witnesses

december has been fucking insane.

i have probably written of this (noting the irony) before, but i vividly recall sitting at the corner of the bar at darwin's, writing in my journal, and a man stumbling up to me and saying "you write so much. every time i see you, you're writing. stop writing and start living." he smiled and walked away. i remember this especially well because i, true to form, promptly wrote the quote down and described the encounter.
writing has always been the medium that keeps me calibrated. i forget how much i need the ability to process until i escalate into complete fucking neuroses. this past month has been wonderful, exciting, wrenching, FUN, and i haven't had time to write anything. and the pitch in my brain has grown intolerably shrill as a result. i forget. i feel much fucking better now. i feel fucking giddy, actually.
*
i saw my oma last week. it had been months. she is 93 years old and mostly senile. i was surprised that she remembered me. her health has deescalated dramatically since our last visit. i held her arm everywhere we walked. she had a hacking fit all over the incredibly patient waitress at the restaurant we went to. my mother and i sat across the table and pretended not to notice her add 4 teabags to one cup, leave a drippy mess, and messily gum her quesadilla.
she is darling. but she was never, even in her spry days, one to bake cookies or offer a hug.

i showed her this picture after i took it. "god, i look miserable" was all she said.
i drove back to seattle in rush-hour unheated hell, listening to b's cd. it was fucking good. it induced emotion.
*
when dogs eat these, they spray the lining of their large intestine at a horizontal angle out of their anus!

...and i graduated massage school. my license is pending with the state. i will write more about that eventually. 'tis bittersweet. i am not thinking about the future too much right now... for once.
*
the present has been pretty entertaining.

the problem with writing: it is interesting to nobody but me. the only reason i fucking blog is because writing longhand is oftentimes too tedious... and i'm a fucking exhibitionist.

i am so fucking happy.

gidded

when you're out with someone you don't yet know very well, and it is revealed that you both like drawing, and you go back and forth, taking turns drawing arcane and dischordant things, and when it's your turn to request you say "draw a giant squid opening a can", and they do:

it's pretty fucking cool.

until tomorrow, but that's just another time

i have a weird faith that everything will work out exactly as it's supposed to... regardless. this next year could be magical on many different levels.
that's all i have to say about that (a lie, but it's what i'm telling myself).
*
i have never seen 'annie hall' in its entirety, but it is playing in black and white, silently, on a projector at the place i am currently at. 'ziggy stardust' is alternating with velvet underground on the hi-fi. i am on a curved banquette in the corner, exhibiting poor posture and siphoning internet.

i realized that, rather than relying on Words, i could make an ass of myself and take a picture.
today i skipped most of class to trek to the canadian embassy in downtown seattle. i was sodden and pathetic when i arrived. by the time i'd retrieved my bag from the xray conveyor belt, the woman behind the counter had already given me my paperwork for work/study visas. "you can turn this in at point of entry" she said pleasantly. "you mean, i can just bring them to the border?" i asked. she nodded. for the amount of money (and contigent life-upheaval) this involves, i am rather reticent to ride it out, ha ha, until fucking customs.
i sent a dithering email to s today, outlining my concerns. i miss him. i am trying to be cool about it. obviously, typing that last sentence negates all coolness irrevocably. life is to be led. i mustn't dick around and pine like a fucking schoolgirl.
i went to red cross first aid training this evening, so these are the contents of my bag right now (yes, i took a photo of my bag whilst ensconced in the corner of a bar):

about 12 of us were at the training. we had to go around the table and state our reason for being there. i must admit, it felt oddly nice to say "massage therapy." two guys were there as preparation for a motorcycle trip they're planning for mexico. i sat next to one of them. i got to place a splint on his arm.
the ski patrol guy from stevens pass produced the best quote of the evening; we were discussing the good samaritan laws, wherein one cannot be sued for providing consenting emergency first aid. we had to watch a video of a man carrying boxes and falling down stairs; the reactions in the video varied from gawping goofus-spectators to, of course, the ethnically diverse and professionally concise gallant-red cross aide. "why might someone not get involved?" the instructor asked. "liability" we muttered dutifully. "i have a felony warrant issued for me" the ski patrol guy said. we all laughed until we realized he was fucking serious.
*
they're playing 'new age'.
*
the training was held in the ass-end of rainier beach. a bus came quickly, thankfully. i hate feeling so paranoid now. granted, rainier beach is one of the most unsavory neighborhoods in seattle, but i wouldn't have fucking thought twice about being alone there six months ago. obviously, i should have been a titch more diligent about my surroundings all along; but still, i hate feeling a caul, however minute, of edginess in everything i do. winters are dark here. what the fuck? why is 6pm in november any different from 9pm in june?
the bus didn't even go all the way downtown. it dumped me off at 5th and jackson and i had to walk through the nastiest part of downtown, which would be fine except for the completely desolate streets. i had my mace cocked. it was windy. i thought "wouldn't that be hilarious... i'd be the girl who fucking maces herself."
*
the bus smelled of teriyaki chicken.
*
this is the view from the window behind me as i type this:

it is yet another wet, wet night in seattle.

heart of the sunrise

i woke at 5am, before the paper arrived, and waited two hours for the first sunny day in a month to rear its fickle head.

tiresias and entropy spent the morning vomiting. foul, vile stuff. i fear what i'll come home to. "please do not shit or puke on my bed!" i ordered them before i left. i am not the most sympathetic of owners.
*ye olde bee in bonnet, part LXII*
last night i applied to the summer french intensive at mcgill university in montreal. i looked into that school in 2001, when i was living with j and needing a flagrant life-change (i ended up going to europe by myself, then moving to seattle, instead). i paid the $80 app fee, thinking "yes, this seems rather spontaneous, but i've actually been fermenting this idea for the last decade... and it's *only* $80 should i change my mind." i have been freaking out, slightly, ever since... i have a pretty lovely life here; how audacious of me to fuck with it! what about the beasts? my US-funded, hellaciously-expensive-otherwise meds? the friends i've made here? my two fucking professional licenses?...
and then i think about it: answering the question of what i'll be doing in a year. and i think of replying, "why, i'll be doing something completely different, something i've always wanted to do," and i smile like a fucking fool. i am excited. i am giddy. i am exhilerated and scared shitless and feel like i'm sixteen. but it's time for a change. my reaction tells me it'll probably be okay.
tonight i went on the quebec skilled workers page. i qualify... meaning i may be able to legally work there. i also qualify for general quebec immigration (their province is in its own class, with stricter requirements).
what the fuck? if it doesn't happen, i'll be doing something almost as novel: practicing massage in seattle. ain't nothing wrong with that.
there are many, many months before any of this happens. i just like having the first steps taken, finally.

the remaining 12 hours

i always feel like a fucking nerd for going out by myself and doing my typical brynnthings on friday nights. i feel like i should wear a sign that says "i work tomorrow... friday's just another night." i never feel uncool about being alone on, say, a tuesday.
i am at oddfellows, my business plan almost complete. all i have left to do is list my personal, professional, and financial goals for 2011 and 2016. i have already done 2010... the list included "reacquaint myself with my stove, bed, and pencils." anything further out than a year becomes an amorphous, slightly intimidating mess, one i cannot relate to. who knows? i could be incapacitated in a year. i could be knocked up. i could be ravenously in love and moving to minsk. i refuse to plan anything. is it a coincidence that, in the meantime, very little gets done?
i take that back. i have been a motivated motherfucker of late. yes, my new scrubs arrived at work and i blurted "yay! i don't have to do laundry for another week!"... but all my plants are hydrated, the litter box is clean, the controlled drug audit at work has been done, and i finished "eighty-sixed", the sunday crossword, three mix tapes, and all but the last 30 pages of "methland".
i received a reply from the international spay and neuter project today. i am on their contact list now. you must pay your own travel expenses, but they'll drop you in, say, jamaica (the foundation is based there but they travel globally), and you sterilize piles of local beasts. i have wanted to do this for years. all it took was an email. life can be so fucking easy.
i don't know how widespread the story is, but an officer was blatantly gunned down this weekend in leschi (about 5 miles from my house). his trainee (she'd only been on the job a month) ducked, getting grazed across her back; he died instantly. there has been a collossal hullaballoo since- legitimately. i like cops. when they fuck with me, i usually deserve it. and nobody ever deserves to be killed... unless they're hurting a kid, or an animal, or anything innocent... and then they are a fucking antithesis to society and deserve to be removed from the gene pool in the most concise way possible.
the funeral was held at key arena. i was walking down there (in the sunshine! see post from earlier. the clime has since returned to the icy stab-rain, colder than balls) to the post office; i had forgotten about the funeral until a man jaywalking said, loudly, "what a fucking lot of cop cars." there were hundreds. there were squad cars from portland, missoula, and boise. there were parking authority carts. there was an ambulance. there was a vintage 1968 seattle pontiac police cruiser. and atop the building neighboring the key arena, there was this:

i have already read the snarky blogosphere (i did not use that word) comments about this... "why the fuck did they need snipers?" and i sort of agree.
as i walked by this afternoon, past the entire region's law enforcement gathered within one building, i couldn't help but think: this would be a great time to commit a crime.
i immediately felt like an asshole.
the cop was young, 39, with two kids and a wife. he was just sitting in his cruiser and got fucking murdered.
i felt lucky to be able to see the bombastic clouds as i continued walking downtown. i feel lucky for a hell of a lot of things. i appreciate. tremendously. sometimes i must remind myself.

the first 8 hours of a day off

succor with the tiresias...

foreboding

torrent

sun

aftermath

avoid a void

narcissism (or as i prefer to coin it, 'self-documentation') does not abate at the ER door. while i was waiting for the doctor to return with my discharge papers after my anaphylactic ballyhoo a few weeks ago, i busied myself with the camera.

i didn't feel exhausted.
the last few weeks have been frenetic. the last year has been frenetic. i sat down this evening and wrote out my business plan. it makes sense. radiohead played. leaves slinked across the cobblestone street. part of my plan was "investigate other places to live" but days like today make me not want to leave.
*
new zealand was suggested to me. p lived there during the winters when he worked in antarctica. "you'd love it" he said. new zealand has no massage regulation. "i would just sit around and flush the toilet" i blurted out. he laughed. sadly, i was halfway serious.
the idea of new zealand, which i know fucking nothing about (other than that the people i've met from new zealand are consistently hilarious and debaucherous) has left a burr in my brain.
*
halloween weekend was slower'n shit. i forget what this dog was in for. it was something nonserious and nondescript. his owner bragged about his other costume, "a karate chihuahua!" with a white outfit, black belt, and red headband, that he would be wearing to a party that evening. the doctor came back from seeing her. "that woman's insane" she hissed, albeit affectionately.

there was copious candy at work and nothing to do. we sat around being fucking hyper and talking about sex. professionalism is purely subjective.
*
d got his massage license last week. i dragged him with me to see mum in celebration. i saw them a few weeks after i first alit in seattle in 2002- they played at i-spy, a clausterphobic club on 5th ave that closed soon after. it was so hot in there that i had to stand in the alley, skin visibly steaming, lest i pass out. they were amazing then. this time, at the showbox (all-ages, maybe half full) they were every bit as lovely and ethereal, but we were ensconsed by the bar, drinking dilute rip-offs.

mum would be brilliant massage music.
*
i have always wanted to go to iceland. from seattle, it is cheaper to fly to iceland than alaska.
*
REFERENDUM 71 PASSED! HOLY FUCKING SHIT! i am incredibly happy- and incredibly impressed. http://vote.wa.gov/Elections/WEI/ResultsByCounty.aspx?ElectionID=32&RaceID=102369&CountyCode=+&JurisdictionTypeID=-2&RaceTypeCode=M&ViewMode=Results shows the results county-by-blessed-county... a sobering reality. i am glad i live on the correct side of the state.

i love catching this city at its flattest and most wrist-slitting. i find it beautiful. daylight savings has shifted darkness to 5pm. what was i doing at 5pm today? i had the fingers of my left hand 2 inches deep under someone's costal arch, in a brick-walled room with round paper lanterns. so, yes, life is good.

bedazzled!

i have had several dreams about the glenn highway- i'm always somewhere near fort richardson, walking through the woods. there is snow on the ground. the forest is birch and not too dense; the trail is wide and the snow's been compressed by skis and boots. there is a frozen lake through the trees. i feel peaceful. i pass people who i don't recognize; everyone smiles pleasantly. nothing climactic really happens; it's just... nice. i had the dream again last night.
*
on sunday i had my first true allergic reaction. i developed a hideously itchy red rash, complete with hives and swollen eyes, about 30 minutes after i ate my typical breakfast. i went to the er. the symptoms were already abating. "what did you eat today?" i catalogued my childish menu: peanuts and dry corn chex, some pita bread, and a shitload of salsa that i pretty much ate straight. "peanuts are highly allergenic" the doctor said sternly. "but i have peanuts every single day" i whined. and it's true. i do not recall a day within at least a year in which i have not included peanuts in my morning repast. "the salsa was new" i said reluctantly. i have had salsa countless times before- i love it so!- but not recently. "allergies can start spontaneously" the doctor said. i have eaten peanuts every morning since with no afteritch, but i have not touched salsa. perhaps it was just a bad batch. i hope for that. my dietary restrictions are annoying enough without eliminating something else i fucking adore.
they gave me prednisone.
i love prednisone.
*
'bela legosi's dead' plays.
*
i finally worked at bailey-boushay on monday. I LOVED IT. it affirmed what i want to do with my massage license. confidentiality clauses mean that i do not know what specific ailments my clients have; they're in hospice care, and it's primarily an AIDS home that's expanded to include terminal cancer patients, dementia, ALS. when the facility was founded in the early 90s it was entirely HIV/AIDS; the diversity now is due to the efficacy of retrovirals and increased lifespan. both clients were tremendously appreciative. client #1 was a pressure junkie- he lay on his bed, cooing "oh, that's perfect" while i ground my fists into his back. his radio was airing an interview with the author of "weekends at bellevue", about working the psychiatric ER at the eponymous hospital. we had the same conversation five times: he would ask what month it was, then say that he'd forgotten his birthday in september, then say "yay, cake!" my second client, a wraithlike woman of about 45, was watching 'dancing with the stars' while i did reflexology on her feet. we talked the entire time. she made snide comments about the dancers and said "all you need to do to be famous nowadays is have sex with a celebrity." at the end of the visit she complemented my tattoos and gave me a hug.
i felt fucking high when the evening ended. everything i've done for the last 15 months suddenly makes perfect sense.
*
structural integration continues. i had my psoas bilaterally released today- fists dug into my abdomen. it felt fucking awesome. i feel downright lithe now.
*
this evening has been spent in a benevolent float. i kind of ruined it by returning to the odious chain bookstore to continue reading "methland" (about 100 pages in one sitting). this book contains one of the most horrifying passages i've ever encountered: a longterm meth addict thinks he sees severed heads hanging from the trees outside his lab, and all the heads are looking into the windows, and he realizes, hallucinatorily, that they're spooks from the FDA and he's being cased, so he gets rid of all his equipment/flammable chemicals in the basement floor drain, then lights a cigarette. the place, which is actually his mother's home, goes up in flames, and the decades of ephemera his mother has stored in the basement are getting destroyed, so he frantically saves as much as he can- returning into the house repeatedly, trying to put the fire out with buckets of water from the upstairs sink, eventually tearing the sink out of the wall in frustration and throwing it into the flames because the faucet isn't filling things fast enough- and one of the times he runs back outside with an armful of stuff, he wonders how he got egg white on his arms, so he pulls it, but it's not egg white- it's his fucking body, which is boiling, and skin hangs off of him in burnt strips, so he starts pulling his skin off in the front yard, feet of it. by the time the police came he couldn't shout for help because his esophagus was completely charred. he lived. he still does meth. he had to retrain himself to hold the lighter with the nubs of his arms, because his fingers melted off. and he lost his nose. he still lives with his mother; she has a new house now.
i read that with my hand over my mouth. i think i audibly said "oh my god."
*
the book is based on oelwein, iowa... with sundry forays to other similarly depressed towns throughout the midwest. it should be read by everyone.
*
i learnt this weekend that i am one of 15% of the population who pees red after i eat beets! this freaked me out for most of saturday- i was at work and felt completely fine- but i was urinating magenta! what the fuck? it was so busy that i didn't have a chance to research the matter until about 1130pm, when i recalled something about beets. sure enough! if you google "beets", it scrolls down a list of popular subcategories. #2 was "beets + urine". i was so triumphant that i promptly told everyone at work. "i've been peeing pink all day and it's because of beets!" i said giddily. "this only happens to about 15% of people!" i got two high-fives and one "you were peeing pink all day?"
i am slightly embarrassed by how many people i have bragged about this to.
*
level two of east coast swing started tuesday. it's awesome. someday i may even be good at it.
*
earl and joe are drinking at a bar. joe gets very drunk and vomits all over his shirt. "my wife's gonna kill me" he slurs to earl. "she just bought me this shirt." earl says "tell her i puked on you" and stuffs a $20 bill in his front pocket. "and tell her the $20 is for a new shirt." joe goes home and his wife notices his shirt. "earl got sick" joe says "but he put $20 in my pocket for a new shirt." his wife pulls out the money. "but there's $40 here" she says. "yeah" says joe. "he shit in my pants too."

vibrations

the end of the term is panicking me. i have been stressed out and lonely and tense. i'm trolling options frantically- and hitting dead ends at every turn. do i really want to learn craniosacral therapy in canada, or do i just want a legitimate reason to live in vancouver for a few months?... the latter. i feel stupid, being so predictably clausterphobic of my very, very nice life. i have a great job. i know some good people. i saw barbara ehrenreich say surly things that she was not able to back up logically.

things that have happened over the last few days (the full spectrum):
-a homeless man told me i had a "nice ass"
-i read "the oil jar and other stories" by luigi pirandello, which is quite good.
-started reading "methland", which is just despairing. it completely captures the flat leafless coldness and the wood panelling and the stultifying hopelessness of middle america.
-the muscles from my sacrum to my greater trochanter were clumsily ground by an inexperienced elbow. i stared into space and waited for it to stop.
-more people told me to leave my hair long than to cut it, which is slightly depressing.
-a group of women at the next table just stared at me as the waitress delivered my drink. like i don't feel nerdy enough, thanks. i smiled back, stupidly. i think i even said "what?" but it was lost in the ambient din.
-i learnt that a one-way ticket to paris in march is $829, with 2 stops: london and warsaw. one stop tickets jump to $1250-something. i am just being ridiculous, but i cannot stop looking.
-i bought a $99 raincoat. ninety-nine dollar. raincoat. i feel obscene, but i will have it for years. and, pussy that i am, i don't like being sopping wet as much as i pretend to.
-i was told i have "good presence."
-started watching "the onion movie"- based on the fabulous publication. it is funny as shit and offends everybody, but i really should not be sober when viewing it. and so far, i have been. i needed to get my mind off 'paranormal activity', which i am embarassed to admit to. such is the onus of living alone.
-one of the enumclaw horsefuckers fucked some other horses in, i believe, tennessee (kentucky?). it was in the paper. this man was the owner of the farm that served
'purposes of bestiality' and that the one guy, whose name i sadly don't recall, perforated his colon and died at. this was big news in seattle a few years ago: washington, home of serial killers and horsefuckers...
horse penises are huge! they scarcely belong in a horse's vagina, much less in a human rectum!
that is all i've got to say about that.
*
a mouth is just another hand.

so the barbara ehrenreich lecture! i loved 'nickled and dimed'; i first read it whilst living in thurston county and gave my copy to a doctor i worked with who was obsessed with 'the daily show.' i have read some of her other books and found them less lustrous and more preachy. she was a cranky-mouthed wench tonight. the audience was overwhelmingly white, earnest, >50, and clap-happy. her new book is about eschewing the Optimism!!! that's forced upon american culture. she went through treatment for breast cancer a few years ago and was stricken by the condescending 'have a good attitude and you shall heal' expectation she was assaulted with. someone in the audience cited lance armstrong describing his cancer as 'the best thing' that had ever happened to him. "well, sir, you've had a sorry life" she said. "cancer is not a gift and you can take me off your christmas list."
*
so, of course, i thought about my attitude towards things- how if i'm not, ultimately, optimistic (or at least, not pessimistic) about things, i am dead. i whine and complain and stagnate in this fucking blog (how i loathe that term) but if i didn't have some modicum of tra!la! i wouldn't write. i still wonder if tomorrow will be the best fucking day ever... since it obviously won't be today, because today was pretty fucking middle of the road. tomorrow, god damn it. thus, i am an optimist.
i am also self-sabotagingly passive.
fall into my lap, joy! i shall spread my legs ever wider!

you know i love you.

bailey-boushay was cancelled AGAIN. we are 3 weeks into the term, with only 7 weeks left EVER, and there was apparently a problem with our class' paperwork. i blame my instructor, a frustrating flake who has yet to return our research papers and business plans from last term (though he has, inexplicably, graded them). m and i saw 'paranormal activity' instead. tickets were $10.50 apiece. "jesus, i remember when-" i started to say, then smiled sympathetically at the guy behind the counter. "you probably get that a lot." he smiled back and nodded.
'paranormal activity' was good. very tense. i love movies that don't show anything. the ending was not nearly as creepy as the end of 'blair witch', but it came very, very close.
*
i placed my first triple lumen central line in, of all things, a fucking basset hound yesterday. triple-lumens are just something i've never had the opportunity to do- i've done singles for years. washington state law just changed the laws for veterinary medicine, so now one must be a licensed tech to set up and deliver blood transfusions; to read and interpret cytologies and urinalyses; to inject medication IV into a non-catheterized vein; to induce and monitor anesthesia; and to place double- and triple-lumen catheters. done, done, and done. placing a triple lumen involves a cut-down of the skin near the jugular (so you're not tearing through leather), catheter placement, dilating the vein with a hard plastic thing, and feeding the 12" line down the vein. suture the thing in, take a lateral radiograph to make sure it's not tickling the heart, and sterily bandage. "yay!" i sang when all 3 ports flushed effectively. it was not as difficult as i'd always imagined. i love being reminded that i'm still not jaded at something i'm good at and used to.
*
i woke up from a dream...
i'm on a beach in australia. it's twilight- the sun has fully set and the sky has lost its redness. i am talking to a guy. he is obviously not local, but i don't want to ask if he's from new zealand because i don't want to offend him.
we're on a cross-country bus together. the aisle lights are on and the overall ambience is dim. we are making out voraciously, bodies entwined, murmuring our life stories to one another. it is after hours of this, in the dream, that i remember the rest of the passengers. they are mostly asleep. i have that familiar, giddy-yet-melancholy feeling of being nostalgic for my life even as it happens- knowing it will never be this open and rudderless again.
i awoke still tired. bleary. abstractly wistful.
*
i met a man one night in paris. we were both staying at the hostel and decided to walk around- he was leaving the next day. we went to the top of the eiffel tower. a scarf had been tied to one of the metal beams and was blowing sideways in the altitude. i remember thinking "this is how any place should be experienced." there is potential for incredible luster at any turn. i was, predictably, sad when he left, even though i'd known him for merely 12 hours. i walked him to the metro station in my overcoat and combat boots, unshowered. and when i left the metro station the sky was grey and the hour was early and i remember thinking "i am in fucking paris and i have nowhere to go."
i went back to the hostel, if i recall, and ate a baguette with bottled pesto, and then i probably walked around and felt self-indulgently morose, and spoke to people in french only to have them impatiently answer me in english.
*
i just went on craigslist paris to see about flats- i do that every few weeks. they are still expensive as shit and priced by the week.
*
montreal is a bit more reasonable.
*
the rubber band is about to snap, as usual. soundtrack: syd barrett "terrapin."
no edit

it is dark now and i am that face in the window

it has rained all day. it's beautiful and misty and when i arrived to the cafe where i am now typing this, frizzy and damp-sweatered, the woman behind the counter asked how it was outside, and when i laughingly said that "it's rather wet" and added that i've never owned an umbrella or a raincoat, she congratulated me on being a true seattleite.
i went to bailey-boushay today to have my forearm affirmed for my 2nd negative tb titer. i walked by 24th and union:

i wandered around the facility for a while. the place is fucking fantastic. everyone who works there seems incredibly cool. there is a 'meditation room' (because it's not affiliated with any churchy crap, thank god) where people, residents and staff, can go at any time to decompress:

this is part of the room's window.

i finished mackenzie phillip's autobiography today. it is not a fucking picker-upper. i suppose i am relieved to be so horrified by the reality of addiction- there are some things in the world i simply don't understand. i vowed when i was a teenager that i would never try cocaine, never try speed... the things i suspect would unravel me because i would fucking love them too much. and, to my credit, i never have.
for fuck's sake, i bought stuff from p two months ago and it remains in my kitchen cabinet, ignored, in a jar that once held "seattle mariners extra-fancy tartar sauce". this, however, i attribute more to the fact that he sold me the equivalent of fucking oregano and not because i have suddenly acquired self-restraint.
after finishing the book, my bailey-boushay beatificness devolved somewhat. being flaked on by d, again, hasn't really perked me up either.
to make myself feel happier, i took a picture of an antique vending machine:

yesterday i was slothing around the lair with the pusses. this photograph reminds me that, god damn it, i am one of Those People... people who own plural cats and take pictures of them.

and i love Those Kinds of People, but sometimes i do feel like i am obliviously foraging my own slow, purposeful path to bona fide spinsterhood.
the cats and i were listening to mumiy troll. i first listened to them a few years ago and didn't like them much... generic rock akin to, fuck, the archangels. but some of their songs are okay. and everything sounds much more exotic and sinister when sung in russian.

in the mood for a melody?

today i 'orientated', which is completely not a word, at the bailey-boushay house. after a 3 hour long, ass-cramping lecture by the director (a man who looks like he should be british), we lined up like cattle to get our flu vaccines and, in my case, my 2nd tb titer. i had never had a flu vaccine before today; i am generally opposed to such things. eight hours later, i am asymptomatic and not discovering a latent intolerance to eggs, so i can officially recommend it to everyone.
i really am jazzed about this. this is the sort of work i want to get into. time shall tell.
staff meeting (learning more about transfusion protocols and the wonders of plasma supernate), then driving home in blinding sun-after-rain whilst listening to kzok's "classic rawk a to z." they are in the i's... an excellent letter for music. i heard 'in the air tonight' before having my tire freed of an errant nail. returnal to the vehicle yielded 'in the evening', 'in the mood' (i LOVE this song, the surfy guitar/synthiness, the vargas print-coke-fueled-fucking vibe), and 'in the summertime.' i hate mungo jerry. thankfully, i bypassed the inevitable 'inna gadda da vida.'
the torrential downpour of this morning evolved quite lyrically into this, as seen from my street.

seattle is fucking picturesque. this is the prettiest place i have ever seen, except for perhaps paris, but that is cliche enough to vomit over.
i am an ardent fan of the cities that reveal their allure coquettishly, under petticoats of grit and impermeability, but often it's quite nice to have beauty handed to you... and watch its citizens look happy and bewildered in its glow.
the space needle, today, reflected.

this is a day when people smile back. sometimes they smile first. i love my world. you get what you give...

and even lana turner smiled

ballard, especially leary way, has been transformed into a glut of generica. this is a mammoth retirement community (for what, "60 years young!"?) that takes up an entire block. the architecture is fucking hideous (fake decks, shades of brown, no exterior variation- lazy, bullshit aesthetics) but the name of the building, or rather the signage, almost makes it okay:

am i the only one who sees that?
fall is glorious here. this is one block from the lower campus (the amazing brick annex) of my school.

yesterday i had crippling cramps and left class early. i took a bus to ballard (where i finally stopped to take the above picture), bought some ibuprofen and tea, and met some friends in north seattle. they had already been drinking for a few hours. we ended up at the mandarin gate, a scary-ass chinese restaurant in a strip mall off aurora, in their glaringly lit lounge, singing karaoke. i had not done that in years. i was comfortably buzzed but m, in particular, was trashed. why do gay men become heterosexually swarthy when they're drunk? he was rubbing his groin against my ass. "what are you doing?" i asked, laughing. ten minutes later he was vomiting inside someone else's car.
we sang "summer nights", then four of us sang "build me up buttercup", and when it was just her and i, i sang "fever." it had been a long time since i'd done karaoke... since alaska. apparently a man at the bar was snapping along. i had forgotten how much i enjoy it... especially in complete dives where the drinks are ridiculously strong and made with utter rotgut and i will never encounter any of the other patrons again... unless i go back.
*
today i finished my last swing 1 class; i start level 2 in two weeks. we learned the spin/jump move. "my baby just cares for me" plays. that is a hard song to dance to- the tempo is disarmingly slow- but it filled me with good memories. today has just been a great day. there is no reason for this, nothing spectacular that has occured; i'm just... good. i feel zesty and happy and engaged and alive. i feel like a competent human being, comfortable with my own company. I DON'T FEEL WISTFUL OR LIKE I'M MISSING OUT ON ANYTHING. that is surely a more adequate definition.
i shall appreciate its finiteness.

count me out

today evolved into a stellar fall day... the sharp edges and bright colors that make this my favorite season after spring. (winter loses the banal 'favorite season' battle, always.)

i took d to hump 5, the stranger's annual amateur pornfest, as his graduation present. there was nothing that really titillated me this year (see: orgasm denial, 2008), but several were quite good. i voted for the lesbian and gay man, slothing around and complaining how horny they were, and reluctantly deciding to try each other out. it was fucking awesome. what else... a woman in a filthy cell peeing through her underwear into her hand, then having her clothes torn off my gravel-covered hands. that was slightly disturbing. watching an old (65+) man get whipped, shocked, and burned with a cigar... also slightly disturbing (although i didn't actually cringe until the cigar ember went on the inside of his lower lip and she ashed into his mouth). the FUCKING TRAFFIC CONE going up the woman's ass disturbed me. the long metal hook going up her ass, twisting, and then being accompanied by a huge penis REALLY disturbed me. the wire whisk being inserted into her hairless vagina, then twirled, was also unsettling, but i blame that more on her hairlessness (seeing the sagging lips of an adult twat is never right- it's akin to bringing a bat into a brightly lit aerie) than the implement. the more 'lighthearted' stuff- the two girls making out, innocently, was very hot. the rap about "MUH BIG DICK", accompanied by crude cartoons of mayor nickels, ballgagged and getting whipped. one adorable stoner boy from portland ejaculating in very public portlandian venues 10 times in 24 hours... interspersed of him making, then fucking, a sand-wench on the beach "'cause this is what happens when your girlfriend's in rehab.'"
d and i parted ways soon after. a man on the street told me i had nice eyes. and then i passed robyn fucking hitchcock on the corner of 1st and bell. i am going to his show tonight- so i will see if it was, in fact, him. we made eye contact, that smirky tension before the smiling calm. "holy shit, that was robyn fucking hitchcock!" i thought as i walked past. i wonder if he will recognize me obnoxiously taking pictures... i am still wearing my colorful, memorable scarf.
*
4 days ago, lair, seattle washington. i am frizzy and sleepy and unwashed and forgot to unzoom after taking pictures of fucking plants or whatnot.

last night the internist was called in to remove a rock from a cat's trachea. we had taken radiographs to rule out asthma and- "patrick [the doctor], this cat's got a foreign body!" how the fuck does a cat suck a rock into its trachea? dogs, i can understand- dogs are incredibly stupid. but cats? his name was hugo. i monitored the anesthesia, which involved holding the cat's head upright and feeling him breathe against my arm and ignoring his cyanosis as the internist cursed and prodded with the bronchioscope. when it came out we all cheered. the cat's tongue and gums became pink immediately. "that's a $600 rock" the doctor said, dropping it onto the tray. he freaked out whilst waking up from the anesthesia. we had to give him midazolam so he would stop thrashing around in the cage.
*
i have still never had general anesthesia. i plan to keep it that way as long as possible.
*
when you're organizing a drawer, you're a 'drawerganizer.' i learned that last night at work. i laughed raucously. "brynn's the only one who'd appreciate that" someone said.

my god! what have i done?

we started 'structural bodywork' today. the school cannot call it 'structural integration' because we are not taught the 10 points of rolf integration. it looks pretty cool thus far. the teacher is actually focused and demanding of our efforts. we have, i believe, all lapsed into the 'whatever' mindset so integral to promoting the flaky-massage stereotype... it's laughably jarring to have an instructor who starts class on time, cuts off aimless questions, and expects us to have our shit together. i like it.
i am really, really going to miss being in school.
*
my neighbor let me know that someone had left a note on the windsheild of the VW (along with my front license plate, which was creepy, since they would have had to take tools and remove it). the fucking car has been parked at a 30 degree angle from the curb, unstartable, since i had to move it out of the driveway last week. my hood embodies the classic seattle cliche of earnest white people being fucking passive aggressive. i deserved the letter- i'd been waiting for it- but it was still fucking irritating to read a page-long missive, tidily scripted, about how "cars should be moved after 48 hours and i'd hate to have you towed" and "this space is meant for 4 cars" and "signed, a neighbor." i actually looked in the car for a pen so i could write something snotty on the back of it, or at least draw a sarcastic smiley face to reattach to my windsheild. instead i flagged two men in a volvo (of course, a volvo) to help me push sweet green into a more suitable curbside position.
i have had two calls about selling her. the second was from a friend of the aforementioned neighbor. i don't really want to sell her to someone i am in any way related to... 1. i don't want to see her being treated properly, because it will make me feel like shit, and 2. overall, she's kind of a death trap. better to inflict potential fuckery anonymously... and i'm a fucking asshole.
*
the other night, still feeling like ass, i surveyed my meager collection of dvds. i NEVER watch movies at my house... it's a two-three times a year kind of thing, and only if i'm ailing or completely fucking sulky. but i buy a lot of crap, and i have all these bizarre dvds from the dollar store, most of which i have yet to unwrap. one of them stars a young jodie foster and a hirsute john lithgow... i would date it early/mid 80s? it is called "mesmerized."
HOLY SHIT. IT IS AWFUL.
it wasn't even good-bad. it was surreal. i had never heard of it, and know i know why.
*
the cafe i am at is playing the talking heads. "people in seattle sure love the talking heads" one of the papers said recently (david byrne was in town for a reading; i was at work, fucking damn it) and it's true. one cannot go anyplace or turn on any commercial radio station without hearing "once in a lifetime." this is fine. the talking heads are to seattle what, say, bad company are to the anchorage of my memory.

it's candle season.

with a picture of a featherific james spader, how can one be glum?

the dullard

maybe i'm still ailing... but i am more inclined to blame my surly, apathetic fog on bullshit.
the sixth and final term of school started today. it was a random, haphazard class... to be composed into nine weeks of seminars focusing on our various interests. this could be amazing, it could be a flaky fuck-all. next week we revisit body mechanics, something i definitely need more help in. i was supposed to start my first evening at the bailey-boushay house tonight, working with people with AIDS, dementia, and other hospice-warranting ailments, but there was a scheduling conflict between them and the school. i don't start there, then, until the asscrack of dawn (well, 9am) on wednesday the 14th. i was really looking forward to this, but due to my mood, this delay is probably not a bad thing.
i briefly saw d after school. i felt disgust. perhaps my standards are too high for friends, and that is why i have very few. but really: be nice. acknowledge me to your friends. communicate. don't be fucking passive-aggressive and make me feel like everything is my fucking fault. last week really disturbed me- not only how he treated me, but seeing the sources of his behavior (his parents) and feeling almost crawly about their dysfunction. d is the sort of person who, if he doesn;t like the way a conversation is going, pretends he doesn't hear it. and i'm fucking tired of the mindfuck 'multiple personality' bullshit. i have neglected to get into this on this forum thus far, out of 'respect' for him and out of mortification for myself, but: FUCK THAT. fuck his namby-pamby inability to deal with reality, fuck his dragging other people (like gullible, or at least benefit-of-the-doubt-giving ME) into his fucked up vortex, fuck his manipulation, fuck his taking advantage of people's kindness, fuck his FUCKING BULLSHIT.
i feel like a fucking idiot to even type that, to publicly acknowledge how fucking pathetic i am to allow such bullshit into my life at all.
*
seattle: lots of winners here.
*
"we need to talk about hawaii" i said tonight, and then i left. my chronic peurility makes any gripe i have towards the other person fade in the glow of my own assholery. he had asked if i'd wanted to help him move boxes- like, right then. "no" i had said. "i have to go." i was still feeling cruddy, and pissed off, and- no.
*
today, my class... proof i'm not completely dysfunctional.

with pangs of sadness and "what a fucking loser i am", i put sweet green on craigslist today. i haven't gotten a single response yet. i must admit, i am pleased by this.
i will continue this later, perhaps.

wrung

i went to bed asymptomatic at 3am. i woke at 5 with hellacious food poisoning. i can only assume it's food poisoning because i don't have a fever. i was up for over an hour being horrified by how disgusting my body can be. i called in sick to work. went back to sleep. woke at 1130, still ill. and STARVING. i ate gingerly whilst reading the sunday paper. the day outside was brilliant and sunny, a perfect fall sunday. so i fell asleep on the couch until it was dark again.
i hate sleeping the day away. i am still bleary and residually nasty-feeling, but i blame that more on being completely detached from the rest of the world's day. the moon is full. it's very pretty.
i had a very vivid dream that i was spontaneously driving to reno. i stopped at a garage-sale thing en route; a preacher-sort was lecturing a group of people about the merits of phish. i purchased a phish windchime. (this is actually the sort of fucking crap i dream about.) as i was leaving a dog approached me. "he needs a home" the man said. a bedraggled female nearby said "oh! he loves you! you have to name him 'church!'" i agreed to take the dog. the man started packing him into a metal barrel, surrounding him with something akin to aquarium gravel. "will he be able to breathe?" i ask, horrified. "oh yeah" the man says offhandedly. "we pack all our dogs this way." the dog is staring at me, confused, as the man lowers the lid.
i am driving a red sports car. i start out across the desert. it is dark when i get to reno- in the dream, it is a blip of obnoxious lights surrounded by black ether. (i cannot recall how it looked when i was there to be married, other than many shades of brown.) i pull into a fancy hotel parking garage like i belong there; i deeply want to find a pool or sauna. the hotel, in the dream, is the one t and i stayed in when we were married. the halls are decked out in the most garish of 80s cliches: fake grey marble, light sconces in shades of magenta and teal- like a very tacky mall. i enter the 'health spa' room on a random floor with no trouble- the amenities consist of a 7' square sunken whirlpool and a potted fern. and then i remember the dog, encased in a barrel in the back of the car. i return to the car; he is unaffected. we walk down the dark alley behind the hotel, under the buzzing floodlight affixed to an adjacent warehouse. the stars are still visible; the air is soft and warm. and i'm feeling panicked- why the fuck did i adopt this dog? i want to go home. why the fuck am i in reno? how could i have ever come up with this idea, much less imagined it to be a good one?
*
when i woke i felt slightly frantic. the room was dim. i looked out the window, at the sunset reflecting off the windows of capitol hill. "fuck" i said aloud. i felt incredibly, scarily lonely at that moment.
*
on a happier note: my passport arrived yesterday. it is safely contained in a drawer in my kitchen... until my lair burns down, that is.
i have really bad feelings about going to hawaii. i don't want to. i don't want to go with him. i tell myself to relax- i can fly over there and do my own thing, stay by myself, we never have to see each other- this is an awesome opportunity regardless, right?
depression, if you will, has hit me hard in the last week. everything is suddenly dark and cold and routine. the things that i feel would 'fix' everything are beyond my control... and 'fixing' is its own fucking fallacy.

this has been heard before

perhaps i don't show my appreciation enough when it matters; i tweak my karma by taking things for granted and being lulled by the fancy of the mundane. my jubilance of earlier today has devolved to pissy moroseness. i just want to feel fucking special. maybe i missed the finite window of mattering in anyone else's world. i am continually reminded that kindness does not beget kindness, it just makes one feel like a fucking sap. people either value you or they don't; you either stand out or you don't; you take what you can get, no matter how shitty the scraps make you feel.
'you', of course, is 'me.' i feel fucking pathetic and used right now. i want to do self-loathing unwise things. i am tired of being my own fucking cheerleader and giving myself tinny-voiced pep talks: today might suck, self, but tomorrow may be the best fucking day of your life!
*
i went to olympia on wednesday. i am so fucking relieved to no longer live there. it was nice to visit it objectively, not feeling haunted by the past. the vagrants still stumble down state street; the older women still wear mall-bought caftans; the men of all ages still have scrubby beards and tangled locks. the "coexist" bumper sticker is very popular there. i walked by the places we used to go, none of which are still in business. 'the reef' was an excellent diner downtown... it's now boarded up. 'the ribeye' (a 24hr dive with tater tots and pulltabs- i never played, but liked knowing i had the option) has been renamed something generic, even though 'the ribeye' had been there for 40-something years. i never went 'out' in olympia. i drove around a LOT. i know all the ax-murderer-sheltering back roads of thurston county, whipping down the narrow lanes at 2am, alone with the high beams on, smoking, blaring music. i cannot even relate to that era- the facts, when recalled, frighten me with the extent of how fucking unhappy i was.
5th avenue, midday. the only thing that crossed my path, honest to christ, was an obese brown rat.

surely i can wrangle some positive memories of that era/area:
-walking from the grocer to my own place, the funky studio in downtown across from the library, where i lived for 2 months while there was a restraining order against t. irises, i think, were on sale. i am never one to buy cut flowers, but that day i did. i bought them totally for myself. the trees were beginning to blossom. i distinctly remember smiling as i walked.
-t and i driving around aimlessly one afternoon. we passed a mexican restaurant and he said "ohhh, OKAY" and abruptly pulled into the parking lot. we hadn't even talked about getting food. moments like that were, and will always be, the things that completely charmed me.
-the smell of the co-op. i would stop there before my overnight shift. they had the curry cashews before anyone else carried them (they are now available in the bulk section of fred meyer and somehow not nearly as delicious).
-wandering the flats of mud bay, alone, watching seagulls watch me. something about a beach makes me feel like a little kid. i tap my foot against the wet sand and admire its tensegrity. i always pick up and examine the crabs under rocks. i stomp on the kelp that we used to call "chicken feet." sometimes it squeaks. sometimes it just flattens with a sigh.
-the night the remastered, un-phil-spectered version of 'let it be' came out, KZOK played it uninterrupted in its entirety. i made t drive around for the 42 minutes of the album. "i think i actually might not hate this 'long and winding road'" i said.
-buying used (old, kitschy, culinarily unpalatable) cookbooks at the cooper's point goodwill. there are a lot of old compound-dwelling folks in those parts; hence, that goodwill is a pretty good one for books and ephemera.
-b picking grapes off the vine behind OPE. he actually did make wine from them but i never got to sample it.
-hearing 'the lamb lies down on broadway' on the college radio station.
-the creepy death-house i looked at when i needed to move. it was a saggy-roofed hovel in the middle of an overgrown field on a dead end street; it even had tarpaper over the windows. the interior ceiling was maybe 7' high. i was polite to the guy who showed me the space. i thought "well, i want to be alone, right? i could plant sunflowers or something." but the place made my skin crawl. bad, horrible things had happened there- i could feel it. i left and clearly remember reminding myself to trust my fucking instincts.
-the bulk aisle at the downtown metropolitan market.
-a's bombastic dahlias.
-the black houses of olympia.
-the railroad tracks underneath hwy 510.
*
there really isn't much else. every other memory has a patina of ugliness, loneliness, and hopelessness. and a triplicate of '-ness' words sounds extremely contrived and immaturely dramatic.
*
to the present: 'last dance with mary jane' plays, usurping 'check your head.'
when i was in oly on wednesday, i did see this, which thrilled me- that is, after the initial "oh NO... that's AWFUL" reaction.

i immediately got the fucking south park line about 'going to the plane'arium' in my head- so my trek through downtown olympia was backgrounded with that particular nugget.
*
i went to see my parents. i hadn't been to their lair since june. i returned home with a sackful of vegetables from their garden. i had never picked beans- fuck, i didn't even know one picked beans- until wednesday. my parents got drunk. they both held it well, but i watched how many times they refilled their glasses. my father was very pleased about the long-awaited installation of his tap (now he doesn't have to go to the garage to get more beer). my mother had 1.5 bottles of wine, then at least 2 pints of beer; i lost count with my father. they showed me their stunning pictures of yellowstone- the pools look amazing. "it's like polenta!" i said dumbly. we complained about the government and our kin for a while, during which time i asked them for some food to absorb the 2 glasses of wine i'd had ("oh! of course!" my mother replied, sounding startled), and then my father started bleating about their new television. they certainly do buy a lot of expensive shit now. "it's digital!" my father hissed rapturously. "have you ever seen how much makeup news anchors wear?" he flipped impatiently through their hundreds of stations and we passed 'raising arizona.' "ooh!" my mother and i said at the same time. thus: the first thing i have (knowingly) seen on a digital television is the last 30 minutes of 'raising arizona.' "you wantin' we should freeze, we can't rightly drop!" i recited along without realizing it.
i fucking love that movie. i love how 'dreams' are an idea that we can never honestly apply to ourselves.
*
writing makes me feel so much better.
*
today i went to d's graduation from cortiva. i met his parents for the first time. they made me very fucking sad- what uncommunicative, depressing dickheads. i said to another friend who was there for him: "i can't believe he grew up in that environment." "well, he is adopted" she replied. "but-" they reminded me of b's parents, but infinitely worse. i glanced back at them (they were across the room) right after he received his diploma. neither were looking at the stage. that made me fucking sad.
so i can understand him blowing me off afterwards- i can understand a lot of his prickish behavior more clearly now- but fucking goddamn it, what if i'm having a bad day too? i petulantly think that way. and that's stupid, and i need to soldier up and get over it, and nothing is that important.
*
you know what i want? i want to make love. i want to be with someone with whom i can lie beside all night, us holding each other, and i want to go out for a fucking diner breakfast in the morning. that is what i want to be able to take for granted- i don't want to settle, so why do i keep disrespecting myself into thinking that's my only option?
*
the graduation was cool. white people cannot clap a rhythm if their lives depended on it. i got teary a few times. i sensed great pride in some people in the audience and resigned obligation in others (as with d's folks). i sucked on 2 lozenges in 2hours. my favorite teachers are still my favorites, based on what they said today.
*
my grades for 5th term came yesterday: i have a 3.6 GPA. it took 15 years of fucking around to actually be competent in school... and, slackly so, 'competent' is still plenty good enough for me.
it's just fucking massage school. who gives a fuck? does anyone even notice when i leave the room? do i remember them?
the lights here just dimmed. miles davis hisses on the hi-fi.
the pendulum is very low. i feel like an annoying goddamn litle girl.
no edit

and i was getting wet

by the end of tonight's class we'd been shown all the basic moves of east coast swing. i walked through a complete fucking downpour to get there. something is amiss with the sidewalk on pine street, causing 3" of rain to gush across its surface; my jeans were sodden to the knees and my hair was dripping wet when i arrived. the abruptly vile weather brings out the good in people. "guess it's not summer any more!" a man shouted after me jovially as he dodged the deluge from an awning. "apparently!" i replied cheerily.
today i reminded myself to notice the minutae. it's why i live in a city, after all- i mustn't take it for granted. seattle, 29 september 09, consisted of:
-a maid standing on the window-side of the heavy curtains at the holiday inn on westlake, staring out.
-the goth couple on the bus playfully stacking their fists up the pole. "i win!" crowed the female when her hand reached the top.
-the man with the lazy eye and cameoflage pants.
-"you can totally have it" said the man at fremont coffee, smiling, when i asked if i could take their table as they were leaving. they left behind a soiled fork resting delicately on a clean napkin.
-the aroma of macaroni and cheese at the place where i am currently typing this.
-a man who admired my computer the last time i was here just came back. "they're totally out of those at northgate!" he said. i love this thing- the asus eee- and recommend them to anyone.
-the emergency exit on the bus pouring rainwater over a guy standing underneath, him laughing about it, and the female he was with standing on the seat to close it.
-the (transient?) man at the drugstore lecturing the cashier for not placing his items in the plastic lidded bucket he'd brought along for that purpose.
-the man in the car beside me prolongedly flipping off the bus driver with a meaty finger.
-rifling through a vintage copy of 'nostradamus' prophesies'- somehow they devised that a vague remark about sunshine fading was indicative of irish conflict.
-myself, cackling at the newest edition of 'heeb' at the university bookstore.
*
once the sky is dark, i feel rather lost. i have never 'gone home at night' to 'relax' and 'take a load off.' i stay out until i am tired, which is usually quite late. i hate being in my home at night, especially by myself- i just don't do it. i feel horribly antsy and clausterphobic. but i am reminded, once the weather is foul and the nights are longer, how inconvenient (and expensive) it is to be out. this habit tends to grate on people. i like being at their places- d and i watched 'donnie darko' last night and i was quite content- but not at mine- my lair feels cold and unfamiliar when it's dark outside. every place i've lived has been that way.
when i'm OUT, AT NIGHT, i tend to be rather voyeuristic. i look in lit windows and admire people's lives from afar. i watch people converse, prepare meals, watch television, wash dishes. i notice the matching kitchen accoutrements and framed pictures and their expressions- like the man i once saw sitting in a recliner in front of the tv, looking utterly miserable. perhaps that is it: people, when they don't know they're being noticed, rarely look happy- or even content. i do this at intersections also. everyone looks resigned and annoyed. then i catch myself and realize that i probably do also- if i'm not singing along to something.
that's fucking sad!
it justifies my outings, at least in my own mind. i don't want to miss anything, so i'll be in public spaces with my focus centered on a 5"x8" screen.
and it reminds me that i am an anomaly- most people go home in the evening, coccoon, decompress. it makes me feel rather weird and rudderless... and thankful of my freedom... and curious that i'm living in a rather pathetic state of denial. at night, when i work, animals will come in with an acute emergency and their fur will sometimes smell like whatever the owners were preparing for dinner. the thought of, say, a dog laying around the kitchen while the sauce simmers is such a foreign, folksy concept- i envy it terribly, even if i don't understand why.
no edit

oh you pretty things!

i love georgetown, though i always feel slightly nerdy whenever i'm there. the general uniform seems to be american cigarettes, sleeve tattoos, fixies, black denim. d and i went to see f's show. on the way i passed this tower of crappy beer cans affixed to a light pole:

d doesn't really give a shit about how he comes across, which i envy and admire. we went to jules maes and he ordered his usual long island. he drinks the froofiest, most unpalatable beverages- mai tais and black opals and other unctuous swill. i may be a boring imbiber (gin and tonic, nearly always), but at least my teeth don't feel excessively coated after a night out.
jules maes has board games, big booths, and excellent fries.
*
it is very fucking nice to be on break from school. i took a four-hour nap on the trampoline today, surprising even myself. my dreams were erratic snippets of dischord. i hate waking up and feeling mentally soiled. like: i am in an archtypical 'rec room' of faux-panelled walls and hideous sofa. my father is trying to show me how to dance. we are both clothed and he is grinding his groin against my ass. i have never been molested in reality, so WHAT THE FUCK? i mean, GAH! i kept trying to move out of the way in the dream and he kept cheerfully correcting me: "you're doing it wrong" he said. my mother was also there, watching us and applauding our efforts.
i am aware of a very disturbing, freudian, parent-heavy dreamtheme of late. i have no fucking idea what this is about. i would really, really like it to stop, because it's extremely creepy and disgusting.
the dream segways to a tree-lined street with victorian houses. it reminds me of upper queen anne. my parents are showing off the '29 dodge- the dodge they sold (in reality) when i was 10 to fund my mother's 'enhancement.' in the dream it is back, now painted dark eggplant and covered with fake roses. it is a gothic, fabulous masterpiece. the inside is filled with the same tassels i used to put in all my cars; the back windows are covered with sheer black lace. i get into the rumble seat for a ride. "wait, you need your present!" my dad says. "this was on your list, but i bet you can't guess what it is." he hands me a wrapped frame in the middle of the street. it's a red velvet painting of elvis. "oh my god, it's a full-body one too" i gasp. "these are really rare. most velvet elvises are only of his head."
then: i am walking towards the clifflike edge of the neighborhood with a girl from class. we are holding hands, kissing surreptitiously, giddy with the newness of our attraction. we are to meet my parents again in an hour. the sun is setting and our faces are goldenrod. streetlights are starting to come on. "this all makes sense" i say. we smile at each other.
*
i woke up to my phone, on vibrate, skidding across the kitchen counter. it was a fucking timeshare charade that's been trying to contact me for the past two weeks; i must have signed up for something idiotic at a festival. i hate being interrupted from good dreams (which i classify the last one as). it makes reality slightly less lustrous.
seattle center today:

it's already dark outside. the passage of time startles me.

the salad days

this is my environment as i type this:

three weeks ago this space was occupied by a garage. they have done a good job with the renovation; it seems like it's been here for years. i am in a rare coffee-swilling mood and it tastes pretty raunchy, but i am here more to siphon wifi anyhow. this place is at the bottom of my hill (next to the infamous plaid pantry) and serves cheap bottles of wine. i sense much loitering here once it's wintery.
*
i just got a call that my attendance appeal for school has been granted. the last 48 hours had caused me to forget all about that. life is going well... for everybody, it seems. even my job last night, which involved 14 hours of me being the only inpatient nurse and dealing with relentless micturation, beeping fluid pumps, and a transfusion monitoring (and i nearly got bit in the face by a greyhound named fucking "Fergus"; i was saved by his e-collar and got jabbed in the eye with its hard plastic rim instead), was somehow slightly more tolerable... because in the back of my mind i kept chanting "i really do have other options now." i love my job, overall... i guess... but it's nice to remember that i will definitely not be there forever.
*
i jumped on the trampoline today whilst blaring garbage's first album. i'd forgotten how good it was. it transported me back to 1996- working at the cafe on minnesota, smoking pot in k's car, singing along loudly by myself to "milk" when i was feeling indulgently dramatic. some albums evoke certain eras so fucking strongly that they are impossible to listen to objectively ever again; it is very difficult to apply new memories to what's already there. that said, it was awesome to look at the sunny scenery outside my window and jump on a trampoline and think "i still feel like i'm seventeen but i have the experience of a thirty-year-old." it made me really fucking happy.
*
"inner city blues" plays. that's another evocative song. i think of 2001, driving to alpenglow in the snow, living in the i am house, perpetual darkness.
i don't remember any of my dreams from the last two nights. i have slept very peacefully.

a fine day, i say!

i passed the boards.
i calmly walked down the stairs, waited until the door of the respectable office building where the test was conducted was almost closed, and shrieked in the middle of the parking lot. i shrieked a lot.
*
i had one of the nuggets discs back in the cd player. i blared 'psychotic reaction' on the way home, windows down, grinning wildly.
god, i feel so good right now.
*
i walked downtown. it is still fucking hot, the sort of hot where when you stop moving, the sweat catches up and envelopes you. i wandered around the ID, smiling vapidly. 'twas at uwajimaya where i found this peculiar and delightfully named product:

i walked from the ID to capitol hill. (i have sweated a lot today.) i got the tattoo i have fantasized about for years- the one i draw sloppily on my arm with markers every few months. the session ended up taking 2 hours. the history channel was on the television behind me; i learned a bit about atilla the hun, then erik the red. i am now wearing a bandage that makes me look suicidal.
outside the cafe where i am now at is this fascinating still life... there's a story there, god damn it.

i am more mellow right now than i have felt in weeks. today was the flush-inducing climax of the past 15 months... now i get to lean back and grin lazily through the afterglow.

i am remembering my dreams again

in no particular order, but over the last several nights:

dream 1 (2 nights ago): i am walking down a bike path in northgate, midday and overcast. i know it is northgate, though i have never been on such a trail in reality. i am checking my phone and going through a pedestrian underpass. i suddenly realize i should be paying more attention to my surroundings. i look up and see a wild-eyed man stumbling out of the woods towards me. he is wearing a white-and-red patterned shirt much like the motherfucker who attacked me in july. i look at him, startled, and walk faster. there is about a 5' cement wall that i must surmount to get to street level- to 'safety' and i climb it clumsily. he is moving slowly, then starts to dart as i get all the way up. it is one of those horrible dreams where my moves are ineffectual and gelatinous. my legs are still hanging over the edge. he reaches out to grab them. i wake myself up by kicking violently and thrashing into a seated position at the head of my bed.
*
i have been having nightmares about that night. this would be the third in two weeks. shouldn't this reaction have happened two months ago? i was applauding my stoicness and resilience, but apparently i was completely delusional.
*
dream 2 (3 nights ago): i am with someone very familiar in a high-ceilinged room in an old building- something like a gymnasium. my mother is wearing no underpants and climbing on the windowsills. she is laughing. "i've always wanted to do this!" she exclaims, oblivious to my horror.
*
dream 3 (3 or 4 nights ago): it is not quite dawn and in the dream, for reasons forgotten, i have been up all night. i am standing on the corner of pike & boren and b is lifting me up by the waist and throwing me over his shoulder. i am laughing and begging him to stop- the same sort of frantic hilarity that happens when you're being tickled. he finds it hilarious that i am so helpless. i am flattered by his attention but honestly concerned that he's going to let me hang there until i pass out. i sense palpable venom in his merriment.
*
when i got home last night i didn't want to sleep in my bed. i needed a change of scenery. so i froze my ass off on my sofa, under the open window, waking up to sunlight slanting against the wall. i was momentarily befuddled- that eerie "where the fuck am i?" sensation- and when i realized it was my own space, revisited, i felt very relieved and giddy.
i love the security of my own world. i keep the walls of my enclave too fortified, perhaps, but every time i weaken them i tend to get jarringly fucked with.
to wit: d was a fucking asshole last week. i haven't talked to him since friday. i am disgusted with myself because, as always, i 'deserve' it; i trust people to be pleasant and kind and communicative and respectful- and people, at least the people i tend to associate with, aren't. but i am much more disgusted with him. i want to wash my mouth and brain out with bleach. i wonder what it is about me that renders my social options so minimal- why must i be privy to a relentless parade of mindfuckers? am i, myself, a mindfucker, attracting like? how much of this is (repetetively) bad luck and how much do i attract by mere virtue of my personality?
*
yeah, and didn't i voice these concerns to s back in, what, april? what did she say: "be careful." she said it with "i will be diplomatic because you will do whatever the fuck you want, but for god's sake, don't be nearly as stupid as you're prone to be" in her voice, which i pretended not to notice at the time. her wiseness annoys me. i envy her ability to not take shit from people. me: i let people do pretty much anything and am meekly flattered by the attention. how fucked up is that? am i damaged, for fuck's sake, and completely oblivious to it except when the same ugly patterns emerge?
damage implies weakness. i hate weakness.
let's change the subject!
*
i take the massage boards tomorrow at noon-thirty. i did well on the online practice exam, apart from several airy-fairy chinese medicine questions i was utterly clueless to. we never learned the joys of YANG in school. i test at noon and i get a new tat at 5pm. i have two weeks to heal. and it will be nice to feel a needle in my skin again.
there is a bespectacled boy reading a paperback under the windows. i looked up, caught his eye, smiled toothlessly, and returned to typing. i've stated this before, objectively, dispassionately, but: i suspect this is my problem.
second east coast swing class tonight, on an 85 degree day in a 90 degree room... my back was damp when my partners touched me. it's fucking FUN. i love feeling like i've been let in on a secret... people have done these steps for years, and now i can too! my skin still tastes salty.
and this afternoon i hung out with two people i went to elementary school with, neither of whom i'd seen in 20 years. the wonders of facebook! we recognized each other immediately. i felt weirdly tall. she lives in seattle, he's visiting from anchorage. it was incredibly cool to relate to people on that level... how weird and precocious we all were. names i hadn't heard in decades were bandied around. our mutual acquaintances are now doctors, lawyers, professors. "i'm in massage school!" i said feebly. they were actually really enthusiastic about that. i gave them my new business cards. they both promised to tell their friends.
it was a really fucking cool afternoon, actually. it's amazing how much one can remember without realizing it. i tapped into memories today that i never knew i created in the first place.
*
the past proves you're alive.