Do You Think Her Shoes are Bothering Her?

Posted on November 5, 2013 by Octavia

I was walking down 13th street towards Metrocenter yesterday, when about a foot ahead of me, I saw red — down below. Blood red. Right on a woman’s heel. A gruesome sight, no doubt. She was clearly wearing uncomfortable shoes. I winced noticeably and fought every urge not to say something. How could she do it? Her faced showed not an ounce of pain.

I inadvertently chose, of course, to wear uncomfortable shoes the very next day. Just to see if they were as unpleasant as I remembered them.

One day later, I’m her. My heels are red, blistery, and shamefully evident of a poor wardrobe choice. I penguin walked back to the metro and luckily found a seat to isolate my pain. Pretty soon, I’ll be home and strongly reminded to never do this again.

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From One Thing to the Next

Posted on October 28, 2013 by Octavia

I’m letting my hair do what it wants today. I won’t oppress it behind a bobby pin; I won’t be disappointed by its lack of ambition.  It’s going to look wonderfully earnest in its messiness. That’s my hair plan today. Now, on to more productive matters, like the reason I’m even writing about what I expect my hair’s behavior to be. I hate my job. I am currently there and everything about it is making me feel ill. Sound like a case of the Mondays? You might be right, except that the overall amount of work I do on any given week could barely occupy an entire day. I’ve thought about starting a timer as soon as I divert from work-related tasks, just to see how much time I actually spend working and not. But even quantifying that time would qualify as time unproductively spent. And I’ve dilly-dallied a whole bunch today, undocumented as of yet. My contract will probably be renewed, but the truth is that I don’t want to come back. I want to do something else.

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Not Quite a Poem

Posted on August 28, 2013 by Octavia

9:30 p.m., July 23, 2013

Kramerbooks & Afterwords Café

“I Wanna be Down” by Brandy is playing semi-loudly, a song from 1994.

I’ve been trying to motivate myself to write more these days and I guess there is no time like the present to push one’s limits. 20 minutes of social media scrolling go by and zero words are written on the page. I have no real reason or force within me to keep writing and it’s making me feel less and less productive with each minute gone by.

But I’m okay. I ordered a fruity summertime cocktail from a bartender that had enough charisma to be just like me. She wasn’t great and I’m not either. Peach vodka, strawberries and mint – a peach strawberry mojito of sorts. It is having the expected effect on me. Little by little. I’m feeling warmer and I’m not even halfway done. She poured heavily. Can’t blame her. It’s suddenly very warm in here.

Lamar on the radio and my short essay may have turned into a poem. By the end of the page I’ll know. That sounds like poetic justice, which is coincidentally the song that’s playing right now.

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Dark to Light and Back Again

Posted on June 20, 2013 by Octavia

I am sitting in the dark because Tony has ostracized me from “our” bedroom. I turned the light on and he barked a few sentences, all involving the word “rude.” I replied with something to the effects of “my room, too/I don’t want to argue.” I ultimately seceded by turning off the lights, brushing my teeth and quietly sitting at my desk surrounded by darkness (beyond the extremities of my brightly-lit laptop, that is.)

Pretty soon, I’ll have to decide on my next move. Do I stay here, click-clacking away or do I make my way back, obnoxiously bumping into things along the way? He’ll think I’ll be doing it on purpose to prove a point, but the fact of the matter remains that I’ve gotten used to the darkness and all of its inspirational components. Would I have been able to transform yet another stupid brief argument into a half-filled Word document otherwise? I think not.

While typing the end of the previous sentence, my mind wandered to the expression/relationship philosophy “we accept the love we think we deserve.” That sentiment has never seemed true until now. Not sure why that is. What happens if the moment you realize that it’s true is immediately followed by the moment you decide to break up with someone? Once you act on that thought, you’ll be alone and accepting no love. Does that mean you’ll deserve it?

…And it seems that in as quickly as it took to write 3 sentences, that expression has lost all meaning again.

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Fighting Hair & Nail

Posted on May 29, 2013 by Octavia

Today, I did something I’d never done. First, let me preface this by saying that I bite my nails… a lot—all my life, practically. It’s a habit I can’t get rid of and one I’m actually kind of comforted by. It’s just there.

Today, I bit a piece of my fingernail off and did something new. I started twirling it in my fingers and turned it into a little minute nail ball. A ball made of dead hardened skin cells. It may seem gross, but felt kind of revolutionary—twirling around, forming like play-doh in my hand.

The fun does not end there. And you might think I’m being sarcastic, but I’m not. It was a simple, perfect new experience.

As I was twirling the nail piece in my fingers, getting an unexpected yet thorough pleasure, it started getting tangled up in my hair. Before I knew it, I had created a hair and nail ball that I couldn’t separate for a full 10 seconds. These were 10 seconds of persistent trying, mind you.

…A hair and nail ball—two different manifestations of dead skin cells that constantly grow, melding together to become one. Two appearance components that girls typically alter to their creative liking. That’s not incredibly relevant, but I figure it’s not so outlandishly tangential and a point I’d be unlikely to make elsewhere. So, there you go.

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They Only Give You the Window Seat if You Ask for It

Posted on March 17, 2013 by Octavia

On the plane, preparing for take off. Watching the safety video, I can’t help thinking—

How applicable is a “slow, relaxed demeanor?”

In other words, were we in a situation requiring oxygen masks and life jackets, how likely would it be that people (a) don’t panic (b) know what they’re doing (c) don’t kill each other while trying to save each other?

“Ye of little faith,” somebody should tell me.

“Maybe I’m just being realistic?”

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A Brush with Betsey Johnson

Posted on January 10, 2013 by Octavia

​     Twiddling my thumbs because it’s 8:30. My roommate Adriana said she’d be here at 8 so that we could’ve left the house by now. Hmm. I guess I should figure out what I’m going to wear. And with what shoes. Since it’s a fashion party, I should probably take some kind of fashion risk. I got it! Heels with socks. That’s an “in” thing, right? And it’ll make whatever shoes I’m wearing instantly more comfortable. Perfect. Adriana’s got some cute hot pink chunky-looking heels that’ll look good with my gray socks. Also, I’ll wear my green military jacket. I know those are both fashion do’s so even if I look completely different from anyone else, I’ll still be subversively fashionable; my M.O. Adriana’s here! She rushes in and I’m slowly walking behind her. “Hey, can I borrow some shoes? The pink ones.” She looks at me and gives me a pained “no.” It pains me more, but only slightly. No matter. I’ll wear something else with socks–my brown leather moccasins that are ridiculously comfortable and cost a mere $6 at Goodwill. The best way to look fashion-forward (if you are using a phrase like this, you most likely are not so) is to do it without paying an arm and a leg. In other words, limbs needn’t be metaphorically sacrificed to give a good fashion impression. Okay, black skirt, white v-neck t-shirt, green military jacket, colorful necklace, brown pre-owned moccasins (the jacket is also pre-owned, mind you) with socks! I’m ready for a fashion party! “Aren’t you going to wear make-up?” Adriana asks me. “Nah, I don’t think so; I feel most comfortable not.”
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Monday 1 of 2013.

Posted on January 7, 2013 by Octavia

Someone is at the door downstairs and I really can’t find the energy to walk there and see what that’s about. I push a section of my hair behind my ear in the hopes that the current inspiration I’m feeling won’t fade quickly, but will linger for just a little longer, perhaps until the end of Greenberg.  Since starting to write for NOVA magazine, I’ve become increasingly aware of the AP style of writing and how far I stray from it in my day-to-day writing. Differ I do and I am dysfunctionally proud of that fact. Word is telling me that “dysfunctionally” is not a word. And apparently there’s a wrong subject-verb agreement in that phrase as well. I disagree—with the former count. The differing continues and I declare myself a language rebel.

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A Moment’s Glance at the Host Stand

Posted on January 5, 2013 by Octavia

01/04/2013. Friday evening. 6:13pm.

Damian at the bar getting semi-swamped by clusters of affluent professionals at the heights of their careers. I can hear snippets of their conversations. Only when I look at them directly can I really discern the matters they’re so joyously discussing. An obligatory DC-area reference to local sports savior RGIII is made. The conversation quickly changes to something article-heavy followed by considerately uproarious laughter, affable in pitch.

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A Musical Encounter Unexpected

Posted on December 29, 2012 by Octavia

Sitting in Charmington’s, a suitably titled coffeeshop on North Howard St in Baltimore, MD. I walked in with gleaming sunlight pouring through the windows. I noticed a man looking at the board of specials. I walked by him in an attempt to order some food, maybe glance at the display case full of bagels and other assorted baked goods. I look back towards the board of specials. That is when I realize that the man is none other than Doug Martsch, lead singer of Built to Spill, the band I came traipsing to Baltimore for. While I was preparing for a scalper movement in the hopes of finding myself a ticket to the concert, I see two band members right in my line of sight. Pretty amazing, right?

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