And what if every blog entry had crazy, sentence long titles? And what if Mariah Carey didn't cut off her songs so that you could post her crazy mulatto-ness on your MySpace page?
So I've had a lot of espresso this morning. Whatever. I'm treading that fine line between Extremely Efficient -slash- Motivated and Totally Retarded. Not to be confused with the Totally Retarded from being under caffeinated. I think it's kind of just like drinking. I feel great! I want more! Oh, shit - wait - how much did I just have? See, I upped the ante this morning since the triples were starting to not work as well, so then I had a quad instead, but then we wanted more coffee an hour later, so I had a redeye, and then Kristin got served extra shots by accident, so we couldn't let that go to waste... I think she had 8 shots total, and I had about six if you count part of the quad.
Right. I just ate a banana. My hands stopped shaking, so I figured it would be a safe time to type... I might have misjudged that one. But we'll see what happens.
Ready? (deep breath)
I want to write my NaNoWriMo novel at Lladro, in the corner window. There's owls there. Pela played with Carter from Tulsa opening last night at the mural, and it was my favorite thing ever. They're all aching with eyebrows to match. I fall in love a hundred times a set and there's shattering of hearts and perfect photographs, and I declare it's all my new favorite music. Janet points out that every time we go to a show, I say that. But it's all my favorite, really. I swear.
I've decided that when I decide to go back to engaging in the dance of relationships (did I mention I can't dance?) that I am not going to settle. I finally had this solidified on several different levels from watching the way Billy from Pela looks at the microphone in a silent instant right before he starts screaming and falling apart, and I want to be looked at like that. You who know will know this look of which I speak. I want it all to explode in the nighttime, to see that look right before a Boy kisses me. And it needs to be the Boy that's kissing me, not the Boy that's up on stage in that moment, because I confuse everything sometimes when too many moments are shiny and sparkly and I lose the ability to discern compatible pheromones.
The signs are coming back (and they happened before I had all the caffeine). I started writing Kristin an email about it yesterday, about how when I'm aching and broken and I can't embrace it and it all hurts so bad that I want to slump over in a pile on the floor and I ask for signs - and it's like I want this earth-shattering unmistakeable moment, right in that second, and of course nothing happens... and so I get through, we always get through it somehow, and then as soon as I've forgotten that I needed it, I get the signs. It's amazing. A single magnetic word in the top of a file drawer that I was on a footstool on my tiptoes to reach, waiting there for me. Ladybugs flying into me at full force, taking up residence on my shirt. Owls. Turtles. And the best part, the tuning in of the... fractal radio station, I want to say, where I know I'm where I'm supposed to be and doing what I'm supposed to be doing, because I can feel it - or more accurately, I don't feel like I'm not all of those things. So I'm all tuned in. And I get posters and raffle prizes and perfect cds in the bottom of a giveaway box at the KEXP volunteer appreciation party, just by chance, even though people have pawed through it already - including, but not limited to, the 48 track copy of station IDs that got taken on a New York broadcast. Ben Gibbard. The electronic voice guy. And best best best, the whole one about how you wouldn't put Charlie Parker in with the rock 'n roll.
One hand up in front of the stage, the other pressed to my chest, hiding a smile behind a pink scarf, eyes closed, and I worship at the church of Charlie Post. Seriously. Only it's Pela, and I'm under the Needle.
All this music is so good. The Duchess and The Duke (that song Mary just kills me), Jessica Lea Mayfield, all everything all the time coming through the stereo and I want to put my hands on the speakers just so I might get saved. I'm getting saved like that, almost every day it feels like. And the weight is a gift - it's not a maybe. Because now I can see what I can lift, and it's way more than I realized, like one of those things you can't even put on a list because you don't know it exists - and this is all just the beginning.
Cafes in the sunshine, photo editing, OH! And I'm going to get to build a permanent fort in which I will reside. I am not joking. Kristin and I have decided to try some communal, budget-conscious living, so that we don't have to spend as long as we think we might have to indebted to medical bills and credit card extravagance. We found a guy on Craigslist that has a loft from Ikea for sale - the nice one - for mad cheap, and we're going to move the living room around and curtain off a piece of it for me. A wooden loft (fort) with curtains around it (fort) and I'm going to put up posters inside the desk part underneath (because it's a fort) and little tiny sparkly lights (in my fort) and the small scale and amazing possibilities of it all just fucking floors me. Really. Who wouldn't want to live in a fort? As long as the Chach figures out how to climb up, I will be whole and complete and want for nothing. Light blocking curtains, earplugs, and considerate hetero life partners - and tiny lights - and posters - I mean, really. I can do anything.
Is that it? Cripes I had so many words all piled up.
Tonight is mini-tour 4000, in lieu of SlackFest (which wound up being quite the commitment that I couldn't really make, because I needed to write and rest and sort and spend a quality chunk with my cat, which sounds silly, but she misses me). It starts with Carter from Tulsa at Sonic Boom in Ballard at 5, Cupcake Royale for words and caffeine in-between, Neil Halstead that Cheyl had on at 8 (all of this is within a block of itself, btw) and/or Harvey Danger and the Lake Union Fest at 8:30. I'm inclined to write until I'm done with much cupcakes and then hit the Lake Union Fest for $5.00 then spend $12.00 for a guy that I don't know if I'm going to like or not (even though I am quite the sucker for British Accents).
So. There's a lot to do, including time to dream with my legs out in the sun on the Aloha Veranda, which I think I need to do, like, now.
Go big or go home, right? It's all huge and vast and expanding, and I am home.
xx
V.
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