April 2009 Archives

I think that Seattle might be thrusting forth the Greatest Springtime I Have Ever Known. I'm up early enough now to catch both sunrise and sunset, ache-strewn fluffy clouds all stretched out in the morning sky, pink everything; craggy mountain passes at the day's end, reds and yellows and blues and more pink everything. I'm practically running into guardrails because I'm so caught up staring out the windows at all the bliss.

Tonight I was walking back from my car, realizing I had been here for nine months, freshly annihilated by the sunset, worn thin and toughened up from a good hard day's work, and I thought about all the springtime. Everywhere you go it smells like flora, like blossoms, like the air would be sweet if you could reach out and eat it somehow. My hair changes colors from week to week, and I drive home without thinking about it (in a good way) because I'm able to get around my square of town. Bright lights, big city, and I'm not moving on.

I've been toying with the idea of getting a scooter, and writing blog posts in my head, even though I've been off the junk for a while now. And just read Kristin's post, and it's so funny that we're both all in our own moments of the season. I'm opening windows and cleaning and mismatching my clothes just for fun, to match my sunshine patchwork insides. I know what time it is by which dj is on, and the days are not divided into love and hate. Everything's amazing. My boss practically dares us to keep up with him, and I didn't know I could vault into such challenge.

Kristin did a reading for me recently, and there were parts about being funky and trying on the new me, and she'd said how everything was going to open right up, and she just... she knew. She knows stuff. And she'll go, yeah, I think I've done a lot of this before. And I want to lay down next to her in a square of warm light to just absorb some of what seems to come to her so easily. Maybe that's why she pops up in practically every post, the GirlBug, pulling me in on her radar without even knowing. Or knowing, because she knows.

And really, I am seriously tossing around this scooter thing. Recklessly. Like, fuck it! I'll sell the car and worry about the rain when it rains, and worry about winter when it's winter. I think they call this Spring Fever. Or something just like it. Or maybe I'm just more alive then I've been in a long time, or maybe all of it. Maybe it's just all the blossom-flavored sweet bright everything. I don't know.

So now I hit the wall because I want to go poke around on Craigslist. But before I leave, the other funny thing I was writing about in my head today was how a few people I haven't talked to much at the new office came by and said hello, and I've been so busy that I don't notice much, and then I find out from one of the women there that some of the boys are afraid of me. Ring any bells out there? Apparently I work at the nonprofit bioresearch version of Melrose Place, and my little talk with the boss spread like wildfire - all the way back to the other building. I suppose they can just come and say whatever they have to say, and I'm not scared, and I took a situation in my life and addressed it and I'm - well, I'm getting some street cred. Apparently. I thought I was getting all the good insides that comes with taking care of yourself and standing up for yourself - but I'm winding up with a little extra, some r-e-s-p-e-c-t. And all I'm doing is setting the bar and laying a foundation, and life just shoots me up with a big bag of awesome. Day-job style.

Oh, ps, the crazy-time retreats are riddled with relationship-crossing makeout sessions. I kid you not. Tonight: "Well, it's not like, orgies or anything going on, but like - well, we all let our guards down and people are just sort of grabbing ass and hooking up sort of. Pulling skirts and making cardboard sleds to ride down hills with." And allusion to girl-on-girl action.

Geesh.

You crazy passive-aggressive West Coasters. I think it might be that we're both from back East, the thing that gets us past mornings like yesterday. Whatever it is, as I've ended most posts of late, I'll take it. Every shiny back-strengthening early-morning blissy-daylight KRDO-riddled girl-making-a-place-for-herself-in-the-world moment.

Hi. I live here.

No, really.

hearts,
vv

one very wise KRDO told me years ago that it was okay to have a sink full of dishes if you were like, reading a book or something. I was trying to dissect the compulsive cleaning factor. she knew me better than I knew myself then, and continues on the same. it's funny how these everyday conversations we have can just stick, and not like glue-stick, like adhered in cement stick. cat on my lap, pile of laundry on my desk, three half-read books and a job I love to love.

and a sink full of dishes. I'm kind of dirty a little bit. but only when it's busy. oh, and said cat thinks I moved out and that I'm just dropping by to visit at night. thinking about writing. swimming about bicycles. sleeping less is more. I can't believe my life right now. painting basements with famous people. slapstick backstage passes just because, 3D mountains bathed in pink lights at sunset, answers, less questions. less worries. hat parties. KEXP at night, and only very early in the (john in the) morning.

I seem to be updating weekly. interesting.

I'm not waiting around for a boy. I'm only going to the shows I really, really like and want to see. I have actual legitimate friends that know enough about me in the time that I've been here to know how I am, and when I'm off, and when to ask if I'm alright and why.

all crying in front of the boss this morning. he's a tough one. the long and short of it is that people that are in my life for this many hours a week consistently are either someone I would share a bed with or someone I would eat out of the same bowl with. fork included, I mean, I'd share it with them. the fork, on top of the thing with the bowl. and when that person is thrust into your life suddenly, little more than a stranger, no bed, no forks - it's hard to find a way to get through conflict. I'm used to hugging it out, or throwing stuff - today I had to schedule a meeting, sit down and ask about expectations and communication, listen to some real facts about my responsive behaviors, and while I was trying to say it all out loud I cried. like an asshole.

I care about this place, and I also care about myself enough to not withstand awful relationships. I just can't. I would rather risk an overshare or some massive amounts of awkward than get to the point where I'm breaking everything I touch because I'm so freaked out. I was starting to feel like I was in front of a firing squad every time he came out of his door. so I told him. and I also told him that I am 110% behind everything he is behind, because he believes in what he does, and talks to our department and says things like how we hold ourselves back because we don't even know the levels of greatness we are capable of. I can tolerate a lot from someone who says (and lives) statements like that, repeatedly, not to be heard, but just because it's their reality.

he told me sometimes that he's just thinking out loud. I told him he thinks out loud in a really abrasive manner. none of it is personal, I have things to take back to my corner and work on, and after a brief sobbing stint on the floor of our big industrial bathroom I come back in to an email that's the closest thing to him telling me I'm doing a good job that he's able to say to me. and it's that he talks to me like he expects me to know what he's talking about because I have met his expectations and not shown signs that I'm incapable of handling what he throws at me. so he's treating me like I should know what he means because he thinks I know what he means. even though we're talking about proteomics labs and all this insanity and spreadsheets the size of a kitchen table.

I suppose some people would say I was inappropriate for having this kind of a discussion with my boss, or that he shouldn't have overshared of his own accord after the fact - but I did, and he did, and today was tremendous. it's much easier to take the hits when you know why they're being thrown, and even moreso when you realize it's just shrapnel from these giant dedicated love-bombs going off at the next desk.

so tired, so happy, so ready to do it all over again tomorrow.

truly in a state of flourish,
vv

there's something to be said for getting wasted on nothing. on thinking about nothing. but not the thinking about nothing that comes from chemical excess, not blackouts, not extemperaneous slurring carnival slideshows where the whole world is underwater and hours are reduced to two or three polaroids. no, I'm talking more about freed-up real estate. being free from the steel trap of my mind, from the circulating thoughts and the spent energy and the second guessing and the endless tailspin of crazy.

I haven't been shooting much, not to say I don't break out the p&s here and there, but I haven't been doing any shows or events or anything. I've been all hung up on work, coming in early, staying late, giving 110% and getting practically giddy from the focus. I think this is what they mean, when they talk about the service work and how it saves your life. I also think this is what they mean when they talk about callings and dharma, but I generally can't talk about that without sounding like a lunatic.

I work for a guy who is only 3 or 4 years older than me, who has a pre-teen and a new wife and a new baby. it would be strange to me to have that much now, mostly because I've stopped comparing myself to what's around me and wondering where I'm falling short, instead I get all thankful and happy that I am the way I am and I think about how amazing it is that we're all different and painting our own little colors into everything. he's one of those people that just goes through everything like a tornado, everything is now and solution-oriented and executed with more people skills than most of us will hope to ever see in a lifetime inside of one of his weeks. he's got this fierce, crazy enthusiasm that's completely addictive, but only to a few people who can tune in - everyone else thinks he's off his rocker. and seemingly that I am too for jumping onboard his ship. but it's starting to seem like a big waste of time to sit around thinking useless thoughts and... well, and wasting time.

today I asked if I needed business cards. he talked about how I might not, but how it would seem unprofessional to not have one in a moment where I needed one. I told him we could hold off since they were still evaluating whether or not I'd be there permanently, ninety percent kidding, ten percent testing. he told me to email pam to order the cards. I ordered the cards. and left the proof for him to sign, sometime around 5 in the morning tomorrow when he gets into the office. I'll follow up for about 6:45, taking an hour to get the day ramped up and to get both of us organized so we're full steam ahead by the time it's 8. and then - then I kind of lose the day. I plow through whatever we came up with, fielding about eighteen different distractions in as many minutes every half-hour, learning on the fly. formatting excel files out of my ass. making power point presentations six minutes before meetings with millionaires. and in between there is laughter, and an interlocked team, and nights like last night after the opening of a symposium about molecular whatevers with a bunch of people who've known each other for years practically doubling over with laughter about everything. EVERYTHING. they joked this morning about how they thought I might not make it back in after all that. I mean, they were talking about felching and passing out irish car bombs. I am not exaggerating.

tomorrow I think I'm driving the most expensive car I've ever been in up (down?) aurora to get emissions done. right. I just looked it up to get a gauge, and I wish I hadn't. depending on the year, it's got a rough median price of about $75,000.00. I shit you not. I don't think I've made that much money in the last three years of my life. not even gross. holy beans.

I've kind of been rendered speechless here. I'm not quite sure what to do right now. I suppose it's time to go to bed and wake up excited about work again tomorrow. if I can keep from throwing up on myself (and hitting anything with this fucking car). I'm not real religious, but I think I'll be reciting a few hail-somethings before I get behind the wheel.

this is my life. damien jurado tweeted at me. eric corson goes to shows where I go to shows. everything is everywhere, everything is within reach, kristin's across the bridge, and the world is springing up at my feet.

I'll fucking take it.

hearts, and flowers, and amg box-cut 12 mpg wagons,
viva

I'm posting this everywhere. I can't even believe all teh awesomed.

Something happened tonight. Well, I'm sure something has been brewing for a while - Gloria is always quick to point out that most of these things aren't accidents, they're a result of slow and persistent work producing desired results (with some lovely cosmic accidents for good measure). But it feels like it all just... happened. Windows down, Long Winters blasting through the speakers, practically crying from the relief and wanting to hug the entire world. It feels like everyone here can see the same things I can, and proposing a hug with a backstory of my situation to a stranger on the sidewalk would likely be well received.

I really fell apart a million different ways when I realized that there wasn't a "home" for me to go back to in the traditional sense, which I've written about at length, which in my mind means the home I grew up in, the home where my parents lived. With a lack of it also comes a lack of that safety-net feeling, which I had never experienced before. There was always a bedroom and a check, just in case. I rarely cashed in on either, but knowing it was there provided what I thought was freedom. And now what I'm realizing is that it actually held me back. Even though it's all how it was supposed to be, and continues to become. If it got too hard, there was a nest. But in that there was also a lack of the proper kind of self-reliance, of learning to fight, of consistent discipline, and of finding out the true fabric of my being. (It sounds extreme, silly almost to say it like that, but it's true.) By having that false sense of security, I wound up keeping myself from the very thing I wanted and needed.

Crazy.

Even crazier that I can put this together, right?

So, gone forever is the couch I napped on, the metered length of the hallway, the cool tiles on the bathroom wall, the view from the window above the sink. Aside from the obvious absence of my parents, of course, the physical things I identified with were permanently out of reach, even though said couch is in my sister's living room (which looks a little too much like the living room it no longer is for my taste, and I'm happy to be so far away so as to not have to sit in it). And so maybe it's my way of processing the loss and the grief, to feel like I was losing the home and not the people who used to live there. I don't know, and I don't care. But it hurt like hell, so bad that I thought it would never not feel like that anymore, thousands of miles from anything really familiar, a studio apartment in a (rad) part of Seattle, eating and crying and not understanding what was happening.

Then I threw up all over Kristin, and shortly after that things started to shift gears. As she had predicted, the job volatility passing freed up entire countries worth of real estate in my head... but a few weeks beforehand, in a slew of resume submissions and less than one percent in return contact save for temp agencies that never went anywhere, something shifted. Which I have also written about at length. I started trying on the pants of "baby, we'll be fine" instead of "you can't" or "you shouldn't" or "you're not." And things started to get fine. I'd wonder why I wasn't like someone else, or whether or not I measured up, and I supplanted that thought with a wave of gratitude to be funky disheveled ol' me. And when I stopped actively letting things go, things lost their grip on me. Kristin did a reading, and I started to try myself on. Then some karma happened. Then some dharma happened.

Then the flourishing started. And a few cosmic accidents combined with preparation and hard work decided to all collide at once, and I got gently delivered into the Greatest Job In America. Where I can work ten hour days and not notice, because it's amazing. And six days later, they invite me over for group eating, because everyone's all drunk on sun. And they all know each other, and they shared it with me. Me. All watching the busted sunset behind the mountains from a giant picture window, while a pleasant warm good-natured drunken-ness sprang up around me like little flowers.

Then I'm all crying almost, driving home from Queen Anne, from hanging out with my boss and all these nice people and their babies and all this... love. Legitimate, good, loving, caring people. Who are... nice. Really nice. Nice without anything behind it nice. Nice the way all of my Imaginary friends are nice. If it makes sense, and it's what I said tonight as well, it feels like if you could be adopted by a job, that I have been adopted by this job. By the people and the mission and the everything. The same way a fleet of Imaginary friends and I have all adopted each other. The way I love Kristin more than I love my parents, because though they tried their best, there are things we can see and communicate that they just couldn't, because that's how it is.

I had written a while back about being in a relationship with Seattle. And how I wanted Seattle to validate all these things and come and talk to me at night, and soothe me, and assure me, and take me out. Somehow, I stopped wanting that, and then I stopped needing that, and then the "let's just see if maybe I can be fine" happened. I don't know how each part led to each and what plugged in where to make things change the way they did... but they have. Meditations I'd kept meaning to do started to take place. I let things go and put things down and the proverbial cup started to runneth over. Like all the letting go, I actively stopped expecting Seattle to take care of me or give me more than what I was due. And I wound up with more than I ever could have asked for.

It seems so crazy, recounting this whole thing that's been happening over the last year, gearing up to leave, and the leaving, and the arriving, and the shifting. As Kristin referenced recently, I feel like Angela Chase on the bike heading down the hill, no hands, realizing her life figured out how to get good, right that second. Somewhere between Kristin and Angela and that bike is me. And my so-called life. And I'm really, really alright. I'm home. Like Janelle said to me the first time at Empire Way, when I was crying, about how it felt like that to be home, and how it was okay to cry, which made me cry even harder. It's just... I've found something. Something good, that may not mean anything to anyone but me, something I can't quite put my finger on besides a bunch of little things that have all added up to a big kind of amazing.

I've never meant it more when I say that it's all happening. It is definitely all happening.

Cut to me wanting to hurry up and go to bed, so I can go back to work in the morning, because I love my job. The job that's amazing in eighty different ways, driving to Fremont with the top down on the car. The car that's still running, and the photos are still evolving, and there's even Sean Nelson still popping up on the radar, but it's all so unbelievably and totally different. I'm approaching the next season. I think. Instead of the typo that ruined the draft, I'm the crossing out for the sake of coming up with even better things.

I'm home. I'll keep you posted on the unfolding, in PST.