yesterday on the bus: i was sitting diagonally in front of a visibly homeless man. he began loudly talking with (at) the woman sitting behind me. she was very soft-spoken and patient, told him her name (which he proceeded to mispronounce at least ten times), and advised him to find jesus. "i'm not big into that stuff" said he, at which point i can guess that she probably demurred and turned away, because he switched gears immediately. "oh yeah, only book i have with me is the bible" he said. i heard him thump his chest. "keep it right here. oh yeah, it's a good one." "i need to get off this bus" he added. "i really should get off. i'm going to the hospital. i really need to get off. i'm gonna have a long walk if i get off now. i got to get to the hospital." a young guy was sitting across from him at this point and politely asked him what was wrong. "it's my damn ear" he shouted. perhaps his volume was so enhanced because of this otic malady? "i think it's a tick." "maybe you got water in it" the young guy suggested. scornful tone: "i'm homeless! i live in a damn tent. i didn't get water in it. i think it's a tick."
the young guy was asking him questions i would have loved to have the cajones to. how did he get his tent? goodwill. how long has he been homeless? three years. three years in the same spot, on the west side of magnolia. he's gone through five tents. came from omaha. it gets damn cold there.
i got off at the bookstore and read "the sweeter side of r crumb." he is fucking amazing. there are many drawings of french buildings and alleyways. he focuses on the wiring and plumbing, the exterior drainpipes half-buried under centuries of stucco and brick. his women have bodies that seep sex and life and warmth: legs that would pin you to the sagging mattress. there is one portrait of a man with a beard, sunglasses, and a baseball cap, waiting at a bus stop, dated mid-eighties, and it was so familiar- i could almost picture the street, the august sunshine slanting orangely, shadows quick and lissome, cigarette smoke mingling with the smells of barbecues and diesel and dumpsters and flat beer- i stared at it for about five minutes. it almost made me forget about the man on the bus.
today: scrungy and unclean (i bathe lazily come late afternoon on my days off), hair in a bun, i am at fred meyer to buy toilet paper and the shredded-pine cat litter that they only sell there. i see one of my coworkers. we smile awkwardly: "hey! how are you?" "doing good!" this is a novel experience, running into a coworker in public- it was rare that i would commute to tacoma, say, on my days off to procure minutae. thank god i wasn't holding star magazine and a box of monistat, i guess.
*
the office building across the way just turned off several floors worth of lights. so did the one next to it. it is six pm in seattle. it is when things end.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
the entry below comes first.
...a picture of the tombs, finally, that doesn't suck.
books.
some grimy wench who hasn't taken a shower but fancies herself vain enough to sit around on the floor and take pictures of herself into a mirror to get that third-fourth-person perspective or some other such pseudo-artsy bullshit.
soundtrack over the last two days: cracker 'take me to the infirmary' (and inexplicably, talking heads' 'and she was' EVERY TIME i turn on the radio. i have heard this song 5 times in 48 hours, on different stations. it is a good song, so it is okay.)
weather: fucking cold
books: the male chauvanist's cookbook, smashed, point of purchase
strangest case: the dog that drowned in lake washington an hour prior, who was already in rigor mortis when we pried his jaws apart to intubate him, and whose owners insisted on 10 minutes of cpr
movie: crazy love
best toothpaste ever: crest naturals mint & green tea
books.
some grimy wench who hasn't taken a shower but fancies herself vain enough to sit around on the floor and take pictures of herself into a mirror to get that third-fourth-person perspective or some other such pseudo-artsy bullshit.
soundtrack over the last two days: cracker 'take me to the infirmary' (and inexplicably, talking heads' 'and she was' EVERY TIME i turn on the radio. i have heard this song 5 times in 48 hours, on different stations. it is a good song, so it is okay.)
weather: fucking cold
books: the male chauvanist's cookbook, smashed, point of purchase
strangest case: the dog that drowned in lake washington an hour prior, who was already in rigor mortis when we pried his jaws apart to intubate him, and whose owners insisted on 10 minutes of cpr
movie: crazy love
best toothpaste ever: crest naturals mint & green tea
the computer is working! my method of 'fixing': i let it sit in its carrier for a month, to reflect on what it had done. i use this same method for cars, my health, relationships. sometimes it actually works. sometimes i forget that i cared in the first place.
a sunlit wall in a most delightful shade of orange, la conner washington. the crappy framing is to capture what seemed at the time to be a most poignant store name (the store was closed at the time). la conner is a tourist berg, two blocks of twee shoppes selling windchimes and bath salts and ugly bronze statues of sailboats. i randomly saw three turkeys crossing the road there, making cars stop, which was cool.
my lair at night. the night of january 25th, i believe. this is what a piece of the planet looks like.
in the day. today. my brady bunch stairwell. i have been collecting random art. it must be lurid.
tiresias in my lap.
i can only upload 4 at a time...
a sunlit wall in a most delightful shade of orange, la conner washington. the crappy framing is to capture what seemed at the time to be a most poignant store name (the store was closed at the time). la conner is a tourist berg, two blocks of twee shoppes selling windchimes and bath salts and ugly bronze statues of sailboats. i randomly saw three turkeys crossing the road there, making cars stop, which was cool.
my lair at night. the night of january 25th, i believe. this is what a piece of the planet looks like.
in the day. today. my brady bunch stairwell. i have been collecting random art. it must be lurid.
tiresias in my lap.
i can only upload 4 at a time...
Friday, January 25, 2008
resting blue
it has been pointed out to me oh, a few times, that my moods are a bit... mecurial. it is usually done in a concerned, slightly condescending way. my latest response: "at least i'm honest at any given moment."
pharmaceuticals make the world vapid. it seems like giving up. a pill should not replace the exhausting flux of being alive. i have been on antidepressants twice: once when i was 19 (duration: 5 months), once when i was 24 (duration: 2 months). both times i grew so disgusted with the flagrant BULLSHIT of taking a pill to not be me that i stopped cold-turkey. the lack of saliva, arousal, appetite, personal responsibility, hysterical laughter, and manic behavior aided my decision too.
drugs should be for fun only.
*
the last few days have been cloudless and cold. the moon is full and rises across the lake, filling my lair with grey light. the stars are out. i am no longer (as) sick. life goes on. despite everything.
*
there is a new coffee-table book called 'the last supper' (i think) that features 50-odd famous chefs floridly discussing their ideal final meal. the book includes a full-page naked picture of anthony bourdain holding a flank of raw meat against his genitals. (i am still girlishly smiling about this image, two days later.) so i thought: what would my final meal be?
it would constitute the moments in which i have been the most dippily in love with the world:
a diner with booths and hanging plants and sunshine streaming through grimy windows. a diner in which one could smoke copiously. the oldies would be playing. and i would be sitting across from someone i had a severe crush on, both of us rumpled from all-night sex, both glassy-eyed and lazily grinning. i would have nasty diner coffee, black, and rosemary toast with a shitload of butter. and creamy scrambled eggs with thin lacy edges and lots of salt. and a fat slice of a perfectly ripe tomato, also covered in salt. and if it wasn't too erroneous to the palate, a few crinkle-cut fries dipped in very chunky tartar sauce. and perhaps a fat hunk of unagi, no rice, for dessert.
breakfast is my favorite meal, always. i have never had a bad breakfast.
last night i went to the mecca to write. the hi-fi alternated between the likes of "ghostbusters", "back in black" and "killing an arab"; i was one of the only people there. an older man kept careening up and down the aisle, stopping at one point to peer at my page. "damn, you write good!" he said cheerfully. "that a good book you writing?"
i smiled, feeling immediately stupid. "not yet" i said inanely.
the waitress good-humoredly berated him for harrassing the clientele. and i thought: it kind of just made my night and everything is going to be fine.
pharmaceuticals make the world vapid. it seems like giving up. a pill should not replace the exhausting flux of being alive. i have been on antidepressants twice: once when i was 19 (duration: 5 months), once when i was 24 (duration: 2 months). both times i grew so disgusted with the flagrant BULLSHIT of taking a pill to not be me that i stopped cold-turkey. the lack of saliva, arousal, appetite, personal responsibility, hysterical laughter, and manic behavior aided my decision too.
drugs should be for fun only.
*
the last few days have been cloudless and cold. the moon is full and rises across the lake, filling my lair with grey light. the stars are out. i am no longer (as) sick. life goes on. despite everything.
*
there is a new coffee-table book called 'the last supper' (i think) that features 50-odd famous chefs floridly discussing their ideal final meal. the book includes a full-page naked picture of anthony bourdain holding a flank of raw meat against his genitals. (i am still girlishly smiling about this image, two days later.) so i thought: what would my final meal be?
it would constitute the moments in which i have been the most dippily in love with the world:
a diner with booths and hanging plants and sunshine streaming through grimy windows. a diner in which one could smoke copiously. the oldies would be playing. and i would be sitting across from someone i had a severe crush on, both of us rumpled from all-night sex, both glassy-eyed and lazily grinning. i would have nasty diner coffee, black, and rosemary toast with a shitload of butter. and creamy scrambled eggs with thin lacy edges and lots of salt. and a fat slice of a perfectly ripe tomato, also covered in salt. and if it wasn't too erroneous to the palate, a few crinkle-cut fries dipped in very chunky tartar sauce. and perhaps a fat hunk of unagi, no rice, for dessert.
breakfast is my favorite meal, always. i have never had a bad breakfast.
last night i went to the mecca to write. the hi-fi alternated between the likes of "ghostbusters", "back in black" and "killing an arab"; i was one of the only people there. an older man kept careening up and down the aisle, stopping at one point to peer at my page. "damn, you write good!" he said cheerfully. "that a good book you writing?"
i smiled, feeling immediately stupid. "not yet" i said inanely.
the waitress good-humoredly berated him for harrassing the clientele. and i thought: it kind of just made my night and everything is going to be fine.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
what the fuck is the point?
i wrote a half-assed will a few weeks ago. i try to keep the plants alive. i keep the cats fed. i show up at work even though i feel like hammered shit. i write to people who don't reply. i smile at strangers. i'm kind to animals. i hold doors open for people.
these are humane things that one should do because they are alive and breathing and fucking should.
but it is really fucking difficult to justify any of it right now. i am not optimistic of much. i feel like i am killing time until i die.
i have not felt this alone in a very long time.
i don't want to be stone-cold sober, but i am.
comments: 0.
these are humane things that one should do because they are alive and breathing and fucking should.
but it is really fucking difficult to justify any of it right now. i am not optimistic of much. i feel like i am killing time until i die.
i have not felt this alone in a very long time.
i don't want to be stone-cold sober, but i am.
comments: 0.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
sensibility in aspic
i am sick as fuck and all alone. and feeling sorry for myself. and swiping my snot-laden fingers all over this public keyboard. and not really caring.
i spent thursday and friday with a fucking fever. the last time i had a fever was in may 2002, right after i returned from europe- i remember falling asleep at the bear tooth during 'for a few dollars more', though i probably would have fallen asleep during that anyhow. fever 2008: too sick and batty to do anything coherent or useful, too fucking bored to be at home, i spent a lot of time driving around with the heater cranked up. today: the fever has appeared to break and the mucus has arrived. i am grossing myself out. my eyes are burning, my lips are chapped, my lungs feel like they're being wrung out. and i'm having GI issues. so while i am fucking ill and depressed and pathetic, i am incredibly grateful that there is no one around- because i really am that fucking disgusting.
i left work early. i don't feel guilty. it was there that i caught this fucking thing. someone today was bragging about how they never get sick. "just you wait" i said. "we are all breathing this same delicious air."
in other news: RIP bobby fischer.
in other news: an advertisement played on my favorite radio station today: "this is the sound of a heartbeat from the womb..." it was a horrible anti-choice rant, narrated by a woman without a fucking soul, and it almost made me cry. mainly in fury, but also in guilt, no matter how stupid and irrational and belated, which made me even more pissed off, to where i actually yelled "FUCK YOU!" at the radio (i was in my heat-blasting vehicle, of course) and changed the station. it succeeded in putting me in an even worse mood. apparently, still.
some good things over the last few days (two of which were, albeit febrile, my days off):
-the south park neighborhood in dusk, neon signs lurid against a rainy sky, people calling the radio with stories of their supernatural encounters. one guy grew up in a former mausoleum. "our shower was where they used to wash off the cadavers" he claimed. "there were stacks of baby coffins in the basement."
-the bumper sticker that said "live every day like your ass is on fire!"
-purring kittens keeping me company while i lay in bed sweating
-bringing triple-chocolate hershey's kisses to work and watching people happily eat them
-'i can't tell you why', the only good song the eagles ever did
-my new $5 painting: a puppy with huge pitiful eyes, sitting beside a garbage can
-hibiscus-C tea, 'the mcdonaldization of society', and sprawling in an armchair at a coffeehouse like i'm about to have a pelvic exam
-sunshine, snow-covered trees and mountains, and barns with peeling paint along hwy 302
-tamarind with brown sugar, cinnamon, and chilies
-the time-life 'cuisines of the world' series- fucking great, circa 1958. i am currently reading about russia and the glories of the zakuska
-the sign outside the wallingford chevron, where they always post "aw shucks" adages (last week's: don't have a heart attack while playing charades): "smile when you wake up. get it over with."
i spent thursday and friday with a fucking fever. the last time i had a fever was in may 2002, right after i returned from europe- i remember falling asleep at the bear tooth during 'for a few dollars more', though i probably would have fallen asleep during that anyhow. fever 2008: too sick and batty to do anything coherent or useful, too fucking bored to be at home, i spent a lot of time driving around with the heater cranked up. today: the fever has appeared to break and the mucus has arrived. i am grossing myself out. my eyes are burning, my lips are chapped, my lungs feel like they're being wrung out. and i'm having GI issues. so while i am fucking ill and depressed and pathetic, i am incredibly grateful that there is no one around- because i really am that fucking disgusting.
i left work early. i don't feel guilty. it was there that i caught this fucking thing. someone today was bragging about how they never get sick. "just you wait" i said. "we are all breathing this same delicious air."
in other news: RIP bobby fischer.
in other news: an advertisement played on my favorite radio station today: "this is the sound of a heartbeat from the womb..." it was a horrible anti-choice rant, narrated by a woman without a fucking soul, and it almost made me cry. mainly in fury, but also in guilt, no matter how stupid and irrational and belated, which made me even more pissed off, to where i actually yelled "FUCK YOU!" at the radio (i was in my heat-blasting vehicle, of course) and changed the station. it succeeded in putting me in an even worse mood. apparently, still.
some good things over the last few days (two of which were, albeit febrile, my days off):
-the south park neighborhood in dusk, neon signs lurid against a rainy sky, people calling the radio with stories of their supernatural encounters. one guy grew up in a former mausoleum. "our shower was where they used to wash off the cadavers" he claimed. "there were stacks of baby coffins in the basement."
-the bumper sticker that said "live every day like your ass is on fire!"
-purring kittens keeping me company while i lay in bed sweating
-bringing triple-chocolate hershey's kisses to work and watching people happily eat them
-'i can't tell you why', the only good song the eagles ever did
-my new $5 painting: a puppy with huge pitiful eyes, sitting beside a garbage can
-hibiscus-C tea, 'the mcdonaldization of society', and sprawling in an armchair at a coffeehouse like i'm about to have a pelvic exam
-sunshine, snow-covered trees and mountains, and barns with peeling paint along hwy 302
-tamarind with brown sugar, cinnamon, and chilies
-the time-life 'cuisines of the world' series- fucking great, circa 1958. i am currently reading about russia and the glories of the zakuska
-the sign outside the wallingford chevron, where they always post "aw shucks" adages (last week's: don't have a heart attack while playing charades): "smile when you wake up. get it over with."
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
happy because
actually, this constituted last night's tail-feather-shakery: a big-ass cup of "cinnamon sunset" tea and reading over half a book about the american housing market ("house lust" is the title) in one sitting at the fucking odious chain bookstore, accidentally dribbling tea on the pristine pages, carefully filing it back on the shelf when i was sated. it made me happy as shit, so much so that i went back tonight (ignoring that brief "fuck, i must seem like the biggest nerd" sensation when i realized the same three people were working) and read another hundred pages.
my fantasies of being a ribald wacky chick are... fantasies. but i am coming to terms with that. i amuse the bejesus out of myself, at least.
aside: if i saw a (tall, un-goateed, loner, of similar age and demeanor) gent engaging in a similar activity on sequential evenings, i would have a rabid infatuation with him. but that person, whoever it may be, is probably not reading about greedy americans on a weeknight in the basement of a goddamn bookstore.
*
tis a pity i believe in no entities. i would be a fucking awesome nun.
*
i drove to olympia today. the sun was in my eyes as i went over the nisqually river. it was the first time since i moved away that i didn't feel that sick nervousness- with distance comes peace. today i actually felt like i was over it. perhaps i was just caffeinated. i stopped at a gas station and used the loo. i had the idea of visiting my parents, surprise!, and of stopping by some of the places i used to go... but i didn't. i turned right the fuck around and drove back to seattle, taking pictures of the sun and my dusty dashboard whilst doing 70 on the interstate. again: for a brief spell i felt like a fucking idiot: why drive 60+ miles, turn around, and drive back, especially when there are things to do and people -family- to see? what the fuck is wrong with me? but at that decision-making instant, my justification was: i like driving away from the sunset, admiring the orange glow of bare branches against a slate-grey sky, singing along, able to come and go on whatever mecurial whim i fucking please.
thankfully the car gets excellent mileage.
*
one of the commandments of a 'feng shui life', as just forwarded to me in an annoying chain email that i, as with all chain emails, refuse to send on, is: believe in love at first sight. there is only person whom i have experienced this with. everyone else: if i have to wait for someone to 'grow on me', it is fucking WRONG. had i not been in prior denial about this handy factlet i wouldn't be twice-divorced... it's an interesting concept, though, when i realize that he is one person who i will always forgive and always care about, even though he doesn't deserve it. and perhaps that, rather than my former adage of "it's when you'll hold their hair back while they vomit", is really what love is about.
my fantasies of being a ribald wacky chick are... fantasies. but i am coming to terms with that. i amuse the bejesus out of myself, at least.
aside: if i saw a (tall, un-goateed, loner, of similar age and demeanor) gent engaging in a similar activity on sequential evenings, i would have a rabid infatuation with him. but that person, whoever it may be, is probably not reading about greedy americans on a weeknight in the basement of a goddamn bookstore.
*
tis a pity i believe in no entities. i would be a fucking awesome nun.
*
i drove to olympia today. the sun was in my eyes as i went over the nisqually river. it was the first time since i moved away that i didn't feel that sick nervousness- with distance comes peace. today i actually felt like i was over it. perhaps i was just caffeinated. i stopped at a gas station and used the loo. i had the idea of visiting my parents, surprise!, and of stopping by some of the places i used to go... but i didn't. i turned right the fuck around and drove back to seattle, taking pictures of the sun and my dusty dashboard whilst doing 70 on the interstate. again: for a brief spell i felt like a fucking idiot: why drive 60+ miles, turn around, and drive back, especially when there are things to do and people -family- to see? what the fuck is wrong with me? but at that decision-making instant, my justification was: i like driving away from the sunset, admiring the orange glow of bare branches against a slate-grey sky, singing along, able to come and go on whatever mecurial whim i fucking please.
thankfully the car gets excellent mileage.
*
one of the commandments of a 'feng shui life', as just forwarded to me in an annoying chain email that i, as with all chain emails, refuse to send on, is: believe in love at first sight. there is only person whom i have experienced this with. everyone else: if i have to wait for someone to 'grow on me', it is fucking WRONG. had i not been in prior denial about this handy factlet i wouldn't be twice-divorced... it's an interesting concept, though, when i realize that he is one person who i will always forgive and always care about, even though he doesn't deserve it. and perhaps that, rather than my former adage of "it's when you'll hold their hair back while they vomit", is really what love is about.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
coleslaw, when done properly
i was reading SLOG at the library, viewing a series of tit-baring pornstar photographs, when i noticed a slightly younger, earnestly adorable boy standing behind me. i smiled without thinking about it. he did not smile back. he looked more startled than anything.
it snowed last night and it still sticks. this morning: i am parked on a 40 degree incline in the drive in front of my building. my car is encapsulated in a sheet of ice. all of the locks are frozen. i am hanging onto the icy car to avoid falling on my ass, sliding from one side of the vehicle to the other, trying to gain entry. a woman is starting her car about twenty feet away. "do you have an ice scraper?" she asks. "no, i'm in the same boat as you" i say (and i actually do use that folksy term, to my consternation). "a credit card works well." i used my key-card from tacoma ER. the hill is a fucking skating rink. i feel like a pansy, my lifetime in alaska officially negated.
it is the end of my workweek. by this, the fourth day, i am fucking exhausted and only want to sleep. but i feel obligated to shake my tail feathers instead, because i can. perhaps i will do a crossword puzzle and have a drink. this unfortunately constitutes tail-feather-shakery.
it snowed last night and it still sticks. this morning: i am parked on a 40 degree incline in the drive in front of my building. my car is encapsulated in a sheet of ice. all of the locks are frozen. i am hanging onto the icy car to avoid falling on my ass, sliding from one side of the vehicle to the other, trying to gain entry. a woman is starting her car about twenty feet away. "do you have an ice scraper?" she asks. "no, i'm in the same boat as you" i say (and i actually do use that folksy term, to my consternation). "a credit card works well." i used my key-card from tacoma ER. the hill is a fucking skating rink. i feel like a pansy, my lifetime in alaska officially negated.
it is the end of my workweek. by this, the fourth day, i am fucking exhausted and only want to sleep. but i feel obligated to shake my tail feathers instead, because i can. perhaps i will do a crossword puzzle and have a drink. this unfortunately constitutes tail-feather-shakery.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
last night i dreamt of laundry- of needing to do it, though it had already been done. i awoke sweating.
on friday j and i saw 'it is fine! everything is fine', and you should too. it was written by a man with severe cerebral palsy- his fantasy life come real, wherein he is articulate and understandable and sexually bombastic (and judging from the full-frontal nudity, colossally endowed). he died a month after it finished filming. produced by crispin glover, who introduced the film and answered questions afterward. "he asked us from his hospital bed if we had enough footage to complete the movie" he said.
crispin glover came off as a bit of a douche. before the film he read from his books, the illustrated scratched-out-pasted-over nightmare-victorian images illuminated on the screen. that was cool (though after an hour i was getting restless). but the q&a session was simply an opportunity for him to ignore the question being asked and go off on a self-absorbed tangent about his career. he revealed that he is pissed off at his agent right now, and that some financial deals fell through, and that he funded this project with his earnings from 'charlie's angels.' he was cuter than i expected: instead of the waxen willard look i was anticipating, he had shoulder-length hair and a nice suit and looked like he should be wearing tevas and trying to shtup underage hippie girls. but his demeanor: i remembered a story s told me about this one guy she dated, who would be found oiled up in some grotesque yoga position, surrounded by candles, to most likely look up with an "oh, you surprised me" fake-casual expression, as if he always just lounges around like a pretentious greasy pretzel. i laughed very hard when she told me that. "that is so fucking disgusting" i probably said.
i like my men hedonistic and unshaven- self-aware and indifferent at once. that is: i want them to bathe in the morning but, say, not realize they have toothpaste on their face because they haven't bothered to examine their appearance since. and when it's pointed out, they say something smartass like "at least i fucking brushed them" and still don't bother to wipe it off.
i do not think this would be the case with crispin hellion glover.
we had an egg-bound tortoise at work today. her cloaca was tearing from the distention. the doctor lanced the egg with a 14g needle and sucked the contents out through a syringe. i have seen this done with birds as well. it is fascinating as fuck. i was the one holding the tortoise. everyone else was gathered behind the doctor, watching. "you all have the exact same facial expression" i said, which was: horror, lips parted. after i rinsed the tiny egg bits off and saved them in a pill vial for the owner. i would want them if it was my tortoise, anyhow.
it is valentine conversation heart season! i love them so! my favorite this year: "I'M ME", seconded by "GO AWAY."
crispin glover came off as a bit of a douche. before the film he read from his books, the illustrated scratched-out-pasted-over nightmare-victorian images illuminated on the screen. that was cool (though after an hour i was getting restless). but the q&a session was simply an opportunity for him to ignore the question being asked and go off on a self-absorbed tangent about his career. he revealed that he is pissed off at his agent right now, and that some financial deals fell through, and that he funded this project with his earnings from 'charlie's angels.' he was cuter than i expected: instead of the waxen willard look i was anticipating, he had shoulder-length hair and a nice suit and looked like he should be wearing tevas and trying to shtup underage hippie girls. but his demeanor: i remembered a story s told me about this one guy she dated, who would be found oiled up in some grotesque yoga position, surrounded by candles, to most likely look up with an "oh, you surprised me" fake-casual expression, as if he always just lounges around like a pretentious greasy pretzel. i laughed very hard when she told me that. "that is so fucking disgusting" i probably said.
i like my men hedonistic and unshaven- self-aware and indifferent at once. that is: i want them to bathe in the morning but, say, not realize they have toothpaste on their face because they haven't bothered to examine their appearance since. and when it's pointed out, they say something smartass like "at least i fucking brushed them" and still don't bother to wipe it off.
i do not think this would be the case with crispin hellion glover.
we had an egg-bound tortoise at work today. her cloaca was tearing from the distention. the doctor lanced the egg with a 14g needle and sucked the contents out through a syringe. i have seen this done with birds as well. it is fascinating as fuck. i was the one holding the tortoise. everyone else was gathered behind the doctor, watching. "you all have the exact same facial expression" i said, which was: horror, lips parted. after i rinsed the tiny egg bits off and saved them in a pill vial for the owner. i would want them if it was my tortoise, anyhow.
it is valentine conversation heart season! i love them so! my favorite this year: "I'M ME", seconded by "GO AWAY."
Thursday, January 10, 2008
i am sitting beside someone's empty plate of scraped brownness
...i am still employed.
nothing like a vengeful ass-kicking of reality to put things into perspective: namely, that my snively pity party on posts prior is and was NEVER THAT IMPORTANT. why can't i remember that when i'm in the throes of it?
an 'urgent meeting' was called on tuesday for this morning at 9. revenue is down, costs are up. "we have to let some people go" we were told. everyone, the doctors and owners included, had tears in their eyes. they passed out envelopes with the times we were each to meet with management. mine was at 12:20pm. i drove around aimlessly for two hours, trying not to cry, chain-smoking, listening to otis redding. i also went to the library and scoped out new orleans and portland for possible jobs and hovels. it is a different feeling entirely when looking with a sense of desperation, as if it is something time-sensitive and necessary. there was nothing palatable in either berg. apart from the hawthorne district, which i adore, portland has always seemed too strip-mally and grim for my liking; and the job situation in new orleans sucks. i went back to the clinic early. the parking lot was still full; everyone was lingering around, hugging, crying. some people had gone to the bar down the street after the meeting. a group of people i never knew to be smokers were gathered outside. everyone there is fucking great. genuinely nice. hilarious. i didn't want to leave, and i didn;t want any of them to go either. when i was told that yes, i was still on, that i was a needed LVT on the shifts and that they were very glad to have me, i started crying and groveled "thank you. thank you so much" in the middle of the hallway.
in the end, the four kennel workers, two assistants, and one doctor were laid off. i am fucking sad, and guilty, which mars my crushing relief somewhat. having the rug of your LIFE very nearly pulled out from under you is a shuddering feeling. i have spent the rest of this day rather dazed and jittery. grateful. very fucking appreciative.
one night i was coming back from downtown on the bus and saw two fire trucks and several cop cars speed past, going up the very hill where i live. "what if my fucking building's on fire?" i immediately thought, and then: oh my god, the cats. oh my god, what will i do? my little slice of the world, gone: suddenly i realize what a materialistic fuck i really am. i had a little panic attack right on the bus, getting off several blocks early and running up the hill to... a building a block away with a small fire on their deck from their barbecue. and i went inside my lair, which was quiet and dark and exactly as i remembered, and i laughed that gaspy "oh thank FUCK" laugh like a fucking idiot.
perspective.
i try not to take too much for granted- or rather, i try to acknowledge when things are going well AT THE TIME that they are going well- but it is impossible to not be lulled into at least some sense of expectation. i daresay it is a survival mechanism. otherwise we would all still be jumpy prey.
nothing like a vengeful ass-kicking of reality to put things into perspective: namely, that my snively pity party on posts prior is and was NEVER THAT IMPORTANT. why can't i remember that when i'm in the throes of it?
an 'urgent meeting' was called on tuesday for this morning at 9. revenue is down, costs are up. "we have to let some people go" we were told. everyone, the doctors and owners included, had tears in their eyes. they passed out envelopes with the times we were each to meet with management. mine was at 12:20pm. i drove around aimlessly for two hours, trying not to cry, chain-smoking, listening to otis redding. i also went to the library and scoped out new orleans and portland for possible jobs and hovels. it is a different feeling entirely when looking with a sense of desperation, as if it is something time-sensitive and necessary. there was nothing palatable in either berg. apart from the hawthorne district, which i adore, portland has always seemed too strip-mally and grim for my liking; and the job situation in new orleans sucks. i went back to the clinic early. the parking lot was still full; everyone was lingering around, hugging, crying. some people had gone to the bar down the street after the meeting. a group of people i never knew to be smokers were gathered outside. everyone there is fucking great. genuinely nice. hilarious. i didn't want to leave, and i didn;t want any of them to go either. when i was told that yes, i was still on, that i was a needed LVT on the shifts and that they were very glad to have me, i started crying and groveled "thank you. thank you so much" in the middle of the hallway.
in the end, the four kennel workers, two assistants, and one doctor were laid off. i am fucking sad, and guilty, which mars my crushing relief somewhat. having the rug of your LIFE very nearly pulled out from under you is a shuddering feeling. i have spent the rest of this day rather dazed and jittery. grateful. very fucking appreciative.
one night i was coming back from downtown on the bus and saw two fire trucks and several cop cars speed past, going up the very hill where i live. "what if my fucking building's on fire?" i immediately thought, and then: oh my god, the cats. oh my god, what will i do? my little slice of the world, gone: suddenly i realize what a materialistic fuck i really am. i had a little panic attack right on the bus, getting off several blocks early and running up the hill to... a building a block away with a small fire on their deck from their barbecue. and i went inside my lair, which was quiet and dark and exactly as i remembered, and i laughed that gaspy "oh thank FUCK" laugh like a fucking idiot.
perspective.
i try not to take too much for granted- or rather, i try to acknowledge when things are going well AT THE TIME that they are going well- but it is impossible to not be lulled into at least some sense of expectation. i daresay it is a survival mechanism. otherwise we would all still be jumpy prey.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
the naked juice cooler
http://seattle.craigslist.org/see/mis/533512562.html
everywhere i have walked today (and it has been a fair distance, as i am in a snotty mood) has been echoing with the dry hacks of the surrounding pedestrians. at first i had the narcissistic fear that they were reacting to either my cigarette or clumsy application of patchouli. but no. i may be the only human in seattle who is not rasping through an uncovered maw. one of my coworkers claimed to have whooping cough. it freaked out some of the (younger and shriller) coworkers, who kept saying "GOD! and she was in here like all day yesterday, getting us all like INFECTED" and looking it up on the internet and babbling about their flu shots. i made a joke about consumption and put my hand across my forehead. the mellower coworkers laughed.
the weather reminds me of springtime in alaska, which was always my favorite season: when 40 degrees was t-shirt weather, when the sidewalk was finally exposed. the difference between there and here? it is pitch black outside from 5pm until nearly 8 the following morning. i was so enamored to be in my lair in daylight (even if it was still so dank outside that i had the lights on) that i slothed around until nearly 3, picking dead leaves off plants; reading about the 48-year bamboo bloom in india that leads to cyclical rat influx, ecological fuckery, and famine; taking unflattering pictures of myself; and listening to devendra barnhart on repeat.
i do love the novelty of a day off.
i left the lair with a bit of day remaining. walked downtown and read at elliot bay until it was dark. went to ballard and bought cheerily-hued tic-tacs because i liked the colors so much. (i am not a tic-tac fan: they are too small to be worth anything unless you swallow half the box at once, and they make your mouth taste like ass, but i needed cash and i didn't want to use the atm. the flavor: CHERRY PASSION! i have not tried them yet.) returned downtown and walked uphill to broadway in the spitting rain. browsed the travel section of the used bookstore. i am now here, at the cafe where they always play somber classical music and have fantastic yerba mate tea, and i am in a much better mood.
i am pretty easy to please.
the kindness of strangers helps. i have to keep reminding myself that i am truly, finally local again. not having any huge part of my life in one spot has made me gloss over 'connections'- too ephemeral- i'm always just a visitor. and now, for what it's worth, i am not. and everything is much more comfortable because of it.
but like a compulsive fool, i checked housing and jobs in new orleans today. the housing situation: good. jobs: nuh-uh. it was that tenaciously repeating fantasy of a steamy brick-walled attic hovel with rain hitting the leaves of the banana plants outside: which would, of course, include never feeling impatient or unfuckably sweaty or overly honkified or sad that other people's lives are still lying in heaps.
*
anu garg lives in seattle. he will be doing a reading on monday! i am so excited! i have subscribed to his site for about 8 years, and you should too.
update: i had the link for what i thought was his site, but it's some fucking dating service. which is rather funny. so go to "a word a day" on google, or don't.
everywhere i have walked today (and it has been a fair distance, as i am in a snotty mood) has been echoing with the dry hacks of the surrounding pedestrians. at first i had the narcissistic fear that they were reacting to either my cigarette or clumsy application of patchouli. but no. i may be the only human in seattle who is not rasping through an uncovered maw. one of my coworkers claimed to have whooping cough. it freaked out some of the (younger and shriller) coworkers, who kept saying "GOD! and she was in here like all day yesterday, getting us all like INFECTED" and looking it up on the internet and babbling about their flu shots. i made a joke about consumption and put my hand across my forehead. the mellower coworkers laughed.
the weather reminds me of springtime in alaska, which was always my favorite season: when 40 degrees was t-shirt weather, when the sidewalk was finally exposed. the difference between there and here? it is pitch black outside from 5pm until nearly 8 the following morning. i was so enamored to be in my lair in daylight (even if it was still so dank outside that i had the lights on) that i slothed around until nearly 3, picking dead leaves off plants; reading about the 48-year bamboo bloom in india that leads to cyclical rat influx, ecological fuckery, and famine; taking unflattering pictures of myself; and listening to devendra barnhart on repeat.
i do love the novelty of a day off.
i left the lair with a bit of day remaining. walked downtown and read at elliot bay until it was dark. went to ballard and bought cheerily-hued tic-tacs because i liked the colors so much. (i am not a tic-tac fan: they are too small to be worth anything unless you swallow half the box at once, and they make your mouth taste like ass, but i needed cash and i didn't want to use the atm. the flavor: CHERRY PASSION! i have not tried them yet.) returned downtown and walked uphill to broadway in the spitting rain. browsed the travel section of the used bookstore. i am now here, at the cafe where they always play somber classical music and have fantastic yerba mate tea, and i am in a much better mood.
i am pretty easy to please.
the kindness of strangers helps. i have to keep reminding myself that i am truly, finally local again. not having any huge part of my life in one spot has made me gloss over 'connections'- too ephemeral- i'm always just a visitor. and now, for what it's worth, i am not. and everything is much more comfortable because of it.
but like a compulsive fool, i checked housing and jobs in new orleans today. the housing situation: good. jobs: nuh-uh. it was that tenaciously repeating fantasy of a steamy brick-walled attic hovel with rain hitting the leaves of the banana plants outside: which would, of course, include never feeling impatient or unfuckably sweaty or overly honkified or sad that other people's lives are still lying in heaps.
*
anu garg lives in seattle. he will be doing a reading on monday! i am so excited! i have subscribed to his site for about 8 years, and you should too.
update: i had the link for what i thought was his site, but it's some fucking dating service. which is rather funny. so go to "a word a day" on google, or don't.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
sweetness & light
it is always difficult to locate the ampersand on the keyboard when i need it.
"needing" an ampersand is pretty ridiculous in itself.
*
life is going well. i just returned from a visit to the tacoma er, where i picked up my stethascope and a few other things that had been lingering in my locker- the locker that is still there, as they promised, still covered with my trinkets and shite. everyone said "brynn!" in happy voices. "when are you coming back?" they asked. it was so fucking nice to see everyone again. i miss that place- i miss the people, anyhow. people make the place. and in the same vein, i fucking love my new job too. "you're a catheter maestro" a told me today. "it was really fun to work with you." "you too" i replied, trying to remain professional and not picture him naked.
hyper. the pendulum is swinging manically upward. i feel egotistical and competent and oh so fucking hilarious. the drop will come soon. right now i feel like a silly puppy, smiling at everyone, earning their smiles in return. that's what it's all about, right? ...right?
after i broke up with t for the first time, only two months into our relationship, i walked down seneca towards downtown- a 30 degree angle towards the water. it was fall, daylight, and i was wearing black converse- i remember this, for some reason. and i was sad but so fucking relieved- it was a sensation of "yay, i have my life back! what do i want to do? i can do anything!" and my first thought was: something too slutty and embarrassing to write down, but i recall it clearly, and it still makes me smirk.
it takes shunning of bullshit to make me go: oh yeah, this is a big fucking world, with opportunities and chance encounters up the wazoo, be they fauna or literary or human, all sorts of new smells and lyrics and tastes and faces, and i have been wasting my time being stifled by this one stupid rut.
silly wench.
of course, i did take him back. but that was a long time ago.
the awareness is always there. acting on it is something i'm finally getting better at.
"needing" an ampersand is pretty ridiculous in itself.
*
life is going well. i just returned from a visit to the tacoma er, where i picked up my stethascope and a few other things that had been lingering in my locker- the locker that is still there, as they promised, still covered with my trinkets and shite. everyone said "brynn!" in happy voices. "when are you coming back?" they asked. it was so fucking nice to see everyone again. i miss that place- i miss the people, anyhow. people make the place. and in the same vein, i fucking love my new job too. "you're a catheter maestro" a told me today. "it was really fun to work with you." "you too" i replied, trying to remain professional and not picture him naked.
hyper. the pendulum is swinging manically upward. i feel egotistical and competent and oh so fucking hilarious. the drop will come soon. right now i feel like a silly puppy, smiling at everyone, earning their smiles in return. that's what it's all about, right? ...right?
after i broke up with t for the first time, only two months into our relationship, i walked down seneca towards downtown- a 30 degree angle towards the water. it was fall, daylight, and i was wearing black converse- i remember this, for some reason. and i was sad but so fucking relieved- it was a sensation of "yay, i have my life back! what do i want to do? i can do anything!" and my first thought was: something too slutty and embarrassing to write down, but i recall it clearly, and it still makes me smirk.
it takes shunning of bullshit to make me go: oh yeah, this is a big fucking world, with opportunities and chance encounters up the wazoo, be they fauna or literary or human, all sorts of new smells and lyrics and tastes and faces, and i have been wasting my time being stifled by this one stupid rut.
silly wench.
of course, i did take him back. but that was a long time ago.
the awareness is always there. acting on it is something i'm finally getting better at.
Saturday, January 05, 2008
how low
i went to sleep at 1030pm and awoke at 115am to torrential wind blowing trees menacingly close, watching frenetic shadows caused by buckling vegetation sporadically illuminate distant streetlamps. and i felt like something really horrible was happening, or was going to happen- that inconvenient middle-of-the-night dread that i cannot do anything proactive about. there is nowhere to go, no one to call, no option but my own pathetic survival mechanisms. so i got up and wrote some turbid nonsense, and i reread yesterday's paper, and i found myself pacing... and i haven't been back to sleep yet. work was surprisingly competent- it wasn't until the (very busy) day was ending that i began to feel jet-lagged and incoherent. i left almost an hour late. i am still not very tired; i am actually very mellow. perhaps i am just looking forward to getting some semblence of circadian normalcy back tonight.
there is an eerie clarity when wide awake in the middle of the night (only applicable when working early-day shifts as i do now). i thought: i must take better care of myself. i have been bottoming out again lately, and i blame s as a facade for blaming myself. i have been putting up with shit that i do not want to put up with. it has made me very fucking disgusted with myself. i have this repulsive lifelong habit of gravitating towards that which is bad for me, especially with relationships. i don't want to be someone's 'special friend' who they can get drunk with; i don't want to be only smiled at or touched by them when they're inebriated; i don't want to have that 'what the fuck am i DOING?' feeling when, say, after a (drunken, stoned) new year's makeout session i lay in his uncomfortable bed, scooted as far away from him as possible, staring sleeplessly at the clock radio and listening to him fucking snore. yeah, that was why i slept like shit that night. in part. i was grateful to be considered for however blurred a moment 'attractive' by someone, so i put up with the other parts. this would be a non-issue if i was getting emotional and lusty satisfaction on a regular basis from him, if the sight of him made me fucking salivate, if he was the sort of person who would leave florid and hilarious messages on my phone and make me feel like i was fucking special. i find myself romanticizing my fucking EX, for christ's sake, because when he wasn't acting like a suspicious manipulative abusive PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT (which i lucidly remember as being most to all of the time) he had a twisted way of making me feel like he adored me, and our bodies fit really fucking well together, and when things were actually good, i felt safe and smug and giddy about my future.
and thinking these completely retarded thoughts IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING NIGHT, all by my stupid self, is horrible and sabotaging and only serves to further the catch-22: why do i continually, on however nominal a level, allow shit to justify my life? how have i stumbled through 29 years of existence without truly, on a well-duh level, learning how to fucking respect myself?
i do not recommend these self-absorbed circle jerks to anyone.
luckily i am prone not only to introverted mindfucking, but the glee of distraction! daylight really fucking helps. i cannot wait for summer. i fucking need some sunshine and warmth and blossomy trees and freckles. mentally. was alaska this difficult?
there are no excuses. there never are. if i fuck with my instincts and stay in situations i know to be Bad, i only hurt myself. there is never anyone else to blame.
*
coming home from work tonight: 'i'm gonna be (500 miles)' was on the radio. i think i yelled 'YAY!' in the solitude of my vehicle, cranked it up, and sang along as loudly as i could, complete with attempts at the horrid accent. "everything is fucked" has a mecurial way of becoming "fuck it" in the most cheerily absurd way.
there is an eerie clarity when wide awake in the middle of the night (only applicable when working early-day shifts as i do now). i thought: i must take better care of myself. i have been bottoming out again lately, and i blame s as a facade for blaming myself. i have been putting up with shit that i do not want to put up with. it has made me very fucking disgusted with myself. i have this repulsive lifelong habit of gravitating towards that which is bad for me, especially with relationships. i don't want to be someone's 'special friend' who they can get drunk with; i don't want to be only smiled at or touched by them when they're inebriated; i don't want to have that 'what the fuck am i DOING?' feeling when, say, after a (drunken, stoned) new year's makeout session i lay in his uncomfortable bed, scooted as far away from him as possible, staring sleeplessly at the clock radio and listening to him fucking snore. yeah, that was why i slept like shit that night. in part. i was grateful to be considered for however blurred a moment 'attractive' by someone, so i put up with the other parts. this would be a non-issue if i was getting emotional and lusty satisfaction on a regular basis from him, if the sight of him made me fucking salivate, if he was the sort of person who would leave florid and hilarious messages on my phone and make me feel like i was fucking special. i find myself romanticizing my fucking EX, for christ's sake, because when he wasn't acting like a suspicious manipulative abusive PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT (which i lucidly remember as being most to all of the time) he had a twisted way of making me feel like he adored me, and our bodies fit really fucking well together, and when things were actually good, i felt safe and smug and giddy about my future.
and thinking these completely retarded thoughts IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING NIGHT, all by my stupid self, is horrible and sabotaging and only serves to further the catch-22: why do i continually, on however nominal a level, allow shit to justify my life? how have i stumbled through 29 years of existence without truly, on a well-duh level, learning how to fucking respect myself?
i do not recommend these self-absorbed circle jerks to anyone.
luckily i am prone not only to introverted mindfucking, but the glee of distraction! daylight really fucking helps. i cannot wait for summer. i fucking need some sunshine and warmth and blossomy trees and freckles. mentally. was alaska this difficult?
there are no excuses. there never are. if i fuck with my instincts and stay in situations i know to be Bad, i only hurt myself. there is never anyone else to blame.
*
coming home from work tonight: 'i'm gonna be (500 miles)' was on the radio. i think i yelled 'YAY!' in the solitude of my vehicle, cranked it up, and sang along as loudly as i could, complete with attempts at the horrid accent. "everything is fucked" has a mecurial way of becoming "fuck it" in the most cheerily absurd way.
Friday, January 04, 2008
FUCKING INCOMPETENCE!
i am so FUCKING tired of bearing the brunt of somebody else's fuckups. my car insurance: farmer's SUCKS. the guy i bought the blue meanie from: still has not sent my, oh, TITLE. where is pride and professionalism any more? -like going to a diner and watching the workers amble around vapidly with empty hands while all around them is shit that needs to be done. i am a high-strung bitch, i admit it, but FUCK.
i also, in review, write quite inarticulately when peeved.
this is a reason why i could probably not be able to live in new orleans without going fucking mad: i want things done yesterday. the pace of life is very fucking slow there- a more positive soul would consider it 'relaxed' and 'unhurried'- and my first day there i found it refreshing and pleasant, a fitting accompaniment to the unctuous clime. by my last day? i was in a sour mood already, not wanting to leave, and therefore allowing stupid crap to annoy me, but the drawly chitchatty cashiers and meandering pedestrians and painstaking counting out of my change was becoming NOT acceptable. i found myself fidgeting obnoxiously with a surly look on my face, which immediately made me feel like a total asshole, which led to embarrassment, which made it very nice to come back to silly old seattle, where people walk quickly and stare determinedly into space and would just as soon enucleate you with their fucking umbrella as ask you how your day's going, HON.
*
i should probably not be typing right now. i am dripping pissiness onto the library keyboard. this is better than dripping piss onto the library keyboard.
one good thing: the radio was just playing 'november rain.' break out the bic. that is a fucking great song.
i also, in review, write quite inarticulately when peeved.
this is a reason why i could probably not be able to live in new orleans without going fucking mad: i want things done yesterday. the pace of life is very fucking slow there- a more positive soul would consider it 'relaxed' and 'unhurried'- and my first day there i found it refreshing and pleasant, a fitting accompaniment to the unctuous clime. by my last day? i was in a sour mood already, not wanting to leave, and therefore allowing stupid crap to annoy me, but the drawly chitchatty cashiers and meandering pedestrians and painstaking counting out of my change was becoming NOT acceptable. i found myself fidgeting obnoxiously with a surly look on my face, which immediately made me feel like a total asshole, which led to embarrassment, which made it very nice to come back to silly old seattle, where people walk quickly and stare determinedly into space and would just as soon enucleate you with their fucking umbrella as ask you how your day's going, HON.
*
i should probably not be typing right now. i am dripping pissiness onto the library keyboard. this is better than dripping piss onto the library keyboard.
one good thing: the radio was just playing 'november rain.' break out the bic. that is a fucking great song.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
going up down down up any way you want me
2008 started off very, very nicely. i heard a solitary firework outside as i kissed him under the feather blanket, listening to the band, existing in the moment. why can't every second be like that? because i wouldn't appreciate it, that's why.
i slept like shit. i am currently existing on 3 hours. we woke up at 530 so he could drive me home. we were counting the other vehicles on the road. we saw 3 between capitol hill and queen anne. one of them was a cab. "does that count?" he asked. "he's getting paid to be out here."
i stopped at the convenience store on my way to work, desperately needing caffeine. in front of me in line were two guys in their swanky rumpled attire from the night before, dropping their change and weaving about as they purchased 4 six-packs of natural ice. it was seven am at this point. the streets were still desolate as i drove to work, listening to rap on KEXP, swallowing ibuprofen with my tea.
i was asked by a coworker if i made any resolutions. "to not be such an asshole" i said. "yeah, because you're the biggest asshole i know" she replied, laughing. i really fucking love that place. changing jobs was a damn wise decision. today a waggy dog named pixel was found to have cancer- his blood smear was saturated with lymphoblasts, 94 out of 100 on the differential, most bi- and trinucleated with angry little spindles of cytoplasm reaching out towards the surrounding cells, as if to spread further malaise. his presenting complaint: erthyema around his prepuce, and lethargy. seeing microscopic evidence of biological dischord is fascinating as hell- probably my favorite part of veterinary medicine. everything is explainable, everything makes sense: there is a progression of evidence that manifests symptomatically. it makes it impossible for me to be anything but an atheist.
*
yesterday s and i took the blue meanie (the new vehicle) to fairhaven, which is to bellingham what, say, spenard is to anchorage or ballard is to seattle: part of the town, but yet still independently notated on the occasional local map. downtown fairhaven is 3 blocks of really fucking cool old brick buildings, the bottom floors of which are filled with twee boutiques and tapas bars and gardening stores and wine cellars. very cute and very painfully yuppie (and need i add, very middle-aged-caucasian) at once. we sampled champagne at one of the wine shops. i had never before had true french champagne (which is the only actual champagne there is, blah blah blah- i know); my 'sparkling wine' oeuvre had generally focused on the fuck-the-cheerleader deliciousness of asti spumanti. (i still have that bottle of dom perignon in my frigidaire. i am waiting for the Right Time.) french champagne is GOOD. it is very dry, smells like yeast, and tastes like the head off a guinness.
my archaic laptop is NOT TURNING ON. i spent thirty embarrassed and increasingly vexed minutes rassling with the fucking thing in a cafe last week, stupidly pressing the start button over and over, manipulating the screen open and closed, and at one point even banging it on the table. therefore, further pictures may be a bit delayed in coming.
i have the next 3 days off. this is fanciful. and neccessary. i look and feel like a frizzy-haired wastrel who's coming down from a weeklong meth binge.
i slept like shit. i am currently existing on 3 hours. we woke up at 530 so he could drive me home. we were counting the other vehicles on the road. we saw 3 between capitol hill and queen anne. one of them was a cab. "does that count?" he asked. "he's getting paid to be out here."
i stopped at the convenience store on my way to work, desperately needing caffeine. in front of me in line were two guys in their swanky rumpled attire from the night before, dropping their change and weaving about as they purchased 4 six-packs of natural ice. it was seven am at this point. the streets were still desolate as i drove to work, listening to rap on KEXP, swallowing ibuprofen with my tea.
i was asked by a coworker if i made any resolutions. "to not be such an asshole" i said. "yeah, because you're the biggest asshole i know" she replied, laughing. i really fucking love that place. changing jobs was a damn wise decision. today a waggy dog named pixel was found to have cancer- his blood smear was saturated with lymphoblasts, 94 out of 100 on the differential, most bi- and trinucleated with angry little spindles of cytoplasm reaching out towards the surrounding cells, as if to spread further malaise. his presenting complaint: erthyema around his prepuce, and lethargy. seeing microscopic evidence of biological dischord is fascinating as hell- probably my favorite part of veterinary medicine. everything is explainable, everything makes sense: there is a progression of evidence that manifests symptomatically. it makes it impossible for me to be anything but an atheist.
*
yesterday s and i took the blue meanie (the new vehicle) to fairhaven, which is to bellingham what, say, spenard is to anchorage or ballard is to seattle: part of the town, but yet still independently notated on the occasional local map. downtown fairhaven is 3 blocks of really fucking cool old brick buildings, the bottom floors of which are filled with twee boutiques and tapas bars and gardening stores and wine cellars. very cute and very painfully yuppie (and need i add, very middle-aged-caucasian) at once. we sampled champagne at one of the wine shops. i had never before had true french champagne (which is the only actual champagne there is, blah blah blah- i know); my 'sparkling wine' oeuvre had generally focused on the fuck-the-cheerleader deliciousness of asti spumanti. (i still have that bottle of dom perignon in my frigidaire. i am waiting for the Right Time.) french champagne is GOOD. it is very dry, smells like yeast, and tastes like the head off a guinness.
my archaic laptop is NOT TURNING ON. i spent thirty embarrassed and increasingly vexed minutes rassling with the fucking thing in a cafe last week, stupidly pressing the start button over and over, manipulating the screen open and closed, and at one point even banging it on the table. therefore, further pictures may be a bit delayed in coming.
i have the next 3 days off. this is fanciful. and neccessary. i look and feel like a frizzy-haired wastrel who's coming down from a weeklong meth binge.
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