notes on florida

This is surely one of many. I've noticed that I seem to react more consciously to the landscape here. Don't get me wrong, New York clearly left many imprints (bruises and scars, too, of course), but down here more is tangible. Like the crunchy, dry aspect to everything on the ground. The grass is nothing conceivable in the North -- it's thick as in wide and weighty blades, barely rooted on the ground and dry, unforgiving. Grass here is more likely to scratch back than give way.

And there are bugs and snakes and salamanders everywhere. My eyes aren't used to this kind of constant movement -- small, darting creatures that pay no heed to the hulking masses (people) around them. The raccoons are sassy. I mean, real sassy. Everything is low and relatively expansive -- no hills or even embankments to break the eye's horizon.

And I'm living among it all just fine. I don't detest whatever it was I used to detest (vaguely, the weather and strip malls and flat land). I'm not feeling quite so alienated. I mean, there is a young population here, there are bars and coffee shops and parks and libraries, etc. There are homos here, everywhere. I feel like I've met as many lesbians in a week as I did in a couple months in New York, but they're nice down here. Queers are also numerous.

I definitely look different though, and when I start getting calls for job interviews this will be more pronounced. I'm wondering what I'm willing to compromise. My hair will be an issue -- it's now a mohawk with shaved lines on either side. I'm wondering what to wear to an interview. The first thing in my mind is, of course, just wear a nice pair of pants, shirt and tie. This is a totally professional look. I kind of forget (or disregard) the fact that, to others, dressing in such masculine clothes is more than just an appearance that takes a refocusing of the eyes. I think, maybe, to others, seeing me in masculine clothes is a declaration of an aggressive lifestyle I must lead, and rather than reading an outfit, people are prone to read a forthcoming rebellion. This unsettles, I'm sure, a manager.

So, OK. No pants and shirt/tie. So what else? A blouse? The word blouse to me is like saying breasts. Like, shall I wear breasts today? Oh, what color? With darts? hehe. Tits+Darts, must remember that one for future sketches. I think that I would need to wear a pretty feminine blouse to get away with not wearing some other accessory that says I'm professional (like a tie). I left my necklaces in Philadelphia (i used to wear coral, gold, and diamonds, if you can believe it -- not all at once, though!). Ok, skirt. No. Out of the question. I say it and that's exactly where it goes -- away. And also disturbing is thinking about getting a job, then wearing more neutral outfits, a week's worth. I wish it were as simple as neutrality, actually. But wherever I am on the gender spectrum now views anything leaning towards neutral as a direct appropriation of strong femininity, and as you can tell, I'm still uncomfortable with that identity.

Any suggestions for attire? Lay 'em on me.

new landscape

i'm here. here. sarasota. I just encountered a few alums who told me that we were in florida circa fall, 2003. great. that's not really what i came here for, considering at that time I was mostly belly up on a bed listening to red house painters or sigur ros or radiohead, all of which i've since banned from my listening ears. fall, 2003. no thanks. and more than that, i feel so good about what i've done since then. although i am a notorious returning student, i'm nevertheless glad that time's passed, that i dropped out of school, that i learned about who i am, who i like to meet, what i like to do.

the instance of me running into alums and students who recognize me is not isolated. since driving in late on Thursday night, i've had more than a few "isn't your name liz?" or "i'm so excited you're back, here's my number!". both interactions are surprising to me. I guess i assumed i would return anonymously, just a few ripples over the bay, so to speak. maybe i just thought that because i felt anonymous before i dropped out two years ago. or i didn't feel anonymous enough. i guess anonymous isn't the right word. let's just say that back then i lost myself, and i certainly lost my relationships to everyone else. spending time with others felt like a series of lies, and little more than a personal test to see if i could "pass" in public, which is to say not fall down and cry, stop speaking altogether, or instead scream and rip my hair (or someone else's hair) to pieces.

don't worry, i'm not there anymore. i haven't been there for a while, and i can say i'm nowhere close. but it's also a lie to say that part of me no longer exists. of course it does. it resides somewhere in the depths that a few strange voices reside, mostly dormant, until on some quiet night there's a strong tone from inside me that fills my ears with the weight of what feels like dense water -- maybe saline? i'm not afraid of it, and i don't so violently oppose it. i'm strange, i know.

i've been reading and cleaning since getting here. sweeping away dead crickets, spiders, and roaches. setting traps for the live ones. there's definitely a futility to this practice, but if i can avoid daily instances of chasing and killing/maiming insects, I think i'll feel better. I've already had occassion for a sweater twice. Indoor floridian climates are the playgrounds for imaginary seasons. I always loved this about florida, actually. the way I would bundle up to study in a coffee shop. in high school, i dreamt about doing homework cozied in some mixture of layers or scarves with biting cold outside. in florida, i got part of that dream fulfilled, especially if i studied in some corporate environment, like starbucks or barnes & noble.

well, i need to get back to studying, and i'm on a public computer anyway. that's going to be the majority of my posts for the near future -- infrequent and under the real or imagined gaze of nearby strangers.

i miss you all.

feels like

It's dark at home (pennsylvania). I was just walking outside with no clue what was in front of me, or to my sides. Wasn't sure if I'd land on grass or asphalt. Didn't care. I was walking slow and rather enjoying my relative blindness. But this darkness, I mean, wow. It feels like something. Not too heavy, but enveloping all the same. I like it.

Things I'm not such a fan of include this suburb. Well, I'm not so quick on the disapproval as I used to be. Before, my fast and anxious mind turned to hate of the people, stores, and horrible politics that imprint this neighborhood. I used to occupy my free time composing and delivering rants to the gossip moms, the dude dads, the platformed girls and the sniggering boys that make up families here. 'Course I never said those diatribes outloud, not in any discernible way. But politics was a place that I tried to channel my alienated(ing?) anger into something vocal and real. It was a violent passion, and perhaps one reason why I've mostly cast it aside. [Note: I'm talking about giving up on large-scale politics/party talk. I'm still an issue person, though even those have narrowed.]

But my point in that last paragraph was to say that I'm not actually so quick to occupy myself with needing to tell people about themselves. I think instead I'm doing a good deal of head-cocking. You know, tilt to the side and try to take another moment to make sense of something that appears fathomless? Well, not so fathomless as to surpass the occasion for a head-cock. head-cock. guess i'm still looking for excuses. maybe i should just report on the surroundings:

so, young girls. in short, ruffly skirts or short, ripped skirts. with crisp colors that graze their bodies. like, white. black. pink. white. white. too much white. and tiny, tan legs that are trying to go on forever, but forever has only been about 15 years or so, so obviously it's difficult. their bodies don't have an accidental part on them, which is to say you get the sense that these girls have memorized what every part of their arms, legs, hair, skin, and clothes look like, complement, and will be read as. i don't know, it's wierd. in reality, they seem to be putting their bodies to work, the work being just going out in the world. and that combination of performance and supreme physical self-awareness is startling and seems impossible. These girls look like they're not expecting anything to change. like maybe nothing has ever changed -- they've always looked this way, were actually plopped down on the sidewalk five minutes ago looking this way. and that look, combined with their being in the middle of adolescence, is really quite odd.

i don't feel like talking about this anymore. are the girls so different now than before? not at all. and that unsettles me as much, too. that i really grew up around this, and wouldn't know what else to expect.