according to the cuss-o-meter (whose site i will not link to because it contains their 'dating site', and i have obviously lofty standards):
Around 31.3% of the pages on your website contain cussing.
This is 213% MORE than other websites who took this test.
...to which i say, that is fucking right.
today, day 2 of massage school, i undressed under a sheet held in a respectful tent by my polite, male partner. there were 26 of us in the room- 12 'drapers', 12 'drapees', 2 instructors. i learned: one should not wear cordoroys when trying to undress under and between cotton sheets. nor should one ribaldly rip off one's shirt and render it inside-out when trying to redress under same sheets.
and everyone, everyone, is self-conscious. i think. i know that, once faced with the rest of the world's scrutiny, i am. my 'survival' mechanism: i am happy in my home (my body, my skin) unto myself. your judgments only reflect on you. i am far too classy a broad to nitpick your anatomy, so leave me the fuck alone.
overall i was totally, weirdly cool with it.
but i broke out in a silly sweat when having to drape him. i didn't want to fuck up. i feel the same way when i have to speak in public. he was very nice. he has had many massages and calmly instructed me on what to do. we are to "hold the leg as if it's a baguette." we were also told to "not hold the leg as if it's a flailing anaconda." the instructors are great. it is simply the giddy childish waves of "i really want to learn this and be good at it NOW and fuck, i don't know ANYTHING yet"- scary, the rug pulled out, as though i am five years old again. someday this will all be automatic and i will LAUGH and LAUGH over how deer-in-headlights i once was. but that 'was' is still now.
i hope i can do this. i hope my fucking body doesn't fuck with me.
i am on the full dose of avonex. no one knows i have anything aberrant...
this is both a source of inflated pride and further isolation.
whenever i (frequently) feel neurotic and damaged, i think "no one around me has any idea. how would i even say something? and why should i? they're living their own lives and certainly don't wish to be burdened by someone else's weird abstract shit. no, i'll just soldier on, alone, because i'm so, like, good at that, and so well-adjusted and shit." or similar.
i am far more frightened of what i may or may not do to sabotage something really fucking cool, than by anything reality could possibly toss at me.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
well, that passed
i am such a fucking embarrassment to myself sometimes. i cannot even relate to what i was prattling on about in posts prior.
just watched 'stop-loss.' i had lofty hopes, having been floored by 'boys don't cry', but i was decidedly unimpressed by this one. j was similarly disgruntled. we tend to be on the same page cinematically. for a proper war movie, 'jarhead' and 'coming home' are far better.
i visited my parents yesterday. it was all right. i love them but christ- the way my father berates my mother is so fucking difficult to be witness to. i have mentioned this to them before. i have said "i understand that this is your dynamic and that nothing is going to change- but it can be very hard to be around." and that is all i can do. my father is an odd duck. he is deprecatingly self-aware but gallingly oblivious to his actions as he actually performs them. or: his hindsight is 20/15 but his present is disablingly myopic. i can see how i resemble that. and it horrifies me.
my mom told me of her clearest memory of her grandmother, who died when she was about ten. she and her mother had taken her grandmother on an outing from her nursing home- "one of the only times i remember my mom being patient" she said- and the three of them went to wapato park in tacoma. my mother and her grandmother were watching the birds on the lake when her grandmother started laughing "and she had a great laugh" said my mom, "very rollicking." "look at the duck butts!" her grandmother exclaimed. she found the sight of multiple ducks with their heads underwater hysterical. my mother was laughing too, telling this story. "i always think of her when i see ducks in the water" she said. i have lived this long and never knew this about her. and from now on, whenever i see ducks, i will think of her telling me this, and how her expression was happy and sad at once. i adore my mother.
so on the drive back to seattle, in the dark with no cigarettes, trying to sing with gravelly gravitas, i was getting increasingly pissed off about how my father treats such a cool woman so crappily- and how she is not only fucking used to it, but amused and indulgent of it. perhaps i am just far more fucking intolerant of such things now. anyhow, they've been married for nearly 35 years and i have two divorces and... several cats. even as their daughter, i will never fully know their relationship. something about it works.
'american x' (track 12) by black rebel motorcycle club is a fucking fantastic song.
just watched 'stop-loss.' i had lofty hopes, having been floored by 'boys don't cry', but i was decidedly unimpressed by this one. j was similarly disgruntled. we tend to be on the same page cinematically. for a proper war movie, 'jarhead' and 'coming home' are far better.
i visited my parents yesterday. it was all right. i love them but christ- the way my father berates my mother is so fucking difficult to be witness to. i have mentioned this to them before. i have said "i understand that this is your dynamic and that nothing is going to change- but it can be very hard to be around." and that is all i can do. my father is an odd duck. he is deprecatingly self-aware but gallingly oblivious to his actions as he actually performs them. or: his hindsight is 20/15 but his present is disablingly myopic. i can see how i resemble that. and it horrifies me.
my mom told me of her clearest memory of her grandmother, who died when she was about ten. she and her mother had taken her grandmother on an outing from her nursing home- "one of the only times i remember my mom being patient" she said- and the three of them went to wapato park in tacoma. my mother and her grandmother were watching the birds on the lake when her grandmother started laughing "and she had a great laugh" said my mom, "very rollicking." "look at the duck butts!" her grandmother exclaimed. she found the sight of multiple ducks with their heads underwater hysterical. my mother was laughing too, telling this story. "i always think of her when i see ducks in the water" she said. i have lived this long and never knew this about her. and from now on, whenever i see ducks, i will think of her telling me this, and how her expression was happy and sad at once. i adore my mother.
so on the drive back to seattle, in the dark with no cigarettes, trying to sing with gravelly gravitas, i was getting increasingly pissed off about how my father treats such a cool woman so crappily- and how she is not only fucking used to it, but amused and indulgent of it. perhaps i am just far more fucking intolerant of such things now. anyhow, they've been married for nearly 35 years and i have two divorces and... several cats. even as their daughter, i will never fully know their relationship. something about it works.
'american x' (track 12) by black rebel motorcycle club is a fucking fantastic song.
Monday, June 30, 2008
introversion breeds irrationality
i have been in a fucking fog since early saturday morning, when i got off the phone and bawled like a little kid in the soft darkness of my bed. sometimes it is impossible to remember anything but the good times. and it compounded, to a scary fault, how fucking lonely i am.
i keep hoping things will get better, that something magical and fantastic will spontaneously occur, that i will be lifted along on an utterly unforeseen journey. i want to be able to trust someone again.
i have spent the last 48 hrs listening to the soft boys "insanely jealous" over and over. and over. very loudly. whilst sweating in the 90 degree sunshine. it is a very cathartic song. and i have effectively saturated all further listening of it to forever remind me of this weekend.
*
unintentionally.
but i suppose it will provide amusement and nostalgia someday.
*
i took the full dose for the first time today. it is all easier from here, i suppose. i am bitchy and my body hurts and i cannot focus properly, but i am not taking sufficient analgesics to make myself feel better- i like to FEEL what i am doing to my body, how it's reacting to the invasion- it is comforting somehow, to follow a textbook expectation of symptoms. the ironic fuckery of the medication being so much more predictable than the disease is not lost on me- as a matter of fact, it pisses me the fuck off, but there's really nothing i can do about that.
*
a large part of me wishes i hadn't committed to school. the tether is agitating. but the last two days at work were so engorged with actual and mental bullshit that it was nice to remind myself "soon i will have another skill that will allow me to do something better." i stuffed two dead chickens in a cremation bag. was misted with urine from an especially horrid and obstreporous dog. hauled a 42kg dog, also dead, into a room to visit with its owners post-mortem, and had to smile with professional sympathy in the faces of two grown men sobbing- and turn away abruptly so they don't see me starting to cry too.
and now i am typing this into the anonymous ether, as if to prove that anything happens at all.
i would love to actually talk to someone, face to face, instead.
i keep hoping things will get better, that something magical and fantastic will spontaneously occur, that i will be lifted along on an utterly unforeseen journey. i want to be able to trust someone again.
i have spent the last 48 hrs listening to the soft boys "insanely jealous" over and over. and over. very loudly. whilst sweating in the 90 degree sunshine. it is a very cathartic song. and i have effectively saturated all further listening of it to forever remind me of this weekend.
*
unintentionally.
but i suppose it will provide amusement and nostalgia someday.
*
i took the full dose for the first time today. it is all easier from here, i suppose. i am bitchy and my body hurts and i cannot focus properly, but i am not taking sufficient analgesics to make myself feel better- i like to FEEL what i am doing to my body, how it's reacting to the invasion- it is comforting somehow, to follow a textbook expectation of symptoms. the ironic fuckery of the medication being so much more predictable than the disease is not lost on me- as a matter of fact, it pisses me the fuck off, but there's really nothing i can do about that.
*
a large part of me wishes i hadn't committed to school. the tether is agitating. but the last two days at work were so engorged with actual and mental bullshit that it was nice to remind myself "soon i will have another skill that will allow me to do something better." i stuffed two dead chickens in a cremation bag. was misted with urine from an especially horrid and obstreporous dog. hauled a 42kg dog, also dead, into a room to visit with its owners post-mortem, and had to smile with professional sympathy in the faces of two grown men sobbing- and turn away abruptly so they don't see me starting to cry too.
and now i am typing this into the anonymous ether, as if to prove that anything happens at all.
i would love to actually talk to someone, face to face, instead.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
on the other side of the world
i checked two books out of the library yesterday and had read them both by the time i got home later that evening. the first i read whilst sprawled in the grass at UW (my new favorite haunt, and just about the only lawn in seattle i trust to lay upon). it described ways people have dealt with modern cultural annoyances- the honku, spray-painting un-picked-up dog shit gold, stuffing meters (the anchorage parking fairies were mentioned).
the second, a book of contrasting linguistic quirks, i read over a very strong gin & tonic at the mecca. several languages have no terms for specific colors (the shona of zimbabwe have no terms for 'blue' or 'green'); others define all colors as either black or white (for example, 'green' is considered 'black' and red is 'white' for the dani of indonesia). the author surmised lithuanian as the most difficult language to comprehend; after seeing other examples, i would be tempted to nominate navajo.
the lights at the mecca pool upon the tables, interrogation-style. i have a lot of past with that place. it still smelled horrible, the waitress called me 'darlin', and the jukebox blared judas priest and tool.
and then the raucous crowds diminished a bit and i was the only one on the diner-side of the bar, me and my book on a sultry friday night, stabbing the lime absently, and this was the soundtrack:
"remember when i moved in you and every breath we drew was 'hallelujah'?"
the second, a book of contrasting linguistic quirks, i read over a very strong gin & tonic at the mecca. several languages have no terms for specific colors (the shona of zimbabwe have no terms for 'blue' or 'green'); others define all colors as either black or white (for example, 'green' is considered 'black' and red is 'white' for the dani of indonesia). the author surmised lithuanian as the most difficult language to comprehend; after seeing other examples, i would be tempted to nominate navajo.
the lights at the mecca pool upon the tables, interrogation-style. i have a lot of past with that place. it still smelled horrible, the waitress called me 'darlin', and the jukebox blared judas priest and tool.
and then the raucous crowds diminished a bit and i was the only one on the diner-side of the bar, me and my book on a sultry friday night, stabbing the lime absently, and this was the soundtrack:
"remember when i moved in you and every breath we drew was 'hallelujah'?"
Monday, June 23, 2008
RIP george carlin
...i will always remember his hygiene adage from the show i saw in anchorage circa 2000: "armpits assholes crotch and teeth." keep those clean and you won't have any problems. it is sound advice.
*
i am on a crowded bus that is showing movies. i am with someone i know very well. he is sitting in front of me. i am tired and leaning against the window. he turns around and smiles at me- the back of the seat disappears and his arm is around me. i lean my head on his shoulder and hold his hand without thinking about it. he does not pull away. kisses me on the cheek. and then kisses me full-on. and it is good. it is hungry and breathy and bitey and i am straddling him and he is ordering me to "keep moving" and i can feel his erection through our clothing. and i realize that we are blocking the view of everyone behind us. we get off the bus, both smiling too much, that "why the fuck did we wait so long?" elation of a same world made new. we are in a residential neighborhood near madrona and the sun is slanting low. i am walking ahead. i lose my sunglasses in a dumpster. i reach in to grab them and accidentally crush them in my hand, but i do not bleed. a little kid is walking with him. the kid leads us to a park where much merriment and shrieking cuts through the soft air. we go into a house where the kid lives- it is understood that he and this kid are related somehow, and that this is some sort of impromptu family gathering. my mother is there, sitting in a chair in the living room. i introduce him. she gives me a "well done" commisserative smile. his hand is on my back, indicating ownership- an unspeakably pleasant outward gesture of newfound unity. twenty minutes ago we were friends and now we are more. and it feels so goddamn natural, as if when we leave here we'll be going to a home we've shared for years, make love innately, already share the same inside jokes.
my grandmother is there too. she is coherent and cheerful and tells me about her new home in the main building of the senior facility. she is tanned and standing taller than i remember. she is praising me to him. "she's been through such a rough time but she's finally coming back" i hear her say.
it is then that i remember i have to be at work. i have been wearing scrubs this entire time. he says that he has plans to meet some friends that evening. we prepare to leave. i check my reflection in the hall mirror, beam giddily at the glorious turn of events, and notice that half my face is paralyzed again. i cannot smile, i cannot blink. and the fear shuts out all the surrounding noise, turns the sunshine black, reminds me of everything i'd finally been able to forget.
*
and i woke up breathless.
that was about three hours ago.
i went on the deck and had a cigarette. my hands were shaking. the sky was grey. and i was still residually aroused. and my mouth, my face, everything still works perfectly.
but some dreams are a lot more clinging than others. i suspect this one will stay with me for a long while. it tidily touched on everything.
someday when i'm drunk enough i may even tell him about it, and we'll laugh casually, as friends do.
*
i am on a crowded bus that is showing movies. i am with someone i know very well. he is sitting in front of me. i am tired and leaning against the window. he turns around and smiles at me- the back of the seat disappears and his arm is around me. i lean my head on his shoulder and hold his hand without thinking about it. he does not pull away. kisses me on the cheek. and then kisses me full-on. and it is good. it is hungry and breathy and bitey and i am straddling him and he is ordering me to "keep moving" and i can feel his erection through our clothing. and i realize that we are blocking the view of everyone behind us. we get off the bus, both smiling too much, that "why the fuck did we wait so long?" elation of a same world made new. we are in a residential neighborhood near madrona and the sun is slanting low. i am walking ahead. i lose my sunglasses in a dumpster. i reach in to grab them and accidentally crush them in my hand, but i do not bleed. a little kid is walking with him. the kid leads us to a park where much merriment and shrieking cuts through the soft air. we go into a house where the kid lives- it is understood that he and this kid are related somehow, and that this is some sort of impromptu family gathering. my mother is there, sitting in a chair in the living room. i introduce him. she gives me a "well done" commisserative smile. his hand is on my back, indicating ownership- an unspeakably pleasant outward gesture of newfound unity. twenty minutes ago we were friends and now we are more. and it feels so goddamn natural, as if when we leave here we'll be going to a home we've shared for years, make love innately, already share the same inside jokes.
my grandmother is there too. she is coherent and cheerful and tells me about her new home in the main building of the senior facility. she is tanned and standing taller than i remember. she is praising me to him. "she's been through such a rough time but she's finally coming back" i hear her say.
it is then that i remember i have to be at work. i have been wearing scrubs this entire time. he says that he has plans to meet some friends that evening. we prepare to leave. i check my reflection in the hall mirror, beam giddily at the glorious turn of events, and notice that half my face is paralyzed again. i cannot smile, i cannot blink. and the fear shuts out all the surrounding noise, turns the sunshine black, reminds me of everything i'd finally been able to forget.
*
and i woke up breathless.
that was about three hours ago.
i went on the deck and had a cigarette. my hands were shaking. the sky was grey. and i was still residually aroused. and my mouth, my face, everything still works perfectly.
but some dreams are a lot more clinging than others. i suspect this one will stay with me for a long while. it tidily touched on everything.
someday when i'm drunk enough i may even tell him about it, and we'll laugh casually, as friends do.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
life should not be warholian
i came here, to this cafe with its placid classical music, to upload more photographs of new orleans. blogger, however, is not complying.
the only one i could get: two boys busking in the french quarter. the boy on the right was tap dancing. and he was really fucking good. i gave him money.
but further images shall have to wait, and in the interim i will forget, and it will become a mere memory, and who cares?
how poignant and prescient things seem as they happen... and how depressingly ephemeral they prove themselves to be in retrospect. that can be applied to pretty much everything.
*
i never have sundays off. i wandered today with the naivete of a foreigner. everything was shockingly mellow. people were peacefully walking their dogs, mowing lawns, sauntering hand-in-hand towards a sun-drenched dinner al fresco. it was delightful and eerie to witness- i couldn't help but think "what the fuck? seriously, this is how it normally is?"
i went to the fremont sunday market. because i could. i bought fossilized bamboo for a dollar. a surly young girl was blocking my ability to get free samples at theo chocolate, so i left without trying anything. i walked up the street i used to live on. i remember the '72 monte carlo parked out front, how obnoxious that must have seemed- how fucking miserable i was when i lived there. the sidewalk in front of my old building was wet with hose-water from the downstairs bar. the dumpsters reeked. and i couldn't help but wish i had a brief chance to do it all again, differently.
but fremont is different now. the red apple is gone. the record store is gone. fremont is a sea of white faces behind the wheels of priuses with obama stickers. when one thinks of the liberal seattle cliches, fremont is the stock image. perhaps it was always like that and i am simply a bigger asshole now.
i met j and watched 'the shining' on mute whilst listening to elliot smith's 'from a basement on a hill.' that is a disconcerting pairing. i made a dumb comment about 'the dark side of the shining' but since pink floyd wasn't involved it wasn't amusing whatsoever.
the only one i could get: two boys busking in the french quarter. the boy on the right was tap dancing. and he was really fucking good. i gave him money.
but further images shall have to wait, and in the interim i will forget, and it will become a mere memory, and who cares?
how poignant and prescient things seem as they happen... and how depressingly ephemeral they prove themselves to be in retrospect. that can be applied to pretty much everything.
*
i never have sundays off. i wandered today with the naivete of a foreigner. everything was shockingly mellow. people were peacefully walking their dogs, mowing lawns, sauntering hand-in-hand towards a sun-drenched dinner al fresco. it was delightful and eerie to witness- i couldn't help but think "what the fuck? seriously, this is how it normally is?"
i went to the fremont sunday market. because i could. i bought fossilized bamboo for a dollar. a surly young girl was blocking my ability to get free samples at theo chocolate, so i left without trying anything. i walked up the street i used to live on. i remember the '72 monte carlo parked out front, how obnoxious that must have seemed- how fucking miserable i was when i lived there. the sidewalk in front of my old building was wet with hose-water from the downstairs bar. the dumpsters reeked. and i couldn't help but wish i had a brief chance to do it all again, differently.
but fremont is different now. the red apple is gone. the record store is gone. fremont is a sea of white faces behind the wheels of priuses with obama stickers. when one thinks of the liberal seattle cliches, fremont is the stock image. perhaps it was always like that and i am simply a bigger asshole now.
i met j and watched 'the shining' on mute whilst listening to elliot smith's 'from a basement on a hill.' that is a disconcerting pairing. i made a dumb comment about 'the dark side of the shining' but since pink floyd wasn't involved it wasn't amusing whatsoever.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
let us applaud the german uni-deer
'venus in furs' just played, dampening my memory with high-school intrigue; now it is 'million dollar baby' and i am reminded of missing alice cooper at the emerald queen casino because of a fight with the ex. i do regret that. alice cooper would have been great in concert- even, no especially, at a crappy casino in fife, washington.
i spent the day getting shown seattle by the marvelous bus system. i have a crush on public transit in general- it is the first, and often only, thing i do in most places. the sun was filtering through the leaves alongside the road. i tend to stare out the window rather than regard the societal microcosm i am surrounded by- thereby missing out on far too much- but i do eavesdrop. the first bus had conversations spoken in other tongues. i was the only fucking cracker aboard, other than the scowling transvestite in the accordiony section. fell asleep en route- i am either an insomniac or narcoleptic, or both. i browsed through a huge asian grocery in white center. everything on the shelves was dented and dusty; the place itself was dead quiet.
it is gratifying to discover new places in the realm i have grown accustomed to. i know seattle very, very well. but not well enough! it still has secrets, ways to flummox and intimidate and delight me. a tantalizing maiden, to be sure.
*
random snapshot from the world, even earlier today: i am driving to a DiSC training for my job, on my day off, in the uninsured, mold-encrusted, blissfully shockless sweet green. i am doing 70 down I-5 and singing along AS LOUDLY AS I CAN to 'living without you'. and that, as we all know, is a song that no one should sing, much less loudly- it is a karaoke nightmare, karaoke or not.
*
i spent the last 24 hours rereading things. 'the black prince', 'bridge to terabithia', 'the mole people.' all are excellent. all are very different. and now i have an amalgam of julian's purple boots and clabber and braiding your hair so it stays clean and rudderless invalidation of your life and a weirdly shameful giddiness of inspiration and amazement at the possibilities that lurk everywhere, exploited by at least one person somewhere.
it is a muddle.
'the black prince' is full of utterly abhorrent characters, but damned if it doesn't still turn me on. it's the repression of it, the intellect blustering over the carnality, muting out THE SHAME of it. it reminds me of 'lolita.' and, to my sincere displeasure, that book also turned me on like mad.
*
the turn-on is: REPRESSION. knowing that what you are desiring is bad, illogical, entirely without reasonable merit. it does not matter what that actual desire is. the eroticism comes from the internal conflict- the actuality is, at that point, irrelevent.
shame is second only to curiosity in its ability to arouse.
i spent the day getting shown seattle by the marvelous bus system. i have a crush on public transit in general- it is the first, and often only, thing i do in most places. the sun was filtering through the leaves alongside the road. i tend to stare out the window rather than regard the societal microcosm i am surrounded by- thereby missing out on far too much- but i do eavesdrop. the first bus had conversations spoken in other tongues. i was the only fucking cracker aboard, other than the scowling transvestite in the accordiony section. fell asleep en route- i am either an insomniac or narcoleptic, or both. i browsed through a huge asian grocery in white center. everything on the shelves was dented and dusty; the place itself was dead quiet.
it is gratifying to discover new places in the realm i have grown accustomed to. i know seattle very, very well. but not well enough! it still has secrets, ways to flummox and intimidate and delight me. a tantalizing maiden, to be sure.
*
random snapshot from the world, even earlier today: i am driving to a DiSC training for my job, on my day off, in the uninsured, mold-encrusted, blissfully shockless sweet green. i am doing 70 down I-5 and singing along AS LOUDLY AS I CAN to 'living without you'. and that, as we all know, is a song that no one should sing, much less loudly- it is a karaoke nightmare, karaoke or not.
*
i spent the last 24 hours rereading things. 'the black prince', 'bridge to terabithia', 'the mole people.' all are excellent. all are very different. and now i have an amalgam of julian's purple boots and clabber and braiding your hair so it stays clean and rudderless invalidation of your life and a weirdly shameful giddiness of inspiration and amazement at the possibilities that lurk everywhere, exploited by at least one person somewhere.
it is a muddle.
'the black prince' is full of utterly abhorrent characters, but damned if it doesn't still turn me on. it's the repression of it, the intellect blustering over the carnality, muting out THE SHAME of it. it reminds me of 'lolita.' and, to my sincere displeasure, that book also turned me on like mad.
*
the turn-on is: REPRESSION. knowing that what you are desiring is bad, illogical, entirely without reasonable merit. it does not matter what that actual desire is. the eroticism comes from the internal conflict- the actuality is, at that point, irrelevent.
shame is second only to curiosity in its ability to arouse.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
island
other people's rudeness gets to me far more than i know it should. i'm too fucking susceptible to outside opinions. one nasty comment can negate all the tenuous psuedo-confidence i am attempting (with an embarrassing amount of effort) to hold onto.
laughing things off and letting things go have never been things i am good at. instead i turn inward, punish myself, feel stupid and unhinged and neurotic, the last person to understand the fucking joke, taking up space with my bullshit. sometimes i cannot help but think of my surroundings in terms of how one could be injured or killed by them. and then i get even more uneasy. i wonder why those are the sorts of thoughts i have.
when i was a kid, forty years old seemed ancient. i remember telling my parents that i was going to die on my 40th birthday. i would also have long straight blonde hair and a horse named silver, and drive a purple MG, and live in a house with six-paned windows on a beach with a guy named kevin.
laughing things off and letting things go have never been things i am good at. instead i turn inward, punish myself, feel stupid and unhinged and neurotic, the last person to understand the fucking joke, taking up space with my bullshit. sometimes i cannot help but think of my surroundings in terms of how one could be injured or killed by them. and then i get even more uneasy. i wonder why those are the sorts of thoughts i have.
when i was a kid, forty years old seemed ancient. i remember telling my parents that i was going to die on my 40th birthday. i would also have long straight blonde hair and a horse named silver, and drive a purple MG, and live in a house with six-paned windows on a beach with a guy named kevin.
Monday, June 09, 2008
i fell in love anew
i had a fucking ball in new orleans. it was hot, unctuous, floaty. my first day of jetlagged bitchiness gave way to, i guess: doing what i WANT to do, not what i THINK i should do. i did not see any live music; i did not buy a frozen fucking dacquiri; i did not stumble down bourbon street. i got the fuck out of the french quarter and away from the tourists. the streetcars on st charles and canal street are both operating again; they were still shut down when i was there last year. i roamed many neighborhoods on foot, random residential areas, ducking under banana leaves and flowery vines, perspiring relentlessly. i took hundreds of pictures. i fondled spanish moss that dangled to the ground. i watched two rats eat from a dumpster. i talked with a cockatoo. climbed a live oak tree in audubon park and bounced on the branch like a little kid. had apricot iced tea on the sidewalk at rue de la course on magazine st. i even went to a cooler-than-thou bar filled with sulky locals and did fucking sudoku. because, dammit, this is MY vacation and the dorky unhip shit that makes ME happy. and... it did.
i am resigned to seattle for at least another 18 months- the length of time i will be in school. and i don't know if i could ever truly live in the deep south- the pockets of self-absorbed liberalism are a bit too far-flung- but if i did, i know where i would want to go. it remains a happy fantasy.
local fauna (already squashed by someone prior) and the wandering gnome, fresh off a trip to germany with my mama:
a street sign in faubourg marigny:
the entrance gate to the metairie cemetery:
ADDENDUM 06/12:
1. the video kept fucking up
2. the still was rather unflattering
3. tis a pity. i was really happy and it was captured on film. that doesn't often happen.
a lot of the places i took pictures of last year are unchanged. nearly all of the buildings along canal street are still empty, with broken windows and destroyed awnings. the bywater area looks better- i didn't see any fema trailers parked in driveways this time- and the spray-painted x's that indicated house searches/body counts have been mostly covered over. the flora is denser too. while i was there the government announced that by july 1st they were going to be evicting people from their fema trailers. i saved the op-ed page from the times-picayune. one of the comments said something like "giving people a choice of a disease-causing toxic box or homelessness". there were a few 'trailer parks'- huge empty lots filled with campers- on the outskirts of town.
but new orleans is definitely coming back. more businesses are open. and the streetcar thing is fucking huge. what a fantastic thing- $1.25, an open window, amazing views, locals. and the audubon insectarium opens this weekend- i was very sad to have missed it, but it gives me something to look forward to next time.
*
...it is 55 degrees and drizzling in seattle right now. it makes the vacation-hangover hurt a little more.
i am resigned to seattle for at least another 18 months- the length of time i will be in school. and i don't know if i could ever truly live in the deep south- the pockets of self-absorbed liberalism are a bit too far-flung- but if i did, i know where i would want to go. it remains a happy fantasy.
local fauna (already squashed by someone prior) and the wandering gnome, fresh off a trip to germany with my mama:
a street sign in faubourg marigny:
the entrance gate to the metairie cemetery:
ADDENDUM 06/12:
1. the video kept fucking up
2. the still was rather unflattering
3. tis a pity. i was really happy and it was captured on film. that doesn't often happen.
a lot of the places i took pictures of last year are unchanged. nearly all of the buildings along canal street are still empty, with broken windows and destroyed awnings. the bywater area looks better- i didn't see any fema trailers parked in driveways this time- and the spray-painted x's that indicated house searches/body counts have been mostly covered over. the flora is denser too. while i was there the government announced that by july 1st they were going to be evicting people from their fema trailers. i saved the op-ed page from the times-picayune. one of the comments said something like "giving people a choice of a disease-causing toxic box or homelessness". there were a few 'trailer parks'- huge empty lots filled with campers- on the outskirts of town.
but new orleans is definitely coming back. more businesses are open. and the streetcar thing is fucking huge. what a fantastic thing- $1.25, an open window, amazing views, locals. and the audubon insectarium opens this weekend- i was very sad to have missed it, but it gives me something to look forward to next time.
*
...it is 55 degrees and drizzling in seattle right now. it makes the vacation-hangover hurt a little more.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
everything is beautiful
i walked around a single block:
it is possibly my new favorite block in seattle.
*
i love nighttime because it frees me from responsibility. the only venues open cater to my more hedonistic tendencies. bill collectors, banks, shops- closed! out of reach! it is just me and the darkness. and i enjoy the anonymity.
i walked across the fremont bridge to get here- the establishment at which i am typing this. the water was glassy. it seems like a long time ago that i lived in this neighborhood. i remember when i first moved back to seattle in 2002- riding my bike back to first hill at 2 in the morning, admiring the reflections on the water as i crossed the same bridge- the only person in the world, it seemed. seattle was my personal fucking playground. and tonight i feel the same way. i love that.
it is possibly my new favorite block in seattle.
*
i love nighttime because it frees me from responsibility. the only venues open cater to my more hedonistic tendencies. bill collectors, banks, shops- closed! out of reach! it is just me and the darkness. and i enjoy the anonymity.
i walked across the fremont bridge to get here- the establishment at which i am typing this. the water was glassy. it seems like a long time ago that i lived in this neighborhood. i remember when i first moved back to seattle in 2002- riding my bike back to first hill at 2 in the morning, admiring the reflections on the water as i crossed the same bridge- the only person in the world, it seemed. seattle was my personal fucking playground. and tonight i feel the same way. i love that.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
the reds stand out
today:
i was wearing a pair of jeans i'd bought NEW 6 years ago. they are now tattered and full of ass-holes but i thought "i can pull this off" and jauntily strolled downtown. it wasn't until about an hour later, waiting at a particularly sketchy bus stop, that a man approached me after i'd properly disposed of my cigarette.
"excuse me" he said "but you have some holes in your pants."
"yeah, i know" i said, and then, automatically (why?), "i'm sorry."
"because when you move you can see... your body" he continued.
"only if you look" i said. and i said it fast. fucking impressed myself. he was not a puritan older man. he looked like snoop dogg's shorter twin. but it wasn't until i was on the (random, let's-have-a-field-trip-inanity) bus, sitting down, that i realised how MUCH of my ass was actually hanging out. i mean, wow. and i was wearing a g-string. obviously to everyone i passed, in retrospect. i offset it, i think, with the fucking orange sweater and argyle socks.
felt like a fucking whore. and not in a gleeful way.
went to the thrift store for impromptu replacement pants. i tried on several. jeans are a difficult thing for me to buy. they are always too short and too baggy. i had to find something- my ass was hanging out- so i bought a completely unsexy pair of FUCKING BELLBOTTOMS. levi's calls them 'bootcut' but no- and paired with my fucking hair and the aforementioned orange sweater, i look like a fucking asexual stoner. and if i pull them up where they're supposed to be, they're still too fucking short. but they are very comfortable, cost only $7, and someone else already took the time to splatter paint on them. i handed my virtually assless jeans to the disgusted saleslady at the thrift store, after baring the tag near my navel (on the new pair, that i was wearing) for her scanner. "they're clean" i assured her of the rejected pants. it wasn't until i was walking away that i realized how fucking foul that must have seemed to her.
on the bus ride back i stared out the window at professional women getting off work, walking purposefully down the sidewalk in dresses and heels, hair styled, perhaps en route to meet preppy lovers in buttoned shirts for sushi and drinks- women, undoubtedly, with clean sheets and name-brand shampoo, actual credit cards, vehicles that smell new, a regime of both toothpaste and mouthwash- women who have cable and hairstylists and actually pay money for birth control because their income dictates it.
*
this was my environment as i wrote this:
*
memorial day weekend at work was insanely busy. it was satisfying. i work with some pretty fucking great people. it helps.
tomorrow i turn in my enrollment forms for massage school. i have had my schedule revisions cleared by my job; barring any fucked-up complications, i start in july. the enrollment wench was palpably giddy over the phone. "awesome!" she squealed. "i am so excited for you!" and i was on the other end, grinning like a fool, saying "yeah, i'm excited too."
*
the establishment i am typing at is playing "the jack"- second only to 'ride on' as my favorite ac/dc song.
*
'...and who knows what else?'
*
in one week i will be in new orleans. i have oversaturated my brain with all things big easy and am currently reading about, in turns, southeast asia and kenya. lamu, kenya sounds fucking amazing.
*
caring about another person makes all the edges sharper. i noticed that this afternoon. everything looked incredibly beautiful and bright and poignant, and i wanted so badly for him to be here to see it, at least to tell me i'm overdoing the treacly bullshit...
i was wearing a pair of jeans i'd bought NEW 6 years ago. they are now tattered and full of ass-holes but i thought "i can pull this off" and jauntily strolled downtown. it wasn't until about an hour later, waiting at a particularly sketchy bus stop, that a man approached me after i'd properly disposed of my cigarette.
"excuse me" he said "but you have some holes in your pants."
"yeah, i know" i said, and then, automatically (why?), "i'm sorry."
"because when you move you can see... your body" he continued.
"only if you look" i said. and i said it fast. fucking impressed myself. he was not a puritan older man. he looked like snoop dogg's shorter twin. but it wasn't until i was on the (random, let's-have-a-field-trip-inanity) bus, sitting down, that i realised how MUCH of my ass was actually hanging out. i mean, wow. and i was wearing a g-string. obviously to everyone i passed, in retrospect. i offset it, i think, with the fucking orange sweater and argyle socks.
felt like a fucking whore. and not in a gleeful way.
went to the thrift store for impromptu replacement pants. i tried on several. jeans are a difficult thing for me to buy. they are always too short and too baggy. i had to find something- my ass was hanging out- so i bought a completely unsexy pair of FUCKING BELLBOTTOMS. levi's calls them 'bootcut' but no- and paired with my fucking hair and the aforementioned orange sweater, i look like a fucking asexual stoner. and if i pull them up where they're supposed to be, they're still too fucking short. but they are very comfortable, cost only $7, and someone else already took the time to splatter paint on them. i handed my virtually assless jeans to the disgusted saleslady at the thrift store, after baring the tag near my navel (on the new pair, that i was wearing) for her scanner. "they're clean" i assured her of the rejected pants. it wasn't until i was walking away that i realized how fucking foul that must have seemed to her.
on the bus ride back i stared out the window at professional women getting off work, walking purposefully down the sidewalk in dresses and heels, hair styled, perhaps en route to meet preppy lovers in buttoned shirts for sushi and drinks- women, undoubtedly, with clean sheets and name-brand shampoo, actual credit cards, vehicles that smell new, a regime of both toothpaste and mouthwash- women who have cable and hairstylists and actually pay money for birth control because their income dictates it.
*
this was my environment as i wrote this:
*
memorial day weekend at work was insanely busy. it was satisfying. i work with some pretty fucking great people. it helps.
tomorrow i turn in my enrollment forms for massage school. i have had my schedule revisions cleared by my job; barring any fucked-up complications, i start in july. the enrollment wench was palpably giddy over the phone. "awesome!" she squealed. "i am so excited for you!" and i was on the other end, grinning like a fool, saying "yeah, i'm excited too."
*
the establishment i am typing at is playing "the jack"- second only to 'ride on' as my favorite ac/dc song.
*
'...and who knows what else?'
*
in one week i will be in new orleans. i have oversaturated my brain with all things big easy and am currently reading about, in turns, southeast asia and kenya. lamu, kenya sounds fucking amazing.
*
caring about another person makes all the edges sharper. i noticed that this afternoon. everything looked incredibly beautiful and bright and poignant, and i wanted so badly for him to be here to see it, at least to tell me i'm overdoing the treacly bullshit...
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
RIP Sydney Pollack
go watch 'husbands and wives' again. that is a fucking great movie.
'tootsie' is marvelous too.
'tootsie' is marvelous too.
Friday, May 23, 2008
any day like today or: overusage of 'whilst'
i finally did my happy drive down hwy 202- the route on which i ran out of petrol whilst attempting last week. luckily it is much leafier now. i tried my hand at warholian capturing-of-the-moment with the camera/video-thing resting on the steering wheel whilst i careened down said highway, past barns and fields, singing along with the fucking white stripes' 'do'... but i have the presence of mind to not post that. take note that i have a horribly embarrassing cache of self-indulgent documentation that shall only be found when i die.
so, in lieu of that, welcome to (an unintentionally nausea-inducing portrayal of) beautiful downtown snohomish!
*ADDENDUM 05/24/08*
i waited for 3 HOURS last night for the fucking video to upload. i had to leave when the wifi place closed. in doing so i lost the entire thing. incredibly fucking frustrating- though, in retrospect, it was kind of a dumb video with little value beyond the cool song playing in the background. i am leaving the rest of the mindless commentary to... capture a moment that wasn't. whatever.
it also explains the lack of proper paragraphs, which bothered me tremendously.
*
snohomish is about 35 miles NE of seattle- it's about 10 miles outside of everett on hwy 2. it was farmland until about 20 years ago; since then it has become a thriving suburb, whilst retaining its charming smalltown vibe(TM)! one good thing about this town: they don't have, to my knowledge, any hideous 'big box' stores- no wal-marts or crap like that. that honor has been bestowed, in spades, on monroe, about 5 miles further east.
monroe is a shithole.
it is only negligably captured on the video, but around the 2:10 mark (look for the church on the left) you can barely see the guy standing at the crosswalk who waved his arms at me indignantly when i didn't stop for him. in real time it was much more blatant and subsequently mortifying. sorry, sir, i was trying to shoot video whilst driving 40mph through traffic.
there are many antique stores in 'olde towne' snohomish. i have only walked these streets once before, with s (the asshole s)- that, i am sad to say, was a really fun day. today the place seemed ghostly. the only people around were ancient and miserable-looking. i kept thinking "well, it is a holiday weekend; most people are off to brighter pastures." nevertheless, i couldn't help deciding that growing up in a place like snohomish would be rather brutal.
but then! among the many purveyors of boring dishes and trundle beds and psuedo-victorian claptrap, i found THIS.
i about shat. if i had a spare $3,000 i would be quite tempted to buy it. it was for sale in a peculiar grotto, next to other pinball machines that were nowhere near as spectacular. the guy who ran the place was loudly debating the army with another old guy. "looking for anything special, young lady?" he greeted me.
at another place (the establishment from which i purchased a 50 cent pin of yoko ono) i saw this:
this is such a brilliant idea. why don't such things exist any more?
the guy at this store was a bit mellower. and he was wearing a led zeppelin t-shirt.
*
yesterday i had to go into work for a DiSC training meeting. DiSC is a 'personality profile' used to enhance productivity and coworker communication. we took a questionnaire that determined our particular strengths and weaknesses. and i am rather chagrined to admit: it fucking nailed me. i am a 'specialist'- sensitive, conceding, content with the group-think, wanting to just do my job, have someone say 'thank you', and get the hell out. the answers i gave on the questionnaire were mainly in regards to how i 'work'- i really don't give a shit, i try not to make waves, i prefer friendly coworkers over a palatable profession- but it rather astutely reflects how i exist overall. i don't fucking argue the way i think i used to. i assume that if someone else really wants something, they probably have better reasons for getting it than i do... this is passive, and self-deprecating, and certainly contributes to my current (and prolonged) habit of living in a prosaic ether. i am an inward seether, if anything.
ether seether! ha! that was completely unintentional.
i suppose that my criteria for caring enough to make the effort is: am i passionate about it? REALLY? what have i been so fucking engaged in that i made it actually happen?
-my personal freedom
-keeping s in my life
-travelling
-my fucking cats
-taking the time to write, to the point of scheduling my day around it (which i do daily)
-photography
notably NOT on this list: my marriages and other sundry relationships; my family; furthering my veterinary knowledge; keeping my carpet free of cat vomit and my bathroom free of silverfish...
believe me, i know. i know. i regret a lot of things.
*
silverfish are a humid phenomenon. i first encountered them in my vile fremont apartment. they look like tiny plecostomi- about 1/4-1/2" long, skittering across (usually) the bathroom floor. they were everywhere in my downtown olympia lair. and now they are in my queen anne abode- one here, one there- i see perhaps two a week. i went online to find out what the fuck they were. one site likened them to cockroaches. apparently they thrive in pipes and other damp areas.
there are urban fables of seattle denizens being greeted with rats in their loos. the paper did a big story about this about a year ago. apparently in the neighborhoods with older plumbing the rodents have access and just... crawl up... hi... "keep your toilet lids down" the paper instructed. "don't attempt to flush them" as that can cause, i guess, further pipe havoc.
when i was married to b i found our white mouse floating in the toilet. b had already left for work. the other mouse was securely locked in his cage. i freaked out. called him shrieking. "i don;t understand how he could have gotten out, ran across the room, and jumped into the toilet!" i yelled, or something similar. i demanded he come home right away to deal with it. at the time i knew, but didn't want to know- didn't want to acknowledge that the person i slept naked beside every night could do such a thing- but he did. there was no other explanation. he killed a kitten once just to see what it was like- very 'sailor who fell from grace with the sea'- that was before i ever knew him, but he described it so nonchalantly that i was horrified. so at the time i took this mouse-incident as one of those weird, wacky things that happen with no proper explanation. it was a survival mechanism. and i was a fucking moron.
*
...the (bar) i am at played 'children of the revolution'- the violent femmes' version. i will always think of driving around anchorage, circa 1995, in the winter... juxtaposed with waiting for the light at 38th in tacoma, muggy summer of 2007, en route to work. it is nice to have a time capsule in a song: when you can specifically think about "wonder what i'll be doing in 10-15-20-50 years" whilst listening to it for the first time.
*
i cannot help but think, in that respect, that i have let myself down in multiple ways.
*
it's time for another chipper find, this one also from today, on a corner in downtown seattle:
the hugger was nowhere to be found.
so, in lieu of that, welcome to (an unintentionally nausea-inducing portrayal of) beautiful downtown snohomish!
*ADDENDUM 05/24/08*
i waited for 3 HOURS last night for the fucking video to upload. i had to leave when the wifi place closed. in doing so i lost the entire thing. incredibly fucking frustrating- though, in retrospect, it was kind of a dumb video with little value beyond the cool song playing in the background. i am leaving the rest of the mindless commentary to... capture a moment that wasn't. whatever.
it also explains the lack of proper paragraphs, which bothered me tremendously.
*
snohomish is about 35 miles NE of seattle- it's about 10 miles outside of everett on hwy 2. it was farmland until about 20 years ago; since then it has become a thriving suburb, whilst retaining its charming smalltown vibe(TM)! one good thing about this town: they don't have, to my knowledge, any hideous 'big box' stores- no wal-marts or crap like that. that honor has been bestowed, in spades, on monroe, about 5 miles further east.
monroe is a shithole.
it is only negligably captured on the video, but around the 2:10 mark (look for the church on the left) you can barely see the guy standing at the crosswalk who waved his arms at me indignantly when i didn't stop for him. in real time it was much more blatant and subsequently mortifying. sorry, sir, i was trying to shoot video whilst driving 40mph through traffic.
there are many antique stores in 'olde towne' snohomish. i have only walked these streets once before, with s (the asshole s)- that, i am sad to say, was a really fun day. today the place seemed ghostly. the only people around were ancient and miserable-looking. i kept thinking "well, it is a holiday weekend; most people are off to brighter pastures." nevertheless, i couldn't help deciding that growing up in a place like snohomish would be rather brutal.
but then! among the many purveyors of boring dishes and trundle beds and psuedo-victorian claptrap, i found THIS.
i about shat. if i had a spare $3,000 i would be quite tempted to buy it. it was for sale in a peculiar grotto, next to other pinball machines that were nowhere near as spectacular. the guy who ran the place was loudly debating the army with another old guy. "looking for anything special, young lady?" he greeted me.
at another place (the establishment from which i purchased a 50 cent pin of yoko ono) i saw this:
this is such a brilliant idea. why don't such things exist any more?
the guy at this store was a bit mellower. and he was wearing a led zeppelin t-shirt.
*
yesterday i had to go into work for a DiSC training meeting. DiSC is a 'personality profile' used to enhance productivity and coworker communication. we took a questionnaire that determined our particular strengths and weaknesses. and i am rather chagrined to admit: it fucking nailed me. i am a 'specialist'- sensitive, conceding, content with the group-think, wanting to just do my job, have someone say 'thank you', and get the hell out. the answers i gave on the questionnaire were mainly in regards to how i 'work'- i really don't give a shit, i try not to make waves, i prefer friendly coworkers over a palatable profession- but it rather astutely reflects how i exist overall. i don't fucking argue the way i think i used to. i assume that if someone else really wants something, they probably have better reasons for getting it than i do... this is passive, and self-deprecating, and certainly contributes to my current (and prolonged) habit of living in a prosaic ether. i am an inward seether, if anything.
ether seether! ha! that was completely unintentional.
i suppose that my criteria for caring enough to make the effort is: am i passionate about it? REALLY? what have i been so fucking engaged in that i made it actually happen?
-my personal freedom
-keeping s in my life
-travelling
-my fucking cats
-taking the time to write, to the point of scheduling my day around it (which i do daily)
-photography
notably NOT on this list: my marriages and other sundry relationships; my family; furthering my veterinary knowledge; keeping my carpet free of cat vomit and my bathroom free of silverfish...
believe me, i know. i know. i regret a lot of things.
*
silverfish are a humid phenomenon. i first encountered them in my vile fremont apartment. they look like tiny plecostomi- about 1/4-1/2" long, skittering across (usually) the bathroom floor. they were everywhere in my downtown olympia lair. and now they are in my queen anne abode- one here, one there- i see perhaps two a week. i went online to find out what the fuck they were. one site likened them to cockroaches. apparently they thrive in pipes and other damp areas.
there are urban fables of seattle denizens being greeted with rats in their loos. the paper did a big story about this about a year ago. apparently in the neighborhoods with older plumbing the rodents have access and just... crawl up... hi... "keep your toilet lids down" the paper instructed. "don't attempt to flush them" as that can cause, i guess, further pipe havoc.
when i was married to b i found our white mouse floating in the toilet. b had already left for work. the other mouse was securely locked in his cage. i freaked out. called him shrieking. "i don;t understand how he could have gotten out, ran across the room, and jumped into the toilet!" i yelled, or something similar. i demanded he come home right away to deal with it. at the time i knew, but didn't want to know- didn't want to acknowledge that the person i slept naked beside every night could do such a thing- but he did. there was no other explanation. he killed a kitten once just to see what it was like- very 'sailor who fell from grace with the sea'- that was before i ever knew him, but he described it so nonchalantly that i was horrified. so at the time i took this mouse-incident as one of those weird, wacky things that happen with no proper explanation. it was a survival mechanism. and i was a fucking moron.
*
...the (bar) i am at played 'children of the revolution'- the violent femmes' version. i will always think of driving around anchorage, circa 1995, in the winter... juxtaposed with waiting for the light at 38th in tacoma, muggy summer of 2007, en route to work. it is nice to have a time capsule in a song: when you can specifically think about "wonder what i'll be doing in 10-15-20-50 years" whilst listening to it for the first time.
*
i cannot help but think, in that respect, that i have let myself down in multiple ways.
*
it's time for another chipper find, this one also from today, on a corner in downtown seattle:
the hugger was nowhere to be found.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
another slice of life-pie
last weekend was hot as the hottest fuck. friday was in the mid-eighties; saturday hit 90. records were broken. it was obscene and glorious and all too short-lived. i walked to the seattle center on friday, since it is right down the hill from my lair, and walked around its muggy desolation. there are plans to completely raze the place and start anew- taking out the archaic 'fun forest' and amphitheatre (the place i met my second ex-husband, under the stars whilst listening to lou reed) and making it more 'user-friendly' and 'environmental.' this being seattle, it will be prattled about for years, perhaps decades, with nothing actually happening. but on this gorgeous day, the first summery day of the year, the place was closed. the rides were still. the midway section was shuttered. there were maybe fifteen people milling around, all sunburnt and touristy, looking bored. it was actually kind of sad.
this is one of the cooler ride-signs, with the obligatory space needle, obviously.
this sign, en route to burien, was awesome enough that i did a u-turn. we could all use such an establishment.
i started avonex on monday. the nurse came to my filthy house and played with hecatomb, who was whorishly performing frottage on her medical bag. we practiced a few injections on an orange ("it has the same surface tension as human skin" she said) and then i shoved a needle into my thigh. needles have never bothered me, though muscle injections do hurt; but as soon as i did it i started to cry. it was my moment of truth, of "this is quite possibly the rest of my life." for 'preventative' treatment that may or may not work, for something that is not curable; for something that i do not currently have any overt symptoms of; that i am not to get pregnant whilst taking, that may cause/exacerbate depression, that i have to preload with advil before administering. i am injecting crap into my body with no proof that it will do a fucking thing to my benefit. and i have proof that yes, there really is something wrong with me, even if i don't show it.
the moment of 'FUCK' passed quickly. the nurse was incredibly nice. and i started to feel pretty good, actually. i feel in control of something uncontrollable. finally. whether it's a placebo or not, i needed this.
i then went to work my 10hr shift.
i am titrating the dose over the next 4 weeks. i started to get a headache about three hours post, popped more advil, and felt fine. it was nowhere near what i'd feared, but i have a lot more to eventually give myself.
i haven't told my parents yet.
i don't know how i will feel the next time i dose myself: i will be alone with a syringe in my hand, without a supportive expert beside me. i anticipate it being a rather melancholy moment. but perhaps not.
the weather is crappy again: low 50s, rainy, the way it always is. i was wearing a scarf and drinking hot tea to stay warm. my only evidence of the heat is the horrific sunburn on my left shoulder. on saturday i lounged on my deck in a tank top, reading a crappy book whilst wearing no sunscreen. the burn started to peel yesterday and, being an ocd pick-happy MORON, thought "oh boy, something to play with" and fucked with it. it is painful and horrible and i am an idiot, and today it has been constantly chafed by my fucking wool sweater.
five days after basking (taken this morning):
it hurts.
i go to new orleans in 2 weeks. the good thing about their summers: you sweat too much for any sun to sink in (my theory), and it's too goddamn fucking hot to saunter much through the midday rays anyhow.
last night i had a too-rare PLEASANT sex dream. i recognized both my partners. i woke up breathless.
this is one of the cooler ride-signs, with the obligatory space needle, obviously.
this sign, en route to burien, was awesome enough that i did a u-turn. we could all use such an establishment.
i started avonex on monday. the nurse came to my filthy house and played with hecatomb, who was whorishly performing frottage on her medical bag. we practiced a few injections on an orange ("it has the same surface tension as human skin" she said) and then i shoved a needle into my thigh. needles have never bothered me, though muscle injections do hurt; but as soon as i did it i started to cry. it was my moment of truth, of "this is quite possibly the rest of my life." for 'preventative' treatment that may or may not work, for something that is not curable; for something that i do not currently have any overt symptoms of; that i am not to get pregnant whilst taking, that may cause/exacerbate depression, that i have to preload with advil before administering. i am injecting crap into my body with no proof that it will do a fucking thing to my benefit. and i have proof that yes, there really is something wrong with me, even if i don't show it.
the moment of 'FUCK' passed quickly. the nurse was incredibly nice. and i started to feel pretty good, actually. i feel in control of something uncontrollable. finally. whether it's a placebo or not, i needed this.
i then went to work my 10hr shift.
i am titrating the dose over the next 4 weeks. i started to get a headache about three hours post, popped more advil, and felt fine. it was nowhere near what i'd feared, but i have a lot more to eventually give myself.
i haven't told my parents yet.
i don't know how i will feel the next time i dose myself: i will be alone with a syringe in my hand, without a supportive expert beside me. i anticipate it being a rather melancholy moment. but perhaps not.
the weather is crappy again: low 50s, rainy, the way it always is. i was wearing a scarf and drinking hot tea to stay warm. my only evidence of the heat is the horrific sunburn on my left shoulder. on saturday i lounged on my deck in a tank top, reading a crappy book whilst wearing no sunscreen. the burn started to peel yesterday and, being an ocd pick-happy MORON, thought "oh boy, something to play with" and fucked with it. it is painful and horrible and i am an idiot, and today it has been constantly chafed by my fucking wool sweater.
five days after basking (taken this morning):
it hurts.
i go to new orleans in 2 weeks. the good thing about their summers: you sweat too much for any sun to sink in (my theory), and it's too goddamn fucking hot to saunter much through the midday rays anyhow.
last night i had a too-rare PLEASANT sex dream. i recognized both my partners. i woke up breathless.
the 300th post or: shokushu goukan
perhaps i am not so rare a pervert after all. this shit spans the centuries.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Dream_of_the_Fisherman's_Wife
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Dream_of_the_Fisherman's_Wife
Thursday, May 15, 2008
happy birthday, mike oldfield AND brian eno!
my dream from last night: i am in the lair i have lived in for the last two years, but i am living with s. her occupancy is contingent on my keeping the place. she blithely informs me that she is returning to AK, but "i'll be fine." half the dream is spent trying to sell and organize my shit, and the other half is infused with dread over returning to anchorage- since it logically follows, in the dream, that this is my only choice- i am scanning classifieds, ruminating over non-options, realizing that i never want to fucking reside there ever again, more than i consciously comprehended. i awoke in a tense, agitated state. when i understood that it was merely a dream (the recollection of the dream didn't happen until several hours later) i was relieved, then weirdly sad: eschewing anchorage is equivalent to eshewing a huge chunk of my past, and what does that mean?
*
how does a chick get randomly laid, without being percieved as a desperate slut? without disengaging her futile intellect and moderate standards? and disengaging her propensity to not wish to just, you know, FUCK, and like, MAKE LOVE, and have them give a shit and stuff- how can that be turned off?
hypothetically speaking.
*
i am finally revisting 'babbitt' and it is getting better. the book mercilessly skewers capitalist pretense-laden culture. it is a difficult read simply because everyone in the book is so fucking unlikable- the women are one-dimensional harpies, the men are boorish noncommunicative louts. this is why i tend to stay away from fiction- i dislike broad characatures (that is not spelled properly). but 'babbitt' does provide the occasional worthy soundbite: "waving the aurora borealis around", for instance, or "listen to what the Hep Bird twitters"- both of which i am delighted with and wish i had phrased first.
i drove to north bend (30miles E of seattle proper) earlier today with a vision of doing my happy route down hwy 2 (i do enjoy the twee bucolia). went for petrol in north bend and realized i did not have my wallet. i had no debit card, no cash, no identification. i immediately could see where i'd left it: at my house, peaceful, useless. i put 45 cents, the only money i had, in the tank and started the drive back to seattle, coasting when i could, doing 50 in a 70mph zone. i ran out of gas on the I-90 bridge, the absolute worst place to do so. as i started across i thought "i am not going to make it to the other side." and it was eerie because i was right. i sat stupidly in my car for all of four minutes before a WSDOT truck pulled up behind me. the guy was incredibly nice and gave me a free gallon of gas. "this is what your taxes pay for" he said. i thanked him profusely. he even pushed me until my compression engaged. i waved goodbye, giddily.
...during this incident: picture a 14yr old vw golf with a 'read a fucking book' bumper sticker, a rubber octopus on the dash, and a grimy girl driver wearing a 'spank me i'm irish' t-shirt, stupidly running out of gas and with no fucking identification. he should have been much, much ruder. but he was nice as hell, and i will happily sing the virtues of the washington government forevermore.
*
everyone is lonely and yearning for something else. these are the byproducts of a priveleged culture.
*
how does a chick get randomly laid, without being percieved as a desperate slut? without disengaging her futile intellect and moderate standards? and disengaging her propensity to not wish to just, you know, FUCK, and like, MAKE LOVE, and have them give a shit and stuff- how can that be turned off?
hypothetically speaking.
*
i am finally revisting 'babbitt' and it is getting better. the book mercilessly skewers capitalist pretense-laden culture. it is a difficult read simply because everyone in the book is so fucking unlikable- the women are one-dimensional harpies, the men are boorish noncommunicative louts. this is why i tend to stay away from fiction- i dislike broad characatures (that is not spelled properly). but 'babbitt' does provide the occasional worthy soundbite: "waving the aurora borealis around", for instance, or "listen to what the Hep Bird twitters"- both of which i am delighted with and wish i had phrased first.
i drove to north bend (30miles E of seattle proper) earlier today with a vision of doing my happy route down hwy 2 (i do enjoy the twee bucolia). went for petrol in north bend and realized i did not have my wallet. i had no debit card, no cash, no identification. i immediately could see where i'd left it: at my house, peaceful, useless. i put 45 cents, the only money i had, in the tank and started the drive back to seattle, coasting when i could, doing 50 in a 70mph zone. i ran out of gas on the I-90 bridge, the absolute worst place to do so. as i started across i thought "i am not going to make it to the other side." and it was eerie because i was right. i sat stupidly in my car for all of four minutes before a WSDOT truck pulled up behind me. the guy was incredibly nice and gave me a free gallon of gas. "this is what your taxes pay for" he said. i thanked him profusely. he even pushed me until my compression engaged. i waved goodbye, giddily.
...during this incident: picture a 14yr old vw golf with a 'read a fucking book' bumper sticker, a rubber octopus on the dash, and a grimy girl driver wearing a 'spank me i'm irish' t-shirt, stupidly running out of gas and with no fucking identification. he should have been much, much ruder. but he was nice as hell, and i will happily sing the virtues of the washington government forevermore.
*
everyone is lonely and yearning for something else. these are the byproducts of a priveleged culture.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
one person's aspic is another's gunky crap
en route to the eels, 04/11/08 (this is the trashbin directly outside the showbox, conveniently) 
proof that i was there: the mayday march in seattle. 
the only thing stopping me from enrolling in the massage school i interviewed at today: seeing the hippie-filled, sweat-scented classroom during the tour and thinking "oh fucking christ, perhaps NOT." but that is a snotty, uptight, judgemental way of thinking, and i am far cooler than that, MAN, and my income qualifies me for financial aid (no bills whatsoever until 6months post, or 2 years from now) so... i probably will.
i get a massage table as part of tuition. "you get to choose the color!" the breasty dame doing admissions squealed. she was very nice, but with that patina of artificiality that only public-relations folk can truly cultivate. she produced a variety of swatches. i think i said something stupid like "oh, cool."
i have wanted to do this for years. i am told i am good at it. have i ever had a professional massage? no. but it would be nice.
yeah. i think i probably will.
it keeps the flake wheel rolling.
and i already swaddle my unbrushed-hair self in patchouli (except for today: amber), and i drove to the interview in sweet green, and i would rather be poor and touch skin and make someone's day a bit better, so... yeah. i think i probably will.
*
i received my first shipment of avonex today. it comes in a styrofoam cooler with ice packs. the package itself is very small and inocuous. i am still waiting to be called back about a baseline blood draw (avonex can cause inconvenient things like liver failure) and to contact the Nurse who will Visit Me At Home to Demonstrate Injection Technique. "can't i meet her somewhere else?" i asked the rep on the phone. way to make me feel like a fucking invalid, avonex! i tossed the package in the fridge. dismissively. next to the fake mayonnaise and a few bottles of nail polish. i was feeling fucking fine. i thought "fuck this shit." but then my mouth- the left corner of my mouth- started feeling novocained- it lasted about an hour. now it and i am fine. it is one of the transient "am i crazy? or simply doomed?" perks of the disease. but in that time frame i thought "well, okay- so fucking be it."
now, of course, i feel fine again. i wonder how much is "it" and how much is me... MS gave me a portal that i feed all my most fucked-up weirdness into... and it is all invisible. i probably just look like a floofy-haired girl in an obnoxious orange sweater with a preoccupied mindset.
*
good things of the past week:
generic rice chex dipped in baba ganouj
insane busy-ness at work (the proper term should be 'business', but it isn't, and these are the sort of things that cause my thoughts to drift)
-the slug-bait dog who was in a drug-induced coma for 36 hrs to alleviate her tremors; she walked out of the hospital wagging her tail 3 days later
-the dog who went into arrest; 20 minutes of fruitless cpr whilst waiting for the owners to call back; the necropsy that revealed a tumor on the heart and a chest filled with blood (this is by no means a 'good thing', but it was certainly interesting
-my own guy, tiresias, who has been puking like a banshee since saturday. i have brought him in twice. they can't find anything wrong. he seems fine now. there is dried vomit throughout my house, and he micturated in his carrier in the car on the way home. the blue meanie now reeks of warm-weather piss. hence the sweet greenage, despite the lack of insurance. and oh what a pleasure she is! i fucking love that car.
hearing 'china girl' on various stations every time i turn on the radio
the fact that it is supposed to be almost 90 degrees over the next few days
-thinking as i walked through today's humid 65-degree afternoon: 'if i had balls, they'd be sweaty'
this gloriously FUNCTIONAL computer that i am currently utilizing
my father taking my mom to see cake at the paramount for mother's day. they called me from the show; i was at work. i think i started that annoying tradition: calling people during concerts so that they can be assaulted with a blare of anonymous distortion- and it pleased me to hear, at 2am, hunched over my kitchen counter in my scrubs covered in other animals' hair
really liking death cab for cutie's 'i will possess your heart'. i enjoy this song A LOT. (it makes me feel 15 and wistful, which is never, in retrospect, a bad state)
*
i shall finish with a completely pointless video of the tombs, indulging in a rare romp.
proof that i was there: the mayday march in seattle. 
the only thing stopping me from enrolling in the massage school i interviewed at today: seeing the hippie-filled, sweat-scented classroom during the tour and thinking "oh fucking christ, perhaps NOT." but that is a snotty, uptight, judgemental way of thinking, and i am far cooler than that, MAN, and my income qualifies me for financial aid (no bills whatsoever until 6months post, or 2 years from now) so... i probably will.
i get a massage table as part of tuition. "you get to choose the color!" the breasty dame doing admissions squealed. she was very nice, but with that patina of artificiality that only public-relations folk can truly cultivate. she produced a variety of swatches. i think i said something stupid like "oh, cool."
i have wanted to do this for years. i am told i am good at it. have i ever had a professional massage? no. but it would be nice.
yeah. i think i probably will.
it keeps the flake wheel rolling.
and i already swaddle my unbrushed-hair self in patchouli (except for today: amber), and i drove to the interview in sweet green, and i would rather be poor and touch skin and make someone's day a bit better, so... yeah. i think i probably will.
*
i received my first shipment of avonex today. it comes in a styrofoam cooler with ice packs. the package itself is very small and inocuous. i am still waiting to be called back about a baseline blood draw (avonex can cause inconvenient things like liver failure) and to contact the Nurse who will Visit Me At Home to Demonstrate Injection Technique. "can't i meet her somewhere else?" i asked the rep on the phone. way to make me feel like a fucking invalid, avonex! i tossed the package in the fridge. dismissively. next to the fake mayonnaise and a few bottles of nail polish. i was feeling fucking fine. i thought "fuck this shit." but then my mouth- the left corner of my mouth- started feeling novocained- it lasted about an hour. now it and i am fine. it is one of the transient "am i crazy? or simply doomed?" perks of the disease. but in that time frame i thought "well, okay- so fucking be it."
now, of course, i feel fine again. i wonder how much is "it" and how much is me... MS gave me a portal that i feed all my most fucked-up weirdness into... and it is all invisible. i probably just look like a floofy-haired girl in an obnoxious orange sweater with a preoccupied mindset.
*
good things of the past week:
generic rice chex dipped in baba ganouj
insane busy-ness at work (the proper term should be 'business', but it isn't, and these are the sort of things that cause my thoughts to drift)
-the slug-bait dog who was in a drug-induced coma for 36 hrs to alleviate her tremors; she walked out of the hospital wagging her tail 3 days later
-the dog who went into arrest; 20 minutes of fruitless cpr whilst waiting for the owners to call back; the necropsy that revealed a tumor on the heart and a chest filled with blood (this is by no means a 'good thing', but it was certainly interesting
-my own guy, tiresias, who has been puking like a banshee since saturday. i have brought him in twice. they can't find anything wrong. he seems fine now. there is dried vomit throughout my house, and he micturated in his carrier in the car on the way home. the blue meanie now reeks of warm-weather piss. hence the sweet greenage, despite the lack of insurance. and oh what a pleasure she is! i fucking love that car.
hearing 'china girl' on various stations every time i turn on the radio
the fact that it is supposed to be almost 90 degrees over the next few days
-thinking as i walked through today's humid 65-degree afternoon: 'if i had balls, they'd be sweaty'
this gloriously FUNCTIONAL computer that i am currently utilizing
my father taking my mom to see cake at the paramount for mother's day. they called me from the show; i was at work. i think i started that annoying tradition: calling people during concerts so that they can be assaulted with a blare of anonymous distortion- and it pleased me to hear, at 2am, hunched over my kitchen counter in my scrubs covered in other animals' hair
really liking death cab for cutie's 'i will possess your heart'. i enjoy this song A LOT. (it makes me feel 15 and wistful, which is never, in retrospect, a bad state)
*
i shall finish with a completely pointless video of the tombs, indulging in a rare romp.
Monday, May 12, 2008
herewith, only 3 weeks too late, les raconteurs! note that i was jostled and unable to use a flash, so the blurriness is... artsy and immediate, i suppose.
brandon flowers and his nice hair
mmmm, jack white
the bow at the end, including arms (capacity 750- this is without a zoom)
and my first attempt at recording and publishing video. they truly sounded much better in person than they do on this.
brandon flowers and his nice hair
mmmm, jack white
the bow at the end, including arms (capacity 750- this is without a zoom)
and my first attempt at recording and publishing video. they truly sounded much better in person than they do on this.
Friday, May 09, 2008
she said her name was sheena
things are happening again. the rut has temporarily levelled.
i am going back to new orleans! after i booked my ticket it occured to me: i was there exactly one year ago. possibly i will be there on the exact same days (june 4-7). it will be humid and slimy and decadent and luscious, like revisiting a faraway lover for some incredibly good sex... that is how i feel about new orleans. i got a bonus at work so... fuck it, right?
on the other end of the financial spectrum, my insurance does not cover "pre-existing conditions" for the first year of enrollment, but my PITTANCE OF AN INCOME (relative to american standards; i get along quite well, thanks) qualifies me for two years of FREE avonex. normally it runs around $1500/month (weekly injections). i have not started it yet; twas only yesterday that i finished slogging through the monetary rigamarole. it is one of those times when i am actually quite proud to be poor.
i visit a massage school next week to see if it's "something i would be into." i have toyed with the idea of becoming an LMP/T for years. they offer 9 month programs, at the end of which you are licensed... it's been time for a change, SOMETHING, for far too long.
the weather is finally sort of somewhat mildly springlike. my sunflowers are sprouting.
that was an unintentionally awesome illiteration.
bought my mom a pack of "jewish mother" novelty gum for mother's day. On the box: "Fruit-Schmoot", "8 pieces no less", "go. rot your teeth", and my personal favorite: "again with the gum?"
that phrase has been riccocheting through my head for the past several hours. oh! the bus is coming! "again with the gum?" a text from that new lad! "again with the gum?" i'm ordering a glass of wine, typing, using the loo: "again with the gum?"
*
a swarthy man who i can only describe as "pimp-like" accosted me at the wallingford bus stop. "you're in high school" he said to me, the way frank zappa says "you must be a libra." after telling me i looked "sixteen or seventeen" and asking if i had any kids, he invited me to pose for photographs, then to accompany him to a steakhouse. it is one of the only times in my life when i have purposely blown cigarette smoke in another person's face. and then i shook his hand goodbye. he was polite, after all.
i am going back to new orleans! after i booked my ticket it occured to me: i was there exactly one year ago. possibly i will be there on the exact same days (june 4-7). it will be humid and slimy and decadent and luscious, like revisiting a faraway lover for some incredibly good sex... that is how i feel about new orleans. i got a bonus at work so... fuck it, right?
on the other end of the financial spectrum, my insurance does not cover "pre-existing conditions" for the first year of enrollment, but my PITTANCE OF AN INCOME (relative to american standards; i get along quite well, thanks) qualifies me for two years of FREE avonex. normally it runs around $1500/month (weekly injections). i have not started it yet; twas only yesterday that i finished slogging through the monetary rigamarole. it is one of those times when i am actually quite proud to be poor.
i visit a massage school next week to see if it's "something i would be into." i have toyed with the idea of becoming an LMP/T for years. they offer 9 month programs, at the end of which you are licensed... it's been time for a change, SOMETHING, for far too long.
the weather is finally sort of somewhat mildly springlike. my sunflowers are sprouting.
that was an unintentionally awesome illiteration.
bought my mom a pack of "jewish mother" novelty gum for mother's day. On the box: "Fruit-Schmoot", "8 pieces no less", "go. rot your teeth", and my personal favorite: "again with the gum?"
that phrase has been riccocheting through my head for the past several hours. oh! the bus is coming! "again with the gum?" a text from that new lad! "again with the gum?" i'm ordering a glass of wine, typing, using the loo: "again with the gum?"
*
a swarthy man who i can only describe as "pimp-like" accosted me at the wallingford bus stop. "you're in high school" he said to me, the way frank zappa says "you must be a libra." after telling me i looked "sixteen or seventeen" and asking if i had any kids, he invited me to pose for photographs, then to accompany him to a steakhouse. it is one of the only times in my life when i have purposely blown cigarette smoke in another person's face. and then i shook his hand goodbye. he was polite, after all.
Friday, May 02, 2008
and you give
i just sat on my ass in the odious chain bookstore and read 'a wolf at the table' in one sitting. no, this is an exaggeration. i read the first five chapters yesterday, at elliot bay, before enjoying the first thursday artwalk (drinking two-buck-chuck from dixie cups and indulging my monthly envy of other people's motivation and architectural space). interjection to parlay the magic of these environments: the sun was gold and low in the sky. i was in a fourth-floor space in a building adjacent to the viaduct, wandering through white-washed rooms as people cooler than i sprawled smugly on sofas under the huge windows. and through those dirty windows, open to let in the incessant roar of traffic, cars sped past and obliterated the sunshine, an unpredictable strobelight, an effect that i consciously thought: if this was my space, i would stretch out on the floor and stare at the patterns those shadows make, and that would be all i needed- i would never be bored and i would never feel alone.
but i digress.
'a wolf at the table' is a fucking great book. i place it a notch above 'dry'. i enjoy reading things that make me unconsciously pull at my lips in nervousness and think "oh shit oh shit oh shit." to stroll onto the relatively inocuous sidewalk after 2 hours of tea-and-book bingeing felt trepidatious; my lips were still red and swollen. it is nice to remember how easy reality actually is- relatively, at least.
*
3 days off in seattle:
wed: after leaving the shelton library, drove north on hwy 3. the water was flat and glittery, snake-eyed. took the ferry from bremerton back to seattle. i sat inside my car on the deck and took pictures through the window. the man in the car behind me read 'modern home', then slept. the water grew greyer and choppier as we approached the city. that dreamlike feeling again... not quite pleasant. wednesday was a day of drifting.
thurs: walked downtown in sunshine. took pictures of the mayday immigration march. a calvacade of motorcycled cops led the way. they all had annoyed expressions. it was a much smaller crowd than the one i attended 2 years ago. the masses rounded the corner and myself and all the other onlookers dispassionately filed away. i wondered: what in this world would truly make people engaged anymore? walked into the sun, finding my way by the shadows made by others. see above paragraphs. left artwalk, drank some tea, walked through the night. jangly. insulated.
fri: visited my grandmother in her "independent living" facility. she has her own "cottage" but takes meals in the main building. it was much nicer than i'd expected. my mother and i laughed rudely at the activity list: "down-home with dale", "scrapbooking!", "square-dance-a-thon". my grandmother is incredibly cynical about the entire place. she has lived there for 6 months, since my grandfather died and the rest of the clan rallied for her move. i find her contempt endearing, but i am not around it all too often. she reminds me of me. i saw her high school graduation yearbook, class of 1933; she was on the basketball team, one of the tallest girls in school. she was 5'9" then. now i tower a good four inches over her; i look down on her scalp. her nursing yearbook, army cadets, 1948- she was 31. four years later she would be a nurse in germany and meet my grandfather, 13 years her junior; he would knock her up with my mother, they would get hastily married. they would have 3 more kids and be married for 54 years, and then he would die. and she would say to me last fall, "it wasn't supposed to be this way. i was supposed to go first."
i look at the things she retained, the items she moved into this new world, and i feel really fucking sad: these are the few tangible things she has chosen to keep with her to prove that she existed.
i absconded with a few photographs: her and my auntie ann in bathing suits, both incredibly hot, circa 1930. a promo picture of my great-grandfather eugene kaplan, the vaudvillian. my mother and i found a collection of press clippings and programs today. he was a fucking stud in his day, as any sly-mouthed jewish man is. i asked my mother if she remembered him. he was alive until she was 10. "he used to always say "is everybody HAPPY?" she said. and she said it with a flamboyant east-coast accent, and it was immediately familiar because my mom used to say it also, when i was a kid, without even thinking about it.
*
"i kept to myself that when i ate vanilla frosting straight from the can, i could feel god standing right beside me like a real best friend, watching and smiling and wishing he had a mouth."
or
"maybe god was simply that part of yourself that was always there and always strong, even when you were not."
*
the cafe just started playing 'with or without you.'
but i digress.
'a wolf at the table' is a fucking great book. i place it a notch above 'dry'. i enjoy reading things that make me unconsciously pull at my lips in nervousness and think "oh shit oh shit oh shit." to stroll onto the relatively inocuous sidewalk after 2 hours of tea-and-book bingeing felt trepidatious; my lips were still red and swollen. it is nice to remember how easy reality actually is- relatively, at least.
*
3 days off in seattle:
wed: after leaving the shelton library, drove north on hwy 3. the water was flat and glittery, snake-eyed. took the ferry from bremerton back to seattle. i sat inside my car on the deck and took pictures through the window. the man in the car behind me read 'modern home', then slept. the water grew greyer and choppier as we approached the city. that dreamlike feeling again... not quite pleasant. wednesday was a day of drifting.
thurs: walked downtown in sunshine. took pictures of the mayday immigration march. a calvacade of motorcycled cops led the way. they all had annoyed expressions. it was a much smaller crowd than the one i attended 2 years ago. the masses rounded the corner and myself and all the other onlookers dispassionately filed away. i wondered: what in this world would truly make people engaged anymore? walked into the sun, finding my way by the shadows made by others. see above paragraphs. left artwalk, drank some tea, walked through the night. jangly. insulated.
fri: visited my grandmother in her "independent living" facility. she has her own "cottage" but takes meals in the main building. it was much nicer than i'd expected. my mother and i laughed rudely at the activity list: "down-home with dale", "scrapbooking!", "square-dance-a-thon". my grandmother is incredibly cynical about the entire place. she has lived there for 6 months, since my grandfather died and the rest of the clan rallied for her move. i find her contempt endearing, but i am not around it all too often. she reminds me of me. i saw her high school graduation yearbook, class of 1933; she was on the basketball team, one of the tallest girls in school. she was 5'9" then. now i tower a good four inches over her; i look down on her scalp. her nursing yearbook, army cadets, 1948- she was 31. four years later she would be a nurse in germany and meet my grandfather, 13 years her junior; he would knock her up with my mother, they would get hastily married. they would have 3 more kids and be married for 54 years, and then he would die. and she would say to me last fall, "it wasn't supposed to be this way. i was supposed to go first."
i look at the things she retained, the items she moved into this new world, and i feel really fucking sad: these are the few tangible things she has chosen to keep with her to prove that she existed.
i absconded with a few photographs: her and my auntie ann in bathing suits, both incredibly hot, circa 1930. a promo picture of my great-grandfather eugene kaplan, the vaudvillian. my mother and i found a collection of press clippings and programs today. he was a fucking stud in his day, as any sly-mouthed jewish man is. i asked my mother if she remembered him. he was alive until she was 10. "he used to always say "is everybody HAPPY?" she said. and she said it with a flamboyant east-coast accent, and it was immediately familiar because my mom used to say it also, when i was a kid, without even thinking about it.
*
"i kept to myself that when i ate vanilla frosting straight from the can, i could feel god standing right beside me like a real best friend, watching and smiling and wishing he had a mouth."
or
"maybe god was simply that part of yourself that was always there and always strong, even when you were not."
*
the cafe just started playing 'with or without you.'
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