dancing is fucking sexy. and the charleston is amazing- there is so much to learn. i know the absolute basics thus far. an older man asked me to dance and i had to apologize for my foot-stomping ineptitude. i would much prefer to be the girl who glides across the room.
afterwards we went back to his lair and watched 'how to charleston' videos on youtube. there truly is someone, somewhere, who has done anything you could ever imagine- dance steps being one of the absolutely most benign- which is a both comforting and bewildering thought.
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i had my mri today. my face was acting up en route and when there. it feels a bit better now. what exactly does it feel like? it feels like my left sinus is completely clogged and something is squeezing the left side of my neck and jaw. it feels like i am wearing a latex turtleneck and need to wipe crap out of my eye. i don't know how to explain it without sounding completely fucking neurotic. it just feels- weird. it feels clausterphobic. it is extremely uncomfortable but doesn't hurt at all. clausterphobic is probably the most accurate term. it feels like i am being compressed, insiduously, by my own fucking body, in ways that are invisible to others but make me feel panicky and uneasy.
today is hot. it's in the eighties, sunny, quite lovely. i walked to the appointment in first hill, taking a picture of my funky-face-feeling self en route, mainly to see if it's distinguishable to others.
the fact that my hormones are utterly fucked up, i have the complexion of a filthy adolescent, and my uterus is trying to chew its way out of my loins has not helped my mindset today.
but oddly, happily: i am much more cheerful now. all i can do is what i'm doing. all i can do is roll with it. i know this. fuck, i try to remind myself. but as a fairly high-strung lass with impatience to accomplish everything NOW and not be inconvenienced by NOTHIN', this can be really fucking difficult to live by.
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i like being physically reminded to calm the fuck down. MS is quite handy for this.
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i tell you, though: it's a cruel bitch of a disease for anyone who already spends far too much time in their own head.
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tiresias, when he chases sounds, rolls his head in the most appealing way.
i spent the morning doing laundry, listening to 'anthology of bread', and finishing 'stiff.' 'stiff' is a fucking awesome book. i reread the chapter on the U Tennessee 'decomposition fields'- where they study how human bodies degenerate post-mortem as a means to solve crimes. which larvae arrive first? which gases are emitted? how does the gunge seep into the earth? when does the bloat of bacteria occur? i would actually love to study that. i was disheartened to learn that the mortuary science college in san fransisco shuttered its doors in 2002.
i actually met a woman who works in a funeral home a few weeks ago. "i love my job" she said, saucily, sincerely. i would not want to work in a funeral home; that goes against a lot of my personal philosophies about death and funerals tend to devolve into a "pity the living" slush. i liked the ideas about liquid nitrogen cadaver 'recycling', though- rather than cremation, which is not particularly eco-friendly and has been responsible for spewing mercury gases from incinerated dental fillings into the air, you're dried, frozen, and shattered. you can nutrify a treasured plant.
my great-aunt had the ashes of her husband scattered over her roses. when i was a kid, i refused to play in her backyard because the idea creeped me out so much. now it seems quite romantic. were that my situation, i would have thought "hey, you" every time i saw i new flower bloom.
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