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    Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts
    Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts

  1. How I'm Doin'

    Monday, July 27, 2020






    I enjoy the sensation of running my fingers through my just washed and dried hair.  So soft and smooth and clean.

    I’ve been pushing through molasses.  My big accomplishments today were taking out garbage, buying food, washing my hair, buying dental floss, walking up the stairs instead of taking the elevator, and returning one phone call.  If you saw/knew my situation, you’d agree that much more needs to happen.





    There are folks who don’t think they are doing much, but they ARE, in my opinion.

    My friend Leighann Lord, who normally does stuff like this:  



    is now doing things like this:  





    People are zooming shows and open mics, and I’m just trying to de-clutter, clean, eat, not lose another tooth, return phone calls and emails (I’ve been awful about that), write a poem once a week, come up with comedy material every now and then, live in spite of too much heartache and way too little money.

    I was asked if I wanted to participate in a socially distant dating show.  I said, “Nah. I don’t want to date. It’s more dangerous than COVID-19.”

    One day, I fell in and out of sleep all day and had intense dreams -- the kind I was relieved to wake up from and realize they were dreams. 

    Last night, I had pasta at 3:50AM.  That’s how I’m doing.


    Love to CGG-M always. 💕  

    Posted by Mindy Matijasevic at 6:00 AM | Labels: , , , | 3 comments | |

  2. Very Safe Sex

    Tuesday, January 29, 2013


    Very Safe Sex

                                                         by Mindy Matijasevic

     
    Last week, classes at both
    jobs started up again.  Additionally, Friday was the deadline to apply for a grant from the Bronx Council on the Arts.  I am typically down to the wire on that deadline, and this year was no exception.  I had to bring my manuscript to the 8th Avenue post  office by 33rd street at night to have it postmarked on 1/25/13.  There was much stress due to not being able to get through to a fucking human being on the phone.  When I was trying to call to find out hours, I was forced to talk to a computer and when I said “hours,” it said, “post office locations.”  After the third call, I almost threw the phone into my computer monitor. 

    One of my new co-workers has already shown himself to have an ego that won’t be able to fit in our office.  The massive pair on some people is amazing.  I’m sure he’s one of those who takes up three seats on the subway. 
     
    I will be putting together a newsletter at work on a regular basis.  This was originally the idea of Sue Machlin, a dear co-worker and friend who passed over last June in a car accident.  She and another put out the first newsletter.  For whatever reasons, they didn’t continue.  I resurrected the idea, and it’s my project now.  I’m glad.  It’s another continuing connection to Sue.  It’s creative work, and that gets my juices going.

    Having to function in the morning every day after several weeks of a very loose schedule, all the stress and beating the clock to get my submission in on time to apply for the grant, trying to reason with an a-hole in one arena and a computer in another, among other things, exhausted me.  I slept all day Saturday.  And I am pleased to say I didn’t feel one bit of guilt for it.  I needed it.  I tend to stay up late when not having to get up early, so making the switch was very difficult. 
     
    I don’t know if this is connected to getting my writing in before deadline and having a newsletter to create (which stimulates me more than many things), but I dreamt that I had sex.  I mean when I woke up, it took a few minutes to fully realize it was a dream.  I remember details.  Not every detail, but some.  I remember feeling that he was going to be done, and, after all this time that I’ve been penis-free, I was determined to make sure I’d be done by the time he’d be done.  There was no way I went through all this to be left unsatisfied.  I remember rising to him three times and (to put it cleanly) achieve what I rose for.  Later, I remember standing naked and facing each other.  He had a hairy chest.  I like men to have hairy chests.  I didn’t see his face.  He wasn’t a whole lot taller than me.  He, based on body color, may have been Hispanic, Italian, Greek, Jewish (the type who have more color).  In the dream, I knew who he was, but since awaking, I can’t remember at all.  I felt pretty pleased in the dream.  Not a bit regretful.  Maybe it’s a sign.



     

    Posted by Mindy Matijasevic at 12:00 AM | Labels: , , , , , , , | 3 comments | |

  3. By Lisa Harmon

    Cat yodeling - that’s right.  My husband calls it yodeling.  I am going to kill this cat.  How can a skinny, ancient cat make sounds that loud?  She must’ve swallowed a conch.

    I’m high strung.  So what?  I live in New York City. 

    Trying to relax in New York is like trying to have a good meal at a food court.  It’s impossible, and someone is going to end up yelling and crying (simultaneously).

    Anyway I’ve given up on crying and yelling and now I just accept my yodeling cat, my horn-honking neighbors, the kids upstairs who run all weekend and the fresh direct truck that parks and idles across the street all day.

    I’m high strung.  So what?  How about how loud people talk?  You’re talking too loud.  Stop it.  This is a public place.  Oh, and the ladies at the restaurant that let their toddler crawl across the table.  Yes, I eat in classy establishments.

    I’m high strung.  So what?  What about the people that walk right on top of you.  Not a ray of sunlight can pass between you.  TOO CLOSE!  YOU’RE TOO CLOSE!  Back up.  Back up.  I will kill you.  Also, that’s why those short old ladies walk with carts that they ram into you with.  It’s a pre-emptive strike.

    Furthermore your kid on a stroller does not belong pushed out into traffic.  But hey, you’re an excellent Mom. 

    I’m high strung.  So what!  People are idiots. 

    Which reminds me!  Here’s the topper to end all toppers:  a kid at the mic said he was boxing in his gym against a female opponent.  After a while she said “Watch out for my baby.”  I think he said Whaaaaa???? to which she replied “I’m pregnant.” 

    Is it just me or does everyone think this unborn kid is doomed?  Kid you’ve got back luck already and you’re not even born yet!  That FUCKING MORON is your Mom.  I’ve never had kids.  I could be wrong, but I don’t think you’re supposed to let people punch your developing baby.  And probably after he’s born too.  At least the first six months.

    I’m high strung, so what.  What about the guys that drive right up to you?  Yield to pedestrian is a concept beyond these people.  These are the first generation of boys that were born here and they’re so ecstatic about it they drive ninety miles an hour on residential streets.  Streets which have a pesky stop sign every hundred feet.  The stop signs are very tiresome and luckily, here where I live, optional.  The only thing more tiresome than the stop signs are the pedestrians in the crosswalk.  But its ok to give them a nudge in the hip with your bumper.  That’s totally cool with everybody.

    So I’m high strung.  So what?  Do you know what it is like for a tenant to sucker punch you into a conversation?  I’m so naïve and they do it to me all the time.  It starts out innocently “Hi, nice weather huh?”  “Yes its beautiful.”  “By the way tell your husband…” and they rattle off five things.  Oh you think I work here?  That’s cute.

    The days of the Super’s wives helping the Super are over.  Thank goodness.  It is supposedly an insurance thing.  I think it’s a “you a hire a person, you get a person (not a family)” thing.  Sure I’d love to be my husband’s unpaid assistant for the benefit an outside corporation.  But I can’t because of insurance concerns.  I am thinking some Super’s old lady got crushed in the elevator shaft or something, and thanks to her, we’re all free.*

    *Yes it is a mean joke.  Get over it.

    Posted by Anonymous at 3:00 AM | Labels: , , , , | 2 comments | |