poked and prodded

so i just got a piercing, and i am riding the resultant giddy wave. i needed to do SOMETHING. 2 piercings, one captive-bead ring, halfway up my right ear. it looks pretty nifty, if i do say so. it was a very impulsive move. i was walking down broadway and saw an open sign alit.
what did i do in the dusky hours prior? drove around whilst blaring "it's a rainy day, sunshine girl" (i need to rotate the music in my car), read the new issue of people magazine (i mean, a dense and provocative work of literature...), and was witness to something very surreal: traffic around 'fraternity row' in the u-district was horrible, and i was immediately grouchy because i was stuck on a hill with a stick shift, but then! the din of many merry voices rang forth, and suddenly there were about one hundred people carrying bass drums, tubas, and other cumbersome instruments running across the road, congregating on the side street, and jumping into a very commendable version of 'louie louie', complete with synchronized bows and dips. it made me smile. actually, it put me in a really good mood.
i have been struggling with the admitted stupidity of living here. i keep thinking "seattle, prove yourself! justify your exhorbinant (misspelled) rent, your horrible traffic, the soul-sucking commute, your lack of indoor smoking, the nine months of no local soul mates with propensity for fuckable music, varied cuisine, grassy lounging, and pop-culture obsessiveness..." and then i see things like tonight and i exhale langorously and think "okay. okay, seattle, you wily maiden... that was pretty good."

dammit!

i keep vowing that i will never contact him, numbers deleted from my telephone, knowing that it is all a toxic shitstorm to nowhere... complicated by the annoying knowledge that he's the only one who seemed to properly understand, or at least empathize with (same thing?) the nasty, dark corners of my personality. so i had to go fucking read his fucking blog. articulate asshole. thanks for the posterior shout-out! grr, i say.
anyhow! it is suddenly rather nippy in seattle proper, to my glee. i walked around feeling saucy and sunlit for a good part of the day before realizing that my sweater was buttoned unevenly. i am slowly slogging through 'heat', bill buford (not the drummer), which is deeply entertaining and makes things like uncured lardo sound almost appetizing. his mentor in italy told him to "live like a butcher. butchers do not sleep. they eat nothing but meat, then go home and make love." carne, carnal, flesh, flesh. there is something quite sexy about that. my friend said "it's too bad you're a vegetarian. there are a lot of good restaurants in tacoma", then began describing a hole-in-the-wall mexican joint, grocer in the front, butcher in the middle, a tiny taqueria in the back "with FRESH meat!" i then admitted to him my recent shrimp cravings, unfulfilled... but for how long?
yes, moderation... i am an adult, after all. i should be able to balance my internal and INSANE hedonism with a respectable public veneer. it is becoming unflatteringly apparent in the last few weeks/months how much i smothered a lot of fun, wackadoo, irresponsible spontanaeity whilst wed. i keep reminding myself that i am only 27 years old... old enough to know better, young enough to do it anyway.
i must venture back into the sun now.

dangerous levels of hedonism

got ridiculously stoned last night. it was enjoyable. i am falling off the fucking wagon. i feel like a rubber band about to snap. all i want to do is get severely intoxicated and fuck wantonly. i am having difficulty concentrating at work. the self-imposed moral chastity of the last few years is gravely tenuous. i keep thinking "why the fuck not?" ...but i am enmeshed deeply enough in this new, pure-of-mind&body 'habit' that i feel quite guilty and stupid for even considering the alternatives.
perhaps it's just remembering who i used to be... who i still am and always was, but primly denied. perhaps i am simply the sort who is meant to be high and devil-may-care, flighty flighty flighty.
(and i am also the detrimentally introverted nerd who wastes precious time typing a fucking solliloquy about it instead.)

i've got it bad!

spent the last 6 hours of work in surgery... handed it over to another tech when my shift ended. bilateral sacral-iliac fracture repair, conducted by the cheery surgeon who actually TALKS, though the surgery was a fucking nightmare and nothing was connecting properly and he would grow rather quiet, but at least he likes classic rock, and 'godzilla' came on, and keesha (the keeshond) did very well under anesthesia, on my watch at least.
i feel like leaping around now. standing in one spot has never been my forte.
coming to this cafe when i obviously have nothing sentient to offer- i do so because it is my 'third place' and i am too wired to go home.
'think pink' was on the radio on the way here. they played 'set the controls for the heart of the sun' and i recalled laying in my bed in nice, headphones, large windows showcasing streetlight-lit leaves. that was a marvelous place. if ever one is shabbily moneyed in the cote d'azur, do stay at les orangers hostel. it was my home for six weeks.
one good thing about france: i would never hear 'hot for teacher' on the hi-fi, as i am currently tortured with here.

virility? peurility?

i am a pile of fucking nerves. zingy, in an unpleasant way, as if i've had too much caffeine. i want to talk to somebody. no one to talk to. spent the morning decoupaging, the afternoon walking in sunlight. bought fun underpants. got a pile of free records: traffic, canned heat, 12 years after. did the crossword whilst listening to exceptional music. it has been a good day. so why do i feel as if i'm not yet privy to a horrible event that has already happened?
i allow my world to become far too small, at great detriment. tunnel vision. it has always been a problem.
the longan fruit thing has been monetarily curbed, for the next few days at least. in its place: banana chips dipped in peanut butter. fuck yeah, man.

not sexual

the last few days have gracefully illustrated the phenomenon i mentioned earlier: glorious moments that must end, and once ended, the disorienting emptiness and the myopia of "is that my life? did that really happen?" perhaps it is because i am existing on 3 hours of sleep. i've spent time with one of my coworkers, someone that i really fucking clicked with, someone who seems to just get it right away. he felt like a friend i'd known for years. we talked until 6 am... or whenever it gets light around here. later today, at the pointless, 'motivating your staff 101'-esque employee meeting, watery bloodshot smiles were exchanged, and that was all. and i left tacoma with fantastic marigold sunlight, listening to the fucking velvet underground whilst mired in dreadful traffic, and i felt very fucking sad.
there is a definite lyricism to pointlessness. walking through the graveyard on queen anne hill under a perfectly full moon. staring up at the radio towers. the bus driver wearing teddy-bear antennae and greeting us with disarming cheer. the vista above salmon beach in tacoma, staring out at the narrows bridge, the beach several hundred perilous feet straight down, the trees sighing. it is nice to be reminded that this is how life can still be, how it is and was, how i want very badly to be back in those moments and revel in the novelty of it all. being back at the stiflingly hot cafe, arms sticking to the grimy counter, indulging my girlish solliloquy, seems a bit more pathetic now.
fuck yes... 'into the mystic' just came on. all right, i take it back; there is beauty and poignance in every facet of every moment. this is a damn fucking good song.
i haven't been this tired in a while.

this actually sounds rather tasty

*j'aime les etats-unis!*

Newest Fair Food: Deep-Fried Coca-Cola
POSTED: 9:35 am PDT September 5, 2006
DALLAS -- There are fried Twinkies and even fried candy bars.
Now, vendor Abel Gonzales Jr. has come up with a new artery-clogging concoction for the State Fair of Texas. It's fried Coke.
Gonzales deep-fries Coca-Cola-flavored batter. He then drizzles Coke fountain syrup on it. The fried Coke is topped with whipped cream, cinnamon sugar and a cherry. Gonzales said the fried Coke came about just from thinking aloud.
Gonzales' diet-buster wins the creativity honor at the second-annual Big Tex Choice Awards Contest.
Judges for the contest chose Shirley London's Fried Praline Perfection as the tastiest fried delicacy.
The two won out among 26 entries such as fried macaroni and cheese and a deep-fried cosmopolitan.
London said she came up with the fried pralines idea after buying pralines at the fair last year. She plans to sell the pralines alongside fried marshmallows.
Gonzales achieved notoriety in 2005 with the fried peanut butter, banana, and jelly sandwich -- selling an estimated 25,000 of the treats, according to the fair's Web site. The site said London got media attention in 2004 with her fried marshmallows on-a-stick.
This is the same state fair that brought about the corn dog. The Web site said Neil and Carl Fletcher conjured up a sweetened corn-battered wiener on-a-stick and sold it for 15 cents during the 1942 State Fair of Texas.
The fair begins Sept. 29.
Distributed by Internet Broadcasting Systems, Inc. The Associated Press contributed to this report. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

huddle closer for warmth

i get my mental high just as my physical self succumbs to exhaustion... thus, bloodshot and weathered, i am out on the town. work was busy but not hideously so, and coexistence was blessedly smooth. 'careful with that axe, eugene' was on the radio during the drive home- such a fucked-up song, undoubtedly the stimulus for '10:15 saturday night.'
i had a harold & maude hankering last night, which happens fairly frequently, so watched the movie for about the 30th time. it is still my favorite. saw another hal ashby film, 'one final thing', that was completely different but almost as wonderful, and i recommend it heartily.
one of my coworkers has an uncanny resemblence to bud cort as harold... mixed with andrew mccarthy. while i consider it a positive thing, i am reluctant to tell him.
my mind is racing today. it is crashing into things en route. unfocused. this is usually the babbly trill before the thudding doledrums.

I Take No Pride in Mocking the Bereaved…
Posted by DAVID SCHMADER at 02:52 PM
However, this “Wanted” poster, found on a number of street posts in the Central District, demands comment.
Okay. I understand that people can care deeply about ferrets, which for a certain kind of person reportedly make delightful pets.
However, I sincerely doubt that the average person, coming upon a loose ferret on the street, will be willing to lure it indoors and feed it yogurt. Far more likely, the person will do everything in his or her power to beat the disgusting hair-snake to death, perhaps with a shovel.
Still, if anyone’s seen Cookie, please give Pam a call.
In the meantime, here’s a most disturbing photo of “The Easter Ferret.”
permalink discuss in forums post comments (11)

red at night, sailor's delight

"a little bit of loving makes it all go right." -buddy holly
this quote, humorously enough, accompanied an article about male impotence in today's paper.
my work-angst was assuaged somewhat by a late-night chat with the boss. after, as is my nature, i sprawled in bed and panicked about the repurcussions of my confessional. i fucking cried at work and everything... i never have been able to control that, one of my most hated qualities. i am a fucking adult and still snivel when my ego gets bruised. the only time i don't cry is when i'm on antidepressants and ALL of my bodily fluids dry up. that should be an advertising slogan: i hereby trademark it, now.
so i was laying in bed, hecatomb kneading whorishly into my left axilla, wondering why i've been especially high-strung of late. it then occured to me that tomorrow would have been my three-year anniversary. since we are still technically married, i suppose it still is. and the thought fills me with complete revulsion. i want to pretend the entire era never happened. i no longer feel guilty about not missing him. i don't miss anything about it. but something about Official Dates are unreasonably daunting... as if tomorrow is a day that, in another world, with another outlook, i would be celebrating lavishly. in another world i would be laughing with my husband, and our child would be almost two years old, and we would actually converse and coexist. having clarity of how fucked everything was and is... that is the horrible part.
i spent much of today in a grim stupor, walking through downtown under maxfield parrish skies, reading at elliott bay, admiring luxe furnishings through store windows... wanting to be fucked in the worst possible way. blared "black dog." drank 'emporer's warrior potion' tea, which i ordered because the name was so wonderful. bought more fucking longan fruit, which i am currently obsessed with (an obsession that should be tempered soon, for they are $4.59 a pound at the import grocer). aside: the original sign for the fruit said "logan nut" (asian signage, grr), so i spent yesterday at work babbling about this glorious new fruit i'd discovered, and no one knew what i was talking about, and now i know why.
currently, i am in a much better mood.
whilst showering i started compiling a list of good words.
solliloquy. luscious. apogee. salubrious. glee. opisthotonous. yes. charlatan. ennui. mydriasis. squishy. xylophone. clostridia.
more to follow.

sometimes i fucking hate people. no, this is a fallacy. i hate unwarranted rudeness. i hate dealing with miserable humans who take out their self-loathing on the rest of the world. i hate huffy eye-rolling narcissists who bitch to everyone but whom they are bitching about. the human dynamics of my job reminds me of ostracism at a junior high cafeteria table.

deep blue collar

surreal work moment: the male dalmation with urethral and bladder stones, unable to do more than trickle, sedated and held down by 2 technicians while the doctor tried unsuccessfully to catheterize. "i need an extruder!" she barked, and i was the lucky, gloveless one to lean over the dog's piss-dampened body and unsheath its penis... for what ended up being about 15 minutes... as the other new doctor, a surgeon a mere 4 years older than myself (very quiet guy... kisses the asses of the dvms, ignores the nurses...) fiddled around with another catheter... all of us ended up being covered in various layers of lube, urine, dalmation hair, and saline. never did get the fucking thing passed. cost constraints... euthanized. i did a urinalysis afterwards. unneutered, 10 years old... the sample was filled with tiny urate crystals and many motionless sperm. canine sperm looks exactly the way a photograph of human sperm does.
and as i stood there, hand cramping, slightly cyanotic and unspeakably ugly dog penis drying out in my hand, i thought about how peculiar my vocation is. i had that thought again today as the 40#, dead weight spaniel i was holding proceeded to urinate all over my shoe. or when i was syrine-feeding a baby squirrel. or when i was doing a cardiac stick to euthanize a stray cat with a maggot-filled abscessed foot. at one point one of the techs emerged from surgery (pylorectomy on toodles the poodle) and loudly proclaimed that the treatment area "smelled like butt."
but as i was driving home, through the forgiving glow of downtown seattle, "ride on" played, my favorite ac/dc song, and i got a renewed burst of energy... or a boost of morale, at least. 'tis the li'l things.

unfortunately mired in a cynical world

i already knew this...


Your answers suggest you are an Idealist
The four aspects that make up this personality type are:
Summary of Idealists
Make sense of the world using inner values
Focus on personal growth and the growth of others
Think of themselves as bright, forgiving and curious
May sometimes appear stubborn
More about Idealists
Idealists put time and energy into developing personal values that they use as a guide through life. They may seek fulfilment by helping others improve themselves and often want to make the world a better place. Idealists only share their inner values with people they respect.
Idealists are the most likely group to say they are vegetarian, according to a UK survey.
Idealists enjoy discussions about a wide range of topics, particularly those that deal with the future. They are typically easy-going and flexible, but if their values are challenged they may refuse to compromise.
In situations where they can’t use their talents or are unappreciated, Idealists may have trouble expressing themselves and withdraw. Under extreme stress, Idealists may become very critical of others, or lose confidence in their own ability to cope.
Recognition for their work is important to Idealists; however, they are also good at spotting false praise.
Idealist Careers
Idealists are often drawn to jobs where they can help people reach their potential. They are also attracted to careers that allow artistic creativity.
It's important to remember that no survey can predict personality type with 100 percent accuracy. Experts say that we should use personality type to better understand ourselves and others, but shouldn't feel restricted by our results.
Overall results
The graph below shows the percentage of people with each personality type out of everyone who has taken this test.
Big Thinkers
Counsellors
Go-getters
Idealists
Innovators
Leaders
Masterminds
Mentors
Nurturers
Peacemakers
Performers
Providers
Realists
Resolvers
Strategists
Supervisors
[
{
'PercentShare' => {
'leader' => '5.04973866127129',
'counsellor' => '5.75788231326926',
'idealist' => '8.69162030011802',
'supervisor' => '5.70730062384084',
'big_thinker' => '6.68521328612376',
'peacemaker' => '5.80003372112629',
'provider' => '3.55757882313269',
'strategist' => '6.70207384926657',
'performer' => '3.44798516270443',
'nurturer' => '7.91603439554881',
'mastermind' => '5.90119709998314',
'resolver' => '6.42387455741022',
'go_getter' => '4.10554712527398',
'innovator' => '8.63260832911819',
'realist' => '11.3555892766818',
'mentor' => '4.26572247513067'

What makes you squirm and say 'yuck'? Test your sensitivity to disgust

i was once told i had tie-dyed eyes

that decadent melancholy when the air on exposed skin is like the last touch you know you'll get from your true love... yeah... that was yesterday afternoon. i went to one of my favorite places, the conservatory at volunteer park, and drew the plants i was most fascinated by. euphorbia balsamifera: "this plant radiates peace," i scrawled next to the picture. apparently i was feeling rather schlocky. i sat on a park bench and watched people watlk their dogs, long shadows over lurid green. "bin gay?" someone had written on the concrete beneath me. i wondered how many acts of sodomy had occured where i sat.
irvine welch did a reading at elliott bay books. i got there in time to hear a story of a man who thinks he's accidentally put a hex on someone, so he goes to a witch to see if it is, in fact, possible, and reversible. he has no money. she says she can only help him if he has sex with her. she is a corpulent, homely woman. but he does. in grotesque detail. irvine welch stories make me want to never stop bathing. the man himself: about six feet tall, bald, untucked t-shirt, delightfully incoherent brogue, smiled a lot. someone asked if he got his ideas from personal experiences. "based on what i just read, i am reluctant to answer that" he answered. he said that the early twenties and mid-forties are the ages he's most intrigued by, because they are both eras of dissonance, personal reevaluation, confusion... when you question who and why you are. i agree. afterwards i walked through downtown, which grows incredibly seedy at night, and waited at the bus stop as a tiny, glowering man slumped over in his electronic wheelchair glided back and forth. he would stop in front of me and glare from the corner of his eye. it was rather unnerving, especially since his head only came up to my waist. "hello" i said politely. he hacked a bit and drifted off.
today: triage, relentless, hot sun, nonstop running. one of my coworkers made fresh rolls in the lounge. they seemed to put everyone in a good mood. i fucking love my job. it is almost one a.m. and i am still riding the high of competency. i am not even going to waste time on worrying when it will abate.
blasphemous confession: i really do not like elvis' music, never have, and i never need to hear any of his songs again. the pop-culture, peacock-windowed, sweat-soaked myth: transfixing. thank you, random sirius station, for reminding me of this.

sinking into siesta

met with a friend from work to see camper van and cracker on tuesday. they were brilliant, as usual. they also encapsulate the flux of the last 8 months. the last time i saw them was the night i got the apt in seattle, the 1st place, and thereby solidified the end of my marriage. it is interesting to note how much fucking happier i am now. and the songs still sound fantastic. after the show we went to beth's, ubiquitous beth's, and then she crashed on my sofa. it is an amazing feeling, to have a friend. i sound like a pathetic little kid. things are looking up. again.

"aunt jessica was dreaming about food... LOTS of food..."

it is true: 'magical mystery tour' is a fucking dreadful movie. i couldn't even watch it straight through. the only redeeming parts: the zabriskie-pointiness of 'flying', and seeing bare breasts in a beatles film. (aside: did not know until today that 'death cab for cutie' got their name from this. i always thought it was a randomly horrible monniker.)

this has been a very good day. it is hot, the sun was shining, and i felt more frivolous than i had in a while. went to hempfest. it is held at myrtle edwards park, which encircles the 'shore' between downtown and the grain silos of interbay; the water was sparkly and the air smelt of marijuana and barbequing meat. i was offered a hit before i even got there; i politely declined. the sweaty masses were a pleasing olio of grey-haired, tie-dyed couples and teenagers in paraphenalia t-shirts. lots of fake marijuana leis and coronets. a man on stilts. i bought a hardbound book from the hare krishnas. learned i can qualify for medical marijuana, should i desire... so shall begin my second career as a dealer? one of the bands was absolutely horrible, a tuneless drunken lemmy, if one can imagine. the other i heard was a reggae band, of course, but it made me quite cheerful.
i have been resonating from the movie i saw last night. 'lost in translation'... hadn't gotten around to it until now. my fucking god. the ending was brilliant. i was laying on my floofy rug in a shirt and underwear, 2 in the morning, and i audibly said 'oh god' and began to cry. his smile was the best part.
loneliness allows for instant rapport. i know this well. would such situations work outside the moment? i think not.
when i was in paris i met a guy from zambia -white, of the british-invader variety- and we impulsively went out for the evening. we walked to the eiffel tower, he bought me a flower, i don't remember what we talked about, but it was so marvelous to be in that fantastic, succulent city and SHARE it with someone that everything had an exaggeratedly sexy patina. we got back to the hostel and mauled one another in the stairwell. and then... morning, AWKWARDNESS, a feeling of the night before not being any part of my life- not my dull little existence!- and he left town, and i left a few days later, and... that was that. i must say, though, that being by myself the next day was even more depressing, because i'd had a taste of how fun and rich things could be.
everyone is 18 at heart, and believes in true love, and feels that same giddy rush when the right person grins back... and nothing, nothing is more sensual than a touch with nervous restraint. everything after that is, in a small way, a bit of a letdown.

"get thee to a nunnery!"

yesterday was a well-controlled clusterfuck at work- i was floor tech- felt harried and competent and useful. stayed an hour and a half late. got into my car around 11.30 pm and started for home... and the exit onto the freeway was closed... and the high of work dissolved with a thud, and i was left alone in the dark with my neuroses and a complete disorientation of my surroundings, frittering around the Bad Part of Tacoma (insert "all of tacoma is a Bad Part" joke here), having a full-on fucking panic attack. my hand started to feel odd, heavy, stiff, and terror over 'is this a new bout of symptoms? what happens next? what if i never recover? how am i going to get up the stairs at my place? did i not appreciate the last 10 hours of physical fluidity?'... i took deep breaths. i smoked a few more cigarettes. i sang along with the radio. i held my arm out the open window and fully relished the tangible air. and eventually i found the way to the freeway. a deceptively tidy metaphor, that.
sometimes i really hate my mind... like a chatty, sloppy roommate who lolls around all day... i want to slam the damn door in their face.
things really are good... apart from my fear of the unknown/impending, i am asymptomatic. i dig my vocation. my place feels more like mine. i walked downtown tonight after i got home from work. it was a purely through-glass-observer feeling, and not a terrible one. i passed restaurants with windows open and people smiling in candlelight; one place had a banquet table laden with wine glasses and the group was clapping and taking photographs of each other as i walked by. celebrations... big events in their lives... and just another day in mine... interesting. the cinerama premiered 'snakes on a plane' tonight; on the radio they were interviewing people who'd been camping on the sidewalk since yesterday. when i walked past the movie had already started and the street was littered with debris and someone had written in chalk "this way to SoaP heaven!" and i laughed out loud.
when i got to the silly internet place that i love because it stays open until 1 am and they have good tea and it's always incredibly hot inside, 'i'll be your mirror' was playing, and i had a serene solidified moment of "this is all i need", and i feel much better now.

running the risk of dislodging the clot

i was relieved of my left upper wisdom tooth today. the extraction took all of 2 seconds, with me saying "seriously? is that all?" through a wad of gauze. i haven't even taken a painkiller. tops are the way to go, man. when my bottom 2 were removed it was 24 hrs of blurred hell and gerbilled cheeks. my face isn't even swollen now.
curled up on a purple velour chair at the university bookstore to read time magazine- excellent article about 'everyday life in baghdad', accompanied by a horrifying photograph of an iraqi boy in a plastic bag at a morgue. there i was, curled on a purple velour chair... sleeves pushed up, head exposed, nothing more than sunshine and harmless transient urine hitting the picture windows, freedom to amble about, freedom to smoke, to read almost whatever i want, able to live alone and have a job and drive a car and use tampons and have an iud and get a divorce and get an abortion and go to a dentist and have a sanitary, efficient experience... fuck... i could go on ad infinitum, but shan't. nothing is appreciated until it is threatened, really, and this can be applied to everything.
shall cease the stoner epiphanies now, i swear.
placed my first female dog urinary catheter yesterday! in a stray chow with a shattered pelvis! it was a moment of triumph. i was grateful that my boss was there to witness it; i fear she may think of me as a hyperactive, albeit earnest simpleton.
i am drinking hot tea against doctor's orders...
so a while back i wrote some chirpy dreck about 'this REALLY good song, 'i'm feeling good' or something', and have spent the last few months quietly obsessing over who the singer might be. appropriately, my humbling enlightenment came at a fucking barnes and noble... it's michael fucking buble`, whom i know nothing about except that his name is usually in magazines in the same breath as, say, sarah maclachlan... so i always assumed it meant 'music for forty-something divorcees to fuck to.' nevertheless, it's still a pretty good song... egad.

perhaps it's the weather, hot sun and frigid shade, buildings appearing clean-lined and shiny- autumnal clime, shall i say. this weather reminds me of certain things to the point of aching. i was on the bus, light slanting through smears, looking out over the (from a distance) brick austerity of the u-district (up close it is a rather shitty neighborhood), and i felt homesick for my past. does that make sense? i thought of riding my bike through the rare snow here, coming home to someone, making love in the afternoon, hungover mornings with hungover company, kicking dead leaves on seneca street, the swingset at elderberry park. immediately i have to consciously remind myself that throughout this nostagic ballyhoo, the present -the well-lit, very satisfactory present- is slipping by. and then the fact that i have to REMIND myself of such plebian notions makes me rather depressed.
but when the bus got downtown i witnessed a purse-snatching (a purse-snatching! it sounds so indignant, so nellie bly!) and the resultant busload of comment cheered me somewhat.
my landlords are out of town and i am watering the hillside of flora in their absence. the neighbor on the other side of them, brian, came out to talk whilst i hosed. he has lived in the building for "embarrassingly enough, 20 years." nice guy. apparently the building was built during the '62 world's fair. it is lovely to live among plants. my sunflowers have already died.

trivial details matter the most!
1. what is in my refrigerator?
red grapes, black grapes (not as good), organic butter, fake mayonnaise, soy sauce, mushrooms, unopened honey-mustard salad dressing, hi-cal canned cat food for the helix, iced green tea in a water bottle
2. what is in my car?
disco ball, glowing octopus, nodding armadillo, dirty scrub tops, empty cans, cigarette butts in a bottle, 'from a basement on a hill', bag of pennies stolen from my yelm days
3. last movie seen?
match point or happiness... it's been a while
4. last song heard that didn't cause revulsion?
u2 'zooropa'
5. last book read?
'the way it spozed to be'- nonfiction of a first-year teacher at an inner-city school and the CALAMITIES that ensue
6. new experience of the last 7 days:
seeing a spinal column and the connecting nerves on a dog having disc surgery

allow me to interrupt myself! disc surgery is refreshingly primitive. the incision is done with laser and electrocautery, the inflamed disc-bits are chiseled out, and the column is left bare at the surgery site, covered with cellophaney material so the tissue doesn;t stick to the nerves during healing. the skin is stitched up and voila. i imagine it is not too dissimilar in humans. the dog recovered on valium and morphine. she was still sleeping when my shift ended.

"a woman, a dog and a walnut tree, the more you beat them, the better they be." -george sanders

spent the day sweaty, watching couples with their arms around one another, hands lazily gliding up backs, giggling smugly into warm necks. i am not bitter. perhaps slightly nostalgic and rueful... or still residually revolted by the clusterfuck crowd at the show last night. went with a coworker and her friend to see hell's belles (the female ac/dc cover band) in tacoma. they are amazing and i wholeheartedly recommend anyone with the means to see them immediately. but NOT if they are playing in an area near an army base, for the crowd will be rife with thick-necked groping fools. the first man to fondle me was, truly, all of five feet tall. he followed me around, stroking my arms, my torso, until i finally told him to "please fucking STOP right now", or something. then there was an older man with a MOUSTACHE who kept trying to put his arm around me... it's never the appealing guys. perhaps that is what makes them appealing.
my coworker was drunk and in a very good mood. i was sober, fresh off a long shift at work where i was squinting into a microscope all day (interrupted by the exploratory on the dog who'd eaten a rock... the rock was in the colon... i got to glove up and dig it out through the anus... such a glamorous career). her friend was also pretty sober. we stepped outside for a cigarette (no longer can one smoke indoors in washington, bastards) and agreed that it would be a much better show if it was all-female.
today: bought sunflowers and a suzanne vega cd that i used to obsess over when i lived in fremont. played 'headshots' repeatedly. the moon is almost full, the air still heavy. everything up to this moment has a path, a story. the onus of being in the same general vicinity over the last few years: i have a clear recollection of what i was once thinking, doing, hoping, and where it's gotten me now.
okay, fine... i want to get thrown down and ravaged. i want a novelty fuck.

peace? could this be? for now, it is. I AM DOCUMENTING IT FOR FUTURE PERUSAL, or disbelief. things are looking up.

first the digs, then the lovin'?

i was moving until 7 am. i watched the sun rise from my new lair. i feel really, really fucking good.
there is nothing more disgusting than cleaning an apartment i am moving out of. mostly unbeknownst to me, i'd been living on a fairly substantial layer of cat hair, potting soil, claw sheaths, dried-out plant bugs (they look like tiny shrimp...?), shards of cat litter... as well as a tub lined with black mold... and i swept with a broom that reeked of cat piss. i didn't think i'd let the place go as badly as i apparently did. it was also an icky reminder of how i'd ignored the half-assed way the place had been cleaned before i ever moved in; behind the stove was a huge hair-encrusted food stain that extended to the refrigerator door... and i never used the stove while i lived there. yesterday was an unrelenting series of grime, sweat, bruises, and stairs, blessedly interrupted for a few hours when my folks drove up in their el camino (the "conquista"!) to help me move the big stuff. we went to sushi afterwards. veggie tempura rolls are highly recommended.
there is a window above the (lemon yellow!) bathtub in my new lair. i took a shower whilst listening to my neighbors talk and cook something that smelled very good from the open kitchen window below. i am able to admire the hillside of petunias and feel the breeze whilst the upper half of my body is naked to the world. it is a glorious feeling.
tiresias (the blind cat) navigated his first staircase, and a brady bunch-esque one at that, with admirable aplomb. i only saw him fall once (7 stairs up?). all the beasts seem extremely happy with the new digs. perhaps they were tired of slovenly collegiate shitholes as well.
i did come to one realization: i have too many fucking plants. 4 carloads of plants, actually. i may never move again.

give it a whirl, girl. be like the squirrel.

saw the raconteurs on thursday. they fucking rocked! i felt like a bit of a buffoon for going by myself, but once the music started it was actually preferable to be alone. 'your blue veins' and 'store bought bones', in particular, were insane live. it made up for the white stripes debacle of last summer- the concert at the gorge that i ended up missing.
i officially move tomorrow. i am shirking my responsibilities at the moment, obviously. there is only so much i can do with all my rubbish still in the apartment. i am packing things that i haven't touched since unpacking them 7 months ago. i am excited. it will be poignant to leave the capitol hill lair, though. i have a profound fondness for this place- what it's represented, most of all. i was laying on the filthy carpet this afternoon, reading 'the smithsonian', helix asleep on my ass, and it started raining for the first time in months, loudly hitting the leaves outside the open window. i will miss that. i will miss the perpetual bathtub leak and the senile toilet that requires holding the handle down for the entire length of the flush. i will miss the misaligned shoji screens and the '50's sliding kitchen cabinets and the 1940's oven that never worked but looked really cool. i will miss the ceiling fan and the silver radiator and the built-in shelves and the escher painting i glued to the medicine cabinet.
i will not miss the bad music that my neighbors enjoy, or the shit parking, or the dungeon of a laundry room, or the leaking ceiling, or none of the non-sliding cabinet doors latching, or the obnoxious drunks shrieking on the street at 3 am. the other night i was on the front steps of the building, circa 12.30 am, and nonchalantly watched a man urinate against the side of the building across the street: an older guy, fairly average in appearance (i.e not a blatant vagrant). i thought, 'hmm. i hope he doesn't piss on my car next.' it will be nice to not have those thoughts any more. in my new hood, people will break into my vehicle, but they probably won't want to climb up the hill just to micturate on it.
one of my coworkers just returned from alaska. loved skagway, hated juneau. "it's the most horrible place on earth" he said. "it made me very angry." his brother has lived there for a few months, "so now he's like a local, all gross..." "did he grow a beard?" someone interrupted. "yeah, but he can't really grow a beard, so it's all patchy..."

'i don't know' is a waste of life

obviously i had not been 'letting it out', emotionally. tense from a long and painful conversation the night before, feeling horribly sad and guilty, fretting about moving and weird 'symptoms' and the fear that i am on the precipice of making yet another life-changing and potentially catastrophic decision... i was back tech at work, the one responsible for the hospitalized goings-on, and an IVDD bulldog was admitted with a slew of treatment orders. i spent a good 15 minutes trying to place a catheter in one of the veins not already fucked up by the referring DVM; the doctor kept coming over and making condescending comments; the assistant was being far mopre patient than he needed to be; i was growing more and more frustrated and abruptly, to my complete mortification, i began to cry. "i need to go" i remember mumbling to the assistant. "i'm sorry." i locked the door to the bathroom and sobbed into a paper towel. it was stupid then and it is stupid now, but i have to say, i felt much calmer afterwards. everyone at work that noticed my little breakdown was very nice and understanding. i feel immense gratitude that i work among pretty cool people- people that i have also seen behave neurotically and get stressed out and act obnoxiously on occasion- all traits that make me like them much more.
i was exhausted by the time my 12 hr shift ended. driving home feeling residually morose. stopped at the store and noticed my strabismus acting up behind my glasses, making me feel that i was walking at a tilt, a creepy after-hours drug addict despite my ER scrubs. in the nearly deserted parking lot (past 2 am at this point) a woman in the car next to mine said she liked my bumper sticker ("we are creating enemies faster than we can kill them"). we ended up standing in the parking lot of the QFC talking for about forty minutes... about everything. family, spirituality, northern california in the '70's, grocery shopping when you're hungry, the weird and wonderful coincidences of life. she was 58 years old with a very melodic voice. the cynic in me kept trying to detect a glimmer of insanity in her mannerisms -for i am the only sane person that lurks around the grocery store at 2 am, correct- but couldn't. she was like a fucking angel saying everything i needed at that moment to hear; all i needed, i suppose, was another warm and cognizant human being to remind me that we're all going through life, and that it's going to be okay. i drove home feeling like i was either going to start crying again or accidentally bash my car into a wall.
twelve hours later, hot and sunny outside, in the cool confines of the libbrary with my apartment slowly beginning to unravel many blocks away, it is one of those instances (these usually last only a few minutes, but sometimes much longer) when, if asked what would be the one thing that would make me the most happy, i would have no idea what to say.

"this guy's nobody, and if he's somebody, i don't give a fuck." -john gotti

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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?

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.

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."

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!)

!!!!

according to a (very biased!) online survey, i am a histrionic narcissist! oh my god! i know, i couldn't believe it either!

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.

'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.

novelty sought

i got hired full-time at the tacoma ER. i am happy. just wanted to share.

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?

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?

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.

i don't know what happened here. actually, it had to do with me getting irritated about something and over-pressing madly.

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.

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"...

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.

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.

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?

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.