the pale color of insanity

February 27, 2012

I splatter painted a new dress! And then I had its picture taken, between the stovetop and the cat food.



I am


under each snare

February 24, 2012

Shit like this just shreds me. I know it’s supposed to, but that doesn’t remotely keep me from crying all over myself at my desk and hoping my boss will just stay in his own office till I can pull myself together. And because I have been roundly insulted and annoyed by another collection of fundamentalists today, my brain currently can’t let go of the wonder: what if instead of trying to save the zygotes they could all try to save the things on this planet that already exist and are viably suffering? I think that this will always be my greatest disappointment in most organized religions, the tunnel vision that propels them to dump millions of dollars into fascist modern day holy wars and prohibits them from seeing that their considerable attention and resources would be so greatly appreciated in so many corners of this world. I will never understand why instead of helping where helping is due, they insist upon struggling tooth and nail for their unwelcome causes born of one dimensional righteous indignation.

What will you do without Jesus? they ask me.

Well. What will the suffering do without you?

Please to leave my happy little life the (god)damned way it is and take your best intentions to a place that is literally crying for them and will be so much the better for them. Have a cat. It will make you happier than having a pro-choice empirical science loving heavy metal head banging little bitch anyhow. Have a fucking cat.

I am

Just in case anyone has been sitting wispily alone with their chins on their tender ten fingered fists, thinking carefully to themselves how lovely it would be to live as close to me as possible so as to enjoy the beautifully curled peels of my personality shed and roll with laughter at the butter thieving tactics of my bad cat, I must warn you: there exists a boot to the face backward persuasion.

I realize that when one is paying the ostensibly low price of six twenty five a month for one’s own personal batshit cave, one cannot exactly expect revolving hideaway stairwells and prompt silver tea tray service. However, when one has placed multiple phone calls to the mismanagement beginning on the now distant date of February 2nd, one should hopefully expect by February 23rd that the dishwasher might be fixed at some point within the near future. However as I have just now been informed by what is certainly the nonWonka world’s most impressively dedicated chewing gum aficionado, there is only one dishwasher guy and he’s only had my service call since FEBRUARY FUCKING FOURTEENTH, so really I must be patient because after all it may be inconvenient to live with three inches of foul standing water in the bottom of your dishwasher because you didn’t realize that the fucker didn’t drain until of course after you had run a load, but you know Miss it is not exactly an emergency situation and there are apparently bathtubs to drain or what have you.

Oh, I’m sorry, heavy laden dishwasher dude; I apologize, fog soup cerebellumed nutcracker harpy. I guess I will just go fling myself breastplate first onto some danger edge of my open dishwasher and die like that dude’s mom in Garden State. Then it will be an emergency. Although I bet you will not even get around to cleaning up the blood until at best the middle of April.

I am

Having issues with placement today; not issues I guess so much as impatience, and a need for some sort of plan. Now that the present is mostly neatly squared into its predictable roll of the foreseeable future, I am antsy for what dreams may come. I feel the need for a plan. I have the time and freedom for a plan. We shall all laugh together, the gods and I. Is plan time.

I have requested advising sessions with the psych departments at PCC and PSU. I need sixty one credits on my associates degree and fifty six credits for my bachelors degree. I am hoping to take only classes that will transfer to PSU from this point forward, and have the guidance to take only focus classes that will hone me toward my graduate program. I plan to work full time through the remainder of my associates if I have to, which equals about two to three classes a term, which equals six to eight terms of PCC remaining. Which is…approximately two years. When I hit PSU it is my goal to have a highly functioning bookkeeping business, so I can work only part time and go to school half or three quarter time. Basically I’m looking at four to five years of school till bachelors, which is totally fine as long as I am also doing interesting, challenging and forward moving work with the rest of my time. And I guess that is pretty much it. Antsiness down. I just needed to say it out to the world, my plan for work and school. It makes it seem so much more solid and manageable to frame it in terms of credits and years. It’s easy for me to just be distracted by the delicious chewy subject matter, and I wanted a sort of expectation platform that has its foundation in the practical realm. The nice thing about this plan is that I know how to go about getting all of it. I make my business, I do my schoolwork. I excel. The end. Rah.


There are also a bunch of supplemental goals I have. I would still like to take a doula training, because it is something I am powerfully interested in and for my own sake I would like to know how to do it right. Just in case. I want to someday be able to help low income or disadvantaged people learn how to understand and get the most out of their tax returns. I still want to volunteer with a kids’ reading program of some sort. I still want to make my fleece coats for homeless people. I still want to volunteer something of some sort at some time in some sort of gerontology situation. I want to be writing again about world issues that inflame me; I will never give over writing about times I fell down, which is the key to the soul of my writing, but I have been reading old blog entries that I wrote when I was outraged or overjoyed by something that happened in the wider world, and I miss that passion. I want to eventually have three or five dollars a month to donate to planned parenthood or ocean rejuvenation or whales or wolves. I would fucking adore to sponsor a child somewhere. I want to learn to play the saxophone, and I am prepared for it to take me a long ass time; I don’t care, it is the world’s sexiest instrument and I can imagine letting my soul out of it like I have never been able to see with any other instrument. I have to keep painting, and I have to keep getting better; my current skill level is bothering me, I may even take an art class at some point so as to not stagnate within the limits of my own ability and imagination. I want to enjoy and support the fuck out of the amazing and wonderful family and friends I am finally within touching distance of again; I want to share my life and projects and share theirs, and fling sky high celebrations and drink clouds out of coffee across turned tables. And I really really want that motorcycle.

I think this is just my ENGAGE button hitting the back of my spine. I have all this awesome shit amassed, and now I just want more awesome shit. I’m like the borg. My appetite for new knowledge and technology and multi species body parts is insatiable. Resistance is futile. Onward.

Furthermore I would really like a caramel apple. Really very much.





I am

I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song

a rose for every thorn

February 13, 2012

I am doing really well. I am doing superfabulous. I am doing what the word amazing wishes it was. I am knocking wood and maybe backpedaling just the teensiest cosmic bit from all preceding sentences.

So I made an all encompassing next month or so to-do list last night after making two catnip pillows, and it is so fucking heartening to realize on paper how well everything is going. There is really not that much I have to attend to. There is no longer anything sitting against a wall wailing to be taken out of its wrappings and fit into its space; there is no more setting up of the life. It is set up, and now it is just to live. How utterly wonderful. At this point I have only to get down to the business of really engaging my life. I have moved; I have acquired a semblance of furniture; I have set up Comcast; I have changed my address with all the necessary authorities; I am all ready for next term of school; I am solidly on top at work, although I must remember that there is always more to be done and better that could occur; in short, everything is now about as it will be from here on out. There is no more foundation to be laid, the concrete is poured and hardened around the sundry footprints and WAS HEREs. Which means that now I can focus on the fun bits. The paintings and movie nights and eventual saxophone lessons and shoe acquisition and pizza parties and nights of boardgames and homework and book binges. It feels crazy to have finally arrived at a place where there is really nothing left to do but live as life comes. I am not living at a frantic rat’s pace trying to catch the present up to itself from several weeks back any longer.

All this of course to say that now I am thinking in a very forward fashion. For almost two months now it has been all about the present moment and what has to get done in it, absolutely has to, it is already almost too late and we must fucking manage, and did I possibly mention that we must do it RIGHT NOW? Now I can sit back a little and contemplate my trajectory. I have hurled myself directly back into the jeweled heart of my old neighborhood, a circumstance which consistently surprises me with the effortless bone crunch deep happiness it brings me. For the entirety of my stay in SF I berated myself for my fawning craving Portland love sickness, and tried to squash it like a misguided bug, assuming that there was simply something broken inside me that would not allow me to love another place. Guatemala somewhat solved that for me; I loved that place with intensity from beginning to end and it is then that I began to realize what it is I want from my surroundings and the people I line the inside of my jacket with. I love low buildings that give utter homage to the sky and encourage the caressing presence of trees; I love commonliving persons with bluecollar work ethic or paint stained fingers; I love old cars that rattle down roads as if every turn might be their last and they are determined to die with their tires on; I love me some gratuitous fucking grass. It rests my soul to hear a crow yelling in the morning, it excites me as much as it did when I was small to see a squirrel running daredevil down an electric wire, it fills me with the full fluffy satisfaction of my nebulous temporary existence to fall asleep to raindrops on rooftop. I just fucking love it here. There is a contentment that runs as deep as sweet at the backbone of my every moment here. I want to write her name in the sky.

Um. I am not the only one to love a city like an affair to remember. There is that Red Hot Chili Peppers song. I am fine.

Anyhow, the forward thinking. It is now occurring to me in spades that I have chosen to live my life here, and it is beginning to sink into me what that means. It means that at long last I can have a future here. Instead of living here in my dreams and for a week at a time every several months, I live here day and night and I will never leave until I want to. Even when I want to I will most likely only be excursioning, not sojourning or departing. I get to be here forever if I want to. I can begin to sink roots for the first time in two years. I can build up a life around myself with no thought to the end of its outcurl, with no pang of regret that I know I must leave it – because although I may leave it at any time, it will not be the willful desertion of a living mind and not a minute will have been wasted due to lack of inclination. Finally I am somewhere I will be for a long time if I am to be anywhere at all for any length of time. Now it is time for the plans, the hopes and dreams, the brick by brick path planting and petal by petal rosebush painting. I am taut with the anticipation and vivid with the delight of a life whose potential I will pursue with all the passion and pleasure that its perfection affords me.

Oh, and I am

once again

wicked when you’re unwanted

February 13, 2012

So the first thing that happened to me this morning at work is this: I walked in and chugged the inch or so of water that was left in my glass from Friday, and immediately I remembered that in fact this was the sake that my boss had so lugubriously bestowed upon me after lunch from a fancy little square bottle, and that I had not had the wherewithal to finish due to intensity of both taste and brain malfunction. So here I am, sake reeling at 9:29 on a Monday morning, feeling like a cat who has dipped several paws accidentally into a full bathtub; it is nobody’s fault but my own, and yet I would really like to blame whoever filled it in the first place.

I am