i feel so goofily optimistic! i have been riding this giddy wave for a while now. wonder lazily when this shall pass. then i get eager about what revelations THAT shall bring, and i know everything will work out just beautifully.
i left my husband because i was tired of being blamed for his shit. my own doledrums, i can assess and make sense of, but when other people's crap becomes my fault also... well, there is nothing i can do about that. and history is repeating itself. it is nice to recognize it early and detach. perhaps that is contributing to my pleasant state of mind: realizing that this time, things will be different. i have repeated the same ineffectual foolishnesses over and over, always wondering why nothing's better, but NOW! HA! so they shall be. i firmly believe that a bullshit-free life will only lead to happiness. it seems to be working thus far.
talked to my best girlfriend today. i was walking from my lair to downtown; ended up in post alley (pike place market), underneath a flowery bowery, an andean musician nearby. my sleeves were pushed up. around me people were lunching, mouths full of falafel and samosas. she spoke of alaska and i could scarcely picture it. i miss her, and i suppose i feel nostagic, but i wouldn't change my environment now for nearly anything. this may be the first time i can ever remember feeling so happy in my surroundings. paris was a close second, but it was always augmented by a perma-travelerness.
ah, paris! (this is spawned twofold: 1. email from my friend in montreal, with whom i played chess at the peace & love hostel in the 11th arrondissiment; 2. the disc jockey's horrific mispronounciation of the raconteurs- excellent song, but i fucking love the white stripes, so)
-ducking into a doorway in the pouring rain whilst meandering around st. germain
-pulp's 'we are the boys' blaring in my walkman as i walked by gare du nord at night (the trick to avoid being fucked with, at least so far: prolonged eye contact with everybody)
-sackfuls of licorice allsorts from monoprix
-getting utterly lost in the winding backstreets of montmartre
-finding my rare bird cd at marche des puces
-being kissed mere minutes after giving french schoolboy a cigarette (he was legal, i hope)
-drinking pernod out of grimy glasses whilst relentlessly hearing manu chao on the hi-fi
-kabob stands everywhere, skewer swiveling right next to the open windows
-metro 1, partially elevated, apartments of happy parisians clearly visible
-being bought a rose at the base of the eiffel tower
-giving other tourists directions
-rue st. etienne, prostitutes glowering from doorways. i once stayed on this street, probably in an unofficial brothel (didn't know at the time). i had my wallet stolen from that hotel. wonderful food stands here.
-turkish toilets, pink toilet paper, no toilet seats, no sinks nearby
these are fond memories now, actually.
today i read 'how to spot an evangelist' (title?) at elliot bay. it is fucking hilarious. i was laughing audibly. apparently it was written by an evangelist. he has a respectable level of self-effacingness. that is a very attractive quality in anyone, isn't it?
Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
je voudrais...
today is one of those that would be nice to share with somebody. i'm not feeling lonely, just alone, if that makes sense. i think of opening my apartment door and crawling into bed naked and sliding on top of a warm body. i think of being abruptly pinned against a wall in some semi-public corridor, heads held an inch apart until it's intolerable, then being absolutely devoured. and devouring them. i imagine their neck, their hands, their mouth. the noises. the smell. the giggly stupid aftermath, boneless, watching the world filter by through drugged vision. i have sex on the brain. sitting here and typing so inocuously!
anonymity can be a blessing.
i usually arrive at this cafe around 10pm. most men, to my surprise, order hot chocolate with whipped cream at this hour. or tea. not a lot of coffee. the hot chocolate orders are charming. i am feeling love for my surroundings. appreciation. 'always something there to remind me' just came on. this is a FUCKING GREAT SONG. i still have the 45. i used to dance around to this in my bedroom when i was a nubile teen. it still makes me feel the same way.
there are people i see in my everyday meanderings who i would love to go up to and say "you look interesting. want to go get some coffee and talk?" i immediately write this off as an unsettling stalkery action, though i would be incredibly flattered if someone did this to me. what do i get on the street? requests for money or lecherous commentary, delivered by old vagrants. i always thank them.
there is a human obscured by a pillar. i can see their laptop, their cup, their back. they are humming (tunefully!) to every song that comes on. it is a male. i had to crane my neck, none too subtly. he is currently accompanying phil collins, the always the same/what a shame song. there is something charming about guys liking terrible music as well. seriously- this is a song EVERYBODY fucking knows, and EVERYBODY fucking sings along to when they're unobserved, and i'm not proud about it either, but damned if it isn't catchy. to my credit, i do not know what it is called, and i am fine with that.
i was blaring neil diamond as i got dressed today. i suppose that completely nullifies me from having any sort of valid musical opinions.
why do i get my second wind after 10pm? why don't stores stay open later? i want to go buy furniture or romp on the beach. i still think my business idea of opening a cafe from only the hours of 9pm to noon is an excellent one. swing-shifters haven't an outlet of their own. the cafe would have a dim, pretentious air, but with one corner full of those damn light-boxes for the vitamin D-deprived. vitamin D-prived? and many plants. perhaps a caged bird to chirp merrily. the patrons can teach it foul words. an i-pod open mic. serve-yerself coffee and hot water. bring a picture of something offensive to hang on the wall and get a free meal. this is MY IDEA!
the walk here is very appealing lately. mown grass, blossoms, the salivatory aroma of the ethiopian restaurant, dryer vents aimed at the sidewalk. it smells lovely here. that is a very important thing, really. it makes it nigh impossible to be in a foul mood.
anonymity can be a blessing.
i usually arrive at this cafe around 10pm. most men, to my surprise, order hot chocolate with whipped cream at this hour. or tea. not a lot of coffee. the hot chocolate orders are charming. i am feeling love for my surroundings. appreciation. 'always something there to remind me' just came on. this is a FUCKING GREAT SONG. i still have the 45. i used to dance around to this in my bedroom when i was a nubile teen. it still makes me feel the same way.
there are people i see in my everyday meanderings who i would love to go up to and say "you look interesting. want to go get some coffee and talk?" i immediately write this off as an unsettling stalkery action, though i would be incredibly flattered if someone did this to me. what do i get on the street? requests for money or lecherous commentary, delivered by old vagrants. i always thank them.
there is a human obscured by a pillar. i can see their laptop, their cup, their back. they are humming (tunefully!) to every song that comes on. it is a male. i had to crane my neck, none too subtly. he is currently accompanying phil collins, the always the same/what a shame song. there is something charming about guys liking terrible music as well. seriously- this is a song EVERYBODY fucking knows, and EVERYBODY fucking sings along to when they're unobserved, and i'm not proud about it either, but damned if it isn't catchy. to my credit, i do not know what it is called, and i am fine with that.
i was blaring neil diamond as i got dressed today. i suppose that completely nullifies me from having any sort of valid musical opinions.
why do i get my second wind after 10pm? why don't stores stay open later? i want to go buy furniture or romp on the beach. i still think my business idea of opening a cafe from only the hours of 9pm to noon is an excellent one. swing-shifters haven't an outlet of their own. the cafe would have a dim, pretentious air, but with one corner full of those damn light-boxes for the vitamin D-deprived. vitamin D-prived? and many plants. perhaps a caged bird to chirp merrily. the patrons can teach it foul words. an i-pod open mic. serve-yerself coffee and hot water. bring a picture of something offensive to hang on the wall and get a free meal. this is MY IDEA!
the walk here is very appealing lately. mown grass, blossoms, the salivatory aroma of the ethiopian restaurant, dryer vents aimed at the sidewalk. it smells lovely here. that is a very important thing, really. it makes it nigh impossible to be in a foul mood.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Thursday, March 23, 2006
the rigors of a day off
some of the best album covers (a list in progress, in no particular order)
except:
#1: revolver, the beatles. every time i look at it i notice something new. always, however subconsciously, modeled my drawing after this. love the faces peeking from the hair. and yes, this by far upstages the (overrated) sgt pepper and (close second) abbey road.
#2: court of the crimson king, king crimson. the only straight lines on this are the teeth. i am a fierce advocate of curves. the colors are fantastic.
#3: whipped cream and other delights, herb alpert & the tijuana brass. fucking brilliant, sexy and hilarious.
-rift, phish. i have a 2.5'x6' print of this on the wall of my loo. i still haven't found all the song titles in the art.
-tapestry, carole king. this looks like a spur-of-the-moment photograph taken by a close friend, probably whilst talking about love and drinking tea. it is a setting i would enjoy living in.
-blind faith. a bit fucking pedophilic and disturbing, done with such sunshiney colors. isn't this one of their daughters?
-lust for life, iggy pop. because every time i look at it i laugh.
-wear your love like heaven, donovan. pink and dreamy yet somehow rather dim and thereby a bit sinister; he looks like a bit of a pervert, lurking in the boat at the bottom of the picture.
-sabbath bloody sabbath, black sabbath. unsettling and creepy. why i don't go to church.
-piano man, billy joel. another style of drawing i have tried to emulate. didn't work too well.
-peter gabriel reflected in the windshield. one of those moments i notice a thousand times and offhandedly wonder if it could be captured on film... like a hand reflected in the chrome as it reaches for the automatic dryer.
-velvet underground. they're all smiling and look very young. it looks like it was taken in somebody's basement. (overrated cover: the velvet underground and nico)
-ecstacy, lou reed. feel kinda dirty just looking at it.
-modern life is rubbish, blur. great layout, great colors, simple.
-animals, pink floyd. reminds me a bit of monty python.
-octopus, gentle giant. can has a similar cover...
-tago mago, can. primitive and instantly recognizable. a guy in seattle makes lapel pins of various lp covers. i saw this one from about 15' away.
-alone together, dave mason. very dated. he looks like a silly fop who ended up randomly propped on a crag. this encapsulates late '60s british music.
i am consciously omitting the following themes: -flaky '70's fairies-and-swirlies art a la yes; overly grin&winky art a la supertramp's 'crisis? what crisis?'; pictures of the bands looking bored/posed/snotty.
i want to see an album cover of the inside of a messy refrigerator, or a dirty lavatory- or of a group of disgruntled commuters on a bus. if there is already such a thing, please let me know.
except:
#1: revolver, the beatles. every time i look at it i notice something new. always, however subconsciously, modeled my drawing after this. love the faces peeking from the hair. and yes, this by far upstages the (overrated) sgt pepper and (close second) abbey road.
#2: court of the crimson king, king crimson. the only straight lines on this are the teeth. i am a fierce advocate of curves. the colors are fantastic.
#3: whipped cream and other delights, herb alpert & the tijuana brass. fucking brilliant, sexy and hilarious.
-rift, phish. i have a 2.5'x6' print of this on the wall of my loo. i still haven't found all the song titles in the art.
-tapestry, carole king. this looks like a spur-of-the-moment photograph taken by a close friend, probably whilst talking about love and drinking tea. it is a setting i would enjoy living in.
-blind faith. a bit fucking pedophilic and disturbing, done with such sunshiney colors. isn't this one of their daughters?
-lust for life, iggy pop. because every time i look at it i laugh.
-wear your love like heaven, donovan. pink and dreamy yet somehow rather dim and thereby a bit sinister; he looks like a bit of a pervert, lurking in the boat at the bottom of the picture.
-sabbath bloody sabbath, black sabbath. unsettling and creepy. why i don't go to church.
-piano man, billy joel. another style of drawing i have tried to emulate. didn't work too well.
-peter gabriel reflected in the windshield. one of those moments i notice a thousand times and offhandedly wonder if it could be captured on film... like a hand reflected in the chrome as it reaches for the automatic dryer.
-velvet underground. they're all smiling and look very young. it looks like it was taken in somebody's basement. (overrated cover: the velvet underground and nico)
-ecstacy, lou reed. feel kinda dirty just looking at it.
-modern life is rubbish, blur. great layout, great colors, simple.
-animals, pink floyd. reminds me a bit of monty python.
-octopus, gentle giant. can has a similar cover...
-tago mago, can. primitive and instantly recognizable. a guy in seattle makes lapel pins of various lp covers. i saw this one from about 15' away.
-alone together, dave mason. very dated. he looks like a silly fop who ended up randomly propped on a crag. this encapsulates late '60s british music.
i am consciously omitting the following themes: -flaky '70's fairies-and-swirlies art a la yes; overly grin&winky art a la supertramp's 'crisis? what crisis?'; pictures of the bands looking bored/posed/snotty.
i want to see an album cover of the inside of a messy refrigerator, or a dirty lavatory- or of a group of disgruntled commuters on a bus. if there is already such a thing, please let me know.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
amid the detritus, peace
i feel very fortunate to love my job. i have been aglow anew about how satisfactory my life really is. little glimpses of how bloody EASY everything can be, or already is... as per usual, the self-loathing apathy-glut of last week has evolved to a sparkly-eyed shrug of the metaphorical shoulders. this feels much better. i am sashaying again.
left seattle this morning cauled by fog, birds a-chirp, the familiar smell of march. by federal way the sunshine had broken through. i was blaring buddy holly. when i first moved to seattle my work commute was greatly dark. time has passed faster than i had expected. feel refreshingly optimistic. i was in the shower yesterday when the "well, duh" thought of life being based on invincible optimism occured to me. i used to consider myself an inherent pessimist, but i now know that to be bullshit. tomorrow always has a welter of possibility. even if i do nothing but sit on my arse, the *potential* for any given moment is awfully seductive.
jethro tull is playing. i have heard so many derisive comments about their ability to perform live. saw them once, ~10 years ago. i sat very far away in an arena with dreadful acoustics- and at the time, i was more excited about their co-headliners, iron butterfly (rather abased about that now). thus, the best shows i have ever been to:
-the cramps at the showbox, seattle. right next to the stage. smacked lux interior's ass.
-phish, the gorge, 2003. the company wasn;t that great but they played 'maze'. (generic flaky soundbite: i really wish phish would reunite! they are fucking brilliant. /end flaky soundbite.)
-damo suzuki and kinski, crocodile cafe. only about 3o people there.
-john fogerty, chateau ste michelle. old people were dancing and the sun was shining.
-projeckt 2, london. bill bruford is incredible to watch.
-peter gabriel, key arena. i got teary. was it the bicycle of 'solsbury hill'? the gerbil ball of 'growing up'? the cheesy prom-night afterglow of 'in your eyes'? the banana split at 13 coins beforehand?
glorious moments of shows that were overshadowed by exogenic circumstances:
-the drunken crush of people at every and all guided by voices show (i rather enjoy my clothes being dampened by sweat that is not my own)
-seeing paul mccartney scream, SCREAM 'helter skelter'. the album version sounds like the fucking carpenters in comparison.
-by the 2nd drink of the savoy brown concert in NYC
-'around the world', cracker/cvb- a song that i listen to and narcissistically feel was written to perfectly complement my life
-david bowie singing 'white light/white heat'
-losing the car after farm aid and having to wait in the rain until the parking lot cleared out
apparently Oma (my mother's mother) is not doing well at all. she'll be 90 this year. i'm going to visit her tomorrow. it is nice to distract from the rigors of reality with "my job ROCKS and i go to CONCERTS la la la"...
left seattle this morning cauled by fog, birds a-chirp, the familiar smell of march. by federal way the sunshine had broken through. i was blaring buddy holly. when i first moved to seattle my work commute was greatly dark. time has passed faster than i had expected. feel refreshingly optimistic. i was in the shower yesterday when the "well, duh" thought of life being based on invincible optimism occured to me. i used to consider myself an inherent pessimist, but i now know that to be bullshit. tomorrow always has a welter of possibility. even if i do nothing but sit on my arse, the *potential* for any given moment is awfully seductive.
jethro tull is playing. i have heard so many derisive comments about their ability to perform live. saw them once, ~10 years ago. i sat very far away in an arena with dreadful acoustics- and at the time, i was more excited about their co-headliners, iron butterfly (rather abased about that now). thus, the best shows i have ever been to:
-the cramps at the showbox, seattle. right next to the stage. smacked lux interior's ass.
-phish, the gorge, 2003. the company wasn;t that great but they played 'maze'. (generic flaky soundbite: i really wish phish would reunite! they are fucking brilliant. /end flaky soundbite.)
-damo suzuki and kinski, crocodile cafe. only about 3o people there.
-john fogerty, chateau ste michelle. old people were dancing and the sun was shining.
-projeckt 2, london. bill bruford is incredible to watch.
-peter gabriel, key arena. i got teary. was it the bicycle of 'solsbury hill'? the gerbil ball of 'growing up'? the cheesy prom-night afterglow of 'in your eyes'? the banana split at 13 coins beforehand?
glorious moments of shows that were overshadowed by exogenic circumstances:
-the drunken crush of people at every and all guided by voices show (i rather enjoy my clothes being dampened by sweat that is not my own)
-seeing paul mccartney scream, SCREAM 'helter skelter'. the album version sounds like the fucking carpenters in comparison.
-by the 2nd drink of the savoy brown concert in NYC
-'around the world', cracker/cvb- a song that i listen to and narcissistically feel was written to perfectly complement my life
-david bowie singing 'white light/white heat'
-losing the car after farm aid and having to wait in the rain until the parking lot cleared out
apparently Oma (my mother's mother) is not doing well at all. she'll be 90 this year. i'm going to visit her tomorrow. it is nice to distract from the rigors of reality with "my job ROCKS and i go to CONCERTS la la la"...
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
altering the recipe for higher altitudes
obvious: lately i had found myself forgetting that i have all the fucking freedom in the world- possibly for the first time in my life. coming to the revelation that i have no one but myself to answer to has made for a peaceful sense of contentment. everything is much easier and attainable this way.
subtle: still caught up in what i should do vs. what i want to do. want to molest a stranger, alter my conscious, drive to baja? or graceland! better not. sensibility or masochistic morality? when the fuck did good idea/bad idea ever really matter in my life before?
walked through a good portion of seattle last night under a perfectly full moon. i always wonder how many other people are looking up at the same time. this is often a rather sexy thought. i imagine people feeling optimistic, awed, aroused, lonely, inspired. i remember camping on a wet grassy hill outside hope, alaska, running around naked in the moonlight. i love the sorts of memories that, in recollection, i am impressed by: yeah, that was part of my life. i was careening down a hill in my car yesterday, no shocks, sailing through the green lights. any pededtrians would have been killed before i would have even noticed their presence. i was singing as loudly as i could to "lola". that was a fucking good moment too.
subtle: still caught up in what i should do vs. what i want to do. want to molest a stranger, alter my conscious, drive to baja? or graceland! better not. sensibility or masochistic morality? when the fuck did good idea/bad idea ever really matter in my life before?
walked through a good portion of seattle last night under a perfectly full moon. i always wonder how many other people are looking up at the same time. this is often a rather sexy thought. i imagine people feeling optimistic, awed, aroused, lonely, inspired. i remember camping on a wet grassy hill outside hope, alaska, running around naked in the moonlight. i love the sorts of memories that, in recollection, i am impressed by: yeah, that was part of my life. i was careening down a hill in my car yesterday, no shocks, sailing through the green lights. any pededtrians would have been killed before i would have even noticed their presence. i was singing as loudly as i could to "lola". that was a fucking good moment too.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
my thoughts are orange and pink
'the lady is a tramp' is playing- it sounds like judy garland. i prefer the sinatra version. his mysogyny is palpable.
so amid the workday bombast: sir galahad (honestly) the boxer, who had been shot with a shotgun (as opposed to a pellet gun, as are most of the roaming beasts in thurston county). zippy the chihuahua, hit by car. beanie the 8wk lab puppy with parvo; the teenage daughter had gotten her yesterday without parental permission, and the bill was already in the many hundreds of dollars. barney the pug with the proptosed eye (dog fight); while it was still dangling out of his head he kept licking it, causing a collective wince throughout the clinic. melodie the standard poodle with the red bows behind both ears, c-section. abbey the nutt, addisonian crisis, wagging her tail and sitting up by the time i left. not many cats.
lounge-singing along with 'moondance' on the radio. 'first date panties', a term i'd never heard before. i said something about sourdoughs in alaska (unrelated from the undergarment conversation) and everyone looked at me like i was mad. nobody had ever heard of that term before. the lobby toilet clogging. blair splattering uterine juice all over surgery. me slamming my fingers into 3 separate doors. fetal heartbeats on ultrasound. driving to work in predawn stupor, not using my wipers in the rain, the world comfortingly blurred. it was a good day.
another peculiar dream last night. i had moved to new york city and rented at the very top of a precariously tall old apartment building. it was on the roof, practically level with the clouds. upon walking towards it as 'mine', i realized that the door was actually suspended ~50 floors above the ground and i would have to dangle off a pipe or rappel along brick to get inside. began to panic- how the fuck was i going to get into my lair, and once in, how would i leave? the previous tenant hadn't seemed to have a problem with it. found myself avoiding the place... decided to ride my bike to the subway station to get to school. careening down a zigzaggy, 45-degree incline hill, nearly dying multiple times on the way down- again, passing people who seem to have no issue with the terrifying inertia. get to the above-ground subway station, leave my bike against a wall as i run a quick errand, and come back to find my bike stolen. start to despair. in the dream, i have given up everything to move to this fabulous city and have a fabulous life, and my home and transportation are already fucked. the dream gets frenetic at this point. i discover that by going into other buildings, i somehow end up in mine, so i am clambering through a very snitzy hotel with various costly boutiques- and a slanty floor, and ceilings that i have to hunch over for, as if i am tripping through a psychedelic cubist painting. off one hallway is a gourmet chocolate shop. 'free samples!' i think, and veer off to admire the intricate cakes with spun sugar and shaved decorations. i am then walking at street level of the same hotel, next to a sunny beach, trying to catch up with him. he is scornfully avoiding me. 'i am fucking tired of your crap' is either said or implied. i wake up. i sense a theme in my reveries. analyses are welcome. surely there is all sorts of mind-fuck hoo-ha to dissect.
this is another entry i shall not edit whatsoever.
so amid the workday bombast: sir galahad (honestly) the boxer, who had been shot with a shotgun (as opposed to a pellet gun, as are most of the roaming beasts in thurston county). zippy the chihuahua, hit by car. beanie the 8wk lab puppy with parvo; the teenage daughter had gotten her yesterday without parental permission, and the bill was already in the many hundreds of dollars. barney the pug with the proptosed eye (dog fight); while it was still dangling out of his head he kept licking it, causing a collective wince throughout the clinic. melodie the standard poodle with the red bows behind both ears, c-section. abbey the nutt, addisonian crisis, wagging her tail and sitting up by the time i left. not many cats.
lounge-singing along with 'moondance' on the radio. 'first date panties', a term i'd never heard before. i said something about sourdoughs in alaska (unrelated from the undergarment conversation) and everyone looked at me like i was mad. nobody had ever heard of that term before. the lobby toilet clogging. blair splattering uterine juice all over surgery. me slamming my fingers into 3 separate doors. fetal heartbeats on ultrasound. driving to work in predawn stupor, not using my wipers in the rain, the world comfortingly blurred. it was a good day.
another peculiar dream last night. i had moved to new york city and rented at the very top of a precariously tall old apartment building. it was on the roof, practically level with the clouds. upon walking towards it as 'mine', i realized that the door was actually suspended ~50 floors above the ground and i would have to dangle off a pipe or rappel along brick to get inside. began to panic- how the fuck was i going to get into my lair, and once in, how would i leave? the previous tenant hadn't seemed to have a problem with it. found myself avoiding the place... decided to ride my bike to the subway station to get to school. careening down a zigzaggy, 45-degree incline hill, nearly dying multiple times on the way down- again, passing people who seem to have no issue with the terrifying inertia. get to the above-ground subway station, leave my bike against a wall as i run a quick errand, and come back to find my bike stolen. start to despair. in the dream, i have given up everything to move to this fabulous city and have a fabulous life, and my home and transportation are already fucked. the dream gets frenetic at this point. i discover that by going into other buildings, i somehow end up in mine, so i am clambering through a very snitzy hotel with various costly boutiques- and a slanty floor, and ceilings that i have to hunch over for, as if i am tripping through a psychedelic cubist painting. off one hallway is a gourmet chocolate shop. 'free samples!' i think, and veer off to admire the intricate cakes with spun sugar and shaved decorations. i am then walking at street level of the same hotel, next to a sunny beach, trying to catch up with him. he is scornfully avoiding me. 'i am fucking tired of your crap' is either said or implied. i wake up. i sense a theme in my reveries. analyses are welcome. surely there is all sorts of mind-fuck hoo-ha to dissect.
this is another entry i shall not edit whatsoever.
Friday, March 03, 2006
slapped upside the head
the calibre of the AA meeting really makes all the difference. despite my flaming atheism, i far prefer the 'normal' form, with the serenity prayer and the holding of hands. it makes it much more human and thereby unifying, and thereby effective. i have had a completely shitty 2 days and feel incredibly saner now.
went to bellingham yesterday for the first time in roughly 8 years. it reminds me a lot of olympia, the good parts. my mother, unbeknownst to me, was up there yesterday as well. she found the house (actually, a converted chicken coop) that we'd lived in from my birth until age 2. "it's a dump" she said cheerily. "it looks like a crack house." i wish i'd known she'd be up there. as it was, i didn't stay long, for my GI system was being ornery as usual. i felt better after leaving; drove back to seattle with the sun in my eyes, window open, stopping for saltwater taffy in stanwood. attended a gay marriage debate last night. the rev. ken hutcherson, "the bible is the FINAL WORD and homosexuality is a SIN" in one corner; the rev. ron sims, king county bigwig, "bigotry in any form is wrong, love yer neighbor" in the other. it was a very rousing and polarized evening. the liberal (rational) mindset was in far greater abundance, comfortingly. the woman in front of me kept rearranging her shawl and slapping me with her hair.
today i... walked around a lot. surly as fuck. scornful of everything. the ex keeps leaving messages on my phone, asking why i haven't called him back. that is contributing to the greatest amount of stress currently. speaking with him in any form would eradicate any progress i've made in the last several months; besides, i still have a fresh arsenal of unwarranted venom about everything, and i'd rather not indulge it. as stated before: i just want to hide until it all goes away. i want minions to deal with my crap. yes, minions. there was an AA meeting at 5.30 this evening that i essentially planned my day around. at 5.15 i showed up to find a locked, dark building and no one else around. i called the seattle AA mainline. "was this meeting cancelled?" i asked politely. "no..." said the woman who answered. there was a long silence. "well, okay, thanks" i said stupidly. further grumpiness. walked down queen anne avenue in heels. smelled roses at the flower stand. drank a $3 cup of jasmine white tea. watched a man compulsively dent his empty soda can for 10 minutes straight. 2 different people complimented my hair. (the other night i was walking down broadway. as i passed a stairwell one of the men sprawled on the stairs yelled "hey!" i stopped. "you're beautiful" he said. "thank you" i replied, smiling like a fucking idiot in spite of myself. turned to walk away. "sometimes" he called after me. i felt even more foolish then.) throughout this entire benign, silly day, i was feeling ridiculously sorry for myself, pissed at the world, disgusted by all.
i wasn't going to go to the 7.30 meeting since it would probably also NOT EXIST, but i am immeasurably glad i did. i feel in-focus again. things seem much easier now than they did 3 hours ago.
2 things to remember:
1. everyone is fucked up in their own ways
2. i'm probably not as fucked up as i think i am
what good is narcissism if it's of the self-loathing variety, anyhow?
went to bellingham yesterday for the first time in roughly 8 years. it reminds me a lot of olympia, the good parts. my mother, unbeknownst to me, was up there yesterday as well. she found the house (actually, a converted chicken coop) that we'd lived in from my birth until age 2. "it's a dump" she said cheerily. "it looks like a crack house." i wish i'd known she'd be up there. as it was, i didn't stay long, for my GI system was being ornery as usual. i felt better after leaving; drove back to seattle with the sun in my eyes, window open, stopping for saltwater taffy in stanwood. attended a gay marriage debate last night. the rev. ken hutcherson, "the bible is the FINAL WORD and homosexuality is a SIN" in one corner; the rev. ron sims, king county bigwig, "bigotry in any form is wrong, love yer neighbor" in the other. it was a very rousing and polarized evening. the liberal (rational) mindset was in far greater abundance, comfortingly. the woman in front of me kept rearranging her shawl and slapping me with her hair.
today i... walked around a lot. surly as fuck. scornful of everything. the ex keeps leaving messages on my phone, asking why i haven't called him back. that is contributing to the greatest amount of stress currently. speaking with him in any form would eradicate any progress i've made in the last several months; besides, i still have a fresh arsenal of unwarranted venom about everything, and i'd rather not indulge it. as stated before: i just want to hide until it all goes away. i want minions to deal with my crap. yes, minions. there was an AA meeting at 5.30 this evening that i essentially planned my day around. at 5.15 i showed up to find a locked, dark building and no one else around. i called the seattle AA mainline. "was this meeting cancelled?" i asked politely. "no..." said the woman who answered. there was a long silence. "well, okay, thanks" i said stupidly. further grumpiness. walked down queen anne avenue in heels. smelled roses at the flower stand. drank a $3 cup of jasmine white tea. watched a man compulsively dent his empty soda can for 10 minutes straight. 2 different people complimented my hair. (the other night i was walking down broadway. as i passed a stairwell one of the men sprawled on the stairs yelled "hey!" i stopped. "you're beautiful" he said. "thank you" i replied, smiling like a fucking idiot in spite of myself. turned to walk away. "sometimes" he called after me. i felt even more foolish then.) throughout this entire benign, silly day, i was feeling ridiculously sorry for myself, pissed at the world, disgusted by all.
i wasn't going to go to the 7.30 meeting since it would probably also NOT EXIST, but i am immeasurably glad i did. i feel in-focus again. things seem much easier now than they did 3 hours ago.
2 things to remember:
1. everyone is fucked up in their own ways
2. i'm probably not as fucked up as i think i am
what good is narcissism if it's of the self-loathing variety, anyhow?
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
the pendulum is not only swinging, it's tying itself in knots
from AA to a robert pollard concert at the croc; life is nothing without contrast. i ended up about 4 people back from the stage, surrounded by mostly guys in varying stages of inebriation. two people beside me were discussing how fucked up pollard always is, the show at graceland in particular. this was a show from 2 years ago that i attended. i was content to eavesdrop. they showed a merrie melodies cartoon prior to the show, about a man who finds a frog who can dance and sing baritone opera. he thinks he can get rich off this frog and buys an opulent concert hall to display him, but when anyone else shows up to see, the frog clams up and looks despondent. the man is eventually deemed crazy and destitute; in frustration, he seals the frog in a box that's placed into a time capsule within a building. "2056" the screen blares, and the world of the future, with flying cars and yes-album-cover topography, shows another person discovering the frog upon implosion of the building. it was amusing to see a crowd of fairly disparate folks riveted to a cartoon.
the concert itself was fucking awesome. he was drunk as usual. i counted 6 beers and 5 shots of tequila in the 90 minutes i was there. the band was excellent; if i closed my eyes pollard sounded like someone singing karaoke badly. he told the obnoxious troll next to me to "shut his fucking piehole." the man has charisma. five songs in he bummed a cigarette from someone in the audience, despite the bullshit new law in washington state banning all cigarettes indoors and within 25' of doorways. everyone cheered. (today's paper: seattle is attempting to ban smoking at bus shelters as well. what is this, fucking utah?)
i missed the bus and walked home. the streets are eerie and peaceful at 1am. the only people out are up to no good. i like being part of that generalization. i was partially deaf for most of today. exhausted and absurdly unmotivated at the tacoma ER. stood around and bullshat much more than i should have. dusted lab machines. stocked shelves. watched andy the poodle try to die (one of the two dogs at the hospital with leptospirosis; there were 3 patients altogether, a new low for tacoma).
work is the last fucking thing on my mind lately.
i have been fantasizing about taking a lot of time off.
i am too poor, and too miserly, to do this.
i am fucking tired of working weekends.
the air smells like spring, even if it's still freezing cold.
i cannot tell if i am happy or hyperactive. perhaps both. my thoughts are racing.
the concert itself was fucking awesome. he was drunk as usual. i counted 6 beers and 5 shots of tequila in the 90 minutes i was there. the band was excellent; if i closed my eyes pollard sounded like someone singing karaoke badly. he told the obnoxious troll next to me to "shut his fucking piehole." the man has charisma. five songs in he bummed a cigarette from someone in the audience, despite the bullshit new law in washington state banning all cigarettes indoors and within 25' of doorways. everyone cheered. (today's paper: seattle is attempting to ban smoking at bus shelters as well. what is this, fucking utah?)
i missed the bus and walked home. the streets are eerie and peaceful at 1am. the only people out are up to no good. i like being part of that generalization. i was partially deaf for most of today. exhausted and absurdly unmotivated at the tacoma ER. stood around and bullshat much more than i should have. dusted lab machines. stocked shelves. watched andy the poodle try to die (one of the two dogs at the hospital with leptospirosis; there were 3 patients altogether, a new low for tacoma).
work is the last fucking thing on my mind lately.
i have been fantasizing about taking a lot of time off.
i am too poor, and too miserly, to do this.
i am fucking tired of working weekends.
the air smells like spring, even if it's still freezing cold.
i cannot tell if i am happy or hyperactive. perhaps both. my thoughts are racing.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
rebellion
i have a mental retort for everything right now. i feel snotty, like i need to act out and be a bit of a brat. why? because this weekend proved to me the kind of life i want and cannot currently have, am absolutely not ready to have, how powerless truly caring about somebody else makes me feel and how FUCKING PISSED OFF i am with myself to feel that way right now. i react the way i always do, by trying to isolate and distract myself, ihavemyownlifenow, listening to the sound of my own breathing and discerning the ultimate peace in that.
as usual, i need to fucking relax. i am also shamefully fucking resentful that no one else seems to be as overtly agitated as i. these are the aspects of my personality that i cannot stand. if i wasn't also a fucking exhibitionist, i would wisely keep these traits off the computer.
driving home from the overnight shift in grey watercolor this morning. traffic was horrible and i kept nodding off and veering out of my lane. pulled off in federal way and took a power nap in a parking lot to the sound of staccato rain on the car roof. dreamt that i was in a dimly red-lit arcade and he and i were bouncing a rubber ball back and forth. started off benignly, but then he began hogging the ball, purposely throwing it askance, always able to catch it neatly as i fumbled. i was getting frustrated and irate. part of me wanted to walk away and let him, as it were, play with his own fucking ball, but i didn't. i was trying to remain cool, laugh it off, try not to feel too incompetent. i woke up gasping, completely disoriented, my head resting against the steering wheel, the windows fogged. i could not have made up a more succinct metaphor of my current mental state than this fucking dream. and dreams that are so blatantly indicative rather unnerve me; i drove the rest of the way to seattle feeling alternately disgusted, depressed, and vexed. of course, i know i'll be fine, since i just smiled over the word 'vexed.'
went to my 3rd AA meeting tonight, an atheist forum. much, much more accessible philosophy: as someone there put it, "we're just a bunch of fuck-ups who drank too much." but there was also an uncomfortable overtone of everyone needing to justify their atheism, which reminded me of too many high-school evenings over coffee and cigarettes and nonage and autonomy and the meaning of life. hearing adults restate their beliefs gives me the impression that they're only trying to convince themselves. again, prickly attitude on my part. i've enjoyed AA thus far not because i need personal ballast and affirmation, but because it's an amazing way to hear about other people and the similar things they're going through. the most valuable thing i can do is get out of my own fucking head.
the cherry trees are blossoming. other trees are already dropping big red flowers on the wet pavement. walking down the side streets by myself, passing people walking dogs, everyone smiling. today i finally found minced dried papaya in washington, for fuck's sake! i had been looking for almost four years! there are shit days and good days. so why does it seem to take longer to recover from good days than horrible ones?
as usual, i need to fucking relax. i am also shamefully fucking resentful that no one else seems to be as overtly agitated as i. these are the aspects of my personality that i cannot stand. if i wasn't also a fucking exhibitionist, i would wisely keep these traits off the computer.
driving home from the overnight shift in grey watercolor this morning. traffic was horrible and i kept nodding off and veering out of my lane. pulled off in federal way and took a power nap in a parking lot to the sound of staccato rain on the car roof. dreamt that i was in a dimly red-lit arcade and he and i were bouncing a rubber ball back and forth. started off benignly, but then he began hogging the ball, purposely throwing it askance, always able to catch it neatly as i fumbled. i was getting frustrated and irate. part of me wanted to walk away and let him, as it were, play with his own fucking ball, but i didn't. i was trying to remain cool, laugh it off, try not to feel too incompetent. i woke up gasping, completely disoriented, my head resting against the steering wheel, the windows fogged. i could not have made up a more succinct metaphor of my current mental state than this fucking dream. and dreams that are so blatantly indicative rather unnerve me; i drove the rest of the way to seattle feeling alternately disgusted, depressed, and vexed. of course, i know i'll be fine, since i just smiled over the word 'vexed.'
went to my 3rd AA meeting tonight, an atheist forum. much, much more accessible philosophy: as someone there put it, "we're just a bunch of fuck-ups who drank too much." but there was also an uncomfortable overtone of everyone needing to justify their atheism, which reminded me of too many high-school evenings over coffee and cigarettes and nonage and autonomy and the meaning of life. hearing adults restate their beliefs gives me the impression that they're only trying to convince themselves. again, prickly attitude on my part. i've enjoyed AA thus far not because i need personal ballast and affirmation, but because it's an amazing way to hear about other people and the similar things they're going through. the most valuable thing i can do is get out of my own fucking head.
the cherry trees are blossoming. other trees are already dropping big red flowers on the wet pavement. walking down the side streets by myself, passing people walking dogs, everyone smiling. today i finally found minced dried papaya in washington, for fuck's sake! i had been looking for almost four years! there are shit days and good days. so why does it seem to take longer to recover from good days than horrible ones?
Friday, February 24, 2006
perspective
went to the western veterinary conference this week. herein, feel free to recall prior las vegas scurrility, then cube it.
went to work on sunday; left early, realizing whilst changing from scrubs to civilian garb that i'd started my period. arrived at airport, learned flight had been cancelled, wasted 5 hours at sea-tac reading trashy magazines and eating salty crap. the flight i ended up on was completely full. a woman in front of me babbled the entire time to the man across the aisle from her about everything from her Little Dog Who Is Really Her Child to her podiatry ailments. landed in vegas at midnight. checked into the tropicana. my key didn't work in the door. i singed my hair whilst lighting a cigarette. hauling my archaic (heavy) laptop with no wi-fi. the room had a mirrored ceiling above the bed.
monday: too tired and crampy to attend 8am clin path lecture. walked to the mandalay bay around 9. decided that vegas is the absolute cruellest place to be hung over, which i wasn't: everything is appallingly reflective and bright and noisy and shadeless, with a perpetually unclean smell like a tavern carpet. passed my first pile of human vomit at a bus stop. the lectures were fun. lymphatic cytology and spindle cells and osteosarcoma and caudate epithelial cells. this is the facet of vet medicine that dilates my pupils. the mandalay bay (a ridiculously sprawling place) was also hosting a several-thousand-attending real estate convention, so queues were fucking horrible. i waited 20 minutes to pay $3 for a soda. breakfast/lunch ended up being a bag of corn-nuts and free candy from the exhibit hall. dark by the time i returned to the hotel. the tropicana has an aroma of cheap coconut suntan lotion. the strip hasn't changed since last year. neatly arranged escort fliers stuck into signposts, phalanxes of tourists who come to abrupt stops in the middle of the sidewalk, obese midwesterners squinting at the buildings and shrieking groups of girls in whore-garb and block-length hummer limos and too many backward baseball caps to count. i bought beverages and canned soup at the walgreen's. returned to hotel and watched the local news like a fucking nun.
tuesday: completely unmotivated. surly. body is rejecting uterus. went to dystocia and protein-losing enteropathy lectures. again, very engaging speakers, but a lousy attitude on my part. won $10 playing 2 cent poker at the paris casino. that is probably my favorite casino here. made me crave france. realized that 4 years ago i was in the actual paris, and now i am in this obnoxious caricature, surrounded by people who will probably never see the real thing. the bathrooms are beautiful. i took a picture. another likeable trait of vegas: that silly fountain in front of the bellagio. i used to be revolted by it: how disgraceful, such waste in the middle of the desert! but it's pretty fucking cool, and the throngs of grumpy pedestrians all slow down and watch and everyone seems much nicer for a few minutes (even when they played celine dion).
wednesday: up at 6 to check out and catch a bus to the parrot-handling workshop. once off the strip las vegas is a very flat, brown, disgusting place. it reminds me of what, say, wasilla alaska would be- minus the trees, and mountains, and "ahhh-laska"-ness. strip malls, uniformly squat and dusty homes with rock yards, occasional palm trees that appear to be shrugging dejectedly at the futility of it all. the bird class was fucking cool. the lecturer is a co-author of 'birds for dummies.' he helps run a parrot refuge/sanctuary in colorado. he talked for a while, then we got to handle different birds with different personality idiosyncracies. the first one i got was a feather-picking lorikeet named goober. goober proceeded to bite me multiple times. back to tthe mandalay bay. spilled cold lentil soup (eaten out of can; it really wasn't too bad) down my sweater. spent the afternoon in ER seminars. went back to the paris casino. won $20 in nickel poker. the paris casino, i'm telling you! trudged back to the tropicana to retrieve my bags. my plane didn't leave until midnight but i was at the airport at 8:30; there was no further need for me to slog around vegas any longer.
it was so unbelievably lovely to be back.
i have been contemplating exactly what it is about vegas that renders it, in my mind, soulless. not just the strip, which is a clusterfuck of artifice, but the outlying areas as well. it is: a complete lack of permanence. there is a pervasive desperation about that place. it is the same feeling i get when i am in a very small town and the residents have a rather lonely air about them: everyone wants to get out, do something else, be someone better. it is eerie to be in that sort of environment and attempt to feel comfortable.
worked the overnight last night. it was busy until midnight. the doctor went to bed and the other tech watched an asian soap opera while i did the new york times crossword. she went home. i watched 'private benjamin.' at 6:30am a cat came in who'd had her ass eaten by raccoons. i didn't leave work until 8:30. i'd boarded the cats at work while i was away; the hour-long drive home consisted of helix yowling, tiresias defecating in his carrier, and hecatomb escaping her carrier and slinking around on the floor of the car. it had snowed in seattle. as of this afternoon the north sides of roofs were still white. the air is much cleaner here. it is nice to have proof through experience that i have a place in the world where i truly feel at home.
happy weekend awaits...
went to work on sunday; left early, realizing whilst changing from scrubs to civilian garb that i'd started my period. arrived at airport, learned flight had been cancelled, wasted 5 hours at sea-tac reading trashy magazines and eating salty crap. the flight i ended up on was completely full. a woman in front of me babbled the entire time to the man across the aisle from her about everything from her Little Dog Who Is Really Her Child to her podiatry ailments. landed in vegas at midnight. checked into the tropicana. my key didn't work in the door. i singed my hair whilst lighting a cigarette. hauling my archaic (heavy) laptop with no wi-fi. the room had a mirrored ceiling above the bed.
monday: too tired and crampy to attend 8am clin path lecture. walked to the mandalay bay around 9. decided that vegas is the absolute cruellest place to be hung over, which i wasn't: everything is appallingly reflective and bright and noisy and shadeless, with a perpetually unclean smell like a tavern carpet. passed my first pile of human vomit at a bus stop. the lectures were fun. lymphatic cytology and spindle cells and osteosarcoma and caudate epithelial cells. this is the facet of vet medicine that dilates my pupils. the mandalay bay (a ridiculously sprawling place) was also hosting a several-thousand-attending real estate convention, so queues were fucking horrible. i waited 20 minutes to pay $3 for a soda. breakfast/lunch ended up being a bag of corn-nuts and free candy from the exhibit hall. dark by the time i returned to the hotel. the tropicana has an aroma of cheap coconut suntan lotion. the strip hasn't changed since last year. neatly arranged escort fliers stuck into signposts, phalanxes of tourists who come to abrupt stops in the middle of the sidewalk, obese midwesterners squinting at the buildings and shrieking groups of girls in whore-garb and block-length hummer limos and too many backward baseball caps to count. i bought beverages and canned soup at the walgreen's. returned to hotel and watched the local news like a fucking nun.
tuesday: completely unmotivated. surly. body is rejecting uterus. went to dystocia and protein-losing enteropathy lectures. again, very engaging speakers, but a lousy attitude on my part. won $10 playing 2 cent poker at the paris casino. that is probably my favorite casino here. made me crave france. realized that 4 years ago i was in the actual paris, and now i am in this obnoxious caricature, surrounded by people who will probably never see the real thing. the bathrooms are beautiful. i took a picture. another likeable trait of vegas: that silly fountain in front of the bellagio. i used to be revolted by it: how disgraceful, such waste in the middle of the desert! but it's pretty fucking cool, and the throngs of grumpy pedestrians all slow down and watch and everyone seems much nicer for a few minutes (even when they played celine dion).
wednesday: up at 6 to check out and catch a bus to the parrot-handling workshop. once off the strip las vegas is a very flat, brown, disgusting place. it reminds me of what, say, wasilla alaska would be- minus the trees, and mountains, and "ahhh-laska"-ness. strip malls, uniformly squat and dusty homes with rock yards, occasional palm trees that appear to be shrugging dejectedly at the futility of it all. the bird class was fucking cool. the lecturer is a co-author of 'birds for dummies.' he helps run a parrot refuge/sanctuary in colorado. he talked for a while, then we got to handle different birds with different personality idiosyncracies. the first one i got was a feather-picking lorikeet named goober. goober proceeded to bite me multiple times. back to tthe mandalay bay. spilled cold lentil soup (eaten out of can; it really wasn't too bad) down my sweater. spent the afternoon in ER seminars. went back to the paris casino. won $20 in nickel poker. the paris casino, i'm telling you! trudged back to the tropicana to retrieve my bags. my plane didn't leave until midnight but i was at the airport at 8:30; there was no further need for me to slog around vegas any longer.
it was so unbelievably lovely to be back.
i have been contemplating exactly what it is about vegas that renders it, in my mind, soulless. not just the strip, which is a clusterfuck of artifice, but the outlying areas as well. it is: a complete lack of permanence. there is a pervasive desperation about that place. it is the same feeling i get when i am in a very small town and the residents have a rather lonely air about them: everyone wants to get out, do something else, be someone better. it is eerie to be in that sort of environment and attempt to feel comfortable.
worked the overnight last night. it was busy until midnight. the doctor went to bed and the other tech watched an asian soap opera while i did the new york times crossword. she went home. i watched 'private benjamin.' at 6:30am a cat came in who'd had her ass eaten by raccoons. i didn't leave work until 8:30. i'd boarded the cats at work while i was away; the hour-long drive home consisted of helix yowling, tiresias defecating in his carrier, and hecatomb escaping her carrier and slinking around on the floor of the car. it had snowed in seattle. as of this afternoon the north sides of roofs were still white. the air is much cleaner here. it is nice to have proof through experience that i have a place in the world where i truly feel at home.
happy weekend awaits...
Friday, February 17, 2006
peurility as distraction
i filed for divorce today. now i have to figure out how to serve the papers. i will call his parents tomorrow. this will be horrible. i wish i could just hand my life (this aspect of my life) over to someone else to slog through. i suppose i should be a fucking pro at the whole divorce thing, but i honestly don't recall much detail of when i dealt with this prior. it was extremely convenient to not have him anywhere around, i remember that. it was also convenient that his parents ended up paying for everything. i am almost $300 into this current debacle already.
today has been brilliantly sunny and unusually cold. my parents' house was pelted with broken tree limbs last night. i walked downtown with my ears frozen, decades of alaskan living for naught. there are people here with scarves wrapped around their faces, which made me smirk... i have drank enough tea to stay warm today that i am urinating pure water by now.
i am also growing agitated by the grim reality of my fiddle-de-fuck-it of capricious money spending. not only the 'neccessities' like a new lair, a gasping vehicle, and a dee-vorce, but fucking absurd things like CDs and swap meet jewelry and expensive undergarments. emotionally i am needing my pleasure zone stimulated, as it were. i don't indulge these sort of things very often, i remind myself. start placing bets on when i'll be bankrupt (with a good soundtrack and fancy bloomers) starting NOW!
apparently the way your earlobes connect to your head reflects your sociability. connected=introversion, if i am correct. the same has been said about the backtilt of one's thumb as if, say, hitchhiking: the further back, the more gregarious. i am moderate in both aspects. if i broke my thumb would i be more extroverted? it would depend on how it healed.
in turkey they hitchhike not with the thumb, but by "dribbling an imaginary basketball."
last thing i chose to listen to (thereby disregarding the redundant classic rock on sirius): secret machines
last thing i bought: peppermint ginseng tea
last thing i read: a vancouver travelogue
last thing i ate: red seedless grapes
last time i laughed: alone in the stairwell of my apartment building after realizing that it smelled like a meat cigarette, and then contemplating a meat cigarette
last non-walking voyage: the bus on madison, eerily blue-lit
it is illuminating to compartmentalize one's life into these snippets of minutae. every time i read another person's answers to such things, it provides a much better window on their personality than a carefully worded description would.
it is back to my pleasantly uneventful evening and retrieval of laundry from the creepy basement.
today has been brilliantly sunny and unusually cold. my parents' house was pelted with broken tree limbs last night. i walked downtown with my ears frozen, decades of alaskan living for naught. there are people here with scarves wrapped around their faces, which made me smirk... i have drank enough tea to stay warm today that i am urinating pure water by now.
i am also growing agitated by the grim reality of my fiddle-de-fuck-it of capricious money spending. not only the 'neccessities' like a new lair, a gasping vehicle, and a dee-vorce, but fucking absurd things like CDs and swap meet jewelry and expensive undergarments. emotionally i am needing my pleasure zone stimulated, as it were. i don't indulge these sort of things very often, i remind myself. start placing bets on when i'll be bankrupt (with a good soundtrack and fancy bloomers) starting NOW!
apparently the way your earlobes connect to your head reflects your sociability. connected=introversion, if i am correct. the same has been said about the backtilt of one's thumb as if, say, hitchhiking: the further back, the more gregarious. i am moderate in both aspects. if i broke my thumb would i be more extroverted? it would depend on how it healed.
in turkey they hitchhike not with the thumb, but by "dribbling an imaginary basketball."
last thing i chose to listen to (thereby disregarding the redundant classic rock on sirius): secret machines
last thing i bought: peppermint ginseng tea
last thing i read: a vancouver travelogue
last thing i ate: red seedless grapes
last time i laughed: alone in the stairwell of my apartment building after realizing that it smelled like a meat cigarette, and then contemplating a meat cigarette
last non-walking voyage: the bus on madison, eerily blue-lit
it is illuminating to compartmentalize one's life into these snippets of minutae. every time i read another person's answers to such things, it provides a much better window on their personality than a carefully worded description would.
it is back to my pleasantly uneventful evening and retrieval of laundry from the creepy basement.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
my god, she can't possibly be that neurotic
so i have spent the last hour fumbling about my stupid blog site, wondering why the fucking page wouldn't open. switch to netscape and ahhh. i should have known.
what i was planning to write was: i am very happy overall. i feel that giddy lalala crushy glow that i had essentially written off as an emotional option. that inane elation, however, is peppered with agitated fits of self-sabotage. the few icky things in my life keep seeming to intrude, amplified, sending me into a tailspin. i then start to doubt my jubilance. i think, this is too good to be true. this is seeming too fucking easy. i must be being played. he knows me well enough to know what i want to hear. i shouldn't put myself into as completely open a position as i have. i am setting myself up to be devastated. and so it goes. even as i write this i recognize my lunacy. i am being paranoid. i am not trusting happiness because nasty regretful depressive guilty self-disgust is so much more understandable.
i am not editing at all. detachedly, i am curious how coherent this will be.
work at tacoma: busy, fun, competent. grim theme du jour: anemia. the foxhound with the goldenrod sclera. (euthanized.) the golden retriever with the splenic hemangiosarcoma. (euthanized.) the cat with idiopathic white gums... i left before finding the outcome of that one. the dalmation projectile-vomiting after 2 seperate enterotomies. the bouvier with the amputated rear leg and the very nice owner. wrestling with a 140# mastiff. the moon is waning. it was cauled in mist on the way home. my apartment is always very warm. it smells like incense even though i haven;t burned any. i bought another bevy of plants yesterday. it is nice to come home to green things.
5 things i want to do before i die (in no order of importance, and undoubtedly among hundreds):
-snorkel
-eat something from a street vendor in thailand
-see a drive-in movie
-take someone i love to pere lachaise
-go to graceland
these all involve travel, sort of. i suppose i should quit my jobs and re-prioritize. i always hoped that i would know when i was dying, that i would have enough time to Plan. i would hate to be victim of some abrupt accident and have so many things unaccomplished, not to mention people having to look through my disheveled aftermath: the embarrassingly bare journals, the unwashed sheets, the old newspapers with every crossword completed and surrounded by doodles of grouchy faces. i would love to leave behind a dog-eared, thoughtfully underlined work of literature, but it may end up being a trashy magazine in the loo instead.
"you've become a sweet taste in my mouth" tina turner sings. jesus, she read the undercurrent of my thoughts exactly.
what i was planning to write was: i am very happy overall. i feel that giddy lalala crushy glow that i had essentially written off as an emotional option. that inane elation, however, is peppered with agitated fits of self-sabotage. the few icky things in my life keep seeming to intrude, amplified, sending me into a tailspin. i then start to doubt my jubilance. i think, this is too good to be true. this is seeming too fucking easy. i must be being played. he knows me well enough to know what i want to hear. i shouldn't put myself into as completely open a position as i have. i am setting myself up to be devastated. and so it goes. even as i write this i recognize my lunacy. i am being paranoid. i am not trusting happiness because nasty regretful depressive guilty self-disgust is so much more understandable.
i am not editing at all. detachedly, i am curious how coherent this will be.
work at tacoma: busy, fun, competent. grim theme du jour: anemia. the foxhound with the goldenrod sclera. (euthanized.) the golden retriever with the splenic hemangiosarcoma. (euthanized.) the cat with idiopathic white gums... i left before finding the outcome of that one. the dalmation projectile-vomiting after 2 seperate enterotomies. the bouvier with the amputated rear leg and the very nice owner. wrestling with a 140# mastiff. the moon is waning. it was cauled in mist on the way home. my apartment is always very warm. it smells like incense even though i haven;t burned any. i bought another bevy of plants yesterday. it is nice to come home to green things.
5 things i want to do before i die (in no order of importance, and undoubtedly among hundreds):
-snorkel
-eat something from a street vendor in thailand
-see a drive-in movie
-take someone i love to pere lachaise
-go to graceland
these all involve travel, sort of. i suppose i should quit my jobs and re-prioritize. i always hoped that i would know when i was dying, that i would have enough time to Plan. i would hate to be victim of some abrupt accident and have so many things unaccomplished, not to mention people having to look through my disheveled aftermath: the embarrassingly bare journals, the unwashed sheets, the old newspapers with every crossword completed and surrounded by doodles of grouchy faces. i would love to leave behind a dog-eared, thoughtfully underlined work of literature, but it may end up being a trashy magazine in the loo instead.
"you've become a sweet taste in my mouth" tina turner sings. jesus, she read the undercurrent of my thoughts exactly.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
the 4th dervish dance
26 hours of work in 36 hours. it is fun to be busy. the weather was beautiful and dogs were outside getting into fights, being hit by cars, battling porcupines. cats are generally much smarter (except for tiresias, my blind cat, who i caught mid-pee on one of my shoes when i got home tonight). today was especially insane. laughing hysterically about dog smegma. (it is a frequent benefit of ER work.) the kitten who was almost euthanized this morning but ended up improving as the day went on. the lab who was wagging her tail as she tried to bite me. the pug vomiting undigested, unchewed sausage in the lobby in front of several horrified customers. the woman who called twice, frantic because she was certain her daughter had poisoned her cat and needed to know how to sterilize the litter box in case the urine was toxic. having a cigarette in the back parking lot as the people at the car wash next door blared 'billy jean'... and realizing i somehow knew all the words. one of my coworkers gave me a rose for valentine's day. i had forgotten all about that... another benefit of ER work; the days all blend together, sentimentality be damned.
a severely neurological cat was at the clinic yesterday. the owner okayed a necropsy after we euthanized. i had never seen a brain post-mortem. i am not squeamish about many things but this actually made me cry; what made me disturbed by the whole thing was the cat's face being right there. once the face was covered i could separate the animal i'd been petting and talking to with something that was incredibly fascinating and intricate. the mandibular muscles were peeled from the skull; the skull was sawed (with an actual handsaw), leaving bone-sawdust. a cat's brain is only about the size of an unshelled walnut. i sutured the gap closed. a learning experience, no longer a cat named Bo, i had to keep reminding myself, but it still freaked me out. i felt like a bit of a pansy. i remember the first time i saw a euthanasia. i left the room bawling. part of my brain has to disconnect to be able to function through the fucked up aspects of my job. i feel like a callous monster when i remain 'professional', like a snively twit when i let it get to me. i asked blair (the doctor) if they teach any sort of 'balancing' class at WSU. he said no.
on the way home tonight i saw a car ablaze on the side of the freeway. i had never seen a vehicle actively engulfed before. it was rather beautiful. several firefighters stood beside it, merely watching.
i was cantankerous when i got home last night (exhausted) and decoupaged my medicine cabinet with a tattered mc escher poster. decoupage is fun because, if done properly, one uses their hands and gets slimy and has fun strands of glue to pick at afterwards. my bathroom still smelled like sour paste in the morning. now it looks, dare i say, pretty damn cool... in a dorm room kind of way. my landlord is refreshingly blase about apartment alterations.
i am seated next to the coffee grinder. coffee is another thing, like meat, that generally smells far better than it tastes.
i just reread that sentence. i am babbling in print. a wiser moment would have that deleted. i think i shall just end this instead. i blame tiredness, as usual.
a severely neurological cat was at the clinic yesterday. the owner okayed a necropsy after we euthanized. i had never seen a brain post-mortem. i am not squeamish about many things but this actually made me cry; what made me disturbed by the whole thing was the cat's face being right there. once the face was covered i could separate the animal i'd been petting and talking to with something that was incredibly fascinating and intricate. the mandibular muscles were peeled from the skull; the skull was sawed (with an actual handsaw), leaving bone-sawdust. a cat's brain is only about the size of an unshelled walnut. i sutured the gap closed. a learning experience, no longer a cat named Bo, i had to keep reminding myself, but it still freaked me out. i felt like a bit of a pansy. i remember the first time i saw a euthanasia. i left the room bawling. part of my brain has to disconnect to be able to function through the fucked up aspects of my job. i feel like a callous monster when i remain 'professional', like a snively twit when i let it get to me. i asked blair (the doctor) if they teach any sort of 'balancing' class at WSU. he said no.
on the way home tonight i saw a car ablaze on the side of the freeway. i had never seen a vehicle actively engulfed before. it was rather beautiful. several firefighters stood beside it, merely watching.
i was cantankerous when i got home last night (exhausted) and decoupaged my medicine cabinet with a tattered mc escher poster. decoupage is fun because, if done properly, one uses their hands and gets slimy and has fun strands of glue to pick at afterwards. my bathroom still smelled like sour paste in the morning. now it looks, dare i say, pretty damn cool... in a dorm room kind of way. my landlord is refreshingly blase about apartment alterations.
i am seated next to the coffee grinder. coffee is another thing, like meat, that generally smells far better than it tastes.
i just reread that sentence. i am babbling in print. a wiser moment would have that deleted. i think i shall just end this instead. i blame tiredness, as usual.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
"the trouble with resisting temptation is you may not get another chance."
i have a bit of a problem with tunnel vision. i focus on one (or very few) thing/s, making my universe clausterphobic enough to feel manageable, and if any of those things goes minutely awry, i'm devastated. i especially tend to sabotage relationships this way. the beneficial thing about working too much: i get huge scheduled chunks of time to not have to think about myself and my internal dramas.
alternately: i work so much that i am always at least somewhat exhausted (whether i realize it or not; i frequently view sleep as an inconvenience), which makes me a bit unreasonable and neurotic.
or there is no external explanation; i'm simply wound too tightly.
worked at tacoma today. 9 hrs stretched into 10. i spent the last 3 at the microscope. that is definitely my favorite thing to do in veterinary medicine, but i eventually staggered away with a headache. cells are the most beautiful things up close. it is gratifying to have visual proof of the world making sense. every symptom has a monocellular source. i sound a bit flaky right now, but thoughts like these make up for all the indignities i see at work, like the dangerously anemic dog that the owners, for religious reasons, are refusing to do any transfusions on. (jehovah's witnesses, apparently. "why are they bothering to have their dog here in the first place?" i said, not trying to subdue my scorn. apparently keeping the dog all alone in a cement run, where it has been alternately barking and vomiting, is acceptable.)
"can you hear me knocking" is on sirius. definitely one of the best rolling stones songs. i never liked the stones until recently... unlike the traffic song in a posting prior, this song is best meant for driving speedily, getting fucked up, or having insane sex. no wallowing, no indeed.
for as busy as the tacoma ER usually is, the ER in olympia has been rather crickety of late. monday started off frantically; everything either declined treatment or was euthanized. by 3am the doctor had gone to sleep and i was alone in the clinic, wide awake, that peculiar combination of being full of ideas and motivation but too unfocused and hyper to execute any of them. i ended up doing my divorce paperwork and playing with the cat someone had abandoned at the clinic over the weekend. the owner hadn't been reachable since saturday and she;d been almost overly inquiring before then. i ended up calling the sherriff's dept in the morning to see if they could do a welfare check on her house. she was elderly and on disability, and her neighbor had already called us and accused her of poisoning her cat. (these sort of scenarios are fairly normal in the olympia area. it is a fun place to work.) the doctor awoke and told me about her dream. i drove home in traffic, the sun in my eyes, smoking to stay awake, singing aloud.
*
the above quote is from laurence peter, whomever that may be. that may well be my new m.o. it is a bit more cerebral-sounding, at least, than "fuck it."
alternately: i work so much that i am always at least somewhat exhausted (whether i realize it or not; i frequently view sleep as an inconvenience), which makes me a bit unreasonable and neurotic.
or there is no external explanation; i'm simply wound too tightly.
worked at tacoma today. 9 hrs stretched into 10. i spent the last 3 at the microscope. that is definitely my favorite thing to do in veterinary medicine, but i eventually staggered away with a headache. cells are the most beautiful things up close. it is gratifying to have visual proof of the world making sense. every symptom has a monocellular source. i sound a bit flaky right now, but thoughts like these make up for all the indignities i see at work, like the dangerously anemic dog that the owners, for religious reasons, are refusing to do any transfusions on. (jehovah's witnesses, apparently. "why are they bothering to have their dog here in the first place?" i said, not trying to subdue my scorn. apparently keeping the dog all alone in a cement run, where it has been alternately barking and vomiting, is acceptable.)
"can you hear me knocking" is on sirius. definitely one of the best rolling stones songs. i never liked the stones until recently... unlike the traffic song in a posting prior, this song is best meant for driving speedily, getting fucked up, or having insane sex. no wallowing, no indeed.
for as busy as the tacoma ER usually is, the ER in olympia has been rather crickety of late. monday started off frantically; everything either declined treatment or was euthanized. by 3am the doctor had gone to sleep and i was alone in the clinic, wide awake, that peculiar combination of being full of ideas and motivation but too unfocused and hyper to execute any of them. i ended up doing my divorce paperwork and playing with the cat someone had abandoned at the clinic over the weekend. the owner hadn't been reachable since saturday and she;d been almost overly inquiring before then. i ended up calling the sherriff's dept in the morning to see if they could do a welfare check on her house. she was elderly and on disability, and her neighbor had already called us and accused her of poisoning her cat. (these sort of scenarios are fairly normal in the olympia area. it is a fun place to work.) the doctor awoke and told me about her dream. i drove home in traffic, the sun in my eyes, smoking to stay awake, singing aloud.
*
the above quote is from laurence peter, whomever that may be. that may well be my new m.o. it is a bit more cerebral-sounding, at least, than "fuck it."
Monday, February 06, 2006
sunshine. walking through my slice of the world with my sleeves pushed up. it smells like spring. i was feeling very giddy this morning. looked at pictures from europe. i don't really look the same to myself. it feels like no time has passed.
the solitary dark cloud in my life is my marriage. i want it done, over, forgotten. i am living on borrowed time until everything's settled; i'm paranoid that everything i now have and experience can be taken away. i drove to olympia for work and picked up ($20) paperwork at the courthouse. dissolution of marriage, one petitioner. read part of the sheath in the beautiful sunshine, feeling panicked. the terminologies are both lofty and vague. to file will cost an additional $250. why is it so fucking easy to get married and so fucking difficult to get divorced? shouldn't it be the other way around?
tis better to never marry at all. that much is obvious.
but lest i sound oblivious: currently having only one really crappy thing in my life is a new low. life is pretty damn savory overall.
the solitary dark cloud in my life is my marriage. i want it done, over, forgotten. i am living on borrowed time until everything's settled; i'm paranoid that everything i now have and experience can be taken away. i drove to olympia for work and picked up ($20) paperwork at the courthouse. dissolution of marriage, one petitioner. read part of the sheath in the beautiful sunshine, feeling panicked. the terminologies are both lofty and vague. to file will cost an additional $250. why is it so fucking easy to get married and so fucking difficult to get divorced? shouldn't it be the other way around?
tis better to never marry at all. that much is obvious.
but lest i sound oblivious: currently having only one really crappy thing in my life is a new low. life is pretty damn savory overall.
Friday, February 03, 2006
my epigram is bright orange with a black arc
that link doesn't work.
today was zesty. a saucy-walk sort of day. no reason. it started off marginally: frequent trips to the loo (that no one wants to read about) kept me lair-bound for much of the morning. then i decided to drive to everett. i have never actually been in the town itself. i have neglected the areas north of seattle in general. now i know why. everett is a hillier tacoma, which is not a compliment. the downtown area seemed pretty quaint, with stately old brick buildings mingling with overly ambitious arenas, but the outlying areas were overrun with low-slung '70's strip malls and houses with trash-filled yards. i took a wrong turn and ended up in a field of tall yellow grass by the port, semi trucks on my ass. it was spitting rain. even the occasional bright spashes of paint seemed grey.
returned to seattle, thinking that king county is the only refined area here, until i recalled the horse-sodomized man who ended up dying from a perforated colon. that was in king county. enumclaw, which sounds like what it is, but still. gary ridgeway, the green river killer, was from king county also. and ted bundy. so fuck it. washington is a rather creepy, backwards place overall. don't even get me started on how peculiar the east side of the state is.
so i was waiting for a bus in ballard tonight and look up to see a woman i worked with at emerald city, the ER in seattle. we were good friends when i lived here. when i was whinging a few posts ago about how no one's probably here anymore, boo-hoo, she was one of the people i thought of. we hugged. rode the bus to downtown together. made tentative plans to get together in a couple weeks. "you made my day" i told her. a lot of my recent stressors are unraveling on their own accord. it is a fucking nice feeling.
'dear mr fantasy' is playing. traffic is a great band. this is a song that would be equally appropriate for driving, wallowing, seducing, and laughing. how many other songs like that are there, really?
today was zesty. a saucy-walk sort of day. no reason. it started off marginally: frequent trips to the loo (that no one wants to read about) kept me lair-bound for much of the morning. then i decided to drive to everett. i have never actually been in the town itself. i have neglected the areas north of seattle in general. now i know why. everett is a hillier tacoma, which is not a compliment. the downtown area seemed pretty quaint, with stately old brick buildings mingling with overly ambitious arenas, but the outlying areas were overrun with low-slung '70's strip malls and houses with trash-filled yards. i took a wrong turn and ended up in a field of tall yellow grass by the port, semi trucks on my ass. it was spitting rain. even the occasional bright spashes of paint seemed grey.
returned to seattle, thinking that king county is the only refined area here, until i recalled the horse-sodomized man who ended up dying from a perforated colon. that was in king county. enumclaw, which sounds like what it is, but still. gary ridgeway, the green river killer, was from king county also. and ted bundy. so fuck it. washington is a rather creepy, backwards place overall. don't even get me started on how peculiar the east side of the state is.
so i was waiting for a bus in ballard tonight and look up to see a woman i worked with at emerald city, the ER in seattle. we were good friends when i lived here. when i was whinging a few posts ago about how no one's probably here anymore, boo-hoo, she was one of the people i thought of. we hugged. rode the bus to downtown together. made tentative plans to get together in a couple weeks. "you made my day" i told her. a lot of my recent stressors are unraveling on their own accord. it is a fucking nice feeling.
'dear mr fantasy' is playing. traffic is a great band. this is a song that would be equally appropriate for driving, wallowing, seducing, and laughing. how many other songs like that are there, really?
Thursday, February 02, 2006
exhale
i am now watching some girl's backpack, so i will be here for a while. it is always so warm in here. they play satellite radio; usually it is decent, but tonight it's a melange of disco horror. the Man Who is Always Here is. i wonder what his story is. he's probably in his 40s, middle-eastern descent, perpetually inert by the window. i wonder if he has a family, if he;s new in town, if he's a putz like me without wifi siphoning at the homefront. i feel self-conscious when i see him here now, because he may very well think the same of me: 'there's that frizzy girl again. doesn't she have a life?' there is something deeply pleasant about this place, though. i am sitting on a couch surrounded by humans, drinking tea, nowhere to be. this is a fucking novelty. i feel very lucky when i realize that this is my life now.
i visited my mother on monday before i went to work. it was the first time in years that we'd had time together without my father around, bitching at her every five minutes. she seemed somewhat depressed about the move. still hasn't found a job. my father is embracing the role of the bullying martyr. he keeps carping on her to find something, implying that she's idle, as though she didn;t spend the last several years being his unpaid slave for his photography business as well as working full-time. this is the first time my mother's had time off, time to herself, in far too long. i deflected the guilt she attempted to foist upon me: "we moved to olympia to be closer to you, not so you'd move to seattle". i reminded her that seattle is only an hour away; yelm was 40 minutes. alaska was 2400 miles. i worry about them. i hope my mother stands up for herself more. i hope my father learns to mellow the fuck out. i have this horrible feeling that, of all the shit they've been through together, this may be what would break them. it was poignant to see the furnishings i'd grown up with in their rented house. their cat ignored me. they live on 3 acres. the stump by their front door has delicate mushrooms growing out of it. mushrooms fascinate me. "i hadn't even noticed those" my mother said.
i was on a bus today that was stopped mid-route because the fucked-up guy wouldn't disembark after the driver ordered him to. i believe the police were en route. i was about 10 blocks from my eventual stop and it was absolutely pouring. i got off and walked. got home sopping wet. it was actually rather fun. the ceiling hasn't leaked today.
'sexual healing' is playing, and i can feel the surliness returning. some songs shouldn't exist.
i visited my mother on monday before i went to work. it was the first time in years that we'd had time together without my father around, bitching at her every five minutes. she seemed somewhat depressed about the move. still hasn't found a job. my father is embracing the role of the bullying martyr. he keeps carping on her to find something, implying that she's idle, as though she didn;t spend the last several years being his unpaid slave for his photography business as well as working full-time. this is the first time my mother's had time off, time to herself, in far too long. i deflected the guilt she attempted to foist upon me: "we moved to olympia to be closer to you, not so you'd move to seattle". i reminded her that seattle is only an hour away; yelm was 40 minutes. alaska was 2400 miles. i worry about them. i hope my mother stands up for herself more. i hope my father learns to mellow the fuck out. i have this horrible feeling that, of all the shit they've been through together, this may be what would break them. it was poignant to see the furnishings i'd grown up with in their rented house. their cat ignored me. they live on 3 acres. the stump by their front door has delicate mushrooms growing out of it. mushrooms fascinate me. "i hadn't even noticed those" my mother said.
i was on a bus today that was stopped mid-route because the fucked-up guy wouldn't disembark after the driver ordered him to. i believe the police were en route. i was about 10 blocks from my eventual stop and it was absolutely pouring. i got off and walked. got home sopping wet. it was actually rather fun. the ceiling hasn't leaked today.
'sexual healing' is playing, and i can feel the surliness returning. some songs shouldn't exist.
inhaling
my droning solliloquy of tuesday was spontaneously erased, which is probably for the best. i have been in a sour, self-indulgently morose mood for the last few days, comically culminating in abrupt bawling for no concrete reason whilst listening at top volume to a very good song in my lair this morning (A Song With a Past, as it were). i felt both silly and refreshed afterwards. i haven't really emoted for the last month. this is a bit unlike me; i usually tend to be a bit of a drama queen. perhaps dramatic tendencies tend to dissapate when there is no audience?
i picked up the last of my rubbish from yelm on monday while he was at work. driving on the familiar roads put me in a bit of a panic; my hands were shaking. i had to keep reminding myself that i have my own life now, a life i am allover more happy with. the house was trashed. the empty boxes i'd left on the front porch a month ago were still there, wilted by the rain. inside smelled like old food and stale air. geddy (the cat i left with him) was shrieking for attention. it was as though he'd not been there for weeks. i had already mapped out how to get the last few things as quickly as possible, not bothering to glance around; i was out of there in five minutes. that was undoubtedly what prompted this last bout of despondency. utter bewilderment that that was ever my life; disgust that he obviously hadn't gotten his shit together; pity over how lonely geddy seemed; annoyance that once again, i am reminded of how much of my life i feel that i wasted. i would respect tony a lot more if the place had been warm and lived in, that he was moving on in the world he created before he ever met me. seeing things as they were only amplified my revulsion. i don't miss him at all. i feel like a fucking asshole to admit that.
the subsequent mood comes from being lonely. i was fantasizing about coming home and just holding someone. not him. someone who was warm and soft and already asleep, someone i could sidle up next to and just hold. someone who would hold me. i sound like such a fucking girl.
meanwhile, i have been blowing through all the money i spent the last year (and 50+ hr workweeks) saving. the apartment, the car... and music, which i have been buying again for the first time in months. bought my airline ticket to vegas today for the vet conference. i will be there in 2.5 weeks. it will be nice to feed my brain. i detest las vegas. revision: i detest the strip. i hate only seeing tourists, ignorant and obese and squinting stupidly, or locals thrusting escort flyers at me. i hate the fucking excess. i hate old people compulsively wasting their retirement on slot machines. i hate loud boys in backward baseball caps getting drunk on watered-down free alcohol, and the constant noise, and $3 vending-machine sodas, and women tarted up in shoes they can't walk in. perhaps off the strip it is another world entirely. i would hate to live there.
music-wise: the new soundtrack of our lives is in the auto right now. at first listen i dismissed it as talented but generic pop- definitely more upbeat than their last 2 albums. but it has grown on me. "midnight children" and track 13 are currently the songs that stand out the most. before that i had been listening to phish's 'story of the ghost' relentlessly; i stole it from the lacey library almost a year ago. phish albums tend to build momentum as they play; the last half is almost always superior. when i think of this era, it will be that album, and air, and donovan's version of 'codine'.
i am nervous about this deleting itself, and i don't know how to save it, so shall continue in a moment.
i picked up the last of my rubbish from yelm on monday while he was at work. driving on the familiar roads put me in a bit of a panic; my hands were shaking. i had to keep reminding myself that i have my own life now, a life i am allover more happy with. the house was trashed. the empty boxes i'd left on the front porch a month ago were still there, wilted by the rain. inside smelled like old food and stale air. geddy (the cat i left with him) was shrieking for attention. it was as though he'd not been there for weeks. i had already mapped out how to get the last few things as quickly as possible, not bothering to glance around; i was out of there in five minutes. that was undoubtedly what prompted this last bout of despondency. utter bewilderment that that was ever my life; disgust that he obviously hadn't gotten his shit together; pity over how lonely geddy seemed; annoyance that once again, i am reminded of how much of my life i feel that i wasted. i would respect tony a lot more if the place had been warm and lived in, that he was moving on in the world he created before he ever met me. seeing things as they were only amplified my revulsion. i don't miss him at all. i feel like a fucking asshole to admit that.
the subsequent mood comes from being lonely. i was fantasizing about coming home and just holding someone. not him. someone who was warm and soft and already asleep, someone i could sidle up next to and just hold. someone who would hold me. i sound like such a fucking girl.
meanwhile, i have been blowing through all the money i spent the last year (and 50+ hr workweeks) saving. the apartment, the car... and music, which i have been buying again for the first time in months. bought my airline ticket to vegas today for the vet conference. i will be there in 2.5 weeks. it will be nice to feed my brain. i detest las vegas. revision: i detest the strip. i hate only seeing tourists, ignorant and obese and squinting stupidly, or locals thrusting escort flyers at me. i hate the fucking excess. i hate old people compulsively wasting their retirement on slot machines. i hate loud boys in backward baseball caps getting drunk on watered-down free alcohol, and the constant noise, and $3 vending-machine sodas, and women tarted up in shoes they can't walk in. perhaps off the strip it is another world entirely. i would hate to live there.
music-wise: the new soundtrack of our lives is in the auto right now. at first listen i dismissed it as talented but generic pop- definitely more upbeat than their last 2 albums. but it has grown on me. "midnight children" and track 13 are currently the songs that stand out the most. before that i had been listening to phish's 'story of the ghost' relentlessly; i stole it from the lacey library almost a year ago. phish albums tend to build momentum as they play; the last half is almost always superior. when i think of this era, it will be that album, and air, and donovan's version of 'codine'.
i am nervous about this deleting itself, and i don't know how to save it, so shall continue in a moment.
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