May 2005 Archives

today I was talking to kristin about the show, and I said that I literally almost shit myself, and that I'd never meant it really until that moment. she wrote back to my story / review that I sent her this morning so perfectly:

I am mid-meltdown, thinking of you, and thinking this might be the most perfect line I have ever read: "the nights in the summer under the stars on the rooftop, when you weren't waiting for anything or anyone because it was all happening already."

um, hi. she's read a lot of stuff.

no, like a lot. seriously.

so you guys have to stop giving me music. in the last ten days or so, under full frontal assault, here's what I am madly trying to digest, in one of those phases where I've come back to life and I am a jumble of raw nerve endings:

(editor's note: I am listening to last night's show, and colin goes, "wow. hi, boston." because we say hi to things. and I'm a pirate.)

wrens - the meadowlands
jets to brazil
neutral milk hotel - in an aeroplane over the sea
the good life - album of the year
ed harcourt - strangers
I am kloot
luke temple
iron & wine - the creek drank the cradle
the cloud room
of montreal - sunlandic twins
say anything... is a real boy
the mountain goats
gillian welch covering "black star" by radiohead
carla bruni

this is between kristin, me, brian, john richards, and cheryl waters. so I'm about to explode, and then in the mail today kristin drops the bomb. an envelope stuffed with love, death cab, LIVE COLIN MELOY !!!, porterdavis (yay daniel!), a few groovy compilations, my morning jacket... so much more... and I'm stumbling through the live show from last night, reeling.

and today, since the wrens show sold out, I wrote one of the band members with my balls of steel and proposed a mailing list slot for cash at the show.

the response in my inbox when I got home from work?

after all this? of course. you + 1. we'll see you tomorrow night.

hi. the wrens put me on the guest list.

plus one.

I'm going to go die in my bathtub now, while we move out of the military related material into the maritime related material. it's really raining out there, isn't it?

~vvb

you might be an indie yuppie if the jeans you are wearing at the show cost more than the band is going to make:

http://www.stereogum.com/archives/001391.html

But I was clumsy, and making her suffer even more, because she was down in an inferno of her own creation, so far away from me that the sound of my voice made the hiatus seem worse. Then I tried to talk to her of other things, and I tried to make her laugh at my obsessions. Look lady, Arturo Bandini, he’s got a few himself! And from under the pillow I drew out Camilla’s tam-o-shanter with the little tassle on it.

“Look lady! I’ve got them too. Do you know what I do, lady? I take this little black cap to bed with me, and I hold it close to me, and I say: ‘Oh I love you, I love you, beautiful princess!’” And then I told her some more; oh, I was no angel; my soul had a few twists and bends all its own; so don’t you feel so lonely, lady; because you’ve got lots of company; you’ve got Arturo Bandini, and he’s got lots to tell you. And listen to this: Do you know what I did one night? Arturo, confessing it all: do you know the terrible thing I did? One night a woman too beautiful for this world came along on wings of perfume, and I could not bear it, and who she was I never knew, a woman in a red fox and a pert little hat, and Bandini trailing after her because she was better than dreams, watching her enter Bernstein’s Fish Grotto, watching her in a trance through a window swimming with frogs and trout, watching her as she ate alone; and when she was through, do you know what I did, lady? So don’t you cry, because you haven’t heard anything yet, because I’m awful, lady, and my heart is full of black ink; me, Arturo Bandini, I walked right into Bernstein’s Fish Grotto and I sat upon the very chair that she sat upon, and I shuddered with joy, and I fingered the napkin she had used, and there was a cigaret butt with a stain of lipstick upon it, and do you know what I did, lady? You with your funny little troubles, I ate the cigaret butt, chewed it up, tobacco and paper and all, swallowed it, and I thought it tasted fine, because she was so beautiful, and there was a spoon beside the plate, and I put it in my pocket, and every once in a while I’d take the spoon out of my pocket and taste it, because she was so beautiful. Love on a budget, a heroine free and for nothing, all for the black heart of Arturo Bandini, to be remembered through a window swimming with trout and frog legs. Don’t you cry, lady; save your tears for Arturo Bandini, because he has troubles, and they are great troubles, and I haven’t even begun to talk, but I could say something to you about a night on a beach with a brown princess, and her flesh without meaning, her kisses like dead flowers, odorless in the garden of my passion.

But she was not listening, and she staggered off the bed, and she fell on her knees before me and begged me to tell her she was not disgusting.

~John Fante, “Ask The Dust” pgs. 86-87

per.pet.u.al - adj.

1. Lasting for eternity.
2. Continuing or lasting for an indefinitely long time.
3. Instituted to be in effect or have tenure for an unlimited duration: a treaty of perpetual friendship.
4. Continuing without interruption. See Synonyms at continual.
5. Flowering throughout the growing season.

adj 1: continuing forever or indefinitely; "the ageless themes of love and revenge"; "eternal truths"; "life everlasting"; "hell's perpetual fires"; "the unending bliss of heaven" [syn: ageless, eternal, everlasting, unending, unceasing] 2: uninterrupted in time and indefinitely long continuing; "the ceaseless thunder of surf"; "in constant pain"; "night and day we live with the incessant noise of the city"; "the never-ending search for happiness"; "the perpetual struggle to maintain standards in a democracy"; "man's unceasing warfare with drought and isolation"; "unremitting demands of hunger" [syn: ceaseless, constant, incessant, never-ending, unceasing, unremitting] 3: occurring so frequently as to seem ceaseless or uninterrupted; "a child's incessant questions"; "your perpetual (or continual) complaints" [syn: incessant, endless]

bliss - n.
1. Extreme happiness; ecstasy.
2. The ecstasy of salvation; spiritual joy.

n : a state of extreme happiness [syn: blissfulness, cloud nine, seventh heaven, walking on air]

Phrasal Verb : bliss out (Slang)
To go into a state of ecstasy.

~~~

Fuck yeah.

hair askew glasses askew you selfish bitch do something until it hurts. abstain until it hurts. write until your hands cramp up and your back aches. wander the city taking pictures until your feet are tired and your batteries are dead. don't call him don't wait for him go home alone and be filled with that wanting and then come back to these pages triumphant.

~~~

before I leave this place I'll know every angle of every corner and every crack of every sidewalk and every inch of my secret hideaway.

maybe it's just that I need the wanting like I need the windowpanes there's nazis in tuxedos and unrest here on this day of perpetual finishing and I'll sit in the kitchen and write pages about the imaginary boy who will climb up my fire escape to leave pieces of himself on the rooftop for me to find, stealing little moments from the corners of my mind and maybe flowers in an old soda can 'cause it was all that he could find.

palindromes and libertines, faraway gazes and empty movie theaters. dirty feet, dirty mouth, ink bleeds in the shower through abstract fairy tales. waiting for everything, waiting for nothing, mistakes that we already knew we were making broken porch steps subtle hints your favorite t shirt and the perfect pen camera seeking cracked windowpanes while she sends kisses through the stereo, weeping. the first time he held your hand and how much you love that grey cardigan zip up sweater pulling the sleeves over the ends of your fingers and hiding a smile -

so just pedal petals ripped from the trees getting stuck in my hair like the universe throwing confetti in the middle of elm street like when we used to sit in the grass stoned and laughing on top of the world under the cherry blossoms, forgetting about the night when gunshots made us run for our lives. city sreets bursting at the seams seething and swelling and too cold to be three quarters of the way into may cold feet chair legs scraping against an unforgiving floor driving three hours alone on the chance that the band you're going to see just might change your life.

blinking nervously because you don't feel like you belong in the skin you've been given. leather bound books and ribbons for markers magic markers magic everything wishing on first stars, train tracks, and pink cadillacs combat boots and art student eye makeup free to wander in the summertime because the college kids have gone. all the money in the world won't make you cool won't keep the wicker chair from creaking when you're seated smiling back at strangers locking eyes, holding hands, twin high maintenance machines.

I'd dig my nails into your skin if I had either within reach.

more holes to pierce the feeling that lets fresh air into the soul. those fashion cliches just aren't working for you and if they'd only put the cure on I'd find some time to talk about how he's gotten into my bones and then maybe I'd be okay for a little while at least.

strangers being strange assuming strange things acting strange so out of place in the window next to me. insterstate nightmares no shortcuts when you don't know side streets side dreams dreaming sideways driving sideways in this pre-packaged scene.

delonghi coffemaker / espresso combo, retails for $99.00 at target (say, "tar JHAY") that's been sitting under my counter for six months since I started ww and stopped consuming mass quantities of half and half: pretty much worthless

for jessica, whose similar maker was lost in her move here from boston, it was good enough to give yours truly a cold hard fifty bucks for it.

snap.

blissfund-to-date: $355.71

now I'm about to complete the circle and go check out a cloth covered garment rack-y wardrobe thing from a yalie for five bucks.

snap again. that's right, two times.

~vvb

a few minutes ago, besty grauer realty found me worthy enough to rent an oversized studio on whitney ave. with the best windows I've ever seen and a roof to hang out on when I need to hide and windowpanes to take pictures of and I'm officially going to start packing memorial day weekend.

I can't wait to lay on my futon and listen to the wrens and remember the show I'm going to go to tomorrow, alone if need be.

anybody need stuff? CL, here I come - watch out!

~vvb

like, really? like, if it was a boy, I'd marry it?

pending credit reports and deposits, I have found The. Greatest. Apartment. Ever. it's in a huge old multi family on whitney avenue, close to downtown. the girl who lives there is from canada, also having moved there from a 2 bedroom she got after she found herself divorced. she crawls out the window and puts plants and flowers on the roof and has sparse belongings and I saw a part of my personality in everything she was (is).

it's got these windowpanes like you wouldn't believe.

so she's off to do med student things and I'm off to start the rest of my life. it's like I've been dating new haven recently, and this morning we made out. and I'm wondering if this might be the one. I don't remember the last time something felt this good that I was allowed to have.

I've got to go call my landlord.

sasquatch tickets sold on CL in under ten minutes: $100.00
overpayment of AAA due to lack of husband: $20.00 refund
cool pier one mirror that's too heavy to hang, also sold on CL: $25.00

total: $145.00
blissfund-to-date: $305.71

!!!

"hey, she's got really good taste in music. you should talk to her. this is victoria."

!!!

and I could take the time to speak of the world, ending before we expected it to and taking chances and longing glances and isn't that chance, isn't it what keeps us going? do we want to know - really? because it might destroy everything, when it was all we needed to get through the day... love and rockets and wanting. thumb on soft lips, jaw twitch in the moonlight yes. perfect mix tapes in the car afterwards when it starts to rain. outside, drenched, desperate, fingertips tracing fingertips. I'd eat fruit just for the sheer lusciousness of it. sexy with a bite and a look and a smile and we're both horny as hell but we're children somehow on this summer night. scared and shocked, terrified and asking and answering with mouths on mouths saying everything there is to say. punch drunk everything. movie snapshots coffeeshop conversation sidewalk romance dropped plates stolen kisses and I was just nowhere near your neighborhood. lying exposed under a christmas light gallery telling secrets walking home half drunk with the smell of your hair on my hands and well-kissed lips to tell the story with. presents wrapped with child's hands. the nape of my neck, the toss of your hair, the secret smile in my notebook. yes. could you just call out after me? victoria, hey, I was hoping I'd run into you... and we'd start talking but neither of us would be listening because we'd be too busy thinking about

everything.

this morning, the universe decided to acknowledge my apprehensions and fears. I'm driving down 95 to work, thrilled at the discovery of the "play any track" button. when every album is one I love in some form or another, I can understand that I'm going to like most of the songs, but this thing makes better mix tapes than I do. seriously.

so I look up at the traffic on the other side of the highway, it's slower than the side I'm on, probably because I'm late for work (as usual). I spot a bus with PORTLAND in the destination window, and almost simultaneously "I've got reservations" by wilco comes billowing through the speakers. at first I thought it was that killers track, don't you put me on the back burner - you know you got to help me out, yeah, etc. and I smiled, and then almost drove off the road when I realized what it actually was.

by the way, I found a penny this morning, and picked it up. it was outside my front door on the way to the car.

so I get to work, with plans for yet another hair salon consultation tomorrow. and I put the mirror in the light coming through the window, and see that my hair is redder than I realize. and since it's been a different color every day, with color settling in and manic panic washing out, I determine that it might be a good idea to give it a few weeks and see how it does or doesn't fade. before I (a) spend another $50 and (b) wind up with straw that falls out when you breathe on it instead of actual hair.

then I talk to my mom. as it turns out, she's got stage 3 cancer, not stage 2. basically they're giving her good odds and they think the chemo is going to take care of it, but still. if they really thought it was so great, they would have staged her as a 2. when I make this about me (as I have a tendency to do most times) it seals the deal on finding a new apartment. I wasn't sure when I was going to leave, or how, or should I stay in this apartment or move but if it's not cheap enough then it won't help and what if I want to leave in the wintertime and - you get the idea.

it looks like I'm staying.

just for a little while. long enough to rent a cheaper place, but short enough to ditch a lot of my stuff. long enough to take some classes, but short enough to keep my west coast trip planned for the fall and check out what will eventually be my new home.

funny how everything kind of took care of itself.

funny how it feels good to be going back to the now. I didn't realize that I'd left.

~vvb

so in the last twenty four hours:

I have learned that if I don't manually write (not just type) for a few pages at least every few days, I start going in circles.

I figured out I still want to move to portland (see above). I just needed to adjust my timing.

I'm not taking any shit from anybody, because my friends don't take shit from me. and I'm stronger for it, and someday they will be too.

I'm not winning any popularity contests these days (again, see above).

I'm going to be in lesley's wedding. me. in a wedding. OMG!

the two hot indie rocker boys I go to meetings with like my hair. when you haven't had sex in a while, that works just fine.

and last, but so definitely not least:

kristin is my hero, I'd marry her if I could
she lives on a boat, some parts of it are wood
she sent the best birthday present I've ever seen
"my so-called life" on dvd, shiny and new and clean
I know she listens and I love her so
she's pulled me from darkness to the sparkling glow
we sit on the phone with our cats in our laps
and when I make it out west we'll all take great naps
so this is my ode, my birthday gratitude
and what rhymes with gratitude besides latitude and attitude?
I'll see her in fall, her favorite time of year
and we'll just be giggling and glad to be near
I don't quite know what I'd do without kristin
her smiles and sunshine and attentive listenin'
like I said, I'd marry her if I could
and live happily ever after on her boat, partly wood.

I should be working at hallmark, right?

right.

~vvb

in my dream, anyway. I was on a nubby couch in a wood paneled room. the phone rang, dim yellow lamp and some tv light. like the rec room at your parents' house. and it was colin, and he was like, do you remember me? and I was like, are you kidding? do you remember me? I sat on the side of the stage writing about you. and we talked for a while, and my father was there. he saw that I was on the phone and waved goodnight and went into the closet smiling. and I went back to talking and telling a story but colin had fallen asleep, and after a few attempts to wake him (while I thought to myself, he probably hung up on me and this is all a joke anyways) he came back with a sleepy, "no, I'm here, I'm here" and I said "fibber, you were sleeping!" it was so vivid. I awoke to snapshots of the iron horse show in my mind, the way the silver threads ran through his shirt, mingling and mixing with the article and photo from spin that I ripped out and tacked up on my wall. with strains of and you my soiled teenage girlfriend... why do you ruffle like a lioness humming in my ears. imaginary snapshots of being close enough to take off his glasses and look into his eyes, darting back and forth from one to the other, wanting to see all of it at once.

hi. um, I still want to move to portland.

so in case any of you are wondering about my saga, or give two shits about any of this emoting I do from day to day, I got jammed up about moving. (see below) things not feeling right and the like. what it all boils down to, after writing furiously with yankee hotel foxtrot as my soundtrack at k? for over an hour last night, was that I got scared. insecure and nervous and who am I and what am I doing and you can't go to portland, silly rabbit! you need to be here! except I've been here for so long... I knew at eighteen that I was saturated with new haven. and I associated awakening from my creative slumber with needing to stay here, for fear of pushing myself past the point of minor aches and pains. I've been spared from the jaws of death. what am I doing with it? what am I showing the world?

when I spot-meditate, I see a physically toned happy girl going for a run / bike ride, playing guitar and singing in the shower, reading at a slam and taping pictures to my walls. that's without thinking about it. and then I picture myself doing what I need to be doing to get there, and I'm walking through the pictures of portland in my mind, I'm going to new meetings and reading the paper on sundays with kristin over a skim mocha. I'm not driving up and down ninety five, although there are shots of working out and practicing in the apartment.

so I ask the universe this morning for confirmation / affirmation via my mp3 player. oh - the signs. I almost forgot. so I've already told you about the obvious thing. license plates are the biggest trigger for me, because you really don't see a lot of west coast plates out here. if you do, it's new mexico or california, or arizona. lots of florida and mass and jersey and new york. but there's never any oregon. like, ever. so I keep asking and I'm not getting any signs and I'm like, shit. what am I doing, where am I going... and the first night I started coming back out of it to think, should I be moving out there? there was an oregon plate on the car facing mine in the starbucks lot. and I dismissed it like when you want to buy a car and then you start seeing that car everywhere, you know? so I'm driving yesterday, behind the donovan truck I've never seen before except for this time and the last time. then I get off the exit behind a camper with a washington state license plate. then I go downtown to check out a few apartments, which are all shit. then I pull up in front of nica's (where there are never, ever any spots) and kristin calls. hmmm. and we're talking and I'm trying to work it out and as we go to get off the phone, a girl walks by with an oregon public market totebag.

hmmm. I did ask for obvious.

so this morning I give the job to my nomad. and I take a deep breath and hit the play any track button. here's the track listing.

without msg I am nothing - mclusky
norweigan wood (this bird has flown) - beatles
exit music (for a film) - radiohead
girl on a wing - shins
bad diary days - pedro the lion
south side boys - anne heaton
zion train - bob marley & the wailers

I laugh and go, are you listening? I actually say this out loud. I hit next and get girl, you've got it bad by stevie wonder. the whole song is about how she won't let him in enough to love her and how bad she's got it as a result. how she can't see past things and can't hear things and if she could just let him in just a little bit, that it would be so good.

that she'd have it so good.

that was followed up by comfort by anne heaton, with a funny live dave matthews track in between where he messes up the song and stops and laughs about it.

it's no aloha, but it works for me.

~vvb

in that order.

seriously.

so I've been pretty fucking cranky. nothing feels right. I'm displaced and uncomfortable and dammit, I had five years today and the people that should have remembered didn't and the people that I never thought would remember did. actually, the people that didn't remember are people I'm kind of pissed off at these days anyway - so it just kind of seals the deal and makes my annoyance totally legit.

I'm driving around downtown today, looking for "for rent" signs, and I've got a headache this big. I want to just cry. new haven doesn't feel right. portland doesn't feel right. where am I supposed to be, what am I supposed to be doing, I'm more screwed up than I think, maybe I need to do another fourth step, maybe I'm about to get drunk and I don't know it. no, that won't solve anything. snap out of it. you've just got much too much time on your hands and the last three years have been varying degrees of constant change. you have A Lot Going On, remember? go home and take some tylenol and make dinner.

I do, and I do, and what do I find in the mail but a bubble envelope full of ed. yum. positive sign number one. and I go to meet donna at starbucks to head out to guilford for an eight o'clock meeting. when they ask me how I am, I tell the truth and ask what kind of tea helps for cranky. we decide on zen and calm. positive moment number two. I leave a message for kristin to see how her boat is treating her. and then donna walks in. I start telling her about my shit, expecting her to give me some speech about something I'm not doing, and she said, you know what? I'm having a shitty day too. I almost punched my boss in the face today. let's go. (and that makes three.)

and we talked and almost pissed ourselves laughing. and I realize by the end of the night that I was just a little bored and a little lonely. and that everyone understands. and that while day that marked my fifth consecutive year of sobriety was slightly anti-climactic, it wasn't all the same. I'm financially concerned, not neurotic. I'm uncomfortable, but I'm not afraid. I wanted to crawl under my bed and cry, but I made sure I ate a healthy dinner and showed up for my obligations. I called back people I didn't really feel like talking to, because it needed to be done. and wouldn't you know it, right when I've got too much time on my hands, two girls ask me to sponsor them tonight. they may not like me, and therefore may not stick around too long, but for now, it'll do.

I get what I need. I'll find a place to live. the lights will stay on and my posts will continue. and I've got new music to listen to and a new book to write about it in (thanks donna and kristin) and bubble tea to dream about and a bell to ring when I need to laugh.

oh, the bell. I'll put a picture up.

so donna gets me this little leather bound book, right when mine is starting to run out of room and I've been wondering what to do, just buy a notebook, no, I want something pretty, angst. and then there's this little box, and she's giggling when I open it. and we've been pissing ourselves talking about how crazy we are and crazy AA people and all this funny shit, and I pull a bell out of the box. a porcelain old-people chotchky kind of bell, with gold cursive "happy 5th anniversary" on it and doves and a big five inside the heart on the handle. I don't know if I'm conveying the moment enough, but I was about to bust a stomach muscle I was laughing so hard. then I took the paper out of the inside and rang it, and we almost fell out of the car, doubled over in hysterics.

maybe you had to be there.

the moral of this ever so but not quite too important all the same kind of day?

talk. out loud. to people besides your internal committee. and stop taking yourself so seriously.

aye aye, universe. loud and clear.

~vvb

I keep my phone number listed so my ex-boyfriends know where to find me, should they start looking. I have dreams about monsters, hotels, soft old tomatoes, and people I haven't met yet.

~~~

the little girl who thought I didn't like her because she was black.

the window in the apartment jay miles had.

the way I hit the pavement screaming the night my father died.

the inside of my sixth grade classroom.

~~~

when the wind blows hard
I pray the power won't go out
because I'm terrified of the dark.

more things I'm wanting but abstaining from, and now it's just 'cause I'm briggity broke.

new ed harcourt, new go! team, the bread cover album that just came out, the latest of montreal, luke temple, beck, and coldplay.

what does that mean for the blissfund... at $15 each, that's about $75. I'll take care of it on payday.

if the universe is listening, I'd dig a sweet cat-friendly studio apartment with big old windows, hardwood floors and on-site laundry with utilities included. also, it would be cool if george took over the timeshare and if debbie did a bangin' job on my hair without charging me too much. getting laid would be cool too.

in response, I'll make my double agent peanut butter hershey kiss cookies for the meeting tomorrow and I'll try to do a good job speaking on saturday. and I won't ask for birthday presents or anything. promise.

deal?

or, figuring out What I Want To Do With My (So-Called) Life, Stage I.

so in my various states of unrest, I've tried to stay simple and clear. who am I, where am I going, what am I supposed to be doing - these are tough mindbending freak you out if you think too hard kinds of questions. I'm taking the suggestions of friends, the pulls of the universe and instincts, and wrapping them up to some basic conclusions. and what I can get to so far is What I Like and What I Don't.

the biggest quandry seems to be the job. do something I don't believe in to make good money so I can do the cool things I want to do, or do something I do believe in and live more frugally than I've ever imagined. but who ever said I've got to be at one of those extremes? take my chosen / given monetary profession: mortgage broker. source of unrest? feeding the corporate machine. perpetuating the myth that you are only as good as (a) the amount of money you can afford to spend at home depot, (b) your ability to retile your bathroom in one weekend, and (c) the green lushness factor of your yard. now, being the reformed hippie that I am, I've been having attacks of supporting "the man" and his "machine" and have become incredibly disillusioned with the whole thing. and said, universe, when I move to portland, I'm going to scrub toilets for a non-profit so at least I'm fulfilled.

then I got a call from jennifer placanica.

see, I've refinanced jennifer several times and have helped her out with some credit counseling and financial advice. the most recent call was to determine if it made sense to take her $50,000 home equity (which is on a prime-based adjustable and rising) and roll it in to the $300,000+ first mortgage that she has at a fixed rate of 5.5% to see if it saved her anything. most brokers, at this point, would smell a hefty six-figure opportunity. I, however, spent about half an hour on the phone with her discussing the various logistics of six different ways that she shouldn't be refinancing. I helped. I'm not a shark. I don't wear a big button on my suit that says "I sell money!", come to think of it, I don't wear a suit. I don't even think I own one, unless you count track or my cordouroy jacket.

it hits me. a week later, when I've felt off for a bit, where things seem pale and lifeless and I can't seem to hear anything. which usually means I haven't heard whatever I've already been told, or I haven't read what I've already been exposed to, or something.

I am helpful. I am good at my job. and if people have the drive to manicure their lawns because they want a pretty place to play for their puppies and toddlers like I have the drive to do whatever's calling, then who am I to judge it / them? and furthermore, if I was able to do this job for some good people in a more interesting place, I'd like it. not any more or any less, it would just be a different version of now - a good company with good people that know it doesn't matter what color my hair is because I'm good at my job. where I can not be a scumbag. where I can do what I've been doing for the last ten years and continue to build on the reputation that I've got of being kind and helpful and consistent and good and stuff. where I could keep the flexible schedule that I need so I can do the things I want to pursue - go to shows and shoot bands without having to drive for three hours and take some photography classes and maybe put together portfolios or get into a pseudo art gallery on the walls of the local coffee shop. not to say I couldn't do those things here, but the scene in new haven leaves me wanting. and why the fuck not go do this somewhere else? life is short. maybe it's just time for a change of scenery, or maybe my duck is in portland, I don't know. maybe I just need to be near the one person who knows my soul so we can throw sparkles around and watch the sunsets together.

there's no pressure cooker here except for the one I seem to feel the need to put myself in occasionally. and when I really look at What I Want, those are the things that feel comfortable and right. for now, at least. and maybe it will change, or not, I know that the universe has its plans and I'll wind up exactly where I'm supposed to be. but it's nice that my mind has decided to quiet down about it for now.

I am okay. sans obnoxious button and toilet scrubber.

with pink stains everywhere and lots of love,

~angela

so here I sit. again. for what feels like the hundredth hour in a row. as a flaming red piece of hair falls across my eye and I wonder what the fuck is wrong with me. seriously. an outsider may observe that I have A Lot Going On.

cue mazzy star / fade into you on KEXP, like I planned it or something.

dad's gone, mom's sick, job's unfulfilling, divorce is pending. empty bank account and fingertips stained pink. unrequited love in all the wrong places (in too many faces). figuring out the difference between What I Need and What I Want. wishing I didn't know so much -

and thanking the stars that I do.

last night instead of feverishly throwing away a bunch of clothes that were still perfectly fine, I made a piles and designations. the front closet, in my bedroom, holds Things That Fit. the back closet, in the spare room, holds Things I Like That Don't Fit. and the pile that I would have thrown away instead became Things I Don't Think I Like Right Now. therefore moving them out of closet status. we'll see if I miss them anytime soon.

somehow I don't think I will. but I'd rather not regret anything.

so I keep Showing Up For Things. to start, it would probably help to, you know, like, work, or something. since I'm sitting here and all.

but first, a message from our sponsors:

No apologies! We do have to feel things sometimes, she's a wise woman. You're coming down a little from your ecstatic high. That's expected -- if you operated at fever pitch all the time you'd burn yourself out. The glow of your plans have become more real -- details, etc. That's fine. Just let it roll over you. Acknowledge it, write about it, and let it go.

~k

I am, I am, and I'm trying. I love you too.

~angela