nearly 10 years ago, whilst in europe and planning my return to washington, i researched the bellingham area from a computer in grenoble (and to this day, i feel incredibly embarrassed by how i perpetuated the Ugly American stereotype to the unfailingly polite hosts... another story). what i'd heard about bellingham sounded ever so bohemian and free-thinking (and within close proximity to the lower legal imbibing in canada). found a house for rent in sedro-wooley for, i believe, $400, which sounds absolutely otherworldly now. mentioned it to my parents, who'd lived in that area for several years while they dropped out of WWU and unexpectedly had to raise me. "sedro-wooley?" my mother said, scorn detectable over the international connection. "there's not a lot going on there..." "everything gets moldy" my father added. i never did go there (it's about 20 miles east of bellingham)... until today.
drive N on i-5, through the perpetual traffic of everett, and take the darrington/sedro-wooley exit. sail through cornfields, past barns with "apples! cherries!" painted on the sides, past kids obliviously riding their bikes into the road, past trucks flinging rocks off their loads, past little hamlets with old-timey gas pumps in front of their general stores (that are actually called 'general stores', with 'drink sprite' signs), past many american flags. sedro-wooley appears to have not changed in 30 years. the buildings are low-slung, houses with empty porches facing the streets, everything glowing gold. i stopped at the gas station to use the loo. very tanned flaxen-haired kids were debating what kind of candy to buy. motorcycles idled in the parking lot. it seemed like the kind of town i would want to have my grandparents live if i was younger, so i could visit them and sit on a porch swing and catch fireflies and have cookouts and play fucking stickball or something. rather pleasant, but i left feeling extremely relieved that i never moved there, no matter how distracted by love and optimism i was.
on the way back i saw a dirigible balloon (some car dealership) off the freeway and suddenly remembered my dream from last night. it was a desertlike setting, but i somehow knew it was alaska. the mountains in the distance were purple; the foreground was flat and sandy. sunset. there was a huge rainbow-striped hot air balloon in the sky, and as i watched a gust of wind tipped it on its side, the fabric blew up, and the entire thing caught fire. it remained aloft. "i can't believe i was ever in one of those" i said to whomever i was with (unseen but familiar in the dream- my dad, maybe?) "yeah, we were lucky" he replied. i admired the colors against the arid backdrop; clinical, abstractly mellow, not terribly agitated by any of it.
i could interpret this as a tidy yet lurid metaphor of my current distance from all my recent life-shite, and it would make a good amount of sense.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Sunday, July 23, 2006
amber and sweat rearranged by the ceiling fan
things are peaceful... talked to my friend from olympia for 2 hours, the phone leaving a sweaty swath, remembering how much i miss her. walked downtown so my landlord could show my apartment... a rather melancholy prospect, but distracted by hoping the cats don't shit ferociously while i'm gone. the place is about 90 degrees... good luck, mark. ha ha.
decided that taking to the sea is a fine way to augment the cloying heat, so i took the ferry to bainbridge island, something i hadn't done in years. this is a beautiful piece of the world, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool. a fool! i got off the boat and walked around winslow (?), which was a bit too precious, and the shadeless glurp of the sun made me a bit unmotivated to explore much. rode back at the helm, hair blown back, the skyline looking clean and shiny, watching couples with their arms around one another and a toddler tearing across the rough deck on his hands and knees. ended up in queen anne, where at the bus stop a completely psychotic man who looked like the toxic avenger was screaming about how he's going to "fucking KILL bill gates, and that motherfucking cocksucker paul allen, and the military fucking raped and killed my daughter, and they cut her up into little fucking pieces, and in ten minutes you're all going to be fucking sorry, you're all going to be fucking dead, and medina and bellevue are going to be fucking bombed, and I'M GOING TO KILL YOU TOO, KERLIKOWSKI [seattle's police chief], YOU FUCKING PIECE OF COCKSUCKING SHIT"... et al. he also threw the N word into his epithet, then noticed the 3 black men also at the bus stop and added "i don't mean that in a racial way", then started babbling about how he's moving back to detroit, apparently to establish, alors! how you say, "CRED" with the disgusted black men. please note that this was all punctuated with him taking off and putting on his shirt and hacking copious wads of phlegm. he asked the group of us (8 or so) if anyone had a quarter. the bus pulled up and he adopted a kaiser sose limp, saying to the driver that he'd sprained his knee and needed to get to the top of the hill. the foolish woman let him on for free. he got off before i did and i watched him walk off normally as the bus pulled away, his mouth moving.
i love seattle.
tears for fears are playing. it is time for me to finish the NY times crossword now. yes, i have always used pen.
decided that taking to the sea is a fine way to augment the cloying heat, so i took the ferry to bainbridge island, something i hadn't done in years. this is a beautiful piece of the world, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool. a fool! i got off the boat and walked around winslow (?), which was a bit too precious, and the shadeless glurp of the sun made me a bit unmotivated to explore much. rode back at the helm, hair blown back, the skyline looking clean and shiny, watching couples with their arms around one another and a toddler tearing across the rough deck on his hands and knees. ended up in queen anne, where at the bus stop a completely psychotic man who looked like the toxic avenger was screaming about how he's going to "fucking KILL bill gates, and that motherfucking cocksucker paul allen, and the military fucking raped and killed my daughter, and they cut her up into little fucking pieces, and in ten minutes you're all going to be fucking sorry, you're all going to be fucking dead, and medina and bellevue are going to be fucking bombed, and I'M GOING TO KILL YOU TOO, KERLIKOWSKI [seattle's police chief], YOU FUCKING PIECE OF COCKSUCKING SHIT"... et al. he also threw the N word into his epithet, then noticed the 3 black men also at the bus stop and added "i don't mean that in a racial way", then started babbling about how he's moving back to detroit, apparently to establish, alors! how you say, "CRED" with the disgusted black men. please note that this was all punctuated with him taking off and putting on his shirt and hacking copious wads of phlegm. he asked the group of us (8 or so) if anyone had a quarter. the bus pulled up and he adopted a kaiser sose limp, saying to the driver that he'd sprained his knee and needed to get to the top of the hill. the foolish woman let him on for free. he got off before i did and i watched him walk off normally as the bus pulled away, his mouth moving.
i love seattle.
tears for fears are playing. it is time for me to finish the NY times crossword now. yes, i have always used pen.
"i got kicked out of the boy scouts for eating a brownie"
it is hot as fuck in washington right now, as it is everywhere. yesterday seattle broke the record at 97 slippery degrees. i met my new landlords to sign the lease. they were extremely nice, both sick with some sort of gastric ailment as they were... he has a rather unnervingly dry manner about him, while she seemed much more expressive. their 13 month old son circled me with precocious curiosity, at one point pawing my sweaty back beneath my tank top. his hand positively slid across my skin. the only salvation to meeting people that will be controlling a large portion of my life whilst literally dripping perspiration, my jeans sticking to me, was that they were also.
the air here is utterly stagnant. the skyline appears brown from a distance. the mountains are cauled in murk. my sinuses are throbbing.
it should be cooler by the time i move. god, i hope so. i am a fan of the extreme weather, but only with the option of relief. i even found enjoyment in the sphincter-puckering cold of alaska, when my eyelids would perceptibly stick to my corneas when i blinked, because there was always a heated refuge nearby.
i am always whinging about something, it seems.
i complain about the little things and swallow the huge problems with little expression. the ugliest issues are the ones i stress about whilst driving home from work, the focus of the day giving way to another night stretching out, aimless, missing what i cannot have. i told him last night "i cannot respect myself if i keep going back." i got off the phone and cried, but briefly, because it is pointless to cry without an audience. and i wondered, as usual, if that was my last chance at love, if a fucked-up version of 'love' is all i deserve, if my fucked-up version of love is everyone else's bliss. and then i start to think of what a pain in the ass it would be to have to share my bed with someone, anyone, much less my life, and i feel a little bit better.
and the ms... every mild twinge scares me more than i can even admit to myself. if i pretend the potential for further problems doesn't exist, it doesn't, right?
i do not have to work tomorrow, or today, now. i can even ignore the midnight oil playing. stretch, skin salty.
the air here is utterly stagnant. the skyline appears brown from a distance. the mountains are cauled in murk. my sinuses are throbbing.
it should be cooler by the time i move. god, i hope so. i am a fan of the extreme weather, but only with the option of relief. i even found enjoyment in the sphincter-puckering cold of alaska, when my eyelids would perceptibly stick to my corneas when i blinked, because there was always a heated refuge nearby.
i am always whinging about something, it seems.
i complain about the little things and swallow the huge problems with little expression. the ugliest issues are the ones i stress about whilst driving home from work, the focus of the day giving way to another night stretching out, aimless, missing what i cannot have. i told him last night "i cannot respect myself if i keep going back." i got off the phone and cried, but briefly, because it is pointless to cry without an audience. and i wondered, as usual, if that was my last chance at love, if a fucked-up version of 'love' is all i deserve, if my fucked-up version of love is everyone else's bliss. and then i start to think of what a pain in the ass it would be to have to share my bed with someone, anyone, much less my life, and i feel a little bit better.
and the ms... every mild twinge scares me more than i can even admit to myself. if i pretend the potential for further problems doesn't exist, it doesn't, right?
i do not have to work tomorrow, or today, now. i can even ignore the midnight oil playing. stretch, skin salty.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
heavy on the adjectives=new life philosophy
on the 18, slumped in a ray of sunshine, fretting inanely about the blind cat's new habit of pissing in the hamper- the bus stopped and lowered itself (a disabled benefit- makes a resigned hissing sound) for a sour-faced old man, pants pulled up to his rib cage and secured with faded suspenders, four lonely bottom teeth and a disarmingly thick head of ted kennedy-esque hair- staggered to the closest seat, which happened to be next to a woman and her baby. his countenance completely changed. i could barely hear him speak to the baby in a singsong voice, smiling, and suddenly he seemed like a kindly grandfather, not someone whom fate had grabbed by the testicles. it was easy to picture him young, laughing, falling in love, proud. ah, this self-imposed isolation leads me to florid rhapsodies.
windows are raised in all of the older buildings. summer in a largely un-air-conditioned city... curtains bow inward to dark recesses. i imagine sweaty bodies on bare mattresses, listless fans atop dirty refrigerators, painted walls slightly slick.
(the solo thom yorke is actually quite wonderful... good warm-night music.)
walked through occidental park today. it was actually very pleasant- reminiscent of gastown in vancouver. i hadn't been down there much since the city cut down a slew of trees to combat the seaminess of the area... it was oddly deserted. brick streets, sun filtered through leaves, ivy snaking up buildings. the ethiopian restaurant i used to go to is long gone- i don't even recall where it was. the walled-in 'waterfall park' is still there, locked- a tiny industrial corner surrounded by 15' iron bars, filled with flora and a huge fountain- i used to consider it my secret seattle oasis. walked up 2nd ave just as the majority of downtown released its workers for the day: a shady corridor punctuated by blinding slits of sunshine, pedestrians obediently waiting on the corners. that eerie (eerie due to its ephemerality) sensation of well-being came over me. i walked along with no physical impairment, nowhere to be, feeling like a ripe piece of fruit.
...now i feel as if i am missing, forgetting something... that giddy and ominous premonition that something bombastic and bizarre is prescient, that a week from now everything could be utterly, irreversibly different. i don't know why.
windows are raised in all of the older buildings. summer in a largely un-air-conditioned city... curtains bow inward to dark recesses. i imagine sweaty bodies on bare mattresses, listless fans atop dirty refrigerators, painted walls slightly slick.
(the solo thom yorke is actually quite wonderful... good warm-night music.)
walked through occidental park today. it was actually very pleasant- reminiscent of gastown in vancouver. i hadn't been down there much since the city cut down a slew of trees to combat the seaminess of the area... it was oddly deserted. brick streets, sun filtered through leaves, ivy snaking up buildings. the ethiopian restaurant i used to go to is long gone- i don't even recall where it was. the walled-in 'waterfall park' is still there, locked- a tiny industrial corner surrounded by 15' iron bars, filled with flora and a huge fountain- i used to consider it my secret seattle oasis. walked up 2nd ave just as the majority of downtown released its workers for the day: a shady corridor punctuated by blinding slits of sunshine, pedestrians obediently waiting on the corners. that eerie (eerie due to its ephemerality) sensation of well-being came over me. i walked along with no physical impairment, nowhere to be, feeling like a ripe piece of fruit.
...now i feel as if i am missing, forgetting something... that giddy and ominous premonition that something bombastic and bizarre is prescient, that a week from now everything could be utterly, irreversibly different. i don't know why.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
yes...everything is groovy...?
wandering through a sunny sunday, i decided that 'please' is the sexiest word in the english language. the way one's mouth has to move to form it, the vulnerability it offers... obviously, context like 'please fuck off'' or 'please get your fat ass out of my bed' notwithstanding. the lyrics of 'i'm your man' are perhaps the most alluring example. that whole song... sheesh... first time i heard it i was about 13, in my friend's parent's chevy suburban, and i wanted very much to have someone howl at my beauty like a dog in heat.
walked downtown, through crowds of sunburned shoulders and fannypacked tourists. watched a girl tap dance outside the market. watched someone else taking a picture of a lipringed woman glaring into space at the fruit/ristra booth- a gorgeous onslaught of color, and surely one that will be passed around the picture-takers' hometown as the Quintessential Seattle Photograph. sampled an elixir of orange, pineapple, rosemary and sage and was told by its creator, an intense-eyed man, that i must be healthy because i can 'taste the kick.' went into the listening booth in the subterranean vinyl shop (entrance off a reeking alley) and blared 'la rossa.' thought about spenard. listened to a woman from iowa shrilly berate her spouse for missing the bus stop to their hotel. walked around upper queen anne, past homes selling for $597k- read a story in this morning's paper that to qualify for a 30-year, 20% mortgage in queen anne, one must have an income of at least $120k. feel like a fucking imposter for soon living there again. sprawled on a lawn beside a building with "danger! hydrochloric acid!" signs affixed to it, the lawn covered with tiny daisies, and wrote in my journal, covered with aphids by the time i stood up. on the bus back to my current lair i sat behind a man who loudly counseled another guy on how to remain sober.
i do nothing but walk, watch, and listen. or so it seems.
with all this valuable (i guess) Me Time, i came to this realization in my journal: "i want a man who is self-destructive and self-aware. i want him to call me hideously inebriated in the middle of the night and tell me that he needs me. i want to be the one who tells HIM 'it's going to be okay.'"
:a lack of personal restraint. does that make me a sadist or a masochist?
why am i even fucking admitting this?
walked downtown, through crowds of sunburned shoulders and fannypacked tourists. watched a girl tap dance outside the market. watched someone else taking a picture of a lipringed woman glaring into space at the fruit/ristra booth- a gorgeous onslaught of color, and surely one that will be passed around the picture-takers' hometown as the Quintessential Seattle Photograph. sampled an elixir of orange, pineapple, rosemary and sage and was told by its creator, an intense-eyed man, that i must be healthy because i can 'taste the kick.' went into the listening booth in the subterranean vinyl shop (entrance off a reeking alley) and blared 'la rossa.' thought about spenard. listened to a woman from iowa shrilly berate her spouse for missing the bus stop to their hotel. walked around upper queen anne, past homes selling for $597k- read a story in this morning's paper that to qualify for a 30-year, 20% mortgage in queen anne, one must have an income of at least $120k. feel like a fucking imposter for soon living there again. sprawled on a lawn beside a building with "danger! hydrochloric acid!" signs affixed to it, the lawn covered with tiny daisies, and wrote in my journal, covered with aphids by the time i stood up. on the bus back to my current lair i sat behind a man who loudly counseled another guy on how to remain sober.
i do nothing but walk, watch, and listen. or so it seems.
with all this valuable (i guess) Me Time, i came to this realization in my journal: "i want a man who is self-destructive and self-aware. i want him to call me hideously inebriated in the middle of the night and tell me that he needs me. i want to be the one who tells HIM 'it's going to be okay.'"
:a lack of personal restraint. does that make me a sadist or a masochist?
why am i even fucking admitting this?
Friday, July 07, 2006
so i got a call on monday stating that the person in front of me had gotten the place, the resultant funk of which i have already articulated. wednesday i got another call: she had declined the apartment. by some miracle i seem to have passed the credit check (having NO credit, only collection notices from the thurston county library system, this baffles me) and thus the lair is mine, i guess, to be made official this sunday. i am agitated as a result. this represents an entire new fucking change in my grass-is-always-greener frantic approach to life. i am excited and disgusted at the same time. i console myself with the basic truth: my current lair, beloved as it is, is not worth the $795 they are charging as of 1 august. i fucking hate renting. i hate landlords, i hate communal hallways filled with other people's cigarettes and bad music, i hate passing drunk couples on the stairwell when i come home at 2 am wearing scrubs covered with dog hair and cat piss, i hate laying in bed listening to my neighbors fuck. that said, i love my place. i am really fucking sad to leave.
i sprawled on my floofy rug for a long while this afternoon, playing with the cats, watching the leaves alter shadows against the ceiling. i looked at my possessions and tried to remember where they all came from, what their stories were. remembered being alone in amsterdam, nauseous with loneliness and near-constant marijuana, taking everything out of my backpack and spreading it out on the bed (ah, the rainbow house hotel... lovely place) and finding great reassurance in this tangible evidence of, i guess, ME. i had carried a thing of nag champa with me, the scent of which saturated the top pocket of the bag. to this day, every time i burn that shit (about the only incense i like) i think of that era.
this is one of those days when i want to get completely fucking shitfaced drunk. i cannot have just one. there is no point to just one drink. i haven't gone to a meeting in months. i didn't like sitting around listening to people complain, mostly because their complaints were valid and i felt like a whiny imposter being there. there was definite benefit, however, to getting outside of my own turbid mind. i only realize this when there are no meetings nearby.
my mom's dad suffered fairly severe angina a few days ago. apparently he was born with 2 instead of 3 valves and one is completely useless, so the doctors are reccommending open-heart surgery. meanwhile, my grandmother is showing signs of dementia- she is 90, so she is entitled- but this whole situation is a bit stressful to contemplate as well. i am not concerned for my behalf, for i've never been very close to either of them, but i'm worried about my mother. i hate being peripheral to things i absolutely cannot control.
was it pollyanna, that cunt, who coined the term 'glad things'? or the glad game, or something. i need to focus on happy stuff for a moment.
i sprawled on my floofy rug for a long while this afternoon, playing with the cats, watching the leaves alter shadows against the ceiling. i looked at my possessions and tried to remember where they all came from, what their stories were. remembered being alone in amsterdam, nauseous with loneliness and near-constant marijuana, taking everything out of my backpack and spreading it out on the bed (ah, the rainbow house hotel... lovely place) and finding great reassurance in this tangible evidence of, i guess, ME. i had carried a thing of nag champa with me, the scent of which saturated the top pocket of the bag. to this day, every time i burn that shit (about the only incense i like) i think of that era.
this is one of those days when i want to get completely fucking shitfaced drunk. i cannot have just one. there is no point to just one drink. i haven't gone to a meeting in months. i didn't like sitting around listening to people complain, mostly because their complaints were valid and i felt like a whiny imposter being there. there was definite benefit, however, to getting outside of my own turbid mind. i only realize this when there are no meetings nearby.
my mom's dad suffered fairly severe angina a few days ago. apparently he was born with 2 instead of 3 valves and one is completely useless, so the doctors are reccommending open-heart surgery. meanwhile, my grandmother is showing signs of dementia- she is 90, so she is entitled- but this whole situation is a bit stressful to contemplate as well. i am not concerned for my behalf, for i've never been very close to either of them, but i'm worried about my mother. i hate being peripheral to things i absolutely cannot control.
was it pollyanna, that cunt, who coined the term 'glad things'? or the glad game, or something. i need to focus on happy stuff for a moment.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
all in the details
i spent a fair chunk of yesterday stomping around feeling morose. it was the first holiday i'd had off in quite some time, the sun was shining, and i was too busy being petulant because everything was closed, the apartment i'd wanted went to someone else, monday at work was an exhausting nightmare, i have no friends in seattle, BLAH FUCKING BLAH. but then! for no perceptible reason, my mood began to change for the better. was it the shouting match i witnessed on the #15 that resulted in one man being ejected from the bus? the luscious sweaty neck of the backpacker in the seat in front of me? sideways rain finally usurping the entropy of relentless sunshine? frozen mangos? rearranging my lair? the savory man at the newsstand? the small trifles add up to a colorful whole. perhaps i just stopped lamenting what wasn't and started digging what is. yes, that's pretty much it.
walked through the muggy night to the road above the interstate to watch the fireworks. there were shitloads of folk in various eschelons of drunkenness, repose, and coupling. an old man twirled with scarves. kids shrieked. it was a happy vibe. i ended up weasling my way up to the barrier fence with nary an obstruction to the view. yes, i despise everything that independence day stands for, liberal limp-wrist that i am, but fireworks are fucking brilliant. crowd reactions to fireworks are even better. the sky lights up and the world looks downright beautiful. after they ended i turned around and realized that the street behind me (a steep incline) was completely saturated with bodies. everyone clapped when it was over. i walked back uphill feeling very happy about life. "psycho killer" was in my head, which seems very erroneous now.
a lab was brought into work today. he had been hit by a car yesterday and seemed to be doing poorly, so the owner hit him over the head with a hammer 'to put him out of his misery.' he woke up today with the intention of burying the dog but the dead dog had wandered off. unfortunately i did not get a glimpse of this extraorinary beast, but the triage tech said it was wagging its tail "and looked pretty good, considering."
walked through the muggy night to the road above the interstate to watch the fireworks. there were shitloads of folk in various eschelons of drunkenness, repose, and coupling. an old man twirled with scarves. kids shrieked. it was a happy vibe. i ended up weasling my way up to the barrier fence with nary an obstruction to the view. yes, i despise everything that independence day stands for, liberal limp-wrist that i am, but fireworks are fucking brilliant. crowd reactions to fireworks are even better. the sky lights up and the world looks downright beautiful. after they ended i turned around and realized that the street behind me (a steep incline) was completely saturated with bodies. everyone clapped when it was over. i walked back uphill feeling very happy about life. "psycho killer" was in my head, which seems very erroneous now.
a lab was brought into work today. he had been hit by a car yesterday and seemed to be doing poorly, so the owner hit him over the head with a hammer 'to put him out of his misery.' he woke up today with the intention of burying the dog but the dead dog had wandered off. unfortunately i did not get a glimpse of this extraorinary beast, but the triage tech said it was wagging its tail "and looked pretty good, considering."
Thursday, June 29, 2006
love is like oxygen?
much better... rather eerie. it is interesting to experience firsthand how bizarrely the brain operates. my mri had 3 white blurs one month ago. tomorrow i see about meds. meanwhile it has been hot and brilliant and i have been walking around blissfully because, well, i can. i couldn;t, really, a week ago. never take anything for granted. i guess.
today was one of those rare days when i was utterly satisfied by my own company. usually i am stressed about various external shite, to the extent that i essentially kill time until i can sleep and get the day over with. the first influx of nastiness came about half an hour ago, in the form of an unpleasant phone conversation; i consider myself lucky to have fended off crap until 10:30 pm. earlier i was at elliott bay, reading anthony bourdain's travel stories- i fucking love this guy. he described these multicourse meals in traditional japan, a tobacco-infused flan, marrow smeared on bread with sel gris, how scornful he is of vegetarians. he was signing his latest in town last week and i was going to go, but pink was towed and i had to trudge to the impound graveyard below the west seattle bridge and pay $232 to bail her out instead.
it is 11pm and i am in short sleeves. i love summer nights. growing up in alaska i never had the dark/warm experience. the only time stars were visible was when it was fucking cold. the sky was crimson earlier. everyone had a just-came glow about them. i was walking from ballard to seattle u, across the fremont bridge, the water still and geese floating aimlessly, being passed by surly cyclists as i paused and admired the view. i hated actually living in fremont -i liked the area, gentrified as it's become, but the location of my lair was a fucking nightmare- but i will always have a fondness for the fremont bridge. when i worked in wallingford and lived on first hill i would bike home at 2 in the morning. one night, about a month after i first moved back down here, i was coming home and looked out over the lake and the reflections and how soft the air was and how everything smelled lazy and alive and sexy and full of promise, and i remember coasting across the bridge with a big fucking smile. will i live here forever? i hope not. there is too much to see. i still have fantasies of that slovenly loft in france, a la 'little birds' (but without the pedophile or the noisy schoolyard). or queens. i picture these places and i picture myself in them alone. this is a good thing.
right this moment: i am sitting at the cafe, drinking iced jasmine white tea, la-di-da. jazz is playing; the classic rock fan must not be working tonight. i am using their computer instead of hauling my archaic laptop. it's probably still 75 degrees outside. the other visible computer screens: the fortyish guy next to me is checking his email. the guy with the baseball cap is looking at personal ads. my right hand is pins&needles, not novocaine. left leg crossed over right, jeans, green shirt that inadvertantly showcases my nipples, sandals, glasses with grimy lenses, long hair that really needs to be washed. i have tunnel vision to how i must come across in the world. too involved with watching others? a woman pushing an enormous stroller got on the bus downtown. she was parting with the kid's father. the child must have been about 3 (i have always been very bothered by kids that are obviously able to walk being pushed in fucking strollers) and immediately started shrieking "daddy!" OVER AND OVER until they got off the bus about 5 minutes later. the woman was trying to calm him down. "it's not our fault he lives in a shelter" she finally said. "you'll see him tomorrow." it was surreal, sad, and -here i prove my asshole tendencies- very annoying. i felt badly for her but evil towards the kid.
to happier times!
today was one of those rare days when i was utterly satisfied by my own company. usually i am stressed about various external shite, to the extent that i essentially kill time until i can sleep and get the day over with. the first influx of nastiness came about half an hour ago, in the form of an unpleasant phone conversation; i consider myself lucky to have fended off crap until 10:30 pm. earlier i was at elliott bay, reading anthony bourdain's travel stories- i fucking love this guy. he described these multicourse meals in traditional japan, a tobacco-infused flan, marrow smeared on bread with sel gris, how scornful he is of vegetarians. he was signing his latest in town last week and i was going to go, but pink was towed and i had to trudge to the impound graveyard below the west seattle bridge and pay $232 to bail her out instead.
it is 11pm and i am in short sleeves. i love summer nights. growing up in alaska i never had the dark/warm experience. the only time stars were visible was when it was fucking cold. the sky was crimson earlier. everyone had a just-came glow about them. i was walking from ballard to seattle u, across the fremont bridge, the water still and geese floating aimlessly, being passed by surly cyclists as i paused and admired the view. i hated actually living in fremont -i liked the area, gentrified as it's become, but the location of my lair was a fucking nightmare- but i will always have a fondness for the fremont bridge. when i worked in wallingford and lived on first hill i would bike home at 2 in the morning. one night, about a month after i first moved back down here, i was coming home and looked out over the lake and the reflections and how soft the air was and how everything smelled lazy and alive and sexy and full of promise, and i remember coasting across the bridge with a big fucking smile. will i live here forever? i hope not. there is too much to see. i still have fantasies of that slovenly loft in france, a la 'little birds' (but without the pedophile or the noisy schoolyard). or queens. i picture these places and i picture myself in them alone. this is a good thing.
right this moment: i am sitting at the cafe, drinking iced jasmine white tea, la-di-da. jazz is playing; the classic rock fan must not be working tonight. i am using their computer instead of hauling my archaic laptop. it's probably still 75 degrees outside. the other visible computer screens: the fortyish guy next to me is checking his email. the guy with the baseball cap is looking at personal ads. my right hand is pins&needles, not novocaine. left leg crossed over right, jeans, green shirt that inadvertantly showcases my nipples, sandals, glasses with grimy lenses, long hair that really needs to be washed. i have tunnel vision to how i must come across in the world. too involved with watching others? a woman pushing an enormous stroller got on the bus downtown. she was parting with the kid's father. the child must have been about 3 (i have always been very bothered by kids that are obviously able to walk being pushed in fucking strollers) and immediately started shrieking "daddy!" OVER AND OVER until they got off the bus about 5 minutes later. the woman was trying to calm him down. "it's not our fault he lives in a shelter" she finally said. "you'll see him tomorrow." it was surreal, sad, and -here i prove my asshole tendencies- very annoying. i felt badly for her but evil towards the kid.
to happier times!
Thursday, June 22, 2006
i feel like the most depressive, depressing fuckup right now. the symptoms are worse than they've ever been. this is how i ty[pe unedited, sincen my ri9ght hand it completely, utterly nh8mb. wearinbg my stupid flaggses , glasses, s9ince otherwise i'm seeing dowuble,. soifcuking fruswtrated. FRUSTRATED. i feel like somethingn is squeezing my hand, my neck, and the right side of my body as forcefully as possible. numb constriction: i am being devoured my a snake that lives in my brain. my physical self has caught up with my emotions. i am jealous of the me of a month ago and how frivolously i squandered my abilities. i am a fucking waste of skin. that is how i feel. boo fucking hoo. whatever.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
4 fortnights of clusterfucking
my car got broken into. my passport and my squeaky dashboard octopi, among other things, were stolen.
tony and i 'got back together.' unsuprisingly, it is not going well.
we now both have a little gift from my disgusting and unsatisfying tryst in february.
helix is in renal failure.
i watched my mom get shitfaced drunk on mother's day.
i was diagnosed with MS.
however, i am not pregnant, i do not have leprosy, and no one close to me has died (yet). things can always, always be worse.
my job in tacoma is going well. very much more challenging. went to training about blood gases tonight. i am pleased that after a week of right-hand numbness (among other things) i am able to place catheters again and all that fun stuff.
the MS thing is inconveniently forefront on my mind currently. i am a bit fucking depressed about it. i look and feel fine, but for how long? i have gotten accustomed to the right side of my neck being numb. i can still drive. i haven't pissed myself. i can recall the street addresses of every place i've ever lived. i am not medicated. but my neurologist is encouraging me to start treatment. "it's like playing a ball game and saving the strongest players for the last inning if you wait to try medications" was how it was conveyed. i have a problem with the concept of permanence. i suppose this is why i rent, am loath to buy heavy furniture, fuck my exes. i have always viewed life as a fluctuation, not anything concrete, certainly not anything with consequences.
this is what scares me the most.
i hate feeling weak and vulnerable. it is embarassing. i have shut myself off from everyone recently.
tony and i 'got back together.' unsuprisingly, it is not going well.
we now both have a little gift from my disgusting and unsatisfying tryst in february.
helix is in renal failure.
i watched my mom get shitfaced drunk on mother's day.
i was diagnosed with MS.
however, i am not pregnant, i do not have leprosy, and no one close to me has died (yet). things can always, always be worse.
my job in tacoma is going well. very much more challenging. went to training about blood gases tonight. i am pleased that after a week of right-hand numbness (among other things) i am able to place catheters again and all that fun stuff.
the MS thing is inconveniently forefront on my mind currently. i am a bit fucking depressed about it. i look and feel fine, but for how long? i have gotten accustomed to the right side of my neck being numb. i can still drive. i haven't pissed myself. i can recall the street addresses of every place i've ever lived. i am not medicated. but my neurologist is encouraging me to start treatment. "it's like playing a ball game and saving the strongest players for the last inning if you wait to try medications" was how it was conveyed. i have a problem with the concept of permanence. i suppose this is why i rent, am loath to buy heavy furniture, fuck my exes. i have always viewed life as a fluctuation, not anything concrete, certainly not anything with consequences.
this is what scares me the most.
i hate feeling weak and vulnerable. it is embarassing. i have shut myself off from everyone recently.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
silly, silly trollop
i am reluctant to write about people on an emotional level, since it always seems to BACKFIRE, leaving me feeling mortified and grossed out by the whole thing, but! i went out with someone a few days ago, and it was a fucking blast. neither of us could figure out where to go. we ended up at beth's cafe. "it's a total dive" i warned him. the coffee was horrible and our waitress smelled of berry lip gloss. we talked for about two hours. the two big points against me that i was nervous about disclosing: i am mid-divorce and i smoke. he was divorced last summer and smokes too. he seemed visibly relieved as well. i am going into this, and everything, with a friend mindset. i am a much better human when i'm a friend and not some GIRLFRIEND with EXPECTATIONS. thus i have spent the weekend with a Friend Mindset, despite finding myself grinning stupidly, feeling zesty and female, knowing that i am at risk of being undeservedly googly-eyed over the first guy in a while to be repectful and sarcastic and laugh at what i say.
fucking women. i mean, really.
today was absolutely beauteous, 70's and cloudless. i found reasons to escape the windowless confines of work for multiple smoke breaks. returning indoors was like walking into a cave. syringe-fed 10-day-old kittens. yesterday their eyes weren't open; today they were. it is an odd feeling to be one of the first things another living thing will see. or one of the last, which happens overly often as well. i have 3 more scheduled shifts at OPE. spring fever is assaulting my work ethic in a bad way. all i want to do is not have anywhere to be.
pink has been declared a total loss. the insurance company appraised it at more than what i paid 2 years ago, ha ha. i will be keeping and fixing her. it is very annoying to have the comparably boatlike rental car in my neighborhood, bypassing all the parking spots that pink would easily fit into. it is even more annoying to be car-dependent for the sake of my job(s).
i was walking home tonight (parked several blocks away, under fragrant trees dropping petals) and passed a lit basement window. the glass was encircled with red xmas lights. visible were several people in supine embraces on sofas. it was like a modern-day opium den. just a glance. i continued walking, feeling that flaky happy 'what an intricate yet totally accessible world' sensation. the air was soft and sexy. the hallways of my building smelled of marinara. the pendulum is swinging upwards.
fucking women. i mean, really.
today was absolutely beauteous, 70's and cloudless. i found reasons to escape the windowless confines of work for multiple smoke breaks. returning indoors was like walking into a cave. syringe-fed 10-day-old kittens. yesterday their eyes weren't open; today they were. it is an odd feeling to be one of the first things another living thing will see. or one of the last, which happens overly often as well. i have 3 more scheduled shifts at OPE. spring fever is assaulting my work ethic in a bad way. all i want to do is not have anywhere to be.
pink has been declared a total loss. the insurance company appraised it at more than what i paid 2 years ago, ha ha. i will be keeping and fixing her. it is very annoying to have the comparably boatlike rental car in my neighborhood, bypassing all the parking spots that pink would easily fit into. it is even more annoying to be car-dependent for the sake of my job(s).
i was walking home tonight (parked several blocks away, under fragrant trees dropping petals) and passed a lit basement window. the glass was encircled with red xmas lights. visible were several people in supine embraces on sofas. it was like a modern-day opium den. just a glance. i continued walking, feeling that flaky happy 'what an intricate yet totally accessible world' sensation. the air was soft and sexy. the hallways of my building smelled of marinara. the pendulum is swinging upwards.
Monday, April 17, 2006
the weekend at the olympia ER was, dare i say, bittersweet (i am loath to use that term, hateful as it is). blair found out i was leaving. we both cried. dave and carrie, the owners, came by to talk to me; carrie cried too. i will never have another job like this. part of me hopes tacoma turns out horribly so i can crawl back.
i left work and drove home feeling abstractly happy about life. singing along. the horrid easter traffic did not perturb me. i was stopped behind a car on the interstate, almost directly across from the stadiums in seattle, when i noticed the car behind me not slowing down. i got fucking rear-ended. badly. we drove to the side of the freeway. the girl was no more than 18, crying; her passenger boyfriend still had braces. it was her mother's car- macerated, leaking radiator fluid on the pavement. li'l pink appeared utterly unscathed. my neck hurt, but otherwise i was smugly undaunted. i have been in countless accidents and THIS IS THE FIRST ONE THAT WASN'T MY FAULT! i got her insurance information and started to drive off. 50 feet down the road my car began whistling, then shuddered, then died. the cops came, she got cited, her parents showed up, i ended up paying $175 for a tow. the tow driver was a very chatty guy, fresh from a divorce, new to town from wenatchee. apparently hondas are the most frequently stolen cars and they impound DWI more than accidents. he gave me a ride home after i dropped my innocent car at an auto shop. today: turns out that the entire undercarriage was pushed forward. the exhaust pipe is kinked, the muffler's askew, they had to pull some debris out of the tailpipe. she is running but not exactly driveable. the other driver's insurance claims office had a fucking gas leak and the facility was shut down. and my neck still hurts. thus i am typing this rather dull solliloquy instead of being at OPE for my overnight shift.
i do not like being privy to crap that was not my fucking doing, but it is oddly easier to deal with at the same time. i wonder why.
good things about today:
-obnoxiously bright sun. it is impossible to stare into the sun and not appear constipated and enraged.
-$3 nektar lp at jive time as two guys discussed molly hatchet
-israeli cookbook at the fremont library
-the dog on the bus who slithered under the seats for everyone to pet. her immediately altered the mood from a bunch of surly strangers to people bending over and cooing.
-free sample of marc jacobs 'grass' perfume for the asking!
-'let's pretend we don't exist/let's pretend we're in antarctica'- this is a very appealing song! it sounds like it's accompanying a casio demo.
-sitting in my kitchen, feet on the table, reading goddamn people magazine and drinking berry creme dr pepper through a straw, knowing that no matter what horrors befall my car and any other aspect of my world, at that moment i am not having to work the overnight shift.
(berry creme dr pepper, on initial tasting, tastes rather nasty. but i am a whore for exciting new sugarless liquids!)
i left work and drove home feeling abstractly happy about life. singing along. the horrid easter traffic did not perturb me. i was stopped behind a car on the interstate, almost directly across from the stadiums in seattle, when i noticed the car behind me not slowing down. i got fucking rear-ended. badly. we drove to the side of the freeway. the girl was no more than 18, crying; her passenger boyfriend still had braces. it was her mother's car- macerated, leaking radiator fluid on the pavement. li'l pink appeared utterly unscathed. my neck hurt, but otherwise i was smugly undaunted. i have been in countless accidents and THIS IS THE FIRST ONE THAT WASN'T MY FAULT! i got her insurance information and started to drive off. 50 feet down the road my car began whistling, then shuddered, then died. the cops came, she got cited, her parents showed up, i ended up paying $175 for a tow. the tow driver was a very chatty guy, fresh from a divorce, new to town from wenatchee. apparently hondas are the most frequently stolen cars and they impound DWI more than accidents. he gave me a ride home after i dropped my innocent car at an auto shop. today: turns out that the entire undercarriage was pushed forward. the exhaust pipe is kinked, the muffler's askew, they had to pull some debris out of the tailpipe. she is running but not exactly driveable. the other driver's insurance claims office had a fucking gas leak and the facility was shut down. and my neck still hurts. thus i am typing this rather dull solliloquy instead of being at OPE for my overnight shift.
i do not like being privy to crap that was not my fucking doing, but it is oddly easier to deal with at the same time. i wonder why.
good things about today:
-obnoxiously bright sun. it is impossible to stare into the sun and not appear constipated and enraged.
-$3 nektar lp at jive time as two guys discussed molly hatchet
-israeli cookbook at the fremont library
-the dog on the bus who slithered under the seats for everyone to pet. her immediately altered the mood from a bunch of surly strangers to people bending over and cooing.
-free sample of marc jacobs 'grass' perfume for the asking!
-'let's pretend we don't exist/let's pretend we're in antarctica'- this is a very appealing song! it sounds like it's accompanying a casio demo.
-sitting in my kitchen, feet on the table, reading goddamn people magazine and drinking berry creme dr pepper through a straw, knowing that no matter what horrors befall my car and any other aspect of my world, at that moment i am not having to work the overnight shift.
(berry creme dr pepper, on initial tasting, tastes rather nasty. but i am a whore for exciting new sugarless liquids!)
Friday, April 14, 2006
!!!!
according to a (very biased!) online survey, i am a histrionic narcissist! oh my god! i know, i couldn't believe it either!
Thursday, April 13, 2006
i'm not a crazy miserly cat person, i'm minimalistic
well, fuck me! i've been typing for the last 15 minutes and ffftt! it vanishes! was it that important? oh, probably not.
suffice it to say: i am in a very good mood. class was fun. it is making a lot of sense thus far, even if i cannot properly pronounce anything. drove to monroe earlier because i could. monroe is east of everett: strip mall hell, surrounded by bucolic farmland, bright green fields seeming artificial against the grey wet weather. later i ended up in my unofficial journal-writin' spot, on the water in west seattle. rain was pelting the roof of the car. downtown loomed across the bay. i had parked in front of a bush bearing copious orange blooms. it made for a very attractive scene. i thought of taking a picture but forgot. (sorry, my new york friend, i haven't figured out how to transfer photos from my phone to this.) everything in general is incredibly comely of late. the other night i was walking around my neighborhood sometime after midnight, feeling decadently sorry for myself. the streets were empty. i was passing mansions with darkened windows, cars carefully parked, gutters filled with blown blossoms. and i realized that there was nowhere else i'd rather be. red 'bush' stickers beneath the stop signs. ornate gables on victorian eaves. old-growth trees. the sound of my own steps. having nowhere to be, no one wondering or even aware what i'm doing. i suppose that this can be a lonesome sentiment if considered at the wrong time. i saw (and see) it as very fucking freeing. just like that, my sour mindset became very humorous, silly, personal. it is nice when i can kick my own ass a bit.
fucking freeing fucking freeing fucking freeing... go on, try it.
i read ruth reichl's 'garlic and sapphires'- reccommended. she was talking about blood thickening one elaborate meat sauce and i was salivating. and i'm a crunchy fucking vegetarian.
i own nary a pot now. MRE curries are actually quite tasty at room temperature. matzo soup is good at room temperature also.
it is all part of my plan to regress to a mental/physical dorm-room Zen. it is a pleasant feeling.
suffice it to say: i am in a very good mood. class was fun. it is making a lot of sense thus far, even if i cannot properly pronounce anything. drove to monroe earlier because i could. monroe is east of everett: strip mall hell, surrounded by bucolic farmland, bright green fields seeming artificial against the grey wet weather. later i ended up in my unofficial journal-writin' spot, on the water in west seattle. rain was pelting the roof of the car. downtown loomed across the bay. i had parked in front of a bush bearing copious orange blooms. it made for a very attractive scene. i thought of taking a picture but forgot. (sorry, my new york friend, i haven't figured out how to transfer photos from my phone to this.) everything in general is incredibly comely of late. the other night i was walking around my neighborhood sometime after midnight, feeling decadently sorry for myself. the streets were empty. i was passing mansions with darkened windows, cars carefully parked, gutters filled with blown blossoms. and i realized that there was nowhere else i'd rather be. red 'bush' stickers beneath the stop signs. ornate gables on victorian eaves. old-growth trees. the sound of my own steps. having nowhere to be, no one wondering or even aware what i'm doing. i suppose that this can be a lonesome sentiment if considered at the wrong time. i saw (and see) it as very fucking freeing. just like that, my sour mindset became very humorous, silly, personal. it is nice when i can kick my own ass a bit.
fucking freeing fucking freeing fucking freeing... go on, try it.
i read ruth reichl's 'garlic and sapphires'- reccommended. she was talking about blood thickening one elaborate meat sauce and i was salivating. and i'm a crunchy fucking vegetarian.
i own nary a pot now. MRE curries are actually quite tasty at room temperature. matzo soup is good at room temperature also.
it is all part of my plan to regress to a mental/physical dorm-room Zen. it is a pleasant feeling.
Friday, April 07, 2006
'the world will spin beside itself and suck you in'
visited my grandmother and cousin today. upon entering the house, they each grabbed a piece of my hair and pulled. "boing!" said my grandmother. i smiled politely. fresh from her catholic school experience with relatives in mexico, my cousin can fluently rattle off the rosary in spanish. i attempted to write everyone's names in arabic. my mother came by and we discussed toilets around the world. i drank too much coffee and got jittery. left the house around 5, feeling better the farther north i drove. ended up watching sparks erupt heavenward from bonfires along the beaches at golden gardens from the windfree enclave of my vehicle, writing scabrous dreck in my journal that is too venomous and insecure to publish here. it always feels so much better afterwards. i'm actually rather zingy now, though the headache has returned.
my grandmother gave me two of her paintings, 30-40 years old, apologizing all the while about how terrible they are. they are of leafless, gnarled trees- haunted-house trees. one is in lavender tones, one is yellow and brown. i love them. this is the stuff that is important. her side of the family is very interesting. my great-great-great-grandfather, james begg, apparently "washed up on the shores of scotland" with amnesia. he was a beggar, eventually ingratiating himself into the business world. he and his wife, anna sidey, immigrated from scotland to canada in 1823. his son, john begg, was born in ontario. he and his wife, margaret marie smyllie, moved to tennessee, where my great-grandmother was born. sarah jane begg married fred littlejohn. apparently someone along the line was a slaveowner.
"i have slaveowners on one side of the family and a nazi on the other?" i said. (my mom's father was a nazi youth in germany.) "and jews too!" my grandmother added cheerily.
i really wish i'd felt better during the visit. i have a pretty cool family. i don't show my appreciation enough.
i have a tendency to hold close that which is destructive and eschew/take for granted that which is ultimately pure and beneficial. this has always been a problem. i am either masochistic or just plain stupid; happily, i am also at the point where i shrug at the ramifications, rather than debase myself for bad choices. prendre est vivre, baby.
my grandmother gave me two of her paintings, 30-40 years old, apologizing all the while about how terrible they are. they are of leafless, gnarled trees- haunted-house trees. one is in lavender tones, one is yellow and brown. i love them. this is the stuff that is important. her side of the family is very interesting. my great-great-great-grandfather, james begg, apparently "washed up on the shores of scotland" with amnesia. he was a beggar, eventually ingratiating himself into the business world. he and his wife, anna sidey, immigrated from scotland to canada in 1823. his son, john begg, was born in ontario. he and his wife, margaret marie smyllie, moved to tennessee, where my great-grandmother was born. sarah jane begg married fred littlejohn. apparently someone along the line was a slaveowner.
"i have slaveowners on one side of the family and a nazi on the other?" i said. (my mom's father was a nazi youth in germany.) "and jews too!" my grandmother added cheerily.
i really wish i'd felt better during the visit. i have a pretty cool family. i don't show my appreciation enough.
i have a tendency to hold close that which is destructive and eschew/take for granted that which is ultimately pure and beneficial. this has always been a problem. i am either masochistic or just plain stupid; happily, i am also at the point where i shrug at the ramifications, rather than debase myself for bad choices. prendre est vivre, baby.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
lips part, pupils dilate, clock strikes midnight
just finished my 1st arabic class. i have had 3.5hrs of sleep. the tired dilerium led to inappropriate giggling as we attempted to form sounds that western mouths have no business uttering. the teacher is a smiley sort, very likeable. halfway through he excused himself, prayer rug rolled up under his arm. we learned the first 19 letters of the alphabet and 'i am...' the only other female in the class seems like a bit of a know-it-all, cardigan tightly buttoned. the other guys were all as self-consciously laughing as i was. that made me feel a bit less immature.
the weather was sunny, brilliant, warm. the leaves are budding. springtime makes me want to be in love. i was walking through an industrial area today, adjacent to some train tracks; a mallard duck was being casually followed by a female. they looked very out of their element. after the class i waited for the bus in the suddenly cold wind, nighttime sky, schoolbooks resting on my knees, chin in hands, suddenly feeling rather melancholy. i used to live a block from where the bus stop is. i thought about how my life has completely changed but yet hasn't really altered at all... throughout the maelstrom, i still think the same silly thoughts, still walk the same way, still employ the same mannerisms. there is actually great comfort in that. it is fundamental to have some sort of continuity, and if you are your own continuity, so much the better. i got on the bus and noticed someone had stuck a flower in the emergency handle. that was the fucking coolest thing i could have seen at that moment. i took a picture.
on the second bus i was sitting next to a man who noticed my books and started talking to me about the middle east. he had travelled through israel and egypt ~15yrs ago as part of a theater group. when he got off the bus he shook my hand.
the sky is cloudless tonight. the downtown buildings are positively glowing. the entire world seems like a well-crafted set piece right now. i feel liquid. you know that moment of absolute clarity before collapsing in sleep? when all the answers come, when all the plans you've ever fancied are tangible? that flicker of energy, seductiveness, compassion? and how all that enlightenment vanishes the instant you close your eyes? why do i usually feel the most omnipotent and sexual when i am too exhausted to do anything about it?
the weather was sunny, brilliant, warm. the leaves are budding. springtime makes me want to be in love. i was walking through an industrial area today, adjacent to some train tracks; a mallard duck was being casually followed by a female. they looked very out of their element. after the class i waited for the bus in the suddenly cold wind, nighttime sky, schoolbooks resting on my knees, chin in hands, suddenly feeling rather melancholy. i used to live a block from where the bus stop is. i thought about how my life has completely changed but yet hasn't really altered at all... throughout the maelstrom, i still think the same silly thoughts, still walk the same way, still employ the same mannerisms. there is actually great comfort in that. it is fundamental to have some sort of continuity, and if you are your own continuity, so much the better. i got on the bus and noticed someone had stuck a flower in the emergency handle. that was the fucking coolest thing i could have seen at that moment. i took a picture.
on the second bus i was sitting next to a man who noticed my books and started talking to me about the middle east. he had travelled through israel and egypt ~15yrs ago as part of a theater group. when he got off the bus he shook my hand.
the sky is cloudless tonight. the downtown buildings are positively glowing. the entire world seems like a well-crafted set piece right now. i feel liquid. you know that moment of absolute clarity before collapsing in sleep? when all the answers come, when all the plans you've ever fancied are tangible? that flicker of energy, seductiveness, compassion? and how all that enlightenment vanishes the instant you close your eyes? why do i usually feel the most omnipotent and sexual when i am too exhausted to do anything about it?
Friday, March 31, 2006
these hands are lucky
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?
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?
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.
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