The One... The Only... The Vieve

Antsy pantsy

I took a Claritin D this morning, hoping it would help with my cold/allergies/whatever. It did, more or less, but now I'm high as hell. I can't sit still, my head is buzzing, I feel like talktalktalking at blazing speeds, and my eyes are vibrating in their sockets. Seriously. Decongestants do this to me. It's kind of interesting and annoying at the same time.

Also, it's the last day for one of my coworkers, and I just want to get out of here so we can celebrate/commiserate with some fried foods and cheap booze. I will miss him lots. His office is right across from mine, and he has a couch, so I go over there at least once a day for a chat and the latest gossip. He was my first boss, too, when I started as a freelancer here, and he is much wiser in the ways of the working world than I (since I spent most of my 20s in a highly insular and tiny nonprofit), and so I've always turned to him first for advice. I trust him, and I'll miss him.

So, those two things added together make it very difficult to concentrate. Instead, I want to go across the street to the park and run around in the fountain and swing on the swings. Maybe I will. Why the hell not?

This Is The Me Me (Not The You You)

If I like you, I will give you the shirt off my back. I will bake you cookies, bring you soup and juice when you're sick, give you a ride to Target when you need toilet paper, help you move your couch up 3 flights of stairs, rush you to the ER for stitches, hold your hair back when you're puking, rewrite your cover letter for your dream job, let you crash on my couch for a week, sew the buttons back on your shirt, lend you money when you're broke, use my Google-fu to find information for you about overseas divorce lawyers, give you a hug when you need it (or a kick in the ass or both), and on and on.

I love this about myself, and I wouldn't change it. (This isn't to say I'm a goddamn perfect saint-- I can be a bitch, too. I push buttons, I'm an idiot sometimes, I flake out.) But sometimes I overdo the niceness and it turns into martyrdom, and I turn into a doormat, a punching bag. I'll take on all your shit so you don't have to, and then what am I left with? When I get busy and overwhelmed, what resources do I have to help myself if I'm giving them all away? If I'm focused on making sure you're happy? I mean, I want you to be happy, but sometimes I don't have the energy or the ability to do that for you. And if you try to call me on it, and try to make me feel guilty for not doing something or doing something or whatever else, some passive-agressive bullshit, when I'm having a hell of a time keeping my head above water? Watch the fuck out. I don't have time for that, and I'll let you know. Because I am the most important person in my life, and I've finally realized that's not selfish. I've finally realized that life's too short to spend it always pleasing other people.

But I'll still catsit for you, and go grocery shopping for you when you break your arm, and plan a kickass brunch to celebrate your new promotion. But because I want to, not because I have to.

Magpie

I get distracted so easily sometimes. Focused attention is one of my strengths, but when there's so much going on, my attentions flitter like a hummingbird, searching for a new source of nectar every few seconds. Prioritization goes out the window. Everything is shiny and exciting and, like a magpie, I want to hoard it all. Leaner times always come back around, and so now I want to soak it in. I have no time for the mundane, though I need to pay attention to that too. Probably even moreso right now. But...shiny things...beckon....

It all makes my brain go a little mushy.

Monkeys and mustaches

I had strange dreams last night (no nightmares, though -- hooray!). I had grown a full-on mustache somehow. A bunch of people were watching me wash my face (second night in a row with bathing/washing dreams...?), and it was kind of uncomfortable. There were also monkeys -- a room full of freaking screaming monkeys.

I blame this on the article about Dada I read not long before getting into bed. But I suppose it could just be my bizarre psyche having some fun.

Day of upgrades

OK, now the site might be moving to a new server sometime tonight. I doubt anyone will notice, but there might be some downtime or DNS issues for a bit. Just so you know.

Test test test

Now it's upgraded to MT v3.2. Hopefully it's all worky (as opposed to brokeny). Looks good so far!

Test test

The site's files were just transferred from Berkeley DB to MySQL, or something like that, so this is just a test to see that it worked. Woot?

Smiling through the gloom

It's a gloomy day today, but I don't feel too gloomy (not yet, anyway...). In fact, a few things today have already made me smile:

• Eating ginger granola in vanilla soymilk and cherries in bed while watching Rocky & Bullwinkle.
• The results of finally (finally!) vacuuming my room, the kitchen, the hallway, and my bathroom.
• On my way to get coffee, passing a dog (Pittie? Staffie?) wearing a yellow raincoat.
• Quietly drinking my coffee and reading the new New Yorker.
• Thinking about my massage this afternoon.

Demons

More bad dreams last night. Like little demons rapping on my head, who can only get in at night when I'm sleeping, defenses down. Death and sadness and pain, my own and others'. I woke up crying.

My legs hurt, back hurts, hand's numb. I'm tired of chronic pain. I'm even more tired of doctors telling me it's "just stress." Yeah, well, that's "just unhelpful," and I'm beginning to think that you're "just an asshole." I have a massage scheduled today, though. I'm hoping she'll pound me into goopy, relaxed jelly.

It's strange, these dreams, this unrest. Besides a few key elements, I suppose, things are pretty good. Some things are even pretty great. But I have a lot going on, maybe too much. Maybe I'm overloaded. I think I need to figure out ways to cope with the new load right now, though, rather than simplify. I need all of these spinning plates in the air at the moment; I need to figure out how to keep them moving.

Booze

My bottle of Glenfiddich is almost gone. So sad. I guess next I'll buy a bottle of Knob Creek. I could use some hair on my chest.

Movies I want to see this summer

Superman Returns
Strangers With Candy
Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest
Wordplay
A Scanner Darkly
The Devil Wears Prada
Jet Li's Fearless

Don't judge me. You know you want to see Keira Knightley in a corset and Brandon Routh in tights (even if you don't know who the hell he is; trust me, he's hot) and Amy Sedaris in a prosthetic ass, too.

Sometimes I'm so happy I live in Massachusetts

Just yesterday, I sent email to my State Rep and Senator about the proposed amendment to the state constitution that would take away the right of same-sex couples to marry after January 1, 2009. I fundamentally disagree with taking away gay marriage rights, and am even more unhappy about the possibility of a freaking consitutional amendment. Putting issues of human rights to popular vote is such a bad, bad idea. Anyway, you can send email, too: go here.

Today, I got an email back from Denise Provost, my State Rep:

I absolutely agree with you that all people deserve the equal right to choose to marry. I do not support any effort to use the institution of marriage to create second-class citizens by denying certain people this basic civil right. Our state constitution is intended to provide legal protections for all residents of our Commonwealth, and it is wrong to suggest amending our constitution to sanction discrimination. As an elected official, I am responsible for protecting equal rights for all citizens, and therefore I oppose subjecting any person's rights to a popular vote.

I am proud to live, work, and raise my family in a state with a firm commitment to equal rights.

Thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts with me

Warm regards,
Denise Provost
State Representative, 27th Middlesex
State House, room 167
Phone: 617-722-2810
Fax: 617-626-0561
denise.provost@state.ma.us

Yay Denise! Let's see if Pat Jehlen writes back.

Draggin' ass

Every day, I wake up, usually after a fair amount of sleep, and then two hours later, all I want to do is crawl back into bed and take a nap. I'm not sure if this is from bad sleep or some other energy-sapping something or other. It's incredibly frustrating, though. Makes it hard to work and makes me worry. Maybe it's time for some Ambien. Or that new purple butterfly pill, whatever that's called. I would love some purple butterflies in my dreams; that would be a really nice change.

Dessert you

Lyrics I caught and appreciated this morning on my walk for coffee. From Islands, "If":

If you ain't sweet to me
I'll dessert you in a heartbeat
If you don't savour me
I'll salt you make you savoury

Channel

I had bad dreams last night. Dreams that made me sad and angry and scared. That made me wake up and whimper once or twice. Guilt and shame and fury and disappointment, while other people in the dreams were blithely ignoring what was right in front of them. That made it worse, made me think I was nuts. Sometimes I think I channel all of this bad energy and feeling for other people. Soak it up and feel it and deal with it so others won't have to. But that's just a thought.

Um, if you love it, set it free?

Someone found this site with the following search string: "what do i do if i just caught a lizard on my front porch".

Yeah, I don't know either.

Eclectic

New music:

Electric Six, Fire
Iron & Wine, Our Endless Numbered Days
Spoon, Kill the Moonlight

I don't know what I thought you were going to say, but that wasn't it

I was eating my Fern's Problem Solver sandwich at Hi-Rise a little while ago, and some avocado squished out of the side and fell onto the wax paper. I scooped it up and popped it in my mouth. I said to Colleen, "You know what I would love..." and paused for a few moments to finish chewing before I continued.

"...a tub full of avocado that I could just dive into and eat and smoosh around in."

Colleen laughed and laughed and laughed. "I don't know what I thought you were going to say, but that wasn't it."

Bits and bobs

I really really need a nap.

I'm going to start taking belly dancing lessons next week! The teacher's name is Genevieve. Seriously. It's fate. Now I just need to find a hip scarf...

I really want to see Nacho Libre. I know it will be kinda dumb. But it will be dumb fun.

My new favorite chocolate is Scharffen Berger Gianduja. Yum.

Eating two helpings of mapo tofu and some aged provolone at 2am is not a good idea.

Sometimes, things you always thought were very difficult turn out to be surprisingly easy.

Mapo tofu

It's almost 2am, and I'm just eating some leftover mapo tofu for "dinner." I have a feeling tomorrow's going to suck. I'm pretty OK with that, though.

Wheee! Oh. Guh.

I should be used to this right now, but it always catches me off guard. Feeling so right, giddy even, one minute, and then WHAM. Sinking feeling. Yuck yuck yucky.

I guess knowing why makes it a little better, but just barely. And I suppose the giddiness might come back soon. Who knows. And maybe I needed a little reality check anyway.

Best title *ever*

One of my coworkers just referred to me as a "luminary." I'm totally adding that to my résumé.

The Vieve: Production Editor, pixel-pusher, prose-fixer, and luminary.

Uncomfortable

It's been an uncomfortable morning for me so far. I can't seem to shake the numbness in my left pinky. My back feels creaky and sore. Turning my neck is a little ouchy. My body feels puffy. The first pair of pants I put on just didn't fit right.

I went out to get coffee, and as I was standing there, waiting to cross the street, an old man with a cane came up to me and asked if I would help him cross. He was disheveled, a little dirty, missing teeth, maybe homeless. I said OK, reluctantly. I let him grab onto my arm, but then another man came over and offered to help him instead. I said, "Yes, thank you. Thank you very much." I was grateful, and hurried away. And then I felt so guilty. What a horrible person I must be, not wanting to help this old man who just needed an arm to hold onto as he crossed the street. But then I thought, it's not that I don't want to help him. I just didn't want him touching me; it made me feel uncomfortable. And I guess that's reasonable and OK.

I still feel guilty, though. Another kind of uncomfortable.

Shallow

I got a pretty good lesson today in how shallow people can be. However, it seems to be working out in my favor (particularly regarding my ego), so I can't be too upset about it.

A case of the Mondays

I've realized lately that Mondays are really awful for me. Coming back from the weekend, whether it's fun (this weekend) or funeral-filled (last weekend), is completely wrenching. My energy level dips, I can't concentrate, my body feels ouchy and off-kilter, I amplify perceived slights ridiculously. I just want to go back to bed. I'm tempted to snap and snark at people. Compassion goes out the window, and I want to beat someone to a bloody pulp (figuratively. Mostly).

I guess awareness is helpful, but it would be better to fix it at its source. I'm working on it. In the meantime, if it's Monday, and I'm a bitch to you or call you past your bedtime and sound desperate and sobby and maybe a little bit mean, please forgive me. I'm not myself on Mondays.

everything you hear is distorted in your head

Calexico! Next Wednesday! At The Roxy! I am going! Yay! Maybe you should go, too.

My dad

My dad loves bicycling. He really likes South Park. He hates George Bush. He makes great pies. He makes terrible dinners. He built me a frame for my futon in college out of 2-by-4s and plywood. He built a geodesic dome, which we lived in until I was 11. He likes Japanese architecture and simplicity. He thinks I own too many pairs of shoes. He likes to watch basketball and yell "Traveling! What the...he was traveling! Aw, hell" at the refs on the screen. He can fall asleep anywhere, particularly right after dinner. I think he hates most of my music, and he bugs the shit out of me sometimes (just sometimes), but he's my dad, and he's pretty great, and I love him.

Good day

I had such a good day yesterday. Woke up at a reasonable hour, after a reasonable amount of sleep, chatted with a friend for a bit, and went to the gym for a couple of hours. Came home, futzed around, and then went off on a mini-golfing adventure in Saugus. The course was kind of...shoddy. Not well-maintained, and some of the holes were just kind of bizarre and bare-looking. But that wasn't the point, really, and "Jake," "Hansel," and "Vicky" (the names we gave ourselves for the scorecard) all had loads of fun. We trash-talked each other, got holes-in-one, posed with the giant orange dinosaur, did wriggly victory dances (OK, that was just me), got thwacked with rogue balls (OK, again, just me), and laughed and cursed.

After we finished the course, we got soft serve ice cream from the Dairy Castle right next door. I got a twist of chocolate and vanilla, with rainbow jimmies, my favorite -- something I haven't had since...I don't remember when. It was pure sugary glee. When we had all gotten our cones, the woman behind the counter said, "Thanks, kids!" Kids! Hee.

Then we went over to the arcade, and played pinball and skeeball and this racing game on snowmobiles where you could shoot nuclear snowballs. (I have no idea. But holy hell, the seat actually vibrated when you ran into something, which I did a lot of. It was a little distracting, to say the least. But I still beat "Jake's" ass.) We won tickets from skeeball, which we turned in for fabulous prizes. OK, "fabulous": a couple of beaded rings that fit on our pinkies, and two plastic ones that might fit on a 5-year-old's pinky. We spent a good five minutes deliberating about what we should get, though. It's funny what becomes important when you're full of ice cream and giddy from sun and arcade games.

It was all pure fun. I felt goofy and wriggly and carefree and crispy, and the rest of my grown-up problems and difficult relationships and disappointments and struggles just fell away. I felt like a kid, just for a little bit. And it was wonderful. It was a great day.

Spinny

It's almost 2:30am, and I'm still up. I'm listening to Neutral Milk Hotel full blast on my iPod. No one else is in my apartment. I'm a little drunk. I feel like spinning around in the living room until I fall on my ass. I think I will. Who cares if no one will help me up off the floor. You've had your chances. Too many of you, you dumb shits. Yessir. Wheeeeeeeheehee!

Gorgeous on the inside

A chat with a friend this morning:

tc: I had a dream about you last night.
vv: oh yeah?
vv: i hope it was good!
tc: I think we lived in the same building as you, and we saw you in the early morning. out front
you were trying to order some breakfast from somewhere.
because you had had a gentleman caller and y'all were hungry.
vv: hee
tc: and we went up to your place, and the front room was all run down and dismal
but then the rest of your place was huge and gorgeous.
and I am not sure, but there may have been two gentlemen callers in there, eating scones.
vv: so...i am a little slutty with a seemingly dismal but really gorgeous "apartment"
sounds about right ;-)

Fading light

I'm spending time by myself tonight, after a week of busying myself with going out. To dinner, to dinner again, to music and drinks. I'm tired. I'm not as young as I once was. (Though I'm far from old.)

I've been siting on my front porch, in the fading light, reading my New Yorker, which is dedicated to stories of war. They are terrible and beautiful, and I feel small.

3 to the 1 to the vieve

I know summer is a busy time, with weddings and vacations and other hooha, so I just wanted to remind everyone who cares that my birthday is July 16th. Some fun will be had around that time -- hopefully a bouncy house, hopefully a trip to Six Flags, definitely some drinkin' and shenanigans.

You have been warned.

All things go

I went out tonight with my friend Colleen, to see her friend Camilla play bluegrass at the Lizard Lounge. (They're fantastic, by the way, and will be playing every Sunday night at The Druid, so you should go. Maybe with me.)

Then we went across the street and had some fancy drinks, and talked about life and love and mistakes and things that suck but aren't your fault. And I was walking back to my house, after seeing her safely to the T, and I plugged my earphones into my ears, and listened to some Sufjan Stevens, and he sang

"I fell in love again
All things go
All things go

I make a lot of mistakes
In my mind
In my mind

I've made a lot of mistakes..."

I have, and I will, and that's life. I'm living my life and I'm trying my best, and that's all I can do. That's all any of us can do.

Breadcrumbs

They're like little breadcrumbs, these terse messages, leading back to memory. I have trouble remembering things far away, but I can remember things that are close, but seem so far away.

Like our first kiss, how I pulled you back from the door and drew you close, my right hand behind your head, my left around your back. And then I asked, "Do you want to stay for a while?"

And later, on my bed, both naked to the waist, I held you tight and breathed against your neck, not moving. And you asked, "Are you OK?" "I'm OK," I said. "It's just nice like this. Quiet and still." And it was. It was lovely.

Music is my hot, hot sex

I got an email yesteday from Sub Pop, announcing the upcoming debut release from Cansei de Ser Sexy (which is apparently Portuguese for "Tired of Being Sexy." Cute). I skimmed over the press-release-ese: "transcending boundaries of genre and geography," "careers full speed into dance territory...to emerge all hot and bothered with wild electro-rock." Hmm, interesting. So I saved the email and wandered over to the site just now, where I saw the track listing:

...
4. Let's Make Love and Listen to Death From Above
5. Art Bitch
6. Fuck Off Is Not The Only Thing You Have To Show
7. Meeting Paris Hilton
8. Off The Hook
9. Alcohol
10. Music Is My Hot, Hot Sex
...

Hot damn. I think I'm sold already.

Hey teach

I was just listening to a news story on NPR about North Carolina schools, certification, funding, No Child Left Behind, etc. etc., and it reminded me why I'm not in the public education business anymore: because we're fuuuuuuuucked. Fucked fucked fucked.

As I was listening to the story, I started thinking, How do we fix this? Where do we even begin? Issues surrounding education and successful schools do not exist in a vacuum: they're wrapped up in social issues, poverty, immigration, race, gender equity, technology, religion. It all makes my head spin. And policies implemented to "fix" schools are largely punitive, and set up an "us" (teachers) versus "them" (government policymakers) mentality. It's divisive, and makes things even messier.

With the exception of the stinkers who have no business being in the classroom (and there are many of them, though they are the minority), teachers work their asses off and do what they do because they want children to learn and grow and succeed. They work long hours, spend hundreds of dollars of their own money on supplies for their classrooms, often get yelled at and abused on a daily basis (by kids, parents, principals). It's hard work, and bless them for doing it. I couldn't.

But shit's fucked up, and it seems like any sweeping policy changes just end up shifting the shit instead of making things better. And I have no clue exactly how to make things better, but it seems to me that starting small would be best. Pick a modest goal, work on that, build on that, move onto the next one. Couple that with social policy, like more affordable daycare so older siblings don't have to miss school to take care of the younger kids and consequently are in 4th grade when they're 12 years old and still don't know how to read. (I had a student like this. It broke my heart.) Or better access to mental health services, so the 10-year-old budding sociopath has a chance to channel his energy and rage into something other than a path toward juvie or worse. (I had another student like this. It scared the bejeezus out of me.) Ask teachers what they would do if they had a magic wand, and then work on achieving what's possible, one small piece at a time.

Oh, and also, in education schools like the one I went to, when almost-graduates are putting together their "professional" portfolios, maybe they should put less emphasis on using pretty colors and stickers and glitter and smiling pictures of students and more on actual work and sound philosophy and fresh ideas and demonstrations of intelligence, mmkay? Sweet jebus.

I don't know. Thinking about this stuff makes me despair. But I don't think it's hopeless.

Weed farmer!

I've been spending time lately thinking about my next career move. Which is why it tickled me so much to run across this: "My Other Career Options If This Whole Music Thing Doesn't Eventually Pan Out By Eric D. Johnson of Fruit Bats."

I like most of his ideas. I'd also like to add the following:

• Dog masseuse
  
• Booth babe
  
• Avocado farmer
  
• Library shusher

If you have any other ideas, I would love to hear them. Bring it.

Poo root

I haven't been sleeping well lately. I fall asleep OK, once I decide to do it, though sometimes it takes a while to make that decision. My bed feels like a sticky-hot, forbidding, uncomfortable place these days. I sleep for four hours, wake up, spend an hour trying to fall back to sleep, and then sleep for another two or three hours. Finally, I say fuck it, get up, examine my undereye circles in the mirror, and go get coffee. I'm too tired to exercise, too tired to concentrate. I am miserable, and vow to go to yoga after work and then get to bed early that night. And it doesn't happen, because I am too anxious and tired to do either of these things. And the cycle continues.

Last night before dinner, I bought some valerian root, which was recommended by a friend. (I bought the tincture, not the tea or the capsules. The liquid form of this type of thing seems more direct, more quick-n-dirty, and making tea seems like too much effort.) After dinner, I went home and opened the little bottle. I wrinkled my nose. It smelled like...dog poo. Sigh. I measured out 30 drops, unhappy. I added water, I drank it. Unfortunately, it tasted like what I imagine dog poo must taste like. But about 10 minutes later, I did feel sleepier. More relaxed. And I slept well last night, my body softening into the mattress and my mind drowsier and quieter than it has been in quite a while. Maybe it was the 4 or 5 little cups of sake that were pressed into my hands last night, or maybe I had reached a saturated level of tiredness that guaranteed sleep, or maybe it was the poo root. Who knows. But I know I'll try it again tonight. It can't hurt.

Sweatin' to the disco

I also love this picture. (Along with the photos below, taken by tarantula6, which I should have mentioned earlier.)

Hoon's wild-n-crazee uncle and Courtney's mom, busting a move (probably to the Bee Gees). Me, itching to get in on the ass-shaking action, but respecting their shining moment of awesomeness.

Happier times

Scared

Sometimes I'm scared to ask questions because I'm scared of the answer. The wrong answer is worse than not knowing. Or so I imagine.

I'm thinking I need to give some people a break from me. It hurts too much to be ignored, whatever the reason. But I understand people not wanting to get the least bit involved in me and my sorrowful nonsense. I don't blame them -- if I could be someone else, just for a little while, at this moment, I think I would.

I'm also so scared of being forgotten. If I stop pestering you, please don't forget me. Please.

Querying and/or querulous

I've had a rough week. A lot of crying and feeling desperately...lots of things. Desperate and grasping. I've been upset with people, with particular people and with humanity in general, I guess. I don't know what to do with it. How do I confront it? How do I resolve it? Do I confront them? Do I swallow it? I've spent so much of my life not even acknowledging these things. Brushing them aside and pretending, convincing myself so thoroughly, that they don't matter. Now that I can't do that anymore (which I think is positive, at least in the abstract), what do I do with it?

Maybe I can't do anything. That doesn't seem right. Certainly not fair. But maybe that's just how it goes.

I feel like I'm losing my optimism. It comes back in fits and starts, but fades so quickly. I feel like I need a little bit of luck, some good timing. Maybe someone to give me a little lift, a boost up over the fence. But when you ask for it, over and over in different ways, and don't get it, I guess it's safe to say that it won't happen.

Tick-tick

I realize I spend a lot of time trying to figure out the motivation for other people's behavior. This is difficult to do, because there are so many variables, and you never have access to all of them. Sometimes, with the disengaged and reticent, you don't have access to any of them. This frustrates and confounds me. I always want to know Why? Why why why?

I don't expect people to be completely open books; lord knows that would be a fucking mess. Some insight would be nice, though. But maybe it's there, and I just don't want to see it. I guess that's the case sometimes. But I also think sometimes it's just a big mystery. It makes me a little crazy.

Maybe I should just ignore it and try to go about my merry (or not-so-merry) way. Maybe I should just stop trying to figure it out. But I don't think I can. I live in this world, with other people and their emotions and mine, and they are inextricable and unavoidable, even when we try to push them away, and the whys are an important part of that. Curiosity killed the vieve.

Memorial

Yesterday, I went to Gregory's memorial service. I drove down to Hartford with Em. So tense and spinny, I thought I my head would crack open.

The service was sad, touching, personal. I remembered to bring tissues, and handed Patty one or two. We went back to the house afterward, and I felt so awkward for a while. Not sure where to stand, who to talk to. I looked at pictures of Greg from when he was little, as a teenager, in college, from when I knew him, DJing.

Eventually, I went and talked to people. To Selma, who I realized I had seen last many years ago, when I went to Blue Fin for sushi with Greg. The Sparkles (Emily and Bucky), who were with Greg in the hospital as he left us, have been with his parents, updated the blog, helped to make sure everyone knew, helped with the memorial service, and so much more. They are lovely, amazing superhumans. I talked to other people I knew from around, at parties and 10-cent wing nights. It was difficult and wonderful at the same time. It was a release.

As we were leaving, I stopped to say goodbye to Greg's mother. I took her hand, and thanked her for having us in her home. Thanked her for creating a space where we could remember Greg and talk about all of our happy memories. She said you're welcome, and thanked me, and said, "Come back soon. Come back any time."

Shake it

I just went to a trance night and shook my ass for at least 2 hours straight. Maybe even 3. Jumped around, swoopy arms, stompy stompy. It felt great, and it's nice to know I still have it in me. I saw people I haven't seen in years, from my old ravey-Hartley days. I was happy they remembered me, and seemed happy to see me. It was a fitting memorial for Greg, I think. Music. Dancing. Friends.

I am sofucking tired.

Pukey

My stomach is all tied in knots. Several reasons for this (and maybe several more that I'm unaware of). I should eat something, but thinking about food makes me gag.

I need a cushiony cocoon spun from comforting words and platonic touch. (And maybe an IV drip with some nutrients and a smidgen of valium.) I've been putting this all out to the universe, hoping to get an answer. The silence is pretty deafening. Maybe I'm just not looking or listening in the right way, though. It's hard to know.

Respect mah authoritay

I know that I am behind the times, and that everyone already did this, like, 3 years ago, and it's kind of silly, but I was bored and...whatever. No need to justify myself.

I can't decide whether I look more sad or angry. Sangry?

The wheels on the car go round and round...

It's amazing how much better a car drives when it has 30 psi of air in its tires instead of, say, oh, 15. I think I am the most irresponsible car owner on the planet.

I also checked the oil, which there is enough of. I think. I thought about attempting to change the burnt-out headlight, which I used to do all the time on my Golf, but the manual said you needed a screwdriver (for what, I don't know; the VW needed no such complicated flimflammery), so I decided to skip it for now. Maybe after I have my coffee.

It deperately needs an oil change and an inspection, but I guess I will do that Monday. Thought about taking it in this morning, but I need it back by 1pm at the very latest, and the shop I take it to, though good and reliable, is not particularly speedy. Hopefully I won't be driving a fiery death trap down to CT.

I got enough sleep last night, but I still feel like crap. Shaky and ouchy. My face feels kind of numb and weird. My leg muscles are twitchy. Head is a little spinny. I hate feeling this way. Maybe I should rent out my body to a scientific research study about the effects of stress.

Ants in my pants

I feel tired. Like an anxious zombie.
I feel restless and antsy. I wish I had the energy to do something besides walk and pick up Thai food.
My legs hurt. Again. Some more.
My room is messy. Energy to clean will come soon, I hope.
Have tentatively ventured back onto the grid, briefly. I realize that I resent having to be the one making the effort. I don't have the energy. I want people to just pick up the damn phone and call to say hi. The resentment is not good. Feeling like no contact = no caring is also not good. I keep telling myself that's not true, but it still sets me spinning in a bad spiral. It's no one's job to try to make me feel better, but I wish someone would try anyway. It really wouldn't take much.
Time for Thai food and TV. Hopefully some sleep later.

Details

I just noticed that I still have Rosie's water dish and lambswool bed in my office. I guess you stop noticing things like that after a while. I guess I should get rid of them.

Hard to tell

Don't think this off-the-grid thing is working so well. Not how I'd hoped. I end up trying to reach out anyway, when I most need it, and sound grasping and foolish. No one will come to me, though. No one can read my mind. But I've also learned not to say what's on it. Fucked seven ways from Sunday.

Realizing I'm upset about Tuesday. I felt so alone, and crazy. Untied and unhinged. I realize now I wanted someone to call and say, "Hi. I know today sucks for you. What can I do?" I'm not sure I knew then, but I know now that I just wanted someone to come over and sit with me for a little while. Just sit, and maybe hold my hand. Let me cry, but unalone.

It's hard to tell when you've asked too much, or whether what you ask for just can't be given. Or if I don't ask the right way, or the right people. I suppose it's all the same in the end. But it makes a difference. It's hard to know when you're met with silence.

Superhero

I guess I've been hoping someone would swoop in and...something. Not fix things. Just help. Shoulder a little bit of what I'm carrying. I have. I would.

Stupid

Or insane. Trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. I don't know why I bother.

7:18

Home now. Head still hurts. Still want ice cream (of the hot fudge sundae variety) and diner food. I guess I could just go by myself. But that seems depressing.

6:12

Still at work. Head hurts. Want ice cream and diner food.

More pieces

I forgot to mention that I haven't shaved my armpits for over a week now. They are pleasingly fuzzy. That's better.

I just found a nascent incarnation of one of those...moth things that like to eat grains in my bag of tamari almonds. I am so grossed out right now. What if I ate one?? Or one of its eggs? What if one is growing inside me RIGHT NOW?! I'll try not to think about this anymore.

I really really want a new bike. Preferably in time for the glorious weather that I'm sure is right around the corner. If you see or know of a cheap-ish bike ($100? and not a road bike and not a heavy-duty mountain bike, but whatever's in between) that's suitable for a somewhat wee (5'4") person, please let me know.

Every day at work there's a new odor. Today it was sharp and chemically, I'm assuming from the cleaning stuff they used while vacuuming the lake from the carpeting near the kitchen. I can't smell it anymore, though. I'm pretty sure those scent receptors are now lost and gone forever. Bye bye.

Bits and pieces

I made it to the gym this morning, which is a not-so-small victory. A quick sprint on the treadmill, 15 minutes of crunchcrunch, 7 fast miles on the bike, lots of weights and stretching. I need a nap. (I guess I can do that at work?)

I love the second song on the new Flaming Lips. The Princey squeals and gasps and screams made me smile this morning. I love the first song too. (Yeahyeahyeahyeahyeahyeahyeah...) OK, the whole thing is pretty great. And so is the new Calexico. And all the new stuff I bought last night. Music music music.

I need a bigger iPod.

Talked to the poops the other night, after playing phone tag for weeks and weeks. She's in northern Idaho working on her summer internship, jumpstarting the social responsibility program for a bigbig company. ("It's a really beautiful part of the country. I would totally live here, except, well, it's northern Idaho." "Hmm, yes, minor detail...") We caught up, I filled her in on my foibles and new plans and heartaches and frustrations. One thing I love about her is her ability to cut through the shit like no one else: "Eh, you don't need that kind of baggage anyway." (Which is so true, though it would be nice if someone would help hold mine.)

I'm thinking a lot about the funeral on Saturday. Who I'm going to see there, if I'll drive down alone. Seems like I will. I guess that's OK.

I've decided to stay off the grid for a bit. Just general quietness and, specifically, no IM. It's been distracting me lately, taunting me even, and bringing out my obsessive tendencies. I don't have the energy for that, or for failed communication efforts. I probably would love to hear from you, though. (And if I've talked to you or attempted to recently, I almost definitely do.) So, you know where to find me if you want to.

New music

Tapes 'n Tapes - Loon
Islands - Return to the Sea
Calexico - Garden Ruin
The Flaming Lips - At War with the Mystics

I missed Tapes 'n Tapes due to non-participation and general malaise. I don't want to miss Calexico in a few weeks, though.

Small and meek and quiet

I don't have a security blanket
Or comfort in-the-flesh.
Just me, and a leaky office.
Stale tamari almonds and an iPod
Playing slow songs.
Work and whipping rain.

I'll run to something better soon,
Shake off what little I have left
From the fire sale of the last few years.

Right now I'll just make myself small
And meek and quiet
So only those who care to notice
Do.

Think ten good things before breakfast

Walking in the drizzle to buy coffee, suitably dreary music on the iPod, she thought about the day. "Think ten good things before breakfast" popped into her head. Where did that come from? And is that the right phrase, or quote, or what-have-you? She would have to look it up later, to soothe her concern for correctness.

She didn't eat breakfast anyway. There was a brief interlude a few months ago, when granola would be mixed with soy milk or yogurt. A pear or an orange would be eaten, or a piece of toast with honeyed peanut butter and banana slices. A joint effort of nourishment. Now it's back to coffee. Slip-sliding back to bad habits.

What were her other thoughts this morning, besides coffee and poor nutrition? There were tears, briefly, while reading something sweet and sad. What to wear this morning, which turned out to be mostly the clothes from warm and sunny yesterday. The sweatshirt was undoubtedly smelly, and would become more so as the day went on. She decided she didn't much care.

Tears and practical matters. The usual, wearing a groove in her brain like a line of crushed carpet.

This too

I don't know what to do with myself right now. I want the right kind of distraction, at the very least. A temporary fix, some comfort, at best. But both seem unavailable. What I really want is most likely beyond what can be given, and probably not a good idea anyway. (Though I don't really care about good or bad ideas at the moment.)

I guess what I have to do is simply sit with my sadness and grief, alone. I don't like this very much, though. I'm tired of hurting.

Farewell, godspeed, we love you

My friend Greg died yesterday afternoon. He had surgery a few weeks ago, and wasn't able to recover. I'm grateful I was able to see him shortly before that, and catch up, and witness a classic Soundbites moment together. I only wish I had been more present, and not consumed with my own petty grief. I hope he understood.

I'm so sad right now. I don't believe in a heaven with fluffy angels, but I do believe in...something. Some kind of spiritual collective consciousness of great beauty and love. I think he must be there now.

We'll miss you, Greg.

Spending more money I don't have

New shirts. (Cookie Loves Milk was sold out. Again. Boo.)

Hole in my heart

I feel like there's a hole in my heart, and I want to fill it so badly. But the piece that's missing doesn't fit anymore. I guess I just have to wait for the hole to close. I thought poking at the wound would toughen things up, but I'm too tenderhearted for my own good.

Spin cycle

Too many things are going on right now in my head, making it swim and freak out. Like an overloaded washer on the spin cycle, ka-CHUNK ka-CHUNK. I feel like I need a little comfort and familiarity in the midst of it all, but there's very little of that on tap at the moment.

I know this already, but still

You've got to take control, Cancer, of your participation, your behavior, and the stuff you've been investing yourself in. The more you claim your control, the more you can be true to yourself and your people as you go about making the many changes -- including relationship changes -- you need to make.

Discomfort

I think I might have to pull back on the blogging reins a little. I'm starting to feel like I reveal a little too much when I write, and I'm starting to feel uncomfortable about it. I wonder if I'm making other people uncomfortable too. I'm not sure. (If I am, please let me know.) I need to think about this some more.

Thank you thank you

Thank you for showing me your city, with its sunny skies and beautiful green-and-gold-hued canyons and jasmine growing everywhere. Thank you for welcoming me, and driving me all over, and making sure I had a comfy place to rest my hungover head. Thank you for carving time out for me, in the midst of so much chaos, me who you barely knew but I think know so much better now. And thank you for believing in me, and helping me believe in myself. That is the most important thing, and what I'm most thankful for.

I can't wait to see your shining, red-gold head again, and brilliant smile, and hear more of your throaty, gorgeous, trilling laugh. I raise an Arrogant Bastard to you, my (for the moment) far-flung friend. You've helped so much, and I can't thank you enough.

Youngin

I was just talking to one of my roommates, and mentioned that I've been in Boston for almost 11 years now. He said, "Wait, you're 25, right?" (He's 24.) I said, "Dude, I'm 30. I'll be 31 in July." He seemed a little flummoxed, and sputtered, "No, you're...what? Really?" I blushed.

Maybe it's shallow, but that made me love him a little bit.

Muuuuusic

I really want to go see tapes 'n tapes tomorrow night at the Middle East. I don't have many live rock 'roll buddies, though. (Like, any, at the moment.) Anyone?

Withersoever dispersed

Finally made it to the gym this morning, though I was tired. Up too late last night, thinking thinking, and obsessing obsessing about things that are not my business to know and have no bearing on me, really, except that I let them. Frustrating.

As I thought it would, the gym kind of kicked my ass. I felt weak and wheezy and creaky. I know it will get better, though, like so many other things, if I keep at it. Keep trying. (I made the mistake of stepping on the scale, though. I knew I wouldn't like what I saw -- I feel uncomfortable in my skin, like it's stretched too taut, but... Sweet jesus. Yet another thing on my list to fix sooner rather than later.)

Did some thinking this morning on my walk back from getting my coffee. Thought about why I'm here in this city, and what has kept me here for almost 11 years. School (one that I hated), boyfriends (ranging from crappy to not so good for me to lovely but unavailable and ultimately hurtful), jobs (all soul-sucking), fear of change, and self-doubt so ingrained I couldn't imagine starting over anywhere else on my own. I thought about what's keeping me here right now. I have friends I love, of course, and family. Not small things, but friends and family don't stop loving you (and vice versa) just because you're not around all the time. I've felt beholden to this place, trussed up by it. But I don't love it. I never chose it; I just fell into it, like so many other things in my life.

I need to make a choice. I think I'm 90% there. I'll need a little help on that other 10% and beyond, and I'm a little terrified, but I have to do it. I have to choose something for myself.

Lonely

I just got back from my sister's engagement dinner. It made me happy -- I am happy for them, completely -- but also kind of jealous and lonely. It's also nice to be old enough to get a little drunk in front of my parents, but still young enough to drink and eat on their dime. (Or hundred-dollar bill, or whatever it might be.)

I guess I should go to sleep now, but I am too full of...too many things. I want company and compliments and cuddles. And sex. With someone trusted and loved (OK, maybe just liked) by me, yet someone who doesn't want attachment and complications. I don't want anyone who will cling to me, or vice versa, or hold me here. Yet I want to want them, at least a little bit, in every way. Emotionally, intellectually, bodily. It's a complicated situation. A difficult balance. I don't think I'll find it (and it won't find me), and that makes me unhappy. I'd just like someone I think is pretty great to make me a little happy, throw caution to the wind for a little pleasure, just for a little while.

Up

By 9:30 tonight, I was so tired, I was cross-eyed. Now I can't sleep. Thinking thinking thinking. About money and moving and friends who need hugs and healing. Wondering how I'm going to to take care of the big stuff in my life when I can't even muster the energy to vacuum my bedroom floor. About giving and not receiving and where the lines and limits are drawn (and how to construct boundaries, when necessary, that are solid with resolve and sealed tight against empathy and the natural instinct to love and help endlessly).

Thinking about where we'll go tomorrow night for my sister's engagement dinner (EVOO, pretty please?). About how I watched my most favorite Wonder Woman episode tonight ("The Pied Piper", starring Martin Mull as a flute-playing, svengali-like pop star, and Eve Plumb as the pretty, hypnotized ingenue), hoping it would cheer me up, which it sort of did, but how I also spent a lot of time wishing I had someone watching with me who could appreciate its awesome awfulness.

Thinking about going to the gym tomorrow and whether it will suck, after my 10-day break. About how I really need to just pick a yoga class and go already. About bills I have to pay. About work and how I'm going to manage to drag my ass there every day. About the chocolate bar I ate a few hours ago and if that's what's making my tummy upset.

About why it feels like all of my energy and optimism and enthusiasm dissipated as soon as we began our final descent into JFK. (And whether that's really the case, or if it's just some convenient construct I've fashioned, to do what exactly, I'm not sure.) About the panic that's always lurking, ready to pounce.

I'm so tired.

Tequila is not my friend

(Evidence below)

However, coffee is. I already miss the Blue Bottle coffee I got every morning in San Francisco, from the hole-in-the-wall place across the street from John's apartment. (Literally, it's a hole in the wall of the building, closed off each evening with a garage door.) I would get there around 9, and there would be a line out into the street. I got the drip, the plain ol' coffee, which they made by the cup with a filter and a funnel and freshly ground beans. So strong, it made me shake and sweat a little bit, but the deliciousness was worth it (and I got used to my new caffeinated state in a couple of days anyway). I miss drinking that coffee, and the sunny, breezy mornings, especially on this grey, workaday, slightly hungover one.

I don't know

Like I told someone earlier today, I think I'm past the stage where I'm like, I must be a horrible, unlovable, ugly person. I know I'm not. But I'm not sure why other people don't see that too.

I hate it. I need to get out of here. The land of tears. And idiots. I don't understand. Not at all.

Not quite there

I thought I could match that cool, blase, whatever, I'm-totally-fine-with-everything attitude. I guess I can outwardly, but I'm realizing I can't inwardly, not yet. I hate that I can't. I feel stupid, and like something's wrong with me. I know there isn't, but I still feel like a nutjob. When someone tells me I'm overreacting, even if it was a month ago, I tend to believe it for a while. My skin isn't made of teflon, unlike others'. I wish it were sometimes.

I have a date with some tequila. I guess I'll keep it.

LA moment

I forgot to mention that on my way from LA to NY, Scott Speedman was sitting three seats in front of me! For reals! Hott. No wonder that Felicity girl moved to New York.

Funny geeky spam

I got a choice piece of spam the other day, with this subject line:

"Linux is free only if your time is worthless"

Back in Boston

I'm back! Got in last night, about two hours later than I should have, of course. Whenever I fly back to Boston, there's always some maddening hassle and delay. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something.

I have too many things to write about, and so I'm not sure what to say. I loved San Francisco. LA was sunny and fun to visit. I smiled a lot. I'm not particularly psyched to be back, but once I do some laundry and wade through my work emails, I'll start planning and plotting a way to fix that.

It was a very emotional trip for me. So much beauty, so many friends. So many reminders of other people's memories and so much potential for making my own. It made me happy and worried and lonely and excited and wistful, all at the same time. It was hard to hold it all, and it's still a little jumbled in my head.

I spent Friday afternoon wandering around Golden Gate Park by myself, alternately feeling content and wishing I had someone to share it with. Friday night, I wandered down to Pakwan by myself and got the most delicious deliciousness. I don't know how they make lentils and spinach taste so good. Felt happy and kind of lonely at the same time.

Saturday, I met up with McG, and we wandered around the Mission together, stopping first at Tartine to get some morning buns and then another cafe to get some juice. We sat in Dolores Park, and ate, and listened to the drums from a Native American wedding ceremony at the bottom of the hill, and petted some dogs, and talked a lot about life. Wandered around some more, talked more, went into a hat shop and Paxton Gate and an antique store. Then to Ti Couz and out of the sun, where we stuffed ourselves with crepes. It was a beautiful, meandering day -- my favorite kind. I want so many more of those.

The wedding was beautiful, and extremely swanky and impeccably organized (as I knew it would be -- it was Courtney's wedding, after all). It made me tearily happy, seeing her come down the aisle, one of my oldest friends. I danced with a lot of married men (I think that was the only type of man there), and also with Hoon's crazy uncle. He was spinning me around and ripping up the dance floor, and I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. I'm pretty sure there's a video out there somewhere. By the end of the night, my feet hurt, and I felt overwhelmed and alone and tipsy, and I had to go lock myself in the bathroom for a little bit and have a little cry.

I slept for a few hours on the floor of my friends' hotel room, went back to John's to pack up, and somehow dragged my hungover, sleepy ass over to Oakland. I took the BART, and was waiting for someone to pick me up and take me to the house, when someone in a car across the street starting screaming. "Call 911! I'm gonna fuck shit up!" She dragged a guy out the car, starting punching him, the other woman joined in, walloping him with her purse, and a bus driver ran over to break it up. The guy eventually walked away, muttering, "Bitch crazy." The women got back into the car, but a minute later one got out again, swinging around half of a pool cue and yelling, "I'm goin' to jail today!" The police showed up a minute later, and I'm pretty sure she got her wish.

LA was surprisingly relaxing. It seems like such a frenetic city (that's how I pictured it, anyway), but it's not at all. I went to Santa Monica and Malibu with 'nette and Eric on Monday, wandered around downtown a lot on Tuesday. Walking up the hills, the smog made me wheeze a bit. Got a little crispy in the sun. I called James, who I hadn't seen or talked to in about two years, and gave him a little shock, I think. We ended up going to dinner my last night there, and it was so good to see him. It made me happy that people, old friends and new, were willing to carve out some space in their hectic and tumultuous lives for li'l ol' me.

There are a lot of other stories to tell, but I'll save them for later.

I miss California. I can't wait to go back.