Month: October 2003

  • Reminder


    I just got a love letter. There is something in those words hand-written in sepia ink on buttery soft handmade paper that moved me, especially  today. The handwriting is now as familiar to me as if it were my own, scrawled in my secretest diary. The  page seems to know all of my deepest thoughts and feelings. And the author is dearer to me than any soul I've known. So yes, perhaps what was written has all been spoken of before,  but I think love is always rewriting itself; it makes reminders of its existence, and sometimes even gets stamped and sent throught the post.


    (B - I love you, too.)

  • Restless


    It's one of those nights where I can't bear to be here, and I feel all my little monsters creeping in.  I have a bad case of wanderlust and a craving for solitude. I don't want to be patient anymore. I don't want to be good. I don't want to compromise, check the map, figure out an itinerary, and settle for anything less than the open road, or pretend that that's anything like who I am. I want to let my darkness out, reveal my little cruelties, and leave this godforsaken city far behind. If I must, I will alter everything I have here, and get there on my own two feet.


    Darling remember - when you come to me
    that I’m the pretender,
    I’m not what I’m supposed to be
    but who could know, lf I’m a traitor?
    time's the revelator....


    Every day is getting straighter.

  • Hiding Away


    Yes, this is going to be a thoughtful post, but not necessarily a considerate one. Prolly shouldn't be writing it, but I suppose I signed up for this nook well-knowing that I'd have to bare my soul at some point.


    I've kind of tucked it away for a long time, under the snow and history of the spring, and occupied my mind with other things. Maybe it's because I can feel the cold seeping in again, the change in the air and the press of things to come. It reminds me, makes a quiet mention of itself, and shifts something in my heart.


    One year ago, we had gone to New York City to see the Metropolitan, and I wore my orange scarf and cried in the rain on 51st street. The city was grey and unkind, and I felt fiercely miserable. I didn't know how to be good to him, when I was so determined to break my own heart first. He wouldn't let me, held the skyscrapers and the disgruntled old ladies at bay, soothed my soul outside of Tiffany's, and for a little while, once again, everything was alright with the world. I suppose New York felt like the beginning of an ending to me, and a movement away.


    Am I being melodramatic? I've given myself the reasons I left that time behind; some days I quote something esoteric and say I had to leave in order to make way for a new thing, and fate wouldn't yield for my comfort. Sometimes I believe I was a crappy friend, or he was a less than perfect boyfriend, sometimes I blame the broccoli, or some festering unspoken misgiving, or my jealousy, or codependence, or my tantrums. I sometimes think that I was ignored, neglected, or misunderstood, and provoked into that heartbreak. Maybe it was the expectation of a life I didn't want, too stable, too predictable, too lonely. Most of the time I think a little of everything might be true. But most of all I know that we loved each other too well to go on as we were, and we needed to change ourselves.


    So I buried it in the february snow, and didn't look back. Not at all.


    That morning I didn't want to say goodbye. I was in love with him still, and I wanted to hold on even after I'd said it. It felt horribly, awfully wrong to walk away. But I did, didn't I? I let it go, and wandered into something else. The funny thing is, I have never felt more alone, but at the same time I was more myself than ever. Strange days, indeed.


    I feel better now that it's all down. I suppose you might read it, and know this is about you, too. It's been said, I guess. I couldn't leave it hidden.


    New days to come.


     

  • Blog-Green Sweater


    Feeling artsy today, in my double zip spring green sweater.


  • Sidewalk


    Yeah, yeah, I know there's this insidious amateurish quality about it, but I was walking down the street and in the moment and I decided I liked the shadows. It's more like proof of my textural awareness than any sort of photography-aptitude, but I have fun with my little camera phone anyway.


  • Grrr, Brazil.


    Everytime I think about it, I get pissed off. The urge always happens randomly, and it's completely irrational.  I keep doing this to myself, because I'm curious about how it will feel to dwell on what happened and look at a picture, or hear a song. Ouch. Snarl. Stupid jealousy.


    new mexico new mexico new mexico.........

  • Odds and Ends of Things


    My mind has been busy....



    The other night I had a vivid dream about red leaves. I was sitting by the pond near my home, and my grandfather had just died at that moment. As they fell from the tree I knew this,  because my father would tell me later that day, and the present and the future were the same thing. When the sun shone throught the red it looked like stained glass, and all their veins were apparent.

    I spent the day in Portland with the ladies. They all brought their yarn and sat on a pier and knitted while I watched the sun change the shapes of the boats. I do not knit.


    But I would just like to add that fuzzy purple legwarmers are faboo. I felt like Cyndi Lauper all day long.



    I once dreamt that I had died, and noone could see me. It was confusing at first because it  seemed like years and years ago that I had been in my life, and how distant I felt from everything. I was wandering around a rainy parking lot trying to get someone to tell me where I was, then I remembered how sick I had been, and how suddenly and easily I let go.


    I don't think you're supposed to have dreams like that.



    We parked the jeep, and immediately I found myself faced with some art-school stranger's smile. Maybe it was the pigtails, but it felt like JP for a minute. He even had black plastic art-boy glasses, chuck taylors, and a vintage T-shirt. Stupid boy magnets, I must remember to take them out of my pockets before I leave the house. Dammit.

    I got mad on friday night because I didn't want to talk, and I was feeling stubborn. We'd never had an awkward silence before. That was the worst part, me and my old terrible habits making themselves known.

    We had tears on the pier, because it is frustrating trying to be extraordinary these days. Noone wants to keep us when we are not coy and polite and reserved. God forbid we give away our hearts or think something different, especially in this scheisty economy.


    We decided this is a probably a government conspiracy against hot art chicks everywhere.



    A boat.




    The Yankees are a bunch of spoiled fat white jackasses and they can go suck a fat smelly green duck. Yeah.

    Sex is similar to politics. I nearly fell off my log with glee when we all started talking shiznat about the boys in our lives. More than I ever needed to know, but exactly what we all wanted to tell, and make each other bawl with laughter. Strategies, diplomacy, silly underwear stories, battles, and revealing confessions..... I didn't contribute much though, because I have no schiznat; just a sexy hedgehog waiting at home. (Purr)

    I sent an email to someone about her pink lollipop, just to tell her I thought it was nice and we had something in common. Might have been a dumbass thing to do, but maybe it will stir up something interesting. Yes, I am a troublemaker, and I ask for it.

    I miss Nick today. It feels like a whole tsunami of time and events has come between, but sometimes on cold mornings I clearly remember what it was like to wake up in his room and hear the snow falling outside.  

    Cramped in the car later that night, we ranted about politics, consumerism, why most of the people in this country are so mindless; and then more sex, the men we hate, how to ask someone on a date, and why boys are so unbelievably and generically stupid. For specific technical questions, everyone apparently looked at me. I do not happen to believe that boys are stupid.  I was minding my own business in my corner, but I guess despite being a alleged jezebel I must know something useful.

    Mmm, love.

  • Play



    I taught Audrey a new trick. Ordinarily guinea pigs are not too bright, but rat-butt can be pretty clever sometimes. This afternoon we played tug-o-war for fifteen minutes with the string on my hoodie, me tugging on one end and she yanking on the other with her teeth and making ferocious muffled "ooot-ooot-ooot!" sounds.  I hadn't thought that small, fat, spoiled, roly-poly rodents knew about playing games, but she seemed to think it was pretty fun to yank on my cord when I wasn't looking and then run away. 


    Ah, the things that amuse me on rainy days. 


     

  • Apple Jacks


    At the moment I am enjoying a lovely bowl of cereal. I especially like apple jacks because they come in a vivid green box which is not entirely unlike the color of my blog. Green is nice. The other thing I like about apple jacks is that they in no way whatsoever have anything to do with apples, and have no intention of trying to be anything remotely multi-grain or chock full of vitamins, with stuff like little freeze-dried blueberry turds or hippie-granola crunchies floating around in them.



    However, I am a little disturbed by a recent development in my cereal box, which is these little blue weenusy poo-shaped things they claim are supposed to be "blue carrots." At first I was a bit taken aback by the little crunchy blue doos in my bowl; then it occured to me how phallic they are, and their obvious correlation to the holes in the loopier part of my cereal. What perverteer at Kelloggs came up with this?! And what the hell is a blue carrot?



    But then I reminded myself, "These are apple jacks. You are thinking like a simple-minded grownup. Kid cereal is supposed to be wierd, and you ought to know better."


    So I decided to investigate the evil mastermind behind all this.


    At the kellogg's site, which is just as wickedly green as the box, mayhem was on the loose. There was a big stupid fake blog about the thrilling development behind the "blue carrot" promotion, allegedly written by some empowered "secret agent" kid working for kelloggs. The scariest part was the little pop-up screen where you can leave feedback, which basically means that the cereal company can steal as many brilliant ideas from its young customers, and not give anybody due credit. Jerks. And then there's this little bit of hype about the rampant sucess of blue carrots, and how this proves that "kids can make a difference" by speaking up for the things they want. Bah! All this time and thought wasted on blue cereal poo! This is exactly how children end up growing into warped little consumer-whores, fussing about which color SUV to choose and where the nearest Gap outlet is.  Making a fricking difference in the world,  my pootang.


    Cereal makes me so angry, sometimes.