ah, typical freneticness. freneticism?
work was fucking terrible this week. i am so tired of bouncing in with a smile only to be met by a gaggle of curmudgeony wenches. everyone there seems so unhappy with their lives, or at least their vocation- and i have stopped taking it personally, since they are like that with everyone. over half the people there are new, brand-new, "hey you" new, which adds to the frustration and discombobulated vibe. and then i saw that the schedule i had requested two months ago was assigned to someone whose FIRST DAY was sunday. and i decided, fuck it. i had applied yet again to UW two weeks ago (i have been courting their various facilities since february) and suddenly did not feel so guilty in doing so. and on monday i heard back from one of the positions... i emailed her back whilst at work, on the clock, "on a break", not really caring.
a nihilistic attitude is bad. i know better. yesterday i vowed to try better. i was suckered into transporting two fucking kittens to some rescue place in kirkland, which my coworkers seem to think is mere steps from seattle... and that was expanded to include a wild bird that someone had dropped off at the AEC- could i transport that to the wildlife transfer clinic in bellevue? "they're sister cities!" the receptionist/bleeding heart chirped. no, they actually are not, but whatever. so after my 12hr shift i loaded my car with the 2-wk-old, flea-anemic, please-don't-die-on-the-way-there kittens and a cardboard box containing a creature of indeterminate class. i referred to it as "the grackle." driving to the godforsaken east side at 11pm... i got lost, of course, ending up on a dark road buffered with horse-xing signs, getting increasingly pissed off. when i eventually dropped the cats off it was at a very nice split-level home of expected kirklandian means. the woman was perhaps 80 pounds with eye shadow up to her brows- bleached blonde, tight jeans, a musical voice. the place was immaculate, about 10 gorgeous cats circling me, no sign of hair or odor anyplace. the carpet was white, the pillows floral and carefully arranged, a polished chair artfully stacked with decorative stuffed animals in the corner. it was very surreal. her husband came wandering out, large and jovial, the sort of man i could picture fishing with my dad. they were both incredibly nice. i had a strange detached feeling whilst there: looking in on a completely different universe that i had never before known. these people, with their cats and generosity and awake-at-midnight-edness, have always existed. i just never knew.
afterwards i drove the restless grackle to the 24-hr clinic in bellevue, a rinky-dink operation with paneled walls and bright green carpet and a girl answering the door who looked no older than 20. she took the box to the treatment area while i pocketed boxes of nerds from the candy jar on the counter. they thought the bird was a baby swan. i rather doubt it, but perhaps there are orphaned cygnets wandering the bowels of tacoma that i am, again, simply oblivious to.
*
i am often oblivious to a hell of a lot.
*
oh! there was a penile amputation at work on monday. lab, "felix", chronic urolithiasis and cystitis, penis necrotic. the (male) doctor chopped off the whole fucking thing and redirected his urethra to an opening near his scrotum. this is a common surgery for cats but i'd never been privy to a dog one, especially a large breed. the penis was wrapped in a towel awaiting formalin when one of the other techs accidentally grabbed it. the penis fell out and smacked her arm. "holy shit!" she yelled,loud enough for everyone in the treatment room to hear. i was the one who
eventually got to package it.
again: once i stop and think about the details, life becomes almost too peculiar to really fathom. i shall consider my obliviousness not a character flaw but a survival mechanism.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
"you know who you look like? carol kane."
i want to be overseas by my 30th birthday. it can happen. i will try.
i have been in a great deal of physical pain lately- it feels as if someone has smacked me around with a bat. i am getting used to it. i am moving rather animatronically (is that the word?). it gets better as the day progresses, or perhaps it was the nice alcohol buzz, but i had little problem sprawling on s's sofa in the dark and making out with him like we were in high school. i am skittish as fuck about anything serious. as usual. but he's intelligent as fuck, makes me laugh, makes me happy. and that is all i need, really.
this weekend my uncle is apparently moving my grandmother into a nursing home. she does not know this yet. my grandfather has been in the hospital this week. i went to their house last saturday for my oma's 91st birthday. he looked like he was going to keel over at any moment; she was sporadically sentient but often not. i have so much more appreciation for my mother. watching the three of them interact, their facial expressions, how she handles them both with a bemused complacency that is mostly absent from the rest of her life, makes me feel really fucking lucky to know her. i would love my mother even if she wasn't my mother.
my father, on the other hand, has been aloof and nippy with me lately- as if he's begrudgingly accomodating a stranger. and it hurts my feelings and pisses me off, but not so much that i'll actually ask him why. i suspect my mother may have relayed some of my comments from a few weeks ago, when she and i went out to dinner (fucking applebee's, in tacoma- her suggestion. i had never been in one before, on purpose. it was hideous. i had fries.). "he constantly is on your case" i said. "it's been pretty alienating. i don't really like being around the two of you together because of how he treats you." my mother smiled and shrugged. "funny, everyone says how mean doug is" she said, "but i never see it." i didn't push the conversation further.
i am typing this in the airy library in quaint north bend, in a residential area with clean yards and american flags a-flyin'.
i passed the diner where twin peaks was filmed, where c and i once sat among hundreds of stuffed tweety birds, where the women's loo had a plumbing bill adhered to the wall with "DON'T FLUSH ANYTHING BUT TOILET PAPER!" scrawled above it. now, a brighter time, sleeveless, with cherries and blueberries being sold alongside the road. and 'see emily play' was on the radio.
i just wish my body would comply with my mind.
i have been in a great deal of physical pain lately- it feels as if someone has smacked me around with a bat. i am getting used to it. i am moving rather animatronically (is that the word?). it gets better as the day progresses, or perhaps it was the nice alcohol buzz, but i had little problem sprawling on s's sofa in the dark and making out with him like we were in high school. i am skittish as fuck about anything serious. as usual. but he's intelligent as fuck, makes me laugh, makes me happy. and that is all i need, really.
this weekend my uncle is apparently moving my grandmother into a nursing home. she does not know this yet. my grandfather has been in the hospital this week. i went to their house last saturday for my oma's 91st birthday. he looked like he was going to keel over at any moment; she was sporadically sentient but often not. i have so much more appreciation for my mother. watching the three of them interact, their facial expressions, how she handles them both with a bemused complacency that is mostly absent from the rest of her life, makes me feel really fucking lucky to know her. i would love my mother even if she wasn't my mother.
my father, on the other hand, has been aloof and nippy with me lately- as if he's begrudgingly accomodating a stranger. and it hurts my feelings and pisses me off, but not so much that i'll actually ask him why. i suspect my mother may have relayed some of my comments from a few weeks ago, when she and i went out to dinner (fucking applebee's, in tacoma- her suggestion. i had never been in one before, on purpose. it was hideous. i had fries.). "he constantly is on your case" i said. "it's been pretty alienating. i don't really like being around the two of you together because of how he treats you." my mother smiled and shrugged. "funny, everyone says how mean doug is" she said, "but i never see it." i didn't push the conversation further.
i am typing this in the airy library in quaint north bend, in a residential area with clean yards and american flags a-flyin'.
i passed the diner where twin peaks was filmed, where c and i once sat among hundreds of stuffed tweety birds, where the women's loo had a plumbing bill adhered to the wall with "DON'T FLUSH ANYTHING BUT TOILET PAPER!" scrawled above it. now, a brighter time, sleeveless, with cherries and blueberries being sold alongside the road. and 'see emily play' was on the radio.
i just wish my body would comply with my mind.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
with fingertips stained green from decoupage
it is still 80 degrees at 10pm. a very good live version of 'jane says' is playing- how can one go astray with marimbas? (marimbae?) and i feel a lazy giddiness about the whole fucking world, even as i feel residually pathetic for leaving work early due to some of the most horrifying body cramps i have ever experienced- i returned home and took a fitful nap, under the covers despite the 90 degree afternoon. is it ms, which can apparently be painful? the ibd? i would be more inclined to blame the latter. motherfucking autoimmunity. i feel fine now, just guilty.
the glow stems from meeting someone who i really fucking dig. i admit it. and the best part is, i'm not even worried about it. it felt comfortable from the absolute get-go. that has only happened once before... to someone i was never married to. i am perhaps most pleased by the realization that there aren't only schmucks in the world, that i am still somewhat desireable, and that, most importantly, i am able to desire back. i am still alive after all.
the glow stems from meeting someone who i really fucking dig. i admit it. and the best part is, i'm not even worried about it. it felt comfortable from the absolute get-go. that has only happened once before... to someone i was never married to. i am perhaps most pleased by the realization that there aren't only schmucks in the world, that i am still somewhat desireable, and that, most importantly, i am able to desire back. i am still alive after all.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
i am remembering my dreams again- this happens cyclically, and with a vengeance. last night: i was in a bedroom much like the berth of a ship, softly lit, lamps draped with gauzy cloth like a nautical bordello/preteen slumber party. i had just returned from a long drive, having realized whilst on my way home that i had forgotten about watching j's dog, who had been ignored in my apartment for days. and when i arrived, the dog had completely saturated my bed and mattress with urine. i was starting to clean it when i discovered i'd covered the blankets with absorbable pads- the kind we use in the cages at work- but the urine had soaked through and around, and i was going to have to clean and replace everything anyway... and i woke up panicked, worrying about getting to work in mere hours, and it took me a good two minutes before i was fully aware that it really was all a dream. i don't like feeling late or neglectful. or like i need to clean.
then: i was going to a hunting lodge with s, dark dead of winter, on a road in alaska that does not exist but that has been represented in several of my dreams (i have an alternate universe of familiar loci- my own sim city of irrelevance).
we were both in wonderful moods, laughing about how we don't even ski or hunt and we should probably just hang out at the bar under the antlers. we stopped on the way at a brightly lit service station. yes: it was a toilet dream. I ALWAYS HAVE DREAMS ABOUT TOILETS! (the micturating dog in the former was merely a precursor.) this has been my theme since i can remember: not a need to use the loo, or really anything to do with urine or feces or whatnot; no, it has always been a quest, a seeking, and always to public facilities, and always with something terribly wrong. i have to walk through a labryinth or along crumbling brick barrier walls, for example. or the bowls have been smashed. or the floor is covered in six inches of water and there are spraying pipes jutting out from the ceiling. on a curious note, i just realized that: in all my toilet dreams, i have yet to encounter a toilet that is actually clogged; rarely is the water anything but water (thus making the environment only unclean in a faulty-plumbing sort of way, not in a human waste free-for-all); and when i wake up from these dreams, i never have even the slightest urge to run to the loo (and nor have i already gone, if it need be said.)
this has gone on long enough, been weirdly consistent (in its bizarre inconsistency) long enough, and been a gross topic to dream about for long enough that i have consulted several dream guides to tell me i'm not a freak. and lo, i am not. perhaps i have already written about this sometime prior... dreaming of toilets (in their natural, unclogged, no-personal-physical-hardship-attached state): "symbolizes a release of emotions or getting rid of something in your life that is useless." (thank you, dreammoods.com)
i know that dream analysis is complete and utter bullshit, but i like this assessment quite a lot. like a fortune cookie, i shall bend its meaning to make my reality seem a bit more sane.
anyhow: the dream ended with me eating "just veggies", that fucking delightful freeze-dried vegetable crack that comes in the little plastic bucket with the pictures of smiling tomatoes and carrots. s came over and asked what it was. "ooh, i've just had the fruit kinds before," she said. we got into an animated discussion about the various flavors of their products when i woke up.
this really is the kind of mundane crap i dream about. i probably shouldn't even admit it.
and i can see us having exactly that conversation. it makes me smile now.
then: i was going to a hunting lodge with s, dark dead of winter, on a road in alaska that does not exist but that has been represented in several of my dreams (i have an alternate universe of familiar loci- my own sim city of irrelevance).
we were both in wonderful moods, laughing about how we don't even ski or hunt and we should probably just hang out at the bar under the antlers. we stopped on the way at a brightly lit service station. yes: it was a toilet dream. I ALWAYS HAVE DREAMS ABOUT TOILETS! (the micturating dog in the former was merely a precursor.) this has been my theme since i can remember: not a need to use the loo, or really anything to do with urine or feces or whatnot; no, it has always been a quest, a seeking, and always to public facilities, and always with something terribly wrong. i have to walk through a labryinth or along crumbling brick barrier walls, for example. or the bowls have been smashed. or the floor is covered in six inches of water and there are spraying pipes jutting out from the ceiling. on a curious note, i just realized that: in all my toilet dreams, i have yet to encounter a toilet that is actually clogged; rarely is the water anything but water (thus making the environment only unclean in a faulty-plumbing sort of way, not in a human waste free-for-all); and when i wake up from these dreams, i never have even the slightest urge to run to the loo (and nor have i already gone, if it need be said.)
this has gone on long enough, been weirdly consistent (in its bizarre inconsistency) long enough, and been a gross topic to dream about for long enough that i have consulted several dream guides to tell me i'm not a freak. and lo, i am not. perhaps i have already written about this sometime prior... dreaming of toilets (in their natural, unclogged, no-personal-physical-hardship-attached state): "symbolizes a release of emotions or getting rid of something in your life that is useless." (thank you, dreammoods.com)
i know that dream analysis is complete and utter bullshit, but i like this assessment quite a lot. like a fortune cookie, i shall bend its meaning to make my reality seem a bit more sane.
anyhow: the dream ended with me eating "just veggies", that fucking delightful freeze-dried vegetable crack that comes in the little plastic bucket with the pictures of smiling tomatoes and carrots. s came over and asked what it was. "ooh, i've just had the fruit kinds before," she said. we got into an animated discussion about the various flavors of their products when i woke up.
this really is the kind of mundane crap i dream about. i probably shouldn't even admit it.
and i can see us having exactly that conversation. it makes me smile now.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
"in short, we look back nostalgically on everything, which proves without question that it was beautiful."
yesterday, the 4th of july, was disarmingly hot and sunny. i rearranged furniture and wandered about. every time i see nsb i feel like an idiot. have i ever been so attracted to a person? i feel like i am thirteen and obsessively writing our names together in a notebook, not that i would have ever done such a thing. i still know nothing about him, 1. because i am a chickenshit, and 2. because to know anything would tidily fuck up the little fantasyland i guiltily enjoy. it is nice, i guess, to have a face to attach to my heretofore abstract lust.
i found one of my favorite, and out of print, books at the used store: 'the hermit' by ionesco. i bought my first copy at twice sold tales roughly ten years ago; i read it on the bus through a dark miserable january towards my dark miserable job at the construction-insurance place in bellevue- the job with the foul-smelling, visibly nippled, leering boss; the secretary whom i'd assisted when i was an abortion counselor; the guy who embezzled several thousand dollars from some of the clients; and the carpenter who wandered to my desk one day and said "wow, i haven't heard this in a while" upon hearing my cassette of 'magic and loss.' god, that job sucked. anyhow, ionesco: i had given away my copy once back in AK, and had thought of it many times since. it is one of the most clausterphobic and depressing novels i've ever read: the character is a neurotic unlikeable pathetic drunk who pisses his life away amid a blurry litany of justification, procrastination, and cowardice. and it is disturbingly easy to relate to, on however minute a level. so i esconsed myself in a corner of an upstairs bar, in dimness as the sun blazed outside, and read the first half of it whilst drinking vodka. i was the only one there. and it was quite enjoyable, albeit eerily akin to reading about salmonella whilst eating steak tartare.
afterwards j came by my lair to watch the fireworks. he text-messaged his girlfriend the entire time, often checking his phone while i was actually talking. the rudeness of that didn't fully hit me until after he left and i went on a midnight stroll around my neighborhood. another analogy: it was like a new mother babbling relentlessly to her childless friends about her new baby. that's great, happy for you, but fuck. he brought his panicked dog with him. the dog and my cats did surprisingly well together. thus, intermingled with my mild text-irritation, i found myself happily considering getting a dog. "it would go everywhere with me" i thought. "we would have adventures." it is still a nice idea, but i'm sober now.
*
today: drove to fucking marysville and bought a jello cookbook (yet another one- there are as many jello recipes as there are stars in the heavens, m'lord) at the thrift store. icq'd with b for most of the day. he always prompts a sense of yearning wanderlust, whether he intends to or not. this surely had a detrimental effect on our marriage- i never was able to just BE with him, to just live in the moment, and worse yet, i didn't really want to. no, i take that back. there were plenty of times when the world began and ended with him, with the space we shared, when i was oblivious and indifferent to everything outside of our little bubble. in a sick way, that's what made the good times really fucking gorgeous... and the bad times so incredibly awful. it was a very manic relationship. that was a long fucking time ago. i feel an automatic sense of detachment from that entire era now: another scene from a movie i've only watched dozens of times.
sometimes i still miss it.
life is an odd duck.
whatever the fuck that means. i am mad-libbing my brain.
i went to the seattle art museum for the first time since its reopening. the place is amazing. i only made it through the first floor. highlights: rothko, my favorite (red on ochre is my favorite of the favorites, which is not the one they have). "gold and blue and a short skirt", one of the most jaw-droppingly erotic things i have ever seen. my reflection inside the dog-tag gown- this piece is huge, scary, and horribly persuasive. the photo of the scrawny woman and her baby pet monkey- like something out of david lynch. the shadows of the asian woman's false eyelashes against her cheek, her areola barely exposed. the curved white on black possibly being the full moon contrasting against the dark universe. warhol's rorschach- two stereotypical chinamen, backs to each other, facing rearing ponies? i could go on. i will go back instead.
it is glorious to be in PROXIMITY to such cool things. wanderlust will always be there; i have resigned myself to it being one of my most annoying qualities- but don't think i don't appreciate what i've got. even if i had to leave the museum not because i was bored with the art but because my eyes were starting to cross and my face felt numb (i think i am an advil addict. placebo or not, it seems to 'help' my ms-related weirdnesses. thus i will be inconvenienced with inevitable liver failure instead.) i still had the privelege of stepping outside into 80 degree cloudlessness, conversations in all languages transpiring around me, and really cool buildings overhead. and further uptown i walked along a sidewalk lined with '40's bungalows and cars with liberal bumper stickers, sidestepping zealous blooms of lavender.
i found one of my favorite, and out of print, books at the used store: 'the hermit' by ionesco. i bought my first copy at twice sold tales roughly ten years ago; i read it on the bus through a dark miserable january towards my dark miserable job at the construction-insurance place in bellevue- the job with the foul-smelling, visibly nippled, leering boss; the secretary whom i'd assisted when i was an abortion counselor; the guy who embezzled several thousand dollars from some of the clients; and the carpenter who wandered to my desk one day and said "wow, i haven't heard this in a while" upon hearing my cassette of 'magic and loss.' god, that job sucked. anyhow, ionesco: i had given away my copy once back in AK, and had thought of it many times since. it is one of the most clausterphobic and depressing novels i've ever read: the character is a neurotic unlikeable pathetic drunk who pisses his life away amid a blurry litany of justification, procrastination, and cowardice. and it is disturbingly easy to relate to, on however minute a level. so i esconsed myself in a corner of an upstairs bar, in dimness as the sun blazed outside, and read the first half of it whilst drinking vodka. i was the only one there. and it was quite enjoyable, albeit eerily akin to reading about salmonella whilst eating steak tartare.
afterwards j came by my lair to watch the fireworks. he text-messaged his girlfriend the entire time, often checking his phone while i was actually talking. the rudeness of that didn't fully hit me until after he left and i went on a midnight stroll around my neighborhood. another analogy: it was like a new mother babbling relentlessly to her childless friends about her new baby. that's great, happy for you, but fuck. he brought his panicked dog with him. the dog and my cats did surprisingly well together. thus, intermingled with my mild text-irritation, i found myself happily considering getting a dog. "it would go everywhere with me" i thought. "we would have adventures." it is still a nice idea, but i'm sober now.
*
today: drove to fucking marysville and bought a jello cookbook (yet another one- there are as many jello recipes as there are stars in the heavens, m'lord) at the thrift store. icq'd with b for most of the day. he always prompts a sense of yearning wanderlust, whether he intends to or not. this surely had a detrimental effect on our marriage- i never was able to just BE with him, to just live in the moment, and worse yet, i didn't really want to. no, i take that back. there were plenty of times when the world began and ended with him, with the space we shared, when i was oblivious and indifferent to everything outside of our little bubble. in a sick way, that's what made the good times really fucking gorgeous... and the bad times so incredibly awful. it was a very manic relationship. that was a long fucking time ago. i feel an automatic sense of detachment from that entire era now: another scene from a movie i've only watched dozens of times.
sometimes i still miss it.
life is an odd duck.
whatever the fuck that means. i am mad-libbing my brain.
i went to the seattle art museum for the first time since its reopening. the place is amazing. i only made it through the first floor. highlights: rothko, my favorite (red on ochre is my favorite of the favorites, which is not the one they have). "gold and blue and a short skirt", one of the most jaw-droppingly erotic things i have ever seen. my reflection inside the dog-tag gown- this piece is huge, scary, and horribly persuasive. the photo of the scrawny woman and her baby pet monkey- like something out of david lynch. the shadows of the asian woman's false eyelashes against her cheek, her areola barely exposed. the curved white on black possibly being the full moon contrasting against the dark universe. warhol's rorschach- two stereotypical chinamen, backs to each other, facing rearing ponies? i could go on. i will go back instead.
it is glorious to be in PROXIMITY to such cool things. wanderlust will always be there; i have resigned myself to it being one of my most annoying qualities- but don't think i don't appreciate what i've got. even if i had to leave the museum not because i was bored with the art but because my eyes were starting to cross and my face felt numb (i think i am an advil addict. placebo or not, it seems to 'help' my ms-related weirdnesses. thus i will be inconvenienced with inevitable liver failure instead.) i still had the privelege of stepping outside into 80 degree cloudlessness, conversations in all languages transpiring around me, and really cool buildings overhead. and further uptown i walked along a sidewalk lined with '40's bungalows and cars with liberal bumper stickers, sidestepping zealous blooms of lavender.
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