alaska, along the turnagain arm. 75 degrees. it didn't suck.
vehicles in alaska: they are TRUCKS, and they're filthy. lots of bumper stickers. disrepair. i felt at home.
the pie menu at peggy's:
and an amazing shirt at darwin's:
that seems like so fucking long ago. i came back and worked 7 of the next 8 days. life goes on. i have a world here. it's a nice world! you should come visit.
the weather has been ass-cold and rainy, though. STILL. it's supposed to be 79 on friday. i will, of course, be inside at work.
i took sunday off to break my pork fast of the last 8 years.
s's landlord/roommate has property in indianola, a ferry ride away from seattle. the place is a bit of a hippie commune. it was fucking awesome, actually. the pig tasted fucking FANTASTIC.
indianola bucolia!
a vehicle near the roast-site:
testing the internal temperature... it was about 160lbs to start.
there were several dogs, chasing one who appeared to be in heat. there were several kids. the kids were quite cool.
after one kid grew tired of carrying around the skull (meat attached), they took turns posing with the snout.
it was an incredibly lovely experience. sigh. i simply cannot say enough good things about it.
*
i had my first shift as an LMP at bbh. it went well. my ethics are unsullied. the second guy fell asleep within 5 minutes. i had that revelation: oh my god, i'm the professional! the shift started awkwardly- i had never been in that portion of the building, i didn't know where anything was, i locked myself out of the room 3 different times, my uterus was stabbing itself with a fallopian tube- but afterwards i got on the bus and grinned. and at the end of the bus ride were THESE:
orgasmic- ORGASMIC!- beignets with chicory anglaise. i am still thinking about them. fucking hell. they kick cafe du monde's ass.
later that night i went and bought chicory coffee to assuage my craving for new orleans. this is the exact time of year when i've visited in the past.
*
went to my parents' house yesterday. my mom got shitfaced as usual. after she passed out at the table -well, fell asleep extremely abruptly- my father confessed how difficult it is for him, especially with how often he's away. he'll call from the road and she's nearly incoherent. "she knows i'm here to protect her" he said. he said this repeatedly. i also watched him get up and refill his pint glass from the wall-mounted tap at least 8 times. i, the most sober human in the house, was the one who leaned over to pet the cat and tipped the entire fucking dining table, and its contents, all over the white carpet. surprisingly, my father thought it was hilarious.
their garden is gorgeous. "a little slice of heaven you've got here" i said.
it was a good time. i love them. i still felt emotionally drained when i left, as i always do. i had 70 miles in the rainy dark to replay our conversations. "escapism indicates unhappiness" my father said about my mother. "i don't know what to do."
"it doesn't sound like unhappiness as much as it sounds like a habit" i said. i should know this.
my mother woke up after the table hit the floor. she was oddly coherent, although still crashing into things and slurring her words. i see with her how fucking disgusting i am when i'm drunk.
a photograph of my great-uncle, oma, and great aunt:
the best parts of anyone are their eyes.
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