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!