I don’t know if I’m going to keep posting my daily photos. I post them on this blog every day, so it seems silly to do two.

Sorry.

I have a favor to ask you. I’m in a documentary poetry class this semester, and one of our assignments (the big one for the class, actually), is to write a long (12 pages min) documentary poem. I want to write about gay marriage. The poem will be in many sections, and I’d like to include real examples of discrimination from couples who experienced it because of their gay marriage or just simply being gay. Anything from big to small; I’m looking for broader ideas and minute details. I’d like to weave in lots of other issues, too, like imigration difficulties because same sex marriage isn’t legal, health care and hate crimes, so it’s clear that marriage isn’t the only issue, but that marriage recognition may lead to a lessening of discrimination across the board.

Feel free to comment or email me at ms dot loaf at gmail dot com.

My good friend Hilarie wrote this guest post on faith for us. Thanks, Hil!

My relationship to my religion (Judaism) has become more complicated in the last few years than I would like to admit. Had I written this post two years ago, I would have waxed (overly-)eloquent on the visceral spirituality that I felt every time I even entered a synagogue, let alone actually attended and participated in a religious service. As I write now, I’ve come close to becoming a three-times-a-year Jew, one who attends services practically only on the High Holidays. The transitional period in between those two stages is what preoccupies me today, along with the question of where to place myself in the continuum between them.

The necessary background, about which I probably would write more extensively at another period in my life, is that I completed the conversion process in the summer of 2008. Having been raised outside of traditional organized religion (with an occasional foray into a Quaker meeting), nothing really felt like it fit until I went to college, discovered Judaism, and felt completely at home. I was fairly observant then, and ramped it up when I moved to my current city, spending two to three evenings a week there for services and events.

When I officially converted, as part of my meeting with the beit din (the rabbinical court), I was asked to write a spiritual autobiography, something that only I and those three rabbis have read. I went back to this document while thinking through this post, and found a couple of interesting excerpts that I think evoke parts of my spiritual journey pretty well:

From the first service I attended in college:
I couldn’t believe the combination of all that I was hearing and seeing – with its music, mentions of unity and peace, and rhythmic (if unintelligible) chanted words, this religion seemed at that pass as though it had been made for me.

From my junior year abroad in Paris:

I stopped telling people I met that I was converting and instead presented myself as Jewish. Looking back now on that experience, with its elements of “passing” rubbing up directly against the emotional thrill and sense of honesty the identification gave me, it feels pivotal in my development as a Jew, perhaps partly because I consciously styled myself as a representative of a community (American Jews) with which most people I met were unfamiliar, and about which they were curious. I also experienced Orthodox services for the first time, coming away loving the Algerian-inflected chanting and feeling suffocated by the upstairs balcony to which I had been relegated with the other women.

From the year of my conversion:

I’m aware of a deep level of synergy between the person I was before this process and the person I am now: the ethical and moral values with which I was raised dovetail with the religious, ethical, and moral ones that I’ve adopted. In a very strong sense, I feel as though my religion doesn’t separate me from my family so much as it validates the freedom they gave me (and that they have exercised) to choose my own path.

Over the last couple of years, life has intervened more vehemently, and I’ve entered my sporadic appearance phase I’ve made “appearances” at my synagogue. This past Friday, I went back for the first time since the summer. I got there late, as I sometimes do, and I just stood there, waiting for the accustomed thrill. Instead, I found real life concerns crowding it out of my brain, and a sense of comfort somewhere behind that. Today, as I think about that, I wonder if it’s okay for it to happen that way. Maybe my relationship to my religion is like a relationship between two people: love at first (or second or third) sight subsides into something that’s quieter, more comfortable, and sometimes awkward, but always worth coming back to.

I know I’m behind on the photos. I’ll get to uploading them soon!

In the meantime, I may regret this, but I’ve joined formspring, so you can ask me anything anonymously.

EDIT:  Wow, the assholes really came out of the woodwork with the anonymous option. What I don’t understand is why those of you who seem to loathe me so strongly would waste your time badgering me with rude questions and reading my blog.

A sort-of self-portrait for the first day of February.

I am already loving the 365 project. Looking at all my photos together, I really feel like I get a sense of my life the last month. Most are interior shots because it’s fucking nasty and old outside, so I’ve spent most of my time inside. Hopefully as it warms up, there will be more outside shots.

Here you can see my first tattoo from age 18. I was obsessed with all things French. My parents had a conniption fit when they found out about it. I feel pretty neutral about it. I wish I’d put more thought into its design, but I don’t regret it. At least it’s not a butterfly on my ankle or a tramp stamp.

I’ve done fuckall this weekend. For every week I am totally dedicated and busy, I have a weekend where I get nothing done. Having a three day migraine did not help matters, but it is Sunday night and I have two writing assignments, forty pages of a critical article to do, and a bajillion chapters of Jane Austen to read. And the thing is, I actually like all this stuff. I just don’t feel in the mood. I talked on the phone with my friend Chandler, I ate three generic brand mallomars. I watched two seasons of Frasier (I wish I were kidding about that number, but…), I made myself a big veggie breakfast, I drank coffee, I cried, I ate two generic brand mallomars, I went to my friend’s house to pet her kitties and feed them and empty the litter box, I went grocery shopping, I went through tax documents, I hung Polaroids from last May of my friends at my going away party on a Photojojo magnetic strip by my bed. I took photos. I edited photos. I wrote a bunch of poems. I soaked my foot for an hour in the bathroom hoping to get the broken toenail to fall off. I rejoiced at finding my favorite chips, the Kettle chips Spicy Thai. I drank coffee and cried. I ate a pack of red vines. I drank three liters of water. I read a chapter of Jane Austen. I refreshed Twitter. I messed around with blog stuff. I stared lovingly at the image of my chapbook cover. I thought about submitting poems to journals, but didn’t. I googled Denver events during AWP. I looked at maps. I saw the google street view of my old apartment in Paris. I thought about eating the Thin Mint ice cream I bought, but I didn’t eat it. I cried. I watched Frasier. I called my mom and left a message asking her to send me more birth control (because I still use the same doctor in Iowa I’ve always used and my mother illeagally mails me prescription medicine when I need it), I played with my cats and yelled at my cats. I stared at my bookshelves hyperventilating over all the books I need to read and omghowwillieverbeacompetantprofessorinafewshortyears? and why don’t i have a baby and will i ever have a baby and maybe i could get pregant now, no that’s a very bad idea, will i have a baby or will i adopt, will I ever date again? Will I ever want to date again, am I getting a migraine, omg i can’t get a migraine, I have too much to do, I should cry and study and watch Frasier and eat a mallomar and refresh Twitter again.

It’s been a busy weekend.

I had a very strange night last night. I think my unhappiness this weekend comes from really wanting to spend it working on poetry and being unable. The exigencies of my lit class disallow it. Must read Jane Austen. It’s not such a sacrifice.

• My classes this semester
• Querelle by Jean Genet
• Taking a photo a day and all that I’ve learned so far about photography
• Writing a poem a day and actually sticking to it
• Getting my closet organized
• the amazing cover my friend designed for my chapbook
• learning that I really can work all day, ceaselessly, if I have to (sometimes I worry I procrastinate too much)
• feeling like I’m doing okay in my super hard class
• so many great things I’ve read
• Feeling like 2010 is going to be a great year for me, and I might be okay with the person I’m becoming

I hope my lack of posting indicates just how busy I’ve been lately. So much work, things to write and books to read. I am working ceaselessly, it seems. I’ve also battled a series of really awful migraines this week that stole precious study days from me. But I did manage to snap a few photos.

Virginia thinks Walt’s tail is a toy.

I was catsitting for my friend this weekend, so I took my camera along. I’m getting a little tired of photographing things in my apartment, but I like the domestic sphere. She had these flowers on her wall.