this is my last post on this account.
the people whom i have innocently given access to this site have rendered it, for lack of a better word, impotent. i cannot be as honest as i would like. i hate the one-sided voyeurism; YOU know everything about ME but are too socially immature to give me the same courtesy. it's been a problem for awhile. i've started keeping a palpable journal again, but, i'm ashamed to say, physically writing is annoying. it is annoying in a way i don't remember it being. and every time i'm PHYSICALLY writing in my PHYSICAL journal, i can't help but think: FUCK YOU. fuck you for making me feel like have to fucking hide.
being that this is on the interwebs and will never, ever go away, i am not deleting this blog. this has been my journal for the last 6 years of my life- 6 very tumultuous years. writing here kept me sane, and i don;t care if that's cliched, because it's true. i would hate to lose this just because a few assholes fucked it up.
confidential to fabian: STOP STALKING ME. stop calling me, stop emailing me. I AM NOT INTERESTED IN BEING YOUR FRIEND, OR ACQUAINTANCE, OR ANYTHING. DO NOT CONTACT ME AGAIN OR I WILL CALL THE POLICE.
everyone else, all 3 of you, thanks for reading my shit. expect an email soon.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Monday, August 08, 2011
today, for example.
wake at 719am to my neighbor loudly jingling her keys as she leaves her apartment. i stick my head out the window. "could you please try to be quieter? that wakes me up every morning." i'm not exaggerating. "i don't know how i can be any quieter" she replies blithely. i suppose that is true. it's not her fault i get off work at 2am. if i were to start jostling MY keys and stomping around and otherwise making a fuss when i get home, which i don;t currently do, perhaps she would sympathize. i fall back asleep thinking spiteful dark thoughts.
*
dream about my ex-husband. i was sexually involved with his ex. it was not sexy.
*
912am. clouds. put on a sweater. this has been a fucking horrible summer.
*
clean my house. manic. vacuum, scrub toilet, cat boxes. scrub kitchen floor. lay on kitchen floor to try to fix broken garbage disposal; my sink does not drain at all. i can't get it to work. call landlord. somebody will be by in the morning.
*
go to bookstore. buy a phillip k dick novel on sale. i briefly forget my phone number when the clerk asks for it, which freaks me out. i automatically gave him my old number from anchorage, the one i haven't had since 2001. my brain is fermenting the most useless shit... buy yerba mate tea. drink it sweatily on the bus. brian jonestown massacre and the beta band. try not to fall asleep.
*
library. a book called "the sexy book of sexy sex", or something. apparently komodo dragons are hermaphroditic? or was that a ruse? it's in the same vein as "america: the book." it includes pick-up lines. if you're hitting on a typesetter (and who isn't, really, these days?): "i'd like to inspect your colon before your period." there are also ways listed of how to be a Bad Girl. wound him! get him arrested! pee on him! tie him up! tie him up and then pee on him! and then, you know, defecate.
*
started reading the phillip k dick book. it sucks. it's BORING. i am usually hypersalivating about tales of suburban malaise, especially if they're set in midcentury semblences of prosper... but this. FUCK this. i thought phillip k dick was literature. i am pissed off by how shitty it is. i want to, and will, finish it, because maybe it suddenly gets amazing... i rarely do not finish books. when one is so astonishingly bad, it unsettles.
*
take bus to meet someone whom i haven't seen in a year. he is pleased to show off his contacts. he's wearing the same cologne. he wore cologne. i always found that endearing. he complains about his girlfriend. i tell the story about the guy who bit my face. we go dancing. it's all the same people. there's the perpetually inebriated guy with the huge head who holds my body too close; there's the old guy with absolutely no rhythm; there's the guy who i thought i danced well with but who made the effort to come over later and tell me "if you took more classes, you'd probably be really good."
*
i don't remember the bus ride home. i was sober and staring out the window. life was an amorphous blur. it's seemed that way an awful lot lately. constant dreamscape. ten miles, two hours later, whatever... where the fuck was i?
*
home. chopping cabbage. a friend left a box of produce on my doorstep last week, with two sunflowers on top. cabbage, mixed with tahini dressing, to be eaten with crackers at work tomorrow. singing along too loudly to del shannon. bits of cabbage floating in my undraining sink. xmas lights on. a sip of brennivin, still in my freezer from iceland. india temple incense. there are still vacuum tracks on the carpet.
*
o was asking me about polyamory. i said that i was once vehemently opposed to it, but now i realize that it's impossible for one person to provide everything you need. "people elicit different things" i said, or something. i have been very vanilla with some people and completely kinky with others; some people are tender, some are ferocious; some are emotional and some just FUCK. and all of that is good. i need all of those things, i WANT all of those things, and it's very rare to find it all in one human. it's egotistical and arrogant to assume i or anyone else has the ability to fully satistfy another.
he didn't seem horrified by my answer, so that was good.
the more i know, the stupider i feel. surely that's a bumper sticker somewhere.
*
apparently van gogh suffered from gonorrhea. screaming gonorrhea! i thought it was syphillis that made him mad, but i may have been confusing him with henry VIII.
*
montreal seems so long ago. i am reticent to describe exactly how much i loved it. i was thinking today: i just need to marry a guy from the EU and get citizenship! they could be amurrikan, i could have access to the countries i want to live in! backs done scratched! the idea is grotesque. is it as grotesque as marrying for love and getting divorced twice? perhaps.
i'm in there somewhere.
returning to seattle: this is home. it is my base in which i can be at ease and jaded and familiar and competent and myself. that is the ultimate goal for any place. i was so happy to be back. but, shit. i loved montreal more than i wanted to admit. i am worried that my chickenshittery will talk me out of where i need to be. i don;t know if i'm brave enough to learn a new culture and a new language and a new world. i don;t want to END in seattle. i don't want to feel so comfortable (not to be confused with "happy") here that i might.
*
meanwhile, life is getting interesting... today was an anomaly. really!
*
no edit
*
dream about my ex-husband. i was sexually involved with his ex. it was not sexy.
*
912am. clouds. put on a sweater. this has been a fucking horrible summer.
*
clean my house. manic. vacuum, scrub toilet, cat boxes. scrub kitchen floor. lay on kitchen floor to try to fix broken garbage disposal; my sink does not drain at all. i can't get it to work. call landlord. somebody will be by in the morning.
*
go to bookstore. buy a phillip k dick novel on sale. i briefly forget my phone number when the clerk asks for it, which freaks me out. i automatically gave him my old number from anchorage, the one i haven't had since 2001. my brain is fermenting the most useless shit... buy yerba mate tea. drink it sweatily on the bus. brian jonestown massacre and the beta band. try not to fall asleep.
*
library. a book called "the sexy book of sexy sex", or something. apparently komodo dragons are hermaphroditic? or was that a ruse? it's in the same vein as "america: the book." it includes pick-up lines. if you're hitting on a typesetter (and who isn't, really, these days?): "i'd like to inspect your colon before your period." there are also ways listed of how to be a Bad Girl. wound him! get him arrested! pee on him! tie him up! tie him up and then pee on him! and then, you know, defecate.
*
started reading the phillip k dick book. it sucks. it's BORING. i am usually hypersalivating about tales of suburban malaise, especially if they're set in midcentury semblences of prosper... but this. FUCK this. i thought phillip k dick was literature. i am pissed off by how shitty it is. i want to, and will, finish it, because maybe it suddenly gets amazing... i rarely do not finish books. when one is so astonishingly bad, it unsettles.
*
take bus to meet someone whom i haven't seen in a year. he is pleased to show off his contacts. he's wearing the same cologne. he wore cologne. i always found that endearing. he complains about his girlfriend. i tell the story about the guy who bit my face. we go dancing. it's all the same people. there's the perpetually inebriated guy with the huge head who holds my body too close; there's the old guy with absolutely no rhythm; there's the guy who i thought i danced well with but who made the effort to come over later and tell me "if you took more classes, you'd probably be really good."
*
i don't remember the bus ride home. i was sober and staring out the window. life was an amorphous blur. it's seemed that way an awful lot lately. constant dreamscape. ten miles, two hours later, whatever... where the fuck was i?
*
home. chopping cabbage. a friend left a box of produce on my doorstep last week, with two sunflowers on top. cabbage, mixed with tahini dressing, to be eaten with crackers at work tomorrow. singing along too loudly to del shannon. bits of cabbage floating in my undraining sink. xmas lights on. a sip of brennivin, still in my freezer from iceland. india temple incense. there are still vacuum tracks on the carpet.
*
o was asking me about polyamory. i said that i was once vehemently opposed to it, but now i realize that it's impossible for one person to provide everything you need. "people elicit different things" i said, or something. i have been very vanilla with some people and completely kinky with others; some people are tender, some are ferocious; some are emotional and some just FUCK. and all of that is good. i need all of those things, i WANT all of those things, and it's very rare to find it all in one human. it's egotistical and arrogant to assume i or anyone else has the ability to fully satistfy another.
he didn't seem horrified by my answer, so that was good.
the more i know, the stupider i feel. surely that's a bumper sticker somewhere.
*
apparently van gogh suffered from gonorrhea. screaming gonorrhea! i thought it was syphillis that made him mad, but i may have been confusing him with henry VIII.
*
montreal seems so long ago. i am reticent to describe exactly how much i loved it. i was thinking today: i just need to marry a guy from the EU and get citizenship! they could be amurrikan, i could have access to the countries i want to live in! backs done scratched! the idea is grotesque. is it as grotesque as marrying for love and getting divorced twice? perhaps.
i'm in there somewhere.
returning to seattle: this is home. it is my base in which i can be at ease and jaded and familiar and competent and myself. that is the ultimate goal for any place. i was so happy to be back. but, shit. i loved montreal more than i wanted to admit. i am worried that my chickenshittery will talk me out of where i need to be. i don;t know if i'm brave enough to learn a new culture and a new language and a new world. i don;t want to END in seattle. i don't want to feel so comfortable (not to be confused with "happy") here that i might.
*
meanwhile, life is getting interesting... today was an anomaly. really!
*
no edit
Tuesday, August 02, 2011
another check-off
montreal. this place makes sense. i am happy. it is good to be alive. to LIVE. i have no regrets about the shit of july. i have no regrets about any of the long-time-coming decisions i've made over the past few months in particular, actually. * this is in cimetiere de notre dame des neiges. i was all alone there. i first noticed the sound whilst taking the muddy-path, steep way up mont royal (in a skirt and sandals, thank you). i thought the path was lined with faulty streetlamps, but there were no streetlamps... just this raucous, then abating, buzzing noise from the trees. i saw no flying insects. what the fuck was it? it was in the cemetery trees, then vanished when i got to rue st laurent. 
excellent street art abounds. apparently i unconsciously travel to places with amazing shit everywhere. 
it took closer scrutiny to realize that this is an advertisement for shoes. 
i'm on my 3rd book in 3 days. i first picked up "cockroach" by rawi hage at the university bookstore, because i'd read all the houellebecq on their shelf, but i ended up getting "the rum diary" instead. so i found it today here, at a fantastic used bookstore on ave laurier, for less than what it cost in seattle. at one point he's staring out the window at a wintry montreal and fogging up the cold glass. "my own breath was obstructing my view of the world!" i like that. it hit a nerve.
excellent street art abounds. apparently i unconsciously travel to places with amazing shit everywhere. 
it took closer scrutiny to realize that this is an advertisement for shoes. 
i'm on my 3rd book in 3 days. i first picked up "cockroach" by rawi hage at the university bookstore, because i'd read all the houellebecq on their shelf, but i ended up getting "the rum diary" instead. so i found it today here, at a fantastic used bookstore on ave laurier, for less than what it cost in seattle. at one point he's staring out the window at a wintry montreal and fogging up the cold glass. "my own breath was obstructing my view of the world!" i like that. it hit a nerve.
Friday, July 29, 2011
my horrible day involved breaking up with someone i still love, listening to someone vomit, and walking home down the same terrifying span of mercer where i was mugged 2 years prior. i'm not going to dwell on any of that, because my subconscious will be very adroit at reminding me regardless. before all this, when the day was fresh and filled with optimism, i looked through photographs and found these.
i cannot help but wonder when i fucked up so badly. everything i've ever done has led up to this moment. apparently there was a misstep. perhaps tomorrow will be fucking awesome. hnh. but right now i feel like a collossally incompetent twat who cannot maturely manage my life or properly spell "collossally."
and in the present, there is entropy's ass. such is my world. it's been a crappy day. bless her heart. the xmas lights are a-blazin'. fire ant cars on i-5. i oughtn't think too much. life goes on regardless.
all i want right now is to be naked in his bed, watching a stupid movie, feeling his skin. and i can't; it's over. i didn't realize how much i would miss him until i had no other options. the reality is a severed nerve to a limb i really fucking need. i've been through this before- the breaking-up thing- and i'll be fine; this moment was a long time coming, and we both knew it. but right now, shit. so it's hard for me to look back on photos of myself with innocent eyes and earnest smiles and not think "how the FUCK did i fuck everything up so badly?"
i feel like a fucking teenager and i'm 32 years old. and a fucking drama queen.
*
reading "henry and june" doesn't help. those folks are fucking insufferable.
Monday, July 18, 2011
shit, losing of one's
i just dropped tiresias off at work for an overnight reprieve. he sprayed twice today, directly in front of me, as well as emptying his bladder once, over the course of the day. i was home all day, being painfully "on call", hanging pictures, so i saw it all. i wonder if he does this while i'm not around (which is most of the time) and if this is why my house has a permanent piss/arm & hammer aroma. i can't even bother to speculate anymore. over the last 3 months i have had my carpets professionally cleaned, bought 2 different enzymatic cleaners, used feliway, purchased another litter box and 2 different types of litter, taken him in to the vet twice for exams and urinalyses, and have been neurotically hypervigilant of his surroundings.
i came home this evening and he promptly sprayed the closet door. vertical, behavioral spraying. and i lost it. i burst into tears and scruffed him and shoved him in his carrier and hauled him to my work, where i dropped him off for the night. i was sobbing. i was and am horrified with the knowledge that if he were to have stayed here tonight i would have done something cruel. i love the cat to fucking death. anyone who knows me and knows him is uncomfortably aware of this: i LOVE this cat. he is my special little guy whom i've known since he was tiny. why he's doing this now breaks my fucking heart. one of the docs i work with prescribed him amitryptalline, which is essentially cat prozac, and i haven't given it yet. that's the one thing, apart from moving to a place with wood floors and doors, or euthanasia (the idea of which makes me want to vomit) that i haven't tried... because i'm ethically opposed to it. HE IS A HAPPY CAT. he'll be in my lap, purring, then trot over to some random spot and piss. then trot back and jump in my lap. he's not 'depressed'. i don't approve of mood alterers in humans (having been on them) and i certainly don't approve of them in animals... they're ANIMALS. what do they know about depression? their role on the planet is to be happy. and tiresias is totally happy until my convenience is ruined by his pissing. so really, it's all about me and my fucking selfishness and standards, and i feel like a piece of shit, and this is why i don't have human children, and I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M GOING TO DO.
*
right now i'm drinking cheap port. quickly.
*
so today i looked at a place. great location, 1st floor of a 1905 house that was once a sorority building- about half the size of my current lair and ~$70/month more. it was grotty. cute- if i'd seen it 6 years ago, i would have snatched it up, though the price would have still given me pause. it made me realize how good i have it. i cannot move my life for a cat, especially a really good life with an amazing deal. there was no place to even fit a litter box in this place. there was a regal fireplace, but as i was admiring it the guy said "oh, you can't use the fireplace. i mean, you could put candles in it if you want." he hadn't kept up with the sweeping, apparently. the 'bedroom' was smaller than my queen-sized mattress. the door to the basement laundry room was 5' tall. and one of the neighbors was blaring sullen music as the guy told me how quiet the residents are.
last night i was laying in bed and listening to my neighbor sob. they've been having problems. i was on the deck a couple weeks ago and heard her weepily scream "you treat me like SHIT!" before she drove away. so last night... it was uncomfortable. obviously her window, like mine, was open despite the bullshit non-summer. i wanted to say something- what? "hey, are you okay?" (dumb question; obviously not). "hey, you seem upset. wanna talk?" (too intrusive?) so i did nothing. i was in my bed, she was in her bed(room)... society is so close yet so fucking far away. i read about dietary fads of the 50s. eventually her crying subsided. i felt and feel like an asshole. but then i thought: i've been there. what would i want someone to do? i, personally, would want someone to acknowledge nothing until they knew me better. i would want to live under the delusional veneer that no one else in the world pays attention. that's what my ego would want, anyway. i don't fucking know. i am still thinking about it 24 hrs later and suspecting that i should have handled it differently.
*
here's a random life-shot; it looks like an anomaly. but i didn't delete it.
there are other things going unsatisfactorily in my life right now, but that warrants another medium. people should be happy regardless. that's why we're alive, and that's as spiritual and hippy-dippy as i'm going to get. so i'm making efforts to expedite my happiness. whatever. other people have their lives figured out by now; they know where they are going to be in 1, 5, 20 years. i once thought i did, but i didn't, and i still don't. so woo fucking hoo. i'm 32 years old and bitching about (one of) my cat(s). don't worry, it's okay to laugh. i'd laugh if it wasn't my own lame-ass life i was laughing at.
seattle has been cold and rainy, but it smells fantastic and there are whole new eschelons of blossoms dropping on the pavement. this is probably the shittiest summer i have ever experienced here, but people are troupers. i went to the farmer's market today and i was one of the only people without a raincoat. bought new sandals yesterday, thinking wishfully. 2 weeks til the muggy bombast of montreal. i am looking very much forward to it.
i came home this evening and he promptly sprayed the closet door. vertical, behavioral spraying. and i lost it. i burst into tears and scruffed him and shoved him in his carrier and hauled him to my work, where i dropped him off for the night. i was sobbing. i was and am horrified with the knowledge that if he were to have stayed here tonight i would have done something cruel. i love the cat to fucking death. anyone who knows me and knows him is uncomfortably aware of this: i LOVE this cat. he is my special little guy whom i've known since he was tiny. why he's doing this now breaks my fucking heart. one of the docs i work with prescribed him amitryptalline, which is essentially cat prozac, and i haven't given it yet. that's the one thing, apart from moving to a place with wood floors and doors, or euthanasia (the idea of which makes me want to vomit) that i haven't tried... because i'm ethically opposed to it. HE IS A HAPPY CAT. he'll be in my lap, purring, then trot over to some random spot and piss. then trot back and jump in my lap. he's not 'depressed'. i don't approve of mood alterers in humans (having been on them) and i certainly don't approve of them in animals... they're ANIMALS. what do they know about depression? their role on the planet is to be happy. and tiresias is totally happy until my convenience is ruined by his pissing. so really, it's all about me and my fucking selfishness and standards, and i feel like a piece of shit, and this is why i don't have human children, and I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M GOING TO DO.
*
right now i'm drinking cheap port. quickly.
*
so today i looked at a place. great location, 1st floor of a 1905 house that was once a sorority building- about half the size of my current lair and ~$70/month more. it was grotty. cute- if i'd seen it 6 years ago, i would have snatched it up, though the price would have still given me pause. it made me realize how good i have it. i cannot move my life for a cat, especially a really good life with an amazing deal. there was no place to even fit a litter box in this place. there was a regal fireplace, but as i was admiring it the guy said "oh, you can't use the fireplace. i mean, you could put candles in it if you want." he hadn't kept up with the sweeping, apparently. the 'bedroom' was smaller than my queen-sized mattress. the door to the basement laundry room was 5' tall. and one of the neighbors was blaring sullen music as the guy told me how quiet the residents are.
last night i was laying in bed and listening to my neighbor sob. they've been having problems. i was on the deck a couple weeks ago and heard her weepily scream "you treat me like SHIT!" before she drove away. so last night... it was uncomfortable. obviously her window, like mine, was open despite the bullshit non-summer. i wanted to say something- what? "hey, are you okay?" (dumb question; obviously not). "hey, you seem upset. wanna talk?" (too intrusive?) so i did nothing. i was in my bed, she was in her bed(room)... society is so close yet so fucking far away. i read about dietary fads of the 50s. eventually her crying subsided. i felt and feel like an asshole. but then i thought: i've been there. what would i want someone to do? i, personally, would want someone to acknowledge nothing until they knew me better. i would want to live under the delusional veneer that no one else in the world pays attention. that's what my ego would want, anyway. i don't fucking know. i am still thinking about it 24 hrs later and suspecting that i should have handled it differently.
*
here's a random life-shot; it looks like an anomaly. but i didn't delete it.
there are other things going unsatisfactorily in my life right now, but that warrants another medium. people should be happy regardless. that's why we're alive, and that's as spiritual and hippy-dippy as i'm going to get. so i'm making efforts to expedite my happiness. whatever. other people have their lives figured out by now; they know where they are going to be in 1, 5, 20 years. i once thought i did, but i didn't, and i still don't. so woo fucking hoo. i'm 32 years old and bitching about (one of) my cat(s). don't worry, it's okay to laugh. i'd laugh if it wasn't my own lame-ass life i was laughing at.
seattle has been cold and rainy, but it smells fantastic and there are whole new eschelons of blossoms dropping on the pavement. this is probably the shittiest summer i have ever experienced here, but people are troupers. i went to the farmer's market today and i was one of the only people without a raincoat. bought new sandals yesterday, thinking wishfully. 2 weeks til the muggy bombast of montreal. i am looking very much forward to it.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
damaged goods
I feel so fucking lonely. I'm detrimentally caught up in my own brain right now. I get into a me-vs-the world mentality, which is very jarring to my usual lalala-life is great/humans are lovely mindset- a mindset I truly do believe, even now, but can't really relate to. I would just like some fucking help, someone to be there, just THERE. I have always valued my independence so ferociously but lately things have seemed really fucking overwhelming and I'm having to deal with all of it alone. it sucks. I would like some company, some advice, some fucking reassurance.
instead I am sweating in my parked car and writing on my phone and humming along to "that's life", which is pretty nicely apt and a song that always makes me feel better. life goes on. there is nothing that cannot be dealt with. amorphous bullshit is just scarier, that's all.
*
I don't think I could take anything for granted even if I wanted to.
instead I am sweating in my parked car and writing on my phone and humming along to "that's life", which is pretty nicely apt and a song that always makes me feel better. life goes on. there is nothing that cannot be dealt with. amorphous bullshit is just scarier, that's all.
*
I don't think I could take anything for granted even if I wanted to.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
never a frown
i was raised in a very demonstrative household, probably to a fault. there was hysterical laughter and holes punched in walls and tires squealing out of the driveway and parents always holding hands and leaving love notes everywhere. I've seen my parents cry and kiss and get drunk and get high and fight and make up. that is my normal. we didn't always know why, but we certainly all knew HOW everyone felt. I could hear my mother from another part of the house, by herself, and she would spontaneously singsong "I love you!" she still calls my dad "ditto." he calls her "scooter." I don't think I've ever asked them why. I will.
*
until very recently, I assumed everyone was raised that way. stoicism and reticence can't possibly be defaults... but maybe they can. apparently they are.
*
I got home from work and the house smelled like piss again. I sat down and Tiresias crawled into my lap. stretched out contentedly. started to purr. ever since he was a kitten I've picked him up and pressed my cheek to the side of his head, to listen to him purr. he goes totally limp. I have no fucking idea what I should do. I asked both doctors today about amitryptalline and other drug therapy; neither of them reccommend it. I priced more laminate flooring- the cheapest I found was $.69/foot and looked it. I looked on craigslist for noncarpeted lairs. "why don't you just make him an outdoor cat?" someone suggested. "because he has NO EYES" I said. "oh." she paused. "that's a problem."
I feel like a festering spinster hag to be obsessing over this- as if I should clear the cobwebs from my vagina with a fucking machete- but fuck. FUCK. this is the cat who once fit in my hand. he's always been golden. brilliant. enough of an asshole to remain entertaining. I don't want to debate his life because of an issue that obviously bothers ME a lot more than it bothers HIM. fucking boy cats. never again.
*
I realize I am writing about my cat, and that's tedious. enough. some people have kids and shit. I dunno. maybe it's vaguely similar.
*
apparently they are serving deep-fried kool-aid at the San Diego fair. there are recipes on teh internets. didn't appear to suck.
you know what would be fucking delicious? deep-fried caramello bars. do they even make those any more? in lieu of that, deep-fried rollos would be good- finger food for a succubus.
*
I had another manic fit last week, which is always an effective self-starter, so I'm going to Montreal next month. I always need something on the fucking horizon. besides, I've noticed that the everyday world gets a lot more fucking compelling when you have the option to be elsewhere.
no edit
*
until very recently, I assumed everyone was raised that way. stoicism and reticence can't possibly be defaults... but maybe they can. apparently they are.
*
I got home from work and the house smelled like piss again. I sat down and Tiresias crawled into my lap. stretched out contentedly. started to purr. ever since he was a kitten I've picked him up and pressed my cheek to the side of his head, to listen to him purr. he goes totally limp. I have no fucking idea what I should do. I asked both doctors today about amitryptalline and other drug therapy; neither of them reccommend it. I priced more laminate flooring- the cheapest I found was $.69/foot and looked it. I looked on craigslist for noncarpeted lairs. "why don't you just make him an outdoor cat?" someone suggested. "because he has NO EYES" I said. "oh." she paused. "that's a problem."
I feel like a festering spinster hag to be obsessing over this- as if I should clear the cobwebs from my vagina with a fucking machete- but fuck. FUCK. this is the cat who once fit in my hand. he's always been golden. brilliant. enough of an asshole to remain entertaining. I don't want to debate his life because of an issue that obviously bothers ME a lot more than it bothers HIM. fucking boy cats. never again.
*
I realize I am writing about my cat, and that's tedious. enough. some people have kids and shit. I dunno. maybe it's vaguely similar.
*
apparently they are serving deep-fried kool-aid at the San Diego fair. there are recipes on teh internets. didn't appear to suck.
you know what would be fucking delicious? deep-fried caramello bars. do they even make those any more? in lieu of that, deep-fried rollos would be good- finger food for a succubus.
*
I had another manic fit last week, which is always an effective self-starter, so I'm going to Montreal next month. I always need something on the fucking horizon. besides, I've noticed that the everyday world gets a lot more fucking compelling when you have the option to be elsewhere.
no edit
Wednesday, June 08, 2011
elephant
eleven years ago I fell very hard and very quickly for a guy. we slept together the night we met but didn't have sex until the second. I remember telling him after a week, "I'm going to know you for a long time." and we did, but we didn't. I moved to Washington and got married and divorced to someone else and went back to school and lived my silly life. and things went horribly awry with him. I will never know what the reasons are. I will never again be able to know the person who bought me bags of grapes and kept me company in the grim sober hours before my graveyard shift and with whom I ate fucking onion petals from the arby's drive-in and sang along with me to "starless" and bemusedly watched me butcher "fever" at karaoke and turned me on to some of the best music I know and with whom I linked jewelry and who loved my cats almost as much as I did and I can go on for an obnoxiously long time, because there were a fucking hell of a lot of things to love about him. but that person is gone now. and it fucking destroys me like a death. and he is too caught up in his own self-destruction to realize his impact on other people who care about him, and it's the saddest, most infuriating thing. there is nothing I can do but close my eyes and hope to fuck I don't get a call from someone telling me he's dead. I miss what was.
*
sometimes things just fucking suck. I just can't deal with it anymore. I feel like a weak asshole piece of shit to eviscerate him from my life, but I don't want to know what he's become. i don't want that shit in my life.
*
I have (tried to, finally) let go of a lot of "past" lately, things and people that I clung to for way too long- things and people that I used to validate and define me, like a photograph I take to prove I've been somewhere.
*
last night, different unrelated topic entirely: I was asked what i was looking for. my skin was still warm from dancing. the candlelight was supremely flattering. and I thought: I want to always have the freedom to think about possibilities. I want to a live a life of adolescent intrigue, where every situation is potentially loaded and dramatic. I want to appreciate the way the air feels on bare skin, how people's eyes are sometimes golden, how we're all just trying to be fucking understood.
I didn't articulate that properly, I'm afraid.
it was nice to be asked. "passion" and "giving a shit" is what I think I said. those virtues can and should be applied to everything. right? right.
*
I have no idea how incoherent this is. I'm writing on my phone whilst sitting in front of an open window, heat on and cold air blowing in, Xmas lights and AC Newman "submarines of Stockholm", 115 pst, no edit. this is my current slice of the world.
*
sometimes things just fucking suck. I just can't deal with it anymore. I feel like a weak asshole piece of shit to eviscerate him from my life, but I don't want to know what he's become. i don't want that shit in my life.
*
I have (tried to, finally) let go of a lot of "past" lately, things and people that I clung to for way too long- things and people that I used to validate and define me, like a photograph I take to prove I've been somewhere.
*
last night, different unrelated topic entirely: I was asked what i was looking for. my skin was still warm from dancing. the candlelight was supremely flattering. and I thought: I want to always have the freedom to think about possibilities. I want to a live a life of adolescent intrigue, where every situation is potentially loaded and dramatic. I want to appreciate the way the air feels on bare skin, how people's eyes are sometimes golden, how we're all just trying to be fucking understood.
I didn't articulate that properly, I'm afraid.
it was nice to be asked. "passion" and "giving a shit" is what I think I said. those virtues can and should be applied to everything. right? right.
*
I have no idea how incoherent this is. I'm writing on my phone whilst sitting in front of an open window, heat on and cold air blowing in, Xmas lights and AC Newman "submarines of Stockholm", 115 pst, no edit. this is my current slice of the world.
Monday, May 16, 2011
girthsome!
i maximized my camera's capacity, because i am very bad about deleting things once they're uploaded. here is a power squash from 2009. enjoy.
i almost used it as my facebook picture, but i chickened out.
*
it's been a good month. a busy month. i have over 200 photos i need to eventually document. i will later. here's a taste.
i almost used it as my facebook picture, but i chickened out.
*
it's been a good month. a busy month. i have over 200 photos i need to eventually document. i will later. here's a taste.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
fuck quelling
it's been hours and I'm still pissed; actually, I've gotten more irate as I've listened to the conversation riccochet in my brain. suffice it to say that I shan't be crushed to leave the sanctuary. I will miss the work, I will miss the clientele, I will miss the rhythm... but I will not miss the condescending passive-aggressive faux-airy-fairy massage-industry BULLSHIT. I will not miss being compared to an excitedly pissing puppy. I will not miss cringing at the myriad hypocrisies and overall, just, CRAP. yes, I went to (an expensive) school, I studied my ass off, I commited 18 months of my life to just BECOME a massage therapist. and I knew that the world of massage is, overwhelmingly, a flaky, vapid, dubious one, full of bullshit and rhetoric and pretense that made me want to puke then and makes me want to puke now... so I don't know why, now, I have the ignorant audacity to feel indignant. I knew it was bullshit, but I thought it would not be. I wanted to be pleasantly shocked. I still believe that there is a place that is technically-minded and not saturated with flax-coated horseshit, but I have apparently not found it just yet.
the massage industry has taught me how to perfect the glassy-eyed smile of overt indifference. you don't want to know what I'm actually thinking. trust me.
whatever! thank you for listening to my iPhone tantrum.
*
I had an awesome meal tonight that involved butter lettuce, fava beans, English peas and deep-fried artichokes. and prosciutto. and girl talk. afterwards I went to a bookstore and reread as much of "Lolita" as I could in the 10 minutes before they closed. it's still one of my favorite novels ever. "light of my life, fire of my loins..." the hotel room bit is my favorite- his oldness and dyspepsia and patheticness, smelling her on his pillow... it's a fucking hot read, and I don't give a fig what sort of psychological errors that suggests about me.
*
at the west Seattle garage sale cornucopia yesterday, I procured a copy of "charlie and the chocolate factory." fucking Roald Dahl, tis you to whom I owe my love of adjectives! random page opening: "and they're certainly not showing any signs that they are slowing..."
*
no edit; so sorry.
the massage industry has taught me how to perfect the glassy-eyed smile of overt indifference. you don't want to know what I'm actually thinking. trust me.
whatever! thank you for listening to my iPhone tantrum.
*
I had an awesome meal tonight that involved butter lettuce, fava beans, English peas and deep-fried artichokes. and prosciutto. and girl talk. afterwards I went to a bookstore and reread as much of "Lolita" as I could in the 10 minutes before they closed. it's still one of my favorite novels ever. "light of my life, fire of my loins..." the hotel room bit is my favorite- his oldness and dyspepsia and patheticness, smelling her on his pillow... it's a fucking hot read, and I don't give a fig what sort of psychological errors that suggests about me.
*
at the west Seattle garage sale cornucopia yesterday, I procured a copy of "charlie and the chocolate factory." fucking Roald Dahl, tis you to whom I owe my love of adjectives! random page opening: "and they're certainly not showing any signs that they are slowing..."
*
no edit; so sorry.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
open flame
it has been an idea i've been mulling over for some time, much to my vain girly shame; after seeing my coworker bounce into work saying "i feel so good!" i took a break midday and... tanned. i needed some fucking warmth and brightness. it's late fucking april and still at least 10 degrees below average. it is nearly the same temperature as fucking anchorage.
"you don't look pale!" my coworker chirped. "my brain is pale" i replied.
the surly, hipper-than-thou wench at the tanning place (which has such a grotesque name i shall not repeat it here) had to show me everything, because i did not know. how to open the damn bed, for example. those "wink-ease" things i mocked in a post prior? yeah, i have my used ones in my back pocket right now. fucking hypocrite. and no one mentioned that a tanning bed is fucking terrifying: like a hot sweaty blinding MRI. U2's "beautiful day" played over the sound of the fan. my ass stuck to the glass. i had an image of my nipples blistering and falling off. and then i started to get relaxed and revel in it, and then it was over. i only got 6 minutes despite my pasty self lying about how i don't really burn.
*
DON'T JUDGE ME!
*
you would think, by this picture, that it's a hot lazy day in the lair. it is not. i have the window open because it's fucking april, but the heat is still cranked. the cats have not had the sunshine to lay about in for more than, oh, 10 days total in the past 9 months.
when i look at this picture i think "abortion storm."
*
the other night s and i watched a suspicious individual shittily try to park his van on a completely empty stretch of sidewalk; he inched back and forth for at least 5 minutes. it started as a "what the fuck is that guy doing?" voyeurism. then he sat in the driver's seat. smoked a cigarette with the window up. changed his shirt. crawled into the back of his creepy molester van. was he checking the gags on his victims? shitting into a bucket? masturbating? smoking crack? after a few minutes he reemerged. got out through the passenger's side. put on a hoodie that completely hid his face. put on a reflective, huge parka. stood next to the van for a few minutes. walked down to the end of the block, looking around nervously. turned and walked until we couldn't see him any longer in the opposite direction. we were rapt and fogged up the glass during this 15 minute-plus drama.
bad shit was afoot! i am sure of it. so i took a picture of his plates. if you see this on an amber alert, you'll know why.
one of the guys at the place i'm typing this at is sarcastically singing "time passages." come on, that's a good song!
*
it is one of those rare times when all the weird-ass drama in my life is not involving me! i cannot help but feel incredibly grateful by this. perhaps i prefer to be more of a spectator in my advancing age.
*
it's been a good few weeks. i received some money from my oma's 'estate'. i suddenly have the freedom to do a few things. as someone who lives every day like it's my fucking birthday, doing pretty much whatever the hell i want, i can be "responsible" with this... my "ooh, i can afford this!" antics thus far have involved paying $9 at the whole foods salad bar and buying a pair of shoes on sale- both of which i would have fucking done anyway.
that's the problem with how i live, though it isn't a problem... but i tend to not really, you know, restrain myself too terribly much. luckily i have fairly low standards.
a couple weeks back it was pretty enough. i am almost able to resume the blue study. never mind that it was cold enough to elicit a nonstop flood of mucus.
today, as i was leaving work, a hobo pushing a shopping cart said "hey, nice hair" to me. "thank you" i said, smiling back. he didn't even ask for money. he was just being complimentary. he kept pushing his cart because he had shit to do.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
there's a book on bathroom graffiti on the sale table at the university bookstore. it only included one from seattle- from the comet- the rest was overwhelmingly from texas, nyc, and los angeles. two loo tags from my classy seattle nights come immediately to mind: "jeff goldblum is watching you pee", under which someone scrawled "best graffiti ever!", at the dubliner in fremont (i've probably mentioned that one before), and "i can see you", years ago and since painted over, in the lower arcade at pike place market.
*
my arms are still redolent with massage oil. i'm sticking to the table as i type. i kind of love my life.
*
i went to fucking thurston county yesterday to meet my clan for my grandmother's 80th birthday. i was already vexed because the 'green wellness' thing turned out to be bullshit. as in, nonexistent. as in, a health club with some dude saying "yeah, they left on bad terms" and me saying "in the past two days?" their "location" was kind of lovely, though: right on lake union, with houseboats abutting and birds wandering about. it was below the china harbor behemoth on westlake. there's a full-on fucking swimming pool down there! now you know.
so i was feeling rather surly already. the car did wonderfully. i drove to olympia in hideous rain, listening to can and pink floyd. i was enjoying myself until i passed my former exit, and then the depressing memories kicked back in. i don't think of specific things, really, just a generalized malaise. i was so fucking unhappy when i lived down there. i have mentioned this before, but i don't think even i truly know (or want to know) exactly how that era of my life permanently fucked me up.
or maybe it improved things. you can't appreciate until you know how shitty things can be as an alternative.
*
i am thankful of my current contentment.
*
the demographic is just different there. i was behind a minivan with a chain-link license plate frame, a 'support our troops' sticker, and a christfish. i went to tar-jay to buy cheap nicotine lozenges (needing to burn through the wad of cash in my pocket that i did not use at the bullshit-pot-place) and saw guys wearing huge medallions and backwards ballcaps, teenagers holding their own spawn, moussed hair. this, to clarify, is in lacey. in olympia, on the other side of i-5, the populace becomes old and white and beaurocratic- lots of gold jewelry and obama stickers and snotty earnestness- not the hippie dreams of olympia 25 years ago, but the nimby, pleated, constipated version of "liberal." there are probably still the vile urchins along state street and 4th ave- downtown olympia is filled with evergreen rejects with their stank and their fucking dogs and their american spirit cigarettes- but that's not open-minded awesomeness, that's just being a fucking smelly putz.
*
i will discuss, or not, the familial pathos later. it was often taxing. i wince a lot with my family. but it improved by the time i made my grateful voyage back to seattle.
the skyline is always such a glorious view. that curve on i-5, when the city appears, feels like a triumph every time. it reminds me that i have my own lovely life now.
a few days ago s and i had tapas. this is the stuffed squid with awesome red sauce.
blood sausage with cocoa powder and superfluous popcorn!
and sunday night, the view from o's 'front yard'.
it's good to have a delightful world to come home to.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
insufferability
i've been a fucking basket case lately. i've been waking up in the middle of the night with panic attacks. there is nothing so massively wrong or unusually altered in my life that truly justifies this... i've thought of writing a list of everything i've been worried about, to have tangible proof of my laughable neuroses, but that seems a rather daunting, nauseating task. waking up unable to breathe, mind racing, thinking of every awful thing that has or could happen, is gruesome enough. i hate feeling trapped in my own brain. i haven't felt this way in a while... this undercurrent of dread... not for years. it is a sensation i figured i'd grown out of, matured from, stopped being in such instigating situations with.
*
i do much better with concrete problems. concrete problems are understandable and thereby manageable.
i got a copy of my medical records today. i will be taking them to my appointment next week to obtain a medical marijuana card. i am "lucky" enough to have one of the few specific conditions approved by the state of washington. i feel alternately smug and damaged. i'm not, and have never been, a big pothead... but fuck it, why not? if i can get the good stuff, if it will possibly mellow me the fuck out, if i can share it socially, why the fuck not? i'm rather excited about it- like being a gay man for a day and being able to finally see the inside of a bathhouse.
i've never been functional when stoned. my life requires clarity. i tend to get paranoid and weird if i smoke it alone. but it's fun with people. it makes boring things more interesting. my problem with pot: there really are no "boring" things, and if you're bored, shouldn't you just find something else to do? i say i don't believe in 'needing' enhancement, but i'm drinking a daytime g & t as i write this, so whatever.
*
because i can.
see above paragraph.
*
but yeah... i feel weird lately. jangly. clausterphobic. i took the legs off the trampoline and leaned it against the wall. i needed the space. took my bed apart. i've been sleeping on my couch. there's a pot of soup in my fridge that's nearly 2 weeks old- i forgot about it. i was startled to realize how fucking dead most of my plants are. at least the floor's vacuumed. yesterday i cleaned my bathroom. and i have clean underwear... the animals are taken care of...
and i got a new car.
sweet green's clutch, i guess, went out. she was towed off yesterday, donated to "make a wish." i came home and she was already gone. end of an era. more proof that i kind of suck sometimes. the industrious bug owner: another persona i was never willing or able to take on.
the new car is a 98 jetta. she is responsible and functional and much, much more fun to drive. she hauls ass. and the heater works. among other things.
*
the bug was towed off containing an unopened parking ticket, moldy sandals, about 5 1L fluid bags i'd used as hot water bottles for the drive home from work, the garish xmas decoration a massage client gave me, about 3 empty bottles of rain-x, and a fucking "pushin' the good vibe" bumper sticker...
i'm sure "make a wish" will be thrilled.
*
i can see the building i used to live in from here. my windows were on the opposite side. wood floors, silverfish, no heat, ants, someone else's dried condom in the defunct radiator. it had built-ins and a crumb-catching tile kitchen counter and i could see the fremont rocket from my bed. cork walls. my shower curtain was a map of the world. i remember doing a jigsaw puzzle of the album cover of "some girls", listening to cat stevens obsessively, right around new years 2003. i had just broken up (for the first time, pre-engagement) with t. i vowed i would LIVE MY LIFE EVEN BETTER. i would be THAT GIRL. i would somehow transcend the fucking nerdy persona that does shit like jigsaws whilst listening to (quality) shlock. and i would find a way to fuck everyone in seattle.
*
as it turns out, i didn't.
*
my standards evolved, i guess.
*
i still feel fucking vulnerable and childish and STUPID, though. i still inadvertantly rely on outside forces to make or maintain or enhance my happiness. that's certainly why i feel like shit right now.
it hasn't all been bullshit. there was a cool starfish on the beach yesterday.
and it's finally fucking spring. well, yesterday was. i'm out without a coat today and i feel rather dumb. and cold.
but whenever i feel sulky and annoying, something like this magically comes along to make me laugh aloud. always.
even in retrospect.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
revelations
i will preface this with a sober acknowledgment of my idealism, my naivete, my impulsiveness, my stubbornness. these are traits that inconvenience the fuck out of me on an hourly basis but they define who i am. everything i say, think, and do is filtered through these adjectives. it doesn't justify any of the stupid (STUPID!) decisions i make, but perhaps it can offer perspective to the more lucid among you.
*
first, a picture of k's absurd tanning stickers. they go over the eyes. there truly is a product for everything.
this is one of those items of modern life that i hope to never utilize firsthand, but it is good to be informed of one's options. (actually, she said they are mandatory- unless you're a truly seasoned tanning-bed tanner, in which case you have your own anti-cancer goggles. like bowling shoes, i guess.)
and here's the completely fucking useless ladies, rubbing their bits all over my eatin' table.
sooo....
because i made the 'right' decision, i can now explain the last 2 weeks to the people whose opinions i care about and who know me exceptionally well...
i have a flight to austin at 230pm tomorrow, to see ex #1 after 13 years, united flight 356 connecting in denver on united flight 416, arriving at 1030pm CST... $282.76 on my debit mastercard, non-refundable. and i'm not going.
*
have i ever really explained the horrid circumstances that led to the demise of my first marriage? i mean, really?
i remember once my parents came to visit us when we lived in seattle. there were at least 5 empty liquor bottles lined up on the kitchen floor. after commenting that the place smelled like cat piss, my father said "what's this? left over from christmas?" it was may. it was the accumulation of a week, and if i hadn't been too hungover to exhibit forethought, i would have taken it all down to the recycling before they arrived.
i truly believe that, once, he and i did love each other. my feelings for him were a version of love that i no longer consider 'love', but it's the version my 18-year-old self adamantly believed in. my standards, shall we say, have improved over the years.
we had plans. he had the vague drunken impetus to move to prague "cause america fucking sucks" and i was trying to be a writer, driving myself insane with the isolation. i was 100 pages into a story he ended up stealing the only copy of, a story i poured my life into for 6 months... i haven't seen it since i was 19. it's about a girl living in a small town and the guy she fancies breaks his infant child's arm. how does she care about someone who does something so possibly accidental but still completely monstrous? the guy's name is paul. i forget her name. i am sure there are correllaries to my subject matter with that era. i wrote at the end of the sofa my grandparents gave me when we got married, cross-legged, on a computer he stole while he worked at microsoft, and i would feel so fucking frantic and ALONE in my own brain that when i'd go to the store with the excuse of buying something, just so i could interact with other people, i'd stutter.
i was the one who found the place in prague (which he has since smugly assured me "sucked", though probably not as forcefully as the dank hovel i moved into once i returned to anchorage) and i enrolled at univerzity karlovy to learn czech. i even researched, much to my mortification, where the nearest ikea was (there is an ikea in prague! now you know.) we were going to drive from seattle to fucking fort stockton, in the ass-end of the ass-end of west texas, visit his folks, and i was going to fly overseas with my already-purchased ticket out of houston. he was going to drive the subaru to NYC and fly out from there two weeks later.
we fought in albuquerque, accompanied by a bottle of jagermeister (a fucking odious liquid i will hopefully never drink again) and i woke up from my drunken stupor to find everything gone. him, the car, the fucking snake, the stereo, my debit card. he left my cats, my bicycle, and my clothes. that was the day i started smoking again.
we were staying at the starlite motel, on route 66, near an overpass. it was a skunky part of albuquerque. it was in walking distance to both UNM and the forbiddingly boarded-up 'downtown'. everything was orange. everything was dusty. it was hot and the world was fucking completely different. i didn't know what to think. i remember a bum telling me i had skinny legs. i went to the library and shivered in the air-conditioning. i bought a cannister of sun-maid raisins from a convenience store. the hotel manager banged on my door and let me know that we couldn't fight like that again. i let him know 'he' was gone and the manager walked off and i listened to his footsteps retreat and then i bawled and i remembered how horrible camel filters taste.
i flew back to anchorage the next day. i had changed my flight from prague to berlin, because this was in the days when one could do that, over the phone... my father told me to come home. "you need to be around people who love you" he said. i was too dazed at the time to truly appreciate that...
and i returned to alaska with my tail between my fucking legs. i filed for "divorce with an absentee spouse", my name and his for all to see in the anchorage daily news for 4 consecutive weeks; i heard from the grapevine that he actually went overseas, but he didn't contact me at all until 4 years later... i stood in front of the judge with my fucking wonderful dad on the benches behind me and i calmly agreed to a divorce. my dad took me to lunch afterwards. we went to that awesome place on 74th and sand lake (?) -near kincaid- that i can't remember the name of... the food was sublime. "are you okay?" asked my father. "yes" i said emphatically, my mouth full.
*
i've moved on with my life. i've been remarried and redivorced. there's 13 years of ridiculously turgid shit crammed into that span, to the point where i, with my propensity for drama and pathos and what-the-fuck, am almost craving a placid existence. i have lived. that statement is not meant as resignation, but as utter fucking gratitude.
*
but in the back of my mind, i never had resolution from Bullshit '98. i never had closure. the last thing i remember is not pleasant. the next-last thing i remember is even worse. this gaping-thing from 1998 has occluded way too fucking much in my life over the last many years, probably even things i haven't acknowledged. i know, lucidly, as an adult regarding the child-me, that there is a lot i'm not nearly as accountable for as my heart still claims. the 'adult' me wants to shake the fucking SHIT out of my 19-year-old stunted self and brutally chastise me to GET THE FUCK OVER IT, HE'S A PIECE OF SHIT, MOVE ON. but... i needed closure. i cannot state it any plainer. and when, after 13 years, he shitfaced to the point of entire-sentences-slurring, me on the other end saying "i can't understand you" whilst doing something *adults* do, like watering my plants... he offhandedly invited me to austin for a concert.
"when?"
"the 16th."
"what day is that?"
"uhhh... a wednesday."
"i can do that. you want me to come down?"
"sure."
"okay."
and i bought the ticket the next day. i finagled coverage for both jobs. i got k to watch my beasts. and i thought, finally. he's a dithering sociopathic drunk, still, made more obvious and pathetic by time, but i'm not. i'm not, when it's all said and done, a fuck-up. i do moronic things, opine inane shit, and can be a complete fucking bitch when i take people for granted enough that they'll tolerate my non-salubriousness... but, i think, i don't instigate the need in people to wince. i fucking sincerely hope i don't.
i had this vision of us talking politely in a pub. discussing the past 13 years. he's older and i;m actually of age, so we'd have the adult thing to bond over. it wouldn't be a rehash of blame, it would be a "this is who i am now." that's what i was looking for.
*
two nightmares in the last week about him later, i changed my mind. and i realized that i couldn;t respectably tell this situation to anyone who truly knew me without prefacing it with "but you know, i know what i'm doing..." disclaimers. and i realized that i, since 2002, hadn't really talked to b when he wasn't shitfaced, and the one time i did i was unreasonably happy, because, you know, he wasn't shitfaced, and that must mean he values our conversations, because, yeah. and i remembered that i have a fucking awesome life in seattle already, full of people who are kind and loving and patient enough with me to allow my illogical retreads and circular solliloquys.
i called expedia about my non-refundable ticket on friday; i realized it was sxsw and i was fucked for possible hotel rooms should i choose to just go and finally experience texas, ex be damned; and by friday night i decided that come the morrow i would just tell him i wasn't coming.
saturday am: on my facebook page for all my truly good friends to see: "you are the queen of fucking things up. why stop now?"
i don't need that. i fucking despise people who do things like that. what the fuck is wrong with someone who does something like that? alls i can say is: i am personally responsible for him having a vasectomy in 1997, so YOU'RE WELCOME.
*
delete!
*
and i'm not going to austin.
and i must offer a repetitive, but this time fucking truly SINCERE, thank you for all the people in my life who have cared about me over the years and dealt with me dealing with that. may i never learn firsthand the depths of your frustration. but i am so fucking grateful for you.
*
it takes a long fucking time for things to sink in. see the first paragraph of this post and please do not condemn me too much.
last week the sun was out. this is me now, living my awesome life, fuck yeah.
thanks for reading.
*
first, a picture of k's absurd tanning stickers. they go over the eyes. there truly is a product for everything.
this is one of those items of modern life that i hope to never utilize firsthand, but it is good to be informed of one's options. (actually, she said they are mandatory- unless you're a truly seasoned tanning-bed tanner, in which case you have your own anti-cancer goggles. like bowling shoes, i guess.)
and here's the completely fucking useless ladies, rubbing their bits all over my eatin' table.
sooo....
because i made the 'right' decision, i can now explain the last 2 weeks to the people whose opinions i care about and who know me exceptionally well...
i have a flight to austin at 230pm tomorrow, to see ex #1 after 13 years, united flight 356 connecting in denver on united flight 416, arriving at 1030pm CST... $282.76 on my debit mastercard, non-refundable. and i'm not going.
*
have i ever really explained the horrid circumstances that led to the demise of my first marriage? i mean, really?
i remember once my parents came to visit us when we lived in seattle. there were at least 5 empty liquor bottles lined up on the kitchen floor. after commenting that the place smelled like cat piss, my father said "what's this? left over from christmas?" it was may. it was the accumulation of a week, and if i hadn't been too hungover to exhibit forethought, i would have taken it all down to the recycling before they arrived.
i truly believe that, once, he and i did love each other. my feelings for him were a version of love that i no longer consider 'love', but it's the version my 18-year-old self adamantly believed in. my standards, shall we say, have improved over the years.
we had plans. he had the vague drunken impetus to move to prague "cause america fucking sucks" and i was trying to be a writer, driving myself insane with the isolation. i was 100 pages into a story he ended up stealing the only copy of, a story i poured my life into for 6 months... i haven't seen it since i was 19. it's about a girl living in a small town and the guy she fancies breaks his infant child's arm. how does she care about someone who does something so possibly accidental but still completely monstrous? the guy's name is paul. i forget her name. i am sure there are correllaries to my subject matter with that era. i wrote at the end of the sofa my grandparents gave me when we got married, cross-legged, on a computer he stole while he worked at microsoft, and i would feel so fucking frantic and ALONE in my own brain that when i'd go to the store with the excuse of buying something, just so i could interact with other people, i'd stutter.
i was the one who found the place in prague (which he has since smugly assured me "sucked", though probably not as forcefully as the dank hovel i moved into once i returned to anchorage) and i enrolled at univerzity karlovy to learn czech. i even researched, much to my mortification, where the nearest ikea was (there is an ikea in prague! now you know.) we were going to drive from seattle to fucking fort stockton, in the ass-end of the ass-end of west texas, visit his folks, and i was going to fly overseas with my already-purchased ticket out of houston. he was going to drive the subaru to NYC and fly out from there two weeks later.
we fought in albuquerque, accompanied by a bottle of jagermeister (a fucking odious liquid i will hopefully never drink again) and i woke up from my drunken stupor to find everything gone. him, the car, the fucking snake, the stereo, my debit card. he left my cats, my bicycle, and my clothes. that was the day i started smoking again.
we were staying at the starlite motel, on route 66, near an overpass. it was a skunky part of albuquerque. it was in walking distance to both UNM and the forbiddingly boarded-up 'downtown'. everything was orange. everything was dusty. it was hot and the world was fucking completely different. i didn't know what to think. i remember a bum telling me i had skinny legs. i went to the library and shivered in the air-conditioning. i bought a cannister of sun-maid raisins from a convenience store. the hotel manager banged on my door and let me know that we couldn't fight like that again. i let him know 'he' was gone and the manager walked off and i listened to his footsteps retreat and then i bawled and i remembered how horrible camel filters taste.
i flew back to anchorage the next day. i had changed my flight from prague to berlin, because this was in the days when one could do that, over the phone... my father told me to come home. "you need to be around people who love you" he said. i was too dazed at the time to truly appreciate that...
and i returned to alaska with my tail between my fucking legs. i filed for "divorce with an absentee spouse", my name and his for all to see in the anchorage daily news for 4 consecutive weeks; i heard from the grapevine that he actually went overseas, but he didn't contact me at all until 4 years later... i stood in front of the judge with my fucking wonderful dad on the benches behind me and i calmly agreed to a divorce. my dad took me to lunch afterwards. we went to that awesome place on 74th and sand lake (?) -near kincaid- that i can't remember the name of... the food was sublime. "are you okay?" asked my father. "yes" i said emphatically, my mouth full.
*
i've moved on with my life. i've been remarried and redivorced. there's 13 years of ridiculously turgid shit crammed into that span, to the point where i, with my propensity for drama and pathos and what-the-fuck, am almost craving a placid existence. i have lived. that statement is not meant as resignation, but as utter fucking gratitude.
*
but in the back of my mind, i never had resolution from Bullshit '98. i never had closure. the last thing i remember is not pleasant. the next-last thing i remember is even worse. this gaping-thing from 1998 has occluded way too fucking much in my life over the last many years, probably even things i haven't acknowledged. i know, lucidly, as an adult regarding the child-me, that there is a lot i'm not nearly as accountable for as my heart still claims. the 'adult' me wants to shake the fucking SHIT out of my 19-year-old stunted self and brutally chastise me to GET THE FUCK OVER IT, HE'S A PIECE OF SHIT, MOVE ON. but... i needed closure. i cannot state it any plainer. and when, after 13 years, he shitfaced to the point of entire-sentences-slurring, me on the other end saying "i can't understand you" whilst doing something *adults* do, like watering my plants... he offhandedly invited me to austin for a concert.
"when?"
"the 16th."
"what day is that?"
"uhhh... a wednesday."
"i can do that. you want me to come down?"
"sure."
"okay."
and i bought the ticket the next day. i finagled coverage for both jobs. i got k to watch my beasts. and i thought, finally. he's a dithering sociopathic drunk, still, made more obvious and pathetic by time, but i'm not. i'm not, when it's all said and done, a fuck-up. i do moronic things, opine inane shit, and can be a complete fucking bitch when i take people for granted enough that they'll tolerate my non-salubriousness... but, i think, i don't instigate the need in people to wince. i fucking sincerely hope i don't.
i had this vision of us talking politely in a pub. discussing the past 13 years. he's older and i;m actually of age, so we'd have the adult thing to bond over. it wouldn't be a rehash of blame, it would be a "this is who i am now." that's what i was looking for.
*
two nightmares in the last week about him later, i changed my mind. and i realized that i couldn;t respectably tell this situation to anyone who truly knew me without prefacing it with "but you know, i know what i'm doing..." disclaimers. and i realized that i, since 2002, hadn't really talked to b when he wasn't shitfaced, and the one time i did i was unreasonably happy, because, you know, he wasn't shitfaced, and that must mean he values our conversations, because, yeah. and i remembered that i have a fucking awesome life in seattle already, full of people who are kind and loving and patient enough with me to allow my illogical retreads and circular solliloquys.
i called expedia about my non-refundable ticket on friday; i realized it was sxsw and i was fucked for possible hotel rooms should i choose to just go and finally experience texas, ex be damned; and by friday night i decided that come the morrow i would just tell him i wasn't coming.
saturday am: on my facebook page for all my truly good friends to see: "you are the queen of fucking things up. why stop now?"
i don't need that. i fucking despise people who do things like that. what the fuck is wrong with someone who does something like that? alls i can say is: i am personally responsible for him having a vasectomy in 1997, so YOU'RE WELCOME.
*
delete!
*
and i'm not going to austin.
and i must offer a repetitive, but this time fucking truly SINCERE, thank you for all the people in my life who have cared about me over the years and dealt with me dealing with that. may i never learn firsthand the depths of your frustration. but i am so fucking grateful for you.
*
it takes a long fucking time for things to sink in. see the first paragraph of this post and please do not condemn me too much.
last week the sun was out. this is me now, living my awesome life, fuck yeah.
thanks for reading.
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
life happens!
i am happy, verging on disbelieving. i shrieked giddily on the sidewalk last night in an otherwise quiet residential neighborhood. "this hasn't happened to me in so long!" i laughed. k was laughing too. "you deserve it, dude" she said.
who knows? i just like being reminded of how easy it is to feel jubilant. maybe that's all i need: that first rush has the potential to sustain me.
*
it made my convoluted dream last night make sense...
we're at a family get-together/open house affair. a bunch of older people who i am only vaguely familiar with are milling about with plastic cups and khaki pants. he starts to grope me in a back room. it's not because he's feeling lusty and impatient; it's because he's a callous moron with no respect for the situation. he is showing off. "this is my family" i hiss. "we can't do it here." he starts whining. "just for a second" he says and pushes my head down. in reality as well as in my dreams, his tunnel vision degrades me. his penis is green and slimy and ice-cold. my head barely touches it and i violently gag. "NO" i say and jump up. a female relative comes into the room. he's on the floor with his pants down. "oh!" she gasps. "i am so sorry" i tell her, and i leave the room.
there is a small parking lot surrounded by a picket fence. i go outside and get into my car. i sit there for a second, looking through my windsheild at a quiet field. it starts to snow. it's serene and beautiful and i feel very fucking calm. i think: i don't have to put up with shit. life's too short and there are too many quality humans in the world. i'm going to be fine.
*
i wake up in a really good mood.
*
i came to where i am currently typing this with the express intent of syncing my phone, but i forgot the cord! silly wench! it is nearly summery today. i am in a t-shirt. a guy and his grandfather shared my table. "i have the better view" said the grandfather in a gravelly voice as he sat across from me. "get to look at a pretty girl." the grandson, who was about my age, smiled at me rather abashedly. "everyone loves a compliment" the grandfather said. there is something strangely endearing about a harmlessly randy old man.
*
as well as being fat tuesday, today is international women's day. what kind of a fucking stupid condescending non-holiday is that?
who knows? i just like being reminded of how easy it is to feel jubilant. maybe that's all i need: that first rush has the potential to sustain me.
*
it made my convoluted dream last night make sense...
we're at a family get-together/open house affair. a bunch of older people who i am only vaguely familiar with are milling about with plastic cups and khaki pants. he starts to grope me in a back room. it's not because he's feeling lusty and impatient; it's because he's a callous moron with no respect for the situation. he is showing off. "this is my family" i hiss. "we can't do it here." he starts whining. "just for a second" he says and pushes my head down. in reality as well as in my dreams, his tunnel vision degrades me. his penis is green and slimy and ice-cold. my head barely touches it and i violently gag. "NO" i say and jump up. a female relative comes into the room. he's on the floor with his pants down. "oh!" she gasps. "i am so sorry" i tell her, and i leave the room.
there is a small parking lot surrounded by a picket fence. i go outside and get into my car. i sit there for a second, looking through my windsheild at a quiet field. it starts to snow. it's serene and beautiful and i feel very fucking calm. i think: i don't have to put up with shit. life's too short and there are too many quality humans in the world. i'm going to be fine.
*
i wake up in a really good mood.
*
i came to where i am currently typing this with the express intent of syncing my phone, but i forgot the cord! silly wench! it is nearly summery today. i am in a t-shirt. a guy and his grandfather shared my table. "i have the better view" said the grandfather in a gravelly voice as he sat across from me. "get to look at a pretty girl." the grandson, who was about my age, smiled at me rather abashedly. "everyone loves a compliment" the grandfather said. there is something strangely endearing about a harmlessly randy old man.
*
as well as being fat tuesday, today is international women's day. what kind of a fucking stupid condescending non-holiday is that?
Monday, March 07, 2011
la nuit du jour
cab drivers in seattle are so randy! they all compliment my hair and ask me if i have a boyfriend. "where is your man?" they inquire. is there a good answer to that? in the past I have made an obstreperous remark; giggled inanely; blinked back tears whilst staring unlovably out the taxi window... tonight I laughed and said "oh, he's around somewhere." i feel jaunty and good. life is fun. life is as interesting as i want it to be. bravery, indifference, who cares? things work out.
the pendulum swings upward.
*
for those who have made me really, really happy in the past week, and who have reminded me that I have a very pleasurable life here in Seattle: thank you and I value you and I feel so lucky to be part of your world.
*
enough with the treacle.
in my head: hot chocolate "every 1's a winner." dreadful, I know. but so sprightly!
the pendulum swings upward.
*
for those who have made me really, really happy in the past week, and who have reminded me that I have a very pleasurable life here in Seattle: thank you and I value you and I feel so lucky to be part of your world.
*
enough with the treacle.
in my head: hot chocolate "every 1's a winner." dreadful, I know. but so sprightly!
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
on my way to where i am currently typing this part, i passed this.
i've been pontificating in my head for the past week- i've looked forward to tonight, for a chance to write.
a new venue, a booth to myself- this place is packed. i am surrounded by people living their lives. i could never live rurally. i am placated by being alone in populated places.
i was reading earlier about a father-son forclosure business in tampa, florida (the book's name eludes me). he talks about how he walks into these places that have been hastily vacated- humid clime, funky smell, splotches of mold on the walls, remnants left behind: sofas, baby clothes, a copy of 'the white album', crappy paperbacks, mail from collection agencies... how can you not look at the evidence, however deemed 'leave-behind-able', of another person's life and not empathize?
*
they're playing architecture in helsinki- 'heart it races.' i saw them do this live. we were drinking rum-and-something from a plastic bottle in his pocket. we kissed, our first kiss, against the stage. he went outside to smoke. i followed him and was not allowed back inside the showbox because i was shitfaced. that was a few years ago. i remember apologizing to the bouncer for my condition. i think of that whenever i hear this band....
another proud moment.
*
what would my life look like? after i was physically gone? from my lair in which i've lived for the past 5 years? thumbtack holes. pine cat litter shrapnel against the walls. grubby refrigerator handle. a lingering smell of nag champa. a shoddily painted railing. a picture of harold and maude taped to the oven hood.
the people investigating the space would surmise: i was somewhat careless and sloppy. i had beasts. i was probably a female with an annoying need to model my existence after ruth gordon, and i had dirty hands.
i really, really like my place. it has a good feel to it, always has. i know no one has died there. including, so far, me.
*
yeah.
*
now they're playing portishead.
*
i feel so awkwardly vague right now... i want to yell about what is actually going on, what is actually a really big deal, but i can't yet.
what other non-issue can i drone on about instead?
*
vegas!
this is the *suite* i had at the luxor. it surely was a fuckup! it was larger than my lair! it had two televisions (with tasteful channels like e! that i watched a shameful amount of), a jacuzzi, a bar, a sitting area, a bed that was so large and decadent that i slept across it sideways... whatever glitch caused this, i am grateful, despite the surly expression on my face. i think this was right after i saw the old woman in the casino downstairs with the oxygen tank beside her at the slot machine.
in the lobby of the bellagio is a swavorski (?) crystal-covered horse, below a chihuly-miasma of lurid jellyfish. it's very pretty.
this is the horse's anus.
there is an outside world to las vegas... actual air and sunlight. it is easy to forget.
this was taken last month, but it serves as a pleasant reminder of what i come back for.
i've been pontificating in my head for the past week- i've looked forward to tonight, for a chance to write.
a new venue, a booth to myself- this place is packed. i am surrounded by people living their lives. i could never live rurally. i am placated by being alone in populated places.
i was reading earlier about a father-son forclosure business in tampa, florida (the book's name eludes me). he talks about how he walks into these places that have been hastily vacated- humid clime, funky smell, splotches of mold on the walls, remnants left behind: sofas, baby clothes, a copy of 'the white album', crappy paperbacks, mail from collection agencies... how can you not look at the evidence, however deemed 'leave-behind-able', of another person's life and not empathize?
*
they're playing architecture in helsinki- 'heart it races.' i saw them do this live. we were drinking rum-and-something from a plastic bottle in his pocket. we kissed, our first kiss, against the stage. he went outside to smoke. i followed him and was not allowed back inside the showbox because i was shitfaced. that was a few years ago. i remember apologizing to the bouncer for my condition. i think of that whenever i hear this band....
another proud moment.
*
what would my life look like? after i was physically gone? from my lair in which i've lived for the past 5 years? thumbtack holes. pine cat litter shrapnel against the walls. grubby refrigerator handle. a lingering smell of nag champa. a shoddily painted railing. a picture of harold and maude taped to the oven hood.
the people investigating the space would surmise: i was somewhat careless and sloppy. i had beasts. i was probably a female with an annoying need to model my existence after ruth gordon, and i had dirty hands.
i really, really like my place. it has a good feel to it, always has. i know no one has died there. including, so far, me.
*
yeah.
*
now they're playing portishead.
*
i feel so awkwardly vague right now... i want to yell about what is actually going on, what is actually a really big deal, but i can't yet.
what other non-issue can i drone on about instead?
*
vegas!
this is the *suite* i had at the luxor. it surely was a fuckup! it was larger than my lair! it had two televisions (with tasteful channels like e! that i watched a shameful amount of), a jacuzzi, a bar, a sitting area, a bed that was so large and decadent that i slept across it sideways... whatever glitch caused this, i am grateful, despite the surly expression on my face. i think this was right after i saw the old woman in the casino downstairs with the oxygen tank beside her at the slot machine.
in the lobby of the bellagio is a swavorski (?) crystal-covered horse, below a chihuly-miasma of lurid jellyfish. it's very pretty.
this is the horse's anus.
there is an outside world to las vegas... actual air and sunlight. it is easy to forget.
this was taken last month, but it serves as a pleasant reminder of what i come back for.
what the fuck?
i'm losing my fucking mind.
*
after i got off the phone the other night i wrote this down, realizing after that it's an inadvertant haiku:
etched on my tombstone:
for undeserving people,
i do insane things.
*
firstly: i obviously haven't written much lately. this is the first time in a long while that i've let an entire month slide by- granted, it's a short month. i've been busy, i've been distracted, i've been discombobulated, the thoughts i have are too tedious/nefarious to publicize... i've been writing a lot of it in a notebook, i'll put it that way.
i went to vegas for the veterinary conference. after my first 24 hrs of scurrility and abhorrence of my species, i yanked the burr from my ass and had a fucking great time. vegas is a blast if you don't take it seriously. if you resign yourself to hedonism and smelling like other people's cigarettes and seeing underpaid wenches gyrating and adults in sweatpants in public (hereafter known as AISIP) and paying $10 for a crappy gin and tonic... it's fun. i stayed just long enough. 72hrs in vegas is my limit before i start to markedly devolve.
among (many) other things, we went to a drag show. we sweet-talked the usher and got a table right next to the stage.
it's cher! really!
at the end one of the performers came out in full regalia:
and proceeded to sit down at a vanity and remove all her makeup while singing a very somber rendition of "what makes a man." it was AWESOME.
*
being back in seattle has been a blur. clarity is a bitch. some things are so lucid- i've been dealing with the "what the FUCK? what was i thinking?" mindset about a lot of things lately... and i'm doing a lot of things that i consider, were i to be regarding myself detachedly, a bit deranged. i know why i'm doing them, but i cannot help but feel personally critical. as k said today: "i know you are, but please be careful."
the sky was lurid today- windy, then sideways rain, then bright sunshine, then hail.
when it hailed, everyone in the ballard smoke shop and cafe paused their midday drinking to comment and stare out the window. it was comforting to witness.
i took this today whilst unwittingly blocking the sidewalk for the guy behind me. i smiled and apologized. he smiled in a way that made me know i was forgiven. i love seattle.
entropy loving the audio link of allogach.
that story is for later, when i possibly switch from tea to something harsher.
*
from my journal, 2/28/11: "love makes me fearless and invincible and safe. those are lofty attributes to attach to something that i have absolutely no say of or control over."
*
after i got off the phone the other night i wrote this down, realizing after that it's an inadvertant haiku:
etched on my tombstone:
for undeserving people,
i do insane things.
*
firstly: i obviously haven't written much lately. this is the first time in a long while that i've let an entire month slide by- granted, it's a short month. i've been busy, i've been distracted, i've been discombobulated, the thoughts i have are too tedious/nefarious to publicize... i've been writing a lot of it in a notebook, i'll put it that way.
i went to vegas for the veterinary conference. after my first 24 hrs of scurrility and abhorrence of my species, i yanked the burr from my ass and had a fucking great time. vegas is a blast if you don't take it seriously. if you resign yourself to hedonism and smelling like other people's cigarettes and seeing underpaid wenches gyrating and adults in sweatpants in public (hereafter known as AISIP) and paying $10 for a crappy gin and tonic... it's fun. i stayed just long enough. 72hrs in vegas is my limit before i start to markedly devolve.
among (many) other things, we went to a drag show. we sweet-talked the usher and got a table right next to the stage.
it's cher! really!
at the end one of the performers came out in full regalia:
and proceeded to sit down at a vanity and remove all her makeup while singing a very somber rendition of "what makes a man." it was AWESOME.
*
being back in seattle has been a blur. clarity is a bitch. some things are so lucid- i've been dealing with the "what the FUCK? what was i thinking?" mindset about a lot of things lately... and i'm doing a lot of things that i consider, were i to be regarding myself detachedly, a bit deranged. i know why i'm doing them, but i cannot help but feel personally critical. as k said today: "i know you are, but please be careful."
the sky was lurid today- windy, then sideways rain, then bright sunshine, then hail.
when it hailed, everyone in the ballard smoke shop and cafe paused their midday drinking to comment and stare out the window. it was comforting to witness.
i took this today whilst unwittingly blocking the sidewalk for the guy behind me. i smiled and apologized. he smiled in a way that made me know i was forgiven. i love seattle.
entropy loving the audio link of allogach.
that story is for later, when i possibly switch from tea to something harsher.
*
from my journal, 2/28/11: "love makes me fearless and invincible and safe. those are lofty attributes to attach to something that i have absolutely no say of or control over."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
