How Long. I owe my friends in San Francisco (through Litquake, the organization that helped to establish Lit Crawl) submissions of fiction/nonfiction/poetry for their online publication and while I've gathered several, I have still felt slightly obliged to write one piece of my own, and so I did, and it isn't terrible, but it certainly didn't receive the KB Quality Poem Stamp of KB Poetry Approval that other poems of mine have received...still, I thought I'd post it here (it's currently under advisement/editorial commentary with Amy) but it was yet another small stone I overturned that elevated my week. A poem! Inspired by the event I hosted at the knit shop in Brooklyn. And so here it is. And it is rough around the edges (or, to put it in more knitting-like terms, "the fray") but it lives because I breathed it to life. So, there's that.

La Casita Yarn Shop
She reads of being drunk on yarn.
Brooklyn, La Casita, Smith Street:
espresso, wine, yarn, skeins,
friends knit; she reads as their hands
implicate the wool. Drunk on yarn
snags me and I cling
to her woven words of weaving, knots, and what not.
I admire the room as if it were my own, the night,
the knit shop, boozy words braid a diamond brocade;
somewhere in me: unstitched purls, hands pulling apart, me, in reverse.
She reads of fish scale lace and silk pearl scarves,
the oculus of an eyelet,
against the delicate wave of her hand, she reads
slip, rib, plait; my fingers graft.
I want the words, to knit, to know.

June 12, 2012


This afternoon I skipped happily out to the jobsite*

*staggered sullenly

for a Bowl Way Finding Signage Meeting. Everyone please sit down and contain your excitement. Be envious of me in your next lives when I am a published, revered, renowned and award-winning poetess, not when I'm a slave to society's requirements of earning my keep by attending such meetings as this in order to pay credit collectors who are banging down my door as if I'm criminal. Seriously.

There were several of us: I'll just name names, because protecting the innocent is no longer even a consideration when it comes to this job: Hal, Mike, Craig, Susan, Tom, and me, and sometimes Wip once we ascended to Upper Concourse...standing around the brilliance of the Bowl discussing how to direct people around it. Man oh man, it sucked so much that Tom took about 4 phone calls just to escape and I snapped Instagram photos while I stood there and I saw the absolute black clouds in Craig's eyeballs as he listened to the droning on of Section ID locations on rails, precast and vomitory entrances from the signage consultant and architect. We all wanted to jump from a 20 story window, guaranteed, for our own respective reasons slash pain of this project.

Anyway, so yes. Paperwork piled at my desk while I stood around listening to all kinds of this kind of stuff. And yes, this is the life I asked for/dreamed of. Caveat: not with as many potholes and red tape.

Whatever, we're getting by and making it work. So things go. Yesterday I shouted into the phone during a 6 PM conference call, "You guys! These are the things that make me want to jump from the window!" And it so happened a boss walked by right then, stopped, giggled and repeated, "Jump from the window..." Ha, Ugh, Oh! I repeat, jumping from windows is a recurring theme on this job. I even asked my coworker who is in charge of the roofer, which portion of the roof would be most effective to do the job? She was like, Sigh, unfortunately, not many areas of it.

But enough on that. I'm inexpressibly ecstatic to be a part of this, regardless of its penchant to make us all want to curl up in fetal positions and never uncoil. This industry has been more of a part of my life than almost anything else has, aside from people, poetry, reading, art, food, drinking and being alive. No, really? Construction has woven itself into me. I know. That's strange.

In other news, I'm battling right now to fix the financial things that have befallen me. That is all I wish to say on that.

And in even other news, I have yet to have heard from Greg since he left here Sunday morning, which seems to be a popular trend with him, which I must live with, because I have feelings sprouting for him. I'm learning his MO, and it bothers me and doesn't all at the same time. He has many things and people in his life, and juggling it all is his own thing. I am not taking it personally however I do slightly feel, after this second week of not hearing from him much, then suddenly later in the week hearing from him frequently (if that even will happen this second week of that same trend), that perhaps a boy is not a distraction I really need to be pulling me away from my work and my personal improvement projects at this time. I have no idea what perception he has of me other than emotionally and physically what unfolds when we are in communication, but part of me today half-decided that perhaps a conversation is in our near future wherein I declare that this isn't the right time for this to be going on in my life...this waiting, wondering, worrying (did I do something? say something? not do? not say?) but at the same time, the pleasure I take when he does reach out and ask for a walk in the park or what have you is grand, full and fulfilling. He has a friend camping out at his apartment for much of this week because this friend lives with his girlfriend but I guess the girl's parents are visiting and don't know of the cohabitation? (awful place to be in, early 30's, etc.) thus his week has already been filled with that. Still. A courteous response to an email I sent Monday morning would have been nice. Though he did say to me recently that lately he wishes to only correspond with people in person, no more emailing, no more texts. If I'm on that short list, great. If not, I'd like to step away now and focus solely on work and life. Guess I just wish I knew in which direction the magnetic pull was dragging me.

Anyway, that is all so personal and yet I've barely touched on all of the things that are making attempts at sinking me into the undertow. I will not let it all bury me. I'm too much on the rise, right now.

I do know, but I don't know. Does that make sense?

June 10, 2012


So many things have come to pass since my last post that I barely know where to begin. So I'll just launch headlong. I'm going to experiment in this post with subject headings to break things up a bit.

For whatever reason, my communication with the boy elevated mid- to later in the week (via email) and  when Thursday arrived, he mentioned he'd be having a dinner in Hells Kitchen with friends that would more than likely conclude at 9 give or take and would I like to join up in Union Square for another nice bench conversation? Thing being, my dearest and best most incredibly close friend in the world, Jenny, was in town this week for Book Expo and had reserved some time to reunite with me that very evening. Jenny, long story short, dates as far back as my college freshman year and I was Maid of Honor in her wedding in 2006 and she visited me in the City that same summer but we've only seen each other once since, which I believe was during 2008 but none of the lack of face time matters when it comes to how much this person means to me. So, in response to the boy (who may be granted a real name soon...all things depend on other things) I indicated that very explanation and he was like, Oh, go do that, that's important! And we guaranteed each other that if for some reason Jenny wanted to turn in early (she had mentioned that as a probability) that he and I would do our Union Square Bench Date.

Turns out, Jenny and Mary were staying in a hotel room in Hells Kitchen and there is a dive bar at 39th on 9th Ave that they frequent when they're in town. Jenny had wondered if it would be okay if I met them there? And in some texts/emails with him, I found out that he would be at a restaurant at 45th and 9th (small world, always.) He made a comment about waving to me from the table over.

Well, turns out...I couldn't in any way tear myself away from Jenny's company. No chance of it. I met up with her and Mary and my heart was soaring and we just had the most intimate yet light-hearted hours together. Jenny explained to me that her 4 year old son Jay has recently been diagnosed with autism, which was a heavy thing to hear but to hear her express her management of the emotion of it was beautiful - she said that she wouldn't change a thing about his little developing personality and that watching him make observations about the world ("I'm sad that I can't drink a beer until I'm 21," he told his therapist the other day...hilarious, considering how very BEER that little family is, although Jenny can't have gluten anymore so can't have beer...but ha ha, little Jay!) and she said that he's just completely an admirable little kid. I'm sure so. Jenny is an admirable woman and Pete, an admirable man (Jay's father.)

There aren't any ways to explain catching up with someone so I will just leave the entire thing as this: she commented to my lifted spirits, to the fact that she senses a light in me that she hasn't recalled sensing in a dramatically long time. That made me feel worlds happier about everything in those glowing moments as we spoke of it. I'm elated that she noticed. And we decided to become pen pals, so today I will write her my first letter. I love her so much.

Suzanne and Dacel
Friday was exhausting then, because I stayed in Hells Kitchen until about 4 am (yikes!) And I had plans to meet Suzanne and Dacel for Happy Hour on 2nd Avenue Friday evening, a becoming regular weekly Happy Hour which I cherish very much because as Suzanne put it that night, she never intended Lit Crawl to hatch friendships and here we found that it had done so - I think there is beautiful chemistry happening with Suzanne, Dacel and me and it's very much something I've needed for far too long. We had a terrific time, so despite my exhaustion I was happy to be with them.

Saturday morning I had committed to helping my friend Daniel, also from Lit Crawl, move from Bushwick to Prospect Park South and I just really couldn't and wouldn't let him down on that promise. I woke up to an alarm at 8.30 and felt groggy but pleased with myself for wanting to help someone, particularly someone I barely know yet the thing is, here in New York, recruiting moving help is most daunting and I know one day I'm going to require similar assistance which means if I can lend a hand when I can, I should, and do.

I grabbed an iced coffee on my way to the L and caught the L to Morgan Ave which left me with about a 20-minute walk to his old place on Willoughby, and it was overcast, and his old place was a 2nd floor walk-up, and he had assured me that I wouldn't do heavy lifting yet help with small things (which proved to be true) but the atmosphere felt so tense because for whatever dysfunctional reasons, he hadn't fully expressed moving out to his roommates (I think those rivers ran deep and Daniel didn't really want to portray the whole sordid story to me and to his other friends helping him move.) At one point, a blonde girl emerged from her room in a t-shirt and flip-flops with a cup in her hand and in shorts and walked up to Daniel and asked, "So when exactly are we going to talk about you moving out?" I grabbed a bag of Daniel possessions and headed down to the moving truck! Anyway, seeing how others live in New York City can be an eye-opening experience. We all live here in such desperate fashion, grasping. Anyway, we rode in Daniel's moving truck and his friend's car to the new apartment (which is amazing, by the way, as studios go!) and as we were unloading, I passed by him with his coffee maker in hand and I asked, "How do you feel?" and he replied, "Excited now that you're carrying the coffee maker inside!" Later, he handed me a bag and said, "This contains lots of writing!" and finally, at some point, I carried in his Buddha. When it was all said and done, when all of the sweaty friends stood in a circle surveying the boxes and what not, Daniel strode up to me and gave me a really nice hug, and he stepped back and he said, "You realize that if not for you, I wouldn't have found this apartment, right?" This took me aback for a moment but then I remembered that Suzanne had led Daniel to her management company which is how he found the place, and since I met Daniel through Zack (writing group) through Naturi (from New School creative writing course taught by Sharon Mesmer) and since Daniel became one of my Lit Crawl recruits which is how he met Suzanne, I did act nicely as a catalyst for him finding this apartment. *Insert pat on back*

Date Night
So after parting ways with Brooklyn and company, I made my way back to Union Square from the Church Street Q train and of course, this season celebrates the massive and overwhelmingly beautiful Union Square Open Market (as depicted above, only two quick shots.) I know Farmers' Markets happen everywhere in the Country and they're all sights to behold. To me, it's two things: the colors, and the possibilities. That's all I can think of/see when I witness the massive unfolding of such delicately laid produce/flowers/cheeses/breads/wines. Anyway, the boy and I had confirmed plans for dinner followed by Nilla's performance in All My Sons that evening, but I wanted to do life stuff (laundry, etc.) prior to meeting with him, therefore we didn't wind up meeting until a little before 7 at Cafe Gitane in The Jane Hotel on the West Side. We had a glass of wine and ate and talked then headed over to The Brecht Forum streets away and it was a strange space, interesting, but not anything like a theater as I had expected. There were folding chairs surrounding a floor where the actors would deliver the play and he was like, Let's sit front row! so we did. And I held his hand during the play and electricity was circulating through me and I kept noticing his profile in the dark of the room and it reminded me that this is really happening, whatever this is, and I keep thinking it could be over at any given moment but will never forget the butterflies and curious ways this is making me sense someone else's presence so strongly.

After the play we awaited Nilla's emergence from whatever back room where the actors were changing into street clothes and he sat against the arm of a couch with his legs crossed, looking completely at ease and smiling. It was nice. During the "curtain call" Nilla had spotted me and I saw her smile and say, "KB!" during the applause which was just so sweet and at some point, while awaiting her approach, I was facing him and she was behind me and suddenly he began to laugh looking over my shoulder and said, "Asparagus?" I looked back and sure enough one of her friends had handed her a bundle of asparagus and the woman announced, "It was all I could find!" (to which later the boy stated, "Now that just can't be true!") and Nilla finally approached with her asparagus and met the boy and her eyes were twinkling brightly from all the people present (Johnny was in Iowa for a wedding this weekend so he wasn't in attendance this particular night) and we decided to go for drinks with the actors.

He was very present amongst these people, and I find it to be slightly strange that the first actual exposure (aside from Lit Crawl, which is a different thing altogether) he would have to any of my close people would be to Nilla. We wound up at some Village bar that was too loud and crowded (aren't they all on any Saturday night in Manhattan though) and at some point, I had requested that the boy do a quick investigation of Nilla's costar while I get a glass of wine and the way things wound up is that he stood against a wall speaking to that guy and that guy's girlfriend while I stood near Nilla and her other acting friends. But I had a clear line of vision of him and I kept glancing to him. Hard to explain. Just watching him, I guess. I noted a couple of times that he looked in my direction, too. Those moments are impossible to capture because they exist in that sphere as they happen and they sort of linger there and are hard to reproduce in words.

We hung out about an hour or two, then the group disbanded and the boy and I took a cab to my apartment, where we hung out on the stoop talking for a while. It had rained the entire cab ride across town but had stopped perfectly so when the cab arrived at my place, and it was late and getting later and I finally asked if he'd like to come up. He nodded and we climbed the stairs and then sat on my couch for a long time talking.

This is where things became slightly clear(er) in terms of his ex and his stress over the whole thing. He's still raw. It has been just under a year and what with her recent random reach out to him, followed by a subsequent cryptic email which he felt basically was cutting him out of her life again (two burials, harder than one) and I expressed it clearly to him that from my perspective, having gone through such a revelation finally finally after going on two years that time is literally the only cure. I don't want to rewrite the entire conversation because it delved deep into loss and relationships and how I've become jaded and at one point, he wondered out loud just how weird that it is/was that he feels compelled to talk to me about this, and I assured him yet again that his honesty is meaningful to me and that I wouldn't have it any other way.

He made a comment, though, that entirely threw me off base (considering I have no concept of his perception of me other than he thinks I'm smart, nice and cool) about how one of the reasons he is stressed out about her is because he is worried that one of the topics that possibly sliced open a wound of a different variety was their discussion of seeing other people. He didn't overly make it clear that that means he mentioned seeing someone else or did she, whose gash was it between the two of them...? But I decided to take it to mean he mentioned seeing other people which, at least to my understanding, would be me. See, this is why this is difficult for me...we're not saying things out loud unless they're disguised in some cloak of strangeness in which case it leaves me cloudy about what this is. Yet I can appreciate that for what it's worth as well, because I in no way want this to be a normally adjusted thing happening between us. Part of the enticement for me is that we're easing into each other with the understanding that neither of us is really going to start defining things anytime soon. Or maybe we will?

After some time, he said, I don't know exactly what you make of me. I replied, What do I make of you? And I said, Look, it's pretty basic...you don't bother me being in my space after any length of time. You don't make me crazy and I really enjoy speaking to you, it's as simple as that. And he said, Well I don't know, I'm not the least interesting person but I'm certainly not the most. 
Hmm. (This isn't the boy fishing for compliments, trust me. He in no fashion is anything like that.)

Later in the conversation, he said something to the effect of, I want to tell you another thing but I don't want you to take it in the wrong way or in any way because I just want to say it. I was perplexed and so I waited and he looked pained, he looked intensified (well, he always does, his eyes are always filled with explosive emotion) and he was quiet for almost a full minute which felt like an eternity as I waited and he finally said, Her initials are the same as yours, which I don't know how to take. I mean...I know, these things are significant because they jump out in front of you and wave their arms hysterically. And I suppose this is where I want to step back and let him recover as he needs to. I am confused now as to whether I should play the role of distracting him or if I should give him space to get through this on his own? I didn't mention at this time that his name happens to be Greg, which rhymes with...:) I didn't feel it was an appropriate thing to point out, particularly because when we do discuss our exes we do it on a first name basis. Her name is Kate. Last name beginning with a B but I didn't process it when he stated it out loud because I was too busy frantically processing the fact that he would say this to me, and why...and what does it all mean...and how ridiculously happy I am to have made his acquaintance in this big small city with people pacing the streets like cold strangers.

So now he has a name here and the other portions of the night remain with me in my heart and today he has things happening and I was supposed to meet Dacel for lunch but she's feeling tired from the week so I'm going to wrap this up and say that I suppose I am seeing someone?, at least in some capacity or another, and it feels...terrifying. And fragile.

June 06, 2012


I'm staying away from the Arena today feeling quite plowed down by life and allergies and miseries. I will return tomorrow with a renewed sense of pride for what it is I'm doing, which is contributing to a new landmark facility in New York City. It may seem somewhat insignificant, I suppose, to some people that I have fallen so head over heels for constructing and watching buildings rise around me and being a part of it, but it has so impacted my life that I must confess to it. I watch it, I love it (I hate it, it stresses me out, I dream of it at night) and I wouldn't ask for anything different and this path has been paved with adoration for the business. It's not really just a business. It's more so an event and to be involved is a ridiculous glory. I say these things at the risk of sounding completely insane.

Yesterday morning I was scheduled to attend a breakfast/lecture/forum to take place at the CUNY Graduate Center at 34th and 5th, neighbor to the above pictured Empire State Building. The event, affiliated with the Beverly Willis Architecture Foundation, was sponsored by my company (and many others) and turned out to be one of those crowning achievements of my career and future, ideally, in construction, as a woman. I loved being there and witnessing so many women (men, too) collaborating to discuss The Future (topic of the lecture and panel) and what it holds. But I left slightly early, as I had a massive signage meeting to lead and needed to gather documents for said meeting. I do not wish to drone on about work, and work-related instances, but I am head over heels for what I do for a living, as mentioned in the previous passage, so this event proved its worth to me. I can barely believe this is where I've found myself.

But that's enough on the topic of my work life. Except to say...living in New York performing this work is part of the poetry of it. Walking across the Avenues yesterday morning, in the cool June air, with blue skies overhead and crashing into the Empire State Building before heading into a lecture hall, iced coffee in hand, feeling adult, feeling New York...these things cannot be replicated. They can only be lived, and loved.

My week thus far has dealt in major distraction having to do with the boy. He left Sunday morning and everything felt incredible - his presence, his ability to fill me with an essence that seems right, and so on, but then I failed to hear from him further on Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday (yesterday) until very late yesterday when I finally received an email response to something I had emailed early Monday. Doing the math, that sounds like a fair amount of time for me to have not heard from him, but it didn't feel that way during the wait. And I'm trying not to ambush, because I know how that feels as a recipient and it's nothing but an annoyance. And in part, the reason we may be proving to have found a successful brand new thing is that we're not overloading each other (aside from 8+ hours of conversation at a time) with communication at this point. But what gets me is that I permitted my emotional existence to become so completely distracted awaiting word from him. Trillions of thoughts swarmed while I wondered why I wasn't hearing from him and oh, sheesh, KB...man up, girl. But I did invite him to see Johnny's girlfriend Nilla's play (she's starring in All My Sons last and this next weekend) and he tentatively accepted so perhaps there is that. His email to me of yesterday did indicate that he's having a mixed emotions week, without indicators as to why or what, and I know, having spent so many hours in conversation with him, that he has emotions that dip deep, and that these things are affecting, to him. And I say this knowing it has little if nothing to do with me, rather other surrounding experiences that he is either cherishing or loathing, or perhaps a combination thereof.

I am slowly actualizing that simplicity with someone is never what I wanted or needed, and it's all I've known. Now that my exposure is to complexity, it is vaguely paining me. Do we ever realistically understand our own needs when it comes to personality pairing? Many times I don't believe we require a second personality to complete us individually. Yet it feels so impressive to have this boy in my presence, sitting on a park bench in Union Square, as we did last week, his head in my lap, his New York Magazine in my hand, me, reading passages out loud from an article about mosquitoes as I let another hand rest on him. (Moments like these memorialize well with me, like pretty little paintings that I imagine viewing with a longing feeling.)

I guess I just don't really know. I somewhat thrive on complicating matters, and as much as I hate to do so with this person, I can barely contain myself. When I was at his apartment last weekend, the weekend before this last I guess, we were watching a movie called Purple Violets and it wouldn't (on his iTV or whatever) finish...it froze up or whatever...so we were sitting there on the couch and he was at one end and I at the other, and we were discussing our loves and hates about New York City, and at one point he got quiet and was watching me and then made a comment about having a moment, looking at me, in the light, and I wanted to crawl into a small hole and just replay that, over and over. The way his eyes got cloudy (like in teen novels! No, for real, it's a real thing!) and the way he smiled right then.

Another thing that I find completely magnetic about being near him or hearing from him via email or text...he connects me to my name. He identifies me as "Kristin" on a very regular basis, which so few people do in my life. So insignificant, yet really somehow a thing to note.

Hmm. I'm not really sure we're headed anywhere. Yet, having these slight and also lofty moments will resonate with me forever, now. Maybe we're just both clinging to some idea, and not to each other necessarily. I'm fine with that. Perhaps we lucked upon each other for a small fraction of time and we'll leave this feeling less daunted by life's mysteries. I'm not placing too much into it still. (Or am I...?)

So, I'm tired of hearing myself talk now and wish to share lyrics from a most incredible NMH song called "Where You'll Find Me Now"...if read into too deeply, my feelings for the boy are embedded within this song.

All I perceive is wasted and broken
Silvery streams, sacred when spoken
Slam into me and into the ditch of debris
And you smoke in the park, you sleep in the greenery
Everyone barks and they are all still believing 
To tear out your heart would send all your secrets to me

But I let you down
Swollen and small is where you'll find me now
With that silver stripping off 
From my tongue you're tearing out
And you'll never hear me talk 

Your teeth believe that teeth are for tearing
Tear into me, the scent of you sweating smells good to me
As long as we keep in our clothes
And out in the dark the world is still rolling
Kids in their cars, cigarette smoking
And all that they are just reeks with the sweetest belief

But I let you down
Swollen and small is where you'll find me now
With that silver stripping off 
From my tongue you're tearing out
And you'll never hear me talk 

All I could want is silver and spinning 
Out from your arms and into the pretty 
Pit of your heart, so simply and softly we'd flow

But I let you down
Swollen and small is where you'll find me now
With that silver stripping off 
From my tongue you're tearing out
And you'll never hear me talk 

Into you 
I will glow
Into you

June 03, 2012


I'm out of photographs in my phone aside from construction ones (the other day the boy and I were comparing iPhone photo albums and it turns out he has tons of pizza and cat photos and I have tons of construction ones, ha) so I just threw a Gramercy Park pic up for good measure.

This past week was rather strange because it was abbreviated by the Holiday Monday and then Wednesday I headed on an epic adventure to attend a presentation/mentor appreciation luncheon for a Senior in High School who has been working for us one day a week for about 9 months. I wound up taking him under my little construction wing, and it was an experience for me to tutor someone unfamiliar with construction in construction. Anyway, the quest began with a brisk walk in some mist to the Port Authority at 42nd and 8th Ave from my apartment at 21st and 2nd Ave. Trains, cross and uptown, are typically shit, so what made most sense was aller a pied, so I did, and as I did so so many thoughts from my brain were brimming: money worries, travel worries, health worries, parent worries...but what I did is I refused them all, all of those thoughts. And I just trekked my way to the West Side of Manhattan and found a ticket to Hackensack, New Jersey via New Jersey Transit bus and killed a giant fountain Diet Coke (was running on limited time so could not find an iced coffee but desperately needed caffeine) and away I went.

Traveling by bus is this thing. It's hard to explain, but it feels like the most primal and correct mode of transportation (although I'd also identify the subway as that, so there's that) and while stopping every literally 2 minutes or so to expunge/accept passengers, observation reports on my end were running rampant: over-sprayed cologne, pretty tattoo on a girl's finger, bulging backpack on a guy, marquis board indicating something completely indiscernible to me at the front of the bus...and spray the skyline of Manhattan as a backdrop to all of this as the bus twisted into New Jersey. I mean...talk about moments and having them.

When I arrived in the Hackensack vicinity, Boy Wonder (as I call him, er, Rob as his actual name) picked me up and we headed to his school, Bergen County Academies. I had done some homework on his school because the program seemed swell and I wondered about its system. In a nutshell there are 7 academies affiliated with the school and the programs are essentially vocational and the school itself, public in nature, is ranked something like 21st in the country as Best High Schools go. Pretty stellar. Anyway, what happens is that all Seniors attend an Internship one day a week during their Senior Year and then present a power point wrap up of their experiences to the Juniors who are shopping for their Senior Year Internships. Cool.

It's good that I went. I mean, Rob did a really great service to the Project in terms of Document Control and what not, and he's actually a super cool kid. And I think he was pleased to have his "mentor" accompany him on his big day (I'd say only about half of the 250 Seniors had their mentors attend) and the luncheon was nice, although strange, because it really consisted of me sitting surrounded by a handful of Seniors discussing prom plans. Ha. Slightly out of my element, admittedly.

I'm going to switch gears because I'm boring myself with weekday details except that I'd like to insert that I had a ferocious shouting match with my glass guy Kenny on Friday and wow, the 4 or so people who were actually in the office (dead zone Friday...are we REALLY opening an arena in 3 months??) swung by to be entertained by the elevation of the discussion (I swear, if his IW06 lites don't show up and get installed by 06/18, heads will roll) and I want to launch into my weekend.

Friday I felt awful. Just miserable. One of my eye lids had been chewed on by a wild animal in my sleep or something and was swollen and I felt like I hadn't slept in over a week or over the course of an entire life and I just wanted to crawl under my desk and burrow into the carpet. But I had plans with the new group of friends that I'm so into: Alicia, Jess, Stephen, Jonathan, and so forth to grab a drink in Williamsburg then head to Bushwick for George's Spit Take Comedy Show at Fort Useless. I can't let these people down...they have lifted my spirits and reminded me what it's like to feel intelligent in good company! And so I forged through Friday, left the office close to 5 and headed on the train to Union Square where I picked up the L and made it to Bedford Ave to go find the crew at Spuyten Duyvil. I will never know how to spell the name of that damn bar, ha. Who cares.

I really hadn't heard much from the boy that day which also had me slightly...I don't know, whatever. I'm not sitting around waiting on hearing from him but I slightly am. Great, this is where letting this get to me got me. Whatever.

I wound up only meeting up with Alicia and Jess...Stephen was at work later than he thought, and Jonathan was going to help with the Gallery exhibit at FU and so the girls and I had a nice time together, then shared a cab to Bushwick to FU.

Meanwhile, some texts did finally take place with the boy.

(insert: I had texted him that I would be in Williamsburg, BK for the start of my night.)

B: What's the current hipstometer reading of the 'hood?
KB: It's...wow. There's a bartender here with a Ghostbusters shirt. Does that say enough?
B: Yes. That is a meaningful signal.

Excerpt 2:

KB: Now I'm in Bushwick. I'm super cool due to this fact, right?
B: You're rocking the super cool. But you can't top where I'm at: the impossibly hip UES.
KB: Hey I used to live there. Making it overly cool.
B: Far less cool without the cat shoes. (I had on my cat shoes last night.)
B: The neighborhood still scares me.
B: Weird old people in suits crossing dark streets with their walkers.

When I got to Fort U, the first person to greet me was Jonathan. Now, Jonathan is incredible. He's this ray of light in a room...it feels nice being in his presence, and we spent a majority of the night watching the comedy together and drinking and laughing. Stephen is great, too...these are really such great people I've managed to find. So happy.

What happened is that when Jess and Alicia were gearing up to leave, I stepped out with them but the skies unleashed a torrential amount of rain and since they were being dropped off in Queens by our friend Chris in his car (which route goes nowhere near Manhattan) I stuck out the storms at FU with those who lingered behind. I didn't get home until close to 4, and remember, I was already really, really, really tired.

Johnny wasn't home so I stumbled right onto (and I mean onto) my bed and collapsed, not to be seen or heard from again until 10 the next morning.

My plans for Saturday were over stacked. I had a brunch possible with Dacel at 11 to be possibly followed by a Central Park party (wound up canceled) followed by a 5 PM thing at the Brooklyn Museum of Art (which museum, by the way, is SO seeing my face next week because I haven't seen Judy Chicago's Dinner Party installation since like 2002...)(and it is permanently installed upstairs at the BAM) yet what I did instead of everything was go meet Dacel, drink gallons of beer and have amazing conversation with her then come back home and sleep the entire thing off until about 9. Nice. Go ugly early. Enjoy life.

(Listen, I realize at this point my life should be made into a Mini Series that will flop/fail upon reception. But it is what it is. I'm just pushing through these moments.)

So I had received a text from the boy, something like, "Find time this weekend?"

(Thank god he doesn't read this blog, but yes, tell me when and where and that time of mine is yours.)

There was banter about him coming by, about how he was at dinner very near me at a "douchey" place (ha) (my neighborhood tends to harbor that) and something something about him coming by. And he did. And it took me to new heights...again.

I can't keep doing this thing where I let someone walk in and strong arm my heart and then walk away. I won't do it with this one. But these moments that find us talking endlessly (we went to the roof and stared at the moon for over an hour or so, talking, listening) are so intensely identifying. And when we came back inside, and when I asked him into my room and when other things that I won't mention here went on...it was like...I stood outside of myself and peered in at this girl. This is the girl I've felt I've maybe always needed to become, attaching myself (cautiously) to an extremely intelligent (and stupidly attractive) individual who is just as cautious as I.

This morning we were joined in my bed like a beautiful painting and I kept thinking that. His hands and his arm, his arm across me...and we just had such a sound beautiful morning and he left early because he's riding in a Brooklyn Bike thing and that's great, and fine, and nice.

I suppose I have been deserving this. I just wish I knew where it is going. Maybe nowhere. Maybe everywhere.