July 2008 Archives

We are super exhausted, but there's been so much good scenery and amazing, breathtaking, epic, sweeping the country kinds of moments that I had to take a second to post. The first two days are up (just a handful of shots, mostly Chicago and a few driving out-the-window pictures that don't do the countryside any justice) on my photo site, and if you don't have the link, just go here. Yesterday & today are coming (Badlands, Mt. Rushmore, hills and sunsets and deliciousness) but we've got to get up early tomorrow to wrap up the end of the drive.

Tomorrow: Seattle.

xoxo

Victoria

So here we sit at the Best Western in Wall, South Dakota. Still a wimpy non-upload-friendly internet connection, so no pictures to show yet, but they are stacking up like crazy. Fields, rolling pastures, epic riverfronts, Wall Drug, the Badlands... goats and sunsets and prarie dogs too. Just amazing.

We decided to check in here this afternoon after checking with Kristin as to what was worth seeing and what wasn't. But the drive across South Dakota today from the edge of Minnesota, short as it felt, was just gorgeous. We went from corn to rolling pastures, with another epic and sweeping change in landscape as we came across a river, this time it was the Missouri River (I think). Big beautiful Americana, big sky, and land land land as far as you can see, hills past that when you can't see any further. The only thing I've seen that far of that I can remember is ocean, just vast and endless and sweeping.

The other thing that happened on the drive, besides the country breaking open, was my heart breaking open - all in the middle of a mix tape, all music filling the car up and filling me up at the same time. It was like getting tattooed, where the pain gets outweighed by the event that's getting immortalized - I knew suddenly that I needed people around me, friends, and I also knew completely that making out with anyone right now would undoubtedly distract me and maybe ease whatever needed easing - but it wouldn't solve anything. I knew all that logically already, but it was like a wave came over me, and I knew I had to do some serious work if I ever wanted to get better. The pain of going through all of this face-first is better than the perceived lack of pain in standing still... because it's not lacking, at all. It just feels like it sometimes.

So, all music and aching, and then everything got all these sudden rocky structures as we got closer to Wall, and every ten freaking feet it seemed we saw the Wall Drug signs. We decided to stop in, all on the phone at a gas station, map spread out, real honest-to-goodness cowboys with spurs and hats and trucks. Wall Drug itself was... interesting. BIg crazy structures, huge rabbits and dinosaurs and creepy wax figures, every tchotchke you could think of, every everything that said South Dakota or Mt. Rushmore or the Badlands, or motorcycles, or a crude joke about any of the above.

We had a bite, did all the sightseeing that was to be done, and headed off to the Badlands after we fed ChaCha - so amazing. Words don't do it justice, and neither do the pictures. We watched the sunset, encountered packs of mountain goats, heard bison, and just pulled it all in. It was great.

I think we've got about two days left before Seattle. This trip is going quick, but in a good way, so we're slowing it down a notch for the last leg. Tomorrow is Mt. Rushmore, Crazy Horse, and then apparently a whole lot of not much coffee. Today the closest Starbucks at any given point was between 32 and 216 miles away. So we're going to hit the little coffee shop at the Wall Drug strip, because they actually had some decent espresso.

Goats! Seriously. A whole bunch, and it was like in cartoons, with collars and bells, I half expected them to be chewing on cans.

vvb

So I've got this great entry all ready to update with, complete and chock full of pictures and commentary... but this "free wi-fi" thing they've got here in Worthington, Minnesota isn't so hip on the big upload thing. It will just have to wait... suffice it to say that Minnesota, other than having junky free internet (that's quite lo-fi, in my opinion) is beautiful, Chicago is photogenic, and Stacey and I are almost 1400 miles from home. Today really felt like great big expansive huge-sky America, and tomorrow is part one of National Park Bonanza. Tons to follow, as soon as I can get some legit connection.

xo
Victoria

You can radiate everything you are...

A barbeque and BP station, somewhere halfway through Pennsylvania - which we hate, btw. No... well, no nothing. No coffeeshops, no clean bathrooms, no rest stops, just boring as hell. Ohio, at least, had big shiny pretty rest stops about every 30 or so miles, and almost every single one of them had a Starbucks. Now, I know that sounds all bratty and whatever, but when you have to go, you have to go - and when you need caffeine, you need caffeine!!! It does hinder some of the adventurousness, but when I'm all kinds of mad tired I'll take the convenience factor for sure.

Anyway, the barbeque and BP, all Alfred Hitchcock bathroom. I realized early on in the trip that Stacey is down with the no-talking-during-writing thing, which we didn't even have to... um... talk about. It just sort of happened.

Leaving Raf this morning was so hard. 6 a.m. in the cars parked on Orange Street, I walked up and he had been crying. He handed me a card I had found (from him) and thrown angrily into one of his boxes at the apartment along with his best most broken-in Red Sox hat. It might sound strange, but it helped me know that this whole thing was actually real to him. I think the acting out is just part of his process, just like a bunch of shit is part of mine. We stood like a picture through somebody's front window as the rain washed us clean, pouring over all of our tragedies, tangling up with our tears, so desperately clutching at each other like some sort of sad, sad, movie script goodbye. The sky split open and he watched as I drove away, until I couldn't see him watching anymore.

Around 12:30 we were halfway through Pennsylvania. Stacey took the wheel and I painted my toes on the dashboard. I feel all divine and luminous and amazing. And I know with everything that I am that I have to go, for me, and when I think about Raf I know down in my heart that for some reason we just can't seem to grow together. So in love, so caught up in bad timing, so hopeful for the first time in so, so long.

***

The end of official traveling day one finds us at a Quality Inn in South Bend, Indiana. I've been told we're near some mecca of all things college football, all Rudy (and "Touchdown Pete" or something?) and so if we aren't too far away I may go and take some pictures in the morning before we leave. Having had this information prior to coming in, I had some sort of assumption... or maybe an expectation, really, of something more like Cambridge - but out here seems sparse, a little poor, a little dirty, and a little angry. As Stacey put it today, there ain't nothin but nothin' out here in these parts. Maybe I am just used to urban / suburban sprawl and overcongestion. I'm not sure which it is.

The walls are thin here, you can hear people in the halls and all over the place. Children complaining, banging doors, blaring television sets.

Tomorrow I think will be a fine day to send postcards.

I am very tired, and while we have done over 700 miles, I can't help but feel that it was sort of an anti-climactic day, but so much has happened, and everything has changed.

I do miss Raf, the idea of Raf, I miss who he is when he's not in his own way. The last thing I said before I left was that I hoped he didn't keep listening to his old "tapes" to find out who he was, and that he was more than all of that junk that was all piled up inside. Part of me wishes we had a way to make it work, and all of me knows we don't have enough tools between us to do that - it's just so sad. True, and I'm right where I am supposed to be - but still, so sad.

Off to burn cds and prepare for tomorrow - for some reason the internet seems kind of weak and I'm having a problem uploading pics - only a few, but they're coming nonetheless.

vvb

Little cat, all confined to this room, close to midnight, a nap and then all the leaving. Coffeeshops that don't open until at least five escape me. I'm tortured and complete, all at once. I've spent so long second guessing everything that I'm doing / have done / want to do that it seems as though something is wrong with just being, doing, going, and no second guessing. It's like I'm forgetting something, or missing something.

Exhaustion. Packing and repacking, the filling of the car, the feast in my honor, a cake with my name. Friends who become faceless after not seeing them for so long, there's not enough space left on the tape to save for them, and I'll soon forget. The replacement of those friends with the ones who cared to stay. Laptop, the top of my lap, the typing loud enough to wake the whole house it seems, anxiety, bliss, and an ounce of dread. Maybe just for good measure.

Eyes crossing, heavy lids, painted toes, shaved legs, and next morning is the end of everything and the beginning of everything all at once. I pack my bags pre-flight, zero hour, five a.m., ears ringing, senses reeling, so far away from bursting at the seams from absorbing everything, about to be bursting at the seams from the prospect of absorbing everything.

Books. Love notes. Contact lenses. Engine coolant. Polaroids. Masking tape.

Bliss.

Dear Victoria,
You wonder in your most recent post, "I wonder if anyone is reading..." I'm still reading! Like I said in the previous email, you are someone I find myself rooting for, sort of like a character in a book or Carrie Bradshaw (I don't know how you feel about Sex and the City, so I suppose I should qualify that comparison as a positive one!).

Anyway, I just tonight arrived home from a solo three day meandering drive through IL, IN, OH, WV, PA, NY, CT, and MA (visited parents in IL), and wish you the same Simpsonesque skies and roll-down-the-windows-and-turn-up-the-Ryan-Adams weather I had. Best of luck on your big move - I admire your moxie!

Go mairir is go gathair,
Erin

I just came on to email myself, like I said, when I have my laptop connected with all my bookmarks, I can just blog - but for now I have to email myself to have an archive, and I figured why not let you in on the notebook pages. Writing, writing writing writing -

My hair is divine. I am luminous. I will miss the birth of Meredith's next child, whom I am permanently bonded to through the death of our mothers. I like organic fancy-nut not-peanut butter with sliced bananas on whole grain toast maybe more than I like anything. I have a trampoline the size of the state of Connecticut made up of strong, loving, empowered women who encourage me to Be. My sister needs that, so badly, and won't let me be it for her, and needs to find her Something. And boys don't fall in love with girls who put out, at least not in the movies. Boys fall in love with girls they are tragically distanced from, via other relationships or work obligations, they have sex with the vixens, and fall in love at the end through much outbursts and epic songstry.

Those are my conclusions today. Tommorrow feels like it's the last day before lift-off, like my last day on Earth somehow, even though it's more like my first.

I think I'm going to that tattoo, if it's not within time constraints, it will have to wait for Seattle.

:*
vvb

Or, more accurately, night one.

I'm writing because I need to write, and I don't have any pens here at this second, because it's late and everything took forever tonight. Raf sort of half showed up, didn't take all of his stuff, and left a bunch of junk for me to deal with. Big scattered apartment, most large pieces vacated, and piles here and there as I tried to sort it all out. Cut to now, in a friend's house, on a new sofa bed that's not very comfortable, with ChaCha, and sweat soaked clothes that I guess I have to sleep in - poor planning on my part. I guess I'll just sleep naked. On second thought, I don't know how good of an idea that is, seeing as this office has just been redone, and there's no coverings on the windows. But it's the second floor, so I'll probably be fine.

It's eerie and quiet here. I might have to turn on KEXP just to sleep, and I generally like it quiet when I sleep, not quiet quiet, but hum of a fan or fake ocean noises or dock/boat noises quiet. I just felt like I shouldn't let tonight pass without getting it all down, only now it feels like there's nothing to write about and the clickclack of my typing is loud enough to wake the dead. I am exhausted. I am never dating again. I am going to live in a room with no furniture that I own, because moving is awful and I don't want to have to go through this repeatedly for the rest of my existence. I am starting to believe that the less I have, the better off I am.

I have had amazing, amazing people show up for me through this whole process. People who have lives and kids and day jobs all up at my apartment at 11 o'clock at night, eating cold pizza, toasting to everything with sparkling cider and old wine glasses I forgot I had. It was amazing. I'm so stringless and free. This is what it must be like to be independently wealthy, but then I suppose you'd be tied to other things. I just want to write, and find things, and live things, and work a meaningful job, and leave a mark.

I am wondering if anyone is interested in going into NaNoWriMo this year, for some reason, I'm all jacked up about it. The busiest of busy have tried and succeeded. It's quantity, not quality, and I think it would be an amazing experience to go through on a group level. I started it one year and all this incredible stuff started to happen. It's not until November, so you would have some time, but - I don't know. I'm really looking forward to it, all rained in and searching furiously for words and stretching out conversations and dream sequences to fill my word quota for the day. Projects are great. The mix tapes have pushed me to a new place.

The apartment is empty. I couldn't fit everything I wanted to take. Natalie said, "Well Victoria, it's not like you didn't pack well, you just went from an apartment to a car." And it was all funny and perfect perfect, all late night in the driveway, all warm summer nighttime, and it really feels like something has begun. I didn't listen to all of the new mix cds, because I want them to be new when the road is new. Forty eight hours from now I'll be preparing to leave - it's funny, there's no sadness or remorse or anything, it's just time. I'm not crying or wistful. Things are just ending appropriately and beginning anew. I don't think I've ever been here before. I am really, really amazed at all of this, like I am in the middle of a science experiment. Watching from the inside of a petrie dish.

Christ I can't even spell. I'm so tired. What a whirlwind that's about to come - is coming - has already started? Yes, that's the one. Bon courage, right? Bon courage, for sure.

Did I mention that I want to go to Hollywood? Something about it just seems right.

Much, much more to follow -

vvb

...and tonight's the last night in the apartment.

I mean, I know this is all happening, but when big solid things like that go down - changing where I sleep, changing my address, people walking out of here with large pieces of furniture - well, it just kind of sends me reeling. It goes from happening to Happening.

I'm all stuck just now, staring at the little pile my life has been reduced to: six milk crates, two duffel bags, and then after tonight my overnight bag and my bathroom bag. That's it. In those milk crates are the most important little scraps of paper, pictures, notebooks, some bathroom stuff, books, cds, movies, and a miscellaneous one. That one has stuff like a cowboy hat, posters, legal papers, license plates, and a shawl someone made my grandmother, or that my grandmother made, I can't remember. Oh, and a giant flag that flew over a green for a veteran's remembrance for my father.

So, what's left... tonight I'll pack and clean the kitchen out, pack up the shoes, finish the odds and ends in the back room. Basically everything but physical moving of big stuff, none of which I am keeping.

I have to say, I made the greatest New KEXP mix, totally by accident. It's way better than the mixes I made, better than anything I could have planned... I love it.

Let's see... so today is laundry, work, and meeting, and then the rest will have to wait for tonight. I need normalcy so bad... maybe this is the normalcy. Awake, alive, very much entrenched in everything that's happening and not crazy made-up movies in my mind... so funny, to look around here and go, "That's not mine. That's not mine. That's not mine." When for a while, all I cared about was what was mine, how much was mine, how big it was, and how many people knew.

Elf-farmed twilight beets. I wonder if anyone is reading, maybe Kristin... I hope anyone that is reading is prepared for open processing, because I Am Never Editing Myself Again. Seriously.

I woke up to a little thunderstorm this morning, it was like a huge relief. The sound of the rain was so comforting, so right, the rustle of the leaves outside my window, ChaCha watching all the noises attentively from the sill - it's been so oppressive and so hot here, it seemed like the whole world was just plunged into a cool shower or a pool or something. I am quite sure that after six months straight I won't feel the same, or maybe I will, or maybe my insides just match a cool grey day with rustling leaves. I don't know.

I saw an ad on Craig's List for a one bedroom apartment for super cheap, that I am considering having Kristin look at, although I don't have a job yet, so I don't know if that's silly or if it's fine because I will have a job soon enough - a one bedroom for under $700.00 just seems silly. It doesn't look like it has a living room, but I don't have a television (or anything, really) so that doesn't really matter. And then I think maybe it might be too much space, and that I should just wait - who knows. I'll just put it out there and whatever is supposed to fall into place, will.

And before I get into the shower - I had *insane* dreams last night, of driving to Ohio with a girl who told me two hours into the trip that she was really going to Chicago, and we had to keep driving, and she got all upset - it was this insane girl from meetings I don't really know, but in the dream - it's all flying by like little snapshots now, so I can't piece it all together... the other one was about Raf, only it wasn't Raf in the dream (there's a whole thing about that that dream people talk about, transferring, guilt, etc.) but it was this kid Justin I went to high school with - and he was just so mean, and there was this big library, only people were knitting, and some of them were reading out loud, and Becca was there with some guy that was really chatty and just not picking up on the breakup awkward vibe... it was just so real. And I couldn't remember anyone when I woke up, or names, or anything, I was just all assaulted by the leaves rustling and the rain. It was such a strange sequence of events.

More to follow... much, much more...

vvb

The storm is, in fact, coming.

So it's t-minus six days and counting, by this time next week (!!!) we should be somewhere between Akron and Chicago, depending on how early in the morning we leave. The week looks a little something like this:

Sunday (tonight) - go through the last notebook boxes, pare down, keep the most important scraps, probably to dvds of "My So-Called Life" on the laptop. I'm kicking television. It's always rough at the beginning.

Monday - get up early, shower, have coffee with my friend Troy that I used to work for at the coffee shop. Take ChaCha to the vet for 9:15, and fork over a hundred bucks. Work, meeting at Gale's, home, pass out.

Tuesday - work and Raf moves the last of his stuff

Wednesday - work, meeting, and I shred down the last of my stuff

Thursday - work, and Pat comes over with some friends to totally empty the entire place. Possibly stop sleeping here.

Friday - off! Get my hair did, possibly tattoo myself, and finish anything that ain't finished. Meet the landlord, ditch the keys, and bid adieu to casa de Wooster Square.

Saturday - make the rounds, have some breakfast time with friends, pick up my contacts, and eight thousand other things I'm sure I'm forgetting about right now.

And then there were two, well, three with the cat and all, off to chase sunsets and scraps of paper.

I'm so tired. It's been about 90 degrees with full humidity for a week now, and I'm all sleeping in next to nothing in direct contact with a fan, and practically sweating to death.

I'm also so excited. And sad. And... leveled. In a good way. Excited at the prospect of everything to come, sad for the relationships I thought were real but aren't, and leveled because I'm seeing things so clearly for the first time in a long time - people are taking sides and stabbing backs. Everything seems like an illusion, people I've talked to for years barely being able to contain themselves until I'm out of the room so they can drop crazy personal atomic bombs on / about me to anyone who will listen. I've gone from two dozen friends, to six, to like, three (as far as CT goes) plus my sponsor. Oh, when you add in Lesley and Kristin, that takes me to five.

Great.

MySpace is the devil reincarnate.

ChaCha has no idea what's in store for her.

And Buddy is settling in nicely in his new digs. He's king of his castle, just like he likes it, and his new mom is just the best. All getting him pet insurance and giving me a key to her house, so I can come and go as I please. Buddy. Budrick. Bud-face. I gave it up to the Universe, and there it all went. I couldn't have hand-crafted it to be any better than it is.

I'm really a lot more tired than I realized. Time to sign off.

Bon courage,

Victoria

July has arrived, and for many, including you, it's a perfect month to travel. Mercury is no longer retrograde as it was in June, so you can say goodbye to the delays and postponements that might have plagued you then. This month you will have your choice of whether to go near or far, or to a domestic city or overseas, and be confident that no matter what your choice, your trip will turn out to be simply delicious.

When it comes to romance, Saturn's tour of your fifth house of true love suggests you may be in a long-distance relationship or temporarily separated from your sweetheart because of work or study obligations. This situation won't last forever. In fact, by next year (October 2009) you should have your feelings sorted out and be ready to announce a major decision about this relationship. Knowing this, you will know not to put pressure on yourself or your partner - going slowly will be the right choice.

Right. Of course.

(...in bed).

Thank you, ten dollar minimum chinese food delivery guy, for fresh vegetables and rice. Bless your little tip-loving heart. I've been living on... well, nothing, popcorn, sugar free popsicles, etc. - and I needed some substance.

I've been all caught up making these mix tapes I'm in the middle of. All stuck, all not being able to do anything else at night at home until I get them to a place where I've done all I can do on them.

"Good afternoon, it's a great day at Jeff Lewis's office. How may I help you?"

keep me searching for a heart of gold
you keep me searching and I'm growing old
keep me searching for a heart of gold
I've been a miner for a heart of gold
mmm...

there's no way to the heart better than awkwardly -

I fucking love mix tapes. In a year or so, I'll be better at them. Like going to the gym, only different, but the same... we have these rules right now, hardcore rules, 90 minute tape rules, that make me reminisce about rented apartments and notepads and times all mapped out and watching as the end of the tape creeps and unwinds, fingers crossed, all hoping it's good.

The days are ticking down and I feel like there's no way everything is going to get done. This weekend is When Things Really Get Serious, where kitchen things start going away and big bags start going to Goodwill. Buddy's new mom is picking him up on Friday, or more accurately, I am bringing him over, so I can see where he's going to be setting up shop. Her name is Lori, and she's awesome, and she says things like, "Well, it's his house really, I just am going to get to live here" and when she sees him she all nuzzles up with him and lets him bite her and is just frigging awesome. When I met her at the meeting last Friday, she had pictures all printed out and everything. Color. The size of a whole piece of paper. I'm so, so lucky.

I love aching. I wonder if anyone aches for me. I'm reminded of that card where it says something like to the world, you may be one person, but to one person, you may be the world. How amazing. Speaking of all that, I did some hardcore stepwork last night, all making lists of what I am and what I'm not, and what I want and what I don't. This stuff is so fucking enlightening (fucking enlightening, you like that?) and you know what was on the top of the "I want" list? Mix tapes. I want mix tapes. It's a big list, and Gale was all like, so what if you met a guy that worked in a bottling factory, and I was like, well, he'd better know who Glen Hansard is. Gale, suprisingly, has no knowledge of mix tapes. I ached for her, just briefly, and her husband is a musician, and I'm sure he could make her one. I'm going to see if he can do it for her for her birthday. So she really knows what I mean, you know? Besides, stringing together love songs is easy. It's telling a past story of ache accurately that's harder I think. There's so much hope and open pastures with love, real love, I think, even though I don't think I know what that is.

Other highlights from The List:

romance
partnership
writing
mutual interest in music
passionate (about something, anything)
has some kind of a god-concept, universe, some kind of acknowledgement, etc.
honesty
open mindedness
willing (for whatever needs need meeting, his, mine, etc.)
perspective
respectful
intuitive
sexy
kind / caring / loving (which I think all of the above already are, but she made me write that anyway)
clarity
looks forward to things, at least some of the time - motivated - etc.

And of course, the Don't Wants:

bullshit
to be a mom / maid / hooker / personal chef / financial advisor / psychoanalyst
to be disrespected
to be taken advantage of
credit card debt
to fight everyone and everything
to shoot low
to settle

All of that, I know, is quite the tall order. I don't plan on dating for a while. I'm sure in six months, these things will shift and change.

I'm finding that as I do and say things out loud, they become little intentions and statements out to the Universe, so I'm doing it. Like I thought about these red clogs Kristy and I used to have a hundred years ago, and I got pulled into a store today, and I stumbled across red velvet clogs. I'm bringing them to Seattle.

vvb

writing writing writing.

Writing.

All these words, flying around in my head, I'm sending four page emails and blogging twice a day and talking on the phone and just writing and talking and words, everywhere. They're on the table, in piles behind the couch, on everything I touch, like little grains of sparkly sand all over the place.

I've been in the apartment all day, and it's literally Perfect Summertime outside. And I've just got so much to do, that lounging around just isn't on the docket right now. Save for a few chunks of getting immobilized in all the packing, it's been a pretty productive day. Tomorrow, I have to sort through all my clothes, pack up the off-season stuff, sort out anything I can sell, donate what I can donate, and be done with it.

This Is All Happening.

I've wanted it to happen for so long, and I've been so stuck, and the timing is just how it should be, but this shit is just fucking scary. Scary for what's coming, scary for what's happened - I took my earrings out, but I loved them all. I don't know all the way who I am anymore, so I don't know how I'll do when everything is new - so no matter which way I turn, everything's different and gone and all there all at once.

Thelma and Louise is on. Stacey keeps talking about how we're all driving off into the sunset, except if I remember correctly, they drive off of a cliff after they kill a couple of people. And they like, blow up a gas station or something I think. Oh, and because I have a Polaroid camera.

Good thing we quit drinking, right? Right.

Although... no. So what's left for tonight... the cds, and maybe the shoes, I've got the computer all straightened out, I might have to just throw in the towel and like, watch a movie or something. Or do some non-packing/purging stuff, like bills. Oh, I could shower too. That would help.

I think there's a fine line between being completely incapacitated emotionally, like, seemingly retarded - and totally pure and sane of both thought and deed.

I also think I often straddle that line.

*sigh*

in case you've never tried it, getting of everything you own and just getting down to what's "important" is not easy. I mean, I'm sure I'll have enough room, and it's all just stuff anyways, and it's fine, but even when it's an easy task (keep, sell, toss, keep, sell, toss) and there's not a lot of work involved for thinking or for sorting - it's still pretty hard. the whole time the back of my head is all, omgomgomg this is happening okay now sort the bathroom stuff wait do I need that? I've never used it. but it's expensive. but it doesn't matter it's just going to take up space. times like, a hundred. I'm about to re-do the books and cds, and realistically, my life is going to get condensed into about six milk crates, plus shoes and clothes. oh, and chacha.

this feels so insane, like I'm coming off of a substance, only the substance is how I've been living my life, and five hours have gone by and I don't feel like anything is happening. but then I look around, and it is. stuff is emptying out, slowly but surely. so here is, literally, what will be left:

chacha, her carrier, food and extras
a crate of books
a crate of cds
a crate of notebooks, papers, and photographs
a crate of bathroom stuff
a soft-storage bag with my down comforter, pillows, two sets of sheets, two towels and a blanket or two
a soft storage bag of clothes, sweaters, jackets, etc.
my computer, the external hard drive, and a guitar
some baskets and shelf things to store stuff when I get wherever I wind up

and that's it. and that, actually, may be a little too much.

as far as storage, anything of my mom's is going to my sister's, along with a bucket of processed and framed photography (stuff that I can live without, but can't get rid of).

I have a new found appreciation for the shuffle button on my iTunes. indie rock indie rock indie rock MADONNA indie rock indie rock NEIL YOUNG... so funny. currently playing: "Borderline".

if you want me let me know
baby let it show
honey, don't you fool around

borderline
feels like I'm going to lose my mind...

right.

and so, as I sit here, and separate myself from it all, it's not so bad. but in the middle of it, on top of the omg-machine, I want to eat a big bowl of spaghetti and go to sleep. like, immediately.

stop driving me away
I just want to stay
there's something I just got to say...

I just looked up all the lyrics and it's all, you love me and you make me feel awesome, but then you're a dick, and I want to stay, but I want to leave, so listen to me, but let me go, but I want to stay... what the fuck. seriously.

cue "Faster Gun". much better.

um... so I don't know, I guess that's it. I've been pouring my heart out all over the place, and it's interesting to see who's listening, and who's responding, and who's not. and then I remember that everyone else has lives and priorities and stuff too, and sometimes I actually think to ask how other people are doing in the middle of all of this... amazing.

I've got to get back to it before I lay down and sleep.

more to follow -

vvb :*

I don't know if this needs to be an email, or a blog, or whatever, all I know is that I need to write.

Dammit. I've been stifled for so long, Kristin was just writing about watching a movie from a cage it seemed, and I've been feeling like part of me has been buried alive, pounding on the lid of a coffin with my fists. I want to get a tattoo before I leave New Haven. I think we might have found someone to watch over Buddy. words words words

So as my material possessions dwindle, it's less things and more thoughts. Driving to Martha's Vineyard and back with Lesley and her family a long time ago. When someone felt stifled or hot or stale, one of them would go, "I need new air!" or "It's time for new air!" and they'd all roll down their windows, on cue, pause, and then dutifully roll them back up. It was like second nature to them.

I need new air. It's time for new air.

It's also time for busking and screaming, for bleeding, and for letting go. Everything, all at once.

The other thing I didn't want to forget about, that I knew I needed to write down, was breaking the guitars yesterday. I'm finding out that when I get fearful, scared, frustrated, or anything with a little ick to it, that I can get pretty angry. And I was all over the place yesterday at work, cranky, not handling anything, snapping at Tom, pissed, argumentative - you name it. Exhausted. Scared. Upset. So, cut to partway through the day, and he (Tom) goes up into the attic and comes down with these two acoustic guitars. They must have been used for stage props or something, some kind of project he didn't want to talk about, where they had been painted silver and then abandoned. Apparently, they had some bad juju and were all aching to be broken. It was funny, he was all childishly triumphant, one in each fist, coming down the ladder.

"Here," he said. "Smash these."

I looked at him in disbelief. He was serious. We went out to the garage, and the middle was all cleared out, as is usually the case with garages. And I just kind of stood there, holding a guitar like you shouldn't hold a guitar, pretty much like a bat. By the neck, slung over my shoulder, standing there. I felt all naked and like I needed to be alone with it, and for the first guitar, I was. I managed to verbalize some of this, and Tom seemed to understand, just closing the door and leaving me to it.

Now, the break - it was just for a shining little moment, like most things that get into my bones are - but that moment was so strangely intense. Immediate and in slow motion, all at once, I went stage-bravado style, both hands around the neck, up over my head, as hard as I could, all the way into the concrete. It was amazing. And in case you are wondering, acoustic guitars are pretty delicate. It splintered and shattered, and it only took me two or three tries to get it into bits all over the place.

It was crazy. All loud and dead silence and everywhere and this feeling of - almost infidelity, I wanted to say just then, like having sex with a married guy, or just someone other than who you are they are in the relationship with, whichever side you want to come from. And bad and good and satisfying and awful, all at once. Like some kind of murder, only it was beautiful murder, if that makes sense. And it worked.

Guitar #2 didn't fair as well, since the neck broke off from the body completely and I had to smash it with my feet (in flip flops). I pinched the bottom of one of my feet while I was stomping it to death, and almost wished I had bled a little bit, right there on the concrete with shattered wood and pain and heartache and fear all puddled together. But really, if I look at it from a certain angle, I think I did. I definitely did.

So, there's one thing, a thing of the beginning of a lot of things, off the list I thought I'd never get to, or have opportunity to do. Shit. If that wound up being that easy and that great, can you imagine what's coming? I almost can't contain myself.

Photos to follow. Eighteen days to go.

Bon courage,
Victoria

Seven pounds may not seem like a lot, but when it falls off you overnight, it is. I know some of you understand...

I've been carrying all this stress weight, I didn't really change my eating habits or exercise routines much, and all of a sudden, I couldn't stop gaining weight, probably about close to twenty pounds or so. and now, almost half of it is gone, just like that. Poof. My friend Stacey was like, "I love the stress diet!" And so I'm sure there are worse things in the world this morning than me sitting here at Starbucks at 7 am, waiting for the morning meeting down the street, looking at my body, in the same jeans I've had on for like, five days because I just can't get my shit together enough to do laundry... I care. But I don't, really, because if I truly did, I would wash some pants.

Who gives a fuck. Really.

Last night I slept really fitfully, up a bunch of times, I had to get up really early today and when I think I'm going to sleep through something I get total sleep anxiety and I keep thinking I've missed whatever it is, but then I know that the alarm will go off and wake me up - it's pretty much a guarantee - but I give myself this crazy anxiety anyways. I hate it. On mornings when I had to go cater for 400 people, it was the frigging worst. Awful awful awful.

I'm in a movie all the time, it seems, soundtracks and outpourings of emotion on blogs and emails, all the while with whatever's playing in the background, literal movie soundtracks, KEXP at work, and the like. I'm getting excited at the prospect of National Novel Writing Month all looming out there for November, in the rain, in my own place by then... I wonder if we're going to stop through Chicago. I can't wait to be travelling. I can not believe everyone on eBay, buying my junk - literal junk - it's unreal. I have a new pile to get to today. It's crazy. I think I'm just about going to be able to finance the entire trip (roughly about $500-$600 in gas, plus hotels and food, so I'm figuring around $1000) from selling stuff I would have dumped off at Goodwill. Bonkers.

I'll leave this morning with a photo I took of my friend's daughter a few weeks ago, instead of some faux-brilliant closing statement.

Bon courage,
Victoria

kristin and I were joking about a "is this person dateable" criteria test, and she said hers was asking whether or not the contender in question was into leonard cohen. I think that mine will have to be something about glen hansard or the frames (since once could be too obvious). not that dating, or even making out, or any of that is anywhere even close on the horizon... maybe never, is what it really feels like right now. but I've been told that a very valuable tool right now, in the midst of what I don't want, is to make a list of what I do want, for future reference. and music inside the very bones of our being - well, that's part of what I want. it's part of what I am.

this came about writing to her last night about being so frustrated here, at the end of so many ropes... and somewhere in my ranting and swearing I said something to the effect of how if he saw once, even if he managed to stay awake through it, that he wouldn't understand - and how I could hope to build anything with anyone that was that detached from what I consider to be such a crucial part of... well, me, everything, existence, whatever - was just useless and insane. I used to say a hundred years ago that part of my criteria was to be with another deadhead, because really, how can you love anyone that's not? and it was so important, and I would get drunk and just spew on and on about it, about crucial connections and such.

I guess I wasn't that far off.

this triggers memories of sitting in viva's, fake recorded interviews with strangers, and substituting the word "psychotic" for "psychic" and waiting to see who caught on. most people didn't.

the walls around me are starting to change. pictures are coming down, stuff is emptying out, and it's all around just happening.

other things from today, specifically, from writing with kristin:

she's cleaning out a closet for me. because I'm leaving here. and going to seattle. for real. in less than three weeks. and there's nothing here that's scaring me into staying or away from going - clean slates abound everywhere I look. I'm pushing through stepwork with gale. I'm settling debts. I'm squaring up, cleaning house, and building bridges instead of walls. walking out of a house with open doors, just a few slammed shut, but mostly open doors.

I'm also picturing where I may wind up living, should I stay in seattle, and what my place would look like. a futon or something, of course, since I'd wind up in a studio I'm sure. over it, maybe one of those mosquito nets and some little lights, because I like forts, and there's no reason to wait to build one with friends or lovers, when you can have a little tent for yourself all the time, so that every night could be slumber party night, even all alone. windows, kind of high up for some reason, with a view, a galley kitchen, milk crates, and stuff tacked up all over the walls, especially to see wherever I looked when I woke up, maybe over where the alarm clock is? maybe a coffee table made out of ticket stubs. and a big open spot in the middle of the room where I could paint, because I think I need to do it more, with the computer set up in the corner, and a couple of plants. cha cha, napping in the window. light greens and browns, all beautiful, notebooks, and the only thing that might matter is what I'm creating. I also accidentally (?) wound up finding and bookmarking a site for a temp agency, happening to stumble on a page that asked if I was an artist or a musician, because I could be at that temp agency and have benefits and have steady work that fit my life and not the other way around. doesn't that sound spectacular? seattle must be the place where dreams come true, all sparkly and perfect, and wet and grotesque, and everything in between, even elf-farmed twilight beets.

I can not even conceive of being somewhere where most of the people I know speak my language. where everyone is into glen hansard, or at least a lot of people have a good idea of who he is.

upon further research it's not too approved of to get a finger tattoo, but I think I'm going to do it anyway.

I'm beyond tired. my blissful bed beckons.

bon courage,
victoria

and it feels like/
so impossible/
that it was just July/
July/
I can't/
believe it...

Ah, Jon Rodgers. At least it's summer, I can sleep outside... Summer is here and passing rapidly, and I'm missing it, and I kind of don't care, because circumstance is forcing me to have to sit this one out. I really wish I could over-engage in Rhode Island beaches and New England coastlines, of sunrise and rocky state parks, but it's almost like I've overstimulated myself beyond recall and it's time to move on. I love the beach. I love everything about summer here, except the jellyfish. I love picnics and being active and everything that goes along with it - and I don't think I've ever decided to sit out a summer, as far as I can recall - but this one is here, it's hot, it's flying by, and I'm a little more concerned with how my whole life is going to fit in my car than how early we're getting up to hit the shores on any given weekend day.

It's looming. Twenty two days, and every one for the two weeks prior has been filled with some major revelation or nervous breakdown.

So the trip's in planning -

View Larger Map

(I'm not sure why the actual route doesn't come up, but you can see that here.)

On some rough calculations, we can hit Akron, Ohio about 8 hours out from New Haven to get to a meeting, and then stop whenever we stop - I'd call up Mary Jones but I think Chicago might be too far to try to get to in the first day, or maybe not. Then it's wherever the lengths of days take us until we have National Park Time, which includes stopping by Badlands National Park, the Crazy Horse monument, and Mount Rushmore. We'll detour a little bit to get down to the Grand Tetons (where my father had always said he wanted to see the sunset, and I am acting on faith that our schedule at that point will allow for good timing), and then we'll be cutting back up that long stretch to Seattle. It's literally coast to coast, it appears (by a big map, anyway) that 90 ends in Seattle, and fittingly, so will we. We'll have to go down to Long Wharf or something and take a picture in front of that oceanfront, and end the trip with some inlet waterfront when we get out west, and we'll marvel at everything that went on inbetween... I want to document my journal with Polaroids (in addition to real photos, of course).

It's been coming to my attention, through abundant writing, open processing, and over-emoting, that there are a few people out the world that have lit up for me, or I should say, where we have lit up for each other, and I'm taking the care to pay attention to them. The parallels my life has run with Kristin and a few other people can not be denied or brushed away, swept under the rug and unaddressed. It's important. These interactions are important.

It's also been coming to my attention that people will buy just about anything on eBay, as it turns out, I'm financing my whole trip on it. I might even have enough left over to replace my stolen iPod.

And lastly, but really first-ly, I am alive, and beautiful, and amazing, and sometimes I'm sunsets and tornadoes all at once, but I'm a woman and a writer and I have good taste in music and I'm capable of giving and receiving love, and I'm not wanting to get all Stuart Smalley on myself, but rather to validate and at the very least verbally wrap myself in clean cotton gauze and take care of my heart and soul and wounds the way I would not hesitate to take care of others... it's time for the Universe to help take care of me.

Like in Once last night, tired as I may be of it, I get to make mistakes and gain wisdom. And my pursuit of that, the inevitable bliss and disasters that ensue, has to be enough. The journey through and to that, for this chapter, has to be enough.

vvb

it's 6:30. AM, bitches. nothing like a nice dose of anxiety, uncertainty, and all-around ageda to get you out of bed nice and early in the morning.

I talked to raf last night about leaving for seattle, and about moving out, and about how much this hurts and how sad and tragic it's getting. see, while I've been planning the trip in my head, and starting to get it out onto paper, my heart - knowing full well that it was time to go - wasn't quite ready to leave. but two days ago, I saw clearly that I was sitting in front of a man who didn't know how to be in a relationship. now, I'm not a picnic, nor am I a wealth of relationship expertise, and I often wonder about my own capabilities - but when you hurt the people you love because you can't stand your own hurt in a way that you can't take back - well, there's no soothing or coddling or mom-role or any other of the dysfunctional roles that you can fill that can take care of that, or change it, or help it heal.

there's something to be said for people who get together and stay together. seriously.

so, for the three people checking the blog, who may have given up due to my lack of updates, hi. here I am. raf and I broke up. and I'm leaving for seattle in a a month.

there comes a time in intolerable situations, be it physical, emotional, spiritual, materialistic, whatever - that I wind up saying the quiet part out loud. here's my track record (with relationships, and sometimes with jobs too): go in, have a strong start under the flush of beginnings and wonder and possibilities, see something that doesn't quite sit well, compromise some critical area of my belief system (big or small) (because I'm too hard headed and critical and I need to learn how to bend anyways and isn't compromise what relationships are all about?) and piggyback on that behavior until eventually, I'm filling some role I don't like or understand, and I've given away so much of myself that I don't even recognize the person looking back at me in the mirror anymore.

and the kicker is, the entire time - save for glimpses of love, beauty, potential, elation, getting dealt hands of happiness and bliss - I know that things aren't right. I know it. and I deny myself, and make up a bunch of excuses for myself, and it's like I need to carry a psychoanalyst around in my back pocket to not only help me make decisions, but to point out the who and what and why of everything that I've got going on.

so here we sit. a fresh start, again. a new notebook, again. but this time, instead of switching seats on the sinking ship that is life in connecticut, I'm getting rid of all of my belongings, packing up the cabrio with chacha, a guitar, and a few of my favorite things, and heading off to seattle for some r & r. I mean, I have to go and work and all that - but I'm really starting to feel like I'm heading off for some kind of intensive rehab or something.

more to follow. with pictures.

vvb