oh you pretty things!

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

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

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

the salad days

this is my environment as i type this:

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

a fine day, i say!

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

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

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

i am remembering my dreams again

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

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

indian summer, indeed.

yesterday at work, one of the receptionists returned from the parking lot shrieking "what the hell is this?" the closest thing identifying beast i can find: a potato or woodworm larvae.

it is absolutely vibrant.
one of the doctors took it home to his kids. "patrick gets so excited when we find bugs here" one of the other doctors noted appreciatively.
*
i bought these today to add to my growing collection of moderately offensive salt-and-pepper shakers.

the copyright date is 1966. the guy i bought them from was fairly apologetic. "i have these as proof of how far we've come" he said. "no, these are very socially important" i said. "and they're kind of funny." they will accompany my "mammy" set (thanks, new orleans- what's really appalling is that i purchased those new), my wooden outhouse set, my ceramic kissing indians (made, i believe, in korea), and who knows what else. most are in boxes at the moment.
*
today i passed two men sitting outside the cyclops bar. it is fucking lovely today, eighty degrees and sunny. "no, no, you're walking way too fast" one called after me. "and you know it too, don't you, baby?"

optimism prime

during my time at B&O last night (which involved working on my research paper whilst quaffing gin, fruitlessly trying to connect to the internet, and waiting for d) i went to the ladies loo.
the grafitti ranges from the politely girly and earnest...


to the crudely peurile...

to my personal favorite.

ah, women.
*
i met my parents in tacoma tonight. i had not seen them in months- i believe i visited my mother in june, and it had been months before that i'd seen my father. we met at the spar. oddly, it was at the spar that i went after the funerals of both grandfathers- a random, unplanned coincidence.
when i walked into the bar tonight i did not recognize my parents until my mother waved. they look older every time i see them. they still look great- i come from good stock- but... older. they described their road trip to yellowstone and utah. "what a bunch of rednecks" my father said. they happened upon a town-hall barbecue in podunk, idaho; the labor day parade in walla walla; a road-crew worker from coos bay, oregon who played guitar; a flea market in randle, washington. i had requested a shot glass from their voyages. they exceeded my expectations with one metal-embossed with the LDS temple in salt lake city.
my mri came back with no changes. I HAVE HAD NO BRAIN DEGRESSION IN 2 YEARS. and one particular, prominent lesion that was present 2 years ago is no longer there. i don't know why my face sporadically feels numb, but... FUCK YES. i am doing well. this makes me happier than i can really say. i feel incredibly fucking lucky. and optimistic. and, dare i say it, blessed.
it felt fantastic to tell my parents this. i hate discussing ms with them... hi, i'm your flawed daughter... it was very fucking nice to tell them some genuinely good news. i felt like i made them proud just by existing properly.
*
there are two big things my parents still don't know, and will never have any reason to:
1. they will never know i got back together with tony last winter. they will never know that we were even in contact.
2. they will never know that i was mugged.
*
they were in good spirits tonight. my mother remained coherent and my father remained patient. the trip did them oodles of good. "we got along great" he said several times. "no bickering-" "well, there were a couple times" my mother interrupted. "but nothing big" he added. it made me able to overlook their occasional snipery tonight. the less my mother drinks, the better they interact. how about that! what a downright revolutionary insight.
i will always be their little girl, wanting them to be happy. tonight was the first time in years that i left them thinking "all is good."
*
last night d introduced me to damiano, a mexican liqueur. it reminds me of a smoother, less sweet galliano. it is fucking delicious. the plumbing in his unit is fucked up (every time he runs water, it leaks into the american apparel store downstairs, which is hilarious) so he's using a vacant unit on the 4th floor for his sink needs. i requested a tour of his building and so, with snifters in hand, we wandered the halls at midnight. i looked at an apartment in his building back in 1997; they didn't allow cats, and it was a tiny studio for two people. i would have never suspected that 12 years (!) later i would be discovering the 'locked' storage room under the stairs where hundreds of gallons of paint cans are stored. we stood in the alley between his building and the ethiopian restaurant next door. he instructed me to look up. a mannequin head peered over a windowsill. it took a moment to realize that it was not an actual human. "that fucking freaked me out one night" he said.
"norwegian wood" plays.
i just read an article discussing this song. "does anyone really think john ever had to sleep in a bathtub?" it asked.
i love the simplistic tambourine. this is a surprisingly subtle song. the lyrics are the forefront; the other details come later.

"i will always love the false image i had of you"

i love summers that actually last for the entire "summer" season.

today i presented my research on reflexology and craniosacral therapy as modalities to reduce stress. afterwards i had my first east coast swing class. these two events help assuage all the dumb things i've done lately, like posting non-identifying but potentially offensive gore pictures on facebook. the worst feeling is realizing that i fuck up when i completely, entirely do not mean to. i am far more naive and oblivious than i should be. this is a stupid fact but it sounds like a fucking excuse, which makes me feel even worse.
and i spilled vanilla oil all over my sweater...
east coast swing is fun. i already (clumsily) know the jitterbug, aka west coast; east coast is six steps instead of eight. the room was about 90 degrees. my bare arms were slippery. i have always wanted to learn how to dance... and now i am. also on the list: glassblowing, french, the cadaver lab at bastyr... it's a big world. i have to remind myself.

mortality

on wednesday d and i went to our second evening at the century ballroom. i will be enrolling in classes there soon. we ended up improvising. he is much more self-conscious than i am; he's interested in the technical aspects, whereas i am content to simply flail. we were both quite sweaty afterwards.

dancing is fucking sexy. and the charleston is amazing- there is so much to learn. i know the absolute basics thus far. an older man asked me to dance and i had to apologize for my foot-stomping ineptitude. i would much prefer to be the girl who glides across the room.
afterwards we went back to his lair and watched 'how to charleston' videos on youtube. there truly is someone, somewhere, who has done anything you could ever imagine- dance steps being one of the absolutely most benign- which is a both comforting and bewildering thought.
*
i had my mri today. my face was acting up en route and when there. it feels a bit better now. what exactly does it feel like? it feels like my left sinus is completely clogged and something is squeezing the left side of my neck and jaw. it feels like i am wearing a latex turtleneck and need to wipe crap out of my eye. i don't know how to explain it without sounding completely fucking neurotic. it just feels- weird. it feels clausterphobic. it is extremely uncomfortable but doesn't hurt at all. clausterphobic is probably the most accurate term. it feels like i am being compressed, insiduously, by my own fucking body, in ways that are invisible to others but make me feel panicky and uneasy.
today is hot. it's in the eighties, sunny, quite lovely. i walked to the appointment in first hill, taking a picture of my funky-face-feeling self en route, mainly to see if it's distinguishable to others.

the fact that my hormones are utterly fucked up, i have the complexion of a filthy adolescent, and my uterus is trying to chew its way out of my loins has not helped my mindset today.
but oddly, happily: i am much more cheerful now. all i can do is what i'm doing. all i can do is roll with it. i know this. fuck, i try to remind myself. but as a fairly high-strung lass with impatience to accomplish everything NOW and not be inconvenienced by NOTHIN', this can be really fucking difficult to live by.
*
i like being physically reminded to calm the fuck down. MS is quite handy for this.
*
i tell you, though: it's a cruel bitch of a disease for anyone who already spends far too much time in their own head.
*
tiresias, when he chases sounds, rolls his head in the most appealing way.

i spent the morning doing laundry, listening to 'anthology of bread', and finishing 'stiff.' 'stiff' is a fucking awesome book. i reread the chapter on the U Tennessee 'decomposition fields'- where they study how human bodies degenerate post-mortem as a means to solve crimes. which larvae arrive first? which gases are emitted? how does the gunge seep into the earth? when does the bloat of bacteria occur? i would actually love to study that. i was disheartened to learn that the mortuary science college in san fransisco shuttered its doors in 2002.
i actually met a woman who works in a funeral home a few weeks ago. "i love my job" she said, saucily, sincerely. i would not want to work in a funeral home; that goes against a lot of my personal philosophies about death and funerals tend to devolve into a "pity the living" slush. i liked the ideas about liquid nitrogen cadaver 'recycling', though- rather than cremation, which is not particularly eco-friendly and has been responsible for spewing mercury gases from incinerated dental fillings into the air, you're dried, frozen, and shattered. you can nutrify a treasured plant.
my great-aunt had the ashes of her husband scattered over her roses. when i was a kid, i refused to play in her backyard because the idea creeped me out so much. now it seems quite romantic. were that my situation, i would have thought "hey, you" every time i saw i new flower bloom.
no edit.

this week has been a stimulating, unnerving clusterfuckery. the details of such are comical even to myself.
i keep thinking about things that are not optional. i miss s more than he misses me. i know this. maddeningly, he probably knows this also.
but i digress.
every time i wait for the traffic at the N end of queen anne to turn onto aurora, i admire this sign. i finally had enough time to snap a picture- a crappy, terrible picture, which i need to redeem at some point.

yesterday i remembered how lovely it is to be home in the morning. i never am anymore. i have somewhere to be by 1pm everyday- which sounds leisurely until one considers i work until 3. it sounds simplistic, but it was really lovely to hang out with my guys again. i colored eyeballs in my anatomy coloring book and played al green. and i had the heater cranked in september.

labor day 09, my first proper holiday off in 2 years. d and i went wine-tasting. he had never been. i convinced him not to buy bottles from the first place we visited. we ended up walking the grounds of ste. michelle- i'd left the camera in my car. drove to snoqualmie falls and got utterly misted. returned to his lair to watch 'huli kuli', dissonant anime, and 'chasing amy', which i'd never seen before. it was really good. it warmed my cockles. it reminded me of him and i.

i live in perpetual momentum of the future, the 'what if', the imminently disappointing. perhaps i should focus more on what is, and how goddamn wonderful things can really be.

fuck, i should focus on how wonderful things already are.

straight trippin'

today i left class early to see the neurologist. i have another mri scheduled for next week. it has been 3 years since my last, which i hadn't realized... how time flies when your health is fairly inconspicuous. my doctor reviewed the notes from my last mri when i described the intermittent facial weirdness i've been experiencing. "it's not quite numb..." i said, feeling daft as i tried to describe it. "it's like the last bit of lidocaine, minus the tingle." "it just feels funky" i added unhelpfully. according to my 2006 mri, there were lesions on my brain that correspond with the areas i'm sporadically noticing said funk. "those were there 3 years ago?" i said. this actually makes me happy. i like being shown that i am not, in fact, fucking crazy. in its own fucked-up way, my body continues to make perfect sense. there is trackable logic amid its frustrating mindfucks. human beings are goddamn magical, really, and i shall cease being florid now. about that, at least.
*
(part of me- though definitely a smaller part than, say, three years ago- is still quietly fucking terrified.)
*
(but then i remember that i walked to the appointment in the sunshine, and had no symptoms there, and i could feel when the doctor literally stuck a cotton swab in my eye (no high-tech neuro testing here), and i walked out afterwards with my typical swagger, a lozenge in my mouth and the humid heat leaving my bare skin slippery, and i think: i am doing absolutely fucking fine... i just might have a bit more perspective than most, that's all.)
*
as i was crossing the street away from the doctor's office, my mother rang. i hadn't talked to either of my parents in at least a month. they are going on a road trip to yellowstone and utah, 10 days with their prius "in the 4 reddest states in the nation!" as my dad said, "except for, you know, texas." my mother asked "have you heard the latest scandal?" i anticipated more gossip about my crotchety oma. instead my mother salaciously divulged that my cousin had come out to my grammie. "i've known that for years" i said, forgetting that my mother hates few things more than being deprived of a solliloquy.
"you KNEW?"
"well, yeah."
"carol wants her to leave that (all-women's, liberal) school. she thinks that's what caused her to... you know."
"she's fine. she's a completely poised and brilliant human being. she's having the time of her life. i wish i had my shit together when i was 19 like she does."
my mother was stammeringly trying to be more liberal than she really is. i love her for that. "i mean, i don't care if she loves women... or frogs!" (she actually said 'frogs.') "it doesn't matter to me."
"she's happy, mom. she's doing really well." i tried to change the subject then... "so when do you guys leave on your trip?"
later i thought to myself "i wonder if my parents lament the fact that they will never be grandparents." i wonder if they're proud of me. they told me tonight (via their prius speaker phone that i hate conversing with them over) that they are. actually, my father said that. but i still get the feeling that they wish i had evolved into someone else... someone with a spouse and a home with matching towels who hosted dinner parties and had white, heterosexual, precocious-but-not-obnoxious offspring. someone who wasn't dinking around in massage school (i had to correct my father tonight- 'masseuse' is not really an acceptable word' i said. 'i give no undercarriage action.' there was a pause. then my father laughed. 'a masseuse gives a massage with a happy ending!' my mother brayed in the background.) and cleaning beast-ass, who was in love with a clean-cut lad and owned a hairbrush and wore skirts and was earnestly sociological without being, you know, too out there.
i am drinking a gin and tonic in a bar of which i am the sole patron, listening to 'honky cat' and siphoning wifi. i wonder if they would be proud of me now.
*
i have a horrible habit of taking photographs of myself whilst operating a moving vehicle. but i wanted to capture this moment, as blurry as it is.

i see d again tonight. monday was... a night that is still riccocheting in my brain. i find myself smiling glassily into space. it is so easy to make me happy. this is my secret weakness that too few people have utilized. does anyone realize how fucking easy it really is?
today i also had my tb skin test for the bailey-boushay house. i start my advanced clinic there in october. it's hospice for AIDS and other chronically ill patients. i have been looking forward to this from the get-go. i had blood drawn to test titers for my measles-mumps-rubella; at some point i must get my first-ever flu vaccine. d is working bailey-boushay this term. most of his clients shoo him away: "i'm in the middle of my show" they'll say, or something. he's ended up wandering the halls of the building for hours.
four hours later, my arm has not yet tripled in size, so i must be fine for tb. i have to go back in 48 hrs, expose my forearm, and have an affadavit signed.
i am not used to it being 8:20pm and already dark. the sun was low and orange when i arrived. i love watching people in flattering light.
last night i lay on my trampoline and talked to b for nearly 4 hours. it feels so easy now. it only took 12 years. someday i hope to alter the nightmarishness of our last impressions of one another. at some point in the night i was playing 'marquee moon.' he said something about 'wonder what it would have been like if-' and i realized that if things had gone any other way than how they'd gone, i'd never have fallen in love again, i never would have sang along to 'don't fear the reaper' in the midnight sun, i never would have been educated about the wave sculpture while the heat from the metal radiated into my back, i never would have laughed until i cried about a tastee-freez in ashland, oregon. i would have never had the rich and ridiculous moments that put me here, right now, writing about it. i thought "how fucking dare you- how narcissistically arrogant. and ignorant." and then i thought "how fucking amazing that we can be having this conversation"- and it made me very happy.

"you're an idealist" b told me last night. he didn't sound terribly derisive about it. i think i smiled and said "yeah, i suppose i am."

how does that mess your mind?

the things one finds one block off the main drag! i love being a pedestrian.

...although, were i not in my vehicle one evening, i would not have seen the man diligently towing a fucking kayak along the sidewalk of mercer avenue.

this is my first night off in nearly a week. i went to an HIV/AIDS seminar last friday and had to endure a puffy middle-aged hag asking the speaker, a man diagnosed in 1986 (!) "so, basically all people who were gay in the '70s have AIDS?" i worked 45 hours in a 70 hour period. when the time came yesterday to trundle to my thai massage class, i decided to sprawl on the trampoline with the pussycats and read 'stiff' instead.
'stiff', by the way, is awesome. there is a place in the toolies of tennessee that studies human body decomposition! in shade and sunlight! clad and un! today and one month out! fascinating stuff. magpies cawed outside the window.
last night d and i met up... the first time in over a week. i had been feeling paranoid. apparently he had been also. we ended up under a bridge in u-village, circa 3am, watching a raccoon climb a tree. the earth breathes audibly at that hour... or perhaps it was me.

things are, for the moment, really fucking lovely again. aren't they always lovely, though, and i'm just too oblivious to appreciate the obvious?

amid the blur

how can my life involve this one moment

and this mere hours later?

i suppose every moment cannot reek of bombast and whimsy, but seriously.
*
d is being inscrutable. why is it so difficult for (occasionally) heterosexual men to merely be friends? the best male friends in my life are gay. every other man i know shifts manically between swarthy and aloof. perhaps they just don't like me as a person and sexuality has nothing to do with it. that, however, is a particularly depressing theory.
we finished our 3-week stint of lomi lomi today. the class ended with a 20-minute massage trade, full-body, set to "native rhythms." i was face-down with nothing on but a sheet covering the crack of my ass. my skin is still viscuous with oil residue. we were told that lomi lomi will 'change your views of massage', and it is true. the all-encompassing, whole-body experience was awesome- both to give and to receive.
after class i mailed my application to take the boards. it's $195 to apply to take the exam; eventually they contact you with a test time, and then the state of washington has to dink around until they process the license. sending it off was rather thrilling. bittersweet. i walked out of the downtown post office into the muggy glare of 3rd ave and thought "what the fuck happens next?"
i have talked with people about pitching in on a 'co-op' environment- splitting the rent and creating a space. i don't want to do massage full-time, at least to start, and i don't want to feel isolated, and i don't want to work for anyone else. i still have the fantasies of a communal environment with doors that can be closed if need be. i am even toying with the possibility of finding a roommate, but that would involve leaving my fabulous (though rarely inhabited) lair.
chicago, et al, is temporarily sidelined. i guess.
the table next to me is enjoying a platter of mussels. i love presse. i love that i can sit here in my 'well that just sucks' scrabble t-shirt and lomi-oily hair and drink portuguese wine by candlelight, next to groups of well-heeled couples and girl nights and earnest men with newspapers. these are the moments when i remember how fucking glad i am to live the life i do.
the sky outside is that vibrant cobalt that occurs just after the sun sets. everything is especially outlined.
i just set up a meeting to procure something from a classmate. it's been decades, seriously, since i've done this- not waited politely for someone to offer it. but i've been stressed, and my face feels weird, and i have a neuro appointment on the 8th that may or may not include another mri, and my condition, as it is, is covered (however feebly) by state law. and i love making my world a wee bit more unusual. i think about moments like new years '08, when i was too stoned to go onto the roof and watch the fireworks- his skin was so much more compelling. the next day, feeling cottony and dull at work, i berated myself for not watching them. that is the problem i have with pot- the mundane* becomes fascinating, but possibly at the expense of the fantastic. then again, i passively wait for all things amazing to fall into my lap and rarely reach out to grab. this is a horrible tendency that exists whether i am sober or not.
*not that there was anything mundane about that specific situation
last night i went to a friend's going-away party. we ended up at someone's house. opening the front door was like walking into an animal's axilla: four dogs, three cats, an iguana, a bearded dragon, a cockatiel, a sun conure (that charged the cage, fluffed out and hateful, every time anyone walked past), a hermit crab (that i dropped on the wood floor). i left while everyone else was getting drunk on coors light. "i have a massage in the morning" i said, feeling responsible. today i did craniosacral and reflexology on k before class started. it's getting easier to feel grounded... but being grounded is also intimidating as hell.
there's so much i purposely don't let myself notice. walking around today, i made a point to make eye contact with everyone i passed. bless their hearts, they all looked back, and most of them smiled.

smelling other people's meat

from 2pm 19 aug 09:
seattle-bainbridge ferry, ~82 degrees F. a swarthy man with beaded sweat was trying to, i guess, hit on me. he was a smarmy 'lawyer from michigan' 'in town for the ring opera.' the first question out of his mouth was 'so what do you do?' god, i hate americans.
i am skipping class -lomi lomi, no less- to be in the open air. i feel guilty about this. my motivation is faltering badly, as it always does around the 5-week mark of the term. i just want to fall in love and enjoy the summer and have adventures... so i am looking at a keyboard instead of at the scenery, listening to children scream and chase one another across the deck. i woke at 545am after sleeping for three hours. i must have been dreaming; the first thing i remembered was smacking the headboard rather violently with the back of my hand. the sun peeked over the mountains at 613am. i made a caprese salad with tofu*, balsamic, and beth's garden-fresh basil. the 9am staff meeting lasted all of 45 minutes; i took a large bowl of fruit salad home. reread 'a paper life' and 'the devil's dictionary' whilst laying on the deck. blared 'change' whilst hating my wardrobe. it was sometime midmorning that the idea of massage seemed rather unpalatable; i don't want to fuck with the bag, with sheets, with being present. i shamefully realize that i can truly be adept at only one or two facets of my life at any given time... if that.


now, 930pm. i spent the afternoon wandering around winslow, remembering how tedious and twee that town is. surely a small community doesn't need a yoga studio and an ayurvedic chalet on every fucking corner. i was mildly heartened to see an honest-to-god trailer park, albeit across the street from some tastefully "homey" spankin'-new condos.
i acquired a sunburn. there were no visible jellyfish in the bay. it was pretty... i just felt ephemeral, a disinterested witness to other people's lives. couples were posing with the seattle skyline in the background. sunlight shimmered through hair. i craved some sort of portable music; it would have been a perfect moment to zone out with a song. i am probably the only person in the fucking first world without so much as a goddamn walkman.
i always feel a surge of adoration when i disembark in seattle. it's a nice place to call home.
*
last night a man, possibly transient, definitely inebriated, stumbled up to me at the bus stop and simulated masturbation. "are you fucking kidding me?" i shouted at him. i cocked my pepper spray, finger on the trigger. "i will fucking mace you if you do not back the fuck away." i charged at him. i wasn't really thinking logically, other than the fact that he did not provoke any intimidation in me whatsoever. he staggered into the street and a car slowed down to avoid hitting him. i lost sight of him after that. it was one in the morning at the socially-diverse corner of 3rd and pike and i spent the next ten minutes waiting for my bus whilst glaring into space and being quite aware that no one else waiting offered anything more during our 'altercation' than a furtive glance.
that really pissed me off, actually. perhaps they suspected that i had the situation under control, but i am more inclined to believe that people don't want to get involved in other people's shit, no matter how welcome their involvement might be.
if there's one thing the last month has taught me (though obviously, there are many, many things), it's that i'm not half as boo!-scary as i fancied i was. feigned poise and a sense of purpose means fucking nothing when they can simply tap you and knock you down.
that, i'm sure, helped contribute to my mood today. i'm just done. it'll pass. i want to be not fucked with. in every respect. surely it is not that lofty an ambition, except that it is.
i meet d in about an hour. we have plans to go swing dancing. we've already gone once and it was fucking marvelous. he first taught me the charleston on the sidewalk of 19th. passers-by politely dodged us; more than a few smiled.

today is the first day in about 3 weeks that my face hasn't felt funky. i blame the lack of sleep, copious caffeine, and abundant vitamin d.

*tofu is a horrible farce of a substitute for fresh mozzarella. vegan caprese salad is a sad thing indeed.

rise up singing

i go through flux. i won't write for months, then i'll write greedily for weeks at a time. it's not as if i get more insightful or articulate, obviously- perhaps 'manic' is the preferred apa term.
one of my favorite houses in seattle, revisited.

i get off a stop too late on purpose, just to walk past this. it's near 16th and john. tonight the neighbors, in the yard of their well-groomed lair, were industriously hosing their lawn in the wake of today's heat. this house, meanwhile, languishes in a downright regal manner. i would love to be a little kid in this neighborhood. i would spend hours devising ways to break in and discover the ghosts.
fuck, i'm doing that anyway. i walk by and plot how i'd break in. i took d by it one night. "i LOVE this house!" i bleated lustily. "check the meters to see if it's occupied" he suggested. his logic explained the blurry, unintelligable photos i found on my camera that next morning; i'd taken wobbly-handed pictures of the electric meters at ~11pm one night, sans flash, trying not to appear suspicious.
*
this is another favorite, on 12th S in the ID. i have loved this house for years. it has a tattered, jaundiced quality and seems clumsily out of place, stucco'd as it is. it also has a yard that suggests absenteeism, or at least indifference. i stood on the opposite corner to take this picture.

i went to a free show of the cave singers tonight. it was hot and sultry; i was packed against the used jazz cds with mere glimpses of the band through various sweat-soaked shoulders. my skin was slick. people were taking the dividers out of the cd racks to fan themselves with. after, i walked through seattle center and down 2nd avenue. the light was uniformly flattering. i found myself singing "wishin' and hopin'" as i walked.

(i love gerry rafferty. there, i said it.)

the corner of broadway & john, as dubiously reported months ago as being grazed for the mythical 'light rail' station (eta 2014?) has been... paved. the block on which i once stayed at a filthy hostel, read battered used erotica, bought piroshkies, and who knows what else, is now a fucking parking lot... minus the parking.

d and i acting immaturely at the 5 point.

i am addicted to these fucking nicotine lozenges. i finally read through one of the 'smoking cessation' pamphlets that come in every (expensive) box. one is meant to wean themselves off of these over an approximately 12wk period. the box even comes with chipper little stickers to place on your calender; the last one says "EX-SMOKER". well, i have not done this. 13.5 months later, i am still sucking on at least 10 4mg tabs a day. i tried the gum but it was fucking vile. i also tried simply *not* using the lozenges, but it turned me into a shrill, snively harpy. fucking nicotine. i love it, but i hate being 'reliant' on anything.
the cherry ones are currently my favorite. the mint ones are okay. i have not tried the 'cappucino' flavor yet, and i promise i never will.

the only thing less alluring than this blatant oral fixation? taking pictures of myself with the goddamn things in my mouth.
*
i am sitting at a cafe right now. a woman just came by my table, looking for extras for a 'thee emergency' video currently being filmed a few blocks away. instead i will be at d's in an hour to practice lomi lomi. time marches on.

feeling it

a stall at pike place market sells handcrafted glass beads. i love happy slices of the world... this 12" square of space rivals the window of different colors of glass at the stained-glass shop on N 45th for immediately improving whatever mood i'm in.

as of one week ago, fred fucking meyer was still shilling michael jackson merchandise. modern culture is so fucking hypocritical. i will always have fond memories of wandering chicago and hearing "billie jean" and "rock with you" blaring out of open car windows every time i stopped at an intersection. other than that, fuck it.

i predict this shall be the next 'architectural' casualty of downtown seattle. it was impossible to get a better angle; the alleyway is barricaded by construction fence. this motel shares a block with top pot donuts and a vacant lot where the dollar movie theater with the wacky orange roof and sticky floors used to be. i loved that theater. i think i saw 'pulp fiction' there once.

the cafe i'm at went from steve miller to the magnetic fields. i received a luxurious 90 minute massage in my lair as modest mouse's 'the fruit that ate itself' played 4 times on repeat. walked downtown in the mugginess, ate free caramel popcorn, read a trashy magazine, watched a photo shoot of some skateboard company. 'tis a good day.
i often wonder how i can even contemplate living anywhere else. but after all, there is time for everything. opportunities are rampant if i remember to pay attention.
*
A pirate walks into a bar, and he's got a steering wheel sticking out of his pants. The bartender sees him and asks, "Hey, what's that steering wheel doing there?" The pirate says, "Aaarrrr, it's driving me nuts."

in the army now

i have always been reticent to 'compartmentalize' myself, but i am most assuredly not a fucking 'goth'. wtf, aka d, aka t, 'is'. last friday we went to his friend astro's birthday party at the mercury, a member's-only Goth Club. because it is a 'club' and therefore not regulated by the state LCB, one can smoke cigarettes inside. hilariously enough, i ended up squashed at a banquette of about twelve surly assholes in ill-fitting garb of varying shades of black, only two of whom i knew, of which at least six were smoking cigarettes at any given time. i felt like a fucking dork, but i actually went outside for fresh air. once in the alley, i got into a very entertaining and nerdy conversation with someone about his camera.
i asked wtf if astro would mind me taking his picture. "are you kidding? he'd fucking love it."

but you know what? 'goths', or rather, people who 'self-identify' as anything at all, are fucking jerks. i was reprimanded by the wench of a mute boy who resembled the character 'powder' for using my flash in the light-free club. "he has photosensitivity" she said curtly. i apologized. he ignored me. it was so cliche as to be comical- ooh, pussy-whipped goth boy adverse to light! how dramatic! why don't you lay your pale hand across your beleagured forehead?- but i'd had two drinks by that point and the time i'd spent in that depressing hellhole had made me surly and intolerant. "i have to leave NOW" i hissed to wtf, who had my keys in his apartment. he agreed, once we were in the fresh air, that a lot of the people there were dickheads. he cross-dressed for me for the first time that night. he does not pass at all, but he certainly took a long time to get ready.
i didn't wash the eye shit off before going to bed that night, although i was very careful to change my clothes. i put my sweater on the deck to desmokify. it has since been rained on.
*
i finally finished 'confessions in a golden eye' last night. i recommend it. it's not great, but it is a slight mindfuck.
i am currently siphoning wifi at a place that hosts drag queen revue. i have heard 'the boogie woogie bugle boy' more times than i know. they are rehearsing behind a half-drawn curtain. i have stumbled upon a private eschelon of hell. i can never listen to this song again.
*
'don't focus on what the world expects from you. focus on what makes you glow.'

katman-don't

addendum: the murderer was in pennsylvania, at an "LA Fitness" health club, not in california (where LA is located), as previously reported. i apologize for the fucking error.
that onus has been bothering me for several days, anal-retentive that i am. this is my first chance to amend it. i am sure i am the only one who cares.
*
i started on my new schedule this week. the economy is not significantly better, but three people have left ACCES and we have all returned to FT hours to absorb their shifts. i work 3 13hr shifts now, which i requested... it's fine at the time but today, watching the demo for craniosacral holds, i nodded off on the sofa at school. monday is a long day. i have class 1-5p and clinic 6-10p. 3 shots of espresso helped. now i am inconveniently wired. this tends to be my pattern.
i noticed a few weeks ago that i am finally fucking confident. i give a really good massage. i actually know how to 'ground' and 'be present' and quell the dithering nattery in my brain. i have spent the prior year demurely declining giving people massages when they find out i'm in school- because i've been scared shitless. no more. today i gave three massages- one craniosacral, one a 'relaxation' massage, one with focus on the back and subscaps with more cranio thrown in. i made three different individuals almost or completely pass out. it rained during tonight's clinic; the city smells like wet dust. as i walked out of school, sidestepping puddles, i thought "fuck, i can actually do this." it's a really good, really unexpected feeling.
i am so glad i have this life.
*
yesterday a woman brought her cat to my work. she'd been missing for a week and reappeared on her porch. "i bathed her but she still smells really bad" the woman said. i took her to the ICU, unwrapped her from her towel, and a torrent of huge maggots spurted out of a necrotic wound on her hip. i really don't mind maggots- they are fascinating in their industry!- but i dislike being surprised by them. the doctor was dry-heaving while doing her exam. maggots skittered out of the wound and into the cat's anus, out of the anus and into the cat's vagina. and the cat, seemingly numb to the nightmarishness occuring in her own body, was purring the entire time.
*
the owner, who turned out to be a (human) physician, was oblivious to the maggotry until the doctor told her. she was horrified and apologized repeatedly to us "for bringing in the most disgusting animal of the night."
the cat's name is sophie.
and maggots do not drown when thrown in water. they must be squashed to die.
*
a conversation ensued among my coworkers as to what maggot infestation must feel like. "i suspect it's a ticklish sensation" i said, scratching the cat's head through a latex glove.
*
i washed my hands a lot last night.
*
the depeche mode concert should be letting out soon. they're playing at the fucking key arena, two blocks away. the patrons at the bar are loudly disbaraging the band "and the douches who went." i have no desire to ever see depeche mode, but i wore the 'violator' album out in 1996. i was working at a coffee house in anchorage and closed the place by myself. it was my cleaning-up album (occasionally changed out with sinead o'connor's 'i do not want what i haven't got' and 'jimi hendrix greatest hits'). depeche mode reminds me of espresso grounds and the smell of windex. it was a happy era for me, and that means a lot.
*
i love the people i know.

ironies

i have unwittingly stumbled onto a Magic gathering. this is quite surreal. i thought the guys at the table next to me were painters, for fuck's sake, and even leaned over to say "wow, that's really lovely"- i thought their boards were their artwork, like they were debating how to proceed with some fanciful ad copy, and that their boxes were full of pastels. "another centaur?" one of the men just lamented. i possess the only vagina in the room.
today a man murdered three women at a health club in california. parts of his blog were cited online. he was a sick, fantastically miserable fuck. the accompanying picture looked scarily nondescript.
"soldier soldier soldier soldier - levitation - death!" another Magic boy announces.
*
loneliness seems to be the fulcrum of his madness. nothing will fuck up a human mind more devastatingly.
people on the comment board for the article were making lascivious comments about the picture. "i'd hit that" one wrote. "he's in really good shape, although his eyes creep me out."

my body is fucking with my head

i found a button of paul pfeiffer! sonic boom was selling a rack of pins near the cash register with a sign proclaiming "nerds!" it was a toss-up between this and the comic book guy. it lives on my bag now. alas, i have received no comments about it yet.

my face feels like it belongs to someone else. i just spent 5 minutes in front of a bathroom mirror, testing different expressions to make sure all my muscles work. they do. but it feels like someone has poured cement on my skin... a heavy pressure, unnervingly clausterphobic. how much is my 'disease' and how much is just me? this tends to happen when i am chronically exhausted. this is the more likely reason... i have been waking up tired for the last week or so. sleep inconveniences me. i always worry that i'm missing something. i like MS for this- it is a physical bitch-slap to take more prudent care of myself.

that said, i am at a cafe with a gin and tonic. it's only 9pm, after all. the night, in my mind, is still young, even if i feel internally starched and therefore rather subdued and isolated.

*

this building on the corner of terry and howell (downtown seattle) has always appealed to me. it has a hideous, stumpy, dated quality; someone designed this with ambitions of what: a passe version of beauty? pure functionality? it never has fit in with its surroundings, which i admire. but part of me quietly suspected, especially once all the vile (and vacant) high-rises started sprouting up around it, that it was not long for this world.

today i was proven correct. god damn it, anyway.

i love its imposing angularity! it was probably an insurance company once. sadly, i don't even remember.

it has already been tagged by amateurs.

we finished reflexology and have started craniosacral manipulation. the instructor, pete, is the same teacher i had for muscular anatomy & kinesthiology (a 2-term purgatory). i had been warned that teaching the craniosacral classes "brings out his woo-woo." (that sounds filthy; i am merely quoting.) ten minutes into yesterday's class he was talking about 'power animals' and how 'we all have a spirit we identify with.' this was related to a tale he told about a friend of his who was visiting fairbanks, alaska (!) and happened upon a whale bone for sale in a gift shop. (i was sprawled on the floor, doodling, cynically wondering if selling whale bones was even legal. i never fucking noticed. my parents still have a 12' strip of baleen that they regularly polish with floor wax, but they bought it from a guy in togiak on the sly.) apparently this friend of his was mystically drawn to this whale bone "and realized at that moment that the whale was his power animal" pete said earnestly. "it was very expensive, but he bought it and brought it back to washington."
i was so close to making a smartass comment about oosiks, but i didn't. god damn it, i should have.
i have always pretended to be far more cynical about life than i truly am. i am actually the most gullible, idealistic person i know. but i was cringing inwardly at the, well, 'woo-woo' of it all -this is why massage has such a flaky rap! do i have to start liking fucking waterfall music next? are you going to tell me about my past life as a fucking princess?- until we did our first c-s exercise: the suboccipital cradle. son of a bitch, it was cool. i can't explain it properly without making myself want to vomit at the bona fide frippery of it all, but it was... buzzy. i felt my partner's occiput release beneath my right pinky finger. c-s is essentially 'listening to bone': feeling the fluid slosh around inside the skull, achieving balance, transferring energy. it requires complete focus on your partner and your own grounding.
maybe that's really what it's all about- focus. if properly focused, it is very difficult to fuck up anything. being receptive to what your 'client', for lack of a better term, is feeling, makes it impossible to give a shitty massage.
this can also be said of making love.
god, i sound like a fucking fruit.
today the ascerbity returned to the pedagogy. stickel, the abrasive little man, was teaching business. we are pretending to be motivated about our career plans once we graduate. "geezer massage will be the next big thing!" he announced. "this is the self-indulgent generation." we critiqued actual job listings and resumes that he'd pulled off craigslist. "yeah, this one sucks" he said dismissively. "and she went to school here."
*
i am always on the lookout for new and exotic seafood.

hotter than balls

it is 104 degrees in seattle, washington. i don't even own a fan. it's been in the upper nineties all week and will stay this way until at least saturday. i have been sleeping downstairs with an ice pack, the ones that come with my meds that i've thoughtfully saved in the freezer. the cats are miserable, sprawled out like victims of a cattle abortion storm. i will post pictures later, for it really is pathetic.
i am skipping class today because we're doing body wraps. having my skin slathered with shit is quite near the top of my "things i absolutely don't want to experience right now" list. and i have to work in tacoma at 7pm. i called yesterday to see if someone else wanted the shift; someone who, say, actually lived in tacoma and had AC in their car. the message was lost, or perhaps never written down. so i am taking a very long time driving to the bowels of pierce county, directly into the sun, surrounded by horrible traffic, an ice pack melting in my lap. sadly, it is cooler in my car than it is in my lair, for at least my car, with all the windows rolled down, generates a bit of breeze- when the car's not stuck in fucking traffic, that is.
heat makes me grouchy. i hate its inescapability.
everything in new orleans, at least, was air-conditioned.
last night t skipped class and we walked along the waterfront. i was in a pissy mood. his mental issues occasionally irritate the shit out of me- i get so impatient with what i see as his self-sabotage. and yet he's one of the most reasonable and self-aware people i've ever met... talking later helped enormously. we went to charlie's and ate fries. it was still 85 degrees at one am, so i dragged him out of his oppressive blood-red-walled apartment to the fountain at cal anderson. there were a lot of people still out, talking, playing in the water. it felt like a comfortable bath. we sat against the cistern and i took pictures of my feet, every bit a cliche.
*
today is geddy lee's 56th birthday- the man, not the cat.
*
"fuck 'em and feed 'em fish." -tony curtis

pull me by my hair and hang me from the heavens

the problem with good moments is that they fucking END. the glory passes and i am left with a jangled, unfinished caul over everything. that was yesterday. and it's hanging on, a bit, despite its pointlessness. life can be extraordinary. i should feel fortunate to be so reminded.
*
in the midst of this lovely spell, d told me he wants to be with me. he wrote me a letter on tuesday. it was a letter that blew my mind and made me cry and caused me to laugh vapidly whilst walking down the street by myself. however: i had written this off as a possibility a long, long time ago, for multiple and extremely good reasons, any one of which would be more than sufficient. our friendship has progressed to the point where the thought of being anything more would seem incredibly awkward. it would be like fucking a brother- a very, very confused and fucked-up brother who is way too effeminate and smokes too much and listens to the scissor sisters (who are, i guess, okay in very small doses) and swings both ways and these are only the minor, superficial things... traits that are endearing and which make him who he is, and make him someone i adore, but not what i would want in a, perish the term, boyfriend. i know what i want. i know what makes me excited, happy, interested, hungry for more, impatient to explore. and i don't think he's it.
i don't know.
i have had to talk myself out of liking him too much since i first met him.
*
yesterday i was subsisting on three hours of sleep and a sluggish sensation of remorse- when s left and i was driving away from the airport, the sun was shining and 'don't do me like that' was on the radio and i sang along as loudly as i could whilst wiping fucking tears out of my eyes like a silly little girl. i miss him in an empty, achy way. and then i feel stupid. and then i feel happy to be alive and able to experience the emotions that make us human.
we had the first spa modality class in school yesterday. i gave and recieved my first hot stone massage. it was fucking luscious, actually. it's slippery and oily and warm and wonderful and may help me get over my lifelong spa bias. i am planning a trek to hwy 2 next week to forage for proper rocks (basalt, flat, <8") to try the techniques at home. the teacher is one of my favorites, a sarcastic and abrasive little man who has taught our research and neuromuscular courses in prior terms. he was quite explicit about the pervasity of spa work. apparently 70-80% of massage therapists end up working in some form of spas... which i am revulsed by, as i still see my little ADA-disapproved garret with the acid house decor and fucking pete sinfield soundtrack, offering relaxation without the goddamn salt scrubs and aromatherapy... but the hot stones, like i said, are really fucking cool, so i will try to be more open-minded. as the teacher said, "we end up taking the first job we can and end up working for crooks, assholes, and dipshits."
d and i met last night. he asked what i thought about what he'd said. "your timing is terrible!" i blurted. it was a rather uncomfortable evening. i drank two drinks very quickly while he nursed one. there was a parking ticket on his car when we left the bar. he dropped me off and we hugged. nothing more was established. i entered my empty apartment, lights still blazing, and took a valium. i leaned against the wall and watched the cats sleep. i watched cars on the freeway. and i distinctly thought "there's more than this, because i have proof."
*
this morning i made raita for 'employee appreciation week'. i made something up. i carmelized onions with salt, cumin, garam masala, and garlic, let it cool, and mixed it into whole milk yogurt with cayenne and a shitload of fresh cilantro. i dropped it off at work earlier. people said it was good. i should cook more, if only because i love chopping things.
'horehound' is a fucking brilliant, filthy, amazing album. it is more suited for a dark room and raunchy sex than a hot car and sunny traffic, but it's helped me a lot today.
*
and i miss my fucking camera.

liberty: once a dream, now a bar

i am antsy as fuck. as usual. i will be in chicago in 48 hrs. my last final will be finished. i am seeing chicago as an opportunity to assess possible relocations- it's been on my fantasy radar for a while, despite its flatness- and, if nothing else, take a picture of myself interlocked within the constantly fluctuating reflections of the bean. i am almost more excited to see this stupid, probably underwhelming thing than i am to see van der graaf, actually.


i remember waxing hippie-poetic about the marvel of the bean. "it's, like, interactive art!" i think i slurred. "that's fucking BRILLIANT." i see the bean as a solid base: it's there, existing, benign. its job ended the day it was planted in whatever public square it inhabits. its livelihood, from that point forward, is solely dependent on the flux of its passerby- the way the sun hits the metal, the reflections of tourists in ill-fitting shorts and teenagers kissing and dogs being walked and day turning to night. it is never the same thing from one second to the next. it is art that is created by its environment. i could even go so far as to liken it to the grandiose miasma of Life Itself: always fluctuous, always changing, blink-and-ya-miss-it, a completely different angle and experience from someone else, even when they're standing just beside you- but that would be pretentious, so i shan't.
i have a new computer. my first, i'm-an-adult new computer. it weighs 3# and fits in my man-purse. i fucking love it. this is to blame for my sudden revisiting of writing on this narcissistic shitfest; i've been writing the whole time, just on my steno pad with a ballpoint... it is fascinating to look around and see exactly how many people are on facebook at any given time. the man to the right of me, for example. it comforts me somehow- validates my dorkiness.

i finished app today -anatomy pathology and physiology- and have one final left, for assessment, charting, and a massage based on the 'client's' needs. i am doing shockingly well in massage school, considering i haven't studied for shit and am rather burnt/indifferent on the whole thing. i did not study at all for the final yesterday and got 102% on the test- extra since i could blather about how urine is created in the kidneys. this makes me feel good, but guilty- guilty because i have no fucking idea as to how i'm supposed to apply this to my life, and when everyone asks me "so what are you going to do when you graduate?" i simper lamely "try to get into more school so i can push my loans out." i never had a dream of being a massage therapist. ever! BUT:


i am intensely interested in hospice care. i want to be the person who holds their hand. i want to reacquaint people with the bodies that have turned against them by way of disease. i want people to relax and be happy within their 'home.' that sounds so fucking fruity when i write it but: it is why i am in massage school. we have to do a case study next term: 5 visits with a client to address a specific condition. i want to find someone who needs reacquaintance with their body- they have alienated themselves from their physical needs via indifference, abuse, whatever. you have a fucking knee injury? i don't give a fuck. you want to increase your flexibility? i don't really give a fuck about that either. you want to feel good within yourself, as a human? allow me to step away and turn on, i don't know, iron & wine or similar. and then- relax.
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i tend to take a lot on emotionally when i give a massage. it is going to be a detriment if i don't corral this tendency.

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i was visiting a friend while she was housesitting for my former boss in tacoma. my former boss has an entire display cabinet filled with this:

it's fucking creepy! i enjoyed that sensation of "wow, i'd never have guessed..." but that quickly became "wow, i wish i'd never known."

my battery dies.

time for tea and meet the wife

life is going so fucking well right now.
w has a motivation tool he calls "the deck." a household task is assigned to each one. some are more questionable than others.

this was taken a few weeks ago when it was 89 degrees. narcissism flows eagerly in the lazy morning hours.

and i love this city.

i have three more days of this term, then chicago... and even yet still more intrigue.