Here's some surprising news. That job I thought I flubbed and lost is now in process again. They called me back today for another interview for tomorrow to meet my future boss' senior manager. Apparently they've been crazily preparing for a meeting like I have, and were too busy to call.
I wasn't going to go because I'm way too busy, but I really want to meet my potential future boss who is based in Los Angeles and is here for the week. I mentioned something about working tonight after Ash Wednesday service, and she asked me if there was a catholic church near downtown where Enlglish is spoken. I told her to go to Old St. Mary's Catholic Church which is within walking distance of downtown and Union Square, but emailed her the links anyway for a couple of downtown catholic churches.
I don't think I've ever had a boss who went to church. I've met people at work who went to church, but I've never reported to someone who actually attended church regularly.
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
Tuesday, February 24, 2004
For my SciFi, Fantasy and Horror Writing class, I have to email my instructor 350 words of "daily fiction" every day until the end of the seminar. He said it can be anything we want, a fiction piece, a good rant, whatever.
So I started idea # 2, a novel tentatively titled "The Dwarf who Heard Voices".
It's a first draft without editing or corrections, just whatever is in my head. So beware!
************
At night I hear the voices; always they speak. Not loud enough to hear very well, and yet not soft enough to be ignored. But enough to where I hear their murmurings on the edge of my consciousness and I see their grotesque images chanting evil words in my dreams.
When I first heard the sounds, I thought it was a radio or a television turned on too loud in one of the other houses. They built the houses here so close together with shoddy thin walls that you know when dinner is over at night because burping noises echo like bells through the neighborhood. But the sounds came late at night and we had a strictly enforced noise rule starting at 10 pm, so I knew it wasn’t one of my neighbors. And even if it were, I knew someone else would complain about it first and the noise would stop. But it didn’t.
I tried not to listen, tried not hear, even going so far as to walk around with earplugs or stereo headphones. But still I heard the sounds. So I had to listen to them, I was forced. And the more I listened, the more I became aware that the sounds were voices and that they were not dwarf made, or human made, or any other creature for that matter. No creature of this world could have spoken with those voices. And then the dreams started.
Those horrible dreams of misshapen dwarves who looked like they’d been wadded up like a piece of paper and then half straightened out again, always standing in a circle and chanting, droning on and on night after night. Standing in the middle of the circle was an outline of a human male figure with no distinguishable features, looking like a shadow but with bulk and form. He stood there waving his black arms and at least once every dream; one of the deformed dwarves would step into the inner circle and disappear. But not without a flash of the malformed dwarf’s life replayed in the dream. It was the flashes of life that I came to fear the most.
*****************
So I started idea # 2, a novel tentatively titled "The Dwarf who Heard Voices".
It's a first draft without editing or corrections, just whatever is in my head. So beware!
************
At night I hear the voices; always they speak. Not loud enough to hear very well, and yet not soft enough to be ignored. But enough to where I hear their murmurings on the edge of my consciousness and I see their grotesque images chanting evil words in my dreams.
When I first heard the sounds, I thought it was a radio or a television turned on too loud in one of the other houses. They built the houses here so close together with shoddy thin walls that you know when dinner is over at night because burping noises echo like bells through the neighborhood. But the sounds came late at night and we had a strictly enforced noise rule starting at 10 pm, so I knew it wasn’t one of my neighbors. And even if it were, I knew someone else would complain about it first and the noise would stop. But it didn’t.
I tried not to listen, tried not hear, even going so far as to walk around with earplugs or stereo headphones. But still I heard the sounds. So I had to listen to them, I was forced. And the more I listened, the more I became aware that the sounds were voices and that they were not dwarf made, or human made, or any other creature for that matter. No creature of this world could have spoken with those voices. And then the dreams started.
Those horrible dreams of misshapen dwarves who looked like they’d been wadded up like a piece of paper and then half straightened out again, always standing in a circle and chanting, droning on and on night after night. Standing in the middle of the circle was an outline of a human male figure with no distinguishable features, looking like a shadow but with bulk and form. He stood there waving his black arms and at least once every dream; one of the deformed dwarves would step into the inner circle and disappear. But not without a flash of the malformed dwarf’s life replayed in the dream. It was the flashes of life that I came to fear the most.
*****************
Everyone is talking about Mel Gibson's movie The Passion of the Christ, and of course I want to see it being raised a catholic and all. "The Passion" is like The Stations of the Cross at Easter come to life ... how cool is that!
We used to go to church every Friday starting the week of Ash Wednesday to do "Stations of the Cross". It never affected me till I was in my hormonal crazy teenage years. I have memories of myself at age 13, balling my eyes out during the whole service, suffering and weeping with JC, wincing at every fall, wishing I was the one who wiped his forehead, pledging my body, heart, mind, soul, and my life to JC forever!
Those were my "high holy catholic girl days", when all I wanted to be was a nun. I remember praying fervently every night for "stigmata" because that meant you were really chosen to be one with JC and suffer with him. Or alternatively fantasizing I was Mary Magdalene and singing to JC "I don't know how to love him", and dreaming about pouring oil and humming "don't you know everything all right, yes everything's fine."
Of course once I hit the age of 15 all of that changed, and I became a "cool left wing intellectual" questioning believer who despised bourgeois middle class values like religion and wore a french beret.
And well that changed again when I turned 16, and decided that what I really needed was to find myself an indian hindu guru so I could do yoga, eat almonds, be a vegetarian and meditate in India or the Himalayas and wear cool hippie outfits.
I cried my heart out at age 13 for Stations of the Cross, so I'll probably be a basket case when I see "The Passion".
We used to go to church every Friday starting the week of Ash Wednesday to do "Stations of the Cross". It never affected me till I was in my hormonal crazy teenage years. I have memories of myself at age 13, balling my eyes out during the whole service, suffering and weeping with JC, wincing at every fall, wishing I was the one who wiped his forehead, pledging my body, heart, mind, soul, and my life to JC forever!
Those were my "high holy catholic girl days", when all I wanted to be was a nun. I remember praying fervently every night for "stigmata" because that meant you were really chosen to be one with JC and suffer with him. Or alternatively fantasizing I was Mary Magdalene and singing to JC "I don't know how to love him", and dreaming about pouring oil and humming "don't you know everything all right, yes everything's fine."
Of course once I hit the age of 15 all of that changed, and I became a "cool left wing intellectual" questioning believer who despised bourgeois middle class values like religion and wore a french beret.
And well that changed again when I turned 16, and decided that what I really needed was to find myself an indian hindu guru so I could do yoga, eat almonds, be a vegetarian and meditate in India or the Himalayas and wear cool hippie outfits.
I cried my heart out at age 13 for Stations of the Cross, so I'll probably be a basket case when I see "The Passion".
I was so depressed and freaked out last night, I started reading Dark Night of the Soul by St. John of the Cross.
This book brought so much comfort to me during my depression times. I haven't read this book in years, but as soon as I started reading it I felt better. One of the reviewers from Amazon said she couldn't understand it at first, but I totally related to the book the first time I opened it up. It's definitely not for everyone, and my catholic background definitely helps me to understand it.
I wonder if I am going through a "dark night of the soul". It's only happened to me once before and afterwards, I changed my life around 360 degrees twice. I'm not sure I want to go through that level of change again, but I might have to if I am going through a "dark night" phase again.
This book brought so much comfort to me during my depression times. I haven't read this book in years, but as soon as I started reading it I felt better. One of the reviewers from Amazon said she couldn't understand it at first, but I totally related to the book the first time I opened it up. It's definitely not for everyone, and my catholic background definitely helps me to understand it.
I wonder if I am going through a "dark night of the soul". It's only happened to me once before and afterwards, I changed my life around 360 degrees twice. I'm not sure I want to go through that level of change again, but I might have to if I am going through a "dark night" phase again.
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