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dream about my ex-husband. i was sexually involved with his ex. it was not sexy.
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912am. clouds. put on a sweater. this has been a fucking horrible summer.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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."
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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?
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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meanwhile, life is getting interesting... today was an anomaly. really!
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