i feel so goofily optimistic! i have been riding this giddy wave for a while now. wonder lazily when this shall pass. then i get eager about what revelations THAT shall bring, and i know everything will work out just beautifully.
i left my husband because i was tired of being blamed for his shit. my own doledrums, i can assess and make sense of, but when other people's crap becomes my fault also... well, there is nothing i can do about that. and history is repeating itself. it is nice to recognize it early and detach. perhaps that is contributing to my pleasant state of mind: realizing that this time, things will be different. i have repeated the same ineffectual foolishnesses over and over, always wondering why nothing's better, but NOW! HA! so they shall be. i firmly believe that a bullshit-free life will only lead to happiness. it seems to be working thus far.
talked to my best girlfriend today. i was walking from my lair to downtown; ended up in post alley (pike place market), underneath a flowery bowery, an andean musician nearby. my sleeves were pushed up. around me people were lunching, mouths full of falafel and samosas. she spoke of alaska and i could scarcely picture it. i miss her, and i suppose i feel nostagic, but i wouldn't change my environment now for nearly anything. this may be the first time i can ever remember feeling so happy in my surroundings. paris was a close second, but it was always augmented by a perma-travelerness.
ah, paris! (this is spawned twofold: 1. email from my friend in montreal, with whom i played chess at the peace & love hostel in the 11th arrondissiment; 2. the disc jockey's horrific mispronounciation of the raconteurs- excellent song, but i fucking love the white stripes, so)
-ducking into a doorway in the pouring rain whilst meandering around st. germain
-pulp's 'we are the boys' blaring in my walkman as i walked by gare du nord at night (the trick to avoid being fucked with, at least so far: prolonged eye contact with everybody)
-sackfuls of licorice allsorts from monoprix
-getting utterly lost in the winding backstreets of montmartre
-finding my rare bird cd at marche des puces
-being kissed mere minutes after giving french schoolboy a cigarette (he was legal, i hope)
-drinking pernod out of grimy glasses whilst relentlessly hearing manu chao on the hi-fi
-kabob stands everywhere, skewer swiveling right next to the open windows
-metro 1, partially elevated, apartments of happy parisians clearly visible
-being bought a rose at the base of the eiffel tower
-giving other tourists directions
-rue st. etienne, prostitutes glowering from doorways. i once stayed on this street, probably in an unofficial brothel (didn't know at the time). i had my wallet stolen from that hotel. wonderful food stands here.
-turkish toilets, pink toilet paper, no toilet seats, no sinks nearby
these are fond memories now, actually.
today i read 'how to spot an evangelist' (title?) at elliot bay. it is fucking hilarious. i was laughing audibly. apparently it was written by an evangelist. he has a respectable level of self-effacingness. that is a very attractive quality in anyone, isn't it?
Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
je voudrais...
today is one of those that would be nice to share with somebody. i'm not feeling lonely, just alone, if that makes sense. i think of opening my apartment door and crawling into bed naked and sliding on top of a warm body. i think of being abruptly pinned against a wall in some semi-public corridor, heads held an inch apart until it's intolerable, then being absolutely devoured. and devouring them. i imagine their neck, their hands, their mouth. the noises. the smell. the giggly stupid aftermath, boneless, watching the world filter by through drugged vision. i have sex on the brain. sitting here and typing so inocuously!
anonymity can be a blessing.
i usually arrive at this cafe around 10pm. most men, to my surprise, order hot chocolate with whipped cream at this hour. or tea. not a lot of coffee. the hot chocolate orders are charming. i am feeling love for my surroundings. appreciation. 'always something there to remind me' just came on. this is a FUCKING GREAT SONG. i still have the 45. i used to dance around to this in my bedroom when i was a nubile teen. it still makes me feel the same way.
there are people i see in my everyday meanderings who i would love to go up to and say "you look interesting. want to go get some coffee and talk?" i immediately write this off as an unsettling stalkery action, though i would be incredibly flattered if someone did this to me. what do i get on the street? requests for money or lecherous commentary, delivered by old vagrants. i always thank them.
there is a human obscured by a pillar. i can see their laptop, their cup, their back. they are humming (tunefully!) to every song that comes on. it is a male. i had to crane my neck, none too subtly. he is currently accompanying phil collins, the always the same/what a shame song. there is something charming about guys liking terrible music as well. seriously- this is a song EVERYBODY fucking knows, and EVERYBODY fucking sings along to when they're unobserved, and i'm not proud about it either, but damned if it isn't catchy. to my credit, i do not know what it is called, and i am fine with that.
i was blaring neil diamond as i got dressed today. i suppose that completely nullifies me from having any sort of valid musical opinions.
why do i get my second wind after 10pm? why don't stores stay open later? i want to go buy furniture or romp on the beach. i still think my business idea of opening a cafe from only the hours of 9pm to noon is an excellent one. swing-shifters haven't an outlet of their own. the cafe would have a dim, pretentious air, but with one corner full of those damn light-boxes for the vitamin D-deprived. vitamin D-prived? and many plants. perhaps a caged bird to chirp merrily. the patrons can teach it foul words. an i-pod open mic. serve-yerself coffee and hot water. bring a picture of something offensive to hang on the wall and get a free meal. this is MY IDEA!
the walk here is very appealing lately. mown grass, blossoms, the salivatory aroma of the ethiopian restaurant, dryer vents aimed at the sidewalk. it smells lovely here. that is a very important thing, really. it makes it nigh impossible to be in a foul mood.
anonymity can be a blessing.
i usually arrive at this cafe around 10pm. most men, to my surprise, order hot chocolate with whipped cream at this hour. or tea. not a lot of coffee. the hot chocolate orders are charming. i am feeling love for my surroundings. appreciation. 'always something there to remind me' just came on. this is a FUCKING GREAT SONG. i still have the 45. i used to dance around to this in my bedroom when i was a nubile teen. it still makes me feel the same way.
there are people i see in my everyday meanderings who i would love to go up to and say "you look interesting. want to go get some coffee and talk?" i immediately write this off as an unsettling stalkery action, though i would be incredibly flattered if someone did this to me. what do i get on the street? requests for money or lecherous commentary, delivered by old vagrants. i always thank them.
there is a human obscured by a pillar. i can see their laptop, their cup, their back. they are humming (tunefully!) to every song that comes on. it is a male. i had to crane my neck, none too subtly. he is currently accompanying phil collins, the always the same/what a shame song. there is something charming about guys liking terrible music as well. seriously- this is a song EVERYBODY fucking knows, and EVERYBODY fucking sings along to when they're unobserved, and i'm not proud about it either, but damned if it isn't catchy. to my credit, i do not know what it is called, and i am fine with that.
i was blaring neil diamond as i got dressed today. i suppose that completely nullifies me from having any sort of valid musical opinions.
why do i get my second wind after 10pm? why don't stores stay open later? i want to go buy furniture or romp on the beach. i still think my business idea of opening a cafe from only the hours of 9pm to noon is an excellent one. swing-shifters haven't an outlet of their own. the cafe would have a dim, pretentious air, but with one corner full of those damn light-boxes for the vitamin D-deprived. vitamin D-prived? and many plants. perhaps a caged bird to chirp merrily. the patrons can teach it foul words. an i-pod open mic. serve-yerself coffee and hot water. bring a picture of something offensive to hang on the wall and get a free meal. this is MY IDEA!
the walk here is very appealing lately. mown grass, blossoms, the salivatory aroma of the ethiopian restaurant, dryer vents aimed at the sidewalk. it smells lovely here. that is a very important thing, really. it makes it nigh impossible to be in a foul mood.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Thursday, March 23, 2006
the rigors of a day off
some of the best album covers (a list in progress, in no particular order)
except:
#1: revolver, the beatles. every time i look at it i notice something new. always, however subconsciously, modeled my drawing after this. love the faces peeking from the hair. and yes, this by far upstages the (overrated) sgt pepper and (close second) abbey road.
#2: court of the crimson king, king crimson. the only straight lines on this are the teeth. i am a fierce advocate of curves. the colors are fantastic.
#3: whipped cream and other delights, herb alpert & the tijuana brass. fucking brilliant, sexy and hilarious.
-rift, phish. i have a 2.5'x6' print of this on the wall of my loo. i still haven't found all the song titles in the art.
-tapestry, carole king. this looks like a spur-of-the-moment photograph taken by a close friend, probably whilst talking about love and drinking tea. it is a setting i would enjoy living in.
-blind faith. a bit fucking pedophilic and disturbing, done with such sunshiney colors. isn't this one of their daughters?
-lust for life, iggy pop. because every time i look at it i laugh.
-wear your love like heaven, donovan. pink and dreamy yet somehow rather dim and thereby a bit sinister; he looks like a bit of a pervert, lurking in the boat at the bottom of the picture.
-sabbath bloody sabbath, black sabbath. unsettling and creepy. why i don't go to church.
-piano man, billy joel. another style of drawing i have tried to emulate. didn't work too well.
-peter gabriel reflected in the windshield. one of those moments i notice a thousand times and offhandedly wonder if it could be captured on film... like a hand reflected in the chrome as it reaches for the automatic dryer.
-velvet underground. they're all smiling and look very young. it looks like it was taken in somebody's basement. (overrated cover: the velvet underground and nico)
-ecstacy, lou reed. feel kinda dirty just looking at it.
-modern life is rubbish, blur. great layout, great colors, simple.
-animals, pink floyd. reminds me a bit of monty python.
-octopus, gentle giant. can has a similar cover...
-tago mago, can. primitive and instantly recognizable. a guy in seattle makes lapel pins of various lp covers. i saw this one from about 15' away.
-alone together, dave mason. very dated. he looks like a silly fop who ended up randomly propped on a crag. this encapsulates late '60s british music.
i am consciously omitting the following themes: -flaky '70's fairies-and-swirlies art a la yes; overly grin&winky art a la supertramp's 'crisis? what crisis?'; pictures of the bands looking bored/posed/snotty.
i want to see an album cover of the inside of a messy refrigerator, or a dirty lavatory- or of a group of disgruntled commuters on a bus. if there is already such a thing, please let me know.
except:
#1: revolver, the beatles. every time i look at it i notice something new. always, however subconsciously, modeled my drawing after this. love the faces peeking from the hair. and yes, this by far upstages the (overrated) sgt pepper and (close second) abbey road.
#2: court of the crimson king, king crimson. the only straight lines on this are the teeth. i am a fierce advocate of curves. the colors are fantastic.
#3: whipped cream and other delights, herb alpert & the tijuana brass. fucking brilliant, sexy and hilarious.
-rift, phish. i have a 2.5'x6' print of this on the wall of my loo. i still haven't found all the song titles in the art.
-tapestry, carole king. this looks like a spur-of-the-moment photograph taken by a close friend, probably whilst talking about love and drinking tea. it is a setting i would enjoy living in.
-blind faith. a bit fucking pedophilic and disturbing, done with such sunshiney colors. isn't this one of their daughters?
-lust for life, iggy pop. because every time i look at it i laugh.
-wear your love like heaven, donovan. pink and dreamy yet somehow rather dim and thereby a bit sinister; he looks like a bit of a pervert, lurking in the boat at the bottom of the picture.
-sabbath bloody sabbath, black sabbath. unsettling and creepy. why i don't go to church.
-piano man, billy joel. another style of drawing i have tried to emulate. didn't work too well.
-peter gabriel reflected in the windshield. one of those moments i notice a thousand times and offhandedly wonder if it could be captured on film... like a hand reflected in the chrome as it reaches for the automatic dryer.
-velvet underground. they're all smiling and look very young. it looks like it was taken in somebody's basement. (overrated cover: the velvet underground and nico)
-ecstacy, lou reed. feel kinda dirty just looking at it.
-modern life is rubbish, blur. great layout, great colors, simple.
-animals, pink floyd. reminds me a bit of monty python.
-octopus, gentle giant. can has a similar cover...
-tago mago, can. primitive and instantly recognizable. a guy in seattle makes lapel pins of various lp covers. i saw this one from about 15' away.
-alone together, dave mason. very dated. he looks like a silly fop who ended up randomly propped on a crag. this encapsulates late '60s british music.
i am consciously omitting the following themes: -flaky '70's fairies-and-swirlies art a la yes; overly grin&winky art a la supertramp's 'crisis? what crisis?'; pictures of the bands looking bored/posed/snotty.
i want to see an album cover of the inside of a messy refrigerator, or a dirty lavatory- or of a group of disgruntled commuters on a bus. if there is already such a thing, please let me know.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
amid the detritus, peace
i feel very fortunate to love my job. i have been aglow anew about how satisfactory my life really is. little glimpses of how bloody EASY everything can be, or already is... as per usual, the self-loathing apathy-glut of last week has evolved to a sparkly-eyed shrug of the metaphorical shoulders. this feels much better. i am sashaying again.
left seattle this morning cauled by fog, birds a-chirp, the familiar smell of march. by federal way the sunshine had broken through. i was blaring buddy holly. when i first moved to seattle my work commute was greatly dark. time has passed faster than i had expected. feel refreshingly optimistic. i was in the shower yesterday when the "well, duh" thought of life being based on invincible optimism occured to me. i used to consider myself an inherent pessimist, but i now know that to be bullshit. tomorrow always has a welter of possibility. even if i do nothing but sit on my arse, the *potential* for any given moment is awfully seductive.
jethro tull is playing. i have heard so many derisive comments about their ability to perform live. saw them once, ~10 years ago. i sat very far away in an arena with dreadful acoustics- and at the time, i was more excited about their co-headliners, iron butterfly (rather abased about that now). thus, the best shows i have ever been to:
-the cramps at the showbox, seattle. right next to the stage. smacked lux interior's ass.
-phish, the gorge, 2003. the company wasn;t that great but they played 'maze'. (generic flaky soundbite: i really wish phish would reunite! they are fucking brilliant. /end flaky soundbite.)
-damo suzuki and kinski, crocodile cafe. only about 3o people there.
-john fogerty, chateau ste michelle. old people were dancing and the sun was shining.
-projeckt 2, london. bill bruford is incredible to watch.
-peter gabriel, key arena. i got teary. was it the bicycle of 'solsbury hill'? the gerbil ball of 'growing up'? the cheesy prom-night afterglow of 'in your eyes'? the banana split at 13 coins beforehand?
glorious moments of shows that were overshadowed by exogenic circumstances:
-the drunken crush of people at every and all guided by voices show (i rather enjoy my clothes being dampened by sweat that is not my own)
-seeing paul mccartney scream, SCREAM 'helter skelter'. the album version sounds like the fucking carpenters in comparison.
-by the 2nd drink of the savoy brown concert in NYC
-'around the world', cracker/cvb- a song that i listen to and narcissistically feel was written to perfectly complement my life
-david bowie singing 'white light/white heat'
-losing the car after farm aid and having to wait in the rain until the parking lot cleared out
apparently Oma (my mother's mother) is not doing well at all. she'll be 90 this year. i'm going to visit her tomorrow. it is nice to distract from the rigors of reality with "my job ROCKS and i go to CONCERTS la la la"...
left seattle this morning cauled by fog, birds a-chirp, the familiar smell of march. by federal way the sunshine had broken through. i was blaring buddy holly. when i first moved to seattle my work commute was greatly dark. time has passed faster than i had expected. feel refreshingly optimistic. i was in the shower yesterday when the "well, duh" thought of life being based on invincible optimism occured to me. i used to consider myself an inherent pessimist, but i now know that to be bullshit. tomorrow always has a welter of possibility. even if i do nothing but sit on my arse, the *potential* for any given moment is awfully seductive.
jethro tull is playing. i have heard so many derisive comments about their ability to perform live. saw them once, ~10 years ago. i sat very far away in an arena with dreadful acoustics- and at the time, i was more excited about their co-headliners, iron butterfly (rather abased about that now). thus, the best shows i have ever been to:
-the cramps at the showbox, seattle. right next to the stage. smacked lux interior's ass.
-phish, the gorge, 2003. the company wasn;t that great but they played 'maze'. (generic flaky soundbite: i really wish phish would reunite! they are fucking brilliant. /end flaky soundbite.)
-damo suzuki and kinski, crocodile cafe. only about 3o people there.
-john fogerty, chateau ste michelle. old people were dancing and the sun was shining.
-projeckt 2, london. bill bruford is incredible to watch.
-peter gabriel, key arena. i got teary. was it the bicycle of 'solsbury hill'? the gerbil ball of 'growing up'? the cheesy prom-night afterglow of 'in your eyes'? the banana split at 13 coins beforehand?
glorious moments of shows that were overshadowed by exogenic circumstances:
-the drunken crush of people at every and all guided by voices show (i rather enjoy my clothes being dampened by sweat that is not my own)
-seeing paul mccartney scream, SCREAM 'helter skelter'. the album version sounds like the fucking carpenters in comparison.
-by the 2nd drink of the savoy brown concert in NYC
-'around the world', cracker/cvb- a song that i listen to and narcissistically feel was written to perfectly complement my life
-david bowie singing 'white light/white heat'
-losing the car after farm aid and having to wait in the rain until the parking lot cleared out
apparently Oma (my mother's mother) is not doing well at all. she'll be 90 this year. i'm going to visit her tomorrow. it is nice to distract from the rigors of reality with "my job ROCKS and i go to CONCERTS la la la"...
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
altering the recipe for higher altitudes
obvious: lately i had found myself forgetting that i have all the fucking freedom in the world- possibly for the first time in my life. coming to the revelation that i have no one but myself to answer to has made for a peaceful sense of contentment. everything is much easier and attainable this way.
subtle: still caught up in what i should do vs. what i want to do. want to molest a stranger, alter my conscious, drive to baja? or graceland! better not. sensibility or masochistic morality? when the fuck did good idea/bad idea ever really matter in my life before?
walked through a good portion of seattle last night under a perfectly full moon. i always wonder how many other people are looking up at the same time. this is often a rather sexy thought. i imagine people feeling optimistic, awed, aroused, lonely, inspired. i remember camping on a wet grassy hill outside hope, alaska, running around naked in the moonlight. i love the sorts of memories that, in recollection, i am impressed by: yeah, that was part of my life. i was careening down a hill in my car yesterday, no shocks, sailing through the green lights. any pededtrians would have been killed before i would have even noticed their presence. i was singing as loudly as i could to "lola". that was a fucking good moment too.
subtle: still caught up in what i should do vs. what i want to do. want to molest a stranger, alter my conscious, drive to baja? or graceland! better not. sensibility or masochistic morality? when the fuck did good idea/bad idea ever really matter in my life before?
walked through a good portion of seattle last night under a perfectly full moon. i always wonder how many other people are looking up at the same time. this is often a rather sexy thought. i imagine people feeling optimistic, awed, aroused, lonely, inspired. i remember camping on a wet grassy hill outside hope, alaska, running around naked in the moonlight. i love the sorts of memories that, in recollection, i am impressed by: yeah, that was part of my life. i was careening down a hill in my car yesterday, no shocks, sailing through the green lights. any pededtrians would have been killed before i would have even noticed their presence. i was singing as loudly as i could to "lola". that was a fucking good moment too.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
my thoughts are orange and pink
'the lady is a tramp' is playing- it sounds like judy garland. i prefer the sinatra version. his mysogyny is palpable.
so amid the workday bombast: sir galahad (honestly) the boxer, who had been shot with a shotgun (as opposed to a pellet gun, as are most of the roaming beasts in thurston county). zippy the chihuahua, hit by car. beanie the 8wk lab puppy with parvo; the teenage daughter had gotten her yesterday without parental permission, and the bill was already in the many hundreds of dollars. barney the pug with the proptosed eye (dog fight); while it was still dangling out of his head he kept licking it, causing a collective wince throughout the clinic. melodie the standard poodle with the red bows behind both ears, c-section. abbey the nutt, addisonian crisis, wagging her tail and sitting up by the time i left. not many cats.
lounge-singing along with 'moondance' on the radio. 'first date panties', a term i'd never heard before. i said something about sourdoughs in alaska (unrelated from the undergarment conversation) and everyone looked at me like i was mad. nobody had ever heard of that term before. the lobby toilet clogging. blair splattering uterine juice all over surgery. me slamming my fingers into 3 separate doors. fetal heartbeats on ultrasound. driving to work in predawn stupor, not using my wipers in the rain, the world comfortingly blurred. it was a good day.
another peculiar dream last night. i had moved to new york city and rented at the very top of a precariously tall old apartment building. it was on the roof, practically level with the clouds. upon walking towards it as 'mine', i realized that the door was actually suspended ~50 floors above the ground and i would have to dangle off a pipe or rappel along brick to get inside. began to panic- how the fuck was i going to get into my lair, and once in, how would i leave? the previous tenant hadn't seemed to have a problem with it. found myself avoiding the place... decided to ride my bike to the subway station to get to school. careening down a zigzaggy, 45-degree incline hill, nearly dying multiple times on the way down- again, passing people who seem to have no issue with the terrifying inertia. get to the above-ground subway station, leave my bike against a wall as i run a quick errand, and come back to find my bike stolen. start to despair. in the dream, i have given up everything to move to this fabulous city and have a fabulous life, and my home and transportation are already fucked. the dream gets frenetic at this point. i discover that by going into other buildings, i somehow end up in mine, so i am clambering through a very snitzy hotel with various costly boutiques- and a slanty floor, and ceilings that i have to hunch over for, as if i am tripping through a psychedelic cubist painting. off one hallway is a gourmet chocolate shop. 'free samples!' i think, and veer off to admire the intricate cakes with spun sugar and shaved decorations. i am then walking at street level of the same hotel, next to a sunny beach, trying to catch up with him. he is scornfully avoiding me. 'i am fucking tired of your crap' is either said or implied. i wake up. i sense a theme in my reveries. analyses are welcome. surely there is all sorts of mind-fuck hoo-ha to dissect.
this is another entry i shall not edit whatsoever.
so amid the workday bombast: sir galahad (honestly) the boxer, who had been shot with a shotgun (as opposed to a pellet gun, as are most of the roaming beasts in thurston county). zippy the chihuahua, hit by car. beanie the 8wk lab puppy with parvo; the teenage daughter had gotten her yesterday without parental permission, and the bill was already in the many hundreds of dollars. barney the pug with the proptosed eye (dog fight); while it was still dangling out of his head he kept licking it, causing a collective wince throughout the clinic. melodie the standard poodle with the red bows behind both ears, c-section. abbey the nutt, addisonian crisis, wagging her tail and sitting up by the time i left. not many cats.
lounge-singing along with 'moondance' on the radio. 'first date panties', a term i'd never heard before. i said something about sourdoughs in alaska (unrelated from the undergarment conversation) and everyone looked at me like i was mad. nobody had ever heard of that term before. the lobby toilet clogging. blair splattering uterine juice all over surgery. me slamming my fingers into 3 separate doors. fetal heartbeats on ultrasound. driving to work in predawn stupor, not using my wipers in the rain, the world comfortingly blurred. it was a good day.
another peculiar dream last night. i had moved to new york city and rented at the very top of a precariously tall old apartment building. it was on the roof, practically level with the clouds. upon walking towards it as 'mine', i realized that the door was actually suspended ~50 floors above the ground and i would have to dangle off a pipe or rappel along brick to get inside. began to panic- how the fuck was i going to get into my lair, and once in, how would i leave? the previous tenant hadn't seemed to have a problem with it. found myself avoiding the place... decided to ride my bike to the subway station to get to school. careening down a zigzaggy, 45-degree incline hill, nearly dying multiple times on the way down- again, passing people who seem to have no issue with the terrifying inertia. get to the above-ground subway station, leave my bike against a wall as i run a quick errand, and come back to find my bike stolen. start to despair. in the dream, i have given up everything to move to this fabulous city and have a fabulous life, and my home and transportation are already fucked. the dream gets frenetic at this point. i discover that by going into other buildings, i somehow end up in mine, so i am clambering through a very snitzy hotel with various costly boutiques- and a slanty floor, and ceilings that i have to hunch over for, as if i am tripping through a psychedelic cubist painting. off one hallway is a gourmet chocolate shop. 'free samples!' i think, and veer off to admire the intricate cakes with spun sugar and shaved decorations. i am then walking at street level of the same hotel, next to a sunny beach, trying to catch up with him. he is scornfully avoiding me. 'i am fucking tired of your crap' is either said or implied. i wake up. i sense a theme in my reveries. analyses are welcome. surely there is all sorts of mind-fuck hoo-ha to dissect.
this is another entry i shall not edit whatsoever.
Friday, March 03, 2006
slapped upside the head
the calibre of the AA meeting really makes all the difference. despite my flaming atheism, i far prefer the 'normal' form, with the serenity prayer and the holding of hands. it makes it much more human and thereby unifying, and thereby effective. i have had a completely shitty 2 days and feel incredibly saner now.
went to bellingham yesterday for the first time in roughly 8 years. it reminds me a lot of olympia, the good parts. my mother, unbeknownst to me, was up there yesterday as well. she found the house (actually, a converted chicken coop) that we'd lived in from my birth until age 2. "it's a dump" she said cheerily. "it looks like a crack house." i wish i'd known she'd be up there. as it was, i didn't stay long, for my GI system was being ornery as usual. i felt better after leaving; drove back to seattle with the sun in my eyes, window open, stopping for saltwater taffy in stanwood. attended a gay marriage debate last night. the rev. ken hutcherson, "the bible is the FINAL WORD and homosexuality is a SIN" in one corner; the rev. ron sims, king county bigwig, "bigotry in any form is wrong, love yer neighbor" in the other. it was a very rousing and polarized evening. the liberal (rational) mindset was in far greater abundance, comfortingly. the woman in front of me kept rearranging her shawl and slapping me with her hair.
today i... walked around a lot. surly as fuck. scornful of everything. the ex keeps leaving messages on my phone, asking why i haven't called him back. that is contributing to the greatest amount of stress currently. speaking with him in any form would eradicate any progress i've made in the last several months; besides, i still have a fresh arsenal of unwarranted venom about everything, and i'd rather not indulge it. as stated before: i just want to hide until it all goes away. i want minions to deal with my crap. yes, minions. there was an AA meeting at 5.30 this evening that i essentially planned my day around. at 5.15 i showed up to find a locked, dark building and no one else around. i called the seattle AA mainline. "was this meeting cancelled?" i asked politely. "no..." said the woman who answered. there was a long silence. "well, okay, thanks" i said stupidly. further grumpiness. walked down queen anne avenue in heels. smelled roses at the flower stand. drank a $3 cup of jasmine white tea. watched a man compulsively dent his empty soda can for 10 minutes straight. 2 different people complimented my hair. (the other night i was walking down broadway. as i passed a stairwell one of the men sprawled on the stairs yelled "hey!" i stopped. "you're beautiful" he said. "thank you" i replied, smiling like a fucking idiot in spite of myself. turned to walk away. "sometimes" he called after me. i felt even more foolish then.) throughout this entire benign, silly day, i was feeling ridiculously sorry for myself, pissed at the world, disgusted by all.
i wasn't going to go to the 7.30 meeting since it would probably also NOT EXIST, but i am immeasurably glad i did. i feel in-focus again. things seem much easier now than they did 3 hours ago.
2 things to remember:
1. everyone is fucked up in their own ways
2. i'm probably not as fucked up as i think i am
what good is narcissism if it's of the self-loathing variety, anyhow?
went to bellingham yesterday for the first time in roughly 8 years. it reminds me a lot of olympia, the good parts. my mother, unbeknownst to me, was up there yesterday as well. she found the house (actually, a converted chicken coop) that we'd lived in from my birth until age 2. "it's a dump" she said cheerily. "it looks like a crack house." i wish i'd known she'd be up there. as it was, i didn't stay long, for my GI system was being ornery as usual. i felt better after leaving; drove back to seattle with the sun in my eyes, window open, stopping for saltwater taffy in stanwood. attended a gay marriage debate last night. the rev. ken hutcherson, "the bible is the FINAL WORD and homosexuality is a SIN" in one corner; the rev. ron sims, king county bigwig, "bigotry in any form is wrong, love yer neighbor" in the other. it was a very rousing and polarized evening. the liberal (rational) mindset was in far greater abundance, comfortingly. the woman in front of me kept rearranging her shawl and slapping me with her hair.
today i... walked around a lot. surly as fuck. scornful of everything. the ex keeps leaving messages on my phone, asking why i haven't called him back. that is contributing to the greatest amount of stress currently. speaking with him in any form would eradicate any progress i've made in the last several months; besides, i still have a fresh arsenal of unwarranted venom about everything, and i'd rather not indulge it. as stated before: i just want to hide until it all goes away. i want minions to deal with my crap. yes, minions. there was an AA meeting at 5.30 this evening that i essentially planned my day around. at 5.15 i showed up to find a locked, dark building and no one else around. i called the seattle AA mainline. "was this meeting cancelled?" i asked politely. "no..." said the woman who answered. there was a long silence. "well, okay, thanks" i said stupidly. further grumpiness. walked down queen anne avenue in heels. smelled roses at the flower stand. drank a $3 cup of jasmine white tea. watched a man compulsively dent his empty soda can for 10 minutes straight. 2 different people complimented my hair. (the other night i was walking down broadway. as i passed a stairwell one of the men sprawled on the stairs yelled "hey!" i stopped. "you're beautiful" he said. "thank you" i replied, smiling like a fucking idiot in spite of myself. turned to walk away. "sometimes" he called after me. i felt even more foolish then.) throughout this entire benign, silly day, i was feeling ridiculously sorry for myself, pissed at the world, disgusted by all.
i wasn't going to go to the 7.30 meeting since it would probably also NOT EXIST, but i am immeasurably glad i did. i feel in-focus again. things seem much easier now than they did 3 hours ago.
2 things to remember:
1. everyone is fucked up in their own ways
2. i'm probably not as fucked up as i think i am
what good is narcissism if it's of the self-loathing variety, anyhow?
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
the pendulum is not only swinging, it's tying itself in knots
from AA to a robert pollard concert at the croc; life is nothing without contrast. i ended up about 4 people back from the stage, surrounded by mostly guys in varying stages of inebriation. two people beside me were discussing how fucked up pollard always is, the show at graceland in particular. this was a show from 2 years ago that i attended. i was content to eavesdrop. they showed a merrie melodies cartoon prior to the show, about a man who finds a frog who can dance and sing baritone opera. he thinks he can get rich off this frog and buys an opulent concert hall to display him, but when anyone else shows up to see, the frog clams up and looks despondent. the man is eventually deemed crazy and destitute; in frustration, he seals the frog in a box that's placed into a time capsule within a building. "2056" the screen blares, and the world of the future, with flying cars and yes-album-cover topography, shows another person discovering the frog upon implosion of the building. it was amusing to see a crowd of fairly disparate folks riveted to a cartoon.
the concert itself was fucking awesome. he was drunk as usual. i counted 6 beers and 5 shots of tequila in the 90 minutes i was there. the band was excellent; if i closed my eyes pollard sounded like someone singing karaoke badly. he told the obnoxious troll next to me to "shut his fucking piehole." the man has charisma. five songs in he bummed a cigarette from someone in the audience, despite the bullshit new law in washington state banning all cigarettes indoors and within 25' of doorways. everyone cheered. (today's paper: seattle is attempting to ban smoking at bus shelters as well. what is this, fucking utah?)
i missed the bus and walked home. the streets are eerie and peaceful at 1am. the only people out are up to no good. i like being part of that generalization. i was partially deaf for most of today. exhausted and absurdly unmotivated at the tacoma ER. stood around and bullshat much more than i should have. dusted lab machines. stocked shelves. watched andy the poodle try to die (one of the two dogs at the hospital with leptospirosis; there were 3 patients altogether, a new low for tacoma).
work is the last fucking thing on my mind lately.
i have been fantasizing about taking a lot of time off.
i am too poor, and too miserly, to do this.
i am fucking tired of working weekends.
the air smells like spring, even if it's still freezing cold.
i cannot tell if i am happy or hyperactive. perhaps both. my thoughts are racing.
the concert itself was fucking awesome. he was drunk as usual. i counted 6 beers and 5 shots of tequila in the 90 minutes i was there. the band was excellent; if i closed my eyes pollard sounded like someone singing karaoke badly. he told the obnoxious troll next to me to "shut his fucking piehole." the man has charisma. five songs in he bummed a cigarette from someone in the audience, despite the bullshit new law in washington state banning all cigarettes indoors and within 25' of doorways. everyone cheered. (today's paper: seattle is attempting to ban smoking at bus shelters as well. what is this, fucking utah?)
i missed the bus and walked home. the streets are eerie and peaceful at 1am. the only people out are up to no good. i like being part of that generalization. i was partially deaf for most of today. exhausted and absurdly unmotivated at the tacoma ER. stood around and bullshat much more than i should have. dusted lab machines. stocked shelves. watched andy the poodle try to die (one of the two dogs at the hospital with leptospirosis; there were 3 patients altogether, a new low for tacoma).
work is the last fucking thing on my mind lately.
i have been fantasizing about taking a lot of time off.
i am too poor, and too miserly, to do this.
i am fucking tired of working weekends.
the air smells like spring, even if it's still freezing cold.
i cannot tell if i am happy or hyperactive. perhaps both. my thoughts are racing.
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