pavlovian

i am subsisting on 1.5hrs of sleep. it was incredibly sunny today. work was very slow: 3 patients in 14 hours. i studied mast cell tumors (mast cells produce heparin and histamine- fascinating, surely). i honestly cannot recall most of the details of the monday shifts in general. it is a bit disconcerting that i am weilding syringes and operating vehicles and medicating animals whilst running on fumes. the fog was dissipating on the way home. people were hammering and operating leaf-blowers outside the apartment when i finally went to bed.
walked downtown with the sun directly in my eyes. everyone seems uplifted and relaxed in this novel climate. metro anecdote du jour: 18 local to ballard: a drunk man babbling about the seahawks, mouth full with the fried chicken he was retrieving from his pocket. the people around him were engaging him in conversation. i was a bit surprised by that. i usually smile and turn away. this town is football-mad. there are flags everywhere and much logoed attire. bought a used '80's cd so i could hear 'one night in bangkok' at top volume- admired the huge selection of cookie cutters through a shop window- noticed that the stars were visible for the first time in months.
until today i had not seen the amount of sunlight my lair actually gets. it was about 80 in there by noon. i opened the windows and danced just to watch what my shadow looked like against the uneven paint on the wall. summer and 90 degree weather will be interesting. i love opening my window in january, or walking around coatless, or seeing green grass and green leaves and open-air flower markets. i saw in the paper that it was -5 in anchorage today. there is no enjoyment in that whatsoever.
flashback, though: sunday night i was ascending the stairs to my lair and smelling everyone's happy meals wafting through the halls. (even though i don't eat meat, i FUCKING LOVE the smell of it cooking- especially ground beef. ground beef with sauteed onions- bloody hell.) it reminded me of walking home from the bus stop on lake otis when i was a teenager. it would be sphincter-tighteningly cold and the snow would squeak when i walked. the yards sparkled. vertical spires of ice fog from the street lights. that impossible-to-articulate sensation of freezing snot. walking into the house, smelling dinner, hearing the (constant) television... little trifling memory, but a damn good one now. coming home to warmth and good smells is one of the simplest, purest means of contentment, isn't it?
riding my bike home during the first winter i lived in seattle: usually the flat would smell like cat shit and stale incense/marijuana. one night i came in and there was fresh spicy delicious daal waiting. oddly, i don't have a lot of concrete memories from that era, but that one always stands out.
when sarah and i lived in the yellow house we would sit in the kitchen at the butcher-block counter and drink wine. the window next to the table was fucked up and never fully closed. that was the filthiest place i have ever lived.
fremont, old building-smell (a good smell, much like a slightly mildewed library book), no heat, no furniture, wooden floors, people laughing outside and the music from the bar making the potted plants vibrate. i remember listening to cat stevens excessively during the first few weeks i lived there.
yelm: nasty aerosol air freshener, the TV always fucking on, the cats yowling, me going straight to the bedroom after we grunted at each other. i hadn't really thought about the specifics of that era until just now. how miserable. "that era", indeed. it is already a lifetime ago.
if i die and have a memorial service, it should entail ground beef cooking in one corner and nag champa burning in the other, and my urn will be drenched in patchouli.